The Orphan Alliance (The Black Ships Book 3) (7 page)

“Is this true, Ivar?” Odin asked in mock surprise. A few
more chuckles sounded from the tiers.

“It is, sire,” he replied miserably. He had been trying to
leave the circle in as unobtrusive a fashion as possible, but now he was
trapped.

“Then you stand accused yet again. Will anyone speak for
him?”

Harry was surprised at the sudden shift in events. He was
reasonably certain that his gesture would save Lothbrok, but now it looked as
though he would end up doubling his forces in the process. He looked to his
friend and received a confident wink.
Why doesn’t one of Valdemar’s captains
just do what I did?

No one spoke. Valdemar stared fixedly at Harry with a look
of pure malevolence.

“Very well,” Odin declared. “Ivar, you are found in
dereliction of your obligations as a hauld. You are stripped of your status and
holdings.”

Harry was watching this in fascination when he became aware
of a movement to his right. Lothbrok was feigning a huge yawn, waving his arms
to catch his friend’s attention. The Midgaard nodded significantly at the
Lawgiver and raised his eyebrows.

Lothbrok couldn’t suggest himself as the beneficiary of this
sudden bounty. Nomination had to come from a third party. “Sire,” Harry began.
Thank
God I haven’t returned to my seat yet, or the speaking circle would have been
up for grabs.
“We are at war against an implacable foe. The Lord of
Beringsburg has shown his ability to defeat them in battle as recently as last
week, when he eliminated the Dactari forces orbiting Oaxes.”

There was a rumble of approval at this. It
closed the
circle
, another staple of Midgaard tales. Lothbrok’s enemies had been
routed, and he would receive the spoils of the battle.

Harry knew he had chosen his words well. “I nominate
Lothbrok, Lord of Beringsburg, as the new master of Ivar’s former holdings.”

“Does anyone here want to challenge the nomination?” Odin
looked around at the assembly. If anyone wished to nominate an alternative,
they would have to kill Harry in order to remove Lothbrok’s name from
contention. It was a real possibility. Nine ships were worth fighting for, but
the prevailing sentiment was clearly in favor of Harry’s proposal, and they had
all seen Harry fight.

No challenge was offered.

“The remaining nine ships and the fief of Kronenstad go to
Lothbrok,” Odin declared. “We stand adjourned.”

Both Harry and Lothbrok were swarmed by their fellow
captains who congratulated them for turning their opponent’s attack against
them. In the midst of the turmoil, Harry caught a final glimpse as Valdemar led
his group out through one of the many walkways that joined the towering
buildings.

“Let’s get out of here.” Lothbrok nodded toward an entrance
leading to an exterior docking platform.

“I have my shuttle,” Harry nodded in the opposite direction.

Lothbrok shook his head. “Lychensee is in shift change right
now,” he half shouted to be heard over the buzz of the excited crowd. “Half the
workers in the city are in transit. It would take you hours to get back into
orbit. Send your pilot back and I’ll show you a far more sensible way to deal
with gridlock.”

The sound of the crowd quickly faded as they followed the
path through the massive coniferous forest. It was hard to believe they were
more than two hundred stories above the ground.

“Why didn’t one of Valdemar’s haulds simply give Ivar a
ship, like I did?” Harry asked.

“Because none of his haulds have more than ten ships,”
Lothbrok replied cheerfully. “He distributes them. If a few have extras, he’ll
take them away, buy however many he needs to get ten, and name a new hauld. His
chief use for a hauld is not combat, but votes. It bit him in the ass today
because none of them could support Ivar without losing their own status in the
process.”

They passed out through a series of sliding doors and found
themselves waiting in the cold evening air with several Weirans in business
attire and a handful of Midgaard, their breath misting as they chatted.

“Thank you, by the way.” Lothbrok had grown suddenly serious
as he looked over at his Human friend. “Your offer of service is the only thing
that saved my status today. Odin would never have been able to give me Ivar’s
holdings if I had been demoted. Only a hauld can receive the proceeds of a
demotion.”

“You would do the same for me.” Harry shrugged.

“You mean I
have
done the same for you!”

Harry laughed. “True enough. I suppose you did play a
small
role in rescuing me from Presh. Anyway, enough about how I’ve more than repaid
the favor; what is this sensible way you’ve discovered that deals with
gridlock?”

In answer, Lothbrok gestured at an approaching vehicle. It
almost looked like a small cathedral though it was built out of glass and steel
rather than stone. It was roughly oval in cross section and five levels high.
It was enclosed in a wall of windows, each four feet wide by fifty high. A pair
of maglift engines protruded from both sides near the curved bottom of the craft.
A ledge halfway up on the starboard side held a small patio and a collection of
trees. More decorative foliage on the top indicated yet another outdoor space.

“What the hell is that?” Harry muttered, half to himself.

“That, my good fellow, is a bar.” Lothbrok stepped over to
the edge, displaying the complete disregard for heights common to his people.
“The absolute best use for a mag-lev engine yet devised.”

Harry forced himself to join Lothbrok as the vehicle slowed
to a stop in front of them. The doors opened and his body shuddered
involuntarily at the delicious heat inside the unusual craft. He looked up at
the network of catwalks and seating areas that filled the space between the
tiled floor and the citrus-wood ceiling.

Lothbrok made his way straight to a bar on the first floor,
ordering two ales in Dheema. He insisted on heading for the rooftop and the
craft was still at the platform when they found patio seats near the port side.

“Where does this thing take us?” Harry took a deep drink and
leaned back in his seat, enjoying the heat radiating up from its deep cushions.

“Every shift change, these things leave the city center and
follow the main transit spokes to the outskirts, where you can take a shuttle
that won’t end up stuck in traffic,” Lothbrok explained.

“Does it get us there any faster?” Harry was watching a
Midgaard, down on the platform, as he walked away from the bar.
Must have
changed his mind?
The warrior approached the main doors to building and
they slid open, revealing a small group waiting for him.

 “Takes a little longer, with all the stops factored
in,” Lothbrok replied raising his glass significantly. “But that’s kind of the
whole point, isn’t it? They’ve taken what should be a pain in the ass and
turned it into a thoroughly enjoyable experience.”

Harry looked at Lothbrok in amused silence for a few
seconds. “I don’t know who provided their memories for the Fleet Standard
English files, but they did
not
provide adequate cultural context to go
along with it.” The ale in his glass tilted toward him as the large vehicle
began to move back into the flow of traffic.

 “Or am I just trying to be amusing?” A raised eyebrow.

Not sure if he’s just trying to save face or if he’s
actually joking around. Either way…
Harry shook his head, grinning. “We’ll
be late meeting Towers,” he changed the subject. “Hopefully, it won’t put him
off our plan.”

“You jest again?” Lothbrok gave a dismissive shrug. “He’ll
see the sense of it, though he might seek to make some small adjustments.
Adding two planets will remove a major problem here by stimulating the Weiran
economy; it will mean new ships coming off the line.”

He grinned at Harry. “I was on the verge of losing my status
this morning, and now I’m a hauld with two fiefs, about to add a third. Do you
have any idea how hard it is to lose your status once you have a second fief?
Once we hold Oaxes and Tauhento, we’ll be secure from Valdemar. He wouldn’t
dare mess with us. We represent the economic security of the Alliance now. Caul
and Odin won’t interfere with minor squabbles like the one this morning, but
they would never tolerate Valdemar’s scheming if it endangered our overall
economy.”

“Can’t make war without money,” Harry mused. “Earth is a
plague zone, Midgaard is too far away. If we can’t resurrect the local economy
then we all die.” He took a deep pull on his ale, leaning back with an
appreciative sigh. “The Weiran senate will agree to hand over the traditional
‘warlord’ cut of the taxes once they see Tauhento and Oaxes embracing the
concept.”

“You’re sure they will?”

Harry nodded. “I know them, remember? It’s a matter of
pride. Choosing to have us as their warlords – we serve only with their consent
– is infinitely better for them than living under Dactari rule. They’ll hand over
the revenue, but you have to keep the exact nature of the relationship in mind
at all times.” He pointed his glass toward Lothbrok. “Tauhento will be the most
powerful, most lucrative fief in the Midgaard sphere of influence but you are
strictly the military leader. They’ll retain their own judiciary and their own
elected senate. All you need to worry yourself with is accepting revenue and
fighting.”

“Sounds perfect to me! The last thing I want to do is sit in
judgement over petty squabbles. I wish my other two fiefs were so easy to
administer. To the turning point,” Lothbrok held up his glass toward Harry in a
toast. “Within a month, we’ll go from slow decay to steady growth.”

Harry’s glass was still ringing from the contact when an
explosion sounded beneath them. The bar lurched to port as glassware and
passengers were flung violently about. A server who had been placing drinks on
a table, only ten feet away, overbalanced in a foolish attempt to hold his tray
and fell sideways over the railing. As the vehicle continued to rotate, Harry
caught sight of several passengers falling to their deaths.

The starboard engines moaned in protest as they were pushed
far past their red lines. The building that slid past them was pulsating as the
metal window supports were rhythmically pulled outwards, fragments of heavy
glass sent to follow the doomed passengers. Somewhere in the back of Harry’s
mind, he realized that it meant the port engine was still spinning but it had
lost part of the array as well as all of its field attenuators. It was
undoubtedly interfering with the starboard engine now, alternately cancelling
and enhancing the field of the already strained engine.

Was the explosion the result of a damaged engine, or the
cause of it?
He suddenly remembered the lone Midgaard who had boarded the
vehicle only to leave it moments later.
Sabotage…
He felt a sudden hand
on his shoulder. Lothbrok had climbed out of his chair and was now standing on
the central leg of their table.

“That platform,” he yelled in Harry’s ear pointing down to a
boarding platform on the side of the building where a group of horrified faces
looked back at them.

They watched as the faces grew closer, quickly accelerating.
This would be their only chance to jump and live. If this chance passed them
by, they would be moving too fast by the time another opportunity presented
itself.

The uncontrolled field began to interact with the crowd,
catching up any metal and dragging it – and its owners – across the platform.
Several were swept across the edge and flung out into the heavy traffic,
bouncing off vehicles to fall, unconscious now, to their demise. One lucky
individual landed atop a container train.

“Now!” Lothbrok screamed and launched himself forward.

Harry followed and just barely managed to clear the opening
between vehicle and building. He hit the concrete platform hard and tumbled
into the legs of a local office worker. The heavyset Weiran man landed on
Harry’s chest, knocking the wind out of his lungs.  He lay there wheezing
as he watched Lothbrok talking to an attractive young woman who had been
knocked down near the back wall. Somehow, he had contrived to roll into her
lap.

Mutiny

The
Midway
, Weirfall
Orbit

D
wight
was sitting in a small conference room behind the bridge, a half-empty cup of
coffee in front of him. He was desperately trying to get his tablet to synch
with the screen on the wall by the door before Towers and Strauss arrived.
Figures,
he grumbled to himself.
The one time I show up with actual, calculated
projections, I can’t link to a screen.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the display
flicker and he looked up with a relief that was short-lived. The screen was
showing the layout of a ship, the text box in the upper right corner
proclaiming her to be the
Guadalcanal.
All carriers were named for
famous battles.

What the hell?

The door opened and Hunter, the flag captain, stopped at the
head of the table, looking at the image on the screen with a nod before moving
to the far side of the room. A grey-haired Marine colonel walked in with
Admiral Towers a few seconds later, a Navy commander and two men in EVA suits
trailing them.

They didn’t even seem to notice him.

“What’s the quickest route from the outer hull to the
engineering section?” Towers demanded.

Walking over to the screen, the commander reached out to
draw a circle around a part of the diagram. “These emergency vent ports lead
straight into the reactor compartments. You should be able to use a small, shaped
charge without destabilizing the plasma containment.”

“Should?” The colonel had crammed a full complement of
misgivings into that one syllable.

The commander nodded. “I’d better go with them, sir.” A deep
breath. “We need to place them in a pretty specific spot if we’re going to take
her back in one piece.”

Towers looked at the Marine. “Your team ready?”

“They’re sitting in the shuttle right now, just waiting for
the order.” He nodded at the two suited men. “Captain Fergusson and Sergeant
Baird can be down there in ten minutes. They’ll brief the men on the way over
there.”

Towers nodded. “Commander, we’ll have a suit put aboard the
shuttle. See that you’re in it by the time the hatch opens. We’ll feed the
reserves through whatever opening you make. Get moving, gentlemen.”

 The commander and the two Marines raced out the door.

“Wish to hell I knew what they were thinking over there,”
the colonel grumbled.

“That’s the worst thing about a mutiny,” Towers stood by the
screen, staring at the red circle left by the commander. “They have their backs
to the wall so there’s no telling what they’ll do next. Desperate men will do
just about anything.”

“There’s no good side to this mess,” Hunter added. “Even
when we retake the ship, we’ll still have to inoculate the crew and then punish
the ones that live through it, except for the trainees, of course.” The
Guadalcanal
was hosting the fleet’s combat shuttle program.

“Which brings me to the reason why you didn’t get kicked out
of this room a few minutes ago, Doctor.” Towers turned his gaze on Dwight. “The
Guadalcanal,”
he indicated the image on the screen. “Over nine thousand
crew and they’ve seized control from the officers. A lot of them are refusing
to take the shot, enough to make a mutiny work. There’s thirty five thousand
Marines aboard as well, and they’re all locked away on the hangar deck – one
move against the mutiny and they depressurize the whole thing.”

“How soon can we do a massive push and get all the ships
inoculated in one big wave?” Hunter cut in.

Dwight looked down at his tablet. Somehow, his projections
seemed an inadequate response. He looked back helplessly at the three grim men
who stared at him.

“Distortion alert!” the speakers blared out. The three men
raced out of the room, leaving Dwight sitting in his chair. He had been rescued
by the alarm, but his curiosity wouldn’t let him sneak back to his lab until he
learned what was happening and so he decided to follow them.

“It’s the
Guadalcanal
, sir. She’s firing up her main
drives,” a junior officer called out as the senior officers raced past.

Dwight joined them on the bridge wing, looking out at the
heavy cruiser on the port side. He squinted involuntarily as he noticed a
series of small flashes along the other vessel’s starboard side.

“Multiple contacts, headings all converging on our
location,” the speakers announced.

“Are they firing Mosquitoes at us?” the colonel blurted in
surprise. “Running off is one thing but to actually fire on us?”

“Contacts are escape pods. Fifteen units, one hundred
twenty-four crew trackers aboard,” the speakers clarified.

“One of the pods is hailing us,” the communications officer
advised.

“Open a channel.” Towers pointed to the speaker on the
bulkhead above him. After a brief pause, a layer of faint static filled the
room. “Escape pod, this is Admiral Towers. Who am I speaking to?”

“Sir, this is Captain Ulrich.” The voice sounded exhausted.
“They took almost everyone who wasn’t part of the mutiny and put us aboard the
pods.”

“Almost?”

“They went through the lineup and pulled out the engineering
staff. The whole reactor team is being forced to remain against their will.” A
short pause and then the anguished voice returned. “They’re going to run for
it, sir.”

Dwight looked at the faces around him. The Marine was red
with anger but Hunter looked like a man afraid of Dwight’s infamous shots.
He’s
probably imagining how easily it could have been him in that pod.
Losing
your ship in combat was one thing; losing it to your own crew was quite
another. Other captains would doubtless avoid Ulrich like the plague,
irrationally afraid that his bad fortune might be contagious.

“The
Guadalcanal
is jumping,” the sensor coordinator
announced.

Dwight turned back to the window. The renegade ship was
shimmering, parts appearing in disjointed locations as the space around her
began to distort.

And then she was gone.

Towers turned to him, his voice barely under control. “Can
you start up a second lab?”

Dwight nodded dumbly.

“Then start a second lab. Hell, start ten of them if it’ll
speed up the process. If you need more room, I’ll shut down part of the hangar
deck for you. Just get it done, Doctor.”

“Yes, sir,” Dwight managed. “I’ll go see Dr. Strauss right
now about getting some more bio-reactors from the Weirans.”

“Have him meet you on the hangar deck with enough shots for
the crew on those pods,” Towers cut in. “Then you can talk about increasing
your production. I want this done in two weeks. You hear me?”

“But just getting a reactor up to speed is going…”

“Two weeks!” Towers roared. “Now get down to the hangar and
vaccinate those men before they come down with the plague.”

His ears on fire, Dwight turned and raced for the exit. His
pride burned as he headed for the aft risers. That had been his first encounter
with the admiral’s legendary temper. He had begun to think it was just one of
those stories that got embellished with every telling.

The worst of it was that he had simply scampered out of the
room like a frightened child. It wasn’t his proudest moment and the entire
bridge staff had seen it. Some of them were probably joking about it right now.

He sighed as he stopped by the entry to the riser, fighting
to control the turbulent emotions that constantly bubbled, just beneath the surface
of consciousness.
It’s not like I don’t deserve far worse,
 he told
himself. Hundreds had already died during the fleet inoculation program but
Billions had already died on Earth.

A part of him wanted to blame Dr. Narcisse, who had assumed
control of the longevity program after the death of Dr. Mortensen. Narcisse had
pushed them into the live trials several weeks early. The mutability of the
retrovirus might have been discovered in time if they had carried on with the
tissue samples but Mortensen had died and Narcisse had thrown caution to the
wind.

Even if he spread the blame evenly among the other
researchers, they were still each the worst mass murderers in Human history.

What was a little humiliation, compared to what he deserved?

He looked down at his tablet, trying to remember what he was
supposed to use it for.
Strauss.

He opened the paging menu and requested the Doctor join him
on the hangar deck, using the text box to add that they had one hundred and
twenty four patients to inoculate. Closing the menu, he stepped into the shaft
to begin his descent.