The Mutineer's Daughter

by Chris Kennedy

  Mio put the rifle back on her shoulder, then another from the pile. She could hear Dan moving off as she picked up a third. Although one didn’t seem heavy, three was a load, especially after a night of stress and exertion. She thought about trying to pick up one more, but when she bent over, the ones she already had shifted and threatened to pull her over. She decided three was enough and turned to follow Dan. She caught a glimpse of him as he disappeared into the forest, and she hurried to catch up.

  * * *

  “Mio…hey, Mio. Wake up.”

  Mio tried to pull away from the hand shaking her, but it was strong, and she was forced into wakefulness. She had been tossing and turning all day as she slept, her dreams haunted by Terran soldiers chasing after her on a blood-red river. She woke and blinked several times, struggling to separate reality from the nightmares of her dreams. She remembered the raid, the chase, and the fight in the clearing. Well, at least she knew where the river in her dreams had come from. Then she had struggled to carry the rifles and keep up with Dan as he hurried through the forest, before reaching the camp. She had remained awake long enough to see that someone was going to attend to Harry, had turned in the rifles she carried (all on “Safe”), and had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

  She stretched and found she had a number of sore muscles and strained tendons, but she couldn’t be sure which ones had been damaged when. The previous night was sort of a blur, except for when Dan killed the last soldier. That was horrifically clear and made her stomach turn just thinking about it.

  She turned to find Dan on one knee beside her sleeping bag. “Hey, Sleepy Head,” he said. “You going to sleep the whole day away?”

  “Um, what time is it?” Mio asked, stretching again. The muscles weren’t quite as sore the second time.

  “Well, let me put it to you this way. You’re going to have dinner for breakfast.”

  “Oh, stars,” she said, crawling out of bed, a look of panic on her face. “I missed doing the lunch clean-up; people are going to be pissed!”

  “Relax,” Dan said. “I took care of it. Doing dishes sometimes can be good for you; it gives you time to contemplate.”

  “Too much time,” Mio grumbled, then realized what he had done. “Oh! I mean, thanks for taking my place. Why didn’t you come get me?”

  “You had a big night,” Dan said with a shrug. “Also, you saved my life, so it was the least I could do.”

  “Saved your life?” Mio asked. “How did I do that? I thought he was going to kill Harry, not you.”

  “Well, he was, but he would have killed me too, at some point. I killed some of their troops; he would have had to.” He shrugged again. “Besides, I was just about to rush the last one when you showed up. I knew Harry didn’t have much longer, so I was about to make a play to take the soldier out. It’s unlikely I would have survived it…but then again, I don’t think I would have lasted long in Terran captivity.”

  “Um…so, how is Harry?” Mio asked. Even she could hear the dread in her voice.

  “He’ll be fine,” Dan said. “The wounds weren’t quite as bad as I thought, and he responded well to medical treatment. He should be up and around in a few days.” He paused, then asked, “Speaking of which, he’s only alive because I pushed him out of the way when the soldier shot at him at the warehouse. Are you the one that yelled the warning?”

  “Yeah, I am,” Mio said. She felt her face getting hot. “Look,” she said, her words coming quickly, “I know I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I got tired of not being helpful to the cause. The Terrans killed my foster family, and I wanted to help, but no one thinks I can do anything because I’m a girl or because I’m too young, but I can! I know I wasn’t supposed to come on the raid, but I had to. So, I followed you guys, and I was just going to watch, but I couldn’t let the Turd shoot you in the back! I had to yell!”

  She finally ran out of words, and Dan smiled. “I’m glad you were there, and Harry is really glad you were there. He’d probably be dead right now if you hadn’t been. What I don’t get, though, is who shot him? I thought all of the Terrans were down when we left.”

  “The one you hit in the back of the head with your rifle got back up and shot at you.”

  “Huh, good to know,” Dan said. “I guess the helmets they were wearing are pretty good, because I hit him pretty hard. I should have killed him, I guess; my mistake.”

  “Why didn’t you kill him?” Mio asked. “I mean, it didn’t look like you had a problem killing the rest of them.” Mio hadn’t meant for her tone to sound so disgusted, but somehow it came out that way.

  Dan sighed. “First time you ever saw anyone get killed?” he asked.

  “No. I saw the Rogers get killed by the Turds, but that’s the only other time.”

  “In combat, sometimes you have to do things quickly that you might have done differently if you’d had time to think about it. In combat, there isn’t time to think; you have to react, immediately, and use enough force to make sure the other side doesn’t do it to you. Usually, there is only one winner, and you want that to be you. As you saw at the warehouse, if you don’t make sure the bad guys are dead, you risk having them shoot you in the back as you leave.”

  “I understand that, but was it necessary to cut the last soldier’s throat?”

  “Necessary? Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know. At the time, I just reacted. I needed him dead, so I could get Harry and you to safety. That seemed like the fastest, most permanent solution. Certainly, he didn’t get up and shoot us in the back. Besides, I’m not the one who went to someone else’s planet to force them to follow my wishes; they came to ours and killed our people without warning. They deserve to die.”

  “That’s true…” Mio replied. Her voice didn’t sound completely convinced, and she wasn’t, but there was no point in arguing it. “So, what’s going on now?”

  “Well, while you were sleeping, the council had a big meeting, where I told them about how Harry and I would be dead without your assistance, and how it almost didn’t happen because you didn’t know how to fire a rifle. Although they weren’t particularly happy about it, they made you a full member of the resistance, including going on raids when your skill set is appropriate.”

  “My skill set?” Mio asked. “What’s my skill set?”

  Dan smiled. “Unfortunately, your skill set is pretty small. You’re obviously brave enough to act, which many people aren’t.” Mio smiled at the compliment. “However,” Dan continued, “that’s about the end of it. You don’t know how to operate a rifle or do most of the other things raiders are supposed to do.”

  Mio’s smile faded.

  “Happily,” Dan said with a smile, “those are all things that can be taught.” He moved aside so Mio could see the other person with him. Diego. In addition to his pack, he had a rifle over his shoulder and did not look happy to see her. “When you first got here,” Dan continued, “Diego was supposed to train you. He failed in that task, but he’s going to remedy that now, aren’t you, Diego?”

  “Yes, I am,” Diego said. He tried to smile but was only able to force a pained expression to his face. Mio hoped he would actually train her with the rifle, not shoot her with it when Dan left them alone.

  “Good, then be about it,” Dan said. He stood up. “The resistance needs brave, trained fighters to reclaim our planet. You’re already brave; Diego is going to ensure you’re trained as well.” He winked at her. “Learn all you can, so I can take you along next time.”

  “I will,” Mio replied.

  Dan nodded once, turned, and walked off.

  “So,” Diego said, “I’m here to train you.”

  “Look Diego, before you say anything else, I just want to say I’m sorry for what I said to you when I first came to the camp. I was—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Diego interrupted. “I probably said some things I shouldn’t have, too. It was a really hard time for everyone. Let’s just start over, okay?”

  “Sure,�
� Mio replied, her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest. She didn’t say anything else for a moment, because she was sure she was going to giggle, and she really didn’t want to do that in front of Diego. She had a hard time trying to keep her smile under control.

  “Do you want to get something to eat first?” Diego asked. He cared enough about her to ask her if she needed food! That was surely a step in the right direction.

  “Uh, no, that’s all right,” Mio replied. “I’d rather get started while there’s still some light left.”

  “Good call. We can’t fire the laser rifles after dark, so that’ll give us some time to practice.” They walked across the camp to the rifle range, and Diego pulled a number of meal packet boxes out of his pack.

  “Can you hold this?” he asked, handing her the rifle. “It’s on safe, but please keep it pointed at the ground.”

  “Got it,” Mio said, taking the weapon. She watched him walk downrange and put the meal boxes into clips that had been set up at various distances. He looked back once and caught her staring, and she could feel her face flush; happily, she had the rifle pointed at the ground like she’d been told. At least she had that going for her. After that, she tried to watch him without being totally obvious about it…but it was hard. He was just that cute.

  After setting up the boxes, he returned and took back the rifle. “Nice job last night,” he said. “I heard you saved Dan’s and Harry’s lives.”

  “Sort of,” Mio replied. “I shot one of the Terrans, but I was really pretty lucky since I didn’t know what I was doing.”

  “Yeah, I heard you shot one of the Terrans in the leg, and Dan finished him off.”

  “Really? I thought I put him down…but I may have closed my eyes when I shot. Everything is kind of blurry now.”

  “Even though you didn’t kill him, you at least distracted him, so Dan could get him. You’re lucky he didn’t shoot you back. I’m supposed to train you, so you can put them down yourself…and have them stay down. Any questions before we start?”

  “Just one,” Mio said. “Does the setting ‘Burst’ make the rifle blow up?”

  * * *

  An hour and a half later, Mio knew all the settings on the rifle, how to hold and fire it, and that “Burst” meant it would fire three shots instead of one. When she had burned up all the meal boxes in their holders, Diego proclaimed her “Qualified” on the M27C2 Laser Rifle. Mio could barely contain herself; she was now the youngest qualified raider…and the only female under 25. She was gracious in thanking Diego, but one question continued to run through her head. Now that I’m a qualified raider, when will I get my chance to finally prove myself?

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eleven: Benno

  “Warships of the Alliance Navy, you have proven yourselves first in war, and now in sustainment! I see by the status reports before me that all of the squadrons have been reconstituted, repaired, and, at last, report fully mission capable for battle. Bravo Zulu! We are ready to assault the next system on our list of objectives. And I am proud to report that the other arm of Operation Executive Amber made its own successful strike upon the Aleph system three days ago. Intelligence shows the alerted Terran Navy, gathered to strike back against us, has instead transited to strike our other fleet, freeing us to wreak havoc upon our next objective with absolute impunity. Prepare, Allies! We transit within the hour, back into glorious battle!”

  “Glorious battle? Where do they get these guys, Chief Dufresne?” asked the young helmsman, standing watch on the bridge of ACV Puller.

  Dufresne shrugged. “Technician Avera, the basic requirements for being an officer are A) a somewhat functional brain, B) a giant prolapsed asshole, and C) an inability to know which is which.”

  Benno fought back a grin and walked over to stand beside her in the continuous one-G of thrust gravity. He cleared his throat and received a panicked look from the helmsman, while Ellen Dufresne rolled her eyes at him. She patted Drew Avera on his shoulder and clarified. “That’s for aristo officers. It doesn’t apply to our current leadership. Probably.”

  Benno shook his head and released the grin. “Avera, aristo or pleb, officers are mostly just like you or me. They just have different responsibilities and duties. Now, admirals on the other hand…”

  The Puller thrust along in formation with the other ships of Destroyer Squadron 32, as one quadrant of a vast, globular screen around their fleet’s remaining capital ships. Were one to somehow look upon the Alpha fleet of Operation Executive Amber from the outside, it would be challenging to see them all as a single, unified assemblage, moving together as one. The ships were so spread out from one another—light seconds lying between each—and they were so small relative to the space the group took up, this hypothetical observer would likely see only emptiness.

  It was only with the god-like perception of the tactical data plot that one could observe the fleet in its totality. In the 3-D plot, the 127 remaining ships blazed with radar energy, communications broadcasts, beam casts, and infrared radiance, the hottest things in the system aside from the blue-white star at the system-center—and the ships rivaled even that behemoth for sheer intensity. Waste heat poured into space from radiators glowing red at the centerline of each vessel, but that was nothing compared to the torches at each ship’s stern. Here, particles of nothingness were plucked from the dark matter field that permeated all of space, wrenched torturously into the objective, baryonic reality of quarks, leptons, and photons, and released to flee astern at nearly the speed of light.

  The vaunted Tsiolkovsky rocket equation, which reasoned that a spaceship had to carry and accelerate its reaction mass to make a change in velocity, resulted in a ship that was 99% sacrificial fuel and only 1% payload and structure…or worse. Humanity would have never tamed space with that sort of limitation, but the dark matter conversion drive neatly avoided the issue. Instead, their torch “created” reaction mass as it thrust along.

  The forward momentum stolen from such an impossible exchange would have been seen as a violation of the conservation of mass, energy, and momentum only 200 years before––but now it was so familiar, it elicited no wonder at all from the spacers within each ship. Indeed, most viewed it as a deadly annoyance, forcing each ship in the formation to carefully align itself so it did not run into the exhaust trail of another ship further up in the formation, thereby avoiding an act of mass immolation that would kill every soul on board. Still, the dark matter conversion drives were relatively mundane.

  What they thrust toward, what they were about to do, that remained so mind-boggling it bordered on magic.

  The Puller had been restored to fighting trim, if not returned to a completely pristine state. Per the plan, the mutinous crew had received all their parts, stores, fuel, supplies, and ammunition via either automated transfer or through an enlisted-to-enlisted hand-off, with no one the wiser. Visiting repair crews from the tender that could not be dissuaded had entered the destroyer and completed their jobs without ever realizing they had encountered no officers but one—Benno. As long as their work did not take them into the brig or the one hull section of the spin ring in which the loyalists were sequestered, the repair crews remained oblivious.

  As for interacting with the fleet, that proved even more straightforward. Status reports, repair logs, and maneuvering coordination boards often happened at the chief petty officer level, and, when they didn’t, no one thought it odd when a chief or a chief warrant officer participated in their department head’s stead. As for personal communiques to and from the destroyer squadron commodore, a mutinous information tech had easily broken the password to Captain Palmer’s and Commander Ashton’s server accounts and given them to Benno.

  Palmer had been a man devoted to formality, the “book,” and self-aggrandizement, and had a nasty habit of blaming any and all problems on his “faithless and incompetent pleb crew.” Though it pained him to do so, it took no time at all for Benno to ape the captain’s style. If anythin
g, he worried that his e-mails and messages to the commodore might drift into the realm of over-the-top parody, but the squadron commander never said anything. Benno wondered if the commodore thought Palmer had been as much of an utter ass as he had.

  As for the XO? Out of respect, Benno refused to break into her account.

  So, they had done it. The ship was ready and on the move. The imprisoned loyalists were either placid, or the reactionaries among them were contained. They had sold the fiction of steadfast loyalty and preparedness to the rest of the fleet. Now the whole fleet prepared to depart, unaware that one of their number intended to slip away.

  Still, Benno waited for it all to go wrong.

  Dufresne looked at Benno while the bridge crew strapped into their seats for the transit. She frowned at the way his lips squeezed themselves into a tight line and the muscles in his jaws clenched. “You okay, Boss?”

  He looked over and nodded once. “I’m fine. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop. I can’t believe we made it this far without anyone asking to speak directly to Palmer or the XO.” Benno pointed at the comms display panel at one side of his—the Commanding Officer’s—acceleration couch. “I keep expecting the commodore or the admiral to call the ship directly and demand to hash out something with Palmer face-to-face. Then the jig will be up.”

  She smiled sadly. “Benno, don’t let a little mutiny make you completely paranoid. You were right. We’re three light-seconds from the nearest ship. The commodore’s destroyer is over 12 light-seconds away. Everyone is gearing up for transit. Nobody has the time or inclination to talk with massive half-minute delays right now. Okay? Let’s just get through this and worry about the next, harder part—taking Paradiso back.”

  He nodded again but still could not quiet the worries in his mind. Benno forced his eyes away from the comms screen and looked around the bridge as he sat in the captain’s chair and secured himself. Every department was represented by junior techs and petty officers who had thrown their lot in with his—even though, at their age, they could hardly know all the complications and consequences of their traitorous actions. Still, they stood with him now in Engineering, in Ops, in Combat Systems, and in Supply, manning their stations and preparing for the transit with the same sober professionalism they had provided Palmer.