by Allen Stroud
‘That a problem?’
‘Not if I can pull the last access from the cache,’ James said, his fingers flying over the keypad. Pietro squinted back the way they’d come. The lighting had faded, leaving them in a small illuminated section, half the size of the prison cells. If anyone was on the same floor and hiding, they would be a clear target, standing outside a locked door.
‘Got it!’ James announced. There was a ping and the door slid open. Pietro stepped forward, gun raised, ready to fire.
The vast room was dimly lit, but brighter than the corridor, with a chair in the centre and a broad shouldered man standing behind. He had slicked back hair, with a widow’s peak. The style made his head seem overly large, matched with small eyes and a small, thin mouth, stretched into a nervous smile. ‘Thank goodness,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t sure who’d get here first.’
‘You must be our helper?’ Pietro said, keeping the gun trained on the stranger. ‘Who are you and what do you want?’
The man held up his hands, palms outward. ‘Please, don’t kill me. I don’t doubt I deserve punishment for some of the things I’ve let by, but right now, you need me alive.’
‘You need to answer my questions,’ Pietro said.
‘My name is Bertrum Kowl,’ the man said. Clicks and whirrs accompanied his stiff movement out from behind the chair. ‘I’m a cripple.’
‘I’ve heard of you,’ James said.
‘I am, or was, prefect of Ashoria, the largest city on Lave. I can’t walk without mechanised support.’ Bertrum pointed at the seat. ‘Walden took the power units from me and left me sitting here until he came back.’
‘How come you’re walking now?’ James asked.
‘I managed to hide spares,’ Bertrum said. ‘You owe me your lives.’
‘We’re free from the cells, but only to be rats in a maze,’ Pietro replied. ‘You’ll need to do better for me to call this a debt.’
‘I have files,’ Bertrum said. ‘I know Walden’s plan. Without them, billions will die.’
‘You mentioned that.’
‘We must contact all the planets he made a trade contract with. There’s a toxin in the grain being shipped to every system,’ Bertrum explained. ‘The last ships leave here in less than an hour.’
Pietro turned to James. ‘Can you broadcast the data?’
The boy shrugged. ‘If we’ve a transmitter here, then yes.’
‘On the side console,’ Bertrum said, pointing.
‘Why didn’t you send the message yourself?’ Pietro asked.
‘Because the minute I do, they’ll come in here and kill me,’ Bertrum said.
‘You’re a coward then,’ Pietro said.
Bertrum nodded and held his eye. ‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘From the perspective of an outsider, I’ve spent years working for Walden’s regime, rising to a position of power. The most powerful man on Lave they call me. Perhaps, I might have opposed him, schemed or planned a way to get rid of him. Sometimes ...’ his voice wavered. He swallowed and continued. ‘Sometimes I could have done something, saved a life by ticking a box or signing a form, but I didn’t. I accept that.’ He gripped the back of the chair for support, but held Pietro’s eye. ‘We all make choices, Agent Devander, we are where we are. Right now, you can choose to save lives, my past doesn’t matter.’
James moved to the side and started working. A holoscreen appeared, displaying the station schematics. ‘There are two access transmitters here, one for planetary broadcast and one for out-system communication. There’s also a camera directed at the chair,’ he paused stepped back and looked at Pietro. ‘It’s on. It’s been recording the whole time.’
‘Recording?’ Pietro peered up at the ceiling, but couldn’t see a light. Then he heard a hissing sound, faint, but unmistakeable. ‘Someone’s venting the oxygen from the room,’ he realised aloud.
James ran to the door. It didn’t move. He tapped at the control plate, but nothing happened. He turned around. ‘We’re trapped,’ he said and turned to Pietro. ‘I can’t get us out.’
* * *
‘Sidewinders withdrawing,’ Aimes announced and looked up at Jander. ‘They’re adjusting course and closing on us.’
Jander frowned and studied the tactical screen on the lectern. ‘Keep trying to hail the Maximillian. Contact Captain Pierce and ask him to bring the Yamorro up to flank speed to put her in between.’
‘Yes sir.’
Jander turned to Ambassador Godwina. ‘Why aren’t they responding?’ he asked.
Godwina shrugged. ‘My knowledge of the Lavian military doesn’t extend to their communication protocols, Admiral.’
‘Best guess would be they’ve already pegged us,’ Ennis said.
‘Either way, I’m not getting caught unawares. Give Captain Seyne clearance and launch the alert patrol.’
Ennis nodded and relayed the order to Cassom on the lower deck. Jander beckoned Godwina over and leaned in close. ‘I need a better answer than that, Ambassador,’ he said.
Godwina smiled. ‘When I have one, you’ll be the first to know,’ she said. ‘However, in their position, would you trust communication from a fleet like this while under attack from pirates? They may have heard you, but so far, they have no need to listen.’
Jander scowled and turned to the observation window. The nose of the Yamorro appeared on the right as the Cadence-class destroyer moved to protect the Furnace.
Then it exploded. The flash fire, whiting out the viewscreens all over the deck and sending a groan of astonishment around the bridge, before pictures restored.
‘Attend your posts!’ Ennis shouted. ‘You’re navy, do your jobs! Evasive action! Deploy shields at full, belay the fighter launch until we’re clear. ‘
Jander stared at the screen. The wrecked destroyer was already listing into their path. The engine room had been hit. Puff explosions of venting oxygen from the crew compartments ran down the Yamorro’s spine, while the engines continued at full power. It was only a matter of time before they went up. The stricken ship dropped out of view as the Furnace maneuvered.
‘Tactical! I want to know what hit them!’ Jander ordered.
‘Nothing detected, Admiral,’ the ensign at the station below replied in a quivering voice.
‘Deploy an auxiliary terminal to keep running the records,’ Jander said. ‘Get a rescue boat out and our fighter screen deployed as soon as we’re clear!’
* * *
The Cobra bucked and twisted under laserfire. Inside, Heldaban Kel toggled the flight assist and flipped the stick, hard left then hard right, his off hand tracking over the tactical display to select a target.
A red light flashed, the port shield had depleted. Kel put the ship into a spin and keyed up the comms. ‘Time to go, Phoenix Leader!’
‘Still working on number three,’ Archaeo replied, her voice sounding strained.
‘I told you, no time!’ Kel yelled. ‘He selected and launched a missile, before the target lock. The projectile span away in a crazy arc, but Kel wasn’t looking to see if it hit. Instead, he launched a second and a third, and pushed the engines to full power. The Cobra ducked out of the swirling dogfight, righted and made for Lave Station.
His eyes flicked to the tactical display as the computer identified the Furnace and her battle group moving in-system. ‘Kel to Ronin, Time to cut and run, Alliance ships are inbound!’
‘Acknowledged,’ said an unfamiliar voice. Kel guessed it was whoever Faith had put in the comms chair to replace him. Another red light came on, this time the rear shield. Three Vipers were in pursuit. He cut power to the engine and flipped the ship on manuevering jets, squeezing the trigger on the beam lasers until the charge ran out. There was a flash and another antique fighter was gone.
Two left, maybe I can—
A torturous scraping noise made him revise that statement. He winced as a third Viper shot past, its autocannons glowing and Kel glanced at a shield depletion warning. Against the starfield, he picked out
all the Vipers turning to re-engage. It was the Asp chase in reverse. The Cobra was still flying backwards at close to full speed. The Vipers could out accelerate him, but they wouldn’t gain, having lost ground avoiding his lasers.
He keyed up the power plant settings and pushed the shield recharge to maximum, then glanced at the tactical display again. Several large Lave Fleet vessels had started to close in on the Phoenix Brigade, who remained clustered amongst the Anaconda transports. There were so many ships in the small space; the Cobra’s computer was struggling to keep track of them, but he knew Archaeo’s stubborn streak, she’d run the plan and be last to leave.
He retasked the computer to find Brahms and the other Sidewinders. Three idents appeared near where he’d left them, but where was the fourth?
‘Kel to Brahms, what’s the situation?’
No one answered.
‘Brahms?’
Another Sidewinder disappeared, making Kel curse. He looked up. ‘Lady of Fate if you’re out there tonight ...’
* * *
‘It’s not working.’
Gebrial took the dataslate off the last person, Krede, the man who’d tried to take Bowles’s gun. The screen showed his message faded behind a box with the word, ‘processing’.
‘I guess they jammed us,’ he said.
‘We don’t know the messages didn’t get through,’ Gebrial replied, ‘only my slate hasn’t received a confirmation. Perhaps—’
A noise drew her attention, the whine of engines, coming from above. She peered into the gloom, but couldn’t see anything.
‘Time’s run out,’ Krede said. ‘Best we can do is sit tight and wait.’
Wait to die, Gebrial thought. ‘We can do more,’ she said, ‘if we drag some of the lockers and desks over to the doors, it’ll make things harder for them.’
‘What will you do when they come?’ the grey-haired cleaner Sallah asked her, staring meaningfully at the pistol in Gebrial’s hand.
‘Oh, ummm I’m not sure,’ Gebrial said. She stared at the gun then made a decision, ejecting the magazine and throwing both away. ‘Weapons won’t make a difference,’ she said.
Sallah smiled. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll help you with the lockers.’
* * *
‘We’re dead.’
Pietro glanced around from hotwiring the door. Bertrum was sitting in the chair in the centre of the room, pressing buttons on the arm panel. After a moment, the wall transformed into a huge vidscreen display of the view outside the station; the planet Lave, dominating the scene.
‘Maybe now you understand,’ Pietro said. ‘People fear death when they’ve something to lose. All you can think about is what might be or the future you’d miss out on. When that’s gone, it’s liberating.’ It was getting harder to concentrate, harder to breathe. He turned away from the doorplate. ‘James, can you get into the system?’
James shook his head, his shoulder’s quivered. ‘They’ve locked me out of everything, the prefect’s right.’
Pietro walked over to him, but staggered and fell as he crossed the room. He couldn’t shake the sensation of suffocation and could hear his heart pounding. He crawled and reached James, pulling him down to the floor. ‘Can you access the transmitters?’ he whispered.
‘I think so.’
‘Do it,’ Pietro said. ‘Set them both to transmit the files on the datacard and go live from the chair. Then, keep working on the door. You’ll start to get dizzy, tired and sick, with a bad headache. When you do, let yourself collapse.’
James nodded and stood back up at the console.
‘A little bit of life without fear,’ Bertrum announced. ‘That would be nice ... just a little taste ... I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t terrified ...’
Pietro pulled out the pistol and the pocket knife he’d taken from the security guard. He palmed the blade and stumbled across the floor towards Bertrum. ‘Great eh?’ he said, ‘when you stop thinking of all the might have beens and the things you’ll miss out on. Instead, you live in the moment. Suddenly you feel ten feet tall.’
‘... ten feet tall ...’ Bertrum echoed, breathing in rattling gasps.
Pietro grabbed the chair and pulled himself up. He dropped the knife on Bertrum’s lap, met his eye and winked. The prefect looked confused for a moment, but nodded. ‘I can’t breathe ...’ he said.
‘I know,’ Pietro turned to the viewscreen. Amazing view to die for. In front of the planet, a spaceship appeared, an Asp Explorer with a double helix on the port side, the ship that had pursued them to the system. Laser scarring covered the wings and the entire back section was a mess of twisted metal. It manuvered slowly to match the station’s rotation, before slipping into the docking bay. Might have guessed the connection, Pietro thought and slumped against the chair, sliding to the floor.
There was a hiss from the far side of the room as the door panel opened.
Chapter 37: The Battle
‘Multiple warships inbound, sir!’
Admiral Bryce Jander frowned at the tactical display on the lectern. Behind a swirling cloud of fighters, seven different contacts were approaching the Furnace battle group, one of three and one of four. The ident tags flashed as the computer matched each to its database. He glanced at Ambassador Godwina. ‘Tell us about these,’ he said, pointing to the threat.
‘Old Galcop frigates,’ Godwin replied, drawing back the hood of her robe and gesturing to the group around the Maximillian. ‘They have deployed their small squadrons and will move to engage us side on, firing a broadside.’ She moved her hand to the other formation, one large ship and two smaller support vessels. ‘The Artifice is an Imperial Dreadnought. She’s at least three centuries old. I’m surprised the engines still have power.’
‘The biggest of the lot,’ Ennis remarked. ‘We can’t take a chance.’
‘No indeed,’ Jander replied. ‘Nor do we want to prolong things.’ He turned to the rail on the left. ‘Lieutenenant Cassom, contact Captain Seyme and relay to the battle group. Fighters to engage the Dreadnought, we punch through to starboard.’
‘Acknowledged, Admiral,’ Cassom replied.
‘You want to go through the frigates?’ Ennis said.
‘I do,’ Jander said. ‘We outgun them and we’ve a good measure of what to expect. They’ll try to blockade and we’ll charge the centre.’
‘Rescue shuttles two and three back on deck sir,’ Lieutenenant Aimes called out from the lower platform, ‘Seventeen survivors from the Yamorro aboard.’
‘Seventeen out of sixty,’ Ennis said and scowled. ‘Heavy price for chasing ship thieves.’
And likely one I’ll pay, Jander thought. ‘Cassom, inform the battle group they are weapons free,’ he said.
‘Yes sir.’
On the viewscreen, the planet Lave came into view as a shadow, with the system’s small orange dwarf star peeking out over its left shoulder. In front of them, winking dots of colour, flash fire explosions happening further in-system. ‘Whatever they’re trying to achieve, they’re persistent,’ Jander muttered. He could feel the shift of direction through his magboots as the Furnace changed her heading. He moved over to the rail above the auxiliary terminals and leaned over. ‘Anything on what destroyed the Yamorro?’
The ensign turned around in his chair. ‘Not much sir, the readouts do indicate the ship’s shields were still up when they were hit.’
‘Still up?’
Jander looked at Ambassador Godwina, who shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine, Admiral.’
‘Means we’re on eggshells,’ Ennis said.
‘If we don’t know what it is, we can’t plan for it, so we continue at best speed,’ Jander said. ‘Mister Aimes, get us through those frigates, whatever it takes.’
Ennis adjusted the display on the lectern. The view expanded, showing most of the system. ‘They must have a command and control position.’ He tapped on the large dot near the planet. ‘Would they be co-ordinating from the station?’
‘Neutralise that and we end this,’ Ennis said.
‘You said before, our weapons can’t knock out a Coriolis,’ Jander replied.
‘But they don’t know that,’ Ennis said. He moved the screen towards the Ronin’s flashing transponder, buried amongst a whole host of other ships. ‘That’s a warzone we don’t want a part of. We need to finish this fast. We threaten the station, they’ll start talking.’
Jander nodded. ‘Mister Aimes, new plot for Lave Station, relay to all ships.’
‘A wise choice, Admiral,’ Godwina said.
* * *
Booted feet approach from the doorway. Pietro looked up to find a man in security uniform standing over him with a rifle and breathing through an open respirator which steamed around his mouth and nose.
‘The pistol,’ the man said.
Pietro smiled, dropping the gun on the floor. The man kicked it away.
‘Ninety-one years in the making,’ said a familiar voice from across the room. ‘Ninety-one years of implementation will not be derailed by a boy, a cripple and a corpse.’
Pietro glanced at the sidebar console. James was on his knees, a second security guard standing over him. As he stared, two red lights came on. Good timing.
He looked away, shuffling forwards to get a view of the speaker. A man stood staring at the viewscreen. He was similarly dressed in fatigues with respirator strapped to his neck and a cannister on his belt. He turned around and through the vapour cloud, Pietro recognised him from the vidcast in the prison cell and before, from countless card games he’d played on Nobleport Station.
‘You’re Hans Walden,’ he said.
‘Correct,’ said the man. ‘Although, more accurately Hans Walden the fourth.’
‘You’re a clone.’
‘Yes, but you already knew this,’ Walden smiled. ‘The arrival of Alliance military forces in the system was your doing.’
Pietro tried to laugh, but only managed a weak cough. ‘If so, I’m a genius,’ he said.
