by Rachel Aukes
Anders looked up. “No. Everyone knows their job. Make the countdown audible throughout the ship.” He then looked out the front screen, which spanned the entire wall. Space beyond them was displayed as though the screen were a window. They still sat facing the CUF armada outside Myr’s EMP nets in a face-off. They’d been in this configuration since an hour after Anders made the announcement to his officers. Few dromadiers from the other ships had joined Anders’s fleet, and he suspected the captains had been ordered to keep anyone from leaving.
Anders, on the other hand, had encouraged his crew members to leave his fleet and return to the CUF, because if they chose to stay, there would be no turning back. The CUF had allowed civilian transports through their blockade, likely because Parliament was afraid of firing upon its most powerful citizens.
At the one-minute mark, Anders transmitted to the full armada. “This is Corps General Barrett Anders speaking to the armada of the Collective Unified Forces. The colony ships are about to embark on a journey to expand the Collective into new systems. When we return, we will return the ships, along with news of new Collective colonies. There is no one on board who is here against their will. Please do not stand in our way. Let us look to the future together.”
The countdown chimed. “It’s time,” Tully said.
“Let the Littorio lead the way,” Anders said.
The armada before them didn’t move, even though the distance between them diminished. He constantly scanned the ships before them, looking for any flash of light to signal that a ship had fired upon the Littorio and her complement.
“So far, so good,” Anders said under his breath as they closed the gap. While the armada had formed a blockade, the ships weren’t connected to each other. Instead, they stood with nearly fifty kilometers of open space between them, the minimum acceptable distance as per CUF standards. Anything less than that posed a risk when a ship fired a projectile weapon, as the backlash would move the ship some distance before its engines readjusted its position. It wasn’t like ships in space could drop anchors.
Given how long it took to make even the smallest adjustments in direction, Anders would’ve been far more comfortable having a couple hundred kilometers open. As it was, every colony ship had to be highly precise in order to move through the armada without ramming into another ship.
Tension tightened Anders’s muscles as they approached the armada. He’d chosen to lead the fleet because, if the armada was going to fire upon them, it made sense they’d fire upon the lead.
By the time the Littorio reached the armada, Anders’s fingers were cold from squeezing the edges of his armrests. To his left on the view screen stood the Unity, the apex of the armada. To his right stood the Qin Shi Huang, equally as impressive. If the warships fired upon the Littorio as it passed between them, Anders would never be able to evade in time.
This was the greatest risk in the entire mission, when Anders would learn if the Collective would allow a portion of its citizens to embark on an exploratory mission. He knew several of his passengers had padded the pockets of senators to help ensure that there wouldn’t be a majority vote to fire upon the fleet. But the CUF didn’t need majority rule; all it needed was a perceived risk to the Collective in order to attack.
Anders let out a breath as they left the two warships behind them.
“I can’t believe we made it through,” Tully said.
“Prepare for jump the instant the rest of our fleet is through the blockade,” Anders said. “Put the reverse view on screen.”
Now he could see the fleet behind them, all flying through the spaces between the CUF ships. Anders became more and more confident as the other two warships and all the frigates made it through, unharmed.
The smaller destroyers and transports looked like a swarm of bees buzzing through the armada’s openings. Flashes of light danced along the sides of the CUF ships. Seconds later, ships exploded, the fires dissipating in the vacuum of space nearly as quickly as they’d erupted.
“They’re shooting at the transports,” Tully exclaimed.
Anders grimaced. A rock settled in his gut. “They’re worth nothing to the CUF. Plus, that way, they can say they tried to stop us. Damned politicians.”
The remaining destroyers and transports zigzagged through the armada and jumped the moment they were clear.
“How many did we lose, Tully?” he asked.
“It looks like all but eight transports made the jump. Five of those were destroyed. Three are damaged.”
His jaw tightened. “We expected ten percent losses. It doesn’t change our plans. Make the jump.”
“Sir, what about the three ships still out there?”
He saw a couple ships were crippled, and he hoped the CUF would give the poor souls on board a chance. He shook his head. “If we stay, we won’t make it out of here. They have the coordinates. Any survivors can hop transports to rendezvous with us in the Alliance. Now, let’s get out of here and to the Alliance. We’ve got a big trip ahead of us.”
Eighteen
Ship Rat
On board the Littorio, en route to the Alliance
Critch could tell the ship had gone to jump speed when the walls vibrated and he was sent tumbling off his bunk.
“A little notice would be nice next time,” he grumbled as he rubbed a bump forming on the back of his head. It didn’t make any sense for a CUF ship to go to jump speed unless it was after someone…or running from someone. But since Anders was the Corps General, he assumed it had to be the former.
As he lay on the floor, he realized that his security guard would’ve left his cell to buckle in for the jump. The thing about jump speed was that the crew generally had all sorts of safety checks to go through before and after each jump. This would be the time they’d be least focused on a prisoner.
He sat up and considered his options. He’d escaped from CUF cells before, and there was really only one way to do it: overpower the guards and then hope for extreme luck in getting to the docks and stealing a ship. It’d be impossible to take off from the warship’s docks while it was at jump speed, which meant that Critch needed to find a place to lie low until the ship dropped out of jump. The odds were stacked against him.
“Screw it,” he muttered. He crawled over to the only part of the entire cell that wasn’t smooth or curved, a support rod under his bunk that was screwed into the floor. It took some maneuvering to slide under the bunk and into position on the squared metal bracket that was between the rod and the floor. He had to assume they weren’t watching him, or else his ploy would be blown before he even got through the door.
He grimaced. Then slammed his forehead into the edge. He saw bright white the instant before the pain hit him, followed by a warm trickle of blood. Red droplets made a sharp contrast on the white floor, and he pushed to his feet, letting the blood flow freely down his face in a trail.
He leaned an arm against the wall as he tapped the service button on the wall near the door. He pressed it three more times before someone answered. “What do you want?”
Still leaning against the wall, Critch looked up at the camera and pointed to his wound. “I hit my head when the ship jumped. I don’t feel so good. I think I got a concussion.” He wobbled on his feet, perhaps overacting a touch.
After a pause, the same voice said, “Stand away from the door.”
He pushed off the wall and collapsed in a seated position on his bunk.
The door opened, and the guard stood there. He held out a bandage. “Here. Take it.”
Critch tried to stand but fell back. “The whole room’s spinning.”
The young man frowned as he thought through his options. He stepped forward and unraveled the bandage. “You better not throw up on me.”
Critch leapt to his feet and punched the guard’s throat before the man had any time to react. Unable to breathe, the guard clawed at his throat. Critch grabbed the guard’s head and smashed it against the wall, and the man dropped. The guard wa
s going to die from his throat being crushed, and despite his reputation, Critch didn’t want to prolong the young man’s suffering. He knew a better man would’ve grappled with the guard, but Critch knew better than to fight someone half his age—and who had weapons and a comm on him.
He rolled the guard over and grabbed everything he could in the brief seconds he could afford before someone noticed the door open and the guard missing. A blaster, a stun stick, and a wrist comm made Critch feel less vulnerable, and he strode from the cell. The hallway, as he’d expected, was still empty, though he knew it wouldn’t be for long. He looked left and then took off running to the right.
Blood blinded his left eye, and he wiped it as he sprinted down the hallway. Every second he was out in the open, his captors could see him. Only once he found his way into the engineering tunnels—the bones of the ship—did he have a chance at evading capture and coming up with a plan that didn’t involve him getting killed.
He didn’t find an access point in the brig hallway—that would be a stupid design decision—so Critch had to venture into another hallway. When he reached the door, he slapped on the guard’s wrist comm and scanned it over the lock pad. The door clicked and opened, and he hurried through. At a glance, he counted at least four people, two couples in civilian clothes, chatting with each other. He didn’t understand why they weren’t wearing uniforms, but he kept his head down as he rushed by them.
“Oh, dear! You’re bleeding,” a woman called out. “Do you need any help?”
“No,” he said, and added a “thanks” to sound a little more like a citizen would speak, though he knew his tactical clothes would raise doubt. He turned a corner and found the access point he’d been looking for. He used the wrist comm to unlock the nondescript service door in the wall and stepped into the cold air. Puffs of his breath formed little clouds before him.
The wrist comm still worked, which meant they hadn’t found the guard yet. He tore off the wrist comm and dropped it by the door. It’d have a locator chip in it, and they’d be able to track where he’d used it. Now that he was inside the ship’s guts, he had free rein of several kilometers of hiding places.
He ran down the narrow walkway, trying to put as much distance between himself and the door he’d used before the hunting parties were sent out to scour the ship. While the hallways were well lit, the area between the ship’s hull and the hallways had only dim LEDs lighting the walkways. Along his left was the smooth wall and service doors that separated Critch from everyone else. Along his right were pipes and conduits, and beyond those was several-feet-thick gel insulation that protected the ship against the small pieces of debris that floated everywhere in Collective—and Alliance—space. A one-inch chunk of plastic could tear through a foot of metal but only a couple inches of the gel insulation.
The scenery didn’t change as Critch ran, and he searched for a stairway. He found one next to a service door. He took the stairs and descended several levels until he was at the lowest level. The floor he emerged onto was wide, and he knew it spanned the length and width of the ship. The ceiling was just high enough for him to run along the walkway without crouching.
He sprinted until he couldn’t get enough air and his legs burned. He slowed, then jumped over the railing and onto a conduit line. In the ship’s belly, the lines were easily the diameter of three men, making it easier for him to crawl under the low ceiling now that he was off the walkway. He scanned the thick conduit and pipes, ignoring the obvious hiding places and instead moving toward a crevice between two conduits.
He settled between the cold metal and tried to relax, but his adrenaline and pounding heart made it hard. After several minutes, his body caught on and he felt his muscles mellow. Wet with sweat, icy pricks seeped into his skin. He’d have to find a warmer spot or else deal with the prospect of hypothermia. He went to sit up, but lights came on across the ship’s belly.
He lay back down and stilled, as though in a tomb. They’d discovered the guard and knew Critch was in the hull, but they couldn’t know where. Finding someone who didn’t want to be found in the service areas that spanned the entire warship made finding a needle in a haystack a piece of cake.
Critch smiled before a shiver clenched his teeth. He was free from the cell. But he had no water and no food, was in below-freezing temperatures, and was about to have a dromadier army on his ass.
Nineteen
Crazy Heroics
Alliance airspace, near Spate
The colonization fleet rested near one of Spate’s eight moons. The area resembled a shipyard with the flurry of drones and transports coming to and leaving from the fleet, delivering the agreed supplies for the long journey ahead. The Alliance’s first destroyer, the New Liberty, glistened in the distance as it stood watch like a stern mother standing between her children and whatever may dare approach uninvited.
Playan transports were in the process of docking at the seven largest ships, ready to unload nearly a thousand tons of carbon fiber to be used to build new colonies in some far-off system.
Every transport carried carbon fiber and Tulan Port personnel, except for the Henry Fitzroy, which brought several additional passengers whose jobs were far different from those unloading supplies. Reyne, the leader of that group, rode in the cockpit along with the ship’s captain as he docked with the Littorio.
As soon as the docking sequence was complete, Reyne unhooked his seatbelt and stood. “I appreciate the lift, Will.”
“I’m happy to help. If things go south and you need help in there—”
“If things go south, I need you here and ready to take off in case we have to make a hasty departure.”
Will gave a small nod. “I’ll be here.” He took a quick breath before continuing. “You’re doing the right thing. It’s what she would’ve done.”
Reyne didn’t need to ask which “she” Will had been referring to. Prior to flying the Henry Fitzroy, Will had piloted the Arcadia under the command of Gabriela Heid. Reyne smiled and tilted his head in Will’s direction, then left the bridge.
In the hallway, he met with the rescue team: Sixx and Boden from his crew; Hari; Miko and Roq from the Ocelot; and Domino, Sadie, and Tracks from the Lady Lilith. All the specters were in orbit around Darios, waiting for a call to attack the Littorio if it came to that. Reyne sure hoped it wouldn’t.
The rescue team wore tech coveralls over their usual garb to blend in with the large numbers of personnel unloading and moving supplies around the ship. The Playan crew went about unloading the shipment, and the rescue team wheeled one stack of pallets on board the warship.
Reyne looked around the bay, empty except for two techs logging the supplies.
Sixx frowned. “There’re no droms. Why are there no droms?”
Reyne shrugged. “Maybe they don’t have enough to cover all the docks. Maybe they have something else on their hands. Maybe they trust us colonists.”
Sixx guffawed. “It’s definitely not that last bit.”
“With how lax the security is, I bet we could walk this ship end to end without anyone even noticing,” Boden said.
“Let’s hope it stays that way. It’d make our job a whole lot easier.” Reyne inhaled and rubbed his hands together. “Okay, this is where we part ways for now. Now, let’s see if these techs are fans of Marshal Aramis Reyne. Either way, you can count on me to keep these guys busy while you bring our boy back.”
With that, Reyne left the team and strode over to the techs. “Hi, I’m—”
“Aramis Reyne,” one of the techs interrupted. “You’re the torrent marshal. You led the Battle of Sol Base.”
“I did, but I hope we can be friends now that the war is over.”
The tech waved a hand through the air. “I always thought war was a stupid idea. You guys should’ve been free ages ago. Just about everyone on Alluvia thought so.”
“It’s true,” the other tech said. “I thought it was cool to see colonists really stand up for themselves for once
.”
“Well, thanks, I guess,” Reyne said, and flashed a smile at his departing teams. With all the risks this rescue mission had, they deserved one thing to go right.
“I never thought I’d meet you in person, especially with leaving on this mission so soon. What can I do for you?” the first tech asked.
“As my people are busy moving the carbon fiber on board, I was hoping you could tell me more about this big trip you’ve got planned. I’ve been considering joining your fleet.”
“Really?” the first tech said. “We have plenty of room on all the ships. I mean, take the Littorio, for example. She’s running on only fifteen percent of the recommended crew size. That’s even less than a skeleton crew.”
“Not a lot of people are ready to give up everything to fly into the unknown for what could be the rest of their lifetimes. As for me, I had nothing to lose. I get a private cabin that’s bigger than my apartment back on Alluvia,” the second tech added.
The first tech spoke again. “I heard that the whole colonization idea started over a year ago—”
“He doesn’t want to know the story. He wants to learn about the mission,” the other tech butted in, and turned to Reyne. “This mission is bigger than anything that’s ever been done before. Not only will we be leaving the system, but we’ll also be going beyond what there are jump charts for. It’s going to be incredible. Let me tell you all about it…”
“Let’s go,” Sixx said quietly as the techs became completely absorbed in their conversation with the famous torrent marshal-turned-stationmaster.
The group of eight, all carrying toolboxes containing their weapons and specialty gear, casually strode from the bay and into the first hallway. Sixx paused. “Okay team, now that we’re on board, check your comms to make sure Critch’s tracker is still displaying, along with all our locations. I’m showing he’s just about directly below us, fourteen levels down.” When everyone verified, he continued. “It’s time to go into position. Miko and Roq, you cover the Henry Fitzroy. Domino, Sadie, and Tracks, cover any access point to this landing bay. Hari and Boden, you’re with me to grab Critch. Don’t shoot anyone unless your cover is blown, got it?”
