Triumph's Ashes (The Cassidy Chronicles Volume 5)

by Adam Gaffen

  “Aye, Ma’am.”

  “Captain, the tractor’s disengaged.”

  “How?”

  “Trade secret,” said Stewart.

  “I’ll bet. Do you have any ideas how we can separate from the plate?” The Endeavour was barely five hundred meters from the plate. The gap was growing, if slowly, as the plate rotated. The problem was eventually, even at barely a meter per second, the mass would make a half-revolution and crumple the Endeavour from aft like an eggshell.

  Stewart was already on her way back to her primary station. “The OMS system is still running. Use the portside thrusters on maximum to push us to starboard. I’ll monitor the flow and channel every cubic meter of gas into it I can scrounge.”

  “Brilliant.” Kiri passed the order to Furber.

  The OMS wasn’t designed for huge delta vee, but each thruster could muster about a half-meter per second per second. The port thrusters, combined, would give them about one g lateral separation. If they had the full ten minutes Daniela had promised...

  It would have to be enough.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Artemis City; Cislunar Space; Habitat Njord

  Stardate 12009.14

  “Lieutenant?”

  Gries coughed.

  “I think it worked.”

  His response was another cough, deeper.

  “McGill, cover me while I go help the Lieutenant.” McGill forced herself upright but couldn’t do much more.

  Gries’ plan had worked, for values of working.

  His approach hadn’t been at all quiet; Crampton and McGill had seen to that. Their barrage of fire had caused the Artemis forces to duck and cover, which allowed him to creep closer to them than he’d planned and almost farther than he dared. But he’d found the perfect spot.

  There was a niche in the bulkhead, an access port to a power coupling, and he’d jammed the charge into the slightly too-small gap. Upon reflection, not only was he probably closer than he should have been but he’d taken too much time on the positioning. When he finally turned to run the Artemesians had reacted most efficiently.

  He hadn’t counted on being hit by multiple shots before he could dive out of range again. One positive was it had caused him to flatten himself on the floor if somewhat inelegantly. McGill and Crampton found his prone position helpful targeting the pack, and two shots served to rupture it.

  The packs were sturdy; they were designed to be used by Marines, after all. But they didn’t, couldn’t, stand up to the direct impact from the rifles they powered, and the energy release when it ruptured was as catastrophic as Gries hoped it would be. Pieces of bulkhead, decking, and ceiling, some a meter across, shattered and flew across the corridor.

  Then the power conduit blew.

  After the blinding flash and deafening noise the lights in the corridor failed, so they couldn’t see exactly what the results were. The emergency lighting kicked in, revealing just how effective the lieutenant’s trick had been.

  The wall had pretty well disappeared for three meters in any direction, as had part of the ceiling and deck. What remained was wrack and ruin, bent and twisted plates which used to be a corridor.

  Nobody was getting through there for a while.

  Crampton reached Gries. “Sir, can you hear me?”

  No response, so she tapped Gries’ shoulder and was rewarded with the lieutenant’s head rising.

  “Did it work?” Gries shouted.

  Crampton nodded.

  “Good,” he yelled again. “Help me up.”

  Crampton pulled Gries to his feet. “Are you hurt?” she shouted.

  “Huh?”

  Crampton thought about trying to pantomime ‘hurt’ but instead shook her head. It could wait; Gries was mobile.

  Mobile.

  Q-Net!

  Are you hurt, sir?

  I feel like I was run over by a Wolf, but I don’t think I’m damaged too badly. Can’t hear shit though.

  Yes, sir.

  “He says he’s not too badly hurt,” Crampton told McGill, avoiding looking at what remained of her leg.

  “Good, because I’m gonna have to lean on someone and I can’t do that if he’s fucked up too.” She levered herself upright against the bulkhead.

  “Robin, you sure you ought to be up?”

  “Hell no, Corp. But my nannies are blocking the pain somehow and I’m not getting younger, or better-looking, so let’s go. Give me an arm.”

  I’ve got to help Private McGill, sir.

  Gries nodded. “I can make it,” he didn’t quite shout.

  “Good. Next stop, the surface.”

  THE DETACHMENT LED by Stone had finally arrived at the temporary Council Chamber. The route had been deserted, as Taylor had expected, but almost interminably long as it wound through most of the third level. Eventually they’d rounded the last corner, opened the last hatch, to discover a nearly deserted room.

  Nearly deserted.

  In the elevated chair, at the far end of the Chamber, was a tall woman. Her dark hair spilled out behind her, draped down her back and around her torso, framing her angular face. She was wearing a uniform in a style unfamiliar to everyone, dark green with yellow piping along the outer seams of her trousers and on the shoulder epaulettes.

  She was the picture of relaxation, sitting slightly askew, one leg stretched to reach the surface of the meeting table, one leg drawn up. One hand was draped over her knee and the other was resting in her lap, and she smiled at them in greeting.

  “Why, Minister Taylor. How nice to see you.”

  “Phalkon.” Taylor’s voice held none of her pleasantness.

  “And Minister Crozier, is that you?”

  Nicole stepped out from behind the Marine. “I don’t remember you.”

  She smiled, a lazy, cat-like smile which promised menace.

  “I’m sorry, I’m forgetting my manners. Tal Phalkon, lately First Councilor to the Empress. You’ll forgive me if I don’t stand? It’s been a busy morning.”

  “Where is everyone?” Stone gestured her pulse rifle at the empty room.

  “Well. Who are you?”

  “You can call me Master Chief.”

  “Ah, yes, the infamous Master Chief Mikayla Stone. I had quite the dossier on you, you know. Quite the disruptive force. First visit and you blow a MinSec operation. Second visit, you assist in launching this foolish attempt at a revolution. And here you are again. You’ve been quite the irritant.”

  “I’m flattered.” Stone’s eyes flitted about the room, assessing threats.

  Phalkon followed her eyes. “I assure you, Master Chief, we are quite alone.”

  “Which brings me back to my question. Where is everyone?”

  “Councilors Kreitzer and Pitt have been put on sabbatical during this period of reorganization.”

  “Sabbatical?” said Stone.

  “Either house arrest or dead,” Crozier supplied.

  “Ah. And the others?”

  “Hadn’t you heard? My, my, the fabled Federation intelligence doesn’t know?”

  “I’m tired of your games,” Stone said, raising the barrel of Ripley to oh-so-subtly threaten Phalkon.

  “Dead. An unanticipated side effect of the bomb we detonated at Tycho Under.” The casualness with which she mentioned the bombing stunned Taylor and shocked Crozier into speaking.

  “You tried to murder a million people!”

  “I tried to end a rebellion,” countered Phalkon. “A purely internal matter, and one to which you have no claim.”

  “No claim? How so?”

  “You abandoned your duty, your position, your nation, because it suited you at the time,” Phalkon retorted. “Yes, we know about your story, how you never intended to leave. Cry me a river.”

  “Dent.” It was the first word Mac had spoken.

  “Exactly. You’re a smart one; who are you?”

  “Don’t answer.” Mac knew the tone and didn’t argue with Stone.

  “Frankly, lassie
, I don’t care two shits about you or the other Councilors. I’m here for the Empress. Where is she?”

  “In her quarters,” Phalkon said unconcernedly. “Do you know where they are? No, of course you don’t; it’s all different now.”

  She gracefully flexed her way out of her seat.

  “I can show you.”

  “No tricks.” There was no mistaking the direction Stone was pointing Ripley now.

  “I wouldn’t think of it.” With a lithe stride Phalkon led them from the Chamber, Stone close behind and the rest of her party following.

  Mac, you got any eyes in here?

  No, Chief, it’s isolated and pretty well locked down, Harpo and I never managed to crack it, we simply didn’t have access or we would have.

  Be alert, then.

  There wasn’t more time, as the quarters were only a few meters down a side corridor. The hatchway was impressive, though, fully three meters across with a security panel to the right. Stone knew better than to try it herself.

  “Open it.” Stone edged over to have a clear view of the panel.

  “My, my, how suspicious.” She didn’t hesitate, though, and started entering her codes. The outer hatch slid open, revealing a second set of doors.

  “Those, too.”

  “They’re coded to open one set at a time with separate protocols for each,” Phalkon explained. She was already entering her information. Presently the second set slid aside.

  “Three sets?”

  Phalkon shrugged. “This was originally designed as a pressure shelter, fifty-odd years ago, and the builders were a little paranoid.”

  Mac? Can you confirm?

  Not specifically, there are references to a pressure shelter in this part of the Complex but these are public records, who knows what they’ve actually done to them.

  “This the last hatch?”

  “It is,” Phalkon said as they opened as well. “The Empress awaits you.”

  “Monaco, you, McBride, Williams. Check it out.” Stone wasn’t going to take point on this one, not with Phalkon in control of the hatches.

  The three Marines entered.

  “No hostiles. There’s nothing here,” called Monaco a moment later. “Another set of hatches on the far wall.”

  Stone nudged Phalkon with her rifle. “Move.”

  “No need to be rude, Master Chief. It’s a simple system; all your soldier needs do is press the top button.”

  Stone nodded to McBride, who was closest. “They’re Marines, not soldiers.”

  “What’s in a name? They’re idiots with uniforms and guns who take orders,” Phalkon countered. Stone bristled but outwardly ignored her.

  The far hatch opened and McBride entered.

  “Sarge!” he called, and Monaco hustled in.

  “Master Chief,” she called next. “You need to see this.”

  “Move,” Stone said to Phalkon.

  “Why? I know what’s in there.” But she walked, nonetheless. She crossed through the hatch and stopped with a sigh.

  Stone was only a step behind.

  “Bollocks. Monaco, we’re leaving. Mac, get hold of Davie and Kendra. Tell them the Empress is dead.” She turned Phalkon around and started marching her out of the compartment. “You knew about this?”

  “Of course; it’s my work. Now, shall we discuss terms?”

  “Terms?”

  “Of your surrender. Or mine. We’ll see.”

  “You are mad.” Stone held up to let the others pass her before moving again.

  “Oh, no, Master Chief. Perhaps a little bit more creative than most, but I’m also the senior surviving member of the government of the Union of Artemis, and I’m prepared to offer you most generous terms.” They were out of the quarters and in the corridor again. She tapped the controls and the hatches slammed shut. Simultaneously, alarms began to wail.

  “If you survive, that is.”

  “What sort of game are you playing?”

  “Simple. This corridor is flooding with BZ gas.”

  Recognition drained the blood from Stone’s face.

  “Ah, I see you’re familiar with it. That’s right, you must have seen one of our little tests. Good. I’ve taken the precaution to inject myself with the antidote.” Phalkon looked suitably smug.

  “Don’t bother to sniff for it,” she added to Monaco. “Odorless.”

  “What do you want?” Stone said.

  “I told you. Your surrender, or mine. I’m sure you’re as ready to move on from this silly conflict as I am or you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Granted. What does that have to do with poison gas?”

  “Very simple. If one of you, any one, manages to survive the next hour and remain rational, I’ll surrender on your terms.”

  “Remain rational? That’s all?”

  “Well. I suppose your troops are excepted. You, Crozier, Taylor, or the brunette,” she said, pointing to each in turn and finishing with Mac. “No masks, no filters, no helmet air, of course. No attempts to break out or block the air flow, and a rescue voids the entire deal.”

  “Naturally. And if we fail?”

  “Then you will surrender the Federation to me.”

  “We don’t have the authority!”

  “Pity. This is the only game in town, after all.”

  Stone looked at her speculatively. “And what if I simply kill you now?”

  “Then you’ll never get out of here. The hatches are coded to me and me alone, a specific sequence of biometrics and protocols which you haven’t a chance to duplicate if I’m dead. And you can forget about blasting the hatches open. The Complex’s internal security doors are fourteen centimeters thick durasteel.”

  Chief!

  Not now, Mac!

  This is important, Chief. We can do this!

  Stone said, “A moment to consult?”

  “Take all the time you want. The terms are non-negotiable, and the timer’s already started.”

  The four huddled together, seeming to speak, but didn’t say anything.

  You got my attention. How can we do this?

  The ‘bots!

  What about them?

  BZ is a neurotoxin, so the ‘bots can counteract it, neutralize it. They’re kinda dumb, so they won’t know how to do it on their own, we have to tell them, but once programmed it’ll be easy for them!

  We won’t have any issues? This from Crozier.

  No. None.

  How sure are you, Mac? Stone asked. We’re betting everything on this hand.

  Absolutely positive.

  Any objections? Stone waited a beat.

  No objection, it’s kinda sorta my idea, but a question.

  Yeah?

  We’re not really playing cards, are we? Because I totally missed it.

  “We’ll take your deal.”

  Phalkon’s smile was cold.

  “I hoped you would.”

  “I TOTALLY WAS READY,” Ashlyn said.

  “Liar,” Daniela commed back, but there was an edge of humor to her accusation.

  She’d succeeded in reaching Ashlyn, though it had taken direct ‘plant-to-’plant contact, and as soon as her Direwolf had been taken out of Case Theta she’d hurried to catch up. Now they were positioning Ashlyn’s Direwolf on the surface of the plate.

  Ideally they’d place the ship on the side closest to Njord, to blast the fragments away from the habitat and back into space, but the rotation was a crawl. They simply didn’t have the time if they wanted to detonate at distance. It was a terrible equation with no good answers; since the plate was nearly edge-on to the habitat there were going to be pieces flying in every direction

  “Starbuck, you know what to do?”

  “It’s all done but drawing the final card,” he answered, still as cocky as ever.

  It sounded so simple, but the execution was proving to be a bit more daunting. First was the placement of the ship. She couldn’t simply approach the plate and then bail out, trusting the OAS to maintain t
he position. Fortunately the plate was massive enough to generate its own weak gravitational field; it wasn’t much, but it would be sufficient to hold the Direwolf in place if nothing acted on it.

  Such as Ashlyn jumping down from the ship.

  It really was a weak gravitational field.

  She had to evacuate her cockpit before opening the canopy, then she’d jump upward, away from the plate and simultaneously driving the ship down. While she was executing this maneuver, Daniela would take up a position 800 meters above the plate and inverted. The distance was calculated to reduce the attraction between her ship and Ashlyn’s to a single Newton. There she’d open her canopy and wait for Ash’s arrival.

  Then they’d leave as quickly as they could before Starbuck dropped the magnetic bottle and superaccelerated the reaction rate in the Direwolf’s fusion plant.

  No more plate.

  At least, no more cohesive plate. Scraps. Globules. Hazards to navigation, yes.

  But there’d be a habitat to land on.

  If it all worked out.

  “Hey, Starbuck.”

  “Yo.”

  “It’s been a pleasure flying with you.” She knew it was silly; he was an AI, a computer program, after all. Still she couldn’t keep the emotions from her voice.

  “Don’t go all soft on me now, kid,” he said in reply. “Now git. I’ve a job to do.”

  She dropped the visor, sealing her helmet, then checked the rest of the connections before evacuating the cockpit.

  “Nymeria Actual, Red Leader. Ready, Daniela?”

  “In position. Jump straight.”

  Ashlyn climbed onto her seat and settled her feet. Daniela was joking, but she had a point. A minor mistake in aim and she’d be doing a Dutchman a few hundred meters from a fusion bomb. At least it would be a short-lived mistake. She keyed open the channel.

  “Countdown from three. Three, two, one, jumping!”

  She pushed off from her seat with a forceful but steady movement, not the usual idea of a ‘jump’, and accelerated away from the plate.

  “Nice liftoff.” Starbuck’s voice sounded in her helmet. “You managed a total acceleration of 5.2 MPS, which is pretty good for a human. And you’re only off by a few degrees. I’ve already fed the figures to Boomer and they’re adjusting position.”