The Silence leapt away, Boyd using the heading it happened to be on—a heading that took it down from the plane of the ecliptic at an angle of close to ninety degrees. At this rate, he would be at the southern face of the Sphere and out into the interstellar void. It didn’t matter, because now he had to escape the billowing explosion on the Odium Fist. Boyd could correct and put the Silence on a safer heading once they were clear of the explosion and the Skarak.
The holoimage to the rear of the Silence dimmed as the ship raced out of range, but the last image that Boyd saw clearly was the Skarak ship turning, its rapier cluster broken and rapiers falling away. The forward hull was shimmering and appeared to be flaking away into space.
“Thresh, we did it. It looks like we got away.” Boyd punched the flight console in victory. Then he saw a body at his feet move, ever-so-slightly, a mere shudder at first and then a slow, painful quiver.
All around the flight deck, the bodies were starting to move, coming back to life. Boyd jumped up from the flight console and ran, leaving the waking crew behind him.
The corridors were littered with bodies all waking from their Skarak-induced sleep. Boyd wondered if it was time or distance that weakened the Skarak’s hold on them. He wasn’t going to stop to ask. He pulled the pistol from his waistband and kept on running for the shuttle bay.
Every Union Frigate had a shuttle. Boyd hoped that Kitzov had kept the shuttle on this ship that he had stolen from the Union. If there was no shuttle, Boyd would have to fight the entire ship’s company, arrest them all, and take the entire ship into the custody of the Blue Star Marines. He knew he would not back down, but even Boyd had to admit that a single Marine might struggle a little against the entire ship’s company.
Turning into the shuttle bay corridor, Boyd came face to face with Thresh. She was standing at the entrance to the hangar, a pulse pistol in her hand, pointing it at Boyd. Behind her in the hangar, Boyd could see the shuttle boarding ramp was down. Ready.
“The shuttle is ready to go,” she said.
“Thanks,” Boyd said, taking a step forward.
Thresh raised the pistol and pointed it at Boyd’s head.
“I can’t let you go,” she said, a quiver in her voice and her eyes red and misty.
“Come with me,” Boyd said.
Thresh took a step forward, aiming, her finger on the trigger. “I’ve deactivated the audio nodes in the corridor here. I’ve left on all the imaging nodes. Kitzov will see that I tried to stop you.” She took another step forward. “If you want to get out of here, you are going to have to fight your way out.”
“I can’t,” Boyd said.
“Then we’ll both die as spies. You think Kitzov is going to be happy that I let you escape? For krav sake, Boyd. Don’t think, just shoot.”
An alarm sounded somewhere in the ship. It echoed along the corridors and into the shuttle bay.
Thresh smiled. “It’s okay. You don’t have to kill me, like the Union freighter crew you were supposed to execute. I knew you didn’t kill them. I knew all along you were not truly Faction.”
“How did you know?” The pistol shifted in Boyd’s grip. “And even if you did know, then why didn’t you turn me in right away?”
The sounds of movement form along the corridor caught his ear. Shouts of Faction troopers.
Boyd brought up his pulse pistol and fired. The pulse round slammed into Thresh’s chest, just to the right. Hopefully far enough away from her heart that she might survive, close enough so it looked like he had tried to kill her.
With footsteps running toward the hangar, Boyd stepped over Thresh, her chest heaving erratically. He wanted to fall to his knees next to her, to breathe life into her lungs, to hold her hand and promise her she would be fine.
But the footsteps in the corridor grew louder. He heard Kitzov’s voice, groggy but fierce.
“Boyd, I’m going to kill you with my own hands, you Union spy bastard. Boyd!”
But his shouts were cut off as Boyd stepped over Thresh and into the hangar where he sealed the inner doors. He ran to the shuttle and up the boarding ramp.
Acting without thought, Boyd fired up the shuttle and was through the outer hangar doors. All he could think about was Thresh, lying wounded, dying in the Silence. He consoled himself that she would get the best medical treatment the Faction could provide, but it was little comfort. He had shot her, and he hated himself for it.
11
“Out of my way.” Kitzov strode along the hangar deck corridor, shoving troopers aside. A medic was kneeling next to Thresh, applying a med-pack to her chest. Kitzov kneeled next to Thresh.
“She’ll be okay, boss,” the medic said. “She was lucky. The pulse missed her heart by a fraction.”
Kitzov studied the medic and then looked back at Thresh. He placed a hand on her forehead. “Little Enke,” he said. “I’ll give you his head on a spike. Get her to the med-bay. Now. If she dies, I’ll tear you apart.” He glared at the medic and then stood.
The corridors of the Silence were scattered with recovering crew. A trooper here, leaning against a bulkhead. A gunner there, rubbing his head to clear it of the pain.
Kitzov shouted as he ran. “To your posts. Get ahold of yourselves and get this ship under control.”
The flight deck was in chaos. Consoles powering up, flight deck crew dashing around. A light in the bulkhead was flashing on and off, its power supply fluctuating massively. Kitzov wondered how badly the ship had been affected by the Skarak attack. He could still taste the hideous blue crackle beam on his tongue, it felt as if it was still flickering around inside his bones.
The image on the holo-stage was out of focus, a sensor operator and a maintenance drone correcting the levels. The image steadied and showed the Silence heading down from the ecliptic plane to the southern edge of the Sphere. A small signal was racing up and away from the Silence, following the line of the ecliptic and heading toward the inner system.
Kitzov climbed up into his command chair and called up the data on the fleeing vessel. It was the Silence’s shuttle. He knew Boyd was aboard.
“Get this ship under control. Set an intercept course for that shuttle. Bring it into range of my spitz guns. I want manual control of all weapons at my command chair. Get me on the tail of that shuttle—now.”
Boyd tapped into the drive systems as the shuttle raced along at full tilt. The single core reactor was at near-perfect symmetry and delivering all power to the drive. The gravity field was reduced to zero, flight deck lighting powered by emergency backups. Weapons, the small spitz gun upper turret, was offline. Only the hull stability field was in operation to prevent the small craft from tearing itself apart under the massive forces of acceleration.
Boyd managed to fine tune the reactor delivery shunt to throw an extra gigawatt into the drive field, giving a minor boost to the shuttle’s top speed.
The flight deck holo-stage showed the Silence heading down from the ecliptic plane under full power. It drifted from sensor range. Boyd felt a minor thrill of victory having escaped the ship, but as he saw the image blink away, he also felt a pang of remorse. The last contact he would possibly ever have with Thresh had been his shooting her.
He thought of her, where he had left her, lying injured and possibly close to death on the deck of the Silence.
“Sorry, Thresh,” he said, running his fingers through the holo-image of the fading Faction ship.
The shuttle powered on toward the inner system. The nearest friendly port was anywhere around Supra. Each of her moons had orbital space ports and ground landing pads. He would use his Blue Star codes and put the shuttle down and present himself to the local commander. He might have a short wait, but he would be back aboard a Union ship in no time and then back with his own battalion. He couldn’t deny he was excited to be returning after a long undercover operation, but he was also disappointed to be returning emptyhanded. He had left to find and assist in the capture of Faction Leader Kitzov. All he had d
one was get close, get uncovered, and get taken into custody. Escape had been nothing short of a miracle, with a lot of thanks to Thresh.
The holo-stage image showed him Supra, still a billion kilometers away. Even at top speed, the shuttle would take hours to get there. This was no Union frigate that could cross the entire Scorpio System, from Lastone to Proxima, in less than a day.
Then the image showed a new signal: a ship moving up from below the ecliptic, heading in at speed on an intercept course with the shuttle. Boyd didn’t need to see the ident codes to know what the ship was. It was the Silence. Kitzov was coming for him.
“Okay, Will,” Boyd said. “Let’s keep them off us for as long as possible. He will never follow you into the range of the orbital defenses of Supra.” Boyd checked the time and distance to the gas giant and its Union facilities. He didn’t need to do the math to be sure, he could tell with a rough estimate.
He wasn’t going to make it.
“He’s never going to make it,” Kitzov said, snarling with joy. “He’s heading to Supra, hoping I’ll be scared off by a few Union guns.” Kitzov leaned forward, glowering at the image of his shuttle racing away. “I will fly through a thousand Union ships to be sure you are blasted out of the void. You better run, Boyd, but it’s no use. You are a dead man. It is just a matter of time.”
The Silence closed in, reducing the distance to its target by kilometers a second. It would be many long, agonizing minutes before the shuttle was in range. Kitzov was already adjusting the guns through his command chair interface, the holographic gauntlet around his hand responding to his movements.
Kitzov felt his body quiver with anticipation and with frustration as the Silence’s range to target on the holo-stage showed his time intercept had just increased slightly.
“He’s getting away,” Kitzov shouted down from his command chair. The young pilot at the flight console turned and looked up to Kitzov.
“He’s trying to evade us.”
“Of course he’s trying to evade us!” Kitzov shouted, leaping to his feet.
The young pilot nodded and stared up at Kitzov, frozen.
“Don’t look at me!” Kitzov shouted. He jabbed his arm forward, index finger quivering and pointing at the holo-image of the shuttle. “Look at your controls, and get me in range of that shuttle!”
The pilot returned his attention to his console. All across the flight deck, a well-trained crew managed their systems. This was the best crew in the Faction—selected to be the best of the best, for service aboard the Faction flagship, a symbol of all the Faction was and all it hoped to be. Service to Kitzov was an honor for this crew, and they took pride in their work. Kitzov knew they could be better, but they were more than a match for a single Marine on a stolen shuttle now creeping back into range.
“Krav it,” Boyd said in frustration as he saw the Silence match his maneuver. He had thrown them off by a few kilometers and bought himself maybe an extra second. He needed to perform a similar maneuver every few seconds for the next eight hours to have a chance of making it to Supra alive.
He threw another maneuver, pushing the shuttle to starboard. He knew the Silence would match him quickly—just enough time for him to glance around. He saw the emergency environmental suit in the locker at the rear of the shuttle. He knew he would need that suit. If Kitzov landed a salvo of spitz gun rounds on the hull, he would surely have a breach. He didn’t have the power, or enough hands, to manage a breach and take evasive maneuvers at the same time. He would have to get into that suit, and quick.
Looking back to the console, Boyd saw that the Silence had matched his last maneuver, but the pilot had overshot slightly and given Boyd an unexpected extra kilometer. Nothing in terms of minutes to intercept, but a crucial few seconds more where anything could happen. Boyd threw a follow-up maneuver that pressed his gain, winning a few seconds more, then unclipped his seat belt and pressed himself back away from the flight console.
With the gravity system disabled, Boyd flew back to the rear bulkhead separating the flight capsule from the drive room. The locker with the environmental suit was locked. Boyd steadied himself, pulled his pulse pistol, and fired at the locking mechanism. It was still set to low yield, but it was enough to pop the latch. Boyd grabbed the suit and helmet with one hand, tucked the pulse pistol in his waistband with the other, and pushed off the rear bulkhead with his feet, throwing himself back toward the flight console.
Clattering into the pilot’s chair with the suit and helmet flapping around, Boyd saw that the Silence was again on an optimal intercept course. Climbing into the chair and strapping himself in, the suit and helmet floating within reach, Boyd loaded a surveillance drone into the launch tube. He threw a wild maneuver, sending the shuttle upward from the ecliptic plane.
With the drone interface open, Boyd transferred the drive field data to the drone. He launched the drone emitting the data behind the shuttle, and then he cut all power, dropping the core from full output to cold in a nanosecond. Then a burst on the thruster sent the shuttle drifting to port and twenty degrees down back to the ecliptic.
The drone continued, giving a false reading for the Silence to follow. If the sensor controller on the flight deck was as low level as the pilot, it could buy Boyd up to another forty minutes. The gravity well and orbital defense of Supra looked agonizingly close now.
Boyd nudged the shuttle on a little more, seeing the track of the Silence still following his old course as it followed the false reading. He grabbed the helmet that was turning and tumbling about an arm’s length away. He placed it on the flight console and grabbed the suit. He wriggled into the suit, the arms floating around in zero gravity until he rammed is arms in. He pulled the helmet on, and the suit’s seals and power systems activated.
Turning back to the small flight deck holo-stage, he saw the Silence still moving in to intercept the signal they thought to be the shuttle. He allowed himself a moment of delight and a wry smile. He had tricked Kitzov. Every second of deceit counted as extra life for himself.
Pushing the shuttle further from the course of the drone, Boyd calculated the best time to fire up the drive. The instant he did so, the Silence would be aware of two signals in the region. The jig would be up and the diversion discovered, but there would be a few critical seconds more before the true signal and the dummy could be determined. Boyd’s hand hovered over the flight controls.
“Why are we suddenly gaining?” Kitzov stepped down from the command chair. “We’ve taken a hundred kilometers off him on the last few seconds.” He walked over to the holo-stage. “Check the drive field intensity on that signal. Check the space-time fluctuation around it.” His voice grew angrier and more impatient as he realized the truth.
He had been deceived by Boyd again.
“It’s a kraving dummy signal, isn’t it?” Kitzov stood in front of the holo-stage, taking short furious steps back and forth.
“Yes, sir. Reading available now.” The sensor operator threw the reading to the main holo-stage.
Kitzov saw quickly that the fluctuation was a fraction of what it would be if he was chasing a shuttle under full power.
“Scan for space-time fluctuation. He’s gone dark. He’s hiding. And drop all speed now.” Kitzov strode back to the pilot. “Drop the drive. We’re chasing a decoy, you scroat. Stop the damn ship.”
“Drive systems down,” the pilot said.
“We’re still moving,” Kitzov exploded. “Basic kravin physics. Where did you learn to pilot a ship?”
“At the Faction shipyard—”
The pilot was cut short as Kitzov lashed out with a wild backhand across the young pilot’s face.
He turned to the sensor operator. “Find that shuttle,” he said, pulling the pistol from his hip.
“Yes, sir. Space-time fluctuations at several points. I’ve traced the decoy path and found a flux node at this point.”
The holo-stage showed the line of the decoy’s flight and the node where the space-t
ime flux was most pronounced.
“That’s it. Get us to that point. He won’t have diverted much from the decoy’s path, he probably just nudged the shuttle off the heading by a few degrees with the thrusters.”
“I’ve detected a thruster vapor jet at that location,” the pilot said. He looked up at Kitzov, a large bruise and swelling on his right eye.
“Good,” Kitzov said. “Now try and find another and extrapolate the shuttle’s heading.”
“Got it,” the sensor operator said. “Projecting course to the holo-stage now.”
Kitzov turned and saw the projection as a dotted green line that spread out into a cone showing the possible range for the shuttle. Boyd hadn’t gotten too far away. He had delayed his death by a few minutes at best.
“Good,” Kitzov said. “Pilot, put us in the middle of that cone.” Kitzov looked up at the holo-stage. Somewhere in that shaded cone was Boyd, and Kitzov was going to find him and kill him.
“Heading laid in. Full drive engaged.”
Kitzov turned to the pilot and aimed his pistol at the young man’s head. “Don’t let me down again.”
Boyd saw the Silence change course and knew instantly that Kitzov had discovered the decoy. He punched up the drive, the core spinning up in a fraction of a second, and the drive field threw the shuttle forward.
The heading of the Silence changed again after a few seconds and was once again on an intercept course. Boyd checked his stock of sensor drones and loaded another. He might not get away with a dark running decoy, but a two-drive signal might give him a few more seconds. Every second was a chance to escape. Boyd knew he needed every chance. Every opportunity. He would not give up, no matter how slim the chance was.
He threw the shuttle this way and that, holding the Silence off by moments, but the Faction ship was closing in. Another few minutes and the spitz guns would light up and pour their fire into the shuttle.
Invasion (Blue Star Marines Book 3) Page 9
