by Rod Walker
I opened my mouth to point that out, when an alarm I had never heard before went off.
It was the call to general quarters.
Arthur was the first to check the main. It seemed someone on the bridge had sighted a ship, and given that the system we were in was supposed to be uninhabited, the assumption was that it must be hostile.
“I can’t stay here,” said Arthur. “I’m on the damage control team for the cargo bays.”
Murdock grunted, waving him off with one hand while he reached over to set a flip a row of switches below the monitors. “Then you’d better get going, hadn’t you?”
Arthur vanished out the door. Murdock started typing commands, and then glanced up at me.
“Why are you still here?” he said.
“Well, I don’t actually have an assignment for general quarters.”
His scowl deepened. “Really? Suppose no one got around to it. Well, you can make yourself useful. You know how to do a CPU usage trace?”
I nodded.
“Sit there,” he pointed at one of the chairs below the screen of monitors, “bring up a combined CPU, network, and cooling trace on five, and tell me if it does anything weird. Got it?”
“I got it,” I said, sitting down. I took a moment to orient myself with the controls, typed a sequence of commands, and brought up the usage display. It was one of the basic principles of cyberwarfare. In battle, ships often tried to hack each other’s systems with various forms of malware attacks. The ideal hack, of course, was one that went unnoticed by both the ship’s defensive software and the ship’s computer operator. Some things were impossible to conceal, however, and one of them was the heat generated from increased activity in the ship’s processors… such as the increased activity from a malware process might produce. So the ship had a system dedicated solely to tracking CPU and network usage, and any anomalous activity got flagged.
Murdock busied himself by switching the computer systems to battle mode. That meant blocking any outside transmissions, switching priority over to the battle systems, and activating automatic defensive programs. Once that was done, he entered another command, and the sounds of the bridge came over the room’s speakers, and I heard Hawkins giving orders.
Murdock must have seen my look of surprise. “One of the advantages of running the system. You know about things before everyone else.” He pressed a button. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”
The sensor display came up on another screen. Two ships were approaching the Rusalka. One was a blockade runner, small, fast, and heavily armed and armored. The other was larger and slower, and looked like a troop transport. Details filled up the display as someone on the bridge ordered a sensor focus of the blockade runner.
It was a dangerous little ship, and capable of menacing most freighters, but it was no match for Rusalka. Once the kinetic and radiant shields were up and full power sent to the defensive turrets, she would win any fight with such a small predator. The blockade runner could dance around the Rusalka for a few minutes, but the big freighter could shrug off the blockade runner’s guns, and it would only take a single hit from one of the defensive turrets to cripple or destroy the runner.
That troop ship, though, presented a more serious threat.
“What are they thinking?” muttered Murdock.
The troop ship wasn’t a big one. That class of ship could hold maybe forty well-armed soldiers, and didn’t have any weapons except a laser cutter mounted to the prow, permitting it to slice through both the inner and the outer hulls of a ship However, the Rusalka’s radiant shield would block the laser cutter, and the kinetic shield would keep the troop ship from ever making the contact with the hull required for boarding.
“Pirates?” I said.
“Mmm. Probably,” said Murdock. His scowl deepened. “Dumb ones. They don’t have nearly the firepower for something like us. So I wonder if they’ve got something else up their sleeves.”
“Could they have… you know, like cloaked ships or something?” I said.
Murdock didn’t come right out and say I was an idiot, but his expression said it for him. “I don’t know what kind of crap shows they have on Nowhereville IX or whatever podunk planet you’re from, but there’s no such thing as a cloaking device.” He waved a hand to encompass the entirety of the Rusalka. “This is a giant metal tube with reactors that could level a small continent if they go critical. Hard to make something like that invisible, isn’t it? No, if they’re going to go for an ambush, they’ll have ships hidden behind an asteroid or a comet near our jump point, or something fast sitting behind one of the gas giants where we can’t see it.”
He snapped his fingers and pointed. “Hit that switch, and then that one, and run the macro that comes up on the display. We can listen in.”
I reached over to the panel and followed his directions. A macro entitled “COMM/DUMP MAIN DRIVE” appeared, and I executed it. A sudden hiss filled the computer room, and for one alarmed moment I wondered if I had accidentally turned off the life support or something. Then I realized the speakers in the ceiling were back on, and a few moments later, Mr. Hawkins’s voice filled the room.
“Unidentified vessels,” said Hawkins, his voice cold and formal. “This is Starways Hauling Company freighter Rusalka, registry CIF-87334B. Request identification and statement of purpose. Repeat, request identification and statement of purpose.”
The blockade runner and the troop transport did not respond, although both ships continued their approach.
“Unidentified vessels,” said Hawkins, and lines of red text scrolled across one of the displays as the targeting computers went through their calculations. “This is Starways Hauling Company freighter Rusalka, registry CIF-87334B. Request identification and statement of purpose.” His neutral voice took on a hard edge “Be advised that our ship’s defenses are now tracking your movements and we will respond to any hostile actions.”
A spike appeared on one of the displays.
“Ah,” said Murdock. “That got their attention. They’re answering.” He tapped a key. “Let’s see what our bogeys have to say for themselves.” A new voice crackled over the speaker.
I shot to my feet, my heart pounding, and both hands clenched into fists.
That voice! I knew that voice, deep and confident with the exotic accent I was sure was feigned. I sometimes had nightmares in which I heard it, followed by blood and fire and explosions.
“No,” I shouted in alarm. “No! I know who that is.”
“Freighter Rusalka,” said Alesander Ducarti, Social Party operative, murderer, and interstellar terrorist, “this is the warship Vanguard, representing the legitimate government of Novorossiya III.”
“Acknowledged, Vanguard,” said Hawkins, his voice calm, even dry, “Starways Hauling Company does not take a position on local planetary wars. Also, system NR8965 is not claimed by any government, and whatever entity you represent has no legal authority here.”
“Murdock,” I said as I grabbed his arm. “You’ve got to call Hawkins. Now! Tell him to fire on those ships down, right now!”
Murdock frowned. “Why? They’re acting like jerks, but we can’t shoot first!”
“We have to! You know how I ended up with Starways, right?”
Murdock grunted. “Something about it.”
“That’s him! That’s Ducarti!” I shouted, pointing at the Vanguard on the sensor display. “He killed thousands of people on New Chicago.” My heart hammered in my ears as I jabbed at the screen. It felt as if the whole ship was collapsing in on me. “If he’s coming after us, you can bet he has a plan. You’ve got to warn Hawkins. You’ve got to warn him right now. Right now! You’ve got–”
“Simmer down, kid,” said Murdock sharply, but he was already typing. He wouldn’t interrupt Hawkins’s conversation with Ducarti, but he could send the XO a message. A moment later the screen flashed an acknowledgement from Hawkins, but I couldn’t see what it was even though I stretched my neck out tryi
ng to read it.
“Rusalka, I must demand the immediate surrender of your cargo and ship,” said Ducarti. “Alternatively, you may simply jettison your cargo into space and depart the system at once. Should you choose the latter, I will give you ten minutes to comply.”
“Captain Ducarti,” said Hawkins. “According to our records, just under two years ago you were involved in a serious terrorist incident on New Chicago that resulted in thousands of civilian deaths. Consequently you are a criminal and an outlaw. You have no authority over anyone, much less this ship.”
“On the contrary, XO Hawkins,” said Ducarti. “I represent the legitimate government of Novorossiya III.”
“I imagine, Captain Ducarti,” said Hawkins, “that the people of Novorossiya III have something of a different opinion on the matter. I also understand that the Social Party has been outlawed there.”
“The people of Novorossiya III,” said Ducarti in his smooth voice, “have fallen prey to reactionary propaganda, alas.” I could easily picture his superior expression, and I desperately wished he was here so I could punch him in his stupid smirking face. “They shall be educated in time. Meanwhile, your cargo is the grain surplus of New Sibersk, and New Sibersk was settled by criminals exiled by the legitimate government of Novorossiya III. Consequently, as a representative of the legitimate Social Party government of Novorossiya III, I declare this cargo forfeit. I urge you, Mr. Hawkins, to jettison your cargo and continue on your way. It is the safe and responsible course.”
My fists tightened at the self-satisfied purr in his voice.
“I am sure you have not failed to notice that our firepower is superior to yours, Captain. Like you, I would prefer that no lives be lost today. If you continue on your course, I am afraid we will have no choice but to defend ourselves, and lives shall indeed be lost… but most of them will be on the Vanguard.”
“Indeed,” said Ducarti, that self-satisfaction in his voice increasing. “In that case, Executive Officer Hawkins, I would like to speak to your captain.”
“I’m afraid that Captain Williams is indisposed at the moment,” said Hawkins.
“Are you entirely sure?” said Ducarti. “Perhaps you would like to double-check.”
For a moment no one spoke.
Then Murdock started to swear, punching at keys as he did.
“We’re idiots. Absolute idiots! I should have shot the wretch when I had the chance. Or dumped him out the airlock.” His fingers flew over the keys. “We should have done something.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. Murdock’s uncharacteristic alarm was scaring me.
“I’m quite sure,” said Hawkins. “This is your final warning, Captain Ducarti. Break off your attack vector, or we shall open–”
The speaker suddenly went silent. At exactly the same time, all the displays in the computer room went dead.
Murdock swore again, even more viciously, and yanked a metal box out from beneath the console.
The speaker came back to life, and a new voice came from the ceiling.
“Vanguard, this is Captain Thomas Williams of Rusalka,” said the captain.
“What happened?” I said.
“He locked us out,” said Murdock, opening the box. “The bastard locked us out. The captain has override codes to the entire ship.” He flipped open the box, and my eyes got wide. There were four burst laser pistols in the box, along with extra power packs. “We should have listened to Corbin. He knew all along, but we didn’t believe. More fool us.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
Murdock opened his mouth to answer, and the captain’s voice came from the speaker one last time.
“In the name of the Social Party and the Revolution, I hereby surrender this vessel, and order the crew to await instructions from Captain Ducarti.”
Chapter 4: How To Handle Crew Disputes
For a moment sheer panic froze me where I stood. I had never thought to see Ducarti again. Now he was about to take control of the Rusalka. He would remember me, that I knew for a certainty, and he likely had a squad of Social commandos aboard that troop transport. He would shoot me the first chance he got.
Actually, he would shoot a lot more people than just me.
“We can’t surrender,” I said, the words tumbling out of me. I was badly frightened and trying not to show it, which meant I wound up talking real fast. “If we surrender, he’ll kill us all. He’s Social Party. He killed five thousand people on New Chicago. He’ll kill everyone on the ship!”
“Rovio,” said Murdock, doing something with one of the laser pistols. “Shut up!”
“Will the XO surrender?” I said. “We have to warn everyone.” I crossed to the console and hit the phone switch, but it was dead. The entire console was dead. I pulled my phone from my belt, but the display only read SYSTEM LOCKED: COMMAND OVERRIDE.
“Rovio,” said Murdock again, putting down the pistol and picking up a second one.
“That troop transport will land at the port airlock, probably,” I said. “Maybe if we block it we can keep them from landing.”
“Rovio!” bellowed Murdock. “Stop babbling and listen to me!”
I came to a stammering halt, blinking.
“Of course we can’t surrender, you idiot,” said Murdock. “They’ll kill us all.” He checked something on the last laser pistol and nodded to himself. “They’re a Social strike force. When they take a ship, they kill the crew and make propaganda videos out of it. That bastard Williams! If he hadn’t turned traitor, we could have blown the Vanguard to atoms. I knew we should’ve listened to Corbin.”
“He knew?” I said. “You knew?”
“He knew. We suspected,” said Murdock, shoving one of the pistols into his belt and taking the other in his right hand. “Corbin was sure of it, but Nelson and Hawkins and I weren’t so certain. We knew he was an idiot, but a Social sympathizer? That seemed impossible. But we started watching him.”
“That file you kept,” I blurted out. “You thought he might be a sympathizer, so you were collecting evidence!”
Murdock gave me a flat look. “You knew about that?”
I shrugged. “I found out by accident. I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t know what it was for. I thought you were just trying to get him fired.”
“For a start,” said Murdock. “If it turned out he was a Social, we would have gotten him sent to prison. Guess we figured it out a little too late.”
“What are we going to do?” I said. I was so frightened I could feel tears threatening to spill from my eyes.
Murdock handed me one of the laser pistols. “You know how to use one of these?”
I hesitated, staring at the pistol’s grip. I had never actually fired a gun at anyone. Granted, I had fired a gun plenty of times, thanks to Nelson’s endless safety drills. More than once, I had grumbled about it, and Arthur and I had made fun of the dour Security Chief quite often.
Now, I was very glad he’d made me do it.
“Yeah,” I said, taking the pistol and checking the power pack. The weapon was fully charged, which on a short-burst pistol like this one, meant about thirty shots. “Yeah, I do.”
“Good,” said Murdock. He gestured at the blank displays. “The captain has command codes that override everything on the ship. He’s locked the system down, which means we’re sitting ducks for Ducarti and his thugs. So I’m going to manually power down the computer, and lock it before it loads the operating system. That way I can take control of at least some systems and keep Williams from getting his fingers into anything.”
“Can you do it from here?” I said.
“Nope,” said Murdock with a grimace. “The idiots who designed this ship gave the computer its own power generator.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” I said.
“Most of the time,” said Murdock, “but the generator’s all the way on the other end of the ship.”
I grimaced. “That’s not far from the bridge.” We both knew that mea
nt it would also be close to the most likely entry point for Ducarti’s troops.
“You see the problem,” said Murdock. He handed me a second pistol, so I turned the safety on the first one he’d given me and stuck it into my belt. “Let’s move.”
I nodded, gripped the pistol in the way Nelson taught me, and followed him out the door.
We stepped into the ship’s main dorsal corridor. I didn’t see anyone, but that wasn’t surprising. The Rusalka was a huge freighter, and the crew was usually scattered the ship at their stations or on the crew deck. The main lighting had been turned off, and the emergency lights glowed in their rounded metal cages, throwing stark shadows over the metal walls and floor.
“He turned off the lights, too?” I said. At least Williams had left the gravitics on. He probably didn’t want to have to maneuver his fat backside in zero-G.
“Zip it,” snapped Murdock under his breath.
I started to defend myself, then realized that I was being an idiot, and shut up. My mind flashed back to the various instances of petty vandalism I had perpetrated with Sergei on New Chicago. He’d often told me to shut up on those little adventures too. Suddenly I found myself missing my older brother with a pain that felt almost physical… and a spasm of rage followed the grief.
If I got the chance, I vowed then and there, I was going to shoot Alesander Ducarti right in his haughty, sneering face.
Another part of my mind, the more efficient part, observed that wallowing in grief or rage right now was an excellent way to get killed, and that I’d better keep my wits about me if I, or any of the crew, was going to live through this mess.
So I zipped it and followed Murdock as silently as I could as we hurried down the corridor. For a computer operator, he seemed to know what he was doing. I’m not an expert on this kind of thing, but he was pretty quiet for a big man, the muzzle of his burst pistol swinging back and forth as he covered the corners. I suppose he had been in the Coalition navy with Corbin, so the navy would have trained him how to handle guns and move around a hostile ship. The Rusalka had a bunch of little battery powered carts for technicians to move around in a hurry when necessary, but they were tied into the ship’s network, and Williams had locked those out as well. It was probably just as well. Sitting in those stupid little carts, we would have been sitting ducks for any Social commandos with halfway-decent aim.