Starship Fairfax: Books 1-3 Omnibus - The Kuiper Chronicles: The Lunar Gambit, The Hidden Prophet, The Neptune Contingency

by Benjamin Douglas

  “Sir.” Mulligan stood.

  “In my ready-room, Private.” He paused behind the chair. Randall was manning the bridge, and Tompkins and Jan were sitting at a couple of unused stations, speaking quickly in hushed but excited voices. Lucas caught the words “Jupiter Wars” and “Battlefield Zeta.” He shook his head and sipped his coffee. Oh, to be free from the burden of command.

  “What’s on your mind?” He sat across from her. She smiled briefly, then grew serious.

  “The Ceres survivors wish to see you again, Captain. They have appointed one of themselves to be their speaker, and he wants to talk, now they know we are going to Earth before we return to the belt.”

  “Sharky?”

  “Tom, yes.”

  “Right.” He sipped his coffee and rubbed more sleep from his eyes. “You know, we’re almost there. Time’s a little short. Can he come up in the next hour or so?”

  Mulligan quietly cleared her throat. “They want you to come to them again, Sir. They feel the bunkhouses are a more fitting location for the nature of your relationship.”

  “The nature of our relationship?” He frowned. Mulligan didn’t budge. “Alright,” he sighed. “You may tell Tom that I will be in the bunkhouses on the hour. Just have to review some things on the bridge first.”

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

  They stood to leave.

  “Mulligan,” he said. “It was your home, too. I haven’t forgotten that.”

  She half-smiled. “A long time ago, yes. But thank you, Sir.”

  Caspar had come to the bridge by the time he reentered. “Care to join me for a parlay in the lower decks?” he asked.

  “Scintillating.” She stood, sounding as tired as he felt. “You know how to show a girl a good time, Sir.”

  “We aim to please.” He set his coffee down at the chair. On a whim, he turned to Jan. “Officer Jan, are you busy?”

  Jan turned around mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open. “Ah, uh, well, officially no, Sir, but I was just in the middle of explaining to Tompkins here that the critical difference between the multiplayer gameplay in Jupiter Wars and BZ really has nothing to do with the HUD, which, as even the prawniest of noobs will tell you, is fully configurable anyway, but is actually the—”

  “With us, please.” He and Caspar turned to go, Jan trailing after.

  The bunkhouse felt different this time. More tense, more organized. The survivors stood at civilian attention at the feet of their bunks as Lucas passed by. Once again, Tom stood beside a small mess table at the opposite end of the room. They shook hands and sat.

  “Captain, thank you for coming.”

  “I don’t have a lot of time this morning. Mulligan may have told you, we’re in the middle of an unplanned detour, and I’m currently answering to a lot of people. But this is the least I could do for you. I thank you and your people for your patience with the delay.”

  Tom smiled at the words ‘your people.’

  “I understand you’ve received some sort of appointment,” Lucas said.

  Tom waved a hand. “A humble but necessary role to be filled while we are refugees at your mercy, Captain.”

  “At our hospitality.”

  Tom nodded, smiling again. “Yes. We are sure you are fine people—after all, you took us in when we had no hope—but you understand, I’m sure, our need to band together as a community in the aftermath of Ceres’ destruction.”

  He did, and he didn’t. The sentiment made sense, but Lucas was beginning to catch a whiff of politics. He liked to keep the pipes moving on the Fairfax; he didn’t care for backed up sewage. He didn’t understand it. “I’m sure,” he said.

  “Captain, I asked you here to ask you for the reason for our detour to Earth.”

  Lucas pursed his lips. He had no desire to be heavy-handed with a band of civilian survivors, but where and when he took his ship was none of their business.

  “I know.” Tom raised his hands. “I’m sure you have your reasons, and that some of the concerns that have been raised here in the bunkhouse are completely unwarranted. I beg you to indulge us, Sir. We are scared. Our home was just destroyed. You are not naïve, Captain. You must surely understand there are a number among us for whom a visit to Earth space is fraught with peril. Bounties, warrants… unpleasant things await them there.”

  Ah, so that was it. Lucas lifted his chin, considering his response. “Our detour through Earth space has nothing to do with your people. I have no intention of selling, trading, bartering, or otherwise evacuating any of them from this ship. Not without their permission. Not until we’re back in the belt.”

  Tom smiled, some of the tension easing. “We have your word?”

  “You do.” Lucas stood and held out his hand again. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, and to give you cause for concern. But rest easy for a few days. And make sure everyone has a plan for departure once we’re back.”

  “I will. Thank you for your time, Captain.”

  On their way back to the bridge, Lucas motioned for Jan to walk beside him. “Alright kid, who did you recognize?”

  “Um, wow, man, who didn’t I recognize, Sir? There was Sharky, of course.”

  “Sharky’s a player?”

  “He’s smalltime, more of an info source than a player, if you know what I mean. His boy Max. Also smalltime, does collections for some of the casinos sometimes. But then you got guys in there like Tracey Kipper, and Bobby Rush, and Rory Falmoth, all mid-level gangsters in the Amsel Brother’s family establishment, sort of the old-guard mafia family based out of Rust.”

  “I’m familiar. Any family in there?”

  “Yeah,” the kid said, disbelief in his voice. “An Amsel and a Holub. Ronald and Porgy. Who would’ve guessed, right? Hey, are you really gonna not turn them in for any kind of bounty? Cause Captain, I gotta tell ya, we would be sitting pretty. I mean, if you mean to keep your word and protect these guys, we can only hope the Rome Eater people don’t catch a whiff that they’re here, cause if they do, these guys are goners. It’ll mean an all-out assault on the Fairfax, cargo or no cargo. There are blood-feuds, family wars, and massive payouts here. It’s a perfect storm.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  —

  “Captain, you’ve healed so beautifully!” Cyclops grinned on the viewscreen. Lucas managed to keep from glaring at the comment.

  “Thank you, Cyclops. I see we’ve entered Earth space and are slowing. I await new orders regarding the cargo on my ship.”

  “Ah ah, on my ship, which I stole from you and let you borrow on loan to do your job. Don’t forget who’s loading the guns now, Captain.”

  “Of course, Cyclops.”

  “You will be boarded by a trio of small freighters from the convoy. They will take the cargo from you.”

  Lucas blinked. “We aren’t going to make the delivery?”

  “The situation has changed, as you may have noticed. We have more than enough ships here to do business ourselves.”

  “I have noticed. Why the fleet, anyway? And why the attacks on Ceres and Mars? I thought you didn’t want anything but your own little patch of space.”

  Cyclops’ one eye narrowed. “I’m afraid the answers are above your paygrade, Captain. Don’t worry yourself about them. You have a new mission, anyway. Once the cargo has been offloaded, you’ll receive my next instructions.” The feed ended.

  “Clear as Martian mud,” Lucas muttered.

  “Ships requesting docking on hangar deck,” Jeffrey announced.

  “Thank you, Jeffrey,” Lucas said dryly. “Please confirm their Rome Inc. IDs, and dock them.”

  “IDs confirmed. Ships docking now.”

  A few seconds later, Cyclops reappeared on the screen. “Oh, and one more thing, Captain, now that my ships have docked and my cargo is being loaded.” He grinned. “I’ll also be taking those Ceres refugees you have stowed away in the belly of my ship. I believe they’ll find accommodations much more to their
liking over here.”

  “Jeffrey!” Lucas looked at the ceiling, as if speaking to the Fairfax. “What did you do?”

  “Surprisingly,” Jeffrey said, “I’m not the one who told.”

  A familiar man, pale and with a slight frame, appeared onscreen beside Cyclops. The man from the Ceres bombing.

  Lucas groaned inwardly.

  “You made a good run of it, Captain,” he said. “But I told you they were mine. And now they are.”

  Chapter 26

  Ada hadn’t slept a wink. She’d lain in bed, running scenarios and trying to understand the purpose of the cargo contents. War was all she could come up with. Umbrador’s video message, and her dying words, echoed in her mind. The end of the world. Sue for peace, not war.

  She derided herself for beginning to trust Lucas and his crew. Of course they were in on the whole thing, and had played her for a fool. Why else would they be so gung-ho about plunging so far into the inner system? She didn’t buy his duty malarkey. Maybe some of his confusion was genuine, or maybe he was just a consummate actor. It didn’t matter. Either way they were delivering a super weapon into the hands of a crime syndicate that had committed mass genocide just days before, and proven themselves ruthless in their methods and inexhaustible in their resources. She didn’t know how, but she had to stop it from happening.

  She was crouching in the back of the adjacent cargo bay, one that held a few odds and ends other than the blue tubs, behind a row of copper coils. Another time, she might have inspected the wire, wondering at the ingenuity to think to use wired power when the Fairfax had lost wireless power functions after being attacked by Brant. Now, they were merely her cover, while she subvocalized with Moses, getting a readout on her device of lifeform activity on the hangar deck.

  As she watched the dots flurry around from bay to ship and back, a plan began to form. It wasn’t a good plan, she admitted to herself. Chances of her own survival seemed slim. Somehow that thought didn’t dissuade her. She was worn thin these days, beaten up by too much pain, too many disappointments. She would miss Crush, she thought wistfully. And Joyce. And Moses, and her dream of flying around the system in Cupid, carefree. But it had only ever been a dream. There was really nothing for her here, and had been nothing for her at home since she had left.

  Silently, she asked her father for his forgiveness. If he was alive, she may be leaving him to capture or torture. If dead, she was certainly leaving without getting justice. But she knew that if there was a chance he could have stopped a system-wide war and saved millions, probably billions of lives, by laying his own life on the line, he would have done it in a heartbeat. He had done it every day, working for the Blade.

  Besides. If she died, she would be with Raya.

  It was difficult to empty the tub. More difficult still to hide its contents. But in a few minutes she was laying curled up in a fetal position inside. She held her multitool up to the side and thought. “Moses, is there a way you can punch a couple of holes in this thing so I can breathe?”

  “I think so. Hold still a moment.”

  The device in her hand warmed, and a series of short, controlled bursts emanated from the small-arms blaster. Ada lifted the lid over her head and dropped it into place, then called up the code once more from Umbrador’s data stick to activate the lock.

  She waited.

  Sometime later the noise of men shifting the tubs about grew closer, and, finally, they lifted her.

  She held her hands to the sides, trying to steady herself. Abruptly, the motion stopped.

  “This one feel different to you?” a voice said.

  “Yeah. Lighter, I think. Hang on.” They set her back down and tried to open the tub. “No good, all locked up. Well, not our place to worry, I suppose.” They lifted her again.

  She felt them set the tub down once more, and then roll her away through the cargo bay and out onto the long hangar deck.

  “Last one,” someone yelled from over her. The cart sped down the length of the deck. Ada bit her lips together, fighting the urge to vomit, and banged her forehead into the side of the tub as it came to a stop. She closed her eyes and focused on slowing her breath.

  The sound of the hatch hissing shut marked the end of human voices. She counted backward from one hundred. The ship lifted and moved forward. Ada called up Moses and ran the lock code, then braced her arms and legs against the lid and pushed.

  Nothing happened.

  Her heart began beating faster, and suddenly it felt like there was no air left in the tub. They’d stacked another on top of her. Maybe more than one. She couldn’t possibly lift them from inside; they were far too heavy. Now she was stuck until either she suffocated or was discovered by the druglords, and they would still get their precious cargo.

  She cursed. Not today.

  With nothing left to lose, she began to rock against the sides of the tub. Soon she was throwing herself, as hard as she could, with what little leverage she could muster. The tub wiggled. Another rock, and it swayed. Ada gained hope and rocked furiously. The tub tilted and careened down, the lid slipping off as it fell to the side. She rolled out quickly and ran into another stack of tubs, but managed to avoid being crushed by the two that toppled over from the stack she had escaped.

  “Alright, Moses. Time to work some magic.” She opened another crate and stared down at the thing inside. It was grotesque, a near perfect replica of the nano-bot Doctor Saran had shown her, but on a scale many times larger. There was no way its purpose was healing.

  She reached a hand into the crate and felt all around it for a port or console, grimacing as her hands run under its belly and over its many legs. “Moses, are you able to detect the object I’m touching right now?”

  “Affirmative. The machine is cycling just enough power to run, but is below a cold threshold. An acceptable analog might be mammalian hibernation.”

  “Don’t poke the bear,” Ada muttered to herself. “Are you able to detect any kind of programming? Is there an operating computer?”

  “The nature of the hardware suggests expansive computing support, but without waking it up, there is no way to know exactly what is being supported.”

  “Hmm.”

  She took a deep breath. No backing out now.

  “Can you wake it?”

  “I can attempt to generate extra wireless power from your multi-tool and feed it to the machine. This may or may not be enough to trigger it past the threshold.”

  “Do it.”

  “It will also likely kill power to your multi-tool.”

  “Will I still be able to communicate with you? Is my earpiece synced to Cupid or the tool right now?”

  “We will be able to communicate as long as you stay in range. But none of the Rome Inc ships likely to take this cargo are within that range. I estimate another three minutes of contact.”

  She blew out her breath. “Understood. Do it now.”

  The multi-tool grew hot in her hand, and she set it down on the lip of the open tub. It emitted a piercing high frequency that rose until she could no longer hear it, only feel it as a rising pressure in her head. Then it was gone.

  A minute passed.

  “Moses?” She picked up the multitool. As predicted, it was dead. “Moses, are you with me?”

  His voice sputtered in her ear. “Ada… …stimate was wrong. Range now… …for contact.” He broke up into nothing, leaving Ada alone.

  Another minute.

  An energy filled the cargo hold, like static electricity clinging to the air. Ada held her breath and listened. A low hum ramped up to a quiet whir, and running lights flared on from along the sides of the machine’s body. An emotionless voice spoke into the darkness.

  “We are hive. We await orders from the lawgiver.”

  Ada sat back against the stack of tubs, her mouth hanging open. The message repeated.

  Orders from the lawgiver.

  “Moses?” she subvocalized.

  “We are hive. We await ord
ers from the lawgiver.”

  Chapter 27

  “Won’t they just set off another EMP?” Tompkins asked, charging up his blaster rifle. “Seems like that’s been their MO so far.”

  “Maybe,” Lucas said. “But I don’t think so; it would fry their cargo shuttles’ nav. Catch.” He tossed him a blasting pistol. “All hands on deck, kid. If we make a big enough show of force, maybe nobody has to get hurt.”

  “Seems counterintuitive to me,” Tompkins muttered as he holstered the pistol, “but you’re the captain.”

  “Don’t forget it.” He moved toward the hangar doors.

  They were standing on the deck, waiting for the mid-sized military transport shuttles to dock. Rome had send them over as soon as the cargo had left the hangar, expecting to find the Ceres survivors ready to be loaded. If they thought Lucas was going to hand over the last surviving refugees from the bombing, they had another thing coming. He didn’t care how bad the baddest mafia baddie among them was. Rome had shown itself to be the baddest, and this was where Lucas drew the line.

  “But, Sir.” Tompkins trotted after him. “Even if we do manage to convince them to take their transports and shove them, so to speak, and we get to keep all our passengers, what happens next? Won’t they just shoot us out of the sky?”

  “Not if we have their cargo.” Lucas smiled.

  “Ahh.” Tompkins spun around, looking at the others. “Am I missing something?”

  “Don’t worry, kid,” Lucas said. “Now get your guns ready. We need every man.”

  “And about that, Sir. Where are all the usual suspects? I don’t see Randall, or Mulligan, or the onetime love of my life, Lieutenant Blue Eyes. Shouldn’t they be the ones standing here?”

  It was true—the usual suspects were all absent. Lucas had to fill out his ranks with untested privates, a couple of Mulligan’s security boys, and whoever could be spared from Adams. Even Jan stood with a blaster pistol in each hand, doing his best to look fearsome and imposing.