Hell's Reach (Galactic Liberation Series Book 6)

by B. V. Larson

  “What did we see?” Straker asked.

  “Here’s what our sensors picked up in the half-second before we entered underspace,” Mara said. The displays returned to a static scene of stars. Colored circles highlighted items as she spoke. “Here’s the Humbar primary. Here’s Humbar-3, their home planet. The rest of the planets of H-1 through H-7. We need more time to collect emissions on other ships or facilities.”

  “But there was nobody near our emergence point?”

  “Nobody close.”

  “Okay, that worked, it seems,” Straker said. “Surface from underspace.”

  “Surfacing.”

  The chill receded and the screens updated. Straker paced and the others waited as Mara worked the sensors. “Here.” Highlights blinked.

  “What’s that?”

  Mara leaned closer to scrutinize her readouts. “A bunch of ships, near H-5, the gas giant. Lots of emissions. Lots of energy.” She turned to Straker. “I think it’s a battle, Derek.”

  “Zaxby, how close can we come if we jump toward that battle?”

  “To about an hour out, assuming we don’t get intercepted.”

  “Can we use our changing-arrival trick again?”

  “Each time we do, the chance of disaster increases exponentially, at least until I can recalibrate and check the generators. Fortunately, Murdock over-engineered this ship—but there’s no need. Our sidespace trip this time will take less than two minutes. Our enemies won’t have time to shift position to ambush us—as long as we choose a non-obvious location.”

  “Just do it,” Straker said.

  Zaxby set the controls. “Jumping now.”

  They transited back into normal space much nearer to the gas giant. The displays rapidly populated with information.

  “It’s definitely a battle,” Zaxby said. “Approximately thirty Humbar vessels appear to be defending their facilities against over one hundred Arattak and Korven warships.”

  “Why the hell are these guys attacking the Humbar?” Straker’s tone indicated he didn’t necessarily expect an answer.

  Zaxby rotated two eyes to focus on Straker. “The Humbar are wealthy, peaceful and defensive. Logically, that would invite attack.”

  “What?” Mara said. “How is being peaceful inviting attack?”

  “It is self-evident, my dear,” Zaxby said, cocking a condescending eye toward Mara. “Aggressive species like the Arattak and the Korven are always looking for rich prey. When choosing a target among possibilities, they are most likely to select the one of highest value with the least risk of retaliation. The Humbar, while reasonably well armed, have repeatedly touted their peace-loving ways, and have forsworn retaliation. They are bovines, after all—herbivores with no highly evolved killer instinct such as we have. However—and this is the key issue—they have no reciprocal military alliances with other systems. They refuse to pledge to help defend others, so they have no others to help defend them. Few in the Middle Reach try to go it alone, because this is the typical result.”

  “Dumbasses,” Steiner put in.

  Zaxby turned to the marine. “Perhaps. But how are they different from the Breakers? Do we have mutual defense alliances with other governments or polities?”

  “We ain’t lived thousands of years in one system. I bet our chain of command is working on mutual defense alliances already—right, sir?”

  Straker exchanged glances with Mara. “If we weren’t before, we will now. Mara, do you detect the Hercules anywhere in that mess?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean much. We’re a long way off and there’s a lot of interference—and hundreds of bogeys, counting the small craft, orbitals and so on. We need to get closer to sort it all out.”

  “Get us moving toward the battle, Zaxby,” Straker said. “Configure for stealth and engage skimmer mode.”

  “Going EMCON,” Zaxby said. “Stealth and skimmer modes engaged.”

  “Now package up our data into a comms drone. Add a message to Commodore Gray to bring our whole fleet here immediately.”

  “Cool. Let’s kick their asses,” Steiner said.

  “Yes, let’s,” Mara said, an unusually bloodthirsty expression on her face.

  “Again, I find myself to be the voice of reason,” Zaxby said. “Are we sure that’s wise? At best, adding our forces would result in battle-parity. We could take severe casualties—and for what? Defending someone who is not our ally, against those who are not our enemies? Are we not a mercenary organization?”

  Straker stepped to loom over the octopoid, raising his voice. “We are what I say we are. Execute my orders, Zaxby.”

  “There’s no need to yell, Derek Straker.” Zaxby played subtentacles over his console. “Drone away. We can expect Ellen Gray with the fleet in eighteen to twenty-four hours. Now, may we discuss this situation? We do have at least half an hour before we reach the battle and die gloriously for the cause of galactic peace.”

  “We’re not going to die,” Straker said, pacing. “Record me a vid.”

  “Very well.” Zaxby pointed. “Cease your movement and aim your monkey face toward the forward screen. Ready to record.”

  Straker composed himself. “To all friends, trading partners and potential allies of the Humbar, greetings. I’m General Derek Straker, owner and commander of Straker’s Breakers, a mercenary corporation duly registered with the Fugjios Conglomerate. Along with this message you will find data regarding an ongoing attack by Arattak and Korven forces upon the Humbar. I realize you probably have no specific mutual defense agreements with the Humbar, but you stand to lose millions of credits in disrupted trade if this is not stopped. I’m bringing my forces to help defend the Humbar, and I strongly suggest it’s in your best interests to do so as well. Hurry. Straker out.”

  “Message recorded.”

  “Put that on a drone, along with our sensor data. Set it to broadcast continuously in the clear once it arrives. Have it jump to every system with Humbar trading partners or people who might help the Humbar—pick the most efficient route—and then return for recovery with any data it gathers. Make sure it swings by the Salamander system.”

  “Premdor.”

  “Yeah, there. How many message drones do we carry?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Really? That many?”

  “I wouldn’t lie about such a thing.”

  Straker stopped and fixed Zaxby with a glare. “What would you lie about?”

  “Perhaps now is not the time for that conversation.”

  “Right. Anyway, package up a duplicate drone to go straight to Crossroads, and then return here after it’s broadcast a few times. That’ll get the word out. The Conglomerate might even take a hand, if they consider this a serious disruption of business.”

  “Drones away. Now may we discuss why we’re doing this? How will it get Carla Engels and our other people back?”

  Mara swung her seat around. “We’re doing this to help good people against bad people, Zaxby. Simple as that.”

  “Do we have a policy on who are good and bad people, Mara Straker? Perhaps a handy reference guide? And, I return to my question—why is a mercenary unit intervening in a conflict without being asked? Or paid? How does this get our people back?”

  Straker grinned wolfishly. “Who said we wouldn’t get paid?”

  “Ah. I thought you were reverting to your foolishly altruistic ways.”

  “Let’s just say my altruism has turned pragmatic ever since we Breakers ended up on our own. See if you can get me an FTL comlink to the Humbar government—their highest authority, whatever that is.”

  “That would be Herd Alpha Bull Bussek.” Zaxby worked his controls and spoke Ruxin into his comlinks for several minutes while Straker paced with growing impatience. “I have Herd Alpha Cow Bussek on the comlink, translated audio only.”

  “Did you say cow?” Straker asked.

  “It’s a literal translation. There is no better appellation in Earthan. She is a senior official. D
o you wish me to delay for an education on Humbar sociopolitical structure, or shall we simply speak to her?”

  “Put her on,” Straker growled. “Madam Bussek, this is General Derek Straker of Straker’s Breakers. We would like to offer our military services to the Humbar at standard Conglomerate price structures.”

  “We accept in principle, Herd Bull Straker,” came the odd, slow-speaking translated voice. “Please initiate defensive hostilities on our behalf as soon as possible. Transmit your proposal and we shall review it. We remind you that a conquered system is unable to pay.”

  “That’s why we’ll expect half up front. Straker out.”

  “Standard rates?” Zaxby said. “I withdraw my admiration. We have them over the proverbial barrel. You could have asked triple rates for speedy and effective intervention, with full indemnification for all our losses.”

  “Zaxby, we have to get paid, but I’m not going to screw over people who’ve always treated us fairly. We’ll get compensated, but this could be a really good chance to establish an actual alliance, not just a trade relationship. The Humbar as a species aren’t aggressive, so who better?”

  “Ah. Long-term thinking. Excellent. I didn’t know you had it in you.” Zaxby slapped his subtentacles together in a quiet, sarcastic clapping motion.

  “Me too, Derek,” Mara said, clapping her hands more sincerely. “Maybe you’re not such a bonehead.”

  Steiner chuckled, then froze his face as Straker pointed a finger at him with a smile and said, “You don’t have the asshole pass, Sergeant.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Okay,” Straker continued, “we’re now provisionally under contract. Mara, review a standard mercenary agreement, adapt it to this situation, and transmit it to the Humbar. Zaxby, what does Redwolf have to screw with our new enemies?”

  “We have a little of everything. One shipkiller missile with a big nuke. One antimatter float mine. Your choice of beam types—laser, graser, maser, particle, heat, EMP, and a couple others the brainiacs can tell you about.”

  “Grav-beam?”

  “A tiny one. But we do have an excellent grav-blocker.”

  “Railgun?”

  “A little one. Nothing big on this ship but the egos, yet we seem to have one of everything. Frank Murdock likes to play with his toys, and he’s been using this sloop as an operational testbed for combat systems. There are several other pieces of tech aboard that may come in army.”

  “Army?” Straker asked.

  Zaxby waved his limbs. “As I have no hands, ‘come in handy’ makes no sense. Nor does ‘tentacle-y’ in Earthan. Thus, arm-y. Army.”

  Straker strangled a chuckle. “That’s some of the worst humor I’ve ever heard. Back to the people that will be trying to kill us in a few minutes—what can we do to hurt them without getting dead?”

  Mara zoomed the main screen in on a ship, recognizably Arattak, but larger, with a fatter shape and two pointed ends rather than one, like a pair of cones mashed together. “Command ship. Flagship, you could say. It’s staying back from the fight with the Humbar, and there’s plenty of comms traffic with their own ships—and with the Korven frigates. Biggest bang for our buck, I’d say.”

  “Can we make an underspace run?” Straker asked.

  “No—these ships keep shields up all the time,” Mara said, “and shields extend into underspace.”

  “But grav-beams go through shields. Do we have good schematics of that flagship?”

  “Again no…but I can make some pretty good guesses based on what we know of their usual ships. Our best shot is to target the grav-beam’s focus on their fusion core and try to destabilize their magnetic bottle. If we can do that, the fusion chamber might rupture and cause catastrophic damage—or at least they’d lose main power.”

  “Set it up.”

  Zaxby played his board like a concert organist. “I’m programming the SAI for skim mode and automatic weapons fire. I’ll send us in a fast pass across the Arattak flagship’s stern.”

  The ship went chill and the minutes ticked by as they approached the battle, skimming in and out of underspace, surfacing for fractions of a second in order to update their plots while remaining stealthy. The enemy fleet had the Humbar pinned against a low, small moon of the gas giant, a moon rich with mining and fuel processing. Its long hydrogen siphon, one which used to hang hundreds of kilometers down into the gas giant’s atmosphere, had been sliced off and its remnants lay in giant, limp folds on the moon’s surface. Other than that, damage to the facilities seemed minimal. Obviously, the attackers wanted to capture the valuable complexes.

  That restraint protected some of the close-in beam batteries, but not the ones set farther away from the industry, which were being hammered by railgun fire. That was the problem with fixed weapons platforms—fast, cheap, dumb projectiles could be fired at them from long range.

  The Humbar ships—heavily armed and armored, slow like their owners—maneuvered in a phalanx, a herd perhaps, trying to use massed beam fire and often their own hulls to intercept the projectiles. They stolidly accepted the impacts, but to Straker, the problem was clear. They weren’t able to hit back in any meaningful way. They fired accurate shots now and again with their beams, but they couldn’t hurt the Arattak vessels from long range, and the Korven ships stayed farther back, ready to bring in their ground troops when their allies eventually wore down the Humbar.

  And the Humbar had already withdrawn several ships because of severe damage. Those hovered above the industry, taking advantage of the enemy unwillingness to destroy what they came to capture and steal.

  “How long will it take for the Humbar to lose?” Straker asked as Zaxby lined up for the run on the flagship.

  Zaxby opened his mouth but Mara beat him to the answer. “About six more hours.”

  “Our fleet will be too late,” Straker said.

  “Yes, for H-5, but not for the inner, populated worlds. Beginning the final run.”

  There wasn’t much for Straker to see except the SAI’s representations synthesized from observations and predictions—the Arattak flagship growing larger and larger as the Redwolf approached at high speed. It looked like they were heading straight for it, but the centering pip and converging lines of the ship’s course on the piloting screen intersected just off the enemy stern.

  The actual attack was over in a fraction of a second as they flashed past. The ship shook. “Turbulence from bleedover shock,” Zaxby said in response to Straker’s unspoken question.

  “Did we hurt them?” he asked.

  Zaxby surfaced the ship to get a good reading. A moment later the aft-facing vid sensor showed the enemy flagship—or what was left of it. Its stern was wrecked, the damaged hull streaming gasses and smoke from plasma fires, fuelled by leaking oxygen.

  “Nice work,” Straker said.

  “But now they know we’re here.” Mara pointed at the squadron of a dozen Korven that began sweeping the area with the aid of sensor drones, obviously looking for the attacker. A threesome of Arattak frigates moved to assist the damaged flagship.

  “Skimming again,” Zaxby said as he accelerated away from the questing drones. “They know we’re out here, but they haven’t locked on. We need to keep it that way.”

  Straker paced. “We can’t think defensively. Come on, what can we do to disrupt them and buy the Humbar time?”

  The others remained silent, thinking. Straker figured they’d come up with at least one idea, but they still seemed reticent. “Come on, people. We must be able to do something.”

  “We can do many things,” Zaxby said eventually, “but all are either ineffective, or extremely risky, with little real payoff. We struck our best blow. Their attacks against the Humbar have slackened—but now their fleet is alerted. We are one small ship.”

  Straker snapped his fingers. “Come on, come on. You said Murdock had crazy experimental tech aboard. Let’s use it. Come up with something.”

  “As you wish.”


  Chapter 4

  Chiara and Loco. Rainbow Indentured Contractors market.

  The open-air Rainbow IC market was situated on a medium-sized water planet, near the equator on an island in the middle of a vast ocean. Its hazy atmosphere and humidity created a greenhouse effect that kept the temperature well above what was comfortable for humans. The heat hit Loco like a blast of steam as he stepped from the open portal onto the wharf where the Cassiel was docked like an oceangoing ship.

  Chiara gave him a not-so-gentle shove from behind to get him out of the doorway, and then she sealed up the ship. She was dressed in her freebooter outfit, and Loco had on a similar rig—blades and firearms of various sorts locked into holsters and sheaths. As he looked over the crowds thronging the adjacent market, everyone similarly festooned with firepower, he suddenly wished for a battlesuit—its armor, its weaponry, and best of all, its cooled interior.

  Once off the wharf and into the market, colorful canopies, awnings and freestanding roofs provided shade from the blazing sun above—usually for the buyers, sometimes for the merchandise. It wasn’t as bad as Loco had feared, at least on the surface. The Contractors, some free, others in smart cuffs or control collars, while generally miserable, didn’t seem actively abused.

  He stopped in front of a lineup of humanoids in scanty, gaudy, revealing clothes, who writhed sinuously if unenthusiastically upon a low stage for the passing onlookers. One woman stepped nearer, staring boldly at him as she pulled open her vest to reveal four pert, perfectly formed breasts. “Buy my contract, Manager,” she said in a throaty contralto.

  Her plea seemed genuine. Even a Contractor had hope for a better life. Perhaps especially a Contractor.

  Chiara elbowed him. “Don’t gawk like a rube. Put on your tough-guy face.”

  “Yeah, right. Sorry.”

  Suddenly he felt a tug at his waist and saw Chiara move, drawing a blade and striking. His combat instincts kicked in and his blaster was in his hand as he turned to see a slight, rodent-like biped hissing and trying to close the bone-deep wound in its forearm with its other paw. Others around drew back slightly, placing hands on their own weapons, but nobody seemed perturbed, and the wounded creature ducked and scampered off into the crowd.