Mavericks (Expeditionary Force Book 6)

by Craig Alanson

  “Don’t be so hasty, Renee,” Skippy snapped peevishly. “This is delicate work, I have to wriggle that probe around to plug it into-Ah, got it! Damn, it would have been a lot easier if some monkeys had not gotten overeager with a concussion grenade, it almost crushed the access port I had to plug into.”

  “You tell us overkill is underrated.”

  “Underrated, yes, but not always appropriate. Ah, whatever, it’s done now. Because you SpecOps people are super-competitive, you will be pleased to hear I took control of your dropship three hundredths of a second before Major Smythe’s dropship.”

  “It would be unprofessional of me to boast, Skippy.”

  “Uh huh, so I shouldn’t mention that fact to Smythe?”

  “Well,” Giraud grinned, knowing Skippy could see inside his helmet. “You certainly should not withhold pertinent information from the mission commander.”

  “Of course not,” Skippy retorted with a verbal eyeroll. “I am opening the rear door and the outer door to the portside airlock. You need to detach from those bulky jetpacks and stealth generators. I am not moving this thing until your team is securely inside the cabin and those Keepers are prevented from causing any trouble.”

  Giraud was first to enter the dropship’s cabin, with another French paratrooper right behind him. As soon as the two cleared the inner airlock door, it slid closed and the lock began pumping out air to let the two other soldiers in. To prevent the four pirates from becoming infected, they needed to remain sealed up in their armored suits, but the dropship could not move until all four were secured inside the cabin.

  The two paratroopers held their pistol-grip shotguns in front of them. Shotguns, regular shotguns brought from Earth, though the shells had a minimum charge of gunpowder and the pellets were liquid-filled plastic. The pellets could hurt the unprotected Keepers, knock them down if there had been any gravity, and certainly knock them back away from the pirates. While the pellets had stopping power, they could not penetrate the inner pressure hull of the dropship, nor create a hole that would let precious air leak out.

  “Cover me,” Giraud ordered in English though the other soldier was also French, they had gotten used to speaking the official language of the Merry Band of Pirates, and sticking to one language lessened the possibility of miscommunication. With the other soldier hanging back near the airlock and constantly scanning the cabin for threats, Giraud holstered his shotgun and pushed off to float over to the main control computer module attached to the back of the cockpit bulkhead. Forward of that bulkhead were two dead Kristang pilots and flight controls smashed to uselessness. Flipping up an access port, Giraud carefully plugged in what looked like a thumb drive, the motion made awkward by his gloved fingers. “Plugged in. Skippy, do you-”

  “Got it! Good job, Renee, I have control. How are the Sleeping Beauties?”

  Giraud gave a thumbs up sign to his companion and turned to examine the Keepers, who all had their eyes closed and were slack-jawed, drooling into the air as they breathed shallowly. “I would describe them as Sleeping Uglies. They are not a problem. Gaston,” he called the other paratrooper. “I am going to secure the prisoners,” he pulled out a thick zip-tie and slipped it around the wrists of the closest Keeper. The zip-ties were manufactured aboard the Dutchman under Skippy’s direction, and had a feature allowing the beer can to release the binds when needed. Working quickly by himself, and then with Gaston after the others came through the airlock, all ten Keepers were secured in seats and firmly strapped down so they could not cause any trouble. Then the pirates got into seats, with Giraud and Gaston taking uncomfortable fold-down jumpseats up against the forward bulkhead.

  “Skippy, we are ready for boost,” Giraud reported.

  “Ok, I hope everyone used the bathroom before you left the ship,” Skippy scolded. “And if any of those Keepers make a fuss I swear I am turning this thing around!”

  Giraud reached out with a gloved hand and gently moved a Keeper’s head side to side. The man was still out cold, a bubble of snot forming at one nostril, and he was drooling, slack-jawed. “They will not be causing trouble for anyone. Are you sure of the dosage you gave them?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure, they’ll be fine. To maintain stealth I need to fly slowly and gently, so this could be a long trip. I don’t have any coloring books, you kids will have to entertain yourselves.”

  “You are not going to sing to us?” Giraud’s stupid, stupid mouth asked before his brain could engage, and the three members of his team turned to look at him in horror.

  “Sadly, no, I’ll take a rain check on that. I am superduper busy right now, and you and Smythe’s team are really not large enough of an audience to appreciate my incredible talent. Now, as the bumper sticker says: Get in, sit down, shut up and hang on.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  With the Keepers securely sleeping and both dropships still in stealth and now flying to rendezvous with the Flying Dutchman, and the lizards aboard the Spirit having no idea their dropships had been captured, I was eager for the delicious moment of sending that destroyer straight to hell. “Dropships are close enough?” I asked, and Chang gave me a thumbs up from the CIC. “Great,” I wiggled in my seat because I was so very much anticipating ridding the galaxy of one more ship full of hateful warrior caste lizards. Although, it felt anticlimactic to have that ship suddenly jump into the star with no warning. Maybe I should contact them first, let them know exactly what was going to happen to them, and let them know they had been outsmarted by a bunch of monkeys. Nah, that would be indulging myself in useless-

  “Joe, wait a minute, I have a question,” Skippy cleared his throat like he was nervous.

  “If your question is something like ‘what is the capital of North Dakota’, then prepare to be disappointed, because I have no idea.”

  “No, you moron, ugh. Like I would ask you to remember facts. My question is about the moral dilemma we are facing. Yes, that destroyer is packed full of hateful lizard MFers who all know and are super enthused about deploying a bioweapon that could kill millions of humans and hamsters on Paradise, perhaps other worlds also. Every member of that ship’s crew is a fully committed murderous A-hole without an ounce of concern for other species or even other Kristang from other clans.”

  I looked through the glass into the CIC and shared an unspoken ‘WTF?’ with Major Simms. “If you’re trying to convince me killing that ship would create a moral dilemma, you are not exactly doing a bang-up job of it, Skippy.”

  “No, Ok, um. Hmmm. Maybe I should say it this way; yes, the crew of that ship would wipe out every intelligent being on Paradise without a second thought, and would happily dance on the graves of the beings they killed. After composing an epic poem about the event, of course. Oooh, maybe if they truly did exterminate the population of Paradise, those Kristang would commission a tragic opera to commemorate their victory. Wow, now that would be an interesting libretto to write. I wonder-”

  “Skippy?”

  “Oh, sorry, got a little off the subject there. Ok, here’s the important part. Those Kristang were raised in their overall hateful society, and they all were trained and indoctrinated in the cruel ethics of their warrior caste. So, should we consider the crew of that destroyer are not completely to blame as individuals? Basically what I am asking is, whether this is an appropriate time for me to try working on that stupid empathy thing we talked about?”

  “No, Skippy,” I answered without hesitation. “This would be a terrible time for you to try working up empathy with lizards.”

  “Oh goodie! Whooo, that is a relief. This empathy thing sounds like a HUH-Yuuuge pain in the ass. All right then, I’m ready to send those lizards on a one-way trip to hell.”

  “Outstanding. Get the-”

  “Hey, hey, Joe, Joe, wait wait!” Skippy almost stuttered, he was so excited. “I have super awesome good news!”

  “What is it?”

  “I just realized that aboard that ship is an old friend of yours
. And a friend to Colonel Chang also.”

  Chang in the CIC looked at me and I looked at him and we both had completely blank expressions on our faces. Before we broke out a Kristang jail, Chang and I barely knew each other, we had met only briefly for our promotion ceremony, which for me was a publicity stunt. “A friend? Oh, crap, you mean there is a prisoner aboard that ship? Human or Ruhar?” My mind raced. Who the hell did Chang and I both know, someone not aboard the Dutchman? And, damn it, a prisoner aboard the ship could complicate everything. Depending on who the prisoner was, I might have to pull in Major Smythe to consider a rescue operation, or-Oh, shit, this could go south real fast. I might have to negotiate with the damned lizards to release the prisoner. What could I bargain with to-No, wait. Shit. No way could I ever negotiate with the lizards aboard that ship, they knew our secret. I could not risk the lives of humans on Earth and Paradise for one person no matter who it was. In one split second, my thrilling anticipation of a successful operation was blown, replaced by-

  “Prisoner?” Skippy mercifully interrupted my downward spiral of dark thoughts. “No prisoner, Joe. And not human or Ruhar. Come on, work with me here, take a guess.”

  Guess? I silently mouthed ‘I have no idea’ at Chang, forgetting it was unfair asking him to guess at reading my lips in what was not his native language. For a moment we stared at each other, dumfounded, while the crew stared at both of us, equally mystified. “Not human, and not Ruhar? A friend?” Who the hell did Chang and I both know, who was neither human nor hamster, aboard a Kristang ship?

  Then Chang and I both snapped our fingers at the same time. “That drunk asshole on the space station?!” Chang asked before I could speak.

  “Ding ding ding ding! Winner, winner, chicken dinner!” Skippy chuckled. “Yes, excellent guess, you two.”

  “The promotion ceremony for Bishop, Colonel Bishop and I,” Chang explained to the crew, “was aboard a space station above Paradise. Most of the Kristang still couldn’t come down to the planet because of the virus there, so we flew up to them. After the ceremony, the lizards assigned one Kristang to give us a tour of the station while our leaders discussed something with their leaders. That lizard took us to a viewport, got drunk, and told us humans are nothing but worthless slaves and he wanted to kill us all. Mister Skippy, that Kristang is aboard the cruiser?”

  “Not only aboard, he is presently captain of the ship, though that doesn’t mean much right now, considering that he has no control over any shipboard system.”

  “Can we talk to him?” I asked while exchanging a grin with Chang. “Video too?”

  “Sure, Joe. The signal lag is only a third of a second.” Instantly, the main displays in the bridge and CIC showed a view from inside the enemy ship. I had been around enough Kristang that they no longer all looked the same to me and I recognized my old friend Mister Asshole in the center of the view, he was looking bored and pissed off at the same time. He had no idea how pissed off he was about to be, and then he jerked as the displays on his bridge all showed a view of us.

  “Hey!” I waved at the camera built into the center of the bridge display. “Hey Buttwipe, do you remember us?”

  Man, that lizard recovered quick from what had to be a total shock. He went from utter astonishment to anger in record time, shouting at the camera and shaking his fists until spittle flew from his mouth to splatter the screen.

  “Damn,” I laughed, “that is one pissed-off lizard. Skippy, why can’t we hear the sound?”

  “He is screaming insults too harsh for delicate monkey ears to hear. I will translate for you. Hmm, bad word,” he reported while the lizard howled and exhorted his crew to do something, anything. At that moment, the crew of that ship were realizing to their horror that they had no control over any system. “Another bad word, Jeez, he’s repeating himself. Come on, put some effort into it, will ya? Ooooh, very bad word, now we’re getting somewhere,” Skippy chuckled.

  I had to laugh along with the Merry Band of Pirates, because that that point, Mister Asshole was so angry he was hopping up and down, a tough thing to do in zero gravity. “Hey! Skippy, he can hear us, right?”

  “Yes, he can hear you. Now he is suggesting you perform various sex acts on yourself. That one is anatomically unlikely. And another, hmmm, anatomically impossible. Damn,” Skippy giggled as the lizard pulled out a pistol and shot several of the consoles on his ship because they weren’t responding to his crew. “He is certainly one angry lizard.”

  “My heart bleeds for him.”

  “Empathy, Joe?”

  “Sarcasm, Skippy. Hey,” I waved at the screen then flashed both middle fingers. “It is so good to see you after all this time, asshole. Yeah, I’m talking about you, dickhead. Skippy, does he understand what I’m saying?”

  “He certainly does, Joe, and he does recognize you and Colonel Chang. The translation of ‘dickhead’ into Kristang is considered a terrible insult. He is very unhappy about the situation.”

  “I figured that from the way he is foaming at the mouth. What’s he saying now?”

  “Oh, generic threats against you, the crew of this ship, humanity in general, blah blah blah. Really, he’s not being original, I am kind of disappointed. Oops, um, we need to move this along. He just ordered his crew to manually detonate a missile warhead. I can slow them down, but I can’t stop it.”

  “Ok, time to wrap this up. You have their jump drive prepped?”

  “Yes, the command crew attempted to shut down the jump drive when they saw the coordinates I input, but my bots isolated the drive system from the rest of the ship. Ready when you are.”

  Chang gave me a thumb’s up. “I will activate-”

  “Belay that!” I barked and jabbed a finger toward the CIC. Chang held up his hands to show he was not touching any of the controls. “Sorry, Chang, I have a reason for this. Sergeant Adams, get up here.” If I was a real professional officer I should have said ‘report to the bridge’, but screw it. Everyone knew what I meant.

  “Here, Sir,” she announced from behind my chair. Of course she had been in the corridor outside the bridge/CIC complex, as she was part of the relief crew for the weapons consoles.

  “Gunny, get into the CIC and jump that ship straight to hell.”

  “Sir?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. “Any of the duty crew can do that.”

  “Adams,” I lowered my voice so she had to lean in to hear me. “Anyone could make that ship jump, a monkey could press that button. There are a whole lot of beings in this galaxy who are owed the pleasure of wiping out the warrior caste MFers aboard that cruiser. It would be nice to know pressing that button gives one of us a small measure of payback.”

  Margaret Adams didn’t say anything in reply, she didn’t need to. I saw it in her eyes, the tough Gunnery Sergeant couldn’t hide her feelings completely. She knew I understood what she needed, and she knew I was never going to say anything about it, and that created a bond between us. In that moment, the look she gave me said far more than anything either one of us could have put into words. She straightened up, spun to the left and marched into the CIC, relieving the Indian pilot on duty at the console.

  “Everyone, let’s give our lizard friend a big send-off from the Merry Band of Pirates,” and I flipped my middle finger at the camera, followed by everyone else in view.

  “Adios, motherfucker,” Adams muttered, and pressed the appropriate button. On the display, the image cut out and was replaced by black space with the distinct wobbling remnant of a jump wormhole collapsing.

  “Captain Giraud, I have good news, and great news!” Skippy’s mirthful voice boomed in the paratroop leader’s helmet speakers.

  “You found a cure for the pathogen?” Giraud asked with excitement.

  “Huh? No. Puh-lease, give me a freakin’ break, will ya? I haven’t even taken samples from those infected losers yet. Yeah, they are expelling the pathogen with every breath, it’s even in the hair and skin cells they shed, yuck.”

  Gi
raud reflexively pulled his armor-gloved hand away from the chair he had been holding onto, looking at the glove fingers. How many microscopic bits of deadly binary bioweapon were coating his Kristang suit? He did not want to think about it. The suits were supposedly airtight, but he knew that was not entirely true, on long missions the suits lost a tiny but measurable amount of air and moisture from leaks at the joints, a trade-off between the suits being absolutely sealed and being flexible enough to be useful in combat. Air and lubricants leaked out of the suit, not in, according to Skippy who did not ever have to worry about his bloodstream becoming contaminated by invisible killer chemical compounds.

  “Relax, Renee,” Doctor Skippy the mad scientist tried using his best soothing bedside voice, which was more creepy than reassuring. “You and your team are in no danger. Get out your sample kits, I need you to pull blood and tissues from these losers so I can get working ASAP. Don’t worry, when you get back to the Dutchman, you will be put through a decontamination procedure more thorough than the usual process. No organic material will remain viable on the exterior of your suits, you can trust me about that.”

  It bothered Giraud that the beer can aboard a starship thirty thousand miles away had seen him jerk his hand away. “I am not afraid, Skippy. I am concerned.”