Relic Tech (Crax War Chronicles) (42 page)

“Beat by a girl, were you?” I asked, knowing the answer. “You need to take your time before moving. Concentrate.”

“I do,” he said. “I’m ready, so I move.”

I recalled watching several of his games from afar. Skids moved without hesitation, but not randomly. He responded to his opponent, sometimes having eyed the piece he intended to move long before his adversary showed any sign of intent. “Don’t let it bother you,” I said. “I don’t win all the time either. Even against girls.” I knew his attitude about girls would change as he got older. But now, to him, girls were strange, annoying and weird.

His frown turned to a grin. “Really?”

“In some things.”

A small group had gathered outside the meeting room. Benny stood next to Maintenance Tech Segreti. Next to Segreti stood the old couple with their bulldogs and Ensign Selvooh talking to them. I spotted the Chicher diplomat skittering from the opposite direction.

Michael asked, “Mom, can I go greet the Chicher diplomat?”

“Yes, you may,” she replied. “Be brief. Don’t annoy the diplomat.”

Skids practiced the greeting hand signal before running forward. The two bulldogs also noticed the Chicher. A simple command from their master returned them to what their muscular bodies defined as sitting. Panting consumed their thoughts.

Someone came up behind and slapped my shoulder. “Specialist Keesay, heard you might be attending this small gathering.”

“Corporal Smith,” I said. “Didn’t expect you. But I guess Colonial Marines are known to rise early. Unlike much of the crew.”

The marine nodded to Instructor Watts. “What’s the sacrifice of an hour sleep now and then, Keesay? Hope your singing doesn’t set the canines to howling.”

“Excuse me,” said Instructor Watts as she slid toward her son.

Mer asked the marine, “Did ya request
Battle Hymn of the Republic
again?”

“Always do,” Smith said. “My favorite.” Corporal Smith crossed his arms and then put one finger to his chin. As a matter of fact, it was one of Winston Churchill’s favorites. Had it played at his funeral about twenty years after World War II. You remember?”

“I studied history too, Marine.”

“Sure, old man. Anything you say.” Smith’s grin was wide and teasing.

“If that’s the case,” Mer said, “I’ll see to it it’s sung at yer funeral. By your relatives and any other mutts I can round up.” Mer slapped at the air, dismissing Smith and shuffling over to Benny.

“No black eyes or fat lips I see.” Corporal Smith said with a wink.

“He’ll give you one,” I said. “Oh, me. Correct. Been quiet and boring.”

Smith shook his head. “Such is a long transport through space. Right, Ensign?”

Ensign Selvooh stepped over. “I should say. This run’s been more eventful than any I’ve been on.”

“And how many is that?” He looked up and down the young ensign.

“A little edgy, Corporal Smith?” I asked. Specialist Nist approached while studying a computer clip. “Something up?” I asked Smith.

“Enough to know,” Selvooh replied, staring at Smith before he looked down. The Chicher diplomat joined us.

“Good orb rising,” said the diplomat through his translator. “Warrior Small Group Leader, Captain’s Hand, Security Man.”

“Good morning to you, Chicher Diplomat,” responded Ensign Selvooh.

“Diplomat,” said Smith. “I heard you and Specialist Keesay were practicing swordplay.”

“Hand blades never in this orb’s combat. Strong for body work.”

Smith crossed his arms, then slid a hand to his chin. “Except for the Coregar Crax. They prefer hand-to-hand combat. But their blades are more advanced. Molecular saws. Cut right through steel.”

The diplomat thought a moment. Then signaled agreement.

“In other words,” said Smith, elbowing me. “No bayonet charges.”

“Not unless I can locate an Umbelgarri-forged blade.” I pointed as the doors slid open. “Shall we, gentlemen?”

The room had three rows of eight padded, folding chairs. A red-carpeted aisle ran down the center. Candles burned on a table next to a crucifix. To the left sat a bowl with wafers and a polished gold cup. A podium holding a formidable leather-bound Bible stood to the right, while on the opposite side a projection hovered, listing the order of service.

Father Cufter greeted each as we entered. He didn’t lead a traditional Catholic Mass when a mixed group attended. “Wonderful to see you again, Specialist Keesay.” He placed a hand on my left shoulder and shook my right hand.

“It’s good to see you again, Father.” I led Michael to a front row seat. Corporal Smith slid next to me.

Michael asked, “Did you carve that cross?”

“The Crucifix? I did.”

“Remember when you told me the angel named Michael fought Satan?” I nodded. “I can find it.” I handed him my Bible. His mother hushed him as Father Cufter began the service.

“Emergency Code Red 14,” crackled over my com-set. I observed to see who else had received. Corporal Smith looked at me. Ensign Selvooh stood while Larcher Nist whispered into Mer’s ear and then followed suit.

“Sorry, Father,” Mer said. “We have a situation.” Benny and Tech Segreti followed the rest of us out.

“Chief Brold,” I whispered over my com-set. “I’m in Meeting Room Three with Instructor Watts and her son. Where do you want them escorted before I report to combat station?”

It took a second for a response. “Bring them here to Security, for report.”

Combat stations meant we must be near destination. I’d calculated another week before reaching Zeta Aquarius. Instructor Watts gave me a wide-eyed look. “I’m to escort you to Security. Come on, Skids.” Only the old couple and their dogs remained seated. Even the Chicher had departed.

“Where’d everybody go?” the boy asked. “Want your Bible?”

“You carry it. Now follow.” I adjusted my ocular and scanned the hallway before exiting. Two crew members, engineering techs, rushed past. “In places it’ll be like someone kicked a beehive, so stick close until we get to Security.” I got one of those feelings, realizing I should’ve ignored proper etiquette and brought my shotgun to church. Mr. Habbuk must’ve rubbed off.

“All passengers immediately return to and remain in your cabins,” came the announcement over intercom, from the wall-mounted terminals, and over my com-set. “Information will follow.” I scanned ahead with my ocular. There were a few passengers in the corridors, looking in wonderment but responding.

I pointed. “Let’s use the access ladder.” I set my ocular to scan the intersection ahead. One engineering tech heading away, trotted around a corner. We crossed, and I spotted Ms. Jazarine a short distance from us. I didn’t bother to double-check my ocular before pushing Instructor Watts ahead and drawing my revolver. She dragged Michael with her. “Freeze,” I yelled, aiming at the exotic dancer.

She’d already gone for her belt, ignoring my command. I fired on target. A wry smile crossed her face. Shield! My com-set squealed in my ear, then shut down. I fired again.
Blam!
My wrist dampener was dead, too. She clipped a black device back onto her belt and began running my way, drawing something else.

“Down, now!” I called to Watts who was pushing her son into the ladder tube. I thumbed back the hammer again and took cover around the corner. A laser blast singed the top of my right shoulder as the high-grade uniform deflected most of the energy. I fired back, not slowing her. I back pedaled and looked over my shoulder. Instructor Watts was in the access tube. Down the corridor I spotted the old male passenger with his two bulldogs. “Clear the hall,” I yelled before trying my com-set with no response.

The old passenger ignored me and strode forward as Jazarine bounded around the corner. I rolled and fired before a laser blast burned past my right ear. The two dogs galloped our way. My expression must’ve tipped Jazarine as she craned her neck, still keeping the defensive screen between us. Off balance, she discharged her laser at the leading canine. The dog took a grazing hit, tumbled, but staggered to its feet. Smoldering and unsteadily the wounded dog tottered forward in the wake of its partner.

I pulled my bayonet with my left hand and charged, firing again. Jazarine snapped back around and fired, taking me in the stomach. I felt the burn, but my vest and coverall uniform absorbed most of it. The capacitor recharged her weapon faster than I’d expected. Still, I gathered myself, stood erect and smiled. She tapped at her belt and sprinted from view, back down the hall. I made it to the corner and fired off a shot, only to impact the trailing screen. The leading bulldog turned the corner as well.

“Call them off,” I yelled at the approaching old man. “No sense getting them killed.”

“Daisy, Brick, return!” he shouted. The lead dog, Brick, turned and trotted back, panting. Daisy, who’d just made the corner, pivoted and limped back to her master. It was amazing how fast the exotic dancer could run. She’d already disappeared around another corner.

“Thanks,” I said. “Report to Medical. Tell them what happened and to treat your dog. Also, report the incident to that crewmember.” I pointed to the approaching engineering tech. “Instruct him to contact Security.” I holstered my revolver and dashed to the access tube wondering if Instructor Watts and Skids would make it to Security? Or might Tech Schultz, or another accomplice, be lying in wait?

Corporate ship armament is limited to dual beam defensive lasers and close defense pulse lasers. It’s an armament structure enforced by the government through threat of revoking all patents, licensures, permits, and asset seizure. Such actions are authorized and enforced by military personnel, even if the offending corporation developed, or is licensed to build and arm military vessels with the more powerful weapons and tracking systems. Civilian transports and freighters are permitted special armament upgrades for outer colony runs when necessary escort isn’t available.

I sprinted to the nearest access terminal. “Security, this is Specialist Keesay.”

Club’s face appeared. “Acknowledged, Keesay. Situation reported. Specialist Haxon completed the escort. Report to Security. Out.”

My stomach hurt. The exotic dancer’s laser blast had burned an inch diameter hole through my duty vest, but the high grade coveralls, although singed, held. I was twenty yards from Security when my name was shouted.

“Specialist Keesay,” called Colonist Carver Potts as he dragged my cart. “Private DeLark said to bring you your equipment. Hey, you’ve been in another fight.” I looked at my shoulder and stomach and shrugged. Potts actually looked apologetic when he said, “Had to cut the chain. Sorry. Broke a wheel trying to disable the locking mechanism.”

“Your efforts are appreciated. As are your talents.” I pulled a key. “You’re very lucky. This thing’s booby-trapped.” Potts
let go of my cart and stepped away. I removed the padlock and unloaded my shotgun and a satchel filled with spare shotgun and revolver rounds. Then I dug for several stun and fragmentation grenades, removing them from an aluminum storage tube. “Just in case I run into the thug who messed up my uniform.” His mouth transformed from one of awe to a nasty grin, matching mine. I went to the bottom for a particular box of shells and pulled the two popcorn nukes I’d disguised years back. I unbuttoned my vest pocket and inserted them, then buttoned. “Flare rounds,” I lied.

“Ole Stosh said you just might be okay.” He rubbed his jaw. “Maybe. Hey, you know what’s going on?”

I loaded and checked my shotgun before grabbing my riot helmet, then locked my cart. “Negative, Laborer Potts. I’m just a C4. They tell me what to do and I do it.” I tossed him several gum wraps. “Thanks. If you’d stow my cart over there between those pallets? Duty calls.” I turned and trotted the rest of the way to Security. “I could learn to tolerate you, too, Potts,” I called before rounding the corner.

I stood outside Security until Specialist Club admitted me. Instructor Watts sat, tapping at a console, with her son sitting beside her.

“Keesay,” Club said, “go next door. You’re late for the chief’s meeting.” She tapped and the door opened.

“Glad you decided to join us,” said the chief. Around him sat Gudkov, Nist, Muller and Liu. “You missed the first meeting.”

I set my equipment along the wall and almost fell as the
Kalavar
staggered in flight.

“That would be us decelerating with the assistance of a local moon,” continued the chief. “Keesay, you neglected to factor in adjustments made to the cascading engine.” He looked to the rest. “I’ll be brief. From the first scrambled transmissions received while on condensed space approach, we believe a Crax scout force engaged a ZQ Dock patrol. Just before the Code Red 14, we think a closing enemy fleet was identified. Engineer McAllister knows her business.”

He removed an abused toothpick. “The rest of our security team is dealing with the passengers while the marines patrol the ship. Captain’s going to try to squeak through before the engagement. We’ll have clearance due to our cargo.” He held a hand to his ear. “Team, looks like the balloon is up. You all know your assignments. Dismissed. Keesay, you’re assigned to monitor from Security. Club will brief you before you relieve her. Now go.”

“Understood, Chief.” I grabbed my equipment and marched back into the monitoring room. He turned and gave final orders to Specialist Liu.

“Keesay,” said Club. “You’re to remain here. Monitor. Keep communications up and running. Guard Watts and her son.” She tapped a few keys. “The entrances to Security and to the chief’s office have been set to register any weight variation. If someone with a non-detection device tries to get in, you’ll know it.”

“Understood,” I said. “I’m not much on computer troubleshooting.”

“Instructor Watts can assist.” Club shook her head. “She’ll report what you need to know.” Club checked her laser pack and weapon. “She knows more than I do.”

“All clear,” announced Instructor Watts, and keyed the door.

“We’ll get your dancer,” Club said, tramping out.

I examined the monitors, then drew my revolver and reloaded. “Care to fill me in?”

“One moment,” said Instructor Watts, turning to a flickering monitor console, stalling.

I checked my com-set. Dead, so I removed it.

“Can I see that?” asked Skids.

“You know something about this?”

“Tell him, Mom.” Skids took the set and deftly removed the casing. He reached into a drawer and sorted through the tools.

“We are the target of a manhunt,” she began. “Some in the government and several corporations would like to take us alive. But dead will suffice. Our cover as R-Tech colonists has obviously failed.”

Skids returned my com-set. “That’s old tech. A relay was shorted. It’s fixed.”

“Thank you, Skids.” I replaced the set and scanned for reports. I stopped on the captain’s relay frequency. “Since you both seem to be important.” I set it to feed to one of the monitors.

Instructor Watts took it from there. She focused in on the tactical display.

“There’s the ZQ Dock,” I said. “Those are our ships.” I checked the codes. “A monitor, two gunboats, and four police cutters.” She further adjusted my display. “And two corvettes, one light cruiser and two destroyers.”

“Where are we?” asked Michael.

“Not on the screen, thankfully.” I pointed. “Over here.”

Instructor Watts adjusted further. “Picking up enemy silhouettes,” she said. “Large, some smaller. At least fourteen. We’re tied into dock sensors but still can’t identify them.”

The captain’s voice crackled over my com-set. I relayed it. “Progress report on the attachment of auxiliary rocket engines.”

“Another thirty minutes,” a steady voice replied.

“We’re not going to make it,” said the captain. “Navigator, download encoded reports 38-11-C and D to two emergency probes. Jettison and set to float for forty minutes. Don’t want to give away our hiding spot between the debris field and this asteroid.”

“Yes, Captain,” said Navigator Pidsadaki.

“Chief Brold,” called the captain. “Report.”

“Captain, Dr. Sevanto believes he cannot remove the device from Tech Schultz.”

“Acknowledged. Have Dr. Sevanto close Schultz up, keep him out for the duration and stash him somewhere. The exotic dancer?”

“Unable to locate her yet, sir. And we’re unable to locate passenger Dabbit B’down. She’s known to have associated with him. Recommend shooting on sight.”

“Agreed. No chances. Too much at stake.” She paused. “Chief, we’re going to wait for our chance, then make a run for the con-gate. They might shoot us down, or they might disable and board. Any thoughts?”

“Affirmative. We’ve got the marines. We’ve got the cargo pallets containing the old-style assault rifles and some laser carbines. We can crash charge the power packs. Have the marines arm the passengers and colonists. Those that want to fight.”

“Couldn’t they do more harm than good shooting up the ship?”

“Depends on where we deploy them. I’ll contact Keesay about the colonists and Ross about the other passengers.”

“I believe Keesay is monitoring,” said the captain.

“Correct, Captain,” I said. “Chief, recommend a marine tap the diesel and agriculture instructors. They’ll know the personnel and how to organize them.”

“Right, Keesay. Even Potts, Meadows and Putin?”

“Affirmative, Chief. I don’t believe they like aliens.”

“Have the marines distribute CNS suppressor modules,” said the chief.

“Good idea,” the captain replied. “No need to tell what they are. If it comes to combat, we’ll need them.”

“Understood, Captain,” said Chief Brold. “Out.”

“Power systems down to minimum,” ordered the captain. “Let’s hide and hope the Crax aren’t looking for too many surprises. Have weapon systems ready to go online. Have fighter and attack shuttle ready to launch.”

“Crax vessels closing on the dock, sir,” said the navigator. “Classic conical-wedge formation.”

Instructor Watts updated the tactical monitor. “Exactly who are you?” I asked. “Not R-Tech.” I reviewed the other monitors, waiting for an answer. “Well?”

“It might be better if you didn’t know.”

“Someone might torture it out of me?” I adjusted the view and saw DeLark lining up the colonist volunteers. An instructor handed each a standard R-Tech assault rifle. The chief must have had his recruitment plan already in motion. There were about sixty, most of the men and all the women. “It seems that Tech Stardz knew who you were. Ms. Jazarine knows. Who am I going to tell?”

Instructor Watts was silent, busy calling up more data. Organizing input.

“Mom?” I’d forgotten about Skids. But I wouldn’t press him. It was his mother who had to speak up.

“You are very brave and dedicated to duty, Specialist Keesay. There’s no reason for you to shoulder another burden. We won’t remain on the
Kalavar
once we reach Tallavaster.” She sighed. “But others will continue to pursue us.”

She had a point. “I won’t be on the
Kalavar
long after Tallavaster either. I’m only a C4 security specialist. But if they track you through me, it’ll be a dead end, literally, for somebody.”

“We’ll all cross that star path if it comes,” Instructor Watts said. “Look.” Ship designs and known specifications appeared as she spoke. “The ones that look like two capital H’s welded at the crossbar, those are Selgum Crax, lackeys of the Primus. Primus, they’re in the spherical ships.”

“I know,” I said. “And the Coregar Crax don’t have vessels other than troop transports and assault ships. Like our marines.”

“My apologies,” she said. “I forgot you’ve studied the Silicate War. The formation only has three Primus Crax. Heavy cruiser with two light escorts.”

“That’s probably more than the dock and defending ships can handle,” I said. “There’s one Selgum carrier, two battle cruisers, six heavy escorts or destroyers.” I double-checked. “And two troop transports in back.” She nodded.

“How can you tell?” asked Skids.

Instructor Watts looked to me. “The Coregar ships look like a disk,” I said. “Not heavily armed, but well armored and designed for heavy atmospheric landings.” I reviewed all of the monitors. DeLark was lecturing and affixing some device to the volunteers. It was white and extended from the base of their skull, down along their spine. Another marine thumb tapped a clamshell computer clip and ran a metallic baton up and down the length of the device. “Do you know what those are?”

“The CNS suppressor modules Captain Tilayvaux mentioned. What’re they for?” She shrugged.

I reviewed the monitors again. “Maybe something to do with the Stegmar Mantis sounding?” I spotted Mer and Benny entering one of the hatches that led to the maintenance sleds between the hull and the armor plating.

“Who’s that?” asked Michael. “Talking to the marines?”

I examined the monitor and magnified the picture. “That’s Chief Brold. He’s wearing servo-armor.”

“Chief Brold and the captain must believe boarding is imminent,” said Watts.

“Maybe,” I said. “But the chief never likes to get caught unprepared. I hope he runs across Ms. Jazarine.”

“Look,” said Michael, pointing at a monitor. “They’re getting closer.”

They were. Our destroyers, flanked by the corvettes and cutters led the light cruiser into the battle. The dock’s eighty fighters formed above the light cruiser while the gunboats accelerated away from the dock toward the con-gate.

“David and Goliath,” I said.

“True, but David has been preparing to fight Goliath for some time,” said Instructor Watts. “And look, a little assistance.” She tapped the screen. Two vessels. A small one, the shape of a planarian flatworm sped away from a much larger vessel. The second resembled eight or nine mismatched crates half-hazardly welded together. The sleeker Umbelgarri frigate accelerated to engage the enemy formation from the ventral flank, while the slower Chicher battlewagon uncoupled its flotilla of midget frigates. The twin-boomed, oversized fighters circled their mother ship.

I was about to ask where the ally ships came from when a red light flashed on the main monitor. I looked up at the external camera. Someone had set off the mass detector, but the surveillance camera showed an empty corridor. “Damn, we have company.”

“Oh no,” gasped Watts. She tapped a few screens.

My call for assistance was overridden by the captain’s priority call. “Security, engineering, locate and deactivate the sounding beacon. Communications, jam internally. Port section.” Even in haste she articulated each word.