Renegades (Expeditionary Force Book 7)

by Craig Alanson

  Wrapped in an already sophisticated Maxolhx stealth field that Skippy had tinkered with to make even more perfect, our dropship approached the station until we were two hundred thousand miles away, where we used the reactionless drive to bring us to a stop relative to the imaginary point in space where the station’s sensor field coverage dropped off enough for Skippy to be comfortable we would not be detected without an active scan. We called our new dropship a ‘Panther’ because it was a super stealthy hunter, and because the Maxolhx sort of look like big cats. “Sir,” Reed whispered to me as we shut down the ultra-quiet drive, “we need to get more of these. This thing is awesome.”

  “I hear you, Fireball,” I winked. “Let me know if you find a place where we can pick up a certified pre-owned Panther on credit. Or a place we can get spare parts.” We had to fly the dropship very carefully and gently, despite the parts we wrenched off the other ships in the cavern under the moon, we had no replacements for some vital systems. Not all the components of the craft were working properly, some were not working at all. The life support system had been pulled from an old Kristang Dragon that was no longer useful, because Skippy had been unable to get the Panther’s life support working.

  After Skippy confirmed the station had not reacted to our presence, we waited. That particular data relay station had been chosen because it had only sparse traffic, giving us a measure of confidence that there would not be a whole lot of ships stopping by while we were inside the station. My major concern was not about the station detecting our stealthy little Panther, it was about the station wondering why a Maxolhx starship had jumped in and quickly jumped away without identifying itself. Skippy had adjusted the Dutchman’s stealth field and jump drive signature to make it look like a Maxolhx Fleet Auxiliary ship, a lightly-armed support vessel that would be no threat to the station. He assured me that a ship not identifying itself was unusual, but not so unusual that the station would activate defenses or send an alarm message. And once he had taken control of that AI, he could erase all memory of our presence.

  So, we waited. And waited.

  Reed and I took turns napping in between duty shifts. The Panther would not be doing much flying on this mission, so I had not seen any need to risk the lives or more than two people. Reed was easy to get along with, we played cards or Scrabble to pass the time, or we both gave each other space and read books. The Panther was small on the outside compared even to a Dragon-A dropship, but the cabin was about the same size as our smaller Kristang model, and we had enough room not to get on each other’s nerves. Reed was a much better companion than Mister Nukey had been, plus she was less likely to accidentally explode.

  We hung out in empty space, Skippy constantly alert for incoming ships or anything that might make the station detect us. Only once did we need to move the ship, because a small cloud of dust was drifting through the area and the station would get suspicious if tiny dust particles bounced off our shields. Other than that one bit of excitement, it was pretty dull.

  Until two Maxolhx starships jumped in without warning.

  I was on duty in the pilot seat, working on a crossword puzzle that I swear Skippy had rigged to make it impossible for me to complete, when he sounded a soft bell-like chime. “Joe, we have company.”

  Before I woke Reed from sleep, I checked the display. The two ships were less than five thousand kilometers from the station, and they had their own sensor fields turned off to avoid interfering with the station. “Reed,” I shook her shoulder gently and she was instantly awake.

  “What?” She asked, blinking sleep away from her eyes.

  Pointing to the display, I let her take in the situation. “Two ships,” I explained. “Skippy, damn, one of those ships is big. It’s a monster,” I whispered.

  “That is a bit of good luck, Joe. That big ship is a support ship, sort of a mobile spacedock for repairing battle-damaged ships that can’t make it back to a planetary base, or are urgently needed. We are in little danger from that thing. The other ship is a destroyer assigned to escort the spacedock. Now be quiet, knucklehead, I am aligning our pixies to match the destroyer’s identification code.”

  It was easy to be quiet since I was pressing my lips together so they wouldn’t tremble from fear. Being stupid as I am, I zoomed in the image to see those imposing ships like they were right on top of us. That was a bad idea, and I caught a disapproving look from Reed. Switching to the tactical display helped. If the Maxolhx detected us, we did not need to explode one of the nukes we had brought from Earth, instead we could overload the Panther’s own reactor. That thought was really not very comforting.

  The two ships hung near the relay station for only sixteen minutes, then they jumped away as abruptly as they had arrived. “We’re clear, Joe,” Skippy reported. “Sending data to the Dutchman. Our pixies are aligned and ready.”

  Unclenching my jaw so could speak, I lifted my hands away from the pilot console and nodded toward Reed to show the spacecraft was hers. “Outstanding. Reed, take us to the rendezvous point.”

  It took thirty seven hours to rendezvous with the Flying Dutchman, flying very gently not only to avoid strain on the vital components of the Panther, but mostly to avoid hard maneuvers that might be detected by the relay station. After the Panther was aboard, the ship accelerated for another six hours, then jumped away. Our outbound jump was from a distance sufficiently far from the station that the controlling AI likely would not find anything alarming or suspicious about our mystery ship. We then waited another five hours, time during which the ship decelerated to match course and speed with the relay station. Part of the reason for the delay was that Skippy knew, from listening to the data exchanged between the spacedock ship and the relay station, that another ship was scheduled to stop at the relay station and we wanted to give that ship plenty of time to get clear of the area.

  We jumped in near the station again, this time much closer at less than six thousand kilometers. Skippy adjusted our stealth field and jump drive signature to make us look like the destroyer that had been there recently. The station immediately pinged us and demanded identification. Despite Skippy’s well-demonstrated awesomeness, I had my fingers crossed as he sent back the destroyer’s ID code with our copied pixies.

  The station acknowledged our ID and expressed mild surprise that the destroyer had come back so soon. For us, Skippy replied that another ship had been assigned to escort the mobile spacedock, and we had come back to the station to install a critical upgrade. He included the proper authorization codes, also stolen from the real destroyer, and the station sort of shrugged if AIs are capable of shrugging. This was good timing, the station said, as no ships were scheduled to arrive within the next eighty four hours. A docking bay was ready for us. Skippy told me the AI sounded lonely.

  With a finger hovering over the button to send our new quality pre-owed Maxolhx dropship toward the relay station, I had to first calm my fears as the Panther approached the relay station, under the control of the station’s AI. We were not really under the station’s control, but Skippy let that AI think it was in control because that was standard procedure. “Skippy, you are certain the station AI will not activate defenses when it sees us get out of the dropship, wearing Kristang armor?”

  “I am certain that will not be a problem, for two reasons. First, the Maxolhx are supremely, like, stupidly confident in the security of their pixie system. Once we authenticate ourselves, we will be trusted without question. Considering what the Maxolhx think they know about the physical laws of the universe, they are correct in being confident their security is unbreakable. Hee hee, they did not count on me spoiling the party. Second, the station AI will not see you wearing Kristang armor, you dumdum, because I will be spoofing the sensors in the docking bay. While I will not yet have complete control of the AI until you jack me in, I will be able to control the data that AI sees. I already told you all this, were you not listening?”

  “I was listening. I am making sure nothing change
d, or that you didn’t forget something.”

  “Forget? Me?” He was insulted. “Unlike you meatsacks, my memory is-”

  “Your memory is not the problem. I wanted to know if you absentmindedly forgot to consider something.”

  “Oh, Hmm, I guess that is fair, let me review the facts again. Nope, no, can’t think of anything I did not consider.”

  “Great,” I allowed a bit of the tension in my shoulders to melt away.

  “Of course, I also did not consider that fighter-dropships would be conducting flight maneuvers at the moonbase, or that the crawler would be taking a different route, or that the garage section of the base would not have a connection to the base AI, or-”

  “Damn it, Skippy.”

  “I’m just sayin’, maybe I am not the best person to ask about whether I have all bases covered, you know?”

  “Crap. Well,” I shot a guilty look at Reed in the pilot seat. “It’s too late now to change the plan.”

  “Yessiree Bob it is,” Skippy babbled nervously. “Okey-dokey, we are committed now, on track for the docking bay outer marker” he was talking way too much, a sign of his internal tension. “Hey, speaking of being on tracks, this reminds me of a song. All abooooooard! Hahahahahaha. Ay ay ay ay-”

  “Skippy!” I shouted over him while he continued to sing. “Damn it, Ozzy is not really the best choice when we are trying to- Are you even listening to me?”

  “I’m going off the rails on a crazy traaaain! I’m going off-”

  “SKIPPY!”

  “Ok, Ok, Jeez Louise, I try to inject a little culture into-”

  “We are inside the docking bay, you little shithead. Do your thing with the sensors.”

  “What thing? Oh yeah, got it.”

  While he worked, he must have been singing to himself because I heard snippets of Ozzy like ‘I’ve listened to preachers I’ve listened to fools, I’ve listened to drop-outs who make their own rules’ and I kept my mouth shut because me talking would be even more distracting to him. Plus, for some reason I couldn’t understand, his Ozzy was much better than when he sang anything else, so I was kind of getting into it.

  “Ok, Joe, sensors are under my control. Damn, this AI is a Chatty Cathy, it must be really bored and lonely. You need to jack me in so I can make it shut the hell up.”

  It was easy. After all my anxiety, and the effort we had gone through to get a proper Maxolhx dropship and a set of pixies, the actual work inside the station was easy. I was wearing a flightsuit because Skippy was concerned the weight of powered-armor boots clomping across the deck of the docking bay might make the station AI suspicious when its cameras were showing an unarmored Maxolhx casually walking toward the inner door. To match what the cameras were showing, I tried to walk casually, using long strides to mimic the gait of a Maxolhx that was taller than me. Then, when I reached the airlock, I plugged a little gizmo into a dataport near the floor, and within two seconds, Skippy flashed a little green light in the upper right corner of my helmet display.

  “I’m in, Joe. Damn, the next time I have to hack into something, can we choose a species that does not have good wireless security? Needing to physically jack me into a data port is a pain in the ass.”

  “I am not a big fan of it either. You never have trouble hacking into the Thuranin, or into computer systems on Earth.”

  “That is because you monkeys have zero data security, Joe. And the pinhead Thuranin do not realize how vulnerable they are to their systems being infiltrated by someone who gains access through their cybernetic implants. Hee hee, those little green idiots think they only have to be worried about someone hacking into them through their ship AIs, not the other direction. Buncha morons. Aaaand, that’s it. We’re good, Joe, I got the flightplan data. Erasing our tracks now. We should get out of here pronto, in case an unscheduled ship shows up to spoil the party.”

  “Don’t keep me in suspense, Skippy,” I had a catch in my throat. “Are we too late?” My greatest fear was the target ships had already transited through the wormhole in Ruhar territory, and were now jumping through dark interstellar space toward Earth. If that were the case, we had zero chance of intercepting them somewhere in that vast expanse of space, and our renegade mission was all for nothing.

  “Nope, dude, we’re good. Those ships have not left their home base yet. I told you, the Maxolhx wanted to examine other wormholes that have exhibited odd behavior, before they launch for Earth. The last ship has returned from collecting data, and there was a conference to analyze the results.”

  I unplugged from the data port and walked casually back toward the Panther. “What is taking them so long to launch?”

  “Because during the conference, the Maxolhx sent their results to the Rindhalu, to get the spiders’ thoughts on what might be causing the odd wormhole behavior. The spiders just replied two weeks ago, which is super fast for them, they must be worried. Anyway, what you want to hear is the target ships will not launch for twenty seven days.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Coming back from the galley, where I had gotten a cup of coffee more out of habit than because I wanted one, I set the mug on my office desk, then moved it aside because it annoyed Skippy when there was clutter on the desk where his avatar materialized. “Hey, Skippy.”

  “Hey, Joe,” his familiar admiral’s form popped into life. He made minor changes to the avatar regularly, it looked like the blue of his coat was a shade darker and the gold braid on his hat a little shinier. He never mentioned the changes, and if he was hoping for me to comment and praise him, he would be waiting a very long time. “What’s up?”

  “We got the flightplan data-”

  “Yes we do. Is this conversation going to be a way for you to waste time because still you have no way to kill the target ships?”

  “No, because even if we did have a really good, practical plan to attack those ships, we first need to talk about the sequence of events. I have some ideas and want to bounce them off you.”

  “Sequence of events? Like, you say something stupid and then I laugh at you? That is the logical sequence based on the laws of causality. But if you want to save time, I can mock you in advance, since we all know you will say something stupid eventually.”

  “No, uh, the system we’ve been using works great,” I groaned with an internal eyeroll. “Besides, how could you tailor your insults, if you don’t know which stupid thing I will say?”

  “Hmm, that is a good point. I have a list of pre-made insults ready, but it is so much more rewarding when I make up something snappy on the spot. Ok, then, what did you mean by ‘sequence of events’?”

  “I meant, we now know the schedule for the target ships, so we have a list of things we need to do, like usual. But this time I don’t think we have to do them one, two, three. We could do item two first, then three, then one.”

  “I’m not following you, Joe.”

  “Ok,” I opened my laptop screen and read the list I had created. “We need to destroy those two ships-”

  “Well, first, you need to figure out how to do that impossible task, Joe.”

  “Yeah, I know that. For now, assume we figure out a brilliant plan. So we-”

  “Assume? Oh, sure, no problem. Let’s also assume that pigs can fly,” he laughed.

  “I’m trying to be serious here, asshole.”

  “All right,” he sighed. “I will try to take this ridiculous conversation seriously. Fine, I will assume this beat-up piece of crap ship can take on and destroy two Maxolhx warships. I assume however we do that will also miraculously include a plan for this ship to survive the battle and-”

  “No,” I shook my head emphatically. “That is something we are not assuming, that’s kind of the point.”

  “Ok, hmm. Now I am intrigued, and you have my attention. Continue, please.”

  “We can’t assume the Dutchman will survive that battle, so I think we may have to get everything else done before we hit those ships. You understand what I�
�m saying now?”

  “Ah, yes, and you are right, we might need to act out of sequence. This is a rare example of you thinking ahead and considering consequences. How did that happen?”

  “Very funny, jackass. To make sure we understand each other, here is my list. We need to destroy those ships. We need to plant a cover story in a Maxolhx relay station, and that has to be a relay station along the route the target ships would have plausibly taken on their way home. My question is, could we plant the cover story in a relay station before we attack those ships? That way, if the Flying Dutchman does not survive the battle, the cover story will already be waiting to be released to the Maxolhx.”

  “Again, that is good thinking. We cannot assume the Dutchman will be able to fly to a relay station after the battle. And yes, I could plant the cover story in a relay station before we fly off on a foolish quest to tangle with two warships that could crush the pathetic Dutchman like swatting a fly. We should plant the cover story first, and I can easily delay release of the fake report. There are two problems with that plan, Joe.”

  “Uh, like what?”

  “First, you have not yet told me what the cover story is going to be. Whatever story you dream up, it has to be pretty incredible to explain the disappearance of two advanced warships, and persuade the Maxolhx that they do not need to launch a full-scale investigation including sending a large task force to Earth.”

  “Thank you so much for reminding me that-”

  “Second, second, dumdum, your cover story might determine which particular relay station those ships supposedly contacted on their return journey. So, you need to dream up this cover story before we even set course for the relay station.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “If the cover story says everything was fine with the expedition until the target ships were almost home,” he explained patiently, “then we need to plant the cover story in the relay station that is on the expedition’s schedule. Except that station has a Maxolhx crew, and we need to use an automated relay station. So, your cover story needs to include some mysterious reason why the ghost ships survived the return trip, but could not reach the relay station on the schedule and had to contact a different station, an automated one.”