CHAPTER 1
\nLIFETIME WARRANTY<\/p>\n
Moire jigged hard and fast to avoid a spinning chunk of wreckage, hoping the crab fighter chasing her would not dodge in time. Judging from the debris floating about, Fleet was losing the battle\u2013too much of the wreckage was theirs.<\/p>\n
She stared as some of that wreckage went by her ship, feeling suddenly cold. It was a piece of fuselage covered with garish abstract swirls of pink, yellow, and electric blue. The colors were still visible under patches and streaks of black from a direct, full-power enemy hit. Jorge\u2019s ship. This was not a good day to be a merc. \u201cDammit, I told you to wait for me!\u201d she whispered, fighting back tears. Jorge was always impatient to get to the fight.<\/p>\n
Moire glanced at the communication panel. It showed only one message, the same message for the last fifteen-minutes-going-on-eternity. SAYRES GO WIDE, HUNT\/KILL. She never had liked that name; she had to keep reminding herself it was hers. That\u2019s what happens when you need a new identity in a hurry. With Jorge dead, she realized with guilty relief, nobody else in the unit would know about it. #<\/p>\n Commander Byron Ennis wondered if his commanding officer was deliberately being obtuse. \u201cYes, but how did she do it?\u201d he asked with determined patience. \u201cShe was flying a Vought 6500, hardly top of the line. No special equipment. She still managed to place three missiles and nobody else has managed one!\u201d CHAPTER 1 LIFETIME WARRANTY Moire jigged hard and fast to avoid a spinning chunk of wreckage, hoping the crab fighter chasing her would not dodge in time. Judging from the debris floating about, Fleet was losing the battle\u2013too much of … Continue reading
\nThe crabs must have killed the wing commander too. The comms went on the blink all the time, but they’d never been out this long before. If the wing commander was down, she was on her own. Wasn’t likely the crewcuts would bother contacting her\u2013a merc was just supposed to go get killed instead of one of the crewcuts, they didn’t care how.
\nThe crab fighter was still on her tail, and it was beginning to annoy her. Stupid crab. Why don’t you just go home so I don’t have to kill you? It flew close enough for her to see it without the scope. She knew some of the spines on its spiky black surface were guns, but where were the viewports? Might explain why its targeting was so terrible. Fleet should tell them these things. Maybe Fleet didn\u2019t know either. They knew surprisingly little about an enemy they\u2019d been fighting for so long. Including why the crabs had attacked humans in the first place.
\nThe crab fighter pulled a sharp turn, flipping in the process. Now it was behind her, to one side. That was one of their favorite maneuvers, and an effective one. The crab fighter fired, the far edge of the spread catching the engine casing. A red pinlight flickered on her display but went out almost immediately. Engine self-repair was one thing about the future she really liked. Too bad Bon Accord hadn\u2019t…no. She wasn\u2019t going to think about that now.
\nThe fighter was following her in an outside circle now. The crabs were good at high-g turns, but she\u2019d noticed they didn\u2019t do too many of them together. Moire pulled a sudden curve down and reversed direction. Darkness started to crowd the edges of her vision, but she caught her breath and held it. The trick worked\u2013the darkness receded, and she flipped into another sharp, crazy turn, as hard as she could stand. The other mercs thought she just had a natural talent for high-g maneuvers. She\u2019d never mentioned being a test pilot, and wasn\u2019t planning to. It would just raise awkward questions.
\nSure enough, the crab fighter didn\u2019t follow as cleanly this time. Without any delay Moire flipped up and over, her hand on the firing controls. The fighter sped past her and into a shell round before it could recover. Small fragments of wreckage from the explosion pinged her viewport and fuselage.
\nMore wreckage flew by, some heavy and fast enough to damage her ship, and she pulled away. She remembered the fighter\u2019s fin-notch pattern from the beginning of the fight, so they were still working on the first wave. The crab carrier would be disgorging the second wave soon, and there was no way in hell they could withstand it. Canaveral was already in bad shape. One of the mercenaries\u2019 keel launch bays had been hit, and she’d seen enough damage when she left to tell her Fleet was getting a thorough shellacking.
\nSomeone had to get the carrier. That wouldn’t be easy; nobody had made a confirmed hit on a crab carrier although plenty had tried. Even if she went banzai, the carrier\u2019s guns were quite accurate. It also had some kind of whacko ship-specific shielding that let the crab fighters go right through, but batted away Fleet ships as if by a giant invisible hand that then held them immobile as they were blasted. She hadn’t believed it herself until she saw it in action; it sounded too much like a force field. Which, she had on the best authority, was impossible. Of course her information was eighty years out of date, and she remembered when they thought faster-than-light was impossible too. They were lucky only the carriers seemed to have the shielding.
\nA large, jagged mass drifted by\u2013enemy wreckage, but too big to be from the fighter she\u2019d just hit. No other hostiles were in the immediate area, so she cruised around it to check it out. It looked like one of the remote-control gun platforms Fleet fighters called dumbos.
\nThe crabs liked to fight defensively. When they showed up, the dumbos were detached from their carriers and deployed around them. Their formidable guns fired almost as quickly as those on the main ship, and if the crabs were forced to leave in a hurry the dumbos were abandoned\u2013and detonated. The few unexploded ones that had been investigated showed no indication of ever being manned.
\nSomething must have triggered the core by accident this time. The dumbo was little more than a gutted shell. A big gutted shell. Big enough for an antique Fleet fighter to fit into, if the pilot was skilled. Moire grinned. A trace of the old what-the-hell feeling returned\u2013what Etienne had called \u201cthe mischief.\u201d She hadn\u2019t felt that for a long time.
\nIt was risky, but safe was for people who had a chance of living to retire. Slow and gentle, she nudged her ship into the dumbo. It took longer than she liked to get in position without damaging it. There was a small hole forward that she considered enlarging, but decided against. She could see enough as it was and the risk of the crabs detecting her alien self inside the dumbo shell was too high. She gave the engines a hefty kick, wincing at the sound of straining metal but not letting up. If this stunt was going to work, it would have to be soon or it was wasted effort.
\nThe Trojan Dumbo drifted toward the carrier. It was hard to judge her position. Was she inside the shield now? Moire bit her lip, frowning. No, she had to be sure. A little bit more. The comm display suddenly flashed random visual junk, then went blank again. She felt a surge of excitement and wrapped her hand around the throttle. Time to find out if she was right.
\nReversed engines at full power vibrated through the frame of her fighter. As she cleared the hulk of the dumbo she armed all three remaining missiles. There was no point in being conservative now. She flipped the ship up and around, checking for trouble and targets. The open maw of the fighter sortie port was not far away. That would do for a start. Maybe it would hamper the crabs as much as Canaveral had been when its bay got hit. \u201cSee how you like it,\u201d she muttered, and fired.
\nShe didn’t wait to see if the missile had any effect. If she was going to get all three launched she would have to keep going. Number two went amidships, on the general principle that it had to damage something, and by then she knew she had their attention. According to her scope, every remaining alien fighter was headed back toward the carrier. And her.
\nMoire cast about for the last target. By now she was near what seemed to be the bow of the ship. Like most of the alien carriers, the ship had a bulbous protrusion from the main body there: a long, narrow strut with a blob sticking out on the end. It looked like a swizzle stick. It was different enough from the usual spikiness of the crab ships that it must have a purpose. She fired the last missile. It wasn\u2019t a clean hit, but the swizzle stick was definitely damaged.
\nA storm of angry crab fighters suddenly engulfed her. They were doing damage to each other in their eagerness to destroy her, firing without making any effort to avoid their comrades. She spun and turned desperately, using her greater maneuverability as best she could, but she knew she wouldn’t last. There were too many of them. She could just give up\u2013but the more crabs she destroyed now, the fewer Fleet would have to deal with later.
\nA hit, and another. Damage was occurring faster than the self-repair could fix it. Now an engine wasn’t responding. At least she hadn\u2019t run out of ammo yet. Any second now. This was it, she was going to die. Finally.
\nA blinding flash of light seared her eyes, and her fighter bucked and tossed like it was in a gale force wind. Something slammed into her fighter from behind with a tearing crunch and her tell-board went crimson, but whatever had hit her was hitting the enemy as well. She saw Fleet fighters streaking by, attacking the dazed enemy with ruthless efficiency. There was no sign of the crab carrier.
\nSoon the only thing moving was drifting wreckage. Lots of wreckage, which she could be considered part of since she had lost engine power. If her tell-board was to be believed the only working system was the running lights. It wasn\u2019t fair. She’d done her best to get killed and she couldn’t even do that right. Fighting a crushing wave of disappointment, Moire started to flip off nonessentials. She was going to have to keep on living a little while longer.
\n\u201c…hired gun, looks like…merc ship, do you read? Come in, merc!\u201d
\nShe glanced at the console, puzzled. She’d never shut down the comms…and someone was hailing her. \u201cPeople are trying to sleep around here, flyboy,\u201d she responded. \u201cI’ve had a busy day.\u201d
\nA muffled snort came over the comm. They must be getting close if the signal was that good. She looked about and saw them. Three Fleet directs flew by, then around.
\n\u201cYou look like hell,\u201d said the first pilot. \u201cCan you maneuver?\u201d
\nMoire grimaced and looked at her board. A pinlight flickered red, then stayed yellow. \u201cI’ve got half of one engine, now. Maybe. Don’t wait up.\u201d
\n\u201cWe will escort you,\u201d said a woman’s voice, cool and measured. \u201cAfter what you did, we will get you back whatever it takes. We owe you.\u201d
\n\u201cCosign that,\u201d the third pilot chimed in. \u201cYer pretty damn sneaky, merc.\u201d
\n\u201cYou don’t know the half of it,\u201d Moire said under her breath, and she urged her wounded ship into motion.
\nIt took forever to return to Canaveral. Moire\u2019s fighter could barely move, and there were too many other craft that couldn\u2019t move at all. She watched the rescue scows move out and return as her ship crept closer. Damage and destruction everywhere she looked, and frantic calls for assistance on all channels.
\nMoire slapped the comm switch silent, angry and ashamed for feeling that way. Those people wanted to live. It was easy to develop a reputation for fearlessness if you didn\u2019t. They didn\u2019t know she was really just trying to run away. Run away from the ghosts, and the guilt of still being alive.
\nOne of the Fleet fighters escorting her was flashing its running lights. Moire blinked, then realized she was close enough to Canaveral to see the bay doors. Close enough for the override, but she didn\u2019t see the indicator on her board. That\u2019s probably why they were signaling her.
\nShe sighed and flipped on the comm again. A barrage of voices greeted her.
\n\u201cSorry about that. Comms are intermittent,\u201d Moire lied, when she could work a word in edgewise. Flight control sounded frantic.
\n\u201cSayres, you trying to give us heart attacks? For all we knew you were dead in there. Your ship isn\u2019t even broadcasting its ID, never mind life support status. Remote isn\u2019t working and you are still moving in under power, if you can call it that. Think you can get yourself in?\u201d
\n\u201cBad idea, Control,\u201d Moire answered. \u201cI\u2019m lucky to be moving at all.\u201d The remote override would have brought the ship in and docked it, if it were working. They didn\u2019t like pilots coming in under power on their own. That they had even offered showed how desperate they were.
\nMumbled consultations on the other side of the comm. \u201cHow\u2019s your air?\u201d
\nMoire squinted at the panel. It was, of course, flashing red. \u201cNo atmosphere recycle. I got thirty minutes on this, then I\u2019ll have to go to my shipsuit emergency backup.\u201d
\nA curse, then a sigh. \u201cSayres, hold your position. We have to figure out a way to get you in. Are you loaded still?\u201d
\n\u201cHalf a belt of cannon shells. No missiles,\u201d Moire said, going on memory. That console was completely dead. She slowed her fighter to a standstill.
\n\u201cRight, that makes it easier. Look, Sayres, we\u2019ll get you in as soon as we can. I\u2019m keeping this channel open. Give a yell the instant anything changes in there, got that?\u201d
\n\u201cGot it, Control.\u201d Trapped in her own cockpit. Not roomy at the best of times, and she was wearing combat protective gear over her shipsuit.
\nShe watched the cleanup, and the damage control, and her gauges. Just before she was about to switch to the emergency oxygen she heard a metallic clunk on the underside of her fighter, then another. A powered EVA suit rose up in front of her viewport, and the operator raised the center waldo arm. Moire returned the A-OK signal, wondering why they hadn\u2019t contacted her. Maybe they had, and the comms were out for real this time.
\nHer ship started to move forward again. They had attached a line, and she could see other powered EVAs nudging the ship into position. Then she was in the carrier, and then her cockpit was open and many hands were unfastening her harness and pulling her free.
\n\u201cI\u2019m all right, I\u2019m fine…,\u201d Moire snapped. The bay was complete chaos. Mobile robotic cranes were moving craft out of the way so others could be brought in. Where was her unit chief? She had to report in. Moire shook her head, trying to focus. This wasn\u2019t the launch bay. She stepped aside to let a woman in a rugged, dented exoskeleton get past. She was carrying a tool with hydraulic fittings big enough to have their own valves.
\nWhat did they call those again? Heavy mechanics. She must be in Maintenance, then.
\nA voice shouted a wordless warning, and she ducked as a thick metal cable went swinging by. The voice added a profane suggestion of where she could go and what she could do when she got there. Leaving would probably be a good idea. They had enough to worry about here without gawking pilots.
\nSomehow she stumbled out of Maintenance. Mercs weren\u2019t supposed to be in that section of the ship, so of course a harassed marine started giving her grief about it. Moire took advantage of the distraction caused by a convoy of wounded to dodge down a side corridor and escape.
\nSheesh. You\u2019d think there\u2019s a war on<\/em>.
\nEmergency lighting only on the lower levels, and smoke obscuring things even more. Closed bulkhead pressure doors more than once made her retrace her route. Some had the \u201clow pressure\u201d warning lights flashing.
\nFinally she made it to the one still-functioning mercenary launch bay, all the way at the bottom of the ship. It was easy to find a unit chief\u2013they were surrounded by five or more people, all shouting. She found one with only three and reported to him. She wasn\u2019t even sure if her unit chief was still alive. Somebody would get it all sorted out.
\nShe made sure she accounted for all of her expended missiles. They were expensive, and Fleet didn\u2019t like mercs wasting them. Dimly she noted nobody else seemed to be talking. Maybe she was the last to report. It had taken long enough to get back, and she\u2019d gone all the way out to the crab carrier.
\nOh yeah. The crab carrier. Hard to cover that up.
\n\u201cSaw a piece of Jorge\u2019s fighter,\u201d Moire forced herself to say. \u201cLooks like he got nominated.\u201d The chief nodded, respectfully silent. Moire stumbled away, finding a crate against a wall to sit on just before her legs gave out.
\nShe\u2019d blown up a crab carrier, but not quick enough for Jorge.
\nSuddenly the memories were vivid, strong enough to touch. Standing on a street of what she’d later learned was Brisbane, staring at the security fence, the guard, the no-frills architecture of the facility inside. Military, her instincts said. Something wasn\u2019t right, though, and the mind-fogging drugs Toren had used on her hadn\u2019t completely worn off or she would have found a less public place to stare and figure it out.
\n\u201cYou want in, si?<\/em>\u201d
\nMoire spun, almost losing her balance. The man standing in front of her flashed a smile, enhanced by gold filigree tooth covers.
\n\u201cUh, yeah,\u201d Moire stammered. Her heart was pounding, and lightheadedness made it hard to concentrate. When had she last eaten? If she could get inside, Toren couldn\u2019t get her. \u201cYes, I want in.\u201d
\nThe man gave her an appraising look. \u201cMaybe if you want support crew slot, but definitely if pilot.\u201d
\nHuh? \u201cI\u2019m a pilot,\u201d Moire said. That much she was sure of. The rest was hazy.
\n\u201cBuena Fortuna!<\/em>\u201d This made gold-tooth man very happy. \u201cWe go inside and talk to Chopper.\u201d
\nInside. Where it was warm. Moire nodded.
\nThey went past the guard. Her new best friend just said, \u201cNew recruit,\u201d and the guard waved them by. No salute?
\nChopper turned out to be a tall, muscular black woman with fine colored wire braided into her hair, so it stood out in amazing corkscrew shapes. Moire tried not to stare. There were other, even stranger-looking people in the halls. Only a few were wearing uniforms, and nobody saluted anybody. Had the military changed that much while she was gone?
\n\u201cPilot, huh?\u201d Chopper gave her a look. \u201cWhere\u2019d ya find her, Jorge? So let\u2019s see your license. Or chop sheet, we don\u2019t care.\u201d Moire froze. Jorge started on an involved tale, eventually wheedling Chopper into running a simulator evaluation instead.
\nThe simulator smelled funny, like rancid lemon. It also didn\u2019t have the controls she expected. No landing gear. Extra trim jets. One part of her brain woke up as she left the simulator. Vacuum fighters. They weren\u2019t testing for atmospheric flight, but for space.
\n\u201cSeventy-six percent,\u201d Chopper said. \u201cWork on your response time and you could get prime rate. Clients pay extra for target efficiency too.\u201d
\nMercenaries? Space-fighting mercenaries? What the hell was going on?
\n\u201cGetcher ID and stuff together and be back tonight,\u201d Chopper added. \u201cTabriz got final say, but we ship out in two days so I don\u2019t think he\u2019s gonna get all picky.\u201d She added a comment that Moire didn\u2019t understand, even though a few words were in Russian. Jorge responded with something similar, grinning.
\nThis wasn\u2019t going to work. A mercenary unit shipping out\u2013to space\u2013in two days. Time to fade out and not come back.
\n\u201cMy lucky day today,\u201d Jorge said. \u201cYou come back soon? Get you signed up, I get my bonus! Need to get it quick, not much time to spend it.\u201d They passed a room with a huge display on one wall. A crowd of mercenaries were watching it intently, faces serious. It looked like a newscast.
\nJorge made a rude noise. \u201cLike those ground-pounders know anything about the war. Don\u2019t know why they bother watching, old news by the time it gets here.\u201d
\nWar? Who was fighting whom?
\n\u201cYou just ask for me, they let you in,\u201d Jorge said. He grinned again. \u201cI gonna wait for you. Get your things quickly, please.\u201d
\nFront door. Armored, she noticed now. And outside it was cold. Outside…outside there were people talking to the guard. She didn\u2019t recognize them, but she did recognize the badges they were showing.
\nToren.
\n\u201cUm, Jorge. Look, I have a…problem.\u201d He looked at her, some of the cheerfulness in his face replaced by a calculating wariness. \u201cI don\u2019t have any belongings. In fact,\u201d she swallowed, \u201cI don\u2019t have ID. I mean, I don\u2019t want to use the ID I\u2013\u201d
\n\u201cComprende, amiga. You do not say, I do not hear.\u201d Jorge scratched his chin. Moire peered out the door, breathing quickly. The Toren people had cleared the guard.
\n\u201cCan we figure this out somewhere else?\u201d Moire said, hoping her panic did not show in her voice. Hoping Jorge wouldn\u2019t give her up as too much effort.
\nHis eyes narrowed. \u201cYou don\u2019 mind we go off-planet, eh?\u201d
\nAt this point, anything was better than staying and getting caught, so she nodded.
\nHe turned quickly and motioned her to follow. Moire heard the big main door open behind her, and she hurried to keep up.
\n\u201cI get you fixed up. Gonna cost, too.\u201d He must have seen her expression. \u201cWhen you get paid, hancha. You hire in I know I get my money back somehow. But maybe you stay here until I get back, hah?\u201d
\n\u201cSure, no problem.\u201d Relief made her weak at the knees.
\nJorge appeared to have decided the best way to protect his investment was by sticking her in the big room with the display wall, which seemed to be the main off-duty room for the mercenaries. More conversations in the strange, mixed-up language that she couldn\u2019t follow completely. She picked up enough Russian to guess Jorge was asking his buddies to keep her there. It became apparent they were also to keep her out of sight of the officers, because whenever one came in sight she was discreetly shifted out of view.
\nIt worked out fine by her, especially when one heavily tattooed mercenary gave her something to eat. She couldn\u2019t tell what it was supposed to be, but she was too hungry to care. She saw the Toren people go by, too, sometimes together, sometimes alone. They would peer in the common room, but didn\u2019t come in. The mercenaries seemed to treat them with distant civility, but weren\u2019t welcoming either. Moire stayed out of sight.
\nAt least she hoped she had. Too many shocks, too close together, made her forget to be careful sometimes. The newscast had mentioned the year: 2115. Eighty years and change since Bon Accord had left Beta Centauri.
\nShe\u2019d known that was a risk when the drive went bad. But so long? Anybody who had known her, or of the ship\u2019s mission, would be dead by now.
\nThe common room had what passed for a phone directory these days. That was when she figured out she was in Australia. Then, when she did a bit more searching, that Houston no longer seemed to exist in any practical sense.
\nNASA itself simply wasn\u2019t there.
\nWhat was she going to do? Even if Etienne hadn\u2019t given her that order, she knew she had to report back on Sequoyah. He\u2019d named their ship Bon Accord for a reason. They were a good team. Some things didn\u2019t need to be said. Sequoyah was too important, and they were willing to die to get that information back.
\nJorge finally came back with the fake ID and a story to go with it. It worked enough to get her hired, and that was all she cared about. The mercenary commander, Tabriz, filled her in a little more and confirmed her decision to stay. They were being hired by Norstar Fleet, which seemed to be the main combatant in the war. More importantly, she\u2019d picked up from the newscasts that Fleet was real military. Maybe she could find a way to report through them.
\nThe next few months were tough. The training was easy, at least for her. The difficult part was the mercenaries themselves. She stuck by Jorge, and he always had a story for awkward questions. Mostly she kept her mouth shut and tried to figure out what was going on.
\nNow Jorge was gone, and she had nobody to hide behind. This was going to be bad.
\nMoire slumped against the wall of the fighter bay, too tired even to think about heading for her bunk. She wouldn\u2019t be able to sleep with all the noise going on anyway, and she had to think about what she was going to do. The first mistake she made that got back to Earth would bring Toren down on her.
\nThey must have found Bon Accord somehow. They\u2019d put her back together and then they had tried, gently at first, to convince her to tell them what she knew. She wasn\u2019t sure what had triggered her suspicions, but when she’d refused, the tactics changed. She\u2019d learned what Toren was, and she was even more determined they would never have Sequoyah.
\nToren was, among other things, the main military supplier. She\u2019d thought she would be able to find someone in Fleet to report to, not realizing the mercenaries would be kept so isolated on the ship. Now she wasn\u2019t sure she could count on Fleet, if Toren was so heavily involved. They\u2019d find out, they\u2019d find her, and….
\nNo. That was not going to happen. She\u2019d join the crew of Bon Accord in oblivion if they did, and take her secrets with her.<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAn interesting question,\u201d agreed Shabata. \u201cGo find out.\u201d She smiled with cool amusement.
\nEnnis winced. He’d walked right into that one. \u201cYes, sir. Does the colonel have any other questions she would like me to ask the mercenaries while I’m there?\u201d
\n\u201cLook, ‘Ron, they may not like you much, but they really don’t like the rest of us. You deal with them more often, that should take some of the edge off. We need that information.\u201d Her dark face was serious and implacable.
\nShe was right, of course, and if he was able to figure out how Sayres had done it, the information would help Fleet and his career. He thought for a moment. \u201cAny chance of the captain authorizing a suitable reward? They take their liquor seriously. It might make them less hostile and more talkative.\u201d
\nShabata nodded, tapping her chin with one finger. \u201cI think that could be arranged.\u201d She paused, and said softly, \u201cA whole damn carrier! You’ll probably have difficulty shutting them up about it.\u201d
\nEnnis left her office and headed for the mercenary area, surprised that he was able to find an elevator that wasn\u2019t on override. Much of the frantic damage assessment and repair had already taken place, but there was still a lot of equipment being moved.
\nAs he descended to the mercenary area, he could feel his tension increasing. Shabata had told him the decision to make him the liaison to the mercenaries had not been hers, and had nothing to do with his background. Even if that was true, he felt the unspoken connection was being made every time he made a report or acted in his official capacity. She understood his situation, but the rest of the command did not\u2013and they considered the mercenaries little better than criminals.
\nIf he were promoted, it would be less of a problem. Promotion was unlikely as long as his superiors were constantly reminded of his origins by his responsibilities, however, and he did not have much time left. If you stayed in the same rank for too long they moved you out of the combat posts and into support.
\nHe found Tabriz in the mercenaries’ mess, just above the launch bay level. The room was cramped and awkward, with a cluster of pipes and conduit snaking down from ceiling to floor. He had to climb over it to get to Tabriz in the back of the room. The mercenary commander had a datapad with a remote link and two comms on the scarred plastic table in front of him, and was talking into a third comm to Medical. The bay the crabs hit had been full of fighters ready to take off and casualties were high. That Tabriz was in the mess indicated that his office, near the keel bay, had not been spared either.
\nTabriz was not happy to see him, but his frosty expression thawed with the offer of alcoholic refreshment for the mercenaries\u2013and he seemed almost genial when a marine brought down a bottle of real Earth scotch from the captain’s personal supply. When Ennis mentioned the other reason he had ventured into merc territory, Tabriz made no objection.
\n\u201cAnn Sayres, is it?\u201d He turned to a passing mercenary and gave a command. Ennis had learned a little of the mercenary patois, a horrendous mishmash of Russian, Arabic, and a few other languages he couldn’t identify. The instructions were to go fetch someone called \u201cSoldier-lass.\u201d It wasn\u2019t necessarily a compliment.
\n\u201cThat’s an unusual name,\u201d said Ennis in an offhand manner. He’d learned to be careful about asking questions. The mercenaries did not welcome personal inquiries. \u201cI thought you people didn\u2019t care much for Fleet soldiers.\u201d
\nTabriz gave him a measuring look. \u201cThe others in the unit\u2013they call her this. For the way she carries herself, how she keeps her gear. Like a soldier.\u201d There was a glimmer of something that might have been amusement in his dark eyes. \u201cYou got a name like that too. I hear some crewcuts say you are a…wild horse? They don\u2019 seem to like that.\u201d
\n\u201cMustang. That means I was enlisted before becoming an officer.\u201d Yet another reason he was an outsider, and he sometimes wondered if it had been worth it. He\u2019d wanted to prove himself, and thought an officer\u2019s rank would stop the whispers. It hadn\u2019t.
\nWhen Sayres showed up Ennis could see how she had gotten her nickname. Unlike the other mercenaries, she wore no colorful gear or jewelry, no face markings or bodymods. She wore a military-issue shipsuit and plain overgear. Her only concession to merc standards was a red metalmesh flash-scarf\u2013the unit’s color\u2013tied to one forearm. Her straight brown hair was cut helmet-seal spec, well above shoulder length. Except for the lack of unit markings, she could have been a Fleet pilot.
\n\u201cHe’s come to find out how you did it,\u201d said Tabriz when she arrived, jerking his head in Ennis’s direction. \u201cTell him if you want to.\u201d
\nSayres glanced at him, and Ennis was surprised at the complete lack of elation, of pride, in her expression. She looked sad and bone-tired.
\n\u201cThe others said you want me to do the Black Cup,\u201d she said to Tabriz, ignoring Ennis. \u201cThey want to do it now, for Kurt.\u201d
\nTabriz nodded sharply. \u201cYes, you do it now. Use this,\u201d he said, and handed her the bottle of scotch. She took it and left the messroom. A group of mercenaries standing by the entrance, watching the exchange, fell in behind her.
\nEnnis opened his mouth to object, to delay, but the commander interrupted. \u201cThis needs to be done immediately. Kurt Ullman, he might not last very long.\u201d The intense black gaze turned to him. \u201cThose mizake directs don\u2019 like you, but we don\u2019 like them so much either. You ain\u2019t so bad for a crewcut. You stay for the tattoo, you can talk to her then.\u201d
\nEnnis blinked and nodded, masking his shock with an effort. It was meant as a compliment, but he wasn\u2019t sure he was pleased Tabriz considered him non-Fleet enough to be welcome at a mercenary tattoo. It didn\u2019t matter. He had work to do, and this would let him do it.
\nTabriz got up from the table, snatching one of the comms and clipping it to his belt. He headed for the same door Sayres had used, negotiating the tangle of pipe and conduit with impatient haste. Ennis hesitated. Nobody seemed to be objecting to his presence, so he followed Tabriz.
\nHe threaded his way through the crowded, narrow corridors and down an accessway ladder, ending up at the entrance to the aft keel launch bay. The doors opened as Tabriz strode forward, recognizing his badge ID, and Ennis hurried to enter with him. Technically he should have access, but he didn’t remember if he’d pestered the security officer into actually changing the code to include him.
\nIt was like walking into a wall of noise. It took a moment for him to sort out the pandemonium in the launch bay, full of ships and people. At first he thought the mercenaries had not stowed their fighters, then he realized any ships launched from the forward bay had returned here instead. The fighters had a castoff look to them\u2013a mixture of makes and models with traces of the original group markings still visible under the colorful scrawls inflicted on them by the mercenaries.
\nA group of people wedged its way through the crowd, and he saw in the middle a pneumatic float-pallet with a heavily bandaged man on it. He was attended by two medical orderlies and several mercs, some of whom were also injured. The orderlies were having difficulty maneuvering the float-pallet. One edge was not level with the deck, and it caught on any unevenness in the decking. This close to the hull at the keel the gravitic field was uneven anyway, and this area had not originally been intended for continuous use so it didn\u2019t have trim nodes.
\nThe pallet hit another snag, and the orderlies gave it a hard shove. The wounded man\u2013Kurt?\u2013groaned. His face was streaked with soot and blood and blue patches of bloodglue.
\n\u201cWhy isn\u2019t he in Medical already?\u201d Ennis asked, unpleasant memories flickering through his mind.
\n\u201cMedical said they treat him here. They say not much chance they can fix him.\u201d Tabriz looked like he was carved out of stone, his face rigid.
\n\u201cI\u2019ll get him up there if I have to carry him myself,\u201d Ennis snapped. If Kurt Ullman was going to fight and die like a soldier, he should be given the same medical treatment as one.
\nTabriz held up a hand. \u201cA moment. He wishes this.\u201d He didn\u2019t look quite so angry anymore.
\nAnn Sayres was standing in the crowd nearby, still holding the bottle of scotch. Another merc came up to her, holding a strange black object, apparently the Black Cup. It looked like a lumpy, short staff with a broad, hollowed-out end. Sayres opened the bottle by the simple expedient of smashing the neck against a nearby elevator housing, and poured some scotch into the hollow.
\nThe mercenaries went completely silent and still. The change was eerie. Sayres took the Black Cup in both hands and went to the launch bay doors, then carefully poured a splash of scotch on the deck before them.
\nEnnis gasped, astounded that anyone, even…especially a mercenary would waste something that valuable and rare.
\n\u201cFor the ones who did not come back today,\u201d Tabriz said in a quiet voice.
\nShe went to the pallet, and the wounded man was raised with great care. A blackened hand with only charred stumps remaining where fingers had been reached for the Cup, and Sayres carefully lowered it until it touched his lips. His hand dropped, and then his whole body seemed to collapse in on itself. A shrill alarm started from the pallet, and the orderlies quickly moved it out of the bay, the crowd of mercenaries parting silently before it.
\nSayres moved to the clear area in the center, and the other wounded came forward.
\n\u201cShe shares her luck,\u201d Tabriz said in answer to his questioning look. \u201cThose who need it most, they go first.\u201d When the wounded had all had their sip, the rest formed up in what looked like reverse rank order. When the Cup was emptied, another merc following with the bottle filled it again.
\nFinally, Sayres worked her way to where they were standing. She looked at Tabriz, but he pointed to Ennis, and she offered the Black Cup to him. He knew it was an honor, knew he could not refuse. He let the tiny dribble of scotch just touch his lips. He’d never tasted the real stuff, just synthetic. Once.
\nHis eyes met hers over the Cup. She seemed quite ordinary to have done such extraordinary things. She was of medium height and medium build, trim and balanced. A few strands of brown hair escaped across her forehead, tangling with straight black eyebrows set over hazel eyes. He saw something in those eyes that bothered him, but she turned away before he figured out what it was.
\nTabriz took the Black Cup from Sayres when he was finished. He raised it over his head and stomped his foot. The mercenaries took it up, creating a driving rhythm Ennis could feel in his bones. The beat went on for a moment, then a woman stepped out into the clear center of the launch bay, tall and bronze-skinned with tiger-stripe tattooing framing her face.
\nShe started to dance to the rhythm, a confident, athletic dance, and the others started to clap to the beat and call out. A man joined her after a while, and then Ennis heard the sound of a guitar stick. This was more what he had been expecting, but it didn’t seem to mesh with the solemn beginning.
\nThe tiger-stripe woman twirled and dropped, springing up with proud, defiant energy, and then he understood. I am alive…and while I live, I will fight.
\nEnnis finally pulled his mind free of the mesmerizing beat, wondering how long he had been distracted, and feeling guilty. The dancing was becoming more general and less intense, and a crowd of people was clustered around an alcohol tap that had been brought in. It had a flavor dispenser, and it looked like the full-range model: ouzo and sake as well as beer and wine. The captain was definitely pleased.
\nIt took him a while to find Ann Sayres. She was seated on a crate, sipping a drink, in the shadow cast by one of the on-deck fighter craft. None of the other mercenaries were nearby.
\n\u201cWhich one is yours?\u201d he asked, looking at the other ships. There were a few Voughts on deck, but he didn’t see any 6500s.
\nSayres blinked, coming back to the here-and-now, and gave him a disbelieving look. \u201cMy ship is a pile of smoking scrap in Maintenance. If they have any sense they’ll just melt it down instead of trying to fix it.\u201d
\n\u201cYou flew it back.\u201d
\n\u201cI can fly anything with an engine.\u201d She sipped her drink moodily, not looking at him, gazing off into the distance again.
\nDamn arrogant pilot. He tried again. \u201cWas the brain still working when you came in? I want to tap the visual data. This bay isn’t linked to the central system, so I can’t get it from the general download when you docked.\u201d
\n\u201cWouldn’t have gotten it anyway; they had to tow me in to Maintenance. I don’t know about the brain. There were green pinlights last time I looked. Ask them.\u201d
\n\u201cI will.\u201d He had known this wouldn’t be an easy task, but Sayres was being especially unhelpful. Once again he resolved to bring up the issue of a regular debriefing system for the mercenaries. Command liked to pretend they weren’t there, but this was beyond a joke. He\u2019d never been convinced using mercenaries was a good idea to begin with, but Fleet had needed fighter pilots in a hurry and Earth was still resisting the idea of a draft.
\n\u201cWe need to know how you did it,\u201d he persisted, suppressing his annoyance. \u201cThis is the first real break we’ve had in the war. What gave you the idea to try the dumbo shell? You could have been trapped in there.\u201d
\nSayres sighed, and rubbed her face with one hand. She looked exhausted. \u201cThere was a lot of debris floating around. I saw this gutted dumbo go by, and thought maybe if I looked like one of them I could get close enough to score a hit. I wasn’t sure I could get through the shields that way, it just worked. Must be some kind of passive-active system\u2013there wasn’t anything left in the dumbo but the hull. Maybe they key on the profile. Anyway, I had three spears left so I just tossed them anywhere that looked good. Got the sortie bay and the swizzle stick\u2013that thing in the front\u2013for sure. Don’t know where the other one went. Then I just hung around waiting for the fighters to come back.\u201d
\nEnnis digested this, nodding, then gave himself a mental shake. Sayres had a real talent for making the impossible seem dull. She blew up a crab carrier all by herself. Remember that.
\nHe’d have to hope there was more information in the vid dump from her ship. \u201cWe got some information from the carrier wreck,\u201d he said. \u201cWhat was left of it, anyway. We think the…thing you hit was the signal antenna for the dumbos and the other remotes.\u201d What was a \u2018swizzle stick\u2019? Some mercenary slang? \u201cThe instant it was disabled they all went dead.\u201d There\u2019d been a lot of arguments about that since the start of the war. All the crab carriers made a lot of signal noise, but he hadn\u2019t heard of anyone decoding any of it.
\n\u201cMakes sense,\u201d Sayres nodded, beginning to look interested in spite of herself. \u201cI wonder what made it blow up, though. Now that I think about it, I didn’t come under fire until the fighters came back. I don’t think the carrier has any short-range defense other than the shield.\u201d
\nBy now the party was in full swing, and he could barely make out what she was saying. Loud music and voices filled the room; he could even feel the vibrations in the deck plates. \u201cIf I get the visuals, I’d like you to take a look and see if there’s anything else you notice. Give us a briefing, show us your target points.\u201d
\n\u201cSure thing.\u201d She didn’t sound enthusiastic.
\nHe made his way slowly through the chaos filling the launch bay, stopping only to watch a knife dancer with fascinated horror. The man had missed a few times, but he didn’t seem to notice the pain or the blood. Ennis was glad Security had insisted on a lockdown for the mercenary levels. The alcohol fumes were rather strong, and he wondered if that had been a good idea.
\nA niggling feeling that he was missing something crossed his mind. Leaving the launch bay, he hesitated at the elevator station and took the stairs instead. He had some thinking to do, and he was always restless when there was something bothering him.
\nThe alcohol had been his idea\u2013was he worried he’d get blamed if something went wrong? No, he’d only suggested it, others had the approval and the responsibility. The battering of the bottle of scotch? Barbaric, but from a mercenary point of view understandable. They didn’t have much use for an empty bottle.
\nHe puzzled his way up to the twelfth level. It was something to do with Sayres\u2013and alcohol. The noise, he had leaned nearer to hear what she was saying, sipping her drink…. On the tenth level, he stopped in his tracks. He\u2019d smelled it when he left, but not when he was talking to her. Sayres had not been drinking alcohol.
\nThree enlisted came down the stairs, starting at the sight of an officer but recovering quickly and assuming an air of nonchalance after saluting. They presumably had some unsanctioned activity in mind; the stairs were rarely used in this section of the ship. Ennis contented himself with a steely glance and hoped they would think twice about whatever they were planning.
\nHe started up the stairs again. He still had a ways to go to get to officer country. Why wasn’t she drinking? She’d looked like she wanted a drink badly. It was available, and she wasn’t on duty. She knew he was going to question her. She was extremely careful with her answers, and she volunteered little. What was she afraid of giving away?
\nBy the time he reached his quarters he had reluctantly concluded he didn\u2019t have enough information. If it was important, he’d figure it out eventually. He remembered what Penderhest had taught him, all those years ago. Notice everything, forget nothing. You never know when it might be useful. He wondered what the old man would have thought of how he was putting his advice to use on the other side of the law.
\nHe keyed the door to his quarters and wedged himself in with the ease of long practice. It was tiny, cramped, and annoying but it was all his, and privacy was at a premium on Canaveral. If it had been any more comfortable, someone with seniority would have claimed it. Most of the officers at his rank were still sharing cabins.
\nIt was tiny, but it was home. The only home he had. He liked the odd shape of it, the strange nooks created by the intersection of bulkhead and beam. Sitting on the bed with a weary sigh, he pulled down the desk and stared at the screen. He checked the status of his repair requests, then got to work. He had to get the report on Sayres done now\u2013Shabata would want it when he went back on duty in a mere six hours.
\nHe finished the report at last, authenticated it, folded the desk against the wall, and pulled himself upright using the overhead latch. Bracing himself in the proper position, he pulled out the sink and wearily brushed his teeth. The face in the mirror looked like it was looking forward to a visit to the morgue.
\nHe paused, the sono-cleaner industriously polishing a molar. Seeing people who looked like that…long ago. Never long enough. On Fimbul. Why was he thinking about Fimbul? He’d pay money to have that part of his brain removed. Was it remembering Penderhest? Seeing the burned mercenary?
\nThe mystery clicked into place. That look that had bothered him, the expression of weary resignation. Waiting for death. He’d seen it in Sayres’s eyes.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"