“There’s no need for that,” Bayne said to his security chief.
Sigurd looked over his shoulder. “I’ll determine that for myself, sir.”
“What’s the matter with you?” Bayne asked, his rumbling stomach shortening his temper. “We’re aboard a Navy ship.”
“And Ore Town was a harmless mining colony,” Sig said. “Until it wasn’t. Then we got jacked by pirates and nearly killed six times over. Just keeping vigilant.”
“Unnecessary, but appreciated,” Bayne said.
The smell of salted meat hit Bayne when he rounded the corner near the mess hall. His mouth fill with saliva and not even Sigurd’s paranoia could draw his attention away from filling his gut.
But the explosion could.
7
It was at least his tenth time as part of the boarding party. He’d grown familiar with the stink of the spacewalk suit, like stale body odor and morning breath. He could operate the thrusters as well as any of them, moving through the vacuum like a hummingbird. Yet, for all his experience, it was this tenth time that Drummond Bayne found himself drifting off course, toward the most miserable death possible.
He didn’t account for the shrapnel. He’d planted the charges on the starboard cannon of the massive dreadnaught to give the Supernova a clear path to attack the rear of the ship. He was meant to jettison from the hull of the dreadnaught just as the Supernova passed, entering through the open hangar bay airlock in grand fashion. But the explosion kicked off more shrapnel than he had anticipated. A chunk of it smashed into his left boot, dislodging his mag-lock and shattering his ankle.
The blast was the signal for the Supernova to begin its approach. There was no stopping it now. Even if he could make contact before it passed him, it would not stop. Not out of a sense of duty to the mission, but out of a sense of individuality. The most extreme sense of freedom. You did everything on your own. That included dying.
Each Ranger did as he pleased. It was the principle they fought to protect. They fought so that they could one day part ways and hold no obligation over the other. That didn’t foster the sort of mentality where one felt inclined to put oneself out to save another. Camaraderie extended only so far.
But waiting to die was also not characteristic of a Ranger. Bayne counted the seconds as the Supernova raced toward him, estimating how much distance it covered and how long it would take to reach him. He calculated how long he thought it might take him to travel from his current position to the ship as it crossed his path. Math was never his strong suit, but he formulated a workable hypothesis.
He kicked his right heel against his shattered left heel, sending a shockwave of pain through his entire body, as well as rocketing him through space. Each moment felt as infinite as the expanse around him. Time both crawled and sped up. He both wished the Supernova would accelerate and slow down. He was excited and terrified. The hangar bay airlock came into view. It was still open.
Miss by a foot and he’d bounce of the hull like space rock. He adjusted his speed. Corrected his course. He entered the airlock like a surgeon’s scalpel entering the patient, smooth and bloody. He slammed into the floor as gravity took hold of him again and smashed to a halt several yards away when he hit the wall.
The techs and engineers were busy preparing for an attack run. No one stopped to check on him. No one helped him to sickbay so he could repair his now certainly broken ribs on top of the broken ankle. No one congratulated him on a successful mission, not even after the Supernova blew the dreadnought to pieces and secured the sector for the coalition.
He did everything on his own. The way he had since his parents died. The way he always would.
Blood trickled down Bayne’s forehead, stinging his eyes. He felt like his ears had been stuffed with cotton balls, muffling the sounds of chaos around him. Screaming. Metal shrieking as it bent. Fire suppression systems hissing as they unleashed a cloud of white mist.
Something grabbed him from behind. A firm hand. A welcome one. Sigurd hoisted Bayne to his feet, yelling something that Bayne couldn’t hear. Sig pulled him back in the direction they’d come, away from the mess hall. Bayne looked over his shoulder to see the corridor filling with smoke behind him. Several people lay dead, blood pooling under them, severed limbs and open guts.
They rounded a corner and were almost back to the bunkroom before Bayne’s hearing returned, at least partially. Delphyne and Hepzah were standing in the corridor. They looked relieved to see Bayne and Sig running toward them.
“Oh, my god,” Delphyne said. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” Bayne said. “What happened?”
“No word yet,” Delphyne said.
“Then let’s go get one,” Bayne said. “You and Sig get to communications,” he told Delphyne. “Learn what you can. Relay that to Mao. Keep in constant communication with me. We’re going to the bridge.”
Hep said nothing as he followed along. He seemed oddly calm as the ship shifted into high alert around him. It reminded Bayne that he wasn’t just an orphan boy who hitched a ride. He was a pirate who’d likely seen more action than most of the sailors aboard the Esper.
The bridge was washed in the red light and the incessant howl of alarms. Captain Hix sat on the edge of his chair, his elbows digging into the armrests. “Someone shut that damn alarm off!”
His XO barked an order at the comms officer, and the bridge was quiet a moment later. It did nothing to ease the tension, however.
“Captain,” Bayne said, stepping onto the bridge. “What are we dealing with?”
Hix shot around, seeming ready to bite the head off the man who dared speak to him then, until he realized that it was Bayne. He sunk into his chair a bit and waved Bayne closer. As he stepped closer, Bayne could see the pallor of Hix’s cheeks and the sweat on his brow.
His first mission as captain, Bayne reminded himself. “What can I do?” Bayne said, quiet enough that only Hix could hear.
“A minefield,” Hix said. “We’ve wandered into a minefield.
“A minefield?” Bayne repeated. “Who would…” His mind drifted. Minefields were only effective defensively, but what was there to defend? Why drop a minefield in the middle of open space? “How big is it?”
“We’re still scanning it,” Hix answered, bringing up the scanned diagram of the field on his chair’s computer. “But at this rate, it will take at least three hours to navigate around it.”
The design was straightforward, a standard grid pattern. There was no danger now that the field’s whereabouts were known. Navy protocol dictated that ordinance specialists were required to disarm and then remove the mines. They couldn’t just blast their way through without setting off a chain reaction of explosions and disciplinary action.
“Officer Craxul,” Hix said to his navigator. “Begin plotting a course around the field.”
“Wait,” Bayne said. Hix furrowed his brow at the questioning of his orders on his own bridge. “Sorry, Captain, I mean no disrespect. But I think this is a stall tactic. He didn’t mean to stop us with the mines, just slow us down.”
“Who?” Hix asked.
“Parallax.” Bayne was unaware that his voice had risen so all could hear. The name sent the same chill through the bridge of the Esper as it did aboard the Royal Blue. “He’s on his way to Triseca Station.”
“How could you know that?” Hix said.
“Because I know him,” Bayne said. He stopped short of detailing just how well. “Parallax is devious and brilliant.”
Hix rose suddenly from his chair and moved in close to Bayne so only the two captains could hear again. “I’ll ask that you stop using that name.”
“He’s just a man, Captain Hix,” Bayne said.
“But his reputation is enough to put the fear of the abyss in my men,” Hix replied. He stroked his chin as he considered his course. “Contact Triseca Station,” Hix ordered his XO, a woman named Valoriae. “Alert them to our status and make sure everything there is as it shou
ld be.” Then he said to Bayne, “Follow me.”
Bayne followed Hix off the bridge, onto an elevator in the corridor just outside, to the top floor. He assured Hep that he, too, should follow despite the skeptical glances from Hix. They only spoke once they’d reached Hix’s quarters, a luxurious suite on the top floor of the ship.
“I respect you a great deal, Captain Bayne,” Captain Hix said. “But tell me why I shouldn’t toss you in the brig for questioning me on my own bridge.”
“I’ve had some personal experience with Parallax,” Bayne said. “We both have.” He gestured toward Hep. “We know how he thinks, and he knows how the Navy thinks. After Ore Town, he knew we’d meet with the Byers Clan to plan our approach. He knows we’ll let them take the lead.”
Hix paced the considerable length of his cabin. It looked like an executive suite on Central. Bayne had been in one only once, the admiral’s. One of the nicest rooms he’d ever been in. This ranked up there with it. “So, assuming Parallax knows our move, knows that we’re meeting with the Byers Clan to rally our forces and attack him, you think he’d attack us preemptively? I know he has a reputation for being brash, but that’s just suicidal.”
“It would be if he were attacking us once we’d already gathered our strength,” Bayne said. “But not if he attacked the station before we got there. Blindsided the Byers. A strike like that would be demoralizing. Shake this alliance up before it even got started.” Bayne stared at Hix’s back. “And I’m sure they would have said taking over a Byers Clan mining colony would have been suicidal too, but he did it and kept it hidden from us for who knows how long.”
Hix stopped pacing at the edge of his bunk. He fell onto it with a heavy sigh. “So, operating under the assumption that Parallax dropped this minefield to keep us from Triseca, what do you suggest we do? It’ll take days for specialists to remove it and hours for us to navigate around. If Parallax is as smart as you claim, then he’s likely either attacking Triseca already or, at least, on his way.”
Protocol. It ran like a robotic conscience through the mind of every good Navy officer. A lifeline at times, taking the onus off the man to make the hard decision. In this instance, it was a shackle around Hix’s legs. But Bayne had slipped free of plenty of shackles in his life.
“I’ll clear a path,” Bayne said, fighting the urge to smile.
Hix nearly choked on his own tongue. “Excuse me?”
“I’ll take a spacewalk suit out and push them out of the way.”
Captain Hix couldn’t help but laugh. “Right, so easy.”
“Mines are set to detonate on impact,” Bayne said. “But all it takes is a gentle nudge to move them once the magnetic clamps are disabled. We disrupt the clamps on the mines that need moving and shove them out of the way. Assuming your pilot can thread the needle, we can clear a big enough path in an hour.”
Hix rose from his bed, seeming unsteady on his feet. He wasn’t convinced, but Bayne didn’t blame him for that. The robotic voice of protocol was whispering in his ear.
“You’re the captain of this ship,” Bayne said. “You have operational control. This is your call.”
Bayne’s conscience, the one that routinely threw wrenches into the robotic one’s gears, whispered in his ear. It laughed at the notion that Bayne would sit back and allow Hix to order him about. It scoffed at the idea that Bayne wasn’t going to suit up regardless. It already began formulating a plan on how to sneak out of the ship.
“All right,” Hix said. Both captains seemed surprised by his answer. “I know how I come across, especially to a Ranger captain, but I’m not afraid to think outside protocol when the situation demands it. Get to the hangar bay. I’ll call ahead and have the techs ready your suits. But I’m also calling in a disposal team should you fail.”
“Of course,” Bayne said. “Thank you, Captain.” He tapped Hep’s shoulder, signaling him to follow.
“I couldn’t help but notice you said we,” Hep said once they were in the corridor and on their way to the hangar bay.
“Yeah,” Bayne said. “You’re coming with me.”
Even their spacewalk suits were better than his. Bayne tried to take pleasure in suiting up in something that didn’t smell like day-old vomit rather than relish the pang of jealousy. He made a note to speak with Admiral Ayala about making some upgrades to the Royal Blue once he returned to Central. Then he remembered why he was here to begin with, who he was going to see. It depended on what Elvin Horus had to say.
Assuming, that was, that he survived his walk through the minefield.
As always, Hepzah seemed more comfortable in the situation than he let on. The boy spoke as if he were afraid of his own shadow. But given the opportunity to act, he took it as ably as any sailor. Bayne wondered if it was an act or something subconscious, whether Hep really believed that he was the cowering sheep he let on.
Hep slipped into his suit, buckled it up tight, and paced a small circle near the airlock.
A tech name Colston, a round woman with surprisingly nimble hands, helped Bayne into his while explaining the tech they would use to move the mines. “These are essentially the same boosters you’ve got in your suits. I’ve programmed them to accelerate at a steady interval. No jerking around, less chance of going boom in your face.” She handed a bag to Bayne and then one to Hep. It held dozens of smaller boosters.
“Appreciated,” Bayne said.
“Just be sure to secure them properly and keep the trajectory in mind,” Colston added. “They move, they don’t steer. Press the button on the side and you’re good to go.” She wished them both luck before opening the airlock.
Bayne and Hep stepped inside, watching the door close after them.
“Do you look for excuses to do this sort of thing, Captain?” Hep asked.
Bayne smiled. “No. They just seem to find me.”
8
Stepping out into the abyss was like slipping into a warm bath. Bayne at once felt comfortable, soothed by the emptiness that swallowed him. A quick burn of their boosters and Bayne and Hep were within reach of the first line of mines. The explosives were several feet in diameter, big enough that even if they joined hands, Hep and Bayne couldn’t wrap their arms around them. They were spaced far enough apart that only two rows needed to be moved.
Assuming neither one of them blew up.
“Just place the thrusters and push the button,” Bayne said to Hep, trying to reassure him. “Piece of cake.”
“Don’t know what kind of cake you eat,” Hep side, reaching into the bag of thrusters tied around his waist. “But mine doesn’t usually vaporize me if I eat it too fast.”
“No one’s getting vaporized,” Bayne said. “We’ve got time. Just take it slow and steady.”
A voice buzzed in their ears. “Captain Bayne,” Hix said. “I’ve just made contact with Triseca Station. They’re under attack. They’ve yet to confirm the presence of the Black Hole, but several ships known to belong to Parallax lieutenants have been identified.”
Bayne cursed.
“What was that about slow and steady?” Hep said, positioning the first thruster.
Bayne positioned his. They activated them at the same time. With a steady burn, the small thrusters pushed the mines out of the way, beginning a clear path for the Esper. They moved down the line, placing the thrusters and carving a path for the ship. It was the fastest route, Bayne knew, but the slow swim from mine to mine felt like an eternity with the Esper sitting behind him and Triseca ahead him, under siege and waiting for aid. He just wanted to move, to be there, already swinging his swords.
But haste meant death.
Nearly fifty minutes later, Bayne placed the thruster on the last of his mines. Once this and the adjacent one were moved, the path was clear. He affixed it, checked the trajectory, and—
A green light flashed on the side of the mine. It had been triggered. “Shit!” Bayne shouted. “Mine’s active.” He pressed the launch button on the thruster. Nothing. “An
d the thruster’s dead.” He fumbled for another in the sack around his waist. Even if he managed to affix a new one, this mine was going to blow up in his face. The thrusters were low power by design; it wouldn’t push the ordinance in time.
Hep appeared at Bayne’s side, his hands planted firmly on the mine. He didn’t need to say anything for Bayne to understand the boy’s intent. Bayne followed suit, placing his hands on the mine. They both activated their boot thrusters. They pushed the mine away, following a slightly divergent trajectory from the one Hep had just launched.
“Faster,” Bayne said, and they both let out more burn, matching each other’s power as best they could. “Cut it in three.”
“Aye,” Hep said.
Bayne counted down. Each second closer to the explosion that would pulverize him and Hep into paste. Guilt swirled in his gut at having the boy there next to him. Hardly old enough to have lived a life, yet one full of experiences no person should have. Should this be how it ends? In fire—the way he lived? The way they both lived.
“Cut,” Bayne said.
The glow of their thrusters died. The mine floated away like a snowflake in reverse, peaceful and quiet.
Until it disappeared in a flash of heat and light and force. The impact sent Bayne and Hep soaring backward, toward the minefield.
There was a time Bayne had considered starting a family. There was never a particular woman in the picture, just the idea of one. A mirage. But it haunted his imagination for a time. It was odd to see that mirage again as he hurtled toward death.
Maybe it was the head trauma.
He fought against the rising urge to vomit, struggled to see through the haze of blood floating from his nose. Hep was limp, unconscious. Bayne reached for him but was unable. Too far. Head pounding. Using the stabilizer thrusters in his gloves, Bayne spun himself around. He kicked his heels together, igniting his boot thrusters and rocketing toward Hep. He grabbed the boy just feet from the minefield.
The Deep Black Space Opera Boxed Set Page 14
