Because some people will do anything for a thrill, he thought, sourly. Sin City had offered everything that a person might find exciting, ignoring foreign laws, common sense or even simple human decency. You could rape a willing victim in Sin City, male or female, young or old, if you were prepared to pay for your fun.
He shook his head. Perhaps it was a good thing, after all, that Sin City had been destroyed.
“Major Hadfield, prepare your Marines for a rescue mission,” he continued. “I want them ready to board Vesper, assuming she is still intact.”
“Yes, sir,” Hadfield said. He didn't raise any objections. “I’ll start running training drills immediately.”
“I don't know who attacked Vesper,” he said, addressing the entire compartment. “I don’t know if the colonists are still alive. But I do know that we will find the people who kidnapped them, that we will hunt them down and bring them to book for their crimes. Dismissed.”
He watched them file out, suddenly feeling very old and tired. He’d been a very junior pilot when Vera Cruz had been attacked, young enough to adapt without too many problems to a universe that suddenly included murderous aliens. There had still been some wonder in the universe, even though the aliens had been intent on smashing humanity into ground. But older officers, he’d heard, had had problems accepting the fact that aliens existed. He’d sneered at them at the time, muttering darkly to Colin about old fogies who should have shuffled into retirement years ago, but he understood now. The universe had been turned upside down.
It doesn't matter if there is only one ship, he thought. The precedent has been set. There will be other pirates in future.
He shook his head. They’d have to check the records, see if someone had lost a starship during or shortly after the war. But then, it might prove pointless. The war had caused so much disruption that quite a few ships, even Royal Navy vessels, remained unaccounted for. It had only been recently, he recalled, that one mystery had been solved. A frigate, reported lost to causes unknown, had rammed a Tadpole ship, destroying both vessels. Who knew what might have happened to other ships?
“Captain,” Armstrong’s voice said. “The course is now laid in. We will enter the tramline in five hours from departure.”
“Far enough from our destination star to remain undetected,” John said. There were ways, in theory, to monitor the tramlines to detect arriving starships, but they’d never been made to work in practice. However, most systems at least tried to monitor least-time emergence zones. “Get us underway once the drone is launched.”
“Aye, sir,” Armstrong said.
John looked at the final recordings from Vesper, then rose, feeling cold anger stirring in his breast. Whatever had happened, it was his job to deal with it. There was no one else he could ask for orders, no one to take the burden off his shoulders. All he could do was carry out his duty as best as he saw fit.
Calmly, he strode onto the bridge and prepared his ship for war.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Transit complete, sir,” Armstrong said.
John felt a shiver running down his spine. No one - at least no one British - had entered this system before, not until now. There could be anything in the new system, anything at all, from aliens to a hidden human colony. He kept his eyes fixed on the display as it slowly started to fill with data, cursing the survey teams under his breath. They should have at least jumped through the tramline once and scanned its destination before returning to Cromwell.
“There’s little here,” Howard said, in disappointment. “The star’s a white dwarf, there are no planets and only a handful of comets.”
“That we can see,” Richards reminded him. “Comets wouldn't leave any traces on the star’s gravity field.”
Shit, John thought. “Are there any other tramlines?”
“Yes, sir,” Howard said. A red line blinked into existence on the display. “Another human-grade tramline, heading into the unknown.”
John studied the display, thinking hard. A comet could be turned into a base, if necessary; they tended to have all the elements for supporting a basic colony, although they were often lacking in raw materials. But he had a feeling that the mystery starship had continued down the other tramline, heading deeper into unexplored space. This system should have been swept by the survey team, he knew, and would be swept soon enough, as interest in the sector grew stronger. The further away they were from Cromwell and Boston, the easier it would be for the pirates - he still had difficulty accepting their existence - to hide.
“Take us towards the next tramline,” he ordered. “But keep us in full stealth mode.”
“Aye, sir,” Armstrong said. “Least-time course?”
“No,” John said. “Dog-leg us around the system. I want to remain undetected at the far end too.”
“Aye, sir,” Armstrong said.
John turned to Richards. “Continue to monitor the system,” he ordered, as he rose. “And alert me at once if you detect any signs of a technological presence.”
“Aye, sir,” Richards said.
“You have the bridge,” John said. There was far too much paperwork to do for him to justify remaining on the bridge. “I’ll be in my cabin.”
He stepped through the hatch, then called Midshipwoman Powell. “Please bring me coffee,” he ordered, when she appeared. “And a ration bar or two.”
“Aye, Captain,” the young woman said.
John smiled at her, then sat down and activated his terminal. Richards had done a good job of sorting through the paperwork Commander Watson had left undone, but everything had to be checked and checked again. At least it provided gainful employment for the handful of junior officers, John considered, as he inspected the list of supplies, looking for discrepancies. It didn't take outright malice or theft to have something listed on the manifest that simply didn't exist.
“Thank you,” he said, when Midshipwomen Powell returned. The ration bar looked thoroughly unappetizing, as always, but the coffee smelt heavenly. “I’ll drop the mug off when I’m done.”
She nodded and retreated. John watched her go, feeling a flicker of pity. Normally, the Captain’s Steward would be an enlisted crewman, someone who hadn’t gone through the full training program before boarding a starship. But Warspite was too small to carry a dedicated steward. Midshipwoman Powell hadn't signed up to tend his needs, serve food in the wardroom or anything other than start working her way towards command rank, but she had no choice. John made a mental note to ensure she had a good report, at the end of the voyage, and perhaps swap her with one of the other midshipmen. As it stood, she was gaining the least experience of her fellows.
It will look bad on her record, he thought. And that will breed resentment.
Shaking his head, he returned to his paperwork.
The intercom buzzed an hour later. “Captain,” Richards said, “we have detected no traces of any technological activity. If there’s anything hidden here, it’s lying doggo, impossible to detect.”
“Understood,” John said. They wouldn't get any better sensor readings unless they moved closer to the star, which would waste time if the missing ship wasn't here. “Keep us on course for the tramline.”
“Aye, sir,” Richards said. He paused, just long enough to set alarm bells ringing at the back of John’s mind. “The lads would like to name the system.”
John snorted. It was tradition, backed up by the World Court, that whoever discovered the system got to name it. What was also tradition was arguing over who had actually done the hard work. The survey crews ... or the country that had paid for their ship? There had been no shortage of arguments in the past, he knew, and they seemed unlikely to end in the future. But then, the only world that had been named by consensual agreement had been Terra Nova ... and ‘New Earth’ was blindingly obvious.
“Tell them they can submit suggestions, which I will include in the report to the Admiralty,” John said, finally. He had no interest in naming the system af
ter himself or one of his family - the thought of a planet called John was darkly amusing - but he didn’t mind if the rest of the crew had a few suggestions. “But the Admiralty might have other ideas.”
“Aye, sir,” Richards said. “I’ll keep them from suggesting anything too unprintable.”
John laughed. “Make sure you do,” he said. “One planet called Hellhole is quite enough.”
***
Percy crept down the darkened corridor, weapon in hand. The hatch ahead of him lay open, tempting him to slip into the sideroom. But he knew from grim experience it could easily be a trap ... he unhooked a grenade from his belt, then held up three fingers to the fire team following him. They signalled their understanding as Percy counted to three, then hurled the stun grenade into the compartment. Blue-white flashes of light seemed to drive the darkness away.
He moved into the room and searched for potential threats, weapon held at the ready. But there was nothing even remotely dangerous. The compartment had clearly once been occupied, but the inhabitants had been moved away days ago. He checked the washroom - it was smaller than the one assigned to the Marines on Warspite - and then keyed his radio.
“Clear,” he said.
“Clear,” Peerce echoed. “Team Two is moving to the next compartment.”
Percy and his fire team fell into backstop position as Team Two advanced, threw a grenade of their own into the next compartment and charged in, weapons raised. “Clear,” Hardesty snapped, moments later. “All clear!”
Percy made a hand signal to his men, ordering them to follow him, then sprinted forward to the next compartment. The hatch was closed, locked solid. He motioned for Peerce to work on the hatch as the Marines took up defensive positions, sweat trickling down his back as he looked for threats. The enemy was somewhere on the giant ship, he knew, as he unhooked another grenade from his belt. But where?
The hatch hissed open. Percy threw the grenade into the compartment, then charged forward, into a madhouse. Women and children were screaming and falling to the deck, while, behind them, their captors were raising their own weapons. Percy barely had time to choose his targets; he aimed instinctively at anyone holding a weapon and opened fire. Two men dropped to the deck, dead, before the others returned fire. Fisherman stumbled backwards, then fell to the deck. Moments later, all of the pirates were dead.
“Medics,” Percy snapped, keying his radio. Stun grenades could leave grown men twitching uncomfortably for hours on end. Worse, they could cause permanent damage to a child. But there had been no alternative. “Get the medics down here now!”
“They’re on their way, Corporal,” Hadfield said, calmly. “Secure the surrounding area, then start preparing to take the hostages back to the shuttle.”
“Yes, sir,” Percy said. “I ...”
“Contact,” Hardesty snapped. Gunfire broke out, further down the corridor. “Incoming enemy troops, wearing armour!”
“Hold the line,” Percy said. The pirates had reacted quickly; they’d organised a counterattack, then thrown it right into the Marine position. But then, whatever they wanted the hostages for, they couldn't allow the Marines to liberate them. “We’re coming.”
The ship shook as someone threw an explosive grenade down the corridor. Percy dropped to the deck as he crawled out of the compartment, then fired a pair of rounds towards the enemy, who had taken up firing positions in two side compartments. There was almost no cover at all, he noted; the Marines couldn't advance, but nor could the enemy. Stalemate.
“Put a grenade through both of those hatches,” he ordered, as an enemy soldier fired a burst towards him. “Explosive.”
“Explosive, aye,” Peerce said.
Percy braced himself. Stun grenades could be used indiscriminately, despite the risks; explosive grenades couldn't separate friend from foe. It was quite possible that he was about to cause a massacre. But he couldn’t afford to let the enemy drive him back, or force the Marines out of the ship.
“Grenades away,” Peerce said. He was an excellent cricketer, Percy noted. Both grenades went sailing through the target hatches and exploded with staggering force. “Go!”
Percy lunged forward, followed by Team One. He stepped into the compartment and hastily searched for enemies, but most of the pirates seemed to have been killed by the blast. There were no sign of civilian hostages, thankfully. The next cabin was equally clear; the only survivor was a stunned-looking pirate, his legs broken by the blast. Peerce bound his hands with a plastic tie, then left him for the medics.
“Incoming,” Hardesty snapped. “Shit!”
Percy jumped out of the compartment and swore himself. Four naked women were walking towards them, their faces twisted with fear. Behind them, using the women as shields, were four pirates, holding weapons in their hands. The women themselves had metal collars around their necks, ready to explode if someone behind them pushed a button. It reminded Percy of the tracking collars used in some of the high security prisons. Escape was impossible. If the collars were taken out of the prison, they exploded - and if they were removed without the proper authorisation, they exploded. No one, as far as he knew, had ever managed to cheat the system.
“Hold position,” he ordered. The pirates opened fire. He winced as the women howled in pain. “Target the pirates ...”
For once, he wasn't sure what to do. If they stunned the women and their captors, someone could detonate their collars at a distance. The women would be dead instantly, while the explosions might prove deadly to the Marines as well. Normal collars were designed to only kill their bearer, but the pirates could easily have modified the design. God knew they weren't standard equipment on starships, after all.
But he couldn't let the pirates use human shields too.
They know they’re dead anyway, he thought. Pirates were officially classed as ‘enemies of humanity,’ a classification that hadn't even been applied to the Tadpoles. Piracy in space was no different from piracy on the water, at least as far as the law was concerned. Captain Naiser and his crew could hang the pirates or space them and no one would give a damn. And even if they hadn't been, the ROE allowed them to hang anyone who tried to use innocent civilians as human shields. It had been deemed the only way to prevent such barbaric tactics.
But it also made them desperate, Percy thought.
He unhooked a stun grenade from his belt. “Stunner,” he called, hurling it towards the women. Blue-white light flared, sending tingles down his spine; the women staggered, then collapsed to the deck. Suddenly unprotected, their captors were hastily gunned down, their bodies left to fall on top of their former shields. “Move!”
The Marines raced forward. “Here,” Peerce snapped, as he stepped through an open hatch. “Drop that or you’re dead!”
Percy followed him. Inside, a pirate was leaning against the far bulkhead, one trembling hand poised over a small terminal. Peerce flicked on his laser sight, allowing the beam to become visible as it passed through the dust in the air. Normally, the lasers were toned down to keep them invisible - they led any watchful eyes right back to the Marine holding the sight - but Percy had to admit they were hellishly intimidating. The pirate certainly seemed terrified.
He dropped the terminal. Percy stepped forward as the pirate raised his hands, careful not to wander into Peerce’s line of fire, then picked up the terminal. It was simple, enough; he realised. They’d effectively downloaded an app for operating the collars. One button triggered the explosives, another made the collar tighten like Darth Vader torturing subordinates and a third released them. He tapped the third button, then checked the stunned women. Their collars had opened and fallen to the deck.
“Exercise terminated,” Hadfield said. “I say again, exercise terminated.”
Percy blinked in surprise, then hastily closed his eyes as the simulated starship faded out of existence. His head swam for a long moment, forcing him to swallow hard to keep his gorge from rising. VR sims were near-perfect - the user’s mind tended
to fill in any missing details - but disconnecting from them in a hurry always left him feeling sick. Civilian users were gently brought out of the semi-trance.
Which isn't really an option for us, Percy thought, dully. He removed his helmet, then blinked twice at the suddenly-dim compartment. We might have to move from training for war to actually fighting in the blink of an eye.
“Hey, Corporal,” Hardesty said. “I could run a kick-ass sex tape in these things.”
“And then the Sergeant would kick your arse,” Percy said. “Bring your own private toy if you want to have VR sex.”
He smiled, humourlessly. Marine VR sims were an order of magnitude ahead of civilian models, although the sex sims were catching up rapidly. What did it say about humanity, he wondered suddenly, that sex drove so much development? It was quite possible, one day, that no one would ever have real sex at all. And what would that do to the human race?
[Ark Royal 04] - Warspite Page 27
