Decker's War Omnibus 1

by Eric Thomson

  “Longest leg of the trip, sir,” the second officer said. “This is where boredom meets insanity. They say the nebula has a way of driving men crazy.”

  “Only men?” Decker smiled knowingly. “Just as long as we get to Peralka before we’re down to eating ratpacks, we’ll be okay.”

  “Yeah.” Berand looked pained. “Here’s hoping the recyclers hold out until then.”

  “If you need someone to clear off vat sludge, I’m sure I can find you defaulters who need to work off their sins.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind. Chess game tonight?”

  “Sure.”

  Decker sketched a salute and left the enervated merchant spacers to ponder over their narrow escape.

  *

  “I’m getting worried about Terkis,” Cyone said, dropping into the folding seat she’d just pulled out of the bulkhead. Decker, as senior officer, had taken a broom closet-sized cabin in Dragonfly’s tiny passenger section, forward of the cargo holds, and while the privacy suited him, command group meetings tended to be crowded. By the time Resson joined them, it felt more like the inside of an escape capsule.

  “Why? Other than the lad is about as twitchy as I’ve ever seen him, he does the job okay.”

  Cyone shook her head.

  “Remember how he was always the first to doubt whatever action you were planning? He’s taken a step further down the slippery slope of defeatism. I had to break up what was about to become a fist-fight between him and Nik Vulin. Ker was indulging in a long monologue about the merits of surrendering and returning to the Kashdushiya.”

  “Huh.” Decker ran a hand over his bald skull, suddenly finding the absence of hair more than a little disturbing. “There’s this psychological syndrome called capture-bonding. I think Terkis is getting a full dose of it as we get further and further away from Danjor and the Atabek. Do either of you know whether he had a session or two in the juluk pit?”

  “I seem to recall that he might have been a repeat customer,” Resson nodded. “Why?”

  “I have this theory that the juluk venom has a sort of mind-altering effect on some people. The way I thought and felt after I got out of the infirmary was off-kilter for someone who’d just gone through the worst torture of his life. In any case, we’d better have someone keep an eye on Terkis. If he does something really dumb that could make us drop out of FTL in the middle of the nebula, we could be in big trouble, especially if those buggers are still chasing us.”

  “What could he do?” Resson asked, puzzled.

  “Get into engineering and start pushing buttons at random,” Cyone offered. “That usually doesn’t end well. I’ve asked his sergeants to relay each other in keeping a discreet eye on him.”

  “Thanks, Lora.” Decker shook his head ruefully. “At times like these, I wonder whether we’ll get home without losing what’s left of our sanity. I’m pretty sure the inside of this tub is starting to reek from overloaded scrubbers, and we’re just not noticing it on a conscious level.”

  *

  As the days dragged on, Captain Berand found he had an ever growing list of ‘volunteers’ to carry out some of the smelly maintenance tasks. Although the parkour had become more elaborate and thus more risky, and the various battle drills more intense, disciplinary problems stemming from sheer boredom at being stuck in the bowels of a ship without recreational facilities were increasing. Some of the troops reacted by looking for fights, others, like Ker Terkis, withdrew into themselves.

  “Courage, Zack,” Dirk Berand smiled sadly at the ex-Marine after the latter had unloaded his latest barrage of complaints about troops getting into trouble. “We’re almost through the nebula. Another thirty-six hours and we’ll drop out of FTL for a navigation check.”

  “Let’s pray the Danjoran bastards stayed on their side or if they didn’t, that they lost us during the transit.” He thought for a few moments, mechanically stirring creamer into his coffee. “Do you always emerge at the same spot after crossing the Coalsack?”

  “Within a tenth of a parsec or so, like most ships returning from the other side; anything more regular, and the pirates could get wise to our habits. Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering whether our Danjoran friends, if they’re still following us, would be expecting Dragonfly to go sub-light the moment we’re out of the nebula.”

  “Depends on whether they’ve done the crossing before.” Berand shrugged. “Any sane navigator would want to take a clean fix after such a long jump through such a nasty part of space, so it’s not exactly a trade secret.”

  “Can you keep going on this leg for a little longer before emerging?”

  Berand scratched his chin thoughtfully.

  “I suppose a little further won’t hurt, but not too much. The tack for Peralka gets trickier the longer we remain on this course. Speaking of which, have you thought about what you’d like to do when we get there? I need to dock at the station, in any case, to take on replacement parts, but I can’t buy enough food for your troops with my funds.”

  “Do they have an armaments broker? Pretty much the only thing I can sell is my guns.”

  “Don’t you mean my guns?” The spacer’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “I seem to recall that all of your gear is payment for your passage.”

  “Fine. The only thing I can sell is some of your guns,” Decker grumbled.

  “I’ll make inquiries when we get there. It’d be a miserable place if there were nowhere to trade ordnance. There are still plenty of techno-barbarian kingdoms in the area that prefer to buy rather than make their own.”

  “What...” Zack’s next words died on his tongue as an insistent buzz came through the open door to the bridge.

  “Captain,” Jenny Marsh called out, “the starboard drive just went amber. We might be forced out of FTL if it doesn’t stop flickering. For some reason, I can’t connect to the controllers – it’s like the bridge has been locked out.”

  The two men looked at each other, then Decker reached over to the intercom.

  “Decker to Cyone, get someone down to the engine room now. Make sure they’re armed.”

  “I’ll go myself,” she replied, voice tense.

  “Is your little man with the head problems capable of buggering up my drives?” Berand asked.

  “Maybe, but let’s not jump to conclusions just yet.”

  “Cyone to Decker: we found Sergeant Nairn, who was supposed to keep an eye on Terkis, half-dead in the passage outside the reactor compartment. The door’s locked, so I’d say it’s a given that Terkis is inside.”

  Zack turned to Berand.

  “Please tell me you’ve got cameras in the engine room.”

  “On screen,” the first officer said.

  “What in God’s name...” Berand exclaimed at the sight that appeared before them.

  Lieutenant Ker Terkis, a manic look on his face, had opened the hyperdrive maintenance console and was merrily entering every command string he could think of.

  “I’m going to guess he’s trying to trip us back into normal space in the hopes that our Danjoran hounds catch up.”

  At Jenny Marsh’s incredulous look, Zack made an apologetic grimace.

  “Yes, I guess he is insane, and we didn’t notice when he went full on crazy. Can you override the lock on the engine room door?”

  Marsh shook herself and nodded.

  “Done.”

  “Lora, go get him.”

  Terkis fought like a mad crocodile, but the burly soldiers who’d followed Cyone managed to take him down, though not without drawing blood.

  “Markus,” Dragonfly’s captain pointed a trembling finger at the second officer, “go down there and undo whatever that madman did to lock out the bridge and then get the engines stabilized.”

  “Could he actually have sabotaged us?” Decker sounded dubious.

  “Damaged? No. But by de-tuning the starboard nacelle, he could have caused the hyperspace bubble to collapse. I’ll be making sure that no unauthoriz
ed folks get past the engine room bulkhead from now on.”

  “I’ll assign a guard rotation if you like.”

  “Sure. Just keep any other head cases out of it.”

  *

  “Where did you put him?”

  “In my cabin,” Cyone replied. “Dragonfly doesn’t have a brig. He’s sedated, but I’ve put him in restraints nonetheless. He gave Klem a bloody nose and damn near broke Farkas’ jaw.”

  “One last victim of the Atabek’s slave factory.”

  “Let’s hope he’s the last, Zack. We’re not exactly equipped to run a full-sized detention unit.”

  He shrugged irritably. Commanding a company in combat was something he could handle. Dealing with the annoyances of garrison life, particularly aboard a starship with few amenities, was something he could gleefully leave to others. But since he’d been elected CO of Decker’s Demons, he was stuck with it, warts and all, until he could hand it over to someone wearing the right uniform and rank badges.

  “Have you thought about what might happen once we let them loose on the Peralka station?” Jase Resson asked. “Especially if they touch alcohol for the first time in years, or ever.”

  “We’ve got to let them off, even if it’s just for a few hours. There’s no telling how long we’ll be cooped up in here again for the next leg. Weeks, likely.”

  “We’ll see when we get there,” Decker replied in a tone that signaled the end of the conversation.

  The intercom chimed.

  “Bridge to Major Decker.”

  “What fresh hell is it now?” He angrily asked, pushing past his officers and down the passageway to the front of the ship. When he got there, the gunner’s mate waved him over to the sensor console.

  “Is that what I think it is, sir?”

  Zack leaned over the spacer’s shoulder and examined the readout.

  “It is.” He straightened his back and turned to an expectant Berand. “The universe is immense, starships are tiny, and yet we still managed to stumble over the wake of another ship ahead of us and somewhere to port.”

  “The Danjorans?”

  “Possibly. If they’ve been playing catch-up without actually tracking our wake, they could be overtaking us in an attempt to get to the other side of the nebula and wait until we appear for our navigation fix. If that’s the case, their sensor gear isn’t quite as good as ours, which doesn’t surprise me at all.”

  Berand joined Decker and stared at the readout.

  “If we stick to that ship’s tail until it drops out of FTL, then keep going for a good long count of minutes, do you think we can stay out of their clutches?” He asked.

  “Provided your helmsman is good enough to stay right at the edge of detection, sure. It’s probably the best thing to do.”

  “There’s another alternative.” Berand bit his lower lip, looking unhappy at the thought. “Not one I like, but we need to stop for food and parts soon, and if those are indeed your bounty-hunting friends, we may not have a choice.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Ever heard of Tortuga Station?”

  Behind him, Jenny gasped audibly.

  “Nope.”

  “It’s the most villainous hive of treachery and deceit for a hundred light years in all directions, a station carved out of an asteroid orbiting a small star within the nebula. There’s nothing else of use in that system, other than some profitable mining operations. And because it’s far from any government authorities, let alone your Navy, it’s become a crossroads for smugglers, a place of exile to beings wanted for unimaginable crimes and a port of call for pirates seeking shore leave and a ready market for their loot.”

  “Charming.” Decker's voice dripped with irony. “I’ll bet the moment we appear, half of the inmates will be salivating at our fat, prosperous-looking hull while the other half will be busy sharpening their knives.”

  “Pretty much,” Berand replied dubiously, “though the criminal consortium that runs Tortuga frowns on any independent piracy within the system. If there’s ship taking to be done, they’d rather make the seizure, which happens when docking fees aren’t paid in full, or crews get too rowdy.”

  “It sounds like you know the place.”

  “I’ve had to dock there a few times. Not in Dragonfly, mind you, but in faster, better-armed ships.”

  “Well, if someone’s foolish enough to try boarding us, he’ll get a very nasty surprise. There’s not a pirate alive able to take on two hundred trained infantrymen.”

  “Perhaps,” Berand sounded unconvinced, “but they might damage us enough to make escape impossible.”

  “I’d rather take my chances with the scum of the galaxy than with my former employer’s bloodhounds. It’s a given that they’ll shoot your drives off the next time we see them. What are the chances they’d know to look for us at Tortuga Station when we don’t emerge on the other side of the nebula?”

  The merchantman pursed his lips in thought.

  “If you’ve never been there before, you wouldn’t have an inkling it existed. Going to Tortuga is by invitation only the first time, and after that, you’d better be prepared to spend money.”

  “Captain,” Jenny called out, “the starboard scrubbers just went amber.”

  “That settles it.” Berand looked unhappy as he went over to the navigation console and entered some numbers. “Markus, drop us out of FTL and calculate a course to those coordinates. A single jump, mind you.”

  *

  Decker whistled softly as he studied the image of the station on the main screen some twelve hours later.

  “A hollowed out asteroid, eh. I’d hate to see the size of the guns they’ve got on that mountain. It’ll take a lot more weight than any regular orbital could and if they’ve kept the skin thick enough, it’ll take a lot more punishment too.”

  “Pray that we don’t see the size of the guns, Zack,” the captain replied sourly, “because that would mean we’re cooked. Although, if your Atabek’s hounds show up uninvited, we might get a glimpse.”

  “That, I wouldn’t mind seeing.”

  “The station authorities have accepted our codes and directed us to dock.” Markus sounded nervous, more so than usual.

  “Then by all means, let’s get on with it. Those scrubbers are just about done for.” Berand didn’t sound terribly sanguine himself.

  “Anything you want my guys to do?”

  “Standing guard at the gangway, looking like death incarnate, is going to be just fine, though when I see the station’s management to negotiate for the parts we need, I’d like you and Lora to come with me.”

  “Some muscle?” Zack grinned.

  “That, and the both of you are pretty good when it comes to technical stuff, so if they try to pass us some crap, there’ll be three of us to call bullshit.”

  “And we’ll get a better price for our gear than a pure civilian could.”

  “That too, though they’ve got some tough hagglers on Tortuga, so don’t expect to get top cred.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “If you’ll excuse me, the docking procedure is pretty hairy, the way that thing spins, and I’ll need all my concentration.”

  Understanding that he was being asked to vacate the bridge, Zack sketched a salute and headed aft to the barracks. Sal Aran’s heavies would be pulling guard duty, and he might as well make sure they memorized the rules of engagement properly. He didn’t want to fight his way through a mob of pissed-off pirates just to get back into space.

  “We almost there?” Lora asked the moment he entered the corridor to the officers’ cabins.

  “Pretty much. Dirk kicked me out so he could dock without hecklers.”

  “A wise decision,” Cyone smirked.

  “He wants the two of us to come with him when he goes to dicker for parts. Something about being more technically minded, if you can believe that.”

  “I think he may have conflated master gunners with ship’s engineers, though if we’re going to t
rade some of our ordnance away, it is best we be there.”

  “That’s what I said, the part about us being there to get a good price I mean.”

  “See, I knew I could allow you out in public with no adult supervision.” Her grin was positively evil, so evil in fact that he felt a rush of arousal warm his body, but sadly there would be no time for a little fun and he grunted in reply.

  Twenty

  The first thing that struck Zack as they stepped through the station-side airlock was the smell. It wasn’t a bad stench, but it was different and faintly unpleasant, and he said so.

  “They’re not as punctilious about their scrubbers as we are,” Berand said by way of explanation, “and we’re not talking about the cleanest and neatest beings in the galaxy either.”

  “I’ll say.” Lora Cyone wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I’m going to guess that they don’t have sonic showers and water is strictly rationed.”

  “Probably,” Berand agreed, “and they use some plants in their hydroponics that exhale more than pure oxygen.”

  “Plants that emit sulfur?” Decker grimaced at the notion.

  The captain shrugged.

  “It’s a big galaxy. Not everyone breathes the same mixture we do.”

  A tough-looking duo, humans of some sort, waited for them in the hangar. Dressed in worn leather, festooned with knives and carrying scatter guns, they bore a gold insignia on their left breasts. The male, almost as big as Zack, gave the ex-Marine a thorough once-over, scowling throughout.

  Decker winked at him and then examined his companion, a muscular woman who’d likely taken too many testosterone supplements in her younger days. He gave her his best leer out of pure habit.

  Oblivious to the byplay, the captain nodded politely.

  “I’m Dirk Berand, master of Dragonfly. We’ve got an appointment with Ser Flawent.”

  “So he says,” the male security officer replied. “We’re here to take you to his office.” He nodded at the two soldiers. “You can bring your guns, but you’ll need to show me that you don’t have a round up the spout. We don’t like negligent discharges on Tortuga.”