Rebels in Arms

by Ben Weaver

  “Oh, we’re coming out,” said Halitov. “Don’t worry about that.”

  “Ready on your triggers?” Breckinridge asked us.

  My thumb lay heavily on the detonator’s button.

  “It’s Jing and Scott, then me and you, Halitov,” Breckinridge said. “Go!”

  Jing and I skinned up and burst through the hold, hit the floor, and in that second, as the Marines realized we were heavily armed, we both found the bond and leapt up, toward the ceiling. Even as we flew, they opened fire and Breckinridge and Halitov jumped from the hold and rebounded off the floor, joining us in a race toward the overhead, some, thirty meters away.

  In a pair of heartbeats, all was chaos, with the Marines firing up at us as we rolled to land boots-first on the ceiling and activated our detonators.

  The ATC exploded, sending thousands of sharp-edged fragments in all directions. Debris knocked Marines off their feet, cut one man in half, decapitated two others, and set a third on fire. Since his leg had been cut off, his skin had deactivated. Grunts near the back ran toward the lift doors on either side of the hold, but a fireball swallowed them as Klaxons resounded. More Marines shouted, and automatic fire suppressers triggered in the bulkheads, their nozzles spewing a powdery foam all over the bay. A life-support alarm indicated that oxygen was automatically being jettisoned through the locks, effectively extinguishing all flames.

  We had just destroyed our only ride out, which, initially, didn’t make much sense. However, we had reached the conclusion that even if we could somehow neutralize the capital ship’s beam and affect a launch, her fighters would be on us long before our ATC’s computer could calculate an emergency tawt. The ATC’s armaments were no match for a squadron of atmoattack jets. So we did something the Marines did not expect, something we still couldn’t believe.

  As we raced across the overhead, toward a crab carrier we had singled out as our holding ground, the Marines answered our explosion with a surprise of their own. A low-level EMP bomb dropped from a hidden tube in the ceiling and exploded in a white-hot flash, kicking out a pulse wave that disrupted all electronic equipment within two hundred meters, according to a databar in my HUV. Our rifles and smart schrap grenades were useless, though at least our tacs and skins—which relied on our own bodies’ energy—still functioned. We never suspected they would utilize an EMP charge within their own ship, since the pulse wave would affect all of their own equipment, including life support. Apparently, they were so eager to get their hands on us that someone, maybe the XO, had decided to take the risk.

  Though I expected Halitov to voice his surprise and begin moaning about just how screwed we now were, he kept silent as we dropped from the ceiling, onto the crab carrier’s hull. Breckinridge led us toward the cockpit, toward a hatch near two thick antennae. We climbed into the carrier and hopped anxiously from the ladder.

  “What the hell am I supposed to do now,” Jing asked Breckinridge. “I can’t even bring up the computer to ID me because the EMP bomb’s knocked out everything.”

  “Mind if you tell us what’s going on?” I demanded.

  Breckinridge hesitated. “Oh, fuck it. Jing was going to get us in so we could fly this bird out. This ship could hold off a squadron and a beam long enough to tawt.”

  “How was she going to get us in? You can’t fly this bird without DNA recognition.”

  Breckinridge glanced to Jing, who just returned a menacing stare. “She can bypass.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “I can use the bond to temporarily alter my DNA to mimic whomever I want,” Jing said. “The computer will think I’m the pilot.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “The joke’s on all of us—unless we can reach another bay out of the EMP’s range. I’ll be right back.” And with that, she dematerialized, and even though I knew she possessed that power, seeing her do it right before my eyes still left me unnerved.

  Breckinridge glanced down at her tac, rubbed her fingers over it.

  “I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not going to kill myself here,” cried Halitov. “No fuckin’ way!”

  Without so much as a whisper or faint puff of air, Jing appeared, pale and gasping. “I did a quick scan of the other four bays. They’ve added security around every ship, got the cockpits locked up tight. Scott and I can get inside, and I can probably get a ship on-line and launch, but there’s no way we can get back here for you.”

  “Then we’ll have to fight our way down there,” said Halitov. “You two go ahead and get the ship ready. We’ll meet up with you.”

  “He makes it sound so easy,” said Breckinridge.

  “What about the pilots?” I asked. “You told them we had a plan for breaking them out of the interrogation room.”

  Breckinridge’s expression soured. “Yeah, I did.”

  “You lied?”

  “They’re not conditioned. Maybe they’ll get wiped, but they won’t be killed.”

  “How could you do that to them?”

  “It’s called making tough decisions. As a captain and company commander, I assumed you’d know all about that.”

  “Yeah, I do. And now that we’re no longer en route to meet the colonel, I’m assuming command.”

  She chuckled darkly. “We don’t got time for jokes.”

  A loud beep came from the ship’s cockpit, and Jing strode off to check it out.

  “What?” called Breckinridge.

  “They’re as crazy as we are. Ship’s autodestruct sequence has been armed.”

  “Shut it down,” Breckinridge cried.

  “They’ve locked me out. I can’t.”

  A voice boomed from outside. “Attention, guardsmen. Step out of the carrier with your hands fully extended above your heads. If you fail to comply in one minute, we’ve been authorized to jettison and destroy the ship. One minute. Mark.”

  Halitov moved to a rectangular porthole. “They’ve cleared the hold. Bay doors opening.” His worried gaze met mine. “These assholes are serious.” Then he glanced accusingly at Breckinridge. “And I thought you said they’d want to take us alive.”

  “They’re bluffing.”

  “I don’t think so.” Halitov pointed up, toward a powerful whine emanating from above. “They’ve brought in some equipment from another bay…”

  The carrier suddenly buffeted as the talons of a colossal bay crane clamped onto her sides. With a jolt, the ship began to rise.

  I turned to Jing. “It’s going to put a big drain on me, but come on.”

  “Where to?” she asked.

  “They’re controlling the crane from the flight boss’s station. Let’s raise a little hell.”

  She nodded, her eyes went distant, and…she was gone. I thought hard, felt the bond, and willed myself out of the carrier, out of the bay, and above to the flight boss’s station, with its panoramic windows overlooking the carrier and shattered ATC.

  As I got my bearings, I spotted Jing ripping the portly flight boss from his chair. She drove a palm up, into his nose, and kept pushing to kill him. He slumped as two Marines guarding the door came forward, leveling their particle rifles. I ran forward and leapt between them, kicking both rifles from their hands as I came down and grabbed their necks, driving them back, toward the door. One of them shouted something as I fumbled for his wrist, tore off his hand and tac, turned to the other, who frantically dug into a hip holster for his pistol. I seized his wrist—

  “Scott!” cried Jing.

  I looked up, right into the small, dark eyes of a Marine sergeant hovering over me. He waved a pen scanner over my tac, deactivating it. My skin faded, and a horrible smell made me light-headed. Jing rocketed toward us in the biza, but the Marine got his scanner close enough to deactivate her tac. As her skin faded, she dropped, began coughing, rolled over, looked at me, eyes begging for help. “Scott…”

  The humming of force beams came from somewhere, from the darkness, it seemed. Suddenly aware of my aching body, I opened my e
yes and saw dust twinkling in the beams. I sat up. They had carried me to a small cell in the brig, lavishly furnished with a narrow gelrack, small sink, and foul-smelling head. A thick band had been placed on my wrist, just above my tac, and I tried repeatedly to rip it off, but I couldn’t find the strength. The band was drugging me, I knew, keeping me weak, too weak to will myself out of the cell. I opened my mouth, and the voice that emerged sounded thin, hoarse, nearly unrecognizable. “Rooslin? Jing? Breckinridge?”

  I waited for an answer, listened to the beams’ incessant humming. I wanted to call again, but my throat hurt.

  A little later, I’m not sure how long, the beams trickled out, and in stepped the ship’s XO, a tall man with closely cropped hair and a silver goatee. “Captain, you’ve been placed under arrest by the Western Alliance Marine Corps. Do you understand me?”

  Even just a nod brought on pain. A lot of pain.

  “My orders are to disregard the war conventions of 2300 and 2301 pertaining to the seizure and treatment of POWs. I understand that your orders are to obey the Articles of the Code of Conduct, that you will not willingly give information or take part in any actions that might be harmful to the colonies. Am I correct in assuming that?”

  “Yes, sir,” I whispered.

  “Well, unfortunately son, we’ve already scanned you, the other captains, and your pilots, and you’ve given us more information than we could have possibly hoped for.”

  My jaw went slack. “No.”

  He smiled. “A second conditioning facility on Aire-Wu? Conditioned officers with the ability to manipulate their own DNA? A possible coup being initiated by the Colonial Wardens? Some kind of Racinian medical machines on Exeter? Unbelievable. Truly unbelievable.”

  My eyes welled up. I had not succumbed to their torture. I had not volunteered the information. I was simply foolish enough to let myself be captured. As I gritted my teeth at the XO, I realized that my greatest failure was in remaining alive.

  “You’re probably wondering what happens now,” said the XO. “And though you might be fighting for the wrong side, I admire a gennyboy like you who’s managed to become a captain. So I won’t keep you wondering. We’re transferring you to another carrier. You’ll be taken all the way to Earth. I guess the techies want to get their hands on you and your friends. Yes, they’re probably going to brainwipe you, maybe turn you into some kind of secret weapon. Who knows, one day we might even serve together.”

  A tear slipped from one eye, and I quickly backhanded it away.

  “Easy, son. You won’t remember any of this bullshit. And I’m willing to bet that for the first time in your life, you’ll be happy. Hell, at least you’ll be on the winning team, because the information you’ve given us will allow us to dismantle the Seventeen System Guard Corps by year’s end.” He waved a hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not here to gloat. I just came to say…good luck.”

  I glanced at the floor as he left and remained that way for a long moment before I curled up into a ball. The drugs made me feel so emotional, so vulnerable, that I couldn’t help but sob.

  They fed me twice per day, and I was able to measure time by those feedings. After the first week I suspected that my body was developing a resistance to whatever chemicals they were pumping into me. I began to feel stronger and more in control of my emotions.

  It’s interesting how confinement has a way of putting you back in touch with yourself—whether you like it or not. I began a mental conversation in which I sought forgiveness from my friends, but they continually reminded me of my failure. I turned to thoughts of escape, and I managed to focus on them for a few days, exhausting dozens of ideas until I surrendered back into self-pity.

  Then one morning, on the eleventh day of my confinement, alarms wailed, and I couldn’t understand why. I had grown so accustomed to the world of my cell that I had forgotten I was on board an Alliance capital cruiser and that anything, anything at all, could happen.

  13

  After listening to that racket a moment more, I finally realized that the Rhode Island’s captain had sounded the general alarm. His voice came loudly and evenly over the shipwide comm: “Battle stations. Battle stations. All hands…this is not a drill. Skins up! Weapons charge now!”

  Two Marines jogged by my cell.

  “What is it?” I cried.

  They ignored me and kept moving.

  A muffled explosion came from somewhere above, followed by a rumble that might have begun at the cruiser’s stern and moved forward, like a breaker, though as I craned my head this way and that, I couldn’t be sure. The rumble came again, much louder, and seemingly from all directions. Then, boom, boom, boom! The incoming struck hard, and the situation grew more clear. The Rhode Island was taking heavy missile and laser fire, probably from one of the Guard Corps’s capital ships, a couple million kilometers away. With our tacs deactivated, there was no way of communicating to the attacking ship that we were on board, and I grinned bitterly over the fact that I had been struggling with the idea of betraying the Guard Corps, a force that might very well, albeit unknowingly, end my life.

  The wall of force beams that imprisoned me flickered, then blinked out, along with the ship’s standard lighting, which reverted to dim crimson. I was free, but an odd feeling, an intense fear of stepping out of the cell, pressed hard, pressed very, very hard. I kept telling myself, You idiot, come on, run! But then I’d look back at the little gelrack and sink, at the walls, even at the head, and all of it, the place where I had spent so many hours, continued to beckon with the promise that if I remained there, I would be safe. Just stay here. This is your home. If you go out there, they’ll shoot you, kill you…

  “I hear the bar’s got a two-for-one special? Want to go?” came a familiar voice.

  I slowly raised my gaze to meet Halitov’s. He looked a little leaner, his blond beard graying near the jaw. “I want to stay,” I told him.

  “Like the accommodations that much, do you?”

  I stared vaguely at him.

  “Let’s go.” He grabbed my wrist and hauled me out of there, chills needling up my spine as I realized that for the first time in what felt like years I was…I was out.

  We met up with Jing and Breckinridge in the next cell block. The guards had been called to the upper levels, presumably to man hardpoints or make preparations for abandoning ship. We huddled inside Jing’s cell, all of us still wearing the bands that kept us drugged, though the others appeared to have developed a resistance like me. Jing suggested that she run recon, but Breckinridge was worried that in her state she might not return.

  “Let’s see,” said Jing, then she closed her eyes and dissolved.

  We just sat there, no one talking, our gazes riveted to the overhead as we listened to the chaotic booming.

  After a minute, Jing reappeared and collapsed into my arms, startling the hell out of me. I cupped the back of her head. “That was…that was bad,” she said.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “I shot up to the bridge for a second. They’re taking long-range fire from Vanguard One and three other ships. The TAWT drive’s been tommyed. They’re going to abandon ship. Vanguard’s on her way. ETA two minutes.”

  “Where are we? What system?” Breckinridge asked.

  I was about to set Jing down beside me, but she struggled against my grip, apparently quite comfortable being in my arms. “We’re still in Ross. The Rhode Island’s been waiting for the transfer ship that was supposed to take us to Earth. I’m not sure, but I thought I heard a midshipman say the transfer ship was just taken out by Vanguard.”

  “Okay, our buddies up on the bridge probably called for help,” said Halitov. “They’re getting into life tubes and hoping that their rescue gets here before Vanguard.”

  “I doubt that’ll happen,” said Breckinridge. “And if I know the colonel, he won’t waste any more time with this ship. He’ll assume she’s going to blow.”

  “So where’s this leave us?” ask
ed Halitov. “Screwed as ever or what?”

  Breckinridge narrowed her gaze. “According to an obscure schematic of this ship that I almost wish wasn’t in my head, there’s a life tube station at the end of this block.”

  Even as we rose, four Marines burst into our cell, lifting their rifles. The lead soldier, a corporal, nervously said, “We’re going to the life tubes. Now!”

  I traded a weak grin with Breckinridge. Halitov chuckled under his breath. Jing, who had just gotten to her feet, fought for balance, then finally smiled herself.

  “What’s so funny?” demanded the corporal.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Nothing at all.”

  He huffed, waved his rifle. “This way!”

  The life tubes aboard the Rhode Island could carry up to twenty soldiers each, but only the four of us and the four Marines lay strapped in the jumpseats as the corporal gave a verbal launch order to the tube’s computer. With a jolt that stole my breath, we ripped away from the Rhode Island and joined hundreds of other projectiles speeding from the dying hulk. The ship’s long, boxy fuselage spewed all manner of liquids and shed tattered pieces of her hull and innards, which tumbled and flashed against the distant red sun. Even as the strangely beautiful scene collapsed upon a plate of brilliant stars, our evacuation abruptly ceased. A beam from Vanguard One or one of the other ships locked on to our tube.

  “They’ve got us,” cried one of the Marines. “Aw, man. I didn’t want to get brainwiped. Oh, man…”

  I leaned over and looked at the soldier, just eighteen, maybe nineteen, with real fear in his eyes. I suspected that Beauregard would, in fact, wipe the Marine, turn him into a Warden, and put him back in the field, fighting against the alliances he had sworn an oath to defend. People, it seemed, were now just machines whose honor, duty, and loyalty were not forged over time but programmed. And maybe that was the better way to go. It seemed damned near impossible to adhere to the code when you were tugged at by what-ifs and maybes and lies.