The Caledonian Gambit: A Novel

by Dan Moren

  “We’re just going to have to take that chance. Page, Tapper, find the maintenance shafts. We’ll give you a five-minute head start before we go in. Assuming they don’t shoot us on sight, give us about two minutes to maneuver them into an advantageous position.”

  “And if we can’t get access to the bridge from the service shafts?”

  “Then we’ll have to improvise.”

  “Good luck.” Tapper jerked his head at Page and the two of them split off down a corridor, leaving Kovalic and Eli on their own. The captain was tugging at the sleeves of his jacket, making sure it sat right on his shoulders.

  “So,” said Kovalic. “Are you having fun yet?”

  “Actually, I’m just trying to remember how I got into this mess.”

  “Well, I think that when you trace it all the way back, you’ll see that it came down to one pretty simple misstep on your part.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “Not listening to me.”

  Eli snorted. “Well, can you blame me? You military guys are always talking about a need-to-know basis and operational security.”

  Kovalic eyed him for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

  “What?”

  “Well, as far as I can see, you don’t have much use for authority or chain of command, you don’t like being told what to do, and you’re not trigger-happy, like most of the kids who join up. So what the hell were you doing in a uniform in the first place?”

  “It was the fastest way off that planet. And, like I told you back on Sabaea, it let me fly.”

  The gray eyes narrowed. “I don’t doubt that was part of it, but if that’s all you really wanted, you could have joined a shipping company or the merchant service. I think there was more to it than that.”

  “Yeah?” Eli crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Well please enlighten me, O Source of All Wisdom.”

  “I think you knew it’d really piss off your brother.”

  Eli barked a laugh. “You think that’s what it was all about? Sibling rivalry?”

  Kovalic shrugged. “More or less. You don’t strike me as the ideological type. You certainly didn’t join up because you believed in the Imperium. And if you’d been half as ardent as your brother is about Caledonian independence, you’d never have been able to touch that uniform, let alone put it on every day.”

  “Stick to soldiering, Kovalic. Psychology doesn’t suit you.”

  The man wasn’t going to be deterred. “In that sense, this moment became inevitable. You and your brother were going to clash someday—it was just a matter of where, when, and how it was going to play out.”

  Eli gritted his teeth. He thinks he can read my file and know me inside out. “I think our five minutes are up, doc.”

  Kovalic acquiesced, but they hadn’t gone more than a few steps toward the bridge when something in the air changed. Eli’s sensitivity to shipboard life may have been rusty, but some things you never quite forgot.

  “The engines are off again.”

  “Huh. But the gravity’s still on this time.” Kovalic reached out a hand to brace himself against the wall anyway. “Either they’re getting the hang of working this thing or this is something else.”

  They waited, but there was no dramatic gravity spike or anything else that could be deemed out of the ordinary. Exchanging a glance, Kovalic and Eli continued down the corridor toward the short staircase that led to the bridge.

  “So, you had a plan, right?” Eli asked as they reached the base of the steps.

  “Just keep him talking long enough for Page and Tapper to get the drop on him from the maintenance shaft. Hopefully we can incapacitate him before he even knows they’re there.”

  “What makes you think he’s even interested in talking to me? The last time we were in there he didn’t seem to care too much about what happened to me.”

  Kovalic rolled his eyes. “You’re going to have to learn to read between the lines, Brody. If he didn’t care what happened to you, he would have had Kelly knife you in the back and been done with it. But your brother sees himself as a freedom fighter, not a terrorist, and killing your own flesh and blood doesn’t exactly mesh with that image.”

  Eli shook his head. “Again with the psychological profiling. You guys must have a hell of a job description.”

  Kovalic didn’t reply, just smiled and started climbing up the stairs to the bridge’s pressure door, leaving Eli no real choice but to follow.

  The light above the door was still steady green. Kovalic glanced over his shoulder at Eli and tilted his head to one side. There was a familiar lurch in Eli’s stomach that recalled the moment right before his fighter had dropped from the Venture’s fighter bay into the black tapestry of space around Sabaea—the realization of everything that was about to happen. As then, he shoved it into the back of his mind and just gave Kovalic a nod.

  At the touch of the controls, the door slid open and the two of them stepped onto the bridge.

  The people there didn’t react immediately; that was the difference between them and an actual trained team of soldiers. Eamon’s people had gotten complacent—and not without reason, since they’d been fairly secure in the knowledge that they were alone and in control of the ship.

  It was Gwen, standing next to one of the engineering stations, who saw them first. Eli caught a slight widening of her eyes, followed, strangely, by hesitation. There was a pistol in her belt, but she made no move to draw it. The dark-haired woman, McKenna, had given an off-the-cuff glance at the door; she quickly did a double take and scrambled for the carbine she’d left lying on the console. With McKenna’s gun trained on them, Gwen finally drew her own weapon and pointed it loosely in their direction. If Kovalic had been armed, Eli had little doubt he would have been able to take them both out without breaking a sweat.

  Eamon was the last one to look up, and he looked no less surprised to see them. But he recovered quickly from that shock, a mask of control descending once again. He cleared his throat. “Should I ask what happened to Kelly?”

  “He wasn’t feeling well,” said Kovalic.

  “A mild case of blow-to-the-head,” added Eli. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

  Someone else might have missed the flicker of annoyance in his brother’s eyes, but Eli knew him too well: Eamon Brody was well and royally ticked off, but he wasn’t about to let anything interfere with his plan.

  Eli’s eyes darted around the bridge, taking everything in. Besides Eamon, McKenna, and Gwen, there was another man—the transport ship’s pilot, he guessed—in the sunken cockpit on the deck; he was sweating profusely, his eyes locked on the console in front of him. Someone had apparently removed the corpse of the dead Illyrican security guard, though the one who’d been shot in the shoulder was propped up, white-faced, against one of the consoles, clearly unconscious. To Eli’s surprise, his shoulder had been expertly bandaged. Of Lucy Graham there was no sign. Maybe Eamon got all he needed from her and tossed her out an airlock. Then again, that seemed a bit cynical, even for Eamon.

  “Well,” said Eamon, crossing his arms. “You’re here. What can I do for you?”

  “I think it’s what we can do for you,” said Kovalic.

  “I don’t follow.”

  “You must realize that this plan is a bit on the stupid side?”

  If you’d have asked Eli how his brother would react to being called stupid, he’d have given you good money that the elder Brody would have gritted his teeth or flown into a rage. The very last thing he would have expected was for him to relax and crack a smile.

  “Is it?” asked Eamon. “Do tell.”

  Eli could feel Kovalic’s eyes boring into the back of his head. As signals go, that’s not exactly subtle. He jumped in. “Well, for one, how much do you really know about running a starship?”

  Eamon inclined his head to the man in the pilot’s seat, who was craning his neck up to watch the conversation. Of the crew on the bridge, he was the o
nly one that was unarmed. “Mr.—what was your name again?—Carroll here is a more than capable pilot. And I’ve picked my team carefully. I don’t imagine that it will be quite as much of a problem as you might expect. But I appreciate your concern.”

  Eli caught a brief twitch of motion from behind one of the venting grates above. Lady luck was, for once, smiling upon Eli and Kovalic; Eamon’s entire team had their backs to it. Eli plowed ahead, willing himself not to look directly at the vent.

  “That’s not your biggest problem,” he continued. “Even if your pilot is competent, how the hell do you expect to get the ship through the gate without the Illyricans knowing? They’ll have weapons lock on you before you can even see the wormhole.”

  Eamon’s forehead creased in confusion and his eyes darted back and forth between Eli and Kovalic, looking for something. “You don’t know,” he said slowly. Delight seeped into his voice. “You have no idea, do you?” His face split into a broad grin. “Oh, this is too good.” He threw back his head and laughed, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Honestly, the gate is the least of our worries.”

  A quiet rattle sounded from the bulkhead—Eli would likely not even have noticed it if his attention hadn’t already been drawn there. Out of instinct, his eyes flicked to the vent. Cursing himself inwardly, he looked back to Eamon, but it was already too late. His brother’s eyes had narrowed, and he was already turning his head when the vent was flung loose from the wall, accompanied by a booted foot. The small cylindrical grenade rolled out, hitting the deck with a heavy clunk. Eamon, to his credit, was already diving out of the way, even as the rest of his crew was still reacting.

  Something heavy shoved Eli from behind—he realized later it was Kovalic—and they hit the deck so hard it knocked the wind out of him. The brilliant flash of white light seeped its way in through the cracks in Eli’s eyelids, searing his eyes, and then a squadron of fighters broke the sound barrier directly over his head.

  The next thing he knew he was being dragged to his feet, his head still throbbing like he’d pounded an entire bottle of whisky. He blinked several times, waiting for the stars to clear from his vision, and reeled over to the nearest console to prop himself up. When his eyesight returned, he saw that Kovalic had already taken advantage of the opportunity to scoop up both McKenna and Gwen’s weapons. The dark-haired woman was glowering in their direction—at least as much as she was able to while her eyes still had trouble focusing—and Gwen was massaging her temples and working her jaw. Carroll, who had been the closest to the grenade, appeared to be senseless in the pilot’s cockpit.

  Frowning, Eli scanned the room. “Where’s Eamon?” his voice sounding dull and thick in his own ears. There was no sign of his brother, who had last been standing at the front of the bridge. “Kovalic!” He looked toward the other man in alarm. “Where’s Eamon?”

  The soldier strode over and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Stop shouting,” he mouthed.

  The cotton-wool plugs in his ears were slowly replaced by the persistent whine of a referee blowing one long, continuous whistle. It was, if anything, less pleasant.

  There wasn’t anywhere in the compartment for Eamon to hide, leaving only the possibility that he’d somehow slipped out of the room in the confusion. Eli swore at himself again—he’d tipped him to the grenade. “He can’t have gone far,” he said, starting for the door.

  “Wait,” he heard Kovalic say through the fading ringing in his ears. “We may have bigger problems.” He was crouching by the cockpit, his fingers on Carroll’s throat. “He’s out for the count.”

  “So wh—” Realization slammed home. “Who the hell is flying this thing?”

  They both looked down at the cockpit

  Kovalic scratched his head. “Right now I’d say no one.”

  “Well, that’s not good.”

  “Nope,” said Kovalic. He lugged Carroll’s dead weight up and out of the pilot’s couch, grunting as he managed to push him onto the deck. For a moment, he stared at the unconscious figure, then looked up and raised an eyebrow at Eli.

  “What?”

  “Wherever are we going to find a qualified pilot?” he said in mock dismay, throwing up his hands.

  Eli took an involuntary step backwards. “Whoa. Wait a second.”

  “I would be happy to wait as long as you need, except for the minor fact that we’re currently going somewhere.”

  “I don’t fly. Not anymore.”

  “It’s just like falling off a bike.”

  “Don’t you mean—”

  “Get in the fucking cockpit, Brody.”

  Eli gulped, then dropped to the floor and slid his feet tentatively into the cockpit, wincing as if he were wading into a cold lake. The long padded couch was surrounded by panels of readouts and dials—it looked more complicated than the fighters he used to fly, but his pilot’s training had already isolated the most important controls.

  “You can do this,” said Kovalic, crouching next to him. “I’ve been paying attention: you’ve hardly freaked out once since we’ve been onboard.”

  Huh, Eli thought. He’s right. Normally I would have been a gibbering idiot the moment the ship left the ground. The adrenaline probably hadn’t hurt, either: it was hard to freak out when you were hopped up on the fight-or-flight stimulants coursing through your brain. With a deep breath, he let himself slide the rest of the way into the cockpit, feeling the sensors readjust the controls to his height and size. The pedals shifted up to rest comfortably under his feet while the flight yoke moved to a more natural position. The readout panels by his right arm were showing solid greens.

  “Board is green.” It had been five years, but the voice in his head was unmistakably familiar: the precise, scientific tones of Chris Larabie, his late wingman—who, along with the rest of his squadron, had been blown to bits at Sabaea. He felt the bile rising in his stomach all the way to the bottom of his throat, but he pushed it back down. Throwing up all over the controls wasn’t going to help—they taught you that much on day one. Instead, he turned his attention to the navigation computer by his left arm.

  “All right. Before we can go anywhere, I guess we need to know where the hell we are.” He keyed the navigation display, which shimmered into view in miniature form before him, as well as onto a larger holographic tactical display at the front of the bridge.

  Eli frowned. The display was showing five planetary orbits around a large class-G star, which was most certainly not the nine-planet layout of the Caledonian system. He must have called up the wrong display—maybe Eamon had been looking at something else. He double-checked the readouts, but they confirmed that it was the ship’s current location.

  “Must be a sensor misread,” he muttered, scrutinizing the chart. There was something familiar about the diagram on the display, something that twigged his memory. There weren’t that many inhabited systems in the galaxy and with all the drilling that pilots went through, most learned to recognize pretty much any known orbital layout by sight.

  Have we already gone through the gate somehow? He wouldn’t have said they’d been in flight long enough to even reach it. Not to mention that the only gate from Caledonia led to Earth, and this was most assuredly not Earth’s solar system either. In fact, he thought, it looks a whole lot like …

  “That’s impossible,” he said. Goosebumps pimpled his arms.

  “What?” asked Kovalic, looking up from where he’d been securing McKenna and Gwen to the consoles. He’d jammed the redhead’s pistol into his belt and slung McKenna’s carbine over his shoulder.

  But Eli didn’t respond, instead staring up at the tactical display: five concentric rings, the fourth of which was highlighted in a deep green that marked it as a friendly inhabited planet. There was only one known system that matched that configuration, but it was two wormhole jumps away from Caledonia and no ship could have made the trip in the half-an-hour or so that they’d been onboard—not without breaking the laws of physics.

  “That’
s Illyrica,” said Eli slowly. He looked up at Kovalic. “The nav chart says we’re in the Illyrican system.”

  Kovalic looked to the tactical display, and then back down at Eli. “It must be a mistake,” he said. “Check again.”

  “I’ve triple-checked. I think I know how to read a nav chart.”

  Eli’s head had started to spin, assembling all the information he’d absorbed during the last couple days. A superweapon being built on Aran. A secret Illyrican military facility. “It’s a game-changer.” Lucy Graham, genius scientist. “The gate is really the least of our worries.”

  “They did it,” Eli said slowly. “Goddamnit, they did it. They built a working jump-ship.”

  Kovalic’s jaw dropped. “What? I thought that was impossible.”

  “Me too.” Eli rubbed at the goosebumps on his arms. “Then again, five hundred years ago, people would have said the same thing about traveling through wormholes.”

  Staring at the tactical display, Kovalic shook his head.

  “A ship that can travel between systems without the need for gates,” Eli murmured. Awe crept over his face. “All that talk of planet-destroying guns and population-scathing weapons, and it turns out that it’s just a ship.”

  Kovalic’s expression had turned grim. “No, Brody. It is a weapon.”

  “What?”

  “In the wrong hands, this could be the most devastating weapon the war’s ever seen. An invasion fleet could be on any world’s doorstep without a single moment of warning. Or you could attach a bomb to it and fire it three systems away. This ship doesn’t care what it’s used for—it’s people that make it into a weapon. A hammer can build houses or cave in a skull.”

  “But think of all the good it could do.”

  Kovalic grunted. “That’s not my job. But let’s leave the theoretical possibilities for later. We’re in the Illyrican system. Your brother came here for a reason, and I think we both know it probably wasn’t just to do a flyby of the Imperial Palace and flaunt his stolen prototype.” He looked up at the system again. “Can you get us out of here?”