Decker's War Omnibus 1

by Eric Thomson

  “Hmm.” Zack looked at the scan again, wondering whether he could disable it without ditching the valuable oil. Then, something else on the readout grabbed his attention.

  “We may not have a choice,” he said, voice flat and unemotional. “This isn’t just a beacon.”

  “What?” Her eyes widened in understanding. “No!”

  “I’m afraid so. My guess is they want to capture or destroy us somewhere in deep space because your act down on Santa Theresa didn’t convince them. They’ll blow a hole in your cargo hold with this baby and wreck us. Then, all they have to do is reel your ship in, take us off, and blow Demetria into the next dimension. You ship will be written off as another mysterious loss.”

  “Then we must dump the container.”

  “Not so fast. It might have an anti-tamper device. We have to remove the one on top before anything else.”

  “Easily done.” She disappeared into an alcove near the hatch and rummaged around. A few moments later, she reappeared, wearing an exoskeleton. Large arms with clawed ends hung from the top of the construct.

  She maneuvered into position, sweating under the weight of the machine, and used the powerful mechanical arms to lift the upper container and deposit it to one side.

  “Thanks, Avril. I need you to hold my sensor for me now.”

  “Sure, hang on.” She struggled out of the frame and placed it against a bulkhead, out of the way. Perspiration ran down her pale forehead and matted her hair. Kneeling beside Zack, Ducote took the proffered instrument.

  “Keep it pointed at the thing. I’m going to open it, and this baby will hopefully warn me of any anti-tamper shit before I trigger it.”

  She nodded, face set but eyes filled with worry.

  “Go ahead.”

  With excruciating care, Zack snapped off the shipper’s seal and undogged the latches, glancing at the sensor’s screen every few seconds. Sweat ran into his eyes, and he swore at the sting but didn’t stop working. Ducote, seeing his discomfort, pulled a soft bandanna from her leg pocket and gently sponged the perspiration from his face.

  He lifted the lid millimeter by millimeter, searching for evidence of a booby-trap. During his career, he’d seen many types and knew he had to look for the unexpected.

  “There!” He glanced at the sensor, then into the narrow opening between lid and container.

  “What?” Avril’s voice was steady, but he could hear her fear.

  “A laser-reflector anti-tampering device. Looks like it’s hooked to a magnetic circuit. If I have this right, the moment the container leaves the metal deck, the magnetic field holding the reflector in place breaks and the reflector slips away. The detector no longer gets a bounce-back and kaboom,” Zack explained. “Very slick.”

  “Can you do anything about it?”

  “Yeah. First thing, though, is move the lid out of the way.”

  “Is connected to anything?”

  “Yes, it is. A simple wire detonator. There.” He pointed at a hair-thin, shimmering strand in one corner. “Be a dear, Avril, and fetch the little gray plas package in my duffel bag. It contains tools that might be useful.”

  “Sure.” She rose. “Zack, how long will this take? We will pass through the gas giant’s Van Allen belt soon.”

  “Damn! Reset the course. No knowing what’ll happen when we enter a strong magnetic field. This thing may go on its own, or the bastard may simply send a detonate command if he loses track of us.”

  “On my way, but won’t our pursuers know we’ve found something, now that we change course for the second time within an hour.”

  “Can’t be helped.”

  *

  Ducote returned a minute or two later carrying the small package.

  “We’re back on course to the jump point. Our friend is still following at the same distance.”

  Decker nodded. He carefully replaced the container lid and opened Kiani's miniature tool collection. He studied the half-dozen instruments in silence.

  “You know,” he remarked, “when I took these out of Nihao's locker before I jumped ship, I had no idea what they were for. I'm still not sure I do, but something tells me they're good for EOD work.”

  Ducote reached over and picked one of the tools up. She examined it, frowning.

  “If I might hazard a guess, Zack, this could be a negative field inducer.” Without waiting for a reply, she twisted the lower handle and waved the wand-shaped instrument in front of the sensor. “I was right.”

  “Good. Keep it handy. I think I know what to do.”

  Carefully, Zack lifted the lid again and examined the detonator at the end of the monofilament thread.

  “Inducer.”

  Ducote slapped it in his palm. Slowly, Decker slipped it into the opening, aiming its business end at the detonator.

  “Scanner.”

  With one hand, he adjusted the sensor's controls and looked at the readout.

  “So far, so good. Please cut the thread and remove the lid. Be careful not to touch the inducer or my hand. If the negative field fails, the detonator will blow.”

  She complied, and when Zack had a clear view, he grinned.

  “That was the hard part. I need a plasma welder.”

  A few moments later, she held up another of Kiani's tools.

  “This is a precision instrument, Zack, a beautiful piece of workmanship.”

  “Good. Now come around to the side and I'll show you where to cut.”

  Avril nodded, unsure of her role in disarming the detonator, but she complied.

  “See those sheathed fiber optic wires down there? They connect the detonator to the bomb. The bomb itself is hidden below the oil packages. Normally, I'd be afraid that cutting the wires will trip a dead man's switch and blow the thing, but we all have to die eventually, so it won't matter.” He grinned at Avril's expression.

  “Just kidding. EOD man's humor. Fiber optics are too sensitive for a dead man's switch. If it were hard wiring, I'd think again, but the plasma welder will fry the optical receptors. I'd do it myself, but I can't afford to move the inducer by a millimeter.”

  “Okay.” She still sounded unsure but was unwilling to show fear. Within seconds, she had sliced through the wiring. Nothing happened, and Zack slumped down on the deck, leaning against the container as he wiped the sweat from his face.

  “I wouldn't exactly say explosive ordnance disposal is the most stressful work in the galaxy,” he commented wryly, “but it's right up there with antimatter bottling. I could sure use a cold beer.”

  “Okay,” he continued after a few moments of silence. “The biggie now.” He leaned into the box and examined the laser reflector setup, muttering to himself. Finally, he straightened up, looking grim.

  “The bad news is it's hardwired.”

  “And what’s the good news.”

  “I have none.” He wiped his hands on his trousers. “Can't cut the connection with the bomb.”

  “So what's the solution?”

  “Slide it out the door and down the ramp, then give it a mighty kick into the void, hoping it isn't powerful enough to tear up the hull from the outside.”

  She looked at him incredulously. “And who will do the pushing?”

  “Me.”

  *

  The hatch swung shut behind Zack's suited back, and a red light began to blink in his helmet's overhead display as Ducote started pumping the air out of the compartment. He felt his suit expand to its working girth as the air inside fought against the vacuum.

  “Ready and waiting.”

  “Stand by.” Her voice sounded tinny and small in the helmet's earphones.

  Vibrations ran through the metal deck as the rear cargo doors opened and the ramp slid out. Decker stared at the magnificent star field for a few seconds, drawn to the void like a man on a cliff is attracted to the edge. Then, he put his weight on the container and slowly pushed across the deck, grunting with effort, muscles straining to the breaking point. He didn't dare use mech
anical help for fear of accidentally lifting the container up, even if only by a millimeter and for a fraction of a second.

  Slowly, strenuously, he moved the bomb across the hold and onto the edge of the ramp. Battling his fear of the void, he clipped on a safety line and resumed his painful progress. By the time he reached the end of the ramp, his guts were turning to water. The ship may have been moving at a respectable velocity, but it seemed stopped in relation to the immensity of space.

  This would be the tricky part. Decker unclipped two personal spacewalk devices from his suit's belt and attached them to either side of the container, jets pointing towards the ship. Then, because he hadn't found a better way, he unrolled two strands of string, each attached to a nozzle trigger. Carefully, he backed into the ship.

  “Ready.”

  “Be careful, Zack.”

  Decker pulled on the strings as hard as he could, triggering high-pressure nitrogen thrusters. They erupted in clouds of crystallized gas, momentarily masking the container. Then, a bright, silent explosion blotted out the stars as the bomb exploded, its magnetic anti-tampering device no longer restrained by the metal surface of the ramp.

  Decker felt something hit his suit, punch through and dig painfully into his leg. Air escaped in a puff of white ice.

  “Repressurize, Avril. I've been hit by shrapnel,” he shouted into the commlink. “My suit's holed.”

  Zack struggled to pinch the fold of material around the puncture and stop the flow of air while the cargo doors ponderously slid closed. Time seemed to ooze by like molasses while he waited for the telltale in his helmet's display to show the hold was pressurized again, his leg feeling the cold of space seep in through the hole.

  A light blinked green in the corner of his eye, but it took his brain a few seconds to realize he was out of danger.

  “Zack,” an insistent voice rang in his ears, “are you all right?”

  “Yeah, Avril, yeah.” Decker slumped against the nearest container and breathed in deeply, his adrenaline rush crashing. “How's the ship?”

  “Fine, except for the ramp. Half of it is gone.”

  “You weren't going fast enough, kiddo.”

  “Huh,” she snorted. “Any faster and we would have had relativistic problems. Good work, Zack. You saved our lives, and my ship.”

  “Why is it, Avril old dear, that I have the impression saving your ship is a notch above saving our hides?”

  “Because without the ship, we would have to walk to Dordogne.”

  For some reason, that absurd statement was hysterically funny, and Zack collapsed with laughter. After a few heartbeats, Avril joined him, the tension of the last hour flowing out.

  “Or,” he fought for breath, “we could always hitchhike. Maybe the guy on our tail will pick us up.”

  Decker sobered up at the thought of their pursuer.

  “Speaking of which, we’re not out of this yet. I'll be up in a sec.”

  Two dull explosions rang through the hull and stopped him in his tracks.

  “Are we under attack already?”

  “No, of course not.” He could hear the amusement in her voice. “Those were the explosive bolts holding the ramp. With its lower half gone, there was no point in keeping it. If there is any justice in the universe, it will float into the other ship's path and make a big hole in her hull.”

  “I think we used up our daily ration of luck just now.”

  *

  “The pig behind us has increased speed,” Ducote announced as Decker limped into the cockpit, a bandage around his thigh beneath red-stained coveralls.

  “See?” Her finger traced his trajectory and power curve on the left screen.

  “He knows we disposed of the bomb and beacon. Now all he can do is intercept. How far to the jump point?”

  “Ten minutes. We will reach it before he does and then I will program a circuitous path. He’ll lose our trail after our second jump. Assuming he finds our first emergence point.”

  “Good tactics, but I'll bet the bastard knows that too. Can you divert power to the guns?”

  “Sure, but is he not too far away?” She asked dubiously.

  “He won't be in the last minutes before we go FTL, and that's when we want to blind him, but I'm more worried about missiles right now. He will try everything he can to stop us from jumping.”

  “Right.” Ducote nodded as her fingers danced over her console. “You have all defensive systems on your panel, with power at your command.”

  “Roger, Captain.”

  The minutes ticked by in silence until...

  “There!” Zack pointed at the tactical screen. “Four missiles. By their speed, I'd judge military grade, human. Expensive bastards, but effective. Computing intercept...” Then, “Firing solution confirmed. Come to papa, little birdies.”

  A low whine rang through Demetria's hull, then another and another, as her guns shot bursts of pure energy into the path of the oncoming missiles. Like a calliope, the eight barrels pumped out shot after shot, in quick succession, saturating space between the two ships.

  Zack whooped as a bright flash briefly flared in the distance.

  “One down, three to go!”

  “Power use is affecting our jump drive spool-up, Zack,” Avril warned, her eyes fixed on her controls.

  “Yeah, I know. But the only way to stop missiles is to pump as much energy into their path as you can. Our speed won't matter shit if one hits us in the ass.”

  The guns whined ceaselessly as Zack cycled them through the firing sequence without pause, and a second missile exploded in a brilliant display of fireworks. Then, a red light blipped on the gunner's board.

  Zack swore. “Shit! We lost number two turret. Overheated.”

  He had lost twenty-five percent of his firepower, and his chances of destroying the two remaining missiles had dropped by the same factor. An amber warning light told him number three turret was about to follow. And the missiles were fast closing the range.

  “How long before the jump?”

  “Ninety seconds.”

  “Can you make it sixty?”

  “Our emergence might be off by a wide margin.”

  “And our lives by an eternity if we don't. I'm about to lose the second turret, and with only four barrels, I have little hope of stopping the other two. They'll hit in a minute.”

  Ducote remained silent for a few heartbeats, then reached for the controls.

  “FTL in five,” hyperspace shutters closed over the cockpit windows, “four, three,” Zack aimed his guns at the other ship, “two, one, JUMP.”

  Nausea came and went, leaving a feeling of relief that made Avril sigh as she slumped back in her seat.

  “That was close.”

  “Naw. I've seen a lot worse.” He grinned at her. “We make a pretty decent team. That was a high power reiver on our tail, and there aren't too many who can claim they escaped a close call with the likes of them. I wouldn't wonder if it was the junk heap we saw on the ground. I thought she looked a bit strange for a tramp freighter.”

  Ducote smiled back and nodded.

  “We do make a good team. Zack, you have a berth on Demetria when this is over if you want it. And I mean that. I can use the help and the company. It's not a rich life, but I travel a lot.” She placed her hand over Zack's and squeezed, her eyes meeting his.

  “I accept. When this is all over.” He didn't add if I'm still alive. But she saw the thought in his eyes.

  *

  The massive spindle shape of Deveaux Station hung several kilometers ahead of Demetria as they waited for the tug to lock on and pull them to their berth. They were out of danger for now, under the guns of an orbital defense platform.

  The trip to Dordogne took more than two weeks. Avril had plotted a circuitous route with unexpected course changes to shake off the other ship. It had worked, though the days were tense, as Decker and Ducote took turns standing watch for any signs of pursuit.

  Somewhere on the other side of
Dordogne, out of sight and unreachable for a retired Marine noncom, was Starbase 26, the military station. The only Marines on board would be a military police company, but Zack still felt a twinge of homesickness at the thought of its nearness.

  “Wouldn't it be simpler to have you offload at the Diogenes facility?” He asked more to derail his depressing train of thought than out of real interest.

  Avril laughed, her alto sounding delightful to Decker's ears.

  “They have stricter security than most naval installations. No one except the company's own shuttles dock at the orbiter.”

  “You've handled stuff for them before.”

  “Yes. They're most generous in their payments for a fast and safe delivery. I have a standing offer with them. Ships of Demetria's size rely on high value, luxury items for their survival, and Diogenes' raw materials, as well as their products, are about as high value as they come.”

  “Means you can't afford their perfumes, eh?” Zack grinned crookedly at her.

  “Go jump into a black hole, Decker.” Ducote made an obscene gesture and grinned back.

  “Demetria, this is Deveaux control.” The radio crackled to life. “Stand by for tractor beam lock-on. You have docking bay number seventy-two.”

  “Standing by,” Avril replied. Then, when the sensors showed positive tractor beam lock, “You have us, Deveaux control.”

  “Welcome to Dordogne, Demetria, and enjoy the ride.”

  A few minutes later, a muffled thump resonated through the hull as the ship mated with the wide airlock. Grappling arms held her hull fast and, for all intents and purposes, she became one with the station.

  “There we go. If you'll excuse me, I must see the representative to arrange offloading.”

  “Alright. I'll go book myself a shuttle trip down to the Toulon spaceport, then.”

  “You'll need to show your ID on the way out of the docking area. Let me do it. It'll be safer that way.”

  “Thanks, Avril, but I don't think anyone will be doing me in on this station. I won't leave the public areas, I promise. See you later.”

  “I hope so, Zack.”

  “Hey, I'm leaving my stuff here, aren't I?”