Drysine Legacy (The Spiral Wars Book 2) (11 page)

“Lieutenants, Grappler is at thirty seconds,”
came Second Lieutenant Abacha’s voice in Shilu’s ear. Second-shift were still on duty on
Phoenix
, the LC and the Major supposedly asleep, though knowing them both, probably awake and watching from their quarters. With second-shift needed on the bridge, it had fallen to a senior but not
too
senior first-shift officer to forego sleep and greet their Worlder ‘friends’ from
Grappler
in person.

“Copy
Phoenix
,” said Shilu. Somewhere out there beyond the massive steel wall, the huge freighter was rotating into a one-G barrel roll in pursuit of its moving berth. Shilu repressed another yawn, and glanced at Alomaim. The man hadn’t yawned yet. How was it that marines always managed to make spacers feel inadequate? “Any guesses how
Grappler
just happens to be given a berth two from
Phoenix
?”

“We asked?” Alomaim suggested. He was a young man, barely mid-twenties, a brown face, serious and impassive. “Not many stationmasters out here would say no to
Phoenix
.”

“LC never asked,” Shilu said smugly. “It was just assigned. Someone knows, up in station bridge. Everyone’s watching us, and now they’re watching
Grappler
.”

“Right,” said Alomaim, watching some passing barabo civilians, trailed by a rolling luggage bot. “That’s why I’m not in bed.”

A siren wailed, then a crash of grapples, and the decking shook and squealed as enormous supports caught the freighter’s weight. Shilu noticed some barabo open cars careening across the dock, at speeds that would have gotten them arrested on a human station. They pulled up alongside Shilu, Alomaim and First Squad, some workers in orange jumpsuits, and some officials in the robes of barabo formal attire. Several listened on coms to station workers outside, working the grapples and umbilicals that fastened
Grappler
to station. Outside would be a scene of frantic activity, but here on the dock below the entry ramp, all was serene.

Finally, with another siren and flashing light, the main airlock door atop the ramp opened. The barabo waited for someone to emerge, seeming more interested in the heavily armoured marines, and the
Phoenix
bridge officer. Shilu smiled at them and nodded, and they grinned back with those big barabo teeth. Customs officials, station inspectors and the like. Not a weapon amongst them.

A minute later, they were still waiting. The head barabo in robes looked impatiently at Shilu, as though he might know the reason for the delay. Shilu returned a mystified gesture. It seemed to translate, for the head barabo barked instructions and several jumpsuited workers strolled up the ramp to investigate. They moved as unhurriedly as barabo always moved, chatting casually and chewing on something that on a human station would probably also get you arrested.

The workers arrived at the main hatch and waited, peering inside. One looked back at Shilu, as though wondering what he could call out in English.

“Hello Lieutenant Shilu,”
came his uplink.
“This is the LC, is there some kind of delay?”
So of
course
the LC had been up and watching.

“I’m not sure sir,” said Shilu. “The hatch is open but no one’s coming out. I can’t go up there myself without being in breach of station protocol.”

“Barabo will take all day if you let them. Make some haste.”

“Yes sir.” Shilu made his way over to the group of puzzled barabo, and Gunnery Sergeant Brice and Private Cruze thumped with him in close protection. The head barabo saw them coming, with some alarm, and waved a hand at them to stop. Shilu and the marines stopped, and the headman yelled and waved his long arms. More barabo scampered up the ramp, with more urgency than the first pair.

“LC, I think they’ve got this,” Shilu reported.

“So how many barabo does it take to change an LED?” Cruze wondered. Atop the ramp at the hatch, more argument erupted, hands waving, exasperated gestures down the tube… where were the damn humans? And who was going to go and get them?

“Twenty,” Sergeant Brice replied. “One to change the LED and nineteen to make it unnecessarily complicated.”

After much heated discussion, the first two workers were sent into the access.

“You think they could have just done that first?” Cruze wondered. “Without ten others coming up to tell them?”

“Knock it off,” Alomaim told them. “Eyes open, watch your sector.”

More waiting. The new bunch of barabo clustered at the hatch and peered within, talking on coms. For the first time, Shilu began to feel it. Cold discomfort. What if…? But he couldn’t act on what if, he had to wait for something concrete. But, what if…?

“Lieutenant Alomaim?” he said cautiously. “I think this might be trouble.”

He’d barely completed the sentence when the barabo at the hatch all began shouting together, and staring at the one robed official with the com. His eyes were wide, and he looked alarmed. Then he began shouting, but one of the two workers returned at a run dashing through the mob of his companions and straight down the ramp. He ran fast, legs wobbly, eyes wide with fear.

“Yes I think you might be right,” Alomaim said grimly. “First Squad, prepare to move in. Second and Third, watch our backs.”

Shilu took off striding once more toward the barabo headman, and arrived just as the worker did and began gibbering in terror, hands and arms waving. Shilu activated his belt speaker, and blinked the icon for Palapu translation… but the earpiece gave him nothing but static, unable to make sense the worker’s fearful rush.

“What?” he demanded finally of the headman, and the speaker made that into a harsh Palapu demand. “What does he say?”

The headman stared at him.
“Gone,”
the speaker translated.
“All gone.”

Shilu turned to look at Alomaim, but the marine lieutenant was already moving, First Squad jogging with a crash and rattle up the ramp as barabo wisely made way.

“No Lieutenant, you stay,” Sergeant Brice advised, still at his side with Cruze as he made to follow.

“Like hell,” Shilu growled, and ran up the ramp, his guard in tow. Into the bright-lit, freezing access tube, armoured marine backs ahead of him and only too conscious of his utter vulnerability. His breath gusted white, and then came the main
Grappler
hatch, unmanned and unguarded. A big primary corridor, airlock controls and interior lights all active, marines moving fast and fanning out ahead, coordinating in tight groups.

Shilu turned a corner at the A-bulkhead, and found Lieutenant Alomaim and several others stopped, staring at a wall. Across it, a shocking red blood spatter, a hosing spray like some horrific artwork. Beside it, a bloody human handprint. Shilu shouldered past the marines, and saw on the floor beyond another bloody trail, like a body being dragged. Long marks on the deckplates, where blood-soaked fingers had clutched for anything to stop that progress. No one said a word. The cold discomfort Shilu had felt on the docks had well since turned to dread.

“Hello LC,” he said quietly to coms. “Are you seeing this?” He had no mounted camera, but the marines had plenty.

“I’m seeing this. Phoenix is on red alert, the Major is deploying with Echo Platoon. You are to secure the ship, Echo will be on your six ASAP.”

“Copy LC.”

“LT, this is Amal. We’re on the bridge, there’s no one here. It’s a ghost ship, it docked on automatic. We didn’t get any coms from it on approach because there was no one to talk to.”

Alomaim swore. “First Squad, do not touch anything. I repeat, do not touch anything, we have forensics on the way and we’ll want to know what happened here. We will commence a total sweep of the ship including all off-access sections around the cylinder — we’ll use grapples and climb it if we have to. Third Squad and Second Squad will join us as soon as Echo Platoon arrives, Heavy Squad will remain on dock and assist Echo in providing cover. Be damn careful — whoever did this might have left boobytraps, or there might even be one or two of the bastards still aboard. Let’s get it done.”

Movement around a corner, and marines swung weapons into line… but it was the remaining barabo worker. He carried a small backpack, the kind of thing a freighter crewman might wear. It was torn and bloodied, and the workman handed it to Shilu as he approached. The tears in the bag were in parallel lines, as though made by claws. Sard claws. Within, working items, mostly electrical tools, all secured to the bag with fastenings, professionally arranged. On the bag, a stencilled name — T. Rodwell.

“
Phoenix
, I’ve found belongings marked with the name T. Rodwell, check to see if that’s
Grappler
crew.”

“Phoenix copies.”

The barabo workman looked upset, hands trembling as he kissed an amulet around his neck, and glanced around in fear. Many barabo were animists. This one was afraid of dead humans haunting him.

“Thank you,” Shilu told him, and the translator spoke. “All humans thank you. Now go,
Phoenix
will take it from here.”

“No,”
the translator earpiece replied.
“I stay, I help.”

“No, this is a human ship.
Phoenix
will look after human ships. Tell your people — this is now
Phoenix
business.”

The barabo stared at him.
“Sard do this? What you do sard?”

“Well,” Shilu said grimly, “I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

T
he borrowed dock
jeep and trailer thumped across the deckplates, concerned civilians getting hurriedly out of the way. Both the jeep and the luggage trailer were loaded with heavily armoured marines, driven by an unarmored spacer who could still fit behind the steering wheel. Trace sat behind the driver’s chair in the lead vehicle amidst a cluster of armoured bodies, and talked on coms as the driver smacked the horn and marines waved for crowds of staring barabo to clear out.

“Jokono says his contact can confirm the sard who killed Randal Connor were from X1575. He says they’ve matched IDs on the bodies off the ship’s manifest.”
X1575 was the sard ship at Berth 24. Sard gave their ships numbers, not names, with the station adding an ‘X’ to identify a ship as sard.

“And Jokono trusts this contact?”

“He says she seems reliable. She’s senior station security, and she’s very scared of increasing sard presence on station. Apparently she and some other barabo station security would like to see us do something about them.”

Which meant there was a chance this sard vessel wasn’t responsible at all, Trace reckoned. But station would like
Phoenix
to think they were, to suit station’s purposes of warning the sard. No matter. Trace would never have risked hitting any other species’ ship unless certain of individual blame, but with sard she was past caring. Sard were a collective anyway, and disdained individuality. It wasn’t like they’d protest individual rights.

The jeep rumbled and thumped past dockside markets, barabo and other species pointing and shouting, a few cops talking urgently into coms. Trace was confident no one was going to try anything. There probably wasn’t enough firepower on station to oppose a single
Phoenix
squad, let alone a full platoon… to say nothing of the entire company that would descend on anyone who tried.

Before the ramps and protruding wall hydraulics of Berth 24, however, there emerged a cluster of squat, green-uniformed figures with light rifles, looking their way. Tavalai. Trace surveyed the dock ahead — shopfronts on the left inner wall, market stalls before them, separated from the rest of the dock by patches of garden green amidst the deckplate. Light transports were parked against the outer wall by some protruding umbilicals. It added up to reasonable cover.

At sixty meters she called it. “Spacer Ellis, halt here! Turn us ninety degrees across!” As the driver did that, turning sharply as marines leapt off. “Marines, spread and cover! I want a good field of fire! Command Squad on me!”

She leaped and ran for the right wall, accelerating to a sprint nearly as fast as she’d manage unarmored, but with six times the mass and a hundred times the noise. Ahead the tavalai were falling back in bewilderment, some aiming rifles, others shouting for orderly retreat, no one apparently in charge. Trace found cover behind a parked vehicle and saw the unfolding position of her marines on tacnet, the upper-left portion of her vision, an inverse curve of clustered blue dots across the dock. Civilians ran aside, some in the markets picking up all the wares they could carry first. Trace raised her Koshaim for a sight at the lesser-armed and armoured tavalai, and her visor highlighted a convenient row of exposed targets. If she ordered it, they’d all be dead in seconds, cover or no cover. One did not confront United Forces marines on open ground unless one was similarly equipped.

And yet, from the tavalai ahead, there now walked a small group — five individuals, all with light rifles, all striding defiantly with weapons at cross-arms and not even bothering to aim.

“Okay,” Trace said conversationally to keep the tension low. “This does not appear an imminent threat, but I want all guard up. Echo, get me a forward flanking position on the left, I want them encircled. Watch your spacing and keep every position double-faced with those shopfronts at your backs.”

Lieutenant Zhi gave sharp orders to Echo Platoon, and marines jogged forward up the markets on the left. Facing Berth 24, they were going to be exposed from the shopfronts at their rear, as Trace had said. It meant only half could watch the direction she wanted, and they were in danger of getting scissored in a counter-attack. Which meant she couldn’t push them all the way out to encircle Berth 24 — without overwhelming numbers, most berth-encirclements were in truth only quarter-circles.

She gave a signal, got up and started walking toward the approaching group of tavalai. Command Squad formed up around her, Privates Rolonde and Terez ahead on either side — it restricted her field of fire and vision, but it was protection, and if she’d demanded her forward view cleared they’d probably have ignored her. If Command Squad hated anything she did, it was this — walk in full view on an open dock with no cover. Even in full armour, snipers could be deadly if the weapon were big enough.

The five tavalai stopped before her, visibly alarmed as she came two steps closer and halted right on top of them. The suit made her tall, or taller at least, and though broad, tavalai were on average no taller than humans.

The lead tavalai activated his belt speaker, and spoke in Togiri.
“We are Taglinium,”
the speaker translated.
“You are trespassing on this dock. Turn around and go back to your ship.”

Trace opened the coms channel back to
Phoenix.
“Hello
Phoenix
, are you listening? I understand that they are local tavalai fleet presence, but what is Taglinium?”

“Hello Major,”
came Lieutenant Shilu’s voice in her ear, back on the bridge as first-shift took over from second.
“Tavalai have so many fleet factions and special units, and much of it is political. I think all you need to know is that this is what’s left of the tavalai military presence on Tuki Station after everyone else withdrew.”
In other words, Shilu had no idea.

Trace activated her suit’s own speaker, translator set for Togiri. “Sard from this ship have murdered a Tuki Station registered worker, a human. His name is Randal Connor. We have proof, provided by Tuki Station security.”

“It does not matter,”
the tavalai retorted.
“Tavalai fleet guarantees all security on Tuki Station, and tavalai treaty alliances have priority.”
Sard, that meant. Sard were tavalai allies, and this tavalai was protecting his alliance partners. Either someone else on station had tipped them off that
Phoenix
was about to move on the sard ships, or they had a station informer. Or they’d guessed.

“Sard attacked the human vessel
Grappler
, newly arrived at station,” Trace continued. “All crew are missing presumed murdered in cold blood.”

“Prove that it was this sard ship,”
the tavalai dared her, head high and eyes defiant. All marines who’d dealt with tavalai reached the same conclusion — the amphibious buggers had some truly giant balls. Utterly outgunned and facing every tavalai’s worst nightmare — angry UF marines — this one was prepared to spit in her eye and die on principle.
“Prove that it was this ship that attacked your human vessel, or go away.”

“All sard look alike to me,” Trace replied with deliberate menace.

The tavalai’s nostrils flared.
“And this is human justice? No wonder your own Fleet cannot stand the sight of you, Phoenix.”

Trace nearly smiled. She flipped up her visor, and looked upon the tavalai with unimpeded vision. “They’ll turn on you next. You know that, don’t you?”

The tavalai blinked, as though a little surprised to be still alive and arguing.
“Sard have been our allies for a long time. They died for us in the war, in their millions.”

“Sard die for no one but themselves.” Past the tavalai’s shoulder, his troops were spread in moderate cover, rifles ready but not aimed. Beyond them, about the berth ramp, a dark and spindly cluster — sard, creeping and flowing like oil. Watching with beady-eyed interest. “They’ve got their eyes on this space, on this system, on this station. The barabo are terrified. Our information on the murder of Randal Connor came from barabo security. You have two allies out here, sard and barabo. You will protect only one?” The tavalai’s eyes darted, and for the first time he looked uncertain. “And the one you choose to protect is
this
?”

She pointed past him, at the dark sard cluster. The tavalai did not look.
“We have orders,”
he replied.
“The sard alliance will remain strong.”

“And the barabo won’t fight, so you’ll just leave them to the sard? You laugh at human justice, but humans know all about tavalai justice. The tavalai justice that left humanity to die at the hands of the krim. Given two species to defend, you’ll pick the one least worth saving.”

“You are the bringers of genocide,”
the tavalai retorted.
“You will not be allowed to murder innocent sard here, like you did to the krim. Not on a station protected by the tavilim.”

“There
are
no innocent sard,” Trace retorted. “Just like there were no innocent krim. Knowledge of that fact is how the tavalai learned to control them in the first place. But now you owe them, and you’re scared and vulnerable, so you’ve forgotten.” The tavalai blinked. Whatever he’d expected from the murderous armoured humans of tavalai nightmares, it surely wasn’t this. “Now stand aside and let us deal with this horror that the tavalai have let loose on the galaxy.”

“We will not stand aside. You will have to kill us all.”

Trace took a deep breath. She switched channels, and deactivated the translator. “Hello
Phoenix.
LC, any ideas?”

“No ideas, Major,”
came Erik’s reply.
“You know the tavalai. An asteroid is more flexible.”

“They’ve enough firepower here that we can’t do it peacefully. I can’t personally see how killing them will further our interests here.”

“Me neither. And I’d never ask you to.”
That’s what you think now, Trace thought drily.

She reactivated the translator. “What is your name?”

The tavalai drew himself up.
“Tibrotilmanium.”

“Tibro. Humanity holds you responsible for the deaths of Randal Connor, and for the human crew on
Grappler
.” The tavalai stared, as though suspecting he was about to die. “You will have to live with that on your conscience, and I want you to contemplate whether the protection of murderers is any better than the murdering itself. In the meantime, I suggest that you request some reinforcements from your command, because these sard ships are clearly just forward scouts for a larger sard force lying somewhere out in the deep lanes, sard who appear to have taken an unhealthy interest in my ship, and in your station.”

“We have no reinforcements,”
Tibro retorted.
“Your Fleet destroyed them in the war.”

Trace gave a short, humourless bow. “You’re welcome,” she told him, and turned to go.

R
omki blinked
awake against the pillow. Lisbeth Debogande stood before him, a steaming cup in one hand, calling his name.

“Lisbeth?” He hauled himself up and rubbed his face. Lisbeth presented him with the cup. It was coffee, and he sipped — black, no sugar, as he liked it. The hotel room door was open. Outside in the hall,
Phoenix
crew were moving with purpose, shouting, carrying things. Evidently his guards were gone, as previously they’d not been allowing any visitors. “What’s going on?”

“
Phoenix
is leaving.” Lisbeth looked about the room. “Is this your bag? Is this all you have?”

“Well yes. I wasn’t here for long. I don’t suppose there’s time for a shower?”

“Departure is in fifty-two minutes, lockdown in thirty-five, so no, I’d say not. Come on, better get moving. I’ll wait outside while you dress.”

“Lisbeth? Why are we moving? This is earlier than scheduled, did anything happen?”

“I’ll explain on the way.”

Five minutes later they were leaving the hotel lobby amidst crazy activity, armoured marines using their suits as loaders, carrying heavy crates across the dock amid streams of crew with bags, weapons and other, miscellaneous gear.

“If
Grappler
made it into the system,” Romki said with concern as they walked, “and wasn’t seen to be intercepted by any sard vessel, then where did it happen?”

“No one’s sure,” said Lisbeth. One of her bodyguards, Carla, walked ahead with rifle and light armour, while the bigger one, Vijay, watched their rear. “There’s some speculation that it might have happened back at their midpoint jump on the way here, that the sard took all the crew then sent the ship along on autos. All of
Grappler
’s records and navlog have been erased, so there’s no clues there.”

“But they’re certain it was sard that did it?”

“Quite certain.”

“Then the sard are making a move for power in Outer Neutral Space,” Romki concluded, sipping the coffee she’d brought with one hand, hauling his duffel bag with the other. “That’s
very
cocky of them, it’s well understood that the tavalai are the power in this space.”

“Were the power,” Lisbeth corrected. “They lost the war.”

“Indeed.” They sidestepped a commandeered flatbed as it trundled by, loaded with bags.

“Stanislav?” asked Lisbeth. “What were you talking to those tavalai about? When you snuck away?”

“I didn’t ‘snuck’ away Lisbeth,” said Romki around a sip of coffee. “I got blown up and was lucky to escape with my life, let alone uninjured. I was always of the opinion that I’d be safer alone, and I made it so.”

“To go and talk to a tavalai other than the one you were supposed to be meeting with,” Lisbeth retorted. “Where did the first one go? You were supposed to meet him but his restaurant blows up and you go to another one instead… and it turns out you weren’t any safer because the sard turn up and cause a major disturbance, and probably would have killed you like they killed Randal Connor if Hiro hadn’t tailed you.”