Without Mercy

by Eric Thomson

  “Kilia’s calliopes are opening fire. They spotted our missiles.” A few moments later, “they scored one hit — sorry make that two.”

  “And now they’re wondering who else is here since they figure those missiles couldn’t possibly come from Bukavac,” Sirico said.

  “They nailed two more of our birds.” Then, “Shit.” Chief Yen’s muffled curse drew everyone’s attention. “Four emergence signatures at the hyperlimit. Shrehari. I make two Tol class cruisers and two Ptar class corvettes. They dampened their emissions, at least by normal Shrehari standards, meaning Kilia might not see them yet. Probably older ships which haven’t undergone the refit that makes them harder for us to detect.”

  “The boneheads are transmitting on an Imperial Deep Space Fleet channel in code,” the signal’s petty officer said.

  “Trying to raise their spy ship Chorlak, I suppose.”

  Dunmoore nodded. “Probably, Thorin.”

  Though her voice remained calm Dunmoore mentally cursed the fates that put a Shrehari task force across her path. Though Iolanthe was a battlecruiser under the skin, taking on four Shrehari starships when two of them were Tol class cruisers would be foolhardy and could even be fatal.

  The trick she pulled on Brakal several years earlier with Stingray wouldn’t work against them. Not now that Shrehari commanders such as Brakal were improving their game.

  “It’ll take them time to enter firing range,” she continued. “Long enough to squeeze Tarrant dry and make our escape.”

  “You intend to pass on such a target-rich environment?” Holt asked with an air of amusement. “That you didn’t consider him worthy of a good fight will crush your opposite number.”

  “He can drown his sorrows in a vat of that disgusting ale they so enjoy. I’m not inclined to flatter his vanity by sticking around when we have people to rescue.”

  “Two more birds down, sir. That’s half of them.”

  Dunmoore raised a finger to acknowledge Sirico’s report. Not long now. Eyes locked on the tactical projection she mentally willed the remaining missiles to slip under Kilia’s defenses so they could bury themselves into the asteroid’s crust. Another small blue icon winked out of existence. Five left.

  **

  “Well?” Brakal gave Regar an irritable stare.

  “Chorlak is no longer answering calls. It last reported being in orbit around Kilia.”

  “Is anything there?”

  “The sensor officer reports three non-military human ships. He also reports gunfire.”

  “Someone is attacking the station?”

  Regar big hands flipped outward in a gesture conveying uncertainty.

  “The fire is one-way only, originating from Kilia’s surface. We cannot yet make out the nature of the target.”

  Brakal stroked his massive chin, black within black eyes studying Regar.

  “Could they be shooting at the ghost? Maybe it is here.”

  “And maybe your spectre has destroyed Chorlak.”

  “I should not weep for any Tai Kan, but even they might have proved useful in our hunt. We must listen for its beacon.”

  A bark of laughter rang out. “Our pretend corsairs don’t carry beacons, Commander. My superiors would rather the Deep Space Fleet find no traces of Tai Kan operations that fail. Better we ask the scum who own Kilia about Chorlak and your ghost.”

  “In good time, Regar. In good time. If Kilia is battling one or more human warships we cannot detect, then it is best no one finds out yet we are here.”

  Regar inclined his head.

  “I bow to your greater tactical instincts, Commander.”

  “And so you should, miscreant.”

  Yet even as he spoke, Brakal wondered whether his ships would indeed be invisible to a human Navy vessel commanded by a peer of the flame-haired she-wolf. On the other hand, Dunmoore was a brilliant tactician, as brave as any Shrehari commander. She would not be foolish enough to engage in open battle with four foes at once, not while enduring Kilia’s gunfire.

  “Let us wait, Regar. Wait, watch, and discover what is occurring before we leap in.”

  “As you say. And if you wish me to deal with the humans on Kilia, I shall do so. I may not be able to pronounce their barbaric names, but I have enough knowledge of their tongue to permit basic communication. And if my Tai Kan brothers use this place as a base of operations, surely I will find a creature capable of speaking the Imperial language. Perhaps even a Tai Kan officer whose duty station is Kilia itself. After all, this thrice-damned place is considered a reasonably useful intelligence-gathering hub.”

  “Why thrice-damned?”

  “Once for being infested by humans. Once for being beyond Imperial authority.”

  “By orders of the Admiralty,” Brakal interrupted.

  “Indeed. But that doesn’t change the fact there’s a den of villainy operating in our rear area.”

  “Which is also the humans’ rear area.”

  “And the third damnation is because of the government giving responsibility for intelligence gathering here to the Tai Kan rather than the fleet.”

  Brakal made a noise of agreement.

  “If ever I am able to do so, I would create an intelligence-gathering organization separate from our beloved secret police.”

  Regar rumbled with laughter.

  “Only a kho’sahra could wield sufficient power. Anything less would meet with obstruction from everyone including the Admiralty.”

  “Then perhaps it is time to re-establish the ancient office of military dictator, so we might end this war with a modicum of honor instead of letting those idiots around the child-emperor and his whorish regent drag us further into the abyss.”

  A sly look crept into Regar’s eyes. “I daresay you might find many in the Deep Space Fleet ready to support that idea, especially among the Warrior caste.”

  “Bah.” Brakal made a dismissive hand gesture. “Who would be mad enough to rally the disaffected around his banner and challenge the lords of the Four Hundred as well as the Admiralty?”

  “Obviously another lord and admiral.”

  **

  “Yes.”

  Sirico’s exultant yet subdued cheer pulled Dunmoore from her contemplation of what she might do if none of the missiles reached Kilia’s surface. So far, the alternatives seemed bleak. Subterfuge was the only tool at her disposal since Kilia was impervious to direct attack by anything less than a full task force.

  “Three hits,” the combat systems officer said. “Their warheads report penetration to a depth of five meters. The payloads are undamaged and ready to accept arming instructions.”

  Dunmoore felt her taut nerves relax just an iota. Three out of twelve would suffice.

  “And the rest?”

  “They went dark on impact. Either they struck the surface at the wrong angle, or they didn’t survive penetration.”

  “Hopefully Kilia control picked up the impact vibrations and are wondering what just happened.”

  Dunmoore’s fingers almost escaped her control, but she stopped them before they could start dancing while she decided how long to wait until calling Tarrant. However, a glance at the tactical projection, which now showed four red icons representing the Shrehari vessels, helped make up her mind.

  “We will stay silent but open a tight-beam link with Kilia. Signals, please call them and tell whoever answers that Shannon O’Donnell wishes to speak with Enoc Tarrant.”

  Several minutes passed before a querulous voice Dunmoore recognized as belonging to the mob boss came over the CIC speakers.

  “I suppose you’re to thank for Bukavac’s destruction, O’Donnell?”

  “Technically, your guns were responsible, but I’ll gladly admit wrecking the other pirates you sent after me, Chernobog, and the bonehead corsair Chorlak. I’ll also claim ownership of the five nuclear warheads I planted in Kilia’s crust. They’re not armed yet, but one command from me and they will be live, ready to detonate. I’m sure you can imagi
ne what that might do to your oh so fragile little domain. They might not cause your asteroid to break up outright, but can you afford thousands of microfractures letting your precious air escape? Even the best sealant has a limit to how well it can resist the shock of nuclear explosions.”

  “You’re dead, O’Donnell, and so is every single member of your organization. You can’t hide, you can’t run, you can’t escape the fate you bought for yourselves.”

  An amused smile twisted Dunmoore’s lips.

  “Are you going to quote Herman Melville at me now?”

  “What?”

  She considered reciting the famous passage from Moby Dick but figured it would pass right over Tarrant’s head. He didn’t seem the sort to read much, least of all classics dating to a time well before the human diaspora into the wider galaxy.

  “Never mind. Let’s stick to business. Do I have your full attention? Or do you want to look at the mines I planted before discussing my demands? Or should I trigger a warhead to prove I’m not the one who can’t run, can’t hide, and can’t escape her fate? And don’t bother looking for me. I’m well out of your guns’ range. By the way, you still owe me a stack of precious metals to replace the fakes your minions palmed off on us. Careless, that. Terrible for the reputation, especially if you want to be the boss of bosses in this sector.”

  Tarrant didn’t immediately reply, and Dunmoore could almost visualize him chewing on his anger, jaw muscles working while a vein throbbed in his temple.

  “Oh, and sticking subspace trackers to visiting shuttles is also considered a no-no in polite society. Once word gets around, you might find the more skittish among your visitors deciding to take their wealth elsewhere. You’re not the only shady operator in this sector, and I daresay the competition would be more than happy to clip Kilia’s wings.”

  When Tarrant finally answered, his voice resonated with barely suppressed rage.

  “What the hell do you want from me, O’Donnell?”

  — Twenty-Five —

  “Where are the crew and passengers of Kattegat Maru?”

  “That’s what you want?” The mob boss sounded incredulous. “You set up this elaborate scheme to find out about a bunch of sketchy spacers and their low-rent customers? Are you fucking insane, O’Donnell? Besides, how do you even know about Kattegat Maru?”

  “We found her abandoned in interstellar space. After I advised the authorities, people interested in the crew’s welfare hired us to retrieve the people your pirates kidnapped.”

  “You found the damned ship? And were hired in what? The space of a few days? How is that even possible?”

  “Yet here I am, as are those nuclear warheads stuck up your backside. Both should be enough proof we’re not people you should annoy. I want Fennon, her crew, and her passengers, alive and well. Otherwise, Kilia won’t stay alive and well. You and the fine people breathing that expensive, yet somewhat stale air will join the crews of your three ships in whatever hell the Almighty uses to dispose of subhuman scum and boneheaded vermin.”

  “You are so finished, O’Donnell,” Tarrant snarled. “Finished. Dead. And it won’t be an easy death.”

  “Neither will yours if I don’t hear answers. Shall I order my gunner to arm and detonate the first device, so we can test the sealant your people slathered on the inner cavern walls? We might find out whether hiring the lowest bidder was a good idea.”

  “Using a nuclear device on an inhabited colony is a war crime, O’Donnell.”

  Dunmoore’s laughter sounded unearthly.

  “Only within the Commonwealth sphere and as you’ve pointed out with great satisfaction, Kilia isn’t part of it. That makes the Aldebaran Convention clauses concerning the use of nuclear weapons on human settlements a moot point. Good luck finding a prosecutor willing to take on the case. But enough of this persiflage. I don’t want to waste more time watching your inadequate intellect deal with the notion there’s no way out but through cooperation. Tell me where I can find Kattegat Maru’s crew and passengers, and I will leave you and the rest of your space rats free to die another day. If I don’t hear you talking within the next sixty seconds, I will arm and detonate the first nuclear device. The ball is in your court, Tarrant.

  “I’d suggest you choose wisely, but wisdom does not seem to be your forte. Otherwise, you’d be tripping over yourself to cooperate with someone who has the absolute power of life and death over you and the thousands living inside your rock. Especially since all I want is information. I’m not even going to ask you to reimburse me for the precious metals you replace with dross, let alone give you the punishment a pirate commodore deserves. Destroying three of your ships was enough satisfaction even if, technically, Kilia’s guns destroyed Bukavac.”

  “I don’t have a fucking clue where they are.” Tarrant sounded as if he was speaking through clenched teeth.

  “Want to try again, before I unleash my gunner and let him play with his toys?”

  “I swear. Someone hired my organization. We were to seize Kattegat Maru, take everyone off, and let her drift in interstellar space to be found by another hireling. What happened to the damn ship was supposed to be a complete mystery.”

  “And the people your goons kidnapped?”

  “Hand them over to those who hired us, unharmed, and in good health, at a specific set of interstellar coordinates. My ship Baba Yaga is still carrying out that part of the contract.”

  “Funnily enough you’re not telling me much I didn’t already know. But I want you to tell me who hired you and where Baba Yaga took the abductees. Care to do so before my trigger finger gets twitchy?”

  There was a moment of silence. Then, Tarrant said, “I don’t know who hired me, but they pay well, extremely well even by my standards, and communicate through half a dozen cut-outs. Before you ask, I did not try to trace those cut-outs. That’s not how I work. Otherwise, clients would quickly become hard to find.”

  “And the delivery coordinates?” When Tarrant didn’t immediately reply Dunmoore said, “This isn’t the time to be shy.”

  “Yeah, yeah, don’t go ballistic. I need to call them up. It’s not something I memorize.” Another pause, then, Tarrant rattled off a set of numbers — three groupings separated by commas.

  Dunmoore trusted Astrid Drost to check those coordinates without waiting for orders.

  “What’s supposed to happen when Baba Yaga gets there?”

  “Her captain will receive instructions upon arrival.”

  This time it was Dunmoore’s turn to be silent for a few moments. Did she dare trust Tarrant? The man was, without a doubt, a born liar, cheat, and irredeemable crook.

  “You understand what will happen if you’re lying, right? Those mines I planted are active and ready to ruin your day whenever I feel the urge. Trying to remove or deactivate them will merely cause their warheads to arm and detonate so I would suggest you stay away. I will pursue Baba Yaga and find Kattegat Maru’s crew and passengers. If at any point I discover you’ve fed me a load of bullshit, I will come back and make sure Kilia’s existence comes to an abrupt and irrevocable end.”

  “I get it, O’Donnell. Those who hired me didn’t pay enough to ensure my complete silence, not when my station’s future is at stake thanks to sociopathic privateers. The profit versus risk balance doesn’t make misplaced loyalty a winning proposition. Is there anything else you want from me or can I wish you happy travels?”

  “Why was a Shrehari corsair working for you? Most of them are undercover military or Tai Kan ships and therefore agents of the Imperial Government.”

  “They can be useful, undercover or not. I do business in the Empire, as is my right. Kilia is neutral in this stupid war between the Commonwealth and the Shrehari. Money knows no boundaries and recognizes no existential enemies, only opportunities, and I’m in this business purely for money. If it’s patriotism you’re after, check the bottom of a black hole.”

  “Commendable,” Dunmoore replied, her words dripping with s
arcasm. “The values and ethics you espouse do the freelancer community proud.”

  “And yours are better, O’Donnell? Threatening a space habitat with nuclear weapons just so you can pull off what is no doubt a profitable job on behalf of someone with deep pockets? There’s no real difference between the two of us, other than size, as you will soon find out. My organization is powerful enough to make this job your last. Unless you wish to hand your ship over as reparation and submit.”

  “If fantasizing about getting revenge helps you sleep at night, Tarrant, feel free. Since I already destroyed three of your ships, including one bonehead, I dare say you may not find many takers if you put a price on my head. Besides, there’s still the matter of my nuclear warheads adorning your precious Kilia.”

  “Whatever.”

  The abrupt silence that followed his last word proved Tarrant had cut the link. One glance at the signals petty officer gave Dunmoore instant confirmation.

  “I believe he left in a huff.” She glanced down at Holt’s hologram. “Where are those coordinates, Zeke?”

  Her first officer’s lean features took on a mystified air.

  “Less than two parsecs away, on the edge of the acknowledged Commonwealth sphere in the opposite direction from Imperial space. But they are relatively close to a star system called Hecate. The database lists no colonies, outposts, or habitable planets orbiting Hecate, though the gas giant Raijin has a moon by the name Temar that’s marginally suitable for human life.”

  Dunmoore, ever alert to her first officer’s moods, asked, “Then what’s the problem, Zeke? That counterintelligence officer’s ‘I smell a rat’ expression is plastered across your face.”

  “Entry into the Hecate system is proscribed by order of the Commonwealth government.”

  Her eyebrows shot up.

  “What? If Hecate is on the edge of our sphere today, there’s no way it could be one of the systems contaminated during the Second Migration War and therefore permanently off-limits. The Commonwealth was a lot smaller back then.”

  “Indeed, Skipper. And what would you make of Raijin’s nickname, Satan’s Eye, in such a context?”