Orphans In the Black: A Space Opera Anthology

by Amy J. Murphy

  “You've got a ship in orbit,” Frank said, nodding.

  “Let's just say I've got a few tickets out of here, and yes, that includes you.”

  “I damned well hope so. I've been stuck on this rock since I was fifteen, and I can't wait to get the hell out of here.”

  Moore looked sharply at her, and replied, “This is our home. It's all I've ever known, and I'm not going to give up on it that quickly.”

  “You're kidding, right?” Frank asked. “You're telling me that if Dick Tracy here offered you the same deal he gave me, you'd turn it down and go back to the farm instead?” Shaking her head, she continued, “There's nothing here but dust and death, kid. Trust me, I know.”

  “The offer is open,” Logan replied. “For both you and Rachel. That's why I'm here.” He paused, then continued, “Technically, I was just here for Rachel, but I'm happy to take you along for the ride as well. I figured I'd probably end up having to bribe a few people with tickets out of here.”

  “Works for me,” Frank said.

  “Is Mars so much better?”

  “Kid, there are worlds out there where you can actually breathe the air, drink the water. A few of them are in the Confederation. Ragnarok, maybe. Cold as hell, but at least they've got some hope for the future.” Looking at the wasteland outside, he continued, “The only reason you settled this rock is that you didn't have a choice. Nothing else in the system even half this promising...”

  “We could have left.”

  “With nothing other than the clothes on your back, and a one-way ticket to a labor camp. I'd have made the same decision your parents did, but that doesn't mean there aren't other options.” He looked at his datapad again, then said, “We're almost there. Pull up outside the rear airlock. I want one of you to go outside and activate the emergency cycle, but trigger an override to stop it from opening. Block it.”

  “Sure,” Frank said, with a shrug. “Most of the crap out here's one maintenance cycle away from being recycled anyway. More of an effort to keep it working.”

  Pulling out a spare pistol, Logan passed it to Moore, and said, “Yours, kid.”

  “I've never fired a weapon in my life.”

  “It's an old-fashioned point-and-click, and there are some nice little on-board systems designed to help you out a little. Stabilizers, and the bullets have at least a limited ability to alter their trajectory. You can't shoot me, for the record, but you could shoot a civilian, so watch it.” He patted the young man on the back, and said, “Relax. All of this is going to work out.”

  “Is this the bit where you assure us that you know exactly what you are doing?”

  “Something like that,” he replied, pulling on a respirator. He secured his goggles in position, then reached up to the overhead airlock, clambering inside with an effort. As soon as he cracked the upper hatch, the force of the wind almost threw him from his feet, threatening to knock him to the ground. He struggled down the ladder, dropping onto the dry plain, and turned to face the dome, a series of searchlights struggling to fight their way through the gloom.

  Dust tickled down his throat, triggering a series of hacking coughs, particles forcing their way through the respirator filters, seeping into his lungs. Struggling to stand upright, he started to walk towards the dome, turning for a second as he heard the truck starting up again, heading on its trip around the perimeter, providing the distraction he hoped would allow him to complete his mission.

  By now, the enemy forces would have moved into position in the dome. Taken over life-support, communications, power. The critical functions. The population, thirty-one according to the last census, would be at their mercy, and almost certainly being used as tools in a bid to convince Rachel to accede to their demands. No massacre. Not yet. They didn't dare push too hard, or the repercussions would be impossible to hide.

  He had to move quickly. Reinforcements were only a few moments ahead. Meaning that they'd concentrated all of their operatives here, at this remote dome, where he could work without fear of interruption, and keep the mess to a minimum.

  Struggling around the perimeter, he finally found the airlock controls and pulled his pistol free of its holster. He entered in an emergency override code that he probably shouldn't have known, and smiled as he heard the faint wail of the interior emergency alarms sounding inside. A couple of threatened breaches to the integrity of the dome would hopefully serve as an additional distraction. He glanced up at the spot where a security camera should have been, only a collection of dangling wires in its place. Long ago, the components had been salvaged for some other, more desperate function.

  The door dilated, and he stepped inside, pistol in hand, and worked the emergency release to force the inner hatch open before the cycle could complete, stepping into the settlement with a cloud of concealing dust all around him. The layout of the dome memorized, he raced forward, throwing an elbow at the figure standing on guard, and sprinted through the crowd, moving to take cover behind a water tank, heavy iron planted on the ground.

  Bullets rang out, clattering against the tank, and he returned fire, catching one of the enemy agents in the shoulder, sending the others racing into the shadows. There were only four of them left, fewer than he'd expected but more than he had hoped, and judging from the report from every shot, they had no compunctions about damaging the dome. Scorch marks on some of the buildings testified that the locals had put up a significant fight, reluctant to simply surrender.

  Four guns fired as one, ripping a hole in the tank, sending the precious liquid within gushing into the soil. Logan leaned around, seeking one of the figures, and fired a pair of shots that caught him in the side, sending him tumbling away. While he was taking his shot, one of the dying man's comrades took advantage of the distraction, racing around to the flank, ducking behind one of the buildings. The others crouched down where they were, waiting for Logan to make a mistake.

  He didn't have time for this. They'd have friends arriving, and soon. He had to retake the settlement now, buy himself a chance to defend against the forthcoming assault. There wasn't any choice. He had to make his move.

  With a wild yell, he raced out of cover, weaving from side to side while bullets tore into the ground all around him, turning to catch one of the enemy agents with a lucky snap shot, sending him collapsing onto the dirt. Another turned to him, but his head jerked to the side as the second airlock cracked open, a cloud of dust sweeping into the dome, a figure standing at the threshold.

  “No!” Logan yelled, certain that one of the two he had left outside had disobeyed his instructions, and the remaining gunmen opened up on the figure, taking the easy shot. All he could do was avenge their deaths, and he did so with a trio of precisely aimed shots, the bullets slamming into their targets and sending the enemy agents collapsing to the floor, bleeding onto the dry sand.

  A door opened, and a column of people walked out, the residents of the dome emerging from their hiding place. At their head was Rachel, looking around in confusion at the mayhem outside. Logan looked across at the second airlock, then laughed out loud as he saw the crumpled, empty spacesuit on the ground, arms spread wild.

  “Thought it might help,” Frank said, stepping in behind him. “You got them?”

  “This batch, anyway,” he replied, as Moore raced over to Rachel, sweeping her in his arms. Logan walked over to the couple, sliding his pistol back into his holster. “Rachel Morgan?”

  “What's going on?” she asked.

  “I think it's past time I explained,” he said. “Frank, can you seal the airlocks, lock them down to prevent anyone else from getting in?”

  “For a while,” she replied. “They won't hold against serious attack.”

  “They don't have to. Just for a few minutes.” Turning back to Rachel, he said, “We'd better talk. All three of us. It's about your parents.”

  “They died fifteen years ago.”

  “No,” Logan replied. “They died six months ago, on Earth.” Cracking a thin
smile, he added, as shock spread across her face, “My commiserations, but as a result, you're worth about five billion credits.”

  3

  “It all goes back to the War,” Logan began, sitting at the table. “Specifically, the Venusian Co-Operative. How much do you know about it?”

  “Only that my parents were born there, and that they were on the ship that sent us out here. Lost during the War.” She shrugged, then said, “My folks never talked about it that much.”

  “They never talked about the past, then. Still, I suppose you would have been very young when they died. Young enough that you wouldn't have understood. I thought they might have left you a message, or something like that, but I guess not.” Folding his hands together, he continued, “The Co-Operative began about ninety years ago, in the aftermath of the Third Venusian Expedition. It was sponsored by a consortium of billionaires, half a dozen families, and they ended up effectively owning the planet.”

  Frowning, Rachel asked, “What does this have to do with me? My parents were a pioneer team. A shuttle pilot and a prospector.”

  “No,” Logan said, with a sigh. “They weren't. When the War really began to get bad, when it became obvious that Venus was going to be dragged into the United Nations whether it wanted it or not, they decided to find a bolt-hole. A hiding place, if everything back home collapsed. Which it preceded to do.” Leaning forward, he continued, “Your real parents were James and Rebecca Hathaway. They sent you here to keep you safe.”

  Moore's eyes widened, and he replied, “Those names...”

  “Between them, they owned thirty-seven percent of the property of the Co-Operative.”

  “But all of that was seized by the United Nations.”

  “On a twenty-year forced-lease, which expires in a week. All the other owners have agreed to an extension of the lease, one way or another. Either pay-offs, threats, or a combination of both. They live on Earth, so it wasn't difficult. You, on the other hand, are the exception. Until a month ago, it was thought that you were dead.” His lips curved into a smile, and he continued, “As a result of which, a guy in New Adelaide became a millionaire for nothing. He had the wit to go into hiding before the trouble started, then decided to cash in still further.”

  “He told you about me?”

  “That you existed, yes. To be fair to him, I think his original idea was to protect you, as much as to steal your inheritance. Nevertheless, the Security Council wants you.”

  “Why?” Moore asked. “If they already control sixty...”

  “The agreement requires a two-thirds majority.” Gesturing at Rachel, he continued, “One which you are able to block, and my government will be extremely satisfied with that outcome. For a start, the Venusian stations are becoming a poster child for human rights violations. There are a lot of activist groups that want those contracts broken, and the surface installations closed down. Then there are the political implications, of course, the embarrassment to some pretty senior figures.”

  “Then you're here to make a deal,” she said. “Are you...?”

  “No better than the others? Perhaps. They didn't teach morality in spy school. Though I will note that they came in shooting, and we didn't, and that I went to considerable trouble to try and protect you. I'd hoped that I'd beat them to it, but they had people already down here. Our intelligence network doesn't usually reach this far into the frontier. Not reliably, anyway.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “I'm willing, on behalf of my government, to offer you fifty million credits for your stake, as well as free passage for yourself and, within reason, any others to Mars. Citizenship in the Confederation. Protection by some of the best people we've got, no charge. Or you could simply go into hiding on one of the frontier worlds. We're opening new colonies, and a lot of them have much more promise than Long Shot.”

  “What would the United Nations offer?”

  “The imposter got five million, no questions asked. For a stake worth a thousand times that.” Raising a hand, he added, “I know, I know, we're not that much better, but with the Confederation I can guarantee that you'll get to live at least the vestige of a normal life. You won't get that on Earth.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then I leave, taking Frank with me, and in all probability you'll either be dead, captured, or in what will amount to a gilded cage for the rest of your life. I know all of this is unfair as hell, and I know that it comes as a shock, but I'm going to have to ask you to make a decision, and right away. I might be willing to wait, but the people who will be pounding on the airlocks in a few minutes certainly won't.”

  Rachel looked up at him, maturity in her eyes, and replied, “That doesn't necessarily mean that I intend to accept your first offer.”

  “Perhaps not,” Logan replied with a faint smile. “I do have some limited room to bargain, though I hope you don't plan on asking for too much. Triplanetary Intelligence has a substantial discretionary fund, but we have been taxing it rather to the limit of late.” Glancing at the door, he continued, “I think we might want to continue this discussion later. For the present, we've got some additional guests, and I think it best to ensure that they receive a proper welcome.” He rose to his feet, looked at the two of them, and added, “Stephen, you're going to be sticking to her side like glue. Right now your fiancée is the most important person on this planet.”

  Nodding, he held his pistol uncertainly in his hand, and replied, “I'll keep her safe.”

  Walking out of the room, Logan saw Frank waiting outside, and asked with a smile, “Hear everything?”

  “Just about,” she replied. “Didn't expect her to be quite that greedy. If someone offered me fifty million, I'd take it without a second thought. Especially with a free pass to get anywhere in known space. Pretty much every rock out there beats this one.”

  “I don't think she's greedy,” he replied. “There's something else there. I'm beginning to get the idea that I'm being played.” Shaking his head, he asked, “All the airlock secured?”

  “Tight and safe, for the moment, but we're picking up all three buggies less than five minutes from here. You think they might have heavier armament?”

  “I wouldn't rule it out.” Looking around the walls, he said, “Hell, they wouldn't need anything that substantial to wreck the dome. Someone out there might decide to take the place down and chance writing it off as an accident. Worst case is that it causes a nice big incident, but protest letters from the Triplanetary Senate won't bring the dead back to life.”

  “Why do I get the idea you're about to try something crazy?”

  “Because so far that's been the basis of our working relationship?” he replied. “Believe it or not, I actually have a plan, but we're going to have to take a few risks to carry it out.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “They should be overhead by now.”

  “Your ship, up in orbit,” she replied, eyes widening. “Good God, you're talking about an orbital bombardment!”

  “Pinpoint high-velocity kinetic projectiles. Rods from God. Going that fast, they don't need a warhead.”

  “How are they going to target something that small from orbit?” Frank asked, before her face fell. “You're going to have to go out there and guide them in, aren't you?”

  “That's the basic idea,” Logan replied, jogging towards the nearest airlock. “The way I see it, you've got two choices. The first one has you staying in the nice, comfortable dome and waiting for the big angry men with guns to spoil the party, and the second sees you riding shotgun, standing meters away from a hopefully well-guided orbital strike.”

  “Some choice,” she said. “If you get killed, so does my paycheck. Lead on, Macduff.”

  Raising an eyebrow, he said, “Nice to see someone else who knows the classics.”

  Tapping the hatch control, he slid on a respirator, this time sliding a piece of cloth over the input feed, one last low-tech precaution to try and keep out the choking dust, and from the look of the others on the rack, one tha
t most of the locals were taking as a matter of course. Outside, the storm was in full force, and he pulled out his laser discriminator, wondering whether it could possibly trigger with the thick clouds in the air, barely able to see his own feet in the dirt.

  “This way,” Frank said, gesturing towards some faintly visible hills. “Sensor's still working. Just about. At least we'll be able to take the bastards by surprise.”

  Nodding, Logan moved in the indicated direction, his pistol in one hand, the targeting laser in the other, wondering in the back of his mind how a simple snatch mission had managed to get so desperate in a hurry. Reaching down to a hidden tab with his tongue, he clicked the control to turn on the tight-beam communicator built into his respirator, waiting for the chime that would confirm that contact had been established.

  “Boris, you awake up there?” Logan asked.

  “Right here, boss,” replied his old friend, currently commanding the nominally civilian scoutship hovering in orbit. “You know you've got contacts heading your way, right?”

  “All too well, buddy. I need the Rods from God ready to go on the double. Get them launched, and I'll guide them in.”

  “You realize the locals will go mad.”

  “Not much they can do about it except slap us with a fine, and I'd love to see them explain away a couple of dozen UN agents massacring a settlement. I'll take the blame if it gets that far. It won't. Launch them, Boris.”

  “They're away. Three minutes, fifty seconds to target. Good luck.”

  Logan sprinted forward, his boots leaving heavy impressions in the dirt as he pushed his way through the desert. A faint tang from the outside air fought its way through his respirator, warning lights flashing on to indicate the potential of an imminent failure. One which would likely kill him, assuming the enemy vehicles heading his way didn't accomplish that first.