Mission Pack 3: Missions 9-12 (Black Ocean Mission Pack)

by J. S. Morin

  Esper’s expression hardened.

  “All I had to do was get him to blow his lid and threaten me. The plan wasn’t to blow mine, too. He’s always had a gift for getting on people’s bad sides. Anyway, I’m not going to swear you to secrecy or anything. Tell people whatever you like. You have credibility. But I’m not saying a damn thing to the rest of the crew—at least not until Amy’s back. We… kinda have a thing where I promised not to keep her in the dark. I’m seeing how long I can stick to it.”

  The tiny changes in Esper’s face were a card sharp’s dream. Carl could narrate her thought process. She was wondering whether he’d actually told Amy any such thing, and if he had, whether he’d meant a word of it. Then she resolved to yap to the crews of both ships. A moment later, she realized that telling everyone that she could suck people unwillingly into her mind might not make her so popular. Jaxon and Rachel certainly weren’t going to let her watch their kids after a concussion grenade like that went off at their feet.

  “Have it your way,” Esper said at long last. “But we’re sending a quiet warning to Roddy and Amy the minute we get through on the comm.”

  “No need,” Carl replied. “Amy went out knowing ahead of time. She found out the minute Niang informed me of that little bit of sabotage. I wasn’t fishing when I accused Hatchet of having it in for Roddy. If I’d let the two of them go out there alone in the Mermaid, only one would have come back.”

  Esper gave a slight nod before turning to leave. Carl appreciated the fact that at least he was a minor mystery to her.

  # # #

  Roddy set down his Scan-All and shook his head. “Stupidest thing ever.” He kicked his EV suit, but the limp mass of advanced fabrics and control consoles didn’t go far enough for his liking.

  “Repairs not going well?” Amy asked from the pilot’s seat. She wasn’t needed up there; it was just a matter of there not being anywhere else on the Mermaid that wasn’t in the way.

  “Not going at all is more like it. Of all the idiotic systems, the fucking mag boots are putting up a plasticized steel wall in front of me.”

  “I would have thought that’d be easier than anything else we’ve been working on.”

  Roddy scowled. Amy’s use of the term “we” implied far more contribution on her part than he’d seen any evidence of. “Here’s the thing. With every other system, we knew what we needed. I didn’t pack any parts for working on simple magnetics. Now I could jury-rig something up, but then there’s the problem of the software. Something’s been updated with non-standard programming, and I don’t have time to find, download, and debug a clean build from the omni. Our connection speed’s one step up from nil out here.”

  “You can pilot the Mermaid. I’m sure I can patch together enough to keep the Sokol from impacting any planetary bodies.”

  Roddy raised a brow.

  “Or… you could hardwire the magnetics. Set them on low power and just manually overcome the attractive force every step.”

  “Do I look like an athlete? Yankin’ my own feet loose every time I want to take a step…? To hell with that.”

  Amy pursed her lips. “Fine. But you’re earning your keep on this salvage somehow.”

  Roddy waved a dismissive lower hand. “I’ll be fine. Not like I can’t make my way around a little in zero-G. Even if the Sokol lost gravity—and remember, it’s only Hatchet’s theory that they did—I’m not stupid enough to get myself floating helpless out there. I can stay inside a hull.”

  An indicator light blinked on the cockpit console, and an electronic chime played. Amy looked down at the comm screen. “This isn’t anyone we know…”

  She pushed a button. “Unidentified vessel, you are approaching the Jakaros security perimeter. Power down and prepare for scan.”

  Snapping her head around toward Roddy, Amy’s eyes were wide. “You’ve got one of those magic earrings, right? What’d they say? It sounded Eyndar.”

  Swallowing past a lump in his throat, Roddy provided a translation. “I suppose since you asked, you don’t speak the language.”

  “I took the mandatory ‘know your enemy’ course for pilots. But that was a two-week seminar. I only picked out a word or two—I think—from that hail.”

  Roddy climbed the back of the pilot’s chair to study the console. “This thing got a voice remodulator?”

  “This isn’t the Mobius.”

  Roddy couldn’t even take offense. The only excuse most ships had for not having basic voice spoofing software was a moral objection on the part of the captain. The fact that Roddy felt the need to ask was a sign of just how accustomed he’d become to wizard-resistant computers. “Find me something human and male with a news-feed spokesman accent.”

  “You speak Eyndar? I mean, more than hearing it through an earring?”

  Roddy tapped away at a datapad. “No more than you do, but I’m willing to try.” Phrasebook software wasn’t going to make him fluent, but that didn’t matter. Since Roddy could understand them, all he had to do was parrot some stock phrases back at them. He fed the program what he wanted to say, and it came back with phonetic Eyndar for him to read off.

  He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and motioned for Amy to open the comm channel. “Jakaros security, this is Mermaid. We are a human vessel responding to reports of a battle. Survivor ship detected on this heading.” At his signal, Amy ended the transmission.

  “Hope it was a good story.”

  “Fucking earring was translating it back to me as I read it. It doesn’t pull that shit when I can understand the language, but it knew somehow that I was full of crap.”

  “Human vessel, this is Eyndar territory. Turn back.” It was pleasantly forthright of them not to delve into the details of the consequences of defying them.

  “They’re not buying it,” Roddy summed up for Amy’s sake.

  “Got any other bright ideas?”

  Roddy sighed. He’d worked around Carl too long. With a weary nod, he had Amy open the comm once more. “Listen… pyunthar… this is a rescue mission. If I see your ships, I call for backup. Wouldn’t want human treaty worlds coming to investigate your colony in the disputed zone, would you?”

  As the comm closed, Roddy found himself wondering just what the hell a pyunthar was. The datapad recommended it as a provocative insult without a literal translation. In his experience, those were the best insults.

  “Human runt, you don’t frighten us. That word falls too easily from your tongue to hold a threat.”

  Another display caught Amy’s attention. “Hey, we just picked up the Sokol on scanners. We’re… twenty minutes out.”

  “Twenty minutes?” Roddy echoed. “How’d we pull that close without seeing it before now?”

  “Long-range scanners are hit or miss. We knew the course, so it wasn’t a priority. Besides, none of the parts from the Hatchet Job’s scanner array would fit on board, and the systems from the Mobius aren’t compatible.”

  “Great. You know, that fancy console up there isn’t for your personal entertainment. Woulda been nice if someone told the ship’s mechanic what was going on.”

  Amy rolled her eyes. “Carl wanted you out of Hatchet’s targeting reticle. I could have handled the recovery of the Sokol on my own.”

  Roddy set down his datapad and crossed his arms. “Oh yeah? Well, Carl told me to keep an eye out; make sure you didn’t lose your wagon out here. I piloted this thing once just fine, and I’m betting I’ve salvaged a hundred more wrecks than you’ve ever set foot on.”

  “Human ship, turn back at once or we will open fire.”

  Neither of them made a move toward the comm or the flight controls.

  Roddy inclined his head toward the console. “Those guys will dust us, you know.”

  “It’d serve Carl right. Fuck his heists and plots and backstabbing. Let him lose his top-value cargo. Let him lose his mechanic buddy. Let him lose me—not like he apparently gives a damn.”

  This was wonderful. Carl ha
d given sly warning about Amy’s wobbly mental state, but he’d hoped that she’d at least pull it together under the threat of fire. Roddy had stowed a blaster pistol; it was already set on stun. He had just one trick left to try before overloading her central nervous system and piloting the Mermaid out of harm’s way. “So you’re going to prove him right? How’s that winning? Only ones who’ll know what happened will be you and me, a couple clouds of dust dispersing through astral space. He’ll think it was an accident or a failed mission. He won’t even know you’re pissed at him; he’d just cry those dry tears of his at our funeral and find another mechanic and a new girl to practice procreating with.”

  Roddy watched. He waited. Trying to read human facial expressions was usually pretty easy. Women made it harder. Loose wiring redoubled the difficulty. She just might do it. He’d pegged her as a short-term thinker but never suicidal. Somehow, this was all Carl’s fault. Amy didn’t belong out here. She was the one who needed regular appointments with Dr. Akerman, not Roddy. Better yet, she should have been on Earth with some actual experts in human brain descrambling. But Carl had diverted her trip to the mental repair shop and put her in his squadron, then turned her loose into the galaxy, then took her back and shared his quarters with her.

  When a blip sounded from the cockpit, Roddy couldn’t wait any longer. With quickness few humans were prepared for, he bolted past her and wedged himself between her and the console. Short-range scanners were showing an Eyndar patrol craft on an intercept course. He had to think fast. Opening an unsecured channel, he spoke English this time. He could only hope that the Eyndar could understand at least a little of their enemy’s language. “Copy that, Valhalla, we’re about to make contact with the wreck… No, sir, just a single Eyndar vessel harassing us. Nothing you need to worry about. We’ll just wait for you to—what? You expect us to go in there before you arrive…? Roger that. Just promise me one thing: if that doggy out there dusts us, don’t stop with hunting him down. Find that colony he’s based out of and flatten it… Thank you, sir. Over and out.”

  The Eyndar ship was still closing in.

  “It’s not going to work,” Amy said.

  “It’s going to work.” It had to work. If Amy wasn’t going to help, then it was up to Roddy, and Roddy wasn’t pilot enough to evade even a lightly armed Eyndar patrol ship for long.

  “Human vessel, you have thirty-six minutes to board and retrieve survivors or you’re dead. No longer. Any attempt to tow the vessel or engage its engines will be met with killing fire.”

  Roddy let out a long breath that emptied him to the tips of his toes. “Thirty-six minutes… fucked-up deadline, but I’ll take it.”

  Amy’s brow furrowed. “That earring of Mort’s probably translated their decimal timekeeping to Earth Standard for you. Let’s see if we can find our prize before the Valhalla fails to show up.” With that, she took the flight yoke and adjusted their course to intercept the Sokol for docking. It was as if the previous ten minutes of nihilism and convoluted spite had never taken place. He began to wonder if they had.

  # # #

  She didn’t look like Roddy. That shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Mort, but somehow in his mind, he’d conjured a preliminary image of Don Rucker’s laaku scientist that was—in essence—an effeminate Rodek of Kethlet wearing a white lab coat. Instead, Shoni of Ikuzu was blonde-furred, with matted streaks along her scalp and cheeks that were clearly cosmetic. Her black waistcoat that flared at the hips. All four hands sported matching gloves. She peered up at Mort did so through a pair of sciencey lenses.

  “You say he’ll understand the concepts?” Shoni asked, addressing Don without taking her eyes off Mort.

  Don tilted his head with an audible crack of vertebrae. “His problem if he doesn’t.”

  Shoni took a deep breath. With the touch of a datapad, a holographic planetary system sprang into existence between them. “We are currently on G5344-4-3, known locally as Ithaca. In turn, Ithaca is in orbit around G5344-4.”

  “This is truly the stuff of universal conundra.”

  With a glare, Shoni continued. “Also in orbit around G5344-4 is a second moon, known as G5344-4-2. Ithaca and G5344-4-2 are in a rather improbable lead-and-chase orbit, describing the same orbital path around G5344-4. I say improbable because the events that would lead to such an orbit defy coincidence. Now, as for my supposition, it requires a fundamental understanding of gravity. You see, any two objects will attract one another with a force equal to—”

  “Skip the math. I understand gravity better than you can imagine. Get to your marvelous revelation.”

  “G5344-4-2 isn’t getting any closer to Ithaca. It follows at a fixed distance. Life should never have been possible on this moon because it should have been obliterated in a lunar collision millennia ago. Leaving aside G5344-4-1, whose distant orbit plays no role in this investigation, G5344-4 should have rings of orbiting debris, not a pair of intact moons circling it. Our current orbital situation is impossible.”

  “For a wizard, the impossible is a breakfast cereal.”

  Shoni continued as if oblivious to Mort’s interruption. “Furthermore, G5344-4-2 is tidally locked with Ithaca. The same side of the moon faces Ithaca at all times.”

  “The same could be said of that big blob of gas they call a planet out there. How can you tell it’s not in cahoots with that one, not us?” Mort knew the question was academic, but he wanted to see if the science laaku would squirm. Of course, if the same side always faced Ithaca, a different side would be turned toward the planet below. Unless of course…

  “G5344-4-2 is spinning on that very axis. We are, in essence, staring straight at one of the rotational poles.”

  Mort harrumphed softly. “Far be it from me to horn in on the toponomy committee, but if we’re going to keep yapping about this shadowing moon, could we at least settle on something to call it besides G53 and so-forth? How about Little Brother or Puppy—something always tagging along?”

  “For one moment, ignore the name,” Shoni snapped. “This is my theory: the magical interference in the jungles of Ithaca originates off-world on G5344-4-2. To constantly maintain this orbital situation, it would have to be on the axis of rotation, at the one point that’s always a constant distance from Ithaca.”

  Mort scratched his chin as he stared at the holo of the second moon. “I’d been given to understand that there was no science that could see the surface of Little Brother. This is all just one big guess of yours.”

  Shoni drew herself up as tall as her laaku stature allowed. “Inference. Of the possible explanations for this curious orbital situation, the most likely is a magical effect originating here.” With a tap of a control at her wrist, a red blip appeared on the holographic map. “G5344-4-2 is dangling from this moon like it’s on a tow cable, and that’s where the cable attaches.”

  “Some help that is,” Mort grumbled. “Can’t even tell if there’s air to breathe, and none of the ships can fly there.”

  Don walked over and switched off the holo-projector. “Can’t might be too strong a word. Won’t is more like it. No one wants to go joyriding to a moon with no sensor readings and no hint that there’s anything of value there. But if you’re serious about going to find this piece of alien filth that’s got my Tanny under his thrall, I’ll get you a pilot and a ship.”

  The smart play was to wait for Carl to get back. Mort’s holding action was intended to keep Don from causing trouble at headquarters. Sending him offworld would be a quick way for Don to be rid of Mort’s interference. No one else on Ithaca was likely to stand up to him—at least no one who wasn’t busy playing jungle princess with her new marine friends. But Mort was also given to taking leeway when it suited him. Letting Carl boss him around once in a while was good for the boy’s ego, something he needed to learn with a hundred-strong contingent at his beck and call. Unfortunately, Devraa had really been sticking in Mort’s craw.

  Mort looked Don Rucker square in the eye. “Two conditi
ons. One, I get veto power over the pilot. I won’t go flying off to some godforsaken moon with any yokel whose widow you can promise a big payout.”

  Don set his jaw. “Fine. The second?”

  “Your word that you keep yourself out of Carl’s business until he gets back.”

  If Don had been planning to use Mort’s absence to do precisely that, now was the time he’d find out. Mort had no doubt that Don Rucker could lie to a man’s face. What he really wanted to see was if Don was willing to lie to his. Snippets of contingency plans flashed through Mort’s head: ways to get aboard Don’s orbiting ship and render it harmless, priorities of those he’d have to eliminate, ideas on how he’d keep his rampage quiet until the little syndicate was safe from the big one. A devious, wily part of Mort’s brain hoped he had the chance to pit himself against the Rucker Syndicate just for the challenge.

  “You’ve got my word.”

  Mort scowled at the gangster, but Don Rucker didn’t flinch. And damn him, but Mort believed him.

  “Fine, then. Round up the brave and the stupid and let me pick my traveling companion to hell.”

  # # #

  Roddy hated working under time pressure. Haste was dangerous in his line of work. He wasn’t fond of floating around zero-G wrecks that had more holes than the plot of A Vampire Laaku in Earth Parliament, which was a new—if unsurprising—revelation. As he pushed off from one surface to another, he calculated his trajectories with painstaking care, mindful that one wrong shove could send him extra-vehicular.

  “Nothing so far,” Amy reported. “Crew quarters are clear.”

  Roddy could have told her that, and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried. These guys were on their way to make an exchange, and primordial goo didn’t seem like something to store at the foot of your bunk. The lower decks had taken far worse punishment in the firefight, but all the same, it was more likely they’d find their prize there than stuffed in with someone’s undergarments. If the goo had been damaged or destroyed, better to find trace evidence and write it off quickly.