by J. F. Holmes
“Soon.”
Chapter 16
Nate Meric, Pat Lynch, A.J. Merrifield and Bjorn Stenger sat at a table in the Winchester, which was still closed. The bartender, Sean, was cleaning a glass, and there was as sign on the door that they were opening back up at 23:00 station time, but for now, they had the place to themselves. Meric was sure there would be no bugging; the place was swept daily and had its own AI scanning constantly.
“So what’s this about?” asked Lynch. “Ship’s business?” He knew damned well that it wasn’t. Not with the four of them gathered around.
Colonel Meric, Majors Lynch and Merrifield, and Sergeant First Class Stenger, United States Army. No longer in the guise of privateer crew, they were the four men on the Lexington who knew their true mission.
“I met with our liaison earlier today,” began Meric. Only he and Merrifield knew Voronin’s true identity, and Meric was sure that the others also had contacts he didn’t know about. They did know, though, that his was pretty high up there. “We talked about how things are going, and he gave me a mission to link up with Lt. Colonel Agostine’s crew at Jamesport, retrieve a package, and keep it in storage until the time comes.”
“Any idea what?” asked his XO.
“I can’t say. You know that,” said Meric.
Merrifield let a look of concern pass across his face. “Aside from all this,” he said, meaning their secret military duties, “I’m responsible for the operation of the ship. If it’s something that jeopardizes our safety…”
“It won’t,” answered his Captain, bluntly. “What I really wanted to talk to all of you about is this. Is it time to take the money and run?”
Merrifield and Lynch reacted with shock; Stenger didn’t. He laid his hand on the table; in it was a 5mm H&K semi-auto. “Think very carefully about what you’re about to say, Colonel.”
“I have thought about it, and put that thing away. This is a discussion that needs to be had,” said Meric, not bothered by the gun at all.
“Make your point,” said Stenger, not moving his hand. The veteran NCO had been fighting the UN since he was a teenager, and hated them with a passion. The Cause was his motivation for existence, and Meric knew that he was aboard as a check on this very thing. It hadn’t been a problem, so far.
“My point is the crew. They’re fighting for something that they have no idea exists. Something that DOESN’T exist. How many more risks do we take because of our hidden agenda?”
“Is that all?” asked Stenger, and he put the gun away.
“Yes, that’s all. What I’m proposing is that we pay off the crew, take the Lex, and go system hunting on our own. There are enough that would go with us that we can operate the ship, and we have enough put aside that we could spend the next decade doing so.”
“Tired of waiting?” asked Lynch.
“I’m tired of my people dying, Pat. If it was for something they believe in, that would be one thing, but it’s been about money.”
Merrifield laughed, breaking the tension. “You really are an idiot sometimes, Nate. They don’t fight for money. They fight because they trust you, because the Lex is their home, and the crew is their family. Sure, some hate the French, but trust me, if they weren’t with us, they’d be somewhere else, doing the same thing.”
Lynch chimed in with, “And you’re a damned good captain. You don’t take unnecessary risks, you care about your people, obviously, and you’re fair with them.”
“Well, what about the money we put aside for The Cause? For America?” he asked.
“Last I checked,” said Stenger, “all that comes out of your shares as the Captain. It’s not like you’re robbing anyone, and most of them have more money than they know what to do with.”
“You don’t really want to give up, do you?” asked his engineer.
“No. But I’m tired of waiting,” he answered. “When I left Earth, it seemed like only a matter of a few years, like there was some grand plan in place. Now all we get are secret orders to seize this kind of ship, move this cargo, drop this other ship at the Graveyard, and for what? I don’t like lying to my people, and it’s been more than a decade.”
“So, are you quitting?” asked Stenger. “Nothing personal, Colonel.” The burly NCO just sat there, not making any threats. He was violence frozen solid, and Meric understood what HIS mission was. Enforcer, if necessary, to keep wayward soldiers in line. Or take them out.
“No. I just don’t… I just don’t want anyone taking risks for reasons they’re unaware of.”
Merrifield spoke, playing much more on their friendship than his role as the XO. “Nate, Colonel, Captain, whatever you are, they’re adults, and they all have their reasons for being there. Respect their choices.”
Meric sat and pondered for a long moment. He really did love his country, or the idea of his country. Maybe he just needed a pep talk. Who provides justification for actions to the man with no real superiors?
“OK, then. Next order of business, when were any of you going to tell me that Schmetzer is one of us?”
The three looked at him, dumbfounded. “That knucklehead?” said Lynch. “What is she, all of fifteen years old?”
“She’s twenty, and she actually called me ‘Colonel’ in the mess the other day. You mean no one told any of you? None of your contacts? Even you, Stenger?”
Each shook their head. “Pulled a fast one on us,” said the XO. “I wonder how many others there are in the crew?”
“None,” said Stenger. “I have my ways of finding out, I just haven’t gotten around to her yet.”
“Well, we’ll have to have a little chat with her about operational security,” said Lynch. “Bjorn, let me and AJ handle it. Don’t want her peeing in her coveralls.”
“I think that one is a bit tougher than you think, Major. Are we done here?”
“I think so,” said Meric, raising his beer in a toast. “From the many…”
“Come one!” they each answered, and drained their glasses.
Chapter 17
“And nice doing business with you, Miranda Station. Lexington, out.”
Thrusters slowly drew the ship away from the docking station, and they fell toward the planet, using the gravity well to build up speed and slingshot out into the system. They could translate into nullSpace without any apparent velocity, but when they translated out, they would be sitting still, and no ship’s captain wanted to enter an unknown situation without options. Inertial dampeners on the ship could handle up to twenty gravities of acceleration, but free speed was free speed.
Nate Meric sat in the Captains’ chair, reading the numbers on the head’s up display dancing in the air in front of him. He used his hands to shift screens, monitoring reports from weapons, engineering, life support and a hundred other things that, as captain, he had to be aware of. Not do anything about, just be aware of. The worrying was the job of the XO. The doing was delegated to the staff. The decisions were his. He put any more worries about the big picture behind him and focused on his job.
The target ship was currently in dead space between two star systems. Most starships jumped from system to system, but the research ship was moving though interstellar space, staying far away from any radio frequency sources that might interfere with capturing the signals they were looking for. They had deployed a wide array antenna, using small satellites that formed an ethereal dish several hundred kilometers in width.
Meric’s plan was to jump in ahead of them and lie in wait, systems shut down and stealth active. They had done it often enough to merchantmen, waiting just off their ballistic track until they were slightly past and then lighting up engines. The first the target usually knew of them was a radio call and a burner round fired right across their bow. Ninety percent of the time, they flashed their navigation lights and surrendered. When they ran, a steel slug through one of the engines usually settled it.
Spending a week in nullSpace was enough to wash out all the intoxicants the crew had drun
k, injected and smoked at Miranda Station. Officially, there was a ‘no drug use’ policy on the ship. Unofficially, they looked the other way at softer drugs while on liberty, but ANYONE who showed up to duty high was beached, permanently. You could show up hungover and smelling like a brewery, but if your performance suffered, you would be cooling your heels in front of your section chief in a heartbeat. Ship’s scuttlebutt even said that he’d once had someone spaced for screwing up on duty. Meric knew it wasn’t true, but when anyone brought it up, he just smiled. In the hangar deck, Team Knife was running through boarding drills, using a holo mockup of the airlock for the Ecouter, based on diagrams of the research ship grabbed off the French intranet.
“How much charge do we need to blow this airlock?” asked Sergeant Atkinson.
His recruit, a short but powerful young man, thought for a second, running calculations in his head. “Um, five ounces of plastic backed by another two ounces to create a reverb and blow the door backward.”
The older man nodded. “Ok, good. Once inside the lock, how do we blow it without killing everyone inside?”
Private Holmes thought again. “For this ship, it has a rotating doorway that irises out. Smart virus charge to the control unit will force it to automatically override and open. That’s something best left to Warrant McCann, if we don’t want to damage the lock.”
Atkinson grinned and said, “You’re getting the hang of this, kid. Too bad you’re not going with me on this one. You’re going to be riding with Poison on standby, in case we need to blow a hull charge and let them in a different way.”
“But…” he started to say, looking crestfallen.
“No buts. Go over there and start working with them. It’ll be good practice for you. Now,” he said, raising his voice so Sergeant Martel could hear him, “let’s go through it again, Frenchie!”
Across the bay, Team Poison was in a foul mood. In addition to the bug hunt, Captain Meric had switched them off rotation so that Team Knife was making the assault. Combat was tough, but watching your friends do what was supposed to be your job was, in a way, even harder. Now they were working on maintenance, going over their suits and weapons with everything from computer diagnostic tools to toothbrushes.
“This is bullshit. First the bug hunt, now this. I swear, if I hadn’t signed a contract, I’d jump ship at the next port.” The big man was wearing his hardsuit, running through diagnostics, but his voice came through on the team net.
“Sergeant Stenger, your contract with Captain Meric expired exactly eleven months and two standard days ago. You are free to go at any time. In fact, there is an airlock right behind you.”
“Buckley, did anyone ever tell you that you’re an annoying fuck? If you had a body, I’d rip your head off.”
“I do have a body, and you’re in it. Kind of like a bug in my guts. I should shit you out.”
SGM Knight’s voice came over the net. “Cut the crap, you two. Suit maintenance has to be done; I don’t care if you can’t stand it. It will save your life.”
Stenger sighed. “OK, circuit head, let’s do it again. Systems check in three, two, one. And go.”
Buckley’s voice echoed over his headset, calling out systems, and the NCO tested each one, starting with weapons.
“Right arm, internal grav gun, check.”
“Left arm, grenade launcher, check.”
“Right leg, Taser, check.”
Orr was coaching Cahr on the weapons they carried, making him recite the manual of arms on their carbines. “The Britannia M-78 Carbine is a lightweight, 4.2 mm, air cooled, electro-magnetically operated, magazine fed assault rifle. It has a maximum effective range of line of sight. It can operate in space or atmosphere.”
“Good,” grunted Orr. “Now, what do you do if your weapon fails to fire?”
“Turn off the weapon, drop the magazine, hand cycle the magnets,” which he did by racking a pistol grip up and down the length of the stubby barrel, “turn it on again, reload, aim, fire.”
“Not bad. But in a fight, to save time with these old pieces of crap, forget turning off and reloading the magazine. Just bang the ass end on the floor and tilt it forward. The jammed round will come rolling out the barrel. The barrels are worn out, so count your blessings that we usually don’t fight at more than ten meters or so.”
Cahr lifted it up and examined the scratched, battered weapon. “Why don’t we get new ones?”
Orr shrugged. “Maybe next time. That damn suit,” he said, gesturing to the armored Heavy Combat Suit, “costs more than four million dollars. Priority is to get another two, one more for each team.”
“That damn suit,” said Tank, “has saved your life more times than I can count, Scotty.”
“It IS nice to hide behind!” agreed the Specialist.
In the shuttle Poison, Ensign Zlatcov busied herself with her own diagnostic checks. The ship had been running a little hot on the number two engine, and she had done an outside walk with Commander Lynch while they were docked. There was a slow coolant leak, buried deep in the pylon housing the engine that taken them almost three hours to find. Now it hummed quiet and steady, just turning over enough to provide electrical power to the dropship. She leaned over and touched the deck plating, feeling the engine vibration with her fingers, looking for resonances that were foreign to a smooth running turbine.
She patted the dash and whispered to the shuttle. “Yes, rebenok, soon we fly again, touch the sweet stars where no one can bother us.”
“What does ‘rebenok’ mean?” Zlatcov nearly jumped out of her seat, turning to see Midshipman Schmetzer standing behind her.
“Iisus Khristos! Don’t DO that!”
“Sorry!” The young woman turned to leave the shuttle. Stuck between enlisted and officer, and not assigned a ship or a crew, she was sometimes at a loss on where she fit in. She was even lonelier, because she had to hide her real backstory from everyone.
“No, come in, Bats, it’s OK,” said Zlatcov. “You and I should spend some time together, talking pilot things. And it means baby.”
Schmetzer seemed to hesitate, then said, “Well, I was hoping we could talk about some woman things.”
“Let me guess. You have a crush on Commander McHale, and you don’t know what to do about it,” grinned the older pilot.
“Oh my god, is it that obvious?” The young woman blushed all the way down to the tattoo of a bat that peaked over the edge of her shirt collar.
“Like a puppy gnawing on a bone.” She laughed at the crestfallen expression on the Midshipman’s face. “Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me.”
“But, I have no chance. First off, he’s my commander, and we don’t fraternize on ship, right? I mean, can we?”
“Well, what happens off ship, stays off ship, pretty much. Isn’t he kinda, well, old for you?”
The younger woman, barely out of her teens, blushed. “Well, on my world, if you’re not married by sixteen, you’re an old maid. It’s why I ran away. I couldn’t deal with all my friends having a pack of squalling brats around, and I got a beating from my da for refusing to marry one of his business cronies. Ugh.”
Nadija knew what she was talking about. She had been on many worlds where women were regulated to second class citizens. Hell, she had even been on worlds where men were second class, though that was rare.
“Well, kiddo, I would at least wait till Captain Meric gives you your commission. We may just be a bunch of jumped up pirates, but he’s a stickler for some things.” She resumed cleaning the 3mm hideout grav gun she had taken off the Crucible crewman in the fight outside the airlock.
“But he’s not military, is he? I mean, I heard he was just some scavenger rat before he found the Lady Lex.”
“Ha. That’s what he wants everyone to think. Got him drunk one night and asked him why he left Earth. It’s supposed to be some big secret, but he was mixed up in an American rebellion against the UN. After the dust settled, they came looking for him. Knew too mu
ch. Like almost every revolution, you run if you don’t win. So he lit out for Jamesport.”
“No shit!” exclaimed Schmetzer. “What’s the UN?” she asked as a thrill of fear ran through her. Second Lieutenant Amanda Schmetzer, United States Army, also known as Midshipman Schmetzer, knew perfectly well why then Lieutenant, now Colonel Nathanael Meric had left his home. The same reason she had. To find a way.
“Yes, Shit. The UN runs what’s left of Earth. Don’t ever go there, it’s a shithole.” The Russian snapped the pieces back in place, loaded with three consecutive rounds in the barrel. Unplugging it from a power pack, she dropped the pistol, smaller than the palm of her hand, into the top of one of her knee high black boots.
“So my advice for you, Bats, is to be patient. You have all the time in the world. Learn your job and earn his respect and friendship first.”
Chapter 18
Asote loved being out among the stars. His people sailed the world covering ocean on his home world of Ritt’a-n, going from island to island in great open canoes. He had studied history books of Earth, and marveled at the similarity of his people and the ancient Polynesians. Maybe the lost race that brought his people from Earth thirty thousand years ago had taken some of those early seafarers and settled them on Ritt’a-n. DNA analysis suggested it, but no one had found any evidence of that long lost spacefaring race.
Now, he watched the red shifted stars as they piled up in front of the ship, and then whipped off screen. He wished he could reach out and touch them, or that he was sailing with the open breeze at his back, cresting the waves. This was good enough, but not good enough. Neither would ever be; on the ocean he longed for the vastness of space, and in space he missed the salt air.
“Captain, here’s the tactical situation. The French research ship, designated target Sierra One, is using a rogue planetoid as a gravity lens to focus radio waves. We can use that mass to hide our translation out of nullSpace, and lie in wait,” he used a laser pointer to highlight a point on a track leading past the planetoid, “here.”