by Eric Thomson
“There’s also option four,” Talyn said. “We kill you all now and space your bodies. Like my friend here said, between the two of us, we can sail this little toy, no problems.”
“Who the hell are you people?” Syrah’s captain sounded plaintive.
“Would you believe Sécurité Spéciale?”
Her eyes widened to the point of almost bugging out.
“No.”
“Yes,” Zack grinned. “Your ex-boss tried to have an intelligence officer assassinated, not just some washed-out ex-Marine. Well, two if you count my colleague here who’d have been collateral damage.”
“Your cooperation would go far in removing any suspicion that you were in on it.” Hera Talyn toyed with her blaster, looking significantly at the captain. “In fact, your crew never need to know anything other than Amali ordered you to transport us while he remained on the planet. I’m sure our service will show appropriate gratitude.”
“Do you have any proof of what you’re claiming?” The suspicious disbelief was back.
Decker pushed the barrel of his blaster harder into her midriff.
“This.”
“Or perhaps this.” Talyn held up her sensor so that the woman could see the screen. “I recorded his execution by the nomads.”
Images began to move, and the blood drained from the captain’s face. When the moment of the feeding frenzy came, Zack had just enough time to step away before she vomited on the deck, alternating between heaves and sobs.
“Opt now, captain.” The intelligence officer returned the sensor to her pocket. “Our patience is finite, and we wasted most of it on your late owner.”
“Put us ashore, you maniac.”
“Why?”
“You two are bad news. I certainly don’t want to spend time aboard a small ship with crazy people who say they’re with the Sécurité Spéciale and let that – that horror happen. I’m not stupid, and since none of us have jobs anymore, the sooner we get away, the better.”
“Fair enough.” Talyn pointed at the intercom panel by the inner door. “Call them together here. We know how many there are, so no cute tricks. I don’t mind scrubbing blood off the deck.”
“What about our personal items?”
“Once everyone’s here, captain, we’ll figure something out. We don’t intend to steal from you, just from the Amali family.”
Syrah’s captain gave her a look of pure loathing but did as they ordered.
*
“You know we’re now pirates in all but some details,” Talyn remarked as they watched the shuttle receded on the screen.
“How many pirates set their victims free unharmed and with all their possessions?”
“Like I said, some details. How long until they wake up?”
“Twelve hours or so. Then they’ll be at least another four to six hours getting through the locks I put on the computer. We should be well away by then.”
“Let’s hope so.” She called up the astrogation program. “I’m going to take us near the Talkin subspace array. We get in close and set up an optical link, that way we lessen the risk of interception.”
“It’s just going to let you do that?”
“If you know the code,” she smiled angelically at Zack, “you can unlock anything.”
Decker, sitting at the engineering console, looked around the small bridge and at Hera Talyn seated in the pilot’s chair. Without warning, he had an unexpected and painful flashback to another ship and another woman, both gone now. The sting of tears in the corners of his eyes was as startling as it was brief and he quickly clamped down on his emotions.
The past was long gone, the future yet to come. In the present, they still had to get clean away from the Nabhka system and vanish before anyone could track them down. By now the tribesmen would have released Amali’s aide, his surviving staff, and the visiting shayk. Word of Decker and Talyn’s involvement would be filtering across the stars soon enough and whoever owed the late magnate allegiance in death as well as life would come after them.
“Are you alright, Zack?”
He nodded.
“Yeah. Just some memories intruding.”
Talyn compressed her lips, knowing full well what he meant. The only relief she could offer was work.
“Status, Mister Decker?”
“All systems up and running. FTL’s spooled up and ready as soon as we reach the hyperlimit.”
“That won’t be long. A ship this size can jump relatively close to a star.”
“Then –” he broke off and touched a screen. “Nabhka traffic control is hailing us. They want us to return to orbit and wait for inspection.”
“I guess someone got wise to the change in ownership. No reply.”
“I wasn’t going to.” Decker snorted. “Just pour it on, dear captain and get our hairy asses out of here.”
Thirty
“How’s that for astrogation?”
Talyn sounded smug. They’d emerged less than five million kilometers from the Talkin subspace array after a one-parsec jump during which they’d sampled the luxuries of the yacht, a distraction that had restored Zack’s good mood.
“Not bad, commander. I’ve seen better, but for someone who’s out of practice, it’ll do.”
She made an obscene gesture, but the smile remained.
“Let’s see how well you can aim the laser, Marine-boy. We’ll save time if we don’t have to decelerate and maneuver closer.”
“That’s master gunner-boy to you, swabbie.” He blew her a wet kiss before getting busy at the communications station.
“There,” he said a good fifteen minutes later. “I’ve got a pingback from the array. It wants to know who the hell we are and why we’re talking to it.”
Talyn got up and leaned over Decker, her head so close to his that he could smell Amali’s expensive shampoo. He was going to miss all of this once they were picked up. She entered a code.
“There. When you get the acknowledgment, you can send the report.”
Decker nodded, prepared to show as much patience as necessary. The identification code would likely have to make its way back to headquarters, and that could take a long time. He needn’t have worried. The invitation to send flashed on the screen in the time it took for light to reach the array and return to the ship.
“The report’s sent.”
“And now we wait.” She locked the systems on automatic. “We might as well take another few hours of rest and recreation. Until headquarters sends instructions, we’re not jumping out.”
“Good idea. I could always use more recreation.”
“I thought you’d say that.”
They were dozing when the proximity alarms went off. Syrah was running with systems on minimal power consumption, to reduce her electronic signature, while they waited for instructions. It had been almost a day since the report made its way across the light years to Caledonia and it could still be a few more until they received a response.
Decker was up first, pulling on his clothes as he got the screen in the stateroom to show whatever it was that had woken them. When he read the data scrolling by, he cursed.
“What?”
Talyn rolled off the bed and began to get dressed as well.
“Sloop-sized vessel just popped out of hyperspace ten million kilometers away, or rather it popped out of hyperspace half a minute ago. The IFF shows it as being the Mordred, belonging to the Avalon Group.”
This time, Hera cursed with a vocabulary strong enough to make a longshoreman blush.
“Avalon belongs to Amali through a chain of holding companies. They’re a private military corporation, which means that sloop is well-armed.”
“You think they’re after us?”
Decker shrugged on his jacket and checked his blaster.
“It’d be too much of a coincidence if they’ve just popped out in interstellar space near our general vicinity.”
“The array is a known navigation point,” she replied.
“True.”
They headed for the bridge at a run.
“If they’re on our ass and not just tacking, how would they have found us?” Decker slipped into his chair and ran a systems check, including the weapons this time.
“Either a traitor at headquarters...”
“More of them? What kind of clown show is intelligence running?”
“...or more likely there’s a transponder on this ship we haven’t found, something that damned captain activated before we kicked the crew off.”
“We can’t out-shoot the buggers, you know that, right?”
“And we can’t outrun them either until we determine whether or not we’re leaving a breadcrumb trail.”
Talyn frantically scanned through the available frequencies, looking for something that could pass as a beacon.
“I would suggest we start accelerating before they’re in range.”
“Already laid in and engaged.”
Decker looked at his sensor readout again.
“So it is. They’re accelerating as well, and hailing us. They’d like us to start braking, drop all shields and down weapons in preparation for boarding, seeing that we’ve stolen this ship from its rightful owners. I’m going to guess we’re not sticking around to wait for the reply from HQ.”
“Can’t hide anything from you, can I?”
“Not anymore.” His quick grin vanished. “They’ve launched missiles.”
“I guess they’re not as interested in recovering the ship as they are in getting us.”
“Gee, I wonder why that would be.” He studied the sensor readout again. “How long before we jump?”
“I need to find out what we’re transmitting that led them here. Otherwise, we’re in for a long stern chase with no chance of getting away.”
“Yeah, we may have to go anyway. Two more birds just appeared on my screen, for a total of four. That’ll be enough to overwhelm the popguns on this tub.”
“Let me correct course so we can at least jump to the next subspace array.”
“Do it quick because another ship just joined the party.”
“Avalon?”
“Nope,” he replied with a resigned tone after a few moments. “The frigate Garibaldi. We’ve just both been told to stand down and await orders. The mercenaries have been told to blow their missile warheads immediately.”
Four bright points appeared on the screen.
“Thank God for that,” Talyn said.
“What now?”
“We cooperate fully. However this plays out, we’re about to end up in Navy hands, and that’ll protect us from the Avalonians.”
“Would the two of you,” a deep voice erupted from the speaker, “please tell me what you were playing at? Civilian ships lobbing missiles at each other isn’t considered acceptable under any of our laws.”
“This is Captain Meeks of the Avalon Corporation ship Mordred, we’re a registered private military corporation vessel, fully bonded and accredited by the Adjudicating Authority. The ship we’re pursuing is the yacht Syrah, stolen from our parent company by pirates in the Nabhka system. If you consult your copy of the Lloyd’s Register, you’ll find that I’m telling the truth.”
“How about you, Syrah, anything to say?”
Talyn quickly shook her head, signaling that Decker was to remain silent.
“Very well,” the Navy voice continued, “what’s going to happen is as follows: I am arresting Syrah and her crew on suspicion of piracy. Since this is now a Navy matter, Mordred is ordered to withdraw to a minimum distance of one light hour and let us handle things.”
“And what about our property?” Meeks asked with more than a touch of indignation. “You’re just trying to get yourself prize money by interfering.”
“Compliance is expected and will be enforced,” the man from Garibaldi replied, “any attempt to prevent my ship from going about its business will be dealt with by force. Do you understand Mordred?”
“Yes,” was the truculent reply after a stretch of silence.
“How about you, Syrah?”
Talyn shrugged.
“We’ll cooperate fully, Navy.”
“Good. Now get out of here, Mordred, and make sure we don’t see you again. Your company will be contacted by the Navy to recover their ship in due course. Right now it’s evidence in a piracy investigation. As for you, Syrah shut down all offensive and defensive systems, remain at your current heading and speed and prepare to receive a boarding party that will take control of the yacht. You’ll be transferred to my ship.”
“As I said, we’ll cooperate fully,” Talyn repeated, sounding bored by the whole affair.
“Good. Although my missile gunners could use the exercise, I don’t exactly feel like filling in the paperwork that HQ will demand if I have to open fire on either of you. I will, however, let them hone their targeting skills. If you look at your sensors, you’ll see we have the both of you locked in.”
Decker nodded.
“We’re being painted good and hard.”
Mordred’s sublight nozzles glowed bright, and she accelerated away before vanishing when her hyperdrives came online.
“Syrah, my shuttle will be leaving in a few minutes. Have your hangar deck open and ready. Don’t try any stupid crap. General Order Eighty-Eight is in force, so you’ll not survive.”
“I’ll say this again, Garibaldi, we intend to fully cooperate.” This time, she sounded more exasperated than bored.
*
The shuttle pilot was skilled. He’d declined the offer of a tractor beam and landed the craft on his own. As soon as the deck was pressurized, a dozen spacers in combat armor poured down the rear ramp, weapons at the ready. Decker and Talyn, stepped through the inner door, hands on their heads and waited.
“You’re the only crew?” A lieutenant with a youthful but hard face examined them suspiciously.
“We are. Your sensors should be able to confirm that,” Talyn replied.
“Put your hands out in front of you, wrists together.” When they’d obeyed, a petty officer slapped on restraints, then frisked them. “Any weapons I didn’t find that you’d like to declare?”
“You’ll find all of ours piled out in the corridor,” Decker said, “though I wouldn’t mind if you set the dagger aside so I can recover it once we’ve sorted out this little matter. I’d rather not keep replacing the damn things.”
The officer shook his head in disgust.
“Freaking pirates. Take them aboard the shuttle and shackle them to the deck. Once we’ve cleared the ship they can go back to Garibaldi and enjoy the hospitality of our brig.”
Talyn and Decker glanced at each other. She made a small grimace.
“Standard procedure, Zack. Try to be polite. We might need friends someday.”
*
“You look right at home,” Hera commented, watching her companion stretch out on the bunk, hands beneath his head, a smile of contentment on his face.
“I’ve spent quality time in a frigate’s brig before.”
She chuckled.
“Yes, you have. I almost forgot about your less than glorious exit from the Corps.”
“Then take a piece of advice from an old pro. Lie down and enjoy the enforced rest. There’s bugger-all you can do until they decide to have a chat with us, or serve up some food for that matter.”
“He’s right, you know,” an amused voice said behind her.
She turned around to see a tall, thin officer wearing three stripes on each shoulder board.
“I’m Bezan, Garibaldi’s captain. Welcome aboard. I’m glad we got here just in time. The idea of a three ship stern chase doesn’t really appeal to me.”
“You know who we are?” She walked to the transparent cell wall while Decker sat up.
“I was instructed to head for the Talkin subspace array and pick up two agents traveling on the yacht Syrah, one male, one female, corresponding to your general descriptions, and impound the ship
itself. We didn’t expect to see Avalon mercenaries on your tail.”
“Syrah has some kind of transponder we haven’t been able to find. My guess is that they’ve been combing the sector since before we jumped out of the Nabhka system.”
“Then I shall congratulate myself on my good timing,” Bezan smiled. “I seem to have met your companion over a video link some time ago, but I doubt any of my crew will make the connection. How would you like to play this out? My people are unaware of my orders and believe you’re pirates, or at the very least, ship thieves of the darkest sort.”
Talyn turned to look at Decker. He shook his head.
“We’ll keep up the pretense, captain, and remain in the brig until you hand us over to whoever is tasked with taking us off the playing field and back to HQ.”
“I thought as much. My crew will treat you with all due courtesy, have no fear. We should be four days in FTL to Cimmeria, where I’ve been ordered to head next. Presumably, your ride to Caledonia will be waiting when we arrive. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get us on our way.”
“Life is funny,” Zack mused, once they were alone. “And I don’t mean running across Garibaldi for a rescue again.”
“When you were on Shokoten, right?”
“Yeah, inward bound with Amali’s special cargo, but what I meant was that we’ve gone from living like desert nomads to extreme luxury and then down the ladder into jail.”
“Welcome to the intelligence service, sweetheart. This is all in a day’s work for our kind. I hope you enjoyed your time on Syrah as much as I did.”
“Hey, nothing says we can’t enjoy our time some more.”
“Right.” She giggled. “You’re going to add exhibitionism to your many vices now? You know brigs are under constant surveillance.”
“Yeah. I guess it wouldn’t be fair to show off.” He paused, as if in thought. “I wonder if we could get them to serve us beer. Doing without either of my main preoccupations does come under cruel and unusual punishment.”
Thirty-One
Captain Ulrich, head of the naval intelligence special operations section and sometimes known as ‘Uncle Josiah,’ smiled grimly at Decker and Talyn.