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Chapter 20

The Privateer Ship Andromeda

Deep Space


While the ship was under acceleration, Marcus thought the journey was much more enjoyable. A steady 0.85 gravities of thrust wasn’t exactly real gravity, but it was enough to settle the stomach and allow the team of mercenaries to enjoy a solid meal. After forty-five minutes of physical fitness training and a quick shower, the hired guns gathered around a circular table in the ship’s common area. An impromptu game of poker had broken out while they ate a meal together.

Marcus chewed his food idly while reading from his tablet. He was terrible at poker and wasn’t playing. Devree Starlighter, on the other hand, had a poker face worthy of a professional card sharp, and seemed to be cleaning up nicely. She didn’t even crack a smile as Randal Markgraf folded in frustration, but Wade laughed at him.

Marcus chuckled and returned to his reading. On his screen was an encyclopedia, and he passed the time reading everything he could find on not only Zanzibar, but also Avalon and the Blackwood Family itself. The captain hadn’t been exaggerating when she explained that she’d come from a powerful family. Clan Blackwood was an ancient family line on Avalon, going back centuries to the colony’s founding in the Late Diaspora. They were one of a number of original stakeholders, colonial founding fathers who set themselves up as a sort of aristocracy.

Avalon’s government was not democratic by any means. The heads of the Stakeholder Families served on a high council, a legislative body that held most of the political power. They would choose a High Councilor who served as the colony’s head of state, but his powers were specific and limited. The stakeholders’ power and prestige seemed to come from the size, wealth, population, and economic productivity of their respective provinces. Clan Blackwood, lords of Aberdeen Province, had been one of the most powerful and influential for centuries.

The Blackwood & Associates Trading Company was one of the largest and most widely traveled merchant fleets from an independent world, and they had a virtual monopoly on interstellar trade to and from the Arthurian System. Their earnings had been slowly declining for years, however, as Avalon’s trade regulations made it difficult for them to break into new markets, and in the face of increasing competition from independent free traders.

“So what’s our next stop, Marcus?” Devree asked, scooping an armful of poker chips toward her.

Benjamin Halifax stopped frowning at his cards for a moment. “It’s probably Opal, lassie. Not many places to resupply this far out. Really, not enough traffic out this way for many traders to establish themselves, especially since to get to Zanzibar from here you have to go through Combine space. Most choose to take the long way ’round.”

Randall Markgraf spoke up. “Why didn’t we take that way? Why in the hell are we going through Combine space if there’s another way?”

“It’s a lot longer,” Wade answered, looking up from the game he was playing on his handheld. “There aren’t a lot of places to resupply that way, either, and they’re spread further out.”

“A ship of the Andromeda’s class would be pushing its luck to take that route,” Marcus said. “She’s still a patrol ship, even if she’s a big one. She wasn’t designed for one-way missions this long. The captain didn’t want to risk running low on remass or stores.”

“Let us not forget,” Ken Tanaka said, “that this is a rescue mission. Time is of the essence.”

Wade nodded. “And the long route would add . . . hell, maybe months to the trip, depending.”

“I’ve never heard of Opal,” Devree said.

Halifax folded his cards. “I’m not surprised. The colony there is all of one small city, maybe ten thousand people. They’re independent, not affiliated with anyone. Not enough there for anyone to bother with, I suppose. The planet has a fully developed ecosystem, but it’s completely incompatible with terrestrial biology. The atmosphere is breathable, but only barely. Humans can’t even digest any of the native plant matter. Just growing food there is a challenge, needs to be done in greenhouses. There are hardly any metals close enough to the surface to bother mining. It’s not a good candidate for colonization.”

“Why in the hell does anyone live there? How are we supposed to get supplies from this place?”

“Just enough traffic to Zanzibar, and to the Orlov Combine, comes though this way that traders have set up shop. At least, they were there last time I came through this way.”

“When was that?” Marcus asked.

“Seven years,” Halifax replied. “New Austin years, I mean.”

“How does a colony that small even sustain itself?” Devree asked.

“Their primary economic resource is the export of locally grown plant matter and alien artifacts,” Wade said, reading from his handheld. “I just looked it up.”

“Alien artifacts?”

Halifax grinned. “Aye. Opal is inhabited.”

Devree’s eyes grew wide. “I’ve never seen an alien before.”

“You may or may not see one while we’re there,” Halifax said. “They’re reclusive.”

“It says that they’re at a stage roughly equivalent to the Stone Age,” Wade said, reading further. “Their population is small, estimated to be only a few million on the whole planet. They trade trinkets and crafted goods to the human colonists, who sell them on the open market.”

“The big money is in relics from extinct alien species,” Markgraf said. “That’s probably why the colony on Opal isn’t booming. There are a few known planets with indigenous civilizations at that level. Their artifacts are expensive novelties for collectors, and that’s about it.”

“What do these beings look like?” Hondo asked, setting down his cards.

Wade raised his handheld so everyone at the table to could see the screen. “Check it out.”

“I can’t tell if it’s cute or horrifying,” Devree said. The creature on the screen was short, little more than a meter tall, with smooth, leathery skin that varied from blue to brown. Its short arms and legs both ended in hands with opposable digits, tipped with claws. It had a mouth full of pointy, needle like teeth, and two large, round red eyes.

“They’re unsettling when you first see them,” Halifax said. “Opal’s ecosystem is similar to Earth’s, and these beasties fill the role that our ancestors once did. But when you get close, you realize just how alien they are. They don’t have noses, for example, like mammals on Earth do. They breathe through their mouths, make this sickly wheezing sound. They don’t talk to humans—they can’t. Their mouths are too different, they can’t pronounce human languages. They’re not dumb, though. They learned a crude form of sign language, which they use to communicate with the colonists.”

“They reproduce asexually,” Wade said, reading from his screen again. “They don’t really have sexes. Or sex, I guess.”

Devree raised an eyebrow. “How dull.”

“They’ll bash your head in and eat your guts if you walk in on one of their gatherings at the wrong time,” Halifax continued, “but they’re mostly harmless. Humans are a curiosity to them, nothing more. It’s the colonists you need to be wary of.” When the group looked at question at him, he leaned in closer and explained. “They’ve been isolated on that world for a long time, since first contact with the Maggots. They were like a doomsday cult, hoping that if they settled there they’d be overlooked by the Maggots while the rest of humanity was slaughtered.”

“It worked,” Wade said. “It says here that even when the war came through this sector, the Maggots never even approached Opal.”

“Aye, and that’s where it gets strange,” Halifax said. “The Maggots did come through this system. I read up on all the reports the last time I was through here. It wasn’t a big force, but they were tracked by Concordiat ships. They could’ve easily blasted the colony from orbit. They never left any other human colonies unscathed. But instead, they just left the system and never returned.”

“After the war,” Wade read, “the Concordiat government sent an envoy to Opal to try to learn why the colony wasn’t attacked. Rumors were flying that the colonists had made some kind of deal with the Maggots, but that doesn’t make sense, because we never were able to communicate with them at all.”

“What did they determine?” Hondo asked.

“Pretty much nothing,” Wade said. “It says here that the inquiry was inconclusive, and they left. That was over a hundred years ago. They were mostly forgotten about after that.”

“As I said, they’re strange folk,” Halifax said. “If the captain lets us off the ship while we’re planetside, you’ll do well to stay out of their settlement. The traders had a nice little trading post established while I was there. You won’t likely see too many of the locals. Rumor has it they tried to forget that they’re the aliens on that world, never told the children about humanity’s real origin. I don’t know if there’s anything to that, but they do act as if they worship their planet. They fancy themselves its guardians and servants. They’re especially protective of the natives.”

“How do you know all this?” Marcus asked. “How long were you there?”

Halifax crinkled his brow as he tried to remember. “Maybe a couple of local weeks? The ship I was on needed engine repairs while she was there. We stayed for longer than planned. Anyway I was plowing this local girl, if you follow me. Buxom young thing, inexperienced but eager. She told me all this.” Devree frowned, and Halifax grinned sheepishly. “Begging your pardon, lassie. I said too much.”

“I thought you said the locals are reclusive,” she said.

“Aye. But they’re still human, and there are thousands of them. It’s frowned upon, but some of them fraternize with off-worlders, especially the young people. Colony Fever is universal, you know.”

“So, you said it’d be a good idea to stay out of their settlement?”

“It really depends. We may get a cool reception, but there are things to see there. It’s best to abide by all of their rules, no matter how strange. They punish infractions harshly, so they say, but I don’t really know. All of that is kept quiet, and even the lovely lassie with the enormous knockers wouldn’t tell me the details.”

Markgraf looked thoughtful for a moment. “If I didn’t know better,” the veteran intelligence officer said, “I’d say you were using that girl as a way to get information. Classic honeypot.”

Halifax grinned. “Believe it or no, I’m not just a handsome face who’s handy with a gun.”

“You’re not handsome, for one thing,” Marcus said. “It’s a good thing you’re handy with a gun.”

“I think you’re all gross,” a familiar voice said. The mercenaries looked up to see Annabelle Winchester enter the common area.

“Good to see you too, baby,” Marcus said. His daughter hugged him, then sat down at the table with the group. She was dressed in the same green flight suit the rest of the crew wore, with her hair done up in a tight braid to keep it out of the way in freefall. Marcus didn’t want to embarrass her by saying so, but he was so proud of her he felt as if he might burst. “How you been holding up?”

“They keep me busy,” Annie said, peeling the top off of a heated flight meal. “Twelve-hour shifts every day.” She took a bite of her meal and frowned.

Marcus smiled. “You said you wanted to be a spacer, kiddo.”

“It’s not bad,” she said. “I’m not whining, I was just saying.”

“I think it’s a fine thing you’re doing, little lassie,” Halifax said. “You may be surprised to learn that when I was your age, I got into a bit of trouble with the law myself.”

“Yeah, no one is surprised by that,” Devree said.

Halifax laughed and shook his head. “All this defamation of my character, it’s unfair. But it’s true. At fifteen standard years I was in a street gang on Olympus.”

“You’re from Olympus?” Markgraf asked. “You don’t sound like you’re from Olympus. You don’t have the accent. Olympians talk like they’ve got a mouth full of rocks.”

“Aye, but, I wasn’t born there. My mum took me there when I was just a babe, got passage on a free trader somehow. Grew up in the slums there, though, and it was the law of the jungle.” He looked up at Marcus. “Being on a ship is good for the girl. She’s safe, she’s busy, keeps the youthful piss and vinegar under control. When I was her age I’d have killed to get off that miserable rock.”

“I like the Andromeda,” Annie said. “Everyone is nice, except for First Officer von Spandau.” She looked around to make sure no one else was listening. “I don’t know what that guy’s problem is,” she said more quietly. “He never smiles or anything.”

Wade shrugged. “I heard he’s from the Concordiat Fleet. I was in for twelve years, and I saw more than a few officers like that. He’s not a bad guy, he’s just serious about running a tight ship. Believe me, kiddo, I saw a few free traders and independent spacers in my time, and none of them were as disciplined as the crew of this ship. None of their ships were in as good a shape, either. This ship is in top condition. That’s good. Space is unforgiving.”

“That’s what he told me,” Annie said. She badly mimicked his accent. “Space is zee harsh und un-forgivink mistress! Now report to your station, schnell!

The table of mercenaries erupted in laughter. Marcus shook his head. “Where did my daughter learn to be so sarcastic?” he wondered aloud.

“Uh, I wonder, Dad,” Annie said, rolling her eyes.

“Oh. Right,” Marcus admitted. “Probably my fault.”

Annie looked at her chrono. “I need to get going.” She stood up and cleared her tray from the table.

“Where you off to, kiddo?”

“Gotta help Daye do some systems maintenance down in engineering.”

“Yikes, how is that?” Devree asked. “The engineer seems like a real hardass.”

Annie shrugged. “I haven’t really worked for her yet.”

“Just do your best, honey,” Marcus advised, “and be respectful. Let Daye do the talking if you’re not sure what to say.”

“I’ll be okay, Daddy,” Annie said. “I gotta go, though. I’ll see you guys later.” She dumped her waste in a receptacle and disappeared up the ladder.

Devree smiled at Marcus. “She’s such a sweetie,” she said. “I can’t believe that girl got in trouble with the law.”

“Believe it. You oughta see what she did to that other kid. Fractured her skull and broke her jaw. It was either this or she was going to juvenile detention for a year.”

“Aye,” Halifax said, “but this other lass poisoned your girl’s horse, didn’t she? At her age, I’d have killed anyone what took from me what that little sodding wretch took from your daughter.”

“It was Red Eye,” Marcus said. “The other girl, Victoria, she was hopped up on Red Eye. Makes you do crazy things.”

Devree shook her head. “Red Eye made the rounds on Mandalay when I was a patrol cop there. One time a bad batch went around the slums. It was making people go insane, like violently insane, attacking others and trying to bite their faces off. By beating the shit out of that girl, your daughter probably saved her life, Marcus. She’ll get the help she needs now, before that poison kills her.”

“I think it worked out pretty well, all things considered. I’m just worried about her mom. She’s at home, alone, pregnant, and her little girl is light-years away and can’t communicate. I know it’s hard on her.” Marcus sounded guiltier than he would’ve liked.

“Ellie’s tough,” Wade said. “You know she’ll be fine. When you get home, you’re going to have a son to meet.”

“You’re expecting a son?” Devree asked.

“Not exactly,” Marcus admitted. “It was too early to tell when we left. I’m just . . . well, you know, a father hopes.”

“I don’t know what you’re hoping for,” Wade said. “Annie’s just like you. She’s a little female clone of you. If anything, your boy’s as likely as not to take after his mom.”

Marcus sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “You know, that wouldn’t be bad. This trip notwithstanding, mining is the family business now. It’d be nice if we had someone to take it over down the road.”

“See?” Wade asked. “Everything’s going to be fine. Quit worrying.”

* * *

Devree had been right about one thing, Annie thought to herself: Chief Engineer Indira Nair was a hardass. The job that Annie and Tech Daye were tasked to do was fairly straightforward; the life-support system on the engineering deck had been acting up ever since the last translation, leaving it unpleasantly warm down there. A systems check had revealed that one of the computer subsystems was “fried” (as Daye had described it) and needed to be replaced.

“It shouldn’t take too long,” Daye explained to Annie as they arrived on in engineering. “The ship’s internal systems are all modular, and components can be swapped out on the fly.”

“Do you have to replace them often?” Annie asked.

“It depends, really,” Daye said. “Some translations are harder on the systems than others. Transit shock is impossible to predict. Usually the hardware is unaffected, but sometimes the software gets so buggered up that the whole thing locks up. Sometimes we can run diagnostics and unbugger it, but other times it’s easier to swap it out with a spare from our supply, and work on getting the problem component running again later. Once in a while transit shock is bad enough that critical components like cooling fans or voltage regulators stop working, and it causes actual physical damage to the component. That’s what I think happened here.”

Annie thought for a moment. “What happens when the spares in our supply get messed up, too?”

Daye shook his head. “Then you’re in for a fun day. It doesn’t happen often. Usually components that are powered down are less likely to be affected, but not always. I’ve swapped out components before, only to find the replacement is just as nonfunctional as the original. It’s a headache.”

“How is it we’ve been traveling in space for fifteen hundred years and we still haven’t figured this out?”

Daye shrugged. “Chaos theory. It’s impossible to predict because there are too many variables, and some of the variables happen in the quantum space-time shunt and can’t be measured, because the shunt takes an immeasurably small amount of time. That’s one theory, anyway. There’s a lot about translating between systems that isn’t well understood, even though we do it on a routine basis. In ancient times, it was thought that such modes of travel would be impossible. It conflicted with their understanding of the universe. But even today, there are contradictory theories about what goes on during a translation. It’s all above my level. I tried reading some of the texts about it in school and it gave me a nosebleed. There is a lot they can’t explain yet.”

“Like what?”

“Like if one ship translates right after another, the one that went second might arrive first. Or, there might be a long delay between when the first and second ship arrives, even if they departed within minutes of each other. Sometimes, very rarely I mean, but it does happen, ships just disappear. The theory is it’s some kind of extreme time distortion, but that’s just a theory.”

Annie blinked hard. “You’re right, it does give you a headache.”

Someone else spoke up then. “Hello. We ran every diagnostic subroutine available and the system is still nonresponsive.” It was Assistant Engineer Delacroix. Annie remembered her from the boarding of the Agamemnon. The assistant engineer looked at her and smiled. “Hello, Annie. It’s good to see you again.”

Annie smiled back. She loved the woman’s Classical French accent. It made her sound so sophisticated and cultured. “We’ll get it running again in no time, ma’am,” she said, doing her best to sound confident. She looked at Daye. “Uh, won’t we?”

Daye nodded as he began to remove an access panel from the bulkhead. “I think so. The sooner the better. It’s damned hot in here.”

“It’s insufferable!” It was Chief Engineer Indira Nair. Delacroix quietly stepped away as the chief engineer stood over Annie and Day, hand on her hips. She was sweating through her flight suit and was in a foul mood. “We can’t work like this.”

Daye, crouched down on the deck, removing the panel, looked up at the engineer. “Understood, ma’am. We’ll have it up and running shortly.”

Engineer Nair glanced at her transparent eyepiece, and didn’t look at Daye when she spoke to him. “Keep me updated.” Without another word, she walked away, climbing into her acceleration seat and workstation.

The engineering deck was not large, so Annie had to talk quietly to ensure the engineer wouldn’t overheard. “What the hell is her problem?”

Daye glanced over at Nair, then back at Annie. “She just likes things nice and ordered. Every really good engineer has a case of obsessive-compulsive disorder, they say.”

“She’s so antisocial and bitchy!” Annie whispered, helping Daye remove the troublesome computer subsystem from the wall.

“She’s an engineer,” Daye said simply.

“I’m serious,” Annie said. “Even the XO isn’t that tight-assed. I’ve seen her around the ship. She barely talks to anybody, even in her down time. When the captain took me down here during my orientation, she didn’t say a word to me.”

“I’m serious, too,” Daye insisted. “She’s an engineer, and a good one. That’s just how they act. I know it looks like everything pretty much runs itself down here, but this is the heart of the ship. A small problem here can turn into a big disaster for everyone if it’s not caught and corrected right away. Mechanically, the ship’s fusion motor is a fairly simple system. There are very few moving parts and very little to go wrong. It doesn’t require complex programming or sophisticated computers to keep it operational, so it’s not as likely to be affected by transit shock. If something does go wrong, though, it can be catastrophic. If containment fails, the fusion reaction can’t be controlled, and that’s the end of us. If there’s a radiation leak, the engineering deck will get the worst of it. Basically, any serious problem down here will probably see Ms. Delacroix being promoted to chief engineer shortly thereafter. Most shipboard engineers tend to be neurotic about keeping things in top condition. Everybody’s life depends on it.”

As she helped Daye replace install the new components, Annie glanced over at the chief engineer, sitting in her workstation, monitoring the reactor and the propulsion system. She listened to the rumble of the engines as they accelerated the Andromeda through the void and thought about the incredible forces that had to be not only contained, but controlled to make that possible. It left her in awe.

“Hey!” Daye said, interrupting her daydreaming. “Focus, kid. Hand me that fastener.”

“Oh, right,” Annie said, embarrassed. “Where to next?”

Daye looked at his eyepiece and frowned. “Upper level latrine is backed up. Ugh.”

“Shit,” Annie said. Daye laughed.

* * *

Using a bit of aerobraking to slow to descent speed, the Andromeda circled the little blue planet of Opal one last time before retracting her primary radiators and plunging, tail-first, into the atmosphere. While there was no shortage of terrestrial planets in explored space, worlds with fully developed ecosystems were rare. This sometimes caused them to be ruled out as candidates for colonization, due to the difficulties in getting Earth life to adapt. Opal was an exception to this rule, though its colony of determined settlers was small and isolated.

Scans from the Andromeda’s sensors showed a world teeming with life. The poles were buried under massive ice caps, and three-quarters of the surface was covered in shallow oceans and warm seas. Opal seemed to lack the frighteningly deep oceans of Earth and Avalon, but nonetheless supported an abundance of marine life. The dense atmosphere easily slowed the ship to a safe landing speed high over the trading post’s tiny spaceport. In a spectacular cloud of smoke and flame, the Andromeda lowered herself onto one of the spaceport’s two launch pads, and settled onto her landing jacks with a deep, metallic groan.

The nameless human colony on Opal was some twenty kilometers away from the traders’ spaceport, a tiny outcropping of civilization in a clearing of the extremely dense flora. It was surrounded on all sides by a tangled jungle of plant life that resembled terrestrial trees, save for their bluish tint and odd bioluminescence. Puffy white clouds filled an intensely blue sky, as the world basked in the yellow-orange light of the system’s star. The only paved road on the entire planet connected the lonely colony to the trading post, and no traffic could be seen on it.

The colony itself was a crowded, sprawling cluster of boxy, prefabricated buildings that had been added on to over the years, repainted, or rebuilt completely. The largest structures by far were the domed greenhouses in which the colonists raised their staple crops of soy, wheat, barley, rice, and beans. Its common areas appeared neat and clean on telemetry, with residents going to and fro on their daily business. Every building’s door seemed to function as a sort of airlock, keeping climate-controlled, filtered air inside so humans could live more comfortably.

Outside the small city, partially covered in vines and plants, was the towering, skeletal hulk of the ship which had brought the colonists to Opal more than a century before. It had been stripped for building materials and supplies over the years, but its primary spaceframe remained. Standing some eighty meters tall, it towered ominously over the settlement, and was now home to native flora and fauna of many types. The thick, humid atmosphere of Opal had long since rusted the exposed metals that were vulnerable to corrosion, but the primary spherical structure of the ship remained largely intact. Her main hull was a great metal ball, fifty meters in diameter, sitting on top of a large cluster of engines, fins, landing jacks, and support structures. A large flock of flying creatures were frightened out of the stripped vessel as the Andromeda set down at the spaceport.

The arriving privateer ship wasn’t the only vessel presently at the spaceport. Five hundred meters away, on the other landing pad, stood a mid-sized free trader with a pointed nose and a bulbous hull. Her transponder listed her as the Armed Merchant Cutter Ascalon, registered out of the Llewellyn Freehold. Catherine sent the Ascalon’s skipper a courtesy message. She kept the details of her mission to herself, but discreetly inquired as to whether the merchant cutter had been to Zanzibar.

A few moments after sending her greeting, as her ship was being spun down, she received a brief text message from the Ascalon. It was an invitation to her captain’s cabin for dinner. It was customary for ship’s officers to have dinners with one another, but this usually included the first officers at least. This invitation, on the other hand, was for the captain alone, and was to be a private affair with the Ascalon’s skipper. Before sending a reply, Catherine consulted her first officer via text message, not wanting the junior officers on the command deck to overhear.

Wolfram von Spandau replied quickly, in his usual terse style: I do not like this. If you meet with him, I wish to go with you.

Catherine replied: That’s not what he’s asking. He wants to have a private dinner with me.

Perhaps he imagines himself irresistible to women? Wolfram typed. He will be disappointed, if that is the case.

Catherine chuckled to herself. I don’t actually know if their captain is a man. It could be a woman. I could meet the love of my life over there.

The executive officer was less optimistic. Or you could be held for ransom. Such things are not unheard of out here on the frontier. This so-called merchantman could easily be a pirate.

Catherine grinned widely as she typed, her command crew oblivious to the nature of her conversation. My goodness, captured and ravaged by a pirate queen! I believe I’ve seen that video before. Do you suppose I’ll be tied up as well? I think I might fancy that. She could almost feel Wolfram blushing through the text interface. Sparing her XO the effort of coming up with an awkward response, she continued: In all seriousness, how about this: I will go over there and meet with him. Instead of wearing my frilliest space damsel dress, I’ll wear my regular flight suit. I’ll take a sidearm, as that’s customary anyway. Perhaps their captain isn’t a presumptuous lecher—perhaps he just wants to share some information, and doesn’t want his crew to hear too much. Not all spacers are as reliable as mine.

Wolfram von Spandau took a few moments to type his response. Very well. Please be cautious. I will see to the replenishment of our remass tanks and set up a maintenance rotation while we’re dirtside, as we discussed. Three local days will be more than enough time for the maintenance. The crew can get off the ship for a time and waste their money at the trading post.

There is one last thing, Catherine typed. While I see to this, I want you to run an emergency drill on the crew. Hostile natives threatening the ship in port. We’ve been underway for a long time. They’re tired and won’t be expecting it.

I agree, Wolfram typed. It will give Mr. Winchester a chance to organize his people on the fly as well.

Very good, Catherine typed. Start the drill in one hour. I want the crew ready to defend the ship until it can be brought back up for launch. Notify traffic control, Mr. Broadbent, and Mr. Winchester of the drill, but no one else. The ship is yours.

Logging off and shutting down her command console, Catherine stood up and stretched. “Mr. Azevedo,” she said, “I have business to attend to. Herr von Spandau has the ship. The command deck is yours.”

* * *

Showered and refreshed, Catherine made her way down to the Andromeda’s cargo deck. She wore a fresh flight suit and her genuine leather flight jacket, with a gun-belt around her narrow waist. The large ventral cargo bay doors were opened, connected and sealed to the spaceport’s landing tower. Down the ramp was an elevator that led to the base of the landing tower. From there, a series of underground tunnels connected the various areas of the spaceport and trading post, so that travelers could move from one area to the next without having to brave the sweltering climate outside. The dense atmosphere made it difficult for those unaccustomed to it to work, and the humidity level was always murderously high.

The spaceport’s underground tunnels were well lit, but practically deserted. A small, three-wheeled electric scooter was available for rent for a small fee. As Catherine rolled along the tunnel connecting the Andromeda’s landing pad to the Ascalon’s, she didn’t see another soul. The only activity was a couple of service robots going about their appointed tasks. Soothing mood music played over speakers and resonated off of the bare block walls.

The landing tower that led to the cargo bay of the Ascalon was identical to the one Catherine had come down when leaving her own ship. As she made her way up the ramp, she saw quite a bit of activity in the merchant ship’s cavernous cargo bay. An alarm chirped as she approached, and the crew members inside took notice of her.

“Good evening,” she said crisply. “I am Captain Catherine Blackwood of the privateer ship Andromeda. Your skipper was gracious enough to invite me to your ship. Permission to come aboard?”

A waifishly thin crewmember in a red coverall spoke up. “I am Cargomaster Mearl,” he (or perhaps she; Catherine couldn’t really tell) said. “We have been expecting you. Permission granted, Captain. Welcome aboard the armed merchant cutter Ascalon.” The androgynous cargomaster had very pale skin, a shaved head, and never set down the tablet he/she was holding. Behind him/her, the cargo bay was stacked with shipping containers of goods, all secured and balanced so as not to throw off the ship’s center of gravity. From the looks of things, the Ascalon would be leaving Opal soon.

“Your ship is impressive,” Catherine said. “I can see you run a most efficient cargo deck. I’ve visited a lot of merchant ships, and have seen few in such impeccable shape. I assume you’re departing soon?”

Mearl perked up and actually smiled at Catherine’s offhand flattery. “Thank you, Captain. Indeed. Our launch window is in a matter of hours.” He/she turned and waved toward another crewman. “This is Cargo Tech Samuel. He will take you to see the captain.”

The hulking crewman stood in stark contrast to his supervisor. He towered over Catherine, his dark skin rippling with muscles. “Please follow me,” he said tersely, his deep voice booming. “Our captain is waiting.”

The Ascalon was large enough that it had a small lift running up its centerline. The Andromeda, in comparison, had no such luxuries; the crew had to use ladders to traverse between decks. The merchant vessel was rather larger than the Andromeda, but unless it had a surprisingly potent engine cluster, Catherine suspected it wasn’t nearly as capable. The Andromeda could pull ten gravities of acceleration under full afterburner; a ship like the Ascalon probably couldn’t do half that. The two ships were designed for very different roles—much of the Andromeda’s internal volume was used for redundant systems, armament, and armor. As a merchant cutter, though, the Ascalon was impressive.

A tinny robotic voice announced that the lift had stopped at the officers’ quarters deck. Samuel led Catherine through a narrow, circular corridor, lined with doors to small cabins for the ship’s officers. Each appeared to be as big as Catherine’s personal quarters, and a four such cabins ringed this deck of the ship.

One of the cabins had an ornate door, and seemed to be larger than the other three. Samuel banged on the hatch three times, then stood up straight, hands folded behind his back. With a clank and a hiss, the door slid open, and he spoke up. “Cargo Tech Samuel reporting, sir. I am escorting Captain Catherine Blackwood of the Andromeda. I believe you are expecting her.”

A cheery male voice spoke up from inside the cabin. “Send her in, please!” Samuel stood aside, nodding as Catherine stepped past him and entered the cabin. “Welcome aboard the Ascalon, Captain,” the ship’s skipper said. “I’m so pleased that you accepted my offer.” He was an average-looking man with an average build, red hair, a red goatee, and freckles. He stood at the far side of a small table. Like his crewmembers, he was dressed in a dark red coverall, though over it he wore a more formal tunic with four gold bands around the cuffs of each sleeve. “I am Captain Matthew Atkins of the Llewellyn Freehold.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Catherine said, stepping across the cabin to shake his hand. Captain Atkins seemed to have his own private dining area, another decadent luxury the Andromeda had no room for. “Your ship is most impressive.”

Captain Atkins brimmed with pride. “Isn’t she? So many free traders are little more than tramp cruisers in poor condition, crewed by shady individuals. Then they wonder why they can’t get contracts with the big corporations and colonial governments! My predecessor ran a tight ship. Matt, he would always say, a ship’s got to be in shipshape! It’s hokey but it’s true.” He paused, before motioning to Catherine to sit. “Please, Captain, have a seat. You’ll get me talking if you ask me about my ship!”

Catherine smiled at him. She didn’t think she was in any danger of getting abducted (nor in any danger of getting ravaged by a lusty pirate queen), and Captain Atkins seemed unusually personable for a Freeholder. “If I may ask, why all the secrecy?”

“Ah,” he said. “Wine? Water?” He poured Catherine a glass as he continued. “Many of my crew are new hires from the Freehold. They can be a rather mercenary bunch. You asked me about Zanzibar, so I thought we’d have a private conversation, face-to-face, captain to captain. Discretion is part of my professional code.”

“I certainly understand,” Catherine said, sipping her wine.

“Dinner should be ready shortly. I hope you like roast chicken?”

“I do.”

“Then you’ll really like this. It’s an actual chicken my men acquired.”

“From the colony?”

“No, from the trading post. The locals don’t raise livestock. But it’s not dehydrated, frozen, or otherwise preserved.”

Catherine thought for a moment. “The locals don’t raise livestock?”

“You don’t know? I suppose the information available about this place is pretty sparse. The colonists are all strict vegans, by law. All they eat are the plants and nuts they grow in their greenhouses. The consumption of meat, fish, or animal products is forbidden. Rumor has it they put people to death for it.”

“That’s insane,” Catherine said.

Captain Atkins could only nod. “It’s just a rumor. I’m sure they’d be unhappy if they found out we were eating meat in here, though there’s nothing they can do about it. These people have been isolated on this rock for over a century. Until this trading post opened up, maybe forty local years ago, they were completely cut off from the rest of inhabited space.”

“How in the world did they sustain themselves on such an inhospitable planet?”

“Their original colonization mission was intended to be long term. Their ship, the one rusting away to the north of the settlement? They completely stripped it for parts and equipment. The ship’s fusion reactor was moved, and now powers the colony. Compared to fusion rockets, the colony doesn’t need very much power, so they leave it more or less in standby mode. With a minimum of maintenance, it can run for a very long time like that.”

“One of my crew spent some time here a few years ago. He told me the colonists on Opal were strange.”

“Oh, they’re an odd bunch all right. Their colony is a commune. Everyone pitches in to the best of his ability, and is in turn given what he needs to survive. There’s no money, no private property, and no taxes.”

“I see. And who decides who needs and gets what?”

Captain Atkins chuckled. “That is the rub, isn’t it? They call them the Elders. They run the show here. Really reclusive bunch. Supposedly they’re the living survivors of the original colonial mission. They’d have to be really, really old for that to be the case, but I suppose it’s possible. They make the laws, and they have so-called Peacekeepers to enforce them. But mostly people abide by the laws without the threat of force. They’re indoctrinated from the time they’re children, taken from their parents, raised in communal crèches. This whole colony is basically a cult, except they’re not religious.”

“The trading post . . . they’re Freeholders as well?”

“Yes. Not affiliated with my business, and believe me I don’t get any kind of a discount for being from the same home port. There’s just enough traffic coming through this system these days to make it worthwhile.”

“Trade from the Orlov Combine, I assume?”

Captain Atkins took a long sip of his wine. “I don’t like dealing with the Combine. I know what they are, you know. But their raw materials are good, and they’re cheap. The profit margins are too big to pass up.”

“If I may ask, what are you doing on Opal?”

“Same as you, I suspect. Stocking up on remass and supplies. I do trade with the colonists here. I have a contact and, before you ask, I’m not inclined to share.”

Catherine smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Not my sort of contract, really. But what do you trade? The information I have is vague.”

“The trinkets the natives make fetch a pretty credit from collectors. But the real money here is in the wood.”

“Wood?”

“It’s not technically wood, I suppose. The flora that fills the role of trees on Opal aren’t really trees, in strict biological terms. But their hides, the bark, wood, whatever you want to call it, is beautiful.” He reached behind him and produced a small box. Inside was a sample of the plant matter. It had rich, deep, purple coloration, and swirled with intricate patterns and grains. It dimly glowed indigo.

“It is beautiful,” Catherine said, touching it lightly. It felt like finely polished wood. “Did you finish this?”

“That’s the real beauty of it, Captain,” Captain Atkins said. “This is just a sample cut from a pseudo-tree. The texture and color varies widely from breed to breed, but a lot of them are just as lovely. The bioluminescence lasts for years, even after the sample has been cut from the tree, so long as it’s exposed to UV light daily.”

“I can see how selling this would be profitable. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I’ve got a deal worked out with the colonists. I bring them supplies they need, mostly from Orlov’s Star, and they let me take wood and trinkets. It’s all kept on the down-low, of course. The trading post gets a cut of the profits. Apart from my ship, there are only one or two others that have such a deal worked out, and it’s good money. It’s the secret that makes this place profitable.”

A rap on the hatch announced that dinner was served. Catherine hadn’t smelled fresh roast anything since leaving New Austin. The scent of the chicken was almost intoxicating as two crewmen set the table. After they excused themselves, she dug in greedily, savoring every bite of her meal. The vegetables were fresh as well. It was glorious.

“My God, this is good,” she said, washing down a bite with a sip of wine.

“I saved the best for myself. Being captain has its privileges. But don’t think I haven’t taken care of my crew; I purchased some pigs from the trading post and had them butchered. We’ll be having quite the feast before we lift off. It’s a long way back to the Freehold, and we’ve been gone from home for a long time. I want to treat my people.”

“I guess my question is, why are you divulging all of these secrets to me? Aren’t you afraid I’ll try to move in on your territory?”

Captain Atkins only smiled. “Not at all, Captain. For one, you’re a privateer, not a free trader. You might make a few extra credits running cargo, but your ship isn’t suited for it. Secondly, your reputation precedes you.”

“My reputation?”

“Absolutely. I’ve heard of you, Catherine Blackwood, and the Andromeda as well.”

Catherine couldn’t stop a devilish grin from appearing on her face. She folded her hands under her chin and leaned in. “Oh really? And what is it you’ve heard?”

Captain Atkins may not have been Catherine’s type, and maybe it was the wine talking, but he was quite the charmer. “I’m sure you recall an incident a few years back, where the Andromeda was brought in to protect merchant vessels transiting into the Coleman-2203 system?”

“I could hardly forget it,” Catherine mused. “I had just officially taken command of the Andromeda. My predecessor, Captain Roberts, was serving as my exec on his final job before he retired. Raiders were preying on merchant ships coming through the transit point, hitting them before they had time to recover from transit shock.”

“It put a real damper on trade with that system, which was a pity, because the asteroid belt there is overflowing with iridium, uranium, and cobalt.”

“There’s no colony in that system, just a cluster of hollowed-out asteroids and space stations in the asteroid belt.” Asteroid miners, sometimes called Belters, were often portrayed in popular culture as rugged, independent, nomadic people, who answered to no one and made a living wherever they could. It had been Catherine’s experience that there was more than a little truth to that stereotype. The Belters in the Coleman-2203 system tried, but didn’t have the means to protect themselves from the raiders that had set up in their system.

“The raiders were choking them off,” Captain Atkins said. “I was part of a five-ship convoy, full of relief supplies, contracted by the Belters themselves and some outside parties. We hoped that there’d be strength in numbers, but that transit point is a cast-iron bitch.”

Catherine’s eyes widened slightly. “I thought your ship looked familiar. We’d been chasing the raiders all over the system, but just couldn’t get close to them. As soon as your fleet came through, though, they took the bait. We splashed both of their ships. My first mission as skipper and we got two pirate kills!” Catherine took a long sip of wine. “I don’t mind telling you, Captain, that that was the greatest day of my life.”

“Please, call me Matt. It was a pretty good day for me as well. We were struggling to get our weapons online when you intercepted the raiders. Had you not been there, it would have ended badly for us. I invited you to dinner, Captain . . .”

“Please,” Catherine said, interrupting. “Just Catherine.”

Captain Atkins smiled. “I invited you to dinner, Catherine, because I never got to thank you. I owe you my life and my ship. Sharing a bit of chicken and some information is the least I can do.”

“I’ll be glad for any information you have on Zanzibar or Orlov’s Star,” Catherine said. “It’s hard getting current, accurate intelligence about those places. I’m afraid I can’t get into specifics of my mission, however. Client confidentiality and all.”

“No worries, Catherine, I completely understand. You are in luck, though. I was on Zanzibar a few months ago, and went through Combine space on the way here.”

“Really? So tell me, what is the secret to getting through Orlov’s Star unmolested?”

“The short answer? Be prepared to pay a couple of big bribes, and hope for good luck.”

* * *

Exhausted, Annabelle Winchester climbed down the ladder into the crew deck. She’d just come off of a twelve-hour shift and wanted nothing more than to crawl into her berth for some badly needed rack time. There was a lot for the crew to do after the ship set down at the trading post on Opal. Being on duty, Annie had been running around like a crazy person, helping everyone who needed help only to be sent off to the next person. Kimball had kept her busy on the cargo deck, rearranging containers to make room for the supplies they would be taking on. As soon as that was done, he’d told her to report to the ship’s purser, Mordecai Chang.

Annie was surprised to learn that Mr. Chang seemed to live in his tiny compartment above the crew deck, adjacent to the supply locker. He didn’t come out even when Annie banged on his hatch. He just addressed her through a screen and gave her a list of items that needed to be checked out of storage on the cargo deck and stocked in the supply locker, so the crew could access them as needed. It was a task fit for a robot, but there were no robots on the Andromeda, so it fell to Annie. It had taken her three trips to get everything to where it needed to be.

The crew deck was unusually crowded. With the ship planeted and postflight checklists completed, there wasn’t much for the crew to do if they weren’t on watch or maintenance duty. Most of the Andromeda’s sixteen-person crew seemed to be crowded into the habitat area. Annie’s dad and his mercenaries were there too, sitting around one of the tables in the common area having an animated conversation. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood, excited at the thought of getting off the ship for a while.

Everyone except her father. He wasn’t bantering with his team the way Wade was. He just quietly studied a tablet in his hands, occasionally looking around the room.

“What’s wrong, Dad?” Annie asked.

He looked up from his tablet, surprised to see her. “Huh? Oh, hey, sweetie. Nothing’s wrong. How are you?”

“Tired.”

“Ship life wearing you down yet?”

Annie felt defiant. “No! I just had a long shift, is all. I feel at home on the Andromeda, Dad.”

Her father smiled. “I’m glad. Your mother and I used to worry, with you growing up without any other kids around. We thought it might stunt your social development.”

What is he talking about? “Dad, I have a lot of friends,” she said.

“I know, baby, but you almost never get to see them. That’s not how it’s supposed to be. You’re supposed to, you know, spend time with them, do stuff, be a kid.”

“Hey now,” Wade said, noticing Annie’s conversation with her dad. “I was in the same situation as her when I was growing up. I turned out fine.”

Annie’s father held his hand out, offering his partner as an example. “See? I was worried you’d turn out like Wade.”

“Hey!” Wade protested.

Annie rolled her eyes. “Obviously, I’m not going to turn out like Uncle Wade, Dad.”

“Hey!” Wade said again.

“Sorry, Uncle Wade,” Annie said, flashing him her sweetest smile. “No offense, you’re kind of lame.”

Wade just shook his head. He looked over at Devree, who was sitting next to him. “I’m being verbally abused by that girl, and her father is encouraging her.”

“Aww,” Devree said, making a pouty face. “Did she hurt your widdle feewings?”

Wade folded his arms across his chest. “You know . . .”

Laughing, Annie looked at her father again. “Anyway, I like it here. It’s just hard sometimes. I miss Mom.”

Marcus put a hand on his daughter’s arm. “I miss her too, honey. I’m sorry there haven’t been any courier ships lately. I know you want to send a message home. I do too.”

“Do you think she’s okay? With the baby and everything, I mean.”

“Everything will be fine, baby,” Marcus said reassuringly. “Your mom is tough, and stubborn. You don’t need to worry about her.”

Annie didn’t like to admit it sometimes, but the way her father projected confidence always comforted her when she was worried. It was like no matter what life threw at them, her dad knew just what to do, and things always worked out. Annie figured having been a chief warrant officer in special operations had a lot to do with her dad’s demeanor. He was used to making quick decisions under stress.

Her father looked her in the eye. “I want you to know I’m very proud of you, Annie.”

Annie felt her face flush a little. “Dad . . . come on.”

Marcus smiled. “Just remember: no matter what happens, stay calm, keep your wits, and do what you’ve been trained to do.”

Huh? “Dad, what are you—”

A piercing warning klaxon sounded throughout the ship, interrupting all conversations. It was followed by the voice of Wolfram von Spandau. “Attention all personnel. Go to general quarters, I say again, go to general quarters! Essential ops personnel report to your duty stations and get the ship prepped for emergency liftoff. All other personnel, report to security. I say again, report to security, draw weapons, and stand by to repel boarders.” The klaxon sounded again as the message ended.

The crew deck exploded with activity as everyone scrambled to get to where they needed to go. Her heart racing, Annie looked to her father. “Dad, what’s going on?”

He smiled at her again. “Everything will be okay, honey. Just follow your shipmates and do as you’re told. Get going now.”

“For real? The ship is being attacked?”

“Get going!” her father ordered. He then turned his attention to his teammates. “Come on people, you heard the man, assholes and elbows! Move it! I want everyone armed up, kitted up, and on the cargo deck in five. Not you, Halifax. You go straight to the cargo deck. It’s time we unwrapped that present we’ve been saving.”

The red haired mercenary’s eyes lit up, and a vicious grin split his face. “Aye.”

“What are you still doing here?” Marcus barked, startling Annie. “Quit screwing around and go!”

Annie didn’t take the time to answer her father. She turned on her heel and ran for the ladder.

* * *

Marcus was pleased with how fast his team had gotten their gear together. Most of their weapons were stored on the cargo deck, so after suiting up in body armor and battle rattle, they had made their way there. While the crew of the Andromeda hurried to issue out weapons from the ship’s arms locker, the mercenaries were already locking and loading.

“Mercenary Winchester!” It was Kimball. He was carrying a compact laser weapon and, from the look of him, hadn’t been informed of the drill. “It’s good to see you.”

“Kimball, we need to get the big package unwrapped so we can do an emergency startup on it.”

Kimball checked his eyepiece. “I see. I’ll need help.”

“Halifax will help you. The rest of us will secure the landing tower until it’s ready to go.”

“I’m here!” It was Annie. She slid down the ladder like a veteran spacer and jogged over. “Sorry.” Marcus noted the laser carbine slung across her back and smiled.

“What took so long?” Kimball asked. “Come on, your father wants a piece of equipment pulled from storage and ready to go.”

“I’m sorry!” Annie said. “Mr. Broadbent didn’t want to issue me a weapon!”

“Wait a second,” Marcus said. “Why not?”

“He said I hadn’t qualified with one or something, like I don’t know how to shoot.”

Marcus chuckled. “You ever use a laser before?”

“No, but it’s basically the same thing. Power cell in, charge the weapon, safety selector, look through the scope, squeeze the trigger. Easy-peasy.”

“Come now!” Kimball said. “There’ll be time for chit-chat later!”

Marcus stepped back and felt himself swelling with pride as he watched his daughter work. Dressed in her green flight suit, laser carbine slung, she pulled the securing bands from a large container and used a heavy-lift cargo dolly to move it to the center of the cargo deck. A moment later and the crate was open, revealing the hulking powered armor suit inside.

Halifax looked up at the war machine and smiled. He tapped controls on his handheld, causing the suit to boot up and come to life. The armor stood nearly three meters tall. Calling it a “suit” was something of a misnomer, as the operator didn’t wear it so much as he rode inside its armored shell. Its main body split open, revealing the cockpit and access for the operator. Halifax climbed in and began rapid startup procedures.

Meanwhile, Wade led the rest of the team out the cargo bay doors and down the ramp that connected the landing tower to the ship. This was fully enclosed, not allowing it to be used as an elevated firing position, but that could be quickly corrected if necessary. When a ship was planeted it was extremely vulnerable, even more so if it was locked into the landing tower, because it couldn’t leave. Most atmospheric ships carried small crews and were lightly armed, if at all. A ship of the Andromeda’s class wasn’t vulnerable to small arms fire, but it could easily be damaged by explosives or anti-armor weapons. Heavy weapons weren’t the biggest threat to a ship in port, however. An intact ship was extremely valuable; boarding and capturing it intact was often easier than destroying it outright, and was much more lucrative for the aggressors.

There were only two ways to board the Andromeda: through the cargo deck via the docking tower, and through the crew hatch down by the landing jacks. The crew hatch was easy to secure by retracting the ladder and sealing the hatch. The landing tower was the more likely assault route. It provided no cover for attackers or defenders, but with the small crews ships carried it was possible for a mob of hostiles to overwhelm the defenders.

Marcus told his team to halt on the gangway and wait for the heavy. As several more armed crewmembers appeared on the cargo deck, Kimball and Annie kept them clear of the hulking powered armor unit as its hydrogen engine roared to life. Doing his final function checks, Halifax drove the armored juggernaut forward. Its clanked and clunked on the deck as it strode out of its container. Once clear he unlocked its arms and began arming its weapons. Marcus waved the powered armor forward, toward the cargo elevator, after reminding Halifax not to use its plasma gun in an enclosed space with friendlies nearby.

The mercenaries fell in behind the lumbering armored giant as it smoothly clanked and clunked down the gangway, using it as cover. Anyone attempting to board the ship would be in for a nasty surprise. Marcus was pleased to note it had taken barely six minutes from the time Kimball asked him what was going on to the time Halifax was piloting the powered armor toward the cargo elevator.

A warning klaxon sounded throughout the ship. “Attention all personnel, this is the executive officer. End-ex, I say again, end-ex. This has been a drill.”

“What?” Devree said, sounding frustrated. “This is bullshit.” Hondo shook his head, and Tanaka remained silent.

Halifax’s voice sounded over the armor’s PA system. “What a cock tease. It’s a cruel thing, getting a man all spun up and then telling him it was a joke.”

“Stow the bitching, people,” Marcus said. “It wasn’t a joke. It was a drill. We’ve been sitting on our asses for weeks. The captain wanted to make sure the ship’s crew wasn’t getting complacent, and I wanted to make sure you guys could get your shit together in an emergency.”

“I think we did well,” Tanaka said.

“You did,” Marcus agreed. “We got the heavy out of storage and ready to go in less than six minutes. Any angry mob this planet could muster would be hard-pressed to overcome that kind of firepower.”

“What would have been our plan of attack in this scenario, Marcus?” Tanaka asked. “I assume you meant to engage the attackers in the service tunnels?”

“You know it,” Marcus said. “It’s tough planning an impromptu defense like this, but I believe our best bet would’ve been to move down the elevator and engage the hostiles in the tunnels. A firefight down there would be a lot less likely to damage the ship, and we wouldn’t have a bunch of spacers with laser weapons running around playing soldier, getting in our way. I would’ve had them stay up here and secure the gangway while we took the fight to the enemy. Thoughts?”

“That sounds like a good strategy,” Hondo said, resting the buttstock of his heavy automatic rifle on the deck. “We would have to make sure we didn’t get stuck in the tunnels, though. There could be more attackers approaching on the surface. They could access the landing tower while we were underground, take the elevator up, and go around us completely.”

“Good!” Marcus said. “Good thinking! That’s a possibility in a situation like this. There are ways to access the surface from the tunnels. The ship can monitor the area around it and let us know if hostiles are trying to swing around our defenses.”

“Can’t we just disable the elevator?” Devree asked.

“That’s a tougher problem. In most cases, short of coming out here and physically breaking something, no. Spaceport authorities rarely, if ever, give up any control to the ship. Once we’re locked in, we’re locked in until they decide to release us. Getting the landing tower to release us if they don’t want to is not a quick or easy process.”

“Lots of cutting,” Wade said. “Or tapping into the landing tower and seeing if we can override it. The ship’s system techs might be able to.”

“That is a possibility, if you have time. As a last resort, you might have to go to spaceport control and convince them to release the ship, by force.” It was the price ships paid for landing at a functioning spaceport. The amenities were valuable, and spaceport controllers liked to make sure they were paid before letting ships go. “Anyway, good job, everybody. Head back in. Once your gear is stowed and the heavy is secured, you’re on liberty until we lift off. Check with the flight schedule before you go anywhere, please.”

“What’s there to do in this place?” Wade asked.

Halifax chuckled over the armor’s PA system as the machine lumbered back up the gangway. “More than there is to do on the ship. They locals will probably let people take a tour of their town as well.”

“Enjoy it,” Marcus said. “This is the last time we land until we get to Zanzibar. Get out and stretch your legs. Just be careful.”

* * *

Standing in the shadow of the looming trading post, Devree Starlighter took in her surroundings as she waited to board a small bus. The spaceport, though small, still covered a vast area cut out of the dense alien jungle. The trading post itself was a prefabricated building that reminded Devree of a bunker, ugly and square, decorated with huge, gaudy advertising screens.

Opal was a bluish-green world, colors that oddly clashed with the orange light of the star she orbited. Still, the rich biosphere of a truly living world reminded Devree her homeworld. The life on Opal was completely different, but it felt similar enough.

With Devree was a small tour group from both the Andromeda and the Ascalon, which wasn’t due to lift off for another thirty hours. This was probably the last chance she was going to get to walk on an actual world before reaching Zanzibar, and she didn’t want to miss the opportunity. It was also the only chance she was going to get, on this trip, to see an actual alien.

With her was Wade Bishop, the only other member of Captain Blackwood’s hired guns that wanted to go, Annie Winchester, and a couple of other crewmembers from the Andromeda that she hadn’t really gotten to know. Marcus had told the team not to go anywhere alone (especially where his daughter was concerned). Being there to look after Annie was the excuse Wade had used to come along, but Devree was beginning to suspect the demolitions technician had a bit of a crush on her. She was still embarrassed about her drunken, flirty behavior with him back on New Austin, and hoped he hadn’t gotten the wrong idea about her. Still, he was kind of cute, in a weird, awkward way.

Annie, on the other hand, was adorable. She wore sunglasses and a respirator to help her cope with Opal’s harsh atmosphere, but she was just bursting with excitement. She hadn’t stopped talking about how amazing it was to be on another planet and maybe seeing an alien since they’d left the Andromeda’s cargo bay.

The only other person from the Andromeda she really recognized was Kimball, the cargomaster. He was easy to pick out of a crowd, given his short stature. It was kind of sad that she’d been cooped up on a ship with these people for weeks and still couldn’t pick most of them out of a lineup, but she was really bad with names. She’d meet someone, shake his hand, then immediately forget his name. The doctors told her that short-term memory problems were one of the things she’d have to learn to live with, after her brush with death. She’d accepted that, but it was still frustrating. It made people think she was a ditz.

“The bus is finally here,” Wade said, his voice wavering in the sweltering heat. Rolling up the only highway on Opal was a small bus, its electric engine whining shrilly in the morning air. As it pulled to a stop, Devree was surprised to see it had a human driver, one of the colonists.

“Good morning travelers!” the man said eagerly. He, too, wore sunglasses, and was dressed in a bland, beige outfit that seemed to wick away moisture. This part of Opal was hot and insufferably humid, and Devree was sweating heavily just from standing outside. The bus was mercifully cool as the spacers-turned-tourist boarded one by one. “Sit anywhere you like,” the driver said. “I am Slevin, your guide. Welcome, welcome to Opal!”

So much for the frosty reception Halifax warned us about, Devree thought. This Slevin character seemed personable enough, but then again, he was moonlighting as a tour guide, so he pretty much had to be. Devree found a window seat and sat down as Slevin read a very long list or rules about visiting the colony on Opal. Annie plopped down next to her, and she realized how small the seats were. Wade sat just across the narrow aisle. I hope Wade can’t smell me from over there.

The bus pulled slowly away from the spaceport, heading back down the long road to the nameless colony. “As you can see,” Slevin said, speaking over a PA system, “Opal is utterly teeming with life. It has a rich, fully evolved ecosystem of a type rarely found in explored space. Native life abounds here, on land, in the seas, and even in the sky. I must insist, however, that should we encounter any native life-forms, that you be respectful and keep your distance. Please remember that this is their world, and that we are the aliens here. If you start to feel faint or sick, let me know, and I will provide you with supplemental oxygen. The atmosphere here is not toxic, but it takes some getting used to.”

The tour wasn’t especially interesting at first. The human colony on Opal amounted to little more than a small city. The buildings were the same boxy prefabs you’d find on a hundred colonized worlds, though they had been added onto over the years in a haphazard fashion. Some looked downright ramshackle, but others had native pseudo-trees growing out of them and were very beautiful. Aside from Slevin, none of the locals acknowledged the tourists, not even so much as a nod. Devree still took dozens of still pictures with her handheld. How often do you get to visit another planet?

Compared to what Halifax had told her, Slevin was pretty sparse on the details of the history of the colony. He mentioned that they had been here since the time of the Second Interstellar War, and seemed proud that the tiny colony was completely independent. (He claimed it was completely self-sufficient, too, but Devree wasn’t buying that.) He showed them the massive, domed greenhouses where they raised their crops, and boasted that everything they ate was completely “natural.” What that meant, exactly, escaped Devree, considering that food crops intended for planetary colonies had been genetically modified for centuries, but she didn’t feel like nitpicking the poor man. He was just trying to show them around, after all.

After an hour or so of leading the tourists around the colony on foot, in the sweltering heat of the day, Slevin brought them into what he called a fair-trade bazaar, where they could purchase or barter for locally made goods. “We have no use for your money on Opal, of course,” he said proudly, “but we pool it into a common fund and use it to trade with off-worlders from time to time. We ask that you either pay in hard currency or barter with material goods. Electronic banking is unavailable here. All goods in the bazaar are handmade by local artisans, who simply want to share the fruits of their labor with travelers such as yourselves.”

Once the doors had cycled, Devree took a deep breath and sighed with relief. The cool air inside was refreshing. “Wow,” she said, looking around the bazaar. More than a dozen colonists had set up stands or displays, with goods for sale or trade. “My mom would love this place. I should get something for her.”

“Your mom emigrated to New Austin with you?” Wade asked, wiping his brow.

“She’s my only living relative, and she was in danger too, so they sent her with me. Oh, look at those pots! I’m gonna go look.”

“I want to see!” Annie said, following on her heel. As she and Marcus’ daughter browsed the merchant’s wares, Devree caught Wade rolling his eyes and smiled to herself.. He wasn’t the least bit interested in shopping, but was letting her drag him around to be nice. It was kind of sweet, in a sad, pushover kind of way. He stood nearby, idly looking around with his hands in his pockets as she haggled with a local over a beautifully painted clay pot. Annie browsed a table full of handmade bead necklaces and charm bracelets.

Wade tapped on Devree’s shoulder as she exchanged a handful of hard currency with the woman selling pots. “Devree?”

“Just a second,” she said, not looking up.

He tapped harder. “Devree, look.

She stood up, pot in hand. “Holy hell, Wade, what—oh my God.”

Wade grinned and put his hands back into his pockets. “Thought you’d want to go see.” At the far side of the room, surrounded by the bulk of the visiting tourists, were two of the short, leathery creatures that called Opal their home. One had skin that shaded from brown to blue. The other, slightly taller, was green with reddish patches. Their round eyes were shiny and red, and their pointy teeth gave them an unsettling look. With them was a human woman, dressed in baggy, moisture-wicking garments. She was skinny and sickly looking like most of the other colonists. She communicated with the aliens in sign language and translated for the visitors.

“Hold this,” Devree said, shoving her newly acquired pot into Wade’s hands. “I’m gonna go get a picture! Come, on, Annie!”

One of the creatures signed rapidly to the translator with its clawed fingers. She replied to them, then turned to the cluster of off-worlders surrounding her. “He says greetings, strangers, and welcome. He and his partner have been chosen by their tribe to meet and trade with strangers. They have brought some trade goods for this purpose. Please be advised, though, that they won’t accept currency. They may accept items of yours for trade, however.”

A crewwoman from the Ascalon raised her handheld. “Is it okay if I take a picture?” she asked.

Before the translator could reply, the two aliens noticed the device in her hands. They stood close to each other, putting their arms over each other’s shoulders in a remarkably human manner, and very obviously mugged for the camera. Their mouths hung open in a ghastly approximation of a smile. “Yes,” she said, smiling herself. “They enjoy being photographed. Just make sure you show them the pictures after. Sometimes, we trade hard copies of photographs with them.”

Annie stood next to Devree, seemingly mesmerized. She didn’t even take pictures at first. “Devree,” she said quietly, “this is so incredible!” The girl then raised her handheld and began to snap a barrage of still pictures.

“You’ll have to send me those when we get back to the ship,” Wade said. He’d caught up to her, still holding her pot in his hands.

Stepping through the crowd, Kimball slowly approached the small beings. Intrigued, Devree raised her handheld and set it to record video. The aliens seemed utterly fascinated with Kimball. Unlike most humans, the Andromeda’s cargomaster didn’t tower over them. One of the creatures raised a clawed hand to the top of its head, comparing height. It then signed rapidly to the translator.

“He wants to know what you are,” she said apologetically. “Please take no offense. They’ve never seen one such as you before.”

“Offense?” Kimball asked. “Gentlewoman, rest assured that I am as fascinated with them as they are with me. I am from a world with high gravity, and it tends to leave us shorter in stature. Would you be so kind as to relay this to them for me?” The translator did so, pausing as she thought about how to translate gravity. The two aliens spoke to each other after she had finished. Their language was a series of huffs, puffs, clicks, and grunts to human ears, but it worked well enough for them.

The being closest to Kimball had a crude belt around its midsection, attached to which was a sheathed knife. Taking the hilt into a clawed hand, the alien drew his weapon, which had a blade of black stone, and presented it to Kimball.

The translator seemed as surprised by this as Kimball was. She signed to the other alien briefly, then turned to the cargomaster again. “He wishes to offer his knife, if you have anything you’re willing to trade for it. This . . . this is fascinating. They’re normally so shy around humans. We’ve warned them about how cruel and exploitative humans can be.”

“Perhaps, Gentlewoman, that that is the reason they are so shy,” Kimball said. “I don’t have much on me, I fear. However . . .” He pulled a folding knife from where it had been clipped to the pocket of his coverall. Very slowly, so as not to startle the aliens, he opened the blade, and presented it, handle-first.

“What . . . what is that?” the translator asked, her eyes wide.

“It’s a knife of course,” Kimball said. The alien took the blade eagerly, and showed it to his companion. In turn, he let Kimball take the obsidian knife. “A blade for a blade,” the cargomaster said, examining his new acquisition. “He seems happy enough with the trade. That knife is well used, but it’s made of the finest alloys and holds its edge. My new friend will get many years of service out of it.”

The translator looked aghast. “You brought a weapon here?” She stepped back timidly, as if she expected Kimball to leap up and slash her with alien stone knife.

“Gentlewoman,” he said levelly. “There is no need for any alarm.” He indicated his blade, which the aliens were opening and closing repeatedly, having figured out the locking mechanism. “It’s a tool for these fellows to use. They offered me one of theirs, so I offered one in kind. It only seems fair. I mean no one any harm.”

“But you were told!” she stammered, stepping back further. “They said you wouldn’t have any weapons! Why are you carrying weapons?” She looked around at the rest of the tourists, eyes wide.

Devree stepped forward, but kept recording with her handheld. Things were going sideways in a hurry and it was best to document it. “Hey, look at me. It’s okay. This is just a misunderstanding. Please calm down. We’ll leave, we’ll go back to the spaceport.”

“I . . . I have to report this,” the translator said. Before anyone else could say anything to her, she hurried off. She took the driver of their bus in tow and disappeared into a small room off to the side of the bazaar. The two aliens, no longer able to communicate with the humans, seemed just as confused as the spacers.

Kimball nodded to the creatures, then turned to the group. “Gentlefolk, I fear I have caused a drama. I apologize for this. If any of you are carrying pocket knives, I suggest you keep them hidden until you get back to spaceport. It seems these people take their no weapons rule well into the realm of the absurd. Mercenary Bishop,” he said, handing his alien knife to Wade. “Please hold onto this for me. Having a simple blade is apparently cause for alarm in this strange place. It makes one wonder how these people slice their vegetables without succumbing to panic attacks.”

The other colonists at the bazaar were hurriedly packing up their things and heading for the airlock. Before the spacers could decide what to do, the translator returned, leading a trio of security men. Instead of the plain garb worn by most of the colonists, they wore blue uniforms with armor and helmets. Their faces were concealed behind respirators and goggles. The first two appeared to be carrying stun batons, but the third had a flechette gun in his hands.

“That’s the one!” said the translator, pointing at Kimball. “He had a weapon in the presence of the protected ones!” The two aliens’ faces couldn’t be read by humans, but for all that they looked bewildered as the translator hurried them away and the security men moved in on the group of tourists.

“You are coming with us,” one of them said, pointing at Kimball. His voice was disguised with a modulator, making him sound robotic.

“Gentlemen,” Kimball said, hands raised in the air. “There is no need for this. This has all been a misunderstanding. I meant no one any harm. If you’ll just let me return to my ship, I’ll leave your world and there won’t be any issues.”

The security man stepped forward and shoved Kimball down to the ground. “Place your hands behind your head. Comply!”

The other drew his stun baton, crackling the electric shock device in warning to the group of spacers. “Do not interfere. Interfering with Peacekeepers in the discharge of their duties is a crime.” The spacers from the Andromeda stepped forward anyway. Devree put a hand on Wade’s arm; he looked like he was going for a gun.

“Stand down, all of you,” Kimball grunted as he was roughly restrained. “Do not make this worse than it is. Mercenary Starlighter, you recorded this, correct? Please send the video to the captain and return to the ship. This will get sorted out.”

“But,” Devree began.

“No buts!” Kimball interrupted. The security men were already leading him away. “Notify the captain!”

Annie looked up at Devree, fear in her eyes. “We have to do something! We can’t just let them take him!”

“I’m sending the video to the captain now,” she said quietly. “This is bullshit.”

“Captain Blackwood will do something,” Wade said. “She doesn’t fuck around. This won’t stand. Send it to Marcus too, just in case.”

“My dad won’t let this stand,” Annie said defiantly.

Devree put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “No, sweetie, I don’t expect he will.”

* * *

Captain Catherine Blackwood sat up straight in her chair on the command deck of the Andromeda. She smoothed the wrinkles out of her coverall and made sure her hair was all in place. Appearances counted for a lot in these sorts of dealings, and she wanted to be the very picture of the master-after-God of her ship. Standing behind and to the left of her chair was her executive officer, Wolfram von Spandau, with his hands held neatly behind his back. Marcus Winchester stood off to the side, arms folded across his chest, so that he couldn’t be seen on screen. The normal watch-standers had been dismissed from the command deck for the call. Taking a deep breath, Catherine tapped the controls on one of her several screens and waited for the call to connect.

After a moment, a young man in the drab gray outfit with a stand-up collar appeared on her screen. Like most of the colonists on Opal, he was almost sickly thin. “Greetings, Captain,” he said, speaking Commerce English with the unfamiliar accent the colonists all seemed to share. “My name is Desh. I am an appointed speaker for the Council of Elders. My word comes directly from them, and anything you tell me is the same as telling them. What is it you’d like to discuss?”

You know damned well what I want to discuss, Catherine thought. She didn’t say that, though. Losing your cool doesn’t help your negotiations any. “Greetings, Mr. Desh. I am Captain Catherine Blackwood, commanding officer of the privateer ship Andromeda. I’d like to discuss the status of my cargomaster, one Jason Kimball. There was a misunderstanding at the trade bazaar this afternoon, and he was taken into custody by your security forces.”

Desh cocked his head to the side slightly. “Misunderstanding? Captain, there was no misunderstanding. I’ve seen video of the incident, and that video was corroborated by the testimony of multiple witnesses. Mr. Kimball was, in fact, carrying a weapon, specifically, a knife with a metal blade. It was made very clear by the guide that weapons are completely prohibited in our colony. This is doubly true in the presence of the indigenous beings. We are, after all, guests on their world.”

The indigenous being seemed bloody well delighted to receive that knife, you ass. Catherine rested her elbows on the armrests of her chair, folded her hands together, and glared at the Speaker. “I also have seen video of the incident, sir. Indeed it was a misunderstanding. The so-called weapon the woman was hyperventilating about was a simple folding pocket knife. It’s a tool for opening packages and cutting things as needed. Every member of my crew has one. It’s very easy to become tangled up during an emergency in zero gravity, and a knife can be a lifesaving tool in that situation. It probably never occurred to my crewman that anyone would consider it a weapon.

Desh narrowed his eyes and spoke in an almost scolding tone. “Captain, I mean no disrespect, but if there was a misunderstanding then it surely lies in the reading comprehension of your crew member. The terms and conditions listed as part of boarding the tour bus explicitly state, among other things, that metal-bladed weapons are as prohibited as firearms and energy weapons. Your man came into our home and violated our rules, Captain. Ignorance is no excuse for violating the law here.”

Her face was a mask, but Catherine’s blood was boiling. Either these people really were that unreasonable, or they were fishing for a bribe. “I see,” she said diplomatically. “Having traveled all over inhabited space, I’m well-versed in the importance of respecting local laws and customs. In the contract that each of my crew members signs is a clause stating that they are personally responsible if they should commit a crime while off of the ship. That said, I am on a mission of some urgency, and my cargomaster is currently incarcerated. I am unfamiliar with the specifics of your judicial system. Would it be possible for me to pay his bond and have him released? Rest assured I’ll take it out of his pay. We do need to be on our way soon.”

“I’m afraid that is not possible, Captain,” Desh said coolly. “Under our code, your crewman must remain in our custody until the next scheduled meeting of a Judiciary Tribunal. At such time, he can argue his case before the Council of Elders, and his fate will be decided then. If you wish, you can send a representative to speak for your crewman at his trial.”

They really are that unreasonable, Catherine thought grimly. “I see. When, may I ask, is the next meeting of this tribunal?”

“Tribunals are held regularly, on the first day of the month, assuming there are cases to be adjudicated. The next one is scheduled in twenty-nine days.”

Opal’s day was thirty-four and a half hours long. Catherine barely managed to maintain her calm demeanor. “I see. And you’re sure that there’s nothing I can do to expedite this process?”

Desh raised his head, looking down his long nose at Catherine. “Captain, I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I’ve explained our laws as plainly as I am able. We will not violate the sanctity of our laws merely because some off-worlder imagines herself to be important and is in a hurry. Mr. Kimball’s trial will be in twenty-nine days. You can wait until then, or come back at that time and speak for him if you wish. Good day, Captain.” Desh’s image disappeared, and the screen flashed CONNECTION LOST.

“Goddamn it!” Catherine snarled, slamming a fist onto an armrest.

“They are being unreasonable, Kapitänin,” Wolfram said, stating the obvious. “I feared this would be the case.”

“This is my fault,” Catherine said, rubbing her temples. “My gut told me not to let my crew venture into that bizarre little colony, and I just didn’t listen.”

“These things happen,” Wolfram said. “They are unfortunate, but they happen. It was a necessary risk. We have a long flight ahead of us. Letting the crew out on leave while we’re planeted is good for morale.”

Marcus spoke up. “I hate to be the one to say it, but maybe Kimball should’ve been more careful about what he had on him. Though, being honest, I’m willing to bet my two people both had ‘concealed weapons’ on them as well.”

“Rest assured,” the captain said, “when this matter is resolved I’ll be docking Mr. Kimball’s pay for the trouble. That said, I am not amused with the colonial authority’s nonsense, and I am not about to leave a man behind at the behest of some petty bureaucrat on this backwater swamp.” She looked to Marcus. “Mr. Winchester, do you feel your team is up for an extraction mission?”

Marcus rubbed his chin for a moment. “It’s very doable, Captain. From the video my daughter and Ms. Starlighter recorded, and other media we’ve been able to obtain, including telemetry from the ship’s sensors, their security is crude. These so-called Peacekeepers, the local constabulary, are few in number, and I have no reason to believe they’re particularly well-trained, not on an isolated colony like this. The colonists are pretty tight-lipped, but between our observations and what Mr. Halifax has told me of his previous visit, I have enough information to devise and effectuate a rescue plan. I think this would be a good real-world training opportunity for my team.”

Catherine looked thoughtful. “But?”

“Captain?” Marcus asked.

“But,” Catherine repeated. “I sense a ‘but’ in your assessment.”

“Captain, the question is, how many casualties are you willing to accept? I’m confident my team can accomplish this with a bare minimum of bloodshed. Even though we’ve lost the signal from his locator beacon, we believe Mr. Kimball is being held in a structure called the Office of the Peacekeepers. It’s basically a police station. While these Peacekeepers might be poorly trained, I don’t expect they’ll let us take Kimball without a fight. It could get ugly in a hurry. I believe we can retrieve your crewman, but there might be broader consequences to this course of action.”

Catherine’s eyes narrowed. “Are you suggesting I leave my crewman to his fate?”

“Ma’am,” Marcus said calmly, “I’m not suggesting anything. You’re paying me a lot of money for my expertise, and I’m giving you an honest assessment of the situation. I can get your man back. The consequences of that course of action are yours to deal with, not mine. We’re outside of Concordiat space, and by extension the jurisdiction of my government.”

Wolfram von Spandau spoke up then. “He is correct, Kapitänin. This colony does not have any extradition, law enforcement, or recognition treaties with any other colony or government. Their laws are not recognized by the Concordiat or anyone else. Regardless, we must proceed cautiously. Our crewman broke one of their asinine laws. Retrieving him by overt force and killing their citizens could be considered an act of piracy. If these people successfully lodge a complaint against us with Concordiat authorities, we could be blacklisted. We’d never be able to safely operate in Concordiat space again.”

Catherine knew all this, and her executive officer shouldn’t have had to remind her. But he was doing what a good exec does: keeping his Captain out of trouble. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. “You are right, of course, both of you. I’m just frustrated, forgive me. I have no patience for tyrants of any sort, and I find the petty ones to be the most insufferable. I could destroy their colony if I was willing,” she said darkly. “I wouldn’t even need to waste our ammunition—landing the ship in the middle of town would turn most of it to glass. But . . . obviously I won’t do anything like that. The question is, gentlemen, what can we do?”

“We need more information, Captain,” Marcus suggested. “I doubt any of us would be able to blend in with the locals in town, but we have other tools at our disposal. We need to determine what kind of security measures are in place and whether or not the people keeping him can be bribed or threatened.”

Wolfram nodded thoughtfully. “What if they will not be bribed or threatened?”

“It’s risky, but . . . we have less-lethal options at our disposal. The people holding him won’t grant us any such consideration, of course. It’s like bringing a pillow to a knife fight, but with good intel, a good plan, and a particularly firm pillow, we may be able to pull it off.”

“They may still complain to the Concordiat authorities,” the executive officer said.

Marcus nodded in agreement. “They may. But we’re a long way from the nearest Fleet patrol. It would be weeks before anyone even hears their complaint, and probably months before an investigation is launched, if an investigation is launched, which is not likely. I seriously doubt the Fleet would send an envoy all the way out here because some privateers sprung one of their guys from the clink. If we go in guns blazing and shoot up the colony, well, that’s different. But if we do it quietly and cleanly . . . I can’t make you any promises, Captain, but I think I can get your man back without causing an interstellar incident. All the rumors that they execute people for minor infractions work in our favor. They refuse to confirm or deny it. Extreme measures seem more reasonable if you’re trying to save your man from the gallows.”

Catherine’s brow furled in concentration as she thought for a few moments. Nodding to herself, she looked to Marcus again. “Very well, Mr. Winchester. Enlist the aid of the crew as necessary. Find out everything you can, and come up with a plan as quickly as possible. We’re still on a schedule here.”

“Consider it done, Captain,” Marcus said, heading for the hatch. “I’ll brief you as soon as I know more. I need to go talk to my team.”

* * *

The darkened sky of Opal shimmered with the light of a thousand stars and two small moons as Marcus and his team made their way through the dense alien forest. The foliage glowed blue, green, violet, and indigo through natural bioluminescence. Countless tiny creatures, some flying, come crawling, went about their business in the darkness, themselves glowing faintly like fireflies. The pseudo-trees swayed and shifted in the darkness, and shuddered slightly when bumped, as if startled by human touch. It was beautiful, ethereal . . . like a vivid dream.

Marcus noted thankfully that the native life didn’t seem interested in the human mercenaries. The weird forests of Opal weren’t anything like the vicious jungles of Mandalay, where every single lifeform seemed to be out for blood. He felt peaceful, despite the tension of the situation. The flying creatures emitted a melodious hum as they passed by, and the pseudo-trees would answer with a deep, rhythmic pulse of their own. It was still warm and murderously humid, but of the many alien ecosystems Marcus had found himself in over the years, this was one of the more pleasant ones.

Devree Starlighter’s calm soprano voice piped into Marcus’ headset. “Cowboy-6, Overwatch. In position. Eyes on the BOI. Almost no activity in the street. Multiple security cameras around the structure. Over.”

“Cowboy-6 copies,” Marcus replied. He grinned at the first official use of their unofficial team name. Devree, with Randy Markgraf serving as a spotter, had crept into town under the cloak of darkness and active thermoptic camouflage. Devree had found a good sniper’s hide for herself, high above the town, on a maintenance access platform of a communications tower. The remaining five mercenaries approached the town from a different direction. They didn’t have enough thermoptic camouflage garments for the entire team, so Marcus thought it best to give them to the sniper team.

Andromeda copies as well,” said another voice. “There’s very little activity across the entire colony. Early to bed, early to rise, it seems. Over.” Kilometers away, on the command deck of the ship, Captain Blackwood and her crew were monitoring the entire mission. They had a small, stealthy, nearly silent drone circling above the colony, providing real-time information to both the ship and the ground team.

Marcus was pleased that Captain Blackwood didn’t seem interested in micromanaging her people. She was observing and acknowledging, but didn’t try to tell Marcus how to run his team. He greatly appreciated the professional trust in him she displayed. “Roger. We’ve reached Waypoint Charlie,” he said, indicating that his team was on the edge of town. The foliage abruptly ended in a vast clearing, in which the colony was situated. The Office of the Peacekeepers, a bland, windowless structure, stood less than a kilometer away from the edge of the forest. The colony’s streets were narrow and cluttered, which would aid the team in approaching undetected.

“Cowboy-6,” a crewman on board the Andromeda said, observing through the multispectral cameras of the drone, “I’ve mapped a route for you, sending now. This will get you to the building of interest.”

Devree spoke into her radio once again. “I’ve got the cameras identified and targeted. Standing by.”

“Copy all,” Marcus said. His eyepiece blinked. “Received. Moving.”

Captain Blackwood herself spoke into the communications link. “Good luck and Godspeed.”

The team didn’t have a direct line of sight to the Office of the Peacekeepers as they wove their way through the cluttered town. This was good, as that building had security cameras on it, mounted on the corners of the roof, whereas most of the other structures didn’t. Hugging walls and crawling through ditches, the team approached their target in silence. All of their gear had been secured so as not to make noise. Smart glasses enhanced their vision in the low light, and active headsets enhanced their hearing. From what he’d observed, Marcus didn’t think these Peacekeepers had any such modern equipment at their disposal.

Still, he wasn’t about to let his team get complacent, not on their first real operation. They communicated through hand and arm signals as they moved swiftly through the darkened colony. Half the team would move up while the other half held position and provided cover. In this way, they approached very close to the Office of the Peacekeepers before Marcus indicated that they should hold up and take cover. “Overwatch, Cowboy-6. Holding at Waypoint Delta.”

Devree acknowledged. “Roger. Stand by.” An instant later, a pivoting security camera in a transparent protective bubble shattered, followed by a sonic crack, as a high-powered rifle bullet punched through it. From her elevated vantage point, Devree angled her scoped, sound-suppressed rifle and rapidly snapped off several more shots, destroying every security camera in her line of sight.

At the same time, Marcus pointed to Ken Tanaka, who was positioned across a narrow street from him. He and Tanaka each lobbed two screening smoke grenades forward, filling the narrow streets with dense white smoke. The thick, humid air and lack of wind enabled the smoke to hang over the street like a bad memory, limiting unenhanced vision to a couple of meters and interfering with even multispectrum cameras.

As planned, the team quietly rushed forward through the smoke. The front door to the Office of the Peacekeepers was reinforced, not something you could just kick in, but Wade was prepared. As the others provided cover, the explosives technician vaulted up the short steps to the building’s front door. He unrolled a linear shaped charge along the hinge-side of the door, pressing it into place as he did so. That done, he jumped down from the front steps and crouched by the wall. He looked to Ken, who was scanning the doorway with a handheld scanner. The Nipponese mercenary shot Wade the thumbs up when the scanner told him the other side of the doorway was clear. Wade nodded back and readied his initiator. “Fire in the hole!”

BOOM! With a loud, metallic bang and another cloud of smoke, the door was blasted off its hinges and clattered to the steps. Marcus and the team were moving in an instant, weapons up and ready. In a tight stack, they maneuvered up the stairs and into the now-open airlock as alarms blared and fire-suppression systems sprayed purple retardant. The interior door of the entryway was locked, but the team was prepared for that as well. Halifax and Hondo stepped forward, aiming their big-bore flechette guns at the door’s hinges. BA-BLAM! Powdered tungsten breaching rounds disintegrated the hinges. Marcus raised his foot and kicked the door in, sending it flying to the floor. Without breaking his stride, he led the team through the door and into the Office of the Peacekeepers, amongst the scream of klaxons and the shouts of men.

“Contact front!” Marcus shouted, firing off a rapid shot at a Peacekeeper who was stumbling out of a room, having barely finished putting his mask on. His flechette gun bucked against his shoulder, launching a less-lethal round into the unsuspecting constable. The slug hit its target with enough blunt force to cause him to double over in pain, and latched onto him. Then it shocked him senseless, disrupting his central nervous system and causing him to black out. The shock rounds were about seventy-five percent effective against nonaugmented humans, and were the most reliable way to put a man down short of killing him outright.

“Contact rear!” Ken Tanaka said, his voice elevated but still calm. Several frantic gunshots rang out in the building’s main corridor before a shock round put the pistol-wielding Peacekeeper on the floor. “He’s down!”

“Bishop, Halifax, on me!” Marcus ordered. “Tanaka, Hondo, secure the entry point. Andromeda, Cowboy-6, we’ve breached the BOI and are conducting our search. Overwatch, move in.”

To a chorus of acknowledgment, Marcus, Wade, and Ben Halifax moved down the corridor, searching for the way down to the detention facility. The doors were labeled, but the signs were in Esperanto and were hard to read. “I think this is it!” he said, indicating another reinforced door which was labeled “malliberigon facilecon.”

“I’m picking up his locator beacon again,” Halifax said.

“The door is secured,” Marcus said, trying the handle. The whole building went into lockdown the moment the door was breached.

“On it!” Wade said, stepping forward with another, smaller breaching charge. He attached it to the door as Marcus and Halifax took cover behind a corner. He ducked behind cover himself, shouted, “fire in the hole!” and mashed the initiator.

BOOM! The concussion in the corridor was head-splitting, and had it not been for the mercenaries’ active hearing protection they’d all be deaf. Wade moved forward first, checking his shot. The door, mangled and twisted, barely hung on by one bent hinge. Wade booted it once, then twice, then a third time, which broke it free and sent it clattering down the stairs below. “We’re through!” he announced.

Without missing a beat, Marcus and Halifax rounded the corner, guns up, and headed down the narrow stairwell. Lights flickered in the aftermath of the blast, and the corridor was filled with smoke. Even with vision enhancement, it was hard to see.

Tanaka’s voice crackled in Marcus’ ear as he made his way carefully down the stairs. “This is strange. We’re encountering almost no resistance. The two men we’ve dropped are still incapacitated, and there’s been almost no sign of anyone else.”

“The building went into an automatic lockdown when we breached,” Halifax said, breathing heavily in his mask. “And it’s the night shift. Probably only had a couple Peacekeepers on desk duty. More will come, lads, so keep your wits about you. The whole town knows we’re here now.”

“This is Overwatch,” Devree said breathlessly. “The whole town lit up when you guys breached. People are mostly staying indoors, but the feed from the ship shows multiple personnel on foot, headed our way.”

“We’re in the detention center,” Marcus said, static fuzzing over his transmission.

“Roger,” Devree acknowledged. “Extraction Team, now would be a good time!”

Mazer Broadbent responded. “Understood. Extraction team moving.” Kilometers away, at the outskirts of the spaceport, the Andromeda’s security officer and another volunteer from the crew sped toward town in a ground van they had rented from the traders. At the same time, Captain Blackwood was running her crew through the final checks for a short-notice emergency launch. The powerful fusion reactor of the Andromeda was running hot, ready to lift the ship into the safety of space at a moment’s notice.

Down in the subterranean detention center, Marcus and his team found themselves shrouded in darkness and smoke. They hit their vision enhancement as they came around a dogleg in the corridor. He gasped aloud as a dumpy Peacekeeper, mostly clad in ill-fitting riot armor, crashed into him coming the other way. The startled colonist dropped the helmet he hadn’t yet put on as he tried to bring his carbine to bear, but Marcus grabbed the barrel, shoved it aside, and cracked the constable upside the head with his flechette gun. Before the Peacekeeper could recover, Marcus shoved him back a bit and hit him with a full-on butt-stroke from his weapon. The Peacekeeper’s weapon clattered to the floor as he collapsed against a wall, coughing and wheezing.

Wade slung his flechette gun full of less-lethal rounds. He faced the injured colonist, kicked his carbine away, and leveled his big 12mm revolver at the man’s face. “Stay down!” That gun was loaded with especially lethal rounds, and the dazed jailer gaped at it wide-eyed. He raised his hands slowly and didn’t move.

Across the detention center, Marcus and Halifax had located a bewildered Cargomaster Kimball. They handed the spacer a respirator mask through the bars of his cell as they struggled with the door controls, trying to figure out how to let him out. He might have to run, and Opal’s thick atmosphere made aerobic activity difficult if you weren’t used to it. Wade marched the injured jailer over at gunpoint and sat him down in his work station. It took a couple of prods with his big sidearm, but the Peacekeeper relented and shakily tapped the controls.

With a loud buzz barely audible over the constantly blaring klaxons, every single detention cell opened at once. The other prisoners, wide-eyed and confused, mostly stayed in their cells, afraid to do anything, but two of them bolted, running up the stairs and out the door. Where they thought they were going to hide on an inhospitable planet with only ten thousand permanent residents was anyone’s guess.

The mercenaries led Kimball out of his cell and handed him the Peacekeeper’s very old-looking carbine. “Don’t shoot unless you have to,” Wade said. “We’re trying not to kill anybody.”

Marcus keyed his microphone. “Andromeda, this is Cowboy-6. Package in tow, headed back to the barn.” As his team checked Kimball for injuries and got him ready to move, Marcus took a quick look around. Two of the rooms in the detention center had large chairs in the middle, fastened to the floor, complete with restraints for the arms, legs, waist, and head. The floors were bare, complete with a drain. “Does that look like a torture chamber to you, Wade?” he asked.

“It sure as hell does, Boss.”

Kimball spoke up after tightening the straps on his mask. “They were constantly accusing me of trying to threaten the aliens, their so-called protected ones. They pointed guns at me and accused me of being a weapon-loving fanatic. I pointed out the inherent irony in that situation,” he said, pointing to a large bruise on his brow, “and they responded with a demonstration of their nonviolence.”

“He has a few bruises and swelling, but he’s good to travel, Marcus,” Tanaka said, switching off the flashlight he’d been checking Kimball with.

“Good. Alright, boys, let’s get the hell out of here. We just kicked a hornets’ nest.”

* * *

Mazer Broadbent rolled the van through the narrow streets of the colony as fast as he could manage without crashing. He hadn’t driven a ground vehicle in quite some time and was a little rusty. This became perfectly clear when he bucked the wheels over a curb and scared the hell out of the young Tech Daye, who had volunteered to come rescue Kimball. The colony had woken up. Nearly every light was on, people were peering through their windows, and a few were running through the streets.

Fishtailing around a corner, Mazer stomped on the accelerator and raced the boxy vehicle down a slightly wider street leading to the Office of the Peacekeepers. With vision-enhancing goggles, he could see the mercenary team holding a tight perimeter by the building’s entrance, awaiting his arrival. Coming to the end of the street, he hit the brake, cut the wheel to the right, and spun the van around, lifting it briefly up on two tires, so the rear doors were facing the waiting mercenaries.

The van’s cargo door was yanked open, and the mercenary team shoved poor Kimball in with such force that Mazer thought that they threw him. The seven mercs piled in after their quarry, faces concealed behind masks and tac helmets. Two of them were very difficult to see in the gloom of the night until they deactivated their thermoptic camo. Those two, Starlighter and Markgraf, climbed in last and pulled the door shut.

“We’re in!” Marcus Winchester announced. “Drive!”

“Hold on!” Mazer replied, hitting the accelerator again. The mercs were tossed around in the cargo space of the van, not having seats nor anything to hold on to, as the security officer roared the vehicle back through the city the same way he’d come in.

As he made a hard left turn onto the main road which led to the spaceport, he saw a group of men hurriedly trying to pull barricades into the street.

“Roadblock!” Daye announced.

“Brace!” Mazer said, pushing the accelerator to the floor and bringing the van to its top speed. Terrified Peacekeepers dove out of the way as the clunky vehicle smashed through their plastic barricades, sending them clattering down the street. Mazer had no idea why they thought those would stop a speeding vehicle, but they were certainly unhappy about it. In the van’s wake, orange muzzle flashes appeared in the night as a couple of the constables opened fire.

“They’re shooting at us!” one of the mercs shouted, as small-caliber bullets punched through the back door, narrowly missing the occupants. But in a flash, the van was too far away from the Peacekeepers for their sidearms to be of any use, and rounding a bend, put the colony out of sight.

“I think we’re in the clear,” Mazer said, and immediately regretted it.

“Mr. Broadbent!” Daye said, tapping the security officer on the shoulder roughly. “Mr. Broadbent!”

“What is it, man?”

Before Daye could answer, Marcus, in the back of the van, peered out of the rear hatch. “Hellfire,” he spat. “Mazer! We’ve got company! Inbound hovercycles, coming in fast!” Mazer hadn’t known the colonists actually had any vehicles, much less hovercycles. But there they were, skimming low over the pseudo-trees, twin lift-fans screaming in the dark. They would’ve been hard to see except for the bright spotlights they shone on the van as it sped up the highway.

Daye ducked down in his seat as bullets pinged and dinged against the van’s body. “They’re shooting at us!” Each hovercycle carried two Peacekeepers; the one in front drove while the one behind him aimed a pistol as best he could. Their accuracy was terrible, but one lucky hit and the van would crash.

In the rearview mirror, Mazer noticed Halifax changing magazines in his weapon. Wind filled the cab of the van as the mercenary slid open the top hatch and stood up. “Marcus, I have a shot!”

Mazer swore to himself. “Marcus, shoot them down!”

The mercenary team leader nodded and gave Halifax a thumbs-up. The stout merc laughed aloud and opened fire. Between the hovercycles zipping back and forth, being blinded by spotlights, being shot at, and the van weaving all over the road, Halifax could barely hit anything. But the cycles weren’t armored to save weight, so one lucky shot . . . “Yes!” he exclaimed victoriously. One cluster of flechettes had struck something critical on the closest hovercycle. It rolled over and crunched into the pseudo-trees, disappearing from sight. The other one slowed down and backed way off.

Halifax ducked back into the van. “I got one! The other bastard’s runnin’ home to mama.”

“We’re almost there!” Mazer said, as the van sped through the gates of the spaceport at well over a hundred kilometers per hour. Hardly slowing down, he maneuvered the van down into the subterranean service tunnels. The vehicle entrance ended at an airlock. The Security Officer hit the brake and cut the wheel. The van’s wheels screeched as it slid to a stop, barely two meters from the wall. Mazer took a moment to exhale heavily as the mercenaries kicked open the back door and piled out. “I don’t think we’ll be getting the deposit back on this,” he said, examining the holes in the vehicle.

Leaving the van where it was, the spacers cycled through the airlock as quickly as possible. Once inside, they discarded their respirator masks and ran down hundreds of meters of tunnels, dodging oblivious service robots and knocking over a garbage can. Rounding a corner, the group ran down another, shorter corridor and came to a massive cargo elevator. The doors opened, and all nine people piled in, breathing heavily. The elevator moved slowly upward, taking almost a full minute to reach the cargo deck of the Andromeda. The three spacers and seven mercenaries, sweating and panting, said nothing as tinny, electronic music played softly.

The music gave way to a chime as the elevator came to a stop. The doors opened, and the group ran up the long, ramping tunnel, the arm of the spaceport’s service tower, and into the open cargo bay doors of the ship. Crewmen were waiting for them inside. They had barely cleared the entrance when the cargo doors began to close and the service tower began to retract. Med Tech Lowlander, checking them for injuries as she led them through the ship, hurried them to the crew deck and got them strapped in for liftoff.

* * *

Up on the command deck, Captain Blackwood received word that the ship had been secured, all personnel were accounted for, and all stations were secured for liftoff. At the same time, one of her screens flashed a warning and displayed more incoming hovercycles. There were six of them in total. Hovering at low altitude, they circled the Andromeda like vultures as the service tower slowly retracted.

One of Peacekeepers transmitted a threat to the Andromeda in a thick Esperanto accent. “Stand down at once! Stand down! You are all under arrest! Comply!”

Catherine had had enough of these people. She tapped the transmit button on her display. “Officer, this is Captain Catherine Blackwood of the Andromeda. Be advised, we have been cleared by the spaceport for launch. We are lifting off in T-minus ninety seconds. If you value your lives, you will be clear of our exhaust plume by then. Andromeda clear.”

Catherine listened to their frantic transmissions as the Peacekeepers, completely unsure of what to do, called back to the colony for instructions. Their leader radioed Spaceport Control, demanding that the Andromeda be detained. The traffic controller, a quintessential Freeholder, calmly explained to the Peacekeepers that as a sovereign and free individual, not only did he not recognize their authority but he had no authority of his own to detain a ship. As a matter of fact, he said, detaining them would be tantamount to piracy. The Andromeda, he said, hadn’t broken any spaceport rules and had filed its flight plan twenty hours in advance, as requested. He repeated Catherine’s suggestion that the hovercycles clear the launch area before the ship lifted off, and reminded them that the spaceport would not be liable for any injury or death that might occur if they chose to stay.

Catherine actually laughed out loud as the Peacekeepers broke and fled. As the countdown reached T-minus twenty seconds, she reclined her command chair back into the launch position. The deal she’d worked out with the Freeholders who ran the spaceport hadn’t been inexpensive, but it had proven worthwhile. Freeholders, by nature, disliked the weird, authoritarian rules of the tiny colony, and only accommodated them to the extent necessary to do business. She’d gotten her crewman back, and these backworld crazies could go pound sand.

“This is the captain,” she said, broadcasting over the ship’s intercom moments before launch. “Well done, all of you. Stand by for liftoff.”




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