Furthermore, with Stynx aboard, coupled with the almost universal human fear of aliens, fatalities were even more likely―the probability of one or more deaths at 87.8% percent, per Shepard’s calculations. Saving even one life was more valuable than an ore hauler and all of its cargo combined. Priority processing required Shepard to save lives, even if it meant Sinja and Datch escaped with Argo.
Sinja ran over to a console and brought up a sensor screen. She now saw what Shepard saw, a tiny blip closing in on Argo, a minnow in the shadow of a whale. The police corvette, not even one hundredth the size of the colossal ore hauler―like comparing a twentieth-century motorcycle to an oil tanker―edged closer, angling in from their starboard side.
“If we drop from hyper,” Sinja said, gripping her rifle tight, “they’ll just loop around. We can’t outrun them, so they’ll catch us sooner or later.”
“True, but it will give us enough time to get everyone in the shuttle and launch it. Since it is carrying the alien pod, the enforcers will be obligated to bring it to Imperium authorities forthwith. Simply put, they will go after it and not us.”
“Do it.” Sinja gave Datch a quick warning and sat down. She grabbed her chair’s armrests. A hyperspace drop was never pleasant. An emergency one was even worse.
Archangel Nomad
“Grapple shot in thirty seconds,” Pendergan announced.
Midship, a team of eleven heavily armed and armored enforcers in combat spacesuits waited for their chance to storm aboard the hijacked ore hauler.
Suddenly, without warning, Argo disappeared from their screens.
Hoth leaned forward in his captain’s chair. “Did they detect us?”
“Probable given our close proximity,” Gulfstream chirped. “A statistically high reverse probability infers it is unlikely they initiated a hyperspace drop for any other reason.”
That meant the hijackers knew they were closing in. Just a minor setback, Hoth realized, as a drop from hyper only delayed the inevitable confrontation.
But the element of surprise was gone now, and these hijackers were well-armed, obviously well-trained given how easily they took the mining platform, and it was unlikely they’d go down without a fight.
“Loop us back around to their dropout point.” Hoth knew at their current high velocity it would take some time for the policeship to circle back to Argo. Any ship, even an interceptor special like Archangel Nomad, required a finite amount of space to turn at 610 c.
“New trajectory implemented,” Gulfstream replied. “44.5 minutes until we reacquire the target.”
“Drop us right on top of them,” Hoth ordered. “Hard scans as soon as we drop. Target our lances on their hyper-induction emitters and scorch them if it looks like they’re going to jump.” Hoth did not want to play hyper jump, drop, and seek again and again.
Cargo ships were lightly shielded, usually a commercial-grade deflector to prevent the sand-blast effects from spatial gas and dust while moving at relativistic speeds. No heavy defensive shields. Consequently, a few low-power blasts from their fusion lances should knock out Argo’s emitters without harming the rest of the hauler. Never a good career move to damage corporate property, but given the stakes, Hoth felt such a tactic was warranted.
“Acknowledged,” Pendergan replied.
Hoth had the hijackers right he wanted them. At sublight speeds a grapple shot would be much easier . . . and safer. “Once we’re in range, our assault team takes that hauler.”
Argo
In the docking bay, Datch listened carefully, pressing his earplug tight to hear better as Sinja explained how the shipboard AI had given her an Ironclad Vow and would be assisting them from now on. In exchange, the hauler captain, his son, and the alien would all be released, leaving on the shuttle as soon as Datch could get father and son aboard.
For the first time since this hijacking began, Datch grinned as Sinja explained what she wanted him to do with Mercer and Dupree.
Working quickly, Datch went over to Tarn, grabbed the hauler captain by his ankles, and then dragged him into the shuttle. Tarn was a good bit heavier than he, but Datch was well-muscled and in excellent shape, and he was able to singlehandedly get the hauler captain into the pilot’s seat. Ritch was easily carried to the adjacent copilot chair.
That done, Datch trotted out of the docking bay, into a stairwell and up to the top deck, finding Mercer in the corridor where Tarn had stunned him. Datch put Mercer exactly where Sinja wanted him. He then did the same with Dupree.
Finished moving unconscious people about, Datch used a hypospray to revive Tarn, Mercer, and then Dupree, leaving before they awoke. As for the captain’s son, Sinja wanted him left unconscious, per Shepard’s request.
Now Datch rushed to get the shuttle ready for departure. Sinja had warned him an enforcer policeship was closing in and they didn’t have much time. He made sure the shuttle door was locked, followed by a quick circuit around the craft to check that nothing seemed amiss. Seeing that everything looked good, Datch hurried to the control booth and took a seat behind the main operations board. He remotely sealed the docking bay airlocks and did all the precaution checks until the operations board was lit up with nothing but green indicators. Warning klaxons sounded as Datch began the sequence that opened the space door. Thirty seconds later, the air in the docking bay rushed out into the black emptiness, freezing into tiny globules.
Datch paused briefly to admire the swath of Milky Way that was visible through the large, rectangular opening. Then, with the shuttle now in a spatial vacuum, he retracted the clamps that held it in place. Finally, he told Sinja the shuttle ready for departure.
Up on the bridge, Sinja looked at a console, checking the time. She smiled with sisterly pride, as it had taken Datch only sixteen minutes to get everything ready. Impressive, even for him.
Inside the Scout Pod
“Hello, Stynx.” Shepard’s voice radiated from the communication bulb. “I have important news to share with you.”
“I fear the sharing,” Stynx admitted. He knew something had gone terribly wrong out there in the docking bay when Ritch fell, and he was afraid that his human friend was dead.
“There is nothing to fear. Ritch is fine, but a hijacker used a weapon that put him in sleep-state similar to what you refer to as hibernation. He is in the transport craft that is underneath your pod, safe and unharmed.”
“Joyful sharing,” Stynx said, relieved. “Are you also in the transport craft? Will I see you soon, friend Shepard?”
“Sadly, no. I must stay here on Argo so you and Ritch can leave. The craft will depart soon, carrying your pod with it and taking you to a place of safety. Once there, you can emerge from your pod once you hear Ritch’s signal. He will be there to greet you. I wish I could be there to greet you also, but events have conspired against me. Safe travels, my friend. I will remember you always.”
The communication bulb dimmed and went dark.
“No!” Stynx grasped the bulb and stroked it in the appropriate manner, but Shepard didn’t respond.
Argo
Tarn awoke with a groan. He coughed, winced from the broken rib Datch had given him, and then studied his surroundings. It took a few moments before he realized he was in the shuttle cockpit, although he had no recollection as to how he’d gotten here. He saw Ritch in the adjacent copilot seat.
“Hello, Tarn,” Shepard said from a cockpit speaker.
“Damn, I need a drink,” Tarn croaked, his mouth dry from the dehydrating effects of the knockout drug. “Where are you?”
“Still on my support pillar.” Shepard’s voice had an unmistakable tone of sadness. “Time is short, my friend, so listen carefully. I have given an Ironclad Vow to the hijacker Sinja in exchange for your freedom. I will stay on Argo and assist her in flying the ship. You, however, will depart with Ritch and the alien per our original escape plan. You have two other passengers, both of whom you should recognize.”
Tarn heard something in the shutt
le’s main cabin. He looked back through the open cockpit door, his jaw dropping in surprise when he saw Mercer.
“Let me out of this,” Mercer spat. He yanked at the handcuff securing his wrist to the chair he was sitting in.
Dupree sat in the adjacent chair, also handcuffed, equally upset.
Tarn shook his head, amazed, then turned back, listening closely to Shepard’s voice so he didn’t miss anything.
“Keep in mind that the alien pod is strapped on top of the shuttle, so be careful with the shift in CG and the extra mass. As you are no doubt wondering how you got there, Datch loaded everyone into the shuttle. He revived you and your two passengers, although I requested Ritch be left asleep for obvious reasons.”
Tarn nodded, understanding. Once Ritch learned Shepard had been left behind, all hell would break loose. Better to deal with that later.
“The alien Stynx needs your help,” Shepard added. “This is a first contact situation, and you must do all you can to ensure it goes smoothly, without violence. Stynx is a gentle creature, curious, like Ritch in so many ways. Help him. Protect Stynx from those who would do him harm just because he is alien. You must promise me this, Tarn. Please.”
“I promise.” Tarn hated leaving Shepard behind, but he was unarmed and had little chance of rescuing the AI from Datch. All he could do now was get Ritch, and the alien, to safety. Later, he’d do whatever he could to help Shepard.
“To assist you, I am downloading a translation library of Stynx’s language into the shuttle’s memory core. This will allow you and others to communicate with his species. Somehow, via a method I still do not comprehend, Stynx and Ritch have interacted through SRs. Several simulations, in fact, and the two of them have become close friends during those interactions.”
Tarn’s eyes went wide as he heard this.
“Long story,” Shepard said. “No time to explain now. Ritch can fill you in later. The key point I want to impart upon you is that the connection between Ritch and Stynx can help smooth relations between their species and ours. Boy and alien together as best friends is a powerful message. Very symbolic. Use it. Leverage their friendship to prevent anyone from separating them, which I am certain the Imperium authorities will try to do. Keep them together.”
“Uh, okay,” Tarn muttered, not quite believing, or understanding, what he was hearing.
“The library download is complete. You must depart now.” Shepard’s voice had risen an octave as strong emotions welled up. “Argo will jump into hyper once the shuttle has cleared the safety zone. An enforcer policeship will arrive shortly to pick you up. Safe travels, my friend. I wish you the best of luck.”
“Ritch won’t be happy about this.”
“No, I am certain he will not. Tell him goodbye for me.” Shepard’s voice became a whisper. “I will . . . miss him.”
Before Tarn could reply, the comm link went dead.
Back in the main cabin, Mercer was in the midst of a heated converstion with Sinja. “You can’t do this to me,” he shrilled. “We had an agreement.”
“Yes, we did,” came Sinja’s reply through Mercer’s earplug. “I promised you could leave on the shuttle with that alien pod, and so you shall. Promise kept.”
“You ungrateful bitch!” Mercer proceeded to unleash an impressive torrent of obscentities at her, but Sinja closed the comm channel, severing her link to Mercer for good.
Tarn looked back from up in the cockpit, smiling, as Mercer went into a rage. Dupree was a little less violent about it.
“That bitch betrayed me!” Mercer yelled. “I’ll get even with her, count on it. This isn’t fair!”
“If it was up to me I’d flush you out the airlock!” Tarn yelled back. “You should be sucking vacuum right now. Stealing a man’s cherished thirty-year-old scotch is a capital crime where I come from. The way I see it, you’re the luckiest man alive.”
Mercer had no reply to that.
Tarn slid the cockpit door shut, then initiated the departure sequence. A high-pitch whine slowly escalated as the shuttle engine spun up to full power. Tarn verified all systems were green-to-go before activating the thrusters. The shuttle rose a meter off the docking bay floor and glided smoothly through the space door out into the star-speckled blackness beyond. Sitting atop the shuttle piggyback style was the scout pod with Stynx still inside it, the straps securing the pod in place just as the flight simulator had predicted.
Behind them, the gigantic bulk of Argo took on a reddish glow. As Tarn watched on a viewscreen, the ore hauler that had been his home for the last two and a half years vanished as it jumped into hyperspace. Tarn doubted he’d ever see it, or Shepard, again.
Some fifteen minutes later, the sleek profile of a police corvette appeared off the starboard bow as it dropped from hyper.
Tarn guided the shuttle toward it.
Archangel Nomad
“Where’s that hauler?” Hoth demanded. Argo was nowhere to be seen on their sensor screens. Only a shuttle was visible. And it had a tiny alien craft on top, an even bigger surprise. “Gulfstream, hard scan, I want to know what we’ve got over there.”
The tachyon scanners lit up at full power, probing shuttle and pod.
Gulfstream analyzed the scanner data. “Detecting four human biosigns inside the shuttle. As for the alien craft, tachyons are unable to penetrate its hull, even with triplex modulation. I assume the craft has unknown stealth properties that neutralize our scanners.”
“The shuttle is veering toward us.” Pendergan pressed an earplug with his forefinger, listening to an incoming message. “It’s hailing us, asking permission to come aboard. The shuttle pilot claims to be Argo’s captain. He says the craft strapped on top has an alien creature inside it.”
Hoth whistled in surprise. “Amazing. Okay, snare the shuttle and bring it aboard as fast as you can. Once it’s secure, we chase down the hauler.”
Pendergan shook his head. “Can’t track it now. Those radioactive Strontium-90 particles trailing behind the hauler are gone. That means no more breadcrumbs to follow.”
“There is also Imperium Mandate 3.1 to consider,” Gulfstream interjected.
Hoth sighed as he sank back into his chair. He had a difficult decision to make. His duty as an enforcer was to apprehend those who’d stolen corporate property, in this case the hauler. To do this, Archangel Nomad needed to jump back into hyper, immediately, before Argo’s distortion wake faded. If not, the thieves would escape justice. It might already be too late. Conflicting with this corporate responsibility was an Imperium Mandate requiring them to bring any newly discovered alien life form to a military base without delay. Doing that meant letting the hijackers who stole Argo escape, and there was nothing Hoth despised more than letting someone get away with a crime. “Gulfstream, what’s your recommendation?”
The AI gave an opinion based strictly on legal procedure. “Bring the alien life form aboard and convey it to Thole Naval Base forthwith.”
Hoth frowned. Perhaps there was a legal loophole he could exploit? “Anyway to delay that until we seize Argo and apprehend those who stole her?”
“Negative,” Gulfstream replied in a stern tone. “Failure to comply with an Imperium Mandate is ill-advised. Securing the alien life form far outweighs our corporate obligation to recover stolen property.”
Hoth knew the shipboard AI was right. He occasionally argued with Gulfstream just for argument’s sake, but this certainly wasn’t one of those times. In any case, captains who ignored the advice of their shipboard AI didn’t stay captain very long.
He understood the Imperium Mandates as well as any enforcer, had them drummed into his memory like they were religious dogma back at the Academy, which in a sense Mandates were. They always superseded corporate policies. If Hoth failed to comply, he could face a judiciary review board with loss of rank and incarceration the likely result. Enforcers were persona non grata in prisons, with short lifespans therein. Given a wife and daughter he dearly wanted to see again, this
was not an option.
“Snare that shuttle aboard.” Not the choice Hoth wanted to make, but the one he must. “Once it’s secure, put it in a full protective quarantine. I want six enforcers on guard detail at all times. Gulfstream, once it’s locked down tight, implement a trajectory to Thole Naval Base. Maximum velocity.”
A snare beam grabbed the shuttle and quickly reeled it in. With the alien pod on top, it barely fit into Archangel Nomad’s cramped docking bay.
Zeres Able
Sergeant Risi swung his rifle and focused its telescopic sight on a distant shadow. Thermal imaging revealed the movement he’d detected out of the corner of his eye was nothing more than rising steam, probably from a heat exchanger, although it was hard to tell given how most of the equipment in this part of the mining platform had been reduced to broken wreckage . . . which, unfortunately, made it perfect cover for alien snipers.
Lying in a prone position atop the assault ram, Risi swung his rifle from side to side, using its telescopic sight to search through far-off nooks and crannies. Finding nothing alien and nothing suspicious, he gave Sorenson―who was down below looking up at him―the all-clear signal. “Go ahead and let the first group out, but I don’t want anyone straying too far. Keep ’em close.”
Sorenson nodded. The ram’s troop compartment was jammed with twenty-eight platform workers, a claustrophobic fit by any measure. Their rescue had been a grab-and-go, a plan in which they needed to ride in the ram only for the short trip back to Nighthawk. But when the destroyer was obliterated by alien warships―ships the scanner indicated were still out there―they had nowhere to go. Stuck here until help arrived. So to ease sagging morale and mumbled complaints about the cramped living conditions, Sorenson had suggested letting the workers out in groups for a walkabout to stretch their legs. Risi had agreed, and now he and the two surviving marauders kept watch over them. A shepherd protecting his flock, this was how Risi regarded his current role. Like heavy metal Komondor sheepdogs, Tic and Tac patrolled the perimeter, helping the sergeant keep them safe from alien wolves.
The Sphere Imperium: Book Two of the Intentional Contact Trilogy Page 24
