The Caledonian Gambit: A Novel

by Dan Moren

  Two familiar figures lay inside the container. Kovalic reached over, pressing his fingers against their necks in turn. Steady but slow pulses: they were still alive, though unconscious.

  “Let’s get them out,” he said to Brody.

  Brody nodded, apparently having run out of wise-ass quips for the moment, and between them they managed to hoist the two bodies out of the container and stretch them out onto the cargo bay’s floor. The contrast between them was even more marked at that point: tall and short, thin and stocky, young and old. Breathing masks covered both of the men’s faces, the canisters attached to them bearing lights that winked amber. As Kovalic watched, one of them turned red.

  “Just in time,” he said under his breath, peeling the masks off their faces. “Brody, there should be a medkit in the container. Find it.”

  Brody nodded and stood, digging around inside the container until he came out with a small black pouch, which he tossed to Kovalic. “Uh, you know there are guns in here too, right?”

  “Really?” said Kovalic dryly. “I haven’t the slightest idea how that might have happened.”

  Unzipping the medkit, Kovalic rooted through the contents until he found the vial he was looking for. This he screwed onto a subdermal injector; rolling up both men’s sleeves, he pressed it to veins in each of their arms. Then, rocking back on his heels, he waited for it to take hold.

  Brody was still poking around to see what else Kovalic had packed, so when Tapper came to with a shuddering gasp and sat bolt upright, he yelped and tumbled headfirst into the container. Page, for his part, awoke more peacefully, his eyelids calmly sliding open with a slow, indrawn breath, as though he were emerging from a pleasant dream.

  “Welcome back to the land of the living, gentlemen.”

  Tapper rolled his neck and drew a couple deep breaths. “Let’s not do that ever again,” he growled.

  “What’s the problem? Didn’t you have a nice trip?”

  “The inflight service left something to be desired. Not to mention the legroom.” He massaged his calves. “I’ve got cramps in muscles I probably haven’t used since I was his age,” he said, jerking his head at Brody, who was clambering, shame-faced, out of the cargo container.

  “How the hell did you get all this onboard?” asked Brody. “Goddamnit, doesn’t anybody check these containers? I’ll tell you this: it doesn’t exactly make me feel any better about flying.”

  A grin spread across Kovalic’s face. “Well, I find that Eyes’s reputation precedes itself. A lot of folks seem to think that the less they know about covert operations, the better. I find myself inclined to reinforce that—if not in so many words. First Lieutenant Gregorovich did an admirable job of making sure that Major Shankar’s every need was met.” He patted the container. “Especially bringing his top-secret cargo onboard.”

  The cargo container suddenly began to rattle against the floor as the entire ship started to shake. Brody grabbed onto the edge of the box and Kovalic spread his stance to steady himself.

  “Guess they found their pilot,” Brody said, swallowing. “I’d say we just lifted off.” His complexion had gone decidedly pale.

  A low thrum made its way from the deck plates through Kovalic’s legs and all the way up to his teeth. Unfortunately, the fear inspired by the name of IIS had had an adverse impact on competence as well: whoever had loaded the container onto the ship had neglected to secure it for flight. Then again, they probably hadn’t expected the ship to actually take off with the cargo still onboard.

  The container began to slide. Brody was the first to notice, as he’d been bracing himself against the large metal box, which suddenly slid in the opposite direction. There was a grating sound as the container picked up speed, at which point all four men lost their own footing and succumbed to the sharply slanting deck.

  Kovalic spotted a pop-out ring in the deck, the very thing which, in ideal circumstances, would have been used to lock down the container. As he dropped to the floor, he managed to grab hold of the ring. Tapper had the same thought and Page managed to wrap his hands around a girder supporting the catwalk that ran along the room’s edge. Brody, however, wasn’t so lucky—he’d been off balance when the container started to move and had toppled over backwards, sliding headfirst toward the back of the cargo bay.

  The container flipped over before slamming into the rear bulkhead and scattering its contents. Brody somehow managed to right himself during the fall and hit the container’s side with bent knees; he slid off to one side, where he also hit the bulkhead, though at a more controllable velocity.

  The shaking diminished as they finished their ascent, and the ship began to level off. Kovalic climbed to his feet as soon as the deck steadied and picked his way to the back of the compartment. Tapper and Page had gotten up as well and were close behind.

  Kovalic reached Brody first and helped him to his feet. “You all right?”

  His face was, if anything, more drained of color than before, but he seemed to be moving his limbs without pain. “A few bumps and bruises, but I’ve had worse.”

  With a nod, Kovalic turned to Tapper, who was surveying the rest of their supplies with a somewhat more regretful air.

  “The sidearms are shot,” he said, lifting one pistol, whose barrel was bent at a ninety-degree angle. “Got caught between the container and the bulkhead.”

  “All of them?” asked Kovalic.

  “We only had a couple to begin with. I’ve got one concussion grenade left. There was another, but,” he waved his hand at the expanse of open compartment, “no idea where it’s gone.”

  Kovalic unslung the carbine from his back. “Well, we’ve got one weapon. And a grenade. Anything else?”

  A bang echoed through the compartment as Page righted the container and wiped his hands. The thin man leaned over and touched a control on the cargo’s pad and its anti-gravity field sprang to life, gradually lifting the box until it floated half a foot above the deck plate.

  “You guys want to take on a dozen men with just one gun and a grenade?” Brody stared at them. “You’re nuts.”

  But Kovalic wasn’t listening; he was staring at the cargo container. “Maybe not just,” he said slowly. “Page, start disassembling the repulsor unit on that thing.”

  Page complied without question. Deactivating the field caused the container to sigh gently to the deck. He manhandled the box onto its side and pulled open an access panel on the bottom. Kovalic watched, nodding slowly to himself. It might just work. He rubbed the stubble on his chin, feeling it scrape along his hand.

  “Come on,” said Brody, looking around at them. “You really think the three of you can stop them?”

  “Three? Probably not. Four, though, that’s another matter.”

  “Four?” echoed Brody, then looked around. Tapper, Page, and Kovalic were all eyeing him thoughtfully. “Wait a minute. No way. This isn’t my fight.”

  “Isn’t it?” asked Kovalic, cocking his head. “I seem to recall a certain agreement we made back at Sabaea—it still stands, if you’re interested.”

  “You know what?” Brody said, his voice stressed to the breaking point. “I’m sick and tired of feeling like a pawn in some intergalactic game of chess. Ever since I left Sabaea, everybody wants to tell me a different story. Help this guy, don’t help that one, we need your help, nobody will get hurt, I promise. Why the bloody hell should I trust you?”

  “Trust us?” Tapper scoffed. “That’s rich. You’re the one who did the double-crossing when you left us high and dry and ran off with your brother the terrorist. Which, don’t get me wrong, worked out great.” He waved his hands at the compartment at large.

  “He had a gun.”

  “Ooooh,” said Tapper, miming surrender. “Whatever can you do against a man with a gun? Oh, I know—don’t run away from the people who were sent to help you.”

  “Yes, you mysterious fuckers just exude trustworthiness. At least you know who I am,” he shot back. “How am I supposed
to trust you when I don’t even know your real names?”

  Tapper’s mouth opened for a retort, but Kovalic held up his hands. “Enough. He has a point—we owe him the truth about that, at least.”

  The sergeant looked back and forth between Kovalic and Brody, then stepped over to his boss and took him by the shoulder, leading him away from the others. “You can’t be serious, cap. It breaks every regulation in the book.”

  Kovalic raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t think there were any we hadn’t broken yet. Besides, I don’t see that we have much choice.”

  “Really? What do we need him that badly for? He’s not trained for this sort of thing and he’s already burned us once. You think we can trust him?”

  “Sergeant, we’re outnumbered, practically unarmed, and on enemy ground. We need all the help we can get. Brody knows his way around the ship and there’s a chance—however small—that he can still talk his brother down. Or, at the least, provide a worthwhile distraction.”

  Tapper sighed. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  Kovalic smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Have a little faith. After all, you’re the one who taught me everything I know.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Tapper muttered. “It keeps me up at night.”

  They rejoined the others and Kovalic walked up to Brody. He extended his right hand toward the younger man, who eyed it warily. “Captain Simon Kovalic of the Commonwealth of Independent Systems, Special Projects Team. At your service.”

  Brody’s eyes flicked upward to his own, as though he might find a flashing sign telling him if it were the truth or a lie. Kovalic held the gaze until Brody nodded and took the hand, shaking it. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He nodded to Page.

  “Page, Aaron,” said the tall man, with a nod. “Lieutenant.”

  Brody inclined his head, then looked at Tapper, whose arms were crossed over his chest, his stance slightly less forbidding than the brick-wall expression on his face.

  “Tapper.”

  “Just Tapper?”

  “Don’t-push-your-fucking-luck Tapper. It’s a family name.”

  “Great,” Kovalic interjected, stepping between the two. “Now that we’re all friends, shall we do something about our little situation here?”

  “Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t see why we have to do anything,” said Brody. “He may have the ship, but if his plan isn’t to blow it up, then what’s he going to do with it? He can’t take it out of the system. Gate control will shut down all traffic as soon as they get word of the security breach.”

  “He’s already gained access to a highly-secured military installation and taken control of a classified research project,” Page pointed out. “It’s a reasonable hypothesis that he has some plan for accessing the gate as well.”

  Kovalic tapped a finger against his lips. “Why not just blow the ship up?” he muttered, more to himself than his comrades. “If all he wanted was to embarrass the Illyricans, then blowing up their facility and their top secret project would have probably done the trick.”

  “The Illyricans would have hushed it up,” Brody pointed out.

  “Maybe, but a concerted propaganda effort from the Black Watch would be hard to ignore. Aran’s close enough in its orbit right now that the explosion would probably be visible. There’d be video footage on the nets and plenty of rumors—enough to do some damage to the Illyricans anyway. And, more to the point, regardless of public opinion, he would have dealt a significant blow to the Illyricans. So the only reason to take the ship is if there’s more to be gained by possessing it than by destroying it. And in order to figure that out, we need to know exactly what makes it so valuable.”

  As if in answer to the question, a discernible silence suddenly flooded the compartment. All four men looked around for the source of the non-sound, but Brody was the first to get it.

  “They’ve turned off the engines,” he said, tilting his head to one side, as though listening.

  An odd sensation overtook Kovalic, as though his stomach was starting to climb its way into his chest along with the rest of his internal organs. He moved to steady himself when he realized that his feet were no longer in contact with the deck, but instead floating a few inches above it. Around him, Brody, Tapper, and Page had all suffered the same fate, the lieutenant still fiddling with the repulsor equipment as he hovered in mid-air.

  “The artificial gravity’s down, too,” said Page, raising an eyebrow.

  “I hadn’t noticed,” said Tapper, who was waving his arms and legs as though treading water.

  “What the hell is Eamon playing at—” Brody started to say when something hit all of them with a sharp jolt.

  Kovalic’s vision started to go black, his ears rang with the roar of the ocean, the air was pressed out of his lungs, and even his heart seemed to stop for a second. He was barely conscious of being slammed into the deck by what felt like a piledriver from a 250-pound wrestler. He’d never really wondered what toothpaste felt like when it was squeezed out of the tube, but he suddenly thought he had a pretty good idea.

  And then it was over as quickly as it had begun, and he was lying on his back, wheezing. The pounding of his heart thumped against the floor and he could feel the blood rushing back to his head. With a groan, he levered himself upright, seeing the other three men in much the same condition. Page was massaging his temples and wincing, Brody was coughing from flat on his back, and even Tapper was looking shaken.

  Kovalic caught the sergeant’s gaze, and Tapper shook his head, wide-eyed. “What in the name of the nine fucking hells was that?”

  “I don’t know,” said Kovalic as his heart rate started to return to a more reasonable tempo. “But if I had to guess, I’d say we’ve just been formally introduced to Project Tarnhelm.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  “The bridge,” Fielding—Kovalic, Eli reminded himself—had said, once they’d all gotten back to their feet. Neither Tapper nor Page had seemed inclined to argue with their boss and, as far as Eli could tell, there was no reason to do so. If you were in a library and you had a question, you went to the reference desk. If you were on an enemy vessel and wanted to take control, you went to the bridge. No point in beating about the spaceship.

  Eli had always considered himself quick on his feet, but when it came to Kovalic and his crew he might as well have been a seven-year-old dawdling along after his parents on a warm, sunny day. The team moved with the surety of a custom-built tool matched exactly to its purpose, jogging down the hallway in perfect timing, checking every possible cross corridor for hostiles. For Eli, sandwiched between Page and Tapper like a piece of limp lettuce, he couldn’t help but feel as though he was being chivvied along, as useless as that little kid.

  “Clear,” came the whisper as Kovalic, in the lead, peeked around another corridor.

  The rest of the team darted up the hallway to join him at the intersection.

  “I hope you’ve thought through exactly what we’re going to do when we get to the bridge,” said Eli. “Because I suspect that politely asking Eamon to stand down isn’t going to get you very far.”

  “Your brother doesn’t exactly strike me as the diplomatic type, and I’ve got no desire to be shot in the head.” He looked to Tapper, bringing up the rear. “We’re going to have to storm it.”

  “With one gun and one grenade?” said Eli.

  “Unless you’ve got a better idea, Brody. And if you do, please, by all means, speak up.”

  How about we find the crew lounge, kick back, and have a drink? That was what he wanted to suggest, but he had an inkling that his plan wouldn’t exactly meet with Kovalic’s approval.

  “Page, we’re going to need the schematics to the bridge if there’s any chance of making this work. Find a terminal and see what you can dig up.”

  Page’s return nod was crisp, and the man slipped off without a sound. Kovalic turned to Tapper. “Sergeant, what’re the odds that concussi
on grenade will actually work as advertised?”

  The stocky man pulled the smooth metal cylinder out of his pocket and turned it over in his hands. “No visible damage. It’s not the most reputable of manufacturers, but I don’t see any reason it shouldn’t give us one hell of a song and dance.”

  “Good. Even better, you and Page still have surprise on your side. Brody and I will go in first and try to soften them up as much as possible.”

  “We’ll what?”

  Kovalic’s grin was less than reassuring. “Don’t sweat it, Brody. It’ll be a piece of cake.” He unslung the carbine and handed it to Tapper. “Just try not to shoot us.”

  Tapper shrugged. “In the heat of the moment, you never know.”

  Eli looked from Tapper to Kovalic. “You’re kid—he’s kidding, right?”

  “Don’t worry, kid,” said Tapper. “We’re professionals.”

  “How many times have you done this?” asked Eli, his voice shaky.

  “Charge a heavily defended position with two friendlies in the mix, on a ship full of unknown, experimental technology?”

  “Yeah.”

  Tapper’s brown furrowed. “Once.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Including this.”

  Kovalic slapped Eli on the shoulder. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

  “Yeah, I feel like tap dancing.”

  “That’s what I like to hear, because you and I are going to have to put on a show for our audience upstairs.”

  Page shimmered into existence next to them, his arrival unheralded by anything beyond a slight clearing of the throat. “The bridge schematics were under lock and key and I didn’t have time to convince my way in. However, the maintenance plans show pretty clearly that there are a pair of service shafts that circle the bridge, which should provide a way in.”

  “Should?” asked Tapper.

  “Well, assuming the bridge compartment isn’t hermetically sealed.”

  “Would it be?”

  Page shrugged. “On a standard Warhorse, I doubt it. But who knows what kind of modifications they’ve made.”