The Doomsday Vault (The Science Officer Book 5)

by Blaze Ward

  “Do the math and figure out how to do it,” Zakhar decided. It was worth the cost to survive today. “Then have enough bodies ready so that we can put an ace up our sleeve. We still have to get Del and his people safely to orbit.”

  “Yes, sir,” she nodded, turning to type furiously on her keyboard.

  Smiles greeted him as he looked around the bridge. Positive emotions.

  Far too often, before Javier, things had gotten bleak around here.

  Would they lose all that again, once Javier could finally afford his freedom?

  Part Two

  “Nothing from Sokolov?” Javier asked.

  He was up on Del’s bridge with the older man and Sykora. Gun-bunnies, pirates, and the scientists were secured in the landing bay, with zip-ties in the case of the pirates.

  But at least all of them were coming home on this one.

  Javier had to hand that much to Sykora. Her people were insane, but they approached heavily-armed mayhem with a level of sophisticated professionalism that was rare in the galaxy.

  It was amazing how few people you had to kill if they behaved.

  “Nope,” Del replied.

  Javier and Sykora were standing. Del had spun his chair around and kicked his feet out, legs crossed at the ankles. Obviously, a man deeply concerned about appearances, especially with the pink shag, faux-fur on the walls.

  “Just that bit ordering Calypso to jump, followed by the big lady vanishing,” Del continued. “I haven’t fired a hard scan ping upwards, just in case whoever came to the party missed us.”

  “And neither of the shuttles have any jump capacity,” Javier said, mostly to himself. “Thoughts?”

  “You tell me,” Del said.

  It was still a little amazing that folks treated him like Storm Gauntlet’s non-existent First Officer when Zakhar wasn’t around, but Javier had been a Concord officer for fourteen years before he blew up his career. He could still act like it in a pinch.

  “Pull a con job,” Sykora offered with a cheeky grin. “You’re the best there is at that. They’ll never see it coming.”

  Javier just blinked at the woman.

  “Who the hell are you?” he finally fired back, shocked at the words coming out of the dragoon’s mouth.

  “The killer babe with the great ass and the perfect tan,” she said with utter seriousness.

  Javier started to say something, but she had a point. The skinsuit she was wearing just emphasized it, too.

  The knowing smile on Sykora’s face made it that much worse.

  Because she was right. On both counts.

  Pirates tended to be linear folks. Smash and grab types, rather than grifters pulling a confidence game.

  The Long Con.

  Maybe he’d have to write a book about that, once he had escaped all the damned pirates in his life.

  And killed Sykora. Can’t forget that part.

  But yeah. Con job.

  “Come with me,” he crooked a finger at Sykora as he started towards the side hatch.

  “Need me?” Del asked, not particularly moving.

  “No,” Javier replied. “I need to look at something on the other ship. Maybe I’ll call from there.”

  At least Sykora wasn’t arguing with him. That might not have made it better, knowing she had said her piece and was happy to let him run point right now.

  Getting them all home alive was going to be on him, unless Zakhar pulled off a miracle. Maybe even then.

  Down the stairs, across the cold stone and slush between the two shuttles, and into the other hatch. Unlike Del’s chariot, this place had a dingy, old feeling to it.

  Never enough money or enthusiasm to do it right.

  Like Storm Gauntlet, two years ago, before he had infected it with a sense of humor.

  Sascha had a gun pointed at him as he opened the interior hatch.

  “Bang,” she smiled, cocking her head just so and winking.

  “Very funny,” Javier growled.

  Rather than explain it five times, Javier ignored the pathfinder, and gestured at Hajna, seated in the command chair, to get up.

  When she moved, he plopped down in the seat, powered up the console, and started typing.

  “Hey, where’d you get the password for the system?” one of the women asked.

  Javier wasn’t paying enough attention to tell which. Didn’t matter. They were all thinking it.

  “Dr. St. Kitts,” he said absently.

  Let them make of that what they will. Something about catching more flies with honey than vinegar, as his grandmother had always reminded him when he was a kid.

  So, sledgehammer-stupid flight controls, designed for almost anyone to be able to get the shuttle from orbit to ground, and back again, with the onboard systems handling pretty much everything. Not nearly as smart as Suvi, but that left a lot of room for expert systems.

  And a good autopilot was probably worth the expense, when working with botanical experts who never had enough money to otherwise hire good crew. Very few governments cared about ecological preservation on this scale, and the private foundations were always dribbling out small amounts of money in parsimonious grants, rather than fronting enough capital to do it right the first time.

  That was one of the principal reasons Javier had bought Mielikki and taken a number of Concord Survey contracts over the years. Good, reliable money, without having to hustle nearly as much.

  Plus, all the pleasant solitude to wander the barely-explored darkness with nobody looking over your shoulder but chickens.

  A beep intruded on Javier’s concentration as he typed.

  Somebody talked, but he was in the zone, right up until Sykora poked him in the back of the shoulder hard enough that it actually hurt.

  “What?” he snarled up at her.

  Seated, he was just about looking the giant amazon in the belly button. Stretching that far back made his neck cranky.

  “That was Del,” she said without any emotion. “Turn on the shuttle’s comm.”

  Javier sighed and pushed a button.

  “…Del, are you there? This is Storm Gauntlet, come in, please.”

  Javier recognized the voice. Gibney. Not a bad kid, once he’d gotten over his jock tendencies and let his nerdiness come out to play.

  “Storm Gauntlet, this is Navarre, aboard Calypso Shuttle One,” Javier let the bad-ass pirate of his nightmares take over his voice. “Put Sokolov on the line.”

  “Hold one, Captain Navarre,” the man answered instantly, followed by silence.

  Javier thumbed the mute button on his end.

  He turned a conniving side-eye on Sykora. She blinked, and seemed to settle back into herself, just a touch.

  Like she was anticipating a belly punch.

  It was her own damned fault for suggesting it.

  “Con game, Hadiiye,” he said.

  Sykora nodded slowly. Carefully. Like she realized she had just bluffed her way into a high-stakes poker game with a pair of sixes.

  “Good,” Javier said, pointing skyward. “Open comm channel. Lots of extra ears listening in orbit, trying to figure out what is going on, and the best way to maneuver us into a trap. Understood?”

  “Understood,” she said in a quiet, yet defiant voice. “Five layers of misdirection, like we did to the Khatum.”

  “Something like that,” Javier agreed. “Follow my lead. I want to launch this shuttle first, fool them into thinking we’re aboard it, and then get everyone onto the assault shuttle and sneak our way up.”

  “So you’ll preprogram the autopilot,” Sykora replied. “And establish a tight-beam laser to this ship that will allow us to talk on Del’s bridge and it comes out here. They triangulate on this signal and hopefully miss us.”

  Javier blinked. That was extremely close to what he had planned.

  This woman was smarter than he realized. He kept forgetting that.

  Of course, there were only so many ways to skin that cat. And even a blind squirrel will occ
asionally find an acorn.

  Hopefully, Sokolov and not the newbies.

  Javier turned to the two pathfinders.

  “You two get over there and let Del know we’ll be along shortly,” he ordered.

  Technically, he was only supposed to ask, Sykora being their commander, but she was letting him buy the rope today.

  Hopefully, not enough to hang everyone with.

  The other women left wordlessly.

  “Sokolov here,” Zakhar said simply.

  Javier fixed Sykora with a hard eye and turned off the mute function.

  “Clever of you to try to ambush us down here, Sokolov,” Navarre’s growls emerged from his mouth. And the ugly depths of his soul. “But your friends failed.”

  “That’s occasionally the risk when hiring amateurs, Navarre,” Sokolov replied in a dry voice after only a beat to get his bearings. “So what’s it going to be?”

  Good. He understood and was willing to play along. Smart enough, too.

  It was the Bryce Connection. They were probably the only two men in the sector that had graduated from the Concord Academy, however long ago. At least, that weren’t still on the side of the good guys.

  Of course, whose side was a pirate on, anyway?

  “I’m beginning to think that one ship isn’t big enough for the two of us, Sokolov,” Navarre ground out the confrontation.

  Fighting words.

  Hopefully, the real bad guys were listening. And didn’t know any better about what was going on. There weren’t that many people who were even aware Captain Navarre existed. Fewer had seen him in action. And even then, only from a distance.

  Legends and lies.

  Misdirection was a wonderful, powerful tool when you were pulling a con.

  “So where does that leave us, Navarre?” Sokolov challenged.

  “We can go our separate ways right now, mister,” Javier let triumph creep into his voice. “You’ve got your ship and crew. I’ll take Calypso and go my merry way. I’ve got all the scientists prisoner, as well as all of your friends, so I have hostages.”

  “What about Hadiiye?” Sokolov sneered. “She throwing her lot in with you?”

  Javier turned to Sykora and pointed a finger like a pistol at the woman.

  He was pretty sure he had never seen the knowing grin that took over that woman’s face.

  Not on her, anyway. The resemblance to Holly, his first ex-wife, was uncanny when Sykora did that. Two heads taller, but still.

  Eerie.

  “You were good in bed, Zakhar,” Hadiiye purred in a dangerous, big cat voice, a slow, lilting drawl covered in warm honey. “But I’m going with my one true love. Captain Navarre fulfills me in ways that no other man, or woman, ever has. Ta.”

  Javier had to bite his tongue. Grind his teeth together. Absolutely hold his breath so he didn’t make any sounds that the comm might pick up.

  Nothing that would give the game away at this point.

  Sykora winking at him with a wry smile as she spoke was just so much over the top that he nearly lost it anyway.

  What the hell had gotten into that woman? And what had Wilhelmina Teague said to her to cause Djamila Sykora to unwind from the stick-up-her-ass, killer marine Javier had met the first time she shot him?

  Okay. Deep breaths. Calm voice. Bad-ass pirate.

  “That good enough for you, Sokolov?” Navarre sneered.

  “I understand, Navarre,” Sokolov replied. “Hadiiye, you always have a place here, when you get tired of him and all his games.”

  “Enough, Sokolov,” Navarre said. “We understand each other. I’m going to climb to orbit now, and rendezvous with Calypso. If any of your folks there want to fly with a real captain, I’ll offer them berths when I trade for your folks. You can have the runts of the litter after that.”

  “Maybe I should just kill you now,” Sokolov growled. “Do the galaxy a favor. Make it a better place.”

  “You were never hard enough to kill innocents and civilians, Sokolov,” Navarre said. “That’s why you needed me in the first place. Don’t go pretending to get uppity now, old man.”

  “I’ll see you in orbit, mister,” Sokolov replied.

  “Sure,” Navarre sneered. “Strike Corvette against an unarmed shuttle. Big man. Little hands.”

  “Oh, no, punk,” Sokolov said. “I’ll bring you aboard my vessel and we’ll have it out right there on the flight deck. Old school dueling. Winner gets the ship and the girl. Or are you too much of a fast talker to put your money where your mouth is?”

  “Deal, you ugly son of a bitch,” Navarre said. “Try not to turn coward on me before I get there.”

  Javier flipped the switch to kill the channel before the giggles overcame him.

  Silence engulfed them for a moment.

  Javier sighed and looked over at Sykora.

  Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth right now.

  “I would ask where you learned all that guile, but I think I know,” he said. “’Mina?”

  “Correct,” she replied. “Dr. Teague taught me a great many things about myself before she left. As did the Khatum of Altai. As did Farouz. And you.”

  Javier felt his jaw drop.

  He slammed it shut before any flies flew in. Hopefully.

  He could ask, but she wouldn’t tell him.

  It was an arms race with that woman. Forever pushing the edges of the envelope, forever climbing a sheer rock face, until someone missed a handhold.

  The one unwritten rule was that just shooting the other person in the back was counted as a failure.

  You had to outmaneuver them instead.

  At Shangdu, Javier had thought he had finally gotten a terminal edge on the woman. Made her strip naked literally as well as metaphorically, and parade herself before the whole world. Body image problems and everything.

  The dragoon he had first met would have never been able to do that.

  Never open herself to lust and ridicule without losing it and blowing her cover by beating someone up.

  But she had done everything he had ordered her to do. Smiled even, occasionally. Possibly found love, however briefly.

  And now, playing con games on unknown pirates, and talking about Navarre as the one true love of her life, for whom she was willing to run away and find true happiness.

  When they both knew that man to be Zakhar Sokolov, although neither of them would ever say it aloud.

  More unwritten rules.

  Some things remained off limits, even in a duel to the death.

  Still, he owed her one.

  “You would not believe how much you remind me of my first ex-wife right now,” he said.

  The way her eyes got big and shocked made up for everything else.

  Javier smiled and headed for the hatch.

  Now the con game was going to get serious.

  Part Three

  The comm line went dead, and left her more confused that she had been before the radio came to life.

  If that was possible.

  Captain Turner Kowalski looked out over Ajax’s bridge from her throne at the very rear, and tried to find coherence in the tea leaves of her day.

  What the hell had just happened?

  Sokolov knew they were out here. Why else have both vessels trigger emergency jumps from inside a gravity well? She had even gotten off a barrage that had splashed on his shields, but not penetrated. And he had stayed totally dark afterwards.

  Plus, the damnable, little, communications satellite Sokolov had quietly dropped into orbit, letting him talk to the ground without giving away his own location.

  Why hadn’t he said something to Navarre?

  Navarre had obviously encountered Ajax’s ground force, hiding in the mine, and somehow overcome them so readily that they could all be taken prisoner, along with the scientists from Calypso.

  And now those two men were going to duel on the flight deck of that puny, little corvette? Over a woman?

  It didn’t sound right. Di
dn’t smell right.

  Something.

  A thought struck her. Maybe Sokolov was tired of Navarre and willing to use Ajax to kill the man? Or at least remove him from the game board permanently?

  That was the only way that conversation made any sense whatsoever.

  Turner let her breath out slowly, quietly.

  Tough pirate commander. Appearances to keep up. Short, blond, and curvy, but still a babe at forty-one. And even deadlier as she got older.

  But, Sokolov had been known as a canny operator. And Navarre had singlehandedly killed Abraam Tamaz and his entire crew in circumstances nobody really understood. Before he turned around and executed a bloodless caper against the Khatum of Altai, when he had been hired to commit a bloodbath.

  Nothing added up.

  Not for the first time, Turner wondered if she was the one being set up here. Had she offended someone in the Walvisbaai hierarchy? Embarrassed them enough that they had put Ajax in harm’s way on a fool’s mission to the edge of known space?

  Was there a bigger ship out there, hiding in the darkness like a shark, waiting to strike? She had only her fixer’s word that Storm Gauntlet and Calypso would be alone. That she was the trap.

  How big was this game, anyway?

  “Sensors,” she called in a voice that she fought all the way back down to her normal-sounding alto. “Anything?”

  “Negative, Captain,” the woman replied.

  “Keep looking,” Turner said. “He’s out there. Most likely with a tight-beam laser locked onto that satellite. That limits his freedom of movement, if he wants to talk to the ground without uncloaking.”

  “Roger that.”

  Still, nothing.

  One forgotten, misbegotten, iceball of a planet, tucked into a lost corner of space that nobody claimed with any authority. Two smallish moons orbiting well overhead to provide mild but complicated tides in the oceans below.