by M. R. Forbes
"Understood." She put her bionic hand on his shoulder again. It purred against his skin. "Let me make it up to you."
She softened when she said it, just enough that there was no question as to what she was suggesting. The still-tipsy part of him was tempted, very tempted. He took her hand away again and stepped out from under the water. "No, thanks."
"Are you sure? No commitment, no emotional garbage. We don't get too many opportunities out here, and to be honest, the rest of the crew is too unstable to trust. You? You aren't like the rest of us." Her eyes fell to his midsection again. "I can see at least one part of you is saying yes."
He shook his head. "I think that part has gotten me in enough trouble already. Maybe some other time." He checked on his p-rat. Oh-three-hundred. "Briefing in three hours?"
"Yes, Captain," she said.
"I need to head down to medical, and then catch some shuteye. If you need to wake me up, do me a favor and spare the wire ties."
Mitchell grabbed a towel and left.
32
Mitchell arrived for the briefing at exactly oh-six-hundred, dressed in his grays, his body still recovering from the beating he had taken. The medi-bots had put his two fractured ribs back in place and injected him with painkillers, but there wasn't much they could do for the smoldering anger he was still feeling. He had accepted what Millie had said about how things worked on the Schism. That didn't mean he liked it.
The briefing room was located next to the hanger, across from the armory. It was a standard setup - enough chairs for a hundred people, a podium, and a holographic monitor up at the front, a UPA flag hanging in the rear. It was nowhere near full when he arrived, though he thought most of the souls on the ship were present save for Watson and Singh. There were still a number of faces he didn't recognize, and a few he had seen at the fight but not met.
He could feel their eyes on them when he stepped into the room. He could sense the hush in their conversations. He fought against the renewed feeling of embarrassment, pausing in the entrance and scanning them deliberately, making sure they knew he was sizing up every last one of them.
"Captain on deck," Cormac shouted from his place near the center of the room. There was a uniform thump as the entire room shifted to attention. For a second Mitchell thought it was for him. Then he felt a hand on his arm.
"Ares," Millie said. "I'm glad you could join us."
Mitchell looked at her over his shoulder. She was dressed in her full uniform again, her hair and makeup just so. Anderson was trailing behind her, his face bruised but otherwise intact. He caught Mitchell's eye with his own. There was no malice there, no anger. Maybe he had been hoping to win the fight, to prove something, but he had also accepted that he lost.
"Captain," Mitchell said, coming to attention.
"There's a seat next to Rain," she said, pointing over to the front corner where the other pilot was sitting.
"Yes, ma'am." Mitchell bowed slightly and took his place. Ilanka flashed him a smile as he sat.
"I'll keep this simple because I know your little brains can't handle too many big words," Millie said, gaining the podium.
Her left eye twitched, and the holographic projector switched on. Displaying on it was an image of a stardock - a massive, ringed and spoked station where starships rested at measured intervals like knobs on the wheel of an ancient sailing ship. It orbited a massive red and brown gas-giant as a world unto itself, an entire ecosystem devoted to the economy of starships, be it in refuel, repair, trade, or providing for the needs of the thousands of hands on board.
"This is SD Nine-Three. Also called Calypso, after the planet that it's orbiting. We're currently about three hours away from dropping from FTL nearby." A bright dot showed where they would fall out of hyperspace, a few hundred AU from the dock. "As you know, we undertook a small mining expedition about a week ago, in order to gather enough ore to pass a routine inspection and get the Schism cleared for hookup with the station."
The image on the projector faded out and was replaced with a new visual. Mitchell recognized the face immediately.
"This is the target," Millie said. "Alliance intelligence has it on good authority that Chancellor Ken and his retinue are scheduled to be carrying out an inspection on the dock, in preparation for its conversion to a military platform. Our mission is to make sure that doesn't happen."
Mitchell sat up straighter in his chair. Chancellor Ken was one of the top leaders of the Federation, famous for his aggressive rhetoric and war-mongering. If he was visiting the star dock, that mean the Schism was going to be falling out of hyperspace in Federation territory.
Millie seemed to notice his new level of alertness. Her eyes passed over him, and the hint of a smile played at the edge of her lips. "Command has ordered that we're to make an initial effort to capture the Chancellor. I don't think I need to tell you how valuable he would be to the Alliance as a hostage. Failing that, our objectives are, in order of value: assassinate Chancellor Ken, destroy his personal cruiser, disable the dock."
The image of the Chancellor was replaced with one of the Federation cruiser, a pill-shaped starship bristling with weaponry. While destroyers were more heavily armed, they were brawlers. Cruisers were quick and dirty, their usual assault vector being a drop from hyperspace to unload their heavy ordinance, and then a massive thrust to clear their initial drop location. Once the warheads hit their targets, the cruiser would go back into hyperspace and either rendezvous with the formation point of the attack group, or move away and return for a second run.
It was the starfighters that would work to keep the cruisers in line, using probabilistic models designed by top military intelligence to calculate the most likely assault vectors and arrange for a squadron or two to intercept the cruisers when they fell out of FTL. A starfighter at existing velocity could easily outpace a cruiser that had to thrust from "hyperdeath" - the relative standstill required before and after hyperspace travel. This allowed the pilots to fly rings around the cruiser, weakening shields, inflicting damage, or forcing it to launch its own smaller ships, which in turn served to prevent them from leaving the field.
"Sunny, you'll be leading the ghost team onto the station," Millie said. "I'm transferring your specific mission orders and data now." Mitchell glanced back, finding the petite woman with the black hair. She nodded almost imperceptibly, and then put her hand on the arm of the person sitting next to her, an unassuming, younger man with a mop of blonde hair and a sharp face. Was she Sunny, or was he?
"Shank, your grunts will be on standby for extraction, full exo. If things go bad in a hurry, you need to make sure the ghosts get back alive."
"Yes, ma'am," Shank said. Mitchell saw he was the big black man from the fight.
"Rain, you and Ares will be suited up and running hot. If this thing blows up, you can bet we'll be hit like a hornet in a beehive. The Schism only has a few fixed projectile positions, a couple of laser batteries, and minimal shields. We won't last two minutes against a Federation cruiser."
"Yes, Captain," Ilanka said.
"I'm transmitting mission data to the rest of you now. Most of you have done this before. You know the stakes." She turned her head, looking directly at Mitchell. "To be clear for the benefit of our newest member: my direct orders are to vaporize the Schism and send kill signals to all of the crew the moment I believe mission secrecy has been compromised. Remember, we don't exist, and nobody will miss us when we're gone."
Mitchell stared back at her, keeping his expression flat while he shivered on the inside. The truth of his situation hadn't truly hit him when M had removed his helmet and showed himself a clone. It hadn't struck him when he spent eight days in confinement. It hadn't sunk in before, during, or after the initiation. Only now, only after hearing those words, did his mind finish the calculation.
This was his life for the rest of his life, for as long as it lasted.
What surprised him was that after everything that had happened surrounding the Sh
ot, he was almost happy about it.
"Yes, Firedog?" Millie said, looking back at Cormac. The private must have knocked her p-rat with a question.
"I couldn't help but notice we're launching this little bit of mayhem on a Federation dock. I know Sunny looks just like one of them bastards, but Shadow is going to stand out like a boil on my cock. How exactly are they going to infiltrate security to get a shot at the Chancellor?"
"Shut it, Dog," Shank said, turning towards his soldier. "You know that's need-to-know, and you don't."
"I know, but-"
"I said shut it."
Cormac lowered his eyes. "Yes, sir."
Millie turned her attention to Ilanka. "Yes, Rain?"
"I just wanted to publicly welcome Ares to the squad, especially as my wingmate." She turned her head to look Mitchell in the eye. "It's an honor to fly with you, Captain."
"Thank you," Mitchell said.
"Yes, Captain, welcome to the Riggers," Millie said. "Here's to good hunting on your first mission with us."
The response from the gathered crew was uniform. "Riggers! Riigg-aaah," they all cried as one. Mitchell noticed even Anderson joined in.
It seemed maybe there was something to the so-called team-building exercise after all.
33
"I hate this part," Ilanka said.
Mitchell tilted his head over to where she was sitting, strapped into the cockpit of the Piranha. He raised his hand up so she could see him waving at her from his own position in the cockpit of the S-17.
"If we're lucky, we'll get to spend a nice evening hanging from the launcher."
Millie had decided the two pilots would be running hot, which meant that the fighters had been hooked up to the ship's launch system and suspended from the ceiling, facing straight down towards the bay doors. The air and gravity had already been removed from the space. If their services were needed, the hanger doors would open and the launcher would give them a solid push forward, a small boost before they fired their own thrusters and cleared into space. The position and the strategic placement of a mechanical false ceiling had also served to hide the fighters from the Federation inspectors that boarded the ship to assess the cargo of ore.
"We've cleared inspection," Millie said, her voice echoing in his mind through the p-rat. All of the crew had been outfitted with the updated software, and the new encryption scheme that Mitchell could only hope the enemy, any enemy, couldn't crack. "Sunny, your team will disembark in five."
Mitchell had managed to catch a little bit of the scuttlebutt that was surrounding the mission in the three hours between the briefing and the moment they dropped out of FTL. He had learned that Sunny was First Sergeant Sang Yi, a former Army Special Forces sniper, and that the blonde was Private Caleb Smith, Mouth, her voice and lover. It seemed that for as much of a stone-cold killer the woman was, she had terrible social anxiety whenever she wasn't running a mission.
Their plan was to have the two soldiers, plus two others in their assault group, go on leave from the ship, armed with carbonate blades that would avoid detection from both frisking and scanning. They would make their way to the Federation Plaza - the hotel where heads of state always stayed. Once they were there, they would use a scanner that Watson had surgically implanted into Mouth's calf and connected to the neural implant to scan for the Chancellor, using readings that had been provided by intelligence.
When they found him, they would have to improvise on how to reach and capture him, most likely trying to infiltrate his security team, or take control of his transportation. If that failed and they were caught, Shank's team would be dispatched to raise havoc on the station and give the ghosts the distraction they needed to attempt a retreat. The fighters would be launched to cover an attack on the Schism. Once everyone was back on board, the Schism would tear away from its moorings, back off a little bit, and launch its two warheads at the station. Surviving that would be questionable, because they had to keep close range to fire inside the shield web. They were banking on the hope that either their own shields were enough to deflect the resulting force, or that they would be able to disable the web and get far, far way from the dock.
It was the best plan possible for an impossible mission that was only half a step above suicide. Like Millie had said, the members of the Riggers knew the alternative. Project Black existed to try to execute on bold, stupid ideas, and so far they had somehow come away intact.
"I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't shown up," Ilanka said. "This mission is crazy enough, and to be running support on my own? Bezumnyy."
The whole idea was that they wouldn't be needed. If they were, things were already beyond desperate.
A tone sounded in his mind. "Sunny, you have a go," Millie said. Mitchell hadn't expected to have a line into the full squad communications, and was surprised to find that she had grouped him in.
"Roger, Captain," Mouth replied. "Wish us luck."
"Good luck. Good hunting." A new tone sounded, the channel switching. "Shank, is your team in position?"
"Ready and waiting with itchy trigger fingers," Shank said.
Another change in tone.
"Rain?"
"Reactors are online, all systems are nominal."
"Are you having fun yet, Ares?" Millie said.
"I'm hoping I won't have the chance to, ma'am."
The comm switched off, leaving Mitchell in complete silence. He kept his eyes on the helmet's display, which was showing him a map of the star system, the station, and all of the ships both parked at it and orbiting nearby. The dock could hold forty large starships at a time, and it was currently filled with a mixture of traders and military. Frontier Federation military. There were another two dozen or so ships within sensor range, mostly transports and merchants.
It was the cruiser that worried him. The other military vessels were smaller frigates and patrollers - armed and dangerous, but not nearly as much.
"So Rain," Mitchell said, trying to break the silence and ease some of the thick tension. "What squadron did you fly with, before you landed here?"
"The Black Knights," Ilanka replied. "I'm surprised you didn't guess."
The mech was a Knight.
"Did you steal it?" Mitchell asked.
Ilanka laughed. "No. The Captain requisitioned it for me. I have A-plus rating on it. She's been my baby for almost ten years."
"Have you seen a lot of combat?"
"Not as much as you have, I think. Navy doesn't launch many ground assaults these days. I think that's why Millie was able to get it transferred."
"What about the fighter?"
"Purchased in the Rim. It was stolen, just not by us." She laughed again, a hearty, throaty laugh. "I know you were with Greylock. How did you wind up a Space Marine? I think you could have been actor, or model."
"Me? I think my mother might be the only one who would agree with you on that."
"Don't be silly. You have pretty face, nice body. I know. I saw."
Mitchell was glad he was wearing the helmet. She wouldn't be able to look over and see how red his face was getting.
"Thanks, I guess. Would you believe I lost a bet?"
"I don't believe you lose very much."
"I did that time. A bet with my younger brother, Steven. I grew up on Earth. The original Earth. In Arizona, the United States. We had these old-fashioned off-road bikes, the kind with wheels instead of repulsers, the ones they make for nostalgia. We picked a spot, and he bet me he could beat me out to it and back. It was over rough terrain, lots of inclines and obstacles. We're lucky we didn't get ourselves killed then and there. Anyway, if I won, he joined the Marines. If he won, I joined."
"So he won?"
"Affirmative. Then he joined the Navy. He commands a destroyer now, a few thousand light years closer to home. Rear Admiral Steven Williams. He's prettier than I am, too."
"Is he married?"
"Are you interested?"
"I might be."
It
was a joke they both got. Mitchell knew the only way he was getting off this ship was to either die or figure out a way to escape, and he didn't want to escape unless it meant reaching the Goliath. Being here, sitting in a cockpit, ready to die in an attempt to kill a Federation VIP... It was all he had ever really wanted. It was something he was sure he'd lost.
He could only hope the price wasn't as high as M had suggested.
"So anyway," Mitchell said, "I signed up the next day. Took the physical, and then went in over the weekend for the testing."
"Did you score well?"
"Average," Mitchell lied. "How about you?"
"Same. I think I would have done better, but I've never been very good at math."
"I don't even know why they still have that on the test. AI takes care of any calculation we could ever want."
"In event of system failure," Ilanka said in a deep, monotonous voice, mimicking the training streams they had all been forced to watch.
"At which point, you're already unconscious and sucking space," Mitchell said. "God, I hated that series."
Ilanka was laughing heavily, enjoying their banter. Mitchell couldn't help but smile. He was enjoying himself, enjoying loosening them both up and regaining the camaraderie he had lost the day the Greylock, and Ella, had died.
That was the moment everything went to hell.
34
The tone in his ear was shrill, an emergency signal. A woman's voice followed after.
"Damn trap... They were waiting for us... Son of a bitch... We've been had... Mouth is dead. Coming home."
He didn't recognize the voice. He assumed it had to be Sunny. Her breathing was hard, her anger obvious in her voice.
"Shank, get your team out there," Millie said, across the emergency channel.
"Already on the move, Captain," Shank said.
