This was the first message she’d received since she’d left on her first delivery run, though Morgan had sent a dozen or two and undoubtedly Gertrude had sent many to her.
She had expected it after the troubles they’d gone through to send messages to Gertrude while she’d been out of the system, but it was subtly different being on the receiving end, especially since Gertrude had at least received a couple of the messages within three months.
It was almost worse because there wasn’t even anyone to blame for the delay. Catching a freighter that made stops in more than a dozen systems was both hard and expensive. Instead of trying, courier boats just transited system to system, stopping only long enough to deliver whatever they could at each stop and pass along the non-sensitive messages to the other couriers. That way whoever ran into the freighter in question first delivered it, and then flagged the message for deletion from the other couriers as they met back up again.
That it worked was a testament to the dedication and professionalism of the courier companies, as well as their standing policy that any party trying to interfere with the mail would be denied any use of the system in perpetuity and that courier boats were under the protection of all navies equally. There had actually even been a couple instances where two ships from nations at war had been required to work together to rescue a waylaid courier. Those incidents were famous for their oddity, not to mention the fact that it had actually ended without any violence. Generally speaking, no one messed with the couriers.
That information, delivered in a briefing for the new crew as they transited out towards Parlon’s system gate, had made Morgan feel a little better at least. Looking back there had been a few times she’d left something out of her messages to Gertrude because she was afraid who else might end up seeing it.
The galactic power plays of the courier companies were not on Morgan’s mind at the moment, of course. She was much more curious to hear how Gertrude and Haruhi were doing. She had gotten used to Gertrude’s absence to an extent while she was away, but this trip was her first time away from Haruhi in years. The first week she’d had a terrible time just getting out of bed without Haruhi there trying to surprise her awake.
Morgan yawned. It had been a long shift, but satisfying. The entire time had been spent fixing the massive cargo hatch that had become stuck when the automated crane had malfunctioned and shoved a cargo container squarely into it – while still closed. The container had proved to be the weaker sword to the door’s shield and the container had shattered, scattering fluffy toy animals everywhere. Since the gravity had been turned off to facilitate cargo transfer, the toys had actually scattered quite far and wide. Just one of the joys of delivering to a backwater planet without proper cargo receiving systems.
Well, the crew called it backwater. It wasn’t as bad off as Hillman, by a long shot. The notable difference was that the rulers of the planet were just as bad off as the people, while Hillman’s comrade managers would be considered wealthy almost anywhere in the known galaxy.
Morgan had asked her crew chief what a planet skirting the raw edge of poverty needed with a bunch of sappy toy caricatures of the animals of Earth, but he had just laughed and said that they were popular across the whole quadrant, and that even people with very little needed things to make them happy.
As to why they didn’t make them themselves, well, the only answer she’d gotten was some nonsense about that particular kind being the best. Apparently they were made the ‘old fashioned’ way and not nano-fabricated.
Whatever people wanted to buy, let them buy, Morgan supposed. More freight going around was only a good thing, after all.
Besides, one container of lightweight toys hardly caused a blip on the cost of delivery.
Of course Crewman Fourth Class Black was given the task of retrieving all of the errant toys, as well as the innards of the ones torn open during the collision. The hazing had stopped, but giving her the worst jobs hadn’t.
With that much time to examine them, she had been forced to admit they were cute. On a whim, Morgan had stuffed the bits of a couple ruined penguins into her skinsuit’s pouches. Perhaps she’d see if she could find some thread later (black and white were common enough, after all) and get a whole one out of the pieces.
They were a lot smaller than the one she had won for Haruhi back when they first met, but the reminder would be welcome. She might even be able to get two whole penguins out of the bits and pieces, so she could give one to Haruhi as the twin of hers.
The best part of the shift had been that she’d been allowed to actually help with the main parts of the repairs once she had finished her original task. Granted, they’d only pulled her in because her small hands made getting to a couple of the release catches easier than it would have been for the other techs, but she wasn’t about to complain about the whys. It was beyond frustrating to not be allowed to help with a lot of things because she was only a fourth class, and then watch them struggle to do things she’d been capable of back on Hillman.
As she walked Morgan wondered if the problem with the hatch would delay their return to Parlon any. If they couldn’t get it fixed they’d have to reroute all that cargo through the other bays, which would slow them down. She had signed up for an advanced course on some of the trickier routine maintenance fusion reactors needed, and she’d hate to miss it. For one thing she’d paid in advance, and for another the other time it would be offered would be a week after Gertrude departed again, so she wouldn’t be able to attend then.
Without any warning the deck beneath her rumbled. It felt like it was coming from the port side. The first few months Morgan had panicked at each little tremor the ship made while underway, but now she had a feel for it, and the normal rumbles were simply background noise. Whatever that was, however, it wasn’t normal. It was too localized, and the ship was still physically docked with the station. She supposed it could have been something that had happened on the station that had transferred through the dock onto the Fate of Dawn, but she couldn’t think of anything obvious that it could have been.
Best to hurry back to her bunk. If it was something they needed her for they’d call, and if not she’d do the crew a favor by not being in the way and do herself one by getting some sleep.
If she got to sleep soon enough she might be able to squeeze some time in the gym before her next shift started, and if she was really lucky it would be empty enough for her to be able to crank up the gravity to Hillman’s level. She could only manage that a few times a week with the more crowded facilities onboard, and it was starting to show.
There was an odd popping noise from the speaker system, then a strange somewhat garbled voice said, “All crewmembers, return to your berths.” Instead of cutting off clean the message had a few further seconds of odd popping noise.
That was odd. It hadn’t sounded like any of the officers, but it wasn’t like Morgan had actually talked to more than a couple of them, or even heard a couple of the others speak. If there was a problem, why order them all to quarters? For that matter, berth was an odd choice of words. Morgan knew what it meant, but had never heard that particular word used by anyone from Zion or Albion.
Old instincts whispered to her that something was wrong. Morgan pushed them aside and started heading back to her cabin. She had been heading there anyway, after all, but she also slid her hand in the pouch of her skinsuit just above her right hip.
Tapping her uplink, she pulled up a link to her immediate supervisor, Chief Nakamura. It was possible, probable really, that he knew more than Morgan did about what was going on. If he got on Morgan’s case for bugging him she could just blame it on the poor quality of the transmission. There really had been parts she couldn’t understand. She just didn’t need to tell her that those parts weren’t really part of the main message.
“What is it, Black? Aren’t you off shift?”
“I was hoping you knew what that last ship-wide was about. It was rather garbled over where I am.�
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“What was there to misunderstand? I swear, you’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached. Just get to your bunk and stay. . .” Chen stopped talking, and for a moment Morgan thought she’d lost the connection. Looking down at her uplink she could see that it was still transmitting clearly. Then the link started picking up sounds again, only they weren’t words. It was the unmistakable sound of gunfire. In fact, they sounded like gas-powered high velocity dart guns. She had once seen them used, back on Hillman, when a crowd had gotten too rowdy. They were useful because they wouldn’t ignite any flammable gasses in the air around the mine, while still effective against unarmored targets.
They would be even better on a spaceship, Morgan realized, since they weren’t likely to damage fragile stuff like the computer consoles or other equipment.
Part of Morgan froze, completely stupefied that someone was attacking her ship, her crew. Where had they come from? What did they want? Was it a member of the crew? The other part of her didn’t freeze, however. Without conscious input she opened up a channel to the bridge, but only got a message from the uplink that there was local interference and that the network was not functioning. Hustling down the corridor she found a wall mounted com unit, which thankfully worked.
“Bridge, com tech Nancy here.”
Not even bothering to identify herself Morgan just blurted out, “I just heard gunfire coming from Damage Control Central.”
For one second, two, Nancy just started at her. “What, you have to be pranking me. Who are you?”
“Just listen!” Morgan put as much steel in her voice as she could, forcing herself to forget for the moment that the woman on the bridge was probably twice her age and a lot more experienced. “It sounded like a gas rifle, probably more than one of them given how many shots I heard.” Morgan hadn’t realized she’d realized that, but thinking back she was right. “There was an odd vibration just a few minutes ago, plus that strange message about all crew returning to their bunks.”
“There wasn’t any communication. . .” Nancy started to say, but Morgan cut her off.
“Then you didn’t hear it on the bridge. Get ahold of yourself, I think we’ve been boarded.” Morgan was almost yelling now, which was a bad idea on several fronts. If anyone was nearby they’ve be sure to hear her, and it made Nancy the com tech less likely to listen to her.
Finally, Nancy ducked out of the screen’s pickup range and the officer of the watch appeared. Normally Morgan would have felt intimidated just by seeing him, let alone having his undivided attention, but right now that was far from her mind.
“What’s going on?” He said bluntly.
“I heard gunfire from DCC. Probably more than one weapon, gas-rifles. The uplink network is being jammed, and there was a weird vibration a few minutes ago, right direction to be coming from the docking port.”
“You mean like a breaching charge?”
“Could be. It felt a bit like the stuff we used back home to blast new tunnels in the mines. There was also a strange voice ordering all crewmembers back to their quarters. I think they hacked in.”
“Find somewh. . .” He cut off in mid-word as the screen went blank. It took Morgan a few moments to realize that the terminal was completely offline.
“Find somewhere, somewhere what? Safe?” Morgan muttered to herself. Finally, the emergency alarm started up, the high-pitched whine that she had only heard in drills once before. “Ship has been boarded by hostiles,” it meant. Well, at least everyone knew. So where was safe while the ship was being boarded? Obviously not her bunk – they wanted everyone there. Oh, of course. The answer was obvious. Head for the mercenaries’ office.
As she got closer she heard gunfire again, only this time not through her uplink. It was sporadic at first, then more frequently. They weren’t all gas rifles either. At least a third of the shots were the unmistakable crack boom of suit penetrator rounds.
It dawned on Morgan that she had probably made a mistake. Of course the ship’s defenders would be a primary target too. She was stuck now, though. The only things to her left and right within quick reach were cargo bays. They were both currently empty as they had already passed the midpoint of their delivery route, and wouldn’t pick up their return cargo of raw materials for a couple stops yet. Not the worst place to hunker down and hide, but nearly.
Behind her there were more options, true, but they included both the docking port, DCC, and the barracks, all of which she was certain held boarders.
She rounded the last corner to the merc’s barracks and armory only to flinch back as several bullets whizzed around her. They smashed the lighting unit on the far wall, sparks flying as small bits of the composite cover splintered. With her heart pounding almost out of her chest it took a few moments to realize that it had been a regular bullet, not a penetrator or HV dart.
“Are you a pirate or one of the Aegis Mercs?” she shouted, pressing herself up against the wall for at least an illusion of cover.
Whoever was around the corner actually laughed. “Wouldn’t I say I am either way? Pirates aren’t exactly known for truthfulness.”
Right. That wasn’t the stupidest thing she’d done that day, or even in the last hour. The trend was troubling.
“Fine. What’s the name of the ship’s doctor?” Morgan figured the pirates might know the captain’s name, but the doctor was less likely.
“Uh, isn’t her name Carson?”
Okay. He was a merc. Something else occurred to her, “So why’d you shoot at me? I’m wearing a TMH skinsuit.”
“I couldn’t see you very well, I shot above your head to force you back while I figured out which side you’re on.”
Morgan walked around the corner, hands on her hips. “Well that was irresponsible of you, wasn’t it?”
“I’m not the one wandering around the corridors when we’re under attack. Now get behind me.”
The armory was a chokepoint by design, sitting at the top of a T intersection that led to most off the rest of the ship, and holding almost all the weapons on board. At some point, probably all the way back when the room was made into an armory, they had put up barricades in all three branches with a fourth curved one just in front of the door. The merc, who Morgan had not seen before, was the only person in view. His brown mottled skinsuit helpfully indicated his name was Hudson. His helmet was down, showing a young face, maybe early twenties, tan, with dark fuzz for hair and deep brown eyes.
He was rather cute, actually.
“Where are the rest of you?”
“Out securing the ship.” He rolled his eyes.
“And they left you here alone?”
“They’re sweeping out from this position. I’m just here as backup. We’re a little shorthanded here on account of so many of the guys helping with the unloading. Plus, the other marines who were supposed to be here are cut off right now, blasted shift change. I’m it for now. Now please stop talking and get behind me.”
Morgan complied, huffing sullenly. “Can I have a rifle?”
“Darlin’, even if I had the codes for the armory that is about the last thing I would do.”
Morgan harrumphed. “Fine. I’ll just use mine.” And she pulled the compact pistol out from her hip pouch, a pair of spare magazines from the left.
She could practically hear his eyebrow go up. “What’s a brand new tech doing carrying that around?”
“Seems to me that I have it for situations just like this.”
“Fair enough. You shoot me in the back I will haunt you.”
“Fair enough,” Morgan echoed, not quite keeping the disdain out of her voice. Who was he to question her competence? Sure, she was a mechanic and not a shooter like he was, but she’d practiced as often as time (and money) allowed. What use was the thing if she wasn’t ready to use it?
“Leave the spares in your suit, if you need to move you won’t have time to grab them off of the barricade.”
“Oh, yeah,” Morgan said, scooping them up sheepishly
.
“Just make sure you aim for the head – the faceplate if they have helmets up – or guys not in suits. That little thing won’t do anything to a skinsuit.”
Morgan actually managed a short laugh. “You sure about that?” She put the pistol carefully down on top of the barricade, the barrel pointed at the wall, then thumbed the top bullet out of a spare magazine. “These will do the job.” She held it out for him to look at.
He took the bullet from her, glanced it over, then handed it back with a whistle.
“Girl, where did you get the money for Iridium Specials?”
“I will not be defenseless. There weren’t many other options.”
“Nah, I suppose not. You’re so tiny trying to hide a PR pistol is just silly. What are you, twelve?”
“Twenty-one, Earth years.” Morgan replaced the bullet in the magazine, then picked the pistol back up. Was he trying to insult her, saying he thought she was that young? Sure, she wasn’t twenty-one, but she was seventeen, close enough to a legal adult as to make no difference.
Five minutes went by with no one else coming their way. Then ten. She could still hear gunshots coming from all around them, but they were coming in controlled bursts rather than continuous hails.
Morgan was finding it harder and harder to just sit there, not knowing what was happening. She had started to ask a question several times, but Hudson had shushed her immediately. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore and blurted out, “What’s going on? Are we winning, are we losing?”
“If I answer will you keep quiet?”
“Sure.”
“From what I can hear of the com chatter through the jamming we’ve secured half of the ship. It looks like they hold half of the station right now though, and we’re badly outnumbered. . . ” A shot rang out from all the way down the hall, and Hudson ducked, one arm pushing her down with him.
The Long Black (The Black Chronicles Book 1) Page 24
