“Empire?”
“Maybe. Maybe you don’t need to know. Point is, I’m not your enemy. Necessarily. Now, I’m gonna walk out of here and give you a few hours to think that over. Next mealtime, instead of your dispenser going off, that hatch is going to open. When it does, you can either come down to the galley and join me and the crew to eat, or you can be a fool and try to run off to gods-know-where. One of those options ends in a fine meal. The other ends in you getting spaced. Understand?”
Erick nodded brusquely.
“Good.” He rose to go. “I should thank you, by the way.”
“What for?”
Cyclops glanced over his shoulder as he left. “For bringing her in.”
---
In the end, going to the mess was an easier pill to swallow than he would have thought. Part of him hated himself for that. But the simple truth was that Erick had sold out a long time ago, when he had agreed to run his ship in the service of Rome Inc., as an eater, rather than handing it over. Pointless. Now his ship was gone, his friend was dead, and his charge—Rylea—was out of his hands.
None of that changed the fact that he had to eat.
He spotted Cyclops across the room, and supposed he should join him, though he had no desire to ever speak to the man again. Fraternizing with one of the chief commanders of Rome would have been bad enough even if he hadn’t witnessed him goading Rylea into destroying a small squad of Empire fighters with her mind. Or at least, that’s what he thought he had seen. He was still trying to find a way to understand it. Maybe it had all been some sort of hallucination, he tried telling himself. Maybe he’d been drugged.
Cyclops was sitting on a long bench at a mess table, same as the others. Erick glanced around. He didn’t recognize anyone, but he recognized their type. Dead, soulless eyes. Hard men. No hope, no pleasure, just getting the job done—which, at the moment, happened to be shoveling food from bowl to mouth. They were conscripts, same as he had been. Or as he was, he supposed. He probably shouldn’t assume that the loss of his ship somehow magically freed him from his contract. Too much to hope.
Cyclops saw him coming and shifted down the bench, making room. “Here,” he said, pushing a bowl and spoon next to him. Erick sat and smelled it.
“Stew?”
“Finest sim-beef this side of Mars.”
“About that,” Erick said, wishing there was a way to make his question sound more casual and less like a desperate plea for information that might aid in his eventual escape, “where are we, exactly?”
Cyclops scoffed and shoveled another spoonful in. “The mess. Thought that would’ve been obvious.”
A follow-up came to the tip of Erick’s tongue, but he stopped himself. “I suppose you wouldn’t tell me if I asked how they found us, or how you blew up the prison ship, or whether or not we’re at war with the Empire, or where we are in the system, or any of that. Would you?”
Gulp. “Now you’re learning.”
Erick sighed and picked up his spoon. The stew was thick and viscous. Ship must be low enough on water to have been out for a while, he reasoned. Long range mission—from where? “Then I’ll settle for this. Can I see Rylea?”
Cyclops frowned—never a good sign. But before he could speak, the ship shuddered nose to tail. Lights in the mess hall flickered off and on again. The crew were all to their feet and out the door in a moment.
“Well, that doesn’t bode well,” Cyclops said. Something in his tone and demeanor seemed to say he knew exactly what had happened.
“What was that?” Erick asked.
Cyclops stood, dropping his spoon in his bowl and leaving it there. “Come with me, nosy. Might need a hand, though I’m shocked myself to say as much.”
“Where are we going?”
Cyclops was already halfway out the door.
The ship shook again, so violently this time that Erick stumbled onto his knees as he rose from the bench. “You aren’t worried about whatever’s going on here?”
“Oh, I’m worried,” Cyclops said over his shoulder. “You should be too. Better hope she’s feeling amenable to a visit.”
“Who?”
Cyclops had vanished. Erick rose to his feet and trotted after him, down a hall and to the ship’s brig. The hatch hissed open for them just as he caught up. In the middle of her cell, eyes closed, arms outstretched, stood Rylea. Her face wrinkled in concentration and the ship shuddered once more.
“Oh,” Erick whispered.
He hadn’t been drugged.
Chapter 3
Gavin Dolridge let out such an impressive stream of curses that, for a moment, he was annoyed there was no one in the hopper with him to hear it. Maybe he’d get lucky and whoever was on his tail would let him give them an earful before they killed him, he thought.
At first it had almost been fun being on the run again, but he’d had about enough. And it was just spirit-killing to have succeeded in evading capture, had his fuel lines repaired, stocked up the ship, and gotten back out into open space, only to have the whole stinking scenario replay. He wondered if the station drone had been in on it, too. Had there been any repairs done at all? What had they done, slapped a band-aid on it? The other possibility was that repairs had been fairly effected, but his saboteur had snuck back to the hopper just before he left and screwed things up again. Dolridge frowned. But if they’d gone through all that trouble—if they’d been there in person—why hadn’t they just come onboard, waited in the shadows, and taken him out with a quick knife from behind?
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
He whirled around, rising, his heart threatening to burst from his chest. His hand flew to the blasting pistol at his side. Slowly, annoyingly slowly, his heart-rate resumed normalcy, letting him hear beyond his own pulse again. He strained to listen for anything odd from the tiny cargo hold, but heard nothing beyond the usual gentle groaning of the ship’s hull.
He huffed through his nose, bringing the pistol to bear. Nothing for it. He would just have to make sure.
The hatch to the hold was open, but it was dark inside. He reached around quickly, finding the lights and throwing them on, then pulled his arm back into the cockpit. Nothing shot it off, so he reasoned he was off to a good start.
He took a breath, held it, and whipped around the corner, both hands gripping the gun.
Nothing.
A quick corner check, and soon he was walking the perimeter. It was small, but there were still a few nooks and crannies; a couple of wall compartments, some cargo netting in the back. He made his way around and confirmed he was alone.
Well, for now.
A proximity alarm beeped from the cockpit. They were getting closer.
He pulled up the fuel gauge, thinking to plan some fancy flying, but there was no point. There wasn’t juice enough left in the hopper to so much as turn around. He chuckled mirthlessly. “Well, alright,” he muttered. “If it’s blood you want.”
Five minutes later he was flattened against the wall of the cargo hold, just inside the main hatch, hiding as best as he could behind the cargo netting. He had sealed his suit for depressurization, and was armed to the teeth, his blasting rifle trained on the hatch. Not a moment too soon. With a clunk, the pursuing ship latched onto his own. A whirring sound from the other side told him they were cutting into the airlock. How rude of them.
Gavin tightened his grip.
It had been a long time since he’d been in a real gunfight. He was past his prime, he was rusty, he was a civilian now. But he still had a few tricks up his sleeve.
He closed his eyes and said a quiet apology to Caspar. If he died here… if twenty men burst through the hatch and took him down, she would have no warning that the Council was cleaning house. His own death meant nothing, really. He had lived a meaningless life for far too long anyway. But if he felt a pang of regret for anything now, it was that he hadn’t fought harder to get to her in time.
The whirring ceased. The clunk of boots to
ld him men were inside in the airlock now. He took careful aim.
Something was wrong, he knew, as soon as the hatch opened. For one thing, he heard voices. That just didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t understand them, but more because they were mumbling than because they were trying to be quiet. Then one of them spoke clearly into the cargo hold.
“Agent Dolridge? You in there?”
Gavin frowned. He wasn’t really an agent anymore, and anyone who would call him that was probably here to kill him, based on the experiences of his past seventy-two hours. He held his breath, finger light on the trigger.
“Dolridge, I’m coming in. Please don’t shoot me. I am unarmed, as a sign of good faith.”
The frown deepened. He had heard the boots, heard the voices. They clearly had the numbers. Why not just stampede in and take him out in a blaze of glory? Why this charade with a piece of bait?
He almost asked with whom he was speaking, but thought better of it. Any sound from him would give away his position, which made it more likely they could and would burst in and take him down before he could so much as get a shot off.
The man entered, hands raised. He was in a suit but the mask was open, meaning they must have been careful to secure the outer hatch after cutting in. Curious. They could have just stormed in with mag boots and pressurized suits and floated him. Gavin squinted. He didn’t recognize the man, but a patch on his arm bore the insignia of the Council of Kuiper. His finger itched at the trigger.
“Stop right there,” he growled.
The man froze in place, eyes darting to Gavin.
“Why aren’t you armed?”
“A fair question.” The man cleared his throat. “Given your adventures over the past few days, I can only assume you believe we are here to snuff you out. But you must have realized by now there are easier ways to have done so, were that our goal.”
“Seems like that was your goal on Pluto.”
“Ah. Yes, regrettably. But things have changed. The situation… has developed.”
“Mister, you’re not making a whole lot of sense right now. Your boys gonna move in and take me out, or what? Do I have to shoot you first? I don’t know who you are, but I can see who you represent.”
“I would have thought that would be a mark in my favor, seeing as you are an Agent of the Blade.”
Gavin shook his head. “Quit saying that. Doesn’t exist anymore. Except, apparently, as a private squad of assassins.”
The man looked a bit sheepish. As well he should, Gavin thought. Really? They were going to break into his ship and expect him to talk business with them, after they had sent two of his old comrades after him like hired mercenaries? He had blood on his hands again, something he had gotten used to not having on them. He preferred dirt and potatoes.
“May I come in a bit more?” the man asked.
“No, you may not. I repeat: why aren’t you armed? What do you want?”
The man sighed, shifting his weight a little. “My name is Jordan Kepple. I’m a junior representative of the Council and a special liason to the Blade.”
“Nope. Blade got scuttled decades ago, try again.”
“Yes, you said that, and believe it or not, I already knew that. The Blade you knew was terminated, yes, but there is a new agent program under the guidance of the Council. Do try to keep up, Agent Dolridge. As of this moment, you are being called back into active duty. That’s why I’m here.”
Gavin scoffed. “That’s why you cut my fuel lines? Chased me halfway from Pluto? Sent lethal men to end me?”
“Ah, the first two, yes. That last… well, as I said, plans change. The old plan was… flawed.”
Gavin sighed through his nose. “Call your men in, have them leave all their weapons in the airlock, bring them in with you with their hands up as well, and then we’ll talk.”
The man frowned deeply, but he turned and nodded at whoever was waiting in the airlock. Gavin heard the gentle clatter of weapons being set on the deck. Four men, Kuiper Fleet marines, entered, hands held over their heads.
“Now, then.” He emerged from behind the netting, his blasting rifle still trained on Kepple. “You’ve got five minutes to convince me not to shoot you all before they can get back to their guns. And don’t think I won’t do it; a man becomes an animal when you put him in a corner.”
Kepple swallowed. “I believe you.”
“So get talking.”
“Do you know why you were targeted on Pluto, Agent Dolridge?”
“Backtaxes,” Gavin joked. The man squinted, as if he thought Gavin was serious. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course I know. I’ve forgotten more top-secret crap that can get a man killed than you’ll ever learn about. Real question is, do you know why? Prove to me that you are who you say you are.”
“Very well.” Kepple spared a glance at the marines. Probably deciding how expendable they are, Gavin thought darkly—in case he needs to kill them later for overhearing this. “You were witness, several years ago, to a… tragic accident, wherein almost all the souls on a patrol ship were lost in an attack. The attackers were a swarm of highly sophisticated AI-controlled drones. The survivors were yourself and one Private Caspar. Now a Lieutenant on a flagship vessel, by the way. Head munitions officer. She’s done quite well for herself.”
“I bet she has.” Even Kepple’s praise for Caspar stank. Dolridge had always assumed they would ship her up the ranks quickly, try to distract her with a shiny career and buy her silence with loyalty. Not that she needed the help. She’d been a talented kid, even back then.
Kepple spread out his hands, as if waiting for acknowledgement.
“Well?” Gavin asked. “That all? Hardly sounds like a capital offense so far.”
Kepple pinched his lips together. “Do we really have to do this here?”
“We do.”
“Very well.”
It was subtle—so much so that Gavin might not have noticed at all, if it weren’t for the immediate effect. Kepple brought his hands together, already held over his head, and, as one, the marines collapsed onto the deck. Gavin lurched forward, his gun kept trained on Kepple. The men’s eyes were all lolling back in their skulls, their bodies convulsing.
“What are you doing? Stop it!”
“You inferred, correctly, that the Council had something to do with the drones. Your conclusion that your ship was destroyed as part of a secret military test was, if overly reductive, not far off the mark. Your realization that the loss of Fleet officers for the sake of said test would by necessity be kept from the public was correct. Your fear for your life ever since has been entirely justified. You were targeted for elimination a week ago tomorrow because of new information from Blade sources telling us that the drones, which had gone missing some time ago, had resurfaced in-system. But now you are being spared and reinstated, under my supervision, for your first-hand experience combating them, because of another new report.”
The men continued to seize on the deck as Kepple prattled on. It was a wonder none of them had choked on their tongues yet.
“Stop it!” Gavin bellowed at him.
“Yes, shortly. But hear this. The drones are heading our way. Into the Kuiper belt.”
Gavin’s head swam. “Where are they going?”
“It looks like Pluto.”
Kepple let go of his hands, and the men lay still. Gavin saw their chests rising and falling, though none of them moved to get up. “They’ll be fine,” Kepple said with a wave. “Short burst frequency emitter to their comms, a sort of built-in control should I ever have the need to disable them. As I did.”
Gavin was beginning to see the way in which Kepple liased with the Blade. “Now that’s an odd feature for a junior representative,” he growled.
“Comes in handy more often than you’d think.” Cautiously, Kepple lowered his hands. “So. Still going to space me?”
Gavin sighed. “Not yet.”
Chapter 4
“What will you do with them
?”
Ada was blocking the way. Oh, that’s right, Lucas reminded himself. He had asked her to join him. He had forgotten all about his shadow while getting caught up on the situation in engineering. She, apparently, had trailed him and waited by the hatch. Now she was standing in it.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
She nodded. “This won’t change their feelings. Or their goal. They want to get home, or close to it. To the inner belt.”
“I know that.” His voice tightened. The last thing he needed was for this tag-along pirate to start sounding like the voice of his conscience. “Look, it’s not my favorite situation, either. But we have to get to Pluto as fast as we can. Walk with me.” He moved forward, and she stepped to the side to let him through.
“When we get there,” he went on, “we’ll need options for how to deal with the drones. With Hive.”
“Good luck,” she muttered.
“I was hoping you’d have more to say about it than that. Your AI is our best shot, so far as I can tell.”
“But Moses has lost credibility with Hive. It’s a miracle we weren’t all killed, remember?”
“Believe me, I do. Yes, we’re going to need to strategize about how to change Hive’s mind. I still think Moses will have to be central to that strategy, though. Don’t you?”
She obviously had doubts. They strolled back to the lift and took it up to the bridge, while Lucas racked his mind for an alternative way to interface with Hive. He came up with none.
Back on the bridge, he put Randall in charge, then called Caspar to join the two of them in the conference room.
“Alright, shoot,” he said.
Ada frowned. “I don’t know if Hive will bother listening to Moses again.”
“Hive knows Moses,” Lucas said. “It will recognize him.”
“It will recognize him as a problem.”
“This AI learns,” Caspar said. “It factors all past experiences into future decisions. I agree, surprisingly, with the pirate.” She nodded at Ada. “The two didn’t leave on the most favorable terms. I think the drones will remember that and not give Moses the benefit of the doubt,”
The Star Wizard: Starship Fairfax Book 4 - The Kuiper Chronicles Page 2
