Alabaster Noon

by Chris Kennedy

  She exited the ready room to find everyone in the CIC staring at her.

  “The smoke alarm went off,” Captain Jameson said. “We were about to call DC.”

  “It’s okay,” she said, then gestured back to the ready room. “Though I’d have someone space that smoking slate, just in case Sato was over cautious.”

  “Ma’am?” Jameson asked.

  She shrugged and gave a little chuckle, which she supposed made her sound slightly unhinged. Everyone continued to stare at her. She looked at the data chip again. She now knew what was in the other mislabeled cases in the Hussars’ stores. She started making mental notes, including getting hold of the Geek Squad. What was the man’s name Kleena assigned? Patrick Leonard? She needed him on this ASAP.

  I need to know how long it will take to retrofit the fleet ships when they return, she thought. “Captain, please recall Shuttle 322-A.”

  “Is it urgent?” Jameson asked.

  “Without a doubt,” she said.

  “Take my personal shuttle. The pilot is standing by.”

  “Thanks.” She started to leave, but she stopped and turned to the defensive coordinator. “Go ahead and access that special menu on the shield systems,” she said, then she turned to the captain. “Unless I miss my guess, it’s going to be fairly self-explanatory.” He nodded his head. “But, Captain, no word about that new system is to leave this ship, is that understood?”

  “Of course, Commander. But may I ask why?”

  “Once you access the system and see what it does, you’ll have your explanation.” Aleksandra left, following her pinplant deck plans to Sphinx’s hangar deck.

  * * *

  Captain Jameson floated to the defensive station and watched as the tech accessed the menu and read along as instructions appeared. After a minute, he pushed back, his eyes wide.

  “My God,” he said, turning to look at the hatch Commander Kowalczy had left through. “How is this even possible?”

  The defensive coordinator’s shocked expression slowly turned to a predatory grin. “Things just got extremely interesting.”

  * * *

  Merc Guild Detention Facility, Ubatuba, Brazil, Earth

  “You are weak,” the man said and punched Jim again.

  He did his best not to cry out, and nearly succeeded. I’m Colonel Jim Cartwright, he thought through a red haze of pain, Commander of Cartwright’s Cavaliers. Another punch. He gasped. Gah! I am Thaddeus Cartwright’s son!

  “Why do you insist on remaining silent?” The man punched Jim in the side of the head and sent him sprawling to the floor for the fourth time. Maybe it was the fifth; Jim couldn’t remember.

  The cool floor felt good against the side of his face; despite the fact he’d lost some skin with the impact. He didn’t try to get up. Even if he hadn’t been as fat as he was, there was no way he could have with his arms tied behind his back at the elbows. He felt a heavy boot press against the side of his head and wondered if this was the end.

  “No,” a new voice said. “That’s enough, Corporal.”

  “As you say, Major.”

  Jim concentrated on breathing, but broke into a fit of coughing and tasted blood. He hurt; every square inch of his body hurt. He couldn’t think well enough to guess how long they’d been beating him. The Eastern European man who had beat him hadn’t bothered to ask any questions, either. When the abuse started, Jim had known quite well what they wanted, or rather, what Peepo wanted—the Raknar.

  “Can you talk?” the newcomer asked in a thick Slavic accent.

  “Piss off,” Jim mumbled around bloody, swollen lips.

  “You might be fat, but you are your father’s son.”

  “What would you know about that?” Jim asked.

  “I knew Thaddeus Cartwright.”

  Jim tried to turn his head and look at the person who claimed to know his father. He couldn’t lift his head off the concrete. More coughing brought up the metallic taste of blood, and, based on the agony the coughing caused, he wondered if some ribs were broken. The corporal had been thorough. He used to watch movies of people being beaten—cops and military movies—and he’d wondered what it was like. His conclusion was that the movies were extremely unrealistic.

  “I am afraid Corporal Romanov was overly enthusiastic in the execution of his duties. You likely have internal injuries.”

  Jim grunted noncommittally. He heard the new man move closer and thought more pain WAS coming. He felt something cold press against his neck, and an instant later his body was flooded with liquid-hot metal.

  “Gahh!” Jim screamed and convulsed on the floor. He felt skin tear at the zip-cuffs around his elbows and thought at least that pain was less than what was flowing through his body. Medical nanites, he realized as his mind cleared. The bone-deep agony was gone, replaced with a more tolerable body-wide throb.

  “You’re welcome,” the man said.

  “Oh, you’re generous.”

  “I know,” the man said, missing the sarcasm. “Pick him up.”

  Jim felt the corporal grab him by the arms and hoist him up. He knew the man was strong, both from the beatings and the way he picked Jim up, as he had many times before. When the man put Jim in a chair, he got his first look at the new man. He wore rather common-appearing fatigues with a logo that said Varangian Guard with two broad-bladed Danish axes on it. The man’s name—Major Lucas—was on his other breast.

  “Never heard of…the Varangian Guard,” Jim said.

  Lucas shrugged. “We are not Horsemen, of course. But my company has much history.” He reached to his side and picked up a water bottle.

  Jim licked his lips, realizing he was both hungry and thirsty. How long had it been since he’d eaten? The answer depended on how long the beatings had gone on. Lucas held the bottle up, a questioning look on his face. “I don’t suppose you’d untie me so I can get a drink?” Jim asked.

  “You might not be a standard-issue merc,” Lucas said. “However, your determination is well known. No, I will not untie you.” He stood and came over, holding the bottle up. Jim hesitated a half second then began to drink. “Better?”

  Jim nodded, and Lucas did as well. The other man put the bottle down and turned to face the prisoner.

  “So, here we are, then, at the point where you provide what I want, and you live. Or you do not, and you die.” A half-smile played across Lucas’ face as he stared Jim in the eye.

  Jim considered his words carefully. The man was hard. As hard as any merc he’d ever seen. He possessed the look Jim had seen on many older mercs. Call it a seriousness beyond any other belief the person held. He was first and foremost a man of business. If he said he would kill you, he would kill you. Jim doubted the man would have a lick of remorse afterward, either.

  However, Jim wasn’t afraid the man would kill him if he didn’t talk. They’d been torturing him for days, and this session alone had lasted a couple of hours. He hadn’t talked, and they hadn’t killed him, or even increased the torture to the point of endangering his life; in fact, Lucas had just given him nanites when he was afraid Jim might be dying. The conclusion was obvious; none of the other Raknar drivers had talked, either.

  “Major,” Jim said, “go fuck yourself.”

  The smile on Major Lucas’s face slowly died and became a scowl. “You think you’re one tough nut, yes?”

  “You just said as much,” Jim replied and winked. “Oh, I have something for General Peepo.” Lucas raised an eyebrow. Jim turned slightly sideways in his seat, just enough so his jailer could see the upraised finger behind his back.

  “Bah!” Lucas spat and got up to leave.

  “What I do?” his corporal asked.

  “See if you can change his mind,” Lucas said. The big Slavic man looked at Jim and smiled.

  * * *

  EMS Pegasus, Hyperspace, Proceeding to Prime Base

  The crash, when it came, slammed Nigel into the back of his CASPer. Traveling with his back to the direction of trav
el, though, the padding absorbed most of the impact as the assault pod slammed into the Merc Guild battleship. His straps kept him from rebounding and absorbed most of the whiplash.

  It took him a second to get over something that would have been worse than a car crash back home, but he finally detached from the bulkhead and started moving to the front of the assault pod. The Lumar were already up and heading toward the door. Tough bastards.

  “Status?” Nigel asked over his comms.

  “First Platoon is up and in,” Lieutenant Kamali said. “One Lumar injured who will be left behind.” Nigel shook his head. The crash must have been bad—as he’d found recently, it took a lot to break a Lumar to the point where they would be left behind. Two broken legs wouldn’t do it—they’d just pull themselves along the passageway with two of their arms while the other two fired a rifle.

  “Second Platoon, all good, Boss,” Lieutenant Davidson said from the CASPer in front of him. He turned to give Nigel a thumbs-up.

  “Third Platoon is up, but didn’t break in. We’re going EVA and will look for a way in.”

  “Fourth Platoon up and in,” Lieutenant Rouhani reported. “Two Lumar dead, one CASPer inop.”

  There was a pause where fifth platoon should be. None of their icons on Nigel’s display were active. He’d hoped that was just a transmission difficulty, but it looked like their shuttle was destroyed.

  “Sixth Platoon is up and in,” Lieutenant Johnson reported. “One CASPer inop.”

  “All right,” Nigel commed. “Everyone, move in. Third Platoon, catch up with us when you can. Fifth Platoon was supposed to support the assault into engineering; you’ll have to do it without them.”

  “Roger that, Colonel,” Lieutenant Rouhani replied. “We’re former peasants; we’re used to doing without.” Nigel smiled wistfully. Fourth Platoon was made up of men from his hometown who’d volunteered for service when he’d gone back to bury his sister. If there was a more bloodthirsty platoon of Human mercs, he wasn’t aware of it.

  Davidson waved his troops forward, and they entered the battleship, dropping through the hatch in the floor to the passageway beneath them. The squad of CASPers led the way, with the squad of less-armored Lumar in trail. Getting them to understand the concepts of “combined arms” warfare had been…a challenge, and the first simulation hadn’t gone very well, but they were doing better with their positioning this time.

  Having the Lumar work for him had completely changed his outlook on killing aliens. Unlike a number of other races—and some of the Humans he’d known—the Lumar weren’t deceitful. They did what you told them to the best of their abilities. They didn’t lie to you or stab you in the back. Oh, he still enjoyed killing aliens and getting paid, but now he looked at it as “just the bad ones.” Happily, there were still plenty of those.

  He smiled as the platoon worked its way to the CIC, fighting through the obstacles he’d placed in their way. If what Sansar had said was true, he’d get his chance to kill a lot of aliens, very soon. Asbaran Solutions would be ready.

  * * *

  Winged Hussars Prime Base, New Warsaw System

  The computer simulation finished its run, and Patrick Leonard examined the results displayed on the slate. There was no change from the previous run.

  “Holy shit,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Any deviation?” his assistant, Dana Redcheck, asked.

  Patrick looked at her and shook his head. She let out a long, low whistle.

  “Yeah,” Patrick agreed. Not a lifelong Hussar, Patrick had been born on the Human colony of Talus. Together with his mother, father, and an older sister, his family left—fleeing political persecution—when he was only five years old, and he didn’t have any memories of the planet. They ended up being taken in by the Hussars and had eventually relocated to New Warsaw.

  His mother and father both held technical jobs with the Hussars while their children grew up. Patrick went into the Hussars as a technician, like his parents, and was eventually recruited by Kleena for the Geek Squad. His sister became a pilot. Both parents had passed away years ago, but his sister was serving on the Legend-class frigate Orcrist for the assault on Earth.

  He’d been given the strange module by Kleena with instructions to figure it out ASAP. The current system commander, Aleksandra Kowalczy, wanted to know what Sato had created. Patrick was still confused why Sato disappeared. He’d met the man a dozen times and had worked directly with him twice. He was a pain in the ass, but the most brilliant mind Patrick had ever met. Sato didn’t seem like the kind of person to simply run away. Not even after the incident with the doomsday device.

  Regardless, Patrick was given a job, and he immediately turned his small lab in Prime Base to the task. The alarm to begin preparing for invasion didn’t affect his work, so he continued with it. Although it was potentially world-ending to all the Winged Hussars, what could he do about it? Nothing, so he carried on with his job.

  “I don’t see why you’re still working with this after Sphinx already found out what it did,” Dana said.

  It was true; word had come from Sphinx that the crew now understood the function of the modules since some had been installed on the ship by Sato prior to his disappearance. “Even though we might understand what it does, we don’t understand how it does it,” Patrick explained.

  “Is that important with the invasion coming?”

  “It’s important despite the invasion,” Patrick said. “Besides, we’re essential personnel, so we don’t evac.” Dana nodded and looked away. She was half his age at 22, so he didn’t blame her for being scared. He was worried himself, just not as worried. His sister was in the fleet, and they were coming back. Alexis Cromwell would deal with the aliens pursing them.

  He triggered another test run and watched the miniaturized weapons system fire, with the same results. He’d picked up a side specialization in weapons tech five years ago when Kleena began the project to implement Sato’s design for the Avenger bomber. The ship had proved impractical, at least until the SalSha had come on the scene. He’d been glad to see the Avengers finally in action, even if he was no longer involved. Designed with enough thrust to kill a Human, the crazy space otters seemed to like them.

  “Patrick, are you still working on Sato’s D-Field modules?” Kleena asked from somewhere else on Prime Base.

  He responded through his pinplants. “Yes, Boss. I’m trying to figure out what Sato came up with.”

  “We know what it does,” Kleena replied. “It doesn’t really matter how it does it, right now.”

  Dana gave him a “told ya so” look, and Patrick frowned.

  “What else is there to do?”

  “The fleet is due back in a few hours. I want you to round up as many ship-qualified techs as you can, requisition some shuttles, and head for the emergence point. We can expect the fleet to be damaged, possibly badly damaged.”

  Patrick and Dana’s eyes both went wide in alarm. This wasn’t something they’d been told to be ready for. “How many other teams are being sent?”

  “General word hasn’t gone out,” Kleena said. There was a long moment. “The announcement will be coming in a few hours; Alexis Cromwell didn’t survive the assault.”

  “Oh my god,” Dana gasped.

  Patrick felt his breathing increase, and a sense of panic begin to rise. Alexis Cromwell, dead? Impossible. “Are you sure?”

  “As sure as we can be.”

  His mind turned to another, equally horrifying idea. “What about Shadowfax?”

  “I don’t know,” Kleena replied. Of course, Patrick’s boss knew about his relationship with its captain. Despite the size of the Hussars, it was still more like a small family.

  “Wait, there hasn’t been time for a courier. How can you know?”

  “That’s classified. Follow your orders,” Kleena said, and cut off the transmission.

  “Damn it,” Patrick said and began shutting down his lab’s testing equipment. Many of the syste
ms, left unattended, could cause considerable carnage. As he worked, his slate chirped with his assignment. “Report to EMS Shadowfax and provide all assistance with repairs.”

  Patrick smiled, silently thanking Kleena for the small consideration. Then he glanced at Dana who was not moving. “Don’t just stand there,” he said. “Go draw as many shipboard kits as you can find. On the way, shanghai every tech you run into and get them to help you. I’ll meet you in the docking bay in thirty minutes.” She stared at him. “Dana, damn it, now isn’t the time to freeze up!” He slapped the test table with the flat of his hand.

  She jerked at the sound and looked at him, eyes wide with incipient panic. “She’s dead,” Dana repeated.

  Patrick grabbed the front of her uniform and shook her once, hard.

  She blinked and seemed to come out of it. “Did you hear what I said?” he asked.

  “No,” she admitted. “What do we do?”

  Patrick repeated the orders.

  “But…”

  “No fucking buts,” he said and pointed at the door to his lab. “We have to think about those still alive and those that can be saved. Get going, now!”

  “Okay.” She left at a run. Patrick sighed and shook his head. He wasn’t an officer; he wasn’t even in the combat arm of the merc company. He didn’t have rank insignia on his uniform, only a couple of ribbons and the Geek Squad emblem on the arm opposite his Winged Hussars patch. He didn’t order people around as part of his job, even though he was a senior member of the Squad. He was surprised it had worked as well as it had.

  The lab shutdown complete, he went to the main equipment locker and collected his personal equipment kit and followed her out. A short distance down the hall, he stopped and turned around and went back inside. He removed the connections from the D-Field module he’d been testing and slipped it into his equipment bag before leaving for good. All he could think about was Elizabeth, and he prayed she was alive and well.