The Nuclear Druid
Page 35
The Unsinkable awaited them at 180 kilometers, looming out of the blackness in all her ungainly glory, like a skyscraper in orbit. Colm had not seen her for three years or thirteen years, depending on who was counting. It felt good to liaise with her remote systems and fly the Son Of Saturn into the familiar flight deck doors. Better not to think about what came next.
CHAPTER 61
THERE WAS A SKELETON crew on board, station-keeping. “Hi,” Colm said. “I’m hijacking the ship.”
“Son,” said the veteran officer in charge, “I’ve been in the Navy since the year dot. Been fighting this war since the beginning. I’ve seen planets lost, planets regained. Seen Earth colonized by our long-lost cousins from Rho fucking Cassiopeiae. Seen alliances shift and flip on their heads. Now the sentrienza are the bad guys, and the Ghosts—” a nod to his own deputy, a Ghost— “are the good guys. Forty years ago I’d’ve laughed in your face if you told me how this was gonna end up. So you might say I’ve seen it all. But I have never seen a first lieutenant trying to hijack a carrier.”
Colm laughed. “Better days are coming.” His words were positive, his smile artificial. Fake it till you make it.
The crew got on the radio to Dryjon, who confirmed that Colm was to be given charge of the Unsinkable. Before they left on the supercarrier’s single transfer shuttle, they fired up the textile printer on Deck 36 and made Colm a joke pair of admiral’s shoulderboards. Dhjerga got the unofficial rank of captain. The veteran officer also presented them with joke t-shirts, which matched the Son Of Saturn’s new name. Fluorescent letters on a Navy blue background spelt out NUCLEAR DRUID.
Colm and Dhjerga spent the next couple of days roaming the ship and double-checking the stores of water and Pink Slime. Colm had discovered during his travels with the Shihoka that Pink Slime could be fetched. He figured it counted as living, which did not make the prospect of eating nothing else for weeks or months any more pleasant. But hey, it came in three flavors!
They also test-fired the Unsinkable’s guns at defunct satellites. The carrier had been extensively refitted at Barjoltan. She now had a keel-mounted railgun that fired projectiles fast enough that they could probably vaporize the moon if Colm pointed the gun the wrong way. The smaller coilguns he remembered were still operational, too, and a special ammo magazine held half a hundred nuclear rounds in vibration-proof, radiation-proof cradles. “Full marks to the Rat,” Colm murmured.
The King of the Nebula was never going to know what hit him.
At last they were ready to leave. With a mage at the helm, the concept of the zero-gravity point was obsolete: the Unsinkable could go FTL from low Earth orbit.
Colm paced the bridge, moving from station to station, doing the job of thirty officers. Green lights across the board. All that remained was to juice up his own messy system. He’d been dialing back his tropo intake since they boarded, managing his tolerance downwards so that he wouldn’t have to take so much when it was time to flit. He would be doing this for the rest of his life. It was important not to kill himself too quickly. Grit crunched under his bare feet; he was wearing nothing but his NUCLEAR DRUID t-shirt and a pair of shorts, his commitment to protocol having fallen by the wayside now that they were alone.
He paused to gaze at the sensor officer’s screen, which showed Earth spinning past below.
“Cheer the fuck up,” said Dhjerga, sitting cross-legged in the captain’s couch, gobbling a last real meal of salt pork and turnip stew, which he was sopping up with flatbread, Ghost style. The turnips smelled extremely pungent.
“I wonder how many years it’ll be before I murder you for making those noises when you eat,” Colm said.
“I can smell your feet from here,” Dhjerga said.
“No, that’s those turnips you’re smelling.”
“Want some?”
“Stuff ‘em up your arse,” Colm smiled. He poured some orange juice into his Nessie mug and downed his pills. Contemplatively, he finished the orange juice. How many years would it be before he tasted that again? When the mug was empty, he made it fly over to Dhjerga and bonk him on the head. “Ready?”
“Ow! Let me just finish my—”
Colm flew the Nessie mug over the captain’s couch, making it loop the loop like a swallow, and flitted.
“—lunch,” Dhjerga said, one immeasurable interval of agony later. He gloomily put his bowl aside. It was now half full of revolting, inedible goop.
“Wow.” Colm goggled at the optical feed on the big screen. The Unsinkable had popped out in a void so full of hot gas clouds that it hardly looked dark. So this was the Orion Nebula! He wished he could feel excited about it.
Something went thump outside the bridge.
Colm and Dhjerga leapt for their guns.
The pressure door rattled. Someone was banging on it.
They exchanged a puzzled look.
With a thought, Colm checked the internal camera feed for the corridor.
He had to be dreaming.
“There’s a biometric recognition plate,” he said, as if in a trance. “It doesn’t recognize you.” He went over and opened the door.
Diejen walked in.
“Hello,” she said to her brother. Then she wrapped her arms around Colm, dragged his head down, and kissed him on the lips.
Colm surrendered to the kiss for an infinite, achingly sweet moment. Her body fitted against his so perfectly. She filled all the hollows in his body and his soul. Her mouth tasted of noak leaves, a bitter tang that brought Kisperet back to life in his mind.
Then he held her off, half laughing, half furious. “How did you get here?”
“We flitted to the Unsinkable while you were flitting here, of course. The void we travel through is only your zero-gravity field.”
“Oh, Diejen.” He heard the we but disregarded it, trapped by her gaze.
“If I had to wait another ten years,” she said, “I would be dead of longing.”
Colm clutched her close again with a sob of sheer gratitude. “Me too,” he muttered.
Dhjerga cleared his throat. They broke apart. Dhjerga was smirking. “Doomed to conquer the galaxy with my little sister at my side? Well, I can think of worse fates.”
“I must warn you, however,” Diejen said. “I did not come alone.”
Overwhelmed by her presence, Colm had not noticed the sound of scratching at the door. Now he did. He slapped it open.
Gilliam Tripsilion Nulth burst into the bridge and leapt into his arms. In the half-gravity of the bridge, the impact knocked Colm flat onto his back. Gil sprawled on his chest, their faces inches apart. His muzzle wrinkled in a queazel smile. His black eyes were luminous. “I have never experienced anything so horrible,” he said. “Why was I not warned?”
“I did warn you,” Diejen said, laughing.
“Gil—it’s you? Not a copy?” Colm couldn’t understand how that was even possible.
“I am not a pet,” Gil said warningly.
“No one said you were,” Colm said, puzzled.
“I am not an animal.”
“I suppose we’re all animals, in a sense …”
“That is what your father said.” Gil scrambled off Colm, allowing him to sit up. “It is thanks to him I am here.”
Now Colm understood. He crouched to look the queazel in the eye. “Gilliam Tripsilion Nulth, will you be my familiar?”
“I am here,” Gil said. “And you are answered.”
He undulated onto his hind feet and gazed at the big screen. “My heavens,” he said. “Look at all those stars.”
THIS CONCLUDES THE EXTINCTION PROTOCOL SERIES.
THANK YOU FOR READING!
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I would like to thank those who graciously contributed their time and expertise, making this book much better than it would have been without their help, including science guru Bill Patterson; literary wizard Walter Blaire; Dr. Marty “X-Ray Eyes” Mill
er; Jayson Lorenzen; Jerry Neuromon; Stian Dalland; Chris Andersen; Bill Carlin; and editor extraordinaire J.S. All mistakes, naturally, are mine.
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