Decker's War Omnibus 1

by Eric Thomson

  She led the way aft to the small saloon, which now looked nothing like the luxurious salon it had been when Chimera still sailed under the name Syrah.

  “See, that’s the problem when you’re working in black ops. We can’t boast about the stuff we do to the same extent as the rest of the branch, so they figure all we do is screw and drink our way through a mission.”

  He opened one of the cabinets and grinned broadly.

  “This is one of those times where I’m glad my reputation precedes me.”

  Decker held up a purplish bottle with a label inscribed in alien runes.

  “T’Klach vintage at that, top shelf Shrehari ale. They must have found a few cases on one of the prize ships brought in to be reconfigured. No one in their right mind would pay the freight to bring this nectar all the way to the ass-end of the Commonwealth.”

  “Enjoy the good stuff while it lasts. The whiskey is so-so and the gin not much better than rotgut.”

  She closed the bar cabinet and winced.

  “Wine?”

  “Dordogne mass-produced plonk.” She shook her head in amazement while she watched Decker enjoy his first sip of the potent brew. “Either you have fans among the station’s engineering crew, or you’re the luckiest bastard alive. You get good stuff while I have to make do with booze I wouldn’t buy for myself.”

  “I’ll quickly point out that it’s free, so that should add a few points to the quality score,” he replied, mischief dancing in his deep blue eyes.

  “Food seems to be prepared trays,” she said, ignoring his comment, “civilian versions of the standard navy rations; not gourmet, but tolerable.”

  “Provided we don’t have to eat rat-bars, I’m happy.”

  “We seem to have a supply of those as well if ever you get nostalgic for your pathfinder days.”

  She shoved two slim packs into the autochef and touched a screen.

  “What’s on the menu?”

  “I don’t know. I just pulled two trays out from the lunch stack at random.”

  “So it might be mystery meat on a shingle with hot sauce.”

  “Or it could be duck à l’orange.”

  The autochef chimed softly and spat out the trays.

  They sat down and peeled back the lids covering their now hot meals.

  “Chicken product with green stuff on noodles,” Decker said, examining his food with a jaundiced eye, “or more likely, some product not containing meat made to look like chicken.”

  “Why should you care what it is if it feels and tastes like chicken?” She took a tentative bite of her fish and smiled. “I don’t care if this is cleverly disguised tofu. It tastes pretty good.”

  Zack shoved a morsel into his mouth and chewed slowly, his facial expression on the wrong side of skeptical.

  “Okay,” he finally said, after swallowing, “it’s not nearly as bad as I feared, but I’ll tell you what. If we get the chance to buy some fresh food, I’ll cook.”

  She considered him for a moment and then chuckled. “I do believe that’s something I’d like to witness.”

  **

  “Okay,” Decker said, wiping his hands on a rag, “those spanner monkeys knew what they were doing. This ship is in perfect condition under a believable veneer of hard use and abuse. I’m impressed with how they managed to fit full-sized anti-ship missile launchers in there. We might not have much of a magazine, but it’ll be enough for any asshole wanting to do us grief. And the guns - much better than what she originally carried.”

  “We should still be wary of who we let aboard.” Talyn stripped off the coveralls she’d found hanging in the engineering compartment. “The wrong person with the right knowledge of starships might see there’s more than advertised.”

  “True, especially if it’s someone who knew her when she was called Syrah. You got the vibes, and we only spent a few days in her a year ago so you can imagine a long-term crew member.”

  “Another five hours until we emerge,” she said looking the nearest screen. “Supper?”

  He was about to reply when his stomach rumbled loudly.

  “Traitor,” he muttered at the offending organ.

  “Supper it is.” She laughed, knowing exactly what Zack would have proposed they do instead of eating right away.

  **

  “So,” Decker asked, slumped back in his seat now that his appetite was sated, “what do you think Ulrich is going to do with the guys we pulled off Marengo? I mean the real rebels, not our guy. He won’t be in any shape to go back out for a while yet.”

  “No idea, but if I had to bet, I’d say he’ll keep them out of circulation until we find something. Letting them go back to Garonne now would just make our job harder. Our boss likes to be in control of as many variables as possible.” She picked up the empty trays and tossed them in the recycler. “Coffee?”

  “Sure, though I should probably stay off the hooch until we’ve gone through the emergence cycle.”

  She snorted.

  “The way you metabolize alcohol? I’m touched at your considerate attempt to deprive yourself in the name of safety, but if you want a dram with the coffee, be my guest. We’ve got a little over three hours left. That’s plenty of time.”

  “In that case, sure, don’t mind if I do.” He was about to get up, but she waved him down. “Thanks. You’re a peach, and with that haircut, you’ve got the fuzz to prove it.”

  “I know that Ulrich is convinced the Coalition’s somehow behind the doings on Garonne,” she said after sitting down again, “even though our man and his traveling companions were taken by the Confederacy of the Howling Stars. It’s a shame he couldn’t find any evidence.”

  “What interest would the Coalition have in fomenting unrest on a colony owned by Celeste? I thought its government was thoroughly infested by assholes wanting a return to the glory days from before the last Migration War.”

  “Or maybe assholes who want to bring about an Empire that’ll make the Shrehari look like amateurs, but I take your meaning.” Talyn took a sip of the bitter brew and scrunched up her face. “I’m going to guess this isn’t one of the top shelf brands.”

  “Ulrich is the last of the big paranoids,” she continued, “I think you got that from the few times you met him; that’s why he lasted so long in this business and got black ops to himself, but his instincts are uncanny. If someone could distil them and create a vaccine, we’d all get a dose.”

  “True. The good captain is one of the few officers who actually scares me, and that’s saying a lot, but it baffles the brain to think about buddies of the Amali clan supporting rebel movements against colonial governments owned by their political allies.”

  “And yet, the boss thinks that’s the case, which is why we’re on this ex-Amali yacht.” She pushed her cup away in disgust. “He was one of my instructors when I got recruited into the intelligence branch, by the way; he was an uncanny bastard then and still is one now.”

  “You know,” Decker said, washing the lousy coffee taste from his mouth with a shot of cheap whiskey, “I think it’s not the grounds but the machine. Let me take a look. They might have forgotten to clean it properly before they installed it.”

  “You mean we’ve been drinking lubricants and the like?”

  “Yep.” He downed his glass. “You should take a shot; it cleans the palate and your ability to metabolize booze isn’t bad either, so you’ll be completely sober when we drop out of hyperspace.”

  He shook his head.

  “The damn Coalition again. Well, maybe it’ll give me a chance to take down the rest of the Amalis and then get a head start on the second and third cousins.”

  “Watching Harmon Amali get eaten by sand sharks on Nabhka wasn’t enough for you?”

  Decker shrugged.

  “I’m two for two with both him and his cousin Walker. Why stop now?”

  “You know Ulrich won’t sanction a hit without a good reason,” she warned.

  “It doesn’t mean I can’t
kill any in the heat of the action. A little double tap to the head and no regen tank’s going to save them.”

  “Plenty more of their kind out there, Zack. You can’t get them all.”

  “So long as I make a dent in their numbers, I’ll die happy.”

  “The only way you’ll die happy is in the middle of a hot session with a young lady.”

  “Yep.” He smiled contentedly at the thought. “Though I’ll take a hot session with an older woman too. I have very flexible standards.”

  “Don’t I know it? Well, come on, Marine Boy. We do have three hours to kill.”

  FIVE

  “Does the Fleet know the station exists, officially I mean?” Zack stared at his sensor readout. “They’ve done a good job at hiding the place, but it’s not like Tortuga, stashed away inside a nebula.”

  “A private colony like this on the Rim has its uses,” Talyn replied, her eyes glued to the navigation screen. “We ignore them provided they don’t cause trouble. Collecting taxes isn’t the Navy’s business. Mind you, they start to dabble in things we don’t like, and a visit by your friendly neighborhood frigate soon sets them right. The folks operating this place know that and tend to police themselves pretty well, better than some officially acknowledged colonies of your acquaintance.”

  “Nice. It sounds like a great spot for subversives to plan and prepare for the revolution.” Decker scowled at the station’s image.

  “If they’re not subverting the Commonwealth itself, we don’t care.” She shrugged. “The Fleet might even nudge a few useful idiots in the right direction if it’ll help keep the peace within our sphere.”

  “They’re hailing us.”

  “By all means, feel free to reply,” she said with a touch of asperity. “Try to remember that I’m Dynes, and you’re Gant.”

  When he’d done so and listened to the reply, he frowned.

  “The docking fees they just quoted are on the wrong side of extortionate. I’m assuming those were taken into consideration when the boss handed out our covert funding.”

  “They were. Look at it this way: they can keep out the riff-raff by charging a lot for one of their slips. Only those who have profitable business on Kilia or have money to spare are going to bother docking. Anyone else either buggers off or keeps at a distance and shuttles in; though I have no doubt the hangar fees are equally eye-watering.”

  “Makes sense. I’m glad we’re spending the taxpayer’s money and not our own. Back when I was sailing aboard Demetria, we wouldn’t have been able to afford it. Margins were much too thin.”

  The memory of life before his return to active duty didn’t hurt quite like it used to, but he nonetheless felt a brief stab of pain in his gut.

  “There,” he said a few minutes later, “we’re being welcomed by the Kilia Station cooperative. I hope the AI has been programmed for funky docking maneuvers. We’ve been assigned an outside docking arm and that thing is using spin for gravity.”

  “No fears. I ran simulations to train for a situation like this.”

  “That makes me feel so much better.”

  “Why don’t you take the controls then, Mister Sarcasm?”

  “I’m a Marine. We don’t sully ourselves by driving vulgar starships.”

  She snorted with suppressed laughter.

  “More like driving a starship is beyond a Marine’s limited abilities.”

  Decker was about to utter a few pungent words in reply when the sensor readout drew his attention again.

  “I think it might take a bit more than a frigate to scare these guys into obedience, Hera. That’s some heavy ordnance they’ve got pointing at us.”

  “It wouldn’t do them any good against a volley of missiles. The station’s a sitting duck. A few kinetic strikes from a stand-off position and they’ll be singing the Commonwealth anthem with feeling.”

  “True.” He nodded. “But I don’t see our chances as being good if they decide they don’t like the cut of our hull.”

  “We’re not a frigate. Now, kindly keep any fantastic observations to yourself and let me dock, so we can get some fresh food. Then you can demonstrate that you’re good for more than just fighting and fucking.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain Dynes, sir.” He tossed off a mock salute and went back to his detailed scan of Kilia.

  A hollowed-out asteroid with a spin to approximate one standard gravity, the station blended in with the other remains of what had once been a major planet, destroyed in a cataclysm hundreds of millions of years earlier. Only close up did the marks of human habitation become evident.

  Chimera’s naval grade sensors were able to pick the details out from a decent range but most civilian vessels passing through the system without knowing that Kilia existed would remain in blissful ignorance. Of course, if one didn’t know about the station, there’d be little incentive to visit this particular system since it had no habitable planets.

  “Oh goodie,” he muttered when he finally got a clear look at the other ships docked along the asteroid’s rim.

  “What?”

  “I thought you told me to keep any observations to myself.”

  “I know that tone, Zack. It means you’ve seen something I might wish to know about before we dock.”

  “There’s a Shrehari trader in the slip next to the one we’ve been assigned and in these parts, it’s a given that he’s doing some commerce raiding on the sly.”

  “If they’re docked, they have money and aren’t causing problems. If we run across any Shrehari on the station, we’ll give them our best snarl and go about our business. The war ended seventy years ago. Now hush. I need to make sure we line up with a thin docking arm stuck into a big rotating rock.”

  **

  “I’m pretty sure the last fifteen minutes took a few years off my life,” Decker commented, switching Chimera’s systems to standby mode, now that they were securely attached to Kilia Station.

  “Everyone’s a critic. Tell you what: you can dock us the next time. I’ll bet you’re going to make way more adjustments than I had to.”

  “Like I said, Marines don’t lower themselves to driving the damn things. There,” he stood, “we’re all set. Shall we sample the local wildlife?”

  “The only sampling on the menu is fresh food and of course finding out whether or not this is the right place to start snooping.”

  The airlock shut behind them with a finality that pleased Zack. Short of using high explosives, no one would be able to break in, and if they did manage to overwhelm his security measures, they wouldn’t make it through the inner hatch in one piece.

  He sniffed the air cautiously as they climbed up a spiral staircase inside of the docking arm.

  “Not rancid like the last unregistered station I visited.”

  “That’s probably because Kilia is trying to stay on the lighter side of the gray zone.”

  A barrier at the end of the slip slid aside after its sensor had determined they were who they said they were and carried nothing more worrisome than personal side arms. They passed through several additional airlocks before emerging into the natural cavern that had been enlarged and sealed to create the small colony.

  “Not bad,” Zack stepped to one side and stopped to get his bearings. “I hate places that have been set up like a spinning cylinder. Looking up at the other side’s down always makes me feel queasy.”

  “Give it time,” she replied. “It’ll eventually get big enough to build entirely around the axis.”

  A trio of Shrehari, looking every millimeter the pirates they probably were, walked around the corner of a nearby building, apparently headed for their ship.

  Although not military, they had the bearing and arrogance of warriors, right down to the crest of stiff hair on their bony, ridged skulls. They examined the two humans, and the nearest one said something to his companions that caused visible mirth.

  “My understanding of their damned tongue might not be the greatest, but I get the feeling I’ve ju
st been insulted,” he muttered in an aside to Talyn.

  “He wondered whether a weak human like you was warrior enough to handle that stolen Imperial Armaments blaster on your hip.”

  “Figures.”

  Zack turned his head to look over his shoulder and shouted an imprecation in broken Shrehari at them. One of the humanoids made an obscene gesture at the Marine before they vanished through the open airlock.

  “I wish you hadn’t done that,” Talyn said, amusement dancing in her dark eyes.

  “Why? Some of the bastards never got over the fact that they didn’t win the war, even if it was seventy years ago.”

  “Problem is, you told them to have sexual relations with their fusion reactors. I’m afraid they’re laughing even harder right now.”

  “Meh,” he shrugged, “fusion reactor, mother, they both sound like a constipated raptor giving birth. Bloody barbaric language, that. Speaking through the business end of my gun used to get the point across just fine.”

  “Brush up on your Shrehari if you’re not going to ignore them. Shouting out an invitation to commit acts of fornication with a power source won’t get you any respect.”

  “Although it might be fun to witness the buggers do it. Crispy Shrehari. Sounds just about right.” He scanned the immense cavern again. “Where to?”

  “The bazaar. It’s in the middle of the cavern.”

  She stepped off so suddenly that he had to take long strides to catch up. They made their way between low buildings painted in a bewildering array of colors, dodging humanoids from a dozen species.

  Decker’s eyes kept scanning his surroundings for threats, something that had long since become second nature for the Pathfinder. A quickly glimpsed face caught his attention before it disappeared again into the crowd.

  He grunted softly.

  “What?” She didn’t slow down but glanced sideways at him.

  “I’m sure I just saw one of the sector’s head Jackals, the man our analysts figure was behind the little hijacking that had our guy and his rebel buddies end up in the Marengo stockade.”

  “One of them on a semi-legal Rim station? Shocking.” She nudged him. “Next thing you’ll tell me is that they have their thumb on the local government. By the way, do try not calling the Confederacy of the Howling Stars by that name in public, okay. It’s not worth the trouble that’ll ensue.”