Rebellion's Fury

by Jay Allan

  Nerov was staring at Kutusov as the voice continued, watching his expression morph from pleasant to confused. To scared.

  “This is a war zone, and failure to comply will result in the immediate destruction of your vessel. There will be no further warnings before action is taken.”

  “What is happening?” the ambassador asked, the fear heavy in his voice. “Has the stealth device failed? Did someone betray us?”

  “Ambassador . . . Andrei . . .” She had to tell him, but the words didn’t come.

  “Sasha, we’re picking up energy readings. I think they’re arming their weapons systems.”

  “Sasha—”

  She held up her hand, gesturing to Kutusov to wait. He glared back, but he also remained quiet.

  Nerov flipped on her comm unit. “Federal vessel California, this is the free trader Gazelle. We are carrying a small group of loyalists who escaped from rebel captivity. We have injured aboard, and we request aid and assistance.” She amazed herself sometimes, how well she could lie, even with the might of the federal navy bearing down on her and a terrified—and soon to be enraged—Union diplomat breathing down her neck.

  “We read you, Gazelle. Cut thrust as ordered and reduce energy output to minimal levels. We will send a shuttle to dock and retrieve your wounded and passengers.” It sounded like the federal officer had bought her story. Why wouldn’t he? Who would be insane enough to try to run the federal blockade?

  “Acknowledged, California. Cutting thrust now.” She gestured toward Griff, slicing her hand through the air. Her second understood immediately, and a few seconds later, free fall replaced the almost 2g of pressure on the bridge. “Be ready, Griff. Their approach angle works for us. They’ll have a significant amount of vector modification to match us.” Nerov had plotted her course carefully. Her ship’s current vector was close to directly toward the jump point. It would be an advantage when Vagabond finally made its desperate run.

  “I insist you explain to me exactly what is going on.”

  “Andrei, I will be happy to explain, but since you did not listen to me and remain in your cabin, I have to insist you sit in that seat over there and strap in. We’re going to have one hell of a rough ride in about a minute.”

  “I don’t . . .” Kutusov looked like he was going to argue, but then he just turned and did as Nerov had told him. The look of fear had transitioned to one of terror. That was good, Nerov figured. It would hold back the anger, at least for a while. Long enough to get out of the system.

  Or long enough for it not to matter. If there was an advantage to getting blasted to oblivion by a federal frigate, it was the fact that it would get her off the hook for having to explain to the Union ambassador how she’d lied to him and tricked him into running the federal blockade.

  And, as Damian had noted to her after the group meeting, if a Union ambassador was killed by a Federal American ship, it could only help the cause.

  So . . . silver lining?

  “I’m still picking up energy readings. My guess is they’ve got their weapons on standby. I’m also reading some positional change, probably that shuttle launching.”

  “Okay, get ready, Griff. We’ve only got one chance at this.” It seemed the federal officer was still buying her story, at least somewhat. She’d have preferred if he’d shut his weapons down completely, but that was too much to ask for. She’d fenced for years with the federal navy, and as much resentment as she’d built up from that time, she’d never have said they were anything but sharp and professional.

  “All systems check, Sasha. We’re as ready as we’re going to get.” A few seconds later, “That shuttle launch is confirmed. Estimate eight minutes to docking range.”

  “Andrei, are you strapped in?”

  “Yes . . .” The ambassador was definitely too scared to exchange lengthy comments, and certainly to vent his rage on her. But he did manage to add, “Perhaps we should surrender . . .”

  Sure, odds are they’d just hold you until the rebellion was over and then send you home. But even if I was okay with sacrificing myself so you could enjoy a plush captivity and eventual return home, I’m not sacrificing my crew. And no fed is stepping onto my ship.

  So . . . sorry, my good ambassador, but you’re stuck in this one with us.

  She took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the screen. The shuttle was heading toward Vagabond, the frigate not far behind. The closer she let California get, the more thrust it would take for the frigate to offset its vector and pursue Vagabond. But it also let the federal ship into firing range.

  She was counting down in her head, trying to hold off the fear closing in on her. A miscalculation, even a bit of bad luck, could finish them all. Even letting her worries delay her actions a moment could be fatal.

  “Now, Griff.” The words burst out of her mouth, almost surprising her. She braced herself in her chair, knowing what was coming.

  Daniels’s hands moved over his controls, and a few seconds later, every surface in Vagabond rattled as the ship’s engines fired with a ferocity they had never achieved before, pouring out a volume of thrust far in excess of their highest-rated maximums.

  The g-forces slammed into Nerov, pushing her deep into the cushioning of her chair. There was pain, a feeling like every bone in her body was about to break under the terrible strain. But the breathing was the worst. For a few seconds, she felt as though she would suffocate, unable to force even the smallest gasps of air into her tormented lungs. But then she focused, pushing with all the strength she could muster, and slowly, the feeling of cool, fresh air infiltrated the primal fear caused by the lack of oxygen.

  She turned her head so she could see the main display, not an easy task by any means. She could hear Griff grunting as he struggled to breathe, and Kutusov, as well. The ambassador had howled when the pressure first hit him, but one effect of barely being able to breathe was the inability to complain.

  She could see flashes of light on the screen. The federal ship was reacting already, firing its lasers at Vagabond. She was concerned, but not overly so—at this point, a hit would be a true stroke of luck for her attacker. Vagabond’s move had been a surprise, and she’d included some evasive maneuvers into the thrust pattern when she’d programmed it into the AI. With any luck, her ship would be out of range in a few more seconds. Then she’d see how quickly the feds could react.

  She tried to ignore the pain, but she was sure she’d at least dislocated her shoulder. An advantage of multiple sources of misery was the inability to focus solely on one. She could see from the dispositions on the display that her plan would work. Vagabond would get away. Jubilation was mitigated by an important condition: if, and this was a big if, the old ship could endure the insane thrust for another seven minutes. It was a long time, longer even than she’d ever run Vagabond at its normal full blast capability. It wasn’t only the engines that could fail, but also the reactor, or even the structural frame of the ship. Some of those failures would be merciful, instantaneous destruction with no warning. Others, like a systems burnout that didn’t destroy the ship, would lead to a longer and more agonizing end at the hands of the federal authorities.

  But Vagabond endured, the engines blasting away, the reactor continuing to operate on a massive overload. The old vessel shook hard, and a few bits and pieces broke free and slammed into the walls. But the minutes went by, explosive decompression failed to appear, and the jump on the federals grew larger.

  The frigate had now started its pursuit, blasting its own engines and aligning its vector to match Vagabond’s, but the smaller ship had gained a huge lead, not just on California, but the other federal ships now firing their engines to join the pursuit.

  She watched, trying to keep her mind off the pain, the terrible feeling of near-asphyxiation. The jump point was getting closer. California had matched her course, and the faster warship was closing now. But they weren’t going to get back into weapons range, not in time. Not unless Vagabond’s abused systems
gave out.

  “Griff . . .” She barely managed to get the sound out of her mouth.

  “Here . . .” Her friend didn’t sound any better than she did, but she believed in him. He had one job to do, one detail that would greatly increase the chances of escape. And she trusted him to see it done.

  “Now,” she managed to say, putting all the strength she had into the soft yell.

  Daniels didn’t answer, but he somehow moved his hand enough to the small button, and he pressed it. The display flashed brightly, and an instant later, Vagabond slipped into the strange alternate reality of intersystem travel. Then the ship emerged again into regular space, and the AI cut the thrust.

  Nerov sucked in a deep breath, then another. Her lungs burned and her diaphragm was like electric fire each time oxygen went in and out, but at least her vision was clearing. She moved slowly to the side, and then she slammed herself back, shoving the dislocated shoulder back into place. The pain was astonishing, and despite her best efforts, she let out a loud grunt.

  Then she unlatched her harness and stood up. Her legs were shaky, and to the best of her knowledge, there wasn’t a square centimeter of her body that didn’t hurt. But she was alive, and Vagabond was no longer in the Epsilon Eridani system. She’d left Haven, and the federal fleet, nine light-years behind.

  “I demand to know just what is going on.” Kutusov was fumbling to unlatch his own harness, without much success. To her surprise, he seemed to have come through the ordeal more or less unscathed.

  She walked across the bridge, leaned down, and put her hands on the buckle, and unhooked it gently. “You are a true spacer, Andrei,” she said, as sweetly as she could manage in the situation. “I am impressed.” She paused for a moment, hovering close over him. She’d worn the pants he’d so liked, and a low-cut top she’d managed to find among her things. She didn’t think she could flirt her way out of the fact that she’d lied to an ambassador, tricked him into taking a terrible risk . . . but she didn’t think it would hurt, either. Especially since Kutusov had been pursuing her every chance he got for almost ten months now.

  “Thank you, Sash . . .” The diplomat was taken in for a second, but then he glared at her. “You lied to me, didn’t you? There is no stealth device? You tricked me so I would come on board while you made a desperate run past the federal blockade. We could have been killed!”

  “I am sorry, Andrei. I had no choice. We need you so desperately.” A pause. “I need you. You are the only chance we have.” She was laying it on thick, and she could see it was having an effect. On some level she was amused that a man whose career was negotiating could be so easily manipulated, but that was a more complex line of thinking than her battered mind and body could manage at the moment.

  “I understand your needs, but that does not excuse what you did. And what if the federals pursue us here?”

  “I don’t think that is very likely, Andrei. First, we dropped an explosive right before we jumped. Not much of a weapon, I’m afraid, but laced with some heavy elements. It will have left quite a dirty cloud of hard radiation, one sufficient to block the last-second vector change we made on the jump. It is very unlikely the federals will be able to determine where we went, Andrei, and even if they do, I doubt they would dare to follow us.”

  “And why is that?” His anger was still there, but she could see the intrigue and curiosity pushing it aside, at least somewhat.

  “Because it would be an act of war, that is why. The heavy acceleration across the system wasn’t the only chance we took, Andrei. We tried a very precise jump angle as well, and a long trip. Welcome to the Algol system, Ambassador Kutusov. I’m sure the Union’s largest colony will be able to welcome an official of your stature far more appropriately than we managed.”

  She leaned forward, pausing for a moment when she realized he was staring at her. Nerov knew she was an attractive woman, but she’d always been more comfortable utilizing a cold pistol in her hand rather than her well-placed and displayed curves. But she was a pragmatist, and she figured holding a gun to Kutusov’s head probably wasn’t the way to get him to forgive her. And without his goodwill, the entire operation was pointless.

  “You can flirt with me all you want, but it doesn’t change what you did. We could have been killed.”

  “I know, Andrei,” she said, leaning closer to him and putting her hand on his cheek. “But I also knew you were a courageous man. What other ambassador of your rank would willingly put himself in the middle of a revolution?” She was working it hard. But Kutusov knew he was safe now, and that would go a long way toward defusing his anger. And she was giving him the chance to return home and present himself in just the way she’d described. A hero back from a war zone. At the very least, it was the stuff of years of stories to tell the other diplomats at their exclusive clubs. He’ll even get to bed me in the retellings, no doubt, she thought with a grin.

  “I hope we can still count on your support. After all, you saw yourself that the rebellion is credible, that General Ward and the army are perfectly capable of defeating the federal forces.”

  “We will see, Sasha.” But she could tell from his tone his support was still there. “First, let’s contact system control and make sure no Union ships come swarming up after us. I’ve had quite enough of that for one day.”

  Chapter 38

  The New Kremlin

  Union Seat of Government

  Eurasian Union

  Earth, Sol III

  “Thank you, Minister Karenski. It has been a pleasure meeting you and your esteemed colleagues.” Nerov smiled at the official she knew was the third or fourth most powerful individual in the Union. The last weeks had been a whirlwind of introductions and functions, ones that had her head spinning. She’d seen herself as Ambassador Kutusov’s transportation, but she hadn’t even considered her role as the representative of Haven’s new government, not until the Union leadership started treating her as exactly that.

  “It was my pleasure, Ambassador Nerov. Your stories of your people’s exploits against the American federals have been wondrous to hear. I only wish I could have accompanied Ambassador Kutusov and witnessed such glory for myself.”

  “You would love Haven, Minister, and if we do become allies, I would urge you to visit one day. I can assure you a planetwide welcome of epic proportions.” That’s the fourth time you’ve mentioned alliances or military intervention. Andrei told you not to push too hard. “Of course, for now, I will settle for the chance to see this lovely city. I never realized so much of the original architecture of Moscow was re-created in the rebuilding. It is truly magnificent.”

  “Thank you, Ambassador. I am happy that our fair city pleases you.”

  There he goes again with the “ambassador.” Nerov was uncomfortable. She wasn’t an ambassador—at least, she had no kinds of credentials, not even the type a government hiding in the woods could bestow. Not that she cared about any of that. Such things were of little interest to her and generated even less respect. She rated people on their abilities, not on what documents and government pronouncements said. But the title still made her quiver a little. And the full-length dress she wore, which Karenski had given her and which she suspected had cost more than she’d grossed on some smuggling runs, was driving her crazy. She missed her leathers and the holstered pistol that had come to feel like part of her leg. And she didn’t want to get started on the bewildering collection of undergarments the dress required to . . . have the desired effect.

  She had been uneasy, edgy, virtually every second since she’d arrived. She wasn’t a diplomat. Her past was . . . unsavory, and her profession in recent years had seen her spend far more time in rundown spacer’s districts than upper-class salons. Hell—in the first part of the rebellion, she’d spent a good deal of time in a sewer. She wondered if Karenski had ever seen a picture of a sewer.

  She was, quite decidedly, out of her element.

  Sure, she was good in a fight, but the halls of govern
ment and international relations made her skin crawl. For one thing, she wasn’t allowed to punch a single person she saw. She’d found herself longing for another honest flight past the federal blockade, but she knew this was where Haven needed her. And despite her well-practiced image as a cold-blooded mercenary, she’d had to admit to herself, she’d found a home on that far-flung planet, complete with a roster of friends she’d hate to see on the gallows . . . and one or two dirtbags she just might like to watch gasping for their last breaths. Whatever she could do to save Haven, she had to do. Even if that was becoming a diplomat.

  “So, Minister, I was told there was a special function this evening, but I’m afraid no one gave me any details.”

  “That was an oversight, I assure you. This is a reception to welcome the diplomatic delegation from the Hegemony.” Karenski looked around the room and then continued, his voice hushed. “I will tell you, Ambassador, that the victory in the field of your arms has been very persuasive. A majority of the Council is prepared to vote in favor of recognition . . .” He paused for a few seconds. “. . . with one proviso. We can only risk such provocation if the Hegemony is willing to join us in a simultaneous declaration, and a plan to support your republic and guarantee your independence.”

  Nerov tried to hide her surprise. It had seemed daunting enough to convince one government to intervene, but two? She’d made enough effort to bring Kutusov back to her side, and she’d gone through a lifetime of charm dealing with Union functionaries. The idea of starting all over with a new batch was about the worst thing she could imagine.

  Just as she was about to protest, a voice called out, “Introducing His Excellency, Chancellor Deng Wu, and the esteemed delegation from the Asian Hegemony.”

  Her head snapped around toward the massive double doors as the announcer continued, reciting a seemingly endless series of designations and titles.