The kitten looked towards its mother and bounced past Alice. The big matron cat huffed a little as her offspring nudged its way towards her underside. Alice took it as a sign that her command and control system might have the estimate on how long the cat would take to get back on her feet wrong. “Time to move on,” Alice said to herself, pressing deeper into the jungle.
CHAPTER 10
Predators
The Lemta-So System had been a hub of trade and passenger transportation for so long that Minh-Chu couldn’t get through the history document proffered by the major ports. As he sat quietly waiting with Samurai Wing in a man-made debris belt, he couldn’t help but take another look at the document as yet another version downloaded.
For every colony and station, there was a founder and a flag. There seemed to be an unannounced competition between every settlement to present their stories in the most dramatic fashion possible. Every time he scanned areas that were settled, the communications systems in that area spammed him with the Lemta-So history documents along with the normal collection of advertisements. He assumed they’d be returning to the system, so he decided the historical documents would be good for the trip back to Rega-Gain. As for the advertisements, he kept the ones that were flagged by other users for being funny. It was a habit he’d picked up from Ashley.
The list of privately owned ports and space stations was overwhelming. He checked on the Warlord using long-range scanners. The ship was still holding in an outer orbit around one of the older, larger stations in the system over a million kilometres away. To any casual observer, it looked like the crew was holding in a pattern, getting the ship ready for docking.
All seven Samurai Squadron pilots were in on the operation. Four Uriel fighters and three Ramiel craft drifted in sync with the debris belt. It wasn’t happenstance that there was a junk belt between Orrot and Mormont, two of the major settled worlds in the Lemta-So System. It was one of many used to enforce a reasonable interplanetary speed on craft travelling within its boundaries. The Ceri Belt was not heavily policed, and Minh-Chu doubted his group would be bothered by the laughable customs patrol; Samurai Squadron was too heavily armed for any of them to risk a challenge.
“Just wondering, why this ship? Just a cursory scan of the area is revealing a target-rich environment, and most of these vessels aren’t disguising their affiliations,” asked Singe, one of the newest additions to Samurai Squadron. She was a fighter pilot for the British Alliance who retired a month before after twenty years of service. To Minh-Chu’s astonishment, she was on his doorstep a week later, offering her services to his fighter wing. Her service record rendered him speechless; she had already served as a wing commander for six years in the British Alliance.
“It was the captain’s choice,” Minh-Chu replied. She was right, there were half a dozen ships contracted by Regent Galactic or Order of Eden, and many other ships heading towards their territories. The shipping business was booming, and Lemta-So was a major collection point for manufacturers and raw material providers to gather and sell their wares. All those producers wanted to remain neutral, as it wasn’t unusual for such companies to try to sell to both sides at the beginning of a war.
Minh-Chu didn’t feel comfortable withholding all the details about their target from his second in command. “We got some good inside information on our target though, and there are a few containers that read high on the biological chart, even through radiation and scan shielding.”
“So, he’s on a mission of liberation,” Singe replied. “Or at least needs to find out what’s in those containers to be sure they’re not carrying unwilling passengers.”
“Exactly,” Minh-Chu said. “The crewman we pulled the info out of didn’t have the details on those transportation cars. They’re sealed to everyone but the commanding officers.”
“Another sign that there are probably slaves within,” Singe said. “I’m all for freeing folk, and I know half the Warlord’s permanent crew are liberated people, but I’m wondering what keeps the captain’s nose pointed to helping them.”
Minh-Chu thought for a moment. It was something no one had asked him before. With all of Samurai Squadron listening in, he wanted to give the right answer for his friend and captain.
“Ronin?” probed Singe after waiting nearly a minute for a response. “Have I wandered into a dangerous topic?”
“No, there’s just a lot of history,” Minh-Chu replied. For the last two months, he’d worked with Jake on compiling the story of Vindyne, Freeground, Regent Galactic, the Order Of Eden, and that of all of his friends, starting with their departure from Freeground so they could hand the completed document over to the British Alliance. The walk down memory lane had been a long and revealing one. “If I were to explain why he’s driven to free people in as few words as possible, I’d say it probably starts with the fact that Jake is, or at least was, property of Regent Galactic. He’s been property of at least two corporations we know of, so if anyone knows what it’s like to be in chains, it would be him.”
“That makes sense,” Singe replied. “Where would I find the long version of that story? It’s not in the personnel files.”
“It will be soon,” Minh-Chu said. Jacob Valent’s history would be one of the few personal stories that would become widely public in the next week. In order to assist in the British Alliance’s defence of Jacob Valent against charges of attempted genocide filed with the Galactic Courts a year before by Regent Galactic and the Order of Eden, they would be releasing Jonas Valent’s and Jacob Valance’s entire history in every district the Galactic Courts claimed to have jurisdiction over. Almost all the survivors of the Holocaust Virus, over a quarter of a trillion humans, would have access to that information, starting with the core worlds and the Rega Gain System. The defence was part of the complicated deal Minh-Chu and Jake made with the British Alliance without consulting the people of Haven Shore. They were working to build something that could act separately. Whereas Haven Shore was a peaceful settlement under the concerted protection of the Carthans, British Alliance, and the Triton, the Warlord and Samurai Squadron would lead the charge in war. Taking the little cargo hauler called the Torano would be the first offensive, a test against easy prey.
“Oh, there’s one more thing about this shipment that makes it pretty hard to pass up. Cash. One of the crewmen Stephanie met a month ago from the Star Shifter said that this was one of the transports moving money collected from Order of Eden pledges.”
“If we take this haul in, I don’t think people will continue to question our information-gathering campaign,” Singe said. “But the shipwrights on the Warlord are going to be pissed.”
“I know, but they’re off on the next stop anyway,” Minh-Chu repliled. The Shipwrights were on loan from the British Alliance, and the Warlord was allowed to leave port with them aboard on the condition that they returned to Rega Gain on schedule and that they wouldn’t initiate combat operations. “Captain Valent couldn’t pass this up,” Minh-Chu explained, “and I think he’s been restless the last couple months, ever since he captured Captain Terka on Modun for our British friends.”
“He captured someone?” Singe asked.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot you didn’t know about that. A little side operation. We got word that the captain of the Resplendent was going to be visiting an old friend on Modun and Jake negotiated a bounty with the British Alliance. You remember when Stephanie was in command for three days?”
“That’s when he snuck off and got ‘im,” Singe said. “As broody as the man is, he still impresses, I’ll give him that.”
“Just don’t ask for details,” Minh-Chu said, aware that the bounty brought back some old demons for his friend, the captain.
“Time for final prep. Verify your settings, sync your autopilots and control interfaces,” Singe reminded the small fighter wing as Minh-Chu was just starting to think it was about time he did so. “Mission counter is under sixty seconds, we should start seeing fireworks soon.�
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“It’s about time,” Joyboy said as his ready indicator turned green in Minh-Chu’s peripheral vision.
Minh-Chu watched the counter drop, second by second, as he verified that the fighter’s control systems were synced up properly. They were finally using the augmented interface built into the Earth Defence Force designed fighters. They still had their hands on manual controls, but more than half of the fighters’ responses were keyed by readings taken straight from the pilots’ brain functions. Samurai Squadron was the first to fully utilize the deadly quick systems after their software was restored and locked, so it couldn’t be hacked unless someone was sitting inside the cockpit.
The mission counter descended down to ten seconds, and Minh-Chu noticed that the Warlord’s main engines still weren’t powered up, and the Torano wasn’t on scanners. “Everyone check your tactical,” Minh-Chu said. “The Torano hasn’t departed the station on time.”
He deactivated the mission counter. It was up to them to watch for the emergence of the Torano or its escort. Minh-Chu performed a focused scan in the direction of the space station, so far away it couldn’t be seen by the naked eye. The quality of his results was a reflection of a focused scan at long distance – they were incomplete and difficult to read.
“I’ve got it,” Singe said. “Sent it to your screens.”
The profile of the Torano appeared on Minh-Chu’s tactical scanner, just on the other side of the sprawling Zalor drift station. A second later, the transponder information appeared with it. “They timed their departure with a solar radiation spike,” Joyboy said. “This is one smart freighter captain.”
“Watch for those modified shuttles,” Minh-Chu said. “Spread out and close on the Torano, full burn. Singe, stay back far enough to cover us with Joyboy and Uppity.”
“Aye, watching for the uglies.”
“Torano, this is the Warlord,” Minh-Chu overheard. Jake was handling the communications with the Torano himself. “I have your crewman, and will execute him as a Regent Galactic conspirator unless you surrender your ship and cargo. You have ten seconds to respond.”
“Warlord, this is Torano Command,” replied someone aboard the Torano. “My duty to the Regent Galactic Corporation supersedes my obligation to my daughter’s idiot husband. You picked a lemon for a hostage, Captain, and I’ll be on my way.”
“Coming up on the station,” Dent said from where he covered Minh-Chu’s right side in a Ramiel Fighter.
Zalor station seemed endless, stretching off into the distance in a seemingly haphazard shape. Large panels collecting light and accumulating energy from gravity reached out from a jagged centre that housed hundreds of docking bays, thousands of mooring points, and thousands of interior compartments. The magnetic field surrounding the station forced Minh-Chu’s shields to auto-adjust. “Wait, go around,” he said as he realized what the Turano was doing by leading them through the field.
The enemy ship’s dorsal and rear shell cannons fired, blasting several of the station’s power collection panels into thousands of tiny pieces. Suddenly, the lead ships in Minh-Chu’s wing were flying through a field of hardened debris. His ship registered several impacts but didn’t take any serious damage.
“Cockpit strike!” Dent announced. “I have a control malfunction, trying to recalibrate.”
Minh-Chu checked Dent’s condition and nodded to himself. Several chunks of cockpit shielding broke free in the impact, but Dent’s suit saved him. His Ramiel fighter had a severe vulnerability with its cockpit compromised. “I need you to drop back on this one, Dent.”
“Ronin, I just got my controls recalibrated, I’m still in this,” Dent replied.
“We don’t fly around with busted cockpit armour unless we have to. Head for cover,” Minh-Chu replied.
“Aye, sorry,” Dent replied. His fighter broke off and his position was taken by Tempest.
“I’ve got two uglies on my scanners,” Minh-Chu said as they appeared on his tactical display. An instant later, his system reported that all his pilots looked at the new enemies and understood what they were thanks to the mental tracking systems built into their fighters. “You’re headed straight for them, Dent.”
“I know, evading,” he replied.
Beams of orange-yellow light erupted from the enemy fighters as he rotated his ship so his damaged cockpit was facing away from the enemy. The shuttles’ destructive beams swept over the surface of the much smaller Ramiel fighter, reducing Dent’s shields to twelve percent and ripping through one of his engine pods before he could find cover behind one of the station’s docking terminals. “Holy hell, that is some serious firepower,” Dent said, chuckling nervously. “Okay, one engine pod down, some other minor damage, but I’m okay. My scanners got a snapshot of their systems – looks like a small antimatter reactor powers each ship. Wish I could help out more, but I’ll be over here licking my wounds.”
“Nice work, Dent. All fighters, direct main power to shields and switch to explosive rounds,” Minh-Chu ordered. The uglies, twelve-man transit shuttles with shield plating and several particle beams, were on course to cover the Turano’s rear. Rods began extending out from the sides of the ugly shuttles, and it only took a moment for Minh-Chu to realize what they were. “They’re getting ready to put up some serious shielding, I’m opening fire.”
“Ronin, intelligence suggests we won’t have more players on the field, and the station is only sending us the standard warning,” Singe said. “Permission to move in and engage?”
Minh-Chu and his two accompanying wingmen passed behind a large segment of the station and he held his answer as he listened to the communicator. “Warlord to Turano,” Jake addressed. “You tested me.” The channel closed. The Warlord was moving on to the next phase of their plan; Minh-Chu and the Samurai wing had to hurry.
“Come in on their starboard side,” Minh-Chu said as he reversed thrust. Tempest and Quack, to his left and right, did the same, and they held position behind one of the station’s main docking segments. “We need you to distract them so they don’t have us dead-to-rights as soon as we break cover.”
“Aye, on it,” Singe said.
A small surge of atmosphere burst from one of the Warlord’s fore airlocks, and Minh-Chu’s sensors marked a new rescue target on screen.
“Did the Warlord just airlock someone?” asked Joyboy.
“He’s alive, in an emergency evac bag,” Singe said. Minh-Chu was glad she was explaining the situation, because he was still staring at his tactical readouts in disbelief. “Looks like our captain chose a wise compromise – he didn’t kill his hostage, but he’s given our target something new to worry about – a son-in-law adrift in space.”
The Warlord’s engines flared as it changed course, moving away from the jettisoned hostage at speed and towards the Torano. “Samurai Squadron,” Captain Valent addressed. “Slag those shuttles.” The Warlord cloaked and completely disappeared from scanners.
CHAPTER 11
Dirty Tricks
It was the first time anyone on the Council had to take a recess so they could get themselves together. The mess Liam left behind politically and emotionally frustrated Ayan more than she would have liked to admit. In the wake of their tame break up months before, it was difficult to stay positive, and she caught herself looking at the negative side of things, and fighting a situation instead of thinking her way through it. Her failure to make her relationship with Liam Grady work had left a lingering anger, and she wasn’t herself. Ayan buried herself in work, and pushed people away until, one day, she broke down and retreated to the Triton. Her old friend, Commander Terry Ozark McPatrick, or Oz for short, was the one who pointed out that Lacey was already in place as her immediate subordinate, but Ayan largely ignored her until then.
Without a whiff of ego or bitterness at being disregarded, Lacey stepped in thanks to Oz’s re-invitation, and became Ayan’s true right hand in all things. After a few weeks, the two women spent most days together from breakf
ast to the late evening. The negativity that plagued Ayan abated with the frustration she felt at drifting apart from Liam. She once again strove to accept what she couldn’t change and concentrated on the good she could do every minute of every day.
In the months since their real collaboration started, Ayan maintained her position on the Council, took a commanding spot with the new Rangers, and she was constantly grateful to have Lacey at her side. She expressed how thankful she was often, and Lacey brushed it off. She was where she wanted to be, never bored, and even on the worst days she admired Ayan’s coping abilities.
That was why it was difficult for Lacey to watch the scene Liam Grady, not a habitual grandstander, put on for the Council and anyone who had access to the recordings of the proceedings in the chamber, which was everyone. Lacey watched as Ayan paced the small open space between padded seats against the walls in a small waiting room adjacent to the Council chambers. “There are so many things I could have said, but I settled on ‘goodbye.’” Ayan shrugged helplessly.
“It seems like he was trying to publicly take the blame for what happened between you two, to take it off your shoulders. I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but I agree with most of what he said. You just lost two of your best friends, and after being around you for this long, I know you need affection in your life. It makes sense that you’d turn to someone you trust and admire for that. He should have held you at arms’ length, no matter how ‘magnificent’ you are,” she couldn’t help but exaggerate ‘magnificent’ it was such an over-appreciative word, even if Lacey agreed with the praise. “Even still, that’s all in the past. I know you two said everything you needed to when you finally broke things off. I don’t think he deserved anything more than ‘goodbye’ from you.”
“Maybe not.” Ayan wiped her eyes with a tissue in reflex, but there were no tears left to mop up. She felt weary and irritated, but her sadness had gone before long. “I don’t have time to deal with this. The Warlord is coming back, and they’ll need qualified people. We have to take care of today’s business and get a volunteer list ready.”
Randolph Lalonde - Spinward Fringe Broadcast 08 - Renegades Page 8
