Silent Order: Iron Hand

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Then you admit you’re corrupt?” said March.

  “Obviously I’m corrupt,” said Heitz. “A man has to look after his own interests. But I’m a patriot. I hate the Final Consciousness just as much as any of you spies. All three of my brothers fought in the battle at Martel’s World, and those bastards killed them.” He took another drink of beer and set down the bottle on Bishop’s desk with a little more force than necessary. “Well. We’ve got Machinist trouble?”

  “Our friends the Graywolves,” said Bishop.

  Heitz scowled. “I’ve banned them from Rustbelt Station.”

  “I suspect they don’t care,” said Bishop. “Recently a group sneaked onto the station using a freighter with a forged manifest. They’ve set up in Ore Complex 5, and I think they’ve got a hostage with them.”

  Heitz scowled, picked up his beer, and took another drink. “Who’s this hostage?”

  “Someone important,” said Bishop. “Frankly, you’ll be happier not knowing. The Graywolves are working for a specific Machinist agent named Simon Lorre. They plan on ransoming their prisoner back to the Kingdom of Calaskar for a large sum.”

  “So what?” said Heitz. “It sounds like some noble twit hung around with the wrong people and got in over his head. It’s not my problem.”

  March reflected that Heitz may have been smarter than he looked.

  “It is actually your problem and a serious problem at that,” said Bishop. “One, if the Graywolves get a foothold here, if they can come and go as they please, they’ll take over the station and get rid of you. Two, if the prisoner gets killed here, there’s going to be a serious investigation. The Silent Order can play ball with you. The Calaskaran Ministry of Security and the Royal Calaskaran Navy take bribery a bit more seriously.” Heitz grimaced at that. “And three…you hate the Machinists, Heitz. This is a way for you to screw them over and make a profit at the same time. What’s the downside?”

  Heitz rubbed his jaw for a moment. “What did you have in mind?”

  Bishop looked up from his desk. “Captain March?”

  March looked at the fat administrator. “We start by jamming all their transmissions. Best that they don’t call for help from their friends. While we do that, we’ll need men ready to take out their security drones. Once that’s done, we should hit their prefab building with gas grenades, something nonlethal to knock them out. We then hit them hard and fast with stun weapons, take as many prisoners as possible, and free their hostage from their building.”

  Heitz frowned. “And if this noble moron of yours isn’t their camp?”

  “Then we have lots of prisoners to question,” said March.

  Heitz let out a nasty laugh. “They won’t want to talk to you.”

  Bishop smiled. “My friends and I can be very persuasive.”

  Heitz snorted. “You’ll cut little bits off them until they talk, is that it? Well, I told the Graywolves not to poke around Rustbelt Station, so it’s time they suffered some consequences. But if we’re going to do this, we can’t do it officially. If we do it officially, I’ll be expected to hand over some arrested suspects to the Ministry of Security. They tend to frown on extrajudicial executions.”

  “I can promise you,” said Bishop, “any captured Graywolves will never trouble you again. Bureaucratically or otherwise.”

  That was a polite way of saying the Graywolves would be executed and dumped into space. It was a brutal way of doing business, but March had no sympathy for those who sold themselves to the Final Consciousness. That said, if the Graywolves cooperated, there was no reason not to let them go quietly on a neutral world somewhere. Former enemies could become future allies. But there was no reason to trouble Heitz’s mind with that.

  “All right,” said Heitz, leaning forward. “The employees of Ronstadt Corporation are not above doing dirty jobs on the side for the right amount of money. All that remains to determine is the correct sum of money.”

  Bishop smiled. “I assume you will be taking a percentage?”

  “A man has to turn a profit,” said Heitz, and he named a ridiculous sum.

  After that, it was all over but the haggling.

  March let Bishop handle the negotiations, and he listened with half an ear as Bishop and Heitz argued for half an hour. Eventually, Heitz settled on a more reasonable price, and the two men shook hands.

  “Excellent,” said Bishop, getting to his feet. “For the practical portions of the operation, I shall turn things over to Captain March.”

  “I knew you were trouble,” said Heitz.

  “I’ve had a lot of practice at it,” said March. “Let’s get started at once. I want to move before the Graywolves realize that we’re on to them.”

  ###

  By mutual agreement, March, Bishop, and Heath decided to leave Lady Roanna on the Tiger. March had become confident enough in Heath’s abilities to invite him along, but he was also entirely certain that bringing Roanna Vindex anywhere near a firefight would be a bad idea. Fortunately, Bishop persuaded her to remain on the Tiger by giving her access to the communications channel they would use during the attack, allowing her to listen to the progress of the battle. He also promised that if Lord Thomas wasn’t in the prefab building, she could listen to the interrogation of any captured Graywolves. March wasn’t sure of the wisdom of that, but he knew he could not have persuaded Roanna to remain on the ship. Fortunately, Bishop was eloquent when necessary.

  An hour later Heitz returned with twenty men in the black jumpsuits of Ronstadt Private Security Corporation. March looked them over with a critical eye. They were the usual assortment that turned up in a private mercenary force. Some of them looked little better than thugs, and others had the brittle bluster he associated with men who had been unable to make the cut for one military force or another. Nevertheless, a few of them looked like veterans, though they had likely ended up with Ronstadt due to a dishonorable discharge.

  Their commander, however, seemed competent. He was a middle-aged man with graying brown hair and a pronounced paunch, but March watched as he surveyed the room for potential threats, and his weapons looked simple and effective, rather than the ostentatious pistols and rifles preferred by less reliable mercenaries. Unless March missed his guess, the man had once been a member of the Calaskaran Royal Marines. His cold brown eyes flicked over Heath, and then March, and one of his eyebrows rose as he considered March’s gloved left hand.

  The Ronstadt men sat down to lunch, which March noted that Bishop did not provide for free. Bishop, Heitz, March, Heath and the commander took a table in the corner. Anne approached with a tray of sandwiches, winked at March, and then returned to the bar.

  “Think the girl likes you, March,” said Heitz, helping himself to two sandwiches.

  “Then she’s got poor taste in men,” said March. “Who’s your friend?”

  “This is Site Supervisor Karlman,” said Heitz, gesturing at the commander. “He’s in charge of the Ronstadt personnel on Rustbelt Station.” He took a bite of a sandwich, and then waved it in March’s general direction. “Karlman, this is Captain March of the Tiger and his associate Mr. Heath.” Heath bristled a little at the omission of his rank but he knew enough not to protest.

  “He looks like a Navy boy,” said Karlman. “He’s the one who’s supposed to be in charge?”

  “No,” said Bishop. “That’s Captain March.”

  Karlman considered March for a moment. “That a Machinist prosthesis under that glove, Captain?”

  “Yep,” said March.

  Karlman grunted. “Fought some Iron Hands once. Hell of battle. I wouldn’t like to do that again.” He looked at Bishop. “You sure you can trust him?”

  “I have personally seen him kill several Machinist agents with that prosthesis,” said Bishop.

  Karlman laughed. “In our line of work, I suppose that qualifies as a credential.” He stuck out his right hand. “Robert Karlman, site supervisor for Rustbelt Station.” March shook his hand, as did H
eath. “Administrator Heitz says we have some troublemakers that need to disappear quietly.”

  “Graywolves mercenaries,” said March. “A dozen of them. They’re doing dirty work for the Machinists, and I think they have a high-value hostage. We need to eliminate them, rescue the hostage, and take as many prisoners as possible.”

  Karlman rubbed his chin. “For interrogation in case we can’t find the hostage?”

  “Right,” said March. “If they play ball, I’ll drop them off someplace neutral. If they don’t cooperate, they disappear.”

  Karlman did not seem to find this disagreeable. “How many are we talking?”

  “A dozen,” said March. “They’re holed up in Ore Complex 5. I can send you the video. They’ve got a pair of security drones, are armed with plasma guns and fully automatic firearms. I want to jam them so they can’t warn their friends, and then gas them.”

  “Video?” said Karlman.

  March drew out his phone, and Karlman produced a chunky tablet from his belt. March sent the video file of Ore Complex 5, along with a map, and Karlman spent a few moments reviewing the data. Heath watched him with tense eagerness. March busied himself by eating a sandwich. For spaceport food, it wasn’t bad.

  “It should be doable if we have surprise,” said Karlman. “I’ve got a man named Trevor who’s good with signals equipment. He should be able to jam their transmissions. I’ve also got access to knockout gas for riot control. It won’t last long, and it will dissipate quickly, but it will last long enough for us to get some prisoners.”

  “What’s the delivery mechanism?” said March.

  “Grenades,” said Karlman. He squinted at his tablet’s screen. “Heavier than air, so we’ll fire it at the wall right over their heads. I’ve got two men who are decent with rifles at a distance, so we’ll take out the security drones at the same time. Hit them hard and hit them fast.”

  “You trust your men?” said March.

  “Not particularly,” said Karlman. “We’ll need to do this fast before someone can spill the beans. I’ll have to pick someone to spearhead the attack once the gas goes in.”

  “I’ll do it,” said March.

  “You?” said Heitz, lifting his eyebrows as he chewed on a bite of sandwich. “You can do that all by yourself?”

  “Yes,” said March, meeting his gaze.

  Heitz and Karlman stared at him for a moment.

  At last Karlman shrugged. “If he gets himself killed, do we still get paid?”

  “Yeah,” said Heitz.

  “Suit yourself,” said Karlman, setting down his tablet and reaching for a sandwich.

  “I’ll cover you,” said Heath.

  “You might do better taking out the security drones,” said March.

  Karlman started to speak, but Heath answered first.

  “No,” said Heath. “Supervisor Karlman will want his own men to cover the security drones. The gas won’t affect those things, and if they get loose, they’re dangerous. He won’t want a stranger covering the drones.”

  “He doesn’t,” agreed Karlman.

  “I did get my marksman certification in the Navy,” said Heath.

  “All right,” said March. He was reasonably sure Heath would not accidentally shoot him. It also gave Heath something useful to do that would keep him away from Lady Roanna.

  “Gentlemen, I believe we have a plan,” said Karlman. “When do you want to roll?”

  “Now,” said March, getting to his feet “Have your men waiting outside Ore Complex 5 in one hour’s time with their equipment. Mr. Heath and I will meet you there.”

  ###

  March and Heath stopped by the Tiger long enough to tell the plan to Lady Roanna and to arm themselves from the ship’s store of personal weapons.

  “Good God,” said Heath, blinking as March opened the door to the armory. “How many guns do you have?”

  “Not enough,” said March.

  The armory was a small room just off the dorsal corridor from the flight cabin, which would let March quickly retrieve armaments if the ship was ever boarded. Metal shelves lined the walls, and handguns, rifles, grenades, ammunition, knives, mines, and still more ammunition filled the shelves, all of it labeled and organized.

  “You could arm a Royal Army battalion with just the stuff in here,” said Heath.

  “I’m a Silent Order operative, so I need weapons,” said March, taking a tactical harness from the wall and handing it to Heath. “My cover story is that I’m a privateer operating in the wild systems at the fringes of the Kingdom and the other major interstellar powers. To maintain my cover story, I need lots of weapons.”

  “Flawless logic,” said Heath. “You don’t have any powered armor, do you?”

  “No,” said March. “The maintenance workshop for the damned things would take up half the cargo bay.”

  He took off his coat, pulled on a tactical harness, and started arming himself. A handgun went on each hip, knives up each of his sleeves, and a set of grenades clipped to his harness. For his main weapon, he took a plasma rifle, its capacitator rated for a hundred and sixty rounds, and it would fire single-shot, semi-automatic, and full automatic. He also claimed a stun pistol, a compact boxy thing that looked like a small black plastic brick on a handgun grip. It had a shorter range than he would have liked, but the energy bolt it discharged would temporarily scramble a human nervous system, which would prove useful for taking prisoners.

  “What should I take?” said Heath, eyeing the weapons.

  “Help yourself,” said March, stepping back.

  Heath only took one pistol, one knife, and a pair of grenades. He lifted a Royal Armaments Shadow-class sniper rifle from the rack and looked it over.

  “You know how to use one of those things?” said March.

  In answer, Heath ejected the power cartridge, opened the maintenance ports, and checked the power coil, the particle accelerator, and the waste energy discharge vane.

  “Guess so,” said Heath.

  “Ever kill anyone with one of those?” said March.

  Heath hesitated. “Couple of times, yeah. Once when we were boarded by pirates on my first tour. Another time when we were skirmishing with some Machinist troublemakers.” He smiled. “No Iron Hands in that battle. Just the usual drone soldiers. But this isn’t my first action.”

  “Good,” said March. He reached onto a shelf and handed another stun pistol to Heath. “Take one of these, too. You’ll be doing distance attacks, but you never know when things can go wrong. Range is only thirty or forty feet, but if Lord Thomas isn’t with the Graywolves, we’ll need to beat it out of the prisoners.”

  Heath took the pistol without protest. “We should say goodbye to Lady Roanna before we go.”

  March grunted. “You sure?”

  “You don’t like her very much,” said Heath.

  “I like her just fine,” said March, thinking of the kiss. He pushed it out of his head. “I also like alcohol just fine. Too much of it makes trouble.”

  “Did you just compare a noblewoman of Calaskar to…a strong drink?” said Heath.

  “You tell me,” said March. “I’m not the one who went AWOL for her.”

  Heath grimaced but conceded the point with a nod.

  “Let’s check in,” said March. “We’ll need to make sure she’s on the communications channel anyway.”

  Heath nodded and followed March from the armory, their boots clanking on the deck. The galley door was open, and Roanna sat at the table, typing at a laptop computer. She had claimed an additional monitor out of the Tiger’s engine room and plugged it into the computer. An array of cargo manifests scrolled past on the display. Roanna rose as they entered, her eyes wide. A pistol rested at her hip. March had given her one in case the enemy boarded the Tiger.

  “It’s time?” she said.

  “Yes,” said March. He glanced at the computer. “You’re keyed into our communications channel for the battle. Don’t interrupt us unless it’s necessar
y. Vigil will keep an eye on the exterior of the ship.” It had occurred to him that Lorre might use the distraction of the battle to try and kidnap Roanna. At the moment, the Tiger was the safest place on Rustbelt Station for Roanna Vindex. Vigil would monitor the exterior of the ship continuously, and if any attackers approached, the pseudointelligence could raise the kinetic and the radiation shields and use the laser turrets to fight back.

  “I will remain on the ship until you return,” said Roanna. “If…you don’t return…”

  “If I don’t return,” said March, “either Heath or Bishop will come for you, or if we’re all killed, whoever Bishop had designated as his successor as head for this branch of the Silent Order.” That might have been a little harsh, because she went pale. “But one of us should return.”

  Roanna nodded and recovered the poise of a Calaskaran noblewoman. “Good luck, Captain March.” Her eyes shifted to Heath, and she smiled a little. “And you, Lieutenant Heath.”

  He hesitated and offered her a bow. “Thank you, my lady.”

  That seemed to hurt her a little, but she didn’t push it. Perhaps she had realized that she had led him on, or how much a conviction for going AWOL would damage his life.

  “God be with you,” said Roanna, and she seated herself at the computer, staring at the displays.

  Heath looked at her, took a deep breath, and then turned.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  “Good,” said March. “Let’s move.”

  He led the way from the ship, sealed the ramp behind him, and they headed for Ore Complex 5.

  ###

  March and Heath arrived in the gloomy main corridor of Ore Complex 5 first, and Karlman and his troops showed up a few moments later.

  The Ronstadt men had donned body armor over their black jumpsuits, layered plates of ceramic and metal that could absorb a few plasma bolts or high-caliber rounds before disintegrating. All the men carried automatic plasma rifles of roughly the same configuration as March’s, though a few of the men had more specialized equipment – grenade launchers, radio jammers, and high-end sniper rifles. To March’s relief, the Ronstadt men moved with a reasonable modicum of stealth. He would have preferred that they were quieter since sound carried a long way in these asteroid tunnels (assuming they were properly pressurized), but they were quieter than he would have expected.