“Great,” said Nate, “because it was never going to be.”
She flashed him a grin that was all stim jitters. “I’ll fix her. When we land.”
“I know,” said Nate. He went back to his welding. “We’ll make her right.”
• • •
The crew was in the ready room. Helmets still on, but faces hopeful. They’d pressurized Engineering, found the seal good, and were ready to try the rest of the ship. “Okay,” said Nate. “The plan is to haul ass to Absalom. Avail ourselves of the aid of the fine Republic Navy ship we know is in the system. Failing that, avail ourselves of the aid of the planet-side spaceport.”
“Why Navy?” said Kohl. “You hate those assholes.”
“Faster,” said Hope, but sounded doubtful.
“Cheaper,” said El, sounding more certain.
“More professional,” said Grace.
“Exactly,” said Nate. “Consistent quality. That’s what our dearly beloved Republic is good for. And right now we’re in dire need of consistency. We’ll explain our situation, and I’m sure they’ll help us out. It’s what they do. For law-abiding citizens.”
“What about Hope?” said Kohl. “She going to fuck everything up for us? Again?”
Nate saw Hope’s face fall. “Kohl?” He let some steel come into his voice. “We’re alive because of Hope.”
“If she’d been looking after the reactor in the first place, instead of playing hero games on Arlington, we’d—”
Nate took a step forward. “You don’t like the way I run things, Kohl?” He looked around at El, Grace, and Hope, then back to Kohl. “Anytime you want off my ship, you just say.”
“Jobs’d be easier to get,” said Kohl, “if we didn’t have a fugitive onboard.”
“Jobs would be easier to get,” said Nate, “if I didn’t have to worry about you murdering hundreds of people every time you got drunk.” He gave Kohl a stare. “In or out? We can leave you with the Navy. They’ll take you somewhere.”
Kohl thought about that. “Naw,” he said, but he took a while to get there. “Wouldn’t be as fun on another ship, what with this one almost blowing up all the time.”
“Glad that’s resolved,” said Nate. “Engineer? I need air back in my ship.”
Hope nodded, the rig’s arms jerking behind her. Definitely too many stims. She was wired, all her motions erratic, exaggerated, larger than life. Her eyes were wide and bright in her face. “Air coming right up.” She held up an arm, the tiny console on her rig’s sleeve lighting up. She entered a few commands.
The air filling the ship couldn’t be heard right away. There wasn’t an atmosphere to carry the noise. But after a short time Nate could hear a subtle hiss as the Tyche breathed again. He gave El a nod, and his Helm moved into the flight deck. There was a pause, then her voice came back over the comm. “No leaks,” she said. “Hull is sound.”
“Then it’s time,” said Nate, “to drop this transmitter off and get paid.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” said El. “Ready to jump on your mark.”
Grins, smiles, all around. Except for Grace, whose face was sombre. Nate dismissed it as nerves, as tension, as exhaustion. Maybe he shouldn’t have.
• • •
The starscape filled in front of Nate, the jump ending with a soft whine as the Endless Drive powered down.
“Absalom system,” said El. “We’re here.”
“Well then,” said Nate. “Let’s get on the horn and see how those Navy boys are doing. But don’t,” and here, he held up a hand, “make it sound like we know they’re there.”
She gave him a sideways glance across the cockpit. “I figured I could just say, ’Hey, you assholes seen the Ravana?’ and see what shakes loose.”
“Sorry,” said Nate.
“Because that’d be fun,” said El.
“I said I was sorry,” said Nate. “I’m tired.”
“Yeah, so are we all … hmm,” she said.
“What’s, ’Hmm?’” said Nate.
“Well, we’ve got all six planets we’d expect to see. We’ve got a transponder — joy of joy, the Gladiator is still here. I’ve given her a ping, and I’d say in about ten seconds we’ll have them crawling all over us. We’ve got a big rock floating around Absalom Delta, snuggled nice and close to the Gladiator, which I will tell you is strange, but maybe they’re investigating it. But the weird thing is that we’ve got a Guild Bridge, and as near as I can tell it’s still live.”
“You what?” said Nate. “The Bridge is still live? Transmitter still online?”
“Still online. I’m talking to it right now,” she said. After a few seconds, she said, “Hmm.”
“That’s twice,” said Nate. “I don’t like this new verbal communication style. It’s ambiguous.”
“What? Oh,” she said. “Well. That’s because the Gladiator is being ambiguous.”
“How so?”
“No human response,” said El. “Tyche’s said hello, Gladiator’s said hello back, so we know there’s a ship there, it’s not running stealth, but unless their comms officer is asleep or dead, I’d have expected them to be in touch.”
“Jog them a little,” said Nate. “Say ’Hi’ in English.”
El sighed, but keyed her console. “Gladiator, this is the Tyche. We are a civilian free trader under contract from the Republic Navy. We are en route to your location, seeking assistance. Please respond.”
They both stared at the console. Nothing.
“Let me try,” said Nate.
“Be my guest,” said El.
Nate worked his own console, flicking on the comms. “Gladiator, this is Tyche actual. Captain Nathan Chevell. We’ve had a serious reactor … malfunction. Radiation risk is zero, but our hull has been stressed. We seek aid. Please respond.”
More than nothing this time: static. That was odd. Static meant something not ship-shape, something not well-maintained. Something that wasn’t being managed, and if the Republic was good at one thing, it was managing the details. Nate looked at El. “Take us closer.”
“You sure?”
“No,” he said.
“Taking us closer,” she said, hands on the sticks. There was a rumble, the big fusion drives at the back of the Tyche pushing with a gentle but insistent hand. Half a G of thrust, no more. Despite the gentle thrust, there was a groan of straining metal from behind them, Tyche complaining about the load. El gave him a look. “She’ll be fine.”
“I know,” said Nate. “She’s the Goddess of Luck.”
“This week hasn’t felt very lucky,” said El.
“Imagine what it could have been,” said Nate.
Before El could respond, Tyche’s LIDAR having done its work, the holo lit. The Gladiator rotated in 3D between them. Details filled in, a rough schematic — tonnage, expected ordnance, possible crew numbers — spooling out on the display. All of it was a guess based on Old Empire information kept in Tyche’s data cores. She was the Goddess of Luck now, but she’d seen battle in an earlier life and still carried the memories. She’d flown in battles where destroyers like the Gladiator drew down on her, skipped through beams of fire as she danced through the sky. The Tyche remembered how to be afraid of the right things.
“Well, shit,” said Nate, staring at the Gladiator’s image. “That’s … unusual.”
“You don’t say,” said El, her voice cracking a little. “What’s the plan?”
“Plan’s still the same,” said Nate. “Implementation changes.” He keyed the comm. “Kids, we’ve got ourselves a problem. I’m looking at the Gladiator right now. She’s in a steady orbit, but that’s a miracle of automated flight. There’s a hole right through her. Looks like a hull breach, all decks, top to bottom.” He paused. “So, we’re going to dock.”
“The captain’s gone insane,” said Grace’s voice. “I vote we mutiny.”
“The reason,” said Nate, bending towards the comm like it would help convince them that this was the sane course
of action, “is because she’ll have a repair bay. Ships like Tyche could be aboard. Spare parts. Maintenance equipment. Just because the Gladiator’s leaking air doesn’t mean she’s useless.”
“I can work with that,” said Hope’s voice.
“You can go to sleep for 24 hours,” said Nate, “while we make sure the ship is safe. If the Gladiator is leaking radiation or is filled with pirates, we’ll break free and try and make Absalom Delta’s spaceport.” He didn’t say, If there are pirates capable of taking the Gladiator, we’re all fucked.
“What about the rock?” said El, pointing to the holo. The huge asteroid that Ravana had mapped was still orbiting Absalom Delta.
“I say,” said Nate, “that you practice not flying into it.”
Tyche’s holo cleared then chattered to life once again, highlighting more details about the breach. Stress tolerances of the metal used in the hull, courtesy of the data banks, coupled with the way the breach was formed. “Huh,” said El. “She was hit by something solid. Not a weapon.” A pause. “Debris floating around her. Nothing … organic.”
“Probably not a weapon.” But Nate relaxed a little. Marginally. A fraction only. Because the Gladiator being hit by something solid — something big enough to punch clean through the superstructure — didn’t look like pirates. Looked more like a high velocity asteroid, something tear-assing out from deep space, too big for the PDCs to do anything about it and too fast for the ship to waddle out of the way. The Gladiator didn’t have the Tyche’s nimble wings, and even if it did there was only one Elspeth Roussel. It was hard to find that combination of doesn’t like to work too hard so won’t climb the ranks and can thread a barge through a needle of any size, you choose. The lack of organic matter floating around the Gladiator suggested the crew might still be alive in there. Somewhere. Survivors of that impact, huddling in sealed-off sections of a hulk that wouldn’t fly.
An asteroid like that might have come with the bigger one. Been part of some cosmic event, sending shards to travel through the hard black until they hit something. Didn’t feel right, though. Big rock like the one in orbit, they didn’t just flow through space and cling to a planet like a baby calf to its mother.
“Hmm,” said Nate.
“What?”
“Just … take us in, Helm. We’re not going to learn anything until we get there, and we need to get there to fix the Tyche. Just try not to crash into the big floating rock.” Nate gave her a glance. “If that’s not too much trouble.”
“Have you,” said El, “been told to get fucked today?”
“Not yet,” said Nate. “Still. It’s early.” He clicked the comm on. “Kohl.”
“Cap,” said Kohl.
“You feel like shooting pirates?”
“You promised me pirates last time, and all we found was meatsicles on a ship without anything of real value. I got a few new holos for my collection, but that’s it.” Kohl sounded sour over the comm, Nate could feel the scowl.
“I never promised,” said Nate. “But, you know. We’ve got a cored Navy destroyer out there. Odds are higher this time.”
“Sounds fair,” said Kohl. “Let me get my stuff.”
• • •
Grace was waiting for them at the airlock. Nate did a double take, flipping up his visor. The woman was leaning against the closed airlock door, borrowed flight suit on, sword at her side.
Sword. Not a gun.
Nate had to admit, even in a loan flight suit of the wrong size, she caught the eye. Fit, trim, like the universe had built her to a specific high performance standard. Also, Nate hadn’t … well, it’d been a long time since he’d had the pleasure of a woman’s company. And it will continue to be longer, because you do not sleep with your crew. And longer still even on shore leave, because he didn’t have Kohl’s view on, as the big man put it, rentals.
“You might,” she offered, “need an Assessor.”
“We might,” said Nate. “We might also need another gun.”
“I’m not a great shot,” she said. “I work better with a blade.”
Kohl grunted, his heavy armor shifting with a whine of servos. “Your funeral,” he said. He’d racked a heavy plasma rifle to the side of his armor, the kind of thing it would take Nate two hands to lift on a good day.
“Kohl,” said Nate. “Where’d you get that cannon?”
Kohl looked down at it, a fleeting moment of surprise crossing his face. “I think … I think I got this one from a truck on that shitty mud ball we dropped medicine at about a year ago.” Surprise turned into a frown. “You know? I’ve got so many. I don’t remember.”
“You’ve got a gun that was mounted on a truck?” said Grace.
“It was more of a large car,” said Kohl. “They had it stuck on the roof, and it seemed a shame to leave it there. I mean, hell, they didn’t need it anymore, you know what I mean?”
“I really think I do,” said Grace, looking to Nate. “Tyche says there’s nothing but hard vacuum on the other side of this lock. Gladiator’s dock was clean, systems are go. She’s still got power, but no air.”
“Hmm,” said Nate. “Okay. Kohl?”
“Yeah.”
“You can go first,” said Nate. “And if you see any closed doors, don’t just open ’em. Knock first.”
“Yeah,” said Kohl. “Might be air inside. Knock us on our asses.”
“There might be crew inside,” said Nate. He sighed. “Kohl? There are probably lots of crew inside. They’re not floating in space. Rescuing the Navy? Does us a lot of favors.”
“That too,” said Kohl. “Forgot about that.”
“Great,” said Nate. He turned on the comm. “Tyche? We’re heading across. You know the drill. Don’t open this door unless it’s one of us knocking.”
“Got you,” said El. “I won’t open it even if it’s you if you’ve got a hundred assholes after you.”
“No, you can open it then,” said Nate. “Definitely open it then.”
“What if they get on board?” said El.
“You know,” said Nate, “I’m not liking where this conversation’s going.”
“We’re wasting air,” said Kohl. “There’s killing to be done.”
“If there are pirates,” said Nate. “Pirates, Kohl.”
“Don’t worry,” said Kohl. “I don’t need another bounty.”
“Another?” said Grace.
“Long story,” said Nate. “Let’s go.” He slid his visor closed, checked his blaster again, and nodded to her. She cycled Tyche’s inner lock, and they stepped through. His eyes were drawn to her sword, and he thought of his own, safe in his cabin. It’d been a long time since he’d held a blade.
Probably never would again, at that. His kind of sword drew the wrong kind of attention.
The Tyche said goodbye with a hiss of air, and the outer lock opened into hard vacuum. Nate took his first step onto the Gladiator.
• • •
His breath sounded loud in his ears. It always did; that was the nature of breathing into a bucket, but it was more eerie when you were walking through the inside of a dead ship. Twice now, the Ravana first, and now the Gladiator. The Ravana had run from something in this system; an Icarus that flew too close to the sun, and everyone had died in their haste to get away. The Gladiator had run to something, and through some freak of chance an asteroid had cored her hull.
Probably an asteroid. Pirates didn’t throw rocks as a general rule, but pirates might have taken advantage of a damaged ship.
The weird thing, if you wanted to call it that, was the lack of bodies. Pirates collected stuff, like weapons, fuel, supplies. They didn’t collect corpses.
Decompression was a harsh master. The air and most things that weren’t bolted down would get blown out whatever breach you had in your hull. It’d spit bodies and paperclips and coffee cups into the void. Tyche had seen nothing but paperclips and coffee cups, not a single floating body in space.
Stood to reason they�
�d find bodies in the breached sections, and living souls in areas with air. Nate shone his light at a door, open to vacuum. Lights were still on, the ship still had power, just no air, because of doors like this. It had been opened. Or it, and every other door they’d found, had failed to seal automatically when the hull breached.
“I don’t get it,” said Kohl. “All the doors are open. Who would go through a ship and open every door to space?”
“We won’t find anyone alive here,” said Grace. “This whole ship is dead.” Nate watched as her hand gripped her sword hilt.
“Could be pirates,” said Nate. “They might have got on board, same way we did. Popped the seals, vented the crew into space.” He pointed to the wall with his light, the distinctive chalk-and-black of a plasma burn evident. “There was fighting.”
“Fighting,” said Kohl, “but not a lot of dying. I mean, look at this.” He pointed at the blaster burn Nate had his light on. “Looks heavy. I’d say rifle, not pistol, you get me?”
“Looks like,” agreed Nate.
“Last time I shot a man with a rifle, he came down in two big pieces. There was a lot of him that came out as dust, other parts that came out like grilled chunks. You see any grilled chunks, Cap?” He turned to look at Grace. “How about you? I’m not finding any grilled chunks. And that bothers me. Corridors of a ship, it’s like shooting into a tunnel. You’re either hitting the walls, or what you’re shooting at. No one hit nothin’ but wall, because they’re ain’t no bodies. Not Team Navy, and not whichever assholes came on their ship. Not even the Navy are that bad at shooting.”
“Okay,” said Nate. “Let’s keep going. We’ve covered about a percent of the Gladiator. Might just be more we’ve yet to see.”
“No,” said Grace. “They’re all gone.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Could still be salvage.”
• • •
“It’s not pirates,” said Nate, looking around the hangar.
Still no bodies. What they had was a big hangar bay; the Gladiator was one of the Republic’s configurable destroyers, able to be outfitted for a variety of different missions. She appeared to be in a send-in-the-Marines configuration, the bay holding space for two dropships. One was missing, and one was parked, doors open, fueled, and ready to fly. One was missing, sure, but that could just mean there was a dropship of Marines that someone had forgotten to pick up in all the excitement of their destroyer being … destroyed.
Tyche's Flight (Tyche's Journey Book 1) Page 11
