by Blaze Ward
The behemoth beeped and began to open.
Inside, Djamila found a vast cathedral empty. Her men were strung out behind her as they moved, carefully covering everything.
The overhead light falling dark was a surprise, but only for a moment. Lights on barrel rails came on, as well as the one on Djamila’s pistol. It made everyone a target, but there wasn’t much they could do, unless they wanted to abandon the science officer, or go back for night gear.
Leaving that punk would have been a happy solution, but she still had to find the crew that had come down with the shuttle in the first place. Knowing Aritza, he had already found them and was drinking and having a wild, uproarious time.
Fortunately, the corridor had smooth walls, so nothing was in a position to ambush them, unless they came from a hidden door. And her men were just waiting for that.
It didn’t feel like a home, the kind with comfortable side corridors. More like a doomsday vault, where Neu Berne High Command had once burrowed into a mountain to hide from orbital strikes that had never come.
Almost half a kilometer in, Djamila found a second vault door, an identical copy of the first, athwart her path in the darkness.
A woman’s voice came out of the dark sky.
“Dragoon Sykora,” Djamila heard a modulated voice that almost sounded like an angel. “You are in extreme danger.”
Part Four
Javier always found it hard to distinguish between a good, morning-after hangover, and getting blasted unconscious with a commercial stun rifle. Strange ceilings, weird smells, and total strangers around him didn’t help sort anything out.
“Where am I?” he groaned.
Maybe groaned.
It might have come out as a general blur of syllables. That was a common side effect of both kinds of mornings.
“Ah, you are awake,” a man’s cheery voice cut through the gunk coating Javier’s mind.
Javier opened his eyes anyway.
A fat, cheery elf with a white beard hovered in the air above him.
No, leaned over.
I’m flat on my back on the floor.
The pain was fading, so Javier leaned towards the stunner theory. A hangover that good usually lasted a day or so.
“Who are you?” Javier strung syllables together as he sat up, pulled more or less into a sitting position by the elf.
“Dr. Alex Mornan,” the annoyingly-joyful elf replied as he turned into a middle-aged, pudgy, pale-skinned Anglo. “Chief Scientist aboard the Star Yacht Calypso. And you might be?”
Calypso?
They were in a small room with a dozen other folks, a big conference table, gray stone walls, and what looked like a locked door.
Oh. Crap. Quadruple cross, at least.
“Navarre,” Javier lied.
He needed to have a life after piracy. The fewer people that could connect one Javier Aritza with acts worthy of execution by Concord authorities, the better.
“Have you any idea what might be the affair with our erstwhile captors?” Mornan asked.
It took Javier’s semi-scrambled brains a second to parse all that back into something comprehensible. It didn’t make any sense a second time, either, but he remembered the hard look in the eyes of man who had been hiding inside the vault, just before that jackass pulled the trigger.
“It’s a trap,” Javier said finally. “We were lured here under false pretenses. What are you doing here?”
False enough pretenses. Ambush a freighter. Hijack the cargo. Get paid.
Obviously, someone had other plans.
“I see,” the elf said dubiously. “We were making our annual delivery to the vault, and were greatly surprised to find armed men waiting for us. We’ve been locked in this compartment for over an hour now. Were you with them?”
“Vault?” Javier asked innocently. “My brain is still scrambled. What’s in the vault?”
“Seeds, my good man,” Mornan replied. “The future of galactic ecology. This is Svalbard. We’re standing in the Doomsday Vault.”
Seriously? That wasn’t an old wives tale?
Javier had heard rumors of such a thing. Empty, habitable world. Mountain hollowed out and filled with every kind of plant seed known to humans, regularly updated so that no earth-derived species ever went extinct.
He had joked about raiding the place, back when he was flying survey jobs for the Concord Fleet, just to expand his arboretum.
Apparently, it really existed.
Who knew?
“Svalbard?” Javier faked. “Of course. My pardon for the holes those pirates seemed to have left in my memory.”
“Smashing, my dear chap,” Mornan beamed. “What brought you here?”
Javier let the older man pull him the rest of the way to his feet as he thought furiously. The others watched, but stepped back, like he was in the ring with the smaller man.
Not a happy vision, but not much he could do about it.
“There were rumors…” Javier let his voice trail off. “I have been working on a variant of a Terran gooseberry that fixes a variety of useful trace vitamins and minerals with just enough of a secondary euphoric that eating a handful guarantees the average human blissful sleep without narcotic side effects or withdrawal. It dries with seventy percent potency, as well as surviving fermentation that yields a low alcohol wine perfect for long-term shipping.”
Javier was able to identify the five professional botanists in the group by the rapt attention they paid, while the others seemed to glaze over at his words.
Always know your audience.
“Go on,” Mornan had lost his reserve and leaned forward breathlessly.
“I’ve bred the root stock too narrowly,” Javier admitted with a flash of guilt in his tones. “I was hoping to find something here that was hardy in an 8A climate so that I could cross-pollinate without hybridizing the daughter generations, to stabilize the breed. Then I take it to an agricultural university as a breeding project.”
“What are your berries like?” a woman on his left asked sharply.
It suddenly felt like he was defending a thesis. Might be.
“Shockingly pink,” Javier grinned at her. “About the size of a good table grape, up to possibly a snooker ball if growth conditions are perfect. Four seeds symmetrically arrayed from the center. Good, juicy flesh. Skin firm enough to handle transport, without being so thick that it turns into a pain to bite through.”
“Have you considered…” she started to say, when the door opened.
The man with the hard eyes was standing there. He pointed an angry finger at Javier.
“You,” he commanded. “Come with me.”
Javier shrugged and turned to the elf.
“Dr. Mornan, it has been a pleasure to meet you,” he said. “Pardon me. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
The scientist nodded with a sad smile, but kept his silence.
Javier could see the wheels turning in his eyes, though.
Outside, Javier found the rest of the office. Apparently, he had been stashed in the boardroom, because there were a dozen desks around the walls, patiently waiting for people to give them purpose.
And half-a-dozen armed goons.
At least they were professional, with everyone acting sane. Hell, only three of the guys even had guns pointed at him. That had to be a bonus.
It wasn’t like he was Sykora, willing and probably capable of taking on all of them at once. And probably winning.
That woman was absolutely a High Priestess of Death, or something.
“Sit,” the jackass commanded sharply.
Javier complied. Neither Sykora nor Suvi were here, so these poor bastards were already so badly outnumbered they wouldn’t even know it was coming.
“So,” Javier even smiled. “You guys are the trap?”
That was apparently the way to back-foot the jackass. His angry scowl turned puzzled. Then cleared up.
“That’s right,” he agreed. “You’re Navarre.�
��
It wasn’t a question. Javier didn’t figure much of this would be open to debate.
“Correct,” he said. “Who hired you folks?”
The jackass’s eyes turned to slits. Probably not expecting a formal, polite pirate. Especially not if they had warned him to expect a psychopathic killer like Navarre supposedly was. Probably all set to torture him for information.
“You pissed off a number a folks,” Jackass said. “But Slavkov put up the bulk of the funds.”
It took Javier a moment to place the name.
Valko Neofit Slavkov. Owner of the Land Leviathan, the galaxy’s largest rolling resort yacht.
Man, he must be really pissed about being called a moron. And not getting delivered a mass casualty incident when he went to all the effort to hire Navarre in the first place.
Of course, to date, the only people Navarre had killed had been pirates. And they had it coming.
Much like Jackass and his friends here.
“So what’s your play?” Javier asked.
Five drachma ante, punk. Jacks or better to open.
“Bounty on your head, alive,” Jackass sneered. “Sokolov, either way. Slavkov wants to talk to you, personally.”
Good. That gave Javier a whole range of options, if they wanted to transport him alive somewhere. Assuming they didn’t just stun him, drop him into a medically-induced coma, and throw him into a life-support pod for the trip.
Being functionally dead would make escaping a real pain in the ass.
Before Javier could say anything, an alarm began to beep. Javier presumed the inner vault door based the sound.
Jackass looked over his shoulder, cursed under his breath, and turned.
“Stash him,” the man commanded as everyone was suddenly armed.
Another of the goons motioned for Javier to stand and pointed him back to where the scientists were currently being held.
Since the alternative was getting stunned and dragged, Javier went willingly.
He wanted to be awake to see what Sykora did to these punks.
Part Five
This was the part that utterly and irrevocably sucked.
Suvi carefully flipped on her running lights and descended from the ceiling, being the target of seven different weapons.
And she couldn’t even shoot them all, like she wanted.
Worse, she needed them. Dragon Lady most of all.
And they needed to believe she was an autonomous probe with less brains than a goldfish, or someone might get the bright idea of who was really hiding in here.
“Probe. Access Command Mode,” Sykora said, proving that she had been paying attention back on Shangdu. “Provide situational map.”
Suvi was glad she thought at several thousand times the speed of the average human. And had access to a good encyclopedia. The gap while she figured out what the hell the giant woman was asking was probably long enough for organics to notice.
Stupid, paranoid gun-bunnies.
Still, you didn’t make bricks without straw. And even worse pirates than these had the boss captive.
Suvi settled at chest-level on the giant woman and set her running lights in a low-glow pattern. Mostly enough to outline her as a giant, disembodied eyeball.
Maybe she could get Javier to take her trick-or-treating next year?
Suvi used her projector to display a map of the hallway they were in, the door, and as much of the hallway beyond it as she had scanned when the vault was open.
Plus a dozen red X marks for bad men with guns.
She followed that up with a quick video of the ambush, Javier standing still and getting stunned.
“Are there others beyond the door?” Sykora asked.
Suvi caught a twinkle of mischief in the woman’s eyes. Javier was right, she really did suck at poker.
Best to modulate the voice.
Suvi found something that sounded like a bad AI special effect from a late-night movie.
“Data insufficient,” she replied in the most boring, mechanical voice she could manage.
“Project the image of the shooter again,” Sykora commanded.
Hey, how about a little politeness here, lady?
“Please,” the Amazon followed up.
Huh. Okay. Old dogs, new tricks. I can play, too.
Suvi put a still scan into three dimensional projection. She could do that with the latest round of updates. It made chess with Javier way more fun.
“Pay attention,” Sykora seemed to be talking to her men. “Note that they were all holding stun pistols at the moment of engagement, but every one of them has a lethal weapon either slung across their back, or as a compact carbine. Everyone shift to stun weapons now.”
Suvi watched the men rotate through their arsenal wordlessly. Sykora holstered the one on her hip and drew from the shoulder rig.
“Stun grenades?” one of the men asked.
“Sonic only,” Sykora replied. “We’ll assume that they’ll hear the door opening and be prepared for aerosolized gas attack. I would be.”
“Roger that.”
EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM pulled out a grenade from a pouch and held it in their off-hand.
Are you people all that crazy? Who invades an empty planet with that much casual firepower?
“Probe, you are armed, correct?” Sykora asked.
Does the sun rise in the east, lady?
“Affirmative,” the machine voice replied monotonously.
“Do you have a stun setting?” Sykora continued.
“Affirmative.”
Gods, talk about a boring conversationalist.
“Am I authorized to give you firing instructions?”
Oh, sneaky. And smart enough to assume that Javier might lock someone, ESPECIALLY YOU, out of using the dangerous bits.
“Affirmative.”
“Okay,” Sykora eyed everyone, including the eye staring back. “They will know the door is opening, and be prepared to ambush us.”
Suvi watched the Amazon point to the smallest man present, short for any man when the rest were all well above-average for height and weight.
“You and I will put four grenades through the gap as soon as it opens far enough for a clean entry,” Sykora continued. “Everyone else will be flat on the deck and prepared to fire as soon as you have any targets. Stun everything that moves, no questions asked.”
Sykora turned and fixed Suvi’s chariot with a grim smile.
“Probe. Access Command Mode,” Sykora ordered. “From an elevated spot, provide enfilading crossfire on all enemy targets with stun weaponry when the door opens.”
“Acknowledged,” Suvi said, bored.
If there was a way to make it a fair competition against mere organics, Suvi knew she could run a high score marathon on any flying simulations that included a strafing element, especially the ones with an otherwise-unexplained canyon sequence defended by point turrets. What idiot had thought that one up, anyway?
Open door, standing humans, vertical surprise? Bring it, lady.
Suvi had to give the crazy Dragon Lady credit for pro moves, though. She couldn’t remember a single cheesy B-movie she had ever watched where they approached the topic of kicking in a door with anything like what Sykora put together.
Four men, laying or kneeling, pistols covering the opening, while the fifth went clear to the other side and faced rear, in case of a secret door.
Small guy with his butt next to the keypad. Sykora just beyond him. Four grenades in hands.
Sykora looked at everyone individually, including the hammer of the gods overhead.
Suvi flickered her running lights.
“Go,” Dragon Lady murmured.
Little Guy keyed the door with his elbow.
Beeps and grinding as the mechanism wound itself up.
Lights came up in the hallway.
Vault door cracked enough to spill light out.
Little Guy leaned in and snapped two gren
ades through the gap, dropping to one knee and drawing a pistol.
Dragon Lady stepped into a throw and HEAVED her two grenades like she was gunning the runner down from center field.
Because she could, Suvi tilted her turret down and hovered just above the opening door, painting the room beyond the vault with a scanner pulse hard enough that even humans might feel it.
Anybody wanna know their blood type?
BOOM. BOOM.
BOOM. BOOM.
Inside, the pirates had been caught off-guard, mostly because someone was crazy enough to randomly soften up a room with grenades.
Plus, they were two-dimensional beings.
Desks and tables had been pulled into the corridor to provide some modicum of cover. At ground level, that was a wonderful idea. Two dimensions.
Suvi wasn’t showing off, exactly, but these people were pirates. She didn’t need them for anything except target practice.
And Javier hadn’t actually let her test her gun systems out on anyone but him, for fear that people would learn too much about the woman flying the little drones.
To top it all off, this had just been a generally crappy day, especially watching someone shoot Javier.
She lit those bastards up like womp rats in the desert sun.
Part Six
Because he was awake this time, and had expected trouble with a capital T, Javier had settled at the far end of the boardroom table, five botanists at hand and a crew of bored support staff standing and sitting around.
Explosions outside the door let him know the lunatic cavalry had arrived. Either rescue was at hand, or the bad guys would be a while fighting off the attack and regrouping.
“How can you be so calm?” the woman botanist asked, brushing her cute, pageboy-cut brunette hair back out of green eyes.
Javier had missed her name earlier. He was hoping someone would address her while he was listening.
It would probably be rude to ask again, even if he could blame the after-effects of a good stun scramble.
Javier shrugged. She was a little too mousy and squishy for him to find her show-stopping hot, but there was a first-rate mind underneath, cycling through cross-breeding generations and options he hadn’t considered before. And brains were even sexier than butts.
