by Rob Dearsley
“Damn it!” Hale’s fist slammed down on the holo-table hard enough to dent the metal. “Why do you keep hunting them?”
Dannage could feel her anger and frustration merging with that of the ships’.
“Rossini. We have to do something.” Desperation filled his voice. Arland, his chance to escape his own fate. It was all slipping through his fingers. Damn it. There had to be something he could do.
He pushed away from the holo-table, raking his hands through his hair. He was stupid to rely on the SDF. Every time he’d come to them, things got complicated or screwed up. Every Stars-damn time. They should have taken a few men and gone in with the Folly.
That was it. The answer to all their problems. It had worked before.
He started toward the lift, pulling his ship-to-shore com from his pocket. “Jax, warm up the ship. We’re leaving.”
“Cap’n?” Luc and Hale followed in his wake.
“What do you think you can do on your own?” Rossini called after him.
He spun, anger breaking his voice into a shout. “The Terrans don’t fear me! Not yet.” He took a breath, calming himself. “Once I’m clear I’ll contact the local ships, warn them off. Come on, guys. Let’s get gone.”
◊◊
On the Folly, Dannage threw himself into the pilot’s seat and gunned the engines, sending her shooting out into the endless night. Up and over the first scout. He whipped his ship through the space gantries surrounding the shell of a nearby moon. Behind him, Luc and Hale had taken their stations.
A moment later, he was clear of the mining complex. The cupola automatically darkened to block the light from the massive, nearby sun.
Dannage punched the com open and checked the callouts for the Local Defence Forces.
“Local Défense Five-One, this is Hope’s Folly. Disengage from the Terran ships and fall back.”
“No can do, Folly. We’re showing these killers we’re not afraid.” The SDF officer sounded cock-sure and spoiling for a fight. Damn it.
“Five-One. There are SDF troops on those ships. On orders from Captain Rossini, break contact.” He punched the control to send Rossini’s authentication.
This time there was no reply. Damn. Rossini needed to break cover, there wasn’t any other way.
He paged through the com frequencies. “Folly to Strike team, come in.”
Grayson’s voice crackled through the overhead speakers. “Dannage? What are you doing on this frequency?”
“Local forces are moving to engage the Terrans. They’re going to run. You’ve got to get out. Now.”
Jump drives spooling up.
“Like, right now!”
“No can do. We’re too far from exfill.”
Stars damn it. There had to be another way. There had to be something. He pushed the engines to full, sending the arrowhead of the folly shooting forward, as though shot from a bow. Even so, they were too far out to make a difference. Focusing on the Terran ships, he opened the link.
Jump vector eight-eight-three-
No! Don’t jump. Stay. He poured all of his frustration and anger at those SDF muppets into the ship-link.
Jump cancelled.
He breathed a sigh of relief. They had time.
Engage enemy ships on vector five-one. He could feel it, weapons modules coming online. Power rerouted to defensive systems. Crews to battle stations.
The Terrans were going to stand and fight.
Well crap.
Fifteen
(Liberty Station, Nowhere)
No time to lose. Lloyd turned into the side corridor and checked his flex again. Bay four was just down here on the right. His footsteps echoed down the empty hallways. This part of the station was eerie, like a ghost ship. The skin on the back of his neck crawled. This would be the part where the hardboiled detective was jumped by some goons, warned off his investigation. His hand moved to the pistol nestled against his chest. It might look silly, but it was the only place he could wear the gun that didn’t get in the way when he was flying.
He passed the Bay Three door and approached bay four, the skin on the back of his neck crawled up over his head, trying to escape. A metallic clang echoed down the hall. He spun pulling his pistol, only years of training kept it at low ready, still out, but not pointed. Damn, he was jumpy.
The cargo bay doors parted at the touch of his hand, opening into darkness. He slipped his flex into one of his thigh pockets but kept the gun out as he walked in, expecting the lights to come on in reaction to his presence.
The doors closed, plunging him into total darkness. Damn it. He groped for the control panel next to the door. His fingers fumbling along the wall. He was stupid for not bringing a light. Marlow, he was sure, would be very unimpressed at his lack of foresight.
His fingers found the edge of the door controls. Manual lighting should be just next to it. He groped along the wall to the next panel, all the time straining his senses for the thug his imagination painted approaching him, wrench raised.
At his touch the lights came up, revealing nothing but the angular aggressive lines of the Wolfhound. The hulking fighter practically filled the bay. He’d found Beta Three. Her stubby cannons brought back memories of the state room being ripped apart around him, and Jenna’s body, twisted and broken.
Walking around the front end, he inspected the craft. The autocannons were standard military issue. Lloyd checked the serial numbers against his flex, but wasn’t surprised to find they were registered to the station, and – according to the logs – were still in storage.
Holstering his gun, he climbed up onto the wing and pulled the emergency release. The cupola broke into two parts and hinged up to permit him access.
He’d never been more at home than he was in the cockpit of a Wolfhound. He could still remember the first time he’d entered one, that rush of finding something he was willing to give his whole self too. He’d not come up against anything he couldn’t get at least passably confident in without much effort, and those that were a struggle, he’d ignored or dropped. An easy life. But that first Hound, it had changed everything. Flight school was the first time in his adult life that he could remember giving one hundred percent, devoting his whole self to a single thing. It had been tiring, frustrating, and wonderful. And he was good at it, really good. He’d never looked back since.
His hand slid over the controls, instinctively bringing the flight systems online. He moved from the twin sticks of the flight controls to the onboard computer console to his right.
He flicked through the diagnostic screens until he got to the access logs. As the current user, his name sat at the top of the list.
And nothing. Not that he’d expected them to miss something so obvious. But he had to get a break sometime. Damn it. He leaned back, the gel flight seat conforming to his back, holding him.
He may have been a good fighter pilot, but he was a terrible detective.
His com buzzed, making him start.
He pulled it from his pocket thumbing it open. “Lloyd here.”
“Captain,” Foster’s rich voice was instantly recognisable. “I’ve been going through all the logs to see if there’s anything I could find.”
“And?”
“The fuelling logs were signed off by Minister Jerome.”
Ahh, crap. There was his smoking gun. The SDF were going to rip the station apart for this, and Lloyd wouldn’t blame them.
It matched up with what he’d found out about the Hyperion. He still didn’t know who the pilot was, or who else might be involved. This was so far over his head that he couldn’t see daylight. He should take this up-stream, but to who? Anyone higher up the food chain could be in on it. Hells the station command had to be in on it. Maybe if he got the Admiral off station. Niels seemed genuinely keen on coming to an agreement, he might hold the SDF off long enough to get this sorted out. Throw Jerome too the wolves.
Wolves, wolves everywhere he looked.
Lloyd thumbed his com o
pen. “Slater, you got eyes on the Admiral.”
“Sorry, sir. He’s gone to meet with Minister Jerome. Lieutenant James is with him. Admiral wanted me to stay with his aide.”
“Damn it all to hell.” Lloyd slammed his fist down on the console.
Jerome couldn’t be that bloody stupid, could he?
“Sir?”
“Got to go. Find Niels and stop him.” He leapt from the Hound and bolted from the bay. “Do not let him meet up with Jerome.”
Lloyd sprinted through the corridors of the station, scattering people in his wake. “Lieutenant James? James? Where the heck are you?” Giving up, he slammed his com back into his pocket and pulled his pistol. Where would they be meeting? The Senate chambers? Probably not if it were a trap. Maybe Jerome wouldn’t be stupid enough even to come himself.
He grabbed an orange-jacketed junior officer. “Where’s Jerome meeting Admiral Niels?”
The youngster paled, gawking at Lloyd.
“Where damn it?” Lloyd shouted, shaking the man in frustration.
“Sir.” He turned to see Slater running up. “Admiral’s meeting the senator in conference room seven-gamma.” She ran for the nearby lift. Lloyd followed her in and pounded the button for deck seven.
“You going to explain all this to me?” Slater asked, leaning back against the side of the lift carriage.
“Jerome sighed off the fuelling logs for the Hound and owns the ship that armed it. The quarter-wit must think killing Niels will give him leverage or something.” By the time he was done the lift doors opened and they sprinted toward the conference room.
Slater stacked up on the other far side of the door, pulling the pistol from her own chest holster.
Lloyd kept his gun at low ready. “Ready?”
A cry and a gunshot came from inside the room.
The hells with it. “Go!”
He kicked the old-style hatch open charging in, his gun up, Slater just behind him.
Jones was down, crimson blood soaked his arm, his gun held limp. Neither Niels nor Jerome were in sight. A body lay crumpled in an expanding pool of blood.
“What happened?” Slater moved further into the room.
“They jumped us as soon as we got here. Took the admiral toward the back.” Jones hissed in pain.
Too slow. But it wasn’t the time for recriminations. There was another hatch at the far end of the conference room, but it should have been locked. It only led to a maintenance hallway.
“Slater, on me.” He ran for the far end of the opulent room, only to hear the hatch bang closed before it came into view around the curve of the room. Damn. He pushed faster kicking the door open without slowing down.
A crack of gunfire whipped down the hallway. Using the momentum of his wild entry, Lloyd threw himself to one side as the ship-safe round shattered on the bulkhead behind him. The shooter wore a flight helmet, the mirrored visor obscuring his face. He had one arm wrapped around the elderly admiral, the other aiming his gun. Lloyd ducked back as more rounds zipped past.
Slater leaned around the corner and snapped off a shot.
“Hold fire. We can’t risk the admiral!” Lloyd popped his head up, catching a glimpse of the shooter dragging the admiral backwards toward another hatch. Niels struggled against his captor, meeting Lloyd’s eyes.
Lloyd fired into the overhead, showering the retreating pair with shards of metal and giving him a moment of cover to advance before the figure started firing again.
“Let the admiral go and we can talk.” Lloyd hunkered down under the fire, he must be nearly out of ammo. Wait, two shots in the conference room, plus six so far in the hallway. The gun looked like a standard side-arm, so two shots left.
Another round exploded against the overhead, showering him with fragments. One left.
“How do you think this is going to end?” Lloyd could hear the clamour of approaching guards.
“With the Admiral dead, and the SDF gone.” The voice was distorted, almost to the point of being unintelligible. He pressed the gun to the admiral’s head.
One round left.
“Don’t.” Lloyd reached out. It was stupid and it left him open. But he couldn’t let Niels die.
Slater fired into the overhead. “Get back into cover.”
“No,” Lloyd raised his gun. One round left, better him than Niels. “Slater, what are we?”
“Stop, for crying out loud, Gareth. Stop.”
He advanced down the centre of the hallway. Gun up and pointed. “Where do we stand?”
“Not in the bloody open, you stupid muppet,” Slater’s voice choked with emotion.
He was less than a dozen meters away now. “Point that thing at me! I dare you, ass-hat!” Lloyd fired, the shot close enough to make the shooter flinch. “Come on, shoot me. Or are you scared?” He fired again.
The man’s gun shifted away from Niels, moving toward Lloyd. Lloyd braced himself for the shot, searing pain. Burning cold. Tingling numbness. Endless night. Starlight?
A gunshot rang out down the hallway.
Slater’s round hit the flight helmet’s faceplate shattering it and the shooter fell back screaming, his gun going off, the last shot shattering harmlessly on the bulkhead. Niels pulled away, stumbling into the bulkhead and Lloyd fired his own pistol. Blood blossomed over the chest of the assailant’s grey jumpsuit.
Lloyd kept his gun trained on the man as he approached and kicked the gun from his limp hand. “Admiral, you good?”
“I’ll be fine.” Niels breathed hard. Slater helped him stand.
Lloyd checked the man’s pulse. Dead. He pulled the helmet off. The man had sandy coloured hair, beyond that he was unrecognisable. His face was a mess, the fragments of the bullet along with shards of his helmet embedded into it.
Lloyd stepped back, trying to judge by his height and body shape. He knew all the pilots on the station. But this figure didn’t register at all. But if he wasn’t a pilot how the heck did get the Wolfhound up and out in less than three minutes? And the flying he’d seen was pro quality.
Armed guards clattered along the narrow passageway. “Captain? What happened? Is everyone okay?”
Lloyd holstered his gun and turned to face the guards, glancing over at Niels. “We’re fine. He attacked the Admiral.”
The guard commander nodded moving his men back and giving the two pilots and the Admiral room to get out. “We’ll deal with the body.”
Lloyd clapped the commander on the arm, his soft shell felt cool under Lloyd’s hand. He and Slater followed Niels back into the conference room. Medics tended to James’s arm, He looked over, making eye contact with Lloyd before giving him a thumbs up.
A small weight lifted from Lloyd’s shoulders, at least Niels was alright. He might actually get through this screw-up intact. The adrenaline of the firefight faded leaving him tired and shivering. He pulled out a chair and dropped into it. Not really focusing on anything.
Lloyd’s jacket draped across his shoulders. He looked up to see Niels smiling down at him. “I think you need that back,” the admiral said.
Lloyd nodded in thanks, trying to pull his fragmented thoughts together. Everything since the fighter attack seemed so surreal, like nothing he’d done before. Part of him expected to wake up any minute.
“How’s Jenna?” Niels asked.
Slater lowered her com. “Medical say she’s awake.”
Niels closed his eyes, his shoulders dropping. When he opened his eyes, they were alight with anger. “Where’s Minister Jerome?”
The anger was new, unexpected. Not something Lloyd would have thought the old admiral capable of. It had a hard, dangerous edge.
“You can’t. It’s not safe.” It wasn’t until he said it, Lloyd realised how ridiculous it sounded.
The Admiral hunkered down opposite him. “What do you mean?”
“Jerome. He’s…” Lloyd stopped, trying to repair his scattered thoughts. “There is evidence he was involved with the fighter attack. We’ve
got enough we can get station security to arrest him.”
Niels rose, his face hard, unyielding. “Waste of perfectly good leverage. I want to speak to him. Where is he?”
Slater answered, “They’re in session. We can get a message to...”
“Even better.” Niels stormed from the room.
Slater shrugged. “Or that works, I guess.”
Lloyd pushed himself up from the chair and followed the admiral from the room, gesturing for Slater to follow. As Niels marched down the hallway Lloyd checked his gun, he had a feeling he’d be needing it. Niels was heading for the Senate Chamber and he was bringing a storm with him.
◊◊
Lloyd followed Niels toward the Senate chambers, Slater at his side. Only the most persistent protestors still picketed outside the Senate, and one look at Niels made most of them think of somewhere better they suddenly needed to be.
The guards in the lobby moved to intercept them.
“Stand down,” Lloyd ordered.
Niels walked up to the door and glared at the guards.
“You can’t enter unless invited.” The guard looked between Niels and Lloyd.
“Open the damn door,” Niels growled.
“Sir, with all due respect…”
Lloyd caught the man’s attention. “Open it.”
“Sir?”
“This is on us.” Lloyd gestured to Slater.
“Speak for yourself,” Slater said, but she checked her gun again.
The doors parted revealing the crowded benches of the senate chamber either side of the table and holographic sky globe.
“What is the meaning of this?” Jerome stood, leaning heavily on his staff of office. “Your troops invade our docks and now you march in here interrupting a session in progress. Guards.”
“Present,” Lloyd said, raising his hand. He’d never liked the overweight muppet.
Niels pinned Jerome with a glare. “The Marines are here in response to the attack on the station. Something you don’t seem overly concerned with. Someone might say that the garrisoned SDF forces care about the people of Nowhere more than anyone in this chamber.”
If that were true, the SDF had taken their time, but it definitely sounded good.