by B. V. Larson
Minotaur had a broadside bank of cannons on her armored flank, but the Skrull couldn’t legally operate them. Fortunately, humanity was licensed to kill in other star systems, so we could fire the ship’s guns. For the sake of convenience and to prevent any misunderstandings, the control system for these weapons wasn’t located on the main bridge. It was built into a separate chamber on the decks below. It was to this region of the ship Claver was headed now.
As we got closer to the fire control center, my worries increased.
“Adjunct?” I asked. “You can’t be considering firing on the station. If that’s your plan, I’m not going along with it. There are millions of people—not to mention your legion and mine—living on that station.”
“Relax,” he said. “I’m not crazy. I’m not trying to kill everyone in the system just to keep myself alive. That’s not the goal, here. Try to remember that you’ve personally killed more of their citizens than I have.”
I winced, knowing his words to be true. My 88 had fried thousands by my best estimates. Those people weren’t coming back, either. It had been in self-defense and under orders, but I still felt a little sorry for the Tau.
“What are you planning?” I asked as we reached the big dilating doors that led into the control center.
“Just a sec,” he said, standing to one side of the door. “There were crewmen stationed here last time I checked it out.”
He tried the lock, but it rejected his biometrics. His handprint and retinal scans apparently weren’t in the security system.
I was standing on the opposite side of the big door. We were both hugging the walls like two cops about to burst into a den of thieves.
Claver made a grasping motion, indicating I should toss him the key, but I didn’t budge. He made an exasperated sound and waved me to come over to his side. I did so reluctantly.
“Open this damn door, Specialist.”
“No way. Not until I know what you intend.”
“I told you, I’m going to solve everyone’s problems.”
I frowned at him. “And just how do you intend to do that?”
“The holographic projectors—the ones every Tau seems to be wearing today—are malfunctioning. The truth is, they’ve been tampered with. I happen to know where the source of the altered devices is. I’m going to destroy it from orbit.”
“Ah-ha!” I said, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “I knew you had something to do with the riots. Let me guess, did you sell them defective parts? Or was this all on purpose?”
Claver shrugged. “What difference do those details make? Do you want this madness to stop or not?”
I considered his offer. If his plan worked, the rioters could be stopped. Lives could be saved. Apparently they were passing around devices that had a locked violent demeanor preprogrammed within them. But his story still didn’t add up fully for me.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “I thought the holographic systems only projected the mood of the wearer. How can they change that mood even if they’re malfunctioning?”
Claver rolled his eyes. “You really want to hear about this?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Think about it,” he said. “The Tau projectors have to read a mood to correctly interpret it. They actually take mental and emotional impressions. But what if those devices could transmit the mood, not just receive it?”
I stared at him, and my jaw sagged open. “You’re somehow involved in this? You built something that influenced their moods? You should get permed!”
Claver became angry. “Oh, I get it. You’re one of those people who hate entrepreneurs. There’s no place for innovation in the Empire!”
“It’s not that. You’ve done something illegal and obviously dangerous.”
“I’ve broken no Galactic Law,” he assured me. “The devices are for distribution in this star system only. A purely internal matter.”
“So what? You’ve killed thousands—maybe millions.”
“No one ever appreciates a great product until it’s proven,” he grumbled. “Imagine the profits we could have made here! What if these people were feeling down, but with the twiddle of a knob they could make themselves feel happy? Such a product would change lives. It was a goldmine. There are countless millions of Tau, and many of them are rich.”
“The projectors don’t work, Claver,” I pointed out.
“They actually do work—a little too well. Okay, let’s forget about that. Are you going to open this door and let me end these riots or not?”
I hesitated, then sighed. He had me. Even if he was the root of this disaster, I had to help him stop it.
I touched the key to the lock, and the door slid open. Inside, two surprised noncom techs turned to face us.
“Who are you?” they demanded. “Did you escape the modules?”
“Yes,” Claver said, stepping into the control room like he owned the place. “I can’t find any other officers aboard. I wanted to make sure this chamber was secure.”
They frowned at him and even more so at me. “I’m sorry sir, but you aren’t authorized to even be on this deck. We have to ask you to leave.”
“Where’s your commander?”
“Our Centurion was in the modules when they were released as far as we can tell. We’ve been communicating with the Skrull. We’re maneuvering the ship to catch up with them before they make a disastrous reentry.”
“Excellent,” Claver said, “but could you tell me why that indicator is flashing red?”
Both the techs turned toward their boards in concern. Claver produced a sidearm from his tunic and shot them both in the back.
I made a choking sound that matched the surprised gasps of the techs as they sank to the deck plates.
“What the hell…?” I demanded, grabbing his wrist. I pushed the muzzle of my snap-rifle into his belly with my other hand.
“Hands off, Specialist,” he said in a commanding tone.
“Where did you get that weapon?” I demanded.
He shrugged. “You’ve been inattentive.”
“Drop it.”
Reluctantly, he let it go. We’d fought hand-to-hand before, and I could tell he didn’t want a repeat performance.
“They had to die,” he told me. “Do you really think they were going to let me aim and fire their broadsides without authority?”
“No,” I admitted. “But you didn’t have to kill them.”
Claver shook his head as if I were a grade-A fool. “Loose ends destroy the best of plans. Come now, we have to work fast. These men will be revived eventually.”
I held onto him, and the barrel of my snap-rifle continued to prod his guts. “Why didn’t you kill me with that hidden weapon?” I asked.
He brightened. “I don’t know, but I think I’ve started to like you. A true rebel. You remind me of my youth.”
I laughed. “Right. I think I’ve been lucky so far—and I always made sure you were walking in front of me.”
Claver shrugged and pointed at the controls. “More Tau citizens are turning into rogue rioters every hour.”
Heaving a sigh, I let go of him. My every instinct was to fill his gut with pellets—but I didn’t do it. If he could stop these riots, he could save the station—and maybe the entire system.
We moved to the control console. It wasn’t overly complex, but I didn’t know how to operate it. I could tell after a few minutes that Claver was having trouble, too.
“We should have kept those techs alive at gunpoint,” I said. “They would’ve been helpful now.”
“I’ve got it,” Claver announced a moment later. “Touch this security module while my hand is on it. Then touch the one over there.”
“What’s this one?” I said, walking over to the hump of tin-colored metal he’d indicated.
“That’s the firing control. The other console lets me aim.”
I bared my teeth thoughtfully. I was a weaponeer, but these boards were more like a starship’s pilotin
g control system. The controls weren’t simple and manual. They were all touch-screen based, and there were numbers displayed everywhere.
Sucking in a breath and baring my teeth, I touched the modules he’d indicated. He made some adjustments, and the ship began making odd noises in response.
My eyes crawled toward the ceiling. Above me, huge automated cannons were traversing, locking onto the newly designated target. The sounds were ominous, like those you might hear in a vast ship below the waterline.
I found a switch on the panel that opened the blast-shields and flipped it. The scene outside was alarming. Two of the cannons were in view—or at least their long barrels were. They thrust out over my viewpoint aiming down toward the planet. They reminded me of factory smokestacks. The shadows they cast were stark in the blaze of the distant sun.
“Dammit McGill,” Claver complained as he looked up and saw what I’d done. “We can’t fire with the blast-shields open!”
I looked at him, and the barrel of my snap-rifle swiveled so that it aimed directly at him.
“I wanted to make sure you weren’t aiming at the station,” I said.
“And why would I do that, my paranoid friend?”
“Because you’re scared of death,” I said. “Everyone who has the power and motive to execute you is on that station.”
“You think I’m that selfish?”
“Yes I do, Old Silver. No one lives as long as you have in a legion—not even Legion Germanica—without being very careful.”
He stared at me, now and then casting involuntary glances down at the barrel of my weapon. “Is this some kind of threat? Some kind of final card-play you’ve been planning?”
“I wish it was,” I admitted. “But I’ve been playing this game by ear from the start.”
Claver chuckled and turned his attention back to the controls. “I’ll close the doors, fire one salvo, and open them again. You’ll get a front row seat as the strike lands.”
At that moment, I wished I didn’t have a gun on him. I wished he was doing this without my knowledge. The fact I was standing there with a rifle in my hand contemplating allowing this lunatic to operate a warship single-handedly was a testament to how desperate I’d become.
“No,” I said finally. “Not yet.”
“What?” Claver demanded. “They’ll overrun the station soon. You saw that street-battle.”
“They might win anyway.”
“Not without new troops. The legions can keep churning out fresh fighters. If the supply is cut off on the other side, we might win. Every minute you delay is lowering the odds.”
“The trouble is,” I told him, “I don’t trust you. Not at all.”
“I can understand that,” he admitted. “But you’re going to have to in this case, son. We’re losing this fight. You can see that, can’t you? We’ve lost ground every day on the station. From the very first day.”
“Because of your stupid get-rich-quick scheme!”
“A product, not a scheme. A failed product, that’s all it was.”
My eyes narrowed as I stared at Old Silver. I could tell he was tense but trying to look nonchalant. He wanted to fire the broadsides, and it was probably for the reasons he’d stated. But I couldn’t be sure. The guy was too tricky for his own damned good.
“All right,” I said finally, expelling a deep breath I’d been holding. “But if these doors go back up and the station is hit, I’m telling you as God is my witness I’m blowing you away. And no one, I mean no one, will ever revive your sorry ass.”
“I accept your conditions. Hit the damned switch.”
I reached out, and I did it. The massive doors rolled shut, and the starlight was cut out.
Seconds later, the broadsides fired. I could feel a concussion wave rolling through the ship. The shock staggered me and almost knocked me off my feet, despite the fact the control room had special dampening systems. Strangely, there wasn’t as much of a roar as one might have expected. The barrels were out in space, and much of the energy had been released into the void. The only noise and vibration we felt was due to recoil alone.
I stabbed at the switch. The blast doors rolled back up more slowly than I’d remembered.
Craning my neck, I could see trails of gas following a shower of sixteen projectiles. They’d already hit the atmosphere, propelled by the rail-gun system at incredible speeds that were best measured as a percentage of the speed of light.
The shells were punching their way down through thin layers of gas toward the endless city that sprawled below. It was nighttime down there, and lights twinkled as witless Tau citizens went about their routines without any idea of what was falling from the skies above them. I felt sick, wondering how many would die as collateral damage to stop the cancer Claver had released.
The shells brightened as they dug deeper into the atmosphere. I knew that was their outer shielding, a combination of a projected field and burning ceramics. To prevent disintegration on entry into the atmosphere they were heavily protected.
“Right on target,” whispered Claver.
“What have we done?” I asked.
“We’ve saved a world, that’s what. The cancer had to be cut out. Don’t blame yourself, boy.”
I frowned at him. “Blame myself for what?”
He nodded toward the scene below. The salvo had reached ground and sixteen interlocked white flashes flared. Almost instantly, these impacts were obscured by the expanding clouds of dust and debris. Glowing shockwaves rippled in concentric circles destroying miles of buildings and people.
“I didn’t know we were going to hit them that hard!” I said, horrified. “We should have fired just one round!”
“You have to be sure with cancer,” Claver said. “Any surgeon will tell you that. When they cut on you, most of what they take out is good, solid flesh. You know that, don’t you?”
I didn’t look at him or acknowledge him. I was too shocked by what I was seeing below us. I’d never witnessed a Galactic warship’s broadsides striking a target before. Hell, I don’t know if any human being ever had. The destruction was terrific.
The white flashes had given way to a lurid red glow under the billowing clouds of dust. I saw something, something like a black thick strand coming out of that mess of destruction. As I watched, the strand moved upward, curling and whipping like a snake in slow-motion.
“The umbilical,” I said, almost unable to breathe. “That strike—you hit the base of the umbilical!”
That’s when he nailed me. I have to admit, Claver’s timing was masterful. I’d looked at him not ten seconds before, but I’d spent the subsequent moments staring down in horror as the magnitude of the disaster I’d allowed to occur sank in.
The umbilical had been cut, the station had been set adrift—and I’d let it happen.
My skull exploded in white pain and I sank to my knees.
I knew then I’d made the wrong choice in trusting Old Silver.
-29-
If there’s one thing my mama can confirm—should you ever have the chance to ask her—it’s that I have a hard head. There have been times in my life she’s told me that I should have been stone dead by all rights. Like the day she backed into me with the family tram while I zoomed by on my aircycle, or the time I fell off the fourth story balcony of our apartment and landed headfirst on a pine tree.
On both those occasions, plus a few others, medical types had later tapped, prodded and scanned my cranium to see if I’d suffered a crack. It had never happened.
Unfortunately, I’m not immune to pain. My brain, that lump of gray and white matter that resides within my thick skull, was protesting with the most violent of headaches. But as was usually the case in these situations I stayed conscious throughout the trauma.
As I fell I spun around onto my back. Claver stood over me with a wrench in his hand. It was a wickedly heavy thing built for twisting open hatches and the like. The gleaming end of it had the look of worn steel. The tool had cl
early been well-used by a dozen strong men in the past.
Stunned, I lay there with eyelids fluttering as Claver’s arms rose up for a second strike. He had the wrench in both hands, and he was going for an all-out homerun this time. His face was screwed up with the effort of it, his teeth bared like those of a killer ape smashing down a rival. I didn’t need much brainpower to figure out he was going to bash my face in with his next blow.
My numb fingers squeezed. The snap-rifle in my hand began to chatter. I didn’t even know where it was aiming. I barely cared. Just hearing the sound of it was enough for me.
My aim wasn’t too good. The recoil from the snap-rifle, although mild, helped out. The gun kicked upward in my weak grip. I barely managed to hang onto the trigger, to keep it hammering out tiny rounds.
The first shower of pellets splattered the ceiling of the fire control room. Dozens of orange sparks flashed up there before the recoil slewed my aim farther upward. I drew a line across Claver’s belly, stitching him with at least ten projectiles. They ripped upward through his body and a few stabbed right up into his skull.
Snap-rifles fire a lot of rounds quickly, but each bullet is small, about the size of a BB. At the speed the rounds were traveling, it didn’t much matter. They tore right through the man’s unprotected body and blew bigger holes out of the back of him than they made going in.
