It was slightly less efficient, after comparing load size with travel times, but the end result was far more pleasing to the Human spirit.
Paul took a slidewalk in the direction of the riverfront café where Oliver waited. He gazed off into the distance, suddenly aware of why stations like this always managed to awe and depress him at the same time. They were stark reminders of how Imperial architecture was increasingly a statement on the death of the individual.
This station’s design made concessions to how inhabitants would feel. Efficiencies were sacrificed when alternative choices might prove more pleasing to the eye. The cities out here were made of soaring individual towers, unlike the Imperial arcologies where millions lived and worked in a single massive structure.
Every day, Imperial citizens got ready for work in six square meter apartments where, if you could afford the extra rent, you might be able to rise up on your knees without hitting the ceiling. The rapid transit capsules carried them to work like blood cells in a massive organism.
It made Paul shudder with disgust just thinking about it, and yet, when he was growing up in the mines on Hardisty, he’d envied those people with a passion. Not having to live in a hole off the side of a mining shaft, being clean…
In the Imperium, there was always someone whose lifestyle wasn’t quite so terrible as yours. It gave folks a twisted kind of hope for something better.
Out here, hope came more from imagination than from emulation. Minds were free here.
Living conditions were far better for the average citizen in the colonies. Even the meanest apartment on Roanoke had two-meter-high ceilings and windows. They even had separate rooms for sleeping, talking and eating.
They could actually prepare their own food out here. Paul’s suite on Home World was lavish by Imperial standards but he didn’t have a kitchen as the colonials called it. It simply had a prep space and refrigeration-cube for use by caterers. Not eating in licensed establishments was illegal. Only the very wealthy could afford to buy a temporary license and have caterers cook food in their homes.
Kitchens aside, he could easily find a much better place to live on Roanoke and at a fraction of the cost he’d paid back home. His sister actually lived in a house. A real house with walls and a roof. He knew some of the great families of the Imperium maintained such things. Julia had grown up in one, but then, her father was the Governor of an entire planet.
He edged his way toward the slower-moving regions of the slidewalk as he neared his rendezvous, stepping off entirely as he reached the right cross-street.
He had no intention of ever returning to his old life.
He smiled as he spotted Oliver at a street-corner patio. A server was just setting down a large mug filled with a latte. Fresh gods-damned coffee! Made from real beans and served in a ceramic mug instead of a polymer bag.
This was how Humans were supposed to live.
“You checked?” Oliver asked as Paul slid into the seat opposite him.
Paul was looking at the flow of pedestrians past the low wrought-iron fence marking the limits of the patio. They had such purpose in their stride – well, most of them. There were always going to be those who hated their jobs…
He turned back to the Maegi. “Yep. Buried in the personnel folder where nobody bothers to look, unless they’re adding crew.” He’d done a quick search of the shuttle’s systems before coming down for his coffee.
Oliver leaned forward. “So, the audio system was active?”
Paul took a sip, concentrating for a moment on the flavor before setting the mug down and nodding. “Not so the panels would show, but yes. The sounds match the character associations found in the original conditioning. It’s enough to put your message into any conditioned crewmember’s mind, unless they’re deaf.”
“Well,” Oliver shrugged, “you can’t have everything…”
“And we’d already received thirty passes from the other ships at the station,” Paul added. “By now, the update has probably run the circuit of every ship here.”
That didn’t mean much here, where the station itself was embedding Oliver’s code in every visiting ship but, after they left, they’d be spreading it to every ship they came in contact with.
And those ships would spread it even further, every time their transponder code was read.
The price of FMG was about to skyrocket.
Stirring the Hornets
Cat Among the Pigeons
“How are they looking?” Pulver asked, just coming onto the bridge to start his shift.
Julia glanced back at him, careful to keep the boredom from her expression and voice. “Still stable for life-support,” she said. “Propulsion is a complete mess, though. They’ve made very little progress on that front.”
“If only they knew there were a few hundred Imperial engineers watching them from this nebula,” he said quietly. “I doubt they’d find it amusing.”
“No doubt,” she agreed, “but we can’t waste such a golden opportunity to introduce ourselves. The Grays will come, Captain.” She turned away from the hologram to face him. “We’d already started cutting back on the distress call ambushes and the Grays have ramped up their abductions accordingly.”
She looked back at the holo where a crippled passenger liner was sending its perfectly legitimate distress call. “They’ll come.”
Pulver made his rounds, checking in with each department and getting the latest tactical picture. He returned to the command holo and opened up an orders screen and perused the latest entries.
Julia took a deep but controlled breath. Patience. This called for patience. The passengers and crew on that liner might be worried about falling into the wrong hands while their ship was crippled, but worry wouldn’t kill them.
Pulver turned to her. “I am ready to relieve you, ma’am.”
“I am ready to be relieved.”
“I relieve you, General.”
She’d grown unaccustomed to the strict Imperial protocols while serving as a colonial officer. “I am relieved. Attention on the bridge. Captain Pulver has the deck.”
She touched her palm over her heart in the standard response to a salute and headed for her quarters. The process had been ingrained in her but now it seemed a little stuffy.
Though she was in charge of the small fleet, the Sucker Punch was staffed by engineers and short on qualified deck officers. She’d volunteered to do double duty as a deck officer and it had surprised her how this ambush seemed to drag on.
Now there were large swathes of time where she was stuck on the bridge. She couldn’t just wander the ship and meet the crew. She couldn’t even retire to her quarters.
Now she could, though. A hot shower would take some of the tension away. She’d managed to get halfway out of her uniform when the contact alarm chimed from the panel by her door.
The desire for a shower had done the trick. If she’d been trying to force fate by pretending to want a shower, it wouldn’t have worked. She strode briskly into the bridge, ignoring the startled glances from the crew. It wasn’t like they’d seen any critical targets. They were just surprised at seeing an officer with a partially undone uniform.
Contact with the enemy didn’t wait while you finished buttoning your tunic in privacy. It was said that Monty himself fought the Serpents at Gol Hartha while in his underwear and a ratty old undershirt.
“Four cruisers and four frigates. Diamond envelopment with the frigates in reserve.” Pulver told her as she approached the holo.
Julia took a quick look at the slight twist on the standard Gray attack formation. The shuttle bays on the cruisers were already vomiting a haze of small craft to begin the abduction process. She unclenched her jaw.
What she wanted – really wanted – was to have them all destroyed but, if you kill them, they won’t learn anything.
And she wanted them to learn caution.
Windemere’s image appeared slightly to the left of the tactical display.
&nb
sp; “Micro-jump your force as soon as you’re ready, General,” she ordered.
***
There was a slight shimmer and they were facing the Gray ships with the stricken Human vessel in their midst. “Hail them,” Vance ordered.
The initial thinking had been to let the Grays hail the Humans but they’d realized it wasn’t in the same character as the breezy, friendly persona Vance would be projecting to the enemy.
It also increased the possibility of the Grays firing on the Human ships.
A Gray officer appeared in the central holo. If he was surprised at finding an Imperial fleet, centered on an LHV-class attack carrier, he didn’t show it, at least not so Vance could tell. The Grays took a lot of practice to read and General Urbica had given him an overview of the topic, but he’d still need a lot of practice.
“Greetings!” he boomed. “General Vance deLaCouer Windemere of his Imperial Majesty’s Engineers at your service.” He sketched the rudiments of an elaborate court bow and found, to his surprise, that he was enjoying himself immensely.
The Gray tilted his head to the right, his skin registering as a few lumens lighter than standard. If Urbica was right, it meant slight confusion and a touch of fear.
Were there any Gray albinos? Strangers would be forever trying to reassure them…
“State your reason for being here,” the Gray captain droned.
“Just a routine mission of mercy,” Vance said. “A Human colony needs technical assistance so we’ll drop in and see if we can help.”
“Which colony are you…”
“I see you’ve found some of our people in distress,” Vance cut him off. As there was no colony in distress, he had no intention of answering the Gray’s questions. Better to set the tune and see if the little bastards knew how to dance.
“As you can see,” he ploughed on, “we’re in an excellent position to render assistance to them as well.” He sketched another bow. “My thanks for your willingness to help our people, and our Emperor’s thanks as well. No doubt a commendation will make its way to you through the appropriate diplomatic channels in a few decades.
“In the meantime,” he said, adopting a more brisk tone, doubting such a subtlety would register with a Gray, “we’ll take it from here. You can recall your shuttles.”
With a wave, he closed the channel.
And allowed himself a deep breath.
Then he realized the tension was still there. He leaned closer to the holo and zoomed it in on the haze of Gray shuttles. They were still heading for the Human passenger liner. Should he repeat the request for the Grays to stand down?
He shook his head. It would weaken his position. No officer acting on Imperial authority would so such a thing. “Launch all aviation assets,” he commanded. “I want a CAP around the fleet and the rest will escort the technical teams to the Human ship.”
Vance had seen combat action, before taking over Nidaveller, but he’d never been up against the Grays. What he was doing right now would have triggered an all-out fight, if he were facing most other species.
He hoped Urbica was right about these guys.
“CAP established, sir,” the Tactical officer announced. “Assets forming up before moving to render assistance.”
“Very well.” Vance looked back to the holo. He was putting his small force on a combat footing. Would the Grays back down or would they…
The Gray shuttles had stopped.
Glory be! It looked like Mrs. Windemere’s little boy would live to see another day.
“Relief force ready to deploy, sir.”
“Send ‘em in.”
She’d been right. With no overt provocation, the Grays were backing down. The numbers simply didn’t add up to a fight and so they’d probably recall their shuttles. They could hardly carry on with their intentions. Abducting Humans under the nose of an Imperial force wasn’t how they operated.
Vance zoomed his view back out. The green icons indicating his own shuttles as well as their escorts were reaching the halfway point between the two forces. As they passed the middle, the Gray shuttles began moving back toward their own ships.
“Hail the Human vessel.”
A Human figure appeared in front of Windemere. He let out a whoop and reached out of the image to slap someone on the back. “Never would have thought I’d see Imperials with my own eyes,” the man said. “but I’m sure as hells glad to meet you, Captain.”
Vance knew better than to get huffy about a civilian captain from outside the Imperium not knowing military insignia. “General Windemere, Imperial Corps of Engineers,” he introduced himself genially. “Can we render assistance?”
“Imperial Corps…” The man stared at Vance for a moment. “Are you having a laugh? Here we are, with a dead engine and four decks open to space and the Universe just decides to drop engineers in my lap? I’m certainly not complaining, but this does strain credulity a bit.”
Vance knew it wasn’t as much of a strain as the man thought. If the Universe had dropped him in their laps, it had done so quite a while ago and they’d been watching the stricken ship for days like a peeper in the bushes.
“We picked up your distress call,” he hedged. It was true, it just wasn’t all of the truth. “Stand by to receive damage control parties.” He killed the channel and turned to his tactical officer.
“The Grays are hailing us, sir.”
Vance raised his eyebrows at the tactical officer, a tight-lipped smile on his face. “Very well,” he replied patiently. “Central holo.”
He turned back to find the Gray captain, presumably the same one, but who the hells could tell the difference?
“You have the rescue well in hand,” the Gray said. “We will leave you to your labours.”
His head tilted slightly forward, or his forehead suddenly got larger, which wouldn’t really surprise Vance in the least. From the simple primer with Urbica, that would seem to indicate curiosity.
“Odd, wouldn’t you agree, that you’re here in Gray territory?” the Gray said with so little inflection Vance couldn’t really tell if it was meant rhetorically or if an answer was wanted.
Not that he gave a rat’s testicles.
It was the perfect opening. If Windemere’s force was going to bluff, now would be the time. He was going to bluff alright, but he’d do it by not bluffing. He had to appear as though he were steering the discussion away from the reason for his presence.
“Odd is a matter of perspective.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Many would call my taste in wine odd, though more would call it abominable.”
“I don’t see how that applies.”
“Well, isn’t it obvious?” Windemere leaned his head back in what he’d first thought to be surprise, but belatedly realized meant disgust to a Gray. Oh well, he’d be shooting at the bastards in a week or so. No harm in pissing a few off now. “I find my taste in wine to be the very soul of normality.”
He decided to play the disgust card to the hilt and get rid of an annoying conversation at the same time. “If you’re going to be deliberately obtuse, I see no reason to continue this conversation.”
With a gesture, he killed the channel.
A quick glance around the bridge told him he’d at least given them a good show. There were grins all around.
All in all, a good day’s work. They were rescuing a few hundred civilians. Those Grays would probably jump for the nearest repeater node and wave their precious Quorum about an unexpected presence, starting a shit-storm…
Did the Grays defecate? Pellets maybe?
Anyway, the Gray leadership would be dropping pellets trying to figure out why Imperial ships were poking around colonies they’d always pretended didn’t exist.
This sure beat sitting at Nidaveller, waiting for CentCom to have him killed off.
Phase 3
Ava nodded at the armorer’s instructions and put her left heel into one of the two indents in the cube shaped stack behind her. She pressed down.
“Do I have to do that every time?” Ava asked. “It seems like I wouldn’t have time for this if we stumble onto an enemy force.”
“First time in the suit, you always calibrate,” Stiles said. “Every subsequent use, you just step in and it deploys. Faster than getting dressed.” He looked down at the cube as it emitted a series of clicks and chirps.
“Calibration’s done, Commodore. You ready to put on the best armor in the Universe?”
“Better than HMA?”
To his credit, Stiles just barely managed to stop himself from spitting on the deck plates. “That committee-designed, government-issued gavno? Sure it stops bullets better, but I’d rather be in a position to be the one firing the bullets than stopping them.
“Second heel,” he ordered.
Ava lowered her right heel onto the second pressure plate. “Oh!” she exclaimed involuntarily as the stack of plates leapt into motion, knitting themselves together around her legs.
Her eyes grew wide and her breathing rapid as the suit enclosed her upper body and arms before snapping a helmet into place from somewhere behind her head.
A heads up holo-display, no more than a centimeter thick but seeming much deeper, came to life before her eyes. She could see Stiles and one of Pulver’s engineers standing in front of her. Data callouts showed their mass and state of armament along with a stack of closed windows for items like health, supply and orders.
“Now retract the helmet,” Stiles instructed.
Ava focused on the task. She sub-vocalized the command, minute muscle movements sending the actual command to the suit’s sensors.
She jumped slightly as the helmet snapped out of the way.
“Good.” Stiles gestured to her left. “Try a short walk around the hangar.”
She took her first step to turn and stopped immediately to regain her balance. The suit seemed a little too eager to help. Her leg had come up much farther than she’d intended.
The Gray Matter (Rebels and Patriots Book 3) Page 13
