Tyche's First

by Richard Parry

  “Must be,” said Harlow, eyes wide.

  The walk to the flight deck was short and easy. The crew pods were all open, some bare and empty, some with the remnants of old belongings. Ship suits. Bunks. In one, an unopened ration tray. “Harlow,” said Nate, “where’d you get the ship?”

  “Found it,” said Harlow.

  The ready room was empty, a heart waiting to be filled with the lifeblood of crew. Nate stepped through to the flight deck. Two acceleration couches. Standard setup, holo stage in the middle. He slipped into one of the couches, firing up the holo. He felt, inexplicably, like he was supposed to be here. Not here on Edinu, but here, on this ship, in this couch. Nate considered the data on the console. “Well, it looks like we can go party,” he said. “We’ve got the clothes and everything.”

  Harlow sat in the other couch. “What kind of party?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  NATE CHECKED THE holo, then looked at his flight console. “There sure are a lot of buttons,” he said.

  “Tell me you’ve flown one of these before,” said Harlow.

  Nate flashed him a grin. “How hard can it be?” Harlow said something like fuck oh shit fuck but a lot faster, then pulled the straps tight around him. Nate checked his own harness, then said, “Harlow? I’ve never flown one of these before in my life.”

  “But something,” said Harlow. “Like, a thing that flies?”

  “Sure,” said Nate. “I’ve flown an air car. This can’t be much different.”

  “I want to get off,” said Harlow.

  “Eh,” said Nate. He checked the console. A myriad of controls were in front of him, most of them with names that made no clear sense. He could use a decent Helm for this, make no mistake, but until then … he found a section of buttons outlined in glowing green. ENDLESS SYSTEMS. There we go. No problem. Nothing to it. Nate stabbed at a button, and the ship hummed, then grumbled, then began to rise. “See?” he said to Harlow. “Nothing to it.”

  “Watch it,” said Harlow, pointing out the window. Nate glanced, seeing the rocky wall coming too close. He grabbed at the sticks, the ship yawing beneath them, but not quite fast enough. There was a grinding, squealing noise of tortured alloys as the hull kissed the rocky wall. Then, in a shower of rubble, they burst into the clean sunlight of Edinu’s star. The holo was flashing red BRACE BRACE BRACE COLLISION WARNING BRACE BRACE. There was a groan of metal from the bowels of the ship.

  “What’s that noise?” said Harlow.

  “Probably nothing,” said Nate. “Can you clear that warning?”

  “Probably? Anyway, it’s a useful warning,” said Harlow, but turned to his own console. “You know, you were right.”

  “It’s easy?”

  “No,” said Harlow. “There sure are a lot of buttons.” He smiled at Nate. “We’re really doing this.”

  “Sure are,” said Nate.

  “Let me get the fire controls online,” said Harlow.

  Nate worked his console, inputting the tracking signature for the device he’d attached to Tattoo. The ship’s holo blinked at him from underneath the red warnings, highlighting a blip. RADAR and LIDAR reached out invisible fingers to the ground, bringing up a terrain map. The ship thought for a moment, then chirped, telemetry data spilling over the holo. Nate clapped his hands in delight. “She’s doing all the hard work, Harlow. This ship? She wants the chase. She’s a beauty, make no mistake.” The ship held in the air, Endless Drive holding them steady.

  “She’s a retired ex-war heavy lifter,” said Harlow, doubt tinging his voice. “She’s a barge.”

  “Don’t listen, girl,” said Nate, running a hand over the console. “You’re wonderful.”

  “She’s only on loan,” said Harlow.

  “What? Naw,” said Nate. “And don’t get those fire controls online too soon.”

  “Don’t change the subject. Wait. Why not?” Harlow blinked at Nate. “We want the guns, right?”

  “No,” said Nate. “We’re going to radio ahead. Tell those assholes who’ve got your lover that we’re bringing the ship to them, just like you promised.”

  “You’re giving them the ship?” said Harlow.

  “No,” said Nate. “We’re telling them that we’re giving them the ship. Wouldn’t look right if we came in fangs out. Lends a certain air of suspicion to the affair. Besides,” and here, Nate pointed at the holo, “she doesn’t know Devon. We fire up those guns, we run the risk of turning him into component atoms.”

  “Huh,” said Harlow. He chewed his lip. “That seems remarkably restrained. For you, I mean.”

  “That’s unkind,” said Nate. “Make the call.” He touched the ship’s throttles, the big fusion drives at the rear roaring into life. The hand of a goddess pressed him against his acceleration couch as the ship blasted across the sky, a line of fire in her wake. Nate held on and whooped with the joy of it.

  • • •

  The compound was visible in the distance, coming up fast. Rectangular, a landing pad dead center, buildings arrayed around it. The ship chirped, highlighting the buildings in wireframe, then scanning the people around. So many. Nate looked at Harlow. “Ship says twenty outside, boots on the ground. No clue about the numbers inside.”

  “Why not?” said Harlow.

  “It’s RADAR and LIDAR, not sorcery,” said Nate. The ship grumbled as they slowed their speed for landing. Skids extruded from the belly of the ship as she prepared to settle. The holo updated as the people outside the ship gathered around the cargo bay airlock. “That doesn’t look right,” he said.

  “Twenty people waiting for us?” said Harlow.

  “No. Well, sure, that, but something else. Devon’s not there.” Nate panned the cam controls, the holo scanning over the people outside. “This wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “You expected them to keep to the deal?” said Harlow.

  “I kinda hoped,” admitted Nate. “Well, light ‘em up.”

  “What?”

  “PDCs,” said Nate. “Tell the ship we’ve made a hostile landing. She’ll work out the rest.”

  “I don’t know,” said Harlow. “Murdering twenty guys?”

  “Harlow,” said Nate, “let me reframe this for you. Those twenty guys out there want to murder you. They want to come in here, flense the meat from your bones, and wear your skin for a hat.”

  “That seems specific,” said Harlow, after some thought.

  “They also have Devon,” said Nate.

  “Motherfuckers!” shouted Harlow, slamming his hand down on the firing controls. The holo blinked, cleared, then turned red. HARD CONTACT WARNING HARD CONTACT. COMPUTING FIRING SOLUTION. There was a moment of silence. Harlow looked at Nate. “It didn’t work. What was supposed—”

  Whatever Harlow was saying was cut off by the hammer of noise as the PDC cannons roared. The ship acquired twenty targets outside, then initiated whatever firing solution it had come up with. Tungsten rained, turning humans into a fine red mist. In less than 3 seconds, twenty people had been reduced to slurry. There weren’t even shoes left on the ground.

  “That,” said Nate. “That’s what was supposed to happen.” He unclipped his harness, standing up. “We’ve got some rescuing to do.” Harlow nodded, eyes owlish, while Nate flicked a couple of switches, almost as an afterthought. The holo cleared again, then new text lit. LANDING PARTY PROTECTION ENGAGED.

  “What’s that mean?” said Harlow.

  “I hope it means that when we come back out of there, with a hundred assholes on our heels, the ship will do something useful. I figure we head toward that big building there,” said Nate, pointing to the holo. The building in question was the largest in the compound, a low-slung wide affair with walls made of ceramicrete and metal. Shutters covered the windows. The door was closed. It was the building directly opposite the ship’s cargo bay airlock.

  Harlow squinted. “Why?”

  “It says ‘Command Center’ on the outside,” said Nate. “Let’s make a hole.” Harlow shrug
ged, keyed the firing controls, and turned the command center’s door to ruins.

  • • •

  The cargo bay airlock was still clear of living humans. The outside of the hull was red and wet, the wind having picked up the mist that used to be people. There were no pirates-turned-soldier trying to shoot at Nate and Harlow as they exited. The ship’s PDCs swiveled in their housings, looking for targets. Only the truly suicidal would attempt to stick their heads out at this particular moment.

  Nate put on a good, practiced saunter as he headed towards the command center. Harlow kept pace with him, but the man looked hunched, like he was expecting to be shot at any moment. “Harlow, relax,” said Nate. “No one’s going to shoot us.”

  “How you figure that?” said Harlow.

  A blaster bolt hit the ceramicrete a meter to Nate’s left. Hot rock sprayed into the air. There was a whine as the ship’s PDCs aligned, then a roar like an angry god for about a hot second. Then silence. Nate pointed at the hole in a building where a window used to be. In that window had been a soldier, pointing a blaster at them. Now? Red mist and broken ceramicrete. “Because of that,” he said.

  “We could still run. Reduce the risk.”

  “You’ll just die tired,” said Nate. “Trust me.”

  “You cheated at cards and stole my ship,” said Harlow. “Trust seems unlikely.”

  That’s fair. Nate shrugged. “In there,” he said, nodding at the command center, “will be a huge volume of assholes. They will want to shoot us. They will probably want to use Devon as a human shield. I’d suggest you hold back a ways, line up your shots.”

  “I don’t have a gun,” said Harlow.

  Nate stopped dead, half-way to the command center. Another blaster shot near-missed, the ship roaring defiance, and another building wall cratered. He ignored that, staring at Harlow. “What do you mean, you don’t have a gun?”

  “Don’t have one,” said Harlow. “You know? I thought we were going to get the ship, and it had guns, so there’d be no need for me to have a gun.”

  Nate felt his smile flicker a little. “Harlow?”

  “I know,” said Harlow, looking at his feet.

  Nate swiveled and continued his saunter to the command center, but his heart wasn’t really in it anymore. He drew his blaster, checked the charge, then said, “Try not to get shot.” With that, he slipped inside.

  • • •

  The fusillade of blaster fire that met his entrance caused Nate to step back. The entranceway was a collection of smoldering ceramicrete and pieces of broken equipment. A corridor stretched left and right, and all the anger was coming from the left. Nate leaned against the broken ceramicrete of the command center, then blind fired down the left.

  He waited for a second or two, then ducked his head in, sighted, and shot the soldier who was just stepping out from a bend in the corridor for round two. A heavy plasma carbine tumbled to the ground with a clatter.

  Smoke and silence met his footsteps as Nate stepped inside, Harlow on his heels. The silence was broken by the wail of an alarm. The lateness of it suggested that this wasn’t any kind of serious military op. A bunch of thugs on a crust, extorting people outside the Emperor’s reach. Or, as it happened, the Republic’s justice. Nate coughed at the smoke, and was rewarded with a shower of water as sprinkler systems kicked in. He looked at the roof, water raining down, and said, “Great.”

  “To be fair, a fire would be bad,” said Harlow.

  Nate gave him a stare, then continued on left. He approached the bend where the soldier had fallen and risked a look. Red flashing lights, more water, and two guards running towards them. He raised his blaster and fired. Water hissed into steam as the blasts tore into the troopers. “These guys have been giving you trouble?” said Nate. “It’s like dealing with a bunch of kids, except I’d feel bad about shooting kids.”

  “To be fair,” said Harlow, again, “you are one of the Emperor’s Black.”

  “Was,” said Nate. “I was.”

  “Whatever,” said Harlow. “You had some training, though. You were one of the best.”

  “Harlow,” said Nate, then fired at a man coming out of a doorway up ahead on the left. Plasma turned his body into a pyre that fizzed and hissed in the water. “Harlow, I’m missing an arm and a leg.”

  “Doesn’t seem to hold you back much,” suggested Harlow.

  “Left or right?”

  “Well, there was a guy who just came out of the left,” said Harlow. “We should avoid—”

  “You’re right,” said Nate. “Definitely left.” He walked to that doorway, then tried to kick it open. He stumbled back. “What the hell?”

  “Sliding door,” said Harlow, keying the door controls. It hissed sideways, revealing a room with six people. The six people included Devon, who looked terrified, bruised, and hopeful all at the same time. One of the other five had a blaster to Devon’s temple, using him as a body shield. The remaining four were hunkered down behind chairs, desks, and consoles.

  Nate stepped back as plasma hissed through the air. He took a couple deep breaths, closing his eyes. Guy holding Devon about 180 centimeters tall. Blaster in his right hand, Devon to his left. Face exposed five, maybe ten centimeters. He opened his eyes, then pivoted past the open doorframe, blaster coming up and firing once. He came to rest in the lee of the doorframe as blaster fire came through once more.

  Woman behind a desk. Console on top. Head’s not clear, but her legs are visible underneath. He pivoted back across the doorframe, firing one more time, and was rewarded with a scream and more plasma fire, but less this time.

  Harlow was looking at him with wide eyes. “How are you not getting hit?”

  “Just lucky I guess,” said Nate. They’ll expect the pivot this time. Man, on your left. Using a chair as cover. Worthless; go through it. He ducked out, firing twice, and turned the man and his chair into carbon, fire, and ash. Two to go.

  There was a plink, and a grenade rolled through the doorway. Nate snared it from the ground, palmed the controls to the right-hand doorway, and tossed the grenade inside to the surprise of the pirates inside who’d been trying to flank them. Nate keyed the door shut, an explosion causing puffs of dust and smoke to hiss around the frame.

  Two left. Pair of them behind what looks to be a freezer. Nate ducked around the frame once more, fired twice, and was rewarded with two more soldiers turning into fire. Their bodies fell, hissing as water showered over them. Devon was still standing, now slightly less terrified, more hopeful, but still bruised. The room was what looked like an interrogation room, chairs with restraints, medical rigs, and that damn freezer. A door led out the back. “Hey,” said Nate. “You mislay a Harlow anywhere?”

  Harlow came around the corner, and ran to Devon, hugging him close. “I thought…”

  “Yeah,” said Devon. “Can we do this later? Only, I want to get the hell out of here.” His accent said border worlds, a roll of the Rs that sounded melodic. But then, Harlow always did have taste, in whiskey or men it didn’t much matter.

  “I agree with Devon,” said Nate.

  “Who are you?” Devon was still holding Harlow close. “I don’t mean to appear ungrateful, but, uh. Thanks, though.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” said Nate.

  “This is my friend, Nate,” said Harlow. “He stole my ship.”

  “I think he’s earned it,” said Devon. “Don’t you?”

  Nate tossed Devon a smile. “I like you already. Can you shoot?”

  “I’d like the opportunity to try.”

  “Grab a weapon. We need to get out of here.” Nate rolled his shoulders. “Also, when we get outside? Keep a hold of Harlow.”

  “Planning to, but why?”

  “We’ve got an angry goddess guarding our retreat,” said Nate, “but she doesn’t know you yet. I’d hate this rescue to turn into a funeral.”

  • • •

  The room behind where they’d found Devon was a supply dump. That was
the polite way of putting it. The soldiers had piled just about anything they couldn’t find an easy home for in here, and they hadn’t labeled anything. Nate figured that the guns were easy enough to identify, but there were also black crates with the markings filed off. They looked suspiciously like the kinds of things the Empire might have shipped goods in, if there was still an Empire.

  “God bless the free market economy,” said Harlow.

  “Harlow,” said Nate, “did you sell these assholes the Empire’s weapons?”

  “No,” said Harlow. “I sold someone else the Empire’s weapons, who then sold them to these assholes.”

  “Harlow!” said Devon. “These people were trying to kill me!”

  “Uh,” said Harlow.

  “Technically, I think they were threatening to kill you so that Harlow would give them my ship,” said Nate.

  “That’s a sentence full of too much complication,” said Devon. “When does the drinking start?”

  “Soon as we find something to blow this wall open with,” said Nate. “I figure our luck won’t hold too much longer. If we go out the way we came in, two of us will die. Being honest, I don’t like your chances.” He tossed in a smile as he said it. Talking was the secret: someone like Devon? You didn’t want him slipping into shock right next to the finish line.

  “That’s cheery,” said Harlow. “Oh, hey. I recognize this crate.” Harlow flipped open the clamps, exposing a box of shaped charges. “How about these?”

  “Perfect. Wait here,” said Nate. He picked one up, walking back out to the torture room. He shot a woman coming in through the door, her body spilling to the ground in pieces, those pieces on fire, despite the sprinklers still working hard. He slapped the charge against the wall, set the timer for twenty seconds, and then hustled back into the supply dump.

  Plasma fire cracked against the door as he ducked inside, and he hunched down. A hard voice shouted, “Come out! We’ve got you—”

  The explosion shook the floor, stray pieces of ceramicrete scattering in through the open door. Showers of dust mixed with water. Nate wiped milky rivulets from his face, then walked back out. There was daylight coming in through the hole in the ceramicrete wall, pieces of rebar reaching skeletal fingers towards the sky. “There we go,” said Nate.