And he was certain Baglanova would have his back.
He wouldn’t meet Captain Baglanova in his ready room or on Breath’s bridge. Instead, Steve asked to meet in his own quarters. Hopefully it would look more informal that way. Just two guys having a chat.
Hopefully it wouldn’t look like what it was: a mutinous proposition.
“Tan is too far gone,” he said, once he’d made his guest a hot drink and they’d both settled into bucket seats at the table. The lights were dim, but not dark, and the room was warm. He wanted the captain to be as comfortable as possible. “I think he’s putting the chance to cure his daughter ahead of the crew. Besides being knocked out, she’s not aging right. And he knows, logically, that we’re not safe here. But the doctors are out of ideas, so he’s taking a leap. He thinks her last shot is Lùhng aid. But you and I know his chances of getting it are slim to none.”
Baglanova said nothing, simply sipped his tea.
Steve took a deep breath. This was it—the convoy’s chance at salvation. Either he’d read Baglanova correctly, or he was about to up and move house . . . to a nice brig cell. “When a leader can’t be counted on to make unselfish decisions, when he puts his own personal gain above everyone else’s safety, he’s not fit to lead.”
“His control might be faltering,” Baglanova said, “but not everyone’s lost faith.”
Steve understood the cryptic segue: the captain wasn’t ready to commit one way or the other. But it also meant this topic wasn’t verboten. “Those directly under him are, as far as I can tell, very loyal,” he admitted.
“My staff is the same. Very loyal. To me.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“I think you’d find it difficult to get either command crew to refuse a direct order from their captain.”
Steve smirked. “Then it’s lucky we have the advantage.”
Baglanova’s mug paused before it reached his lips. “How so?”
“I’m not suggesting we remove Tan from command. Not right away. In fact, I think we need him exactly where he is. But Breath contains everything required to execute my plan effectively. You have the pods. You have the farm. If you initiate our . . . diversion—” he was very careful not to say attack, that wasn’t what it was “—and announce your intent to leave, Tan will have no choice but to commence a synchronized dive. If he hesitates and we leave without him, he might not find us if he follows. Which means a food crisis aboard Pulse. If instead he stays, the Lùhng will surely take, if not destroy, his ship. He won’t have time to dither—he knows the possible outcomes. He will order the dive.”
“But if he doesn’t?”
“We go anyway,” Steve said confidently. “We save who we can.”
“That’s all well and good, but what about after?” Baglanova asked. “When we’re out of the Lùhng’s grasp. Tan will still have to . . . step down. He’ll have shock batons, we’ll have shock batons. It’s not exactly a sure thing.”
“I might be able to get us an advantage there, too.”
Baglanova raised an eyebrow in question.
“I have a man who can make us a few handguns. Pin action, revolver types. Nothing fancy, but easy to conceal.”
“Good. Just how many personnel have you spoken to?”
“Not as many as we need, but I have an easy way to track down our allies.”
They would need supporters on Pulse’s bridge, no question. The transition from Tan’s command to Baglanova’s would need to be as clean and efficient as possible.
Luckily, Steve had a ready-made litmus test. He would sit in the gym, watch, and wait.
Inevitably, someone would chalk a Lùhng outline—he’d already seen people do it. It might be a small thing, but it was a direct defiance of Captain Tan. Minor disobediences were symptomatic of shifting loyalties.
Six Hundred and Sixty-Two Days Since the Accident
Tan had just started his shift on the bridge. The bitter taste of breakfast was still fresh on his tongue, and the image of his little shrimpling’s face was warm in his mind. He was ready to try again—to put out another plea to the Lùhng.
We need your cooperation. Please, just answer us.
He gazed out the false windows, sighing internally. He had the screens set to shallow focus, visible spectrum only. The Lùhng ships still held their positions, their white-and-orange pearlescent hides pristine. Above, below, all around—Pulse and Breath were hemmed in on all sides. No windows blinked, no hatches opened, no shuttles floated between the post-human vessels.
They were as inert, silent, and oppressive as ever.
Creased, overused holoflex-sheets were handed to him, and he scanned the previous night’s report. No change.
He wasn’t sure how long he could do this. How many days—weeks, months—should he call out to beings so unwilling to hear?
Without warning, the convoy-wide emergency system came on. The bridge lighting shifted, and everyone’s heads snapped to and fro in confusion.
“This is Captain Baglanova,” came the familiar voice over the emergency channel.
Tan immediately sprang to answer. “Report.”
“I am enacting the Weaver Protocol,” Baglanova said.
It took Tan a moment to understand. There is no “Weaver” protocol, what could he possibly . . .
Steve. Steve Weaver.
The man with the plan.
“Stand down, Captain,” he barked immediately. Then, to his crew, “Bring up Breath, now! I need to see it.”
Confusion hardened many faces, but no one questioned him.
“Stand down,” he repeated over the comm, “or you will be immediately detained and sanctioned, stripped of command.”
What was Baglanova thinking? He knew this would put everyone’s lives at stake, he knew it! If they damaged Lùhng ships, if they killed any of the post-humans . . . What was to stop them from pursuing the convoy for all eternity? Why shouldn’t they seek revenge? This was reckless, stupid, murderous, and cowardly all at once.
“Pods, launch on my mark,” Baglanova said. “T minus sixty seconds, Orlando. You aren’t going to get the dragons to hear you by then. I’m sending you SD route projections. Initiate the dive sequence and we can all get out of here safely. But be careful, dive before I set these pods off and you know we’ll be caught again.”
Tan had to think fast. What could he do? How could he stop this?
Baglanova had experiment pods to throw, but what did he have? He’d never get a shuttle launched in time to intercept the pods before they dove. He had to keep any of the devices from getting into open space—
The other captain was right; he couldn’t just force a synchronized dive, they’d run and the Lùhng would follow, and as soon as they surfaced Baglanova would just try to scuttle them again . . .
He had to interrupt his focus, stop the countdown, distract him. But how—?
What could he do in sixty seconds that would guarantee the safety of his crew, really?
Tan knew the answer deep in his being, though he fought the suffocating notion with every ounce of willpower he had.
There was nothing—nothing—he could do.
Anticipation made Steve’s fingers tingle. He itched to jump the gun, to bulldoze his way past these pesky seconds, waiting for the first few pods to launch. The dance that was to come flashed its way before his imagination: the pods going dark, shrouded in their bubbles. The anxiety-filled minutes that would follow before they’d pop back into existence, shredding through machinery, through that gross marshmallow putty they called doors, through bodies even, slicing them open, slicking their pristine decks with blood . . .
He shivered.
And then the convoy would plunge under, and be gone. The dragons would be left far behind, nothing but a bad memory.
It would be perfect. Everything was perfect.
Before him, Captain Baglanova stood tall, expression calm. He wore his dress uniform, as though this were a celebration. He was the picture of efficiency, of immacu
late style and high attention to detail. “Pods ready?”
“Yessir,” came the reply. “T minus three, two, one . . . launch.”
Through the display screens, Steve watched the little dots scatter, set free of the maintenance hangar like little BBs from a child’s toy gun. They weren’t dangerous yet. That prep came next.
“Tan,” Baglanova said, arms held behind his back as he paced, thoughtful, back and forth behind his crew’s stations. “Are you set to comply with my orders?”
Orlando Tan wasn’t the kind of man to shoot expletives across the bow of his opponent’s ear. He was a frank, curt man. “Aksel,” he said, ignoring the question, “this is the moment you stay your hand or damn us all.”
Baglanova shook his head, a condescending smile on his lips. “All stations set?”
“Aye, Captain.”
Breath’s command crew had emotionless faces. Some of them had anticipated this moment, knew that a coup was happening. Others simply followed orders as they always had, unsure what had led them here, but confident in their captain’s judgment.
Steve nodded to Guy de Roux, who gave a grave nod of the head back. Willis Stalker, from navigation, kept a firm eye on the security camera feed, watching the hall outside the bridge, making sure no one was approaching who shouldn’t be. Secreted away in the man’s jumpsuit was one of the few guns. They’d tooled seven in all for use in the mutiny. Three were on Breath, four on Pulse.
Steve hoped Stalker wouldn’t have to pull it.
Turning back to the screens projecting the pods’ progress, Steve noticed something odd. In the distance, one of the Lùhng ships was rotating, inverting. A bright point of green light burst into being on its port side—aimed directly at the convoy. Maybe it was nothing, but the timing . . .
“Uh, Captain?”
Baglanova held up a hand for silence. “Let’s give those dragons something to worry about. Activate pod SD drives.”
As Steve watched—as Baglanova spoke—the green spot blossomed, furling outward, sparking and sizzling, a shimmering wave of force twirling from its center. The color was sickly, sharp, and fluorescent, with edges of deep emerald shifting into sludge-dark, near black.
It was a weapon, no question.
Steve grabbed for Baglanova’s arm. “Captain!”
He wasn’t sure what he expected Baglanova to do, but he needed him to do something. The wave rippled through space as it rushed toward them, distorting their view of stars and ships alike. There was no way to evade it, no chance of emergency maneuvering.
In the next instant it would tear through them, doing god knows what to craft and crew alike.
Half a heartbeat of dead air followed as Steve held his breath.
“Brace!” the captain called. “Brace for impact!”
Sharp exclamations of dread rang out across the room.
At a loss for what else to do, Steve covered his head. But he could not look away.
Breath wasn’t the only ship in the wave’s path. “Aksel, what have you done?” Captain Tan shouted. Then the line cut out—empty static filled the air.
The pods tremored as the force flowed across them, bobbed like flotsam adrift on the sea. Envelopes of green enshrouded them, shrunk around them, as though the pods were soaking the wave in.
Milliseconds later, it hit Breath, tossing the ship aft-ward. The impact was jarring, sent crewmen to the floor. Steve’s bones vibrated at a painfully high frequency, and his whole body hurt. He was sure his marrow was stiffening, shattering. How else could an ache lodge itself so deep?
The bridge lights flickered, but came back on in an instant. Despite the ship’s yawing through space, it held together.
The pain slowly ebbed out of Steve’s limbs.
“Report!” Baglanova shouted, having never lost his focus or his footing. He grabbed the back of his helmsman’s chair, knuckles white, nails digging in.
“Life support systems green.”
“Communications systems green.”
“Computer systems green.”
“Graviton cyclers look fine, Captain. I don’t know what—”
“If everything’s green, then launch those pods!”
“. . . Pod drives not responding.”
No! It wasn’t possible!
Steve wracked his brain. How could the dragons have anticipated this? How could they possibly know what was coming? How . . .
“I want them back on line right now,” Baglanova yelled. “I need a damage report ASAP!”
Steve raked his fingers over his cheeks, wiped them across his eyes.
How could we have been so naive?
The Lùhng had a way to calculate SD surfacing, to predict it. Of course they were able to figure out the humans were up to no good. They were too advanced, just too—
But what do we do now?
He watched as the captain floundered, looking for a solution, trying to get the pods to respond, to do their job.
But the entire plan had hinged on the element of surprise. The Lùhng wouldn’t let them succeed now, not a chance. But they couldn’t abort now, either. Everything had been set in motion, they’d already undermined Tan, there was no going back.
“They’re moving off!” someone shouted.
It was true. Miracle of miracles, Steve had been wrong. The Lùhng were backing down, as though throwing their hands up. The coral widened, giving the humans room to breathe. Room to flee.
“Look, look look look,” Steve said, pointing for Baglanova. “It worked. We spooked them. They stopped the pods, but now’s our chance. We have to go. We have to move!”
The captain’s face had gone ashen, and a sheen of clammy sweat graced his brow. Whatever the wave was, it had shaken him, rocked his foundations just like it had rocked the ship. But he was a captain through and through—not one to freeze in the middle of the action. “T-Tan,” he said over the ship-to-ship. “Are you prepared to synchronize a dive?”
“I have people down over here! Injuries—and they’re your fault. You failed, Aksel. It’s done.”
“No!” Baglanova shouted, the color rapidly returning to his face. “Initiate the dive or we’re diving without you. Right now!”
Tan did not reply. On screen, Pulse was still.
“We can still be heroes,” Steve said to the captain. “We can still save everyone on Breath—”
“Be quiet!” Baglanova snapped.
Steve slunk over to the door, clutched his trembling hands together, but he didn’t shut up. “We have to go,” he insisted, heart pounding, still not sure Baglanova could be spurred into action now that the first half of the plan had gone awry. “Either the Lùhng are letting us go, or they’re pulling back because they’re about to initiate a strike. You evacuate your own troops before you carpet bomb a region. Do you hear me, Captain?”
Maybe they’ll blast Tan out of the sky, and we can dive in the interim. Maybe they won’t even realize we’re gone.
Clearly Baglanova had never imagined they’d actually need to leave Pulse behind. He thought it would work, that they wouldn’t need a contingency.
“Captain?” Steve prodded.
“I’m thinking!” He took a deep, rattling breath, then turned to the boatswain’s mate. “Initiate ship dive.”
“Aye, sir.”
The lights shifted purple . . . then winked back to white. Nothing happened.
“Why aren’t we diving?” Baglanova demanded.
“SD drive is not responding.”
The wave had scuttled them, too.
Damn it. Damn it!
The convoy-wide emergency alert system blared overhead. “Breath, this is Captain Tan. Aksel Baglanova has been officially removed from command. I need him apprehended immediately.”
Baglanova pulled at his hair, dragging his neatly styled strands into a lunatic’s fringe. He dove for the ship-to-ship. “Commence phase two of the Weaver Protocol.”
A moment of total stillness followed.
Both captains
had essentially given the same—but contradictory—order, demanding the other’s arrest.
Baglanova eyed his crew, daring them to step out of line, to act on Tan’s command.
Steve met his stare firmly. They could still get ahead here, still take control. But as Baglanova’s eyes left him, Steve looked around himself, trying to gauge reactions, take the temperature of the room.
And he didn’t like what he saw.
Resolves were cracking—even those crew members Steve would have counted on to back Baglanova to the grave revealed reluctance in the tight lines of their faces. Once-confident postures were stooped. The solid expressions of trust had melted into indecisiveness.
Because they now all saw what Tan saw.
Not one thing Baglanova had promised would happen had happened. If one pod had hit its mark, just one, perhaps this part would be easier. Perhaps the dogs wouldn’t look so keen to turn on their master. But they hadn’t—
A single security officer, Chen Kexin, unholstered her shock baton. Its stinging sizzle was like a starter’s pistol.
The entire bridge moved en masse. Several people scrambled for cover, ducking behind whatever they could. Others dove forward, slamming themselves toward Baglanova in an attempt to end things quickly. Half a dozen moved to protect their captain, however, to stand for him at all costs, and a melee broke out.
More shock batons buzzed to life, shouts rippled through the air. Bodies pitched and writhed, punches landed, clubs swung.
Stalker drew his gun and waded into the fray, pushing Steve aside.
There was movement on the monitor he’d just abandoned. The outside hall was packed with people, most struggling to get to the bridge. Steve looked closely, trying to discern if his plants had the upper hand, or if they were the ones getting dragged away. He pinpointed Mac Savea in the crowd—the bastard had Dalisay Ocampo down on her knees, was securing her hands behind her back.
Bang!
Steve jumped.
A gun had gone off. Stalker’s gun.
The shot glanced off the wall near Steve’s head. A second caught the display screen, punching a hole straight through, killing the security feed from the hall.
Diving away, to the floor, Steve crawled past stamping feet and struggling forms.
Noumenon Infinity Page 44
