Three Planets
A story in the round written
by Victory Crayne, John Bowers, and Don Muchow
Copyright 2011
In 2132, humanity had barely missed becoming extinct in biological and nuclear wars.
In 2140, with almost one billion people under a democratic world government, Parion had given up hope that Earth would ever be a major part of human space again. The folks on Parion enjoyed fifty years of peace after a short war with York, a sister world populated by a half billion people living under King Samuel.
York’s penal world of Wyo rebelled, aided in part by extensive emigration from Parion’s less prosperous minorities. In a desperate struggle for freedom, the folks on Wyo had simply outfought the arrogant and aristocratic warships of their masters. The 350 million people on Wyo now lived under a military republic with a fragile peace treaty on a “cold war” footing with York. Travel between the three planets was via warp drive FTL through hyperspace.
Wyo presented a rich opportunity for commerce if the right treaties can be established, but long-standing feuds made this difficult because of bad blood between York and Wyo.
Knute Borlon was tasked by his billionaire father to find out if Wyo was planning a new war with York. Knute hired attractive Carla Ming, a private investigator who had helped him on previous clandestine missions.
Lander Troy was an aristocrat on York who loved living dangerously by having one of his ships pirate defenseless trading ships and yachts. He also enjoyed selling weapons to a clandestine organization on Wyo headed by his third cousin Reuben Orvall, a Wyo patriot.
The torpedo impact blew Knute Borlon right out of his bunk, slamming him against the bulkhead, where he slid to the deck and lay gasping. Blood dripped from his nose and he shook his head to clear his vision. He was totally deaf, but blue and red flashing lights told him the emergency alarms had been triggered.
He struggled to his feet and braced himself against the bulkhead, his legs feeling like rubber. His cabin door flew open and Carla Ming darted through, graceful and catlike, grabbing his shoulder. Her eyes were wide with alarm, her mouth was moving—but he couldn’t hear a thing.
“I’m okay!” he gasped. “I’m okay.” He tilted his head back to clear his airway. His lungs were aching. “I’m okay…”
He collapsed into Carla’s arms.
“Is this a secure line?” Charles Borlon demanded in Knute’s ear. Knute had both hands on the wheel of his gravity skimmer as he streaked around a mountain road just north of Parion City. He grinned at his dad’s paranoia—the old man thought everyone in the galaxy wanted to listen in on his private calls.
“Secure as always, Dad!” he shouted over the wind noise. “It’s the same implant I always use…the only one I have.”
“Good.” His dad ignored the implied rebuke. “Did you get the message I left last night?”
“Yes I did. Frankly, I was a little surprised. What makes you think the Wyos are planning another war against York? They’ve been at peace for nearly eighty years.”
“It isn’t peace,” his dad insisted. “It’s an armed standoff. Their civil war never really ended, it just ran out of steam.”
“That’s not what I read in school.”
“What you read in school is irrelevant. History is always written by the winners.”
Knute’s teeth flashed again. “I thought you said the war never ended. How could there be a winner?”
His implant was silent for a moment, and Knute almost laughed aloud. Before his dad could start swearing, he repeated the question.
“What makes you think there might be an attack?”
“I’m not at liberty to say,” Charles Borlon said. “This line may not be secure…”
Knute ground his teeth.
“But we’ve had some…indicators…”
“What kind of indicators? What the hell are you talking about?”
“I can’t tell you, son, at least not right now. Just check it out, will you? Get on to Wyo and see what’s in the wind. I have a huge construction project about to break ground on York and if they’re gonna start shooting again my investors will start squealing like rocker girls.”
Knute was silent a moment, but finally nodded.
“Okay, Dad, I’ll get back to you by the end of the week. But you better shake loose the gold coins. This is gonna cost you.”
He bit down to end the call and opened a new channel.
“Call Carla Ming,” he said.
A ringing distracted her and the punch came before she even saw it. A jolt to her head, a flash of light, and Carla was down. As she struggled to regain her senses, as well as her breath, a voice filtered through her fog.
“Are you okay?”
Oh yeah, my sparring partner. Firm hands gripped her arms and brought her to her feet. “Yes, I’m okay.” But the ringing didn’t stop. Then she recognized it: her mobile at ring side. “Will someone get that?”
She saw her coach put the phone to his ear and mutter something before he looked up to her. “It’s some guy named Kite Hand.”
A shower and an hour later, she was driving her skimmer through the traffic near the central park, checking for anyone tailing her. Ten minutes later, she pulled into an empty underground parking garage and glided up next to Knute’s skimmer.
He had his helmet on with the visor covering the lower half of his face. The sign for confidentiality. She smelled badly needed money here. She put her own helmet on and adjusted the visor. Both reached from their vehicles and interfaced cables from their helmets by overlapping their magnetic plates. Now no one could hear what they said or read any lips.
His voice came through clear. “Ready for a little vacation off world?”
Hmm, some serious money. “Where?”
“York. How soon can you be ready? I’ll fill you in later.”
***
Two hours later, she carried her travel bags on board Knute’s private schooner. Over drinks, he updated her on the trip.
“Ah, we may have a little problem on York,” she added.
“Why?”
“Ah, I had an altercation with a prince’s son. The SOB had tried to rape me and escaped with his body intact, but not his dignity. I never filed charges. What would be the use against the royal family? I never expected him to charge me though, and I barely got off planet.”
He nodded and picked up his StarNet phone. “This will take a few minutes. Why don’t you use the powder room or something?”
Knowing his father’s compulsion for secrecy and codes, she went downstairs to the private quarters. But instead of using the facilities, she took the opportunity to check his luggage.
When she returned, he smiled. “It’s amazing what a few gold credits will do.”
“Thanks. You still using that old Switzer? That ion blaster isn’t good any farther than ten meters.”
He grinned. “Up to your old tricks, eh?”
She settled into the padded chair. “You want the best? You pay for the best.”
“I see. Well, this time the money spigot’s wide open.”
She raised her eyebrows. “The old man is that worried?”
When he didn’t answer, it dawned on her that there was more to this mission than a simple check on the Borlon properties on York.
Carla eyed her surroundings warily and fingered the Switzer. She squirmed in the chair, sat up, sat back, turned to look behind her. Finally, she calmed down a little, but couldn’t sit still for long.
“Who’s Kite?” Knute asked over-loudly, trying to distract her with conversation. His ears were still ringing, and most of the noises he heard sounded pale and distant. His ears actually hurt.
“Not here,” she said. “Definitely not here.”
“Friend of my dad’s?” he continued.
Carla cleared her throat forcibly.
“Ah…OK,” said Knute. “Then tell me about the prince’s son.”
“Also off limits,” Carla said. “Listen, I want to tell you something. Last time I was down here, I couldn’t take a shit without someone knowing whether I pressed the evac button. Down here, everything is public. You understand?”
“Everything?”
“Except what goes on in the royal houses. I got on the wrong side of Lander Troy, and he decided to have a little fun.”
“Lander raped you?”
“Tried to, along with about half his family. But the thing is, none of that’s public…except my reaction to it. The royal nets painted me as the bad girl.”
Knute stuck a finger in his ear and wiggled it. He wished his hearing would return to normal. “So he treated you as a common whore, then? I mean, there’s no reason he’d hold a grudge?”
“Not that I know of. What are you getting at?”
“If he knew who you were, he knows you’re connected to Borlon. He could have been sending a message to my father. You know, you fuck with me, I fuck with you. If so, that’s politically significant. And it explains why you got away.”
Carla leaned forward in the chair, tightening her grasp on the Switzer. She looked down, breathed heavily, then looked up. “I had to fight to get away, god damn it. Nobody let me escape.”
“All the same,” Knute said, “it tells us something about Troy. He or his father is hiding something. Maybe related to the Wyo rebellion.”
“We know your father is selling him whatever he needs,” Carla said. “Why wouldn’t he attack them?”
“Because my dad asked him to hold back, perhaps. And why, then, wouldn’t the Wyos strike first? I don’t know. That’s what we have to find out. Not when or whether there’s going to be some kind of uprising or breaking of the peace. But why there hasn’t been one already. Once we find that out, we have Lander by the balls.”
“Earlier,” said Carla, “the pirate attack. Do you think that was some kind of warning?”
“Possibly. There’s only one way to find out.”
Carla frowned, and raised an eyebrow in question.
Knute rubbed his neck. “It’s obvious to me: you have to go back in.”
“You did what?”
Reuben Orvall stared in dismay at the wall monitor opposite his desk. Lander Troy, tall and good looking and mischievous, grinned back at him over the secure link from his personal residence on Troy. Distant cousins, the two men had never met, but conferred frequently via StarNet.
“Just a little one,” Lander gloated. “Not a ship killer, just a calling card. Knocked out their star drives for a few hours, probably bloodied their ears—that’s all.”
“By why? Why would you have Borlon’s ship torpedoed? Are you insane?”
Lander Troy laughed and tapped an unlit cigarette on the edge of his desk, took a moment to light it, then exhaled blue smoke toward the camera. Pleased with himself.
“That’s what I called to tell you, cousin. Knute Borland is on his way to Wyo.”
Reuben scowled.
“So what? He’s been here before. Borlon Industries is expanding its operation here.”
“Yeah, but this time he’s on a mission for his old man.”
“What kind of mission?”
“The old man wants to know if Wyo and York are planning to resume hostilities.”
“That’s ridiculous. Why would he think that?”
Lander shook a finger gently at the camera, his grin widening.
“Because you’ve been a naughty boy, cousin. All those weapons you’re stockpiling…Borlon must’ve found out about them.”
“Why would he care about that? He doesn’t even know who I am.”
Lander laughed. “Poor, dumb Reuben. Just because you don’t care about money, you don’t understand how the rest of the universe thinks. Borlon doesn’t want to sink a hundred million into expansion on Wyo just to see the whole thing blown up if the bombs start falling again. You really ought to take an economics class.”
“Fuck you, Lander! How do you know all this?”
“Hey, the monarchy has ears everywhere. Old man Borlon’s private line is tapped. We know everything he’s doing.”
Reuben was still having a hard time grasping the news. He shook his head in bewilderment. “But why did you torpedo his ship? I don’t understand.”
“Looking out for you, cousin. Looking out for both of us. If Knute Borlon gets too close to you it will lead him back to me. So I decided to shake his confidence a little. You know, sow a little confusion.”
“Bullshit. Stir the pot is what you did. I’ve heard of Knute Borlon. He doesn’t scare easily. The best way to throw him off the trail is to convince him there’s no trail to follow.”
“Really!” Lander’s grin turned smug. “And how would I do that?”
“Not you, me. You’re in over your head, Lander. You spend too much time living the good life. You don’t understand the darker side of the universe.”
“And you do?”
“Damn right I do! Why do you think I’m still alive? My best advice to you is to put Knute Borlon out of your mind. Go spend some money or something. Just leave Borlon to me.”
“I’m not going back there,” said Carla. Switzer still in hand, her shoulders slumped with resignation as she anticipated Knute’s resistance.
“You have to,” said Knute. “How else are we going to get the inside track on Lander?”
Carla reluctantly got up, walked over to Knute’s luggage, and put the Switzer back in it, but not without registering her displeasure with a solid shove of the bag. “You go in there,” she said.
“Fine,” said Knute. “I go in there, and in ten seconds the cat is out of the bag. Daddy’s sending his little boy to check on the chickens. And as soon as he’s gone, the fox goes back in. I suggested you because it might distract Lander, put him off the scent.” He glared. “No need to take it out on me.”
“Lander doesn’t give a shit,” Carla spat. She started pacing to work off the nervous tension. “He only wants one thing: everything his heart desires.”
Knute suddenly snapped his fingers. “That’s it!” Knute walked over to Carla and kissed her on the forehead. “That’s brilliant! Exactly what we’ll do!”
Carla looked at Knute quizzically. “What?” She shook her head. “I don’t get it.”
“Listen,” Knute said, “You’re right. Lander is a playboy. He wants the sexiest women, the biggest guns, the most expensive toys, the fastest…”
Carla interrupted. “Go back to the part about the women,” she said, smiling.
“He knows Borlon is selling equipment to Wyo,” Knute continued. “So you and I go sell him a bigger deal.” He winked. “Strictly defensive stuff, of course.”
“Riiiight. But suppose he uses it to attack Wyo?”
“Suppose he does. It’s not our business to defend them. It’s our business to determine if there will be a disruption in payments for our supply of weapons. And it puts us here for a legitimate reason. Meanwhile, it provides cover for assessing the risk of a rebellion. He’ll let us go anywhere we want. And we leave with a fat check, a happy customer, and the information we came for.”
“As long as one of his goons trails along. I don’t like the smell of it, Knute. I don’t trust Lander or anyone that works for him. He’s probably anticipated that strategy. It’s too dangerous. And like I said, he could be listening.”
Knute shrugged as he walked reached around Carla, hoisted his bag, and got ready to set out. “Somehow,” he said, “I don’t think Lander is our biggest problem.”
Carla tried to look calm as she examined the customs officials on York, always ready for the unexpected. The last time she came through this port was on the way out—and in disguise, escaping from that royal bastard.
A very official looking customs inspector didn’t even open her passport. “Welcome back, Ms. Ming.”
So they recognized me and yet let me pass. I wonder how often this happens on this royal-pain-in-the-ass planet? The cops must be used to this. Looks like bribery is common here.
Thirty minutes later, Carla and Knute stepped through the door of their suite on the top floor of the hotel owned by Knute’s old man. Before she could lug her two bags into her private bedroom, she heard a knock on the suite door.
Since she was the closest, she peeked through the spyhole. “Looks like room service. Did you order anything?”
Knute replied, “It’s okay.”
A waiter pushed a stainless steel cart before him. After he opened the bottle of wine, he stood expectantly. Knute handed him a two-credit chip and the man shook hands. “Thank you, sir.” After the waiter closed the door behind him, Knute turned his palm up and read the note he had been handed discreetly. He showed it to Carla.
It had only one word on it, “Bugs.”
Knute raised his finger to his lips in the classical signal for silence and nodded toward the balcony.
As soon as Carla joined him there, she heard a whining noise. Within seconds, a gravity skimmer descended from above and pulled up next to the guard rail with its side door open.
Knute stepped up on the rail and into the skimmer. Carla didn’t need a royal invitation and joined him.
Knute pressed a wall switch and the door slid shut, silencing the noise. The two of them took the only two seats, Knute grabbed the controls, and soon they were airborne.
***
“Damn! They got away,” uttered the larger of the two men who watched the monitor. “Orvall isn’t going to like this.”
***
Carla waited patiently while Knute guided the skimmer away from the downtown area. Her heart rate inched upwards though when she saw they were on a collision course with a large air-truck transport with images of delicious food on its side. At the speed they were going, if her pilot didn’t slow down, they would collide imminently. At the last second, Knute turned the skimmer to come up under the belly of the truck and matched its speed and direction.
She swallowed, glad that her stomach was still intact.
“This way,” added Knute, “we’ll evade any police radar. Next stop: Armand Exports.”
“Why there?”
“It doubles as a munitions warehouse for Lander Troy. Let’s see if they’ve shipped more than what we’ve delivered to them.” He pointed to the large glovebox. “I brought alone a couple presents.”
She pressed the button and the lid popped down to reveal two state-of-the-art needle guns.
Two cargo cruisers were perched on the warehouse roof, their conveyers running at full speed. Knute swooped past them and swung the skimmer around in a hard skid, setting down between the warehouse and a liquid storage tank. He killed the thrusters and surveyed the scene for a moment. It was the middle of the day but no one was immediately in sight.
Carla glanced at him with wide eyes, her throat bobbing with stress. “Now what?”
Knute’s teeth flashed white. “We’re going to hide in plain sight.”
Carla blinked. “What the hell does that mean?”
He cranked open the clamshell door.
“It means,” he said, stepping down, “that if you don’t act guilty people won’t think you are guilty. Come on.”
Needle guns concealed, the pair of them linked hands and strolled toward a large open doorway at the end of the warehouse. From inside they could hear the conveyer equipment and the warning horns of robotic loaders. The noise level doubled as they entered the building, but still they saw no one. Moving quickly, they slipped in among the stacks of crates and pallets and cargo containers that littered the building, threading their way forward while keeping a sharp eye out.
“What are we looking for, exactly?” Carla demanded in a hoarse whisper.
“I don’t know, exactly, but I’ll know it when I see it.” Knute continued to lead the way, a nervous Carla close on his heels. Crates and containers towered above them, giving them the feel of moving through a maze of canyons; at least it concealed them from overhead view.
Suddenly Knute stopped. Carla banged into him, then took a step back. Her eyes got even wider when she saw what he was looking at.
“That,” he told her quietly, “is exactly what we’re looking for!”
Carla gazed in wonder at the tiered pallets of cruise missiles that towered thirty feet into the air. Shiny, aerodynamic, and deadly…hundreds of them.
“Holy shit!” she whispered.
“My sentiments exactly!” said a voice from behind her.
Carla spun around quickly, needle gun in hand, but it went flying as a stocky man in a cheap suit kicked it out of her hand. With a cry of rage she leaped at him, catlike, but his fist was quicker, and she hit the ground hard, her skull banging on the stone floor. She sat up slowly and shook her head, dimly aware that she and Knute were surrounded. Knute had also been disarmed.
The man who had spoken stepped through the ring of thugs and stood grinning at them.
“Knute Borlon!” he exclaimed jovially. “What a surprise to find you here! I have it on very good authority that you’re on your way to Wyo.”
Knute smiled warily back. “And who told you that?”
“Like I said—a very good authority.” Lander Troy leaned over and took Carla by the hand, hauling to her feet. Carla’s skin crawled as he leered at her. “So good to see you again, sweetheart,” he said. “I didn’t get a chance to say good-bye the last time. Maybe now we can get reacquainted.”
Knute got up slowly, followed by Carla. He raised his arms and waved off the two guards who were crowding him from the side. He could feel two more behind him. His heart was pounding; he hadn’t counted on being ambushed. “It’s not what you think, Lander. I’ve come to help you.”
“Ha!” Lander’s laugh burst out suddenly and loudly. “Nice try.” He motioned for his men to move in and restrain both Carla and Knute. “Raza’al,” he said to one of them, “Get Trevor, and have him bring the BX-127 around. I want these two in a cell where I can watch them.” He grinned at Karla. “And maybe take them out and play with them. I haven’t decided.”
Trevor darted off in a straight line, double-time.
Knute followed the man’s motion through the warehouse, looking for an avenue of escape. At the moment, at least, there didn’t seem to be one. “You know,” he said, “The X-127 is not the best we have. It’s a lightly armed striker, retrofitted for personal use. Not really military grade.”
Lander held up a hand to halt his men for a moment. “This had better be good.”
“I know you’re looking at Wyo,” said Knute. “That’s public knowledge by now. And I know you expect them to rebel.”
“As they no doubt will anyway. What concern is it of yours?” Lander motioned to his men, who grabbed Knute and Carla each by an arm and started walking in the direction Trevor had gone.
“You don’t know when and where they’ll strike.”
“I could care less, frankly. They’re insipid morons led by a military whose only organizing principle is a vague hatred for York. They have no government and they’re not capable of mounting a real offensive.” He looked at his guards. “Keep moving. I don’t want to waste my time listening to this idiot.”
“They just added Ellis Claymores,” Knute said. He kept walking toward the door, allowing himself to be escorted while he led their little forced march.
“Bullshit. And even if it’s true—which I doubt—I’m not going to let subspace mines get me off track. We both know this war’s going to be fought on the gr…” Lander stopped himself, but not soon enough. “Enough talk!”
Each of the two men behind Knute and Carla gave them a swift smack in the kidneys with the butts of their blasters.
Knute dropped to his knees and groaned. He got up carefully. “Fine. Don’t…believe me. I don’t…fucking…care.” He glanced at the door and resumed walking. Hoping Lander didn’t notice, he signaled to Carla with his eyes. “Hear me out,” he said to Lander. “I came here with a deal to propose. Your big, slow battle cruisers were outmaneuvered by the Wyos in the last space war. You were forced to call a ground truce. These cruise missiles won’t do you any good. You know that. I have what you need. Orbital Grasers. Hull-mounted Beydrun liquefiers.”
“I could use the Beydruns,” said Lander. He stopped. “Keep talking.”
Knute felt his guard slacken his grip, and hoped the same was true for Carla. As they approached the open doorway, without warning, he shouted, “Now!” to Carla, and they both bolted, wrested sidearms from Lander’s men, scrambled around to the far side of the door, regained their footing, and ran through a maze of buttresses and fuel lines feeding the huge tank. “Enough talk,” Carla shouted as they dived for cover. “Motherfucker!”
They ran into a dead end between rows of pallets of cruise missiles. Ahead of them was a solid cement wall. Hearing footsteps and shouting, Knute and Carla looked for a way out of their conundrum. When he spotted two white-suited guys, guns in hand, turn toward them, he ducked behind a missile. Taking a chance, he fired his stolen sidearm at the side of one missile, but the shot ricocheted off the gleaming white surface. “Damn! Where’d they get these blasted slug throwers, anyway?”
Hearing shouting behind them, Carla yelled between breaths, “You’d better think of a better idea than that! If one of those goes off, we’ll be roasted in the engine exhausts.”
“What have we got to lose?” He held the heavy weapon in both hands and aimed at the array of tubes on one missile. Emptying his slug thrower, he saw that nothing was changed. “Shit!”
Carla asked, “Is this your idea of quietly spying on Lander’s plans? Look at the mess you’ve gotten us into.”
He peeked around the corner to see a dozen men headed their way. He turned toward her. “Let me have your gun.”
“What? What will I use then?”
“Give it to me, damn it!” He grabbed it from her and emptied it into the rear of another missile barely ten meters from him. When sparks started shooting out the rear of the cruise missile, he grabbed Carla and ran at a right angle down the row behind other missiles.
An enormously loud roar filled his ears, followed by a wave of heat. They managed to get to the end of the pallets when he looked behind him. The area they had been standing in was awash in flames as the missile left its pallet. In the crowded space of the warehouse, he heard the screams of their chasers, followed by a loud explosion. The metal walls of the warehouse behind the missiles split open.
“Come on!” he yelled as he ran toward the open space. “We don’t have much time before this whole place goes up in flames.”
On the other side of the split wall, he spotted his gravity skimmer and took off for it with Carla not far behind, but limping.
As soon as he got to his skimmer, he palmed the lock and the door slid open sideways. She was now about five meters behind him, but limping with her face tightened up in obvious pain. He ran to her and put one of her arms over his shoulder. In a few seconds, they got to the skimmer and he helped her step up into it.
“There they are!”
Knute glanced toward the sound and saw Lander pointing toward them. The aristocrat stood in the midst of five men carrying laser pulse rifles as they emerged from the side entrance to the warehouse.
He pushed her posterior into the skimmer and jumped in after her. Within five seconds, he closed the door and took his pilot’s seat. Carla lay on the floor behind him. “I’ll help you in a minute, after we get the hell outta here.”
As the skimmer lifted, he felt shock waves under his feet, probably from the pulse rifles. As they gained air distance, he felt no additional shocks. He set the controls to return to the hotel from whence they had come and activated the auto pilot. Turning toward her, he said, “Now, let’s see how bad you are.”
The skimmer was barely half a klick from the warehouse when the sky flashed a brilliant white. Two seconds later the blast wave reached them, flipping the skimmer upside down. The autopilot struggled for several seconds to correct, and finally leveled out. Looking back, Knute and Carla saw a mass of flame raging beneath a rising cloud of heat.
“Fuck!” Carla breathed, her face pale. “Was that a nuke?”
“No. Plasma.”
“That’s a mushroom cloud!” she gasped.
But Knute was shaking his head. “It’s just a heat cloud. Plasma simulates a nuke but it doesn’t irradiate. Doesn’t have the blast wave, either.”
“Then what the hell flipped us over? That was a pretty powerful blast.”
“Carla.” He laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “If it had been a nuke—even a small one—we’d be dead. All the buildings around the warehouse are still there. They just lost their windows.”
“God, I hope you’re right! I’m not exactly thrilled about all my hair falling out before I die a slow, agonizing death.”
Knute laughed. “Trust me, I’ve seen nukes and I’ve seen plasma. That was plasma.”
She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. “You think Lander got out of there in time?”
“I hope not. The man’s a psychopath. He’s too dangerous to keep on breathing.”
Knute reached for her leg. “Here, let’s check that wound.”
His fingers probed the thigh where the fabric had been scorched. A small amount of blood had trickled out, mostly clear water.
“Blaster burn. Doesn’t look too bad. I don’t think the bone is broken.”
“It isn’t. I couldn’t have run on it if it was.”
“It needs disinfecting. We’ll clean it up back at the hotel.”
Carla’s eyes popped open.
“The hotel? Are you out of your mind? They’ve got our room bugged! In case you forgot, we had to sneak out of there!”
“And it’s the last place they’ll look for us. We’ll clean up that leg, collect our stuff, and slip right back out again.”
“And go where?” She was starting to look annoyed. “This whole fucking plan has fallen—OW! Jesus Christ, what are you doing!”
“Sorry.” Knute sat back and held up a sliver of metal. “This was embedded in your leg. Shrapnel from that first explosion.”
“You said it was a blaster burn.”
“It is. Looks like you got hit twice in the same spot.”
She glared at the metal shard, panting against the pain.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she said. “How the hell did you survive this long?”
They heard the warble of sirens and glanced out to see six Royal Holocop vehicles racing in the opposite direction, toward the warehouse. At the same time, the skimmer dipped and began a diving approach toward their hotel; braking thrust increased their weight.
“Aw, shit!”
“What?”
Carla pointed. Knute followed her finger and spotted the six armed men who ringed the landing pad ahead of them. The skimmer was gliding directly toward them.
“Last place they’ll look for us, huh?” Carla’s voice was caustic, to match her expression. “What the hell do we do now, genius?”
“Relax,” said Knute. “That’s Dad’s men. I can tell from here.”
Carla squinted. “How? I can barely see them. Just their weapons.”
“That’s how I can tell. Look at the little knobbish thing on the end of the barrels, and the way they look top heavy. Those are ‘buckblaster’, or as some of the guys call them, ‘buttblasters.’ Air mines. Like a grenade launcher but they’re set to go off as soon as they get within range of an aircraft, rather than by time or altitude. Not quite the punch of a plasma bomb or one of those cruise missiles, but they’ll flip a lander over just the same. We haven’t sold them to anyone yet. I like to call them our private insurance policy.”
Carla took off her jacket, ripped about three inches off the bottom of her tunic, and slumped down in her seat, grimacing, while she tried to improvise a bandage.
“This skimmer has a first aid kit,” Knute said, turning around smiling. “Not that I mind the view.” He turned back and focused on the approach. It wasn’t a necessary step, and the skimmer knew perfectly well how to land, but it made him feel better. “Look,” he said, pointing to a tallish man with thick, reddish hair. “It’s Sandy. Once we set down and debrief, we can tell him what we found out and he’ll get us outfitted for our return.”
***
“Troy.” With one word, Reuben Orvall showed what little patience he had left. Lander Troy was an obnoxious playboy with more money than brains. But despite Troy’s vehement loathing for Wyo, he needed him. Troy had connections and was a consummate schmoozer. He knew people who’d provide unwitting cover for the buildup of weapons that was his primary objective for the Wyo rebellion. Troy could be given—in fact, had to be given a fair bit of leash, but he knew better than to get in his way.
“Troy, god damn it, pick up. I don’t care who you’re fucking or what you’re fucking with. Pick…up.”
No answer.
Orvall bit down on his mouthpiece to shut off the connection. So help me God, he thought, if Lander has screwed this one up, he was going to have to…
“Sir?” said a voice in his ear. Orvall’s eyes-forward display identified the speaker as Lem Ostracz, a man most of his peers simply called “Ostrich.” “Orvall here. What is it?”
“The main storage and distribution facility,” said Ostrich. “One, possibly more, plasma bombs went off. It’s been leveled.”
Knute and Carla felt secure for the first time since they landed on York, surrounded by six large, well-armed men from Borlon Industries. But they were in the capital city on the planet, so any sense of peace might be short lived.
Knute insisted on caring for Carla’s wound himself and as he put a Quick Heal on her leg and pressed the adhesive edges, his fingers brushed her hand. She did not remove it and for a moment, he felt a new tension. He looked up to her face and their eyes locked, in silence. Did I detect a spark of interest?
Sandy interrupted with, “Sir?” and bumped his other arm.
When Knute pulled himself away to see what Sandy wanted he instantly recognized the code box. He took the box and sat by himself in another chair. Opening the lid so that others could not see what it contained, he pressed his right thumbprint on the orange pad. At the same time, he uttered a password via his implanted communicator and a small polarized screen lit up deep inside the box, hidden from anyone’s eyes but his own. It was a message from his father.
“Go to Wyo. Barley may be willing to sign alliance with Parion. This may change everything. Verify while avoiding top-secret Parion delegation.”
Knute recalled Barley was the current president of the Wyo Confederation, the loosely knit coalition of Wyo nations that had come into existence just before the last war with York. What few knew was that Barley was married to Orvall’s half-sister and the two men had often argued in public about the best policy for their beleaguered planet.
He closed the box, which deactivated the screen and destroyed the message, while he pondered his next moves. “Sandy, we need to get back to my yacht.”
“But sir, what about your mission here?”
“I have new orders. We must leave as soon as possible.” He turned to Carla. “Are you ready to walk? If not, we can use the skimmer.”
She stood and had a surprised look on her face. “What did that Quick Heal have in it, anyway?”
He smiled. “Another trade secret we haven’t announced yet.” He nodded toward the window. “The skimmer would be faster, anyway.”
***
Twenty hours later, the yacht orbited Wyo. It didn’t take long before their comm relayed the ID call from Wyo Space Center. “State the nature of your business on Wyo.”
Knute replied, “Business with our local Borlon Industries office.”
It took over a minute before they got clearance. “Proceed to Interplanetary Gate 2 and wait for Security before you deplane.”
What the? Knute had never been told to wait before.
The airlock cycled open with a hiss and a sucking sound. Knute and Carla tensed as the inner door shooshed open and three men stepped through. All three wore the uniform of Wyo Orbital Security; the two men in back held plasma rifles at port arms, but the one in front seemed to be an officer; he had pips on his collar that designated his rank, though Knute was unfamiliar with it.
“Knute Borland?” the officer demanded, his eyes hard and steady in his deeply tanned face.
“That’s right. Who are y…”
“Carla Ming?” The man ignored Knute as he gazed at the woman.
“Yes.” Carla lifted her chin and struck a sexy pose. “How did you know?”
“IDs, please.” He glanced from one to the other and held out his hand. Knute and Carla exchanged glances.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Knute demanded, fully aware he would get no satisfactory answer.
“I’ll explain in a moment. IDs first.”
They both pulled out ID packets and handed them over. The officer took a moment to compare flat photos with their faces, then passed a retinal scanner over their eyes. Apparently satisfied, he returned the packets.
“It is my unfortunate duty,” he said in an officious voice, “to inform you that you and your starship are being detained. By order of the…”
“By whose order?” Knute’s face had flushed red. “I’m a legitimate businessman with an office on your planet, and Miss Ming is my associate!”
“By order,” the officer continued patiently, “of Wyo Orbital Security. We have reason to believe you both may be in danger.”
They stared at him in bleak surprise. “What kind of danger?” Carla said.
“I’m afraid I don’t have all the details,” the man replied. “But I have been instructed to take you to the man who can give you the answers. If you will please lock down your ship and follow me, I’m sure we can have you on your way again shortly.”
Knute stared at him a moment, considering. It could be a trap, but the two men with the officer were both armed, so there wasn’t much he or Carla could do at the moment.
“All right,” he said finally. “Give me two minutes.”
***
The trip to the orbital station only took twenty minutes. With over-under lights flashing, the security shuttle swerved and swooped past other orbiting ships and soon settled into a hangar bay. Once the giant doors closed and the bay was pressurized, they emerged and followed their armed escorts into the station. Moments later they were ushered into an office with a spectacular view of the planet below.
“Mr. Borlon?” The man behind the desk stood up and smiled genially. “Miss Ming?”
“Yes. Who are you?”
The man came around from behind the desk and offered his hand.
“I’m head of Wyo Orbital Security. My name is Reuben Orvall.”
“I apologize for the chilly reception,” Orvall said, shaking Carla’s hand and motioning for his two guests to sit down. “One can’t be too careful these days.” He dismissed the guards with a wave and they exited quietly.
Knute wasted no time settling himself into a large, overstuffed chair that perched uncannily on three legs. He wondered how it managed not to tip over. “Tell me about it,” he said.
“I had to be certain you weren’t going to double-cross me,” Orvall continued. “I’ve suspected for a long time that York was a poor partner. That incident at the warehouse doesn’t surprise me. What does is the fact that he managed to get himself killed.”
“I’ll believe it when I see the body,” Carla said uncomfortably. She finally allowed herself to relax enough to take a seat herself in a more stable-looking Mies van der Rohe. At least the man had taste. It was a nice change from Lander’s distinct lack of hospitality.
“That’s unlikely,” said Orvall. “Plasma bombs don’t leave much but legend.” He walked out from behind his desk and leaned back casually on the front of it, crossing his arms. “Besides,” he said, “Knute’s just shown me two things: first, that he doesn’t need to supply Lander’s people with weapons, because they have their own, and they’re not his. Second, that the two of you would rather live to fight another day than cast your lots with his kind. I have to say, the more I think about York, the more I wish I could have killed him myself. But you understand. Royal politics is a pain. You have put up with the people you can’t put down.”
Knute flicked his fingers at an invisible gnat and continued looking at the floor for a moment. When he looked up, he said calmly, “Not my problem,” he said, “And besides, I have no dog in this hunt.”
“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the animal,” said Orvall. “Presumably a trained beast of prey?”
“Worse. A domesticated one that waits for its master to do the killing.” He sat up. “Now let me ask you this: why partner with him at all, when you knew another war would come? Was it just to keep the peace long enough to build up an arsenal? Or is Wyo planning something else? My father’s company would understandably have a vested interest in these matters.”
Orvall slapped his desk and grinned. “That, my dear Mr. Borlon, is precisely why I have called you here.”
“Mr. Borlon, you may not be aware of a growing disenchantment with the current administration here on Wyo. Many people—more and more every day—feel the administration is too soft on defense and has fallen for the King’s political propaganda of peace between our planets. We believe that York intends to arm itself and retake their so-called ‘lost’ planet. We remember how hard it was to gain our independence from those bastards and we don’t want to lose it all because of a naïve president.”
“I see,” said Knute, “and you are connected to this growing movement?”
“Oh yes. I am well connected to most organizations on Wyo. My business interests…are extensive.”
“And you work here as head of Wyo orbital security part time?” asked Carla.
Knute allowed a bare smile at her directness.
Orvall stared briefly at her and then returned his attention to Knute. “Yes. We felt it was necessary to have someone like myself watching trades goods in and out of Wyo.”
“So what are you proposing?” added Knute.
Orvall leaned back in his large chair with a show of confidence. “We can pay handsomely for a few of your latest weapons. The military on Parion are well known for their advanced weaponry and Borlon Industries has a reputation as a leader in advanced technology that is used…ah…for defense, mind you.” He leaned forward again as if to gain the confidence of his visitors.
“Here on our backwater planet, on the other side of York from your home world, we have a much smaller economy and are still recovering from our last war with York. You would not only be entering into profitable arrangement—which I’m sure your father would approve and be proud of you for arranging—but you would also be helping us maintain our independence.”
“I see,” said Knute, pressing his finger tips together under his chin. “You are aware, I’m sure, that Parion has a treaty with York. We could not supply Wyo with weapons.”
Orval grinned. “There are ways to circumvent those agreements.”
“Hmm,” Knute said. “I shall have to think about this. We don’t want any of our very advanced weapons to fall in the wrong hands. I must talk with my father about this.”
Orvall stood. “Of course.”
After Knute and Carla left that office and were walking down a hallway back to their luggage, Carla tugged on his sleeve. He said quietly, “The walls may have ears.”
She stopped him and leaned over to put her hand over his ear and whispered, “I don’t trust him. I think he wants us to supply the resistance movement here so he can take over the planet for himself.”
He smiled and put his index finger to his lips.
What they got back to their yacht, they had a surprise.
“Dad?”
Knute Borlon, still in the airlock, stared in astonishment at the distinguished silver-haired man standing in his control room. Carla’s lovely almond eyes were almost round as well, and the two of them separated slightly as they stepped out of the lock.
“Where did you come from, Dad?” Knute demanded. “How the hell…?”
Charles Borlon waved his left hand dismissively. His right hand held a cocktail glass half filled with amber liquid. He was wearing tan slacks, a pullover sweater, and Grook-hide slippers, his gleaming hair smartly styled. He looked dapper and dashing, for a man his age.
He also looked preoccupied.
“Belay the questions,” he said impatiently. “I have my ways and I have my reasons. Right now all you need to know is that you need to cancel orbit as quickly as possible and get the hell away from this station.”
Knute’s eyes narrowed in a frown. “Why? What’s so all-fired…”
“Now, goddammit!” His dad’s patience had vanished; he had taken on the look of a cornered animal.
Knute moved quickly toward the control seat, his eyes scanning the instruments. The star drive was cold, but maneuvering jets could get them moving…if indeed they needed to move.
“I’m not sure we can just break orbit,” he mused as he checked the radar map that showed their position in relation to other objects in the area. “Wyo orbital security has ordered us to remain here until…”
“Just do it!” Charles Borlon insisted. “This ship isn’t registered here, so they have no real authority.”
Knute glanced at Carla, who looked just as confused as he felt. His hands moved over the control board as he fed power to the star drive. It would take at least ten minutes to spin up. His dad was still talking, pacing back and forth across the deck.
“You laughed when I told you my comm was bugged,” he said, “but it’s not paranoia when people really are after you. I had my own security people following up my suspicions and they found the bug. Everything I’ve said for the past three months has been monitored.”
“Monitored by whom?” Carla asked.
“Lander Troy, for one. Possibly someone else.”
Carla smiled. “Maybe it isn’t so bad, then. Lander Troy is dead.”
Charles Borlon glared at her for a moment. “Who told you that?”
“Reuben Orvall. We just left his office.”
The elder Borlon grimaced unhappily. “Well, that throws a bung in the wormhole!”
“What do you mean?”
“Orvall is the other person who’s been monitoring my calls. I suspected he was plotting to renew the war with York, but I couldn’t prove it. That’s why I wanted you to come here and investigate. He’s been buying weapons from Lander Troy, but if Troy is dead, it may mean Orvall is ready to move.”
Knute frowned. “How do you know all this?”
Borlon had the grace to look a trifle sheepish. “I’ve been monitoring their calls, too.”
Knute heard the alarms going off as he and Carla scrambled to board his father’s yacht. The massive craft bristled with technology; for a star skimmer, it looked more like a flying porcupine than anything else. There was almost no room for a door.
“Strap in!” Charles shouted. He had already secured himself in the captain’s seat, and seemed to be in his element, full of adrenalin and riding the ragged edge of chaos. “We’re going to blow this popsicle stand!”
Knute and Carla secured their gravity harnesses and helmets.
“Prepare for jump!” his father said.
“What? We’re still in the docking bay!”
The elder Borlon lost no time turning the X-27B around so that its proton shield faced the interior of the Wyo security station. “We don’t have time for a clean exit,” he yelled over the rising volume of the jump engines’ rotators. “I want to get us well clear of Wyo before this whole station goes! If Orvall’s half the man I think he is, he knows what we’re up to already. And if we’re not his friends, we’re his enemy. He’s not going to take lightly to our refusal to do business.”
“But we’ve outgunned him, right?” asked Carla. “I mean…”
Charles’ laughter shot out loud and staccato, like pulses from a short-range plasma gun, and the ship vibrated as the rotators ran up to full tilt. “This thing? The engines, maybe. I installed them myself. But for all the armament, it’s nothing if Orvall’s ready for war. We’ll be lucky to get out with our skins.” He looked down at an indicator that moved from green to red in a matter of about a second. “Jump in three, two…”
***
Reuben Orvall watched the security vid monitoring Borlon’s yacht and saw the three enter. Minutes earlier, he had just dispatched a dozen men with shoulder mounted plasma rifles and neural grenades to secure the bay and take the ship. Those men entered from the left just as the screen went white. When the view finally returned, what was left of the bay was a nearly spherical hole that cut cleanly across four and a half decks that fed and serviced what had once been a place for docking ships.
“What the fuck?!”
A voice in Orvall’s ear rattled him further. “This is Lieutenant Gomez, sir. Borlon’s ship got away.”
“How the hell? The ship was moored and bolted! They couldn’t have!”
“It’s like this, sir. About sixty percent of the lower quarter of the station is awash in Hawking radiation. They blew the bolts just before they left, and I think Borlon had planned that part. Then they entered hyperspace directly from inside the bay.”
Two days later, Knute, Carla, and Charles met in the old man’s office at Borlon headquarters on Parion.
“Before you two interrupt me,” said Charles sternly, “I’ve been in discussion with President Barley of the Wyo Confederation and warned him of the possibility of civil war.” He activated a video of the President Barley’s reply from the capital city.
“Thank you for your concern, Charles. We’ve known of Orvall’s buildup of war materiel for some time. We have an arrest warrant out for him, but unfortunately, it may be too late. Hostilities have broken out already. His forces have taken over the Wyo Orbiting Spaceport and several military bases on the planet. They are heavily armed in the orbiting station and soon will be over our capital city. I can’t tell you more right now. We’re busy with our defenses.”
The screen went blank and all three sat silently for a few minutes. The very thing everyone dreaded was happening. Civil war had broken out on Wyo.
***
King Samuel of York held tightly to the princess, Lander Troy’s mother. “If there is anything I can do to help you in this period of grief for my grandson, you know all you have to do is ask.”
She nodded behind red eyes as she pulled away. “I know, Your Majesty. Thank you very much. Our family appreciates your concern.”
“I’ve declared a week of state mourning. I’m sorry, my dear, but I can’t spend more time with you. State business demands my immediate attention.”
She nodded and exited his office quietly. As soon as the heavy door closed, the king walked through a door and down a short hallway. As soon as he entered his War Room, he asked, “Is our fleet ready?”
***
Charles tapped his fingers on his desk as he spoke into his intercomm. “Where the hell is he, damn it? He said he just going to check on Carla.”
His aide Michael replied via the comm device, “Knute’s gone, sir. They’re both gone. And so is the XJ-21.”
Charles sat silently.
“Sir, are you there? They’ve taken our new prototype.”
“Yes, Michael. I heard you.”
“Shall I call them back, sir?”
“No. Let’s see what he does.” He closed the comm link.
Charles sat back and grinned. “You son of a bitch.” His son was becoming more and more like he was at that age.
A pain shot through his left arm and he massaged it. I didn’t really do that much exercising yesterday. Why should it…? The pain grew and he felt so weak he passed out.
The tiny heart monitor on his chest sent an alert.
“What the hell’s so special about this ship?”
Carla Ming sat embedded in the cockpit, in the right-hand seat; her almond eyes grew wide as she gazed at the glowing gauges and dials that covered the roof and control panel. Except for the glow the cockpit was dark, as dark as the space outside. The ship hummed as it streaked through hyperspace.
“Dad’s newest toy,” Knute said grimly as he glanced at the display showing their trajectory to destination. “More firepower than any other ship in the system, and twice the speed. And the best part? It’s a stealth.”
“It’s a prototype!” Carla protested. “Has the damn thing even been tested yet?”
“Not completely. Testing was suspended after the last pilot was killed, until they figure out what went wrong.”
“Oh, sweet! I feel safer already.”
Knute’s teeth flashed in a grin. “Relax, will you? You’re with me, Carla. I’ve never gotten you killed yet, have I?”
***
“Commander, I’ve got something…”
The officer of the deck hurried forward and bent over the Stradar console. The operator was frowning as she fiddled with the knobs.
“What is it? I don’t see anything.”
The operator shook her head, confusion in her eyes.
“I’m not sure, sir. It was there a minute ago, but…I don’t see it now.”
“What did it look like? Was it a ship?”
“It was more of a…disturbance. I couldn’t quite make it out.”
The OD straightened up impatiently and gazed out the wide window at orbital space. The only things visible were rebel ships…friendly ships.
“Figure it out, Yeoman! I don’t have time for false alarms.”
“Yes, sir. Just give me a…”
She screamed as the heavy glass exploded and a cyclone of air sucked everything into space. She was dead before the scream even finished.
***
“Well, that was pretty goddamn rude!” Carla Ming gasped as Knute threw the XJ-21 into a tight, high-G turn that jerked her guts down below her knees. She panted against the stress as the stealth fighter unleashed a barrage of torpedoes at the Wyo destroyer alongside the station. The can’s laser batteries were blazing impotently as they tried to track the fighter, but they were shooting in the wrong direction. Knute’s second barrage opened the hull in nine places, and Carla saw flame boiling out, mingled with bodies.
“Nobody said it had to be a fair fight,” Knute grunted as he pulled out of the turn. The G-forces fell away as the XJ-21 straightened out. The orbital station was spinning out of control, most of its life support destroyed. Carla could still see fires burning deep inside, where pressure bulkheads still held enough oxygen to feed them.
“What do we do now?” she asked, her face pale in the dim light.
“Now we make like a comet and streak.” Knute glanced at his Stradar console, and his jaws clenched suddenly. “Uh-oh.”
“What the fuck do you mean, ‘uh-oh’?”
Knute’s eyes widened at the massive fleet approaching dead ahead. “We have company.”
Arrayed in what seemed like an endless column before them was what Knute guessed was most of Wyo’s orbital fleet. But Knute knew at once that something was wrong. “Look over there,” he said, pointing at a cluster of thirty or so ships that hovered in a loose circle. “I don’t think those are with the others.”
“Close-up,” Carla announced. The XJ-21’s screens responded by zooming in on the same cluster of ships at which Knute had just pointed. “You’re right,” she continued. “Quite a few of them are damaged. If I were placing bets, I’d say they were shot up by the others.”
Knute slowed the ship to a stall to assess the situation further. “That means we have not just a rebellion but a civil war. Christ! This is just getting worse. We can’t not take sides, as we just shot up the security station. We know Orvall’s angle on that. And yet, the rest of those ships are Wyo’s. That rules out York, I think, though we can’t be sure.”
“He’s playing both sides against the middle,” said Carla.
“Sonofabitch,” said Knute. “You know, I think you’re right. And no matter which side we back, Orvall stands to benefit. It’s almost like he’s fomenting this to wear down their forces. Meanwhile, he complains of losses, orders more ships, and skims the profits.”
“Nice gig if you can get it. So what do we do now?”
Knute glanced up at the cloaking controls. It was a drain on the rotators to keep up complete invisibility for more than an hour. He had a little time, but he’d need a plan sooner than later. He scratched his chin. “Well,” he said, “it would help if York’s armada suddenly showed up out of nowhere. Or this one suddenly found itself orbiting York.”
“That’s not going to happen,” said Carla. “In about ten minutes, these guys are going to start unloading Armageddon on each other without even knowing why. They’ll be lucky if two of them are left standing…floating…whatever…when this is all over.”
“Then we have to bring the real war to them,” said Knute, “and fast. Remember that little maneuver Dad did back at the orbital station? That gives me an idea. What if we had remained bolted to the station when we jumped… the whole station would have gone, right?”
“If there was enough energy in the jump drive, theoretically, yes. But that’s a buttload of energy.”
“Which is limited by the mass of the rotating black holes that power it, as I understand it.”
Carla tried to remember what she had learned in college courses on Jump Theory. “Riiight. You could jump more mass, but you’d need more energy to do it. It’s a zero sum game.”
“So,” Knute continued, “if there were a tremendous release of energy from a bunch of ships—connected to us somehow—just as our jump engines kicked in…”
“Ahhhh,” said Carla. “I think I see where this is going. Now the trick is to get all of the Wyo fleet to fire on the same target at the same time, just as we go to jump.”
“Which,” Knute said as he revved the jump engines and stared at the cloaking monitor as if it contained the one true answer, “is what I had hoped to avoid.”
Carla suggested, “What if we fire first to draw their attention? But we stay cloaked so they have less chance to hit us.”
“Good idea. That will start the attack.” Knute pressed several buttons on his war console. A single plasma shot left their cloaked ship straight toward the largest of the rebel fleet.
They waited for almost fifteen seconds. “That didn’t get enough attention. How about the main course, fellas?” He fired seven plasma shots at three of the largest rebel ships and then moved his ship to be out of the line of fire in one direction but just a few kilometers sideways.
They didn’t have long to wait for a response. All three rebel ships returned fire, but their shots went off into the empty space where they had been.
“The main Wyo defense forces are not engaging,” said Carla at her console. “Perhaps they’re evaluating this.”
“That’s fine with me. Now for dessert, guys,” added Knute as he launched seven more shots at seven rebel ships and moved his ship once again just enough to not receive return fire but not too far away and in a different direction. At the same time, he decloaked their ship.
This time there was a delay.
“They’re thinking this over,” said Carla.
“You bet. Get ready to jump. This may be close.”
“Where are we going?”
Their monitor detected simultaneous shots fired from all the rebels.
“Now!” yelled Knute as they jumped. Their smaller vessel rocked from the onslaught of energy. The main monitor showed a different planet below.
“York!” exclaimed Carla. “You rascal. Of course!”
***
Immediately after arriving close to the new planetary defense boundary, Knute waited three seconds to allow the ships that they had dragged along to see their new environment—and pause in their fighting to evaluate the new situation. Then he jumped once again, only out of the line of fire between the rebels and the York home defense fleet.
They didn’t have long to wait this time.
Four York battleships fired on the rebel fleet, which returned fire. Then Knute and Carla watched in fascination as a bevy for fire was exchanged between the two large fleets.
In ten minutes of intense fighting, it was almost over. Two dozen York ships were damaged and two cruisers and two battleships were lost. But all rebel ships were destroyed—except one.
“Oh my god!” Carla stared in horror at the text-only message that scrolled across the private company screen:
To: Knute Borlon
From: Michael Mugal
Advise you expedite return. Charles Borlon stricken with coronary.
Condition critical.
“Knute,” Carla turned stricken eyes on him.
But Knute’s jaws were clenched, his forehead creased.
“Not now! Turn that off.”
He reached overhead and began flipping switches. With a steady whine, all weapon pods retracted into the fuselage. With a louder whine, the plasma drives began to spin up to maximum. Knute angled the XJ-21 toward the gap between the opposing Wyo fleet. Carla’s almond eyes widened as she realized what he was doing.
“Jesus fucking—Knute! What the hell are you do…”
She never finished. Releasing more energy than a nuclear warhead, the XJ-21 blazed forward, streaking into the gap like a comet.
***
“There! What the hell is that?”
Reuben Orvall’s finger was shaking as he pointed through the thick glasteel window on the battle bridge of the command cruiser. Stradar was showing nothing, but the object flickered briefly as it passed across his field of vision, alternately vanishing and reappearing, like something ducking in and out of parallel universes.
“Fire, goddammit!” Orvall shrieked. “Shoot it!”
“Sir, we can’t get a lock on it! It doesn’t show up on Stradar!”
Reuben spun on the fire control officer and grabbed him by the throat.
“It’s a stealth ship, you fool! That’s what wiped out our destroyer and the orbital station. I said open fire! Pass the word! All ships, fire!”
Within seconds, every ship in the fleet blazed away.
***
Sweat poured off Knute’s chin as he watched his screens and held the XJ-21 on course. The plasma drive was still firing, still accelerating, and the gees were building up. He could hear Carla panting beside him like a woman in labor. He knew he was in for an ass-lashing when this was over, if they survived it.
His eyes widened slightly as the threat board registered plasma weapons charging on both sides of him. His breathing slowed as his heart thundered. Timing was everything here. If he were even a microsecond too late…
He saw the first plasma flash across his cockpit even as he hit the jump lever, and as the XJ-21 vanished into the continuum he felt another strike the fuselage. But they were clear and the AI reported only a minor damage.
They dropped back into normal space several light-minutes away. Carla gasped to replenish her oxygen and Knute felt as if he’d just been run over by an ore hauler. He turned up the gain on the subspace receiver as chatter arrived on the universal wavelength.
Carla glared at him. “You son of a…”
“Shht!” Knute pointed to the speakers. They heard the crash of explosive decompression, screams, and sounds of men dying.
Then a calm, authoritative voice came through it all. “This is King Samuel of the Royal House of York. You have nowhere to run. Surrender your fleet or die!”
Knute waited for a few moments to see if anyone responded. His head ached horribly, and as he reached up instinctively to touch it, his hand drew back a fresh coating of blood.
“You’re cut pretty bad,” said Carla.
“Surrender your fleet or die!” repeated Samuel. “You in the cloaked ship. You won’t get a second warning.”
“It’s not our fleet,” said Carla. “We…”
Holding his finger to his mouth and glancing at Carla, Knute butted in. “Not all in this fleet are loyal to the same leader,” he said. “Surely you must know that. Perhaps you do not know the latest news: Lander Troy, who was planning much of the rebellion, is dead.”
Knute looked at Carla again. This time he crossed his fingers.
There was a brief moment of silence, then the entire ship shook violently. The lights went out, an alarm went off, and somewhere beneath the sound of alarms they could both hear an ominous whistling.
“Fuck,” said Knute, “That was close. But it was only one hit. And now he’s making me mad.” Knute looked up at the battle console. Only a few emergency lights were still on. He had no idea of the condition of his weapons or shields. He considered his options for a moment, then pressed everything.
Carla’s face had a look of severely abated concern. “Knute,” she said, “your speed…”
‘What about it?”
“We’re still coasting at one tenth c.”
“So what?”
“For us, everything is happening normally. But in about fifteen seconds, some of those ballistics are going to strike. And when they do, they’re going to do massive damage due to the difference in our relative speeds. We have to jump again. Now.”
“Shit.” Knute’s head hurt like a motherfucker as he re-oriented himself to the nav console. Blood was in his eyes. And as he craned his head back to get a look at the jump controls, he collapsed.
Carla felt strangely calm. “Damn it,” she whispered, and climbed ungracefully over Knute to reach the jump controls. “I’m never going to hear the end of this.”
News reached Knute’s ship four months later that his father had only suffered a minor infarction and was now on low doses of stemicort and an exercise program he objected vehemently to every chance he got. It had only been thirty minutes since their last jump when Knute awoke, slowly, to find himself lying on in a soft bench in the pilot’s quarters. Having located and stabilized the hull damage in the engine control rooms in the aft of the ship, Carla now tended to Knute’s injuries.
Knute looked up and smiled at Carla. “They missed us,” he said. “Thanks to your quick thinking.”
Carly smiled wanly and rubbed softly at the edge of his head bandage. “Not exactly. The ballistics didn’t get us, but we have extensive graser damage to the engine controls. We got off this jump, but we won’t get another for a while.”
“So we’re sitting ducks?”
“Not exactly. We’re still in jump.”
Knute tried to sit up, and regretted it. “What—shit that hurts!”
“Lie back down, and I’ll explain. Our jump engines were damaged. We can’t get out until I figure out what’s messed up. The bots repaired a serious hull breach, and it’ll hold for now. Since technically there’s nowhere to leak air to, it mitigates the problem. But it still needs to be fixed before we hit realspace. Which won’t be for a while.”
Knute sat up more slowly and brought his head closer to hers so he didn’t have to talk loudly. He had just found out his ears were over-sensitive as well. He wondered if they would ever get back to normal. “How long?”
“I don’t know. But we’re out of the battle. Orvall’s fleet was destroyed and he surrendered to Samuel. So it’s not like we’ll be back in battle any time soon.”
“Holy fuck! When did that happen?”
Carla looked up at the ship’s clock, which showed two times, one local and one for the last location prior to jump. The second one was ticking off digits so rapidly they couldn’t be counted.
It took Knute a few seconds to realize the digits were days.
“By now,” said Carla, “last year. But in reality, about an hour ago. We’ve been skating in and out of jump at random intervals, so the news on subspace is pretty sparse. I can play you the last download when you’re able to listen to it.”
Knute smiled again. “So god knows where we are, it’s just the two of us, and time’s wasting away,” he said. He reached a hand up around Carla’s neck and pulled her slowly toward him so that their faces were just an inch or two away. “Imagine that.”
“Mmm,” said Carla. The corners of her mouth turned up as she unfastened the front of Knute’s jacket. “Let’s get you out of these and into something a little more comfortable.”
Knute pulled Carla the last inch or two closer and felt his lips meet hers. Her mouth was warm and succulent, and he could feel her heart beat. “Yes,” he said, “let’s do just that.”
==== The End ====