Drysine Legacy (The Spiral Wars Book 2) (16 page)

At the bottom of the berth ramp, before protruding hydraulics from the inner part of the docking mechanism, Lieutenant Alomaim waited with Bravo Platoon’s First Squad. “No station officials, Lieutenant?” Erik asked.

“No sir.” Alomaim was in heavy armour, but his helmet was replaced by a cap, as was customary in places not yet proven unfriendly. Erik and his first-shift crew wore the same, with light, unpowered armour. “There were a few here earlier, but they left.” He nodded across the dock. “Journalists over there have been trying to ask questions. There’s no station security here at all.”

“Say no to the journalists,” said Erik, descending the ramp. “Be polite but firm.”

“Aye sir. That’s what the Major said. We’re heading to Berth 26 sir?”

“Yes.”

“Bit of a hike from here, we could commandeer a vehicle I’m sure.”

“I’m sure you could too, but I need the walk. And I’d like to take a look at this place.”

Alomaim nodded at the thin crowd once more, dissuaded from coming closer by the line of well-spaced marines. “There’s kuhsi over there sir. We’ve had a mike and translator on them for a while. They’re talking about our shuttle pilot and her kid, so I guess word is out. It’s nasty talk sir, lots of rude jokes, talk of rape.”

Erik looked where the Lieutenant was looking, and saw the kuhsi — four of them. “Fuck they’re huge,” Kaspowitz observed. Kuhsi males, probably local security for some company or other. No visible weapons, dark jumpsuits and jackets. Big ears and massive shoulders, arms folded and watching with golden-eyed contempt.

“I want you to frighten them,” said Erik. Alomaim raised his eyebrows. “Don’t harm, just frighten. No one talks about our crew that way in our presence. Make sure they know why.”

“Yessir,” said Alomaim, and gave some orders. Bravo First Squad formed up about the bridge crew as they set out walking up the dock. On their left, several marines casually broke formation to confront the big kuhsi. Marines in armour were imposing, but they were barely larger than these unarmored kuhsi. Words were exchanged, tinny and harsh on translator speakers. Kuhsi snarled back. The marines levelled weapons large enough to turn big kuhsi into red puddles, as surrounding spectators backed away in shock. The kuhsi retreated, slinking away with ears down.

“Makes you proud to be a man, doesn’t it?” Geish suggested drily as they walked on.

“They’re one beautiful, sexy, fucked up species, that’s for sure,” said Kaspowitz.

“I want Tif and Skah under armoured escort on station,” Erik told Alomaim. “We don’t even know if that’s political or not. More likely it’s just the usual messed up males insisting women don’t belong off their homeworld.”

“And flying shuttles,” added Gunnery Sergeant Connie Brice from Alomaim’s side.

“Exactly. Women get murdered for less on the homeworld. If these guys try anything, kill them. No one threatens our crew or our guests.”

“Aye sir.” Lieutenant Alomaim was the least experienced of
Phoenix
’s marine officers, but Trace had told Erik he might one day be the best, if he stayed in long enough. He was certainly the hardest to read, deadpan and businesslike even by Trace’s standards.

“Poor Tif,” said Shahaim. “Imagine being stuck in that gender system.”

“Imagine being out
sized
like that,” Gunnery Sergeant Brice added. “Augments remove much of the performance difference for us, but no amount of augments could let a kuhsi woman equal
that.
”

“Those guys were Scuti,” said Kaspowitz. “Southern continent, everyone’s bigger down there, males especially. But yeah, even your typical kuhsi male will have fifty percent bodyweight on little Tif.”

“Smaller always means faster,” said Shahaim above the thumping of many armoured boots on deckplate. “Tif’s reflexes are insane. What if her old boyfriend the ruler of Koth was running that pilot school for women precisely because he figured women would make better pilots? I mean, given that size difference, the women could be a
lot
faster, and better with the Gs too. That would threaten a lot of the old boys, I’d reckon — piloting’s a high prestige job on Choghoth.”

“Yeah,” Kaspowitz said grimly. “Could have helped get him killed, too. Imagine if women started flying starships — the single most important technical profession of the age, and kuhsi men can’t get near their women for ability? Would turn the whole status of kuhsi women upside down. Lots would kill to stop it.”

Ahead on the left, against the inner wall,
Phoenix
marines and spacers were gathered about a hallway through the construction work. A familiar figure in armour strode out to intercept them.

“How’s the accommodation?” Erik asked Trace as she fell in beside him, huge rifle racked over one shoulder.

“It’s fine,” she said. “The construction’s just on the lower levels, once you get the elevator up it’s all finished and good. Of course, having everyone on upper levels will reduce our response time between here and
Phoenix.
Wasn’t Lisbeth invited to this thing as well?”

“She’s helping Romki with his hacksaws again. She said she’ll grab a vehicle and catch up shortly.”

“What’s the schedule for
Edmund Shandi
?”

“We need to talk to everyone else first,” Erik told her. “Let’s leave the Worlders until we’re certain of our footing here. We can’t get any kind of talks going unless we’re sure no-one’s about to pull the rug out from under us.”

Berth 26 took nearly half an hour to walk, as shopfronts resumed along the inner wall, and the dock level became thick with stationers, mostly barabo mixed with occasional tavalai. Vehicles cruised amidst off-duty construction personnel in fluro worksuits and hard hats — interior workers, an advantage of building a station while it was operating, not everyone needed an environment suit. But there were no markets on the dock, unlike Tuki Station, probably a result of station management deciding that with construction everywhere, vehicles needed the space to drive and stalls got in the way.

There were non-human-sphere species here too, the occasional strange and barely recognisable face amidst the more familiar. One was reptiloid with a bony snout, while another pair walked hunched over with massive shoulders to fight a much heavier gravity, flat heads thrust forward and low. The humans tried not to stare, while exchanging remarks about which species they might be — kratik and shoab respectively, it was agreed, probably attracted to Kazak due to its spacer trade. Tuki had been centred more about trade from its big, inhabited planet below, Vieno. Such trade was perishable, non-industrial and of less interest to distant aliens making long trips. Also, Kazak was politically central in a way Tuki wasn’t, and aliens on long trips could make contacts here that Tuki would not provide. But for all its greater importance, Erik found himself preferring the warmth and bustle of Tuki’s markets and lively traders. Joma Station was cold, half-built and lacked the colour and smiles.

Approaching Berth 26, Erik looked back to find a vehicle approaching behind — an open-topped buggy with fat tires, four heavy-armoured marines piled into the back with two more light-armoured — Lisbeth’s bodyguards Carla and Vijay — compressing the suspension. Lisbeth was driving, and Erik repressed a smile to see his sister in her borrowed spacer jumpsuit and harness,
Phoenix
cap on her head, driving these marines around like she was their CO. But it was sensible, because if they were to guard her they had to have hands free to shoot, which they couldn’t do while driving. Plus, in heavy armour it was nearly impossible to fit behind the wheel.

“
Sorry I’m late
,” she said on coms, hanging back so she didn’t break up the formation. The marines had trained her well.
“Erik, why are you walking? I saw another couple of vehicles back there you could have borrowed.”

Erik smiled. “Borrowed? You’re a Debogande and you want to ‘borrow’ things?”

“Well okay, ‘rented’. And why are you walking anyway?”

“It’s called exercise, sis. You might try it.” Grins from the surrounding crew.

“Isn’t a half-hour stroll a little light to qualify as exercise for a Fleet officer?”

“Yes,” Trace agreed, with a pointed glance at Erik. “Yes it is.”

“I’m instating a new ship rule,” Erik told both women. “No nagging. Effective immediately.”

“You need to be ranked captain to do that,” said Trace. Erik gave her an unimpressed stare. Even in casual conversation, she was relentless, and always returned to the sore spot.

Ahead amidst the dock crowds, a screen alongside the wall umbilicals announced Berth 26. Some spacers stood on the ramp before their hatch, watching the
Phoenix
crew approach. One raised a hand in greeting, and Erik raised his in return.

“Eyes open,” Alomaim told his marines, who fanned out as they walked. Recently the paranoia had been well earned. Two spacers approached from the ramp, and Erik squinted, thinking one looked familiar.

“
Phoenix
ID says the one on the right is Captain Houli,” said Trace, matching face recognition on her visor uplink. “His last ship registry was
Europa.
”

“And the one on the left is my uncle,” said Erik as he finally recognised the face. And said to his mike, “Lis, get up here, it’s Uncle Calvin.”

Uncle Calvin was brown, slim and handsome, and spread his arms wide with a broad smile as he approached. Erik grinned back, and embraced him. “Didn’t expect to see you here!” he said with feeling.

“You look good, kid,” said Calvin, parting with a slap on Erik’s armoured shoulder.

“Cal, you’ll have heard of Major Trace Thakur?” And to Trace, “Calvin’s my mother’s little brother. He runs Debogande Inc’s legal wing, was a judge first for… what was it, twenty years?”

“Around that,” Calvin agreed, shaking Trace’s hand. “But I got tired of being impartial and came home to the family. A pleasure, Major.”

“We could use a good lawyer,” Trace suggested, and Calvin laughed.

Lisbeth interrupted with a shout and came running to hug her uncle hard. “Oh my god, what are you doing here?”

“Your mother sent me on a company legal mission,” said Calvin, hugging her back. “Captain Houli here commands the fastest ship that DI has, and we got word from our sources that
Phoenix
was heading to Kazak. Great to see you kids well, just wonderful. The whole family was so worried.”

“So how did your sources hear we were coming here?” Erik asked warily.

“You’re really going to ask that?” Calvin replied. “I thought everyone knew by now.” Erik glanced at Trace. Trace actually grimaced, a rare expression for her. “Before we get into that, I’ve got something to show you.” He turned and beckoned back to the ship ramp. A spacer there signalled inside, and some people emerged. They wore spacer and marines uniforms, blue and black, and carried standard duffel bags like they were going somewhere.

Erik recognised one immediately. “That’s Jersey! That’s Lieutenant Jersey… where did…?” He grinned in astonishment, recognising several other faces as well. Lieutenant Regan Jersey was the pilot of
Phoenix
’s missing shuttle, PH-3. PH-3 had been on Homeworld when Trace had busted Erik out of Fleet custody. They hadn’t been able to use her to escape, opting for Lisbeth and the private AT-7 instead, lest Fleet or Commander Huang get wind of what they were attempting… and at that thought, his heart almost stopped. Was Commander Huang here as well?

But he couldn’t see her, as Jersey stopped before him with a grin and saluted. She was only a small woman, and was once Lieutenant Hausler’s rival for hottest shuttle pilot on
Phoenix.
Erik saluted back, and shook her hand hard, not knowing her quite well enough for a hug. “Lieutenant, how the hell?” Looking at the others gathering on the dock behind her.

“You left me behind, you bastard!” she said cheerfully, and those crew laughed. “I know why you did it, but still, some of us don’t take rejection well. A few of us who got left behind were scheming how to get back to
Phoenix
when some Debogande people suggested they might have a ship that could help.” She shrugged. “So we got on board. And we even picked up a few volunteers — figured you’d be a few hands short and came to help. Hoon… where’s Hoon?”

A black-clad marine came forward, scarred and weathered, and saluted Trace and Erik. “Master Sergeant Peter Hoon,
UFS Walker, UFS Claymore, UFS Five Junctions
. Thirty-three years active duty, six years retired, volunteering for service.”

Trace saluted back, smiling. “I’ve heard of you. Kresnik’s Feint, Horsehead System?”

Hoon smiled grimly. “That’s the one, Major. I’ve heard of you too.” Laughter from those behind. “Condolences on your Captain, he was a great man. What they did to him stank. I had several buddies who fought beside you and
Phoenix
in the past, never had the honour myself but they said you’d never steer a good marine wrong. Figured you might need some new grunts, so I and a few of the guys started rounding up others…” he gestured to those behind him. “Lots of grey hairs and old knees, but we still remember how it’s done.”

Trace’s smile grew broader. Behind her, Bravo Platoon were grinning with delight. “Can always use some more wise heads,” she said.

“We brought PH-3 back too,” Lieutenant Jersey added. “She’s grappled to
Europa
, rode her through jumps real easy.”

Erik blinked. “You did?” Wow. One large tactical disadvantage, solved just like that. In one stroke, he now had enough shuttles to deploy all of
Phoenix
’s marine company at one time, if needs be. “But Fleet had PH-3 in custody, surely? How did you get her back?”

“Got granted a favour,” Jersey said cautiously.

“A favour from who?”

E
uropa
’s
main corridor was not nearly as large as
Phoenix
’s, and Trace had to take care her Koshaim didn’t catch its muzzle on the ceiling. She followed Erik’s Uncle Calvin down the corridor, Erik between Lisbeth’s borrowed Bravo Third Squad guys behind, just in case. Lisbeth, Lieutenant Alomaim and the rest remained out on the dock, getting to know the new recruits, and hearing the tales of the long lost
Phoenix
crew.