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DESPITE SAREE’S INCREDIBLY accurate time sense, the hours seemed to drag by, occasionally speeding when threats from Phalanx Eagle or Gianni Station intensified. But somehow, their combined efforts held off action. Ruhger worked miracles, finding small orbit changes that gave them more cover from station lasers. Porter convinced several cargo hauling trains to act as blockers, shifting them as Ruhger directed. Risky for them if Gianni or PE decided the collateral damage was worth it, but so far, they hadn’t. The Greyhound’s pilot turned on charm or made threats as the situation called for and pulled in some contacts on the station to talk in person to the controllers. They won for good when the shift changed and a new supervisor came in. The off-going supervisor was now under investigation. They might live long enough to make it to the clock. Back to Lightwave? Who knew?
Katryn and Los also worked miracles, keeping Gianni Station busy putting out fires. Metaphorical ones, not real, although once, they set off the fire alarms in a Familia office compartment. It worked, but the entire station was angry and scared. Fire was no joke on a station, and they’d already been through a real one with the Borgia compartment mess.
Ruhger rubbed his eyes and stood up to stretch.
“Get some shut-eye, Ruhger; I’ve got it,” Fisk said. “You’ve gotten us this far. I’ll get us the rest of the way. Same with the rest of you. Pits and I can handle it. We’ll be at the clock in three more hours, and we’ll wake you then, Clutch leader.” The title held less irony, but it was still there.
Saree nodded. “Thanks.” She got up, stretched, and returned to the observer seat she’d started in, reclining it and lying back. She closed her eyes, tightened and relaxed each set of muscles from her head to her toes and slept.
#
“CLUTCH LEADER, WE’RE docked at the clock,” Pits said, shaking her foot slightly.
Saree sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes. Rising, she strode to the bulkhead where her clock maintenance case was locked to the decking. Pits followed her, clearly curious. “Can you lighten the gravity in just the airlock, or do you have to lighten it everywhere?”
“Everywhere.” Pits shrugged. “Military shuttle, you know. Lowest bidder.”
Saree chuckled. “True. Well, could you please lighten it some? Not enough to wake anyone, just enough for me to put my suit on. It’s heavy.”
Pits tilted her head. “Radiation?”
“Yes.”
“So, I should be in a hardsuit.”
Saree put her hand on the DNA sampler and glanced up at Pits. “Why? There’s no reason for anyone to go out there with me. There’s not much room, especially in the clock, and you can’t be in there anyway.”
Pits held up a hand. “I don’t want to be in the clock itself. But Familia is worried about something out here, so you need someone to guard your six.”
She nodded. “Good point. Thanks.”
Pits smiled, her relief clear. “My pleasure.” She turned and walked to the hatch labeled “Armory.”
Saree stared after her. Pleasure? This would be the first time any of the pararescue team thought of her as anything but a burden or trouble. Wait a nanosecond. Didn’t Tyron say Pits came from Familia? She certainly had the look, with her olive skin, dark brown hair and sharp features. Good thing her clock maintenance suit was stunner-proof and resistant to laser fire. She smiled. And now had weapons built in—at Chief’s insistence. Smart man. She’d thank him when they got back.
Saree finished with the security measures and opened the case to her suit.
Pits came back, and swept at her holo, murmuring.
The gravity lessened and Saree nodded at Pits. She reached in and pulled out the heavy suit, Pits helping. With Pits’s assistance, Saree struggled into the massive suit. Once in, she fastened the helmet and checked her systems, using the suit’s grav generator to lighten her load. She brought the Clobbered Turkey and Lightwave’s personnel into her comms.
“Double-check?” Pits asked.
Saree brought up Pits’ suit status—everything looked good—and motioned her to turn around. Saree scanned, but saw nothing obvious. She reciprocated, although Saree still wasn’t sure she could trust Pits. She sent a text to Ruhger and Grant, telling them what she was doing, and her suspicions, but she didn’t send an alarm. They needed the sleep and she was just paranoid.
“Fisk, Pits. Exiting Turkey, entering clock.”
“Copy that, Pits. Stay sharp.”
Pits worked the airlocks, brought her rifle up and walked to the inner clock hatch. She swept every inch, including the overhead and decking, before she pushed off and into the clock. “Nothing here,” Pits reported.
Saree walked to the threshold, and pushed off into the gravity-free clock. Towing her case, she floated to the clock hatch and entered all her codes. There was no sign of forced entry anywhere. The only suspicious thing was how clean the clock seemed. There wasn’t a speck of grease or corrosion or any random construction materials floating around. But some systems did a better job than others. It did seem a little odd in a system where the contracted fuelers were known to do shoddy work. The Time Guild interface showed no access since the last maintenance and no sign of tampering. Saree entered the clock and secured the hatch, breathing a sigh of relief. She could do her job and not worry about an attack.
Saree opened the clock case and checked each sub-clock status. All of the transuranic sources were good. She only needed to tune them. Pulling the right tool and poising herself at the Alpha sub-clock, she breathed deeply and started her meditation, quickly reaching the correct state. Saree ^reached^ and entered ^timespace^, all the practice she’d been doing paying off in speed and ease. She found the right frequency, ^pulled^ it to the front of her time sense and tuned the clock, relaxing as the clock came into harmony with the universal standard. She quickly tuned the other three. She marveled at the beauty and peace for a moment, then started back to her body. As she returned to the weight of consciousness, something caught her attention. What is that? And how do I ^reach^ it?
“What the—” Pits exclaimed, recalling Saree from her meditation.
Now what? Trick, or...? Saree buttoned up the clock, grateful she’d already been exiting ^timespace^ so she didn’t get a migraine.
“Saree, are you almost done? Because I think you should see this.”
Those words didn’t help her decide if this was a trick or not. She cleared her throat and unmuted her comms. If she said anything when she was in ^timespace^ she didn’t want anyone hearing. She didn’t want to hear herself either. Saree said, “Yes. Be out in a minute.”
“Copy.”
Still no clue if “this” was good or bad. Saree checked her defenses and weapon status—all fully charged and ready. She annotated her tuning in the Time Guild interface, closed the system and double-checked all the physical clock security. She sent a text to Ruhger and Grant telling them Pits had something to show her in the clock housing. With great trepidation, Saree cracked open the clock hatch and pulled herself to peer through the crack. Too bad they hadn’t integrated those fiber vids into this suit.
Pits floated with her back to Saree. The exterior hatches were still closed and no one else was in the clock. Saree’s tense muscles relaxed. Clearly, her imagination was playing games with her. Then Saree realized what Pits was looking at. Oof. This was bad.
A flat plas panel, printed to look like the one of the bulkheads, leaned to the side. Beyond that, small plas boxes were carefully stacked on shallow shelves. Most of the boxes were ten to twenty centimeters long, some square, some tall, some squat and low. What would be in such small packages? Drugs? Jewels? Other valuables? Hard to know. She exited and secured the clock hatch.
Pits turned to her, face grim.
Saree accepted a text from Pits.
“Rigged to blow.”
Suns. This was so bad.
Saree sent back, “Can you defuse it?”
“Probably not fast. If we stay here too long, Familia will know we found it. Smarter to put the panel back and leave now. We’ll let K9 know.”
“Good plan.”
A male chuckle sounded. “It would have worked, if you remembered all of us can monitor each other’s comms, even texts.”
Saree turned to see Fisk standing there in his hardsuit, rifle pointed at them. Blast it all into a black hole, she’d suspected the wrong team member.
“So what’s keeping Master Sergeant Porter from hearing you?” Pits demanded angrily.
Fisk chuckled again. “Oh, just a little sleepy gas in quarters. She’ll be fine.”
“And what about my clutch?” Saree demanded.
“Secured into their seats. You didn’t know they can be used to transport prisoners, did you?”
Rad-blasted egg eater. “No. I did not. Now what? You do realize that turning me over to Familia or anyone else isn’t going to end well for you, right?”
Fisk snorted. “Oh, it will end just fine. I’ve got it all planned. Every contingency covered. Now, come along like a good girl, or I take away Pits’s air. I’ve got her suit all locked up.” He smiled cruelly. “She’s nothing but a pain anyway.”
By the egg of Zarar. Arrogant rad-blasters never learn. Saree shook her head. “This isn’t going to end well for you. But I will cooperate. I don’t want Pits to die.” Saree pushed off and floated to the airlock, and carefully stepped into the gravity. It was at normal, so she sagged until she adjusted her suit. Ah, that was better.
“Just stay right there until I get this wall back in place. Remember, I’ve got Pits at my mercy.”
“Yes.” Saree brought up comms with Lightwave, but got nothing.
“Oh, I’ve engaged the comms interference, so don’t even try to talk to Lightwave, Clocker.”
Saree started to turn, but decided to not give Fisk the satisfaction of any reaction. Cold, calm, collected. That’s what she needed. She waited patiently for Fisk to finish up and tensed when the hatch opened in front of her. The Clobbered Turkey’s exterior hatch opened and they entered. The interior hatch opened slowly. No one waited, ready to spring. Blast and rad, she’d have to act. This probably wasn’t going to end well for anyone.
A different male chuckle sounded over the comms. “And you forgot about the medical alerts and overrides, didn’t you, Fisk?” Doc said. “Such a shame. You’ve blown away your career and freedom for nothing.” Doc chuckled again.
“We could split the reward, Doc,” Fisk said urgently.
“Nah, I don’t think so. I like my life just the way it is. If I wanted credits or fame, I’d be a body modder back home.” Doc strolled into Saree’s view, not a shred of armor on.
Oh, that wasn’t smart. What if Fisk had a special command authority or something? She turned on her exterior speakers. “Doc, get some armor on. He might have—”
The whine of a stunner fired and Doc collapsed to the decking.
Fisk stalked over and aimed a vicious kick at Doc’s ribcage. Saree winced, anticipating the crunch of bones. Suns, what if he punctured a lung? But she heard nothing.
“Adding up those charges, Fisk,” Porter said calmly, strolling into view in her hardsuit.
Fisk was frozen, one foot still off the decking. Los walked in behind Porter, also in his hardsuit, and pulled Doc on to a medfloat, and walked it to the medico station without a backward glance. Porter strolled around Fisk, stopping at his left side, the leg he was standing on. She turned quickly toward the shuttle control center, banging into Fisk. He teetered, and fell over, landing face down, bouncing a bit on the decking. “Oops. Clumsy me. That pose doesn’t look comfy. Well, let’s just fix that problem.” His hardsuit straightened, but remained face down. “I think staring at the decking for the next couple of days will be good for you, Fisk. I sure hope you adhered to pararescue team standards and attached all your plumbing, or it could be very unpleasant. Ah well, your fault if it happens.”
Porter’s cheer held a mocking tone, but Saree could hear an underlying sincerity. Fisk must have seriously annoyed Porter. Not surprising.
“Clutch Leader Saree, I’ll lighten the gravity so you can get out of that suit. Ruhger, Grant, you two okay?”
They jumped out of their seats. Ruhger growled, “Fine.”
“Great. I never mind getting a little more rest. You?” Grant asked.
Saree sagged with relief and opened her maintenance case.
“Oh, don’t you worry about me.” Porter laughed. “Well, except the hassle I’m going to have levying charges. What a pain. Too bad all of Fisk’s superiors were right after all.”
“You suspected this?” Ruhger snarled.
“Yes. Don’t worry, he didn’t get any messages out about the Clutch Leader. He thought he did, but they went nowhere. Now we not only got him, but the idiots who tempted him into betraying Gov Human in the first place. Oh, and Familia’s hiding spot in Sirius. We’ve been looking for that forever. Never thought of the clock.”
“No, we never thought of the clock.”
Saree spun around at the new voice. No, not a new voice. It was the voice of Greyhound Five.
“We really should have,” the man chuckled. He was in soft armor, helmet down, wearing the same patches all of them wore. Slightly taller than Saree, thin build, tan skin, medium brown hair cut short, at least a decade or so older. This man’s patches were probably the real thing. Suns, theirs might be real. Maybe that’s how they got them.
“Clutch Leader Saree, Captain Ruhger, Purser Lowe. I’m Inspector General Bessel, Sirius Forces. Thank you for your assistance.” He bowed.
“I’d say you’re welcome, but I don’t appreciate you risking the Clutch Leader’s life for this little gain,” Ruhger said.
“We didn’t intentionally risk the Clutch Leader, Captain.” Bessel’s face was sincere, but Saree knew better than to trust the facial expressions of high-ranking individuals. “We didn’t know Fisk would try anything this audacious. We thought he’d simply send a message. And we didn’t know about the Familia problem until you did. It was definitely a surprise.” He smiled, a satisfied expression. “A very nice surprise. This will put a crimp in their operations.”
Saree simply nodded. They all knew it was nothing but a game. A game that risked a lot of lives and was worth a lot of credits. The involvement of the IG did explain why Lightwave and the Clobbered Turkey/Greyhound hadn’t been fired on by Gianni Station though.
“Are you going to take care of Phalanx Eagle for us now?” Ruhger asked.
Bessel smiled, a little grimly. “We can’t.”
“You won’t.”
He nodded. “We won’t. Unless they fire, we won’t. Defensive strike only.”
“Even though the Clutch Leader’s life is at stake?” Grant asked.
“Yes. We will make it very clear to PE that they will die if they fire, but that’s all we can do.”
“So, if they go all out and kill us, you’ll kill them, but that’s it.”
Bessel’s expression grew impatient. “Yes. That’s why Gov Human put all those credits into your ancient folder. You have excellent defenses and can withstand anything a single mercenary folder fires at you.”
Grant smirked. “Just checking.”
Saree was pretty sure Grant was checking Bessel’s tolerance, not their policies. Not a bad idea, since she wasn’t very happy with their methodology or secrets. “Let’s return to Lightwave, then, and get out of Sirius. We’ve done enough of Gov Human’s work today and for the foreseeable future.”
Bessel glared and Saree just gazed back, impassive. He sneered slightly, turned on his heel and returned to Greyhound Five. His minion entered and walked Fisk in his suit to the Greyhound. They unlatched and flew away to K9 Station.
“Those guys give me the willies,” Porter said.
“Inspector Generals, high-rankers, or ego-driven rad-blasters?” Grant asked.
“Yes,” Porter deadpanned.
Grant grinned. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”
Porter held up a hand. “And before you ask, no, I didn’t know who was on Greyhound. I suspected it was IG, but I didn’t know it was the IG in Sirius. Typical though, rolls in at the end to claim the glory and does none of the work or the cleanup.”
“They took Fisk off your hands,” Ruhger said.
“Well, there is that.” Porter shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll still have to do the paperwork.” She sighed. “Let’s get back to Lightwave and get out of this system.”
Ruhger said, “Yes. Just because we can survive an attack doesn’t mean we want to endure one. I’d rather avoid hostilities and leave.”
Saree agreed, but the sinking feeling in her stomach said it wouldn’t be that easy.