Raising Caine - eARC (11 page)

Chapter Twelve

In close orbit; V 1581 Four

Kozakowski had rolled back the blast covers on the
Arbitrage
’s portside bridge windows to watch the intruder approach. It was no longer obscured by the wispy edges of V 1581 IV’s cream-and-ochre atmosphere. “My god, they
must
mean to ram us.”

Ayana shook her head and glanced over Kozakowski’s round shoulders at the brilliant blue exhaust flares of the intruder. “No, Mr. Kozakowski, but they do not mean to give us much time to prepare or fire at them.”

“As if we had anything left to fire,” Jorge Velho amended. He finished activating the automated anti-intruder systems, then turned to the intercom, collecting himself to give an order that he never wanted, and never thought he’d need, to give: “All hands, this is the captain. The intruder is confirmed to be on an intercept course, with the evident intent of boarding us. They do not respond to hails. All security teams: confirm your readiness with the XO and secure for vacuum operations.”

“Vacuum operations?” echoed Kozakowski.

“Yes,” confirmed Ayana. “Although contested boardings are extremely rare, one of the most common tactics by a boarder is to create conditions of explosive or at least dislocating decompression. That is why we have sealed the bulkheads communicating with the hull-proximal sections and reduced them to zero point two atmospheres. Fortunately, even though we’ve cut rotation, we still have some gravity, due to the proximity of the gas giant beneath us. Combat in true zero-gee is extremely unforgiving to the untrained.”

Kozakowski nodded. “Some of my crew is trained for both low- and zero-gee operations. Let them help.”

Velho did not turn to look at Kozakowski.
Yes, your crew was trained by the same megacorporation which sold us out to invaders just half a year ago. And with you in charge of that crew, we might have the same mysterious “difficulties” that kept us from getting the drones released from the auto-deployable module in time. What should have been a twenty-second operation took over a minute—which was too long.
But instead, Velho said: “Mr. Kozakowski, we have taken heavy damage to a number of key systems, systems with which your personnel have far greater expertise. We are going to need that expertise if, after this action, we hope to effect repairs. By holding back those experts, that reduces your available crew complement to twenty. Those remaining twenty are currently manning the essential systems in engineering and staffing damage control parties.

“Conversely, most of my prize crew are reasonably proficient with weapons and anti-boarding tactics, and more than a hundred are defending the EVA ingress points in the engineering and cargo oversight modules. In short, we have the right assets in the right places.”
Which also means I don’t have to worry about any megacorporate turncoats shooting my people in their backs.

“And if you really want to help,” Piet muttered, “you could just decant a few dozen of those clone-soldiers riding in the freezer section.”

Kozakowski did not deign to face the pilot as he rebutted. “CoDevCo’s Optigene clones are not superhuman. Just like anyone else, they cannot be roused straight from cold sleep into operations. The biochemical reanimation requirements take forty-eight hours alone. It would require another thirty-six to forty-eight hours for full restoration of autonomic and voluntary muscular function, and perhaps yet another day for full mental function. I hope it is enough that I have granted you full access to their equipment lockers. And I am still willing to take my place among the defenders, even if you do not permit any of my crew to accompany me.”

Jorge considered the offer: it was too measured to be fully convincing.
So, Kozakowski, the first time you’re eager to help us is when you could be killed doing so? Or rather, so you can sabotage our defensive preparations and curry favor with your true masters? Or am I just being overly suspicious?
“No, Mr. Kozakowski, as the original master of the ship, I think it important that you remain here on the bridge.” Velho picked up one of the autoshotguns that had been liberated from the Optigene clones’ combat stores. “I will oversee the defenses personally.”
As if I really know what the hell I’m doing. This was not part of the job description when the government came looking for civilian prize crews.
“Now, before I go, let’s see if we can give our attackers at least one nasty surprise. Is Mr. Vindar off Deal Two?”

“Yes, sir. Remote piloting protocols are engaged.”

“Are the thrusters still hot?”

“Enough for one good burst, sir.”

Kozakowski looked from one face to the other among the three bridge crew.

Jorge suppressed a smile at the CoDevCo factotum’s perplexity. “Piet, do you have the controls routed through to your board?”

“Aye, sir.”

Jorge eyeballed the trajectory of the intruder in relation to where Deal Two was dangling, only half in its docking cradle. “She might not come out of the clamps cleanly,” he warned.

Piet shrugged. “We knew that from the moment we came up with this hare-brained scheme. But it’s the only shot we have, Jorge.”

“It is as you say, my friend. And we will let your instruments and eyes determine when to—”

“Engaging now!” Piet interrupted.

He triggered Deal Two’s emergency umbilical release, slammed the thrust relays on his remote operations board to maximum, yanked the tanker’s flight controls up and then savagely over.

In the screens, Deal Two’s thrusters blasted out a glowing wave of plasma. They propelled her up out of the docking cradles and then, gimballing, began to swing her in a scalded-cat hop toward the oncoming intruder—

But something unexpected was trailing behind Deal Two as Piet tried to effect his own, unorthodox ramming attempt: the tanker-tender’s umbilical was still attached to the
Arbitrage
, probably due to the prior damage—

Although the resistance only caused a mild jerk and delay in Deal Two’s half-Immelman attempt at smashing itself into the oncoming ship, that was time enough for the attackers to react. Two of the low, black, lusterless mini-domes near the prow of the enemy ship spun in the direction of the tanker—

—which was abruptly ripped end to end by invisible, criss-crossing beams which left glowing slices along Deal Two’s fuselage. One of those beams triggered an explosion which converted the whole boat into a tumbling storm of debris. The intruder jinked slightly to avoid a spinning, savaged bay door, and kept coming on.

No one said anything. Jorge Velho hefted the autoshotgun, reflected that he hoped his experience with semiautomatic sporting versions on his uncle’s sugar and silviculture plantation near Belém would stand him in good stead. “Ms. Tagawa has the con. And she will assume command in the event that I am—incapacitated.”

Ayana started. “Captain Velho, as the XO, I am expendable and should be—”

“Ms. Tagawa, the matter is not open to discussion. Ignoring my command prerogative for a moment, it is quite obvious that you are more familiar with the best protocols to employ in this scenario.”
You seem to be
much
more familiar with them. Indeed, suspiciously so…
“
Arbitrage
needs that expertise, whether in escaping, or negotiating a settlement with the intruders.” He told himself that only a tiny part of his motivation stemmed from male protective instincts that had been drilled into his genome through uncounted millennia. “Piet, keep a firm hand on the tiller.”

“Aye, sir,” said the South African ruefully.

Velho exited the bridge, pointedly resisting the urge to glance back.

At Ayana.

* * *

Nezdeh watched the external monitors as Ulpreln counted off the last ten meters to the
Arbitrage
. “Ten, nine…”

“Slow us.”

“Obeyed. Eight, seven.” The pause lengthened. “Six. And…”

“Now: final retroboost.”

“Boosting—and we are at relative-velocity all-stop, Nezdeh.”

“Still no countermeasures deployed by the target?”

Sehtrek glanced up. “None observable, Srina Perekmeres.”

She nodded.
Action: at last.
“Primary EVA team?”

“We are ready.”

“Commence assault.”

“Complying.”

In the external monitors, Nezdeh watched the main EVA hatch, just aft of midship, open. A line of spacesuited figures emerged. Organized as three separate teams, they traversed the four remaining meters to a double-sized EVA portal in the
Arbitrage
’s hull: a small access bay for loading ship’s stores. Each team’s lead figure used active maneuver jets to reach the Aboriginal ship, towing three more figures behind. As two of the team leaders produced tools consistent with forced ingress procedures, the third team leader floated to the side, weapon ready.

“Secondary EVA team?”

Brenlor’s impatience was audible. “Here. And still waiting.”

Nezdeh almost rolled her eyes.
And you shall continue to do so. For one more minute.

* * *

On the bridge of the
Arbitrage
, Emil Kozakowski was tempted to shove Tagawa out of the way to get a better look at the small external monitor that showed the would-be boarders who had gathered forward of Deal Two’s empty docking cradle.

“Yes,” Tagawa was telling Velho over the intercom, “a dozen boarders at bay Foxtrot-Twelve. I do not recognize their weapons or suits.”

Velho’s voice, Lilliputian as it escaped Tagawa’s earbud, began shouting for more personnel to deploy to the bay, drawing them from the teams watching other access points and from the reserves being held further in-hull. Kozakowski estimated that the defenders would outnumber their dozen attackers by better than six to one, once the repositioning was completed. He leaned toward the screen and Ayana. “What are the raiders doing at the bay, do you think?”

Tagawa did not even move her eyes toward him. “They seem to be attempting some kind of external electronic bypass.”

“Odd. How could they hope to understand the electronics of our ships?”

Now she did turn toward him. “I was wondering if you might be the very person to answer such a question, Mr. Kozakowski.” Her gaze was level. It was no more emotional than usual, but somehow, it conveyed a startling degree of animus.

Kozakowski felt his face grow hot. “I do not appreciate your insinuation, Ms. Tagawa.”

“And I do not appreciate your presence, Mr. Kozakowski. But, as to the matter of their boarding attempts: you will notice the large cases carried by two of the waiting team-members on each of the boarding strings. I suspect that if they cannot bypass our electronics, they shall use explosives. I expect, given the technology we have witnessed so far, they would breach the hull easily.”

“Wonder why they didn’t just use charges in the first place, then,” commented Piet sourly.

“The mere fact that they are boarding us suggests that they value either the ship, or something on it,” Ayana replied, without glancing at Piet.

She was studying the actions of the breaching team so closely that she did not notice new motion in another screen, half-obscured by Kozakowski’s pear shaped body. It offered a wide-angle view that, while reprising the boarding attempt in miniature, showed the entirety of the raider—

—From behind which, four more space-suited figures emerged. Unlike the first twelve, these boarders were wearing large maneuver packs, carrying sizeable weapons, and seemed, if anything, overburdened. As soon as they had regrouped just beyond the far aft quarter of their own hull, they fired their maneuver jets and moved rapidly forward, angling toward the keel of the
Arbitrage
.

Kozakowski glanced at Ayana, who was not allowing her gaze to drift in his direction—or, therefore, toward the monitor containing the wide-angle view of the intruder.

Kozakowski watched the four new figures jet out of the side of the frame: they would soon be between the stilled rotational armatures of the
Arbitrage’s
twin toruses, heading toward the bow.

He said nothing.

* * *

Nezdeh watched the four members of Brenlor’s Team Two, all wearing heavily-armored EVA suits, cut a straight line through the radial arms of the
Arbitrage
’s two rotational habitats. “Is there any sign they’ve been detected?”

“None, Srina Perekmeres,” Sehtrek replied.

Nezdeh shook her head. “Still, they will spot Team Two any moment.” But every additional moment that Brenlor’s men remained undetected meant less warning for the defenders. And given the diversion that Team One was staging near the more logical entry point—the bay door—the Aboriginals might, even now, be concentrating their forces away from Brenlor’s actual point of entry.

Nezdeh activated her beltcom. “Brenlor, ETA?”

“Thirty seconds. Radiation dose-rate from this gas giant is tolerable.”

“Is it interfering with your electronics?”

“No. They are sufficiently hardened. Heads-up display and deck schematics are reading clearly. How kind of the Aboriginals to provide us with deck plans of their ship.”

“That is the point of suborning an opponent, rather than attacking or conquering them outright.”
A distinction which the other Perekmeres males would have been wise to appreciate before they hatched the ridiculous plots that ultimately led to our House’s Extirpation.
In the monitor, she saw the four figures of Team Two arrive near a small, personnel-sized airlock door, just forward of the leading rotational habitat. “Activate your helmet cameras.”

Brenlor’s reply was sardonic. “Activating—and enjoy the spectacle. Idrem, enter the ship’s secure code into the manual access keypad.”

* * *

Ayana frowned. For a military boarding party, the dozen figures at the threshold of bay door F-12 seemed to be taking their time, most of them hanging patiently on their lead-strings.

Too patiently
, she suddenly realized.

Ayana Tagawa leaned forward to inspect the nine non-team-leaders closely. What she saw was not consistent with techniques for conserving life support: rather, it was a complete lack of motion.

Which instantly changed her perception of what she was seeing. This was no longer an oddly casual boarding attempt by twelve personnel, nine of whom were remaining admirably motionless. Iit was a ruse, in which only three persons were showing any signs of activity, urgent or otherwise. Which meant—