by J. R. Mabry
“Sir, I’ve got that list you asked for,” Susie Wall said.
“Good. Post it, please.” Jeff blinked and called up the document. It’s a good list, though, Jeff thought. Thorough. Every possible place for them to refuel and restock was here, it seemed. But where would they be least likely to be noticed? They could head for some little moon or outpost where the smallest number of people would see them. The problem with that was that they were likely to make a bigger impression on those few folks. Plus, there would be limited choices when it came to supplies. They could go for a crowded place, get lost in the masses. The advantage of that was they’d be able to get everything they needed in one stop. More chance of being noticed, though. And Jeff did not know what he was up against.
He wanted to trust Danny, but his gut was off whenever he thought about it. He was glad to be rid of Sol Station, but he wasn’t sure who knew about them, who might be looking for them, or lying in wait for them. He didn’t know whom to trust. Sometimes the Devil you know… he thought. He was flying blind, and he did not like it.
“Epworth Station,” he said out loud. It was a good two parsecs into the neutral zone, and seemed to be huge. He’d also never heard of it—obviously it was one of the many things in this universe that did not have an analog in his own.
“What was that?” Emma said looking over.
“Uh…nothing. Just looking for a destination to restock.”
She nodded and returned her attention to her work. Jeff got up and walked over to Pho’s station. He put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “What have you found?”
“Running one more test, sir,” Pho said without looking up. “Just…here’s the results now.”
Jeff saw a string of numbers that were as mysterious to him as the whole flight trajectory anomaly.
“Huh,” Pho said.
“Huh, what?” Jeff asked.
“Okay, these numbers here”—Pho pointed to the first column—“are the expected weight distribution inventories for this class vessel.”
“Okay,” Jeff said, his brows knitting.
“This second column are the adjustments we make because of stocking or…furniture or storage or whatever.”
“I follow you.”
“See the third column? Those are the actual weights.”
“How did you achieve the actual weight? We’re nowhere near a space dock.”
“Uh…Dr. Stewart figured those out with a…” He fished for a word.
Emma interrupted. “It’s complicated, but basically we factored the distortion in the space-time fabric against our speed and the nearest gravity well for each section of the ship.”
Jeff’s eyes moved back and forth as he thought. “Those…would be some pretty precise measurements.”
“What do you think has been taking us so long?” Emma asked, with a note of mock exasperation. She followed this up with a smile.
He nodded. “And what did you find?”
“We found that there are four tons of mass in the fore cargo hold that are not accounted for, distributed on both port and starboard sides—the distribution is not precisely even, however.”
“What the fuck is down there?” Jeff wondered. “Mr. Wall, bring up security cams in the hold.”
They all looked at the main view screen as the picture switched. Jeff saw only a dim, quiet hold. Nothing out of the ordinary. “Mr. Wall, summon commander Nira. Have her meet me in the armory ASAP.”
“Aye, sir,” Wall said, fingers playing over her console.
“Everyone else…stay put,” Jeff said. He straightened his jacket and strode to the door. I should have looked back at Emma. I should have kissed her, he thought. The bridge door slid shut behind him. He walked through the mess to the armory, and sighed when he saw it empty. “Great,” he sighed. “I should have guessed.” He rummaged through each of the metal cabinets, to no avail. They were empty. No weapons.
“Reporting, Captain,” Nira stepped into the tiny alcove that housed the armory.
“We’re cleaned out, I’m afraid,” Jeff said.
“Damn,” Nira said. Her mouth stayed open in alarm. “What’s…” It seemed to Jeff that she was about to say, “What’s up?” but caught herself. She closed her mouth and tried again. “What are we up against, sir?”
“We don’t know. We’ve got unexpected weight in the fore cargo hold.”
He saw her head jerk and her eyes dart back and forth, thinking. “How much weight?”
“Four tons.”
“Not a stowaway, then.”
“Not unless it’s a very, very large stowaway. Whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to be moving.”
“Stay here, sir.”
“What?”
“Uh…please…just for a moment. I’ll be right back.”
She darted out of the armory. Jeff checked a few more drawers. He was not surprised to find them empty. Danny had wanted them gone, but he had not wanted them armed. Jeff shook his head. He didn’t understand it.
Just then Nira reappeared, handing him a hunting knife. He took it with a nod, and noticed a set of nunchucks in her other hand. “You know how to use those things?”
“Manila champion two years running,” she said. There was not a hint of pride or braggadocio in her voice. It was just a fact, like the Telluride quantum field equation or the fact that earth’s sky is blue. “I’m deadly.” Now he saw a smile curve onto her lip. He smiled back.
“Let’s go find our stowaway,” he said.
Leif clutched his poly neural disruptor, and for the fifth time made sure it was charged and loaded. Looking out the window, he saw the Talon drifting away as his pod was ejected from her port side. He didn’t understand the captain’s plan, but a part of him wanted to do something—anything—to make things even with her. For the thousandth time in the past couple of days, he berated himself for supporting that asshole Shallit. He knew what was right, he knew the chain of command, but he also didn’t know how—when they’d stepped off that shuttle—he could have done anything differently without getting his head shot off or getting thrown into the brig.
“Maybe getting thrown into the brig wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world,” he said out loud to the empty pod, “especially given how things worked out.” If he had done that, he’d be out of the brig now, and he’d be in full possession of his pride and the captain’s favor. If, that is, I didn’t have my head shot off, he thought. Then he shuddered.
The pod was a standard ensign’s escape pod. It was built for two, yet there was only about five feet of space to walk in, and about seven feet of clearance. If you needed to sleep in one of these, you had to turn off the artificial gravity, since there was no way to lie down. There was a kneeling toilet, which he hated, and four months’ supply of cold rations in a cabinet.
The idea of drifting in space for four months, hoping someone would find your signal before you ran out of food and oxygen, terrified him. The only comfort was the fact that there were two doses of Happy Ending in the medicine cabinet. Within seconds of taking one, you would be flooded with euphoric feelings—no pain, no worries, just delightful giddiness. Then you’d get sleepy. Happy, dopey, and sleepy. And then you’d be dead.
That is definitely how I want to go, Leif thought. Not a blaster to the head.
But he’d have little control over that, and he knew it. He checked the poly disruptor again. It was still charged and loaded.
He looked out the tiny circular window and saw several other pods drifting off into space near him. He had friends in those pods. He sighed.
Just then he felt a jarring change of direction. It didn’t feel like he’d collided with anything, more like a quick acceleration.
“Oh shit,” he thought as he saw the great metal underbelly of the Eisenhower drift into view as his pod turned. Tractor beam, he thought. Was this what the captain intended? Why else had they been armed with the poly disruptors? He would have felt better if he’d known the details of her plan.
> Mine is not to wonder why. Mine is just to do…
He didn’t finish the thought.
Chapter Ten
Jo controlled her breathing as she followed the security officer. She had no choice about following—she was flanked by a full security detail on all sides. The only choice before her was panic or control.
The fact that she was being summoned quickly was good—they might still be in the game. She still wondered about where her men might be, but she couldn’t let it distract her.
The layout of the ship was unfamiliar—it wasn’t a class she had boarded before. But the various parts of the ship they walked through were all familiar enough. There would be no mysteries here—a warship was a warship, and she knew warships.
A few minutes later the young woman ahead of her held up her hand as she requested permission to board the bridge. It must have been given, as the door slid open and she was waved through.
Jo went to straighten her red jacket, but realized she was only wearing the white paper jumpsuit. She raised her head with a note of exaggerated pride to compensate for the indignity and stepped onto the bridge.
Jo’s eyes darted back and forth, assessing the scene before her. The bridge was massive, and it looked like every station was manned. Women and men in black uniforms with orange piping huddling over their panels, fingers flying, eyes wide with the electricity of battle. No one took much notice of her. A captain was on deck, but no one rose.
She followed the blonde security officer with the bobbed hair directly to the command chair. The captain was about ten years her senior, his buzz cut shining with a faint orange tint—a common Authority affectation. It matched their uniforms.
He didn’t even glance at them—his eyes were riveted to the tactical screen. On the main viewer, Jo could see another RFC vessel. It wasn’t the Talon, but she couldn’t make out the name. But her shields were holding and her guns were giving as good as they got. She nodded her approval.
After a moment, the captain barked. “Take the helm, number one.”
The XO assumed command seamlessly, studying the tactical and calling out orders.
The captain turned to face her now, looking her up and down for the first time. His cheeks puffed into jowls, and his eyes darkened. He did not look impressed by the sight of her.
“I am Captain Johann Federer. And you are?”
“Captain Jo Taylor of the Revolutionary Freedom Coalition ship Talon. Sir.”
“You had a core breach.”
“We did.”
“But our scans show your ship is still intact.”
“Lucky us.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are there still crew aboard your ship?”
“I ordered everyone out. I don’t know if there is anyone aboard now or not.” She held his gaze. She was a damn good liar, and she knew it. “Of course, if they’re still there, then it sounds like engineering got a handle on the problem. Crack engineers, my guys.”
Now was the time. Jo looked up, accessed the interface with the nuke, started the countdown. Four minutes until detonation. She had four minutes to bluster her way to mastery of the situation. Piece of cake, she thought, but she made a fist to stop her hand from shaking.
“Captain, I regret to inform you that there is a fifty-megaton nuclear explosive on board your ship, and unless I disarm it, your ship and everything on it will be a husk of smoking carbon in a little less than four minutes.” She swallowed, and narrowed her eyes as they looked into his. “I’ll be taking over as captain now, and you will hand your security codes over to me. You will also prepare to be boarded. This will be a peaceful transition of ownership. You and your crew are free to leave via your escape pods.” She smirked. “Never let it be said that the RFC is inhumane.”
“The RFC is humane? Is that why you gunned down a businesswoman and six cops back on Avalon II?”
Jo cocked her head. “We did no such thing. Where did you get such an idea?”
“It is established fact. You have a price on your head—not just for being a enemy combatant, but for espionage and mass murder.”
“It can’t be an ‘established fact’ if it isn’t, in fact, true,” Jo said. “And it isn’t.”
“You can tell it to the Authority. And your threats are useless. We found your nuke as soon as you came aboard. We disarmed it. Thank you for the plutonium.” He hadn’t yet blinked, but his lips curled into a cruel grin that made her squirm. “As soon as we’re finished here, we’ll be heading back to your ship—the Talon, is it? You may have the honor of contacting what’s left of your crew and informing them that it is you who will prepare to be boarded.”
Jo felt like she had been punched in the gut. An old childhood voice began to shout, Stupid, you are so stupid, over and over in her head. Despite her best efforts to keep her eyes fixed and her chin up, her shoulders sagged noticeably. She thought about the last time a cruel asshole had tried to steal her ship from her. Goddam Shallit, she thought. And this guy’s just like him.
Until Shallit, she never thought she’d be capable of killing someone—not outside of a battle situation, anyway. She had learned a lot about herself that day—who she was, what she could do when pressed into a corner. Her mind flashed on how she’d shot him in the very act of handing over her gun.
Her head jerked. That…is an idea, she thought. “Put me through to my crew,” she said through gritted teeth.
Captain Federer looked up at his communicator, who was, it seemed, listening in and standing by. He nodded. The communicator pressed a few nodes on his panel, and turned back to them. “We have the Talon.”
“On screen.”
A moment later, Jo was looking at Marcia Chi, looking grave and scared. The command chair seemed to dwarf her. “This is the RFC battle cruiser Talon,” she said, her voice high and tentative.
“Navigator Chi, this is your captain,” Jo said, forcing her voice to be strong and steady. It did not fail her.
“Captain, are you all right?” Chi’s eyes were wide as she recognized her captain out of uniform.
“I am unharmed. Unfortunately, our plan is in shreds. I’m afraid they caught us with our boots off. I want you to surrender the ship with as little disruption as possible. Surrender protocol Zed 8593.”
Chi blinked. Her mouth opened, but no sounds came out.
“Mr. Chi?”
“I…need to…I’ll get right back to you…”
Jo’s heart sank. She had counted on Chi to be clever, to pick up on her clues and signals. She hung her head. She had no ideas left.
Jeff lowered himself down the ladder into the fore cargo hold. His feet hit the sloped deck and he grabbed at a handrail to steady himself as he watched Nira lower herself down. She was a good deal shorter than he was, but he didn’t for a second doubt her ferocity. The nunchucks stuck awkwardly out of a long pocket on the leg of her flight suit, ready at hand should she need them.
He remembered the knife in his own pocket and carefully withdrew it. Nira’s boots hit the deck, and she turned to him for instructions. For some reason, it didn’t seem necessary to speak. He just nodded at her and began to climb up the sloping curve of the deck.
The floor was covered with poly restraint belts, cables, and buckles. Strangely, this made it easier to navigate, since one could find purchase on them where the sloping deck alone would have been slippery. The hold was small, maybe five meters square. It also appeared to be empty. Jeff circumambulated the hold once, looking carefully at the floor, hoping, under the tangle of straps, to find some unexpected cargo or passenger.
Nothing. No one.
Finishing his circuit, he steadied himself near the ladder and looked to his number one with a brooding eye. Finally he spoke. “Did you see anything?”
“Not a thing.”
“Did you notice anything unusual?”
“I don’t understand why the military can’t come up with a more orderly way of storing hold restraints.”
Jeff grunted. It was a mil
d joke, but he was grateful for it. Nor did he disagree with it—it was a mess down there.
“Okay, then…we look again. Only we look closer this time.”
“Aye, sir.”
Jeff began another clockwise examination of the hold, only this time, he did it on his knees. He crawled along the edge of the wall, while Nira was on her hands and knees directly to his right, pouring over every inch of the regions closer to the center of the hold.
Aside from the proliferation of straps, the floor appeared to him almost antiseptic in its cleanliness. Sure, there were spider nests here and there, but strangely, the spiders seemed to be gone. Where had they gone? He had no idea. Maybe the Authority mechanics had sucked them up. But why remove the spiders but not the nests? Maybe they simply hadn’t had time yet? He couldn’t fathom it.
He completed the circle and sat back on his haunches, shaking his head. Nira looked as puzzled as he did.
“We need an imager,” she said.
He nodded—the handheld device could detect light not visible to the human eye, as well as radiation and mass. “I’ll run up,” she said, and a moment later she was crawling up the ladder to the deck above.
Jeff used the time for another pass, looking for something, anything, that he might have missed.
Then he found it. A white splash on one of the straps. Jeff fished a small flashlight out of his flight suit and trained it on the spot. It looked as if someone had spilled—or wiped—some kind of liquid epoxy on the strap. Teasing the end of the splash with his fingernail, he peeled it off the strap, enclosing it in his fist. Then he tied a knot in the strap he had found it on.
The strap was directly at the intersection of the floor and the wall—hell, the floor almost was the wall, it was so steep at that point. Jeff examined the wall from where it joined the floor, moving toward the ceiling. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary—joist plates at the intersection with the deck, then an unbroken expanse of white, until—