“Freighters,” Yaalon answered. “Why?”
“Where did the freighters come from?” Margaret asked.
“The Resistance Armada,” Yaalon replied.
Margaret scrambled for a display scroll and frantically searched for transit information. She found the manifest for the Peace Warrior’s flight. She smiled and said, “What a relief. It appears that the freighters are all ships like Reggie.”
“Yes,” Yaalon said. “We were very surprised that the Armada insisted on these ships specifically and rather forcefully.”
“That was for a reason,” Margaret replied. “The question is: who was responsible for that mandate. Whoever did suspects something is wrong with the BJP fleet.”
“We need to figure out how to stop this,” Abhay said. “I fear that it may be too late. The BJP fleet is already in contact with the Armada.”
31
The initial negotiation with Admiral Luthra went surprisingly well. With all the twists and turns of the past few weeks, Drexler was grateful to have something go so smoothly. The Admiral was playing along nicely. Drexler gave him everything the Admiral wanted to soften the blow when Drexler made his final move.
Darzi had new soldiers recruited from the ranks of the New Detroit underworld and a few newly-arrived BJP troops on loan from the Admiral’s fleet. She used them with great efficiency to move nearly forty-thousand prisoners onto freighters for delivery to Medina 3, whose government agreed to take responsibility for them.
Her new force, fresh from its mission, crowded the cargo bay Darzi made into a home. She assured the Captain that she was comfortable sharing the space temporarily. Drexler did not think it provided adequate housing for so many, but deferred to Darzi’s judgement. She wanted her new force close to form “unit cohesion,” she said.
The biggest development by far was the arrival of the Sufi Warriors. It was almost too good to be true. Along with the personnel from New Detroit, the Sufis brought enough numbers to fully crew the remainder of the Breakaway Ships. Drexler was thrilled to have everything fall into place.
The moment of truth was on approach in the form of a face-to-face meeting where Drexler planned to spring his trap. He had full confidence that his concessions put Luthra into a position where he could not afford to deny Drexler’s request. His read of Luthra told him that he was a political animal above all else.
Drexler was in his quarters preparing for the meeting when the urgent call came requesting his presence on the bridge. He rushed to answer the call.
“What do you have for me, Darl?” Drexler asked the operations officer.
The simian had taken to perching on his flight chair like an avian, with one long arm wrapped around his shoulder and the other rubbing his forehead absently as he worked multiple display scrolls. Humans and Simians shared similar patterns of obsessive thinking. Darl was ever more immersed in all things tactical. On more than one occasion, Margaret had to order him off the bridge. She confided in Drexler during shift change that she considered banning Darl from double shifts.
Drexler’s response was that if other officers were willing to give up a shift and rest, that was probably not the best officer to have on the bridge these days. She cited Trade Union regulations about shift intervals based on optimal species rest cycles. She had a schedule all worked out. Drexler’s response was simple. This was war, and they had a doctor who prescribed medicine to keep anyone alert. Margaret got the idea, but she did not like it.
“Do you see these BJP ships in the second semicircle?” Darl said, removing his black, leathery hand from his long, sloping forehead to wave at the display scroll. He hooted under his breath after he spoke, a clear sign of stress in Simians.
“This group of four here?” Drexler asked.
“Yes. One of them is a troop transport,” Darl said, hooting again.
Drexler waited. When no response came, he prodded, “What about that?”
“Why do they have troop transports carrying more than twenty-thousand humans?”
“Where did you get that number?”
“Energy signatures, particle count variability, cross-referenced with relative mass and cross-referenced again with average human mass in relation to life support system output.”
Drexler’s eyes fluttered trying to parse that sentence and put it into some kind of context. He couldn't. He was about to shift his opinion into Margaret’s court and relieve Darl when Reggie addressed them both.
“I can confirm these numbers,” Reggie said.
“How?” Drexler asked.
“Unfortunately, I am unable to crack their encryption, so Officer Darl worked out a method for detecting life aboard the ships, and I assisted with the calculations.”
“Well, that is brilliant,” Drexler replied. “I want you to share this method with the rest of the fleet.”
Darl wrapped both arms around his torso and gave a long, low hoot. He rocked back and forth on his hams.
“They mean to attack us with those troops,” Darl said.
“After we just negotiated giving Luthra all but eight of the seed ships and forty-thousand gift-wrapped prisoners?” Drexler said.
“Yes,” Darl said. “After that.”
Drexler sighed, “Darl, I appreciate your vigilance, but I really don’t think Luthra can make a move like that. It makes no sense.”
The bridge shook and everyone shrank from the loud boom that announced contact with the hull. The airlock ring at the center of the bridge shrieked as it was forced open from the outside.
“The airlock! Reggie, shut it down!”
“I can’t, captain. They are back-feeding power to the mechanism. There is nothing I can do,” Reggie replied.
“Dam it! Darl, you were right. If we survive this, I will never doubt you again,” Drexler said. “Does anyone have any weapons?”
“That would not be the best move, Captain Fleetfoot,” came a familiar voice aimed at Drexler’s back.
The Captain turned to see Lieutenant Darzi emerge from the bridge ladder tube. She unslung the rail rifle from her shoulder and aimed it at Drexler’s chest.
“So,” Drexler said, “I guess you made your decision. What did Luthra offer you? I can double it.”
“Can you double my rank?” Darzi asked. “Can you give me back my career that your bastard AI destroyed? Can you give me back the respect of my family-in-arms?”
“No, but I did think you and I had a chance to be something more,” Drexler blurted out from some bizarre reflex he could not fathom. Even in her combat flight suit, the slender, graceful form beneath made Drexler’s heart quicken. He fixed Darzi with soft eyes filled with both regret and desire which he did not bother to hide. He was not above attempts to leverage romantic sentiment for advantage, though it was not his preferred move, and in this case, he was simply out of control.
Darzi’s lips parted for a moment, so brief, Drexler almost missed it. “Nice try,” she said. “If you were a completely different man, I might consider it.”
“So cruel,” Drexler said, lifting the back of his hand to his head, hamming for the soldiers who emerged from the ladder tube to flank Darzi. “You wound me.”
“I doubt that. You are made of sterner, more cynical stuff than that,” Darzi replied.”
“Ouch,” Drexler said. “That hurt. I mean it this time…”
Darzi raised her voice to the crew, “Do not resist us and no charges will be brought against you. We are here for the Captain of this ship.”
“Reggie,” Drexler subvocalized. “Anything you can do here?” There was no answer.
“What did you do to my ship?” Drexler demanded.
The airlock ceased its agonized rumbling and hissed open, announcing the defeat of Drexler's defeat. He no longer controlled his ship. Drexler moved away from the airlock, and several rail rifle muzzles followed him. Someone docked a shuttle and lowered a ladder. Drexler heard Hindi voices above. Two fully armed soldiers jumped down from the open airlock and swept th
e bridge with their rifles. Featureless black helmets concealed their faces, and black uniforms made them look like contemporary interpretations of the angel of death.
A broad form descended the ladder. Admiral Luthra wore a full formal Uniform, resplendent with gold threaded embroidery on a field of red. He straightened his short coat and smoothed the wide, red breast pleats.
“Hello, Admiral Luthra,” Drexler said. “Welcome to my ship. Thank you for dressing for the occasion. Before you leave, I must get the name of your tailor.”
“You are a very amusing little man,” Luthra replied. “I would find you more so were you not a criminal.”
“I forgive you, Admiral, for this misunderstanding. Why don’t you call off your new dog over there and we can talk this out. I have evidence to prove that I am innocent.”
“I take that back,” Luthra said with a booming laugh. “You are extremely amusing. You speak of evidence? I have enough evidence against you for smuggling alone to take you off the trade lanes for the rest of your life.”
“In case you have not noticed,” Drexler replied. “There are no trade lanes at the moment. You let me fly out of here, and I can give them back to you. Then you can arrest me. Put me in jail forever. Just let me take this Armada to the Central Trades so I can finish what I started.”
“I’m sorry,” Luthra replied. “You seem to be under the impression that we are negotiating. Your time is up, Captain.”
Drexler noticed movement through the transparent bulkhead. His heart sank. Ships moved from that Armada formation toward the BJP fleet. Defectors. The fleet broke apart. It became obvious to Drexler that many Captains decided to leave the Armada and Join Luthra. He noticed that none of the departing ships were like Reggie. At least, none of the ships he saw. He doubted there would be.
“Everything is negotiable,” Drexler replied. “We just haven't found the right terms yet. For this misunderstanding, I blame myself.”
Drexler raised a finger and smiled. He was about to continue when, with a nod of his head, Luthra signaled Darzi. A rail rifle cracked, and Drexler felt a sting between his shoulder blades. As darkness dropped across his vision like an opera curtain closing on a scene, Drexler managed to turn around and see Darzi lower her rail rifle. Her face seemed strange. He wondered if the look of pain there was regret or something else.
***
Lieutenant Darzi squeezed the trigger without hesitation. Two decades of training taught her to obey orders so well that a nod sufficed for words. She knew what she was on the bridge of Fleetfoot I to do. She had to be careful, though. Her position was delicate.
“Nobody move!” Darzi screamed. “Check his vitals!”
One of her new troops brushed past her and rolled the body over. He pulled roughly at Drexler’s arm and checked the forearm display. “The sedative did not kill him. His vitals are stable,” the soldier said.
“Good,” Darzi replied. “Our orders are to take him alive.”
“Very good, Lieutenant,” Luthra said.
“With due respect, Admiral,” Darzi replied, “I believe that is ‘Lieutenant Colonel’ now, as per our agreement.”
Luthra paused for a moment before replying, “Of course. Now pick him up and get him to my shuttle.”
Darzi motioned to her soldiers, who quickly hauled the unconscious captain up by the arms and dragged him to the airlock. Someone had already lowered a rope that the soldiers used to truss Drexler up like slaughtered livestock. An unseen soldier tugged on the rope, and up the Captain went. Darzi began to sweat. Luthra stepped closer and fixed her with a piercing gaze.
“Are you well, Darzi?” Luthra asked. He suspected something was wrong, Darzi realized. The man was nothing if not shrewd.
“No,” Darzi replied. “I am not well. This was not part of the plan. I did not expect you to haul him off so quickly.”
Luthra staggered back. The look of shock on his face was comical before a rail rifle cracked and he dropped to the ground. In the instant of shock that gripped his two bodyguards, they two fell to the floor with two more rail rifle reports.
“Now, now, now!” Darzi screamed. A blur of motion streaked through the bridge and up through the open airlock. The soldiers flanking Darzi rushed to consoles, pushing crew aside.
“Sorry for this!” Darzi yelled to the crew. “No time to explain! Do not interfere with them. This will all be over in a few minutes.”
Darl hooted and ran in tight, frantic scircles. “What’s going on!” He shouted in Tradespeak and waved his arms over his head.
Shouts and crashes from the docked shuttle reverberated in the bridge. A black-clad BJP soldier fell to the deck like a sack of tubers. Darzi checked his vitals and dragged him to safety as two more soldiers fell.
“Damn it,” Darzi shouted. “Don’t kill them!” She plucked a tranquilizer dart from the soldier’s side and removed the helmet. “He’s so young,” Darzi remarked. “Damn this.”
A moment later, Drexler’s unconscious body reversed its course and lay once again on the bridge. The blurs that streaked up the airlock returned. When they stopped moving, they disappeared from sight entirely.
“You can decloak now,” Darzi said. Three figures flashed into view.
Sergeant Jones removed his helmet first, his face split into half-grin, half-scar tissue. First Sergeant Kaur followed, then Corporal Asan.
“Excellent work,” Darzi said. “The crew and the shuttle?”
“Crew is down,” First Sergeant Kaur replied. “Corporal Chaudri is securing the shuttle now.”
“We only have a few more minutes left for phase two,” Darzi said, checking her forearm display.
***
Boljak was not accustomed to feeling nervous. Hew felt out of his element as he stood beside the Winged soldier who piloted the Arachnid troop transport. The winged Brood member who called himself Dewey stood beside his brother Huey. They checked their weapons almost compulsively and chattered among themselves, reviewing their plan.
“We used non-lethal rounds before,” Huey reminded his brother. “Remember? We captured the Reptilian ship with tranquilizer rounds then.”
“I remember,” Dewey replied. “These soldiers are not our enemy, but they will not be oxygen deprived and will be fully-armed.”
“Do you say you are afraid to die?”
“Of course not,” Dewey replied. “I am saying I am afraid we may have to kill friends. The question is whether we kill few or many. Sleep darts may not be as effective as killing a few.”
“Broodmother says we do not kill, we do not kill,” Huey replied. He made one final check of his rail rifle and attached the weapon to the clips fastened to his back.
“I also do not want to kill humans,” Boljak said. “Let us focus on the mission. General Fourseven, my Cila, and the Human Darzi made this plan. This is good enough for me. It will work.”
“It will work,” Huey said in unison with his brother.
The transport concealed itself in the thruster exhaust of a ship masquerading as an Armada Defector. The Winged pilot had to navigate with instruments only, in very close proximity to other ships. The flying was exceedingly delicate. Once the troop transport was within the BJP fleet perimeter, the hope was that it would not be noticed as it sought out its target.
When the transport left the thruster exhaust plume and darted toward the target with a single thruster burst, the plan proved itself. They were not challenged.
“Ready exit,” the winged copilot said. To Boljak’s great surprise, the soldier turned to the team and said, “May you succeed.”
For the stoic Winged children of Fourseven, the brief statement was practically a gush of emotion.
“Thank you. We will see you soon,” Boljak replied, and followed the Brood children through the airlock and out into space.
The transport turned away from the team as they ejected. Free of its hull, the speed of their bodies became evident by the rapid consumption of their field of vision by a ship hull.
<
br /> “Hold thruster fire to last moment,” Dewey said.
“Do not remind me,” Boljak said. “I am too aware already.”
Boljak cursed both Huey and Dewey at the laughter he saw vibrating their wing covers. That made them laugh harder. They fired the thrusters attached to their shells at the very last moment before making contact with the hull. Boljak had to shoot several strands of thread to keep from bouncing away into space. He was instantly jealous that Huey and Dewey made a perfect landing on target. They began cutting through the hull while Boljak made his way to them.
“Was that firing late enough for you larval pods?” Boljak demanded.
“Not bad for a forest farmer,” Dewey replied. Boljak was pleased the Brood brothers acquired skill in the Arachnid form of conversation. It allowed him to vent his fear and anxiety.
“I am a rancher, you flitting aphids. Hurry up with the cutting so I can show you how a real Insect operates a mission.”
The cutting torch jittered as Dewey laughed again.
“Watch what you are doing!” Huey barked.
“Silence, all of you,” Came a voice over their comm. “Too much chatter. We don’t want them to pick up your signal,” Cila scolded.
The team focused anew. Dewey used the gripping end of the cutting tool to pluck the hot metal disk from the hull and toss it and the tool out into space. The three scurried through the hull while cut edges still glowed red.
They found themselves in the narrow space between the outer hull and the inner bulkhead. Boljak struggled for a moment to remember the schematics.
“This way,” he said aloud. Dewey had sealed the hole already, and there was enough human atmosphere to use voices.
The passage became distressingly narrow as they progressed. It took longer than estimated to reach the main junction for the cargo module release mechanisms.
“Are you sure this will not harm them?” Boljak asked, thinking of the soft-bodied humans who needed far more oxygen than most insectoids.
“Our information assures us the humans can survive inside these cargo modules even when detached from the ships. We also have a rescue plan in case this fails.”
Rogue Messiah: Fleetfoot Interstellar Series, Book 2 Page 33
