“Yeah, Bach wouldn’t do that,” Stubs said. “And he might not remember since he was so fucked up.”
“We hope.” Leone wanted a career in the Corps and looked worried as all hell.
“I sure as shit don’t remember,” Hagel said. “And I’ll swear it on a stack of Bibles.”
“You’ll still go down if he snitches,” Stubs said.
“But at least you weren’t lying,” Rizer said. Lucky bastard. I should have drunk more and remembered less.
CHAPTER 24
In his quarters aboard the Astoria, Commander Kyle Mako sat on the edge of his bed, one foot raised to remove his shoe. He’d been helping his engineering officer work out a software glitch in a patch they had received for three major drive components, which the ship’s mainframe computer stubbornly refused to accept for several tedious hours. The Astoria’s top speed increased by 1.4%, a boost that could prove crucial in enforcing the Verdant blockade. The patch should have been installed during the usual shakedown period undergone by all new ships, but the accelerated deployment timetable had precluded this. Though the Astoria’s advanced weapon systems made it a warship, Mako knew the ship’s drive systems were its beating heart.
An icy blue light blinked on the console atop his nightstand, accompanied by a low beeping alarm. What is it now? It might be anything. Even when he wasn’t physically or remotely overseeing interception and inspection of inbound ships, a commander’s work never ceased.
Mako pressed a button. A hologram of Lt Stiles, the current Officer on Deck, appeared over the nightstand. “Yes, lieutenant?”
“Sir, we are currently tracking two ships that have come out of transit jump into lunar orbit. They are avoiding our inspection checkpoint. Sensors detect electromagnetic anomalies aboard one of the ships, though we’re too far at present to determine which vessel. We’re opening communications and plotting a course to intercept.”
Advanced weapon systems had distinct electromagnetic signatures. Yet distance and speed could cause the Astoria’s sensors to misidentify commercial hardware or high-tech consumer goods that radiated at similarly spaced frequencies. We’ll see when we close the gap.
“What are their flags, lieutenant?”
“One Orion Republic, the other Corvus Confederation.”
“Continue on course to intercept. Determine points of origin and cargoes. I want a complete manifest from each ship. I’ll be on the bridge in five minutes. Summon the XO as well.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
Had he been called to engineering for another problem, he would have had to drag himself there. Interception and inspection, their primary mission, proved catalyst enough to shake the sleep right out of him. Fleet command aboard the Resolute estimated that the blockade allowed almost forty percent of inbound ships through the checkpoints without inspection, since only a handful of cruisers could monitor Verdant due to treaties that forced the majority of the fleet to remain in orbit around Tantus-4. Even if the whole fleet were available, it wouldn’t have been practical to inspect every single ship. None in the command approved of the situation, but Mako didn’t waste time ruminating on it. He would do what he could under the circumstances to the best of his ability.
Mako exited the lift and came on the bridge. “Situation, lieutenant?”
“Communication established with both vessels, sir,” responded Stiles, a serious looking officer in a slightly rumpled dark-blue jumpsuit. He’d had the bridge for the last eight hours. “The Corvus vessel Luminary is a 700-Class, claiming a cargo of heavy equipment and mechanical components. The Dante is an Orion-flagged Deca modified to fifteen-thousand tons, carrying grain and medical supplies.”
“From which is the sensor hit coming?”
“Unable to determine at this time, sir. The reading is faint, and the ships are flying too closely together.”
Mako gazed at the large display screens circling 180 degrees at the fore of the bridge. The ships’ respective manifests were listed on the far-left screen; their schematics shown on the middle display. Born an ungainly ship, the Deca had been saddled at some point with four additional cargo bays, square protuberances with rounded edges jutting from the circular hull like cancerous tumors. The General Interstellar 700 appeared to be an older model, a flying box, all function and no form, leading the round-bellied Deca.
“Their origins?”
“Dante loaded in the Eden System, sir, but the Luminary originated on a Union trade route.”
“Sir,” interrupted the comm chief, a chief petty officer, “I’m picking up communication between the two vessels.”
“Broadcast it,” Mako ordered.
Mild static came over the bridge loudspeakers, followed by: “…the feedback from your comm system is interrupting our transmissions to spaceport. Back off! Over.” The speaker sounded angry.
“Which vessel is that, chief?”
“The Luminary, sir.”
The Dante’s commander responded with equal rancor: “We’re not doing anything until this cruiser gets off our tail. Deal with it!”
“Patch me into this conversation, chief.”
“Already done, sir.”
Before the captains could continue quarreling, Mako cut in. “This is Commander Mako, Captain of the Alliance Navy Cruiser Astoria. Captains, identify yourselves.”
“Captain Alfonse Keller, the Luminary.”
“First Mate Yuri Borjia, Dante.”
“Your ships are being screened for contraband. You will maintain your present orbit and speed. You are forbidden to enter the atmosphere or leave orbit without my permission. Stand by for further instructions. Over.”
Borjia acknowledged immediately, “We will cooperate fully, commander.”
Keller protested. “This is outrageous. We’re carrying heavy equipment and parts for Alliance corporations on Verdant. We have a schedule to maintain! Does the Alliance Navy plan on compensating us for late charges incurred, commander?”
Aaron Hella had failed to raise the Marine Corps officer he’d wanted; nevertheless, his lessons of command served Kyle Mako equally well in the Navy. He remembered one of his father’s rules in that instant: “Trust your gut.” Keller groused like a seasoned captain, while Borija cooperated too much for Mako’s liking.
“Luminary, contact Verdant Spaceport Control, you are free to proceed,” Mako commanded.
“Affirmative,” responded the Luminary’s captain.
Mako turned to his comm chief. “Relay his course information to Phoenix and have them scramble two fighters to intercept and escort him to the spaceport. Intel can inspect his cargo on the ground if they wish.” He then hailed the other ship: “Dante, hold your present course and wait for instructions.”
“We have a timetable as well, commander. This is most unfair. We are simply delivering supplies as chartered.” His tone sharpened to a hostile edge.
What happened to full cooperation? “You have your orders, Mr. Borjia. Stand by to receive more of the same. Out.” When Borjia began a contemptuous response, Mako ordered, “Cut his broadcast, chief. We’ll reinitiate communications when I’m ready.”
“…if you’re gonna fight a war, leave us—” Borjia’s broadcast died.
The chief continued listening on his earpiece. Judging from his amused look, he was getting an earful of vitriol. Good. Let the first mate stew for a while; maybe he’ll fetch his captain.
Sensors still displayed a faint yet positive reading after Luminary had left their range, confirming Mako’s gut sense about the Dante. “What’s your opinion, chief?” Mako asked the chief petty officer monitoring the bridge sensors. “Does a hit this faint warrant an inspection?”
“Hard to say, sir. It might be weapons, or it could be an unfortunate combination of medical supplies tripping our sensors.”
“Best to err on the side of caution,” said Mako’s XO, Lieutenant Commander Downing, who had materialized behind him at some point.
&
nbsp; “Nice of you to join us,” Mako said. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to get a feel for the situation, sir.”
“So you’re thinking a full inspection is warranted?”
About a head shorter Downing smirked up at Mako. “I’ve already ordered a squad of Marines and a sensor crew to stand by, sir. I’d give her a look-see just for the hell of it, even on a weak reading like this. It’s what we’re here for.”
“I’m inclined to agree.”
“Sir, incoming holo transmission from the Dante, a Captain Borjia this time,” said the comm chief.
It’s about time. “Display it.”
A blueish hologram appeared and hovered before Mako’s command chair. Though Borjia wore the basic uniform of a merchant captain, he had dressed it up with a pair of gold hairbrush epaulettes that belonged on an 18th-century admiral. The untamed bush of white hair covering his face and hanging to his chest only added to his anachronistic appearance. “This is Captain Constantine Borjia of the Dante speaking,” he said in a calm and rational tone, flavored with an oily yet halting accent.
Mako introduced himself, then said, “I trust your first mate has briefed you on the situation?”
“He has, sir. Please accept my apologies for my son’s lack of, ah, decorum, in dealing with you. You will not be disrespected again, sir. You have the full cooperation of my crew and myself.”
Seems I’ve heard that before. “I thank you for that, captain. It is not my wish to detain you any longer than necessary. Maintain course and stand by for a routine physical contraband search.”
“Aye, commander.”
Mako stood. “XO, you have the bridge. Lieutenant Stiles, you will accompany myself and the boarding party on a search of the Dante. Let’s draw our weapons; we depart in twenty minutes.”
“Sir, may I speak with you for a moment?” Downing asked Mako before he left the bridge.
They went to stand by the lift door for more privacy. “What’s on your mind, Mike?”
“Sir, with all due respect, I think that I should lead the inspection team.”
“You’re correct, as per SOP. But this one is my call, so I’ll take the responsibility for it. Besides, you can run this ship on your own; you don’t need me to babysit. Just don’t let it go to your head.”
Downing smiled. “Yes, sir.”
***
Captain Borjia and his son Yuri met Mako and Stiles as they stepped from the Condor’s cargo hold. Decas often loaded in space instead of entering the atmosphere, so the crew kept a small shuttle craft for planetary visits in the landing bay. The two vessels filled the space.
Borjia shook Mako’s hand upon formal introduction; Yuri did not, nor did Mako offer. Interesting family contrast. The captain was short, cordial, and accommodating; his son taller and sullen, acknowledging Mako with a hostile scowl and barely a nod. Mako considered his initial offer of cooperation a poor attempt to wheedle his way through the blockade.
Captain Borjia said, “It is always a pleasure to have a fellow naval man aboard, commander.”
“Thank you, captain. Which navy did you serve in?”
“Orion Republic, twenty-six years. But I will not bore you with that; it was a long time ago.”
“I’m sure your republic is thankful for your service. How many crew do you have?” They departed the landing bay, accompanied by the sensor team. Stiles and the Marine squad followed.
“My son, ten maintenance robots, and a service android. Our wives and my grandson travel with us as well. So… Where do you wish to inspect first?”
“What are you reading, chief?” Mako asked the chief petty officer leading the sensor team.
“Northwest, sir. Down the main hallway to the right.”
“Really?” said Yuri. “That’s our armory. Strange place to find munitions.”
“Yuri, quiet yourself,” the captain hissed in warning. “Commander, you are certainly welcome to look.”
“Very well, we’ll start there.”
It wasn’t far, perhaps a hundred meters down the circular hallway ringing the Deca’s main cargo hold. The armory contained ten Union-made infantry rifles, Model KG-42s, and several crates of 12mm ammunition. The Union weapons didn’t raise Mako’s eyebrows. The KG-42 was out of production, with surplus models readily available for legal purchase. “This is quite an arsenal you keep, captain. Have you had trouble with piracy?”
“Fortunately not but one can never be too careful.”
“And grain is your typical cargo?”
“In the main hold, yes. The auxiliary holds are multi-purpose.”
“I see. Let’s move on.”
“Move on back to your ship,” Yuri muttered.
“I don’t recall asking the first mate his opinion,” Mako said, fed up with Yuri’s acerbic demeanor.
“Is that so?” Yuri stepped before Mako to stand eye to eye. “Well, I don’t care; you’re going to hear it anyway.” He motioned to the weapons and ammo. “Here’s your sensor hit. Now why don’t you cut your losses, save your taxpayers some money, and go do something useful.”
The captain barked, “Yuri, that is quite—!”
“I get it. You disapprove of our presence,” Mako said. “Yet every time you open your mouth, you make me want to stay a bit longer. So unless you want us to camp out here for a few days—while you languish in space and lose a ton of money in late-arrival penalties—I suggest you close it.”
Yuri responded with only a malicious stare.
Mako grew bored of the eyeball contest, turned to the chief petty officer, and said, “Any further sensor readings?”
“Negative, sir.”
Yuri chuckled. “Are you satisfied now?”
The captain said, “Must I order you to your quarters, Yuri, as if you were a green ensign?”
“He’s not going anywhere.” Mako turned to Yuri. “And I am not satisfied at all. Let us continue, captain.”
Back in the hallway, they passed one of the maintenance bots, which resembled a human only in its bipedal build. Its electric eyes glowed light green; black rubber at its joints protected its wires and circuitry. A fine yellow powder covered its legs to mid-thigh. Grain dust.
It nodded slightly. “Captain,” it said in a metallic voice.
Borjia paid it no mind. “Here is auxiliary hold three.” He threw open a large hatch.
Mako stepped to a railing overlooking the spacious square room. Below stacks of cardboard boxes labeled as medical supplies—vaccines, bandages, medicine—were loaded atop heavier aluminum crates at the bottom. No positive sensor readings. They left the room.
“The main hold?” Mako asked when they came to double doors on the hallway’s inner wall.
“Yes, sir,” answered the captain. He led them into a cavernous circular chamber filled with grain, the yellow kernels rising to within half a meter of the catwalk crossing the space. “We have a full load.” The grain had settled into a flat plane during transit.
Mako stopped midway across the catwalk to closely examine the cargo’s surface. Completely undisturbed. How does that explain the bot covered in dust? “Is your entire grain shipment in this hold, captain?” Mako recalled from the manifest that the Deca carried over eleven thousand tons of grain.
“No. Ten thousand tons are stored here; the other 1,250 tons are in auxiliary number one.”
“Lead us there.”
As Mako turned, he caught one of the security squad Marines rolling his eyes. His father would have chewed the man’s ass on the spot for such disrespect, but Mako let it slide this time, for it made him wonder, Am I taking this too far? He maintained excellent relations with his subordinates, earned their respect. If he was wrong, if his gut had betrayed him, would he still be respected? I’ll look like a fool to some of them. “Carefully weigh your decisions when you have the time,” his father had told him. “Mistakes make men question your judgment, and it�
��s a quick slide down the slope to disrespect. If your men can’t trust in your decisions, you have no command.”
Should have thought of that before I gave the order. Cancelling his trip to auxiliary hold one would make him appear indecisive. But if there’s nothing there, I end it. He could think of no better plan to salvage his crew’s respect. It might be too late already.
“Here you are, commander,” said the captain, who stood back from the open door to auxiliary one.
Mako stepped to the catwalk and railing running around the square hold. Yellow grain rose to a level two meters below the walk. He knew the hold was about five meters deep. There has to be something here. I know that bot was standing in grain. The surface looked smooth and unbroken, however, like the grain in the main hold.
An overhead crane fitted with a cargo net to transport crates was affixed to the ceiling, next to a length of flexible hose roughly half a meter in diameter, used to pump the grain in. The grain loading rig looked makeshift, built on the fly in a hurry. “How long since that grain loading apparatus was installed?”
“Not long, right before this trip,” the captain answered. “The clients wished to ship more grain. I accommodated them.”
Mako turned to one of the sailors holding a larger sensor pack, “Anything?”
The sailor didn’t look up from the display. “Negative, sir, same reading we had before boarding.”
Mako nodded as he further scrutinized the hold. Several plastic shovels and push brooms were strapped to the wall by the door. Something’s off here, so to hell with it. He gave the order: “Sensor team, grab a broom and a shovel. Get down in the hold. Search that area there. Use the broom handle to probe downward. I want two Marines searching in that corner and two over there.”
War's Edge- Dead Heroes Page 32
