The Tabit Genesis (24 page)

With the exception of an idled fusion reactor, the only source of heat on the
Aria Black
was the tempers of six angry, bitterly cold men. Hunter ops were tedious affairs punctuated by brief moments of excitement and, hopefully, the exhilaration of victory instead of the despair of failure. But context made all the difference. Hunting convoys between Zeus and Hera, within range of Ceti support, was easy.

Setting an ambush in the Hades Terminus was something else.

Occupying an orbit between Zeus and the Triton Worlds, the most prominent artefact of the expanse was a dense, icy comet field composed of fragments ranging in size from pebbles to mountains. Its existence was as much a surprise to the
Tabit Genesis
settlers as the utter inhabitability of Eileithyia.

Presently, the
Aria Black
was roughly one metre from the surface of a dirty chunk of ice the size of a gas freighter. Sig had expertly placed the ship over it and matched its low angular momentum, all but merging with the comet itself. Two hundred kilometres from their position was a Navy EXR-10 ‘Big Eye’ probe, the same model used in the early warning tracking systems of the Orionis Navy.

Before they vanished in the comet field, the Big Eye had been pushed from the
Black
’s dropship bay and pointed in the direction of Hyllus, scanning a cone of space nearly six billion kilometres long for signs of the Lightspear. The Navy went to great lengths to keep their technology from falling into Ceti hands, and Sig couldn’t even imagine how Vladric had acquired it. The conical-shaped craft had a twelve-metre-diameter mirror capable of detecting the infrared emissions of a burning candle from a hundred thousand kilometres away.

Per Vladric’s instructions, every non-life support system of the
Aria Black
was shut down. Although the ship was fully pressurised, the crew was wearing stealthy zero-thermal signature survival suits, because the ambient temperature of the cabin was presently -20 C. Water, food, and related necessities were handled in the reactor compartment, the most insulated area of the ship, where the temperature was kept at a balmy 1 C.

To minimise detection and maximise survival odds, they had to be cold. Despite their precautions, they were still the warmest object in this comet belt, and a shining beacon for anyone who decided to look for them.

It was also dark. From this distance, the Orionis sun was the size of a pinhead, just barely the brightest star against the backdrop of the Milky Way, and not radiant enough to read by. Not that it mattered. Any light-emitting source that could escape from the
Black
’s eight portals was forbidden, except within sealed compartments.

Taken altogether, the conditions were ripe for a souring of moods and patience.

The men that Vladric had assembled for the mission were chosen for their skill sets, not their personalities. Their dossiers left Sig more concerned about them than House Obyeran lunatics.

The Glasnard brothers Drake and Theron were former asteroid miners who had found their calling as demolitions experts for Ceti. They were a volatile pair, siblings forged in a vat of chaos, the sort that relied foremost on violence to settle disagreements. Bouncing from one dangerous Belt job to the next as privateers, they were approached by Ceti recruiters and asked if they’d like to swap their mining gear for more playful things like firearms and explosives. It was an easy transition, as the tools used to blast through rock differed little from those used to blow up people.

Between their disregard for personal safety and extensive experience working in microgravity, they were the ideal marauders. Together they boasted more than fifty ship raids, with a kill list twice that. Whenever Sig gave an order neither one verbally acknowledged it, but they generally obeyed with a poignant defiance that expressed disdain for a proxy captain, and not the real legend who owned this historic ship.

Their job was to blast their way into the Lightspear, clearing a path for the marksmen behind them. That role fell to two men on the opposite side of the sociopathic spectrum: Larry Vostov and Jaz DeMoer. As former security officers at Bertha and then Brotherhood, they were close quarters combat experts with top notch certifications across a broad range of weapons and tactics. They were also total recluses who, if nothing else, at least never complained about the cold and darkness. Beyond that, all attempts at meaningful conversation were met with variations of ‘yes’, ‘no’, and ‘I don’t know’.

Their experience included six hostage rescue missions, plus a number of assassinations on Inner Rim targets. Since this op was a non-lethal takedown, their kit included stun guns, concussion grenades, mesh traps, and tranquillisers. But they also would bring real guns in case the intel about who was on board was wrong. No matter how the mission turned out, no one was to be left alive on the Lightspear.

The last marauder that Vladric had selected was the one who bothered Sig the most.

Angus McCreary was a Ceti lieutenant who had risen in the organisation through military service alone. He was a hero in the Battle of Brotherhood, leading a bold mech assault against the Navy frigate ONW
Madrid
that some considered a turning point in the battle. Today he was a tactics adviser for the SIOPS military division of Ceti, and the lead planner for this mission.

He carried himself in a manner more befitting a pirate than military officer. He was crude and intrusive, constantly pestering Sig about past exploits, and sharing unsolicited graphic details about his own marauding adventures. According to Vladric, the role of Angus was to run the actual breach and raid. But he was also a capable captain with his own ship and crew, and far more proficient in military operations than someone who hadn’t fired a gun in a quarter-century.

Such redundancy was a message from Vladric. Sig knew that if he was thinking these things, so was the rest of the crew.

It was nearing the end of an eight-hour shift on the bridge, during which time Sig had fiddled with the passive sensors on the
Black
, visualised different boarding scenarios, and, when vigilance lapsed, read some classical Earth literature.

Angus showed up for his shift on time, nosy and presumptuous as ever.

‘Morning, evening, whatever,’ he said, pulling himself through the opening. ‘Anything new?’

‘Nothing,’ Sig said. ‘We’ll find her.’

‘Aye, your optimism is just what the boys want to ’ear,’ Angus grumbled.

‘You’re welcome,’ Sig said, pushing away from the captain’s chair.

‘Hang around some,’ Angus said. ‘Those twats in back aren’t much for talkin’.’

‘I’ve noticed,’ Sig admitted. ‘But they’re good at their jobs.’

‘They better be,’ Angus growled. He was blocking the bridge exit, and his posture suggested no intention of moving. ‘Bah, could be worse. ’Ere’s the nicest tub I’ve ever frozen my arse off in.’

‘Vladric is a man of high taste,’ Sig said.

‘You two go back aways, eh?’ Angus said. ‘Crowned you gov’nor ’o Lethe for your troubles, then saddles you wi’ this job. ’At’s a chum for you.’

Sig didn’t like where this was going.

‘Curse of competence, I guess.’

‘Right, yeah,’ Angus said. ‘How’d you two become mates?’

‘We’re ghosts,’ Sig said. ‘All ghosts get along great.’

‘Aye, but you don’t just pal around with Vladric Mors ’less you’ve earned your keep. So what was it, then?’

Sig tried to assert himself.

‘Enjoy your shift, Angus,’ he said, motioning towards the hatch. ‘I need some rest.’

‘Not so fast, mate,’ Angus warned, holding up his hand. ‘I heard stories about you.’

‘Is that right?’

‘Yeah, it is,’ Angus said. ‘’Ow many firstborns did you gut back in the day? This whole crew ’as blood on their hands. Gimme a number, I got a wager with Theron.’

If they were on Brotherhood, or anywhere else where his Ceti rank mattered, Sig would have denounced the man on the spot. Instead, he bit his tongue.

‘It’s not something I’m proud of,’ he said.

‘C’mon mate, I ain’t judging you for it,’ Angus insisted. ‘Or maybe I am. I know how it is, when you’re young and desperate. That’s what Vladdy looks for in nubs, y’know. Desperation. Easy to find ’round ’ere. Finds a man drownin’ in shit an’ offers a line, for a price. Men will do anything to save ’emselves. Won’t they?’

‘I’m not in the mood for a deep chat,’ Sig said, starting towards the exit again. ‘Stay on the sensors.’

‘Stay on
this
,’ Angus said, extending his middle finger. ‘I like knowing who I’m working for. We been thawed out two weeks and don’t know fuck all ’bout you, except that you’re Vladric’s mate and a bloody politician. You ain’t marauded in years, but he put you in that chair anyway. So tell me a story, Sig. We wants t’ know.’

‘This is what Vladric wanted,’ Sig said cautiously. Angus was a menacing man, especially up close.

‘Well he ain’t ’ere, now is he?’ Angus growled. ‘Seems we got lots o’ time. So start talkin’ before we get too restless.’

The fact he said ‘we’ made Sig think that Angus had planned a mutiny. It was to be expected: promise six men a bounty and they’d find ways to split it with one less person. If telling a story would defuse some tension, then he’d tell him one.

‘What do you want to know?’ Sig asked, resignedly.

‘Told you, I want t’know how’d you get so tight with Vladric.’

Sig took a deep breath.

‘The year was 2724,’ he started. ‘We met on Magellan.’

Magellan was the first outpost built beyond Eris, completed long before construction on Brotherhood even began. At the time, it was the largest station ever built, and as the launch point for Outer Rim colonisation, one of the busiest.

Angus was old enough to remember what it was like.

‘Magellan, eh?’ he said. ‘I got a lot o’ good memories there.’

‘Outer Rim projects weren’t taxed back then, so the place was a labour goldmine for corporations,’ Sig explained. ‘I went there looking for work like everyone else. They set up employment kiosks and we queued behind them. I was turned away from every one. No skills, they said. Had no choice but to wait around and hope a gig opened for a blank slate like me. After a few nights sleeping on the hangar deck, I saw a new kiosk – scrap metal propped on two cones – with one guy standing behind it and no queue. A rickety sign on top spelled “Ceti”.’

Angus slapped his thigh.

‘Bloody hell!’ he said. ‘Vladric was behind it?’

Sig nodded.

‘Told me he had a ship and was looking for a crew. No experience? No problem. Promised to teach me the ropes on the job. Turned out that “ship” was a shitty little two-seat harbour tug.’

‘Ha!’ Angus roared. ‘And you agreed?’

‘Like you said, I was drowning in shit,’ Sig reminisced. ‘We flew to all the staging areas around Magellan offering towing services but kept getting turned away. Wasn’t long before we were out of money, food, and I was cursing myself for trusting him in the first place.’

‘Why the fuck would you trust him?’ Angus asked.

‘Because he had this
charisma
,’ Sig answered. ‘He was such a
hopeful
bastard. It was authentic. You wanted to believe him. You’d never know it today, but back then he was the most upbeat, optimistic son of a bitch I ever met. But when things went bad, I wanted out. And he begged – literally,
begged me
– for one last chance to prove himself.’

‘Begged
you
?’ Angus scoffed. ‘Bugger that.’

‘Vladric Mors was more afraid of disappointing his sole employee than he was of starving to death,’ Sig said. ‘He asked me to trust him, said that he had a plan and to “just go along with it”. So I did.’

Sig paused. He really didn’t want to tell this part of the story.

‘Well, what’d he do?’ Angus demanded.

‘Vladric flew us beyond Magellan’s radar coverage, pointed us in a random direction and fired the thrusters,’ Sig said. ‘Then he dumped the fuel we had left. I fought him for the controls, thinking he’d lost it, but he beat me down.
Demanded
that I trust him. You could see the insanity in his eyes. I was scared for my life.

‘Turns out he set us adrift in the main shipping lane between Hera and the Belt. We were “rescued” six hours later by a corvette named the
Glamour
. Good Samaritans, just two of them on a luxury rig that could fit twenty. A firstborn named Robert Andiron greeted us at the hatch. Some attractive woman was with him. She was high or drunk, giggling, incoherent … I never got her name. Robert never bothered to introduce her.

‘He was going on about what a great sport he was rescuing us, bragging that it would get him laid. Vladric did all the talking, stroking his ego, asking questions about the ship, talking shop about flying. Once we were under way, Vladric whispered for me to get ready. I had no idea what he meant.

‘As soon as Robert took the helm, Vladric shanked him with a screwdriver. Never even saw where he had found it. Right in the armpit, all the way to the handle. When the woman rushed to stop him, I launched myself at her. I don’t know why. I just grabbed hold of her neck from behind and held on for dear life.

‘I’d never seen blood in zero-G before. I … panicked. There was screaming. Dying. Next thing I knew, Vladric was telling me to let go. I didn’t realise I was choking a corpse. Robert was dead as well. And we had a ship.’

‘The “
Glamour
”?’ Angus snickered. ‘Vladric’s first boat was named the bloody
Glamour
?’

‘I watched her corpse for hours,’ Sig said. ‘It … taught me something. About the way things were. The way they still are. Vladric went about like nothing had happened. The
Glamour
’s hold was loaded with provisions and a corestack packed with CROs that he was able to launder before anyone knew that Robert Andiron was missing. We had struck the mother lode, all on a wild shot.’

‘Luckiest bastard alive,’ Angus said. ‘Rumour ’as it he’s got the Gift. That’s some story. So how many firstborns ’ave you waxed since then?’