“I think we’re stuck with them for now,” Erik finished. “With any luck we’ll find some safer harbour in the future, and they can step out there, find their own way home.”
“And we’re sure there’s no issue at all with the marines?” Karle asked.
“Very sure,” said Erik. “They love Fleet too, but marines bond something fierce, and this lot bonded to the Major and the Captain. Fleet HQ killed the Captain, so you can guess what that means. Plus they live in each other’s pockets and they suck at keeping secrets. If anyone was harbouring those kinds of sympathies, his buddies would have smelled it by now.”
His com blinked, and he put it through. “Hey LC,” came Rooke’s voice. “I’ve got the fabricators set up on the rock, they’re producing several grades better than what I can do on Phoenix. That should get us a workable replacement stretch for the section of jumpline we lost.”
“How soon?”
“Another ten hours to make it? Then ten more to fit it, maybe fifteen to test it…”
“We might not get fifteen hours to test it. Better make sure it works first time.”
“Aye LC, but, well… um yeah, aye. I’ll try.” Techs hated being told they couldn’t test it first. Erik understood why, but they had their operating requirements, while he had his. Ultimately his were more important.
“And Rooke? Good work getting it set up so fast.”
“Yeah, well it turns out marines can actually press buttons and run machines. Better hope they don’t figure how to fly the ship or we’ll all be out of a job.”
“I’ve got something,” Geish said tersely, staring at his screen. He fiddled some software. “Looks like a tight laser-com transmission on Abigail.” Erik had told Geish to watch the insystem runner Abigail in particular. “It’s coming from UFS Chester.”
Erik put it up on screen. Abigail was close now, passing barely five seconds light nadir of their position. Chester was somewhere above that, and thank god Phoenix had found this rock or both would have seen them hours ago, silent running or not. They’d gotten lucky — the laser-com just happened to be passing near on this angle, they were nearly in line. And it showed Erik that he’d probably made the right call, not trying to use laser-com to contact Abigail himself. Someone with Phoenix’s level of scan technology could quite possibly have seen.
“Looks like Captain Lubeck wants to have a quiet word with Abigail,” said Shilu from Coms.
“Yeah,” said Kaspowitz, eyes narrowed. “But why?”
“You don’t talk narrowband unless you don’t want anyone else to hear,” said Shahaim. “When you’re entering a hostile system in force you talk aloud, you let everyone hear your hails. Looks like Lubeck doesn’t want HQ to hear.”
She glanced at Erik. Erik chewed a nail. It suggested Lubeck didn’t buy HQ’s bullshit, and wanted to ask around. Abigail was the closest Ito Industries vessel transmitting with those odd re-ordered transponders. If Lubeck were making a hostile demand of Abigail he’d broadcast it so everyone could hear — it was the fastest way to inform fellow UF ships of the situation, and would serve as a warning to other Ito Industries vessels.
“Keep a very close eye on that,” Erik told Geish and Jiri. “But let’s not jump to conclusions. There’s a chance it means Lubeck doesn’t buy it. It might give us an opening if we have to run. But let’s not bet on it.”
“Could try to talk to him?” Kaspowitz suggested.
Erik shook his head immediately. Tempting as it was, he knew he couldn’t do it. “Silence is our only friend right now, we’ve no thrust and won’t be ready to run for a full rotation at least. We don’t give that up unless we’ve got something a damn sight more solid than hope.”
* * *
Trace stood locked into the top half of her armour, headset on and windmilling one arm after another to try and get the shoulder calibrations right. The synchronisation had been off since the fight, too much power pushing against not enough feedback, and all marines learned that with these systems there was nothing to do but tinker, adjust, and tinker again.
“So what do you think?” she asked Carla and Vijay, Lisbeth’s two marine bodyguards as they gazed around at the familiar echoing racket of Assembly. Marines edged past in the narrow space before ascending armour racks, and someone yelled warning while walking an adjoining aisle with a clump of heavy metal footsteps.
“Familiar,” said Carla. She was a big woman, with short hair and a physique that screamed augmentation, a tattoo from Thunderbird scored across one thick bicep. Thunderbird was a Third Fleet combat carrier with a reputation nearly as formidable as Phoenix’s. She’d only made full-corporal after fifteen years, but anyone who’d survived three terms with an honourable discharge would get respect from any marine anywhere.
“Cool,” agreed Vijay. He was even bigger, had done eight years and risen to Staff Sergeant on Dragonfire before losing an arm in combat. That arm was cybernetic now, but there’d been complications, two years off for medical reasons, during which he’d received an offer of employment from the Debogande group. Fleet did not begrudge anyone leaving after a two-year wound, and he’d been a privateer for seven years now, but still felt something incomplete.
“Thing is,” said Jokono, “we’re still employed by the Debogande family. The contract is actually with the family too — signed to Alice Debogande herself. Not to any of the companies. Inner security protect the family primarily.”
It made sense, Trace thought. The family and the companies were not always the same thing. Jokono was brown, lean and calm, somewhere in excess of one hundred years old with all the experience that gave.
“We breach that contract,” Vijay added, “we could get sued or go to prison.”
“So don’t breach the contract,” said Trace, swinging an arm as servos whined and hummed. “Protect Lisbeth. Protect Erik too. Right now, that means defending this ship.”
“Agreed,” said Jokono. “But Erik and Lisbeth are under threat from within the ship. It seems unwise to focus our attentions outside, while the threat to our employers is within.”
“And do you really want marines who are working as temps?” Carla added dubiously. Trace knew exactly what she meant. Serving meant the commitment of just about everything. If you served, in marine forces, you had to mean it. “We’re here to look out for Lisbeth, and for Debogande family interests. That might not seem as noble as what you guys do, but the family’s been great to us. And in my opinion they’re almost as important a force in human space as Fleet is.”
“No, I can see that logic,” Trace said calmly. Surprising them a little. “Fleet are protectors. Industrials like Debogande Inc are what we protect. They’re the civilisation, we’re just the shield.”
“Right,” said Carla. “And for me, protecting them means as much to me as protecting Phoenix means to you.”
“And I dunno about all the companies,” Vijay added, “but the family itself are good people. We had a guy get killed in a random attack a few years back, some nutjob had a go at Katerina. You wouldn’t believe how they looked after his family, put his kids through college, got his widow an allowance and then a job when she was ready to work again. Good people.”
“From my experience of Debogandes on this ship,” Trace replied, “that doesn’t surprise me either. But if we get out of this system alive, we’re going to be on the run. There’s going to be some investigation to be done, some serious digging around, and probably some politics as well — things that overly specialised Fleet soldiers probably aren’t that great at. So what I’m saying is that we could use some help, from non-typical operatives. And I’m also saying that the safety of the broader Debogande family, not just the ones on this ship, will rest upon the successful outcome of this entire fucked up situation.
“This will need a resolution for any of them to be safe. And being here on this ship gives you all an opportunity to be a part of that resolution in a way that you couldn’t if you were back running family security on Homeworld. The
y can find other people to replace your immediate functions back on Homeworld, but having you here represents a strategic opportunity for the whole Debogande family. If you help us.”
They thought about that. “Hey Major!” yelled Staff Sergeant Spitzer from a level below, through the steel gantries. “Got the readiness inventory up, looks like we’re gonna be down another four suits!”
“Yep!” she replied. “Be down in five!”
“You do realise as well,” Jokono added, “that this whole command structure on Phoenix is a great legal pickle? I’m not a lawyer and I’ve certainly never been a JAG, but I’ve got a pretty good idea about Fleet law. Your authority to execute people for mutiny and treason comes from Fleet Command, but you’re currently in rebellion against Fleet Command. If they could return to Fleet HQ, Lawrence, Cho and Doraga would get medals.”
“I’m well aware of that,” said Trace, loosening the feedback tension on the elbow cuff with her uplinks.
“Do you have any ideas how to address the problem?”
Trace shook her head. “There is no addressing it. There never was. Command authority’s a game, Jokono. At ship level, at Fleet level, at the highest level of human government. Those people are in charge because there’s a general consensus beneath them that they are in charge. That’s it.”
Jokono frowned. “But without legal authority…”
“There’s no such thing,” Trace said firmly. “The legal authority you’re talking about exists because people think it exists. It’s data on a chip, it’s a piece of paper, it’s an idea in people’s heads. My marines on this ship also have an idea in their heads, and it’s that their loyalty to me and each other now drastically outweighs their loyalty to Fleet since Fleet tried to screw us. Whose idea of legal authority is superior?”
“You’re saying you’re going to just make your own laws?”
“We all do. Humans always have.”
“And for the past thousand years,” Jokono said meaningfully, “the Kulina have put aside all such selfish temptations to make their own laws and meet their own desires in order to serve the broader human cause.”
“They have,” Trace said shortly. “I still serve the human cause, Jokono. I’m no longer sure that Fleet does.”
* * *
At the end of first-shift, Erik found Lisbeth in machine shop one, seated at a bench amidst automated repair assemblies and fast-moving techs. Robot arms blurred in motion, repairing damaged circuits and pumps, or fast-molding new parts, while techs dashed between, assembling and examining what came into their hands. Rooke had people outside in suits now, working with the drones to patch and repair in preparation for replacing the damaged portions of jump line. Ten hours, he insisted. Rooke had never run a repair job this big on his own — usually he was second-in-charge under Lieutenant Chau. Chau had rarely missed a deadline by so much as an hour. Time would tell, literally, if Rooke could do the same.
Lisbeth talked with her security guy, Hiro, running bits of odd-looking junk under a high-intensity scanner. Erik put a closed coffee mug on the bench beside her, sipping his own, and she glanced in astonishment. And hugged him hard.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispered, barely heard beneath the machinery commotion.
“Me too. Sorry I couldn’t call in before now, I was…”
“Don’t be silly, you’ve a ship to run.” Lisbeth resumed her seat, as Erik nodded to Hiro, who nodded back. He didn’t know family security well, given how rarely he’d been home the past few years. But his parents played a large hand in selecting them personally, so there was no questioning the quality.
“So you’re helping out?” Erik asked, glancing around. None of the other techs even glanced their way, being far too busy. Remy Hale didn’t think there’d be any security problem in Engineering, but he was glad Hiro was here all the same.
“Sure, when there’s something for me to do,” said Lisbeth. “But I’m not much on operating these machines, and these guys move faster without me. Mostly I’ve been running diagnostic in preparation, but they’re actually cutting and shifting stuff in the engines now, so diagnostic time’s over.” She indicated the parts she was running through the scanner. “These are hacksaw components, CPU portions mostly. It’s just incredible stuff.”
She indicated the eye-pieces. Erik peered. The little fragment in the scanner didn’t look much to the naked eye, but through the eyepieces it exploded in complexity.
“That looks almost like crystal,” said Erik. “Barely looks mechanical at all.”
“The database can’t place it,” said Lisbeth, eyes shining with enthusiasm. That surprised Erik. With all that had happened, he didn’t think she’d find much room for positive emotion. He was still rattled, and having trouble finding happy thoughts. “We’re supposed to be loaded with data from previous hacksaw encounters, but the database says it doesn’t recognise any of this. Erik, I think this is an entirely new genus of technology. I don’t even know where to start.”
“Wait… a genus of technology?” That was a biological term.
Lisbeth nodded fast. “Genus, yes. The AI race evolved in a range of different directions — different technologies, different evolutions. They were actually victims of their own evolution, technology changes its fundamentals far faster than biological evolution changes us. Different groups of AIs isolated from each other by vast distances became over thousands of years almost unrecognisable to each other, that’s when they started having all their wars.”
“Right.” Erik nodded, sipping his coffee. Trying to remember his deep Spiral history. This, he was finding, was the hardest part of being in command — keeping track of everything. As third-in-command, most stuff had ultimately been someone else’s responsibility. Now it was all up to him, and he felt like a juggler keeping multiple grenades in the air while people were shooting at him. Add chronic lack of sleep, and a sizeable dose of personal fear, and he wondered how the Captain had ever managed. “There were five different phases of history, each one involving multiple factions.”
“Well the latest research suggests there could have been more like twenty different phases, it depends how you measure them. There’s some old kaal texts that suggest that some of those divergent groups didn’t join the civil wars, they just disappeared. Erik, I think this might have been one of them.” Ah, Erik thought. That was why she was excited. At any other time, he’d have been excited himself. “That would explain why they’re in such a populous system as this one but never bothered anyone. They were just trying to be left alone.”
“Sure.” He blinked, and ran a hand over his hair. “Well no one’s going to look to mine a rock out this far, when there’s far more lucrative lunar systems around those gas giants, and the inner asteroid belts. Anything out here’s just a lot of fuel and trouble, I guess they knew they were safe enough if they kept quiet. Can you learn anything useful from this?”
“I don’t know,” she said dubiously. “I’d love to work on the software parameters though, see if it can figure out how it all works. If it gets enough data it might…” and she repressed a laugh. “Oh wow I just thought, what a subject for a doctorate! I’d really kick some academic ass.” And looked at him in almost apologetic mirth, inviting him to join the joke. Because it was a ridiculous thought, given everything else.
Erik smiled and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Yeah, you would. So how do you like bunking with Trace?”
“The Major? I barely see her actually, but she’s been great. It’s all a bit surreal.”
“Tell me about it.”
16
Erik was awoken at 0316 by Lieutenant Draper. “LC? We’ve got a situation here.” Erik rubbed his eyes, blinking away some unpleasant dream and extending the scan beside his bed on its extension arm.
“I’m here. Report.”
“Chah'nas warship Tek-to-thi just pulsed jump engines on direct intercept course with Abigail. They are at four-point-two-five seconds light, we estimate interception i
n thirteen minutes realtime.” Which was close enough that if Phoenix weren’t snuggled up to this rock, Tek-to-thi would likely spot them whether they ran dark or not. “There has been no coms announcement, Tek-to-thi continues to broadcast full chah'nas signature. Also, the warship UFS Chester has pulsed jump engines on a departure heading, twenty-two minutes ago. I didn’t think it significant enough to wake you, there’s ongoing activity among all visible support vessels.”
Erik released the connection, propping himself on the tethered pillow and fighting the bednet for space. “Dammit, that fucking laser-com was spotted. Someone told Chester to leave and now Abigail’s under suspicion.” He stared at the screen for a long moment, the dots and plotted trajectories. A chah'nas warship was going to intercept a human insystem vessel in human space? In front of a fleet of other human warships? Tek-to-thi was closest, it was true, but the sheer gall of it shocked him. Could whoever was in charge of this circus find no one else willing to do it? Or was there some other reason specific to chah'nas and Tek-to-thi?
He flipped channels. “Second Lieutenant Rooke, what’s our ETA on repairs?”
“Uh, good news LC, we’re running three hours ahead of schedule. Always under-promise and over-deliver, huh? Be done in two hours max.” Well no you damn fool, Erik thought — when delivering repair ETAs to the commander you gave him facts and nothing else. But he couldn’t complain now — it was good work, if it was true.
“Bridge, this is the LC. Second-shift is relieved, first-shift will be taking over, sound the change-over.” The alarm sounded on his uplink. Erik killed it, removed the net, rolled from bed and hoped to hell someone brought him coffee, and soon.
The chair was six strides away from his door, and Draper was already unbuckling latches to move the displays enough to get out. “Commander on the bridge!” someone said loudly, and Draper followed with, “Commander has the chair!”
“I have the chair,” Erik echoed, quickly taking the vacated seat, and Draper helped him buckle in. “Status please.”
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