Vigilante

by Laura E. Reeve

  There were snorts around the room. The tension level lowered. Most military ships sported active and smart armor. They could avoid mines and kinetic weapons with normal sensors or confuse targeting systems with chaff; FTL data no longer looked necessary.

  Lieutenant Maurell, the junior weapons officer on the Bright Crescent, sat next to Oleander. He raised his hand and got a nod from Captain Floros.

  “It sounds like these isolationists will be embedded about the entire system. We’d need three-point insertion, you know, to strike both space and ground facilities. Why aren’t we sending a destroyer or at least a Paladin-class cruiser, with shock troops and an escort of corvettes. . . .” His voice died away as Floros’s face darkened.

  Oleander crossed her arms. She leaned back to get a better view of the other junior officers. This’ll be interesting to watch. Colonel Edones and SP Hauser had debated this point into exhaustion: How much information should be released to the crews? Edones argued that many needed to know the threat to be effective, while Hauser had to be convinced, specialty by specialty.

  “The following information is highly classified and given on a need-to-know basis.” Floros used her official briefing voice. “Since you’re all involved with offensive or countermeasure systems, you need this information. The isolationists have what’s equivalent to a Mark Fifteen temporal-distortion warhead. They have a good chance of detonating it, and guess what? Instead of having to cobble together some jury-rigged controller, they have a retrofitted MIL-8440 Gladiator that still has an MCU-15A controller.”

  There were curses and exclamations. Floros overrode them all as she continued. “Even though the controller is disabled, we’ve figured out how it can interface with the package. If we can figure it out, then we must assume they can. They’re not as stupid as Qesan, their previous leader.”

  There was muttering as everyone dealt with the possibility they might be transitioning as a TD weapon detonated, lost forever in N-space. Hardly better, they could arrive at G-145 just in time to die. Floros waited for the room to quiet. She nodded at Maurell.

  “To answer the lieutenant’s question, we’re taking all we’re allowed to take into G-145, given our agreements with Pilgrimage. To make matters more delicate, Pilgrimage HQ doesn’t know about the TD weapon. To them, this is a rescue mission.”

  Floros changed the display and showed how they were balancing capabilities. The Bright Crescent had longer range, better armor, and more brute firepower than the lighter Terran Defender-class frigate. However, the frigate was faster, more maneuverable, had short-range weapons, grappling capability, and packed more troops than the Bright Crescent.

  “We’ve got two cutters coming in with three companies of Terran special-force rangers. They’ll go onto the TLS Percival, while the Bright Crescent will squeeze in one platoon of Consortium shock commandos. For standoff battle scenarios, Percival will take escort role, and we’ll flip that for boarding scenarios. However, we’re not going to see normal tactical scenarios—I’ll turn this over to Lieutenant Oleander for special weapon issues.”

  Oleander stood up, and she couldn’t help feeling a little nauseated. This wasn’t an exercise or training; this was the real deal. People were going to die. How many lives were lost, how much success the mission had, could turn upon the weaponry and armament selected. She went to the podium and touched it, loading her first classified slide. As she glanced at the armament list, she felt calmer, more confident. The dual-flag command staff had already approved this load.

  “We have to remember these people have every reason to defy the Phaistos Protocols,” she said. “That means the buoy channels are probably mined and we all know a ship coming out of N-space can’t have smart armor activated. We’ll have only passive armor, with no ability to avoid or reduce damage. That’s why Bright Crescent will drop first.”

  She saw Lieutenant Maurell’s face go white. Her other crew members tensed. I’m only starting, guys. It gets worse.

  CHAPTER 17

  The best target is a small community that can be cut off from its civilizing authority.

  —The Cause, Qesan Douchet, est. 2073.011 UT, indexed by Heraclitus 24 under Conflict Imperative

  “Isn’t this going to set off alarms?” Joyce paused before opening the door. They’d had a tricky time getting to the exploration equipment storage lockers undetected.

  “There aren’t any security alarms.” When Maria noticed his surprise, she gave him a withering look. “We’re a cooperative scientific research mission. Why would we need alarms and monitors?”

  After she closed the door behind them, Joyce muttered, “Perhaps this unsecure environment attracted the isolationists.”

  “I wondered that myself.” Maria touched glowing symbols on the wall and the ceiling gave them low light. “Even though I love to blame Aether Exploration for the chaotic situation here on the moon, I admit I’ve seen similar situations in other newly opened systems. It was mayhem on J-132’s Ambra, for instance, with thousands of contractors crawling over its surface.”

  “Still doesn’t explain why they chose this system.”

  “Maybe they thought they’d get a cache of usable alien technology. Perhaps they’re interested in the artifact.” Maria led him past crates and tanks that stood in orderly rows.

  “Yes, the artifact.” Joyce shook his head; what could they want with that? It had been nicknamed “the most extensively studied space junk in history” by the Feeds.

  Maria opened a large locker set against the wall near the Builders’ airlock. The nameplate read BOEING-ZHOU-KUNAL and had the seal of the Terran space forces underneath. The locker held three EVA suits. Joyce was dismayed to see that they weren’t the self-fitting type. It’d take at least an hour to fit the suits, get them on, and test them.

  “So we’re decided?” Joyce looked at the tall woman searchingly. “We’re going out there and waiting to hop a ride on the elevator? It’ll be dangerous; we can’t be assured we’ll have enough air.”

  “I know. But it’s the only escape we have.” Maria tossed him a pair of gloves.

  “You’ll have a chance to stop them, Major Kedros.”

  Isrid hadn’t intended to slip into an altered state, but as he relaxed against the wall, he sensed Major Kedros’s aura. She radiated a deep blue-purple, shot with sparks of turquoise. The light scent reminded him of the sea air on a shore he’d visited on Quillens Colony. It was almost as he remembered it, except for a flare of orange-red that licked its edge. He slowly glanced down; his familiar orange-red glow now had sparks of turquoise.

  Maria had warned him. There’s now a connection between you two, she said when she reminded him that significant events or debts could connect two auras. Torture, blackmail, saving each other’s lives had apparently tied them together. He blinked. The auras were gone.

  “Why do you think I’ll have any chance to stop them?” she asked. “You sound like you’re sure.”

  Looking at her face, he knew how she’d received the old bruises, the ones on the other side from her recent injuries. He’d answered her honestly—no, he hadn’t told his family about her identity. Sabina privately boasted about attacking Kedros, after the fact, to needle him. She wanted him to know she had access to classified information, but years of living and sleeping with Sabina created chinks in her somaural armor that he could interpret. Sabina had intended to kill Kedros on the station, but when the time came, she couldn’t.

  Now, considering the entwining of auras, he might know why he and Sabina had both showed mercy to Kedros. But he didn’t have anything close to a scientific hypothesis and he wasn’t going to speak of this to anyone, until he knew more. That’s only if we stop these madmen from using the weapon.

  “I think Rouxe may be planning an escape.” Isrid tried to focus. “It must have taken years of manipulation and planning for Abram to maneuver Dr. Rouxe into a position to steal the test codes. It’s hard to understand the kind of hate that would drive a father to use his so
n like that, and waste his son’s life.”

  “That kind of hate?” Her voice was quiet. “The kind that drives people to torture others?”

  He met her gaze squarely and without flinching. “You may not believe me, but I would never sacrifice my son to satisfy my revenge.”

  Ariane believed him. She swallowed, her throat tight. Her shoulders ached, her arms hurt, and her wrists burned. Parmet slid down to a sitting position again, clearly exhausted. Not feeling much better, she leaned against the wall. The light panels above lit the space dimly; her eyes had adjusted and she saw the havoc the torture had done to him.

  “So you think Rouxe wants to escape, but how does that help us?” she asked. “I’ll never be allowed near the weapon, and Abram’s covered every contingency I can think of.”

  “Be prepared. If you get near my ship, try to sabotage it. The onboard controller gives them an easy way to enter the test codes.”

  “I’ll never get near your ship, because they’re not that stupid. If the controller is destroyed, will it stop them?”

  He shook his head. “No, they could still jury-rig an interface. But you’d slow them down.”

  “Then all they have to do is yank your weapon about and it’ll arm! Pretty piss-poor design, if you ask me.” She snorted.

  “They needed those test codes, which were classified and protected. Rouxe went through a lot to get those codes and I doubt he’ll let anybody else enter them. If he wants to keep you close, go along—”

  Their whispered conversation was interrupted by the sound of someone activating the outside lock. Parmet slid quickly toward the corner and crumpled up. Ariane moved to the other side of the room. When the door opened, she was standing with her back to the wall, her eyes wide.

  “He’s insane.” Her voice cracked. “Get me out of here.”

  Tahir walked in, his weapon holstered, followed by a man who looked like he was Autonomist. Two more tribal—or family—henchmen stood at the door. Luckily, Emery wasn’t present.

  “Glad you’re still alive.” Tahir seemed different. His stance was relaxed, confident, with the air of a man who’d set a plan into action and was watching it unfold. He cocked his head as if assessing her, weighing her abilities.

  “Can’t say the same for you,” she answered.

  “Do you know what the arc of retribution is, Major?” he asked.

  “No, but I can guess.” The phrase implied justice or punishment, probably for her.

  “There’s a belief among my people that there’s a symmetry to great deeds, both good and evil, such as your destruction of Ura-Guinn. Your salvation can come in the form of doing the same again, this time for a just cause.”

  She kept her face blank. Was she being offered a way to sabotage Abram’s plans? Perhaps they were that stupid, but if so, they wouldn’t expect her to cooperate gracefully.

  “You think I’ll pilot your ship?” She kept an edge in her voice. “What do I get out of this? A few personal freedoms in the future?”

  “You have no future. But you can have salvation when justice is served.” Tahir replied in a level voice, but his eyes flashed a warning as they darted to the men accompanying him. He seemed to be asking her to be his conspirator.

  A henchman in the doorway said something sharp in another language. Tahir nodded and grabbed her upper arm. She winced.

  “If you’re going to drag me around and make me run a ship, how about untying my hands?” She kept her tone flippant and, not surprisingly, Tahir’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  “Don’t bother,” said the Autonomist henchman. “I’m piloting.” He pointed a stunner at her. He was too close, but if she jumped him, the men in the corridor would ensure there’d be no escape.

  “Careful, Julian.” Tahir motioned him back.

  “There’s no need to bring her along, and you’d better not endanger this mission.” Julian’s accent carried the nasal vowels of New Alexandria, an Autonomist world. “I don’t give a shit about your retribution voodoo.”

  “But Abram does.” Tahir ended the conversation. He cut the quick-tie, and she nearly yelped from the pain in her shoulders. He retied her hands, this time in front of her. As he tightened another quick-tie around her bruised wrists, he added, “Your cooperation isn’t necessary for justice, but it aids in your salvation.”

  She grimaced. Thank Gaia I don’t have to pretend to join these idiots—but I could have done without the quick-tie.

  Parmet didn’t stir once during this process, and their captors no longer seemed worried about him. When they opened the door and escorted her out, Julian glanced back and shrugged. They turned a tight thirty-degree corner and there was the beginning of the tunnel to the elevator. A familiar figure waited at the first airlock: Emery.

  “Why the surprise, Cousin? You knew you’d never be entrusted with this mission.” His tone was mocking.

  “I know.” Tahir’s voice was quiet, but Ariane saw ligaments stand out on his neck. “But I thought Abram would be sending his best man for this mission.”

  Emery’s face twisted in a snarl.

  “Cut it out, you two.” Julian kept the younger men on track, as he pushed Ariane forward.

  They went through two temporary airlocks and a wide tunnel with an arched ceiling, before they arrived at the elevator to Beta Priamos Station. The lights along the elevator door frame flickered as each person stepped in, and the panel displayed, FOUR PERSONS RIDING. ADD ADDITIONAL BAGGAGE BELOW OR PRESS START FOR LIFT CALCULATION.

  Emery viciously punched START with his finger. The elevator jerked a little as it started moving, and then displayed its arrival time calculation.

  “What’s the matter with this thing? We should be able to get there in three hours.” Emery was obviously smarting from Tahir’s comment as he commanded the elevator to adjust its lift. “Yes, I authorize more weight, you stupid thing!”

  “Strap in, everyone,” Julian said.

  Ariane quickly looked away from the elevator’s controls over to Tahir, who was watching her somberly. Tahir had more schooling than Emery; would he notice that the elevator indicated it had to lift more than four hundred extra pounds? It was compensating, approximately, for the weight of two people in EVA suits.

  “Three hours, minimum time,” muttered Emery. He wasn’t paying attention to why he had to keep adjusting the lift.

  Tahir kept watching her, so she moved to sit on a bench away from the others and more important, away from the elevator panel. She sat, letting the self-tightening webbing form about her.

  “At last.” Emery strapped in.

  Emery and Julian were probably thinking about their glorious suicide mission. Tahir might be wondering how he would get her cooperation, perhaps for a last-minute N-space drop. She glanced at the panel, which had darkened, and placed her hope in the extra weight riding on the outside of the elevator.

  Maria said the frequencies used by their suits could be monitored by their comm center, which had been overrun by the men Joyce privately called the “crazies.” Because of this, they used no comm, other than hand signals and the vacuum-rated slate Maria was carrying.

  This is the fucking stupidest thing I’ve ever done. After another bout of swearing with no audience, Joyce turned and gave the thumbs-up acceptance wave to Maria. This was their third and last try.

  It was idiotic wandering around in an unarmored civilian environmental suit when there were crazies about with flechette weapons. If this were a military mission using the proper equipment, he’d have a military-grade, self-sealing suit that sported exoskeleton-supported armor. He’d also have spread-spectrum chaotically encrypted communications support. Instead, here he was, hiding from hostiles on the surface of a moon without atmosphere, in a civilian suit made of the same stuff as self-sealing drink and food packs. Like I’m a fucking sandwich.

  Joyce sighed. They’d already tried this twice: They got suited up and cycled out the airlock, made their way to the elevator structure, crawled through the
access gantry, then waited until their air supply fell below the threshold needed to get to Beta Priamos Station. At that point, they reversed the trip, went back through the Builders’ airlock, and got full tanks.

  This time, if they went back, there were no filled tanks waiting for them. They could fill previously used tanks, although Maria said that would take them past the comm center. It was unlikely the crazies would allow the two of them to lug tanks past that area without questions, or violence.

  The twilight outside had deepened, but he could still see by the glow of Laomedon’s edge. Maria had warned him that Priamos, tidally locked with its face toward Laomedon, would soon be going behind the huge gas giant and losing the warmth and light of the sun. They had to feel their way along the ridgeline that marked the upper part of the Builders’ ruins. Maria didn’t want to chance using their helmet spotlights, so she led while Joyce followed the dim controls on her arm.

  Once again, they crawled through the maintenance gantry and made themselves comfortable. They were on the elevator’s outside crate that collared a cable long and strong enough to reach the station, courtesy of carbon nanotube manufacturing. They waited for somebody to use the elevator, causing the internal cargo hold to push through its airlocks and slide into the crate.

  They calculated they had approximately an extra hour of air beyond what they needed for the long trip up to the station. Joyce checked that his alarm was set correctly, then settled into his snoozing spot. He had carefully selected this resting place, near a smooth wall, considering the fragility of the civilian EVA suits. No sharp edges, thank you very much.

  He thought he’d just sat down when his alarm went off. His eyes flew open and he squinted at the heads-up display in his visor. An hour had already passed; Gaia, he must be tired. How long had it been since his last sleep cycle? He should have taken some bright, but he hadn’t brought extra doses with him down to the moon. You didn’t prepare—sloppy work will get you killed, Joyce.