by Sean Danker
Every change he made carried his personal signature and time stamp.
17
THE door hissed open, and Major Morel entered the cabin. Bjorn sat up in his bunk.
“Anything going on?”
The big man shook his head. “Still a long way to Oasis at this speed.”
Bjorn checked his holo and got up. There wasn’t much time before he and Kladinova were on alert. He showered, then put his EV back on and went out into the spine, almost bumping into Sergeant Golding.
The older woman smiled at the sight of him.
“Are you holding up, LT?”
“We’re fine.”
“You’re short one.”
“So are Rebecca and Compton.” Bjorn shrugged. “We’ll manage.”
Golding made a dismissive gesture. “Compton’s been around longer than you have. He’s been under the gun before. He can handle it. And he’s motivated. It’s personal for him now. That’s why he can’t fly.”
“I know. It’s for the best.”
“He can take care of her. Can you take care of Kladinova?”
“I’m trying, ma’am.”
“I know you are. But don’t feel alone just because things are tight. If you need help with her, you know where to find me. She’s third tier and an officer, and I’m seventh and an NCO.” She rolled her eyes. “But I can still bully her if I want.”
“I don’t think you’ll need to.”
Golding headed for the bridge, and Bjorn slipped into the infirmary. A quick check of the manifest showed him no one had been poking through Kladinova’s records. Maybe that meant Dayal wasn’t suspicious.
Rada was with Ibuki in the bay.
“I need to track down Kladinova,” Bjorn told her. “But we’ll be good to relieve you on schedule.”
“Are you up-to-date?”
“We’re green. How’s Sei?”
“He’s a little down, but that’s everybody right now.”
“How about you?”
“I’m still in it,” the ensign said, trying to return his smile.
Bjorn went back into the spine and followed it to the simulator. As he’d predicted, Kladinova was there. He didn’t need to pull her out for another ten minutes, so he left without disturbing her.
He had Blue Bay to himself. Dayal and Woodhouse would be resting; they were on alert after Bjorn and Kladinova.
Bjorn checked the fighter, then climbed into the cockpit and wiped down the controls and the seat. He didn’t know if it was Kladinova herself or the effects of the extra Harbinger in her system, but she’d been sweating heavily. He’d have to make sure she was staying hydrated.
Once the cockpit was a little less aromatic, and he was satisfied the fighter was ready for action, he went back to the simulator and pulled Kladinova out. Something about her looked off. She saw him staring at her face and sighed.
“Cosmetics,” she said, looking away. Cosmetics? Of course she was wearing cosmetics; she’d been wearing them all along. Bjorn wasn’t sure why she bothered on the ship. He’d assumed it was a bloodliner thing.
This was different, though.
“Why?”
“It’s my skin. I’m pale.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s the Harbinger. I don’t know why. But it’s noticeable. I’m covering it up.”
“Empress.” Bjorn grimaced, keying on his holo. He’d been afraid of this. “Patch me into your EV.”
“What?”
“Your suit. I knew this was coming. Do you know what Harbinger was first used for? It was a weapon. It was lethal in your blood, in the air. A lot of people died because of it in the twenty-first century. We can’t ignore this. Put me through.”
She glared at him for a moment, but he didn’t back down. Swallowing, she keyed up her suit’s AI and gave him access. “That was then,” she said. “Harbinger hadn’t been refined yet. It wasn’t fully understood.”
Bjorn wasn’t listening. Her heart rate was a little high. Her body temperature was higher than it had been earlier. It was rising.
“You’re too hot,” he said, still looking at the readout. “Use your suit to lower your temperature.”
“I’m fine. I feel fine.”
“I’m not asking.”
“But I’ll be cold.”
Bjorn gave her a warning look. “Your metabolism’s in overdrive. Your blood sugar’s low. When did you eat last? You’re half-starved.”
“I don’t have an appetite.”
Bjorn just stared at her. “I don’t care. You’re not making me feel better about this decision,” he growled. “How do you really feel?”
“Good,” she said firmly. “I just made new best times, beat my bests. I’ve never been faster than I am right now. I can take Cophony. I can handle Tenbrook’s station.”
“It’s not your reflexes I’m worried about. I’m wondering if you can even stay conscious this way. You’re worthless if you pass out at the controls. If it was just you out there and you wanted to risk that, fine. There are people counting on you. If something happens to you, they’re going to put themselves in danger to help you. You haven’t gone out of your way to make friends in this crew, Kladinova. But they’ll still die for you in a heartbeat.”
It was clear that she didn’t know what to make of that.
“I’m fine,” she repeated stubbornly.
“I need you stable. You really don’t feel any hunger?”
That also seemed to take her aback. She frowned, putting her hand over her abdomen. “I could eat.”
“Do a handstand.”
There was a moment of silence. “What?” she asked quietly.
“A handstand. You can use the wall.”
She just cocked her head at him. Bjorn folded his arms.
“I want to see if you pass out. You’re not getting in the cockpit until you do it. We can do it together—call it PT if you want.” He shrugged.
“You’re serious.”
Her pride was what was holding her up. She was willing to go along with the majority of his demands because she desperately wanted to fly, but this order obviously rubbed her the wrong way.
It was a simple upper-body and balance exercise, one that felt quite natural after countless repetitions during training. But it still probably struck her as undignified, and to be ordered to do it by a male commoner—well, he didn’t blame her for chafing.
“Together, then?”
“Fine,” Kladinova snapped. They assumed the position. According to normal human biochemistry, in the state she was in, even upright Kladinova could only barely be hanging on to consciousness. Bjorn didn’t actually believe she was in immediate danger, but he had to see for himself.
He had never been good at this, had never had the balance for it. Kladinova did. She was rock steady, and her arms didn’t so much as quiver. Her form was flawless. After a minute, Bjorn was in discomfort, but she just looked vaguely annoyed.
“Good,” he said, and let himself down. “How do you feel?”
“Fine,” she said, exasperated. Bjorn believed her.
He followed her into the spine and watched her enter the bay. From there he went to the tiny galley and punched an order into the combiner.
Rebecca entered as he was waiting.
“Sim’s open if you want it,” Bjorn told her, leaning against the counter.
She nodded. “I just have to sleep first. Can I ask you something, LT?”
“Of course.”
“Does Major Compton want to be left alone?”
“Is he dodging you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you being clingy?”
It didn’t look like she’d expected that phrasing. Bjorn watched her swallow.
“I don’t know,” she said. “May
be.”
“He’s been in combat before. He knows how to deal with things, and he knows you’re there for him. I’d give him space.” Bjorn removed Kladinova’s breakfast from the combiner, put a lid on it, and shrugged. “But that’s just me. I’m not a real officer. You should ask Major Morel or Sergeant Golding.”
She nodded and left without a word.
It was Bjorn’s personal suspicion that Compton was trying to shake DiJeur to get some time alone with Ibuki, but that was just a guess. Bjorn didn’t begrudge him whatever comfort he could get, and he no longer had any high ground to stand on. What he and Kladinova were up to was far more scandalous than a simple affair between two shipmates. He left the galley.
Kladinova opened the cockpit as he approached. They were still a couple minutes early, but Bjorn keyed the com and officially relieved Ibuki. A moment later Sergeant Golding checked in to confirm.
Just like that, Kladinova was flight ready in case of an emergency.
“Is she serious about taking Oasis hostage?” Kladinova asked, adjusting her straps.
“The commander? I think so.” He handed her food up and leaned on the fighter. “But she’ll have all the heavy lifting on that, not us. It depends how well she can sell it.”
Kladinova froze, frowned, and sniffed curiously, but said nothing. Bjorn had splashed a little aftershave on the headrest. It was all he had. He hoped it would help.
“I’m giving you increased output on your starboard stabilizer. You favor those hard lefts.”
“So?”
“So that’s fine for now, but you don’t want to establish a pattern. Cophony would spot it.”
“No one can keep up with me.” She looked smug.
“But they can still set up ahead of you in advance,” Bjorn pointed out. “If they know where you’re going to be.”
Kladinova said nothing to that.
“Are you just going to stand there and watch me eat?”
“Have you given any thought to using your burrow?” Bjorn asked, ignoring her question.
“Not unless I’m empty.”
The burrow used the Everwing’s kinetic shield to atomize matter a limited distance in front of the fighter, effectively allowing it to slice through whatever it struck.
“You may need it,” Bjorn said. “If we run into these shield-flicker tactics again, that’s how you can land a hit guaranteed.”
“Not a meaningful hit,” Kladinova pointed out. “Just punching a hole through a ship doesn’t take it out of the fight.”
“But how quickly can you recover and punch another one? We’re talking about disruption, not damage. Whatever counter they have in mind for us, they won’t be able to put it into action effectively if we depressurize their ships. It’s about taking the initiative.”
“Have you talked about this with the commander?”
“I sent her a report with my thoughts. I’m talking to you. You’ve got the speed advantage on the other pilots. You can use it to make the enemy vulnerable so they can make the actual kills.”
She nodded. “It’s an idea,” she said, chewing thoughtfully.
Bjorn had a feeling that was the best he was going to get.
“Lieutenant—” he began, but she cut him off.
“Call me Diana,” she said. “I think the commander’s plan will work,” she went on, tapping her fork on her ration box. “At least at first. I think going to Oasis really will keep us out of the net. But Tenbrook will catch up once we start jumping. We’ll have to engage his people at least once to cover that much distance.”
“That’s how it looks. And the only way to get through it is to give them something they don’t expect. Your role is also to keep them from concentrating fire on the Lydia. That has to be the next thing Tenbrook tries.”
She nodded.
The com chirped, and Mao spoke. “Combat alert. Real world. Here we go with the Klaxons.”
And the alert Klaxons went off.
18
BJORN was the first to the bridge. Mao was on her feet, and Doyle’s face was on the viewport. Bjorn quickly got strapped in.
“The signal just dropped out?” Mao was asking.
“I’m not picking up anything on it now.”
“That takes the pressure off. But it’s provocative. What do you think?”
“I don’t know what to think,” Doyle said.
The rest of the bridge staff arrived, and Mao looked over her shoulder at them as they took their places. “Doyle just picked up a Ganraen SOS,” she said.
“Military?” Woodhouse asked, keying up his console.
“Colonial.”
“We aren’t the White Cross,” Sergeant Golding pointed out. “We’re not out here on a mission of mercy.”
Mao gave her an arch look. “That may be true. But we don’t walk away from calls for help without at least listening first.” She turned back to Doyle, on the screen. “I wasn’t aware there was a Ganraen colony out here.”
“There isn’t. They’re separatists. The planet’s called Nidaros.”
“Why don’t I know about that?”
“It probably doesn’t have any strategic value. And they’re theoretically autonomous, I suppose.”
“They bought out?”
“Sounds like you already know about it. They started doing it when the war began. Funding colonial expeditions in exchange for trade and neutrality favors. Cost-effective. But the colony out there never meant anything. It was just locking a world down. Keeping it out of your hands.”
“Well, it’s ours now. Why’s this colony in distress?”
“They aren’t. We couldn’t pick up a signal from them from this far out with this coms blackout. What I got must’ve come from a ship. Something much closer.”
“A colony ship?”
“Possibly, but I don’t know.”
“We’ll take a look.”
“Thank you, Commander.”
Mao cut the feed and turned to perch on the console. She shrugged at the four of them. “Here we are,” she said.
“Sounds like a trap,” Sergeant Golding said immediately.
Compton shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think if Tenbrook knew we were here, he’d be here. And he wouldn’t set traps behind his own lines.”
“Unless he expected this,” Woodhouse pointed out.
Mao rolled her eyes. “We’ll be careful. Lydia, correct course.”
“What if someone does need help?” Bjorn asked. “What do we have to offer?”
Mao sighed. “Nothing. But we’re not leaving without finding out if there was something we could’ve done. And because there is a risk that this isn’t what it appears to be, we’re staying on alert.”
Bjorn turned back to his controls and pulled up Diana’s vitals. Her body was in an elevated state, but she was holding steady. He could see the nervous energy in her. He didn’t need to see a blue line bobbing with her heart rate to know that she desperately wanted to fly.
Mao brought up the Lydia’s control globes; she intended to pilot the ship manually. “We’re going to take the long way around. We’re undetectable, but Doyle isn’t. We need to make sure there isn’t anyone out here waiting to jump us.”
“Or to jump Doyle when we’re away,” Sergeant Golding said, pointing at the shrinking Sunbath on the feed.
Mao shrugged. “We’re not going far. We need to worry about us. Woodhouse, what have you got?”
“The signal was weak. And we’re not picking anything up out here. This is starting to look suspicious.”
“Widen the scan. I’m not just looking for ships—I want everything.” Mao put her hands on her hips and glared at the viewport. “I’m getting curious.”
“There’s a small body here,” Compton said, putting it on-screen. “Wreckage.”
�
��Wreckage of what?” Mao asked.
“It’s the right size for a shuttle,” Sergeant Golding said, her eyes on her console. “I’m running a scan, but I’m not getting anything from it. No power, nothing. Actually, there’s some interference.”
“Could it be the source of the SOS?”
“Not without power.”
“Maybe it ran out of juice,” Woodhouse suggested.
Bjorn considered the shuttle on his feed; it was visibly damaged, but not by explosive impacts or ballistic weapons. Damage from plasma weapons tended to be smooth and clean, but this wreckage was a mess. It almost looked as though it had run into something.
“Could be. What’s a Ganraen colonial shuttle doing out here, though? And what could’ve torn it up this way? That’s not weapons fire,” Mao said.
“I have the coordinates of the Nidaros colony itself.” Bjorn pulled up the data that Doyle had shared with the Lydia. “It’s not within shuttle range.”
“But this shuttle could’ve come from a ship, which had to come from somewhere—but I don’t care where it came from,” Mao said. “I want to know what happened to it.” She waved a finger at the holographic representation of the shuttle. “What could do this?”
“I can’t do anything about the interference,” Woodhouse reported. “The scanners don’t like this shuttle.”
“Can I get a damage report, at least?”
“The ship thinks the damage was caused by corrosion.”
Mao turned to Woodhouse, one eyebrow raised. “How does that work?”
“I have no idea, Commander.”
“I want answers. Tell me what’s going on with this shuttle. It was calling for help as little as ten minutes ago. What happened?”
Compton pointed. “Look, it’s clearly breached. Whoever was aboard was in distress—they turned on their beacon. Then this happened. The passengers have probably been dead for a while. The signal died because the shuttle’s power died. What I want to know is why it hasn’t been salvaged yet.”
Bjorn leaned back. “Would pirates even be listening for Ganraen colonial transmissions out here?”
“They listen for everything,” Mao said, folding her arms.
