Hecate

by J. B. Rockwell

  “Yeah, yeah. Next time, toots.” Scythe activated her sensors—Hanu’s job, scan tech was not happy about losing out on that task as well—scanning the area around them. “Wasteland,” she reported. “Oh, wait. Scratch that. Stand by for company.”

  Perimeter alarms sounded, sensors reporting jump displacements behind them and to either side.

  “What the hell?” Henricksen reached for the ship’s controls, muscles tensing, adrenaline kicking in. “Hanu! What—”

  “Friendlies.” Hanu consulted her panel, head lifting as the hyperspace buckles resolved, spitting four sharp-sided shapes out. “Looks like our little buddies got antsy.”

  “Goddammit, Shriek.” Henricksen stabbed at Comms, opening a secure channel to the other stealth ships. “I told you to wait, Petros. That means hang back until—”

  “Waiting’s for chumps,” Shriek grumbled. “No way I’m sitting back there while you guys have all the fun.”

  Henricksen glared at the camera feed as Shriek approached, moving up on Scythe’s starboard side. “Shut down your engines,” he ordered. “No telling what’s out here, and there’s no sense broadcasting our presence to the entire galaxy.”

  Scans still came up empty, nothing but Scythe and those other four Ravens in the vicinity, but you could never be too careful. Never quite knew what eyes and ears lurked about.

  “Spin up your cloaks while you’re at it,” Henricksen added. “We’re supposed to be sneaking, remember?”

  “Roger-dodger, Cap’n.” Shriek’s engines snuffed out, sharp-sided shape shimmering as his stealth system came online.

  Turned him invisible in an instant—nothing at all showing to the naked eye, not a blip appearing on Scan.

  “Scythe?” Henricksen glanced up at a camera. “You got that magic decoder ring ready?”

  “You betcha!” She toggled her sensors, bringing a brand new array online.

  Purpose-built equipment, specially designed for the Ravens. Tuned to the stealth system’s frequency and the garbled, white noise energy signature it put out. Picked it out from the rest of the background noise of space around it, showing the cloaked ship as a ghostly, flickering image, wavering in and out on Scan.

  Scythe fired up the new array and pointed it in Shriek’s direction, fiddling with the settings until his signature appeared.

  Shriek giggled as the sensors swept across his body. “Ooh. That tickles!”

  “Shut it down, Shriek,” Henricksen growled. “I could do without all the chatter.”

  “Roger. Shuttin’ it down, boss.” Shriek went quiet, but the channel stayed open. “Sneak-sneak-sneak,” he snickered. “Sneaky-sneak-sneak-sneak-sneak.”

  “Shriek!”

  “Sorry, sorry, sorry.” The line clicked as Shriek shut the channel down.

  “Blabbermouth,” Henricksen muttered.

  “Your fault,” Ogawa reminded him, sparing a look for the gunner inside his pod. “You and Trigger there did this to them with that drunk-icon you built.”

  “Trigger?” Sikuuku leaned out of his pod. “Trigger was a horse.”

  Ogawa shrugged. “Takes one to know one. Especially the hind end.”

  “Oh, so now I’m the ass end of a—”

  “Shut it down! Both of you! All of you,” Henricksen ordered, so Hanu wouldn’t feel left out. He glanced around, looking at each of them, waggling a finger at Sikuuku until he tucked back inside his pod.

  Lot of nerves in that cockpit—felt it, sensed it, even if he couldn’t see the crew’s faces. Lot of fear and uncertainty underneath the joking, nonsensical banter. Understood it on some level, even commiserated a bit. But Henricksen didn’t have time for handholding and messing about. Not with that asteroid field staring him in the face. This wasn’t sim training anymore or even live tests. This was a mission. This was the real thing. He needed crew on task. Focused in and locked down tight, not bickering like school children.

  “Concentrate, people.” Another look around the bridge pod, comms carrying his voice to the four other Ravens. “You can piss on each other all you want once this mission is over and we’re back on station. Right now I need you focused on one thing and one thing only: getting into that asteroid field.” He pointed a finger at the floating mass of distant rocks. “We do that without messing up too badly, we move onto step two: finding Kinsey’s canister and getting the hell back out. Everyone got that?”

  Crew on Scythe looked at each other, at Henricksen and the camera watching from above. Nodded and bowed their heads over their panels, busying themselves at their stations. Shriek and the others sent their acknowledgments—clipped communications before the comms channel cut out. And afterward came silence. Heavy, foreboding, feeding the tension inside the bridge pod again.

  “’M not a horse,” Sikuuku muttered. “She’s a horse.”

  “No one’s a horse,” Henricksen growled, stabbing at the Pilot station’s controls. “Just drop it, Akiwane. Ya hear me?” He threw a look over his shoulder, waiting for the the gunner’s nod. Faced around and looked up at the camera right in front him, looking down on the tight confines of the bridge. “Can you give me that star chart, Scythe?”

  A map appeared before he finished his sentence—a star chart in miniature laid alongside the asteroid field schematic.

  Henricksen studied it a moment, looking the data tags over. “Tight focus on the asteroid field. Layer in the drop coordinates and that schematic Kinsey gave us so we can focus our search.”

  “Done.”

  Scythe added the requested information, coordinates covering a broad area—nearly two-thirds of the oblong blob of randomness the star charts tagged as an asteroid field. Layered in that all-but-useless schematic Kinsey gave them, bringing it all together to create quite the mess. A maelstrom of data that said almost nothing at all. Oh, Scythe’s scans captured the size of the field, gave an approximation of the relative density of the rocks inside, and the star charts gave it context, but that schematic…modeling and guesswork. None of it real information, just a rough idea of the asteroid field’s layout and contents. A prediction based on pieced together, incomplete data Kinsey’s intel spook somehow managed to cobble together.

  “Fuck me,” Henricksen sighed, pushing the layered map to the corner of the window. “That’s not all that helpful, is it?”

  “Better than nothing,” Scythe told him.

  “Maybe.” He chewed his lip, eyeing the asteroid field data doubtfully. “Lotta rocks out there. Lotta places for a tiny metal canister to hide.”

  “Sensors might help, once we’re actually in. And there’s the four of us,” Sikuuku pointed out, waving at the crew on the bridge. “Four more of us on each of the other stealth ships.” He counted on his fingers, shrugged and spread his hands. “That’s a lotta eyes.”

  Henricksen grunted, consulting the star chart, checking their position relative to the asteroid field. Layered in the mission plan they’d developed earlier, splitting the asteroid field into five sections, layering in search patterns for each ship. Kept the focus of that search on the open space the crap schematic showed at the asteroid field’s center—the same place Kinsey’s intel claimed that DSR science station hid.

  Supposed to get scans of it, bring that information back with them, along with whatever Kinsey’s spook stuffed inside this mysterious can. Canister itself shouldn’t be all that far from the station, in theory, so the search plan he laid out started at the middle, and worked its way out from there.

  “Grid pattern.” Henricksen reopened the comms line, speaking to all the ships now. “We split up and search for that canister. One ship per sector, just like we planned.”

  “What about that thing in the middle?” Baldini asked. “That science station or whatever they’re calling it? Should we—”

  “You just focus on your sector, Baldini. Let me worry about the station.”

  “Aye, sir.” Clipped communication from Baldini, voice just this side of surly.

  A click in Henricksen�
�s ear and Sikuuku’s voice came through—private channel, direct line to his helmet. “Someone’s not happy.”

  “Tough.” Henricksen stabbed at the panel in front of him, synching the Pilot’s station to the coordinates on the front display. “Got a job to do. Not my problem if Baldini doesn’t like it.”

  A hand landed on his shoulder, fingers squeezing until Henricksen looked up.

  Shadowed shape, reflecting off the front windows, Sikuuku’s voice filling Henricksen’s helmet as the gunner leaned out of the Artillery pod. “Not quite sure he’s cut out for this, Garrett. Boy wants to be a hero and blow shit up, not sneak around searching for some intel spook’s can.”

  Henricksen turned his head, considering the gunner behind him, wishing he could see his face. “Kinsey’s choice, not mine. You ask me—” He broke off, letting the sentence hang. Sighed and flipped a hand as he turned back to his station. “Doesn’t matter. We’re here now. Let’s just get this done.”

  “Aye, sir.” Sikuuku squeezed his shoulder, hand lifting as he tucked back into his pod. Machinery whirring as he flicked at switches, pod pivoting as the targeting system came on-line.

  Henricksen glanced at the windows, studying the reflection of that pod behind him. Hopefully they wouldn’t need those guns. Best possible outcome of this operation would be a clean sweep and smooth pick-up. DSR none the wiser, oblivious to the fact they were ever there.

  “Yeah, right,” he muttered, eyeing the map of the asteroid field. The constantly shifting sea of tumbling rocks. “What are the odds of that?”

  “Sir?” Hanu turned, visored face looking his way.

  “Nothing, Hanu. Just talking to myself.” He reached for the panel in front of him, parsing up the asteroid field, passing out assignments to the other RV-Ns. Assigned Sharp and Mahal to one of the near-side sectors, Janssen and Snicker-snack to the other. Sever and Baldini went to the far side of the asteroid field—all the way across the empty space that supposedly lay at its center—with Shriek and Petros assigned to an adjoining sector.

  Kept the cherry for himself and Scythe, a search pattern focused exclusively on the asteroid field’s center. Canister probably wouldn’t be there, but that science station should. Assuming, of course, that it actually existed.

  Better be there, he thought, eyeing the asteroid field in the distance. Better not be some goddamn wild goose chase total waste of out time.

  “Needle in a haystack,” Ogawa grumbled, looking from the schematic on the front windows to the data on her panel. “How are we supposed to find anything in there with all those rocks in the way?”

  “We’ll find it,” Henricksen told her. “Just you wait and see.”

  Wasn’t quite so sure of that, to be honest, but command was about leading, and sometimes that meant faking it and acting more confident than you actually felt.

  “Hanu. Give me a sweep of the asteroid field.”

  Hanu was quiet a moment, head bowed over her panel. “Not much to see, sir.” A few strokes of the keys ran a series of overlapping sensors scans, parsers sorting through the results that came back. “Rocks, and rocks, and more rocks,” she reported. “That’s pretty much all I’m getting from here.”

  “Well, crap.” Henricksen chewed his lip, knowing what he needed to do, dreading it just the same. “Ogawa. Main propulsion.” He looked at her, studying her helmeted head in profile as she called up the propulsion system’s controls. “What do the calcs say?”

  “Hang on.”

  She pulled up the calculations and checked them over—no need to, Scythe had already verified the data, but Ogawa was meticulous when it came to her math. Double checked their current velocity, consulting the star chart and that schematic to figure out where, and when, and how fast to approach the asteroid field. Figure out how much speed they could carry and still safely enter it and maneuver about.

  “Five-second burn,” she determined, checking everything a second time. “That’s the optimal set-up for approach.”

  Henricksen glanced at the camera, looking to Scythe for confirmation. Nodded his thanks when a tiny red light flashed discretely. “Five seconds it is. Bring the mains on-line on my mark. Launch us toward that asteroid field and then you cut ’em, you hear me? All the way down. Nothing but maneuvering jets from there on in.”

  Stealth system should hide their shape if anyone was looking—live tests proved that system out. But there was no technology he knew of that could mask a ship’s energy trail.

  Couldn’t risk the DSR picking up that tell-tale signature. Rocks messed with the sensors—you bet they did—but the closer they got in, the more likely something would slip through.

  “We’ll thread our way through to the middle.” Henricksen pointed to the open space showing at the center of the asteroid field map. “Split up from there and start searching from the inside out. Canister’s probably drifted a bit, but explosive decompression will only throw it so far before it runs into something. And from the looks of things,” another glance at the windows, “there’s a lotta somethings to run into out there.”

  “Think she reinforced it?” Sikuuku asked. “Composite metal can running up against a few tons of solid rock…” A grunt from inside the Artillery pod, the entire contraption turning to give the gunner a better view of the windows. “Squash that thing flat as a pancake. Probably destroy everything inside.”

  “I’m sure she considered that,” Henricksen said sourly. “Don’t know Kinsey’s spook, but I assume if she was smart enough to fake her way into that DSR installation, she’s smart enough to use a reinforced container to deliver her package.”

  “What if she didn’t?” Hanu asked worriedly, hands hovering above her panel.

  Henricksen sighed in annoyance, wishing Sikuuku had just kept his mouth shut. “We’ll find it,” he repeated. “Now, eyes front, the both of you,” he said, looking from Hanu on one side to Ogawa on the other. “Got enough to worry about with all those rocks out there, last thing I need is the two of you worrying about whether the goddamn can’s flat or not.”

  “Aye, sir,” Ogawa murmured, but Hanu just sat there, hands poised above Scan’s panel, visored face staring at the windows.

  “Hanu? You with me?”

  She shook herself, hands settling on the panel, palms pressed flat. “Aye, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  “Don’t want your apologies, Hanu. Just want you focused on the job at hand.”

  “Yes, sir.” She looked at him, dark shoulders shrugging in the dim confines of the bridge. “Sor—Aye, sir,” she repeated, more confidently this time. “Good to go.”

  “You sure?”

  Hanu hesitated, nodded confidently a second or two later.

  “Alright then.” Henricksen wrapped his fingers around the RV-N’s control stick, touching at a panel to open a channel to the ships around them. “I want minimal comms from here on out. You got that, Shriek?”

  “Me?” Shriek sounded indignant. “What’d I do? Why are you singling me out?”

  “’Cause you got a big yap. And your pilot’s not much better.”

  “Hey!” Baldini objected.

  “Shut it. Both of you,” Henricksen ordered, setting his controls. “And keep it shut unless it’s important.”

  “How am I—?”

  “Really important,” he said, cutting Shriek off. “Now lock in on the entry point. We’re go for burn in three. Two. One. Launch.”

  Ogawa hit the engines, main propulsion running wide open, pinning the crew to their seats. Sensors picked up the energy signatures from Shriek and the other Ravens following behind her, clustered together in an arrow-shaped wedge.

  Not a configuration they’d agreed upon—not necessarily a bad idea, but a curious deviation from plan.

  Henricksen made a mental note to ask about that later. When he had enough air in his lungs to actually formulate a question. For now, he just focused on breathing, g-load pressing against him like an anvil, pressure suit an overstuffed sausage casing squeezing at his fle
sh.

  Vibration shook the bridge pod, harmonic tremors from the cloaking system increasing in proportion to the ship’s speed. Doubled and redoubled, worse than anything Henricksen remembered from the sims or the live tests. The entire ship rattling, vibrating with that organ-shaking, eyeball jangling hum.

  “What the fuck?” Sikuuku gasped, voice strangled, choking from his mouth.

  Henricksen tried to answer, but he couldn’t quite find the breath. Tried to move his head, his hand, anything, an impossibility with that g-load working against. Fighting him. Pinning him down.

  Five seconds—just five seconds, those engines burned wide open. But those five seconds felt like an eternity. A lifetime as the crew sat there and suffered. Left Henricksen sweating and shaking, vision wavering as Ogawa reached for the panel, hand straining, arm trembling, gloved fingers stabbing blindly for the engine controls.

  Stabbed and missed, again and again. Gave up on the controls after the third try and searched for the engine’s kill switch as the burn clock rolled past five seconds and came up on six.

  Too long, Henricksen’s abused brain had time to think. We’re coming in too fast.

  Six seconds on the burn clock and Scythe intervened. Shut down main propulsion and toggled the engine controls, throwing everything into reverse.

  Second, brutal shove at the crews’ bodies, Henricksen grunting as he slammed against the restraining straps—muscles bruised, bones aching, lungs deflating as every last puff of air rushed out in a gust. G-load returned, making his eyeballs bulge and shake. The world turned grey at the edges, every bone in his body creaking, threatening to break under the strain. And then Scythe mercifully cut the engines, shutting everything back down.

  Drifted on momentum while Henricksen sat there, wheezing desperately, sucking at the atmospherics his flight suit fed into his helmet, trying to convince his lungs to fill back up.

  A flash of light and Shriek shot by, engines glowing for a fraction of a second before winking out. Henricksen threw his hand forward, slapping at Helm’s panel to bring up the sensor data from Scan. Blinked blearily until the ghostly shapes of the other three Ravens came into focus, strung out in a ragged line behind Scythe.