by M. D. Cooper
Alison shrugged. “Standing.”
“Why don’t you go outside and patrol. Kay?”
Turning to walk out the front door, Alison said, “You want me out there when there’s a five-million-credit bounty on my head? Seems a bit risky.”
Illumine called out from the other room. “Wait, Alison. Stay.”
Like I’m a fucking dog.
“Yeah, I guess don’t do that,” Jaka added lamely.
Alison nodded and leant against a wall. Somehow, her new ‘owners’ didn’t realize that she could use the Link whenever she wished, and now that Jaka had just given her a lead on the rest of her team, she connected and began searching the public feeds for any sign of them.
Hurry up, Del, she thought, clenching her jaw.
Alison had every intention of putting him in a world of hurt. He’d rue the day he’d ever learned what an EMP was. Then she’d grab his pinnace and her team and get the hell off Malta.
THE CALL
STELLAR DATE: 12.23.8949 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Torrent of Fire, approaching Malta
REGION: Iberia System, Old Genevia, Nietzschean Empire
Chase looked at the countdown. Just over thirty minutes until the asteroids hit the Maltese Falcon.
The station administrators—those who remained—were working at shifting the massive station’s orbit, but the Niets had apparently paid off some locals to initialize emergency fuel dumps, and the Falcon’s maneuvering systems were offline.
Though the station carried enough deuterium to fuel a thousand starships, those tanks were nowhere near its own thrusters, and the few remaining people who weren’t panicking were utilizing drones to haul fuel around the station from tanks to engines.
Two of the boosters had fired momentarily, but all the station administrators had managed to do was stabilize their orbit and gain a smidgen of the altitude they’d lost when the mass exodus shifted its orbit.
Crazy that everyone fleeing the station in a panic stands almost as good a chance of dropping the thing on the planet as the incoming rocks. Granted, if they had fuel, it wouldn’t be a problem.
Chase didn’t have reports from the station itself, but the estimates that the Torrent of Fire’s tactical NSAI came up with suggested that over fifty million people were still trapped on the Falcon.
Rather than perseverate on the problem, he turned his attention to the people with the best chance of doing something about the mess.
* * * * *
Ferris closed the connection to Chase and returned his focus to the eight dropships he was controlling. The Marauders’ craft were fully capable of being flown remotely, but even on the best day, they moved like a pig in heat getting friendly with a football.
Sitting in them and feeling the thing under you was one thing; you could use all your senses to tell what was happening, react, compensate, and see if the reaction was enough in a split-second.
Slouched in his seat in the pinnace’s cockpit twenty-thousand kilometers away, all he could do was hope that he could get his craft close enough while ignoring the pain in his side that was partially caused by the round he’d taken, and partially by the artificial liver the medics had quickly stuffed inside of him while complaining that he was nuts and needed to get back in the autodoc.
“You doing alright, Ferris?” Halley asked. “You look mighty pale.”
“Yeah, that’s just fear and worry,” he replied. “You know, just a few hundred million lives hanging on us, no biggie.”
She handed him a juice packet. “Well, drink this. We’re not gonna be able to save the world if you pass out.”
“Thanks,” he took the packet and tore the corner off with his teeth before pouring it down his throat. Once empty, he stuffed it into a waste pouch and returned his focus to the eight ships he managed.
The cockpit disappeared from around him, and his vision filled with the twelve rocks hurtling toward the station and the screen of thirty-two fighters protecting them.
Three of the rocks were two kilometers across, and the rest were between four hundred and five hundred meters. One of the big daddies was up front, and the other two were in the back.
Overall, the hurtling chunks of impending death were spread out over several hundred kilometers, but Halley was vectoring the pinnace to swoop over the first rock and then come around to hit the rear ones.
The plan was to use speed as their ally, along with the tactical missiles the pinnace still carried. They weren’t enough to do much more than dent the asteroids, but should Halley score hits on the fighters, they’d take the Nietzschean birds out.
Of course, the pinnace only had twelve missiles.
Ferris ran the sims again and again, finding that at best, they’d take out eight of the fighters, and then get a clear shot at the leading rock with two of his tacnuke-carrying dropships—sims showed he’d need two hitting the leeward side to shift the mass enough to swing it harmlessly past the station.
But if he saved his force for the other two big daddies in the rear, the fighters would take out all his ships before they got there. His best bet was to take out as many of the leading rocks as he could and pray that Saris would get the Event Horizon back into the fight in time to finish off the last of the rocks in the swarm.
As he closed down the simulations and looked out at the nearspace around the Maltese Falcon, he was disgusted by the civilian ships—and local police patrol craft, for that matter—who were fleeing for their lives.
Something snapped in Ferris at that moment, and he reached out, flipping the comm system to a wide field broadcast. He took a deep breath to speak, and Halley gave him a questioning look, but he paid it no heed.
“This is Ferris the Ferryman, calling all true Genevians in Malta’s nearspace—though I wonder if there are any true Genevians out there. But on the off chance that any of you sons a bitches remember what it was like to be a free people, a people who stood up against the sort of bullshit these fucking Niets are pulling, then I could really use your help.
“Halley and I are here, putting our lives on the line to save the Falcon. We can take out a few of these rocks, but not with those fighters bearing down on us. The way things look, we’re gonna die out here trying to save your station, while you motherfucking cowards run away with your tails between your legs.
“So I’m sending this message to see if anyone out there still has a spine, or if you all like the taste of Nietzschean asshole so much that you’re OK with running and not helping your own people. Like I said, Halley and I might di
e out here, but we’re gonna die giving the Niets what they fucking have coming.”
He flipped off the wide broadcast and clenched his teeth from the pain flaring in his side.
Halley reached out and touched his arm, and he glanced at her to see a tear tracing its way down her cheek. “That was beautiful, Ferris.”
As far as Ferris was concerned, he’d just made a fool of himself. He shook his head before turning back to the forward display. “Put your helmet on, Halley. Let’s just kill some fucken Niets.”
She nodded silently and grabbed her helmet, only to pause with it over her head.
“Look!”
She stabbed a finger toward the forward display, and Ferris saw a tug boosting away from the Maltese Falcon. It was headed for the big daddy at the front of the incoming rocks, not away to safety. A moment later, two other tugs joined it.
A message came in from the lead tug.
“Ferris the Ferryman? This is Margot. I have Billy and Tom with me. We can shove that first rock if you can take on the fighters. I got no love for Nietzscheans, and it’s about time we did something about it.”
Then another voice came over the channel. “I can’t do much about rocks, but I’ve got the beams that like the taste of Nietzschean asshole. ‘Bout time I gave ‘em a meal.”
Ferris saw that the new message came from one of the police patrol cruisers that had been shepherding ships that were fleeing the Falcon.
Over the next five minutes, another police patrol boat and two freighters signed on, moving to bracket the tugs that were boosting toward the first rock.
“Is this all we have?” Halley gave Ferris a wide-eyed stare. “No one else is willing to stand up?”
Ferris wanted to curse the cowards that continued to run from the incoming swarm, but he bit his lip and nodded.
“They don’t know what hope looks like, anymore, Halley. Let’s show them.”
MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE
STELLAR DATE: 12.23.8949 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Chusa District, Cerulean, Malta
REGION: Iberia System, Old Genevia, Nietzschean Empire
“Any updates from upstairs?” Rika asked as she settled into the cockpit next to Shoshin.
“I figured,” Rika muttered. “The public feeds are full of people who have spotted it, but they’re all saying it’s not coming fast enough to take out those incoming asteroids.”
Rika turned to see Kor and Gemma entering the cockpit and settling into the rear seats.
“What’s in the case?” she asked the AM-4.
Kor glanced at Gemma. “The lieutenant’s diary. It’s very special to her.”
Rika wondered why Kor was so sour about whatever he’d been saddled with, and glanced at the ISF lieutenant. “Gemma?”
“It’s a QC blade,” she replied quietly, as though infiltrators were about to crawl out from under the seats and steal the tech. “The one from the pinnace. We grabbed it before we blew the ship.”
“Seriously?!” Rika exclaimed as she rose from her seat. “We can call the fleet, get help.”
“Ma’am’s? I don’t think I follow,” Gemma said. “What kind of help?”
“We rode an FTL corridor down to within just one AU of Malta,” Rika explained. “We can use the QC blade to get them to send help down that corridor.”
Shoshin glanced back at Rika as he lifted the pinnace into the air. “The Asora barely made it, ma’am. And those things….”
“ ‘Things’? You encountered the Exdali?” Gemma pulled off her helmet, revealing wide eyes and a wider mouth. “And you lived? Did any get out?”
“We made it, just barely,” Rika replied, not wanting to discuss it further.
“Colonel Rika. Please.” Gemma looked like she might be on the verge of real fear, something Rika had never seen in the woman. “Did any get out?”
“No,” she shook her head. “Not that we saw. Vargo did a negative graviton pulse to push them away, and then we transitioned out.”
“You’re sure?”
“Well, they were eating the ship—and us—and then they were gone. So…we probably didn’t bring any? I think we’d know, right?”
Gemma blew out a long breath as she nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. They wouldn’t have just buggered off if you brought one through, it would have kept on snacking.”
“So what the hell are they?” Shoshin asked.
Rika felt a knot in the pit of her stomach and swore that she’d come clean with her people when this was over. Her initial omission had turned into a lie that was sure to blow up in her face before long.
While Rika struggled with the trouble her omission had caused Gemma shrugged as she replied to Shoshin. “Things that live in the dark layer. You only find them within a few AU of a star. I know of two times they’ve gotten out. Once was at New Canaan. We opened a rift and let them into normal space to devour an Orion fleet.”
“Holy shit,” Shoshin whispered. “And it worked?”
“Yeah,” Gemma nodded. “We got them tucked away again, but it wasn’t easy. The other time was in the Transcend. They didn’t manage to stuff them back in, so now there’s an interdicted region of space where the Exdali are expanding…just feeding on everything. It’s growing slowly, but—”
“Stars, I really don’t want to think of that right now,” Rika said. “I mean…really, really don’t.”
“So why are you suggesting subjecting the rest of your fleet to them, Colonel?” Gemma asked.
“The Asora was trashed, and we blew our missile load on the Torrent of Fire,” Rika explained. “We’re flinging everything we have at those rocks that are headed to the Falcon. But if we could get a half-dozen relativistic missiles, the problem is solved.”
“And I take it they’re in short supply?” Kor asked.
“Yeah, the Event Horizon doesn’t have a single one aboard, and neither does the Torrent of Fire. These two ships haven’t seen resupply in months, and before that, they were stripped down for the fleet that hit Albany.”
“Holy shit,” Kor exclaimed, his eyes lighting up. “You want to get our fleet to send a few RMs into the dark layer, and then have them come out and take out the rocks.”
Rika nodded. “Precisely.”
“But they’re still, what…thirty AU out?” Gemma asked. “That’s four and a half hours at the speed of light. How will you message them?”
Rika gestured at the case Kor held. “With that. I can get them the message in seconds, they can get the missiles into the DL, and five minutes later, kaboom.”
“There’s just one problem,” Kor said meekly and lifted the case to reveal a hole three quarters of the way down. “Your ace in the hole took a hit.”
“Damn,” Gemma muttered. “The control systems are shot.”
“It’s useless without the control system,” Gemma said, her eyes narrowing. “What are you trying to do with it?”
Rika tapped her head. “I have control systems in here, just no paired atoms.”
“Holy crap,” the ISF lieutenant said as she rose. “Let me give you a hand, Kor.”
* * * * *
“I just got a QC relay from Khardine,” Chief Ona said, twisting in her seat as she turned to look at Heather. “It has Rika’s signature, which is odd, because it’s tagged as coming over Colonel Borden’s blade.”
“What’s the mess
age, Chief?” Heather asked, finding the provenance to be strange as well, but wanting the meat of the matter.
“There’s a big mess of data—I think she burned out the blade sending this much at once. OK. She left some bits for Khardine to fill in, and they’re sending it now.”
As Ona began to assemble the data, Heather’s mouth dropped open—more from the newfound knowledge of the existence of living creatures in the dark layer than the fact that the Niets were pulling an asshole move like blowing up a station in retaliation for effectively losing a system.
Just then, Potter rushed onto the bridge in her new AI frame.
“I just pulled the updates and stumbled my way up here,” she said with a rueful expression on her new body’s alabaster face.
Heather gave Potter a quick smile. “And here you thought you’d have a quiet day to get used to a body.”
“Somehow I feel like I triggered this.” Potter’s tone was exceedingly morose, and she stopped herself. “Damn, emoting with a body is weird. Going to take some getting used to.”
“Worry about that later,” Heather replied, turning back to the holotank. “So Rika sent us this burst. In twenty-four minutes, those rocks will hit the station. She wants us to use the dark layer tunnel—provided it’s not swarming with those things—and send in missiles to swat those rocks.
“Right, so we need to take RMs,” Potter said.
“ ‘Take’?” Heather latched onto the word. “Don’t you mean ‘send’?”
Potter shook her head. “I’ve run the numbers and sent them by Piper, and he agrees with my findings. Ships have maneuvering grav drives; they can push off dark matter in any direction. RMs only have fusion and AP engines, which means they can’t maneuver in the dark layer.”
“Fuck,” Heather swore. “Of course. Someone has to go in there with the RMs.”
Potter shook her head vehemently. “Not ‘someone’. Me. It needs to be an AI, and I’m the one that can get there fastest. Launch the RMs, put them in cluster off the bow. I’ll grab them with a pinnace’s grav field and do what’s needed.”
