by Jake Elwood
"Where is Captain Chan?" The voice in Chan's ear was cultured, smooth, and utterly without emotion. Chan had no doubt that he was hearing the voice of the man in scarlet. "Identify yourself, please."
Chan didn't reply.
The man drew his pistol. "I'm going to shoot these vermin one at a time until you stand up."
Chan was starting to rise when the man's arm came up and the gun flared. He saw a burst of vapor and watched a tiny rust-colored figure thrash against the wheel of the truck.
"I'm here, you bastard." Chan waved both arms. "Right here."
"Ah, there you are." He sounded as calm as if he'd just been slicing bread. "I can barely see you over there. Why don't you come over here where we can talk?"
His arm was still extended, pistol pointing at the cluster of prisoners. He was hundreds of meters away, well within the operating range of a stinger, but the compact guns didn't have much in the way of sights. Actually hitting the man would be a challenge. And ultimately it didn't matter. If the man in crimson fell, Chan had no doubt the armored vehicle would simply roll forward and slaughter the remaining prisoners. And there was nothing, nothing at all, that anyone could do.
"I'm coming," Chan said, and started trudging across the sand.
"Take your time. I'll wait." He had to know that half a dozen stingers were trained on him, their owners furious and upset. By the sound of his voice, though, the man just didn't care.
"Who are you?" Chan said as he walked.
"His name's Nugent." The voice over the radio belonged to the commando who'd stayed on board the Raven as a gunner. "He's the worst one in a bucket of bad, bad apples. If you can kill him, Mr. Chan, it's well worth dying for."
Lovely. Brilliant idea. How do I get myself into these – never mind. Focus. Keep the man talking and hope Liz and Joss think of something. As long as he's talking he's not shooting anyone. "Did you ever think of hiring staff, Nugent? You get shot so much less."
"I fear the financial considerations involved are a bit over your head, Captain. Tell me, did you come to Mercury looking for Telemachus, or was it simply that your luck is astonishingly bad?"
"Now, why would I be looking for Telemachus?" I'm not showing you mine until you show me yours.
"Very well, Captain. Be coy. It hardly matters now." Nugent went silent, and Chan remained quiet as well, plodding across the sand as slowly as he dared. Nugent showed no sign of getting bored, standing unmoving with his arm extended, gun pointed at the prisoners. A few people crept around to the front of the truck, but as it put them in range of the turret on the armored vehicle it hardly seemed to matter.
Why does he want me out there? Is it so he can kill me? But I'm already in the open. That turret could take my head off any time. Maybe he wants a prisoner. I'll have to keep my distance.
As if that'll help.
Details came clearer the closer he came. A shiny black square of patch material showed on the chest of the prisoner Nugent had shot. The prisoner lay still, the people on either side clutching his hands. Other prisoners clung to each other, or sat slumped in resignation, or crouched, ready to spring in any direction if things changed.
Chan stopped a dozen meters from Nugent. The man's face was in shadow. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his suit expensive with reinforced strips in a darker material along his arms and shoulders and shins. He lowered the pistol and stood silent.
"Well? I'm here. What do you want?"
In response, Nugent came forward, shuffling along instead of taking bounding steps. Dust rose around his feet, a gray cloud that rose and fell instead of hovering like it would in an atmosphere. Chan thought about backing away but decided there was no point.
Nugent stopped just out of arm's reach. Chan took a single step to the right, Nugent turned his head, and sunlight fell on his face. He looked ordinary. Somehow Chan had expected him to be monstrous, steel-eyed, perhaps leering or deformed. Instead Chan saw a perfectly normal face, clean-shaven and round-cheeked, with pale blond eyebrows, brown eyes, and a stubby lump of a nose.
Sunlight dazzled briefly on Nugent's faceplate as he leaned forward, peering at Chan. "It is you," he said. "I wasn't entirely sure."
"Have we met?"
"No, but I've seen pictures. Mostly from when you were on Coriolis Station. You've aged well."
For some reason that infuriated Chan. "Why don't you tell me what the hell you want?" he snapped. "Or shoot me. Either way, I'm done listening to your damned banalities."
Nugent responded with a slight tilt of his head – he was listening to something Chan couldn't hear – and the expression on his face changed. Chan felt a sudden cold rush of fear. He couldn't have said what it was that he saw in the man's face but Chan knew with a sick certainty that death was a second away.
Both men moved at the same instant, Nugent bringing the pistol up, Chan flinging himself forward. They crashed together, Nugent fell back, Chan landed on top of him, and Chan got both hands around Nugent's wrist. He bashed the man's gloved hand against the ground and the pistol bounced away.
They grappled, rolling, and Nugent came out on top. He straddled Chan, the two of them grabbed at each other's arms, and the Raven came sweeping in with a vast swath of cloth trailing from the aft airlock. The cloth came drifting down, draping itself over the armored vehicle, the prisoners, Nugent, and Chan.
Blind, Chan fought on. Nugent was strong, and he knew some wrestling moves, but Chan was terrified and furious. He clutched at the man's arms, heaved and bucked, and finally managed to throw Nugent off. They rolled together, tangled in endless meters of cloth, and Chan felt the lump of the laser pistol under his shoulder. It reminded him of his own gun, and he let go of Nugent, grabbing for the pistol on his hip.
With fabric covering his entire head he never saw the blow that slammed into him. His head bounced from the front of his helmet, then the back, and he collapsed onto his back. He felt Nugent grabbing at his arm through at least one layer of cloth, felt the laser pistol leave his grasp. That was all right. He was lying on Nugent's gun. Chan's gun was bio-locked, as he was sure Nugent's gun would be. They were back to fists and feet.
Chan rolled toward Nugent, keeping his body between the man and the fallen gun, got his hands and knees under him, and pushed himself to his feet. He caught the cloth in both fists and pulled, trying to tear it. When that didn't work he pushed his arms up, clearing a little space around his face. He spotted Nugent's gun and stomped on it, aiming for the fragile crystals just ahead of the trigger guard. Sparks burst from the gun and Chan smiled.
Someone tackled him, pinning him to the ground. A second person came down on Chan's legs, and he struggled for a moment, then lay still, conserving his strength. After a moment sunlight flooded in and he found himself looking up through a cut in the cloth at Mansoor, kneeling above him with a knife in her hand. She grinned, her lips moved as she spoke over the suit radio, and the weight vanished from his back and legs. Mansoor widened the cut and a couple of commandos lifted Chan to his feet.
He was just in time to see the last of the prisoners who'd been cowering by the truck vanishing over the edge of the pit, the closest cover available.
The truck was a shapeless lump under the swath of fabric. Beyond it, smoke billowed up from another lump, burning cloth peeling away as the heat spread. Heat-deformed metal glowed in twisted lumps. He wasn't sure what the Raven's crew had done, but the armored vehicle was utterly destroyed.
Chan looked at Mansoor. "Where's Nugent?"
She couldn't hear him, of course. It was Rhett who replied. "He fled back toward the office building. One of the commandos hit him with a stinger. He was leaking air as he went."
"Good." Chan scanned the sky. "Where are you?"
"The ship is currently engaged in a battle with enemy aircraft."
Chan finally spotted the flash of weapons fire over the center of the pit. Two flying machines fled before the wrath of the Raven, small lasers firing back at the larger ship as they raced for t
he horizon. As Chan watched, one ship blew apart in a storm of shredded metal, torn up by rail gun rounds. At almost the same instant the second ship slid neatly into two pieces, cut in half by the Raven's laser. Both halves tumbled into the mine pit.
It was over in an instant, and Chan closed his eyes, replaying what he'd seen. "Those were personnel carriers," he said. That, he realized, was what Nugent had been waiting for. That was why he'd called Chan over for a parley. To buy time for reinforcements to arrive.
Mansoor grabbed his arm and shook him. He looked at her, saw her scream silently through her faceplate, and looked where she was pointing. A dozen humanoid figures were marching around the side of the pit. She shook him again and pointed the other way. A dozen more were coming around the pit from the other side. They glittered in the sun.
Combat bots.
"The truck," he said. "It's the closest cover." She was already moving in that direction, collecting commandos as she went. Five of them gathered behind the huge, cloth-draped truck. Chan thought for a moment, then took Mansoor's arm and pointed at the armored vehicle. It was never a good idea to clump up during combat. She nodded, and the two of them started running.
The robots were making dreadfully good time, racing along on compact treads like men on motorized sleds. Someone at the truck fired a stinger and the robots to the left opened fire, energy blasts slamming into both vehicles. The robots on the right opened up as well, and Chan threw himself flat, skidding to a halt close beside the burning APC. Mansoor was right beside him, almost on top of him as she pressed herself closer to the shelter of the vehicle. Chan could feel the heat of the APC through his suit. He ignored it. A few burns were infinitely preferable to being shot by robots.
The Raven swept in, blasting a swath of destruction through the group on the left. Robots blew apart, toppled, or coasted to a halt. Others fired up at the ship without slowing their advance on the commandos.
Mansoor brought the stock of her stinger to her shoulder and fired at the robots to the right. She made sparks erupt from the lead robot's chest. It lurched, then toppled. A barrage of fire swept toward her, and Chan writhed to his left, trying to get the APC between himself and that lethal volley. Dirt erupted from the ground, sparks flew from the armor plating on the APC, and a plume of vapor streamed from Mansoor's shoulder.
Chan rose to his knees, leaning left to keep himself mostly under cover, and tore at the pocket on Mansoor's thigh. He found a sheaf of emergency patches. With shaking fingers he peeled the backing from a good big patch and slapped it over a long black scorch mark on the back of her suit.
Mansoor, incredibly, was still firing, and she took out another robot. Chan pressed the patch down, rubbed frantically with his palms to make sure it was stuck down everywhere, then flinched back as another barrage came blasting in.
The Raven made another pass, blasting the robots on the right, and Chan heard Liz swear as the robots returned fire. Half the robots were down, but the rest were going to overrun Chan's position in moments. When that happened the Raven wouldn't be able to fire for fear of hitting him and Mansoor.
Shifting to her right, Mansoor took aim with her stinger. She paused, though, and Chan risked a quick peek past the edge of the APC.
Stinger fire was pouring into the little cluster of robots, but it came from behind. As Chan watched, some kind of missile raced in, trailing smoke, and blasted a robot right off its treads. A laser sliced another robot in half, and stingers quickly finished the rest.
Mansoor squirmed around and opened up on the remaining group of bots. The Raven likewise concentrated its fire, and Chan watched as the last robot fell a scant half dozen meters from the commandos behind the truck.
The Raven touched down and Chan climbed wearily to his feet, feeling exhausted and old. Mansoor rose beside him and grinned at him. He was too tired to grin back. Chan headed for the ship, wondering how soon he could crawl into his bunk and forget that Mercury even existed. He was half way to the aft airlock when Uncle came bounding past the Raven, swept Chan up in a bear hug, spun him around twice and set him back on his feet. More rebels streamed past, throwing their arms around Mansoor or surging past to reunite with the other commandos.
Chan, too exhausted and heartsick to celebrate, trudged past them and onto the Raven.
Chapter 9
Ulysses Station was a floating city with ten thousand residents and, more to the point, some of the finest ship repair facilities in the solar system. The station orbited the sun, roughly half way between Mercury and Venus, but moving in the opposite direction from the two planets. That meant it passed reasonably close to Mercury every 45 days, and close to Venus every 70 days. It had become a useful way station for travelers and traders, and a handy emergency stop for ships like the Raven that were laser-scorched, bullet-pocked, and leaking air.
Chan sat in an observation lounge overlooking the repair bay, watching a mixed crew of humans and robots refurbish his ship. The good news was that the Raven would shortly be as good as new. The bad news was that he was no longer allowed on board, nor would he be, unless he found a way to pay the repair bill.
A door hissed open behind him, footsteps clacked on the deck tiles, and Joss lowered herself into the chair beside him. "I like this place," she said. "You can smell flowers just about everywhere." Ulysses was a floating jungle. Even the repair bay had vines climbing the outer walls.
When Chan didn't reply she said, "Oh, cheer up, Captain. It'll be all right. We'll get her back. Somehow."
He nodded without looking at her.
"We did a good thing on Mercury," she said. "It was worth it. Even if it costs us the Raven."
He turned. She was gazing at him, her face solemn and worried.
"Worth it?" he said. "People died on Mercury. Because we meddled."
"They weren't going to live," Joss said gently. "Telemachus wasn't ever going to let them go. When the mine was played out they were all going to be left at the bottom of the pit."
"Yes, but if we—"
"Captain!" She stared at him for a moment, then said, "Jim. There were twenty-seven people in that mine, enslaved and waiting to die. And more of them being kidnapped and enslaved every week. We rescued twenty-three of them, and we saved every person they would have kidnapped later." She reached out and put a hand on his forearm. "The result of our meddling was bad. Really bad. But every other outcome would have been much worse."
She stared at him, and he broke eye contact. "I don't know …."
Joss let go of his arm. "Well, if you choose to torture yourself, I can't stop you. Just because it's stupid doesn't mean you'll stop." She stood. "Come and talk to me when you've smartened up."
The door hissed as she left the lounge.
Chan stared at his reflection in the window before him. His reflection looked comically startled. Was Joss annoyed?
Of course not. Pushing people's buttons came as naturally to her as breathing. If she'd stomped out, it was because she was trying for a specific reaction.
Like the sense of embarrassment he now felt as he looked at himself, sulking all alone in the observation lounge. Well, maybe she had a point. Maybe tormenting himself for crimes committed by others was kind of stupid.
He rose, grinning to himself, and the door hissed again. He turned, saying, "All right. You got me."
It wasn't Joss who stood in the doorway, though. It was Tim Reynolds, the rescued prisoner.
"Tim! When did you get here?"
"I just docked." Tim came forward and shook Chan's hand. "It's good to see you, Captain."
"Call me Jim."
"Sure." Tim walked over to the glass and looked down at the Raven. "They're fixing her up right?"
Chan nodded.
"Well, tell them not to spare any expense."
Chan looked at him.
Tim grinned. "I'm sorry we couldn't pay for the guns. The PG hasn't got any cash, you know." Dawn City had a new provisional government, with Uncle and Mansoor in key posts. The fir
st elections would be within a month. The provisional government had seized all the Telemachus Corporation's assets they could get ahold of. Eventually the city would be a thriving independent settlement. For now, though, they were cash-strapped and scrambling.
"We have, however, come to an agreement with Ulysses. As we sell off Telemachus assets and resume mining operations we'll route most of our trade through the station. In return, Ulysses is extending us some credit."
Chan raised an eyebrow.
"Oh, stop looking at me like that." Tim gave him a mock shove. "We settled your repair bill. The Raven is yours again, free and clear."
Chan beamed.
"Oh, don't look so happy. It was the least we could do."
"Well, that's true," Chan admitted. "Still, thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. I'm not done doing you favors. At least, I think you'll see it as a favor."
"Why am I suddenly nervous?"
Tim waved that away. "I got you a paying passenger. He's hoping to go to Mars."
Chan nodded. "We could go to Mars. Who's the passenger?"
"It's a cop named Hammond." He saw the expression on Chan's face and held up a hand. "Don't judge him too harshly. He says he warned your crew before you could be arrested."
Chan nodded.
"He gave us some concrete assistance, too. But the bottom line is, he was a police informant for Telemachus. Mercury isn't safe for him anymore. He could really use a lift, and he can pay. Will you take him?"
"I'll have to ask Liz," Chan said. "She's the one who'll kill him if she decides she's annoyed. But yes. I think we can take him to Mars."
When Tim was gone, Chan stood at the window, looking down at his ship and thinking about the future. They'd made far too many enemies in the inner planets. They'd made friends too, but it was time to head for the deep dark. With a stop at Mars along the way, of course.
The remnants of the Telemachus Corporation were still out there, still a threat. But at least he knew who his enemy was, now.