Tyche's Flight (Tyche's Journey Book 1)

by Richard Parry

  Grace.

  Together!

  “Okay,” said Grace, rubbing her shoulder. “Together it is.” She left her cabin. Grabbed the handrail against the wall, using it as an anchor, the ship bucking hard. The muted roar of the PDCs trembled the metal under Grace’s hands, and then hull rang like a bell, something too big or too fast hitting them. The Tyche spun around her axis, Grace’s grip tightening on the handrail so hard her fingers went white.

  Silence.

  She made her way to the storage room they’d fixed up for Penn to stay in. There was still Penn slime on the floor, but at least the light was working again, someone — Hope? — having fixed the damn thing. Sword, sword, sword… almost anything would do. Give her a piece of pipe and she could swing it like a boss. She knew Kohl would just break her into component parts if she didn’t have a weapon. With a weapon? She might stand a chance.

  No pipe. There was a small blaster, tucked in with some protein cakes. It might have been Penn’s, squirreled away for a rainy day, or it might have been tucked here for just such an emergency. She grabbed it, checked the charge. Good enough.

  Back when Grace had been doing training — back when she’d learned she wasn’t a good shot, not good enough unless she was firing grenades — her instructor had leaned forward. He’d said Grace, you suck. So what you’re gonna do, when you’ve got a gun? You use that gun to get a sword. That there is the best I can do for you. He’d leaned back, wiped his hands on his uniform, and then asked her to keep shooting anyway. Because her father was paying him to teach her how to shoot; the other advice was free.

  No problem. She’d go get herself a sword.

  • • •

  Getting a sword proved easier than she thought it should have been.

  It was waiting in the middle of the cargo hold. Blade bared, catching the light, the steel rammed into the decking. Something that was strong — and something that didn’t care about caring for swords — had done that. Grace was watching it from the top of the ladder leading into the cargo bay. No other movement. She couldn’t hear anything, but that wasn’t unusual. They were flying under thrust, the rumble of engines and the sporadic chatter of the PDCs overlying everything else.

  “Grace,” said Hope. Grace almost jumped out of her skin.

  Hope wasn’t there, of course. It was her comm. She keyed it. “Hey.”

  “Kohl’s down there,” said Hope.

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve tagged his blood with a radioactive isotope,” said Hope. “It lets the Tyche watch where he’s going. I can even tell when it’s him using the head.”

  “Really?” Grace was trying to get a glimpse of something, anything, down in the hold. The sword was a trap. It was a good trap. Grace wanted to get caught in it.

  “No,” said Hope. “Why the hell would that sound plausible?”

  “You’re an Engineer,” said Grace. “Engineers do … stuff.”

  “I once was an Engineer, sure,” said Hope. “But I’ve never been a sorcerer. Anyway, it’s cams. They’re all over the ship. I saw him go down there. Didn’t come back up.”

  “Could he have got out some other way?”

  “You seen the size of that man? He doesn’t diet.” Hope paused. “I don’t think he could have got out another way. Are you going to kill him?” This last was said in a rush, and it took Grace a moment to process it.

  What I want is for you to decide.

  “I don’t want to,” she said after a little while.

  “I don’t think I want you to either,” said Hope. “Or I do. He’s … not a nice person.”

  You, Grace Gushiken, are not a nice person either. It’s just that Hope doesn’t see it, because you bent her around your little finger on day one. But you want to come back from the edge. Maybe Kohl does too. “He’s … necessary,” said Grace.

  “Okay,” said Hope. “Can I make one suggestion?”

  “Shoot,” said Grace, tightening her grip on the blaster.

  “Turn your magboots on,” said Hope. “That way you won’t fly all over the inside of the hull when we maneuver.” The comm clicked off.

  Grace sighed. The problem with not being born a spacer, with learning to fight on the crust of a world, was that the obvious things weren’t … obvious. She tapped on her console. Her boots made a comforting cthunk as they snuggled up to the metal deck plating. She wouldn’t be able to move like a dancer, it’d be like moving in treacle. But moving in treacle was better than not being able to hold on to something and dying as she was smashed against the inside of the Tyche.

  She began her way down the ladder, the Tyche bucking and shaking around her. There was the crunk of a torpedo launching from the Tyche’s belly, firing at God-knows-what in space. The groan of the ship’s reactor as more power was poured into a subsystem. Whatever El was doing up the front, shit was getting real — the Tyche did another spin, Grace’s boots holding her fast to the metal plates of the ladder, her torso knocking against the railing. One of her boots knocked free and for a moment she was hanging sideways, one hand on the railing, one boot stuck to the ladder, and her blaster went spinning across — or was it down? — the hold. The saw it tumble through the air for a half second before it impacted against the bay doors, bursting into a handful of bright pieces, metal and plastic spraying in at least five directions.

  “That looks bad, huh?” said Kohl’s voice.

  Grace turned, tried to get a glimpse of the man, but she couldn’t see anything. Lights casting shadows, shadows hiding almost anything. Empty crates and containers were still lashed about the hold, the trailing end of their ties streaming this way and that as the Tyche sailed the dark sea of space. She twisted back around, making ready to move for the sword.

  Turned, and found herself face to face with Kohl.

  His face was twisted into what might have been a smile, if it weren’t for the drool making its way down his chin. His eyes were looking off-center, like they were looking through her, past her, into her.

  Then he hit her in the stomach.

  She doubled over, still one hand on the railing, thought move, move! and slammed her foot down. Her magboot whirclunked towards the decking, and caught one of his feet under it. Enough magnetic forced to keep her weight to the deck under hard burn pulled her boot to the floor, right on top of his foot, and there was a crunch of bone.

  Kohl didn’t even blink. He just pulled back and hit her again.

  This time she was ready for it, turned her body into the punch, stealing its optimal impact point. It still hurt, but it wasn’t a true strike. It wouldn’t leave broken ribs or a punctured lung. Grace kicked off from Kohl’s foot, and at that moment the Tyche’s engines screamed loud and terrible, the ship whirling, the PDCs hammering into the void.

  Kohl was tossed free, joining the remains of the blaster at the back of the hold. Grace fell forward, on boot still on the ladder, her body hitting the decking. She scrabbled as the Tyche roared through space, the sickening movement of the ship like the worst rollercoaster she’d ever been on. Grace knocked her chin as she fell, tasting blood as her teeth bit her lip. She wanted to scream, but the air was knocked out of her by another barrel roll. The ship was pulling so many Gs as they pulled around and down at the same time she was sure she would be sick. Grace sucked in some air, just in time for the ship to whirl the other way. She was yanked to her feet, magboots still clutching at the decking, Kohl’s body tumbling to the ceiling of the cargo bay.

  Move, Grace.

  The sword was maybe ten paces from the base of the ladder. Ten paces in good gravity, under easy thrust. It looked like twenty of the baby steps she’d be able to make in this environment. Better get started, then. She moved one boot forward, the cthunk as it grabbed at the decking a comfort, a feeling rather than noise as the ship rolled and raged around her. Another crunk as a torpedo launched, then crunk crunk crunk as the Tyche spat nukes at something out there.

  “BRACE!” said El’s voice over the co
mm, the PDCs all going loud at the same time. All firing on something.

  Then, light. Noise. Sensation, all at once. Her stomach, without pain. Her lip wasn’t bleeding. It was whole, and perfect. Her mind, a thousand times larger, her body, tiny. She could feel the pores of her skin, each one of them an individual presence. She could feel her connection with her sword, its new soul forged from the body of the Tyche. Her sword was her. She was everything. She was the universe.

  They jumped.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  If Nate had known what was happening in his hold, he would have flipped. He would have gone down there, blaster in hand, and set that fucker Kohl on fire. It was good, then, that he didn’t know what was happening. But also bad, in a way, because his own circumstances were real and personal.

  They’re trying to destroy my goddamn ship!

  This wasn’t part of the deal. The deal was that the bugs would let them off because they’d tricked them. The bugs would let them into space, and they’d be able to jump to somewhere safe, where shit wasn’t crazy, where rocks the size of destroyers weren’t flying at them.

  El was working the controls, her face clammy with perspiration.

  Great, let her do her job, you do yours. Nate pulled up the fire controls, the holo between them picking out the tens of rocks in space, the number growing. The ship noted the effect on the planet below them as one meteor impacted the planet with the energy equivalent of a 20 kiloton weapon. Ash and fire was expanding into the atmosphere behind them, the Tyche noting changes in weather, atmospheric density, calculating the likely kill radius for life.

  That was one of the rocks the Ezeroc were dropping.

  He flicked the Tyche’s attention forward, pointing her out at space. “What’s behind us isn’t important,” he said.

  “Whassat?” said El.

  “Nothing,” said Nate.

  “Then shut up. Busy,” she said. Her hands were on the sticks, pulling the Tyche around into a turn. The rocks the Ezeroc were tossing their way were smaller, faster. What really got to Nate was that he couldn’t tell where they were coming from. They seemed to break off from the surface of the Ezeroc ship, no drive plume marking their origin. The Tyche wasn’t used to this kind of fight. Sure, the ship’s RADAR and LIDAR were still painting space, bringing back the echoes of things coming at them. It’s just that those systems weren’t designed for this kind of situation.

  So, turn the tables.

  He keyed a firing solution into the console, marking the Ezeroc ship. The Tyche wanted a specific target site, but a rock that big? Didn’t much matter. Best to check it with a probing shot, see what kind of reaction they got from it. He tapped the system, said, “Firing,” then selected the big go get some button.

  The crunk of the firing torpedo shook the hull, and he watched the contrail as the weapon shot off into the hard black. The holo said COLLISION WARNING. El was hauling on the controls, the ship doing a barrel roll as tiny rocks came at them, one hitting the hull. The sound was almost musical, but it made Nate wince. Rocks on the hull were never good, because rocks could go through the hull, and then they’d all be sucking on space dust instead of oxygen.

  The PDCs fired, bright lines of fire reaching out into the void, shattering rocks that came close. Nate lost sight of the torpedo as El spun the Tyche around, the planet coming into view above them through the cockpit, only to be lost again as she kept the ship turning and burning.

  The holo updated as the Tyche kept track of the torpedo. The seconds counted down before impact, the display counting down in tenth-of-a-second increments. He paid attention when it beeped at the ten second mark. He could tell El was paying attention too, wanting to see what kind of effect that had on the Ezeroc ship.

  Impact.

  There was a flare in space, the nuclear warhead of the torpedo impacting the Ezeroc ship. The impact told Nate two things.

  The first was that the Ezeroc didn’t have PDCs, or anything like ’em. That torpedo just walked on over and said hi. Nothing stopped it.

  The second thing was that the Ezeroc didn’t need PDCs, because their little ship-to-ship nuke had about as much effect as horse-fly on a bull. Just a bright light, a little sting, and a few shards of rock. The Ezeroc asteroid was made of something hard. Which put the battle the Gladiator must have had with it in perspective.

  “No effect on target,” he said. “We’re gonna need bigger guns.”

  “I need a destination, Nate,” said El. “I can’t keep flying the fuck around hoping for a clear sky.”

  Absalom. Formally N-973, a six-planet system on the very far part of the hard black. A toehold in space, a few rugged colonists as far away from the Republic’s muddy boot as you can get. Absalom Delta was the habitable one, but there were five other planets out there. He pulled up the navigation systems. “I’m gonna need you to take us to … let’s go there,” he said, highlighting the planet orbiting at the edge of this solar system. Sixth planet. Not terraformed; too small, no atmosphere. Just a cold rock, lots of ice. Surveys said it was mineable. Not that it mattered, not now. What mattered was a little time. A rock without air they could fly around, get some thinking room. He keyed the Endless Drive online.

  “We need a little more space,” said Nate. “I can’t bring up the negative space field this close to … matter.”

  “I know the math,” said El. “Let’s get a little farther out. If these fuckers would stop throwing rocks at us—”

  “Probably not going to happen,” said Nate, “so let’s make our own space.”

  He locked in the sixth planet into the jump system, warming up the Endless Drive for its sprint. The Ravana’s reactor fed the Tyche like it could do it all day long, all systems firing bright and loud. He pulled up the firing controls again. “El?”

  “With you.”

  “I’ll dump some torpedoes that way,” he said, highlighting an area of space. “I want you to fly there.”

  “You want me to fly where you’re detonating nukes?” she said.

  “Yeah,” said Nate.

  “Why the hell?” she said.

  “I’m going to make some clean air.” Nate fired torpedoes. Cthunk, cthunk, cthunk as the Tyche dropped weapons into space. El was pouring on thrust, the ship turning again and again, weaving through the debris in space, the rocks that the Ezeroc kept launching at them. They were getting clear. They were going to make it.

  The Tyche’s holo lit with COLLISION WARNING BRACE BRACE BRACE. Nate’s eyes boggled. The Ezeroc ship had … jumped. No other explanation for it. One second it was a ways off, doing its thing with the rocks, and then it was there. In front of them. Huge, pock-marked surface. The crust popped, a massive rock detaching. No doubt heading their way. What Nate couldn’t wrap his mind around was how it had done it. Something that large would need a huge negative space field. A field that should have destroyed it with the planet below it.

  But the Ezeroc ship was just fine, thank you very much.

  The PDCs didn’t care about this, the Tyche spraying the surface of the Ezeroc ship. El was yanking on the controls, the Tyche shuddering under the hard Gs she was putting into the turn. She keyed the comm. “BRACE!”

  Damn it if they were too close to that asteroid that called itself a ship. It was die as a thin spread of atoms, or it was die by arguing with the laws of physics.

  Nate always did like to argue. He slammed his hands down on the console, kicking in the Endless Drive. The star field outside the cockpit pulled and stretched, lines of light drawing across his field of vision.

  The sweat on his forehead, gone. Clean air in his lungs, none of the metal taint of overworked air recyclers. Wind in his face as he ran under a blue sky, both his legs whole and perfect. His ship, one with him, as she reached for the stars. He was everything. He was the universe.

  They jumped.

  • • •

  They snapped back into the real five hundred kilometers from the surface of the icy rock that called itself the
sixth planet. The star at the center of the system was dim this far out, a tiny prick of light in the sky outside their cockpit.

  They floated, the gentle hum of the ship’s Endless Drive spooling down a comfort. They were alive. They were here. They were … fuck.

  The Ezeroc ship floated in space, far out there, but still there. It had jumped with them.

  Well, probably not with them. But humans needed time to jump; time was crucial to the human existence and you couldn’t break some rules. Nate’s guess was that the Ezeroc didn’t share this limitation; that they’d seen the Tyche jump and just … done it faster. This might have been why the Ravana broke the rules, trying to get away from a foe they couldn’t, shouldn’t outrun.

  They would never escape the Ezeroc. They would have to fight them here, or die trying. The only real problem? Their foe had already killed a ship many times bigger than they were. A ship built for war. A ship of the Republic, the same Republic that had crushed an Empire filled with good people trying to do the right thing.

  Nate was pretty sure they were fucked.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  The lights in the cargo bay flickered in a post-jump power flutter. Grace stood still, her mind still high on the coattails of jump rush.

  Get your shit together.

  Kohl was gone, out of her visual field. When they jumped he’d been right fucking there at the back of the hold, and now he wasn’t. There was just the collection of broken blaster pieces. If there was one thing that was going in Grace’s favor, it was that the ship wasn’t under thrust this particular second.

  Worth the risk to decouple her boots and grab the sword?

  She felt caught, the moment of decision before her. Post jump, all things were possible. It made her feel connected to all things, that the future wasn’t fixed, that things could go her way. It was a dangerous feeling, because nothing had changed. Kohl was still three times her size and infected with a parasite. They were still fighting an alien foe.