Vigilante (35 page)

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Authors: Laura E. Reeve

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BOOK: Vigilante
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Meaning they needed protection from radiation. He hoped that wasn’t the
case, considering the huge number of people on the
Pilgrimage
III
—including Matt Journey. His glance strayed back to the held call that showed
Journey’s picture.
“We can’t do anything about the buoy area right now,” he said. “What’s
going on around this station?”
Maria changed the display. Beta Priamos Station, as well as Priamos,
were moving into Laomedon’s shadow. It was an echo of the
Pilgrimage
’s movement and the similarity made him uncomfortable. Regrettably,
his
feelings
didn’t give him better insight.
“That’s the SP’s ship.” Maria pointed to a squawking ID moving away from
Beta Priamos Station. “Maybe he’s a hostage—but where are they going? They won’t rendezvous
with anything on that vector.”
“I don’t know.” Too many mysteries, and Joyce was tired of using his
brain. He’d rather be doing something clear-cut and active, like kicking asses. He pointed at
the freighter drifting off Beta Priamos. “Let’s figure out what to do about the
Golden Bull
, all right?”
At least Maria was pragmatic and knew when to change her focus. His
doubts about her loyalties quieted, since she didn’t rush headlong into an attempt to save the
State Prince. She brought up the CP log to figure out why the freighter was floating off the
station.
Apparently, the
Golden Bull
was taken by the
crazies about seven hours ago, shortly after they took over CP. Somebody down on Priamos called
Abram was issuing commands—
“Did we cut off the crazies down on the surface? Will they know we’re
here?” He had hoped not to alert the
entire
solar system when they
grabbed the Beta Priamos Station CP. Maria’s eyes widened and she, also, began checking their
comm channels.
“No.” She sounded relieved. “Abram has a dedicated buoy-relay channel,
probably to speak real-time with the
Pilgrimage
. He’s not cut off
from comm, but if he tries to speak with this command post, I’m sure he’ll notice our
silence.”
“I guess that’s the best we can do. Make sure we’re recording his
channel. Now, back to the freighter problem.”
The
Golden Bull
was supposed to install a
buoy relay on the dark side of Laomedon in a stable Lagrange point. That would have extended
comm coverage, but something went wrong on the
Golden Bull
: The
crew rebelled—rather, they resisted the initial coup leaders and took their ship
back
from the crazies.
“Good for them,” Joyce said. After Maria looked at him, he added, “I
mean the anticrazies, the original crew.”
“The last orders from Abram to CP were to talk the rebels into docking
at level three’s B-4 slip. There’s a boarding party ready to take the ship.”
“So the crazies want to take the freighter—back again—from the original
crew, right?” He pointed to a diagram of the station. “That explains where most of our armed
crazies are located. They’re sitting at B-4, so no wonder the
Golden
Bull
doesn’t want to dock. By the way, who’s the angry guy on the comm?”
“That’s a loadmaster, named Harold Bokori. I’m guessing the captain and
pilot were, ah, undercover crazies.” Maria shrugged, apparently resigning herself to using
Joyce’s nomenclature. “The
Golden Bull
is in trouble because they
don’t have enough air or water to get to another class B dock in the system. Perhaps this was a
precautionary measure taken by the crazies, or mere happenstance.”
“So we’ve got to convince him that we’re not crazies and figure out how
to help him and his crew, but not let the crazies overhear anything.” He wished he could turn
this over to Major Kedros, since she’d mastered the art of pulling great solutions, at the last
minute, out of her—
hmm
—shapely rear end. His own ass wasn’t nearly
as attractive, nor did it seem to be the source of any great ideas. Thinking of Kedros and her
piloting, however, helped his brain grasp at inspiration.
“What about S-DATS?” he asked.
Maria looked thoughtful. “Pilots usually only monitor that channel when
they’re on dock approach.”
The Space-Docking Automated Transmission System, or S-DATS, always
squawked at a specific frequency inside a solar system. Reliable pilots, such as Kedros,
monitored S-DATS as they approached habitats or stations. S-DATS would tell them the frequency
for the CP channel and other general conditions on-station,
such as
autopilot-docking compatibility
.
“Ship-specific instructions can be sent over S-DATS, right? The
freighter might be monitoring it, considering its half-docked condition.” His voice became
eager.
This might work
.
“Yes, packets can be directed to specific ship IDs, but only text bursts
are allowed over S-DATS. You’re never going to convince him”—Maria jerked her thumb toward the
fuming loadmaster—“that you’re not a crazy, if all you’re using is text.”
“You can use text to tell him to get on a different, and secure,
channel. Once you have video, you can use your powers of persuasion.”
“Oh.” Maria looked vaguely uncomfortable, which he thought might be her
why-didn’t-I-think-of-that expression.
“I’ll try. If they’re monitoring S-DATS and they switch over, then I’ll
handle the loadmaster. You take care of
Aether’s Touch
.” Maria
glanced at the held calls, where Matt Journey’s face displayed. “And if that ship has its
pilot, then I want to know how Kedros escaped the surface of Priamos.”
As Maria turned away and started tapping out her text message for
S-DATS, Joyce gave some thought to Mr. Journey, who couldn’t possibly be on his own ship at
this moment. Maria’s message went through and a moment passed before the crew of the
Golden Bull
changed their comm.

Golden Bull
to CP. What’s happening? If
you’re screwing with me, Garris—”
“May I help you?” Maria moved into cam-eye range with a sweet smile,
shutting down the loadmaster’s tirade.
He had no doubt Maria could convince the loadmaster that she wasn’t a
crazy. Barely listening to their conversation, he tapped out his instructions to
Aether’s Touch
, trying to figure out if there was a human sitting on that ship.
He wasn’t surprised when
Aether’s Touch
quickly responded on the
channel he indicated over S-DATS, but stayed in text-burst mode.
“Is that you, Major?” he typed. Not many people in this system should
know that Ariane Kedros was also in the AFCAW Reserve.
“No, Major Kedros is not available. Her orders are attached. Please
release docking clamps for
Aether’s Touch
.”
He looked at the attached analysis, provided with video, no less.
Certainly, it
appeared
that Kedros had been taken aboard the State
Prince’s ship, now heading in-system. It also
appeared
that she
mouthed the words,
Stop my ship
. The FTL data diagram showed that
the ship would be close enough to the buoy to drop to N-space within an hour. Perhaps these
crazies were making an escape and grabbed the closest N-space pilot they could find. On the
other hand, someone could be showing him cleverly edited video.
“If you do not release the docking clamps, Master Sergeant Alexander
Joyce, both this ship and the station will be damaged.”
Joyce stared at the text. A crazy couldn’t know his full name and rank,
but Journey’s so-called automated agent would have that information. He could no longer accept
Journey’s protest that this was an advanced search agent with special algorithms—this was a
full-fledged, soon-to-be-rogue AI.
Using Artificial Intelligence to control weapons is
a violation of the Phaistos Protocols, which we’ve interpreted to mean that AI shouldn’t even
pilot ships.
Of course, that’s one interpretation.
But I’m not
allowed my own interpretation.
The standard joke said noncoms, as opposed to officers,
“worked for a living,” but the flip side of the jab was “noncoms weren’t paid to think.”
By his eye-for-eye logic, the crazies had already flushed the Phaistos
Protocols down the crapper, so why shouldn’t he bend them? He glanced at Maria, who was busy
with the
Golden Bull
, and surreptitiously released the clamps. Then
he compounded his crime by erasing all the implicating message copies he could find.
Lieutenants Oleander and Maurell shrank to the right and hugged the
bulkhead to let the oncoming commando move past in his hissing and squeaking armor and
exoskeleton. In full gear, the commando’s rank couldn’t be determined, but Oleander had no
doubt that the hard face she saw was a senior noncom.
“Do you think they
sleep
in that stuff?”
Lieutenant Maurell muttered into her ear.
“All the time, son, all the time,” drifted back to them as the commando
continued jogging down the corridor.
Maurell cringed. “I forgot they can hear better than we can, even over
the huffing and puffing equipment.”
“Besides, we’re all going to be ‘sleeping’ under the D-tranny,” Oleander
said.
“If you call that sleeping.” Maurell grimaced. “I’ll be so nervous about
the transition that I’ll have waking dreams.”
“That’s better than ending up in full psychosis.” Oleander took a last
look at her slate and sighed. “We’re not carrying enough of
anything
, it seems. Not enough commandos, not enough antimine slugs or ammo for
our rail guns. I don’t even want to think about our piss-poor missile load. Luckily, there
should be no need for swarm missiles.”
“We’re packed to the gills on the largest ship that Pilgrimage allowed.
Do you think the ship line did this on purpose? This means we
have
to rely upon the
Percival
.” He lowered his voice to a bare whisper,
probably to avoid MilNet pickup by the nearest node. “Can we trust them?”
“To be fair to Pilgrimage HQ, they never considered this scenario and
neither did we.” Oleander frowned. “As to the trustworthiness of the Terrans, well, they have
as much to lose as we do.”
“So we can rely upon them as much as any force with differing weapon
systems, tactics, and languages, who’ve never done a coordinated mission with us. Although the
commandos and rangers seem capable of
ooh-rah
-ing at each
other.”
Oleander chuckled. Maurell stared at her.
“At this point, all I
can
do is laugh,” she
said with a shrug. “Everybody speaks common Greek well enough, so I wouldn’t put communication
at the top of your list of worries.”
Because there’s plenty more to worry about
,
she thought of adding, but Maurell’s tense face made her swallow the words. There was no need
to continue, since the yellow vector warning lights started blinking slowly, bathing the
hallway in bright light.
“Take-hold warning. This is first warning for low-gee maneuver.” The
words reverberated through the halls in the senior loadmaster’s deep, drawling voice.
“Better get webbed in,” she said.
As she headed for the control deck, she tried to wipe Maurell’s parting
expression from her memory. She understood his anxiety, and wouldn’t trade places with him for
anything. As senior weapons officer, she’d see what was going on when the bright hit her
bloodstream and they transitioned into normal space. While that put a heavy load on her
shoulders, at least she could react or take action. Poor Maurell would be webbed into his bunk
and, after he woke to transition alarms, he would be following status and chatter from his
quarters until called to duty.
By the time Oleander was webbing into her station on the control deck,
the vector warning lights had turned orange and Captain Janda, as pilot seat, was announcing
the third take-hold warning for station disconnection. She put her weapons station through
another self-test before looking around.
The buzz on the control deck was subdued and professional, with all
positions manned by senior crew members; the commanders of both ships were prepared for the
worst. Nobody knew what to expect when coming into real-space at G-145, so they made use of
their most experienced crew members.
“Teller’s Colony cleared us for departure, sir.” Captain Janda was the
senior pilot and making the N-space drop to G-145. On Fury-class ships, the pilot seat was
dual-capable, requiring both N-space and real-space training. Captain Janda did both but had
navigational and sensor support from Captain Stavros, sitting to the right of the pilot
seat.
“Let’s go, Captain Janda. Use maximum-allowed departure boost. Captain
Stavros, shortest course to buoy channel, if you please,” Lieutenant Colonel Aquino
said.
“Yes, sir.” Captain Stavros had a quiet voice that nonetheless carried
clearly. Her fingers flashed on her console as she sent parameters to the pilot seat; she would
already have calculated and stored that course.

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