Renegades (Expeditionary Force Book 7)

by Craig Alanson

  That drew a facepalm from me. “Oh boy,” I muttered into my hand.

  “Colonel Bishop?” Pope called from CIC. “Skippy has a cult now?”

  “Club. It’s an exclusive club,” the beer can explained. “Except the only requirement to join is giving me a big pile of cash, hee hee.”

  “Pope,” I waved at him, “I will explain later, I promise. There is nothing we can do about it now anyway. Skippy, could you please switch back to your usual avatar?” Talking to him as a wizened old mystical holy man was disturbing, especially because he still used his regular snarky voice and was still an asshole.

  “You wish is granted, Joe,” the avatar shrank and returned to the Grand Admiral outfit. “Hey, I was thinking that on our way home for a triumphant return celebration, we should-”

  “Celebration?”

  “Yeah, you know, because of our, well, most my, truly awesome accomplishments. I expect there to be parades and fireworks at the very least.”

  “Um, I hate to burst your bubble, but no one is likely to be printing T-shirts for Skippy’s Awesomeness Tour.”

  “Why not?!”

  “Because, the UN is still pissed at me, unless something has changed radically since we left. I have a whole lot of ’splainin’ to do when we get home. After the UN learns how incredibly successful we have been, then maybe they will think about not throwing me in prison forever. Crap, Skippy, I don’t expect to leave the ship at all when we get back to Earth. If I go down to the surface, I am likely to be arrested.”

  “Well, that sucks.”

  “Hey, we’ll see about what happens. I am just not counting on everyone holding hands and agreeing all is forgiven, you know?”

  “This is so unfair,” his avatar protested, hands on its hip in defiance.

  “Yeah, I agree, and I’ll tell you something,” my hands tightened on the armrest of the command chair. “I am not taking any more shit from dirtside politicians. I am not the scared Army Specialist who left Earth anymore.”

  “Oh. I meant it is not fair that my incredible accomplishments cannot be celebrated and marveled at by the entire world of monkeys, but, um, sure, it’s not fair to you either.”

  “Asshole,” I muttered under my breath.

  “Hey, the idiot monkeys on your home world are not my people, Joe.”

  “Good point.” I was mentally bracing for bad news, because I could not think of anything that could delay our return flight. Our fuel tanks had plenty to carry us home, and we could later take on more fuel at Jupiter or Saturn or Neptune. Skippy had of course wanted to refuel by extracting gas from Uranus, but only because that would give him a solid week of amusement, so I had vetoed that idea. Seriously, why couldn’t the astronomers of the world get together and agree on a new name for that stupid planet? I read somewhere that it is the only planet named from Greek mythology, all the others are named after Roman gods. There must be Roman gods who don’t already have a planet named after them, how about something like ‘Minerva’ or- Ok, whatever, you get my point. Or maybe we could sell naming rights to that planet like sports teams do for their stadiums. I think ‘Chico’s Bail Bonds Planet’ would be a much better name than ‘Your Anus’. “Ok, what is it that should we do on our way home?”

  “That thing we talked about, Joe,” he prodded me.

  Sometimes, to my great annoyance, Skippy was the King of No Context. He might have been referring to a conversation we had last week, or back when I first met him. Time did not matter to the beer can. “Could you be more specific?”

  “Ugh. You’re such a scatter-brain. Why do I even bother? I work so hard and all you-”

  “Skippy? A little context, please. The thing we need to talk about, what is it?”

  “Trying to find wormholes that can connect outside the galaxy, you numbskull. I done told youze,” for some reason he adopted a thick Noo Yawk accent, “we gots to find a special woimhole, youze know?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Even through all the excitement of our last mission, I had not forgotten about my idea for setting up a beta site, but I had forgotten the minor detail that we had no certain way of actually getting outside the galaxy. “We can do that on our way home?”

  “Yup.” The main display switched to a star map, with our current course outlined in yellow. There was now an alternate course represented by a blue line. “We can alter our course slightly to go through this wormhole here,” a wormhole along the blue line began to blink. “As we are waiting to go through, I can ask the network whether that wormhole can connect to any of the potential sites you want to explore.”

  “You can do that without actually screwing with this wormhole, right? No one will notice what you’re doing?”

  “Correct. All I will be doing is asking the network a couple simple questions.”

  “Is this new course any more dangerous? It looks longer.”

  “It is longer, it will delay our arrival at Earth by three days. The territory this route passes through is actually more remote, we are overall less likely to encounter other ships by taking this alternate route.”

  “Three more days, Colonel?” Beazer asked from the pilot seat. “I must remind you, the ship is not in good condition. We have a leaky reactor, Sir.”

  “I understand that, Beazer. Bringing home news that we can establish a backup site might be the difference between Earth’s governments being happy to see us, or wanting to throw us in prison.” After I told Simms about my idea for a Beta site, I had mentioned it to a couple other people, mostly on the science team. Word had gotten out, which was Ok, it was not supposed to be a secret.

  Beazer did not need to think about that. “I am not in favor of the prison option.”

  “What about it, Skippy? Will another three days of operation pose a danger of the ship falling apart?”

  “No, because although the alternate course is longer in terms of distance, the ship will perform fewer jumps. The additional distance is from traveling through Elder wormholes. Fewer jumps creates less of a strain on this broke-dick Frankenstein ship.”

  “Then we do that,” I decided. “Just in case you don’t get a favorable answer from this wormhole, is there another one anywhere near the alternate route?”

  “You spoiled my surprise, Joe. Yes, this wormhole here,” another light began blinking on the display, this light was not along the blue line. “Is close enough that it would take us less than one additional day to check it out. The course is more complicated,” the nice blue line became a back-and-forth squiggle, with us having to jump backwards more than once. “However, that does give us another option.”

  “Outstanding.” For a moment, I made a silent groan because I knew I would have to clear the course change with Chotek, then I remembered my favorite diplomat and bureaucrat was no longer aboard the ship. In a way, I missed him. Not enough to want him aboard, but I had grown to respect the guy for who he was. Plus, he had warned Skippy about UNEF trying to seize the ship. Wherever he was, I hoped he was being treated well. “Beazer, Edwards, load the alternate course in the navigation system, so we’re ready to jump when the ship is back online.”

  At the first wormhole, Skippy did not get the answer we wanted. We were still waiting for that wormhole’s event horizon to emerge near us, when he gave me the bad news. “Hmmm, Joe, it appears there are regular wormholes, heavy-duty wormholes, and super-duty wormholes. Only the latter type can connect across more than eighty thousand lightyears.”

  “Fantastic. Are any of these super-duty wormholes near us?”

  “Unfortunately, no. They appear to be rare, the local sector only contains three, from what I can tell from the data I got from the network. None of the super-duty wormholes are active, they have all been dormant for a very long time. The last active super-duty wormhole leading outside the galaxy shut down while the Rindhalu were exploring the galaxy and beyond, I suspect the shutdown of that wormhole may have trapped a group of Rindhalu way out there in the Greater Magellanic Cloud. We certainly do not wa
nt to go there.”

  “Do you at least know- Sorry, I shouldn’t have said ‘at least’, you only know what the network is willing to tell you. Do you know where some of these super-duty wormholes are? Not the one leading to Magellan or whatever?”

  “Yes, and that is the good news. I do know where three of them are, and only one of them is on the star charts provided by the Rindhalu. Joe, the other two are not known to any other species. We can go to those two wormholes safely and use them for decades, before any nearby star system detects the gamma radiation of them being activated.”

  “That is good news, I think. How long would it take for us to get to one of these hidden super-duties?”

  “Too long, Joe, they are both on the other side of Earth from here. It would be best for us to stop at your home planet on the way. Wait! Before you grumble about it, I do have the answer you want. Both of those super wormholes are able to connect far outside the galaxy, and I can establish those connections using our wormhole controller. If your goal is to tell authorities on Earth that we can transport a human population far beyond the reach of any species in this galaxy, you very likely can do that.”

  “Wheeeew,” I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Skippy. That is like my Get Out of Jail Free card, you know?”

  “I’ll take your word about that.”

  No more detours, we set course straight for Earth, which meant going through the local wormhole again. “Hey, Skippy, let Nagatha try opening the wormhole this time, using the controller module power tap thing, Ok?”

  “Joe, while I have high confidence in the device I slapped together with duct tape and two Elder components that were never designed to function as a unit, I must point out that each time you use it presents a small but non-zero risk of the thing wearing out. Just sayin’, you know?”

  “Ok, yeah, good point,” I mentally berated myself for not considering that. “Nagatha, sorry, we can’t take that risk.”

  “I understand completely, Joseph,” our ship’s resident AI replied. “I am confident that, in an emergency, I could operate the wormhole.”

  “Good. Then, uh, Skippy, do your thing. Take us home.”

  We went through the wormhole and Skippy made it go dormant again, which, rather than attracting unwanted attention from aliens, would now help sell our cover story. I thought that was super-duper cool.

  With no missions to prepare for and our arrival at Earth looming large in everyone’s minds, we spent most of our time getting our dress uniforms in tip-top shape, cleaning the ship until the interior surfaces were bright and shiny, and writing after-action reports. Everyone was determined to present our story in the most positive fashion to UNEF and their home governments. Including me. My own report included concerns and lessons learned, but was heavy on praise for the team’s performance, and highlighted my own contributions to accomplishing a mission even I thought was impossible. Hey, if I did not point out what a great job I had done, I sure couldn’t count on UNEF doing it for me.

  “Hey, Skippy,” I called while adding positive items to the report. “Now that we have that second wormhole controller module out there, we have a backup in case the one the Dutchman carries gets busted or something. Bonus!”

  “Uh huh, yeah, it would be a bonus, except that second module is on the far end of the local wormhole, you dumdum. We can’t access it from here. If the module aboard the Dutchman suffers a problem, we will be trapped on this end, with no way to reopen the wormhole. Duh.”

  “Shit! Why the hell didn’t you tell me we should put the second module on this end?”

  “Because you never asked me if that mattered. Jeez, Joe, you have to use your own brain once in a while. We’re screwed now, no way to move the thing. The adjustments I made, so it can operate independently on a timer, render it unable to reconnect. If I cut its connection to move it, the thing would never work properly again. Bringing the module through the wormhole would sever its connection to the network, to anticipate your next moronic question,” he added with smug satisfaction.

  “Crap! That was going to my final sweetener to offer UNEF, so they don’t throw me in jail.”

  “Joe, jail is not what you should be worrying about.”

  “That is easy for you to say.”

  “Listen, dumdum, what I meant is, you should be worried that our mission is over.”

  Hearing that startled me. “What?”

  “Think about it. The Kristang are not coming to Earth. Now, neither are the Ruhar, the Thuranin or even the Maxolhx. Your homeworld is safe. It’s over, the war is over for humans, I mean the humans on Earth. At least, it’s over for a couple hundred years. Your monkey leadership will pester me endlessly to help them build starships so they can defend the planet hundreds of years from now, but what are you going to do, now that UNEF no longer needs you to save the world again?”

  “Shit. Skippy, I had not thought about that.”

  “You should think about it. By the time your homeworld is in danger again, you will be long dead. Joe, you need to consider what to do with the rest of your life, because this,” he took off his hat and waved it to indicate the ship around us, “is likely over for you.”

  Because we were finally on our way home, I decided I needed a haircut, so I would at least look like an Army soldier instead of a renegade pirate. Grooming standards were relaxed aboard the Dutchman and I had let my hair get longer than regulation. Our special operations troops were allowed to grow beards and shaggy hair back on Earth, so they could blend in with civilians, and Smythe saw no reason to mess with traditions just because we were flying around the galaxy in a stolen alien ship. When we were on the planet Gingerbread in the Roach Motel, I had made a point of keeping my hair in a regulation cut, to boost the crew’s morale. If they had seen me go native by looking like a hippy, they might think I had subconsciously given up on ever getting home.

  Anyway, when we had a full crew, there were a couple amateur barbers aboard, and now I had no idea who could cut my hair. “Hey, Skippy. I need a haircut. You got any suggestions?”

  “Well, I suggest you get all of your hairs cut, not just one,” he snorted at one of the world’s oldest and lamest jokes. “Go to sickbay and we’ll take care of it.”

  I went to sickbay, figuring one of the SpecOps people who had been training as medics must have a side job cutting hair. All the special operations troops had been trained to perform battlefield medicine, and many of them had taken the opportunity to learn how to use the advanced Thuranin medical gear in our sickbay.

  So, I walked into the sickbay while looking down at the tablet I was carrying, revising the official report that I hoped would persuade the Army that I should be given a second chance. “Hey, I need a- Gaaaah!”

  The tablet went flying out of my hands, bouncing off the ceiling and ricocheting off the near wall to go skidding across the floor.

  Anastacia was waiting in the sickbay, wearing a nurse’s uniform. She was not wearing shapeless pastel scrubs, she, it, was wearing a sexy nurse outfit like women wear at a Halloween party. Anastacia turned toward me, I held out a shaky hand for silence. “Skippy! What is-”

  I was interrupted. Not by Skippy. By Anastacia. Only it was not Anastacia’s voice. Nagatha’s voice was in the sexbot’s body. “Well, helloooo, Joseph. I hear you need a haircut, dear?”

  “Ah!” I literally clutched my chest and backed away, tripping over the tablet and falling against the wall as the naughty nurse walked toward me, her hips swaying. “Nagatha! Wha- what?”

  “Oh, I am sorry, I thought Skippy told you. I loaded part of my consciousness into this unit.”

  “Ok, uh, why?” I asked, before realizing I might not want to know the answer.

  “Partly to test my ability for adapting the programming of semi-autonomous mobile units,” Nagatha’s voice was somehow a breathy, sensuous version of her usual nice-elderly-aunt tones and it creeped me out. “Mostly, I was concerned that this bot was not being utilized efficiently. And,” she ga
ve me a slow, sexy wink, “I wished to prove Skippy was wrong.” The sexbot’s fingers wiggled in the air. “I have proven that this unit is capable of performing all except the most delicate medical procedures. As you know, Skippy programmed these fingers to-”

  “Yeah, I know how they were programmed, thank you very much.”

  “Come in, Joseph,” Nagatha crooked a finger at me in a gesture she might not have intended as alluring. Unless she had reprogrammed the entire system, the bot;’ motor controls were still set up for a different purpose, if you know what I mean. “Your hair is too long, you naughty boy,” she had an index finger wagging in a scolding gesture. “Nurse Nagatha will take care of-”

  “Oh that’s not right,” I gasped.

  She put one hand on a hip and pouted at me. “What is wrong, Joseph?”

  “This is disturbing on so many levels,” I backed out of the compartment, stepping on my tablet and not caring. “I, uh- thank you.”

  “Joseph, I am sorry, I did not anticipate you would react this way to my personality being in this bot. I can return Anastacia’s original programming, if you prefer that she cut your hair-”

  “My hair is just fine.” When I backed through the doorway, I spun and walked away fast as I could to my cabin, where I locked myself in. Skippy probably was waiting for me to say something, so I kept quiet to avoid giving him the satisfaction. In my tiny bathroom, I cut my own hair with a small pair of scissors, and- Let’s just say it looked like I lost a fight with a weedwhacker. My hope was the Army would be too busy laughing to remember that I committed mutiny and stole a starship.

  That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

  Over the next couple days, I thought about what Skippy said about our mission being over. If that were true, what was I going to do with my life? Even if we still needed to conduct recon to make sure no one else was threatening Earth, UNEF did not need me to fly every mission. They probably did not want me flying any missions at all.

  What about my career in the Army? My original purpose of signing up for the military was complicated. I wanted to get out of my hometown, I wanted to serve my country, and I wanted money for college so I wouldn’t be buried by student loan debt. Looking back, if aliens had never invaded Earth and I had finished my enlistment before getting killed in Nigeria or Venezuela or wherever, what would I be doing? It’s not like I had any idea what I wanted to study in college, so maybe I would have done something else while deciding what to do with my life. I am not a big fan of wasting four or five years of my life in school to get some worthless degree and still not have a plan for a career.