I kept watch through a porthole while Halitov set a charge just above the ATC’s rear hatch. “Hey, nobody’s mentioned this, but, uh, I’m wondering…what the hell happened to Vanguard One?” he asked.
“Excellent question,” said Breckinridge, returning from the cockpit. “Somebody must’ve tipped off the alliances, and the colonel must’ve found out about it. Maybe he couldn’t warn us in time.”
“Or maybe we’ve been set up,” said Jing.
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” I added.
“Thirty seconds till we clear the bay,” said one of the pilots.
“You got all the charges set?” Breckinridge asked.
“Yeah,” said Halitov. “And if it’s okay with you, I’d like to gear up. I understand those Marines will be carrying rifles. Nasty things. They shoot projectiles that wear down your skin and tend to get you killed.”
“Gear up, wiseass. All of you.”
I yanked a QQ90 particle rifle from its bulkhead clip, checked the charge, set the ID code, then strapped on a smart schrap grenade belt weighed down by two dozen of the deadly devices.
“We have to get pumped,” yelled Halitov, as the ship suddenly listed hard to port, and, through one of the portholes, the void of space panned off into an icy, battled-scarred plain of gray alloy. “We’re inside now. And we have to get pumped! We’re going to kill ’em all, right? Right? Right?”
Halitov’s nerves had reached his voice, and I guess working himself into a war frenzy allowed him to cope. To the rest of us, he was just annoying, and, thankfully, Breckinridge talked him down. I went over to Jing, checked her grenade belt, then double-checked her rifle while she returned the favor.
“Scared?” she asked.
“Back when I was a cadet and we got attacked, the Marines caught me. But I got away. Nowhere to run now, huh?”
She saw right through me. “I’m scared, too.”
“We’ll work together. We’ll have to kill a lot of them. Do you understand?”
She tightened her lips, nodded.
“All right, they’re going to release the beam,” said one of the pilots.
The ship lurched and hit the landing deck with a solid thud. Then…silence.
“Signal coming through now,” reported the pilot. “On the comm…”
“ATC Four-five-zero-niner, this is Executive Officer Haight Vanderson, Western Alliance Marine Corps. Under war declaration sixteen-B we are hereby authorized to board your vessel, seize it and all property contained therein, and place you and anyone in your charge under arrest, copy?”
“We copy that, sir,” said Breckinridge. “And we’re prepared to surrender ourselves and this vessel. Opening hatch and sending out our pilots.”
The two pilots shifted back into the hold, two young men staring hard at Breckinridge. One, the blond, muttered to her, “This had better work.”
Breckinridge took a deep breath, then beat a fist on the starboard hatch control. The door cycled up and away from the bulkhead.
With their hands raised, both pilots hopped down from the hold and started off. We needed to get them as far away from the ATC as possible, and, since they were not conditioned, they, unfortunately, walked point for our “surrender.”
Halitov, who peered out through a nearby porthole, said, “Looks like three squads. Center and flanks. Count three grenade launchers, but I doubt they’ll use them. Okay. They got the pilots. Deactivating tacs and taking them away.”
“Distance?” asked Breckinridge.
“About thirty meters now. Entering the lift. Okay. We’re clear.”
“ATC Four-five-zero-niner, we register four more occupants within your vehicle. Leave your weapons inside and come out with your hands extended above your heads.”
“Oh, we’re coming out,” said Halitov. “Don’t worry about that.”
“Ready on your triggers?” Breckinridge asked us.
My thumb lay heavily on the detonator’s button.
“It’s Jing and Scott, then me and you, Halitov,” Breckinridge said. “Go!”
Jing and I skinned up and burst through the hold, hit the floor, and in that second, as the Marines realized we were heavily armed, we both found the bond and leapt up, toward the ceiling. Even as we flew, they opened fire and Breckinridge and Halitov jumped from the hold and rebounded off the floor, joining us in a race toward the overhead, some, thirty meters away.
In a pair of heartbeats, all was chaos, with the Marines firing up at us as we rolled to land boots-first on the ceiling and activated our detonators.
The ATC exploded, sending thousands of sharp-edged fragments in all directions. Debris knocked Marines off their feet, cut one man in half, decapitated two others, and set a third on fire. Since his leg had been cut off, his skin had deactivated. Grunts near the back ran toward the lift doors on either side of the hold, but a fireball swallowed them as Klaxons resounded. More Marines shouted, and automatic fire suppressers triggered in the bulkheads, their nozzles spewing a powdery foam all over the bay. A life-support alarm indicated that oxygen was automatically being jettisoned through the locks, effectively extinguishing all flames.
We had just destroyed our only ride out, which, initially, didn’t make much sense. However, we had reached the conclusion that even if we could somehow neutralize the capital ship’s beam and affect a launch, her fighters would be on us long before our ATC’s computer could calculate an emergency tawt. The ATC’s armaments were no match for a squadron of atmoattack jets. So we did something the Marines did not expect, something we still couldn’t believe.
As we raced across the overhead, toward a crab carrier we had singled out as our holding ground, the Marines answered our explosion with a surprise of their own. A low-level EMP bomb dropped from a hidden tube in the ceiling and exploded in a white-hot flash, kicking out a pulse wave that disrupted all electronic equipment within two hundred meters, according to a databar in my HUV. Our rifles and smart schrap grenades were useless, though at least our tacs and skins—which relied on our own bodies’ energy—still functioned. We never suspected they would utilize an EMP charge within their own ship, since the pulse wave would affect all of their own equipment, including life support. Apparently, they were so eager to get their hands on us that someone, maybe the XO, had decided to take the risk.
Though I expected Halitov to voice his surprise and begin moaning about just how screwed we now were, he kept silent as we dropped from the ceiling, onto the crab carrier’s hull. Breckinridge led us toward the cockpit, toward a hatch near two thick antennae. We climbed into the carrier and hopped anxiously from the ladder.
“What the hell am I supposed to do now,” Jing asked Breckinridge. “I can’t even bring up the computer to ID me because the EMP bomb’s knocked out everything.”
“Mind if you tell us what’s going on?” I demanded.
Breckinridge hesitated. “Oh, fuck it. Jing was going to get us in so we could fly this bird out. This ship could hold off a squadron and a beam long enough to tawt.”
“How was she going to get us in? You can’t fly this bird without DNA recognition.”
Breckinridge glanced to Jing, who just returned a menacing stare. “She can bypass.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I can use the bond to temporarily alter my DNA to mimic whomever I want,” Jing said. “The computer will think I’m the pilot.”
“You’re joking.”
“The joke’s on all of us—unless we can reach another bay out of the EMP’s range. I’ll be right back.” And with that, she dematerialized, and even though I knew she possessed that power, seeing her do it right before my eyes still left me unnerved.
Breckinridge glanced down at her tac, rubbed her fingers over it.
“I know what you’re thinking, and I’m not going to kill myself here,” cried Halitov. “No fuckin’ way!”
Without so much as a whisper or faint puff of air, Jing appeared, pale and gasping. “I did a quick scan of the other four bays. They’ve added security around every ship, got the cockpits locked up tight. Scott and I can get inside, and I can probably get a ship on-line and launch, but there’s no way we can get back here for you.”
“Then we’ll have to fight our way down there,” said Halitov. “You two go ahead and get the ship ready. We’ll meet up with you.”
“He makes it sound so easy,” said Breckinridge.
“What about the pilots?” I asked. “You told them we had a plan for breaking them out of the interrogation room.”
Breckinridge’s expression soured. “Yeah, I did.”
“You lied?”
“They’re not conditioned. Maybe they’ll get wiped, but they won’t be killed.”
“How could you do that to them?”
“It’s called making tough decisions. As a captain and company commander, I assumed you’d know all about that.”
“Yeah, I do. And now that we’re no longer en route to meet the colonel, I’m assuming command.”
She chuckled darkly. “We don’t got time for jokes.”
A loud beep came from the ship’s cockpit, and Jing strode off to check it out.
“What?” called Breckinridge.
“They’re as crazy as we are. Ship’s autodestruct sequence has been armed.”
“Shut it down,” Breckinridge cried.
“They’ve locked me out. I can’t.”
A voice boomed from outside. “Attention, guardsmen. Step out of the carrier with your hands fully extended above your heads. If you fail to comply in one minute, we’ve been authorized to jettison and destroy the ship. One minute. Mark.”
Halitov moved to a rectangular porthole. “They’ve cleared the hold. Bay doors opening.” His worried gaze met mine. “These assholes are serious.” Then he glanced accusingly at Breckinridge. “And I thought you said they’d want to take us alive.”
“They’re bluffing.”
“I don’t think so.” Halitov pointed up, toward a powerful whine emanating from above. “They’ve brought in some equipment from another bay…”
The carrier suddenly buffeted as the talons of a colossal bay crane clamped onto her sides. With a jolt, the ship began to rise.
I turned to Jing. “It’s going to put a big drain on me, but come on.”
“Where to?” she asked.
“They’re controlling the crane from the flight boss’s station. Let’s raise a little hell.”
She nodded, her eyes went distant, and…she was gone. I thought hard, felt the bond, and willed myself out of the carrier, out of the bay, and above to the flight boss’s station, with its panoramic windows overlooking the carrier and shattered ATC.
As I got my bearings, I spotted Jing ripping the portly flight boss from his chair. She drove a palm up, into his nose, and kept pushing to kill him. He slumped as two Marines guarding the door came forward, leveling their particle rifles. I ran forward and leapt between them, kicking both rifles from their hands as I came down and grabbed their necks, driving them back, toward the door. One of them shouted something as I fumbled for his wrist, tore off his hand and tac, turned to the other, who frantically dug into a hip holster for his pistol. I seized his wrist—
“Scott!” cried Jing.
I looked up, right into the small, dark eyes of a Marine sergeant hovering over me. He waved a pen scanner over my tac, deactivating it. My skin faded, and a horrible smell made me light-headed. Jing rocketed toward us in the biza, but the Marine got his scanner close enough to deactivate her tac. As her skin faded, she dropped, began coughing, rolled over, looked at me, eyes begging for help. “Scott…”
The humming of force beams came from somewhere, from the darkness, it seemed. Suddenly aware of my aching body, I opened my eyes and saw dust twinkling in the beams. I sat up. They had carried me to a small cell in the brig, lavishly furnished with a narrow gelrack, small sink, and foul-smelling head. A thick band had been placed on my wrist, just above my tac, and I tried repeatedly to rip it off, but I couldn’t find the strength. The band was drugging me, I knew, keeping me weak, too weak to will myself out of the cell. I opened my mouth, and the voice that emerged sounded thin, hoarse, nearly unrecognizable. “Rooslin? Jing? Breckinridge?”
I waited for an answer, listened to the beams’ incessant humming. I wanted to call again, but my throat hurt.
A little later, I’m not sure how long, the beams trickled out, and in stepped the ship’s XO, a tall man with closely cropped hair and a silver goatee. “Captain, you’ve been placed under arrest by the Western Alliance Marine Corps. Do you understand me?”
Even just a nod brought on pain. A lot of pain.
“My orders are to disregard the war conventions of 2300 and 2301 pertaining to the seizure and treatment of POWs. I understand that your orders are to obey the Articles of the Code of Conduct, that you will not willingly give information or take part in any actions that might be harmful to the colonies. Am I correct in assuming that?”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered.
“Well, unfortunately son, we’ve already scanned you, the other captains, and your pilots, and you’ve given us more information than we could have possibly hoped for.”
My jaw went slack. “No.”
He smiled. “A second conditioning facility on Aire-Wu? Conditioned officers with the ability to manipulate their own DNA? A possible coup being initiated by the Colonial Wardens? Some kind of Racinian medical machines on Exeter? Unbelievable. Truly unbelievable.”
My eyes welled up. I had not succumbed to their torture. I had not volunteered the information. I was simply foolish enough to let myself be captured. As I gritted my teeth at the XO, I realized that my greatest failure was in remaining alive.
“You’re probably wondering what happens now,” said the XO. “And though you might be fighting for the wrong side, I admire a gennyboy like you who’s managed to become a captain. So I won’t keep you wondering. We’re transferring you to another carrier. You’ll be taken all the way to Earth. I guess the techies want to get their hands on you and your friends. Yes, they’re probably going to brainwipe you, maybe turn you into some kind of secret weapon. Who knows, one day we might even serve together.”
A tear slipped from one eye, and I quickly backhanded it away.
“Easy, son. You won’t remember any of this bullshit. And I’m willing to bet that for the first time in your life, you’ll be happy. Hell, at least you’ll be on the winning team, because the information you’ve given us will allow us to dismantle the Seventeen System Guard Corps by year’s end.” He waved a hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not here to gloat. I just came to say…good luck.”
I glanced at the floor as he left and remained that way for a long moment before I curled up into a ball. The drugs made me feel so emotional, so vulnerable, that I couldn’t help but sob.
They fed me twice per day, and I was able to measure time by those feedings. After the first week I suspected that my body was developing a resistance to whatever chemicals they were pumping into me. I began to feel stronger and more in control of my emotions.
It’s interesting how confinement has a way of putting you back in touch with yourself—whether you like it or not. I began a mental conversation in which I sought forgiveness from my friends, but they continually reminded me of my failure. I turned to thoughts of escape, and I managed to focus on them for a few days, exhausting dozens of ideas until I surrendered back into self-pity.
Then one morning, on the eleventh day of my confinement, alarms wailed, and I couldn’t understand why. I had grown so accustomed to the world of my cell that I had forgotten I was on board an Alliance capital cruiser and that anything, anything at all, could happen.