The main sticking point, as Harry had pointed out to Admiral Towers during the briefing, was the need for dozens of conspirators to keep their mouths shut. Someone else had cooked up this harebrained scheme, and Harry had been chosen by Towers because the admiral had known him for almost two decades.
It was a half-baked, stop-gap scheme with small chance of success and a high probability of being compromised. Though he was glad to get away from Weirfall for a few days, this was certainly not the sort of mission he would have wanted. It was a measure of how desperate his old friend must have become that he would have asked Harry to even consider it.
With Earth’s economies destroyed by the ravages of a global pandemic, they had nowhere to turn for anything. No food, spare parts or replacement troops were coming from home world anymore, and they were fast running out of money to buy the necessities from their Weiran allies.
Knowing that the Alliance would be doomed if nothing was done to break the economic stalemate, Harry had assured Towers that he would do his very best to come home with an agreement from the Oaxians. Despite the necessity of the mission, he couldn’t shake that sixth sense that had kept him alive for so many years when he should have been killed off dozens of times. It was telling him that no secret could be kept for long by so many conspirators.
The gradual silence building outside the shuttle told him that he’d been right. At least one mouth had been busy. His money was on the smuggler who had brought him to this crowded market. The shifty little bastard would sell his own lungs, if the money was right.
He pulled out his pistol, realizing that, after almost three years of war, he had never even fired the thing, except for training. With 48 rounds of caseless ammunition in two magazines, the selective-fire Colt could do a hell of a lot of damage in the few seconds it would take to empty itself.
He stepped around the bulkhead that separated the passenger compartment from the cargo hold. Looking out the back ramp, he could see the silent crowd standing around the perimeter of the landing pad. The muted sounds of commerce drifted over their heads from the ramshackle collection of shops, but the Oaxians staring at him were silent… expectant.
Some cast glances to the right or to a place above the shuttle.
Air cover, Harry thought. Not leaving anything to chance. He sighed. I’m sure they’ve apprehended far more dangerous fugitives than me, since they’ve been fighting separatists for over a thousand years. He threw his pistol to the tarmac and slowly walked out into the sunshine, raising a hand to shield his eyes. The market was perched on a large platform that jutted out from the side of the massive city. To his left was a thousand meter drop into the canyon that the city arch spanned.
There was nobody between him and the drop and he supposed there were some officers who would throw themselves off to avoid capture. He looked up at the graceful curve of the city skyline. He firmly believed that fortune favored the bold, and that it wanted nothing to do with a man who was busy accelerating at nine-and-a-quarter meters per second, every second, on his way to the muddy river that flowed far below the city.
To his right, two squads of Dactari troops were waiting for him. The smaller unit was dressed in SWAT-type gear and they were plainly relieved at his easy surrender. The larger group, dressed in riot control equipment, quickly spread out to ensure the crowd wouldn’t interfere.
An under officer walked over to Harry. “I claim you as a prisoner of conflict,” he declared in perfect English, looking up at his captive. “Tell me who you’re here to meet and events will unfold more comfortably for you.”
“Harrison Young,” Harry stated flatly as his hands were bound behind his back. “Captain, United States Navy. Serial - alpha-eighty-two, one-five-one, zero-seven-two, delta-seventy-five.”
The Dactari officer’s raised eyebrows gave way to a frown as he realized that he was merely hearing Harry’s personal data. “You may think this is a joke, Harrison Young, but we will have what we need from you, whether you cooperate or not.”
“Harrison Young,” Harry repeated. “Captain, United States Navy. Serial - alpha-eighty-two, one-five-one, zero-seven-two, delta-seventy-five.” The sooner they draw you into a conversation, Harry remembered the old axiom from his academy days, the sooner you start talking.
“Very well,” the under officer hissed as he waved at the armed transport that hovered above them. “You will find that life gets increasingly difficult from this point on.”
Harry watched the transport descend, trying to keep his mind off the situation. The vehicle’s left engine had a rhythmic ‘thwup, thwup’ sound to it as it descended. Bad needle bearings on the port lifter, he mused. Could be the separatists out here are having more effect on the flow of goods than intelligence thought. He shrugged to himself as they started toward the small vessel’s ramp. Or they might just have shoddy maintenance.
Imp and Immortality
High Polar Orbit - Weirfall
“Where’s the planet?” Dwight unbuckled his restraints and climbed down from his chair. During the long months in transit from Earth, he had slowly acquired privileges, including access to an unused weapons station chair on the under-crewed Hussar class vessel. He walked toward the front windows but stopped as a tracery of red streaks suddenly appeared in front of them. Is someone shooting at us? He didn’t want to come all this way just to die on arrival.
“Unidentified vessel, this is Orbital Control,” a harsh voice boomed over the bridge speakers. “You have jumped into a restricted system. If you engage your pitch drives or activate your weapons, you will be fired upon. Identify yourself immediately. Over.”
“Captain?” Dwight turned to look at the twenty-four-year-old captain. With the outbreak, any surviving officers were being promoted so fast that their rank insignia were often out of date. Captain Shelby was still wearing her Lieutenant’s insignia but she didn’t care. Her small crew knew and trusted her.
“Better strap back in, Dr. Young,” she advised, opening a channel on the screen to her right. “This is Captain Erin Shelby of the Pandora. We’ve just arrived from Earth. Request permission to join the fleet. Over.”
A long pause. “Roger, Pandora, confirm receipt of holding coordinates, proceed at one-tenth pitch and stand by to await further instructions.”
“Roger, Orbital Control,” Shelby replied. “Coordinates received. Moving now. Out.” She turned to her helmsman. “One tenth, Edwards, so better make it one percent. We don’t want to surprise them into killing us just because they don’t know about our tandem lensed engines.”
“What’s going on?” Dwight fumbled ineffectually with his buckles as he looked over at the captain.
“We jumped in a bit too close to a fleet at war with no advance warning,” Shelby said with a grimace. “Now we move out of the arrival corridor and hope the CAP doesn’t get orders to destroy us. We did just arrive from a plague-infested planet, so they may not be all that happy to see us.”
“The CAP?” Dwight looked out the window as they began to move.
“Combat Air Patrol,” she answered. “I know there’s no air out here – but it’s traditional and has a pronounceable acronym. Combat Fleet Patrol just doesn’t work; does it?”
“Who decides if we’re gonna live?” Dwight pulled his jacket closed. Did it suddenly get cold in here?
“Well, I imagine that Admiral Towers has been notified by now,” Shelby replied mildly. “From what I’ve heard, he’s probably employing some fairly exciting language while he tries to decide what to do with us.” She grinned over at Dwight. “I wouldn’t be terribly pleased to learn that a plague ship had arrived from Earth.”
“But we’re bringing the cure,” he protested. “You need to call them and explain why we came. We can’t come all this way just to be blown up by a poorly informed…”
“Relax, Dr. Young,” Shelby replied calmly. “As long as we don’t make any aggressive moves, I’m reasonably certain they’ll give us the chance to explain ourselves.”
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br /> “Reasonably?” Dwight’s voice raised an octave. “I’d hoped for a little more than reasonably. If we…”
“Pandora, Orbital Control. Switch to one-twenty megahertz, mode delta, and stand by. Over.”
“You see?” She smiled as she turned her attention back to the screen. “Roger, Orbital Control. One-twenty megahertz, mode delta. Out.” She opened the new frequency and the encryption panel came to life, warbling as it compared coding keys with a corresponding system on the Midway.
“Pandora, this is Admiral Towers,” a new voice boomed through the speakers. “Before I send you straight back to Earth, how about explaining what you thought you were going to accomplish by trying to join my fleet with an infected vessel?”
Holding her hand up to the speakers in a ‘there – you see?’ gesture she grinned at Dwight. “Admiral, this is Captain Shelby. I happen to have a very good explanation for our presence out here, and Dr. Young here will be more than happy to explain the whole thing.”
It took a couple of seconds for Dwight to realize that the sudden silence was supposed to be filled with his voice. He stumbled over his own words as he sought his footing against the irascible senior officer. “Umm Sir, the reason we came is that the cure is the disease – I mean the disease itself is the cure,” he corrected lamely. “We can vaccinate your forces if you give me access to…”
“I’m going to cut you off right there, young man,” Towers said quickly. “We don’t want any more being said over the air. Even a secure channel can be hacked.” He was quiet for a few moments. “Suit up. You and Captain Shelby. I’m sending over a shuttle with a decontamination cubicle. You’ll go through it in your suits and keep them on until we put you back on your pretty little ship. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” Shelby answered. The line went dead. “Duncan, you have the conn.” She climbed out of her chair and looked expectantly at Dwight.
Should’ve stayed home and let someone else come, Dwight thought to himself. As soon as the thought formed, he knew it for a lie. When he was still on Earth, he couldn’t wait to leave. He shook the buckles loose, having failed to get them closed in the first place, and slid out of his chair. No sense in delaying this.
Paths not Taken
Dactari Logistics Station, Oaxian Orbit
The restraint field deactivated and Harry collapsed, sobbing, to the floor. He was covered in a sheen of cold sweat and his stomach was a constricted knot. Guards grabbed his shivering form and heaved him up into a chair, yanking out intravenous lines and breathing tubes, and other lines that Harry didn’t want to even think about. A technician removed a cortical web from his shaved head, placing it gently in a tray that retracted into the white wall.
Captain Harrison Young, United States Navy, had never found the time for family. The life of a captain is a lonely one. He had never settled down, never married, never had children.
Now he had lived through that process dozens of times, and he was profoundly grateful to be lonely.
The Dactari knowledge implanting machine was capable of extracting knowledge as well as inserting it, and he had lived through the extracted lives of at least thirty Oaxian resistance fighters as they sought to preserve their independence from the old empire that had preceded the Dactari Republic.
Again and again, he had felt the despair as his belief in a just cause was eroded by the Human, or in this case, the Oaxian cost of resisting the Empire. He watched as a succession of spouses and children were enslaved or simply killed by callous Dactari warriors, the military race of the six hundred forty-ninth Emperor, Hemchala. He felt the emotions of every death and his soul ached for every lost loved one.
His final life had been Orontes, second in command of the resistance. Orontes had been a master of edged weapons in the arena. His reputation, skill at training warriors and his personality had led to swift advancement through the ranks of the ill-fated patriots. Orontes had been forced to watch as his own family were executed in the very arena where he had made a name for himself. His youngest had only been three and he had watched her, desperately experiencing the last moments of her young life, wishing he could look away.
Wishing he would not have to see, but unwilling to ignore the last few seconds of her brilliant spark of sentience.
Harry had become aware, as he shared Orontes’ grief, that his own life was being probed. While his defenses were occupied with the lives of those who had died thousands of years ago, his experiences were being teased out of every corner of his mind. He also sensed the presence of a voice, a human, who urged him to simply let go; let them have what they wanted. It would all be much easier if he didn’t fight it, if he made an attempt to see their side of things. Now, slumped in the chair, the man’s name surfaced…
Benedict.
Realities
The Midway, Weirfall Orbit
Dwight followed a pair of armed marines as they moved down a corridor from the massive central hangar deck where he and Shelby had been put through a second decontamination shower. The harsh chemicals used for the second shower must have been stronger than the standard CDC fare – the Dr. Young on the front of his EVA suit was melted and running down the front plates. Thank God I was still in my suit.
A young 2nd lieutenant was escorting them and they communicated via a small headset that protruded from one of his ears.
The corridor was very much like those on the Pandora, only larger. Stanchions made of carbon fiber provided the structural support. Nearly a quarter of the Midway was made of the light carbon components, allowing for better acceleration. Steel plate and gratings covered the walking surfaces, allowing easy access to the fluid lines that ran beneath the floors. Cable trays, mounted overhead to carry conduits, snaked around corners to deliver power and data to the deepest reaches of the massive vessel. Unlike passenger craft, warships left their internal guts exposed, allowing for more efficient damage control.
Everywhere Dwight looked he saw variations on the standard uniform. The blue on blue camouflage worn by the Navy was the common thread, but many tunics were missing the sleeves and some personnel wore only stained white t-shirts. Several were even walking the corridors in ragged shorts. “I thought the military was stricter when it came to dress codes.” He turned his head toward their young guide, not even noticing the smooth movement of the articulated neck rings of his suit.
“We’ve been out here three years now.” the lieutenant waved a hand to hold some crewmen back as they passed an intersection. The sound of alien music a harsh, driving beat, grew and faded as they passed. “BDU’s typically last a couple years of constant use, so you’re lucky we’re even wearing pants.” They came up to the next intersection and the way forward was barred by an armed guard. They took a right turn, a rat scurrying down a hole in the deck grating as they approached.
“We’re working out a deal with some suppliers down on Weirfall,” their guide continued, “but it’s tricky, considering we have very little credit, now that Earth is… well, out of the picture.” They came to another checkpoint and he looked over at the two suited visitors as they continued toward the port side of the massive vessel. “Is it as bad as we’ve been hearing?”
“Probably worse,” Dwight answered. He saw the wince on the young man’s face and one of the marines cast him a backward glance as they took a left at an unguarded intersection. Way to go, dumbass. They probably have family back home and no way to find out if they’re ok. “So, what are you guarding over there?” He waved to his left. “That where you keep the nukes or something?”
“Hmm?” The lieutenant frowned for a second, then laughed. “Oh, lordy no!” The marines were chuckling now. “You don’t want to keep strategic weapons in there.” He waved a hand to his left. “Delta twenties are a bad neighborhood.”
“’Scuse me?” Dwight blurted. “Are you serious?”
“Oh yeah,” the officer asserted. “Any ship this big is going to have areas you don’t go into alone. Even the big super carriers back
home were like that and they were a quarter the size of the Midway. Hell, I was mugged on the Grant twice before I finally pulled my head out of my ass. Remember that, Tim?”
“It’s a miracle you got off that ship alive, sir.” The marine on the right answered cheerfully.
“But this is a military vessel,” Dwight objected. “Can’t you just send in the marines and clear em out?”
“Ho boy! You sound like I did back on the old ‘Galena Tanner’,” the young man laughed. “God she was a beautiful ship, wasn’t she Tim?”
“Best in the fleet, sir!” Tim replied. “Even if she was named for an Army officer…”
“Grant was also the eighteenth president,” the lieutenant volunteered helpfully. “Maybe that had something to do with it?”
“I never voted for him, sir…”
They came to one of the aft risers and their guide put his palm on the control screen. A blue glow hazed around his hand as the scanner identified him. He turned a serious face on Dwight. “Doc, you gotta understand – we sweep up thousands of kids off the streets to man ships like this. A few addicts always slip through the filter and we end up with a ready-made market for illicit pharmaceuticals.” He punched in a series of commands to start closing off access to the zero gravity shaft.
“Where there’s a market, there’s always someone who’ll make a profit from it,” he continued. “We conduct sweeps now and then, but the labs always spring back up. They’re inventive as hell.” He shook his head in rueful admiration. “You leave a janitorial locker unattended for ten minutes and somebody’ll raid it and start cooking up some crank.” He nodded at Tim who pushed off into the shaft, bounding against the padded far side as he worked his way up toward the bridge deck.
The Dark Defiance Page 29
