by David Ryker
The Peacekeeper on his heels leapt back in shock, holding up his taser and staring at it, knowing suddenly how useless it was.
Ward pointed his gun at him and the guy threw his hands up, dropping the stun gun instinctively, like a beta wolf showing its neck to the alpha.
He lowered his gun, aware that in a few more seconds the other two Peacekeepers would be through the crowd, and number two might just grow a new pair of balls and do something stupid. The first was still doubled up at his feet, but Ward wasn’t about to bet that the other three together wouldn’t feel like trying him on for size.
He stepped back, feeling the railing against his hip, and with one final sweep of the crowd leaned back and tumbled over, the last shreds of gravity throwing him down into ring below.
He twisted in the air, looking for the opening, finding it and kicking off the second his boots hit the ground. He covered the distance in seconds, the Peacekeepers already on the other side of the rotating port. He was in the tube with another kick and heading towards to the Siljan — Arza’s father’s yacht — at speed.
Shouts echoed down the shaft from above. Orders to stop and come back chased him. But he didn’t stop, and with a quick rotation, his heels were pointing down toward the open door of the ship.
He flew straight in and hit the wall of the corridor, absorbing the impact and crouching into the wall. His hand shot up, reaching for the door seal, glimpsing the faces of the Peacekeepers hanging over the opening high above, cautious of any bullets that might be flying up.
He clenched his jaw, flipped them the bird, and then hit the button.
The door slammed shut and as Ward pushed off through the corridors toward the cockpit, he felt the ship hum to life around him. Arza was already at the controls, getting things fired up.
Ward had to give it to her. Pissed at him or not, she was good in a bind and could follow a lead.
He pulled himself into the cockpit as she disengaged them from the port, swearing all the while.
Ward was barely in the seat before she let go of the controls and signed over power to him. She either really, honestly didn’t know how to fly it, or she was that scared of her father than even in the midst of all this she refused to put her hands on the damn thing. Ward didn’t have time to find out.
He buckled in with one hand, flicking switches with the other, desperate to get away.
In any other situation, they would have handed themselves in, gotten to the bottom of what was the matter. But for their faces to be splashed around like that meant that Chandri’s call had been one that Ward had feared.
The OCA was supposed to have control of this system — they were supposed to have control of all systems. But Earth and Mars were still at the center of their universe, so to speak, and it was where the law was the fairest, or at least where it was honored to the highest degree.
This far out — past the Gate, like Ward himself had said, it was the goddamn Wild West, and nothing was out of reach for those with the credits to front it.
Peacekeepers weren’t exactly the best paid civil servants in the Axis, and if a little extra pocket-lining came at the expense of a tasing without due cause, or of throwing a couple of unknown faces on a wanted banner, then hell, Ward wasn’t surprised they had gone for it. He had no idea what the price on their heads was, but to come barrelling through a port full of civilians like that, drones and tasers out and cocked, he figured it was a lot.
He was under no illusions that this was a catch and release scenario. No, the way that they’d come after them, and that fast, on Chandri’s, Fairbright’s, or Zenith’s orders — or at least whoever was pulling the strings behind the scenes — meant that the instructions were clear. Shoot on sight. And shoot to kill.
The only reason they’d gotten away was because the nearest Peacekeepers at the time weren’t the real deal. Just glorified security guards, basically, loaned out on an inflated day rate to whatever company ran the port. If they’d been somewhere more substantial — like one of the official OCA mega-ports — then it probably would have been tougher. More guards, better armed. They’d gotten lucky this time. Though once they got away from the port, it was still a long way to the Gate, and the Peacekeepers would be scrambling now. Ward hoped to hell that the yacht was more than just a pleasure craft, and that the thrusters were worth a damn. Though, somehow, he thought that no matter how fast the ship was, it wouldn’t be enough, and now that they’d shown their strength, the Peacekeepers wouldn’t be taking any more chances. They’d come after them with everything they had, and Ward had been around long enough to know that when it mattered, what they had was more than enough to take apart pretty much anything they wanted.
He pulled hard away from the port and maxed the thrusters, accelerating quickly away from the spinning dock. The arms flailed into the distance as the planet beneath them rotated and orbited and in seconds they were in a steep bank, putting as much distance between them and Aeolus as they could.
The Gate was about three thousand clicks away, set in orbit around the sun, rather than around Aeolus. For now, it was synched with the orbital speed of the planet, but as the system was further colonized, the orbit could be widened or altered, or broken altogether, depending on the best proximity to growing settlements. For now, it was just spitting distance away, and that was good — because Ward was already aware of at least two ships on their tail.
He grabbed hold of a lever next to his knee and pushed it forward until it hit the stop and he felt it bend under his grip. A smooth whine rang out above them and motorized runners came to life, hauling the solar sails from their bundled position in the rear compartments along the rails that spanned the length of the ship, arcing from the back to the front.
The golden sheet opened itself overhead, like the fin of a sailfish, with material set between rigid spines. They ran the length and settled at the nose, billowing mindlessly overhead as Ward spidered over the terminal, looking for the photon generators.
Arza reached forward and guided him, flashing through the menus with a familiar speed. She did know what she was doing, then.
Ward was still flat on the thrusters, the engines roaring and powering them toward the Gate.
The generators spun to life, clicking and sighing before they picked up to a howl.
When they kicked, the material snapped tight and blew out the front like a gust of wind had caught them, two massive, filled sails like colossal golden bat-wings.
The generators kicked them in the ass and the ship started picking up more speed, the thrusters and the sails working in tandem.
But the yacht was a slug — a huge, bloated pleasure craft, and even with the sails and thrusters at full tilt, and as much as Ward was swearing at them to go faster, they were no match for the Peacekeepers’ cruisers.
They came up, one on either side.
The ships were about twenty meters long and sleek. Their bodies were shaped like sunflower seeds, and on either side, long, flat fins protruded, set at an angle like two prongs of a fork bent down at the sides. Mounted in the middle, under the cockpit, was a pulse generator. Globs of conductive gum were charged electrically and fired to neutralize fleeing ships. When they impacted, a surge of current would short any electronics it came into contact with. And when that failed, there were always guided missiles, of which both ships had more than enough to destroy their yacht ten times over.
Ward watched as the ships came up on their flanks and then looped over, in symmetrical, fluid movements, quickly assessing the military capabilities of the ship before they took it on. Destroying it totally and without reason, whether they were on the take or not, would raise too many questions — and this close to the port, debris would cause a lot of residual damage.
But they could neutralize them with a good blast of current and then board them and execute Ward and Arza — or at least try — which would be much less messy. No doubt by now they knew whose ship it actually was, and blowing a yacht owned by a Senior Advisor in
the UMR Defense Committee was a good way to get a spotlight shoved up your ass. And it was probably the only reason Ward and Arza were still alive. But still, if they engaged without deadly force, and there was resistance… Well, Ferlish Arza’s ship or not, engaging OCA Peacekeepers was a corporal offense and would give them free rein to engage with utter prejudice.
Ward clenched his jaw and watched them sweep upwards and over, inverting themselves as they made a circle around the ship, keeping their cockpits facing the Siljan. He followed them with his eyes as they disappeared behind the sails and then reappeared under the arching runners, switching places.
“Jesus Christ,” Arza growled, “you’ve really done it now.” She was breathless. “You just had to piss them off, didn’t you?”
Ward wasn’t listening. He was thinking.
“Guess this as good as proves that Fairbright are up to their asses in this — but I don’t know what that’ll matter if—”
He didn’t let her finish before he moved. “Sorry, Ferlish,” he grunted, pulling hard up on the stick, and then left, rolling them up and sideways before the Peacekeeper could make the decision to drop back and charge his pulse.
The pilot tried to swerve out of the way, but the fractional delay was enough.
The left-hand sail fell over the ship like a blanket and Ward ripped back on the throttle, pumping it into reverse thrust.
The movement threw them both forward against their harnesses, punching the wind out of them, but it didn’t matter.
The front prongs of the Peacekeeper rammed themselves through the material of the sail, but as it hit the flat body between them, the thing buckled and ripped the section of sail from the nearest spine, its momentum wrapping it up and sending it spinning in circles, the thrusters fighting madly to keep it straight, melting the material to the hull as it did.
“No!” Arza yelled, twisting toward the window. “The sail!”
Ward grunted as the Peacekeeper yanked them away from the second ship, its flaring engines dragging them off trajectory, one edge of the sail still holding onto the Siljan.
Ward gripped the stick in one hand, trying to find the emergency sail release under the console with the other. His fingers closed around it, a handle, and he yanked it down.
On the screen, the words ‘EMERGENCY SAIL RELEASE: LEFT’ appeared. ‘WARNING!’ flashed underneath it.
He twisted and shunted the handle back up.
Four explosions rang through the hull as the runners all burst, the explosives wired through them blowing the couplings apart, sending the Peacekeeper tumbling into space somewhere underneath them as their thrusters pulled them back the other way.
By now, the second Peacekeeper was making a run at them, swooping away, and charging its pulse in recompense.
Ward glanced left, over Arza’s petrified face — though the idea of getting blown up didn’t seem to be what was fazing her — to the still-firing photon generator, now shooting a concentrated blast of light into space ahead of them.
It wasn’t anything close to a weapon, but it was about all they had.
With one still-functioning sail, they were being pulled sideways, and Ward fought the stick to wrestle them into position, chasing the Peacekeeper around with the photon-beam. It wouldn’t have any damaging effect, but if he could blind them, it might give them enough time just to slip away — if they could keep heading for the Gate, at least.
“Arza!” he yelled, feeling the sweat running down the side of his nose.
She was in shock, envisioning the ways that her father was going to eviscerate her.
“Arza!” Ward shouted louder this time, the photon beam glancing off the Peacekeeper’s ship as it tried to pull around behind them and line up. To get a clean shot they’d have to come in straight — close enough so that the travel time of the glob wouldn’t be so much that Ward could outmaneuver it, but far enough that they could take a run at them without having to slow down.
It was the only reason they hadn’t been tagged yet. The pilot couldn’t find that balance.
Ward was desperately trying to work the thrusters and swing them around after the much more nimble Peacekeeper, now circling like a shark.
“Arza!” Ward threw the stick sideways and rolled them over with as much speed as he could, the hull groaning under the stress, the sail flapping above them as the spines bent. An electrified pulse flew overhead, just missing them.
The Peacekeeper peeled off and came in for another swipe.
“Erica!”
She jerked straight now and turned to face him.
“Does this thing have any ordnance?”
She shook her head, holding onto her harness. “N-No,” she stammered. “It’s a yacht, it’s—”
“Shit!” Ward slammed the stick forward and dove them straight under an incoming shot.
The foam exploded across the top of the sail and tendrils of electricity lanced outward above them.
The instruments flickered, but the sail had taken the brunt of it, the charge losing its potency by the time it leaped down to the ship.
“What about locked compartments?” Ward asked frantically, searching the cockpit windows for the Peacekeeper. He couldn’t see it.
“Locked… what?”
“Jesus, Arza, what’s wrong with you? Locked goddamn compartments! Does each compartment lock itself off automatically if there’s a breach?”
“What kind of breach?” She was paling even more now, though Ward wasn’t sure that was possible. She already looked like a marble version of herself.
“A hull breach!” He was looking around now, leaning forward, one hand on the stick, the other over the engine kill switch.
“What? Yes — why? What’re you going to? Ward? What’re you going to do?”
The Peacekeeper came in from the right, flashing behind the sail before it straightened out.
Ward tightened his grip and locked on to it, moving the stick in small circles to guide their nose around, hemming the Peacekeeper in as it started to approach, prow glowing with a charging pulse. “Because I’m going to ram him.”
Ward kept making circles with the loose photon generator, funneling the Peacekeeper right into their jaws. The two ships were lined up, nose to nose, coming in fast.
Ward took a breath, waited for the flash, then hit the kill switch.
The electrics all died.
The pulse hit, splattering on the nose of the Siljan and throwing fingers of plasma into space around them.
The Peacekeeper kept coming.
Ward hit the ignition and ripped the stick back.
The engines fired to life, the electrics all flashing madly, but functioning.
The yacht turned upward, twisting its bulbous body so that the belly of the ship was facing the Peacekeeper.
The ship disappeared below Ward’s field of vision, under the nose of the yacht as it tried to dive below it, but the sheer length of the Siljan was too much.
There was a second of silence, and then a crash that rocked the whole ship. Ward’s head snapped forward and he heard his neck click, the impact flinging them into a spin.
The nose threw itself back down and from the bottom of the windscreen, a mutilated Peacekeeper careened into the distance, its front prongs shattered and destroyed, its body buckled and maimed.
Warning messages flashed on the console in the cockpit, a schematic of the ship showing red sections, illuminating where the crash had caused damage.
Ward jabbed at them, trying to regain control, but it was no good, they were spinning now, the engines totally shot. The Peacekeeper had hit the midsection square on with enough force to fracture the internals.
They were trailing coolant and fluids behind them, gaining speed with every revolution.
The contents of Ward’s stomach pressed themselves against his throat, the centrifugal force building as they accelerated into the spin.
“Ward!” Arza was yelling — dipping between English and Martian profanity. He di
dn’t know she knew so many swear words.
Ward fought the stick, but it was no good; it only worked the directional thrusters. Everything else was unresponsive, the fail-safes shutting down all thrust capabilities. He couldn’t override them. They were dead weight.
The only thing that was still working was the sail, but with just one photon generator, it was totally useless. The thrust it provided was so meager that it would never pull them out of the spin.
“Do something!” Arza yelled, her hands against the top of the cockpit, her hair flying in wide circles around her head.
“We’ve got to abandon ship,” Ward said, voice strangulated. His hand waving around in front of him as he searched the terminal for the escape procedures.
“No!” Arza screamed through gritted teeth. “We can’t!”
“We have to, Arza.” Ward was fighting nausea, the blood pooling in his head screwing with his thoughts. “We have to get out of here, now, before the ship rips itself apart, and us with it.”
More and more sections were beginning to flash red, the warning signs growing as the damage began to spread, the force of the spin tearing chunks off the ship and hurling them into space with every passing second.
Arza was frozen.
“Arza, we need to go now — what do we do?” Ward couldn’t find anything — no emergency life raft or escape pod — nothing. “Erica, goddamnit! We’re about to die here!”
She clenched her shaking fist to stop it shaking and then slapped Ward’s hand off the screen, using her other free one to hold her hair off her face.
She moved through screens, eyes darting around madly. Above them, chunks of debris were flying past the cockpit, clattering into the glass and scratching it. Frozen coolant and oil splattered and shattered over the nose of the ship, spraying the windscreen with shards.
Arza got into the emergency protocols screen and went to work.
Ward watched, clinging onto the harness, teeth grinding together as vomit clawed its way into his throat.
