by M. D. Cooper
Leslie had tried to reason with Emelia, telling her that if she didn’t agree to support the narrative Sofia had concocted, her life was forfeit, but the woman was as obstinate as the admiral.
“This is your last chance, Emelia,” Rika said, gesturing at the crew assembled in the bay. “Everyone else here recognizes that what happened came about due to Admiral Gideon being an idiot…or insane…or both. You can agree to the plan and join them.”
“Fuck you, bitch,” Emelia swore. “I won’t dishonor Nietzschea like the colonel here.” Her voice dripped with disdain as she glared at Sofia.
Sofia seemed entirely unperturbed. “If the vaunted admiral had listened to me back on Kansas, none of this would have ever happened. Stars, I even advised him not to take Rika, here, captive. Everything that has gone wrong happened because he underestimated his enemy, and was too pigheaded to recognize that fact.”
Next to Emelia, Admiral Gideon was all but vibrating with rage. The man had screamed the entire way down to the bay, and in the end, Ched had found a roll of tape and wrapped it around the man’s head.
Rika felt like they should have let him have his final words, but she figured he’d already said enough.
Leslie said, her eyes darting to the Nietzschean crew, who stood along the bay’s back wall.
Rika sucked in a deep breath, preparing herself for what was about to happen.
Rika nodded to Sofia. “Whenever you’re ready, Colonel. Put them in the head; we want to shatter the mods.”
“Not my first assassination,” the colonel responded before lifting the pistol Rika had given her, and firing a shot into Emelia’s head.
The bullet tore through the woman’s forehead and burst out the back, spraying blood across the shuttle’s hull.
Sofia didn’t even miss a beat before taking aim at the admiral’s wide-eyed face, and firing again.
A second later, the two Nietzscheans were on the deck, blood pooling around them.
“Haul them onto the shuttle,” Rika directed two of the engineers, while checking the nano she’d inserted into Gideon and Emelia’s bodies.
Niki replied.
Rika glanced at Sofia, who was staring at the bodies as they were being dragged onto the shuttle.
* * * * *
Thirty minutes later, they were assembled on the bridge—which still didn’t smell great, but Rika was able to filter it out. Sofia was in the command chair, with two of the ensigns at their stations on either side.
Rika and Leslie stood off to the side, watching as the colonel explained the events of the past few days—with the correct alterations, and no trigger words that they could detect.
The message to the Epsilon STC wasn’t real-time; they still had to wait several hours for a response and a berth, but an initial approach vector had been provided by an NSAI twenty AU from Epsilon.
When the message was complete, Rika stepped away from the edge of the bridge. “So you said this place has only been in operation for a few years?” she asked, watching the slow dance of mines, shipyards, and stations around the rogue planet.
“Yeah,” Sofia nodded as she gestured at the image of Epsilon on the display. “We only found it seven years ago. It was all but uninhabited, barring a few smugglers and pirates. Had been that way for over a century, too. From what I’ve heard, it was an exclusive resort about seven hundred years ago, but it was too expensive to maintain, so it was abandoned. Genevia used it as a black-ops base for a while, but then even they just up and left.
“Most of its life, the place has been home to smugglers and pirates—that is, ‘til Nietzschea showed up. Now it’s being put to good use—” Sofia stopped and glanced at Rika. “Though I guess you may not feel that way.”
“Amazing that the moons stayed in formation for so long,” Leslie said. “I would have expected the rosette to become unstable without active stationkeeping work.”
Sofia nodded. “I would too. Word is that there are AIs managing it all. They’ve been there since the place was made. Shackled, I’m told.”
They hadn’t revealed Niki’s existence to the Nietzscheans, so the utterance was just for Rika and Leslie, but it was loud enough that both women nearly winced.
Sofia was still talking about Epsilon, going over the mines, shipyards, and what she had heard about the construction projects there.
From what Rika could tell, Niki’s original estimate of ten thousand ships a year was close to what Epsilon could produce. The construction projects were still underway to bring all the shipyards up to speed, but when they were done, it would be a strong asset for the empire.
“So long as you don’t send a fleet to destroy it,” Sofia said, giving Rika a sidelong glance. “Is that your plan?”
She shrugged. “Maybe not right away, but this is war. We can’t just ignore a facility like this.”
The Nietzchean colonel nodded, but didn’t reply. The bridge fell into silence at that point, everyone waiting for Epsilon’s response and their docking instructions.
The hours ticked by, and just after the five and a half-hour mark, the response finally came in.
It was a video message, and Rika indicated for Sofia to play it for them all to see.
A man—an admiral, by the five stars on his lapel—appeared on the holodisplay. He was tall, strong-jawed, and possessed a singularly deep glower.
“Colonel Sofia,” he began, his voice deep and resonate. “I’m not pleased by this turn of events, nor that you fled directly here, but as I understand, none of that was your choice. It’s regrettable that Admiral Gideon took the route he did, but I suppose we can’t take him to task for that now. I’ve directed our perimeter patrols to begin looking for the shuttle you said the Genevian mercenaries took—we’ll find out if it managed to jump back to Blue Ridge or not.”
The admiral paused, and Rika noted that Sofia was clenching and unclenching her fists, breathing slowly.
“You’ll be docking at Farthing Station. I’ll not be there when you arrive, but you’ll be directed to debriefing, and I’ll be along once my other tasks are complete. I’m not happy about losing Blue Ridge, but hopefully the intelligence you’ll be able to provide will help stop this ghost of Genevia that has reared its head in Thebes.
“That is all. I look forward to speaking with you in-person.”
&nbs
p; The holodisplay went blank, and Sofia let out a shuddering laugh. “Great. It’s Admiral Degan. We’re screwed.”
A GAME OF SNARK
STELLAR DATE: 10.22.8949 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Officer’s Mess, MSS Fury Lance, interstellar dark layer
REGION: Old Genevia, Nietzschean Empire
“This is the weirdest variant of Snark I’ve ever played,” Chase said as he scowled at his cards. “And the loser is what? The plug-sucker?”
“No.” Kelly laughed before downing half her beer. “That’s second-to-last place. Loser is the butt-plug.”
“This is the most disgusting version of Snark in existence,” Keli said with a grin. “I love it.”
Goob nodded vigorously. “I really feel like we need to take a vote as to which is really worse: the plug-sucker, or the butt-plug, because I think you have it backward.”
“Nice one!” Keli called out, and gave Goob a high-three.
Crunch tossed his cards onto the table and folded his arms. “Imma sit this one out. Any game that requires a vote like that to get started isn’t one I care to join in on.”
Kelly groaned and gave the sergeant a dismissive wave. “Stars, Crunch, it’s just a name; no one’s doing any of that shit—ha! See what I did there? Besides, none of us have the plumbing for it, anyway.”
“I feel like that’s the only thing keeping you from those kinds of activities, Kelly,” Goob said as he examined his hand. “Not that I have to worry about being the plug-sucker or butt-plug. This hand is killer. Gonna mop the floor with you.”
“Big words, Goob, big words,” Kelly retorted after downing the rest of her beer and signaling a servitor to bring her another. “Care to put some money on that? Loser has to…mop the floor!”
“Wow,” Chase shook his head. “For all that smack talk, your stakes are pretty weak. How’s about loser has to scrub all the Nietzschean logos off Deck 47?”
“Shit, Captain, if that’s the stakes, I’m out, best hand ever or not,” Goob said, laying his cards on the table—face-down, Chase noted.
“Yeah…that’s more than just shitty stakes, that’s a life sentence,” Keli drawled.
“Oh! Well punned,” Kelly proclaimed.
“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week, try the strawberries.”
Goob moaned, a look of sorrow in his eyes. “Don’t talk about strawberries. We finished the last of them yesterday. I nearly cried.”
“You know…” Kelly gave Goob a conspiratorial wink. “I have a private stash of strawberries.”
“Is that what you’re putting up?” Chase asked. “Oh, wait…that’s a euphemism, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Goob pressed. “Is it?”
“Which are you asking about, the strawberries, or the strawberries?”
A wide grin split Goob’s lips. “Both.”
Kelly sat back and shrugged. “Sure, I’ll put all my strawberries up. Why not. I’ll kick all your asses. You’ll be sucking my plug.”
“Not me,” Crunch grunted. “Like I said, I’m out.”
“We know,” Goob said, slapping Crunch on the shoulder. “You’re too much of a wuss to risk sticking your face between Kelly’s asscheeks. Granted, she prolly has teeth back there.”
“Hey! Whoa!” Kelly raised a hand, and wagged a finger in Goob’s face. “You’ve taken the metaphor way too far.”
“Me?” Goob exclaimed. “I didn’t make all the shit and strawberries jokes.”
“You’re right,” Chase said, catching Keli’s eye. “This is the most disgusting version of Snark ever. Where in the stars did you all learn it?”
Everyone at the table glanced at one another and then laughed.
“Who do you think?” Kelly asked between guffaws. “Barne.”
A reminder pinged on Chase’s HUD, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank stars. We’re coming out of the DL in twenty minutes. I want everyone sharp in case we jump into the shit, so clean up this mess and scrub that booze from your bloodstream.”
“Nice one, Captain,” Kelly chuckled. “ ‘Jump into the shit’. You would have done just fine in butt-Snark.”
* * * * *
“You’re practically vibrating,” Heather commented, as Chase stood at the front of the bridge, counting the seconds until the Fury Lance dropped back into normal space.
“Me?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the ship’s captain. “You’ve been pacing just as much as I have. Don’t try to pretend like you’re not on pins and needles, too.”
Heather gave a nonchalant shrug, then grimaced. “OK, you got me. I’m a mess. This has got to have been the longest nine days of my life. I can’t imagine what they’ve gone through; it must be horri—” She stopped abruptly. “Sorry, this is why I’m trying to suppress. If I don’t, I say stupid shit.”
“It’s OK,” Chase told her with a reassuring smile. “We’re all thinking the worst. But we have to remember: this is Rika. Not only has she survived worse, she’s a mech. You’re the toughest people in the galaxy.”
“You’re one, too,” Heather said with a kind smile. “A mech, and tough.”
“Still feel like I’m earning it, here,” Chase replied. “But I suppose that’s a normal feeling for our line of work.”
Heather nodded solemnly. “ ‘Only the dead…”
“…know the end’,” he completed the saying.
He didn’t get a chance to ask, as the view of the Q9 object appeared on the screen.
“Well…that’s unexpected.” Chief Ona was the first to speak. “Are those moons all on the same orbital path?”
“And they’re mining them?” Garth asked.
Heather nodded slowly, peering at the display. “Must be.” She pointed at two locations. “Those are refinery platforms.”
The bridge crew was still discussing the object they were approaching, when Potter interrupted.
“Rika?” Chase asked, turning toward the secondary scan tank, where a small craft had appeared.
the AI replied.
“It’s warm, warm enough for life support to be running,” Chase said as he examined the shuttle’s signature.
“Ona,” Heather strode back to her command seat. “Get us to that thing on the double, but keep us out of view of that nest of Niets down there.”
“Yes ma’am!” Ona all but shouted.
DRAGON’S LAIR
STELLAR DATE: 10.23.8949 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: NMSS Spine of the Stars, approaching Farthing Station
REGION: Epsilon, Old Genevia, Nietzschean Empire
Rika and Leslie crouched inside one of the Spine of the Stars’ landing strut assemblies, made roomy enough for them to fit by the removal of segments of the strut itself.
Sofia had assured them that should the ship get an internal berth—which was likely—the bay would have a cradle, so they wouldn’t need to worry about the strut deploying.
Both women knew that for this segment of their journey, they were entirely at Sofia’s mercy. If the Nietzschean colonel gave them away, there would be little they could do, trapped as they were in the landing assembly.
Rika and Leslie’s plan—which they fervently hoped would work—was to wait until the first round of inspection crews had passed through the ship, and then sneak out onto the docks and secure a ride away from Epsilon.
That was what they’d told Sofia, at least.
Rika and Leslie had agreed that getting the hell out of the ship at the first possible moment was their best bet, r
egardless of whether or not the inspection crews were still scouring the Spine of the Stars; if for no other reason than that they could barely move in the cramped space.
Rika nodded.
The ship shuddered, and the pair of women felt gravity begin to tug at them.
Leslie giggled, her shoulders shaking.
A dull thud echoed through the hull as the Spine of the Stars settled onto a docking cradle. While they’d still been on approach to Farthing Station, Rika had bored a half-meter hole through the strut cover, through which she sent out a passel of nanoprobes.
Leslie shrugged.
The women fell silent as the probes captured images of a docking bay in near chaos.
