“What went wrong?”
“I didn’t expect us to go to war, for a start. That caused a few little problems with our plans to get offworld in a hurry, and that damned fool Klein decided to try and smuggle himself to Mars rather than exercising a little patience. The Orbital Patrol caught him, and he sang like a soprano to save his own damned hide.”
“No deal?”
“Too much publicity by that point, and Klein gave most of it for free, anyway.” He paused, then said, “Never mind the Intelligence deal. I’m pretty sure I can manage most of it myself, and it’s not as though we won’t have transport to take us anywhere we want when this is over. As I said, I’m the careful type. I like to have my escape route planned out. I also dislike being betrayed, and it was taking someone’s word that got me in this mess in the first place.”
“You want to know where my loyalties lie,” Corrigan said.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure I can guess that much. Your reputation precedes you. I know what you did, and you had a far worse deal than I did. I also know that you’re going to be loyal to the Republic and to the Fleet, at least for the duration of the war. That much I can accept. What I want to know is whether you’ll be as loyal to your crew.”
“Not even a question. And while you are right about my loyalties, rest assure that they come to an end as soon as this war is over.”
With a thin smile, Dixon replied, “Somehow, I doubt that, but that’s a discussion we can have another time.” Holding out his hand, he said, “I think you just got yourself a second-in-command.”
“Thanks,” Corrigan said, shaking the proffered hand. “If there’s any special equipment you’re going to need, then…”
“No point,” Dixon replied. “I won’t be able to draw anything I need from the Fleet Stores anyway. Avenger’s got some good electronic workshop space, so my team and I should be able to build most of what I need, and there are a few neutral ports we can hit for the rest. That ought to be our first priority, by the way. You’d be surprised where my travels have taken me over the years.”
“Not as surprised as you might think. It’s one of the reasons I hired you. Believe it or not, I did my homework. Speaking of which, I assume you left a few back doors in Avenger’s systems when you worked on the security software?”
“Of course I did.” With a sigh, he said, “We’re going to be doing this the hard way, aren’t we.”
“Let’s just say that we’re not going to be requesting departure clearance from the dockmaster when we leave. This mission is top secret and then some. And the only people who are going to know the specifics of what we’re doing will be along for the ride. If the Belters realize what we’re up to, we’re dead. I’m hoping we can convince them that we’re a blockade runner.”
“Then we’re going to need a cargo,” Dixon said. “Leave it with me, skipper. I’ve got this.” He paused, then added, “I presume I can break a few more laws, right?”
“Right now, what have we got to lose?” Corrigan replied. “Let’s get to work.”
Chapter 4
Admiral Alvarez had found the most deserted, dilapidated spaceport Corrigan had ever seen, a bare patch of aged plasticrete with a few half-ruined structures running along one side, a pair of tents with essential launch equipment fluttering in the breeze. To the north, the wasteland that had once been the home of fifty million people still faintly glowed in the gloom, and the constant tick-tick-tick of the radiation detectors was a constant presence.
“I guess we’d better not waste any more time,” Corrigan said. “If the wind changes direction it’ll bring this mission to and end before it starts.” His crew was already waiting on the shuttle, a borrowed civilian craft with the livery of one of the lesser-known shell companies operated by Fleet Intelligence prepared for launch. Alvarez frowned, shaking her head.
“Level with me, Bill. Is this asking too much?”
“Hell yes,” Corrigan replied. “Which does not mean for one moment that I don’t think it can be done. I’ve no idea just how much of an impact one ship can have on the Belters, but we’ll find a way to make our presence known as soon as we head out into the dark.”
“You’ll be completely on your own,” she said. “We’re pulling the last ships back to cislunar space tomorrow. Aside from the Mars and Venus convoys, there will be no other Terran ships out where you’re going. We’ve only got the vaguest idea of what you’re going to find when you get out into deep space. Everything beyond three or four parsecs is pretty much confined to rumor, speculation and guesswork.”
“Meaning that we get to pioneer new ground, and I don’t have to listen to some half-baked moron with stars on his shoulders tell me what to do,” Corrigan replied. “I’ve got no problem with that, Admiral.”
“After what happened, I suppose that’s only to be expected. We’re not all like Klein. Some of us occasionally have a good idea or two.”
“If you’re counting this as a good idea…,” Corrigan began, before shaking his head. “Anything else before we leave?”
“One last thing,” she replied, fumbling in her pocket before withdrawing a pair of credit chits, one gold, one red. “Ten million Republic credits, two million Marsbucks. That’s about as much as I could sneak out of the black budget without anyone asking too many questions. I suspect you’ll get more use out of the Martian scrip than Terran currency, but I figured you might as well have both. Put it to good use, and keep your receipts.”
“If a few dodgy expense claims are the worst thing to come out of this mission, Admiral, we’ll consider ourselves lucky.” He looked up at the stars, smiled, then said, “For what it’s worth, thank you.”
“You want to pay me back?” she asked. “Just do one thing. Succeed.”
“We’ll do our best,” he replied. He paused for a moment, then snapped a salute with parade-ground precision, somehow sensing that it was the right thing to do. Alvarez returned the salute with a smile, then turned to the launch crew.
“Right, everyone, start packing up. We’re moving out. I want all this equipment back at base by dawn, and if anyone decides to talk about what happened here tonight to anyone, they’ll be counting snowflakes at McMurdo for the next ten years.”
Corrigan climbed into the shuttle, taking one last look at the wasteland beyond. He knew the other reason Alvarez had brought him here. The Nationalist Wars had left vast swathes of the planet in ruins, uninhabitable for centuries to come despite all the technological progress they had attained. If he were to walk only a dozen miles towards the ruins of Chicago, he’d be a dead man walking.
This was the scale of devastation that awaited Earth once more, if the Belters had their way. Vast craters where thriving cities used to be, millions of dead, and as many wounded, ten times as many homeless, all the progress of the last half-century wiped away over the course of an afternoon.
He couldn’t permit that to happen. Couldn’t even take the risk. Alvarez knew full well the message she needed to send to him, and he received it loud and clear. As the airlock door slid shut, he looked around the cabin, at Dixon and his team, and the solemn Volkov sitting alone at the rear. Whether they would ever admit it or not, they felt it too, just as she did.
“You coming?” Novak asked, and with a nod, Corrigan walked into the cockpit, sliding nimbly into the co-pilot’s seat as Novak completed the pre-flight checks, a series of green lights indicating their clearance for departure.
“Everything ready?”
“Just about,” she replied. “We’re not bothering with any tedious bureaucracy like informing Orbital Control of our intentions, though I’ve got a transponder rigged to kick in once we actually make orbit. It’ll fool a cursory inspection, and there’s so much traffic up there, nobody’s going to pay attention to one boring little shuttlecraft bound for Gateway Station.”
“Then by all means, let’s get this show on the road.”
“You almost used my rank,” Novak said.
“Hard to get out
of the habit. You’ll have to forgive me if I slip.”
“I may never let you hear the end of it,” she quipped. “Engaging engines for primary launch sequence start.” The thrusters roared, and the shuttle rose from the surface, kicking up a cloud of dust on the battered launching pad. A single figure, Admiral Alvarez, watched them depart, and Corrigan knew well enough why. She was longing to go with them. This mission was her idea, her project, and she’d been forced to hand it over to someone else. Bad enough to spring half a dozen murderers and criminals from a maximum-security detention facility. Worse for one of Earth’s senior flag officers to suddenly vanish one night.
“Course computed and programmed, main engines firing,” Novak said, and Corrigan felt the familiar force of acceleration pushing him back into the couch, an almost welcome feeling after the long months he had been incarcerated. When he’d been locked up, the war was in its first days. Now it was damn near over, and Earth had damn near lost.
It had to be worse, perhaps far worse than Alvarez had indicated. This mission was an act of sheer desperation and they both knew it. That only made it more important that he should work out some sort of a miracle, find a way to make the mission work. As the shuttle raced over the terrain, the stars shining on the moonlit night, he looked down at the landscape one more time, somehow feeling that it would be his last. Battered and scarred it might be, but it was still Earth, still his homeworld, and no matter where he ended up in the galaxy, a part of it would always be with him.
“Let me know if you run into any problems,” Corrigan said. “And call me when we pass escape velocity. We might have to talk our way onto the orbital network, and don’t take this the wrong way, but I didn’t pick you for your skills as a diplomat.”
She cracked a smile, then said, “There’s an outside chance that we might just get along, Corrigan. An outside chance.”
With a smile, he made his way back into the cabin, dropping down in front of Dixon and asking, “Any thoughts?”
“Plenty, but I assume you’re hoping that I might come up with something at least vaguely focused on the mission,” Dixon replied. “We’re going to have to gather some up-to-date intelligence if we’re going to get anywhere out there. I’ve looked over everything Fleet Intelligence gave us, and it’s not worth very much. I complied some of it myself.”
“I thought you worked in Security?” Volkov asked.
“Security and Intelligence are very close friends,” Dixon said.
“Where do we get what we need?” asked Corrigan.
“Prospero Station,” Dixon replied. “It’s an old mining facility out at Sigma Draconis. Theoretically, it’s mostly mothballed, but in practice, a lot of criminal syndicates use it as a base. I presume they’ve paid off the right people to keep themselves off the grid. I’ve been out there a couple of times.”
“That’s a long way from home,” Collins mused. “Right on the far side of explored space.”
“The Belters have probably pushed those boundaries out a lot more over the years,” Corrigan replied. “Never mind the reports and the guesswork. I spent eighteen months with the Interstellar Squadron, and we never went out further than Barnard’s Star. What do you think we’re going to find?”
“Frontier territory from about five to ten parsecs, getting more lawless the further out we get. The Belters focus most of their attention on key resource sites. We’re going to struggle to get close to those, not unless we can think of some sort of distraction. There are a few dozen lost colonies out there, and they might be a good place to start.”
“Lost colonies?” Volkov asked.
“The warp drive is two centuries old, Vlad, and for a lot of that time there were quite a few people with enough money to buy a couple of warp ships and run for the stars. Take it from someone intimately familiar with the Archives, they’re not worth a damn thing after about 2030. Too many systems failures, too much security. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Belters don’t have a completely clear picture of what’s out there.”
Nodding, Corrigan added, “It’s a big galaxy. Thousands of stars within range, and only a few hundred of them yet visited. There’s a lot of room to hide out there.” He paused, then said, “Once we get ourselves established, prepare whatever sort of a dossier you can on Prospero. I don’t remember seeing anything about it in the Intelligence reports…”
“Not a surprise,” Dixon said. “It’s one of those little secrets that aren’t put on the books. It’s not as though anyone has cared much about deep space anyway. It was always a struggle to get funding for interstellar projects, aside from the resource sites at Proxima and Barnard’s. Hell, if you served on the Interstellar Squadron, you know that better than me.”
“Only too well,” Corrigan said. “Anything else you know that I don’t?”
“I hardly know where to begin,” Dixon quipped. “You got a couple of spare months? Or years?”
“Thank you very much,” Corrigan replied.
“We’re breaking atmosphere,” Novak said, calling from the cockpit.
“Coming,” Corrigan said, returning to his seat. He looked out over the surface of Earth, the beautiful blue and green orb slowly moving below them, periodically disfigured by brown and grey but still an overwhelming sight, then looked up at the stars, unable to keep a smile from his space. Despite the circumstances, despite the risks, it still felt good to be back amongst the stars once more. Twenty-four hours ago he’d been condemned to two decades in an underground vault. Now he was about to assume command of a starship again, a new mission, a new life.
“We should be appearing on the orbital tracking network any second now,” Novak said. “I hope you’ve got some sort of really good idea in mind. I twisted the tail on our trajectory track to make it look like we lifted from Detroit Central. There’s a hell of a storm over there right now, and that might have masked us a little.” She paused, smiled, then said, “All these years, and nobody really trusts the automated systems to work right.”
“Good old-fashioned paranoia,” Corrigan replied. “Works every time.” He reached for a microphone, and said, “Shuttle One-Niner to Gateway Station. Shuttle One-Niner to Gateway Station. Wake up, damn it. We still haven’t got our approach clearance, and we’ll be knocking on your primary airlock in twenty minutes.”
“Interesting angle,” Novak quipped.
“First rule of combat tactics. Throw your enemy on the defensive. Works exceptionally well when you are fighting bureaucracy.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
“Shuttle One-Niner, this is Gateway Station. We have no record of your transit and manifest, and you are therefore ordered to return to the surface until we can…”
“Damn it, Gateway, can’t someone up there do their job for once! I hate to be the one to break it to you, but there’s a war on, and I’m carrying essential equipment for the outfitting of three scout cruisers, as well as a computer security team that were dragged out of bed far too early in the morning to get to work with some screwup one of your maintenance techs managed to make. Do you really want me to head back down to the surface and pass your name onto Commodore Sanders? Really?”
“Wait one, Shuttle One-Niner.”
“Commodore Sanders?” Novak asked. “Who the hell is he?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Corrigan replied. “I’m just hoping nobody working the desk tonight has either.”
“Brilliant,” the pilot said, shaking her head. “Just brilliant.”
“I’m glad you approve,” he said.
“Shuttle One-Niner, this is Gateway Station,” the duty controller replied. “You have clearance to approach, but upon arrival you will have to talk to the Deck Officer and submit for a full inspection. Please transmit all details of your intended activity on the station for processing before you dock.”
“Roger that, Gateway, will comply,” Corrigan replied. “Tell them to put the coffee on. It’s been a long day. Shuttle One-Niner out.” He snapped a
control, replaced the microphone in its cradle, and said, “Human nature. Works every time.” He reached for the sensor controls, and added, “Let’s take a look where we’re going.”
Avenger flickered into life on the viewscreen, hanging in her docking cradle. The twin warp rings flickered crimson, charging in preparation for departure, and the running lights twinkled in the darkness, as though inviting them on board.
“Not bad,” Corrigan said. “Not bad at all.”
“I hope it’s a damn sight better than that,” Novak replied. “If we pull this off, we’re going to be calling this ship home for a long time.”
“We’ll pull it off,” he said, a smile on his face.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Novak answered, looking across at another monitor. “I thought Alvarez had arranged for the maintenance crew to be over on the station by now?”
“So did I.”
“Then care to explain why there’s a transfer shuttle docked at one of the lateral ports, in the middle of a pre-flight sequence?”
“That’s easy. Someone up there hates me.” He sighed, then said, “This doesn’t change anything.”
“If the maintenance crew is still on board…”
“Then we’ll just have to make sure they don’t represent a problem.” Turning to the cabin, he said, “Dixon, Singh, get suited up. I’ve got a job for you.”
Chapter 5
Since the onset of war, Gateway Station, once a quiet, backwater posting, had transformed into one of the most important military facilities in the Republic. In peacetime, the bulk of ship maintenance was handled by civilian contractors, a piece at a time. The vast shipyards of Gateway Station were extremely expensive to operate, mostly kept in mothballs aside from a few experimental prototypes, anything secret enough that it couldn’t be risked in civilian hands.
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