Onyx Javelin

by Steve Wheeler

  'Pretty obvious if you ask me,' Sven said. 'He has been compromised and I think that whatever did it to him, did it very recently. Bet you that an alien ship is up there somewhere close. That would be a fancy piece of tech to enable them to turn a Hauler orbital; thought it wasn't possible. Bet you a dollar to a pinch of goatshit that he has sent another fast picket advising the Haulers' Collective that all is well. We are on our own on this, my friends.'

  There was a long silence, before Fenyang added, 'Most things are possible, my feline friend. And when it comes to a sentient mind they, like us, can be encouraged to believe just about anything. I hope you are wrong, Sven, although you are always such a cheerful pessimist in most things. I really hope you are wrong.'

  He looked out over the savannah. 'Ghost and Spirit have made good time. They will be going in for a close look at the alien right on first light.'

  The three ACEs who had sat throughout the night amongst the obelisk-like rocks watching the distant herd of bluebucks and the still-moving alien saw the very first of the dawn and the stars slowly fading out as the light levels improved.

  The huge baboon, Fenyang, cocked his head slightly and reported, 'Ghost and Spirit are about to make their approach.' Before either of the other two could reply, the Hauler orbital Angelito spoke with his voice booming inside their heads. 'All ACEs within thirty kilometres of Ayana. I expressly forbid you to interfere with the alien that I believe Ayana, Fenyang and Sven are plotting against. If any of you do so, like Ghost and Spirit have just done, I shall not receive any of your Soul Saver uploads and will also shut down your comms system. You have been warned.'

  Fenyang was the first to react. 'Have you lost your mind, Angelito! That thing down there is doing something to the bluebucks. You gave us a warning that the aliens were probably hostile! We must get a better look at what it is up to. It is our job. It is why we were grown into these ACE bodies. It is our duty to protect the creatures you Haulers brought back to life. Creatures that humanity and the solar flare took to extinction.'

  The voice in their heads became almost painfully loud. 'And I am in charge, baboon Fenyang. Me!Not you. I am the overseer of this continent and I reserve the right to change my mind about events. And may I remind you that I am also the one who recommends each and every one of you for advancement within the Haulers' Collective. And, little friends, who is to say that the alien is doing harm? That is your conclusion, not mine. Do not interfere. I will not warn you again.'

  The connection snapped off and the three friends looked at each other.

  'Oh, shit,' Sven said. 'That's a bit of a smashing. Compromised to Hades. But I will not go up against him. Hell, I could not if I wanted to. What now?'

  Ayana shook her head, wondering what else she could do or say and was about to answer when Fenyang spoke.

  'Ghost and Spirit have veered off. They said that they love a good fight, having studied most martial arts over the last few hundred years, but with the big cheese upstairs saying bugger off, they are doing exactly that.'

  Ayana was still shaking her head in resignation. 'They are quite right. Ceasing receipt of Soul Saver uploads I have not heard of before. New one on me. Perhaps I was wrong. I apologise. Let's go home.' She let out a long sigh. 'But let's watch these things anyway, as I am convinced that they are up to no good. Fenyang, please thank Ghost and Spirit for their help and commitment. Let's go. I need to find a falcon so I can send a secure message to Maqua.'

  Haast

  Storfisk System, Gas Giant Moon

  Just as Bob Thompson entered the wide sweeping bridge of the carrier, he heard Mark de Ruyter call out, 'Commander on deck!'

  Everyone at their stations braced their forearms in an acknowledgment of his presence. Those standing, like Mark, stood to attention as he walked in. In reply, he stated loudly, 'Stand easy! My thanks.'

  In the centre of the bridge, there was a clear space where anyone could stand and take in what was always a spectacular view, except when the ship was in cloud. Faces would be pressed against the tall, curved windows to gaze at the distant horizons, down at the vistas below or up towards the stars.

  Bob found himself looking out at the richly coloured curve of the planet below as Haast climbed out of the atmosphere at a very comfortable one gravity thrust. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mark coming across to stand beside him. For long moments neither of them said a word until Bob finally broke the silence.

  'I love this view. Different on every planet I have ever been on, but this one is exceptional.' He looked up at metres of incredibly tough transparent curved graphene above him. 'But then again, it is not often that we find ourselves in a brand-new ship, eh, Mark?'

  Mark de Ruyter nodded slowly in agreement. 'And nice that the sun is behind us for a change, boss. Yes, this is a good ship and terrific crew. I am told that the Baron selected everyone for this ship himself. Is that true?'

  Bob nodded. 'Mostly. I know that there are a few that neither of us was happy about and that Nick Warne in particular was very keen to march off as soon as they walked on, but that's politics. Affects even our employer. But we know who they are, eh. Should not worry about that yourself as that's Nick's job and I know he has personally chewed them out. How long before we rendezvous with the Hauler Rose Foxtrot? '

  Mark turned to the navigation officer, Claire Bretherton. 'Four hours and thirty-two minutes, sir,' Claire said.

  'Nice and easy with one gravity thrust all the way. If you look at five-thirty twelve kilometres down, eight degrees elevation, on a converging course, the Gjomvik Corporation Aquila airship Berkut is climbing to the rendezvous as well.'

  'Thank you,' Bob responded. 'Think I might go have a look. You went up against Berkut a couple of years ago, didn't you, Mark? Want to have another look at it and give me a quick rundown?'

  The two powerfully built men walked thirty metres along the right side of the bridge until they came to the starboard conning station, which had views of the entire side of the ship and also directly aft.

  As the local star was also in plain view, the onboard computers watched the men's eyes and, while tracking their movements, shielded them with a black disc to cover the brilliant light. Looking at the assigned point in the sky, both of them touched studs on their collars and seconds later their face HUDs had formed to show the distant Aquila aircraft carrier.

  Looking at the 120-metre-diameter craf t, shaped like a pudding bowl, Mark increased his magnification and spent a few moments admiring its rugged no-nonsense design.

  'It's a tough ship. Now let me see, yeah, must be close to forty standard years old now. You are aware that its commander has been replaced af ter she was required on another mission, aren't you?'

  Bob shook his head.

  Mark raised an eyebrow. 'Hmm, might have a word with that PA of yours. That rather vital piece of information was to be brought to your attention a few hours ago. Oh, I see, you have not had a look at anything since the little scrap with Mr Warne. Perfectly excusable. Was a good bit of flying.'

  Bob looked closely at Mark. 'Well? Fill me in, Mark.'

  'Roger Mortlock. Very bright man, the brigadier. Been in the game a long time. I served under him briefly as you may know. Great man, intensely loyal to his personnel, very quiet, never once heard him raise his voice to anyone. Has that presence about him that tells you it would be very stupid to underestimate or cross him. Scary bastard. Excellent tactician and he studies battles going back as far as he can. Even studies battles amongst animals and insects.'

  Bob gave a slightly nervous laugh. 'Bit over the top, don't you think? He was with the Administration for thirty-odd years, and then got headhunted by the Aquila forty-six years ago ... and he still studies battles? All battles? I suppose he is brilliant at chess as well, Mark?'

  'Nope. As far as I know, he does not play any games. Well, apart from having a spectacular collection of handmade wooden puzzles.'

  Bob grimaced and let out a tiny groan. 'Oh, shit! So the Baron h
as fed me to this guy, eh?'

  Mark gave him a wry smile, raised his eyebrows and chuckled at his superior's obvious disquiet. 'Yeah. I think that the Baron wants you to learn from one of the best, but that's a total supposition on my part. We have a hell of a crew, good gear, great ship. And, yeah, a chunk of us will make some heavy bonus as we fight a good fight, but I think that the odds are weighed in Berkut's favour. A smart move would be for you to have a quick chat with the brigadier. Fact is, Bob, you will like him. I'll be in my command chair if you want me.'

  Mark smiled, clapped the younger man on the shoulder and walked away. Bob watched him go then turned to the conning console that was used when the airship was being docked against something on its starboard side. He activated the communications unit and spoke briefly with the on-duty communications officer. In a few moments the screen in front of him showed the smiling face of the brigadier who had an ancient-looking, wooden carved tobacco pipe clenched between his teeth. He acknowledged Bob with a sharp little nod and took the pipe from his mouth to speak.

  'Commander Thompson! A pleasure to see you. Great minds think alike obviously. I was within minutes of calling you and inviting you to dine with me once we are aboard Rose. What do you say?'

  Bob looked at the dignified older man with steel-grey hair and an amiable smile and knew that he had already been outflanked and wished fervently that he was the man's second-in-command and not classed as his equal.

  'My thanks, brigadier. Yes, I should enjoy that. I will see what interesting wines are available for us.'

  The older man looked evenly out of the screen and nodded slowly. 'Now that I will indeed look forward to, commander. I am told that you always have an excellent selection of reds from your own vineyards, made in the traditional way, somewhere close on hand wherever you travel. My PA will speak with yours. Bring a companion. I'll see you in five hours. Until then, safe travels.'

  Bob gave a wide genuine smile, his mind thinking of the excellent shiraz he had onboard and silently agreed with Mark's comments that he might get to like the brigadier. He gave a formal nod, as he said, 'I'll come armed with a few bottles and some cheeses, I think. See you soon, sir.'

  The brigadier gave Bob a congenial nod and the connection was severed.

  Bob walked slowly back down the bridge, feeling the rockets rumbling far below him, seeing his crew quietly going about their tasks and wondered what he should wear to see the brigadier. He looked in the bridge command pod to see Mark obviously buried in the never-ending maintenance schedules and gave him a quick thumbs up before walking back into his ready room. He sat down at his screens to see that the most critically urgent message waiting for him was from his PA, advising that the brigadier had taken over command of Berkut and when he checked the time stamp it had been from a few hours earlier when he had been in the orders group going through all the general situation reports of what they were to expect and how they planned to deal with it. He tapped his private comms screen then the icon for his PA whose elegant smiling face greeting him with a soft smile.

  'Michelle. Expect to hear from Berkut's commander's PA. We -yes, you are coming -are having a late meal with him onboard Rose Foxtrot tonight. Also, when there is something as important as a command change on the opposition's ship, could you please make sure I know about it. Perhaps we had better have a talk tomorrow so that we can establish some protocols. Yeah, I know what you are going to say. That I have so much to look at all of the time and I am slack about checking my priority mail. And it's true.'

  Michelle smiled at him. 'It is true, but I am sure that we will work it out. I am presuming that you will take red wine and your cheeses to the dinner onboard Rose? I have already been contacted and there will be a third couple at dinner with us. A Mr Daisuke Suzuki and his companion, both crew members of Rose. We are to provide the canapes, aperitifs and wine. Berkut is doing the main courses and Rose Foxtrot the desserts. I believe that it will be a low-key occasion and my suggestion is your merino three-piece suit. That, and the rest of your attire, is waiting for you in your quarters. I have sent a list of possible wines to your wristscreen. I would not presume to select them as they are from your own vineyards, or at least the same region.'

  Bob laughed, knowing that Michelle was more than capable of selecting the wines. He looked through the lists, selected six to be opened immediately and allowed to breathe, another four as gif ts and then a few of his own superb dessert wines to take as well. He sent the list back to Michelle, thanked her and for the next hour cleared the last of his administration for the day. Feeling like he needed a little exercise, he descended one of the spiral staircases for six decks until he was in the garden areas.

  As he pushed his way through the translucent gel-like doors that sealed immediately behind him, he was greeted by an explosion of life: insects, exotic flowers, wonderful scents and fruits and vegetables in all stages of growing and ripening. He wandered around picking a few passionfruit, a couple of tangelos and then an almost perfectly shaped large pear. He took his selection over to one of the wooden benches and sat down, pulling his little fruit knife from its sheath and taking ten minutes just for himself.

  Seeing other crew members doing the same, he smiled and nodded to himself. 'Itwas good that one of the unwritten traditions of the garden decks was that they were places of peace and contemplation, and people rarely spoke to each other amongst the growth. The decks had spread like wildfire through the ships, of all the various groups, having been made popular by the famous frigate Basalt and its crew, after they had taken a long seven-year journey to get themselves home.

  Bob dropped the peelings from the fruit onto a wooden tabletop, knowing that within an hour they would be absorbed back into the gardens. He looked around and picked another pear, a couple of apples and an orange, and dropped them into one of the long pockets of his tunic. Just before he exited through the gel door, he cleaned his knife, then wiped his face on one of the fragrant living towels of finely bound fibres.

  Outside the door, looking out through one of the tall ellipse windows in the hull to the distant starfields, he smiled, thinking that he had made the right decisions. Even if he had his arse handed to him on a plate fighting a superb tactician who would frighten the hell out of him, and probably smash a lot of his beautiful equipment and crew, it was worth it.

  He walked down another two decks and looked at the four huge antigravity units quietly humming to themselves, any one of which could easily lif t Haast and its contents into orbit and still be using only half of its rated output. He looked around the other parts and wondered for the hundredth time why everything was so over-engineered.

  Then he walked down another deck and into the engineering area of Alpha Squadron, looking for one of his oldest mates, the cyborg, Uncle. After walking most of the forward length of the workshop he found the part-man hunched over a tiny milling machine, creating something complex from a piece of steel.

  Bob tapped the bench beside him to get his attention, knowing that he would be listening to some obscure old music in his head.

  Sergeant Major Graham Kyle looked sideways at the commander, giving him a nod and a small smile. 'So what brings you all the way down here? Missing the real deal of making stuff, eh?'

  'What are you making this time, Uncle? Hmm, let me guess ... looks like a slide for a pistol. My one, maybe? You are funny! Most would just have one of the growers make it, or at very least an auto mill.'

  Uncle nodded, tapping the little mill with a titanium fingernail, and agreed. 'Yeah, I am funny, but where is the pleasure in getting a machine to make what I want and besides, it would be pointless otherwise to cart this beautiful equipment around with me. Could be your one, but unlikely, as yours is in my arms' cote.'

  He gestured at the massive cabinet in front of him, which Bob knew could fold out numerous times allowing Uncle, and others on rare occasions, to use the hundreds of perfectly maintained tools and machines. Bob also knew from long experience that Uncle would not
let anyone maintain his prosthetic arms and legs, and he respected that. He pulled the fruit from his pocket and placed it on the benchtop beside his old friend. Uncle nodded in thanks then took up one of the apples in his left, beautifully streamlined metallic hand.

  A long slim blade slid from the end of his right index finger which he used to quietly slice up the fruit as he ate it.

  As he enjoyed the fruit, one of the cabinet's doors opened and folded aside as a group of drawers slid out.

  'left side, second from the top, Bob.'

  Bob reached up, slid the drawer open and pulled out the nine-millimetre pistol. He slid the action open, checked that the chamber was empty, closed it and took the four magazines from the drawer. He admired each piece of exquisitely made weaponry, then looked at the grips and laughed out loud at seeing the bas-relief carved representations of Hawk aircraft.

  He clapped Uncle's metal shoulder. 'I shall transfer the last payment into your account, thanks, Uncle. Stunner, mate. Stunner. Wonder if Aaron Huriwaka has some ammunition sorted for me?'

  Uncle pointed with his blade. 'End of the bench. He decided that 300rounds should be enough for you to get used to the weapon! Isaid more like 500before you learned to shoot it, but there you go ... some people have more faith in you than Ido.'

  'Fucking wanker!' Bob said affectionately. 'Switch off that targeting software in your head and I would beat you any day!'

  Bob took the weapon and ammunition and walked over to the ship-wide weapon delivery system, which could have any personal issue or privately owned firearm to its owner anywhere on the ship within minutes. The main computer logged the new nine millimetre and ammunition as Bob's and took the package away for safekeeping.