Chapter 29
The Privateer Ship Andromeda
City of Freeport, Equatorial Region
The last two days had been a flurry of activity for Cecil. The Andromeda had flown back to Freeport, and was in the process of being refueled, refitted, and resupplied for the journey ahead, as rapidly as port facilities would allow. He had a bad feeling that Lang would try to come for him, and wanted to get off of Zanzibar as quickly as possible. His sister said they needed to do the refits and take on the supplies, though, or they wouldn’t make the trip. Cecil had to wait, and he hated waiting. Worrying over Bianca had taken his mind off of things, though. He’d stayed by her side as she was wheeled into the med bay for treatment, and the ship’s flight surgeon had had to practically throw him out of the room to stop him from hovering.
Bianca was resting quietly now, on a gurney in the medical bay. An IV fed fluids into her arm, and a tube supplied oxygen to her nose. The gunshot wound had been severe, given her slight frame, but it had missed her spine. Cecil thanked the God that he was no longer sure he didn’t believe in that she had survived the ordeal. She’d saved his life. This woman, a slave, a concubine assigned to him by a vicious warlord, had taken a bullet for Cecil Blackwood. Cecil Blackwood the drunk. Cecil Blackwood the womanizer. Cecil Blackwood the playboy.
He sat in an uncomfortable folding chair next to her gurney, holding her hand, and was lost in thought. His little adventure on Zanzibar had cost much, not only in terms of money, but in lives. One of the mercenaries that had helped rescue him, Randall Markgraf, had been killed. Several others were wounded, though their wounds were not severe. Dozens of Aristotle Lang’s men had been killed, but Lang was still out there. Now, thanks to the unwilling efforts of Cecil and his employees, the old warlord had access to priceless alien artifacts with which to fund his army. Zanzibar would suffer even more, and it was all Cecil’s fault. He hung his head in shame. How can a man come back when he’d made such terrible mistakes?
Cecil looked up at Bianca, who was still unconscious. Her breast rose and fell beneath the Mylar blanket as she breathed. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” he told her, even though she couldn’t hear. “Mistakes I can’t forget, can’t live down. But I can do some good, too. When we get home, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, love. You’ll have everything you could possibly desire. You’ll see the best doctors, eat the best food, live the best life. You’ll never want or fear again. I swear to you. I’ll . . . I’ll even quit drinking,” he promised, wondering if he’d be able to live up to it. “I’ll be a better man. For you.”
Of all the women Cecil had wooed and bedded over the years, this Zanzibaran refugee was the only one that had ever loved him. All the others had wanted something from him—money, power, or access to both. But all she’d wanted was to be safe, and to be with him.
She squeezed his hand weakly. “You really gon’ take care a’ me, Mista Ceecil?”
Cecil leaned forward, clasping her hand in both of his. “Bianca! Yes, love. You don’t have to worry about anything now. I’m going to take care of you. I promise you.”
Bianca managed a slight smile. “I love you, Mista Ceecil.” She then closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.
“I . . . I love you too,” he said quietly.
Cecil was startled when someone knocked on the hatch. Behind him was Felicity Lowlander, dressed in a green flight suit with her hair in a bun. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Blackwood, but the captain has requested that you join her in Astrogation. She wishes to debrief you before we lift off. Mr. Mesa and Ms. Kay are already there.”
Cecil nodded. “Of . . . of course.” He stood up, still holding Bianca’s hand. “Will she be alright?”
“She has a long road ahead of her, but time in freefall will take the strain off of her heart and help her recover. I’ll take good care of her.”
“Thank you, love,” he said. “Could someone show me the way?”
A short while later, Cecil found himself in Astrogation. Catherine and the leader of the mercenary team were waiting for him. Zak and Anna were using a large holotank to present their findings and brief the ship’s crew on the alien artifacts.
“Thank you for coming, Cecil,” Catherine said as he entered the room. “Please have a seat. Your employees were just filling us in on what they’d found, and their interaction with the Orlov refugees in Sanctuary.”
“I’m afraid I was unaware of that last bit,” Cecil said, sitting down.
“I’m sorry, Cecil,” Zak said. “I didn’t tell you for your own safety. If we got caught, we were dead. No sense getting you killed too.”
“I appreciate that, mate,” Cecil said. “I suspected something was going on, you know, but I didn’t want to ask. Say . . . Mr. Winchester, right?”
Marcus Winchester nodded. “The same.”
“Thank you, sir. I owe you and your team my life. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Marcus nodded quietly. “Just doing what we were hired to do.”
“Be that as it may,” Cecil said, “if Mr. Markgraf had any family, I’ll make sure they’re taken care of. I promise you that.”
“I appreciate the gesture, but he didn’t have any family. His will stipulates that everything be left to a couple of different charities on New Austin.”
Catherine sat down and crossed her legs. “Cecil, there are some things I need to ask you. Forgive me if I sound prying or suspicious, but I came a long way and endured a great deal of risk to find you.”
“What did Father tell you?” Cecil asked.
“He didn’t tell me about any alien artifacts. He said that you were off on Zanzibar on some kind of treasure hunt. I was told you’d chartered a ship and gallivanted off to the frontier, on what he described as a fool’s errand. He said he heard nothing from you for months, until he received the ransom demand from Aristotle Lang.”
“Fool’s errand, eh?” Cecil shook his head in frustration. “It bloody well was. But Father is a fool, too, then. He knew what I was up to. He partially funded the expedition.”
Catherine’s eyebrows shot up. “He did, did he?”
“Indeed. He thought it was foolish, all right, but we were desperate.”
“Cecil, just how desperate is the situation at home getting?”
“Father has been all but marginalized on the Council. Aberdeen Province has lost its prestige and much of its power.”
“So you came up with this scheme to go hunting for alien artifacts?”
“Yes. And if not for Aristotle bloody Lang, it’d have worked beautifully, too. I had it all arranged. Once I secured the dig site, I was to send word home. Father would send Blackwood and Associates transport ships out to pick up the cargo, and we’d haul them back to Avalon.”
“What?” Zak exclaimed. “That was your plan? You were going to loot Zanzibar?”
“Yes, damn it!” Cecil snarled. “And why not? Look at this place, man! Those artifacts were lost to history before we came along. What did you think we were going to do with them?”
“The Concordiat wouldn’t have approved of Avalon trading in stolen alien artifacts,” Catherine said coolly.
“The bloody Concordiat doesn’t have a say in it,” Cecil said. “Avalon is not a signatory to that treaty, and there are plenty of independent systems willing to trade in xenoarchaeological artifacts. There are Concordiat worlds willing to deal in them, too. How do you think the ones that have been found end up in museums and laboratories?”
“Okay, okay,” Catherine said, “calm down. I’m not accusing, I just want to know what’s going on. Cecil, if Aberdeen is in such hard times, surely even a large infusion of money wouldn’t turn things around?”
“No, not by itself,” Cecil admitted. “Father and I had bigger plans. Avalon is withering away, slowly, by being so isolationist. Our trade with the Concordiat and others is limited. Our economy is stagnant. We’re hindered at every turn by protectionist trade laws. It’s time to start looking at unorthodox strategies. We were also discussing trying to make inroads into the Orlov Combine, maybe even normalizing relations with them. And Zanzibar . . . Cat, this planet is a hellhole, but it’s a practically uninhabited hellhole that’s rich in resources. Right now, its resources aren’t being tapped. If this all worked out the way we hoped, Zanzibar could have become a protectorate of Avalon, trading with the Orlov Combine and the Llewellyn Freehold alike. This place was once the crossroads of the frontier. It could have been again. Now? Well . . . I just want to get off this bloody rock.”
Catherine pinched the bridge of her nose between a finger and thumb, the way she always did when she was frustrated. “Well, this is a fine thing. Why didn’t Father just tell me all this?”
“He was probably afraid you wouldn’t help if he did. It was easier to blame it all on me, I suppose. It always was easier to blame it on me.”
Catherine’s expression softened. Cecil had always been something of an embarrassment to the family, and everyone knew it. It was unfair, of course, one of the downsides to Avalon’s stodgy culture. He’d always been different, never quite the heir their father had wanted him to be. He’d had something to prove his entire life, and when he’d tried to prove it, it had all blown up in his face. “This does beg the question of what is to be done with the artifacts in my cargo hold.”
“They’re not ours to take,” Zak protested.
“Mr. Mesa,” Catherine said firmly, “I appreciate your passion for the matter, and I assure you, I’m no grave robber. But the fact of the matter is they’re in my possession and I need to figure out what to do with them. If I don’t sell them they’re extra mass I don’t need, and you and I both know what will happen to them if I leave them here.”
“I’ll buy them from you!” Cecil said. “Or rather, Blackwood and Associates will.”
Catherine raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure Father would approve?”
“Father can piss off,” Cecil said. “I’m still the CEO of the company, assuming he hasn’t written me off for dead, and I still get to make the decisions. I’ll buy them from you.” Before Zak could say anything, Cecil turned to his partner. “No worries, Zak. I’ll arrange to sell them to legitimate scientific establishments, where they’ll be properly researched and documented and whatnot. If you still wish to be in my employ, you can supervise the whole thing, vet the potential buyers.”
Anna Kay, who had been quiet, tapped the side of her head with her finger. “I may be able to help you with that, Cecil,” she said.
“Oh?”
“The University Byzantium has a very well-funded xenoarchaeology department. Ancient Antecessor artifacts have been found on my homeworld as well, and researching them is one of the colonial government’s top priorities. We may be able to work out a trade agreement.”
“Anna, love, I appreciate that, but how do you propose to do all this?”
The archaeologist smiled. “As Zak would say, I’m kind of a big deal on my homeworld. The New Constantinople government has a policy of buying any and all artifacts from Antecedent Species, no questions asked, even if the prices are inflated. It’s one way of cracking down on the black market: they simply buy it out.”
Cecil looked confused. “Yes, but how do you propose to arrange this?”
“I’ll explain later,” Zak said.
“Yes, well, let’s focus on the matter at hand,” Catherine said. “Cecil, you’ve got yourself a deal. I’ll have you work out the details with the ship’s purser at your leisure. There is also one other thing you may be interested in. Again, it’s worth nothing to me if I can’t sell it to someone who can exploit it, and . . . to be honest, I’d like to show Father that I’m still willing to put my homeworld first, even if I don’t live there anymore.”
“Right. What is it?”
Catherine tapped her handheld a couple of times. A detailed, 3D image of a massive ship appeared in the holotank. “She’s called the Agamemnon, and she dates back to the Second Federation. She’s mostly intact, though we were unable to ascertain what happened to her crew. We found her adrift by chance. It’s possible someone else will find her before you can get there, and it’s doubtful anyone will respect the salvage claim beacon we left. But she’s out there, waiting for someone to uncover her secrets. I’ll sell the info to the company for a fraction of what I could get for it on the open market.”
Cecil, Zak, and Anna all stared at the holotank, fascinated. Zak shook his head. “What a find!”
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Cecil said, not taking his eyes off of the hologram.
Catherine touched her ear for a moment, as if listening to her headset. “I see. Stand by.” She tapped the controls, and the hologram of the Agamemnon was replaced with the face of Aristotle Lang.
“. . . citizens of Freeport, for too long you have lived in squalor, forgotten about by your self-appointed masters who sit comfortably behind walls and fences. Now is your moment! Rise up! Throw off the yoke of oppression and join me! I have in my possession a wealth of ancient alien artifacts, and I will use them to rebuild Zanzibar! Our home will know the glory it once did, but only if you fight by my side! Join me! Rise up! Kill the Enforcers, take their weapons! All of you who are forced to scratch a living from this desolate world, while Frank DeWitt and his board sit fat and happy, not wanting for anything, rise up! Ninety-nine percent of this world’s inhabitants live in squalor, while the elite one percent have everything! I say no more! I say it’s time for the revolution! Join me, and take back what is rightfully yours!”
Cecil felt sick. “My God.”
Lang wasn’t done yet. An image of Catherine, Cecil, and the Andromeda herself appeared on the screen. The warlord’s expression darkened. “These two people are brother and sister by the name of Blackwood. The woman is the captain of this ship, which is now berthed in Freeport. Bring me their heads, and I will make you wealthy beyond your wildest dreams. Deliver me the ship intact, and I’ll reward you just as generously. To the spaceport controllers, I say, I will pay you ten times your yearly salary if you don’t release that ship from the landing tower. You will be rewarded. Aristotle Lang always keeps his word. These people are off-worlders who’ve come to loot this world to steal our precious resources and sell them elsewhere.”
He looked right at the screen, as if speaking directly to Catherine and Cecil. “You thought you could betray me, Captain? You think I am some uneducated fool? You think you can back out of a deal, kill my men, and steal my property without consequence? I will take your ship, Captain, and it will be my ship. Surrender now and I’ll let your crew live. Resist and I’ll kill every last one of them. The choice is yours.” The message ended.
“Wolfram says that the message has been looping over and over,” Catherine said. “Our watch-standers are reporting gunfire at the spaceport.” Cecil turned green and looked as if he was going to throw up. Ignoring her brother, the she spoke into her headset. “Can we launch? How long? Damn it. Any response? Understood. Get every spare crewman on it.” She looked at the others in Astrogation. “The situation is quickly deteriorating in Freeport. When Lang’s message went out, riots began in the slums almost immediately. We have reports of actual street fighting going on downtown. He may have been planning something like this for a while, and it would appear that he’s successfully infiltrated Freeport.”
“How is this possible?” Zak asked.
“There’s no way this is spontaneous,” Marcus Winchester answered. “Outside the walls of Freeport are the ruins of Nova Prospect, the former capital city of Zanzibar.”
“The locals call it the Dead City,” Cecil said.
“It’d be a good place to prestage materiel and weapons for just such a day, too,” Marcus said. “No, this is a contingency plan. The bastard’s probably had it for a long time. He just wasn’t ready to make his move.”
“What . . . what shall we do?” Cecil asked.
His sister looked thoughtful and fell silent, mind racing, eyes darting back and forth. “Mr. Mesa. I want you to contact our friends in Sanctuary. They undoubtedly know about it already, but just in case, give them a call. Ask for help, see if they can spare anyone to defend the spaceport until we can leave. Any help at all would be appreciated.”
“Uh, yes, ma’am,” Zak said.
“We’re still locked into the landing tower. The spaceport controllers aren’t responding, and it seems they’ve fled as well. We called for help from the Freeport Enforcers, but got no response from them, either. I was assured that they could protect the city, damn it all. I even paid some extra bribes for them to keep watch over our ship, for all the good it did. It’s possible that Lang’s men are overrunning spaceport control even as we speak. Marcus, I’m afraid I have to ask for your help one last time.”
“Understood, Captain,” the mercenary said. “Damned shame we lost the heavy. We could really use it right now. I’ll get my team together, pull up the spaceport plans, and come up with a strategy.”
Cecil’s sister nodded. “Quickly, please, we don’t have much time.” She tapped her headset, activating the ship’s internal PA system. “This is the captain speaking,” she said, her voice echoing throughout the ship. “Go to general quarters. We are presently locked into the landing tower and are unable to lift off. As I’m sure you’ve all heard by now, the natives are restless and should be presumed to be hostile. All available crew, draw weapons and stand by to repel boarders. This is not a drill. That is all.”
Cecil was unable to take anymore; he turned and threw up.
His sister sighed. “And can we get that cleaned up, please?”
“Sorry,” Cecil said, meekly.
* * *
Annabelle Winchester was hurriedly making sure all shipping containers on the cargo deck were lashed down and secured properly. The word had come down that as soon as the ship was free of the landing tower, they’d be lifting off, and they needed to be ready to go at any time. When the work was finished, she was to report to the arms locker to draw weapons. This is not a drill. Annie was scared, and kept hoping she’d wake up from this nightmare, but it never seemed to end.
She perked up when her father slid down the ladder to the cargo deck. “Dad!” she said, running over to him. “What’s going on?”
Her father directed his team to get their weapons and gear out from where they were stored. “You heard the captain’s announcement, Annie.”
“Oh my God,” she said, unable to hide the fear in her voice. “What’s going to happen?”
Her father put a hand on Annie’s shoulder. “Nothing bad’s going to happen, baby. The guys and me are gonna go over to the spaceport control office, release the landing tower, then come back. As soon as that’s done we’ll be on our way home.”
“But she said to prepare to repel boarders!”
“The locals are having some problems right now, that’s all. Listen to me. Honey? Look at me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, or to the ship. Okay? Stay calm. You have to stay calm. If you panic, you’ve already lost. Do you understand?”
Annie nodded. “Okay. Yeah, I’m okay. I can do this.”
“I know you can, baby. Look, I haven’t said this enough, but I’m so goddamn proud of you I could bust. Look at you! I know you’ll be fine, no matter what.”
“You’ll be fine too, Dad,” Annie insisted. “Promise me!”
“I swear, Annie. I’ll come back to you. We’ll be back in a few minutes. I have to go now, okay? The sooner we get this done the sooner we can go.”
“Okay, Daddy.” Annie hugged her father tightly. “I love you. Please be careful.”
“I love you too, Annie.”
“Crewman Winchester!” Kimball said, jogging up to her. “Are all containers secured?”
“They are, Mr. Kimball,” Annie said. “We’re ready to lift off at any time.”
“Excellent,” Kimball said. “Now come with me, quickly, to the arms locker. Can you shoot?”
Annie’s father interjected. “She’s a better shot than anyone else on your crew,” he said proudly. “But you keep her down here, okay? Kimball, please, she’s my daughter. She’s sixteen.”
“Dad, I can fight!” Annie protested.
“No worries, Mercenary Winchester,” Kimball said. “It was my intention to have her stay here with me. I won’t let her out of my sight. I promise you, as long as I’m still breathing, no harm will come to your daughter. She’s my shipmate.”
Marcus nodded, leaned down, and stuck out his hand. Kimball took it, and the two men exchanged an Earth-style handshake. Annie’s father turned and went to put on his gear with the rest of his team. Kimball turned to Annie, “We’ll be fine. I’ll be here with you. Come with me, now. We need to draw weapons.”
Annie nodded and followed Kimball up the ladder.
* * *
In the bowels of the ship, Marcus Winchester led his team down toward the personnel hatch. Like most ships of her class, the Andromeda was designed to be serviced from a landing tower at a spaceport. She did, however, have access ladders so that crew could come and go in the event a landing tower was unavailable. A narrow passageway, squeezed between the main propellant tank and the outer hull, led to a vertical shaft with a lift large enough to move only two people at a time. Rather than use the lift, Marcus asked the ship’s crew to disable it so that he and his team could access the ladder. It was a long climb down, but it would be a lot faster that way.
The Freeport Spaceport was in chaos. Lang’s call to arms had caused an uprising in the slums and shantytowns; thousands of dissatisfied locals, living in squalor, were rioting, burning, looting, and stealing whatever they could. Rival gangs were shooting it out in the streets, and Freeport’s Enforcers were under siege everywhere. The spaceport itself was being mobbed, as thousands tried to flee the carnage for the perceived safety of the ships. There were only four ships at the Spaceport, and none of the locals tried to get on board the Andromeda. The other ships, also unable to take off, were fending off the locals by force of arms.
Lang’s army had infiltrated the city well in advance, and reinforcements were on the way. The Enforcers were losing the fight, and had seemingly abandoned the spaceport. Marcus estimated that within a day or so, Lang would be in control of Freeport, and his army would sack the city, raping, looting, and killing as they pleased. From a professional standpoint, Marcus couldn’t help but admire Lang’s tactics. The decision to attack was undoubtedly made in a fit of rage, but it was working, because he’d planned ahead. The defenders had grossly underestimated how powerful Lang’s forces had become, hadn’t been aware of how successful their infiltration efforts were, and had been caught off-guard. If the mercenaries couldn’t free the ship, he very much doubted any of them would make it out of this alive, including his daughter.
“Alright, listen up,” Marcus said, addressing his team in the cramped passageway. “I’m going down first. The ladder comes out by the landing jacks. It’s going to be wide open out there, so we’re going to have to move quickly. Wade, I want you right behind me, and have your breaching charges ready. I’m going to try to pop the hatch to the service tunnels that run under the spaceport. If I can’t get them open, you’ll have to blow them.”
“I’ll get the sumbitch open,” Wade said.
Marcus keyed his radio. “Overwatch, this is Cowboy-6. You in position?”
“Roger that, Boss,” Devree replied. She was on the bridge that connected the landing tower to the ship’s cargo bay. It was exposed on all sides but the bottom, but it gave her a good vantage point. “I’ve got you covered.”
“You okay up there?”
“Affirmative. I’ve got security from the ship’s crew watching my back.” Crewmembers had drawn lasers and rocket guns from the ship’s armory, and Devree had a three-man team, led by Mazer Broadbent, protecting her.
“Understood. If the hostiles start coming up the tower, you fall back into the ship. Don’t be a hero.” As Devree acknowledged, Marcus turned his attention back to his team. “The rest of you, hold here until we give you the signal. No sense in all of us milling around down there while we’re dickering with the hatch. I only want one man on the ladder at a time. Move fast, but for hell’s sake don’t fall. The ship will cover us with its lasers as much as it can, but they weren’t designed to fire at stuff on the ground, beneath its own fins. There are big blind spots, and the captain is hesitant to use ship weapons when there are so many civilians running around. On that note, check your shots! There are a lot of bad guys down there, and none of them are wearing uniforms, but there are a lot of innocent people out there too. Let’s not make this shithole any worse than it is, yeah?”
The team acknowledged. Marcus turned to Wade. “You ready, partner?”
The explosives expert grinned. “Are you?”
“Hell no,” Marcus said. He reached around to the back of Wade’s head and pulled their heads together so their helmets collided with a hollow THOCK! “Let’s do it.” He slung his weapon and descended down the ladder.
After a few meters, the vertical shaft opened up to daylight. Scrambling down the ladder as fast as he could safely go, Marcus took in the insanity all around him. Hundreds of people were running around the launch pads, stealing whatever wasn’t bolted down. Gunfire echoed across the spaceport, and columns of acrid smoke rose from the city beyond. Lang’s plan had been executed brilliantly, and Marcus was impressed with how quickly the city had gone to hell. As an irregular warfare veteran, he could appreciate beautifully executed chaos on a professional level. After a few moments, he was on the ground. He radioed Wade to come on down, took a knee, and readied his weapon.
“Contact,” Devree said calmly. “Armed men coming in from the south side.” Her rifle roared as it launched a huge APHE slug downrange. The suppressed barrel had been damaged in the rocket barrage that had killed Markgraf, and she’d had to use her spare. “One down,” she said coldly. The rifle roared again. “Two down. The rest are retreating.”
Marcus acknowledged her as Wade landed on the launch pad. “Come on,” he said to his partner. “Hatch is this way.” The two mercenaries moved quickly, breathing heavily through their respirators, trying to maintain a low profile as they made their way to the hatch. The launch pad was huge, and the access hatch was over the edge. At the edge of the pad, there was a short two-meter ladder that led down to ground level. In between the launch pads was nothing but rocky, barren, exhaust-blasted ground.
“Cowboy-6, this is the Andromeda,” Captain Blackwood said, over the radio. “Be advised, vehicles are inbound, presumed hostile. We can see armed individuals in them. They just crashed the gate on the north end of the spaceport and have entered the underground vehicle tunnels. The tunnels open up to the surface about a hundred meters from the launch pad. There is presently a battle going on at the city gates. Lang’s reinforcements are here. Please hurry.”
“Understood,” Marcus said. “I see the tunnel entrance.” He turned to Wade. “Get down!” The partners dropped into the prone, weapons leveled, just as a trio of 4×4 trucks came roaring out of the underground tunnels. They each had heavy weapons, machine guns or rocket launchers, mounted in their beds, and began firing wildly at the Andromeda.
“Rocket launcher!” Wade shouted. He ripped off shot after shot at the lead truck, which was fitted with piecemeal, bolted-on armor plating, and had an improvised rocket launcher in its bed. Horizontal metal slats covered the windows, protecting the driver somewhat. Marcus opened fire on it a second later. Bullets snapped overhead as the other trucks shot back, circling the ship like sharks in the water, looking for a weak point to attack. The machine guns were no threat to the ship’s armored hull, but the rocket launcher was.
“Take that thing out!” Marcus said, broadcasting the order to everyone that could hear.
“I’m coming down!” Halifax said. He had a man-portable plasma carbine that would certainly do the job.
“Negative!” Marcus shouted, flinching as bullets impacted the edge of the launch pad, spraying him with debris. “It’s too hot! Stand by!”
“How the hell did he get technicals here so fast?” Wade asked in frustration. Marcus wasn’t sure. They had to have been staged somewhere ahead of time.
“I’ve got it!” an unfamiliar voice said. It was Luis Azevedo, one of the ship’s junior officers. The ship shuddered and let out a mechanical groan as large doors on one side opened, revealing the powerful manipulator arm hidden within the Andromeda’s belly. The arm unfolded itself smoothly, its huge claw opened wide. As the three gun trucks circled, the arm came smashing down, plowing into the bare Zanzibaran soil. The driver hit the brakes and tried to turn, but it was too late. The rocket technical slid sideways, crashing into the manipulator arm and coming to a halt. Before the gunner could get his bearings and react, the claw ripped out of the ground in an explosion of dry soil, moved over the top of the truck, and clamped down on it. Powerful hydraulics groaned, metal twisted, and improvised armor buckled as the claw crushed the vehicle in its powerful grip, hoisting it into the air as it did so. Marcus could hear the truck’s occupants screaming as the claw dropped them from thirty meters, sending them plunging to their deaths.
“That was awesome!” Wade said, pushing himself up.
“Nice work, kid,” Marcus told Azevedo over the radio. “The other trucks are running off to the north.”
“We’re tracking them,” Azevedo replied. Marcus watched them leave plumes of dust in their wake as they fled. “Okay, Wade, get that hatch open!”
“Already on it!” Wade said. He had dropped down to ground level and found the access door that led under the launch pad. “It’s a blast door, heavy alloy, but not meant as a security door. Prepping a shaped charge.” Marcus provided cover as Wade worked, expertly placing the charge and priming the initiator. He came scrambling up the short ladder a few moments later. He and Marcus both retreated so they were well away from the edge. “Fire in the hole!” Wade said, and mashed the trigger.
BOOM! With a single blast and a puff of dust and smoke, the door was open. Marcus and Wade provided cover as the rest of the team made their way down the ladder, one at a time.
* * *
Hot air hit Marcus in the face as Halifax fired several shots from his plasma carbine. The heat and flash were searing in the close confines of the tunnel, but the terrifying weapon did the trick. The squad of Lang’s militiamen heading the other way up the tunnel didn’t even fire back as they broke and fled. Lights flickered and the air stank of ozone and burnt skin.
“God damn, I love this weapon,” Halifax said.
“Let’s move!” Marcus ordered. “Tight stack, guns up!” There was no cover in the tunnel, nowhere to hide. The mercenaries had to be careful not to be surprised by a shooter or a grenade. The service tunnels were run down, poorly lit and poorly maintained, little more than ceramicrete tubes with a metal walkway at the bottom. The mercenaries, with their vision-enhancing smart goggles, had the advantage, but they were badly outnumbered. You didn’t have to be good to win a firefight in a narrow tunnel, you just had to be lucky.
It was a long walk from the launch pad to the spaceport control center, almost six hundred meters, and apart from a couple of doglegs in the tunnel most of it was a straight shot. Advancing as quickly as possible, breathing hard through respirators, boots clanking on a metal walkway, the team made it to the end of the corridor without encountering any more hostiles.
Their destination was the spaceport control center. It was the only thing keeping the Andromeda from lifting off. The spaceport controllers had apparently fled, leaving the ship locked in to the landing tower, and spaceport control was where the landing towers were operated from. They’d already encountered Lang’s men, so Marcus was assuming the control center would be guarded. Moving through the service entrance, the team entered the basement of the control building, weapons up, trying to cover all the angles. Up a flight of stairs, around the corner, and they were on the first floor. The building was in the same dilapidated shape as everything else on Zanzibar. The walls were cracked, the lights flickered, and the air stank of dust and garbage. Nerves were on edge as the team moved through the building, checking every doorway, trying to watch every direction. Men could be heard shouting somewhere in the building.
“Contact front!” Hondo shouted, and opened up with his machine gun. The weapon’s roar was deafening inside the hallway. Three long bursts scattered the enemy squad while the mercenaries found cover behind corners and in doorways.
Ken Tanaka kicked in a door, trying to get out of the fatal funnel of the hallway, only to crash into a pair of militiamen inside the room. He shot one at point-blank range with his carbine, dropping the man, but the other tackled him and dragged him to the ground. The Nipponese mercenary struggled with the man, who seemed under the influence of drugs and was screaming incoherently. Ken was outweighed by the militiaman, who was trying to plunge a large knife into his throat. Gunfire echoed throughout the building, bullets zipped up and down the corridor, and Ken was effectively alone. At the last instant, he was able to get his sidearm clear of its holster. He stuck the muzzle of his 9mm pistol under the thug’s chin and pulled the trigger, splattering his brains on the ceiling. The dead man slumped down on top of Tanaka, leaking blood onto his gear.
Hondo appeared in the doorway a moment later, machine gun at the ready. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” Tanaka said.
Hondo rolled the body off of him and helped him up. “I’m sorry, we were pinned down in the hallway.”
Gunfire echoed throughout the building. Men shouted, and a fire alarm screamed. “Let’s keep moving.”
Marcus rallied the team. “On me, let’s move!” The control room was up another flight of stairs and at the end of the corridor.
The second floor was even more heavily defended. The team encountered resistance even before they got up the stairs, exchanging fire with Lang’s men at the top of the stairwell. The hostiles fell back when Halifax brought his plasma carbine to bear. White-hot plasma flashed in the confines of the building, burning men to ash and terrifying those who were lucky enough to get out of the way.
Once at the top, Marcus and Wade both tossed grenades around the corner before exiting the stairwell. The double concussion made their ears pop, and the team was moving before the dust had even settled. Gunfire ripped through the defending militiamen, most of whom wore no body armor. Wade snarled and fell to the floor. Hondo stepped forward, cutting down his attacker with his machine gun, while Marcus checked his partner. His vest had stopped two bullets. Marcus helped Wade to his feet and they pressed on.
The corridor stank of ozone, propellant, smoke, dust, and death when it finally fell silent. It was so smoky that it was difficult to see, even with smart goggles. At the end of the hall was a bullet-riddled security door that led to the control room. It was locked.
“Wade, prep a breaching charge,” Marcus ordered.
“Hold up a second, lad,” Halifax said, leveling his plasma carbine.
Marcus couldn’t see his team member’s evil smile, but knew it was there. He nodded, and the rest of the team retreated behind Halifax. The bearded, stocky mercenary shouldered the weapon and fired off a bolt. The weapon sounded like a tiny electric thunderclap in the confines of the hall, and the blue-white flash would’ve left them seeing stars if not for their smart goggles. The top of the door evaporated in a blast of searing heat; a second shot burned away the bottom. He raised the muzzle of the weapon and stepped back to cover the hall.
“Grenade out!” Wade said, throwing the frag through the doorway. BOOM! They flooded the control room, weapons firing, not giving the defenders a chance to recover. There was no cover, nowhere to hide. Doorways were lethal in a gunfight, and the only thing to do was to press through. Hondo fell with a pained grunt; Halifax dragged him back out of the room as the remaining three kept shooting.
“Clear!” Marcus said, carbine shouldered, breathing hard.
“Clear!” Wade agreed. His rifle was slung across his chest, the bolt locked back on an empty magazine. He had his revolver drawn and ready.
“Clear!” said Ken Tanaka, who held his carbine shakily in one hand while covering a bleeding wound on his neck with the other. The control room was large and open, and eight dead militiamen littered the floor.
“Wade, Ken, find the landing tower controls,” Marcus ordered. “Halifax! How’s Hondo doing?”
“Rifle round to the leg, chief,” Halifax shouted from the corridor. “Hit the bone. I stopped the bleeding but his leg is shattered. He can’t walk.”
“Leave me!” Hondo said. “Get back to the ship!”
“Horseshit, lad,” Halifax said. “No one is getting left behind.”
“You’re damn right we’re not leaving anyone behind,” Marcus agreed. “Wade! What’s the status on those controls?”
“I’m working on it!” he said. “I’m an explosive ordnance tech, not a goddamn space traffic controller!”
“Here!” Tanaka said. “I think it’s this . . . yes, that was it!” Warning lights flashed. A computerized voice announced that the emergency lockdown had been lifted. The screens had mostly been smashed in the firefight, but the computer confirmed it: all landing towers were being retracted.
“Outstanding!” Marcus said. “How can we rig it so they can’t lock us back in after we leave the room?”
Halifax raised his plasma weapon. “Will burning the controls work?”
Marcus looked at Wade. Wade just shrugged. “It’s worth a shot. It might buy us time,” Marcus said. “Everyone clear out. Halifax, burn it all down.” As Halifax used his powerful weapon to destroy the spaceport control stations, Marcus stepped out into the hall and radioed the ship. “Andromeda, this is Cowboy-6.”
“Andromeda standing by,” Captain Blackwood replied. “What’s your status?”
“Landing towers are unlocked. They’ll begin retracting momentarily. We’re headed back to the ship, over.”
“Any injuries?”
“Affirmative, two injuries, no KIA. Hondo can’t walk, though.”
“Be advised, more enemy forces are arriving at the spaceport control center from the city. The Enforcers are holding several key structures, like the power plant, but no help is coming to the spaceport. The Orlov refugees are unable to provide assistance. You need to get out of there ASAP or you’ll be cut off!”
“Understood. Cowboy-6 out.” Marcus turned to his team. “Alright gentlemen, you heard the lady. Somebody help Hondo up. We’re getting the hell off this rock!”
* * *
Devree Starlighter, from her vantage point on the bridge between the landing tower and the ship, had a wide view of the north side of the spaceport. A pile of spent plastic cases rolled around beneath her, as she’d been firing at targets of opportunity the entire time. The panicked civilians had cleared out once the shooting started. Devree had lost count of how many men she’d killed.
“Overwatch, Cowboy-6,” Marcus said over the radio.
“Send it!” Devree replied.
“Be advised, we’re coming out the front. We’ve got wounded. Cover us, over!”
“What? Negative, there are bad guys all over the place up here. Go back through the tunnel!”
“We can’t!” Marcus insisted. “We’re cut off. We’re taking one of the service vehicles. Watch for us!”
A warning light on the scaffolding began flashing, as did an annoying beeping alarm. “Understood,” Devree said. “I’ll cover as long as I can!”
Mazer Broadbent was at her side, slapping a new magazine into his 20mm rocket gun. “Devree, that landing tower will retract any moment now. We’ve got to get back to the ship!”
“I’m not leaving until they’re back!” she insisted.
Mazer sighed. “Damn it, girl. You two,” he said, pointing at Techs Oswald and Daye. “Get back on board. I’m staying with her!”
Daye protested. “But sir!”
“Go, damn it!” he snarled.
“You should go with them,” Devree said, looking through her scope as the crewman hustled back to the ship.
“You should too,” Mazer said. “I guess we’re both fools. I’ll spot for you.”
“Here they come!” Devree said. Hundreds of meters away, the door to a service garage opened up, and out rolled a six-wheeled utility vehicle. Marcus was driving, while Wade sat next to him, rifle at the ready. Behind them, Ken Tanaka had his carbine up, while Halifax sat in the bed with Hondo. They opened fire on militiamen in the garage as they sped off toward the Andromeda. Hondo’s machine gun roared across the spaceport, and the blue-white streaks from Halifax’s plasma carbine were impossible to miss.
“Top floor,” Mazer said. “Rocket launcher!”
“On him!” Devree replied. Her rifle bucked against her shoulder. An instant later, the round hit the man in the chest, blowing open his insides. “He’s down!”
“Garage entrance!” Mazer said. He fired off two rounds in rapid succession; the laser-guided rockets shrieked downrange, accelerating as they went, and detonated in clouds of dust and fragmentation when they hit. Devree followed up with a pair of shots of her own.
“All down,” she said. “Nice shooting.”
As the utility cart rolled across the spaceport, kicking up a plume of dust in its wake, another gun truck appeared from the far side of the control building. “Where the hell do they keep coming from?” Devree snarled, lining up a shot. She missed. The thing was swerving so badly, trying to avoid the fire from the mercs in the cart, that even her scope’s auto tracking was having a hard time compensating. Mazer fired off a couple more rocket rounds, both of which detonated just behind the truck, but it kept rolling on, its gunner firing wildly.
A moment later, the mercs’ cart swerved and slowed down. It had been hit! It came to a stop, and Ben Halifax jumped out, rolling on the rocky ground and coming up on one knee. He cut loose an fusillade from his plasma carbine, protecting his teammates, firing as rapidly as the weapon was capable of. The first shot missed the truck, the second hit it dead on. Its bolted-on, improvised armor plating was no match for the searing heat of a direct plasma blast. Halifax kept firing as the truck swerved off. It rolled to the side, burning as it came to a stop. Through her scope, Devree could see Halifax shaking a fist victoriously, before yanking the red-hot barrel out of his weapon. He didn’t seem to have any more spares.
The annoying beeping turned into a loud klaxon. Devree realized she was moving to the side.
“The tower is retracting!” Mazer said. “Come on, we have to go!”
“No! They’re not back yet!” She watched as Marcus and Ken each threw one of Hondo’s arms over their shoulders, helping the big man hop and hobble back toward the ship as fast as they could go. Halifax switched to a pistol while Wade fired off burst after burst from Hondo’s machine gun, retreating as he did so. Devree fired off another shot, then another, then another. Mazer stayed by her side, squeezing off rockets as fast as he could accurately place them. It seemed like there were dozens of militiamen swarming the spaceport now, using every available piece of cover to fire at the fleeing mercenaries and the ship itself.
“Mercenary Starlighter, come on!” Kimball shouted, motioning for Devree to come inside.
Annabelle Winchester was at his side, clutching a laser carbine nervously. “Devree, hurry!”
The tower was retracting slowly, but there was already a meter-wide gap between the bridge and the cargo bay. Marcus was hit in the back and fell, dragging Hondo and Tanaka down with him. Devree killed the shooter as Wade pulled his team leader to his feet, his vest having stopped the bullet. They dragged Hondo back to his feet and pressed on.
The landing tower continued to retract. Mazer stood up, grabbed Devree’s arm, and yanked her to her feet. “We have to go!” He turned and ran for the cargo bay.
Devree was on his heels, but stopped when she spotted a pair of militiamen setting up a tripod-mounted heavy rocket launcher by the control building. She dropped to her knee, rested the heavy sniper rifle on the scaffolding, and lined up the shot. Lase. Range. Correct. Exhale. Squeeze. The rifle roared again. The explosive-tipped bullet struck one of the rockets the militiamen were loading into the launcher. It detonated, and the targets disappeared in a cloud of dust and smoke.
“Damn it, girl, come on!” Mazer shouted. Devree looked up and realized there was now a two-meter gap between the tower and the ship, and it was widening by the second. She left the rifle where it was, stood up, and ran for it, limping as fast as her damaged prosthetic legs would allow.
“Jump for it!”
Coming to the edge, Devree jumped. She floated in space for what seemed like a long time, arms outstretched, straining to reach Mazer on the other side. She realized in that instant just how high up she was, and that she would surely fall to her death if she missed.
She missed. Her hands fell a few centimeters short of Mazer’s, but smacked down onto the lip of the open cargo bay. Her shoulders wrenched as she dangled in space, legs kicking against the hull of the ship, so high up in the air. A second later, two pairs of hands grabbed her arms and pulled her up, into the safety of the cargo deck. She crawled clear as the bay doors began to close.
* * *
Up on the command deck, Captain Blackwood tried to watch five screens at once to stay on top of the chaos all around her ship. Marcus’ team had done it. The landing tower was retracting. The fuel and power lines to the launch pad were severed, the manipulator arm was stowed, and the ship was spooling up for liftoff. Her crew had performed phenomenally defending the ship. Kimball, Broadbent, and the Winchester girl were firing out of the cargo bay doors right up until the moment they sealed. Now all personnel were on board and accounted for, and were heading to launch stations as rapidly as possible. This was when the ship was most vulnerable, and a bead of sweat trickled down the Catherine’s face as she reclined her seat into the takeoff position.
“Captain, incoming transmission from . . . from Aristotle Lang!” Azevedo said.
“Send it to my screen.”
A truck rolled to a stop at the base of the ship, observed from a camera high above. Mounted in its bed was a large, multi-barreled rocket launcher, probably a 90mm bore diameter or larger. Lang appeared on the screen as his militiamen brought the weapon to bear. Catherine had no idea where he was transmitting from. “This is the end, Captain!” he announced, his voice raspy as if he’d been shouting. “You think you can double-cross me? You think you can rob me and run away? This is my planet, you bitch, my planet! Power down your ship, now, or my men will destroy it!”
“Captain, we’re ready for liftoff!”
“Colin, punch it!” Catherine said. Her pilot pushed the throttle up. The four engines roared to life, sending a cloud of dust and smoke across the spaceport, followed by the heat of the exhaust.
The rocket launcher, the militiamen, and the not-fully-retracted landing tower were all blasted by the exhaust of the ship. The ship rumbled off of the ground, vibrating as it slowly accelerated. At two thousand meters, Colin throttled up, and Catherine was mashed into her chair as the ship made for the safety of orbit. Lang’s ranting transmission faded to static as the Andromeda left Zanzibar behind.
* * *
Never in all her years as a spacer had Catherine been so relieved to make it into space. The brown sphere of Zanzibar was far below the ship now, and though she was still under multi-G acceleration, Catherine was at ease for the first time since this journey had begun.
Wolfram sent her a private text message. Congratulations, Kapitänin, he said. You’ve done it. Mission accomplished.
Catherine smiled. I couldn’t have done it without you, she wrote back. When we get back to Heinlein, I want the whole crew to take some well-deserved vacation. We’ll stay planeted for a few months this time. We’ve earned enough money on this run that we can afford it.
The ship will need a refit anyway, Wolfram pointed out.
I know you had your doubts about this mission, Wolfram. So did I. Thank you for expressing them, and thank you for backing me up when I made my decision.
There is no need to thank me for doing my job, Kapitänin. This what an executive officer does. It is I who owes you a great deal. You know what happened to my career with the Fleet.
Catherine was well aware of it. A substance abuse problem, an addiction to stims, had cost Wolfram a promising career in the Concordiat Defense Force. It was unusual of him to talk about it.
You gave me a second chance. For that, I am forever in your debt, and you will always be my Kapitänin.
Catherine could not help but smile, mashed into her acceleration chair though she was.
“Captain?” Luis Azevedo said, getting Catherine’s attention. He sounded concerned.
“What’s the matter?”
“Ma’am, I’ve got an unidentified contact bearing down on us. They just came over the planetary horizon. I’ll send it to your screen.”
A moment later, a projection of the orbital system of Zanzibar appeared on one of Catherine’s displays. It showed the Andromeda and her trajectory to the jump point. Coming from the other side of Zanzibar was the bogey Azevedo was talking about. Whatever it was, it was big. Its exhaust signature indicated that it was a small capital ship of some sort. Catherine’s heart dropped into her stomach.
“Captain!” Azevedo exclaimed. “Telemetry says it’s a Conan-Delta class cruiser. Orlov Combine fleet! It’s on an intercept course, and we’re being targeted! Incoming transmission!”
Catherine, for a very brief moment, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. “Play it.”
A Combine fleet officer appeared on her screen, looking pale and barely human. “Pirate ship Andromeda, this is Cruiser-Two-Four-Seven of the People’s Combined Collective. You are wanted for collusion with anticitizen militants, kidnapping, bribery, and the destruction of a peaceful space station. Power down your engines and stand by to be boarded.”
“That’ll be the day,” Catherine said firmly. “Luis, send a reply, tell them to piss off. Sound general quarters.” She touched the intercom control. “Attention all hands, this is the captain speaking. Battle stations, battle stations, this is not a drill. We’ve got an incoming bandit from the Orlov Combine, looks like a light cruiser. All personnel suit up as quickly as possible. Damage control parties stand by. That is all.”
Wolfram von Spandau appeared on her screen from his station below decks. “What are your orders?”
“We can’t outrun them,” she said, “and I don’t want to leave them here to blast Sanctuary from orbit in any case. Colin, turn us around. Get me weapons lock. Target their propulsion system first. Retract the radiators. Engage ECM. I want a high speed pass, throwing everything we have at them.”
“It’s risky, Kapitänin,” her exec said.
“We’re not going to survive a long-range slug-match with that cruiser,” Catherine said. “Colin, bring us right down their throats! Fire everything we have, then get us below the planetary horizon again!”
“Yes, ma’am,” the pilot said, as the two officers on the command deck began targeting and electronic defenses. “Stand by for maneuvers!”
Nattaya Tantirangsi reported from her station. “Skipper, we’re being scanned. She’s locked on! Missile launch! Volley Alpha, six warheads, closing fast!”
“Targeting!” Azevedo said.
Catherine grimaced. “Engage ECM. Nuchy, empty the missile racks, rapid fire! Luis, shoot down the incoming! Target their propulsion system with the gauss gun and fire at will!”
“Splash one!” Azevedo cried. “Splash two!”
“Firing!” Nattaya said. “Missiles away!” The Andromeda ripple-fired her two rotary missile launchers. Ten missiles all screamed toward the Combine cruiser. “Our racks are depleted!”
“I know. When we get to knife-fight range, divert lasers to targeting the enemy ship. We’re only going to get one pass. We won’t have time to reload the magazines.”
“Hang on!” Colin said, grunting as G-forces crushed him into his seat. The two ships, the seventy-meter-long Andromeda and the hundred and twenty-meter-long Combine cruiser, closed on each other in silence, at a blistering speed.
“Another volley inbound!” Azevedo said. “Six more missiles, Salvo-Bravo!”
“Target with lasers and engage, fire at will!”
Nuchy cried out excitedly. “Skipper! Two of our gauss slugs got through! Bandit is damaged! Her acceleration is dropping rapidly!”
“Excellent, keep up the—”
“Third volley inbound, Salvo-Charlie! Jesus, eight missiles!”
“Remain calm, Mr. Azevedo,” Catherine warned. “Divert the gauss gun to targeting the incoming warheads. Don’t let anything get through! Keep firing our missiles! Deploy all countermeasures, and try to fry the missiles’ targeting with our radar! Now, people!”
Luis and Nuchy focused on their duties, mashed into their chairs by the acceleration, their hands nonetheless flying across their consoles. The missiles were destroyed, spoofed, or lost their lock, one after another. One of the Combine missiles, however, had a surprise. It missed on the first past, flipped around to pursue the Andromeda from behind. “Skipper!” Nuchy said. “Missile on our six! It was hidden behind our exhaust plume!”
“Shoot it down!” Catherine ordered. It was too late. The ship shuddered violently, a sickening groan of twisting metal echoing through her corridors.
“We’re hit!” Nuchy said. An alarm sounded and warnings lit up her screens.
“No detonation!” Luis added. “It’s a dud.”
Wolfram von Spandau appeared on her screen. “Kapitänin, I will go assess the damage.”
“We’re still under acceleration!” Catherine said. The ship was accelerating at four times the force of gravity. “We’re about to make the pass! Target the bandit with everything we have left! Fire at will!” Zanzibar hung far below them as the two ships passed each other in a flash, exchanging fire and carving into each other with lasers. After the pass, the Andromeda kept going, racing to put Zanzibar between itself and the Combine ship. Klaxons and alarms screamed throughout the ship as weapons continued to fire. She’d been hit, but damage control parties couldn’t begin their work until she stopped maneuvering. Until the fight was over, Catherine didn’t even know how bad the damage was.
A few agonizing seconds later, the impossible happened: the Combine cruiser, trailing atmosphere and no longer accelerating, began to break up. She then vanished in a flash as her reactor exploded.
“Captain,” Nuchy said, almost in shock, “we . . . splash one bandit. We did it.”
“Congratulations, ma’am,” Luis Azevedo said, breathing heavily.
A cheer echoed throughout the ship. Crewmembers banged on bulkheads and shouted victoriously as they learned of the cruiser’s destruction. Just like that, it was over. Space combat tended to be a long, slow-paced affair, and it was very rare that ships could surprise each other at such close range. But when it did happen, combat tended to be short and violent. Whoever got the first good hit usually won, and somehow, the Andromeda had gotten lucky and scored a critical hit on the Combine cruiser.
“Wolfram, give me a damage report,” Catherine said. Her screens were lit up with red, but her exec was below decks and would have a better assessment.
There was no response.
“Wolfram, this is the captain, damage report!” Catherine was unable to hide the concern in her voice.
There was no response for a long moment. Then, “Captain, this is Tech Oswald. The first officer is dead. We’ve got a hull breach. Looks like one of their lasers hit the passageway he was in, just below the cargo deck. I’m . . . I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know what he was doing out of his compartment. Damage control parties are responding.”
Catherine’s heart fell into her stomach again. She sat in silence, barely listening as Engineering, Astrogation, and other critical systems were checked by their respective damage control teams. The Andromeda was hit, but she had prevailed, and she wasn’t crippled. There had been a high price, though, and the butcher’s bill kept climbing as casualty reports came in. She rubbed her face with her hands and struggled to keep her composure.
“Uh, Captain, I’m sorry to disturb you,” Azevedo said quietly, “but we’ve got another problem. There’s . . . there’s an unexploded missile stuck in our hull.”
Catherine nodded. In the intensity of combat she’d almost forgotten about it. “Show me.” A second later, the feed from an external camera, looking down the Andromeda’s hull, appeared on her screen. It zoomed in and focused on what was very clearly the rear-end of a missile, embedded in the honeycomb energy absorber layer.
“I can pull it out with the manipulator arm, Captain,” Azevedo suggested.
“No. Leave it be. Get me Wade Bishop.”
* * *
“There’s good news and bad news,” Wade Bishop said, studying a 3D representation of the embedded missile in the holotank. He had a tablet computer in his hands, and was reading a military ordnance publication of some sort. “Actually, the bad news is there is no good news.”
“That’s . . . just lovely,” Captain Blackwood said resignedly. “Please explain.”
“Well, according to my pubs, that’s a Combine Type-2404 anti-ship missile.”
“Are those military ordnance publications you’ve got there?” Marcus asked. “Aren’t those classified?”
“Yup,” Wade said. “Anyway, the 2404 is about the most vindictive missile ever fielded. It’s not designed to detonate upon impact. It’s got an armored penetrator nose and a long-delay, anti-removal, anti-disturbance fuze. It’s intended to embed itself in any enemy ship, like us, for example, and sit there being a pain in the ass. If we try to pull it out, it’ll probably detonate. If we accelerate too much, try to land, or transit with it still embedded in the hull, it’ll probably detonate. If we just wait and do nothing, eventually the timer will run down and it’ll detonate. The warhead is three hundred kilograms of high explosive, more than enough to tear the ship in half.”
“How much time do we have?” Chief Engineer Nair asked. She looked tired, disheveled, even. Her normally cool composure had cracked. Her assistant engineer, Love, who had entered the Agamemnon with Wade, had been killed in the battle. There was no time for mourning now.
“I don’t know,” Wade answered. “The timer is randomized. It could be a matter of minutes, it could be days or weeks. Eventually, though, the battery will bleed down and it’ll detonate.”
Kel Morrow, the Astrogator, spoke up. “Why would anyone design such a weapon?”
Wade shrugged. “It ties up resources. A ship lost in battle is lost. A ship that’s damaged can limp home. A ship with this thing stuck in it? It’s not going anywhere. Even if you try to abandon ship, there’s a chance the missile will detonate during the evacuation. It was designed with the Concordiat Fleet in mind, I suspect. The Combine fleet isn’t so concerned with losses, doctrinally.”
“Can you disarm it?” the captain asked.
“I don’t know, ma’am,” Wade said honestly. “There are procedures for it, but they’ve never been tested. I can’t do it from here. Unless you have a military-grade manipulator robot handy, I’m going to have to suit up, go outside, and go hands-on. The missile has anti-tampering features, but their software is pretty crude, I’m pretty sure I can get around it. But the only way to actually disarm it is to take it apart and remove the detonator assembly. It doesn’t have an off-switch.”
“Will you try?” the captain asked. “It’s a lot to ask.”
“No, it’s not,” Wade disagreed. “If we don’t do something, we’re all dead anyway. Bearing in mind that my Fleet Nuclear/Explosive Ordnance Disposal certifications have been expired for a few years, I’ll give it my best shot. I believe I can disarm it, but I can’t make a positive statement. It’s gonna be dicey.”
“I understand, Mr. Bishop,” the captain said. “Thank you. I know you’ll do your best.”
A short while later, Wade and Cargomaster Kimball were suiting up in the ship’s docking bay. Kimball was quite insistent that Wade not go on his spacewalk alone, and the mercenary didn’t argue; he needed help with all of the tools and equipment, as well as a safety backup. Kimball was the most experienced EVA operator by far. Annie was helping him into his suit.
Devree Starlighter joined them in the docking bay, and helped Wade get into his own spacesuit. “You be careful out there,” she said firmly “Nobody else is going to die, you hear me?”
Wade looked at her as he sealed the suit’s gloves. “If we go, we’re all going together. But listen, I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think it was going to work. No worries, hey?”
Devree shook her head. “You’re an idiot.” She moved forward, kissed him on the cheek, then pulled the helmet down over his head. “You’re sealed.”
Marcus was there too. “Wade,” he said, looking over at Annie. “My daughter is on this ship.”
“I know, Boss. I’ve got this.” Wade checked his suit’s systems. “Boards are green. Comms are good. O2 is good. Heating and cooling are good. Devree? Can I buy you dinner when we get back to New Austin?”
Devree raised an eyebrow. “You mean like a date?”
“Something like that.”
She smiled. “We’ll see. Focus on not killing us all and we’ll go from there.”
Wade chuckled inside his helmet. He watched Devree, Marcus, and Annie leave the docking bay, and the room fell silent as it slowly depressurized.
“Are you ready, Mercenary Bishop?” Kimball asked.
“As ready as I’m going to get,” Wade said. “Let’s go.”
* * *
The brown ball of Zanzibar hung far below the Andromeda as Cargomaster Kimball and Wade Bishop emerged from the docking port in the nose. Catherine, along with everyone else on board, monitored the ship’s external camera feeds as the two men made the long spacewalk down to where the missile was embedded. On the dark side of the ship, away from the sun, Wade pulled out a flashlight to examine the missile. Tethered to the ship for safety, he moved forward to do so while Kimball hung back.
“Definitely a Type-2404,” Wade said. His communications were being relayed to the command deck. “She’s stuck in there good, too. Kimball, bring the laser cutter up. We’re going to need to take off a section of the hull so I can get to the internals.”
Catherine watched in silence as Wade and Kimball used the laser to cut away a section of the honeycomb energy absorber. The chunk was sent spinning off into the darkness and Wade moved in, tools in hand. He removed a small panel on the outer section of the hull, plugged a cable into the computer mounted on the wrist of his spacesuit, and attached an adapter to the end of the cable. He then connected it to a port in the missile.
“Running diagnostics now,” he said. “It’s not letting me in, but let me try. . . .” He trailed off momentarily as he tapped the screen of the computer on his wrist. “That did it. Their software is outdated as hell. I think I spoofed it. Okay, the anti-tampering mechanism should be disabled.”
“Should be?” Catherine asked.
Wade didn’t exactly shrug inside his spacesuit, but tried. “Best I can do, Captain. Okay, I’m going to remove this panel now and get at the internals. If it doesn’t detonate, we’ll know the anti-tamper is disabled.” He chuckled humorlessly, hovering just above the missile in the blackness of space. Using a power tool, he removed a series of screws, pulled a computer board out, held his breath, and snipped the cable.
“Nothing happened,” Kimball pointed out. On the command deck, Captain Blackwood exhaled heavily.
“Okay, next step,” Wade said, reading his screen. “Damn it. I’ve got to get through this mass of cables and shit and get at the detonator. Some of them I can cut, some of them I can’t, and they’re not marked or anything. This will take a while. Stand by.”
Everyone on the command deck watched nervously as Wade slowly navigated the tangled mess of cables, connectors, and circuit boards, occasionally cutting something when the publications told him it was safe to do so. The younger officers whispered to each other, but no one else said anything. After a few minutes, Wade brought the power tool back in and began to remove screws and fasteners from the detonator assembly.
“Okay,” he said over the radio, sounding tired, “I’ve reached the detonator assembly. I’m going to remove it and disrupt the firing train.” Bracing with one hand, he reached into the guts of the missile and withdrew a cylindrical piece about thirty centimeters long. It remained connected to the rest of the missile by an umbilical cable. “When I cut this cable, there’s a chance the detonator assembly will explode. It’s only got about half a kilogram of explosives in it. It won’t set off the missile now that I’ve removed it. Stand by.”
He retracted the detonator assembly until its umbilical cable was taut, then clamped a cutter onto it. Turning in his suit so his helmet visor was facing away from the detonator, he cut the cable. The cylinder exploded, popping in a silent flash and peppering the hull with fragmentation. Wade went tumbling away from the hull, bouncing back when he hit the end of his tether.
“Mr. Bishop!” Kimball said. He vaulted forward, as graceful in zero gravity as ever, and grabbed Wade. “He’s alive!”
“My arm hurts,” Wade Bishop said.
“You’ve got a suit tear,” Kimball said. “I can patch it. Andromeda, this is Kimball, have the med tech standing by when we get back in. He’s got a few minor suit tears. I’m patching now.”
“I got fragged,” Wade said.
“Mr. Bishop, this is the captain,” Catherine said. “Is it safe for us to remove the missile now?”
He grunted as Kimball applied a second patch to his suit. “Affirmative. I’ve disrupted the firing train. Bring the claw down and yank it out. Gingerly, please, it’s still full of high explosives.” As Wade supervised, the Andromeda’s manipulator arm unfolded itself and came around. The claw clamped down onto the expended rocket motor of the missile. Everyone on the command deck cringed and the hull vibrated as the massive, one-ton missile was pulled out of the ship’s skin. Once clear, it the claw released it, sending the Combine warhead tumbling off into the night.
Wade keyed his microphone one last time. “This is Bishop. Scene clear. Coming back aboard. Out.” Wade couldn’t hear the relieved cheers of the ship’s crew. Catherine exhaled heavily.