Genrenauts: Season One

by Michael R. Underwood

  “Ready with the stick. Splicing transponder now.” Roman reached into the morass, working by touch. He found an open space on a circuit board, then held the position as he twisted to the side, resting on his hip, and brought the hand with the transponder in to find the slot. There was no way he could get any light in there, so he worked by touch, rotating the piece and slotting it in. He heard the soft click, then leaned out and shone the light on it.

  “Looks good,” Roman said. Any problems?”

  “Two hours, fifty-seven minutes. Nicely done.”

  “Save the celebratory shot until we blow by their security.”

  “Will do. Want the wheel back?”

  “Need to shake out my hands. Why don’t you pull your weight for a little while?”

  “Remind me to never let you take lead on another mission unless I can help it.”

  “I forgot to remind you the last time you asked, so don’t hold your breath. I’m going to take a nap.”

  Roman headed aft, rearranging his duffel into a pillow. “Yell if something breaks, okay?”

  Chapter Eight: Hide and Go Zap!

  Just under three hours later, their ship reached the rings containing the Dark Star’s station.

  The coordinates placed the base in the middle of the ring, giving them natural cover and concealment from casual sensor sweeps and pursuit.

  But with Zoor’s coordinates, they practically had an invitation.

  The yellow-orange planet overwhelmed their viewscreen, rimmed by a planetary ring. Seen from a distance, it looked like a rocky beach at the edge of a spherical sand castle.

  Roman, back in the pilot’s seat after his power-nap, eased the ship in through some outliers of the ring, knocked off-course somewhere along the line, but not out of the planet’s orbit.

  “Keep that sensor suite working. I need to know as soon as they see us. There’ll be more than one ship this time, I guarantee.”

  Several minutes later, as Roman flew just above the plane of the ring, the sensors chirped positive contact.

  King read the screen. “Three contacts, each around fifty thousand klicks from the base. All the same configuration as our last friend.”

  “Three? I can do three,” Roman said, pushing the throttle a bit higher. Especially if the IFF worked.

  “They’re holding formation for now.”

  “Even if the IFF fails, they’ll likely stay together, let me come to them. They’ll know the rings better than I do. But we’ve got a few surprises of our own. Activating stealth package.” Roman tapped through the menus, and their ship disappeared from all conventional sensors. “The outfitter said the cloak should hold for ten minutes. So I’m betting that means we’ll get maybe five.” “Sounds about right. You bought this from a Nai?” King asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Five minutes it is. And we are four minutes, thirty seconds from the base’s coordinates.”

  Roman held his trajectory, using a soft touch on the controls to limit their heat signature, only small bursts from the maneuvering thrusters.

  As they came up on the first ship, its orbit bringing it within laser range, Roman said, “Taking the opening shot. See if you can jam the other two while we’re at it.”

  King worked the controls, then made a constrained growl of frustration. “The rings here are going to make that a lot harder than around the ship graveyard.”

  “Do what you can. Laser spooling up.”

  Here we go. Roman moved one hand from the wheel to the firing stick. As soon as he started locking on, the ship would know. He led the shot, focused on their arc of movement, and shot without a lock. It was like hip-firing a sniper-rifle at a hundred yards. There were maybe three Genrenauts worldwide who could make the shot.

  Roman was one of them.

  The shot arced after the ship once it’d already turned its focus away, and snuck up on it, shearing off a wing. The ship went into a spiral and crashed into a nearby asteroid in the ring.

  “One down. Now to see if we can pick up the other two in the confusion.”

  “They’re transmitting an SOS back to base. Jamming is doing bugger-all. They know we’re here.”

  “Copy that. Coming up on the second ship.”

  Roman started to line up his next shot. The angle on this one was no good for a manual shot, however; the deflection was too high. He’d need a lock, or he’d need to be much closer.

  And so he waited as the ships cut through the space that separated them, his trigger finger waiting, whole body settling into the ship, the controls, the anticipation.

  The second merc fighter broke right and started coming around at a different angle.

  Right toward them.

  “Stealth package is down,” King said.

  Roman gave a gallows grin. “That’s the problem with pessimism. Even when I’m right, I still hate the result.”

  “At least it dropped now and not when you’ve just flown yourself into their crosshairs.”

  Roman banked and wove, moving into the ring to take cover as well. Now the fight would get truly interesting, the proximity of the asteroids limiting their speed and maneuvering. Moments like this were what he was born for.

  “That’s the spirit. Keep an eye on the other one for me, okay?”

  “Third ship is at ten o’clock, thirty thousand klicks out.”

  And so they went into cat-and-mouse mode. Roman cut in and out of the ring, trying to throw off the mercenaries as he closed the distance. But the mercs played their home-field advantage, using hiding places and the cover from moonlets to throw him off.

  He caught the second ship banking around an asteroid, trying to flank the Genrenauts, and sheared the merc ship in half with his lasercannon.

  With one down, the merc ship vanished off of their sensors, finding a choice hiding spot somewhere else.

  So Roman made for the merc base, weaving around and through the asteroid, the shattered portions of the planet that had been broken off but never truly lost to the yellow-orange body that loomed large above them all.

  As they came around a large asteroid, time slowed as Roman saw the third merc ship, perfectly positioned to watch the corner. The mercs launched a cluster of missiles directly into their path. That same time dilation gave Roman the edge he needed to pound the attitude thrusters, giving them a burst of movement “up.”

  The twenty missiles passed beneath them, detonating an asteroid to their aft. But Roman wasn’t able to re-fire the opposite thrusters in time to avoid slamming the top of the ship into another asteroid. The whole ship shook, making the never-fun sound of folding metal.

  “Dammit,” Roman said, banking to follow. He spat laser fire after the merc, but they got behind cover. Roman pushed out of the ring, settling the ship with a view back to the asteroids.

  “What’s the damage?” he asked.

  “Moderate structural damage to the top of the ship, including the hatch. The next time we open the ship up might be the last, unless we can make some spot repairs. And the sensor suite is damaged. No more jamming, even if the ring wasn’t in the way. Other systems are nominal. Though we won’t be able to take another collision like that.”

  “What’s our position relative to the base?”

  “Two hundred thousand klicks out, with the last ship pinging somewhere in between.” “I’m going to try to make a break for the base, flush the third one out of hiding.” “Roger that,” King said, working the sensors.

  Roman raced along the underside of the planetary ring, chewing up the empty space, until they were within a minute’s journey of the base.

  And there was the third ship, poking out of the ring to get a sensor ping. The ship disappeared back into the ring, a spider beckoning a fly to come into its web.

  Rather than that, Roman opened fire on the asteroids around the third merc ship.

  The detonations and ricocheting from the laser fire started a chain reaction, ripples moving throughout that portion of the ring. The standard moveme
nts and positions of the asteroids spoiled, the home field advantage would be all but gone.

  Roman pushed the ship forward, moving into the chaos.

  “You are aware that this is a terrible idea, yes?” King said. “This will be a more chaotic killing ground than anything on our simulations.”

  “Then I’ll be right at home,” Roman said, leaning into his nature as a being of the Action genre. This region drew enough from that tradition that his narrative weight bent the universe to his will.

  Sometimes.

  And playing those odds was part of the entry fee. Roman scanned the field of vision, calculating the vectors, the future collisions, the rebounds, keeping the projected position of the merc base in mind.

  And he threw their ship into the morass, once again becoming the hunter.

  The third ship spooked, or got cocky, showing itself in a field cleared out by Roman’s pool break maneuver.

  Roman opened fire, and then kept on, spewing bursts and filling the void between them with death. The merc took a sharp dive to clear the field of fire.

  As expected.

  Roman hit two attitude thrusters at once, flipping the ship almost end-over-end.

  “Warn me when you do that!” King said, one arm braced on the side of the ship. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the senior Genrenaut looking a bit green around the gills.

  “Sorry, boss.” Roman took the firing stick again, narrowed in, and squeezed off another triplet.

  And hit.

  The cannon fire shredded the ship, leaving them alone with the disturbed planetary ring and waiting mercenary base, where he had no doubt the rest of the Dark Stars were armed to the teeth.

  “Plotting a course to the mercenary base. You want to start pulling out the guns?” “As long as you don’t pull another one of those Star Fury flips, we’ll be fine.” “Aye-aye,” Roman said, saluting as King unbuckled and headed astern.

  * * *

  Shirin gave Leah the rundown on Verene en-route to catch the ambassador.

  “The Verene are Jenr pleasure-dancers, trained the same way our geisha or courtesans were. Smart, inventive, and practically irresistible. In reality, more Jenr dynasties have been ruled by the concubines than the regents.”

  “Let’s hear it for Verene,” Leah said as the party packed into a transport tube.

  “We’ve got to get Bhean to break down and indulge, first, and this one’s all you—your plan, your execution. Just run it the way your new friend told you.”

  Given the fact that her friend had only said that the Verene were present and “attentive” during the negotiations, that left her feeling a bit out an airlock with a thin lifeline, but this was the job. Leah faded back to join the Verene.

  The quartet of Jenr dancers chatted companionably, wearing sheer shoulder throws, their gray loincloths, slippers, shoulder capelets, and nothing else. Each one of them was a four-armed Adonis, sculpted abs, powerful arms and shoulders.

  “Hey guys, thanks for coming on such short notice. We’ve got to keep Bhean on the ship, or the Insterstellar Alliance falls apart. I’m going to be the lure, so I need you to watch me and then act when you see your opportunity. Shirin tells me you’re pros, so impress me. This isn’t just about a paycheck, we’re talking interstellar peace and all that good stuff.”

  The Verene nodded. One, who in boy-band shorthand she couldn’t help but describe as the Bad Boy, said, “We’ve had assignations like this many a time, Terran. The labor guild stands to gain a huge amount of business with this alliance. We will follow your lead.”

  Leah winked at the dancers and walked ahead to Shirin. “I’m going over the top. You bring me back down if it looks like I’m going too far. Ready to be loud and a bit obnoxious?”

  “Lead on, Probie.”

  * * *

  Leah and Shirin caught the Nbere ambassador just as he was about to board his ship, retinue in tow. Shirin had paid off the station crew to delay the embarkation, which gave them time to pull into line behind them.

  “Is the heating over-clocked in this sector, or is it just me?” Leah asked Shirin, her voice raised for the ambassador’s benefit.

  “Don’t tell me this is your first time on a Pleasure Cruise,” Shirin said, playing in to the bit.

  “I’ve had private dances, but there’s just so many muscles,” she said, fanning herself.

  The Nbere turned again to watch them and their retinue.

  “What is the delay?” asked one of Nbere’s retinue, leaning out of line to see the station staff talking among themselves, as if confused or conflicted about some point of order.

  “If we have to wait much longer, I’ll be tempted to just take them back to my quarters and have our own cruise,” Leah said.

  Shirin feigned scandal. “How could we?”

  “What? They’re paid for, and they’re very eager.” Leah put her hand on the bicep of the lower left arm of one of the Jenr. “This one auditioned for the job. He’s very … limber.”

  “I do say, woman,” the Nbere huffed. “Do you need to flaunt them in public so?”

  The ambassador doth protest waaaay too much. The giant’s face was flushed, his voice shaky.

  He was a powder keg ready for a light. And in this case, the light was sexy four-armed blue boys.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Ambassador,” Leah said. “It’s just, this delay is so frustrating, and with these fine specimens here, I feel like Tantalus. You know our story of Tantalus?”

  The Nbere ambassador moved to the back of his party, putting him within arms’ reach of the

  Verene. “Of course. I’m well-versed in all Terran mythology.”

  “Then you must see what I mean. To have these kings among Jenr right. Here. At my fingertips, and to be held back by propriety?”

  “I mean, well, this is …” The ambassador was well and properly flustered. Now they just needed to allay his fears while fanning his desire.

  Leah felt a tall presence approach. And, cue the Boy Band.

  “You sound so stressed, Lord Ambassador? We are here, and we are most. Definitely. Willing.”

  The leader of the troupe joined the ruse, leaning into Bhean and brushing one hand across the Nbere’s beard.

  The four of them knew exactly what they were doing. The Verene were members of the station’s labor guild, which stood to gain a huge amount of standing and jurisdiction if the Alliance was sealed.

  Ambassador Bhean melted into the Jenr’s touch, then turned to his own attaché.

  “Chane, delay my flight. This travesty extends to the Terrans’ management of the station, and I won’t be made to wait for my own ship. They can call on us when they’ve sorted out their idiocy.”

  Bhean extended a massive hand to Leah. “Now, madam attachée, I would ask to impose upon your hospitality while we find better things to do during this most egregious delay.”

  “I would never call a chance to partake of the finer things in life an imposition, Ambassador. My apartment is this way. I’m sure that these fine specimens can help us unwind.”

  Bhean and the Jenr went ahead, the ambassador’s retinue hustling to keep pace. Shirin and Leah dropped back. Shirin offered a not-at-all subtle fist bump.

  “Hook, line, and sinker,” she said.

  “Those guys know what they’re doing,” Leah said, pulling on her collar.

  “Got to you, did they?”

  “The downside of throwing yourself into a role.”

  “I’m sure.” Shirin gave a knowing smile. The two women moved to the front, leading the party to their quarters in the diplomatic quarter through back channels that allowed for … discretion.

  But these Hail Mary saves were expensive. If the boys weren’t back when the deadlines they argued and bargained, wheeled and dealed for started to pop, all bets were off.

  * * *

  It seemed like the Dark Stars spent all of their money on fighters. The Genrenauts’ ship approached the merc base unmolested, the gray-and-silver bui
lding standing out from the yellow-orange of the moonlet it rested on.

  “Get that docking airlock open for me, kindly?” Roman asked, easing the ship in, bleeding throttle until he saw the way was open.

  “About that,” King said. “When we took the hit to the sensor suite, that’s one of the functions that went down. We’re not going to be able to just knock and get inside.” Roman cracked his neck, adjusting and stretching in his seat.

  “Then it looks like you’ll get to fire up the torch and cut us a way in. Moving up for hard seal.”

  “Acknowledge close for hard seal. Readying docking tube.” King worked the controls to extend the ship’s docking tube. Their ship could create a seal on a flat surface, good for salvage operations where the docking mechanism or airlocks in derelict ships—or in this case, unfriendly hideouts— were not functional or not responsive.

  Roman eased the ship in, keeping an eye out for laser turrets, proximity bombs, or anything else.

  But instead, he pulled the ship up and nailed a hard seal on the first try.

  “Piloting is a lot easier when no one is shooting at you.” Roman grinned. “Not as much fun, though. Hard seal confirmed.” He set all of the systems to standby, then diverted engines to sensors and climbed out of his chair.

  King had the acetylene torch in hand, face-shield down. “Ready torch. Unless you’d rather.” “Wouldn’t dare dream of denying you the fun.”

  The docking tube reached out from the undercarriage of their ship, showing the hull of the stillclosed base door, worn steel probably twelve inches thick.

  “Roger that. Torch going live,” King said.

  Roman turned away from the torch, pawing through his jacket until he found his welding goggles, which looked like classic swimming goggles, complete with plastic bands, but with blacked-out lenses.

  He turned and watched the senior Genrenaut start to cut a yard-wide circle in the base’s front door.

  King worked methodically, neither rushed nor laggardly, completing the circular cut.

  “’Ware the door,” King said, letting the cuts cool for a few seconds. He reached to the center of the circle formed by the cut, then pushed with one arm, keeping his center of balance behind the cut. It wouldn’t do to open the door and then fall right in behind it. Without a proper welcome, the airlock was probably depressurized or gravity-free.