Molon had never fought so hard in his life to keep from laughing. A mother hen Voide was not. She was, however, correct. They couldn’t leave without Mel and Cowboy, so John needed to get in the game.
“You have real issues, lady!” John muttered, picking himself up off the floor and stomping toward the CCB in a huff.
“Too rough?” Voide asked, flashing Molon a smile.
“Aren’t you always? Give him a break. He’s a civilian, and between Elena and this group of renegade Faithful, he’s had a pretty rough time.”
“What don’t kill us makes us stronger,” Voide said.
“Or makes us wish we were dead,” Molon replied. “I’ve turned this every which way, Voide, and I just don’t see a way to navigate all the variables and get away clean.”
“Eh,” Voide shrugged. “Assuming Smythe pulled everyone from the brig, we’ve got forty-two reasonably healthy crew somewhere on this tub, and two next door that hopefully John can get fit enough to move and maybe hold a weapon. What’s the crew compliment on a Hive-class carrier?”
“Standard configuration?” Molon said, shaking his head. “Sixty-two crew plus pilots. But we already know Hornet’s Nest ain’t standard.”
“They popped fifty fighters in a rapid deploy,” Voide replied. “As far as I know we were hit by the neural cannon before Revenge’s fighters could engage, so figure at least fifty flyers not counting any reserves, and flyboys always have reserves.”
“Well,” Molon pulled thoughtfully at the fur on his chin. “You said they didn’t use a battle carrier. That means an internal voidspace drive. That VS drive will take up some crew space, and with the wide corridors and that spacious conference room, he has to have given up twenty-percent standard crew complement at least in this refit. So even with ten percent reserve flyers, at fifty crew and say fifty-five flyboys, we’re over two to one against.”
“Null sweat, boss,” Voide laughed. “I’ll cover my two, Doc’s two, and one of yours, easy.”
“I admire your optimism, but unarmed, John basically a non-combatant, two wounded to carry, and the rest of our crew inside Star Wolf, which from here is Lion only knows which direction, I hope you have a better plan than the two of us chewing our way out one throat at a time.”
John stomped back in, arms crossed. His cloud of despondency had been replaced by a firmly set scowl of annoyance focused on Voide.
“See,” Voide whispered to Molon. “I helped. He’s gone from whiny and useless to ticked-off and motivated.”
Molon bit back a laugh.
“So what’s the medical sit-rep, Doc?”
“Mel and Bobby Lee are mobile. Their wounds are closed and the radiation treatment has flushed their systems. They can move, slowly, but they aren’t in any condition to run an obstacle course anytime soon.”
“Blast it!” Voide exclaimed. “Cowboy is a good merc. We could have used his help.”
Molon mentally echoed her concern. Recalling his conversation about Mel’s potential mental frailty and John’s general unfamiliarity with anything combat related, they would need every able body they could muster.
“Sorry to ruin your plans for a violent rampage, Lieutenant Commander Psycho,” John snapped, apparently still ruffled from Voide’s earlier rough handling, “but you will have to figure out another way for the five of us to take over Hornet’s Nest.”
Molon shook his head. These two were going to take a long time to learn to play well together.
“Did you find anything in the CCB we might use to quietly put the guards out?” Molon asked.
John’s face grew more despondent as he shook his head.
“There are anti-radiation meds, some painkillers, and a few vials of antibiotics. It looks like they already pulled out anything potentially dangerous. I might be able to mix an injectable cocktail of pain meds, but they would take a minute or so to kick in, and that might not do much more than give a full-grown marine a buzz. Regardless, there are four guards, and I maybe have enough to make up two doses, even if we had the syringes to deliver them.”
“You have a long-winded way to say, ‘no’,” Voide quipped.
John frowned at her and started to respond, but she cut him off.
“No matter. I can bust through the door, snap the first guard’s neck, then use him as a body-shield while I take out the others with his rifle. Then we find a terminal, hack in, find the closest route to Star Wolf, and get out of here. We will have four rifles off the guards, plus sidearms. Cowboy may be injured, but he can still point and shoot. Surely powder-puff can handle a pistol at least, and Doc Useless here can play body shield.”
“Or here’s a thought,” John snapped. “According to the medical journals, Prophane can voidspace jump without a ship. Why don’t you just jump back to Star Wolf and bring help?”
Voide scowled.
“Weren’t you paying attention, pale? Unless the monks were lying, we are already in voidspace. I could phase back to normal space, but that would be suicide.”
“Sounds like a plan. Why don’t you give that a shot,” John growled.
“Okay, you two, knock it off,” Molon said as he pulled his chin whiskers and scrambled desperately to formulate a plan. “I admit, I had a similar thought to John’s.”
“About me killing myself?” Voide teased.
“You know what I meant. I hadn’t thought about us already being in voidspace. That’s probably why they removed those bracers inhibiting your jump ability. They knew you wouldn’t be able to use it anyway.”
Something tugged at Molon’s mind. Maybe their captors weren’t so careless when they removed Voide’s restraints. Perhaps they were counting on Voide trying a teleport as a way to take her out of the picture and keep their hands clean. Molon hoped he was reading too much into it, but Smythe and Zebedee were crafty and clearly not to be underestimated.
“Sorry, Molon,” Voide replied. “I can’t sidestep physics.”
“It’s not your fault,” Molon said. “Zebedee might appear a doddering fool, but he hasn’t done anything since we got here that wasn’t sunk in three layers of calculation. So, either he lied or he figures that if you call him on it, it’ll give him one less enemy to worry about.”
“I doubt it is as sinister as all that,” John replied, clearly bothered by Molon ascribing such devious motives to the High Abbot. “Faithful have gathered in the Theocracy, on the spinward edge of Humaniti space and have little experience with Prophane. He might have just been honest, not trying to trick Voide into killing herself. In fact, Voide, I’m sorry for even joking about that.”
“Oh, that was supposed to be a joke?” Voide quipped. “Give me a warning next time. I’ll queue up a laugh.”
Molon sighed. If John stayed on Star Wolf, it was clear Molon’s job description would include keeping his security chief and ship’s doctor from killing each other. John was naive to be so quick to trust the Brothers, who thus far had proven extremely untrustworthy.
“Even giving Zebedee the benefit of the doubt,” Molon reasoned, “Smythe served under Emperor Halberan, and an experienced carrier captain like that could easily have spent time fighting Prophane. He had to know what the VS inhibitors were, and removing them at least leaves the option open for her to attempt a jump.”
“You might be right, captain,” Voide said, her face tightening into a disappointed scowl. “I doubt the monks could have figured out how to disengage those Imp VS inhibitors anyway. Had to be Smythe’s men. GalSec was playing with prototypes years ago. I guess they got a working model. At least we know what they look like for next time.”
“I wish we still had them,” Molon said, shaking his head. “I’d love Dub to give them a good once over. Your ability to teleport has gotten us out of more than a few messes. If there is tech that can take away that ace in the hole, I’d sure feel better knowing how it works and how to break it.”
“Fancy bracelets or not,” Voide replied, “it looks like we are back to the brute force metho
d for busting out of here.”
“I hate to burst your bubble when you are so looking forward to rampage,” John replied, “but your idea of smashing down the doors won’t work.”
“Oh, yeah?” Voide said, squaring off with John as though he had just challenged her to a fight. Hands at her sides, balled into fists, she leaned in closer to his face. “Why not?”
“Because,” John said with a smug smirk showing he was not intimidated as he leaned back into Voide almost touching nose to nose. “Sickbay doors on most ships are sealed with hardened screens built into the walls and doors. It prevents viruses and radiation from escaping in quarantine situations.”
“John is right,” Molon added. “Even our dinky little sickbay on Star Wolf is fitted with hardened quarantine screens.”
“It looks like we aren’t going anywher,” John said, renewing a scowl at Voide. “So, can I safely lie down on my bunk again, or should I expect another friendly-fire ambush?”
“Oh, stop whining,” Voide snapped. “For dreck’s sake, you cut apart bodies and put them back together again but a little horseplay puts you in a dither? I thought hermit-worlders were supposed to be tough, pioneer types. You’re more like a pampered core-worlder.”
“That’s enough, you two,” Molon snapped. “It looks like we aren’t breaking out of here forcibly, so we had best put our energy on figuring out plan B.”
“I thought smashing down the doors was plan B,” John said.
“Well, plan C then,” Molon answered.
A loud thud sounded from outside the sickbay doors. Voide covered the distance in the blink of an eye and peered through the small square windows. The guards outside sickbay as well as the two next door outside the CCB were on the ground, clutching their heads and writhing. Whatever was assailing them lasted less than a minute before all four were still.
“What is it?” Molon asked.
“No idea, but our chaperones just took a nap,” Voide answered.
“What?” Molon and John replied in unison.
Any further discussion was circumvented as the locks disengaged on the sickbay doors. Voide jumped back, dropping into a fighting crouch, prepared for whatever new threat was upon them. The doors flung open and in walked Dub. The twisted grin on Dub’s mutated visage was a welcome sight.
“Hiya, Cap, Voide, Doc. You ready to check out of this place, or you sticking around for dinner? I hear they might have pudding.”
“Dub?” Molon said, scrunching his muzzle up as he puzzled over his chief engineer’s unexpected appearance. “How did you—”
“No time to explain, Cap. There is supposed to be a critical-care-bay around here somewhere where they are holding Mel and Cowboy.”
“That’s right next door,” John interjected.
“Well let’s grab them and go. We got a lot that needs doing before we can separate from Hornet’s Nest, and I have no idea how long these wags will be out.”
John opened the door to the CCB and called to their crewmates.
“Mel, are you okay to get up?”
“I’m fine, John,” Mel replied. “Are we leaving?”
“Apparently, and in a hurry. Bobby Lee, what about you?”
“Right as rain, Doc,” Cowboy answered, almost leaping to his feet. “Let’s roll.”
John came back into the sickbay with one arm around Mel for extra support. Cowboy was in tow and other than being slightly pale, he seemed fit enough.
“Listen up,” Molon ordered. “Everyone follow Dub, and stick close. Cowboy, Voide, and Dub, grab those combat rifles off the guards. I’ll take the last one. Hand Mel and Doc two of their laser pistols. Stay sharp, and only fire if there is no other choice. I’d just as soon leave peacefully if we can.”
“Should be a clear path back to Star Wolf, captain,” Dub answered. “After that, it gets a bit sketchy.”
Eighteen – Cast Off
Molon and company followed Dub through several twists and turns as they navigated Hornet’s Nest between sickbay and the main docking port. They passed various members of the pocket carrier’s crew in a condition similar to that of the guards outside sickbay. Lying strewn about the corridors, many of their hands still clutched their unconscious heads.
As Dub led them to a T intersection, he pulled up short and shouted around the corner.
“Chief Dubronski, incoming. I’ve got the captain and our missing crewmen in tow. Hold your fire.”
Dub lowered his rifle and advanced around the corner. As Molon entered the intersecting corridor, he saw four of Star Wolf’s security officers posted at an airlock a few meters down the passage. The ranking non-com was Master Gunnery Sergeant “Handsome” Hank Tibbs.
“Master Guns,” Molon called out with a wolfish grin. “Your pretty face is a sight for sore eyes.”
Tibbs smiled as he snapped a salute to his captain, which Molon promptly returned.
“They must’ve scrambled your brains good if this face is a pleasant sight,” Tibbs replied. “Glad to have you back, Captain.”
“Good to be back, but we aren’t out of the woods yet. Hold your position here. We’ll cast off as soon as possible.”
“Aye, sir,” Tibbs answered and nodded to his men to clear a path through the airlock before resuming their ready alert positions.
Beyond the airlock, a mobile, configurable corridor snaked around into a U curve. Once they wound their way around the tubing and entered Star Wolf’s port side airlock they quickly made their way through the half-empty barracks amid welcoming greetings from some of the marines housed there.
“Captain?” said Bobby Lee once they had entered the barracks.
“Yeah, Cowboy, what is it?”
“If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll rejoin my unit. I’m feeling better and am anxious to get back to work.”
Molon looked to Voide who was in charge of the security forces.
“If Doc says you are cleared, it is fine with me,” she responded.
“He should be okay,” John answered. “I’d stay away from anything too strenuous until that shoulder fully heals, but you should be fine for light duty. Whatever else happened aboard Hornet’s Nest, you guys got top of the line radiation treatment.”
Cowboy headed for his bunk while the rest made their way toward the bridge. Upon entering, Molon noted Twitch had the bridge crew scrambling with pre-launch prep and systems checks. No need for worry or second guesses with Twitch in charge. You could guarantee that everything was by the book under her watchful eye.
“Molon,” Mel said, “do you want me to take my post at the comms station? I too am feeling much better.”
“No, Mel,” Molon answered. “I want you with us for the briefing. As one of the senior officers, you will need to be part of whatever decisions there are going forward. Twitch,” he called out to his executive officer, who was currently occupying the captain’s chair.
“Aye sir?”
“You join us too. Everyone knows their jobs well enough to keep working for a bit. We’ve got a lot to cover and no idea how much time we have to cover it.”
Twitch nodded and fell in behind Molon, Dub, John, Voide, and Mel as they entered the briefing room aft of the bridge.
Molon decided to forego the usual security sweep of the conference room in the interest of time. The others each took their seats, including the one oversized chair custom made to accommodate Dub’s large frame.
“All right, Dub, Twitch,” Molon said, “bring us up to speed.”
Dub nodded in deference to Twitch’s higher rank.
“No, Dub, you had the most contact with Hornet’s Nest’s engineers. You also devised and executed the rescue of the captain. By all means please lead the briefing.”
“Right,” Dub began. “Hornet’s Nest’s is one heck of a custom mod. She’s got stacked launch bays designed for rapid deployment launches. No Humaniti ship on the books has anything close to that configuration. It’s a brilliant idea actually. She also has a prototype VS drive that takes up
about half the space of the standard Humaniti-made drives. I only caught a glimpse of the specs, but brother I’d love to see that thing in person.”
“Smythe mentioned serving along the Hinterlands border. Maybe he made contact with a race we haven’t seen yet that helped reconfigure the ship.”
“Not reconfigure, mimic,” Dub replied.
“Mimic?”
“Yeah. This ship looks on the outside like a Hive-class pocket carrier. Detail is spot on. But one glance at the inside and you’ll know she isn’t at all like any Humaniti ship design on the books. On top of everything else, she’s a pocket carrier with a spinal mount neural weapon.”
“Yeah,” Molon agreed. “I was wondering about that. I’ve never heard of a spinal mount on a carrier.”
“That’s because according to everything I know about ship design and configuration, which is quite considerable, it should be impossible,” Dub said, rubbing a mechanized glove-hand across his bald pate.
“Unusual, I get,” Molon replied, “but smaller ships like destroyers and man-o-wars can have spinal mounts.”
“But they don’t need the space to store dozens of fighters and the power to prep, fuel, and maintain them. Even if one solves the space issue, which they have, it is the power draw that makes it impossible.”
“How so,” Molon asked, knowing they needed to get to the matter at hand but equally fascinated by how Smythe might have gotten ahold of such amazing technology.
“Most carriers have enough hangars to launch about twenty percent of their birds at once. That’s why rapid deployments are so dangerous. Trying to launch five fighters one after another just amplifies exponentially the potential for something going wrong. Hornet’s Nest doesn’t do that. They have fifty separate launch hangars stacked all along the outer hull. They aren’t using mechanical catapults either. This thing is rigged with some kind of gauss launchers in every bay. No moving parts to foul up, but a power draw that defies anything I can figure. I’m telling you, captain, I have no idea where this tech or design came from, but in all my years I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Star Wolf (Shattered Galaxy) Page 28