Tyche's Crown

by Richard Parry

  Kohl turned to the doctor, who was looking at the Marines, then at Kohl, and to his hypo. The doctor blinked twice, and gave a nervous smile and a more nervous laugh. “Sir,” said the doctor. “Uh.”

  “Say, doc,” said Kohl. “What’s in the hypo?” He gave the stunner a nonchalant twirl.

  “A … cocktail.”

  “No,” said Kohl.

  “No?”

  “No,” agreed Kohl. “I’ve had cocktails. I’ve had a lot of fucken cocktails, doc, you get me? I’ve had cocktails with cream and sugar. I’ve had cocktails that taste like a whore’s ass. I’ve even had cocktails that were on fire. That shit,” and here, Kohl pointed the end of the stunner towards the hypo, “is not a fucking cocktail.”

  “It’s a sedative,” said the doctor, the words coming out as a long string of noise, itsasedative.

  “Okay. It supposed to burn like acid?”

  “No.”

  “Good to know,” said Kohl, and touched the stunner against the doctor’s chest. The man made a sound like a small dog’s bark, jerked, and fell to the ground. The hypo dropped with him, and good riddance.

  Kohl took a moment to survey the med bay. Two Marines down, check. Doctor, also down, double check. Hypo with death acid? Check. Kohl bent over to pick up the doc’s hypo, turning it over in his hands, before letting it drop again. He went back to get the hypo Hope had prepared for him. Nanites or some shit, right? Designed to hunt out the foreign objects in your body and tear ‘em up. Maybe they figured the doc’s cocktail was a foreign object. AI and all. It’d be something to check with Hope on, if they ever saw each other on this side of the veil between life and death again.

  Kohl would like that. She was a skinny kid with pink hair and an overdeveloped work ethic, but she did okay. Hell, she did better than Kohl did; his one gift was being able to lift things too heavy for most other people.

  Speaking of … time to get to step two, getting off this barge and onto the Tyche. There was a small challenge with that. He didn’t know where he was, or where the Tyche was. He hefted the stunner, then looked at the med bay exit. Eh. I’ll work something out.

  • • •

  He was hungry enough to eat the ass out of a dead horse. El had said to eat the chocolates, which he’d done, but then he’d puked them back up, which wasn’t great. It left a certain odor, sure, but the more important problem was it left him on shaky legs, on a Republic Navy destroyer, wearing nothing but his hospital duds and a smile.

  If he had the time, he’d find a burger and some fries, maybe a jumbo thickshake to go with all that. He didn’t have the time, so he’d have to rely on his natural wits, charm, and the stunner.

  The stunner, to be fair, would do all the real work here.

  The corridor outside the med bay was long, well-lit, and had huge windows out into space. Looking out those windows he could see unmistakable shape of the Tyche down only a couple decks, suckling up to the bigger ship like a baby to a teat. Wasn’t far to go, just those two levels. In raw distance, hardly anything at all. In practical distance, it was a long fucking hike, because the journey was infested with Marines, Navy crew, and various other people who would want to take Kohl’s stunner away from him. And perhaps much worse.

  The corridor stretched off in both directions. What was behind him wasn’t important excepting that he didn’t want someone shooting him in the ass, so he gave a quick check south — all clear — before setting off toward the Tyche. If he could find an elevator, that would be perfect. It’d mean less walking on these weak-ass legs, and it’d take him out of the public eye, so to speak.

  He started a slower-than-usual lumber towards the Tyche’s mooring, and made it about twenty paces before two more Marines bubbled up from a stairwell leading below decks, pointing lasers at Kohl and shouting all kinds of nonsense like drop it and freeze and face on the deck. Like Kohl would ever do any of that. But he needed to pretend like he was going to, because here he was without any armor — idiot. Nothing between him and a quick death except — as noted — his thin hospital gown and a smile. And the stunner. But it wasn’t a ranged weapon.

  What Kohl figured he could use right about now was a diversion. It wouldn’t need to be much — just enough to close some distance and get in nice and close.

  “Drop the fucking stunner, asshole,” said one of the Marines. She looked pissed off, which Kohl figured as being fair if she’d seen a holo of what had just gone down in the med bay.

  “Yeah,” said the other one, and Kohl had to admit they built them big where he came from. “Slide it over here.”

  “You want me to drop it or slide it?” said Kohl.

  The two Marines looked at each other, then the woman spoke. “Slide it.”

  Kohl shrugged, bent slowly to the ground, and slid the stunner across the deck towards the pair. It rattle-rolled across the deck, and the big one stopped it with his boot. He gave a nasty smile. “That’s a good boy.”

  Kohl felt his shoulders bunch. Couldn’t help it. Just another man wanting to put a boot on his neck. “What did you say?”

  “It’s good your kind can be taught manners,” said the big Marine. “You want the pleasure of cuffing him?”

  “Love to,” said the woman, lowering her weapon. Not that it gave Kohl much to work with; these two were pros, not occluding each other’s firing lines. “Hands against the wall.”

  Kohl sighed, then turned to the wall, putting both hands up against it. The Marine approached him, and he heard the snick-snick of shackles unfolding. It was a familiar sound, but not a comfortable one. In less than thirty seconds Kohl would be trussed up, and in five minutes he’d be in a brig, which was a long way away from where he needed to be. He needed to be on the Tyche, because the Tyche would get Gracie. Just a tiny diversion, that’s all he needed.

  He felt the shackles close around his right wrist, his hand pulled back and around. Just one tiny diversion.

  The lights on the Torrington cascaded into darkness.

  Kohl was surprised at this outcome. In less than a second, he knew, the emergency lighting would come on, bathing the corridor in red. He had about that second of darkness to work. The advantages on his side: he knew where both his wrists were, and by association, his hands; he also had a Marine he could use as a body shield.

  He turned around as fast as he could, which even in his condition was still pretty fast, pulling the Marine off balance, then grabbed the front of her armor. He didn’t want to get into a slugging match because it would hurt, and in his current state he wasn’t sure what the outcome of that would be. Kohl was sure he could maneuver the Marine around because she was, compared to him, the size of a miniature poodle. He used his grip on her armor to heft her up — okay so not quite a miniature poodle — so her feet were only scraping along the ground. He then charged her back towards where the other Marine was.

  It was about then that his one second (probably more) was up and the Torrington’s emergency lighting came on, bathing the corridor in red. Kohl expected it, the Marines expected it, but the big Marine did not expect to have his visual field filled with the back of his partner, coming towards him at a run. He didn’t panic, just firing his laser carbine, which might have seemed a dick move when your partner was between you and your target. Here it wasn’t, as the Marines would have had some nice fancy friend-or-foe tech, which would stop them setting fire to their partners by accident. Or on purpose.

  However, because Kohl was holding a Marine between himself and the laser weapon, the only thing that came out of the big Marine’s weapon was a click-click-click sound as it sought targets. That continued until Kohl slammed the smaller Marine into the larger one, letting them both go down to the deck.

  He figured this was not a good time to be standing up, so he bent over, fielding his stunner, and applied it to the big Marine’s boot first, which was the closest part of the man to Kohl, and then to the smaller Marine’s neighboring boot for good measure. He stood, panting, and wondered how ofte
n this would keep happening until he got to the Tyche.

  Often enough to warrant a little preparation. He pulled the smaller Marine aside, leaning her against the wall, and then unclipped the other’s chest armor. No time for the full-dress parade; Kohl just shrugged into the polymer plate, feeling better about the day by a country mile after that. He considered their lasers, but a) he had no convenient way to override the friend-or-foe electronics, and b) if the cap had wanted a bunch of dead Marines he would have given Kohl a blaster.

  So, no dead Marines.

  Kohl pushed on, sighting an elevator ahead. It could be full of Marines, or Navy crew, and it might not even be working with the power fluctuating, but he felt tired, and it was worth the risk. He made his way to the elevator controls, slammed his fist against them, then leaned his face against the cool metal of the wall while he waited for it to arrive. If the power was out, it’d be a long wait. That was fine. Because he was so damn tired.

  • • •

  When the elevator’s doors opened, Kohl was surprised by the occupants. There were three people in the car, and one of them was Hope.

  The other two were Marines.

  Hope did not look to be a prisoner. She was huddled against a wall, visor on, looking like she wanted to blend in. The Marines looked like they wanted to kill Kohl, which was fair enough given the last few minutes.

  Time to get this show moving. Hell, he’d had a minute’s rest, he was good for another few rounds.

  Kohl stepped into the elevator car, getting all in the Marines’ business. If they figured Hope as crew, and why not because an Engineer would be needed to sort out whatever power problem they were having, they’d worst case ignore her, best case try not to shoot her. But with Kohl outside of the elevator and them inside, they could lay down all kinds of righteous fire and that would be unpleasant. Hence getting in among it.

  With one hand he caught the rising barrel of a laser weapon, and with the other he pressed his stunner into the chest of a Marine. There was a bright flash in the red light of the car and the Marine he’d shocked jerked back against the wall. The other Marine, in a discontented state now, swung the butt of his laser at Kohl, hitting the big man in the face.

  It was important to look on the bright side: while he might be spitting teeth in a few, Kohl hadn’t been shot yet. So, he let go the laser’s barrel and shocked the Marine with the stunner. Then he needed another rest, so he leaned against the wall of the car opposite Hope. “Hey, Hope.”

  “Hey, Kohl,” she said. “How you doing?”

  “Feel like shit.”

  “Your legs seem fine. You smell bad, though.”

  “Not my legs, Hope,” he said. “I feel weak as a day-old kitten.”

  “Did you eat the chocolate?”

  “That’s the smell,” he said. “Threw ‘em back up.”

  “I didn’t expect that,” she said. The car’s doors closed and it jerked into motion, continuing down. Kohl hoped that Hope had it set for the Tyche’s deck.

  “Okay,” he said. “Hope?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m just going to rest here for a bit.”

  She moved closer to him, her visor sliding away, and he caught sight of her eyes framed by that pink hair, a smudge of grime on one cheek. “You’ve just got to make it to the ship.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Just give me a minute.”

  “You don’t have a minute.” She reached into her belt, fielding out a stim. “Here.”

  “And to think I didn’t know you cared,” he said. He was raising it to his lips when she put a hand on his arm, stopping him.

  “Kohl?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If you take that stim you need to eat. You need to eat soon. You hear me?”

  “You lecturing me on drug abuse now, Hope?”

  “The nanites,” she said. “There’s a cost to everything. It was the best solution I could come up with.”

  “Damn fine solution,” he said. He tipped the stim into his mouth, wincing at the bitterness of the sluggish fluid. “Eh. That’s nasty.” Nasty it might have been, but he felt an artificial alertness hitting his brain, his muscles no longer feeling weak and scrawny. Hope stood, offering him a hand, and he almost laughed, because she was tiny, and he wasn’t, but he suppressed the noise, because it wouldn’t be right to laugh at a friend’s offer of help. He pushed his sorry carcass upright, turning to face the car’s doors. “We going to come out on the Tyche’s dock?”

  “Yes,” she said. “There was a guard. Two, I think. But it’s just an external docking lock, we’re not inside the Torrington or anything.”

  “We on lockdown?”

  “Were.”

  “Good,” said Kohl. “Let’s get off this tug and into the hard black. Got someone we need to be about saving.”

  “Yeah, we do,” she agreed.

  • • •

  Hope had been right: two guards, stationed outside the Tyche’s airlock. And a long walk towards it, but — praise be — no one else in this immediate vicinity. Which struck Kohl as weird, but it had been a weird kinda day. He made his way down the corridor towards them at what was a good running speed, now he didn’t feel like a child stricken with palsy.

  Not wearing shoes was a blessing at a time like this. Both the Marines were looking in the other direction at something Kohl couldn’t see. His run didn’t make a lot of the predictable sounds of a charge — no thumping of boots on the deck, no jangling of kit or weapons. Just a soft slip-slap as he ran, a sound that reached into their minds as unusual at about the time he made it to them. He collided with the closest Marine like a rhino, tossing the man into the other like pins in a lane. Two quick swipes of the stunner, and the job was done. He raised his eyes, looking at whatever the hell they had been looking at.

  Nothing. They’d been looking at nothing. Just an empty corridor. Like the rest of this day, weird.

  And also a little lucky. Hell, if they’d turned around five seconds sooner, the whole thing would have played out with a different outcome.

  Kohl dropped the stunner to the deck. “Souvenir for you assholes,” he said. Then he let the armor drop alongside it, because he wasn’t being paid to steal, and besides, he had better stuff on board.

  Hope came alongside. “Time to go?”

  “Time to go,” he said. They walked together into the Tyche’s airlock, sealing it — and the Torrington — behind them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  THE FLIGHT DECK smelled of tension and sweat, which was to be expected. They were holed up in here, the ass of the ship wide open to the Torrington, waiting for Kohl to make his sweet way back here. El had never had a lot of time for waiting. Waiting wasn’t flying, and flying was what they needed to do. Flying would get them closer to Grace’s position and whatever was happening with her, and it would get them farther away from this ship of fools they were attached to.

  Fools, because to think Nate was the emperor’s half-brother was lunacy of the highest order. She’d known the captain for a long time, longer than anyone who crewed with him. She knew him for what he was: a good captain, a below-average pirate, and a decent human. Heart in the right place, brain switched on when it counted. She knew he wouldn’t leave her to die because the percentages looked better, and she knew he was the kind of person who would race well past where humans had staked their flag, out into the hardest of the hard black, to find a lost soul.

  What he wasn’t was an emperor. It was her experience that Emperors were near one hundred percent asshole. She’d never met one, but this Republic directly resulted from the mismanagement of the last regime — ref: the emperor.

  “Relax,” said Nate.

  She turned to look at him, lying back on his acceleration couch like he owned the world. Like he knew everything would turn out okay. She didn’t know how he did that, but she knew most of the tension and sweat was coming from her. Once they were underway, he’d sweat and she’d relax, but right now was a delicate time whe
re she wasn’t doing what she was put in this universe to do. “You say that like it’s an easy thing to do,” she said.

  “Easy as waiting,” he said. “They’ll be along.”

  “Waiting isn’t easy,” she said.

  “Maybe you could run through the flight plan for me,” he said.

  “We’ve done that.”

  “Do it again.”

  She ran a hand through her hair, a kind of why the fuck not motion, then kicked the holo into life. “Okay. Here we are. Bolted to the Torrington.”

  “Not for long.”

  “Not for long,” she agreed. “We’ll make jumps here, here, and here,” she said, marking the points as dots of light on the holo’s star field. “I’m nervous, though.”

  “Why?” He waved a hand at the holo. “There’s nothing out there.”

  “It’s why I’m nervous,” she said. “It’s not that there’s nothing out there. It’s that we don’t know what’s there. The star field looks sparse because we’re guessing at a lot of it. Just using the light that reaches us to work out what’s waiting for us in the hard black.”

  “It’s how humans have always sailed into the unknown,” said Nate. “Stars above us, a good wind at our backs. It’s all we need.”

  “We could use a little more,” she said.

  “Like what? An answer on what’s out there? If we knew, we’d know whether Grace was safe and sound. It wouldn’t be uncharted waters, El. This is the edge of the map. There be dragons there. And you know what?” She caught sight of the number of teeth he was showing, the brightness of his eyes. “I’m in a dragon-hunting frame of mind.”

  “Dragons kill people.”

  “People kill dragons,” said Nate. “If there’s a dragon that’s between me and mine? That’s a dead dragon, make no mistake.”