by J. N. Chaney
For now she needed to just close her eyes again.
There were three ships at the slip gap point when the Atlantis Falcon arrived. When the rift opened, Cade’s fingers ran across his controls, sorting through data his hijacking program was feeding him from the other ships’ broadcasts. He learned their names, their ownership information, their cargo, where they were coming from, and where they headed according to their navigation settings. He found one of the ships would be taking the S.G. Point that they wanted to trick Burner into.
In a matter of moments, he had stolen all the identifying data of the target ship. It was criminally easy. Somebody really needed to update the standards for broadcast protocols to compensate for modern hacking techniques. Not that he was complaining. He liked it when his job was easy.
He made it so that the target ship started broadcasting the identifying markers of the Atlantis Falcon, while their ship would now claim to be The Wanderer, a ship with a simple freelance merchant’s license.
Once the switch was complete, they entered the next tunnel before Burner could get within visual range. With any luck, they had just sent Burner on a wild goose chase that would waste several hours of his time.
By the time he caught up with them on the station, it would be too late.
ABOARD THE MCGARRY
Something about this didn’t seem right.
Burner’s assumption that the terrorists were heading straight to the space station had so far been accurate to the course they were taking. But now his scanners showed the ship entering a slip tunnel that was not the most direct path to the Pharbis.
There were two tunnels that would exit close to the station. One would require two more slips to get there, the other three. It would make the most sense for Cypher to take the quickest path as opposed to one that would add pointless hours to the journey.
It was possible that they had taken the other tunnel in hopes of losing Burner. If they assumed Burner would just continue on to the station directly to beat them there, then they could finish the trip without having to worry about him. Of course, that meant he would be at the station already when they arrived, and that would create a whole new host of problems.
There was also a chance that their trip wasn’t a straight path to the station. Maybe they still needed to stop somewhere along the way to pick up something. Like the bomb. Slip gap points were often hubs for exchanging black market goods. It would not be unusual to meet up with a Deadlands merchant at one of them. Though how they expected to conduct business with Burner right on their ass, he was not sure.
But something in his gut told him that neither of those things were the case. Following his instinct, he chose to take the slip tunnel that provided the most direct path to the station.
ABOARD THE ATLANTIS FALCON
Burner had lost practically no time at all in following them through the right slip tunnel. Once again, the man seemed to have a nearly psychic ability to predict their plans and counter them. They would just have to try something else in the hours between now and when they arrived at the station.
After several minutes of everyone failing to come up with a decent new plan, Reginald sighed. “Man, Stack sure got lucky, huh. Getting out of here before all this shit goes down.”
Cypher steepled his fingers in front of himself. “Trust me, you should be glad that you’re not in Stack’s shoes right now.”
31
Aboard the Liberty Ward, Union Ship, Nimrod Sector, Union Space
Though he should have been used to it by now, Stack still found his Union uniform to be stifling. He had once hoped to never wear one. That was why he had gone into a career in traditionally civilian duties after basic training, acting as a glorified receptionist for the upper brass. He had never expected to be given rank for answering calls and making appointments, and he certainly never expected that his ass kissing would one day land him his current position on a major Union vessel. That was part of the Union poison, though. It wasn’t about promoting the hardest working or the most deserving. It was about who sucked up the most and made the fewest waves.
At least in Stack’s case, he was going to do something important with his access.
He left his quarters and quickly made his way to the bridge for his first shift since returning from his “vacation.” He found both the admiral and the captain of the vessel engaged in a heated discussion when he arrived. The captain noticed him when he entered and quickly broke off the conversation.
Captain Kessek gave him a nod that indicated he had permission to approach. “Commander Roberts. It is good to see you again.”
Stack gave a salute. “Good to be back, sir.” That was a tough lie to tell with a straight face. “I was told I was needed on the bridge, sir.”
Admiral Thiel stepped forward. “Commander, there have been some troubling developments since you’ve been gone. I wanted to make sure to get you up to speed.” The admiral then went on to summarize a situation that Stack knew all too well from the other perspective: the assassination attempt, the bomb plot, the organization of terrorists who were trying to destabilize the border space of the frontier. The only new information the captain gave him was that the Union had somehow learned that the bomb was to be planted in the station’s power core. Not that having that information would do the Union any good.
“We’re heading to the station now,” the captain explained after the admiral had finished. “We’ll be there to attempt identification and intercept any ship with the terrorists on board. We’re to provide any assistance to the Pharbis to stop this plot.”
The admiral shifted where he stood. “While also watching for any additional threats to my own life,” he added, only half-joking. He rubbed at his chest. “I’ve already been shot once this week and I’d really like to avoid a repeat performance.”
If you’d just died the first time, you wouldn’t have to worry about it. “No worries, sir. They wouldn’t dare to strike at you here.”
The admiral nodded but didn’t seem convinced. “Well, I hope your vacation was restful, because these next few days are likely to be rough. Captain, when you have a moment, I’d like to continue our earlier conversation in private.” The captain saluted the admiral before he departed.
Stack watched the admiral’s back as he left and wondered why no one had ever stuck a dagger in it. There was something else going on too though. The admiral wasn’t giving the whole story. “What was that all about?” he asked, hoping for more intel on what else might be going on in the rank and file.
Captain Kessek was young for someone with such a high post, only a few years older than Stack himself. Rumor had it that ranking officers used that power to avoid being assigned duty on the borders of the Deadlands due to the danger both to themselves and their careers. That left greener captains like Kessek to fill the role. He was competent enough, and not as corrupt as Stack knew much of the Union brass to be. A decent enough man working in an indecent system.
But, perhaps due to his inexperience, he didn’t know when he should keep certain things from his subordinates. “The admiral thinks there’s a mole on the ship,” he explained.
Stack schooled his features into a mask of surprise. “A mole? On the Liberty Ward?”
The captain looked as incredulous as Stack was pretending to be. “I know, it doesn’t make sense. I know everyone in the crew by name, and not one of them strikes me as the kind of man who would do any worse than inflate an expense report for a few extra creds. But somehow these terrorists have gotten access to highly sensitive information such as the admiral’s schedule. He thinks someone from this ship must have leaked it. It has been the source of some contention,” he finished.
“It’s hard to believe.” Stack shook his head sadly. “But if the evidence points to a mole, we might have to put our disbelief aside. But, you know, maybe it’s not their fault. Maybe they are being forced. Like the terrorists are threatening their family or something. Even a good man can do bad things when their
family is threatened.”
A mole investigation was inevitable at this point, and Stack would only make himself look suspicious if he was too adamant about resisting it. By supporting the investigation, he not only removed suspicion from himself, but he was able to cast suspicion on the known family men of the crew by positing that theory.
Kessek looked downtrodden. “I hadn’t considered that. We do know that this group likes to make others their patsies against their will… I should bring this theory up to the admiral. You have the bridge, Commander.”
Stack made a show of making sure everyone on the bridge was performing their duties as expected. Not that they needed his oversight to perform the same task most of them had been doing every day for years.
The navigator, a middle-aged man with an unplaceable accent, sat at the console and tapped through maps of the network of slip tunnels in this region of space. After setting the initial course, his job was to continue to update alternate paths as they traveled in case the one they were on became impassable. And also to have courses ready to areas where the ship could receive support in case of emergencies. This way, when a situation changed suddenly, there did not need to be any delay in plotting the next route. The navigator was a friendly guy who liked getting his peers to try the spicy, smelly soy paste he ate for almost every meal.
By contrast, the communications officer was a young woman who liked to push Union policy about how much make-up you were allowed to wear when you were in uniform. The captain had to write her up on several occasions for crossing that line. She sat at a console with a headpiece on and monitored all the incoming communications channels. Occasionally she would need to run broad scans for any other signals that might be of interest. She was a serial flirt and there were many tales of her promiscuity. As far as Stack could tell, though, no one could confirm any of the stories. Such was life on a Union ship: incestuous, but a hell of a lot more boring than the rumors portrayed.
The helmsman was an old man who had been helming this ship since before either Stack or Kessek had come to it. He would probably still be working here long after they were gone. Assuming the ship survived the coming days, of course. He seemed as much a feature of the Liberty Ward as the consoles or the engine. He was a man of very few words but quite good at his job.
They, and several others, went about their tasks as usual, performing their duties with the diligence and professionalism that the Union required. They weren’t bad people, necessarily. Just cogs in a machine that was terribly broken. None realized that they had sacrificed their freedom and individuality to be part of the unfeeling, cancer-ridden body that was the Union. He sometimes wondered if any of them would wake up in the days of the revolutions he and Cypher’s group would be bringing, but he doubted it.
Once he had finished his show of leadership, he took his seat at his regular console. He adjusted the angle of the screen so that only he could see what was on it. Then he went to work.
The current settings of the ship’s main systems were detrimental to what he needed to do. As commander, his console gave him authority to change most of these settings, but each change would be recorded and reported to the captain. He uploaded a program given to him by Cade that was supposed to disable the notifications and give him access to those last few systems. The program would take a few minutes to work its magic; it’s only flaw.
Stack tapped his fingers impatiently as the program dug itself into the root directory of the ship’s systems to disable the security measures designed to counter this exact breach. He could feel himself starting to sweat. This would be impossible to explain if someone caught him. His eyes darted about nervously to the others in the room performing their tasks. The helmsman was idly staring off into space. The navigator was still tapping at his screen.
“Hey, Commander!” Stack nearly leaped out of his chair as the communications officer seemingly materialized behind him.
He turned and tried to position himself so that his body blocked most of what was on the screen, but he worried what she might have seen already. “Ms. Fells. What can I do for you?”
She gave him a curious look and tilted her head as if trying to see what he was hiding. “Sorry, sir. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
Behind him, Cade’s program continued to compromise the ship’s security. “Sort of. Did you need something?”
Fells gave him a sweet smile. “I just wanted to let you know that some of the other bridge crew and myself wanted to see if you’d like to have drinks later to celebrate your return.”
Stack coughed to clear his throat. “Yes. That will be fine. After our shift.”
She smiled again and turned to walk back to her post. She paused for a moment. “You know, sir, the captain is very uptight about using the network to access adult materials. I’ve been given that warning before. The real thing is better anyway.” She let that suggestion hang in the air as she walked away, a distinct swagger in her gate.
Letting out a quiet sigh of relief, Stack turned back to his console just as the program finished its dirty work.
Now it was time for him to do his part.
ABOARD THE ATLANTIS FALCON
Sara returned to consciousness on a cold, metal grated floor. There was a soft hum and a familiar rumbling that her years of space travel told her she was on a ship. She was woozy and felt sick, but at least her thoughts were starting to clear.
The first thing she needed to figure out was what had happened. Touching her throbbing head, she felt something wet and sticky. Blood. She probed gently around the top of her skull and found several bumps and lacerations. Some of the cuts were older and scabbed over, but more than a few were fresh enough to still be bleeding. She concluded that she had been knocked around.
She struggled to recall her last memories before everything had become a hazy blur. She and Burner had been in the barn. The two of them had attempted the stealthily ambush of two of the terrorists. A gunshot went off and gave them away. There was a grenade… then she and one of the terrorists wrestled across the ground. And then whiteness. Everything after that was just a blur of ground moving past her. The seat of a vehicle. And now lying on this grated floor.
So, she had been beaten up and captured by the terrorists. They had escaped and taken her with them. She craned her neck just slightly, fighting off the agony that it caused in her head, and confirmed her hypothesis by spotting the members of the organization sitting at the forward section of the ship. She quickly laid her head back down before one of them could look over to her.
But what had happened to Burner? It was hard to imagine a scenario in which he just let them get away. Unless he was dead. Or...
Or the terrorists had used her as a human shield. A more calculating operative would have taken the shot anyway, rather than risk the lives of everyone on the space station. But, she suspected, Burner wasn’t like that. He was strangely soft for a man who acted so hardened.
Her thoughts started to drift as her consciousness threatened to slip once more under the weight of her head injuries. She had to fight it off. An uncontrolled stream of thoughts slipped past her mind in a dreamlike haze as lucidity escaped her. She saw herself and Burner sitting in the barn, discussing their theories on the terrorists’ grander intentions. Stack, the mole, was off on a secret mission for the terrorist second-in-command. Admiral Thiel. The Liberty Ward.
Suddenly things clicked for her. Stack was a mole who had had access to Admiral Thiel’s schedule and must work closely with him. Theil based himself out of the Union ship the Liberty Ward. Burner’s theory that the attack’s intention was to start an uprising against the Union in the Frontier border space of the Deadlands.
And what better way to start a war than having a Union capital ship fire the first shot? Even if they could stop the bomb, the station would be destroyed by the Liberty Ward.
She had to get a message out.
Thankfully, her captors hadn’t bothered to remove her comm. Perhaps they saw it as a piece o
f junk. To be fair, it now had a big crack running through it. Not to mention the damn thing hadn’t worked right since she had picked it up.
As quietly as she could, she typed a brief message to her handler, warning him about Stack and the Liberty Ward.
Don’t look back here, she willed at the terrorists just meters from her. Don’t turn around.
She tried to get the message across in as few characters as possible. The less data the message needed to transmit, the better the odds of it being sent. Unless they were in a slip stream. Her only hope was that they open a rift or exit the tunnel completely.
She heard one of the terrorists get up from his seat and she quickly tapped the send button before pretending to be asleep again. Fortunately, the one who had gotten up had just been stretching his back and didn’t look over at her.
After taking a moment to ensure that she was still being ignored, she checked the status of the message. A “message unable to send,” error had been returned to her. Shit.
There was more activity near the front. “Someone should probably check on the bitch.” Reginald’s voice.
Desperately, she retyped the message, worried this might be her last chance.
“If you want something done, why don’t you do it yourself?” That was Two-Pizzas. Cade.
She hit the send button one more time.
“Fine.” She heard Reginald get up.
She closed her eyes and lolled her head in the position she had woken up in. Reginald’s footsteps sounded closer as he walked the short distance to her. She felt him kneel down and examine her. Her breathing was coming rapidly, and she worried it would give her away.
“She’s still out,” Reginald declared before leaving her alone.
“There, was that so hard?”
