The Black Sheep (A Learning Experience Book 3) (3 page)

“Unknown ships are scanning us,” Ensign Howard reported.

“No word from the freighters,” Lieutenant Yeller added.  The communications officer was working his console frantically.  “The unknown ships are attempting to hail us.”

“Put them through,” Hoshiko ordered.

There was a long pause, then a dull atonal voice - the product of a translator - echoed through the bridge.  “We are in pursuit of criminals,” it said.  “Allow us to capture the criminals or you will be fired on.”

Hoshiko blinked in surprise.  The unknown ships had defied communications protocols that had been in existence long before humanity started building anything more complex than stone axes and rowing boats.  Every spacer in the known universe used the protocols, save - perhaps - for the race in front of her.  Could they be completely new?  Her heartbeat raced at the thought, although she knew it was unlikely.  The Tokomak had held the sector in their grip for thousands of years.  They’d know every power in the sector intimately.

“Those ships are human ships,” she said.  She had strict orders to defend human shipping, if nothing else.  Besides, she had no idea just what was going on.  “Allow us to take them into custody and investigate.  If they are criminals, they will be dealt with.”

“Enemy ships are charging weapons,” Lieutenant-Commander Rupert Biscoe snapped.  “They’re locking targeting sensors on our hulls.”

“Return the favour,” Hoshiko ordered. 
No one
, unless they had almost no understanding of the ships they controlled,
allowed
anyone to see their weapons being charged unless it was a deliberate threat.  Just what was going on?  “Try and raise the freighters again ...”

“Incoming message,” the communications officer said.

“This matter is none of your concern,” the atonal voice said.  “Stand down or be fired upon.”

Hoshiko took a long breath.  “We will take the ships into custody and investigate the crews,” she said, tartly.  “Should they be confirmed as criminals, they will be returned to you.  We ...”

Jackie Fisher
rocked, violently.

“Enemy ships have opened fire,” Biscoe said.  “Standard directed-energy weapons.  Shields held.  No damage”

A warning shot
, Hoshiko thought.  She fought down the urge to simply return fire, even though she was sure she held a considerable advantage. 
Are they mad
?

“Picking up a message from the lead freighter,” Yeller reported.  “It’s very weak.”

“Put it through,” Hoshiko ordered.

“This is Captain Ryman of SUS
Speaker to Seafood
,” a voice said.  Hoshiko hastily launched a query into the datanet, trying to confirm Ryman’s identity.  Moments later, a voiceprint match popped up in front of her.  “We have a cargo of refugees from Amstar.  We need help ...”

“Enemy ships are locking weapons on the freighters,” Biscoe reported.

“Move us forward to shield them,” Hoshiko ordered.  Refugees from Amstar?  Her implants told her it was a star system thirty light years from Martina, but there was little else current in the datafiles.  Like Martina, Amstar was a shared world, peaceful and boring.  Why would refugees be fleeing to Martina, on human ships?  “Tactical ...”

“Enemy ships are opening fire,” Biscoe reported.  “Freighter Two is taking heavy damage.”

“Open fire,” Hoshiko snapped.  Human-designed freighters carried better shields than the average Tokomak-designed freighter, but they weren't strong enough to stand up to a full barrage from the light cruisers for long.  “I say again, all ships open fire.”

She expected the enemy vessels to turn and run, but instead they accelerated
towards
the human ships, one of them firing a final spread of missiles in passing at Freighter Two and blowing her into an expanding cloud of plasma.  It didn’t
look
as though anyone had managed to get to the escape pods, Hoshiko noted; the ship had been lost with all hands.  She swore under her breath as one of the alien ships exploded, followed rapidly by another; the third kept on towards
Jackie Fisher
, firing every weapon she had, until her shields were finally overloaded and a handful of missiles slammed into her hull, disabling her drives.

“Prepare a marine boarding party,” Hoshiko ordered.  If the third ship had lost power completely, they should be able to teleport an assault force over to the enemy ship rather than dispatch a shuttle.  “Get them suited up and ...”

The third icon vanished from the display.  “Enemy ship destroyed,” Biscoe reported.  “That wasn't our fire, Captain.  They self-destructed.”

“Belay that order,” Hoshiko said.  Judging from the blast, it was unlikely there would be anything worth recovering.  The enemy ship had been completely atomised.  “Ready a marine party to examine the freighter instead.”

She sucked in her breath, thinking hard.  Who the hell were they facing?  The Horde might have launched a suicide attack, but the Horde rarely dared face anyone who actually knew how to use their ships.  God knew the Horde had been so criminally ignorant that a bunch of humans, from a low-tech world, had taken their ship out from under them.  Anyone else ... surely, they would have assessed the balance of power and backed off.  If the freighters
had
been carrying criminals, she would have had no choice but to hand them over.

“Order the freighter to be ready to receive boarders,” she said, grimly.  At least she wasn’t bored any longer.  “All ships are to remain on yellow alert until we get some answers.”

She glanced at Commander Wilde.  “Accompany the marines,” she ordered.  “I want to speak to Captain Ryman as soon as he’s cleared to board
Fisher
.”

“Aye, Captain,” Wilde said.  He rose.  “Ensign Howard, with me.”

Hoshiko felt a flicker of envy, which she rapidly suppressed. 
She
was the Captain-Commodore of the squadron, as well as
Jackie Fisher’s
CO.  There was no way she could leave the bridge, not when they might be at war.  All she could do was wait and see what her crew found ...

... And pray, silently, that she wouldn’t wind up wishing she was bored again.

Chapter Two

Washington saw a second night of heavy fighting between soldiers of the Tenth Mountain Division and civilian militias as martial law, in place since the coup, was extended for a further sixth months.  Morale in the military is believed to be poor and rumours of mass desertions cannot be ruled out
.

-Solar News Network, Year 54

“Gently does it, Ensign,” Major Bjørn Hyldkrog said.  “We don’t know what might be waiting for us.”

Ensign Thomas Howard nodded, fighting to keep his hands from shaking.  The marines had never said anything threatening to him, but he couldn't help finding them far more intimidating than anything else he’d encountered.  Four years at the Academy hadn't prepared him for rough men and women who practically carried knives in their mouths or strode around the ship as though they owned the vessel.  He was sure it was
technically
against regulations for the marines to pick on him - and they hadn't - but they still scared him more than he cared to admit.

He watched through the shuttle’s hull-mounted sensors as he carefully guided the craft towards the freighter.  The hulk had clearly taken a beating, he noted; carbon scoring criss-crossed the metal, burning off the paint and sensor blisters alike.  Someone had done some intensive patching, probably while the vessel was in FTL.  Humanity built good ships, he’d been told, but it was a minor miracle the freighter had survived long enough to reach Martina and find help.  Judging by the emissions from the rear of the ship, she’d be unable to go FTL without a complete refit.  It might be cheaper to scrap the hulk and buy a new ship.

“There’s a standard hatch towards the prow of the vessel,” he said. 
That
wasn't a surprise.  The Tokomak had insisted on a degree of uniformity among interstellar shipping and what the Tokomak wanted, they got.  Even humanity had seen the advantages in copying the Galactic model.  “Do you want to dock there?”

“Yes, please,” Hyldkrog said.  He seemed to be in command of the mission, even though the XO himself was accompanying the marines.  “Put us up against the hatch, then latch on.”

“Maintain standard security procedures at all times,” the XO added.  “We do not want someone slipping a piece of malware onto the shuttle.”

“Yes, sir,” Thomas said.  The XO was old enough to have served in the wet navy, long before the Solar Union had been anything more than a dream.  “The shuttle computer cores are isolated from the hatch processors.”

He sucked in a breath as the freighter came closer, wondering if the next second would be his last.  If it was a trap, if the freighter was playing possum for some inexplicable reason of its own, they’d be fired on the moment they came within point-blank range.  Or the vessel might be crewed by pirates, intent on swarming the shuttle and using her to force their way onboard
Jackie Fisher
.  A shiver ran down his back as he looked at the marines, carefully checking their weapons and suits of armour; for once, he was grateful to have them along.  They’d know what to do if it really was a trap.

“Docking in ten seconds,” he said.  “Hatch cycling now ...”

A dull thump ran through the shuttle as it made contact with the freighter.  The gravity field flickered, just for a second, as it merged with the human-standard gravity field projected by the freighter, a subtle confirmation that the ship was probably still in human hands.  Unless, of course, the Horde or another race of low-tech interstellar barbarians had somehow managed to gain control of the ship.  They probably wouldn't dare to fiddle with the artificial gravity, even assuming they’d known
how
.  One mistake at the worst possible time and they’d be smashed against the deck, if the compensators failed.  They wouldn’t even have a chance to realise what had happened before it was far too late.

“Contact,” he said.  He heard the marines moving forward as the hatch began to open.  “Sir ...”

“Remain behind until the marines have secured the ship,” the XO ordered, calmly.  “They know what they’re doing.”

Thomas nodded, then gagged as a foul stench blew through the hatch and into the shuttle.  He hastily clicked the air fresheners to full, then triggered his implants and ordered them to dim his sensitivity to the smell.  What had
happened
on the freighter?  It smelled worse than the dorms at the academy!  He’d been told, by some of the newcomers from Earth, that the planet smelled bad, but surely it wasn't as vile as the freighter?  How could the human race have survived?

“They’ve overloaded their life support, sir,” Senior Chief Brian Siskin said.  He’d somehow wrangled his way onto the mission, even though Thomas wasn't sure why the Senior Chief was considered necessary.  Maybe his job was to keep an eye on the young ensign.  “That’s the smell of too many bodies in close proximity.”

“Reminds me of Haiti,” the XO said.  He didn't sound pleased.  “Have the shuttle cleaned
thoroughly
once we return to the ship.”

“Yes, sir,” the Senior Chief said.

Thomas kept one eye on the live feed as the marines moved through the freighter, securing the bridge, life support system and engineering compartment with practiced efficiency.  There didn't seem to be any resistance, merely a string of remarks about helpless people.  The XO rose as soon as the ship was secured and motioned for Thomas and the Senior Chief to follow him through the hatch.  Thomas checked the pistol on his belt - he’d spent
hours
on the range, as per regulations, but he was no expert marksman - and locked the shuttle’s controls before rising.  If the freighter
was
a threat, the crew would be unable to turn the shuttle against her mothership.

“Remember to set your implants to record,” the Senior Chief muttered, as they stepped through the hatch.  “You might find yourself giving evidence later.”

“Yes, Chief,” Thomas said.  “A full-spectrum recording?”

“Yes,” the Senior Chief said.  “You never know what might be important.”

He cocked his head as he sent the commands to his implants, even though it bothered him on a very primal level.  What was in his head should
stay
in his head.  The cadets at the Academy had suspected that their superiors could access their implants at will, even though hacking a person’s implants was a guaranteed death sentence once the perpetrator was caught.  He’d certainly been told there were times he’d have to share his recordings, no matter what rights he thought he had.  Joining the military meant giving up a few rights to protect everyone else’s rights.

Warning icons flashed up in front of his eyes, informing him that the atmosphere in the freighter was barely breathable for unenhanced humans and compatible races.  The Senior Chief had been right, Thomas realised; the freighter’s life support had been pushed right to the limits.  Judging by the number of contaminants in the air, it might well have gone
over
the limits.  It was a frightening thought - Thomas knew just how much over-engineering was worked into life support systems - but for the moment it posed no threat.  His augmentations would be more than capable of ensuring his survival.

He sucked in his breath as they passed through a solid metal airlock and into a long corridor leading towards the bridge.  It was crammed with people; men, women and children, all staring at the three Solarians with terrified eyes.  Thomas wasn't sure where to look; his gaze moved from refugee to refugee, even though he wanted to look away from them.  There was a mother, sitting against the bulkhead, rocking her child against her breast; there was a young girl and boy, holding hands as they stared at the newcomers, terror clearly visible on their pale faces.  The XO looked neither left nor right as he made his way through the mob of desperate people; the Senior Chief showed no visible reaction, but his stiff back suggested he was just as horrified as Thomas himself.

“Contact the ship,” the XO ordered, as soon as they passed through a second airlock.  “Tell them we need additional life support and ration packs, now.”

“Aye, sir,” Thomas said, relieved to have
something
to do.  “Do you want them teleported over?”

“Teleport them onto the shuttle,” the XO said, after a moment.  “We don’t know if there’s any clear space on this damned freighter.”

Thomas hastily keyed his wristcom, forwarding the XO’s commands, as the next hatch opened.  The XO led the way through another hatch and onto the bridge.  Thomas looked around with interest, taking in the number of jury-rigged modifications to the original design.  He’d been taught the basics of Galactic technology, back at the Academy, but he’d never seen
any
ship that had been so obviously modified by her owners.  A handful of sleeping rolls lay against one bulkhead, as if the crew had been confined to their own bridge.  If the remainder of the ship was crammed with refugees, Thomas told himself, they might well have been.

“Mr. XO,” Hyldkrog said.  “Allow me to present Captain Ryman of the
Speaker to Seafood
.”

Thomas stepped back as Captain Ryman nodded tiredly to the XO.  He was a tall man, clearly a second-gen Solarian judging from the way he held himself, but he looked almost unbearably tired.  It was evident, from the way his eyes were darting left and right, that he was running on coffee, energy pills and implant stimulation.  There was a reason, Thomas recalled, why abusing energy pills and implants was against regulations, certainly on active duty.  After a few days without sleep, Captain Ryman had probably started having hallucinations.  He was lucky that his heart hadn't given out, despite all his augmentation.

“Captain Ryman,” the XO said.  “I’m Commander Wilde, XO of
Jackie Fisher
.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Captain Ryman said.  His voice sounded slurred.  “They killed Kenny, didn't they?”

The XO frowned.  “Kenny?”

“Captain Kenny Rogers,” Captain Ryman said.  He yawned, suddenly.  “My partner.  Commander of
Speaker to Morons
.”

“I’m afraid they did,” the XO said.  “There are no survivors from the other freighter.”

He cleared his throat.  “With your permission, Captain, we will bring a team of medics over to your ship to assist your crew and passengers,” he added.  “And we can teleport you back to our sickbay for examination.  We can even start on basic repairs.”

“Too much to do,” Captain Ryman said.  “I ...”

He stumbled, then toppled forward.  The XO caught him before he hit the deck; a pair of marines hurried forward, pressed a sensor against Captain Ryman’s neck and then lowered him to a blanket on the ground.  His crew, Thomas noted, didn't look in any better shape; a teenage boy had fallen asleep at his console, a pair of middle-aged men were eying the newcomers warily and a young girl, barely entering her teens, was cowering back against the rear of the compartment, her eyes wide with terror.

“Give them all a sedative, then take control of the vessel,” the XO ordered.  He turned to look at Thomas.  “Update on our support?”

Thomas hastily checked his implants.  “The engineers are beaming over now, sir,” he said, “along with additional marines.  There’s a pair of medics waiting to be teleported.”

“I can work on the life support, sir,” the Senior Chief offered.  “We really need to get some of the refugees off the ship, though.  There are just too many of them to be transported safely.”

“See to it,” the XO said.  He looked at one of the middle-aged men.  “Can you give us the control codes for your processors?”

The man looked doubtful - Thomas knew it was rare for a starship crew to
willingly
hand over their control codes to outsiders - but cocked his head, sending commands to the bridge’s processors.  A moment later, a new icon popped up in front of Thomas, informing him that the local computer network had just unlocked itself.  The XO thanked the man, then nodded to the marines, who administered the sedatives.  Thomas suspected, as he helped to prep the crew for teleport, that they were grateful they finally had a chance to
sleep
.

“That girl may have been molested in some way,” one of the marines commented.  “I’d advise keeping her sedated until we speak to her parents.”