Renegade (15 page)

“So you went behind my back?”

“Absolutely. In that situation, with both the Captain and Huang still in play, you were only third-in-command, and on matters not directly related to ship command, I ranked you. I was considering the prospect of ground combat, should HQ make a move like they did, and ground combat is my speciality. I’m better at it than you are, and in hindsight I think the outcome shows it.”

“And do I still have to worry about you going behind my back now?”

“You can worry all you like,” Trace said coolly. “The question is, what are you going to do about it?”

“Major,” Erik said firmly. “We’re not contemplating ground combat here. I won’t tolerate senior officers under my command going off half-cocked on their own initiative. Are we clear?”

Trace smiled. “Won’t tolerate,” she repeated. “That’s good. I like the sound of that.” She put a finger in his chest. “The thing is, rich boy, you’ve got to mean it. You’re in charge now. I’ll back you one hundred percent if you’re truly in charge. But being in charge means doing everything necessary to ensure the survival of your crew, and the accomplishment of your goal. Right now your goal is to find out who killed the Captain and why.

“That means making difficult choices, and putting people you care about in danger. If those decisions get too difficult for you, even when there’s no other call to make, then tell me now and we’ll put Shahaim in charge. You’re twice the pilot she is, but she can at least make a call — made a tough one coming here as she did.”

“And if you don’t like my calls? You’re just going to go behind my back again?”

“Not if you
make
the call,” Trace said firmly. “On Homeworld, you didn’t make one.”

“You don’t know that, you didn’t ask me!”

“I guessed. And I guessed correctly. Didn’t I?” With a hard, meaningful look. She put the finger back in his chest. “Two things the Captain taught me — always plan ahead, and always assume the worst. It shouldn’t
be
up to me to do that, yet on Homeworld it was. You don’t want me going around you again? Don’t need me to.”

E
rik sipped
coffee in the command chair, and watched the screens. The ‘Captain’s’ chair, only that didn’t sound right. Trace had called him ‘acting-Captain’, but she was forcing it. Erik didn’t think she meant it any more than the others did.

Lisbeth appeared beside the chair, also clasping some coffee. She didn’t make a face as she sipped, Erik noted.
Phoenix
coffee was far below the quality of what she was used to. “Where are we?” she asked, peering at the command screens.

A few of the officers up and down the bridge aisle glanced at her. Rows of faces in their chairs, pale in the wash of display light, amidst the humming of ventilation and the ever-present rumble and thump of the cylinder rotation. Most were only strapped in loosely, not expecting immediate trouble.

Erik looked at his sister. Her hair was pinned up and tied at the back… too long for crew, but acceptable for a spacefaring civvie. She wore a plain spacer jumpsuit with pockets and webbing straps. Life support pouch, medical kit, harness hooks. Standard spacer gear. Regs said anyone not wearing it would be confined to quarters.

“If you’re going to stand there,” Erik told her, “then take hold.” Lisbeth blinked at him. “That’s what we call it — ‘take hold’. It means brace, grab something, never stand unsecured.” Lisbeth took a hold of a display mount. “Good.” He pointed at a screen, uplinked and zoomed to show her their location. Lots of tumbling rocks and ice, entire fields of them, spanning millions-by-millions of kilometres. Some blue markers nestled in amongst them, with datalinks attached.

“The blue dots are settlements?” Lisbeth asked.

Erik nodded. “Mining colonies. These are the official ones. The green are ones we’ve picked up chatter from, sensors mark their position. They’re not registered.”

“Illegal?”

“Maybe a few, but most are just privateers. Illegal’s always been a relative thing for Spacers.”

Another reason why Spacer and Worlder systems of government didn’t get along. Worlders had all these rules and regulations. Spacers did as they pleased, and there were no health and safety inspectors out here. They signed private contracts with private entities, and if they didn’t like the conditions or the pay, they left. Governments who interfered were voted out. In some of the rougher places, busybody do-gooders who stuck their nose into private affairs went missing, permanently.

And then there were the taxes. Outside of Fleet Tax, Spacers barely knew what the word meant. ‘Debt’ they understood, but barely tolerated. Worlders racked up enormous debts paying for things that weren’t absolutely necessary. Spacers lived in closed eco-system loops where a mismatch between inputs and outputs meant death. They managed their money the same way, and gave their elected reps just enough to keep the lights on. Worlders thought Spacers spartan and miserly, and didn’t understand that out here, such traits were not choice or character, but survival. If Spacers had to live under Worlder politics, wasting their money on luxuries and making their businesses unprofitable through taxation, they’d rebel, perhaps violently. Given the strategic high ground that all Spacers lived in, by virtue of what they were, that was a fight they’d always win.

“They can’t see us?” Lisbeth asked, nodding to the dots on the screen.

“They’ll know something jumped into system further out,” said Erik. “But it happens a lot, and there’s so much junk in this system, it won’t bother them that they can’t see it.”

“Aren’t big trans-lighters supposed to run transponders?”

“Sure. But not all do.” A shove from the attitude jets knocked them briefly sideways, and Lisbeth gasped and grabbed her support. “And that is why we take hold.”

“What was that?” Her eyes were wide. “Was that a rock?”

Erik nodded. “The autos dodge them. It’ll happen a lot more, we’re getting into the thick stuff now. But it’s good cover.” He indicated a small gold dot on the screen before his chair. “See that? Insystem freighter, this one looks like a bulk hauler. Container cargo, so consumables, people-freight. It’s about three minutes light from us, heading insystem. Might take it a week to get there, they don’t rush when there’s this many rocks.”

“How close do they have to get to see us?”

“A freighter like that, maybe ten seconds light. Their sensors aren’t great. The military grade stuff, like what will be chasing us shortly… maybe a minute light, if we stay quiet.”

“Light will take half a day to cross this system,” Lisbeth murmured.

“Sure, but if they have enough ships, their odds get real good.”

“Don’t we have to shut down more systems to run silent?” Lisbeth indicated all the glowing screens across the bridge. “Doesn’t it give us away?”

Erik smiled. “Space is big, Lis. And we’re well shielded. If they’re close enough to sense this, they’re close enough to see us, so it won’t matter. We’ll only give ourselves away if we jump, thrust above one-G, fire or squawk. There’s not even much light out this far, and we’re painted black, so good luck seeing us visually. We’re pretty stealthy too, so active scan’s unlikely.”

“Lots of other things out there that
we
can’t see,” added Kaspowitz from the neighbouring Nav post to the left. “Because we only see them when they do something similar. Our scanners are far better than most, but most freighters only boost up engines enough to coast. If they’re not talking, or they’re not within about one minute light, no chance we’ll see them. Ten seconds light or less, in the thick stuff.”

“Lis,” said Erik. “Lieutenant Kaspowitz. That’s the Navigation post.”

“Hi,” said Lisbeth, more subdued than usual when she met interesting new people. She stepped and shook his hand briefly. Kaspowitz smiled — an odd look on an odd-looking guy, narrow face, big nose, but friendly.

“And down that end, there’s Second-LT Geish on Scan, Jiri on Scan Two and Shilu on Coms. Over here on the right is my second, Suli Shahaim on Helm, Karle on Arms, Harris on Arms Two. Operations and Engineering are down back.”

“Don’t some ships have Engineering on the bridge?” With her degree, Engineering was the post Lisbeth would know most about.

“Yeah, well some ships are small enough for that, but
Phoenix
is so big, you can’t put the Engineering Chief so far from his engines. He’s down back where he’s needed.”

“Second Lieutenant Rooke, right? I read about him.”

“Yep. Crazy smart guy.”

“He only got two points better than me at college,” Lisbeth said mildly.

“Is that right?” said Kaspowitz. Down the aisle, a few faces smiled.

“Yeah,” said Erik, “except he was fourteen at the time.”

“Still counts!” Lisbeth retorted with humour. “He’s fixing the engines?”

Erik touched an icon and the vision flipped. “Look here.” The screen showed infra-red. A drone image, of
Phoenix
’s hull, somewhere by the engines. Through the outer plating was drilled a large, nasty hole. “The drone’s mated to our controls so it’ll stay with us as long as we don’t jump or thrust hard.”

“Looks bad,” said Lisbeth with a shiver. “Can Rooke fix it?”

“He says probably he can patch it. But it’ll need dock to get it done properly.”

“Debogande facilities in this system,” Lisbeth suggested. Again faces about the bridge glanced her way. And Erik’s. “The big processor in the fifth planet system is all DE. And the insystem shipyards in the second belt. I checked the map.”

“We’re about to be crawling with Fleet,” said Erik, chewing a nail. She was right though — it was tempting to think about. “Those will be the first places they’ll look.”

“Maybe if we need parts though?” Kaspowitz suggested. “Could contact a sub-lighter, get them to bring something? Or ditch it on a near track?”

Erik thought for a moment. If they risked it, it could be his chance to get Lisbeth off the ship. “Depends how much company we get. And how bad Rooke needs the spares…” Jump alarm flashed, right on cue.

“Jump contact,” Geish announced, and everyone paid very close attention to their screens. “Bearing 174 astern by inclination five. Signature suggests a warship.”

“Someone followed us,” said Kaspowitz. “Question now is how many.”

“He came from Homeworld?” Lisbeth asked quietly. Erik said nothing, eyes fixed on the screens, not wanting to tell his sister to shut up in front of everyone.

“She’s coming fast,” Geish continued. “Could be a combat jump, stand by.” Because if it wasn’t a combat jump, she’d dump velocity immediately. Thankfully Lisbeth didn’t ask any more questions. “She’s at five minutes light, offset angle, she’ll miss us by plenty. Still no dump.” Another jump alarm. “New jump contact, bearing… 174 by five, same as the first mark. Still no dump.”

“She’s gunning,” Shahaim muttered, staring at her screen. “She’s got all safeties off, wouldn’t want to be a twitchy sub-lighter in her path…”

“New jump contact!” Geish cut her off. “Same as before, 174 by five. I’m getting an offset spread, could be a combat formation…”

“New jump contact!” shouted Jiri on Scan Two. “173 by five… new contact, new contact!” As another two arrived in quick succession.

“More and more,” added Geish, his jaw tight. They proliferated across scan like raindrops on a lake, ripples overlapping and spreading. Seven, eight, ten, thirteen…

“Son of a bitch,” someone murmured. For a moment there was deathly silence, but for the hum and thump of white noise. “Looks like a fucking invasion fleet.”

“All of this for us?” Lisbeth whispered.

“Scan,” said Erik, with as much calm as he could muster, “track and mark all incoming. When they can’t see us, some of them may try to blank signature and run dead.”

“That’s gonna be hard,” Geish said grimly. Across the screens, new contacts continued to proliferate. Thirty. Thirty three. Thirty nine.

“Fuck me,” someone muttered.

“No transponders,” said Kaspowitz. “They don’t want us to know who they are.”

“Yeah,” said Erik, forcing a casual drawl to cover the cold dread in his stomach. “Yeah, well, that figures.” Lots of old friends in this bunch, for sure. Ships they’d been in combat with. Ships whose capabilities, and whose captains, they knew intimately. Some with good friends aboard, some with ex-lovers. No present lovers or family, Erik hoped… he’d have to check manifests. Damn risk otherwise, on both sides. Suddenly he was glad they weren’t broadcasting transponders, for fear of what some of his own crew might do, rather than fight friends.

“LC,” said Second Lieutenant Karle, at Arms. “They’re not seriously going to try and kill us, are they?” Karle was young. His post made him responsible for shooting back, if it came to that. He’d already done that, Erik recalled — the docked ship at Fajar Station.
Tabitha,
that had been — an armed merchant, unfamiliar to most. No one knew if there’d been anyone aboard when Karle had blown it away.

“Be nice to try and talk to one of them direct,” Kaspowitz suggested, looking at Erik.

“Direct laser-com, sure,” said Erik. “Only we don’t know who’s who. Or if any of them are even vaguely sympathetic. And even if we do get a captain who is, he’ll have to worry about crew.” Like I do now. The implication hung unsaid, like a sword over his neck. “Tell you what I’d like right now, is a nice, large rock. Something to snuggle up against, block our signature. With this many ships in, we’re not going to last long just staying quiet. Not long enough to fix that damn hole, anyway.”

“Jiri, you get on it,” said Geish. “I’ll track our friends.”

T
race took
a break from reviewing unit status when her quarters uplink told her Lisbeth had arrived. She entered her room to find the girl carrying the little bag she’d brought on the shuttle, standing between the double bunk, folding wall table and wall closet, and looking a little lost.

“You can have the right closet space here,” said Trace, opening the door and showing her. “You pull out the racks like this, then lay your clothes flat and use the covers to hold them in, so they don’t fly around in manoeuvres or when we cut G. The head’s just up the corridor on the left, it’s unisex but the boys are polite. Or if they aren’t, they’ll hear from me about it.”

Lisbeth peered, looking dazed. That little shoulder bag was all she had in the world. Now she had to share this small compartment with another woman, and couldn’t even get a private bathroom. Given how huge her accustomed bedrooms surely were, to say nothing of kitchens, dining rooms and gardens, it must have been a shock.

“Are you okay?” Trace asked with concern.

“I’m… I’m pretty tired.” Lisbeth managed a weak smile. “That’s all.” It was well after midnight, Shiwon-time, Trace recalled… if you counted jump as instantaneous. Physiologically it wasn’t, the body aged at least a day, or more like a week if you didn’t keep fit and prepared. In real time, the longest jumps
Phoenix
did took days. Sometimes you felt it immediately, other times you got a jolt that kept you awake for ages.

“Well we’re running shifts again,” said Trace, with a glance at ship-time on uplink vision. “You know how that works? The bridge has three shifts, the rest of the ship has two. Normally the Captain’s on 0600 to 1400, that’s first shift. Then second-shift is 1400 to 2200, then third-shift. Given all the people we’re missing, I think Erik will cut that to two shifts and put all his best crew on first-shift, so you’re not going to see him much.

“It’s 1510 now so try not to sleep too long — I sleep through third-shift so we’ll do better if we match schedules. But you can come back here any time you like if you need some alone-time — I’m only ever here to sleep or change. You can use a slate to access ship library, you can watch primary-scan if you want, or track status, or else there’s a big selection of entertainment if you want to relax. Just remember, always pull the net across when you sleep, you’ve seen these?”