Silent Order: Wraith Hand

by Jonathan Moeller

March cut the transmission and sent a call to Monastery Station.

  “What are you doing?” said Vasquez.

  “Getting help,” said March.

  “The nearest destroyer’s closing on us,” said Caird. “We are within its firing range.”

  The screen flickered, and Sophia Logos appeared again.

  “Captain March,” said Logos. “I did not expect to enjoy the pleasure of your communication again quite so soon.”

  “There’s a Machinist destroyer targeting my ship,” said March. “I want it clear that I did nothing to provoke this attack and did not fire the first shot.”

  “The quarrels of interstellar powers are of no concern to the Custodian,” said Logos, glancing at one of her holographic displays.

  “No,” said March, “but interstellar powers bringing their wars to the Eschaton system…”

  “They’re firing!” said Caird. “Multiple missiles inbound!”

  March reacted on pure instinct, throwing the Tiger into an evasive pattern and firing the flak launchers. He looked at his tactical display as he did, and saw a dozen missiles inbound. Each missile was the size of one of the interceptors March had destroyed over Tamlin’s World. The weapons had a high thrust-to-mass ratio, and they would be far faster than the Tiger once they accelerated.

  Just one of the warheads would be enough to collapse the Tiger’s kinetic shields and turn the ship to scrap.

  “Emissary Logos,” said March, pushing the Tiger towards Monastery Station. “The Machinist destroyer has fired on us without provocation. Your own sensors will report…”

  “Machinist vessel,” said Logos, looking at another display. “You have fired unprovoked on another craft. This violates the rules of the Custodian. Disable your missiles and disarm your weapons immediately.”

  March fired another cloud of flak from the rear tubes. The missiles’ vectors wavered briefly, but then they reestablished their lock, veering towards the Tiger.

  “Twenty seconds to impact!” said Vasquez.

  “Machinist vessel,” said Logo. “This is your final warning.”

  The missiles continued their course, and March’s display flashed a warning as the Machinist destroyer locked on with its plasma cannons.

  “So be it,” said Logos. “You were warned.”

  A lot of things happened at once.

  The sensors reported a surge of dark energy near the Machinist capital ships. Another group of large starships was about to exit hyperspace, and to judge from the signature of the dark energy, it was likely the Ninevehk force from Tamlin’s World.

  At the same time, the sensors detected a massive surge of power from the outer moon accompanied by a huge spike of radiation, so powerful that it was almost as if the moon’s magnetic field had altered.

  A few seconds after that, both the missiles and the Machinist destroyer vanished.

  In their place tumbled a rapidly expanding debris field and an expanding cloud of superheated gas.

  “What the hell?” said Vasquez, shocked.

  “The railguns on the outer moon,” said Caird in a quiet voice. “Two of them fired. The first shot took out the missiles. The second one killed the destroyer. Drilled through it from bow to stern and breached the reactor.”

  “Good God,” said Vasquez. “The outer moon is a hundred and fifty thousand kilometers away. The amount of energy required to throw a railgun shot that quickly…”

  “Is astronomical,” said March.

  “Looks like the Machinists got the message,” said Caird. “The remaining ships are powering down their weapons. And…we have more company arriving.”

  March looked at the tactical display as the Ninevehk carrier and its escorts arrived from hyperspace. Unlike the Machinists, the Ninevehk ships made no hostile moves and kept their shields and weapons offline. Evidently, they knew how to deal with the Custodian, or were less desperate to claim the device in the Tiger’s hold.

  “The Machinist capital ships are holding back,” said Vasquez. “I’m seeing some activity in the carrier’s hangar. I think they’re getting ready to launch a shuttle.”

  “To dock at Monastery Station, no doubt,” said March with a grimace.

  “Will they attack us on the station?” said Vasquez.

  March and Caird shared a look.

  “They might,” said Caird, “but I think they have something else in mind.”

  “They’re going to watch us,” said March. “If they see a chance to take the ship, they’ll do it, but they might not be that stupid. Instead, they’re going to see where we go, and they’re going to follow us. Once we’re clear of the Eschaton system, they will try to kill us again.” He looked back at the communications display and turned the microphone back on. “Emissary Logos, thank you for your assistance. It was very well-timed.”

  Logos’s face had returned to its cool mask. “It wasn’t for your assistance, Captain March. The Custodian does not permit space combat within the Eschaton system. Sometimes a salutary lesson is necessary.” The cold mask cracked into a white smile for a moment. “Nonetheless, I am pleased you found the lesson useful.”

  “It was,” said March.

  “Perhaps we shall have an opportunity to discuss it further,” said Logos, and she ended the transmission.

  “She does like you,” said Elizabeth, who had watched the battle in silence.

  March drew breath to shoot a rejoinder at her, remembered that Vasquez couldn’t see her, and turned his attention back to his instruments. “I’m taking the ship in. Captain Vasquez, I suggest you have Perry stay in command here. I would like you, Commander Caird, and two Marines to accompany me to the station.”

  “What are we going to do?” said Vasquez.

  “The Machinists will be watching us,” said Caird, “and the Ninevehk will as well, I suspect. We’ll need to do something clever.”

  “Yes,” said March as Monastery Station drew closer. “Something very clever.”

  “You have a clever idea, Captain March?” said Vasquez.

  “We’re going to find out,” said March.

  Chapter 4: Merchant Prince

  March eased the Tiger towards Bay 997, turning the ship with the ion thrusters and guiding it towards the docking lights. He noted the various point defense turrets rotating to follow him. Vigil was uncertain of the nature of the weapons but suspected that they were a combination of a laser and some sort of accelerated particle beam. With sufficient power, the beam would slice through the Tiger like a knife through soft butter.

  It was just as well that the Custodian had no interest in conquest. Human-built AIs had shown no similar restraint and had gone on rampages until the combined forces of several starfaring nations had driven them back and destroyed them. Though if the Custodian had no interest in conquest, March wondered what the ancient AI did want.

  Perhaps its title was accurate. Maybe the Custodian wanted nothing more than to preserve the Eschaton system until its long-dead alien masters returned.

  He put the thought out of his mind and maneuvered the ship to a smooth landing in the bay.

  “Landing complete,” announced Vigil. “Atmosphere seal secure. It is safe to disembark.”

  “Nicely done,” said Caird.

  “Thank you,” said March, unbuckling from his restraints.

  “Are we going to resupply here as well?” said Vasquez, standing up.

  March shook his head. “With the supplies you brought on the lifeboat, we should be set for a while.” He had suspected this mission might go sour, and so had made sure the Tiger was well-stocked with provisions. “No, our main priority is to get the dark matter reactor repaired and to get out of here alive. We should bring two men to watch our backs.”

  “Rogan and Ulm are my two most experienced men,” said Vasquez.

  “Have them suit up,” said March. “You, too. We’ll all meet at the cargo hold airlock in a few minutes and head onto the station.”

  Vasquez nodded and left the flight cabin, t
he door hissing shut behind him as he headed down the dorsal corridor. He walked right through Elizabeth without noticing the macrobe’s presence.

  “You do have a plan, I hope?” said Caird.

  “Of course he does,” said Elizabeth.

  “Yes,” said March. “A main one, and a fallback one. The main one is to get the reactor repaired. The backup plan is to call in a favor from the Stromboli Consortium.”

  Caird winced. “The Stromboli Consortium has a bad reputation.”

  “A deserved one,” said March. “But they keep their word, and they owe me a favor.”

  “Really?” said Caird. “How did you manage that?”

  “I saved the lives of one of their princes from pirates,” said March, “and that particular prince is in charge of the Consortium’s branch on Monastery Station.” He scratched his chin. “Better arm yourself.”

  “I thought the Custodian doesn’t permit violence on Monastery Station,” said Caird.

  “It doesn’t,” said March. “But when it comes to self-defense, the Custodian isn’t always consistent…and a big enough gun can discourage trouble.”

  “True enough,” said Caird, and he headed towards the cargo hold. March put all the systems on standby and set Vigil to run through the standard diagnostics, though he did keep the laser turrets charged and ready. If the Machinists tried to send a boarding party to the ship, the turrets might help ward them off.

  Assuming the station’s point-defense turrets did not kill them all first.

  March stopped by the armory to equip himself with weapons. A plasma pistol went in the holster on his right hip, and he took a smaller gun and put it in a shoulder holster. Spare power packs for both weapons went on his gun belt, and he concealed a pair of knives of the sleeves of his leather coat and tucked four grenades into his pockets. He did not want to start a fight, and he did not know how far the Machinists would be willing to push. The Custodian had a very low tolerance for mayhem on Monastery Station.

  Nevertheless, if there was going to be trouble, then March would be ready for it.

  He tucked an earpiece into his left ear and paired it to his phone. “Vigil.”

  “Captain March?”

  “If there is any anomalous activity near the ship, inform me at once,” said March. “Anything that could even remotely indicate hostile intent.”

  “Understood, Captain March,” said Vigil.

  March hesitated, and then added another instruction. “Also, keep an eye on Sergeant Perry and his Marines. If they try to access the flight cabin, the engine room, the armory, the strong room, or any critical systems, let me know.” He remembered Caird’s suspicion that there had been a traitor aboard the Covenant. Of the two thousand men on the Covenant, the odds were low that the traitor was among the seven who had escaped to the Tiger.

  But just in case…

  “Understood, Captain March,” said Vigil. “They shall be monitored.”

  “Thank you,” said March, and he left the armory and headed for the cargo bay.

  Caird waited for him there, a pistol on his hip, Elizabeth leaning against the wall as she watched the Marines. Vasquez and the other Marines had donned their power armor, blue and polished in the harsh lights of the cargo bay. If the Machinists or the Ninevehk tried to assault the ship, Perry and the others would have a better chance of defending the Tiger in their powered armor.

  “All right,” said March. “Listen to me, all of you. Commander Caird, Captain Vasquez, Rogan, Ulm, and I are heading to the station. Sergeant Perry and the rest of you will remain on board the Tiger.” He looked at Perry. “It is possible the Machinists or the Ninevehk may try to board the ship. If they do, do not fire the first shot if possible. Call the Custodian and report the attack, and let its drones dispatch the attackers. Defend yourselves if you must, but do not fire the first shot. If you do, the Custodian may decide to kill everyone on both sides of the battle.”

  “Do you think they will risk an attack, Captain March?” said Perry. March couldn’t see his expression beneath the helmet, but the young man sounded concerned.

  “They might,” said March. “The Custodian won’t let them blow the ship up, but they’ll attack if they think they can get away with it. My ship’s pseudointelligence will warn you of any attackers, but remain vigilant.”

  “Your ship is in good hands, Captain March,” said Perry.

  “Since it’s our ride home, I hope so,” said Caird, and the Marines laughed.

  “You have your orders, men,” said Vasquez. “Captain March?”

  March supposed he should have made an inspiring speech, but he couldn’t think of anything. “Let’s go.”

  He cycled the airlock, and both the inner and the outer door hissed open. His ears popped as the air pressure equalized, and he stepped through the airlock, crossed the landing bay, and entered the docking concourse, Caird and Elizabeth following him, and Vasquez, Rogan, and Ulm bringing up the back. The corridor was wide and roughly circular and made of the same reflective metal of the rest of Monastery Station, pale lights gleaming in the apex of the ceiling ten meters overhead. March saw his reflection in the walls, distorted and curved.

  The corridor was deserted, save for a slender woman in a white uniform who awaited them outside the airlock.

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

  Behind them, the Tiger’s airlock hissed closed and locked itself.

  “Thank you,” said March.

  He had thought her attractive over the communications link, but in person she was striking. Her dark eyes seemed to glitter as she regarded him. March shoved the attraction out of his mind. Attractive or not, he had his duty, and he could afford no distractions.

  And he wondered what kind of woman would choose to work for the Custodian.

  “Your companions seem well-armed,” said Logos. “I hope they are aware of the Custodian’s rules.”

  “I made them abundantly clear,” said March. “I wasn’t aware that we rated a personal visit from one of the Custodian’s Emissaries.”

  Logos raised a single dark eyebrow. It was a good look on her. “Not all visitors arrive with fleets of capital warships on their tail.”

  “Hopefully not,” said March.

  “Nor do all visitors have capital warships willing to fire on them within range of the railguns,” said Logos. She stepped closer, studying him. “You must have offended them a great deal.”

  “I have an offensive personality,” said March.

  “Perhaps,” said Logos. She smiled at that for some reason. “I bid you welcome to Monastery Station, Captain March. Should you wish to speak further, you can contact me at your convenience.”

  “Thank you,” said March.

  Logos inclined her head and walked away down the corridor. A few seconds later three white spheres about the size of a man’s head floated after her, green light glowing around their equators. They were some of the Custodian’s security drones, capable of firing a particle weapon that vaporized organic material.

  “Wonder what all that was about,” said Caird.

  “Damned if I know,” said March.

  He wondered if the Custodian knew about the Machinist device and if the ancient AI had an interest in it.

  Vasquez snorted. “Maybe you were right, Commander.”

  “Eh?” said Caird.

  “Perhaps Emissary Logos is lonely,” said Vasquez.

  “For God’s sake,” said March. “This way.” He turned right and headed down the corridor.

  “Perhaps there are no other human men on Monastery Station,” said Caird.

  “For God’s sake,” said March again. He held up a hand, and the others stopped as a drone rolled up to them. It was a flat drone that rolled on tank treads, designed to move cargo and passengers throughout the station. He climbed aboard, and the others followed suit. “Commercial Concourse Seven, Tanner’s Tavern, please.”

  “Certainly, human guests,” said the dron
e in a smooth voice, and it rolled forward, its treads accelerating.

  “Tanner’s Tavern?” said Caird.

  “Owned and operated by Markus Tanner,” said March. “A human establishment. He was a businessman who started out on Calaskar and then got caught selling illegal drugs to various members of the nobility. He managed to get away and set up in business out here.”

  “I see,” said Vasquez, his distaste plain. “We are to deal with a criminal? Is he trustworthy?”

  “No,” said March, “but the presence of the Custodian limits what he can do, just as it protects him from people who might want him dead. I’ve dealt with him before, and he’s our best chance of getting the dark matter reactor repaired.”

  “And if he can’t?” said Vasquez.

  “Then Tanner’s Tavern is where we will find a backup plan,” said March. He looked back at the Marines. “I should warn you. We may have to deal with some unsavory individuals to get home. Keep your hands to yourselves unless you are attacked, and for God’s sake don’t start any fights.”

  Vasquez’s armored helmet nodded. “My men are reliable. We will do what is necessary to fulfill our mission.”

  March nodded back, and a few moments later the drone took them to Commercial Concourse Seven.

  In many ways, the concourse looked little different than the hundreds of other concourses March had seen on space stations throughout his travels. It was a wide cylindrical tube, the ceiling transparent to show Eschaton V in the distance and the stars around it. Three levels of balconies rose on either side of the tube. There were dozens of shops and businesses, most of them dealing with starship repair and upgrades, and the rest selling food and drink and luxury items. There were also several brothels that catered to a variety of starfaring races, and numerous other establishments that sold substances of various addictiveness. There was no slave market, though only because the Custodian did not permit the sale or purchase of sapient beings on Monastery Station.

  Of course, if those sapient beings wanted to fill their bodies with addictive drugs or purchase sex from other sapient beings, the Custodian had no problem with that.

  “Commercial Concourse Seven, human guests,” announced the drone, rolling to a stop.