Silent Order: Wraith Hand

by Jonathan Moeller

  “You haven’t met many of us, have you?” said March.

  March also spent some time alone in the flight cabin, sorting through records in the computer’s databases. March had been to Monastery Station several times before, but he read everything Vigil had on the Eschaton system and the station. Few Calaskaran ships went to the Eschaton system, but what information the Royal Navy had on the system was included in the standard navigational data. March wanted to know as much as possible before he arrived.

  Which was just as well, because Vasquez asked March to give a briefing to his men about the dangers they faced on Monastery Station. The Marines, too, believed in preparedness.

  “This is everything I know about Monastery Station and the Eschaton system,” said March.

  They had gathered in the galley. The Marines had removed their power armor, which was just as well because fitting that many large men in the Tiger’s cramped galley was a bit of a challenge. March stood at the head of the table, Caird leaning on the wall next to him, while the Marines sat at the table.

  “At some point in the extremely distant past there was a technologically advanced alien race that lived on the fifth planet of the Eschaton system,” said March. “They built an artificial intelligence that calls itself the Custodian and programmed it to watch over their planet. After that, the alien race died out. No one knows what happened. There are differing theories. Some people think a plague finished them off. Other people think that the Custodian went berserk and killed them all.”

  “Seems likely, sir,” said Perry. “Historically, artificial intelligences always go insane.”

  “Human-built artificial intelligences, anyway,” said March. “Alien ones might work differently, but we have no way of knowing. Anyway, the alien race died out for whatever reason, but the Custodian remained in control of the planet. It has access to weaponry and technology beyond anything possessed by any human civilization or any known alien race, and it could close access to the Eschaton system if it wanted. The planet is completely shielded with kinetic and radiation deflectors impervious to any weapons. The planet also has three moons about two thousand kilometers in diameter, and each one of those moons hosts hundreds of railguns that can fire projectiles at something like half the speed of light. If anyone tries to attack the Custodian, or if people bring their fights to the Eschaton system, the Custodian can shut them down.”

  “It could close the system, sir,” said one of the Marines, “but since we’re going there, it’s safe to assume that it did not?”

  “That is correct,” said March, tapping the screen on the wall. The screen displayed an image of the planet, wrapped in the haze of its shields, and the three moons. He tapped the screen again, and a space station appeared, a huge thing made of interlocking rings fashioned of gleaming silver metal.

  “Monastery Station,” said Caird.

  “For reasons known only to itself,” said March, “the Custodian opened a trading post beyond the orbit of its planet’s third moon. It permits all powers and races to come and trade at Monastery Station, so long as they abide by the rules the Custodian has imposed.”

  “And what rules are those, sir?” said Perry.

  “There are four rules on Monastery Station,” said March. “First, space combat of any kind is forbidden. Any ships caught fighting are destroyed, all of them. Second, murder is not permitted on Monastery Station, enforced by the Custodian’s security drones. Third, contracts of all kind are enforceable, except for slavery, because the Custodian forbids it and kills any slavers who come to the Eschaton system. Finally, anyone on Monastery Station can appeal to the Custodian's judgment at any time for any reason, but the Custodian’s decisions are final and cannot be appealed.”

  Perry shuddered. “Why would anyone come here? Why would anyone submit themselves to an artificial intelligence?”

  “Because it’s a secure trading post,” said March. “Monastery Station is simultaneously the most secure trading station in the galaxy and the most dangerous. If you’re coming here to do honest business, there’s no safer place. But the Custodian is heavy-handed, ruthless, and invincible. It’s possible to make a fortune here, or die between two heartbeats.”

  “Fortunately,” said Caird, “we’re all honest men here.” A murmur of uneasy laughter went up from the Marines, and Elizabeth smiled.

  “Our business is simple,” said March. “We need a new reaction chamber for the dark matter reactor, or to find a ship capable of carrying the Tiger back to Calaskaran space.”

  “Captain Vasquez,” said Caird. “Your job will be to make sure Captain March remains alive long enough to purchase repair for the ship or obtain transit.”

  “Will there be Machinist agents on the station, sir?” said one of the Marines.

  “Yes,” said March. Unfortunately, as far as he knew there was no branch of the Silent Order on Monastery Station, which meant March and the others were on their own. “Stay on your guard, but don’t start any fights, and if you’re attacked, try to use nonlethal force. The Custodian’s security drones tend to use proportional responses. Start a fistfight, and you’ll get stunned. Draw a gun, and you’ll be vaporized.”

  “Our armor gives us an array of options,” said Vasquez. “Some of them are nonlethal.”

  “Above all,” said Caird, “listen to Captain March while we are on the station. He has the most experience of the place, and following his lead is the best way of getting home. Any questions?”

  There were many, all of them pertinent and to the point. The Royal Calaskaran Marines did not waste time with extraneous questions. March talked for another two hours, filling in what details he could about Monastery Station.

  Once they were finished, the Marines went back to their training and maintenance, and March returned to the flight cabin.

  He had told them all that he could. Tomorrow, they would reach Monastery Station and put that knowledge to the test.

  ###

  Thirty minutes out from Monastery Station, the others gathered in the Tiger’s flight cabin.

  March took the pilot’s acceleration chair, but since he had extra hands on the ship, he put them to use. Caird took the navigator’s station, which seemed appropriate, and he put Vasquez at the tactical station. Elizabeth stood by the door, arms folded over her chest as she looked at the displays. March had no doubt that Caird could fly the ship if necessary, and Vasquez had proven competent at handling ship-class weaponry.

  Caird also proved useful at running down the checklist, making sure the ship’s systems and weapons were prepared for when they exited hyperspace. Both the radiation and kinetic shields were ready to come up the minute they returned to normal space, and the weapons were ready to be charged, their capacitors free from the crystallization that the stress of battle sometimes caused.

  The Tiger was as ready as she could be.

  “Captain March,” said Vasquez. “I would like to use the ship’s intercom. All our chaplains were killed or captured at Tamlin’s World, but the men of the Calaskaran armed forces always say a prayer before going into battle. Given that we are entering an unknown situation, it seems wise to seek divine guidance and aid.”

  March couldn’t argue with that. “Very well. Switch on the left side of your panel.”

  Vasquez hit the switch. He gave his men a short pep talk, reminding them of their duty and praising them for their devotion to it. After that, he led his men through the Royal Calaskaran Church’s prayer before battle, calling on God and Christ to lend soldiers protection and courage. March had been baptized in the Royal Calaskaran Church after he had joined the Silent Order, though his own level of religious faith waxed and waned. If he was honest with himself, he was too angry at God to believe in God, which made no sense, but emotions never did.

  Nevertheless, March hoped that God favored their mission. The machine in the strong room might mean that countless lives were at stake. March hoped he could get the device to the Navy, and he hoped he could get Caird a
nd Vasquez and Perry and the others home.

  No one else from the Covenant would return home.

  Once Vasquez finished his prayer, March put all such thoughts out of his head. Perhaps God would help them, but after years as an Iron Hand and an Alpha Operative of the Silent Order, March had realized that God most often looked after those who were careful and thought things through.

  He suspected there would be trouble once they arrived at the Eschaton system.

  “Ninety seconds out,” announced Caird.

  “Prepare to power down the resonator and put the hyperdrive on standby,” said March. Not that the hyperdrive could do anything useful without the dark matter reactor to recharge it. “Captain Vasquez, get the weapons and the shields up as soon as you can.”

  “Acknowledged,” said Vasquez.

  Caird started the final countdown, and March gripped the hyperdrive power levers. As Caird counted over to zero, March pulled the levers, cutting power to the hyperdrive and exiting their hyperspace tunnel. Red notifications scrolled across March’s displays, informing him of the damage to the dark matter reactor and their inability to reenter hyperspace until the reactor was repaired.

  “Bringing weapons and shields to ready,” said Vasquez in a calm voice. “Shields powering up, and plasma cannons, railgun, and laser turrets charging.” Then he looked at the sensor display, and his calm cracked. “Dear God!”

  “Welcome to Monastery Station and the Eschaton system,” said Caird in a grim voice.

  The fifth planet of the Eschaton system floated before them, wrapped in the blue haze of its invincible shields. Two of its three moons were visible, their surfaces covered in huge geometric patterns visible even from hundreds of thousands of kilometers away. Beneath the haze of the shield, March glimpsed the surface of the planet, saw it covered in computer processors the size of cities, computer processors so large that it took an entire ocean to cool them.

  The energy readings were off the charts.

  The shield surrounding the planet could deflect any known weapon, and the shields on the three moons were only a little weaker. The Tiger reported enormous amounts of energy radiating from both the planet and the moons.

  Right now, though, both the moons and the planet were secondary concerns.

  Monastery Station held March’s attention.

  It had the shape of a sphere about a hundred kilometers across, built of six interlocking rings twisting around each other and a massive reactor core in the center. The rings had been constructed of some strange silvery metal so polished that March saw the reflections of the nearby stars and the ships’ drive plumes. Any laser beam that hit that metal would have most of its energy dissipated by reflection, assuming a laser actually existed that was powerful enough to punch through the station’s radiation shielding. The Tiger’s sensors picked up multiple power signatures radiating from the station, and enough weapon emplacements to annihilate an entire fleet, in the unlikely event a fleet could survive the railguns on the moons long enough to engage the station.

  “Lot of ships in the neighborhood,” said Vasquez, recovering his calm and returning his attention to the tactical display.

  The Tiger picked up over three hundred and fifty ships within a million kilometers of Monastery Station. Some were docked at the station, and others were arriving or departing for deep space. March saw ships from a dozen different alien races. Some were light freighters like the Tiger, and others were the huge, kilometers-long and weapon-studded container freighters used by the Stromboli Consortium and other interstellar trading cartels.

  The presence of the Stromboli freighters was a good sign. One of March’s potential plans involved the Stromboli Consortium, though he hoped he would not be forced to turn to them.

  “Incoming transmission,” said Caird. “They’re requesting a video link.”

  March nodded and hit the appropriate control. One of his displays flickered to life.

  To his surprise, he found himself looking at a beautiful human woman.

  She sat in a black command chair, blue holographic displays shimmering in the air around her. The woman wore a crisp white uniform that fit her body well, and she had thick black hair and shadowed black eyes in a pale face. Her dark gaze fell on March, and her red mouth curled in something that almost resembled a smile before her face returned to a cool mask.

  “Incoming light freighter,” said the woman, “please identify yourself.”

  “The freighter Tiger,” said March, “registered Calaskaran privateer vessel, Jack March commanding.”

  “Thank you,” said the woman. “My name is Sophia Logos, and I serve as Emissary.”

  “Emissary?” said March, puzzled. This hadn’t happened the last time he had been here.

  “Recently the Custodian has decided to hire Emissaries to speak to incoming vessels of their own race,” said Logos. “As I am human, I have the privilege of speaking to those of the human race who come to Monastery Station to trade and to rest. Which brings us to our next topic of conversation, Captain March.” Her eyes flicked over one of the holographic displays. “What brings you to Monastery Station?”

  “An emergency,” said March. “I was attacked by Machinists, and my dark matter reactor was damaged. My hyperdrive had enough power for one jump, and this was the nearest repair facility I could reach.”

  “Ah,” said Logos. She tapped a command into one of the displays. “There are many qualified starship mechanics on Monastery Station. Be aware that all contracts are enforceable by death, save for the solicitation of violence and hiring assassinations.”

  “I am familiar with the Custodian’s rules,” said March.

  “Excellent,” said Logos. “Tiger, you are cleared for docking at Bay 997.” One of the displays lit up with vector information. “You may land there when ready. A representative of the Custodian shall meet you there when you disembark.”

  “A representative?” said March. “Why? Have we earned the Custodian’s suspicion?”

  Logos raised a black eyebrow. It made her look striking, and March pushed such thoughts out of his mind. They were a distraction from the mission.

  “Not at all,” said Logos. “Just as you and I are beings of flesh and blood, and so have needs of the flesh, the Custodian is a being of information and data and consequently has insatiable curiosity. Something about you has piqued the Custodian’s curiosity, that is all. A few questions and you shall be on your way.”

  “Very well,” said March. It wasn’t as if he had a choice.

  “Excellent,” said Logos. “Welcome to Monastery Station, Captain March.”

  The call ended, and the screen went black.

  “I think,” said Caird, “she may have been flirting with you.”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “What gave you that idea?” said March.

  “Needs of the flesh?” said Caird. “I don’t think she was talking about dinner.”

  “You ought to get married, Commander,” said Vasquez, half-amused, half-disapproving. “You pilots have far looser morals than the Marines.”

  “Well,” said Caird with a smile. “I have some baggage.”

  Elizabeth rolled her eyes. For an incorporeal alien intelligence, she had a dry sense of humor. Or maybe she had absorbed it from Caird.

  “I think it’s more important to know why we have piqued the Custodian’s interest,” said March.

  “Does it know about our mission?” said Vasquez.

  “Possibly,” said March. “I don’t know why the Custodian would care. It has never taken sides in interstellar wars before.”

  “Maybe it is simple curiosity like Logos said,” said Caird. “I once heard a scientist say that AIs crave new information the way that organic creatures crave food and water and sex. Maybe that’s why the Custodian allows trade on Monastery Station at all. It gets an endless supply of new information from the ships coming here.”

  “Maybe,” said March. “Unless it impacts our mission, it…”
/>   The sensors reported an alert.

  “Dark energy surge,” said Caird, checking his displays. “A big one. Multiple ships inbound from hyperspace…and I think they were following our vector.”

  “The Machinists?” said Vasquez.

  “Maybe,” said Caird. “Or the Ninevehk. Whoever won that fight over Tamlin’s World.”

  “Tactical status?” said March.

  “Shields and weapons fully charged,” said Vasquez.

  March threw more power to the sublight drive, sending the Tiger towards Monastery Station. “If it is the Machinists, do not fire the first shot. Again, do not fire the first shot under any circumstances. If there’s a battle and the Custodian decides to intervene, it will probably attack whoever fires the first shot.”

  The sensors beeped, and then an alarm trilled through the cabin.

  “Three of them!” said Caird as March looked at the sensor display. “Two Machinist destroyers escorting a carrier. The same ones we fought at Tamlin’s World. They are heading right towards us and powering up their weapons and shields.”

  “Fighters?” said March, ready to take the Tiger evasive.

  “None yet,” said Caird.

  “They won’t need fighters,” said Vasquez. “The destroyer is close enough to hit us.” Another alarm beeped. “They’re targeting us. Looks like missiles and plasma cannons.”

  The Tiger could avoid the plasma cannon shots. The missiles would be harder. Missiles launched from a capital ship would be faster and stronger than the weapons the interceptors had fired at the Tiger, and March might not be able to evade them in time.

  “They’re calling us,” said Caird.

  March hit the switch, and the machine-augmented voice of a human joined to the Final Consciousness crackled over the speakers.

  “Attention Tiger,” said the voice. So much for pretending that the Tiger was an unidentified freighter. “You will surrender yourself to us immediately.”