Elite

by Allen Stroud

  ‘And what did Tallis tell you?’

  ‘Nothing I didn’t already know,’ Bertrum said.

  Walden glared at Tallis and leaned in close. ‘Is our arrangement still intact? Have you told him anything?’

  Tallis didn’t reply; Bertrum wasn’t sure he’d be able to. His hands started to tremble on the chair.

  ‘I need an answer, Ambassador,’ Walden prompted.

  Tallis’ fingers pulled at the bindings, making them cut into his flesh. His eyes bulged and he thrashed from side to side moaning, His head shaking from left to right.

  ‘That means no, I take it?’ Walden said and smiled. ‘You always were a man of honour; I’ll accept the answer, for now.’

  Bertrum found himself pitying the cowering prisoner. ‘What did he do to you?’ he breathed.

  Walden glanced around seemingly surprised at the question. ‘Tallis? Some years ago, he played the game and lost,’ he said. ‘We agreed terms of his retirement. I needed to know whether he’d breached those terms in your conversation.’

  ‘He told me nothing.’

  ‘You spoke before. What did he tell you then?’

  ‘Something I didn’t understand,’ Bertrum replied.

  ‘What was that?’

  Bertrum tried to recall the phrase exactly. ‘He said, “the web may be turned on the spider” and “the smallest dead fuel the dream”, over and over. Neither made sense to me.’

  For a moment, Walden’s smiled slipped. His eyes narrowed and he glared at Bertrum as if he were trying to read his mind, then he stepped back, his gaze returning to Tallis. ‘Very clever, Ambassador, very clever indeed.’ He turned to one of the soldiers. ‘Return him to his cell.’

  * * *

  ‘Incoming message from the Lave system, sir,’ Cassom said over the comms.

  Jander looked up from the Wreaken survey reports and frowned. He touched the responder. ‘Acknowledged Lieutenant, live or recorded?’

  ‘Recorded sir and very short.’

  ‘Straight through to me then.’

  A viewscreen materialised on the desk. Five words appeared. Lave, Resistance, Freedom, Help us. ‘Analysis Lieutenant?’ Jander asked.

  ‘Came in from a hyperspace relay, the ident matches the ship we helped a few days back,’ Cassom replied, ‘a targeted transmission, but there’s no encryption.’

  ‘Which means everyone in the sector read this,’ Jander said. ‘Wake Commander Ennis and get him here; yourself and the other senior officers as well, briefing in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  Jander switched off the channel and cursed. One stupid mistake and our position is blown! Devander had to have discovered the transponder and exacted retribution. An open broadcast with the Furnace’s ident tag would trigger every Imperial and Federation listening post in the region. Within hours, there would be some kind of response. The Federation would use the media and embarrass the Alliance Forum. The Empire would be more direct. They’ll probably send ships ...

  He opened another communication channel. A full screen appeared; the reception room on the Imperial Courier nearby. After a moment, Martha Godwina came into view, she looked tired. ‘Can I help you, Admiral?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jander said. ‘Apologies if I woke you. I’d like you to join us over here. Something urgent has come up.’

  Godwina smiled. ‘You mean the short message you received from Lave? of course, happy to dock and discuss it.’

  Jander scowled. ‘I’m meeting with my senior officers shortly, I’d like you—’

  ‘I’ll be on board as quickly as I can,’ Godwina said. ‘As I indicated, I’m happy to visit your museum, when there’s good reason.’

  * * *

  ‘Aim for the clipper, that’ll do perfectly.’

  The Sidewinder lay abandoned in deep space, a present for some desperate pirate. The transfer to Faith’s Lakon freighter had taken an hour, as they couldn’t afford to be noticed. Now, sitting amongst six others in the cargo hold, Heldaban Kel pulled off his flight suit, which he swapped for the decalled uniform of a Wreaken miner.

  ‘A clipper’s not going to make much of a difference,’ Brahms said, seated next to him. He was a heavier man, past his best years, like many of them.

  ‘Needs to be something manageable,’ Kel said. ‘Don’t fancy us against fifty or sixty crew on those frigates.’

  ‘Everyone we put down’s one less to worry about.’

  ‘Everyone we put down is one less friend later down the road,’ Kel warned. ‘Let’s not burn these folk if we can help it.’

  ‘May come to that.’

  ‘We’ll find out soon enough.’

  The Ronin lay on the edge of the Alliance flotilla. A Panther clipper gave the fleet options. Few space stations would finger it as a military vessel, unless they closed and got its ident. The large capacity hold allowed for equipment and freight transport, but reinforced hull plating and upgraded guns also made it a match for anything of comparable size and a predator to everyone smaller.

  The advantage for Kel and his companions was the smaller crew compliment. Twelve Alliance Naval personel verses seven armed privateers on the freighter. If they handled it right, the ship could be taken quickly, without bloodshed.

  ‘They’re hailing us,’ Faith called from the cockpit.

  ‘Broadcast the code,’ Kel answered. ‘Now we learn whether Ferris is worth trusting.’

  ‘What happens if he isn’t?’

  ‘We find out how a freighter handles against an Alliance combat patrol,’ Kel said. He squeezed Brahms’ shoulder. ‘No reason why he’d betray us.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Brahms said. ‘Doesn’t mean I like this. Would be better on my own, strapped into a Sidewinder.’

  ‘Just do your bit,’ Kel said, ‘and you might get your wish.’

  The clipper was much nearer now, hanging in space at an awkward angle. Kel could hear Faith murmuring into the comms, discussing their approach with the Ronin’s navigator. The freighter was too big for a berth dock, so they needed to link airlocks. That suited Kel’s scheme nicely; a good narrow space to get aboard and start taking hostages.

  They’d hatched the plan a couple of days back, when Ferris had come to them confirming the Alliance battle group’s presence in Quator. Kel hoped he’d get a chance to chat with the admiral and persuade him to attack Lave, but that’d been scuppered.

  So ‘plan B’ was to play pirate and cause a media storm. An Alliance registered ship attacking the remote Castellan Mining Station in the system while a large freighter fleet sat there guaranteed public attention. The Alliance would issue a denial of course and the diplomats would get involved, but the spotlight would be on Lave.

  Kel wasn’t sure who’d contacted him, but he had his suspicions. The Wreaken uniforms and pass codes to gain docking clearance all pointed in one direction, but maybe that’s too obvious. He’d studiously ignored the Corp rep during the discussions on Quator and there’d been no signal. Ferris wants to play his cards close, he thought.

  ‘Docking approved, we’re going in for tunnel transfer,’ Faith announced from the cockpit and Kel smiled.

  ‘How long till we’re secure?’ Brahms shouted back.

  Kel nudged him. ‘About thirty minutes if I remember rightly. Get your helmet on and load weapons people, time to go hunting.’

  * * *

  ‘Just you left, Prefect.’ Walden moved from the table and drew up a seat to face Bertrum, a dataslate appearing in his hands. ‘Keep your eyes on the screen, Mister Kowl.’

  For a moment, the display remained dark, but an electric light came on to reveal a prisoner strapped to a chair with a bag over their head. A hand pulled the bag away.

  Bertrum swallowed and tried to keep the emotion from his face, but Walden’s smile revealed his failure. ‘Leyla isn’t it? Your wife’s name?’

  Slowly and deliberated Bertrum nodded.

  ‘You can’t rescue her, she’s miles away,’ Walden explained. ‘You love your w
ife?’

  Bertrum didn’t trust himself to respond, but nodded.

  ‘Do you contact her regularly?’

  ‘You have the records, Doctor.’

  ‘You do then,’ Walden said, ‘but hardly ever visit, apart from yesterday.’

  Bertrum nodded again. In the viewscreen, a tray of steel tools appeared and another figure walked over to them, selecting a scalpel. He could see Leyla struggling against the restraints.

  ‘What was significant yesterday?’ Walden asked.

  ‘Nothing!’ Bertrum breathed.

  ‘Why did you go?’

  ‘Because I suspected Karsian, I wanted the truth about the energy discrepancies and the off-world payments!’ Bertrum yelled.

  Walden’s smile disappeared. He switched off the dataslate, put it on the table and held out his hand. The LaveSec guard gave him the knife stained with Graham’s blood. ‘I value you for your diligent methodological competency, Prefect Kowl. Never spectacular in what you do, never exceeding authority or influence, always careful, reasoned and considered.’ Walden stood up and walked towards Bertrum bending down so his face was inches away. ‘I never had a reason to doubt your consistent character, until now. That means years hiding your true nature, or ... something else.’

  A gunshot rang out. Bertrum gasped and looked around. Gramos stood looking astonished at the red stain spreading across his chest and collapsed to the floor.

  ‘Apologies for doubting you, Prefect,’ Walden said. ‘It appears you were also being betrayed.’

  Chapter 30: The Steal

  ‘Hard seal confirmed.’

  ‘Acknowledged.’

  Heldaban Kel stood at the airlock and clicked his headset visor into place. He reached forward and lifted the access lever, activating the hydraulics. The door groaned, then released and swung inwards.

  Beyond lay the paper-thin tunnel to the clipper - twenty paces with a thin sheet of fabric between them and the void.

  Twenty paces to maintain cover.

  He moved onto the transfer span, a horizontal run of tiles with rungs alongside. Each member of the group had experience of these meetings. All pirates and smugglers did their best business outside the jurisdiction of space stations.

  Twenty paces ...

  The access port of the clipper lay at the other end. He began the walk conscious of the people behind him, the concealed weapons and hidden faces. If the Alliance folk were nervous, they’d get suspicious of the pressure helmets, but then they were supposed to be transporting supplies and one slip in the tube would be fatal. They think no one knows they’re out here. That should keep them relaxed.

  He reached the door and knocked three times. The seals clicked and released. It began to open.

  Now for the tricky bit.

  ‘Hey, what’s with the visors?’

  Kel ignored the question and stepped into the clipper’s cargo bay. He turned away from the navy ensign, an earnest young man in his twenties, and started pulling at the release tabs on his helmet. He lifted it off, his back to the crewman and the security camera.

  ‘Sorry, we’re having trouble with pressurisation in the cargo hold,’ he lied.

  ‘Okay, well, sooner we get you unloaded sooner you can get away,’ the boy said, his tone a lot calmer.

  Kel turned around and hit him across the face with the helmet. The force of the blow tore one of the ensign’s magboots from the deck, leaving him hanging from the other in mid-air, unconscious.

  Kel knelt down and undid the boot lock just as Brahms came through the access door. ‘One down, eleven to go,’ Kel said.

  Brahms nodded and reached up to the camera, enclosing the lens in his gloved mitt. The glass shattered. He grunted and removed his own helmet.

  ‘There’ll be others,’ Kel warned.

  ‘Best get to the bridge as quick as we can then,’ Brahms said.

  * * *

  The senior officer’s room on the Furnace filled quickly and quietly. Jander drummed his fingers on the desk while sitting in his customary chair waiting for everyone. ‘Where’s Ferris?’ he asked Cassom when she arrived.

  ‘Planetside at the moment, sir,’ she replied.

  ‘I see; status of the ambassador’s ship?’

  ‘She’s docked and on her way up.’

  Ennis walked in scowling and seemed about to interrupt, but Jander shook his head to cut him off. ‘We’ll wait, no sense in anyone repeating themselves.’

  Godwina was last to arrive, walking with a stick and her assistant to aid her in the generated gravity of the command hub. Ferris’ chair at the end of the table was vacant and she dropped into it with a grateful sigh. ‘Thank you for the invitation, Admiral,’ she said. ‘I hope you weren’t waiting long?’

  ‘Not overly,’ Jander replied. His eyes glanced over the expectant faces and flickering viewscreens from the other ships. ‘Let’s get started. I take it everyone’s aware of the broadcasted message from the Lave system?’ The murmurs of assent seemed unanimous, so he turned to Cassom. ‘Did you track the source, Lieutenant?’

  ‘I did, Admiral, the transmission came from the planet’s surface.’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Ennis said. ‘I thought you couldn’t get through?’

  ‘I can’t, sir,’ Cassom said, ‘but someone transmitted to us, directly.’

  ‘Might be from the ship before, sir?’ Lieutenant Aimes suggested, ‘the man and girl in the Cobra.’

  ‘Has to be,’ Ennis agreed. ‘Or, someone who got the knowledge from them. No other way we could have been targeted.’

  ‘The origin isn’t important now,’ Jander said. ‘We need to determine its ramifications. Analysis, Commander?’

  Ennis frowned as all eyes turned to him. ‘Our position will be compromised within hours and I’d expect a visit pretty soon from Lave military forces. If the ambassador’s information on them is right, we outgun them here.’

  ‘That may not be all the guns they can bring to bear,’ Jander said and looked at Godwina. ‘What are the chances of Imperial intervention?’

  ‘That depends on what they might gain,’ Godwina said. ‘Walden will not give up his hold on Lave and any reliance on Imperial forces comes at a price for him.’ She smiled. ‘Forgive me, but what’s more likely is that your own people recall you the minute they learn the mission has been compromised. I doubt the libertarian image of the Alliance could stand to lose such face.’

  Which puts me in a corner, Jander thought grimly. ‘Our orders are to promote the Alliance’s interests by supporting Wreaken’s mining mission. We show ourselves to be a good security partner and pick up more corporate contracts. Where possible we assist governments and local authorities in establishing conditions conducive to productive trade.’

  ‘Of course,’ Godwina soothed. ‘You settle disputes, stop wars, establish a mercantile network, all about presence and low risk, I understand.’ With a flick of her wrist, she slapped her cane onto the table, making everyone jump. ‘But you can’t play for low stakes anymore, Admiral!’

  Jander scratched his chin. ‘Theatrics don’t persuade me, Ambassador,’ he said. ‘Mister Aimes, best time for an evacuation to our withdrawal point?’

  ‘All ships should be ready in an hour, Admiral,’ the lieutenant replied.

  Jander turned to the viewscreens. ‘Does that timeframe work for—’ he stopped suddenly and frowned. One of the screens had gone dark. Jander keyed up the comms system on the desk. ‘Bridge, this is the admiral, get me the Ronin on a direct channel.’

  ‘Trying, sir,’ the Ensign replied, ‘but she’s not responding. She’s moving out of formation too.’

  ‘Where’s she going?’

  ‘In-system, towards the planet.’

  * * *

  ‘You won’t get away with this, whoever you are!’

  Heldaban Kel smiled at the Ronin’s navigation officer, the last man they’d kept aboard. The rest of the ship’s crew were locked in the hold of the Lakon freighter, which was rapidly disappearin
g in the rear viewscreen along with the Alliance fleet. ‘I think we already did. Thank you for the demonstration of the hyperspace plotter. Soon as we’re out of mass lock, we’ll be making use of it. That means, time you got a remlok on and made for the airlock.’

  ‘You can’t, that’s—’

  ‘No, only murder if your friends out there don’t pick you up. Brahms?’

  The big man clamped his hand under the officer’s shoulder and hauled him out of the seat. ‘This way,’ he said in a cheerful voice and set off for the hold. Devoid of magboots and with his feet tied together the navigation officer had no choice but to go along for the ride.

  ‘Finally!’ Kel said and dropped into the chair. ‘How’s she handlin’?’ he asked Faith in the pilot’s seat.

  She glanced at him and made a face. ‘Like driving a house. When they realise, they’ll launch an alert fighter patrol.’

  Kel shrugged. ‘Actually I’m surprised they haven’t already. We just need to get mass clear.’

  ‘It’ll be close.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope leaving one of the crew in space with a wideband rescue transmitter does the job.’ Kel cracked his knuckles and glanced at Faith again. His hands itched to be on the flight controls, but Faith had more experience with larger ships, making her the obvious choice to fly the clipper. Kel keyed up a tactical plot, the Furnace and her escorts appearing as blips, with the mass countdown on the side of the screen. ‘We’re out of range of their guns.’

  Faith grunted. ‘But not guided missiles.’

  ‘Let’s hope those aren’t in the manifest.’

  Two small dots appeared on Kel’s screen. ‘That’ll be the alert patrol then,’ he warned.

  ‘Seen,’ Kel replied and opened the ship-wide comms. ‘Spare hands to the gunnery platforms, secure for hyperspace.’ Seven crew doing the jobs of twelve meant some shortcuts, everyone they’d brought had plenty of ship experience, but clippers weren’t regular fare for lone gun privateers.

  The intership comms channel beeped. Kel activated the receiver.

  ‘Attention, unidentified pilot, shut down your engines immediately. This is the Alioth navy carrier Furnace. Comply or you will be fired upon ... Attention—’