by David Gunn
The sacrifice of one for the many. I can’t think of anything that Franc could do that would make me prouder to have known her.
‘Sven,’ says my gun.
‘What?’
‘She’s priming detonators.’ The SIG’s voice is flat, emotionless. Didn’t know it could run in that mode. ‘You want me to piggyback their lenz?’
‘It’ll-’
‘Sir,’ says Haze. ‘They know already.’
A jumble of shouts blares from our speakers. The pilot’s voice is replaced by that of the three-braid who sounds furious. And then he’s shouting orders at Franc, and when that fails, he starts shouting them at someone else.
Panic, you bastard.
‘Piggyback,’ I tell the SIG.
Our screens flip to their point of view.
And suddenly we’re the Silver Fist watching us. Well, watching Franc; and the B79 is closing that gap fast. We’re seeing her through a lenz hung directly under the cruiser itself. A pulse cannon fires out of shot, but Franc is too close to the cruiser for the barrels to lower far enough. The weapon is limited by its own safety routines.
A panel slides back above her.
‘Fighters,’ says Haze.
I’ve worked that out for myself. Lurching forward, the B79 disappears through the opening hatch before the first Z7x can emerge.
And then there is light.
‘Fuck,’ says Neen.
No one will be putting Franc back together again, not this time.
Shil’s crying, Rachel also, from the noise behind me. ‘Sven,’ says the SIG. ‘You might want to watch.’
The explosions begin slowly, with a ball of flame. Oxygen burns, and that is what catches fire. A high-oxygen/low-pressure atmospheric mix that we use in our ships as well.
As we watch, a side panel blows out, flame blossoming behind it. The explosions spread, fire obviously running down corridors and rising up elevator shafts to blow out panels elsewhere.
It has, as Colonel Vijay points out, a terrible beauty.
A hatch irises open, to release a fighter that is eaten by an explosion that rips out of the flight deck behind it. There are a hundred and fifty troopers on board that cruiser, three flight wings, one three-braid and eighty crew.
The figures fill my head.
‘Sven,’ says Colonel Vijay. ‘Are you all right?’
My throat tastes sour.
‘Fine, sir.’
As I watch, the cruiser cracks at the stern and lights go out behind the break. Hekati’s gravity twists the dying vessel on its axis, and then an explosion rocks the engines and snaps the cruiser in two.
A fuel store? An arms depot? The engine itself?
Don’t know and don’t care, because I’m watching shrapnel. If that is the right word for spinning thousand-ton fragments of cruiser. As another explosion rips the segment, and the bridge goes up in a fountain of flame, an antenna scythes away into space like a thrown blade.
‘Shit,’ says Shil.
Vacuum is sucking at the segment’s guts to swallow dying troopers and broken fighters.
‘Wait for it,’ says my gun.
All our screens blank as the electromagnetic wave rolls over us. A Casimir coil exploding. Or perhaps it’s an ion drive. Machinery isn’t my thing. All I know is that one third of a burning Silver Fist cruiser has ceased to exist, and the other two thirds is racing into the distance.
‘Equal and opposite,’ says Colonel Vijay.
‘Sir,’ I say. ‘Permission to give chase?’
His lips twist. ‘Feel free,’ he says.
Imagine one point nine million tons (roughly what two thirds of an epsilon-class cruiser weighs), punching into a force field generated by a mother ship and then trying to keep going. It is like watching a steel post being fed to a chipper. The field blazes with cold flame that struggles to eat section after section of the cruiser. And still kinetic energy keeps the cruiser coming.
Our screens go lunatic. Waves of energy ripple like storms.
Colours clash and lightning flickers. Only that is impossible in space. What’s not impossible is the sheer power being consumed by the field, as it tries to swallow everything the cruiser feeds it.
Force fields exist to stop incoming missiles.
And then somewhere back down the line a weapon’s geek realizes if it works on incoming missiles, then it works on incoming fighters. And what works for incoming fighters can be applied to outgoing fighters as well.
Must be impressive, the first time that trap is sprung, and an enemy discovers they’re locked into a free-fire zone. But it doesn’t work for vessels much larger than a frigate. So it’s definitely not meant to deal with a cruiser. Not even a burnt-out, ripped-open two thirds of one.
‘Count me down,’ I tell the SIG.
Something whirrs behind its pistol grip. ‘Fifteen seconds,’ it says. ‘Fourteen seconds . . .’ My gun keeps counting. And we’re all counting along inside our heads. So it is my own voice I hear as the tally hits zero.
‘Do it,’ I tell Haze.
And we crash our Z-class through the crumbling force field into the emptiness of space beyond.
‘Damage report,’ I demand.
‘Significantly less than you deserve,’ the SIG replies tartly.
‘Well,’ says Colonel Vijay. ‘That was interesting.’
‘As in, insanely suicidal?’ the SIG asks.
He laughs.
Iona claps, and after a second Neen does too. Haze blushes, but that’s Haze for you. A moment later, the others join in the clapping, even Shil, who stops the moment she sees I’ve noticed. So I grin at her, and that makes her scowl even more.
Chapter 56
When our excitement at breaking through the force field fades, Colonel Vijay suggests I say a few words. And I agree that words need saying for Franc, but I am sick of the soldier’s prayer. Sick of reciting, Sleep well and a better life next time.
Done it once for Franc already. I owe her more than that.
We all do.
‘Listen,’ I say. ‘Met Franc on a battlefield. Didn’t expect her to live out the day. Didn’t expect her to keep the rank of corporal. Never met a better cook. Never met anyone better with-’
A knife, I want to say.
Only the kyp’s begun shitting in my throat.
And the tug’s crewpit loses focus as a vicious wave of emotion washes over me. Not my emotion, I know that. I’ll do sorrow for Franc. I’ll do respect, because she deserves it. But I won’t do panic.
‘Sir,’ says Haze.
‘What? ‘ Got my voice back.
‘You might want to look at this.’
Tapping a screen, he cuts the focus to bring Hekati closer. The engines on Victory First Last and Always glow with heat. I don’t mean its boosters, because this isn’t about shifting position or running a routine to check the coils still work. The fucker’s coming after us.
Eight nozzles, each the size of a cathedral dome, begin to shimmer with flame. The web of tubes lashing the Silver Fist mother ship to Hekati’s ring is still in place. As we watch, they begin snapping. And the sheer force of those engines tips the habitat out of true.
A torus is strong, but no engineer has allowed for this.
The panic I can feel comes from Hekati herself, and Iona can feel it too. That’s when I realize she’s precog. ‘Stop them,’ she begs. ‘Please. Do something.’
‘He won’t,’ says Ajac. ‘He caused this.’
Neen dumps the unconscious boy into a chair and abandons him without a glance. And, rubbing my fist, I decide Ajac will learn. He’s Aux now. It’s not as if he has anywhere else to go.
Looking at Neen, Iona says, ‘Hekati wants our help.’
‘You can talk to her?’
The girl shakes her head. ‘No,’ she says. ‘I feel it here.’ She touches a fist to her heart, which tightens her tunic, and makes her breasts look bigger still.
Neen has trouble meeting her gaze.
And Shil�
��s shooting daggers at me, as if this is somehow my fault. But I’m busy thinking about what Iona said. Hekati wants our help.
We’re a Z-class mining tug. Slow, if good at manoeuvring. We have harpoons and a drilling laser. All our explosives went with Franc. Even if we manoeuvre over there before the Victory First finishes ripping itself free . . .
What do we fight it with?
Handguns?
‘Incoming message,’ says Haze.
In place of Hekati, we get a nine-braid.
A brigadier stands beside him. He was Death’s Head once. Ninth Regiment, the emperor’s own. Although it’s been a while since he was anything I would consider Death’s Head.
Colonel Vijay steps forward. But I’m already there.
‘A snakehead and a traitor,’ I say. ‘What a pair . . . You know,’ I add, looking at the brigadier, ‘you’re a fucking disgrace to that uniform.’
Opening his mouth, he shuts it at a glare from the nine-braid. Seems I should have insulted him first. The slight wasn’t intentional, but I am delighted all the same.
‘Surrender,’ says the braid.
He has a hundred and fifty dead, thirty-five missing Z7x fighters and an epsilon-class hole in his mother ship. We tricked his three-braid with a false surrender, and we fucked his systems destroying that force field.
And still he claims we can surrender.
Just how stupid does he think we are? Turning to Colonel Vijay, I say, ‘You want to do this bit, sir?’
He smiles at me. ‘Sven,’ he says, ‘you’re doing fine.’
Turning back, I look at their commander. He’s smaller than most Enlightened I’ve seen. A shock of metal braids sweeps back from his forehead and falls onto his shoulders. I can see shining bits of skull where the virus has turned his scalp to shell. He’s bare-chested, because braids are always bare-chested. No one has come up with a jacket that fits someone already wearing a bathroom’s worth of piping. His weathered face watches me examine him. And when I’m finished, his gaze holds mine so tightly it takes an effort not to look away.
‘Your name?’ I say.
The nine-braid stares at me.
‘It’s just,’ I tell him, ‘I like to know who I’m going to kill.’
He sneers. An Enlightened’s contempt for the rest of us. ‘We will crush you,’ he says, and I’m glad. It means we have all that shit about surrendering out of the way.
‘Sven,’ says Colonel Vijay, keeping his voice low. ‘Is this going anywhere?’
‘Want his name, sir.’
‘For when you kill him?’
I nod.
The colonel sighs. Seems the braid isn’t amused either. Glaring at me, he says, ‘Your deaths will be painful.’
‘Is that a threat?’
‘No,’ he says. ‘It’s a promise.’
There has to be a class somewhere to teach these people. Or perhaps they come out of the egg like that. He scowls and I grin, because this is more fun than I thought it would be. And then I remember Hekati, and it stops being funny.
‘Let me see the habitat,’ I demand.
Haze and the SIG scramble to put it on screen.
Between them, they clear our screens of the nine-braid’s face, and throw up pictures of Hekati instead. Some are taken from a comm sat, a few from inside the habitat, and one from Victory First itself.
They all show variations on the same thing.
The lines lashing the Silver Fist mother ship to Hekati are gone. The fat tube stealing Hekati’s air now bleeds into empty space. Water roars from the end of a broken pipe to split into a million droplets that separate, join, and separate again. Inside the habitat itself, high winds have risen to rip trees from the valley floor and scour grit from the mountainsides.
Only there is worse. Far worse.
A slab of Hekati’s outer shell the size of Zabo Square is missing where the Victory First ripped her anchor free. Multi-legged bots crowd the wound, but there is little they can do except kill themselves trying to mend a hole that cannot be mended.
‘Oh shit,’ says Haze.
Lining the hole is rubble and steel mesh as thick as trees. The mesh is broken, and rocks the size of Farlight cathedral tumble into space as the habitat revolves. Vast asteroids returning to the belt. Hekati is losing more than her air and water. She’s losing bits of her ballast. ‘Too late to surrender,’ says the colonel.
He sees my look.
‘Can’t save Hekati now.’
It hadn’t occurred to me we could.
Chapter 57
It moves slowly, the enlightened mother ship, the gap between Hekati and our enemy seeming to remain the same, although our sensors say it is widening. A Z7x fighter is fast, but with shit range. Victory First can follow to the other edge of the galaxy and beyond. We can’t outrun it once its engines hit full power, and we can’t outshoot it. All we have going for us is a head start. And that is not going to last us long.
‘Asteroid belt,’ says Colonel Vijay. ‘We’ll hide there.’
‘Sir,’ I say, ‘they’ve got enough firepower to turn the belt to dust.’
‘And us with it,’ adds the SIG.
The colonel grins sourly. ‘So much for that idea.’
‘We could try U/Free space.’ Haze is right, we could . . .
Only Paper Osamu won’t be happy if we come trailing an Enlightened ship behind us, and General Jaxx will be furious. Any sentence passed by court martial on one of us is passed on the others. Little point getting home, only to be executed for treason. We need a better plan.
‘Hekati’s dying,’ says Haze.
‘Sven?’ Colonel Vijay says.
‘Thinking, sir.’
My gun snorts.
I’ve seen battle, I’ve killed. This is different. It’s genocide, which is a term I’ve only heard the U/Free use. But it sounds right for destroying a habitat and killing those inside. Hekati wants our help. I run Iona’s words again.
And we want Hekati’s . . .
‘Back through the ring,’ I order. ‘And take us out to the belt.’ To his credit, Colonel Vijay says nothing when I steal his plan.
‘Make it fast,’ I tell Haze. To Shil, I say, ‘Arm the harpoons.’
She scowls at me.
‘It’s what we’ve got,’ I say. ‘Only take the bloody tethers off first.’ The last thing we need is to drag some wounded Z7x in our wake. Assuming we’re still around to hit one.
‘And the drilling laser,’ I tell Neen. ‘Put that on standby.’
Hekati’s hub is so badly out of true we scrape an inside edge, shattering a sheet of glass higher than the tallest building in Farlight, because the hub is only small compared to the habitat itself. We shudder as we hit, my SIG feathers the retros and we are through.
The asteroid belt waits ahead.
Also behind us is the vast bulk of the mother ship, turning as fast as its boosters will allow. We’ve long since lost the braid. He broke audio as soon as he realized we’d stopped listening to him. Braids hate that.
I mean, most people hate being ignored, except me. I’m happiest in my own company. But braids take it personally. It pisses them off when lower species don’t know their place. And ours is out here in the belt.
‘Fighters,’ Neen says.
Three of them, coming in tight. Not the cleverest of formations.
‘Take them all,’ I say.
Our mining laser is meant to crack rock. So it’s not subtle. That makes it hard to aim and crude, but it’s still a laser and one of the Z7xs comes apart with a satisfying flash. It’s good luck that makes it wipe out the other two as it explodes.
‘Those harpoons ready?’
‘Yes, sir,’ says Shil, her voice clipped. If she’s afraid, it is well under control.
‘Well, use them.’
Another three fighters are moving to intercept us.
They come in hard and fast, and they’re being careful this time. Two fly ahead, the other waits behind, high enough to avoid any
explosion that kills its outriders.
‘Missile about to launch,’ says the SIG.
‘Change its mind.’
‘Haven’t got time,’ it says. ‘I’m busy.’
‘You can be replaced.’
‘Sven,’ says my gun. ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Try me.’
The SIG stops what it is doing, which turns out to be keeping us steady. As everything lurches, my head hits the side of my chair and we start to spin. ‘I’m sorry,’ says the gun.
The rear Z7x launches a missile that flicks past us, and turns in a tight curve to head straight back for a second go. ‘Really,’ we hear the gun saying. ‘You’ve got this completely wrong.’
The missile disagrees.
So the gun copies the ID patch from the fighter, pastes it onto our tug and deletes the original. ‘See,’ it says. ‘I told you.’
Avoiding us in a blur of white heat, the missile takes out its original owner. A split second later we have a blizzard of steel fragments, ceramic shards, traces of organic matter and some water vapour. I only know because the SIG tells everyone.
‘Thank you,’ I say. My gun pretends not to hear.
At the last second, the next attacker loses his nerve and stands down his missile.
‘Get him,’ I tell Shil.
She fires, and a harpoon streaks away. She’s left the tether attached. I am about to bawl her out for being stupid when I realize the wire is free at our end. When I said untie the tether I meant at the harpoon end.
Obviously.
Well, it’s obvious to me.
As we watch, her harpoon flips ahead of the fighter; which hits the quarter-mile length of industrial hawser dragging behind it. A Z-class mining tug, and we’re a Z-class mining tug, can drag a ten-thousand-ton asteroid out of orbit. Dragging is the easy bit. It’s getting the asteroid moving first that is tricky. That’s where the wire comes in.
Thin it might be, but God it’s tough.
The Z7x spins away. One wing is sheered off close to its fuselage. The fighter has lost the wrong retro to halt its spin. The next thing we see is an explosion as the Z7x hits the outer edges of the belt.
