***
‘Phase One complete, sir.’ The drone programmer’s voice wavered, but he didn't dare turn away from his duties aboard the ship. He kept his dark eyes fixed on the monitor while he listened to the heavy clomp of boots on the deck. Chills ran down his spine when a gloved hand rested on his shoulder, anchoring him to his chair. He typed faster, eager to avoid any discipline from the man standing over him.
‘How many made it back through the cloud?’ The deep sonorous tone seemed to emanate from the glove itself, as if some sort of conscious power lay within.
‘I... um... five, sir. No, seven.’ He tried to suppress a shudder.
The glove twitched a fraction, but soothing words came forth. ‘Just relax... what’s your name?’
The programmer’s throat had gone dry. ‘Blake... Blake Freeman, sir.’
‘Okay Blake, look at your incoming data map. Count the number of active drone signals. So, how many?’
‘Seven,’ Blake said, more confident now, and breathed a sigh of relief. Guards patrolled the bridge of the ship, and eyed him in warning. They were the familiar thugs of the Confederacy. Though the administration didn’t trust its own armed forces with lethal weapons, the guards carried souped-up stun guns known simply as Stunners, designed in the shape of a conventional rifle to look more threatening. Their slow rate of fire made them useless for a prolonged conflict, but one shot was plenty to discourage defiance. Several technicians glanced over at Blake too, feeling sympathetic yet glad they were not the focus of their master’s attention.
The glove pulled gently on Blake’s shoulder to spin him around on his chair. The boss was smiling, it did not extend to his eyes.
‘Seven, what?’
Blake’s mouth dropped open at the misstep. ‘Seven, sir!’
‘Thank you. It’s just a courtesy you know. Now if you could tell me how many drones we started out with today, that’d be great.’
Blake made to spin away and face his computer monitor. None of the programmers, technicians or even the guards, were allowed their own intra Personal Computers. It kept them on a technological leash, a level below those of higher authority within the Confederacy. Blake couldn’t access the wireless peer-to-peer network the iPCs used, which were able to operate any Confederacy-made machinery as if by magic. Without an iPC, he had to use a desktop-bound computer to get the data on the drones.
But he couldn’t spin back to the computer. A heavy knee-high leather boot blocked him. The smile had vanished from his boss’s chiselled face.
‘I get the feeling your heart is not in this, Blake. You have to check your computer for something as simple as this?’
Blake shifted uncomfortably in his chair and kept his head down. He could feel the eyes of the other technicians manning their posts on him, but they wouldn’t dare come to his rescue.
‘Since Simeon’s disaster in the Pacific, drone production is the lowest it’s been since the war,’ the boss said, his rage building. ‘Yet you can’t tell me the number you lost today! I should-’
‘Oh calm down Rhys,’ a female voice cut in.
Blake thought he was going to faint, until his boss tore that steely gaze away and up to the bridge entrance.
‘...And call off your goons!’ The silvery sound floated through, distracting the room’s collective tension. A young woman marched in, flanked by two bodyguards wrapped head-to-toe in a dark shimmering material, with even their faces covered. The woman elbowed the Confederate guards at the door aside, and the male-dominated room became a sudden hive of activity. She ignored them and strode straight for their boss.
Blake recognised her. Lucia, the new operational commander of the Confederacy’s counter-insurgency force. A company of assassins. The Fletchers.
How could she have risen to that rank so young? he wondered, not for the first time. She had come to him with a plan to invade Wake Island before Simeon’s forces arrived, and she’d needed Blake’s help to disarm the drones in the dropships. He hadn’t asked why, but disarming drones could have helped the people on the island, so he had agreed. Simeon’s private drone army had destroyed the island anyway, taking him down with it. Blake wondered if that had all been part of her plan.
Lucia couldn’t be much older than fifteen. So innocent looking, yet wielding the most lethal, arcane organisation in the world. Blake hadn’t believed they were real until he had been conscripted into the Confederacy. They were legends, bedtime stories to frighten misbehaving children.
That thought brought back memories of his own little tykes, wailing for their daddy while he was being taken, for his programming skill, in the small hours of the morning. He tried not to think about the sight of his wife twitching in a heap on the ground, after she’d rushed his abductors. The soldiers had then waved their Stunners at the gathering crowd, who had heard the shots fired in the street. He remembered the guilty look on his neighbours’ faces. Blake had lived in a swanky suburb, almost undisturbed by the decades old war. When his neighbours had complained about vagrants getting into their trash for scraps, he wrote a new program for their security system. It was just a hobby for him. They’d repaid the favour by cashing him in for food insurance with the Confederacy. He couldn’t imagine they had shared any of it with his family in his absence.
Blake guessed his kids, if they were still alive, were now the same age as this girl squaring off with his boss.
‘You don’t need drones, Rhys. You of all people should know,’ she taunted, hands on hips.
A thick glove raised up, poised to strike.
Blake silently, frantically mouthed to the girl, sir, sir. Her eyes flicked down to Blake, then back up at the man towering over, and her face split into a grin.
‘Oh, sir, is it now?’ she said with mock astonishment.
The glove relaxed.
Blake didn’t. He knew his boss wouldn’t think twice about striking a woman.
‘So who did you find to knight you?’ Lucia snorted with a grin. ‘When we met, you were no more than-’
He struck her with a sharp backhand.
Before anyone could react, the ship reached the apex of its ascent at an altitude of sixty kilometres, and they had several seconds of free-fall. Everyone on the bridge was either strapped to their seats or grasping a handrail, but Lucia and Rhys floated up to the ceiling, clawing at each other. The fight lasted until the ship eased its descent. They landed on the deck between Blake’s drone command terminal and the communications station. Lucia was on top, her lip cut and bleeding, as she hammered away on Rhys with her fists. By the time the bodyguards rushed over and tore them apart he sported a cut above his eye, and a bleeding lip of his own.
Now there are two of them, Blake thought with a sinking stomach.
At a signal from Lucia, the guards released them both. ‘You’re a real Prince Charming you know that?’ she said. They charged at each other again. This time their lips locked in an angry, passionate embrace. Everyone on the bridge of the ship was now watching, and thoroughly confused.
A soft chime from the comm station snapped the crew back to their senses. The two commanders continued their tryst until the communications chief stood and cleared his throat.
‘Ah, sir, ma’am, the Ravinicus has picked up an unknown contact,’ he announced. Rhys and Lucia peeled themselves apart and stared at him.
‘Well what of it, Mr Georgiou?’ Rhys said.
‘It’s just that,’ the comm chief continued, ‘the contact is located directly above the launch site, sir. It’s another aircraft.’
Blake perked up at that, despite having been grilled earlier. ‘Sir, if Solomon, I mean, if Mr Georgiou’s information is correct, they may be there to stop Phase Two. It’s due to commence in eight minutes!’
‘Make for the launch site, full speed,’ Rhys ordered the helmsman. The ship pitched down at a sharper angle, speeding at over Mach 20. They pulled up just in time to bounce off the stratosphere. If a lesser pilot failed to judge the exact moment, the da
ngerous manoeuvre would fry them all.
‘Ooh I love it when you order your people like that,’ Lucia cooed.
Rhys pointed at the pilot. ‘Yes, but if I didn’t know better I’d say this idiot is trying to get us killed.’ He looked Lucia up and down in appraisal. ‘I want you to go to the landing bay. We’re going to have some guests. I trust you’ll do your duty.’
‘Aye aye, sir.’ She flicked him a jaunty salute and skipped out way she’d come. Rhys stared after her, then snapped back to business and barked. ‘What’s our location?’
‘Descending to ten kilometres over the Saronic Gulf now, sir,’ the helmsman said.
‘Enemy contact?’ Rhys asked the comm chief.
‘Closing to weapons’ range, sir,’ Solomon Georgiou answered. An image of the small vessel appeared in their forward view. Solomon zoomed in for a better look without being asked. ‘Shall we open fire?’
‘No,’ Rhys smiled. ‘I know that ship. And I need more pilots.’ He turned and glared at Blake. ‘Send the remaining drones. Bring the survivors in, alive, or you’ll answer to her.’ He stuck a thumb in the direction of the door Lucia had left through.
Blake typed faster, as though that would give him some measure of reprieve.
Scout's Honour Page 12
