The Mind Field (4 page)

Javier took another bite of his burrito.

Part Six

Djamila had insisted Aritza accompany her here, at least as far as the landing bay. It was his brilliant idea that was going to save them, after all, wasn’t it? Didn’t he want to see it executed right?

The grumbles she got from him were reward enough. If he hadn’t put her on the spot like that, she probably would have insisted she handle the task anyway. Nobody else on this ship was nearly as good at this sort of EVA work as she was. Period.

The bay looked strange. Aritza’s scheme involved erecting a wall of spare metal plates across part of the bay, a meter back from the inner edge of the hatch.

“
So that the scanners over there don’t notice a sudden change in our shape and assume we’re about to open fire,
” had been his explanation.

It sounded reasonable. At least as much as anything else coming out of his mouth ever did. As did cranking the door open manually so no power emanations leaked out and triggered a hostile response.

She completed a pre–flight checklist on her suit.

By the numbers. Careful numbers. She had had to leave her radio behind so she didn’t accidentally signal anything to the killer mines that would be watching her as she separated from the ship. That would be a quick death.

Instead, one of her people was down here, familiar with the language of hand signals and in charge of her belayed line. There was no way in hell she was going to trust Aritza with that. But she wanted him down her, uncomfortable, radio–less, forced to talk to himself while they waited to see if she lived or died out there.

He would have a front seat row. That little shit better appreciate it. Especially if he got her killed.

She leaned down to touch faceplates with her assistant. He was ready.

Javier next. He double–checked the electromagnetic box attached to her belt, gave her the thumbs up. She touched plates with him for any last minute instructions before total radio silence.

“Good luck, Sykora,” he said simply.

He even looked serious. Awkward, but serious.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” she replied. It felt like a tease coming out her mouth, even though she intended to make it a sneer. Too late to say something extra.

She saw his nod through the faceplates, followed by a frog–faced grin. So at least he was thinking the same thoughts she was.

Good enough.

She turned, and faced eternity.

A’Nacia
was somewhere below the curve of the hull, off to her left.

In her immediate field of view, several bright points of light that represented killer satellite mines. Only one of them was close enough have definition. Javier’s target.

It had taken several hours of fine manipulation of the ship’s gyroscopes, a tweak here, a surge there, but they had actually brought
Storm Gauntlet
to rest, relative to their target. Not close enough to make the system nervous, but enough that she had a fixed target from which to launch.

Her victim was just a little larger than one of the ship’s landing shuttles, a little more than half a kilometer away. And she wasn’t allowed to use maneuvering thrusters at all. It would be as pure a dive as she had taken since training, when they held emergency EVA drills and got scored on accuracy jumping across a gap half this size in nothing but a Skinsuit. While under fire.

Here she had her regular armored EVA suit, and a long hunk of line attached to an ankle in case she missed and they had to pull her back. And for when she succeeded and wanted to come home.

She fixed her target in her mind and pushed back against the plate inside the door. Others would probably have turned off the local gravplates and pushed off headfirst. That was a mistake. It went against everything they had trained for, and would throw off their aim.

She was going to take two steps and use the edge of the door as her final push–off point. Speed wasn’t the issue here. Accuracy was. In raw space, you followed Newton, regardless of the rules that an interstellar starship violated along the way.

She looked around once, confirmed the rope, the assistant, the Science Officer.

Deep breath for extra oxygen.

Go.

One step. Second Step.

Darkness.

Free flight.

As pure as one could get outside of an atmosphere.

There.

Target acquired.

Coming in slowly, as planned. Others would have jumped too hard, and come into their target so fast they bounced off before hand and foot magnets could grip.

Damn it.

She was going to miss a little high and a shade right. After setting a new
Neu Berne
record for accuracy at this sort of range.

It would be just far enough away that she would not land on it first shot.

Not having a radio was good. She could give voice to all the profanities she usually just howled in her head at such failures. Space didn’t care. It couldn’t listen.

Okay. Better idea.

She signaled her assistant to shorten his lead significantly.

She continued to fall. The nearest edge of the machine passed three meters to her left, just below her.

She braced as the line bit.

There.

Pendulum.

Djamila jack–knifed her upper and lower body together quickly, then relaxed. She reached the end of the rope and snapped down and left. She had missed, but only a little and not so much that they had to draw her all the way back in and send her out again.

The image of Javier as a fly–fisher nearly made her lose her concentration. It was a very good thing that in space, nobody could hear you giggle.

Instead, the line touched the side of the satellite and provided a fulcrum point. She swung slowly around the back of the mine, letting the line snug down and pull her in, like an ice–skater pulling her hands in as she twirled.

Contact.

Ferric hull. Generally smooth. Sensor bulbs there, there, and there. Maneuvering pulse thrusters on six points each, at both ends of a smooth cylinder some eight meters diameter and twenty meters long. Ship killer.

She looked around carefully. This was where they ran out of script. Had the designer anticipated this stunt and put a point–defense system in place to clear boarders? It suggested a level of paranoia and sadism well beyond anything else he had done so far, but who could ask someone dead for five hundred years?

Nothing moved. So far, so good.

Djamila detached the limpet mine from her waist and rested it against the hull of the satellite. Low–level magnets would hold it in place enough for her to work.

Stop. Look around quickly, and then slowly.

Nothing jumped out and shot her. Or bit her.

Good enough.

She armed the primary magnets and set the timer to ten seconds. It would be close, but not that close, unless her number was absolutely up.

Quick look around. Nothing sneaking up on her.

Flip the big red switch. Armed.

Push the button.

Run like hell.

This time, she just aimed in the direction of
Storm Gauntlet
. Distance counted way more than accuracy. She needed to be gone fast. If it worked, she was still attached to the ship. They could reel her in like a trout.

Again. Javier as a fly–fisher. She continued to giggle at the image.

Flash of light bright enough to cast her shadow on
Storm Gauntlet’s
hull.

In an atmosphere, something that big would have deafened her for days. And possibly pulped her with over–pressure shock waves.

Another advantage of space.

Storm Gauntlet’s
hull grew into a wall in front of her. She twisted and jack–knifed until legs were down and she was almost falling. Style counted here, at least with her people.

If you are going to demand excellence, prepare to give it.

She could still see the sign over the exit from the Senior Midshipman’s Dorm at the
Neu Berne
Academy. Words to live by. And live well.

She landed like a cat, bounced slightly, put a hand down. But only one. Close enough to stick the landing and get full score from the judges, not that there were any, outside her head. Any that counted.

Djamila detached the safety line from her ankle and cast it back into space. They could reel it in much faster without her attached. She clomped her way along the outside, returning to the bay.

Mission very much accomplished, thank you.

Javier was there when she arrived.

She couldn’t resist touching faceplates with him. “So, Mister Science Officer,” she asked with a saucy tune, “was that adequate to your needs?”

He looked up at her far more seriously than she had expected. “That was the most amazing piece of free sailing I have ever seen.”

Wait? Him? Impressed? Publically?

Crap.

Part Seven

Javier was just happy to be out of that damned suit. They had kept his when the killed his ship and took him prisoner, so it fit. That didn’t mean he enjoyed it. Nope. Stale, industrial air. Metallic water. Claustrophobia.

Storm Gauntlet’s
air had gotten so much better since he had been put in charge of keeping the bio–scrubbers tuned, but it was still a pale shadow compared to what he had gotten to breath on
Mielikki
. Even down in his botany station, it was only a faint reminder. The chickens helped.

Still, the amazon had been successful. If all went as planned, the Captain had flickered the ship’s transponders at the right moment and they were now officially part of the minefield, beeping every second and updating everyone as they moved.

And they weren’t dead.

Javier pulled on his leggings, tunic, and the extra jacket he had been wearing. It was still cold in the ship.

Of course Sykora was waiting for him when he emerged from his equipment locker. Probably tapping her foot theatrically too, though he hadn’t paid that close of attention. He trailed her to the bridge. This was the only view of her he liked, anyway.

“Well done, you two,” the Captain announced as they arrived. The air was warmer here, so he had apparently felt safe enough to bring some of the systems on line. That would be good.

Javier was tired of wearing gloves while he worked. Shoes were already too much of a hassle. Hell, some days pants was asking too much.

Still, the Captain was giving them both credit. That would be good for some bribes from the crew. Markers against future need. You know. Stuff.

Javier moved to his station and powered it up fully. The big projection hung in the middle of the room, still.

It didn’t look right.

He looked closer.

That was because they were moving deeper into the minefield, not backing gracefully out of range so they could escape.

“Captain,” he said wearily. “Are we really going in there anyway?”

Sokolov smiled evilly at him. “You don’t think I’d come this far and just walk away, do you? Get to work, Science Officer. There’s a whole planet down there for you to survey.”

Javier grumbled mostly under his breath as he brought systems live. They still couldn’t send out any really good pings from the sensor suite, at least until they got safely inside the shell, but he could start the analysis.

These people were going to be the death of him.

He looked up and encompassed the whole bridge, especially that smiling amazon, in a disgusted frown.

Pirates and Philistines.

Book Four: Prisoner of War

Part One

Javier’s tea was cold. Not that he was going to get up to get more. And the wardroom minions couldn’t brew it right anyway. And if he drank anymore, he’d have to go pee.

Plus, they were just about clear of the minefield, so now all the interesting parts would begin, knowing his luck. Because Heaven forbid these people do anything quiet and boring, ya know.

At least he could hammer the neighborhood with the occasional hard ping to see what was going on. The machines around him were dumb enough to think that was a targeting pulse. Sitting blind in the middle of a minefield had utterly sucked.

So, theoretically inhabitable planet below. Had been inhabited once, until a bright fall day in August Standard, five hundred and eighty–three years ago. Nobody had visited since. Or, if they had, nobody had escaped.

Boring looking planet. About half water and half land, randomly arranged by whatever the gods of chance and plate tectonics had found most pleasing recently.

Javier wondered about tsunami down on the surface, considering the vast amount of extremely large junk in orbit that was likely to fall eventually. Five fleets worth of warships, plus every raider, scavenger, and pirate, save one, that had tried their luck over the centuries. Gravity was an unforgiving mistress and there was a lot of water to hit.

From here, the wound gouged in the face of the western hemisphere would rise in about thirty minutes. There had been a planetary capital there. Before. Ought to be able to pick up any radiation in a little bit, if there was anything significant. There weren’t even lights down there on the dark side, so either the entire population had died, or just their technology.

Javier watched his screens as his data banks slowly filled with interesting tidbits.

He turned to the Captain as he considered taking the time to pee.

“What are we looking for here, anyway?” he asked, in his ten–year–old backseat–whining voice. He was good at that one.

Captain Sokolov barely glanced over as he watched the screen. “Money.”

Okay. Yeah. The obvious answer. Translation: I have no clue what’s here, we’ll steal everything not nailed down, or anything that we can pry up.

Pirates and Philistines.

Still, it beat being dead. Or working as an agricultural slave on some forgotten, misbegotten backwater. At least the pirates had a sense of humor.

Centurion Djamila Sykora, Ship’s Dragoon, walked in.