No Man's Space 1: Starship Encounter (3 page)

Several of Flanagan’s men joined us on the bridge, and my engineers arrived too. They reported no survivors in the escape pods or anywhere else, but the ship didn’t detect over 100 men’s chips. They either weren’t on board or their chips had been damaged. They’d hopefully be alive aboard one of the frigates.

We couldn’t hope to openly board the enemy, and they would shoot us if we approached them aboard the North Star. How was a small group of men supposed to defeat five ships? I wasn’t going to board one of our fighters and fly there; I didn’t want to offer them free target practice.

Call me coward if you like; I’d rather stay alive than die a stupid death and become a dumb symbol of honor and devotion to my country. If you ever die for your country, don’t make it a dumb death; it’ll chase after you for the rest of your life… I mean for the rest of… forget it. Just don’t expect me to die unless I’m doing it for a reason. If the Admiralty doesn’t like it, tough luck. I’m an engineer: I’m selfishly rational and nowhere as impulsive as normal officers.

When I realized, the men were staring straight at me. They glanced at each other and shared doubts between them.

Okay, guys. I get it. I’m an engineer, not an officer. I’ve never led anyone in battle, and you don’t trust me. Would you like the 12 year-old to lead you instead?

I stepped forward, not because I wanted to get closer to them, but to look more in charge. I had no idea of what I was doing. They didn’t need to know.

I’d never fought a real fight before, but my hands wouldn’t tremble if I had to do my duty. At least I hoped they wouldn’t. You never know until the time comes.

I walked in front of the men and held my hands together in front of me.

Wait, officers are supposed to hold both hands behind their back.

Curse engineers’ disregard for protocol. I put my hands behind my back and held one wrist with my other hand. It should’ve made me felt officerlike, but the men raised their eyebrows.

“We can’t stay here and let those thieves plunder the North Star and strip her of all her pretty systems,” I said. Sounds officery enough? I was making it up on the go. It’s hard enough when you’re used to telling people to cut sheets of metal. Being boarded doesn’t help either. “I say we go out there and stop them.”

The men stared at each other, confused. Hadn’t they followed along?

Flanagan cleared his throat. Was he asking me for specifics?

I was no real officer, but I knew enough engineering to neutralize a ship with a bit of help. If the men helped me board a frigate, she’d stop posing a danger to us. I needed as much help as possible.

“Can any of you short-circuit a motherboard?” I asked Flanagan’s men. “Tinker with the engines’ fuel supply? Cause a nuclear reaction in the core?”

“No engineerin’ sir,” Kozinski, a large and brutish man, said. “But I swear I’m takin’ five Cassocks down with me when I fall, I do.” He spat in one of his hands and rubbed both together. He was unarmed, but as tall as a mountain and with arms thick like legs. He had a sewn upper lip from a fight the previous week. He picked fights more frequently than his face would’ve liked. “I’m not lettin’ ’em plunder us and go.”

“And what will you do, huh?” York slapped Kozinski’s chest with the back of his hand, making him back down. He was a small guy, almost half of Kozinski’s size, but he acted like those small dogs who keep barking at everyone and don’t realize that they might be kicked if they get too annoying. “Fight them with your bare hands? They won’t let you get close to them.” He nodded at me, seeking my approval. “We need to shortcut the motherbases and tinker the food supplies.” He shook his head as if he’d repeated exactly what I’d said, and his ruffled and unkempt dark hair fell over his eyes and down to his chin. He tried to speak again, but a strand of hair got into his mouth and he tried to spit it out.

Kozinski laughed at him. The man wasn’t too bright, and his laugh sounded even dumber. It was a deep
who, who, who
.

Awesome. So no engineering skills, no knowledge of engineering, and probably limited reading and understanding skills. I hadn’t expected the brightest of men, but where did the Navy press the men?

“The best of the best,” Flanagan murmured quietly beside me. “Let’s see if they can fight as well as they make fools of themselves.” He tried to grin, but his eyes were tired and worried. We’d both read the news on modern warfare and we knew what the Cassocks did to their prisoners. He didn’t need to talk about it. Neither did I. We didn’t want to become dog food, nor die by decompression.

I needed to plan something quick or I’d lose the men’s confidence.

Here was my plan: If we couldn’t approach the enemy ship openly, we’d have to use subterfuge and trickery. We lacked the enemy’s cloaking systems, but we had many of their casualties and some of the transport shuttles they’d used to board us. We’d run into their ship, act like Cassocks, and kill our way to the brig. Once we’d freed our men, we’d activate the self-destruct systems and run out. We’d repeat the process with all five ships.

“Isn’t this against the Laws of Space?” Gomez asked innocently.

Flanagan chuckled under his breath.

That’s
why I don’t like to have kids nearby. It
was
against the Laws of Space, but could I do? Fly openly towards the enemy and wait for them to shoot? I didn’t have the soul of a martyr. If they’d sneaked into our ships, I could sneak into theirs.

“If any of you don’t want to join me, I won’t blame you,” I said. “We’ll break a dozen international laws, and the Cassocks can hang us for treason. You know how they treat their prisoners, so I’m not scared of being hanged. I’m not letting them take 100 of us and maim and dismember them until they grow bored.”

York and Kozinski stared at each other and nodded enthusiastically. I’d convinced them. Flanagan stepped forward symbolically to stand by my side.

My plan wasn’t insane, was it?

I didn’t care. Time for us to put my plan to action.

“Are we ready?” I asked.

The men exchanged their classic doubtful glances.

All right, lads. You’ve made it clear: I don’t have a track record in battle. Want me to give you a pep talk or something? Would you rather have a midshipman leading you?

Oh, the officer pose. I squared my back, sucked my stomach in, and clasped both hands behind my back. “Are we ready, gentlemen?” I asked more energetically.

They all nodded and got ready to
decontaminate
the enemy ships.
Decontaminating
as in getting rid of all Cassocks.

“My uniform itches.” Kozinski scratched behind his neck, just where his cassock met his skin. His costume was too small for his size, and his skin wasn’t used to the sturdy cloth that Cassocks wore.

“Speak in German or shut up,” York said. His camel cassock was two sizes too big, and he’d rolled up his sleeves. “And stop scratching, will you? Have you ever seen any Cassocks scratching themselves? No, you haven’t. You’ll get us killed.”

The Cassocks were former mercenaries who’d abandoned the European Front. They spoke either German or French, like most of Western Europe had taken as their official languages. The European Coalition had signed peace with the English a few years before, but the mercenaries had enjoyed war too much to stop fighting. They’d offered their services to the Japs, then the Caliph, and now they fought for the new Soviets. They were doing better than the rest of us at propaganda through the terror they inflicted on their enemies, but none of us was going to acknowledge it publicly.

We’d boarded the nearest Cassock frigate through their main hangar. We’d used their own transport shuttles and uniforms, and they’d allowed us in. Their shuttles’ security systems weren’t well-protected, and our engineers had accessed them without much difficulty. I sometimes wonder if engineers in both sides sometimes leave backdoors in case they ever find themselves in my situation. If engineers from all sides leave small holes in their ships’ systems, no engineer will ever be left without a way out. Call it professional courtesy.

Either that, or engineers were getting dumber and dumber.

Out of my crew, only five of us still wore the Coalition’s clothing. We’d told the Cassocks that I was going to surrender the ship, so I’d be taken straight to the bridge to hand my sword to the enemy captain. We were armed to our teeth, but none of the Cassocks expected their own men to let their prisoners carry any weapons. As soon as we got to the bridge, we were going to attack the enemy and sabotage the frigate before they warned anyone.

Easy as pie, right?

Instead of remaining on the outer deck to go to the bridge, two Cassocks joined us and guided us belowdecks. Cassock frigates were mostly made of dark metallic colors, lit by red lighting now that they’d beaten to quarters.

Everyone sings songs about glorious battles, about defeating great enemies against all odds. They’ve never been in a real fight.

My men didn’t dare to breathe in case the enemy discovered our plans.

There’s nothing quieter than the silence before battle. It’s a blood-freezing kind of silence. Everyone remembers and honors their mortality. You need to hide your position like a poker player hides his cards. Being quiet is of little use – it won’t help if you’re caught – but it sort of puts you into the mindset.

You talk about heroism in battle? I’m too busy trying to stay alive.

The Cassocks entered the axial elevators with us. The two Cassocks were square-jawed and with dangerous expressions, genetically enhanced to increase their height and muscles. One of them stared at me from above and sneered. He knew the fate that awaited me.

He didn’t know the fate that awaited
him
.

As soon as the elevator’s doors opened and the Cassocks walked out, I took out my electric gun and zapped both Cassocks. They dropped onto the floor and shook with the power of my electric gun.

Sneer at me again if you dare.

Flanagan stared at the men by our feet and let out a low, admiring whistle. Didn’t he think I could shoot two unguarded men with their backs turned to me? Engineers are capable of shooting at men’s backs. I’m less capable of facing someone twice my size if I’m unarmed, but I manage quite well against unsuspecting men.

I split my men: Gomez took some to find the brig, my engineers left to place explosives at strategic locations around the frigate, and the rest needed to find the bridge and seize control of it. Flanagan, Kozinski, York and I would take care of the unconscious Cassocks.

I took one of the men’s legs and told Flanagan to help me drag him.

“Aye, sir.” Flanagan nodded and pulled the man’s arms.

We dragged them into an empty storeroom and locked them up. When Kozinski and York took care of the second man, Flanagan looked at me even more confused. He kept his jaw pressed tightly and didn’t speak a word.

Oh, right. Naval hierarchy stops him from speaking.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Well…” Flanagan hesitated, but he finally spoke up. “Shouldn’t we be killing them, sir? They would’ve killed us. Why don’t we return the favor?”

Because we were going to need them as hostages if things didn’t go well. Four other frigates orbited around the North Star with their arsenals ready. Even if we got rid of everyone aboard the ship, there was no way of using our weapons against four other frigates. We lacked the manpower and the defense systems, so we had to resort to a prisoner exchange. The Cassocks were tough, but they wouldn’t want us to kill off their men or to use them as cannon fodder. Besides, we could always coerce some of our prisoners to convince the frigates that they’d captured the North Star. If we killed them off, we lost our leverage.

Leverage? Tricking the enemy? I was an officer! Why did I think like a pirate?

I should’ve gone into politics instead of joining the Navy. No, wait. I lacked the powerful contacts to get anywhere in politics. I didn’t have contacts in the Navy either; that’s why I was an engineer and I would never be on track to become a captain. Not that I wanted to, though. Captaining a ship was tiring and full of subterfuges and trickery. Computers were simple and direct: they either did what you wanted them to do, or they didn’t. Mostly the latter, but at least they told you how you were doing.

Once we were done with the men, I put on a cassock so that nobody paid attention to us before we were ready to fight.

I sent York and Kozinski to disable some of the local control panels and intercoms, and Flanagan and I would take care of the rest. We needed to block as many communications systems as possible to blind the enemy once we attacked. The sneakier, the better.

The men lacked the engineering skills and we didn’t have enough time to disable everything manually, so we resorted to
convincing
the machines to stop working using old-fashioned means. That is, we used a classic version of
blunt object diplomacy
. Kozinski took a hammer and smashed it against anything that resembled an intercom or a computer. He was a born diplomat.

I took a screwdriver and picked the neater route by unscrewing the intercoms and cutting the cables. My
persuasion
techniques lacked Kozinski’s effectiveness, but I’d be able to turn everything back on if we captured the frigate instead of destroying her. Flanagan flanked me and guarded my back while we disabled the communications systems.

As if danger somehow revolved around us, my instincts heightened. It’s the feeling of being watched, of something or someone waiting for their chance to hurt you, to hunt you down. Call me paranoid, but I was an outcast at school, and nobody wants to be a loner in modern schools. Rich kids can be very cruel towards middle-class outcasts. A loner’s survival instincts kick in a lot sooner; it’s the only way to dodge electric swords whenever the other kids wear their family’s formal clothing.

I took my gun out and Flanagan mirrored me. He didn’t joke; he didn’t make fun of me for being too prudent. He simply followed after me, unbuttoned his double-breasted jacket’s top button, and got ready for the dangers that awaited us. I looked like a clumsy kid holding a weapon for the first time, but Flanagan looked like a secret agent, holding his gun with both hands and aiming it at the ceiling. If any Cassocks had noticed me, they’d have laughed instead of considering me a threat.

Why didn’t I look more credible? I had a gun too!

Several of the lights were turned off on the deck. Only the red alert lights guided us. Everything remained silent and static. I’d never seen such a dark corridor aboard a starship.

Something drew me to one of the cabins near the axial elevators. The door wasn’t fully closed, and the lights from the inside filtered through the side of the door. Doors aboard a starship rarely remained open; it was a matter of neatness and security.

I walked towards the door slowly, gripping the gun in my hand hard enough to cause me blisters the following morning. Someone could be there. The sensors on the door noticed my stolen ID card in my pants’ back pocket and slid the door open without requiring an auth code. Inside, we only found several empty bunks.

I finally breathed and walked back out, chuckling. I was officially paranoid. Flanagan breathed too. He’d probably expected me to find a dragon or something.

“Let’s seal the area room by room,” I said. “We don’t want anyone running around while we―”

Someone zapped my back with an electric sword. My whole body shook, sending waves of pain through every inch of my body. I shouted and fell forward, but placed a hand on the wall and stopped myself from hitting the ground. The man hit Flanagan too, and he fell onto the floor and shook uncontrollably.

I turned around to face a man dressed in the classic olive cassock. He’d gone for our defenseless backs, expecting to knock us out without a fight. An
honorable
approach to warfare in Cassock terms.

The man was almost as tall as Kozinski, with large hands and an angry face partly hidden by a dense red beard.

Our mission wasn’t going to be a walk in the park.

I still held my gun in my hand. He had nothing to do against me with an electric sword, but he didn’t seem to care. His gun hung from his hip, and he didn’t try to take it out.

I tried to aim the gun at him. He grinned behind his dense beard and zapped my hand.
Wham!

Damn him!
It stung like mad. My gun dropped onto the floor with a loud
clank
.

I should’ve fallen onto the floor like Flanagan, but the electric shocks weren’t working on me. The Cassock was confused and lowered his gaze to the sword as if it had stopped working.

It was my chance!

I lunged forward, curled my fists into tight balls, and went straight for the man’s face. He didn’t react on time. I brought my right fist onto his right temple and hit his stomach with my left hand.

Ow! My knuckles!

I shook my hands to try to ease the pain. I must’ve broken something.

The Cassock stumbled back but didn’t fall. His face hardened and he roared something in German, the mercenaries’ official language.

“I guess that you aren’t complimenting my fighting skills,” I said without thinking. Hey, don’t blame me for trying. Redbeard was twice my size, and he was annoyed. I preferred to waste time until I came up with something.

Sneaky
, you say? Engineers aren’t sneaky; we base our choices on probabilities. Fighting a man twice your size is stupid unless you skew the odds in your favor. If it’s a fair fight, you have nothing to do. And, honestly, you won’t last long in the Navy if you keep joining fights you can’t win.

The Cassock wasn’t going to let me stop and think, though. He was eager to snap someone’s neck. Flanagan was curling up in pain on the floor and I was standing up. Can you imagine whom the Cassock wanted to kill first?

Flanagan groaned on the floor and tried to stand up, but his muscles failed and he continued shaking even more. His help would’ve come in handy. Curse those electric swords.

The Cassock didn’t relax. Instead, he turned off his electric sword and threw it a few feet away. He rolled up his cassock’s sleeves and stepped dangerously towards me.

“Is it too late to start afresh?” I said. “Or to turn to diplomatic negotiations? I’m better at diplomacy than at fighting. I have the keys to the Star wardroom’s liquor cabinet. No? How about you turn around and count to 10? It’ll make the hunt more fun for you if you give me a head start. Look at my muscles.” I raised an arm in the air and squished my biceps. I wasn’t fat, but I wasn’t lean either. “Look, you’ll crush me in two moves, maybe one. Won’t it make you feel like a bully? No? Then it should; you should be ashamed. Very ashamed.”

The man continued advancing. He didn’t care about what I said. For all I knew, he wasn’t understanding me. I tried using sign language, but either my signs were incomprehensible or he didn’t care.

I raised my fists before my face. I’ve never been a good fighter, but I’d rather cover my brain than the rest of my organs. You can rebuild most organs artificially, but memories can’t be recovered without toying with your brain cells. And besides, brain surgery involves relying on neuroscientists. I’ve seen them work, and they base their
science
on trial and error; mostly error.

I know; I shouldn’t trail off when my life’s at stake. I keep doing it, don’t I?

The Cassock raised both hands, slowly surrounding my head. I tried to punch his arms away with my hands, but it was useless. He smashed both of my temples at once, blacking out my sight. I gasped for air and tried to react. I punched his stomach, but my knuckles got the worst part.

He didn’t give me time to catch my breath. Instead, he punched me hard on my stomach, then pushed me against a wall and grabbed me by the neck. He casually leaned the other hand on the wall to prove that he wasn’t even trying.