by B. V. Larson
“Beats living in a mechsuit for three days straight,” replied Straker. “We get catheterized, and the defecation system never works right—”
“Too much information, Derek,” Engels said.
“At least you’re not over in the shuttle with Zaxby,” Straker said, nodding to Chief Gurung.
“You’re right about that, sir,” Gurung replied with a shudder. “Does that alien ever stop talking?”
“He talks too much when he’s bored,” Engels explained. “He’s quieter when he’s deep into some challenge, or if silence is operationally vital.”
“Then I guess I’ll have to keep him challenged and operating,” Straker said. “He’ll be useful to our, um…”
“Insurgency?” suggested Loco.
“No, that’s not it. Accurate, but not inspiring.”
“Rebellion?”
“Taken.”
“Movement?” Engels asked.
“Sounds like we’re back to defecation systems.”
“Ugh,” Engels said. “How about jihad?”
“No, this isn’t religious.”
“Crusade?”
“Ditto.”
“The Cause?”
“Sounds so pretentious…”
“The Struggle?” suggested Loco.
“Lame.”
“Uprising, revolt, insurrection, mutiny…” Loco continued.
“When did you turn into a thesaurus?” asked Engels.
Loco pointed to his console. “I pulled up a language database. How about buccaneers? Or freebooters?”
“How about liberators?” Engels asked.
“Better. I’ll think about it,” Straker said.
“And we’ll need a nickname, too,” Loco said. “Something catchy and intimidating. Straker’s Tigers…”
“Straker’s Fakers?” Engels suggested with a wink.
“Ugh,” said Straker.
“Bakers, makers, slakers, takers, breakers…” Loco chanted.
“That’s the one!” Straker said, pointing at him. “Breakers. We’re breaking chains and liberating people.”
“Cool,” Loco said.
“We’re about to emerge into normal space,” Engels said, pointing at the chrono. “Zaxby, inform your passengers we’re transiting in.”
“Why?” he shot back.
“What do you mean, ‘why?’”
“Why should they be informed? What can my passengers or I do about transit?”
“Umm… they can prepare themselves mentally?”
“You humans seem to need a lot of emotional support,” he observed. “I suppose it’s a result of your primate ancestors, living in large social groupings and eating grubs and rotting fruit. Ruxins are, by comparison, much more self-sufficient, even solitary.”
“Then why do you love to talk so damn much?” said Straker.
“That is a very astute question, Derek Straker, more intelligent than your average utterance. I shall have to give it some thought. Perhaps I’m anomalous.”
“I can tell you why right now,” Loco muttered, covering his comlink mike.
“Insecure and compensating?” Engels asked.
“Yup.”
Straker’s stomach flip-flopped, and the visiplates blazed with the pinpoints of stars, one close enough to seem like a sun. On the long-range passive sensors a large rocky planet loomed, showing four moons chasing each other low around its airless surface.
“There,” he said, pointing at the third moon out from the planet. The infrared emissions blazed there.
“Hundred Worlds patrol base 53-G,” Engels said. “Four corvettes and a dozen attack ships. The Unmutual database said they’re a long way from any action, guarding the rear frontier. Never even had to defend themselves from a raid, so they should be complacent.”
“They’ll be hailing us in a few minutes, as soon as our emissions reach their detectors,” said Loco. “You still want to go in mated like this?”
“At the start, yes,” said Straker. “It’ll make our story more convincing. Nobody will be expecting a surprise raid from this kludged-up ship.”
“We have to detach to land, said Engels.
Straker nodded. “You’re the pilot. Loco, you might as well start talking.”
“If this weren’t a Hundred Worlds courier, this would never work. Hope our IFF codes are still current,” said Loco, turning on the transmitter. He spoke in a bored, dull voice. “53-G, 53-G, this is Courier C-421. We are inbound from Base WG604 with dispatches. Got an add-on for you too.”
“C-421 this is 53-G, we read. You’re not our usual courier. What’s going on?”
“Nothing, far as I know. They don’t tell me nothing anyway. I just fly these things, you know?”
“I hear you. What’s that add-on?”
“I dunno. Extra supplies or something. You order anything special?”
“We’ve had a hydraulic grav inverter on back-order for months.”
“Maybe that’s it. They told me you get to keep the shuttle-pod too. I sure don’t want to haul it around anymore. Damn thing is hell on my drives and I’m gonna need a new paint job.”
“Hey, that’ll be useful. Come on in. Hangar Four has plenty of room.”
Loco raised his eyebrows at Engels, who nodded. “53-G,” he continued, “I’m going to detach the shuttle and bring her in with me on remote. That’ll be a lot easier than trying to untangle on the ground. You good with that?”
“Sure, no problem.”
“I could use a private room with a shower, too. I’m stinking in this suit.”
“I’ll have your keycode waiting. The other pilots are already looking forward to swapping lies with you at the bar. See you in a few minutes. 53-G out.”
“Nice guy,” Engels said, glancing at Straker.
“That changes nothing,” said Straker, grim. “We go in according to plan, and we giving warning shots to anyone we see. If they retreat, they live. If not, they die. This is war.”
“It was a lot easier when the enemy were faceless evil aliens instead of humans.”
“Killing a few isn’t as evil as enslaving our entire race,” Straker replied.
“Easy to say when you’re not being killed,” Engels sighed. “You’re not wrong, Derek. I just wish we didn’t have to kill our own people.”
Straker softened. “I know. I’m not happy about it, but we can’t let our feelings get in the way of our goal to free all mankind.”
“The ends justify the means again?”
“Sometimes.” He switched to the general comlink to include those in the shuttle. “Listen up. We’ve been cleared to land in a hangar and they don’t seem to suspect a thing. We have to hit them hard and fast. It’s going to be chaos. Remember, we absolutely must secure a corvette. It’s the only sidespace-capable ship that’s big enough to hold all of us and fast enough to get away. If we’re too slow, if they seal up all the corvettes, we’ll be captured or killed. This is go-for-broke, people, do or die. Are you ready?”
Growls, cheers and yelps of enthusiasm returned on the comlink. “I think they’re ready,” Loco said with a grin.
Engels keyed her comlink. “Zaxby, I’m beginning the detachment sequence. Waldos retracting.”
“Probe withdrawing from mating receptacle.”
Loco snickered again.
Engels waggled the controls in three dimensions. “You’re stuck pretty tight.”
“I shall release a blast of air inside the cargo bay. That may push us out.”
The courier shuddered and there came a crunching sound. “You’re free,” Engels said. “Damn, I can’t close my bay doors.”
“We only have to land once,” Straker said. “It doesn’t matter if this ship is flyable afterward.”
“True,” Engels admitted. “It just offends my piloting instincts to tear up a ship.”
“Forget it and get the job done.”
“Don’t I always?”
Straker smiled.
The two tiny ves
sels cruised in to land in Hangar Four, which was empty of all but support equipment. As the craft set down next to each other, Straker stared out the viewports. “No corvette in here. We’ll have to move fast, assault the next hangar and hope to find one.” He switched to the general channel and told everyone to be ready.
As soon as the hangar closed its doors and pressurized, Straker led the way down the ramp, Chief Gurung and Engels behind him. Loco brought up the rear. Beside them, the other humans and Zaxby spilled from the shuttle, all wearing pressure suits and carrying the small arms they’d brought from their brief service with the Unmutuals.
Two unarmed locals had popped their faceplates open and were on their way to greet their visitors when they were swarmed by Straker’s people.
“Remove their helmets,” he ordered. “No comlinks, no suit air. If their buddies depressurize the area, they’ll be killing their own people. Bring them along.”
Dragging their protesting prisoners, the group hustled for the tunnel that connected to the next hangar and burst into it. No alarms had yet sounded. Apparently, they still held the element of surprise.
“Who are you people? What do you want?” one of the prisoners asked.
“We’re liberators.” Straker didn’t explain further as they hurried down the tunnel to the next hangar. “Open the door!”
Inside, they found what they were looking for: a corvette, one of the smallest sidespace-capable warships, and one of the fastest. Its ports lay open, ramps and ladders leading in. Security was lax at this base so far from the front.
Several maintenance personnel stopped and stared as the raiding party burst into the hangar. Preset teams of three attackers each raced, weapons pointed, to capture the locals. Engels sprinted for the corvette while the rest spread out, securing the area.
“Fibertape these people,” Straker told Heiser. “Mouths too. Zaxby, Loco, make sure this ship is topped off with fuel. The rest of you, block the personnel doors and be ready to repel a counterattack.
It took six agonizing minutes to detach umbilicals, close hatches, undog lines and power up. Fortunately, the corvette was fully fueled.
As Straker waved his people toward the main hatch, the far personnel door burst open. They must have used breaching explosives. He aimed and loosed a long burst from his slugthrower. Chief Gurung fired blaster bolts from beside him. “Go on, sir! Get in!”
Straker ran to the top of the ramp and stopped to brace his weapon. “Come on, Chief!” He fired bursts of covering fire as armed personnel pushed through the door.
Several opponents fell, wounded. They didn’t have battle armor and didn’t seem to be combat troops. At best, they were out-of-practice security personnel, or even simply anyone the base commander could scrounge up to hold a gun. They fired wildly, their shots coming nowhere near the two men.
Gurung raced up the ramp and Straker followed him in, saying, “Shut the hatch!”
The portal slammed closed and sealed. Around him the corvette came to life, humming and shuddering as Engels lifted. He made his way to the tiny command center and shoved his way in, displacing two onlookers. “Get off the bridge! Go find someplace to strap in!” he yelled at them.
Engels had the pilot’s chair, Zaxby the copilot-gunner’s, and Loco sat at the sensors-and-communications board. Straker took the remaining operations station. He strapped in.
“Can they hurt us, Zaxby?” Engels asked.
“No,” he replied, “nothing but small arms. A corvette’s armor is as thick as a tank’s.”
Zaxby reached for the weapons controls.
“Don’t kill them!” Engels said.
“As you wish, Carla.”
“Shoot the hangar doors instead.”
“Firing now.”
Laser fire blazed from the corvette, and the thin metal that had sealed the hangar vanished, leaving a smoking hole. “What’s to keep them from pursuing us in the other corvettes?”
Engels kicked the ship through the opening, rising to hover a few hundred meters above the little base. “Fire on the other two hangars,” she said.
“That may kill humans,” Zaxby pointed out.
Straker stared hard at Engels, but she ignored him, a determined look on her face. “Do it,” she said, hunching her shoulders. “We can’t risk them getting a ship into space.”
Zaxby played his console like a multi-armed pianist and the corvette slammed two bursts of hot red plasma into the first two hangars, the ones with unknown contents. The buildings exploded, revealing several small craft and two corvettes. Suited figures squirmed like ants in the devastation, the combustion quickly snuffed by vacuum. They should survive. Maybe.
Two more shots, this time carefully targeted, blasted the sterns off the little warships, leaving them helpless to move.
Straker kept his eyes on Engels. Her face was drawn and pained, but resolute. She’ll be all right, he told himself. He reached out to place a hand on her shoulder, afraid she would shake it off. “I’m sorry,” he said.
She stiffened for a moment, and then leaned into his palm.
He squeezed and let go. “We had to do it,” he whispered.
She turned to give him a weak smile. “I know.”
“There will be more. Carla. I’ll do the best I can to keep from killing innocent people, but…”
“Yeah. Quit talking about it, okay?” She turned the ship away from the base and accelerated toward the nearest flatspace. For a small ship, that location was closer than one a larger ship would need. “Where to now, Derek?”
“Just get us out of here. I need to think and look through the databases.” Straker tapped at his console hesitantly. He wasn’t a Fleet officer, and these controls were nothing like a mechsuit’s.
“Why don’t you simply tell me what you’re looking for?” Zaxby asked.
“Someplace out of the way, where nobody knows us and nobody’s looking for us. Someplace we might be able to rest and figure things out. Where we could make some money, I guess, maybe using this ship as a fast freighter.” Straker stared at the bulkhead. “Somewhere I can think. I’ve been so busy getting us away from things, I have no idea where to go to.”
“Carla, would you allow me to take the helm, please? Captain Straker, I believe I have just the place.”
Straker and Engels glanced at one another and shrugged.
“At this point, I’m willing to try anything,” Straker said.
The Ruxin reached eagerly for the controls.
* * *
“Three days of being cooped up in this ship and I’m bored out of my skull,” Straker said as he filled a cup with ship’s caff. “Only seven more days to go, according to Zaxby.” He sat down across from Engels and Loco as he sipped his beverage. “Ugh. This is straight from the waste-tanks. I don’t remember Fleet caff being this bad.”
She lifted her own mug to her lips and grimaced between bites of protein paste. “This ship wasn’t loaded with fresh food, only the standard dietary rations. At least this concentrate gives us nutrition. We won’t run out of supplies.”
“I wonder what ol’ Zax is going to eat?” Loco asked. “Hey, that makes me wonder: Is there any octopus or calamari in there?”
“Oh, that’s just wrong,” Engels said, but then she began eating energetically.
“Hey Carla, you sure are hungry.” Straker raised his eyebrows at her. She was wolfing down food as if it would run away from her plate.
“I’ve been working hard, so I eat,” she replied lightly. “It’s not like we have to limit our intakes. Nobody’s getting fat off this.”
Loco belched loudly. “This stuff sucks,” he said, staring at the remains of his meal. “Even in prison, we got a few decent meals. Man, do you remember the buffets on Shangri-La?”
“There were no buffets on Shangri-La,” said Straker, “because there probably was no Shangri-La. Just a VR paradise while we healed up in an autodoc on our way to the next battle.”
“It hardly matters. I remember
the food, and it was tasty.”
Straker sampled a brown chunk off Engels’ tray. “You’re right about one thing, this stuff sucks. And I’m so damn bored.”
“How can anyone be bored with so much to do?” asked Heiser as he shoveled food paste into his mouth. “I’ve never served aboard a ship before, and Chief Gurung is running us ragged. How can someone who smiles so much be so tough?”
“That’s a Gurkha for you,” said Straker with a grin of his own.
“Gurkha?”
“The ethnic group Chief Gurung is from. Mountain people. They’ve produced some of Old Earth’s finest warriors for a thousand years. Lots of battlesuiters are Gurkha.”
“How do you know all this stuff, sir?” Heiser asked.
“Even as a kid, I read a lot of military history. I knew I was going to be a mechsuiter, and I wanted to be the best.” Straker pointed his index finger at Heiser. “By the way, from now on, you’re not an infantryman. You’re a marine. You know what those are, right?”
“Sure, Fleet close combat troops. But they had battlesuits. We ain’t got no battlesuits, boss.”
“Someday we will, Heiser. Until then, you do what Chief Gurung says and be glad we have an experienced swabbie to help run this boat.”
“This is a ship, if a small one,” said Engels with a hint of irritation. “It’s sidespace-capable, it has a shipkiller missile tube, and it has a captain and crew. And, if I may say so, Captain Straker, you need to spend more time with the chief too. If you want to be our leader, you need to get to know your ship.”
“I’m a mechsuiter, not a Fleet officer.”
“You’re a freebooter now, Derek my man. A hijacker,” said Loco, putting his feet up on a table. “That’s just one step above a plain pirate.”
“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” Straker said.
“Too late,” Loco said. “That’s what everyone is calling the ship: the Freebooter, led by the dashing Captain Derek Straker, master and commander. That makes us freebooters. Besides, I like it. Makes us sound tough, and we might need that where we’re going.”
“Where are we going, anyway?” asked Straker.
“Zaxby won’t say. Not even to me,” said Engels.
“Well, I don’t like Freebooter. I say we call her Liberator, because that’s what we do.” He looked over at Engels.
