by C. G. Hatton
The gentle nudge at the implant was so soft that he didn’t notice it at first, only recognising it the second time when she pushed a bit more insistently. It was tempting to ignore her, but she tried again with enough force to have woken him if he’d been asleep.
“Jesus, Sean, what do you want? We’re working down here.”
“I think we’ve got a problem,” she sent, almost whispering even though, wherever she was, no one else would have been able to see she was speaking to him. “We’re almost at the rendezvous point and McCabe is insisting that Gallagher goes onto the other ship with him. I don’t trust the man and it’s obvious that Gallagher doesn’t, but he won’t let up.”
“So what’s the problem?” He didn’t see it. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t care but he didn’t have time to care. Whatever these people had going on, he was just hitching a ride.
Sean took a moment to reply, then, “Gallagher wants you to go with him.”
She’d sounded genuinely anxious and if he’d thought it was more about the safety of his neck than the twenty six million price tag attached to it, then he would have been touched.
He paused at the entrance to the cargo deck. Gallagher was standing with McCabe and his two bodyguards, both of them huge guys in black fatigues, weapons holstered.
LC walked up to the group, not quite sure why he was there until he reached Gallagher and picked up on the relief the man felt simply at having someone at his side, someone armed who could handle themselves and watch his back. He smiled, realising for the first time that Gallagher might not be so ignorant about his lack of engineering skills after all.
Gallagher gestured towards the two guys. “Luka, this is Hal Duncan and Aaron Richardson. You know McCabe.”
LC nodded. He recognised Hal Duncan. He was the big guy who’d stopped the fight at Danny’s Bar. He looked out of place here, standing there confidently bored enough to be thinking that this was run of the mill. Richardson was more twitchy. Both of them looked like they’d done more than their fair share of military service.
McCabe was standing perfectly still and thinking nothing that he could distinguish. He’d never actively tried to read someone’s thoughts and standing there waiting for the two ships to couple, he couldn’t resist. It was like trying to use the implant to reach out to an AI or computer, only there were no obvious accessways, no gateways to break through or query. It was hard not to slip into using the implant itself but he was fairly sure no one else here was equipped with one. If McCabe was plotting anything, he wasn’t openly thinking about it. He was picking up a vague buzzing that was giving him a headache but nothing specific, not even a hint of emotion.
The ships nudged together gently, more gently than he was sure DiMarco was capable of so it was probably the other side doing the manoeuvring. The hull rang slightly as the connection was made and after a moment, the lights on the cargo bay airlock turned green.
McCabe gestured for them to lead and they walked through and into the other ship to be greeted by heavily armed men. LC tensed. They looked an awful lot like mercenaries.
Gallagher spun around but McCabe silenced him with a raised hand. “Routine, Gallagher. My people are simply going to check the condition of the consignment before we let you go.”
He waved them away from the airlock and they stood off to one side, Gallagher quietly fuming and Duncan and Richardson standing calmly with them as they waited.
It took a while for the crates to be transferred. It was freezing, cold enough to make their breath frost into white clouds. LC blew on his fingertips, glad to be cooling down, feeling like his temperature was getting somewhere near normal for the first time in as long as he could remember. He could see that Gallagher was getting more irate though, cursing each time another load was brought through and McCabe went through a show of checking each batch.
Finally Donnelly’s man signed off the last of the crates, looked over at them with a smile that was way too much the wrong side of smug to be anything other than a sign that they’d been screwed, and nodded to his people. What was surprising was that Duncan and Richardson knew nothing about it. LC picked up the first hint of trouble as the mercenaries picked up the signal to draw weapons.
He shoved Gallagher into cover, pulling out his pistol and firing at the same time as McCabe’s mercenaries opened up.
Duncan and Richardson jumped back, Duncan yelling and pulling out a cannon of a gun that he aimed right at McCabe. LC felt his hesitation and in that moment, Richardson took a hit and fell. A cold pang of intense pressure popped in the very centre of LC’s entire being, taking his breath away. His vision darkened, a black spark of nothing flaring behind his eyes.
He fired instinctively, an FTH round that took down one of the guys next to McCabe, as Duncan dragged his buddy behind cover.
The deck lurched suddenly. The bastards were going to pull away. Gallagher was shouting abuse at McCabe and it was all LC could do to keep him in cover and return fire at McCabe’s guys. He hit another one. The guy fell, still firing, shards flying off the crate next to LC’s face.
He risked leaning out to take a look. McCabe was backing away, his men covering his route from the cargo deck.
The ships shifted again.
“We have to go.”
Gallagher nodded.
Duncan glanced their way. “Go,” he yelled and LC moved, dragging Gallagher along with him towards the airlock.
The deck dropped out from under them as they ran, both of them stumbling. Warning sirens began to scream. Shots pitted the bulkhead in front of them, shattering the lights around the door, and the boom of a gun returning fire echoed behind them.
LC skidded up against the door and punched the button to open access, turning to aim back into the open area. Only a couple of McCabe’s men were still there, firing from the cover of crates. Duncan was kneeling to check on his buddy, cursing softly. LC didn’t need to look to know the guy was dead. His heart was still hammering from the shock of feeling it, that instant of void like a tiny burst of vacuum hitting the depths of his mind.
The adjoining door stayed shut.
“Sean?” he sent, urgently then, hoping she was still there to hear. He hit the button again, firing at the crates to keep their heads down.
If the ships broke away, they were screwed.
“Luka, hold on,” she sent calmly.
Hold on to what, he almost yelled back. There was a bump that knocked them off their feet and the door opened with a hiss.
“Tell me when,” Sean sent and LC yelled at Gallagher to go.
Duncan was firing steadily and he stood up, Richardson’s body hoisted over his shoulder, and began to back towards them. LC switched targets to cover him and as soon as they were in the airlock, he hit the button to close the door. It slammed shut with a shudder that reverberated through the deck.
They turned and ran.
He yelled a go to Sean as soon as they set foot on the Duck, the airlock cycling shut behind them. She didn’t reply but the ship lurched beneath their feet as the engines fired and broke them lose, the entire bulk of the vessel complaining. LC grabbed for a hold but nothing came to hand. He tumbled across the deck and crashed up against a crate. He curled up and rolled with it, hearing curses and muffled grunts behind him.
He could feel the pull of the acceleration as the ship moved, rumbles echoing through the cargo deck. A distant boom vibrated through the hull.
It sounded like an explosion. LC cringed and struggled to get to his feet. “Sean?”
She didn’t reply. Another impact and the ship rolled. He staggered, clinging to the side of the crate, trying to see where Gallagher and the big guy had ended up.
Sean’s voice was quiet and strained when she did answer. “Hold on, Luka. They’re firing missiles at us.”
LC almost laughed out loud. He’d run half way across the galaxy and he was going to die because a small time double-crossing crook wanted to make a fast buck on a drugs run. Christ, he should ha
ve told McCabe who he was and taken his chances.
Another explosion rocked the ship. He stood up and shouted out to Gallagher.
“I’m fine,” Gallagher yelled back.
LC looked around. They needed to get off the cargo deck.
He’d taken two steps away from the crate when Sean whispered inside his head. “Oh my god, LC, grab hold of something, we’re going into jump.”
Chapter 7
“The sheer scale of human greed baffles me,” the Man said, disdain dripping off each word. “Earth and Winter stand aloof, dictating laws they cannot police to colonies they cannot control. Decent men driven to desperation and scoundrels given the perfect impetus to profiteer. I despair.”
NG risked a sip of the wine and felt his head spin as the substance hit his bloodstream. He gave the Man time to rage, feeling the anger intensified, anger that the guild had been put in this position. That tiny hit of intoxication fuelled his foolhardiness. He drank more, recklessly, sharing the frustration. They worked hard to set plays into motion, throughout the galaxy. And one move by an individual that dared the effrontery to take on the guild itself had jeopardised so much.
He moved his bishop.
“They can’t see past tomorrow,” he said. “We can because we know. How can we expect them to see past their immediate gains when they can’t even imagine what may be coming.” He drank again. It was hard to be the single human in the whole galaxy who knew, who had seen in the mind of the being sitting there in front of him the horrors of the attack to come. The Man was manipulating humanity at the very heart of its genetics and complex social interactions in order to prepare it for an onslaught that was as inevitable and impending as the next breath.
The Man looked up, eyes piercing. “Their selfish pursuit of gain may well destroy them before we have a chance to act.”
•
It was dark. LC lay still, too many parts hurting to pinpoint anything specific. Usually a jump through hyperspace was a fast, vague discomfort spent securely restrained within the confines of a chair to cushion the body against the forces of the manoeuvre. That was the first time he’d ever done it in freefall and the last time he ever wanted to.
The ship felt steady. He could feel a constant, quiet hum through the deck beneath him. They were moving and no one was shooting at them.
A sudden cramp squeezed the muscles in the small of his back and a throbbing ache moved into his neck. Oh crap.
He closed his eyes.
The touch at his elbow was soft and when he heard Sean speaking quietly, he didn’t know if she was talking out loud, using the implant or thinking to herself. He didn’t know how to respond and it felt too much like effort to open his eyes so he lay there and waited for the deck to stop spinning.
“Luka,” she said again, touching his cheek that time, a warm soft caress.
He shivered and looked up. He was still on the deck of the cargo bay.
“Where’s Gallagher?” he asked quietly, not liking the echo he was hearing as he spoke.
“He’s fine. So’s our guest. A bit battered but they’re up on their feet.” Which is better than you are, she was thinking.
He took a deep breath. “Help me up,” he said. “I need a beer.”
“You might have a concussion,” she said gently. “You took quite a knock to the head. Is anything hurt?”
My ego, he thought. But as much as he felt sore all over and the shakes were threatening to start, he didn’t feel like there was any serious damage.
He sat up, blinked away a swirl of vertigo behind his eyes and looked around. His gun was lying just out of reach. He leaned over and grabbed it.
“I’m fine. C’mon, help me up.”
She took hold of his arm and helped him up onto his feet. He felt a cold sweat break out as he tried not to keel over and throw up.
“Where are we?” he whispered. “And why the hell did DiMarco throw us into jump without any warning?”
“He didn’t.”
LC felt his knees start to go. “Let me sit down,” he mumbled and half fell back onto the deck. Sean eased him down and sat behind him so he could lean back, shivering. She wrapped her arms around him and the warmth was welcome so he didn’t complain.
“What do you mean, he didn’t?” he said. “Why…?”
“Neither of us initiated it,” she said. “Something overrode the controls – we had no say in it, believe me. DiMarco is furious.”
“So where are we?”
“On route to Poule, of all places. The ship jumped itself to within two hours of the station. Gallagher swears he knows nothing about it. There isn’t an AI as far as he knows. He’s going up there now to talk to DiMarco.” She felt his forehead. “What are we going to do with you?”
“Give me a minute.” Apart from Hil, the only people to see him like this had been Pen and Olivia. He hoped to hell it wasn’t going to be as bad as then. He tried to control his breathing and felt his eyes starting to close.
Sean shook him gently awake. “I don’t think sleeping is a good idea. Come on, let’s get you up top.”
She was thinking about Zach Hilyer and it was weird to eavesdrop. He caught a fleeting image from her of Hil lying in the dark. Pen had told him they both had a price on their heads for what they’d done. He’d thought Hil was safe there on Aston with Pen and it was chilling to think that a bounty hunter could have caught up with him.
“I need a beer,” he said again.
She laughed, pleased with herself for some reason he didn’t understand but he didn’t really give a shit why.
“You need something,” she said, smiling. “I’m not sure it’s alcohol.”
He managed to make it to the mess without passing out. Sean was still thinking about Hil, images flashing through her mind, and it was creeping him out to think that she might have cashed in on him already.
She left LC with a blanket, a squeezy pouch of drinking water and a sheet of painkillers, and disappeared, saying she was heading to the bridge. Once she’d gone, he sat quietly for a moment then staggered to his feet, threw the tablets in the garbage chute and grabbed three bottles of beer.
He was half way through the third and trying to think what he knew about Poule when Gallagher and Duncan walked in, in the middle of a heated exchange about McCabe and Donnelly, Gallagher holding a cold pack to his head.
LC winced with the onslaught of emotion that he caught from the two of them.
Gallagher misread the look on his face. “Jesus, Luka, you look like shit. Should you be drinking?”
He actually felt a lot better. Tired though. He was aching all down his right-hand side and the knot in his lower back hadn’t completely gone yet. He was half hoping DiMarco would appear with his moonshine.
“That was a hell of a tumble you took across the cargo deck,” Gallagher said, sitting down. He had a bruise himself across his forehead. He rubbed it. “Damned if I know what happened. DiMarco thinks I’m lying but I swear, there’s no AI. I couldn’t really afford the Duck as she is, never mind if she had an AI.”
Duncan sat down and rested his arms on his knees, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “We have to get back to Sten’s World,” he said wearily like he knew he’d lost the argument already. “Donnelly needs to know what happened.”
Gallagher shook his head. “We took too much damage. We’re limping into Poule as it is. One of our main engine vents was hit.” He looked at LC. “Thom said he’s working on it but he can’t fix something or other until we stop. I told the kid to manage. I didn’t think you’d be in a fit state to go down there and help. Here, you look like you need this more than me.” He threw across the cold pack.
LC caught it and held it against the back of his neck, feeling the chill spread through his strained muscles. He balanced his beer on his knee and leaned back, shifting slightly to ease the aches. Thom would have to manage – he didn’t want to move. “So what happened?”
“According to DiMarco, the shields were down,” Ga
llagher said. “Completely. One more hit and we would’ve been toast. He had nothing. With thrusters out, we couldn’t manoeuvre and we were too close to their mass to risk jump.”
“But we did.”
“DiMarco says an AI butted in and jumped us out. We were too close to the other ship. He’s right. It wasn’t safe. But I swear, there’s no AI. He’s quit.”
LC almost choked on a mouthful of beer. “He what?”
“Quit, stood down. Stomped off the bridge and said he wouldn’t fly with a bastard AI for a lying bastard like me.” Gallagher shrugged. “There’s no AI. The guy’s off his head. I knew he was a drunk but he was the only licensed pilot I could find who’d fly without an AI. Ironic, isn’t it?”
Duncan looked up. “So who’s flying the ship now?”
“Sean at the minute – our navigator,” Gallagher said. “She said she can get us to Poule. The jump took us within two hours of the station. We’re already catching grief from the controllers for breaking safety parameters. For god’s sake, of all the places to jump us to.” He paused and rubbed at his forehead again. “I don’t know what we’re going to do after that.”
LC closed his eyes.
“Donnelly’s going to be pissed, right?” he heard Gallagher say.
“Aaron was his nephew – he’s going to be more than pissed,” Duncan said quietly.
LC heard the pop of a bottle top. Another beer would be good, he thought vaguely, but couldn’t bring himself to lift so much as a finger. The sofa in the mess was more comfortable than the bunk in his cabin.