Not With A Whimper: Preservers

by D. A. Boulter

One of the Command personnel, a small woman, suddenly darted to her station and hit a switch, sounding a klaxon. She died with three bullets from Harrison’s pistol in her chest.

  “What’s that?” Temple demanded of Jill Paxton.

  Paxton had run to the woman, but sightless eyes stared up from a motionless face. Paxton rose slowly, and Temple could see she intended mayhem – mayhem which she wouldn’t survive.

  “Paxton!” Temple shouted, startling the woman out of her intention. “What did she do?”

  “Evacuation alarm.”

  “Kill it, or more will die.”

  Paxton entered a code, and the klaxons went silent.

  “Why? Why?”

  Temple refrained from looking over to Harrison to ask that same question. She would receive no satisfactory answer, and would only damage her own authority in his – and his soldiers’ – eyes.

  “She disobeyed instructions,” Temple answered shortly. “The rest of you will obey – to the letter.”

  “You!” she indicated the controller. “Status of my shuttles.”

  “Docking in one minute.” The sandy-haired man couldn’t take his eyes off the dead woman.

  “Good.”

  “Docked and unloading,” he reported ninety seconds later.

  The in-station comm buzzed, and Milton picked up. “Yes, sir. For you, Major. General Wingrove.”

  She took the hand-held to give some privacy. “General Wingrove, sir. Station mostly under control. Slight resistance in control room overcome.”

  She looked at the display.

  “A dead hero decided to sound the evacuation alarm. It appears that life-pods are evacuating to a nearby Family ship – Sendai Maru. One of the docks not under our control continues to work, sending supplies to Maid Marion. That’s Dock 3 if you wish to send troops there to stop them. We don’t have enough.”

  “What other Family ships are nearby? Are they a threat?” Wingrove asked.

  She studied the screen for a minute. “No others, sir. And we have sufficient hostages that I doubt they would fire on their own station.”

  “Excellent. I’ll see you soon.”

  The general disconnected. Temple turned to Captain Harrison.

  “Looks like the station is ours, Captain. As soon as General Wingrove arrives here, that’s my mission completed. I assume you have other duties.”

  He laughed. “Yes. Those two shuttles brought eighty troops each here. We have more coming from Earth tomorrow,” he glanced at his chrono, “in a few hours time, that is. Using FTL-1’s shuttles, we’ll reinforce the troops we have at the other stations as necessary. My people will partake.” He contemplated that with a satisfied smile. “I hope they put up a little more resistance.”

  “Good hunting, Captain.”

  Paxton looked at her with disgust.

  “Attention!”

  Everyone but the two guards, holding weapons ready on the controllers, snapped to attention.

  “Stand easy, everyone,” General Wingrove strode into the room, backed by several others.

  “Kinston, take over flight operations; Wesley, comm. Good work, Major, Captain.” He pointed at the two remaining control room staff, excluding Jill Paxton. “Take them away – and it, too,” he said, pointing at the dead body.

  “You were in charge?” he asked Paxton.

  “Was,” she confirmed.

  “You stay here in case we need your voice. Sit there.” He pointed to a visitor’s chair in the corner. “Stay quiet; stay calm.”

  He turned away from her, dismissing her as if she counted for nothing. To him, she probably did.

  “Captain Harrison.”

  “Sir!”

  “Get your troop together. Prepare to take over one of the two Family ships nearby.” He frowned. “From reports, I expected more.”

  His new flight control officer spoke up. “Sir, it appears only three in-orbit. These two and Venture, which lies near Haida Gwaii.” He paused. “Several left during the past three days.”

  “Why?” General Wingrove directed the question to Jill Paxton.

  Temple shot her a look, combined with a nod, hoping the woman would not cause a problem. Paxton just stared at her a moment, then turned her attention to the general. “We’re a trading league, General. When a ship has taken her cargo on board, she leaves. We don’t make money floating around doing nothing.”

  Wingrove gave her a narrow-eyed look.

  “General, sir!”

  He turned around to face the newcomer.

  “Yes, Colonel Cooper?”

  “Station is practically deserted. Maybe one hundred personnel, mostly in shipping. All secure, now, but it seems odd.”

  “Paxton?” the general turned back.

  “No secret that we’ve been shifting operations to Haida Gwaii as she becomes serviceable. FTL-1 is scheduled for refit.” She shrugged. “And many just now evacuated to Sendai Maru.”

  The general turned on Major Temple.

  “You didn’t inform me of this.”

  “Mostly, sir, I didn’t know it. But that fell outside the scope of my orders. I got the confidence of Owen Yrden, provided you with the information you requested, and scouted their security. Captain Harrison had no problems subverting it.”

  She got the general’s narrow-eyed look, as well as a look of hatred from Paxton. Obviously, Johannes Yrden and Bill Tannon had told Paxton nothing of her warning.

  Wingrove considered that.

  “True enough,” he concluded with a slight nod of his head. “You did good work, Major. You might find what you were looking for, if you continue like this.”

  “Thank you, sir. I think you’ll find me most amenable to new duties.”

  He looked at her, and got that dirty glint in his eye. He smiled. “Glad to see you’ve come around.”

  Like hell.

  With coffee distributed, and everything seemingly settled down, Temple finally decided to ask her question.

  “Sir, you’ve had me operating in the dark. Can you tell me the situation?”

  He nodded, smiling with satisfaction. Why not? After all, he had taken the station with no losses, looked in control, and had the major where he wanted her – or expected to have that pleasure very shortly. His plans had all worked.

  “The United States has decided that we’ve put up with the independence of others in space for long enough. We constructed Topside One; we started the explorations; we found Liberty. It cost. We wanted to share the costs, and thus allowed,” he smiled at that word, “allowed the others to put up their stations, send out their ships, develop worlds.”

  His expression changed to one of anger or determination – perhaps a mixture of both. “That time has passed.”

  Temple looked at him, transfixed. “Sir, they’ll not take this lying down.”

  He laughed. “They will. They have no stomach for real conflict. Sure, they’ll posture, and make noises, but they can’t hold a candle to our military might, and they know it. By the end of today, we will control Earth’s near-space. People will long remember the 29th of August. The return of American power to its rightful ascendancy.”

  He put his feet up on the controller’s desk. He glanced at the chrono.

  “In about an hour, we’ll launch fighters, and send an ultimatum to the other powers. If they ignore it, or try to interfere, we have a little something that will bring them into line. One demonstration of our power will stop all dissent.”

  Temple froze, unbelieving. “We kept nukes,” she whispered.

  “Of course, we did.” General Wingrove laughed at her naïveté. “We let all the others disarm, but we only made a show of it. Yes, yes, we dismantled a few thousand warheads and their missiles, but we kept a thousand, too. A single wave should teach everyone just who runs things.”

  Feeling sick to her stomach, Temple turned to see a white-faced Jill Paxton looking at the general in horror. Well she might.

  Wingrove went on, gloating, glorying in his part i
n this. He would, he said, become the military governor over all the stations and satellites. With nowhere to get goods, everyone – the Trans-Planetary Corporations, the colonies, and especially the Families – would bow down to the inevitable.

  “You sick, sick people,” Jill Paxton said into the silence that followed his summing up of the situation.

  “And you will learn to keep your mouth shut,” he said, glaring at her. “Unless you want special treatment.”

  He looked at her, checked out her curves, and suddenly leered. “I think you may want special treatment.”

  Jill turned her face away, and gave Temple a look that would take more words than the Major had to describe. However, she gave Paxton a minute nod. She understood.

  “Launch-time, General,” Colonel Cooper reported.

  Wingrove stood, and went to the navigation tank, which – with inputs from various satellites – gave a three-dimensional depiction of Earth and the space around her.

  Temple looked as the tank plotted lines of fighters launching from North America. Wingrove smiled, his dream come true.

  “Sir!” the flight controller called out, sounding shocked. “Russians are launching fighters, too!”

  “Fools!” sneered Wingrove.

  “And the Europeans! And the Japanese. The – hell, sir, everyone is.”

  The comm officer reported, “Fights going on in the stations, sir. They are resisting.”

  “Which stations?”

  “All of them!”

  Wingrove looked from one to the other of his officers. “Looks like there’ll be a demonstration.”

  And, several minutes later, the flight controller said with some satisfaction, “Look at the Atlantic, sir. USNAS Florida has launched.”

  Wingrove peered into the tank. “Excellent. That will end that.”

  The ballistic missiles began their climb. Temple exchanged a horrified look with Paxton.

  “Oh, my God!” Colonel Cooper gasped. “What’s that?”

  He pointed to an area in the North Sea.

  “Ballistic missiles, sir,” the flight controller answered. “Trajectory, uh, wait for it, trajectory...” his voice trailed off.

  “Trajectory?” Wingrove almost shouted at him.

  “USNA.”

  With everyone moving close to the navigation tank, looking at missiles now rising from several oceans, from several nations on several continents, Temple edged closer to Paxton.

  “Can you kill the station’s gravity from here?” she asked, voice pitched so only the woman would hear.

  Paxton looked up, a question on her face, to see Temple unsnapping the restraining strap on her sidearm, and tucking it under her belt.

  “Yes,” she whispered back.

  “Then get ready to do it. I’ll cover you, then we get out of here.” She glanced over, and saw the rising lines of both fighters and missiles depicted in various colours. So pretty; so deadly.

  “Euro-fighters firing at Topside One, sir!”

  “Sendai Maru under full burn.”

  Topside One blew. A second wave of Euro-fighters bypassed Topside Two, going high, ignoring Sendai Maru as they passed her.

  Jill sobbed with relief.

  She looked at the Family ship icon, obviously hoping it might escape. It held many station personnel aboard.

  Stations Euro Alpha and Euro Beta took hits. Then swirling icons made deciphering the action almost impossible.

  “Oh, Jesus! Russian fighters targeting us! Firing!”

  “Meteor shields to maximum!”

  Meteor shields wouldn’t stop the incoming missiles – not that many, and not if they included shield-killers. The shields did their best, but some missiles got through, and the station shuddered. Alarms went off everywhere, the console a veritable Christmas tree of blinking lights. But gravity held. The shields, however, had died, leaving the station defenceless.

  Wingrove turned, face sagging.

  “You fool!” Major Temple said. “How could you believe that no one else would cheat, would have no qualms about bypassing the disarmament agreement? You idiots.”

  Wingrove went red. “Major Temp–” he stopped as he saw her pull her sidearm and point it at him.

  “Now,” she told Paxton.

  The Family woman launched herself towards the control table. One of the guards raised a weapon, and Temple shot him, and then the other, who turned to see what had happened.

  “I’ll have you court-martialled!” Wingrove roared.

  “If we live, which I doubt.”

  Gravity went, and both Paxton and Temple pushed off lightly, heading for the open door. Colonel Cooper got his gun out and fired, his motion and the recoil sending him into an uncontrolled spin, the bullet hitting nowhere near where he had tried to aim.

  “Good Luck, Pierre,” Jill shouted, as she exited the room, slapping the switch that would close the door behind her as she passed it. It might only hold back pursuit for a few seconds, but every second counted.

  “Can they reset gravity?” Sharon asked.

  “Not from in there. It requires someone in engineering.”

  Floating down the hallway, using grab-holds to increase speed, the two women arrowed for the stairway.

  “Daren’t trust the lifts,” Jill Paxton said. “Power could go any minute.”

  “They’re targetting life-pods. We’d better head for the Catastrophe Core.”

  She got a look of disbelief from Paxton.

  “You know about that?”

  “Owen showed me.”

  “That traitor.” They floated down the stairwell, not needing to follow the steps.

  “Not at all. Payment, they said.”

  “They?”

  “Him, Johannes, Bill Tannon, Simon Fontaine. Why do you think they all left so quickly, moved operations to Haida Gwaii?”

  Paxton gaped at her. “You warned them?” She gestured around, as they came out of the stairwell, and bounced against a wall, heading for the Catastrophe Core. “You knew about all this?”

  “Good God, no! I only knew that Space Force had plans to take over this station. Nothing else. I found out the approximate date a few days ago. I passed that on.”

  They passed soldiers, desperately scrabbling to gain control of themselves, spinning, vomiting, some clinging onto whatever support they could find, and met another Family member.

  “To the life-pods!” he shouted at them.

  “No. Catastrophe Core. They’re shooting at life-pods.”

  The man didn’t listen. He went one way; they headed deeper into the station.

  Breathing harshly, Temple opened the faceplate, and plugged in the numbers Owen had made her memorize. The door opened, and they slipped inside. The low lights showed six people already there, strapped into chairs. The whole station shook again.

  “What’s happening?” came from several people at once, as they closed the lock behind them.

  “War.” Temple said succinctly.

  “What are we going to do?” a short, redheaded woman asked.

  Jill Paxton answered that one. “Wait. That’s all we can do.” She moved towards the control panel. “I hope this still works.”

  With Temple floating nearby, Jill toggled the comm. “All FTL ships: we are abandoning station. Do not stay to pick up survivors; jump to hyperspace immediately you are able. Catastrophe Plan Alpha now in effect. We will attempt to get to Haida Gwaii, but are doubtful of success. Attacking vessels are targeting life-pods from destroyed ships and stations.”

  She paused as Temple tapped her, saying, “Patrol ships are pirates.”

  Jill toggled the comm on again. “Come back for us in 7 days. If we do succeed, we’ll be in that position, waiting for you. Do not, I repeat, do not allow any military vessels of any nation to close with you.”

  She then began repeating the message, but a light went red.

  “Looks like they took out the antenna.”

  The lock opened, and another survivor floated in. That
made nine. And how many had been left on the station?

  Two or three looked quizzically at Temple.

  “People, this is Major Temple. She’s a friend.”

  Temple looked at the doubting faces. “Sharon,” she said. “My name is Sharon.”

  “I think we can afford fifteen percent gravity,” Jill said, and received nods from others.

  Sharon watched as Jill touched the panel, in the manner Johannes had shown her. She slowly floated down to the floor, found a chair and strapped in. To her surprise, Jill strapped in next to her.

  “How did you know patrol ships were pirates? Were you a part of that?”

  Sharon shook her head. “It came to me here. Everything came together. I worked in Logistics, in First Fleet – they commanded and supplied the patrol vessels. My job had me investigate irregularities. Did we have someone siphoning off supplies, and selling them on the black market; did inefficiencies cause the loss of time-sensitive supplies?”

  “Time-sensitive supplies?”

  “‘Best before’ dates, if you will. If First Fleet, for example, bought one hundred pallets of ready-meals with a best before date of June, and come June we had to throw fifty pallets out, I would find out why. Did we only need the fifty to begin with? If so, why had we bought one hundred? A mistake, or did someone accept a bribe to order more than we needed? If we did need one hundred, why had they not all been consumed? Did someone shove fifty pallets in a corner somewhere and forget about them, or did they just put newer stock in front of them and not rotate? That sort of thing.”

  “I get it.”

  “Okay, you’ve been on ships, being from a trading family, right?”

  “Got kicked off Maid Marion to do a job on FTL-1.” Jill turned her head to watch someone semi-floating to the restroom, and her hair flew slowly up, then slowly receded.

  Maybe Jill should have gone to twenty-five percent gravity. That would help on the restroom end of things. Hell, why not one hundred percent? Sharon gave a mental shrug. She returned to her answer.

  “So, if you were supplying Maid Marion with four cases of cheese every time it docked at FTL-1, and then one time it came in and ordered no cheese, what would you think?”

  Jill shrugged. “That they had obtained it elsewhere, maybe at New Brittain.”

  “Fair enough,” Sharon said. “But then you would expect receipts for the payment, wouldn’t you, to balance the books?”