Rebel Stars 1: Outlaw (20 page)

It cut through the void like no vessel before it. Now that the initial panic was behind him, he looked forward to seeing what
Mine
would do to whatever remained of the offenders.

The hiss of the vents. That was the first and only thing he could hear. Odd, that. Even when the engines were "off," they vibrated lightly, humming through the ship, helping to power the other systems.

No gravity, either. They'd stopped cold. He checked the screen, but that was currently a black wall. Either they'd been knocked into another dimension, or they'd lost sensors.

Beside him, Jons was nowhere to be seen. MacAdams slumped in his restraints, but the man's wristband indicated he was okay. Webber's suit claimed that atmospheric pressure was low, but within the survival band. He didn't take down his hood.

"Bridge?" Webber said. "Captain?"

No response. He unbuckled himself. Every square inch of skin that had been in restraints ached fiercely, as did his head. He felt woozy enough to fear he'd been concussed. He planted his feet on the floor, engaged his magnets, and climbed the steps up from the hold.

The bridge was quiet, but his eye was arrested by the largest functional screen. On it, the
Specter
hung in the void, rotating slowly. A large bite had been removed from its side. A cloud of debris floated around it. As did something far too large to be debris—dark, squat, shaped like a blunt-nosed bullet.

Another ship.

As he wandered forward, Gomes whirled to look at him. She was seated at the controls but had been so motionless he hadn't noticed.

"You're up," she said dully.

"Who the hell is that?"

She rotated to gaze up at the screen. "That is the
Opportunity Cost
. The flagship of Ikita's personal fleet."

The idea was already in Webber's head, but he couldn't get a grip on it for several seconds. "He's here to claim his prize, isn't he?"

"He must have been following us. Saved our asses, though. After that last missile strike, the
Specter
was closing on us. The
Opportunity Cost
zipped past, pulsed 'em dead in their tracks, then swung about."

"That explains why we're not dead." He'd no sooner spoken the words than he noticed Vincent lolling against his restraints, little red drops floating from his eyes and ears. He gaped. "Is anyone else..?"

"Jons is outside working on the comms. Lara's pretty banged up, but Taz is tending to her in medical. MacAdams?"

"KO'd, but in one piece."

One of the smaller screens detected motion and zoomed in. Gomes pushed the camera further. From an airlock on the side of the
Specter
, oblong objects spewed into the vacuum, tiny beside the bulk of the ship. The scanners were on the verge of being served with butter and jelly, but Webber didn't need help to recognize the flailing arms and legs.

"I don't suppose you've heard from Ikita," Webber said.

"Until Jons gets those comms up, we're deaf."

He guided himself to a seat and belted himself in. Along with the drops of blood, loose bits of splintered plastic were tumbling lazily around the bridge. In case they were able to get the
Fourth
moving again, he busied himself with collecting these and stuffing them in the waste tube, which bore them away for safekeeping.

He tried not to look up at the
Opportunity Cost
too often. Something worried him, though. The ship wasn't monstrous, but it was at least twice as big as the
Fourth Down
. A vessel like that would have at least one shuttle, possibly two or three. Yet none had been sent to see how the
Fourth
was doing.

Hopefully, they were too busy salvaging the
Specter
. And spacing her crew.

A half hour later, MacAdams clumped into the bridge, scowling, his pale skin lighter than ever, except where it was mottled and ruddy.

He took one look at the screen and his annoyance shifted to something far more serious. "Who is that?"

"Ikita," Gomes said. "Jons, how are the comms coming? Or are you too busy enjoying the view?"

Jons' voice crackled with static. "Almost there. Would go faster if you'd quit harping on me."

MacAdams guided himself to a chair, strapped in, and rubbed the angry red welts on his skin. "Should I be worried about the engines' unapproved vacation?"

Gomes called up a status report. "Reactor's got power. Life support's fine. We lost some atmo, but the holes are closed up or sealed off. Ikita could tow us all the way back to the Locker and we wouldn't know anything was wrong."

"How's the shuttle?" Webber said.

"Fine, somehow." Gomes laughed. "But if we're counting on that to get us back to the Locker, we'll have to convert it into a generation ship."

"I got first dibs on the baby-making," Jons said. "And I won't brook arguments. Not when I'm the hero who just got the comms back up."

"Dibs granted. Now shut up while I find out what the hell's going on out there." She pulled up a second channel. "
Opportunity Cost
, this is the
Fourth Down
. You out there?"

"This is
Opportunity Cost
," a woman's voice replied. "We've got you loud and proud."

Gomes laughed in relief. "You got here in the nick of time,
Opportunity Cost
. I owe you a drink. Maybe a whole bar."

"Don't repeat that,
Fourth
. Not unless you want someone to take you up on it."

"Advised. Is Captain Ikita onboard?"

"Indeed," the man replied in his smooth tones. "I am most impressed by your work today, Captain Gomes. I only regret we didn't arrive sooner."

Gomes smiled wryly. "Would have been nice to know you were coming."

"I hope you don't begrudge my secrecy. I had no intention of getting involved until it became clear that my intel regarding the target's abilities was incomplete. Are you all right?"

"We lost one. Another's in medical. The rest of us are banged up, but I think we'll make it. Same for my boat—engines are down, but we've got just about everything else."

"Excellent. Transmit me your status and I will take it from here."

"You got it." Gomes called up the
Fourth's
readouts and sent them over. "And please tell me we didn't beat the
Specter
up too bad."

There was no response. Three seconds became five, then ten.

"I don't like this," Webber said.

"
Opportunity Cost
, come in," Gomes said. "Do you copy?"

Another pause. As Gomes opened her mouth, Ikita's voice came through the line. "The goods are intact, yes. Despite what the future may hold, my gratitude for your work here remains genuine."

"The future? I'm not following, Captain Ikita."

"I'm sure you're not. That is what has made you so useful. You see, a heist of this nature—the device's owners
will
come for it. Along with those who attempted to take it. The only way to turn them away is to convince them the item is lost and the thieves are dead."

"You set us up," Gomes murmured. "It was all leading to this. From the very first gig."

"Sometimes—not often, but sometimes—a clever mind is provided its just rewards."

"I get it, Ikita. Whoever you took this from is as big as it gets. Valiant. FinnTech. United Mars. But you don't need to kill us. We can leave the
Fourth
here. Hull it. Make it look like we've been flushed into space. Meanwhile, you drop us off at a backwater rock to live quiet little lives."

Ikita chuckled sadly. "No, you do not 'get it.' If you 'got it,' you would understand that your pleas have no chance of success. The forces in play are too great. More importantly, human emotions and egos are too feeble to trust. One of you would betray me, be it for a reward, or simply to pretend that revenge is the same thing as victory." He clucked his tongue. "I like the idea of hulling you, however. Maximize the evidence for FinnTech to pore over."

"Ikita—"

"Goodbye, Captain Gomes. My regards to your worthy crew."

The channel shut off.

"This is my fault," Webber said. "I pissed him off in that first meeting. He's held a grudge ever since."

Gomes laughed, harsh and hopeless. "We were doomed the second I signed on with him. The worst part is I could have seen the signs. I was blinded by my own greed."

Something detached from the side of the
Opportunity Cost
. Webber flinched, assuming it was an inbound missile, but it was larger, slower to accelerate. A shuttle.

"Is that a boarding party?" he said.

MacAdams nodded, arms folded. "They'll blow us open, let the vacuum do the rest. Leaving plenty of evidence for the
Specter's
friends to pin on us."

"Ikita said it was FinnTech," Gomes said. "I can believe it. The
Specter
has some kind of anti-inertia generator. Something like that could be more revolutionary than artificial gravity."

"Wonderful," Webber said. "Fantastically rich people are about to get marginally richer. In the meantime, what are we going to do to prevent Ikita from making us deader?"

"There's nothing can do. These suits won't last us more than a few hours."

"The shuttle. It's got its own systems, right?"

Gomes gazed at the incoming longboat. "Won't work. They'll pick up your bio-sigs and paste you."

Webber went still. An idea was scrounging around the fringes of his mind. Ready to announce itself. But if he made any sudden moves, it would dash away. "Then we hide by the engines. Their radiation, it overwhelms bio-scans. They'll never see us."

She swiveled in her chair. "How do you know about that?"

"Ten thousand hours in the sims," he laughed. "So long as we load up on radiation meds first, we should be fine. Until we run out of air, anyway."

Gomes swiped at her device, glancing between it and the incoming shuttle. "Webber. Strip."

"Hey, I know it's a good idea, but it isn't
that
good. You can thank me later."

"They'll be here in minutes. You'll never have time to get everyone suited, prepped, and out the door. I'm heading outside. I stand a much better chance against those marines in your fancy suit than I do in my skivvies."

They gazed at each other. Webber nodded and stood. MacAdams unbuckled to help him shuck his pants. Gomes called medical, told Taz and Lara to suit up and grab every anti-rad on the ship.

"Sounds great," Jons cut in. "Bring me a rifle, will you?"

"No way," Gomes said. "This is my fault. It's my job to get you out of here. It's
your
job to get out."

"You won't last three seconds alone. Besides, I'm already out here. What are you going to do, take away my grog privileges?"

"God damn it, this isn't your fight!"

"It never is, is it? The way I see it, the reaper's knocking at the door. Time to do a jig and hope he's laughing too hard to notice when the rest of you sneak out the back."

As Webber had shed pieces of his suit, Gomes had been pulling them on. MacAdams jogged toward the rear of the bridge, magnets sticking him to the floor, and got a standard-issue emergency suit from one of the compartments. He flung the package back toward Webber, who snagged it with one hand, holding fast to a chair to prevent himself from being dragged off by the suit's momentum. He tore open the package and dived into the suit. MacAdams returned and helped the both of them seal up.

"Captain," Webber said. "Thank you for believing in me."

Behind her transparent hood, she grinned fiercely. "You're the best janitor I've ever had."

"Captain," MacAdams saluted. "We'll hoist one for you."

"Can't wait. Now get your asses moving or we won't have anything to celebrate."

MacAdams turned and ran as fast as his magnetic soles allowed. Webber fell in behind him. As he left the bridge, he took one last glance back. Gomes was caressing the ship's controls. Gazing up at the screens, she touched the mouth of her hood, then bolted in the direction of the arms locker.

"Status, Taz," MacAdams said.

"Almost there," she replied.

"I don't need almost. I need ready at the airlock."

"You try getting someone with two broken legs into a suit!"

"Give her a hand," Webber said to MacAdams. "I'll grab our gear and meet you at the lock."

The other man nodded and split for medical. Webber headed down to the hold and gathered up outside gear: lines, clamps, mags, extra cans of fuel for the tiny thrusters on their suits. He packed them up and tethered it to his belt, the sack floating beside him.

MacAdams arrived with Taz. Lara was tied to his back, legs dangling weightless behind her. MacAdams entered the airlock, dropped three anti-rads into the hopper of Lara's suit, then passed Webber a packet. The pills stuck in Webber's throat.

"Party's about to touch down," Gomes said over comms. "Tell me you're on your way out."

"Stepping out now," Webber said. As the airlock cycled, sucking the air from the chamber, he handed out mags and lines to the others. "What side are they coming in on?"

"Top. But they'll plant more than one charge, make sure all our air is lost. Here they come!"

The transmission quit. The airlock opened. Stars stared from beyond. The lock fed out the back of the ship horizontally. Webber walked up the wall and exited at the ceiling, aligned toward the engines further to aft. As the others followed, he set one of his heavy magnets to the hull with a clunk that made no sound yet could be felt through his glove.

He was now standing on the belly of the ship, head pointed down, and he took a moment to realign his perspective. The engines bulged ahead, less than sixty feet away. The hull was barren except for the lumps housing the landing gear and a few small nodes he didn't recognize.

He started forward, hunched low, moving at the dreamlike pace of zero gravity. The line clipped to his belt reeled out behind him. His breath rang in his hood. The others strung out after him. Their suits, set to stealth, adjusted to match the bland darkness of the hull. Would protect them from human eyes. Not the piercing gaze of sensors.