Counterweight

by A. G. Claymore

  The young man’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Gods!” He breathed in surprise. “We could go home!” His gaze lost focus for a moment as the dream began to take form.

  Korlaith finally overcame his surprise and broke into the conversation. “We’d have to submit to those vicious animals, though!”

  “The Midgaard?” Cal’s voice made his surprise obvious. “You think they want to bother with making laws and patrolling the streets?” He shook his head firmly. “No, they’d live here, garrison the orbitals and pretty much leave the rest to us. As long as we give them the same tax revenue that would have gone to the Republic, they’re more than happy to serve as our military, just like the traditional Oaxian or Tauhentan warlords.”

  “Still…” Korlaith grimaced. “It’s a hard bargain to sell. Most folks hate the company but that doesn’t mean they want to break away from the Republic.”

  “We’re not in the republic,” Cal corrected him. “They called in mercenaries because they’re running this place off the books; otherwise, there’d be Dactari regulars landing up top.” He waved a hand at the station gates. “We’d have real cops and due process if this were part of the Republic, not a pack of thugs with the power of life and death.”

  “Maybe the regulars are on their way…” the young Tauhentan suggested.

  “No,” Cal cut him off. “The company was too greedy to register this place. Asking for troops means asking for questions they can’t answer. The mercs are their last hope but, if we act quickly, we can hit them before they get settled up there.”

  “How do we even get the Alliance to come here?” Korlaith demanded.

  “Let me handle that,” Cal replied confidently. They were already en-route, of course, but he had a feeling uncertainty might make them more welcome. He looked at the young Tauhentan. “Get back to the comms station and keep in touch with our man topside.”

  He turned back to Korlaith. “Take a runner with you and check on our team in the air shunt. Send him whenever there’s an update and we’ll send one back with whatever news we have here.”

  The communications systems had been shut down by the company, so they had to rely on fast feet to keep everybody coordinated.

  Korlaith stared back at him for a long time. Finally he looked away, toward the door. “You can get them to come, can’t you?” It wasn’t exactly stated as a question.

  Cal nodded. “All we need to do is hold out for a few days but, first, our friends in the shaft need to get the air moving again.”

  Or the Alliance would be taking over a dead city.

  Taking Council

  Ten-minute jump from target

  “All vessels accounted for,” the signals officer announced, “and all confirm their drives are spooled up for combat insertion.”

  “Very well, have their captains stand by for council.” Freya’s eyes took on that faraway look as she turned her implant on and sought out Cal’s proximity beacon.

  “You there, Rick?” Her voice appeared in his mind. He was less disturbed this time, though whether it was due to their relationship or simply that he could see the faint movement of her jaw muscles in concert with the voice, he couldn’t say.

  “I hear you,” he replied. “You have Cal?”

  “Hey, Gambler,” Cal answered cheerfully. “Good thing I got you out of here when I did. I had no idea you were in such a rush to get married!”

  Rick darted a look at his wife but she was staring absently at a projection of their target world. “How is everything going down there?” he asked.

  “We have mercenaries landing on the station, the top echelon of the company is dead, the magisters are shooting people on sight and we have less than half a day of air left. Pretty standard, really. When can we expect the cavalry to show up?”

  Freya cut back in. “We’re less than a centi-day out. We need to get the latest from you before we jump off.”

  “Roger that. Latest data from orbital control should be in your buffer right now. The mercenary ships haven’t moved since they got here, so they should still be in place when you arrive.”

  “Thanks, Cal.” Freya paused. “Just so we’re clear – what’s your play, here?”

  “I’m not looking for extraction. I’m going to stay down here and help these folks. This world is almost certainly unknown to official Dactari channels.” A pause. “Freya, what’s your play?”

  “I brought ten ships, Cal. I’m taking the planet. How will that be received by the general population?”

  “If you bring some warriors down here to fight by their side,” he offered, “and then let them run their own affairs, many will see you as a liberator. Some will object but we can win them over if we can improve their lives quickly enough.”

  The holo image of Chaco Benthic suddenly populated with projected ships. A standard Dactari troopship sat above the counterweight station, surrounded by a loose formation of seven smaller ships – corvettes and cruisers.

  “Cal, we have the data,” Freya advised. “We’ll keep you linked so you can listen in on the council.” She turned to the signals officer and gave him a curt nod.

  The other nine captains appeared in holographic form around the newly updated projection.

  “Can you see me?” Barry asked, looking around like a tourist. This was his first experience with the hastily installed Midgaard technology. He found Rick and grinned reflexively.

  “We can see you just fine, Guadalcanal,” Rick assured him.

  “All right, lads,” Freya began, “you can see what we’re expecting to find at target and you know what we’re bringing along.”

  She looked at the assembled faces. “Three of their ships are missing because Rick, here, managed to clamp some knockouts onto them at their rendezvous point.” She reached out to put her thumbs and forefingers together and then dragged them apart, enlarging the view of the enemy fleet. Four of them exhibited plasma scoring.

  “The troopship had one of the knockouts and she seems to have lost a few decks to decompression but her survival isn’t necessarily a bad thing.” She frowned at the image.

  The troopship had taken position near the counterweight station and slightly toward the equator. It looked like a second counterweight, outlined against the moon.

  “Seeing as our only use for such a ship,” one of the captains interjected, “is for target practice, should I assume we’re thinking about picking their pockets?”

  Freya nodded, still looking at the squarish vessel.

  The captain reached out a hand, placing his fist to the front of the troopship. “A small carrier group, appearing here, will focus their attention very nicely.”

  “Exactly,” she agreed, “and our Mark IIIs will drop out behind the moon.” She held a fist behind the pocked satellite. “Once the Guadalcanal destroys the troopship, we pitch in behind the enemy, come alongside the first three targets and board them.”

  “Just so I’m clear,” Barry cut in. “Our task is the destruction of that troopship?”

  Freya looked at his face for several heartbeats. “Will that be a problem, Captain Fletcher?”

  Barry considered for a moment. “No, ma’am.” A shrug. “They’re mercenaries who’ll just turn to raiding civilians if they get away from the fight and, more to the point, they’re mercenaries with heavy rail guns. I don’t like the idea of lollygagging around in front of those weapons for any longer than I have to.”

  He nodded. “We’ll charge our mains while we shift over to target. Soon as the drop wash dies out, we’ll put four slugs into them.”

  “That should catch their attention,” she replied dryly.

  “Maybe he should try to establish contact with them,” Cal suggested through the link, “after blasting the troopship.”

  “That might be worth trying,” Rick answered out loud, looking over to see Freya nodding her agreement. He turned back to Barry. “Kill their flagship, then hail them – identify yourself as an Alliance carrier group responding to a distress call.”<
br />
  “Which we sort of are,” Barry pointed out.

  “The old ‘shoot first and ask questions later’ trick”, another captain volunteered. “Often works well when you want to buy time against poorly led enemies.”

  Rick knew the two cultures had melded but it was still strange to hear Human phrases on a Midgaard command deck.

  “Anyone have a better plan?” Freya looked around the small group, seeing nothing but enthusiastic support, and no wonder. The nine captains were the genesis of the couple’s elevated status. Anything that further cemented her position would also lend security to their primacy under Freya and Rick.

  They were about to attempt to take seven enemy ships. That meant seven new captains who fell below them in seniority. Seven of the original captains were also being given the chance to advance a protégé. They would be selecting the prizemasters for the boarding missions, giving those seven warriors a shot at becoming captains.

  It reflected very well for a couple who’d only been haulds for a matter of hours. Independent captains from failed houses might even flock to their banner.

  It also meant they would have to lose eight ships before the young couple lost their status as haulds.

  A hauld with seventeen ships could take more risks without fear of the consequences. That meant faster growth and a greater chance of the original nine being sent off on missions of their own with the chance to better their own stations.

  As haulds, they would still owe allegiance to Freya and Rick who, in turn, would still owe allegiance to Erin Shelby. It was a simple structure but one that encouraged growth.

  And they were keen to get on with it.

  “Right,” she announced, “all prizemasters and their crews will report aboard the Mark IIIs. We leave the moment it’s done.”

  Rick had expected her order to generate a flurry of shuttle activity but he soon found that it meant bringing the Mark IIIs alongside each of the other ships to take off warriors directly. The first approach was relatively unsettling as he saw a cruiser rapidly filling the bridge screens.

  The second transfer was even more alarming as the helmsman pushed himself and his ship to greater feats of maneuvering, knowing that the next attempt would be under enemy fire. Rick nearly fell on his back and was giving serious thought to the installation of a few grab-posts on the bridge.

  “Cal…” Freya’s voice appeared in his skull again. “Leaving now. We’ll be there within the centi-day.”

  “Good luck, folks.”

  Freya looked to the fleet panel floating just to the side of the holographic image of Chaco Benthic. All ships showed green.

  “All vessels stand by to jump on my mark,” Freya ordered. “Frír, tveir, ein, mark.”

  Rick knew some could feel the transition into distortion but he’d been through several jumps and never noticed any effects. Still, he did notice a tightness in his stomach. He put that down to the fact he was going into battle for the first time.

  He’d gone up against these very ships before but that had been different. Boldly flying through the midst of the gathering enemy had seemed more like a silly prank than combat. The actual effects of the knockouts seemed to have taken out three ships but the whole thing had a sense of removal to it – as if he’d only heard of the exploit from someone else.

  Now the ship he was standing in would be recognized as unmistakably hostile and she would be pressing in to make physical contact. The prizemasters would be leading their teams into the enemy ships through (hopefully) aligned shuttle bay doors.

  The hulls would take damage from the impact, if not from defensive fire, and then they would dance away to attack the next target.

  If they were still alive.

  Hey, Look at Me

  The Guadalcanal, Chaco Benthic

  Barry was too hyped to stay in his chair. He was several feet in front of it, feeling ahead for the earliest opportunity as the drop wash quickly faded. “Fire the mains!” he shouted.

  A deep, bass moan ran through the bridge as the huge steel slugs were accelerated to more than fifteen times the speed of sound before reaching the muzzles at the bow of the massive carrier.

  The bridge crew cheered, most already seeing the results. The slugs left pencil lines of plasma in their wake for half the distance and then the eye lost them. A few seconds later, they didn’t so much impact the troopship as convert to vapor inside the ship’s hull.

  In less time than it took for the enemy crew to realize they were under attack, their ship had been destroyed.

  “Hail them,” he ordered, knowing he’d be conversing with a cruiser captain, now that the command ship was gone. The cruiser captain seemed very uncertain about the situation.

  A Dactari face appeared on Barry’s central screen.

  Before the enemy could speak, Barry took the initiative. “This is Captain Fletcher of the Alliance carrier strike group Guadalcanal. Identify yourself.” He almost laughed at the Dactari’s flustered response.

  “This is Sub-Flota Kerna of the… Dactari response forces… Who are you?”

  “I’ve already told you who we are,” Barry reminded him, “and who or what are the Dactari response forces?”

  Picking Pockets

  The Ormurin, behind Chaco Benthic’s Moon

  “All hands, brace for maneuvering,” Freya ordered, moving over to the helmsman’s station and taking a firm grip on a black, carbon stanchion.

  Rick wasted precious time staring at his wife. He’d obviously not been the first to wish for railings. Suddenly he realized the precarious nature of his current stance and raced to the communications officer’s station to grab a stanchion. He caught her questioning glance and gave her a nod. “We look good, as far as I can see,” he assured her. It occurred to him that this would be her first time in high-intensity combat as well. He didn’t know if he could have displayed such composure, in her shoes.

  She took a deep breath. “Barden, Munin, stand by to pitch on my mark,” Freya ordered. “Frír, tveir, ein, mark.”

  Rick swayed back a few inches as the three Mark IIIs leapt forward. As they cleared the moon, they arced upward toward the fleet, forcing him to fight to remain on his feet. If the compensators failed, he knew he’d be flat on the deck with a cracked skull. The sudden rotation that came next was a surprise but it was easier to deal with due to the extra gravity holding him down.

  “We’re oriented with target number one,” the helmsman announced. “Pitching to port…”

  Rick almost toppled over on his right side as the ship shifted over and darted in to press her forward shuttle bay against a corresponding door on the enemy’s ship. A jarring impact ran through the vessel and all the way up to his skull.

  “First team is away,” the helmsman called out. “Brace for pitch…”

  “Alert!” the sensor coordinator yelled, her face bathed in orange and red flashes from her holo-display. “No distortion but there’s suddenly a ship right next to us.”

  The main holo showed a ship, a massive ship, in their midst. It was roughly forty kilometers long and shaped like an elongated barrel with every second stave missing.

  “Helm no longer answers,” the helmsman pounded at the surface of the workstation.

  “Weapons down too,” an officer sighed. “Girru’s scorched arse! Well, I suppose that’s three ships taken for sure. What in Niffleheim is Aliekna doing all the way out here?”

  Rick looked at his wife in confusion. He suddenly gripped the stanchion even tighter. What he was seeing had to be a mistake.

  “It’s the Firm Resolve,” she explained. “A ship built by the ancestors. She has some fifty million refugees living on her but, more importantly, her symbiote, a Bolshari named Aliekna, serves as a referee of the truce between the Alliance and the Dactari Republic.”

  “So she just stops fights?”

  “If she happens to be around, yes.” Freya flexed her hands, shutting her eyes. “And then she…”

  Rick squeezed his eyes
shut in alarm. When the sensation passed, he eased them open to see both his hands in front of his face. “Whoa!” he shouted involuntarily. He dropped his hands to see Freya standing the same distance away and in the same pose but they now appeared to be in some kind of lounge, looking out on a massive city. What he’d seen had been real.

  “Just… Whoa…” he added lamely. Looking up, he realized the city extended above them as well. Massive strips of city stretched away into the hazed distance.

  “…takes the opposing leaders aboard for a chance to negotiate a peaceful solution,” Freya finished, opening her eyes. “Sorry, Rick. I thought I had more time to warn you to close your eyes. It can be incredibly unsettling.”

  “Oh, no… It’s fine, really,” Rick muttered. “I’m just glad it wasn’t a seizure.”

  She laughed. “We should be meeting with an Alliance representative any minute.” She looked toward a glazed wall separating them from a larger room with a conference table. A Human, or Midgaard, was approaching the door.

  “Don’t know who that is,” she warned Rick, “so let’s be careful what we say in front of him. And don’t worry. This should probably save us some trouble, if we play it right.”

  “Hi, folks,” he greeted them from the doorway. “I’m Commander Colm McDonald, Alliance Forces, Oaxian Sector.” He held out his hand, palm up.

  “Freya Augustdottir,” she waved her own hand over his, palm down. It was a handshake used since the old Empire, a civilization that the Republic had replaced when Babylon was still a village. It had caught on with the Alliance out of novelty but the reduction in communicable disease had been a definite bonus.

  Rick followed her lead and greeted the Alliance officer.

  “Haulds, if my math is correct?” Colm glanced between the two. He dropped into one of the chairs with a sigh. “D’you know you’re my first case? I’ve only been posted here for a few months.”

  “What are you even doing out here, Commander?”

  He waved to a point past Rick’s shoulder. “The Guadalcanal,” he replied. “Aliekna detected a CVN drive where there shouldn’t have been one. When you arrived here, that carrier was visible to your opponents as well as the station itself and all the ships parked at the airlocks.”