Without Mercy

by Eric Thomson

  Dunmoore considered Holt’s advice for a few heartbeats before answering in measured tones.

  “Agreed. Make it so. But I don’t mind taking whatever time necessary if it means we can hide our thruster burns from surveillance satellites just that much longer.”

  “Consider it done. Next stop, Temar orbit.”

  — Thirty —

  “Up close, Temar exudes all the chill of Scandia and none of the charm.” Dunmoore glanced over her shoulder at Major Salminen.

  The soldier’s eyes broke away from the main display, and she nodded.

  “Agreed, sir. As habitable worlds go, I doubt it’ll make the top one hundred destinations for desperate colonists fleeing persecution, even though it doesn’t boast my home’s continental icecaps.”

  This close to the moon, even Iolanthe’s passive sensor suite painted a reasonably accurate picture of conditions on the ground, and they were harsh. The question of how habitable it was outside that broad valley slicing through the heart of the largest landmass, one of four covering well over half of the surface, remained up for debate. Without deep oceans to temper its climate, cold winds scoured the entire moon save for a handful of oases protected by high mountain chains.

  “We’re almost in orbit,” Sirico said. “I wonder when they’re going to wake up.”

  “Wonder no more, sir,” Chief Yens replied. “Something came to life. Scratch that. Several things came to life. Active scans signals are emanating from the satellite constellation around Temar.” A pause. “And now those around Raijin.”

  Dunmoore shrugged. “I suppose it was too good to last. Even though our emissions control ranks among the best in the Fleet, Iolanthe isn’t exactly small.”

  “They’re not locked on yet. Our threat detectors are still quiet. Whoever’s standing sensor watch probably saw our ghost.”

  A grin split Sirico’s bearded face. “Or maybe they sensed a disturbance in Raijin’s aura. As if a million Shrehari voices called out in rage and were silenced — by the hottest Q-ship ever launched.”

  “Time to dial back on the coffee, sir,” Yens said, rolling her eyes.

  “Entering orbit,” Holt’s hologram announced at Dunmoore’s right elbow. “Chief Guthren is at the helm, in case you’re wondering, Skipper. That means no unnecessary thruster burns.”

  “Good.”

  The coxswain was known as the best ship handler aboard and one of the best anywhere. But he didn’t steer Iolanthe quite as often as Stingray, not even in battle, preferring to give the younger quartermasters — superbly trained spacers, like the rest of the crew — a chance to perfect their craft. That he took the Q-ship now showed a keen understanding of what might betray her to unseen watchers.

  “It means we’ll finally see every square kilometer of the Raijin-facing hemisphere.”

  When the installation finally came into view, Sirico let out a low whistle.

  “There’s more than a landing strip and some structures. It’s a whole damned town nicely camouflaged by native vegetation.”

  “Town, sir? Examine it closely,” Yens suggested. “What does it remind you of?”

  Sirico scratched his beard while Dunmoore, eyes narrowed, tried to see what the sensor chief noticed. Tatiana Salminen was the first to understand.

  “It’s a prison. Or at least part of it is a prison, Captain.”

  The combat systems officer turned to her with a questioning frown.

  “What makes you say that, Tatiana?”

  “The remote weapon stations in the corners and along the outer berm. They’re facing inward. Plus, there’s an inner berm, meaning a double enclosure. If you’re defending against an external threat, you’d set a buffer zone beyond the perimeter — mines, sensors and such. You wouldn’t bother with a double fence.”

  She squinted at the high-resolution video feed on the main display.

  “And then we can see what appear to be police or guard droids patrolling inside the fence — those cylinders on articulated tracks. Useless in combat, but highly effective at intimidating unprotected humans.”

  Yens tapped an extended index finger against the side of her nose.

  “The major’s figured it out. That’s a stockade, or I’ll send my chief’s starbursts back to HQ and swallow the anchor.”

  “Why would anyone set up a stockade on a marginally habitable moon at the far edge of the Commonwealth? And forbid entry into the system with dire warnings? We’re on the damned threshold of nowhere here. Isn’t Parth the designated prison planet?”

  Holt’s hologram cleared its throat.

  “I can think of a few reasons based on my time working in counterintelligence while I was beached, none of them good.”

  Dunmoore glanced down, eyebrow cocked.

  “And they are?”

  “Unsavory. If that’s a stockade, it might well be for prisoners who can’t be housed in any facility on Parth, folks whose status and whereabouts can’t be made public knowledge.” He grimaced. “And if it belongs to a certain branch of our government, we might be stepping into a nuclear minefield.”

  Dunmoore exhaled, eyes half-closed. “A rendition site. Please tell me that’s not a damned rendition site. I’ve heard rumors about them for years, but the Commonwealth doesn’t simply disappear people. It would violate every law in existence.”

  “Not every law, Skipper. The SecGen has a bit of leeway when faced with existential threats to humanity’s survival. It’s how the Special Security Bureau gets away with things that might sink other agencies.”

  “Why would the government want to abduct the crew and passengers of an innocuous merchant ship, using Tarrant’s pirates no less, and make them vanish into a black site that doesn’t officially exist?”

  “I can speculate as much as you want, but it won’t get us closer to the truth. You face a decision, Captain. We can tiptoe out of this system, wipe our logs, and pretend we never heard of Temar, and thereby avoid becoming a target for our own government.”

  “Or?”

  “We flip this rock over, expose whatever’s underneath, and take the risk of becoming inmates on Temar, should the Navy be displeased enough with your actions. Which it will be if the folks we’re looking for aren’t there and we exposed a covert site for no good reason.”

  Dunmoore’s bitter laugh echoed off the bulkheads.

  “That’s no choice, Zeke. Morally, rendition sites shouldn’t even exist. If the government wants to remove people from circulation, they should do so under strict oversight.”

  “Who says there’s no oversight,” he replied in a gentle tone. “What I’m saying is we might have stumbled onto something we can’t handle. For the sake of the crew and this ship, it might be best to withdraw.”

  “And my promise to Carrie Fennon?”

  “We go through official channels. Ask Admiral Nagira to use his connections in the SecGen’s Office and find out whether Kattegat Maru’s people are being held here, and why.”

  Dunmoore knew her first officer was merely doing his job by pointing out the pitfalls ahead of time, so she didn’t charge to the rescue without fully understanding the risks involved. Except this time, the risks were not tactical, but political. Nevertheless, she swallowed a surge of irritation.

  “That could take months, Zeke. And in the meantime? We can’t drag Kattegat Maru around for much longer. The moment we join Task Force Luckner, Admiral Petras will claim her as a Navy prize and too bad Fennon family. Here’s payment for what we think she’s worth. Thank you for supporting the war effort and enjoy the rest of your life. No.”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m not leaving this system without finding out whether Carrie’s family is here. And I will take sole responsibility for this ship’s intrusion. Besides, anyone who hires a piece of shit such as Tarrant to kidnap Commonwealth citizens needs serious examination. Guess what. I’m the examiner. And for everyone’s sake, I will log my actions so that any blowback is directed at me alone.”

&nbs
p; “So it’s to be damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.”

  “Quoting Admiral Farragut won’t change a thing, Zeke.”

  This time, it was his turn to chuckle.

  “I figured not, but I’ve always wanted to use that line. So, what’s the plan?”

  “We unmask fully, switch on the official beacon, and reveal ourselves as the Commonwealth battlecruiser Iolanthe, hot in pursuit of pirates who abducted innocent civilians. Then, we see how the nice people running a black site in a quarantined star system react.”

  “L’audace and all that?”

  A wry smile twisted her lips.

  “Encore et toujours l’audace, Number One. I should go with my strengths, right?”

  Holt’s throat gave birth to a heartfelt sigh.

  “Sure. Why not? I suppose we should change into proper uniform before this blessed event occurs. It wouldn’t do for privateer ruffians to crew one of the Commonwealth Navy’s premier battlecruisers.”

  “That’s how I prefer my first officers. Always on top of the fine details.” She stood with renewed energy. “Pass the word we’re rejoining the Navy. Or for Major Salminen’s troops, the Army.”

  **

  “What fresh devilment is this?” Brakal’s rumbling tone spilled over Tol Vehar’s bridge like so much molten rock.

  “It is a message in the human tongue emanating from one of several buoys dispersed around the star system, Commander,” Tol Vehar’s communications officer replied.

  Brakal scratched the ruff of fur crowning his skull.

  “I can see that. Since we are in human space, the message would hardly be in the Imperial tongue. What does it say?”

  “My automated translator believes the message to be an order forbidding entry into this system on pain of automatic and cruel punishment. The order appears to come from the human government.”

  A ferocious rictus twisted the Shrehari commander’s face.

  “Did we stumble on a secret base? A place where the poxed humans are preparing dire weapons to use against us?” He thumped Urag’s shoulder with a meaty fist. “Think how pleased the robed idiots on the homeworld will be once we bring proof of further human perfidy. And we can thank the demonic ghost for this fortuitous discovery.”

  “Perhaps it would be wise to avoid selling the yatakan hide before you’ve killed it, Lord,” Urag growled.

  “If those gormless worms aren’t doing something sinister, something that could threaten the Empire, why quarantine an entire star system from their own species?”

  “Yet we can see no world suitable for human habitation.”

  “In that case, an artificial habitat,” Brakal replied. “What do you say we find out?”

  Regar made a sound eerily reminiscent of a herdbeast choking to death.

  “A quarantine without enough force of arms to back it up is worthless, Commander. Though you lead four ships, I would counsel caution lest we enter a trap from which we cannot escape. Tol Vehar and Tol Vach are older and easier to detect even with our chief engineers’ best efforts to dampen emissions. We already know the ghost is more capable in that respect and therefore the humans will operate sensors capable of surpassing our ability to confound them.”

  “And where would you suggest we go first, Lord?” Urag asked.

  Brakal studied the combined data from their navigation records and the most recent sensor imagery in silence before pointing at the gas giant closest to the Hecate system’s sun.

  “That planet, Raijin, is within what the humans and we consider the habitable zone. It has many moons. Some might even support life. The Empire rules over such worlds, no? That being the case where better to hide nefarious doings? Take us there, Urag. We shall come out of otherspace before the limit, dampen our emissions, and observe.”

  “Might I suggest you leave a Ptar here?” Regar asked. “In case things go awry, someone should be able to warn the Empire of this place.”

  Brakal clapped him on the shoulder and smiled, exposing cracked yellowed fangs.

  “We shall make a proper naval strategist of you yet, Regar.”

  “Since the Tai Kan didn’t make me an appropriately treacherous spy, perhaps I should master other skills.”

  “You should indeed, Regar. A mind such as yours must not be sullied by working as a political officer on an honest warship. Prepare the navigation plan for my approval, Urag. We visit Raijin.”

  — Thirty-One —

  When Dunmoore returned to the CIC thirty minutes later, it was staffed by watchkeepers in midnight blue Navy battledress complete with gold rank and qualification insignia, save for Major Salminen. She wore the Army’s rifle green as always, but this time with the proper blackened silver Scandia Regiment badges instead of Varangian Company regalia.

  “They’re still scanning,” Chief Yens reported the moment she caught sight of Siobhan, “but didn’t stumble over us yet.” Her rough hand patted the sensor console with affection. “Our old girl is still the stealthiest starship anywhere.”

  “They might not,” Holt’s hologram said, “but our Shrehari friends seem to have stumbled into the Hecate system. Emma broke radio silence to send us an encrypted microburst message on the emergency subspace channel. That Shrehari flotilla we saw near Kilia followed us. Enoc Tarrant probably gave them the rendezvous coordinates, treasonous weasel that he is.”

  “Why would they...” Dunmoore’s voice trailed away, and she grimaced. “Let me guess. Their commander pegged us for the raider who’s been playing havoc with Imperial shipping, and he’s looking for payback.”

  “Without a doubt,” Holt replied. “I can’t think of any other reason for them to stray this far from the Empire’s usual hunting grounds. And finding the rendezvous deserted, the Shrehari commander deduced our most probable destination - Hecate. In any case, two Tol class cruisers and two Ptar class corvettes dropped out of FTL just short of the heliopause, loitered for a few hours. Then all but one Ptar went FTL again, headed inward. Emma waited until they were in hyperspace before transmitting. The Ptar that stayed behind is trying to hide its emissions, but Emma can still spot him.”

  Dunmoore cursed softly in at least three different languages.

  “That strike force commander must be insane to operate so far from home.”

  “More to the point, what will he do to this system once he figures out it’s quarantined and occupied by the Commonwealth government? I can’t see your average Shrehari simply turning back after translating the warning buoys’ message. He’ll probably think we’re developing and testing doomsday weapons to be used against the Empire and make the eradication of every single surface and orbital installation his paramount duty.”

  Dunmoore bit back another surge of irritation.

  “In other words what you’re telling me is our presence here might condemn whoever is on Temar.”

  “Unless we make it obvious the cost of attacking would be too great for someone so far from home. Shrehari are aggressive, but they are not known for throwing away lives needlessly. Even the dimmest of them understands the notion that discretion is sometimes the better part of valor and therefore not dishonorable.”

  “Then it’s just as well we’re about to make a rare appearance as the battlecruiser Iolanthe. Perhaps I can use the upcoming arrival of a Shrehari strike force as a bargaining chip when I speak to whoever’s in charge.”

  “Just don’t tell anyone the Shrehari intrusion is our fault, Skipper.”

  Dunmoore gave her first officer’s hologram the evil eye.

  “Just confirm the ship is ready, Zeke.”

  “Iolanthe is ready to go up systems and reveal herself as one of the Navy’s newest battlecruisers.”

  “And not coincidentally give the local inhabitants a heart attack,” Sirico added in a droll tone. “It will be nice to do so under our true colors.”

  “In that case, Mister Sirico, unmask. Number One, once she’s become the Furious Faerie, please bring her systems to full military power and swi
tch on our official beacon.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” both replied in unison.

  Save for the distant rumbling of camouflage plates moving out of the way and gun turrets deploying, little seemed to change — until Chief Yens raised a hand.

  “They see us now, sir. Military-grade orbital sensors are ogling us as if Iolanthe was a nautch dancer performing at Sunday mass.”

  “I didn’t peg you for a churchgoer, Chief,” Sirico said.

  “I’m not,” Yens replied, deadpan. “There aren’t enough nautch dancers in most churches for my taste. Plenty of weapon systems around here though. Ten orbital defense platforms within sensor range just powered up as did the aerospace defense pods on the surface. They might not see us until we want them to, but there’s nothing wrong with their reflexes now we appeared out of nowhere. Mind you, this ordnance might make our shields scream, but not long enough to cause harm before we return fire.”

  “And right on cue, a message from the surface,” Holt said. “Temar control urgently wants to speak with the Commonwealth Star Ship Iolanthe’s commanding officer. It’s audio only.”

  “Please, pipe it to the CIC.” When the signals petty officer gave her thumbs up, she said, “This is Captain Siobhan Dunmoore. I command the battlecruiser Iolanthe.”

  “What the hell are you doing here, Dunmoore? I’m sure you’re aware Hecate is a quarantined system. There are enough damn warning buoys scattered around to make even the dumbest starship commander understand no one is allowed in.”

  “And who might you be?” She asked in a reasonable tone.

  “That’s none of your business. Now leave this system. Tell your admiral he or she can expect a message from Fleet HQ ordering you be disciplined for violating the quarantine.”

  “I’m sure it will thrill my admiral. He’ll be equally pleased with the fact I’m the only thing standing between you and four Shrehari warships, three of which are inbound as we speak. Two Tol class cruisers and one Ptar class corvette, with a further Ptar standing guard at the system’s heliopause. And that I’m in hot pursuit of pirates who abducted over seventy Commonwealth civilians.”