Father gave the warehouse a final disapproving look. “Don’t skulk in the shadows anymore, Lem. You’re a Jukes. How can the people adore us if we don’t make ourselves seen?”
Father turned and moved for the exit.
Lem called after him. “Would they have arrested me, Father? Or drafted me, whatever you want to call it?”
Father turned back.
“If I weren’t your son,” said Lem, “if you weren’t my father, would they have taken me with them?”
“You get one strike, Lem. Don’t mess up again.”
Then he left Lem there with the dust and graffiti.
CHAPTER 15
Vultures
The boom in the space economy leading up to the Second Formic War was both the cause and the result of a large increase in commercial traffic throughout the solar system. According to the Office of the Hegemony, the number of cargo ships registered in the three years immediately following the First Formic War was more than four times the number of cargo vessels in operation prior to that time. Corporations like Juke Limited, Galaxy Defense, and Lockson & Meade all built shipyards in the Belt that required a steady stream of raw materials, workers, and life-sustaining supplies, all of which had to be drawn from remote Kuiper Belt sources since anything closer in was required for building warships.
The effect was a windfall for the most remote free miners, which meant that they, too, had the money to buy long-needed or wanted equipment—up to and including new ships, so that one-ship families now had small fleets of two, three, or four ships. And of course there were the newly constructed ships of the Fleet, constantly training and running maneuvers as soon as they were built while patrols forced other vessels to detour around the war games regions, making the solar system a beehive of activity.
The rise in piracy during this era should not be surprising, considering the number of ships loaded with high-value, high-demand cargo moving back and forth between near-Earth space and the Kuiper Belt. They were ripe for the picking. Cargo vessels were generally poorly armed and ill equipped to handle an attack, and raids and seizures along the most isolated routes were common. The practice of cargo grouping became commonplace, wherein several ships would band together and fly their routes in close formation to discourage an attack, but some argued that convoys without military escort simply made for a more attractive target.
Many pirates were relatively civil in their behavior, leaving sufficient food for the attacked crew and inflicting no bodily harm. The same cannot be said for a particularly violent class of thieves and butchers known as vultures.
—Demosthenes, A History of the Formic Wars, Vol. 3
The mining ship was so small and pathetic and ill equipped that Khalid considered it a waste of time. He stood at the helm of his own ship, the Shimbir, staring at the image of the mining ship in the holofield, considering his options. He had traveled to this sector of the Kuiper Belt because he and his crew had heard chatter of an expensive A-class digger anchored to the asteroid here. A ship that could bring coin. A ship Khalid could strip down and sell piece by piece on the black market. A ship worth his trouble. But this ship in the holofield, this boxy, outdated, jury-rigged piece of digada, was about as far from an A-class digger as any ship could get.
“How far out are we?” Khalid asked.
Gut, the navigator, checked the readout. “Two hours, fifty-seven minutes.”
They were practically on top of the ship. It seemed a shame to come all this way and to turn back now, empty-handed. And yet, if they attacked, they’d be taking a risk for … what? A few packs of noodles and some dated, worthless mining equipment? Khalid scratched at the stubble on his cheek. His crew was watching him, surrounding him at the helm, fifteen strong, armed and ready, awaiting his decision. Most of them were already high on juice, their eyes red and hungry, their faces bathed in the bluish light of the holofield. If Khalid canceled the raid now, none of them would complain. They could all see that there was little to gain here. But they would also see this whole trip as a mistake for which Khalid was solely responsible. A monumental waste of time and supplies and fuel. They may not do anything mutinous immediately, but the seed of mutiny would be planted in their hearts. Then, months from now, the whispering would start, followed by plotting, and before Khalid knew it, he would wake to find his throat slit open, filling his chambers with floating globules of blood.
No, calling off the raid was not an option. The trick was turning lead into gold, as the saying used to go—before harvested gold from asteroids became so plentiful that it devalued drastically in the market. That was what his crew lacked, Khalid knew. Wisdom. A sense of history. Intellect. They were not unintelligent, for Khalid had no tolerance for stupidity, but there was no depth to their reason, either. They were literate in the sense that they could read, but illiterate in the sense that they cared not at all for books or learning or expanding their minds. Conversations with the crew were painfully dull and uninspiring. There were exceptions, of course. Maja had a head on her shoulders, which is how she had survived among a crew of men for so long. Her dagger, the Silver Lady, had also helped in that regard.
Khalid reached into the holofield and spread his hands apart, zooming in on the pitiful ship. Now he could see detail, including the ship’s name painted on its hull and the laser drill crudely mounted on its side. Magnified the ship looked even worse. Even the asteroid it was anchored to looked pitiful by association.
Khalid cursed under his breath. A month of travel for this. The fuel he had used to get here and the fuel he would expend returning to his original route would be wasted. He would find nothing inside that ship of any value. Trinkets maybe, but nothing to recoup the expense of coming here.
He turned to his crew, gesturing to the ship, appearing cheerful. “Well? There she is, in all her glory. Do we take her or not?”
A few members of the crew exchanged glances, afraid to speak first.
Ibrahim, Khalid’s younger brother, scoffed. “She’s barely worth the trouble, brother. Look at that drill. It’s a relic. We’d get nothing for it. I wouldn’t bother loading it in the bay. It’s junk. And I doubt there’s anything of value inside. These people are space rats. What’s that language on the side? Russian? I hate Russians.”
“I doubt they’re Russian,” said Maja. “The ship may have had a Russian crew once, but it’s passed hands many times now. No telling who’s inside it.”
Maja was probably right, thought Khalid. There could be anyone inside. “Whoever they are,” he said, “they won’t put up much of a fight.”
“But why go to the trouble?” said Ibrahim. “What are we going to get there? Some dirty old clothes? A few cans of meat? That’s not game, brother. We’re more likely to get a disease from these people than anything of value.”
Some of the crewmen exchanged glances. They had seen diseases before. Fevers, blisters, viruses of the chest. They had lost a few of their own to such illnesses. Now the crew seemed wary.
Stupid, Ibrahim, thought Khalid. If you would just keep your mouth shut like I have ordered you again and again and again. Now, if I pull out, some will think me cowardly.
Maja must have sensed Khalid’s frustration, for she spoke on his behalf. “You talk too much, Ibrahim. Just because you’re afraid of a few decrepit old ladies, doesn’t mean we should call it off.”
This earned a few laughs from the men, and a glare from Ibrahim, but it had achieved what Khalid needed. “My young brother is wise to be cautious. But one man’s junk is another man’s treasure. The contents of that ship are worthless, true. But the ship itself might win us a fortune.”
Ibrahim had the audacity to laugh at that. “I have never doubted you, brother.” He pointed to the holo. “But how can you possibly turn that into a single credit?”
Khalid forced a smile, though in truth he preferred to pinch his brother’s nose until it bled. “You ask good questions, little brother.”
Ibrahim glared again. He hated being c
alled that, to be disrespected in front of the men. Careful, Khalid thought, or it will be Ibrahim’s knife that finds your throat. Khalid laughed and threw an arm around Ibrahim’s shoulder. “You look at that ship and see a bucket of bolts. I look at that ship, and I see something much grander. Much stronger. Much more valuable. For that ship, dear brother, is not the fish, but the worm.”
The men exchanged glances again, and Khalid almost rolled his eyes at their lack of vision. How could they be so simpleminded? So vacant? A plan had formed in his mind now, and no one but him had the mental capacity for it. Even Maja looked slightly confused.
Khalid turned back to his navigator. “Gut, are there any other ships nearby? I’m curious.”
Gut tapped at his terminal. “There’s an IF assault ship a month away.”
“An IF assault ship, you say?” said Khalid, smiling now. “One of the newer models, if I’m not mistaken, am I right, Gut? The LX-40?”
Gut checked the screen again. “Looks that way.”
“The LX-40,” said Khalid, saying the word with a little bit of theater, as if it were a thing of wonder, as if he were not stating its name, but its value. “Now there’s a prize, my brothers.”
The simpletons looked at one another again. Only Ibrahim was brave enough to speak. “What are you suggesting, brother, that we take on an LX-40? That would be suicide.”
Khalid smiled. Because his plan was fully formed now. A risky plan, yes. Some might even call it foolish. But it was a plan that turned lead into gold, a plan that would silence anyone who questioned him, a plan that would attach fear to his name, or respect, or awe.
“I’ll explain later, my brothers. But first let us go down and take this tin can. We did not come all this way for nothing.”
The men didn’t object. They were curious to see what they might find.
Khalid’s ship, the Shimbir, a salvage vessel painted a nonreflective black, drifted toward the asteroid on the far side, opposite the mining ship, with all of its lights extinguished. Then Khalid sent out a spy probe and waited for the crew of the mining ship to shut down the drill and kill some of their external lights, suggesting that they were preparing for sleep shift. Khalid then waited three hours to make sure the miners were asleep before beginning his attack. It was easier than Khalid thought it would be. The crew inside the mining ship were not Russians. They spoke Portuguese. Brazilians probably. There were only three of them. One of them was even missing an arm. Khalid thought them rather pathetic. Hardly worth the trouble at all.
Khalid let his men do the killing, and they were quick about it. None of them took any pleasure in it. It was one of the reasons why Khalid had selected these men and women for his crew. People who enjoyed death were unstable, dangerous, and mutinous. The best crews were hungry for spoil, not murder.
Khalid then explained his plan. He would take the tin can, fly from the asteroid, and make a distress signal. The IF would come and rescue him, Khalid would kill the crew and then seize the LX-40.
“You can’t be serious,” said Ibrahim. “There will be forty soldiers on that ship.”
“Probably,” said Khalid, shrugging, as if the number meant nothing to him.
Ibrahim laughed. “And you will take on all these soldiers yourself? Alone?”
“I am Khalid,” said Khalid, as if this were answer enough.
Ibrahim waited for the joke to end. When it didn’t, he said. “I do not think this wise, brother.”
“You wouldn’t,” said Khalid. “You and Maja will share the captainship while I’m gone. You will stay on the asteroid, covered with the tarps. I will be adrift only a week away.”
The tarps were massive camouflaged coverings that matched the rock and hid the ship from view.
Khalid could see doubt even in Maja’s eyes, but he knew the crew would not abandon him if he put Maja and Ibrahim both in charge. Their fear of each other would keep either one from trying anything. Plus the promise of big game was too much for them to pass up.
Khalid wasted no time. He loaded food into the Brazilian tin can and flew it away from the asteroid. It was not difficult to scuttle the ship in a way that didn’t threaten life support. He merely crippled the main thrusters and sent out the distress signal. A month was a long time to wait, but eventually the LX-40 came and docked with the tin can. Armed soldiers of the International Fleet boarded the ship, cautious. Khalid had had plenty of time to explore the Brazilian ship, study its documents and history, and work up his story.
The captain of the LX-40 was an American. He folded his arms and looked leery, but Khalid played the part of the coward, which he knew the captain would believe. Vultures had attacked the ship, Khalid told them. They had killed the other two members of the crew. Khalid had not fought with them. He had hidden with a stash of food in the air ducts. He had wanted to go out and help and save them, but he was weak. He had a family back in Somalia, five children. He had to survive, you see. He had to send them money. If I die, they die.
The American captain frowned, disgusted at such cowardice.
There was nothing on the ship of value, Khalid said. The vultures had taken it all and damaged the ship. When they left, Khalid had crawled out, waited a week, and called for help.
“We’ll drop you off at the nearest depot,” said the American captain. “And while you’re on my ship, you will work for your food and abide by my rules.”
Khalid bowed and almost cried he was so grateful. “Yes, sir. I will work, sir, yes. Very hard.”
The American captain wrinkled his nose. “Get him cleaned up and in some different clothes. The man hasn’t bathed in a month.”
They led Khalid to a shower tube and gave him a blue IF jumpsuit to change into once he was done. A doctor took him to a room and poked and prodded and drew blood and listened to Khalid’s heart and checked his bone density. Khalid was lithe and thin like most Somali, but toned and in peak physical condition. They fed him and gave him a bunk in a supply closet. Khalid acted submissive and grateful and apologized to everyone for the inconvenience he had caused.
The ship, he noted, was a thing of wonder. It had not been built all that long ago. The walls and floors were immaculate. The fixtures shined. Everything smelled new and unused. It was no wonder the captain had turned his nose up at Khalid. The American lived in a veritable bed of roses.
Khalid could not believe his luck. They had put him in a supply closet. There was food here. Water. Tools.
That night, during sleep shift, Khalid climbed out of the sleep sack they had given him. He cracked the door and saw that a guard was posted right outside his door. So they do not completely trust me, thought Khalid. They are not complete fools.
But the guard was nothing. A man’s neck, when at rest and grabbed from behind, could be twisted and broken easily.
Khalid pulled the man’s body into the supply closet and took his ID and weapon. The lights were out. The corridor was empty. Most of the crew was asleep. Khalid filled a sack with water and food and made his way to the helm. The soldier’s ID card gave him access. There was only one man on duty at the holotable, his back to the door. Such carelessness, thought Khalid. Such arrogance.
Khalid shot him with the first soldier’s slaser. A quick and silent kill. Then he disengaged the man’s magnetic boots and pushed the corpse aside. The holotable was everything Khalid had hoped it would be, with all of its windows of data and charts and arcs and ship movements, all projected in the air above it. A treasure trove of information.
It took him a moment to find the commands he needed. He sent a laserline transmission to the station that was their destination detailing a system failure on board that the ship’s mechanics were now investigating. Then he severed the laserline connection and disengaged life support. The hum of machines in the walls whined down to silence. Then alarms wailed. Lights flashed. Khalid sealed the helm doors and watched the screens on the holotable that showed him various angles of the ship’s corridors. Disoriented men and women stumbled out
of the barracks, roused from sleep. Most had their issued oxygen masks they had been trained to retrieve in the event of an emergency such as this one. But others were bare-faced and ill-prepared. It was easy after that. Khalid simply opened the airlocks remotely and watched as the men and women were sucked out into the blackness of space.
It was over in less than a minute. Some had fought gallantly, clinging, struggling, fighting the inevitable. But space shows no gentle hand, and soon the corridor was a vacuum.
He hadn’t killed everyone, however. There were emergency doors that had engaged and sealed off areas. Other soldiers had not left the barracks and were thus stuck inside, unable to leave. He ignored the latter group. They would asphyxiate soon enough. It was the soldiers saved by the emergency doors that gave him concern. Already they were organizing and choosing a leader among them. Three of them were armed. Soldiers indeed.
Khalid watched them, wondering if any of them would be worth keeping.
But no, how could he trust them? How could he be certain they wouldn’t strangle him in the night? They were blue bloods. Their hearts could not be turned. Or even if they could, it wasn’t worth the risk of being wrong.
He checked his slaser, dug through his sack for the knife he had recovered from the storage room, then he left the helm and began the dirty business of finishing the job. It took him over an hour, and he did not relish the work. It was loud and messy and got his blood up. The American captain was the last one. It was only by chance that he should be the final survivor. The man wept and begged, and it was only in that death that Khalid felt any sense of satisfaction, for such a man did not deserve to wear a uniform of any sort.
He returned to the helm and settled in, opening a can of peaches from his food sack, with syrup so sweet it nearly gave him a headache. He then reengaged the laserline and sent a transmission to the IF explaining that the ship needed parts not found on board and that he, the captain, was redirecting her to another port for repairs. Then he changed course and retreated back the way they had come, back toward the asteroid.
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