CHAPTER 26
Major Perrin stepped out of the lift and onto the Izmir’s bridge. The crew went about final checks in their native language as the ship approached the hyperspace exit. He’d pinned his left sleeve underneath his too-short arm and kept it bent behind his back as he approached Mehmet, Lambert, and the toadlike Harris at the captain’s station: a comfortable-looking chair surrounded by holo displays projected up from a small dais.
“Major, glad to see you up and about,” Mehmet said. He was sitting with his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled beneath his chin, as sensor readings poured into his screens.
“Your ship’s auto-surgeon does good work,” Perrin said. “I’m still a bit fuzzy around the edges.”
“In my experience, good food, good pay,” Mehmet glanced at Lambert, “and good living conditions attract the best crews. Also, a reputation for fair and stern discipline will get the bad apples to weed themselves out.”
Mr. Barnes grunted from his post against the bulkhead.
There was a slight rock across the deck. Mehmet flipped a panel open and gestured to Harris.
“As we’re exiting hyper, I will now upload my system access codes.” Harris drew a data rod from his jacket and pressed it into a slot. A tiny needle popped out from the end. He pressed the flat of his thumb against it and held it there until the rod flashed blue. He sucked blood from the puncture.
“I’m aboard this ship, same as you, captain,” Harris said. “I’ve the same vested interest in not being blown out of space.”
“How long until you can get our tanks topped off?” Mehmet asked.
“The sky hook has a refueling platform.” Harris curled the fingers of one hand in front of his face. “It should be fairly straightforward. Hegemony business and all. Just let me do the talking.”
“Kolay gelsin,” Mehmet said. “Inshallah.”
“No need for superstition when one has the correct paperwork.” Harris chuckled. “I suggest you broadcast the codes before we exit hyper. That’s standard protocol for the Intelligence Corps.”
Mehmet spoke to crewman to one side.
The Izmir left hyperspace with a shudder. Perrin put a hand to the back of Mehmet’s chair and choked down something that tried to kick up his throat.
The system appeared on the screen in front of Mehmet.
A single pale blue primary star was several AU from the hyperspace junction. Ulvik was closer, a snow-and-ice-covered world with several Hegemony installations pinging around it. A massive asteroid was in a mining extraction frame orbiting a large moon.
“There.” Harris traced a fingertip around a space elevator extending up from Ulvik’s equator, topped by a massive space station at geostationary orbit. “There’s the refueling station. Just like I said.”
“We’re being hailed.” Mehmet gripped the armrests as a new field popped up in front of him. “Not from a Hegemony ship.”
Harris’ head bobbed back as if he’d just been hit in the forehead.
“That is . . . highly unlikely. The only system pickets would be Hegemony corvettes, not— One moment.” Harris pulled a small data slate from his jacket and concentrated on the screen.
An alert screen appeared in Mehmet’s tank. A ship appeared on an intercept course with the Izmir.
“I need you to give me access to a certain frequency,” Harris said. “There’s an override code I can issue that will—”
“Vessel Izmir,” a rough voice came from speakers in Mehmet’s chair. “This is system vessel UK-229. You will heave to and receive boarders. Per orders of system commander Goto.”
The approaching vessel was a fast and sleek blur on the screen.
“That is not . . . not what should be happening,” Harris said. “That vessel should’ve acknowledged my overrides. Goto is read into the program and should’ve loaded my codes onto that ship!”
“Nothing seems to be playing out how you promised,” Mehmet said. “And why is that picket ship using camo-shielding?”
“W-what do you mean?”
Mehmet grabbed Harris by the front of his jacket and pulled him down to see a screen.
“The ship is within visual range. My onboard scopes should be able to read the serial numbers on the damned rivets, but she’s blurred!” Mehmet shoved Harris away.
“Similar to our camo screen,” Perrin said. “Is there any legitimate reason the ship doesn’t want us to see what it looks like?”
“System pickets are all Calatan Heavy Industry construction,” Harris said. “The Hegemony obtained significant cost savings by using one manufacturer and one standard design. The most likely reason it’s screened is because they don’t want us to see they’re not a Calatan hull.”
“Pirates.” Mehmet leaned back.
“Improbable,” Harris squeaked. “Extralegal actors aren’t projected to reach this far from naval bases for at least several more months.”
“Oh, fine.” Mehmet nodded slowly at him. “I’ll just tell that ship it shouldn’t exist yet! Our options are limited, gentlemen. I don’t have the TEU fuel to get us anywhere else nor do I have any defensive systems rated for anything higher than minor space junk.”
“Then we accept boarders,” Perrin said. “We’ve plenty of weapons on board. I still have most of an infantry battalion under my command.”
“This ship is not built to host a firefight.” Mehmet held up his palms. “One solid hit from any missiles or rockets from that ship and the Izmir will not survive.”
Perrin held up an earbud and turned his head aside for a few moments.
“Izmir! Signal compliance immediately or you will be treated as a hostile target,” came from the picket ship.
Lambert tapped Mehmet on the shoulder.
“Do what they want,” the colonel said.
“I don’t seem to have much of a choice, do I?” Mehmet beat a fist against an armrest.
“Harris, you’re certain that ship isn’t complying with your codes?” Lambert asked.
“We should’ve heard from the real Goto aboard the tether station by now,” Harris said. “Perhaps the variables were unweighted correctly. The destruction of the Highest did happen ahead of projections—”
“Yes or no!” Lambert whacked his cane against Harris’ thigh.
“Yes, it’s a pirate,” Harris snapped.
“Heave to and batten down the hatches,” Lambert said, “or whatever you sailors do. We can fight them back at the airlocks and storm their ship before they even know what’s happening.”
“Yes, hello,” Mehmet spoke into a microphone, his accent much thicker than usual, “we are listening. Ready for inspect. So sorry for bad English.” He made sure the line was closed and looked at Lambert. “I don’t think that’ll buy us much time.”
“Here. Here!” Harris swapped out the data rods. “There’s a Hegemony video decryption algorithm that’s meant to counter this sort of obfuscation.”
“Now? Now you tell me you have it?” Mehmet looked at him like he was some sort of an idiot.
“I forgot. I grabbed everything I could when I abandoned my post.” Harris turned his nose up.
In the holos, the picket ship resolved into a vessel with a massively armored prow. Hegemony navy missile pods were bolted to the sides. It was barely half the length of the Izmir, but it carried an implicit menace to it. The words Void Witch were painted in tall red letters on the metal plates on the fore of the ship, angled like a sword tip.
“Definitely pirates,” Harris said. “My analysis holds.”
“So glad you’re here,” Mehmet said.
In the plot, the Izmir cut her forward velocity and slowed. The Void Witch changed course, approaching at an angle that kept the heavily armored prow straight on to the merchant ship.
Perrin slapped Mehmet on the shoulder several times and accidentally dropped the earpiece onto his lap. The major leaned over and whispered into Mehmet’s ear.
“That’s insane,” Mehmet said.
“L’audace l’audace, toujours l’audace, as we say back home.” Perrin smiled.
“I don’t know what that means but if we’re going to die anyway . . .” Mehmet pulled up a menu in the holo screen. “I’m not going before my maker and telling him I died for some ‘loud ass’ idea.”
“Boarding vector locked in,” the helmsman aboard the Void Witch said. The bridge was a mess of empty beer cans and food wrappers. Captain Jenks sat in his chair, his shirt open and greasy chest shining under the lights. He reached down and scratched the head of a canid chained to the deck. The genetically engineered animal struggled to breathe, its mouth full of irregular teeth that oozed spittle through the gaps.
“Tell the prize teams same drill.” Jenks scratched his crotch. “We don’t need the crew or passengers unless they’re worth selling to the brothels. Any cargo gets divvied up equally, so don’t break anything expensive.”
“Second one this week,” a man in Hegemony navy pants and a dress jacket with the patches and ribbons torn away said from the weapons station. “We’re eating good. Even better once the bastard at the fuel depot surrenders.”
“Boss Duarte likes a good ROI on any cruise,” Jenks said, then belched. On the main screen, the Izmir’s outer air docks rolled open.
“About to pass through camo screen effective range,” the former naval officer said. “Think they’ll bolt?”
“Won’t do them any good and they’ll know it,” Jenks said. “Ready a warning shot just in case. Target the bridge if they keep running. Just like last time.”
“Aye aye,” the gunner said.
On the screen, the Izmir’s main cargo ramp cracked open and a gust of air flooded out.
“Huh,” Jenks leaned forward. “They dumping their hold?”
“Doesn’t make any sense,” the gunnery officer said. “Wait, what’s that?”
Lashed down to the cargo ramp, the Ta’essa slewed its turret toward the Void Witch.
“Is that a . . . tank?” Jenks asked.
He got his answer when the main gun fired a sabot round at his bridge. With no atmosphere to pull the metal petals off the tungsten penetrator, the entire shell shot across the gap faster than the defensive screens aboard the Void Witch—rated only to destroy small bits of space junk while the ship orbited a planet—could intercept.
The shell punched through the bridge’s hull and turned the compartment into a brief blender of metal fragments and flame. The ship vomited the resulting flesh and metal slurry out from the bridge and into the vacuum of space, leaving a gaping target for the Ta’essa.
DPAT rounds followed the first sabot shot. The interior of the Void Witch was not nearly as well armored as the outer hull and the subsequent main gun rounds stabbed deep through the vessel, each shot ramming deeper. The boarding teams burned alive in the airlocks as shells exploded inside the ship, leaving little to none of the payload’s destructive potential to go to waste.
A final shell punched through the engineering compartment, igniting the TEU tanks. The residual thrust from the fuel burning pushed the Void Witch past the Izmir and to the outer reaches of the system where it would drift until someone came looking for it or it encountered a deep space object . . . which would likely be never.
With the threat eliminated, the Izmir’s ramp raised up and the cargo hold sealed itself.
On the Izmir’s bridge, Harris beamed at the burning pirate ship on a holo screen.
“See, nothing to worry about.” Harris put his hands on his hips.
Mehmet reached behind his chair and threw a brass-colored coffeepot at him. Harris ducked and Mr. Barnes caught the pot when it hit him in the stomach. Lambert backed away as fast as his cane could aid him.
“Exactly how much better off are we?” Mehmet waved an arm overhead. “Do Hegemony pirates always operate alone, because in the Union they travel in packs, and I don’t think that trick will work again.”
“We’re being hailed,” a crewman said. “This time from the planet.”
“I accept apologies,” Harris sneered as he brushed bits of coffee from his jacket.
“On screen.” Mehmet crossed one leg over his knee.
A man in dark blue coveralls and a sunburst on shoulder lapels appeared. His features were Asian and he had a fair amount of gray in his goatee.
“Ah, Director Goto.” Harris leaned into the camera view. “Pythagoras. Braised. Puce. Keratin.”
One of Goto’s eyes rolled back.
“Onion. Fealty. Trojan. Book,” Goto replied and his eyes returned to normal.
“Everything’s fine.” Harris slapped Mehmet on the shoulder.
Mehmet took a deep breath to compose himself.
“Harris, you rat bastard, nothing is on schedule,” Goto said. “I’ve been stuck in my tether fortress for weeks while goddamn pirates plunder everything on the ground and any ship dumb enough to show up in system. What’s the situation with the plan?”
“Ah, best not to discuss that on an open line,” Harris said quickly. “As part of my contingency efforts I had to procure transport. We need a TEU transfer right away. Which docking bay?”
“Slight problem there,” Goto said. “All the TEU reserves are down tether on the ground. The base platform is held by the pirates who’ve been looting everything. The only reason they haven’t tossed me out of an airlock is because I locked all the lifts here with me. Negotiating with them has been useless and every time I open a channel to them, they execute one of my workers to send a message.”
“Ah . . . another variable I didn’t account for.” Harris plucked at his bottom lip.
“So, unless you’ve got some way to take back the ground station so I can run the TEUs up tether to you, you’re stuck here with me,” Goto said.
“Actually,” Harris raised an eyebrow at Lambert, “I just so happen to have a workable solution.”
Corre slapped his thigh. The glove of his emergency vac suit squeaked like rubber against his leg. He leaned over from the lain gun cradle and waved at the squad below, all in the same vac suits.
“Hey, anyone hear that?” he spoke into his microphone.
“I think I did,” Felix said. He picked up a wrench and banged it against the deck. “Was that sound going through atmo or just the echo through the hull?”
“Not so close to my chamber,” Tessa said.
“According to this screen everything is blue.” Noah tapped on his sleeve. “But nothing’s in Standard. Can we breathe yet?”
“All Father, I hope so,” Felix said. “These vac suits haven’t been washed in years. Years, I tell you! They’re an embarrassment to voidsman everywhere.”
“You’re the lowest-ranked one in the tank,” Boyle said to Noah. “Pop your helmet seal and see if your eyeballs pop out.”
“Felix is the new guy!” Noah pointed at the drone operator.
“There is .93 bar and rising atmospheric pressure,” Tessa said. “There are atmospheric sensors as part of the targeting systems. It’s safe to remove your helmets.”
“Noah, you first,” Corre said. “That’s how things work, private first class.”
“This-this-this is—this sucks!” Noah pushed a button on the underside of his helmet and air hissed out. He raised the visor up and took a breath.
“It’s cold,” he said. “But it’s okay.”
The rest of the crew removed their helmets.
“So, are we Marines now?” Boyle asked. “That’s what they do, right? Ship-to-ship combat.”
“We didn’t actually go to the other ship,” Mason said. “Maybe we’re navy instead? Besides, I don’t like eating cray-sticks.”
“Stop jaw-jacking.” Corre touched his earpiece. “Major wants us to dismount now.”
“You think I can get another hot water shower chit?” Noah said as he unzipped his vac suit. “We did save everyone’s ass and this thing’s a damn fart sack.”
Corre pushed the top hatch open. He stuck his head and shoulders out.
A cheer rose up from the men of Bretton in the cargo bay. Most were in varying states of combat readiness, but all were gathered around the tank shaking their fists and hollering at Corre and the rest of the team as they climbed out and sat on the turret.
The pilot was the last to emerge.
“Ta’essa!” someone shouted.
“Ta’essa! Ta’essa! Ta’essa!” The chant continued until she was helped all the way out of the hatch. She sat on the gun mantlet, a confused look on her face.
“Sergeant Corre?” She leaned over to yell in his ear over the cheers. “Why are they repeating your designation for me?”
“It’s not you, exactly.” Corre pointed to the fume extractor hump halfway down the main gun barrel. “Ta’essa” was stenciled on it in fresh white paint. “We had to name the tank. Bad luck to fight in a tank with no name.”
“What does it even mean?” Tessa asked.
Corre cracked a smile.
“Little sister.”
Major Perrin emerged from the main entrance and walked with obvious pain in his stride, his truncated arm bent behind his back.
Senior NCOs called for a formation and the soldiers arranged themselves into loose rows and columns.
Perrin stopped next to the tank and gave the crew a quick nod.
“Men of Bretton,” he said loudly, “. . . and Tessa. Much has been asked of you to get us this far. But we are not home yet. We have another fight. We have another mission. I don’t know if this will be the last one. But together we will return home. Together, we will walk beneath the Hero’s Boughs with honor, and as greater men of Bretton than our home sent to war.
“Our next mission is as follows . . .”