Birdie Down Read online

  ***

  Cummings ignored Petroff’s urging and stepped towards the bench again. He raised both hands to form a frame over Welwyn City and then reached down to the panel to tweak the image again. Up came the satellite overlay.

  Petroff bit his lip and watched him isolate the shadow cast by one of the larger satellite platforms as it passed over Welwyn City, something it did twice a day. It cast a narrow electronic shadow out into space, but it was large enough to allow the V4 to slip in, space-side and nose towards the planet, without being detected by the city’s ground-based sensors—and the platform was close enough to the planet to permit the V4 to launch a shuttle attack. Once the shuttles were out of the shadow, Welwyn had maybe only 40 minutes to detect them and organise a response.

  To detect the V4 in its shadow, and give Welwyn the benefit of a greater response time, the Venture Raider would need to be further out, which it was, and the space-based sensors would need to be adjusted, as they would be once Able had contacted the company. Petroff and Abel had already worked out where the weak spot was, although it had taken them a while. Cummings had homed in on it in seconds, which was impressive. But Petroff was not interested in what Abel’s precious Assault Crew Commander was thinking, or how fast he got it. He just wanted his assault teams ready.

  Oh—and one other thing!

  He leaned in close and spoke quietly.

  ‘And when you brief your men, Cummings, let them know I want Scatkiewicz taken alive. There’s a bonus in it for you—and the team that gets him—but only if I can “speak” to him for a while before we send him on.’

  Cummings felt Petroff’s breath on his ear and heard the menace in his words. He even sensed Petroff making the air-quotes with his fingers. So that’s why the beggar was in such a black mood, he thought. This Scatkiewicz character has right-royally pissed him off. It’s personal.

  Petroff did not give him time to ask questions. He spun around and headed for the command cabin, raising his voice as he left.

  ‘Now, Cummings! Get a move on. We don’t have all day.’

  5

  Above Ashmore

  Goosen did not see the need, but Bing was convinced that if this guy Rolf could screw with the fuel, then he could have sabotaged another area of the ship. He made the case passionately, which Goosen thought was out of character for him, so Scat relented and organised a review. But so far there was no evidence of it. The systems were working just fine.

  They had just returned from inspecting the shuttles in the V4’s hangar, and were heading towards the flux-drive rooms in a zero gravity environment.

  Li had tagged along, his air-riding bugcam recording everything for a one hour special that Chan was convinced he could syndicate to Earth’s major news channels. Right now, the Asian Bloc news crew was the rebel’s only unfiltered news outlet. Goosen saw the irony in that and knew why Scat wanted the publicity, but he still did not like the bugcam, the GCE’s new remote camera system: it utilised a diminished and supposedly safer version of faster-than-light technology, but it still distorted the space around it. Touching it was not healthy for anyone, or anything. He had experienced the same irrational fear when he attacked the Lynthax Tower on G-eo. The handball-sized camera would not stop flitting about the shuttle cockpit then, and it would not stop now. It did not matter what fail-safes were built into it, it was a pest.

  Goosen let go of the wall-mounted hand grips and grabbed Li by the arms. They spun around briefly, Goosen’s plate-sized hands gripping deep into Li’s biceps.

  Li yelped.

  ‘Get that frigging thing out of my hair, Li. Last time,’ he said.

  ‘OK, OK. I fix. I fix.’

  ‘Good lad. Push it back a few yards, eh?’ He let go of Li’s arms, and steadied himself. ‘Don’t make me hurt you. It’s not in my nature. If I have to, it’ll just make me angry. You wouldn’t want that.’ He was still pissed with himself for almost killing Rolf. This rebel business was all too new for him. He knew he needed to adjust a little more quickly than he was, but it was hard.

  ‘Yes, Goosie. I mean, no, Goosie.’

  ‘And it’s Birdie or Goosen. Get your tongue round either, just don’t mangle them up.’

  ‘OK. Birdie. No mangie.’

  ‘You need to get over it, Birdie,’ Scat told him. ‘We’ll be hurting a few more people in a little while. Rolf wasn’t your fault. He should have known better.’

  ‘I know, Scat. I know. But squeezing the life out of someone with your own hands is a little different to pressing a button and watching a building fry.’

  Scat shook his head and chuckled. It was different strokes for different folks: Goosen was just as likely to bring a man back from the dead as Scat was to fire a second shot to make sure he stayed down.

  They started off again, hauling themselves along the port-side flux-drive corridor. Li hung back a little further. Scat led the way, greeting the rebel guard with a half wave and a full smile.

  ‘Where are the others?’ Scat asked. There should have been four of them.

  ‘Inside, sir. But they’re still watching the door,’ the guard replied, throwing an awkward looking salute, which ended with him pushing some red hair out of his eyes. This was the first time they had spoken to each other. ‘It’s rather crowded out here for four.’

  Scat looked around him and nodded.

  ‘Well done. What do I call you?’

  ‘Smithy, sir.’ He tried to offer Scat a hand to shake, but spun away from the wall a little too quickly. Goosen caught him, and swung him back around.

  ‘Still getting used to zero-G, Smithy?’ Scat asked.

  ‘As you can see, sir,’ Smithy replied, a little embarrassed, but grinning from ear to ear, almost laughing. ‘I was forensics, sir, not a knuckle dragger like this one,’ he added, ready to dodge a playful backhander from Goosen. ‘So, Birdie, do we know if this ship wet or dry?’ he asked.

  Goosen flushed. He liked his whisky, but didn’t advertise it.

  ‘It’s dry, Smithy. You and me will have to brew our own.’ Goosen glanced across at Scat. ‘Smithy and me are connoisseurs, Scat. That’s all. After work, that kind of thing.’

  Scat figured Goosen would have some kind of social life, though he could not imagine it. They had held up in his apartment for two days before storming the V4, but it was devoid of clues.

  ‘You want to go inside?’ Smithy asked.

  ‘Show us the way.’

  Smithy rapped on the flux-drive door. A lock rattled as it spun open. The door then slid to one side, revealing three rebels pointing their stuns at the doorway. They lowered them when they saw Smithy with Goosen. One of them was dressed in only a t-shirt and shorts. He looked a little self-conscious.

  ‘Sorry, Birdie,’ the man said, looking down at himself. ‘It’s blooming hot in here. Be careful what you push off against and what you touch.’

  Scat and Goosen pulled themselves inside and floated over the bright yellow glass panels inset into the floor. Beneath each was a section of the port side flux-drive, arranged in a sequence that gave the V4 one half of its oomph.

  Li followed them in, along with alarms and flashing lights.

  ‘Oh, jeeze! Not again.’ It was all Scat could say.

  Goosen pressed down on his graf.

  ‘Speak to me, Bing. What is it?’

  At first, there was silence. Goosen was about to speak again when Bing finally replied:

  ‘It’s the port side flux-drive. What are you doing down there?’ he asked.

  Goosen looked at Scat and Smithy, and then at the guard in his t-shirt and shorts. No one was aware of anything. They looked around them. Li was floating just inside the doorway, the bugcam at his shoulder.

  ‘We aren’t doing anything, Bing,’ Scat said.

  ‘You’re doing something. Everything is spiking.’

  ‘And what’s the consequence of that, Bing?’ Goosen asked.

  ‘Nothing good. The flux-drives operate jointly. Same output, same f
requency. If one of them plays up, or isn’t working in sync you do not want to go ftl.’

  ‘Everyone outside,’ Scat ordered. He waited by the door helping everyone through and into the corridor. ‘Close it.’

  Smithy shut the door. The alarm died away.

  Bing gave them the good news.

  ‘Back to normal now, Scat.’

  Scat reached for a hand grip and turned to face the flux room door. Behind him Goosen seized Li by the scruff and pulled him, awkwardly, back down the corridor. The bugcam retreated alongside them.

  Looking back down the corridor, Goosen made a suggestion:

  ‘Try again.’

  Scat flicked a finger at the door and Smithy opened it up again, this time inputting a code into the wall-mounted key pad. It opened automatically. They hauled themselves inside. No alarm.

  ‘Bing! Anything?’ he asked.

  ‘Nadda. It’s OK,’ Bing replied.

  Goosen saw Scat put his head around the door and give him a thumb. He turned to Li, drew an imaginary line across the corridor and threatened him with his life if he was to cross it. Li nodded vigorously, and began to spin. Goosen grabbed him, pulled him back to the wall and then made his way down towards the flux drive room.

  ‘Daffy dick,’ he said as he floated back into the room. ‘I knew that bugcam was going to be trouble. We should ditch the thing. Ditch them both.’

  ‘We will, Birdie,’ Scat replied. ‘Soon. But I’m thinking that maybe we ought to ditch the prisoners first. They can go down with them.’

  ‘Here? On Ashmore?’ Goosen asked.

  ‘No. I’ve decided against Ashmore,’ Scat said, seemingly mesmerised by the glowing panels. ‘Bing’s working on a plan for Constitution. We’ll knock out the buoys, as we did before, but this time we’ll use them to pick up some local Intel before we jump in.’

  ‘Well that makes sense, Scat. But what about the fuel?’

  ‘Bing’s working on that too. Welks is diverting as much FDL back to the tanks as he can. But some’s already gone for good. Constitution will have to be our last strike. For tonight, at least.’

  6

  Security review complete, Goosen followed Scat back to the command cabin. Scat tried stifling a yawn. He looked ragged.

  Goosen could only guess at how their leader felt. He knew Scat had had precious little downtime since arriving on Trevon following his deportation from Prebos a couple of weeks back. Goosen could not be sure, but he was convinced the man was on something.

  Being so far from Earth, and living as a temporary resident on a company-owned world, Scat was desperate to keep his mining job and not get involved in the local politics, but, as the constitutional spat exploded into street violence and industrial action, there was a little chance of him staying neutral.

  Scat had skills, and those skills complicated his efforts to stay uninvolved. He was an ex-Marine: a well-decorated ex-Marine. He was possibly the most experienced ex-military guy in the Outer-Rim—that is, outside of a mining company’s internal security apparatus, or the under-manned and under-resourced ORF. In the demilitarised Outer-Rim, and at a time of increasing civil and political chaos, it was unavoidable that Scat would attract the attention of both sides of the divide.

  Sure enough, while Scat was still on Prebos, Lynthax’s head of security, Jack Petroff, ‘invited’ Scat to help the company keep an eye on the Trevon secessionists. Scat didn’t want to. This was not his fight. Petroff offered him money. Scat’s resolve began to weaken.

  Then Petroff had Scat’s immediate boss, a political agitator, killed. Scat found out, and, realising the local politics was turning murderous, he allowed Petroff to believe he was playing along with his scheme. It was now no longer about the money. At the time, it had appeared the most prudent—and safest—thing to do. In any case, Scat still hoped to ride out the crisis with as little commitment, and rebel reporting, as possible.

  But it quickly got complicated, and ever since arriving on Trevon, Scat had been dodging bullets.

  As Petroff applied more and more pressure and demanded early results, the secessionists offered Scat their friendship. Through the powerful Irwin family, the secessionists intimated they were aware of Petroff’s demands and that they sympathised with his circumstances: they even welcomed him into their homes; they made him feel welcomed, appreciated.

  As the constitutional crisis deepened, ISRA’s Colonel Cotton re-enlisted Scat into the Marines and then placed him under Petroff’s orders, making it very clear that this was no ordinary political spat. Petroff then took Cotton’s blessing as a license to increase the pressure further.

  Realising he was caught between a rock and a hard place, Scat revisited Petroff’s orders to get close to the secessionist leaders. He used it as an excuse to get a job alongside Terrance Nettles, a Trevon House Representative—something he did, not to acquire Intel for the company, but to find out for himself how the local politics really played out. As he grew to know Nettles and his politics better, Scat then found himself keeping the man safe from Lynthax’s hired thugs.

  Disturbed, Petroff applied more pressure.

  Scat found himself assuming consecutive 24-hour House Duties to avoid a neuralnet medical procedure—an offer Petroff mistakenly believed would increase Scat’s commitment. When he finally wised up to the fact that Scat was playing the two ends against the middle, he washed his hands of him in true Petroff style: he offered Scat up as a patsy for the Earth Delegate’s assassination, an action dreamed up and secretly executed by ISRA itself to excuse a whole host of deportations—which was to include Terrance Nettles.

  Confused, and accused of murder, Scat went on the lam, first in Go Down City and then out on the Gap Plain. He finally ended up in the arms of the Irwin family. Little did Scat know that the secessionists were by this time including him in their plans. They had already identified in Scat something Petroff had missed: they knew of his military record, but more importantly they had assessed his character and recognized that if Petroff pushed too hard, Scat would push back—violently—and that could only benefit the secessionist cause. So while Petroff was pushing, the secessionists had played a waiting game.

  By this time, Scat did not care who expected what from whom. He was keen to seek his revenge on Petroff and happy to turn an intellectual political argument into a fully-fledged civil war.

  Not one to hang around once his mind was made up, he quickly set about planning Nettles rescue, but to do that, they needed to hijack the V4, one of Lynthax’s largest tankers. That such a thing had never been done before had been of little or no deterrent value. The risks were monumental, but Scat was past caring. The man was driven. He was on a mission and he had nothing to lose.

  The rescue was a success. Nettles was released. But now they had the V4, the rescue had morphed into a fully-fledge rebellion. Scat was unwilling to give up the opportunity the V4 afforded them to take the fight to Lynthax wherever it reigned.

  It was hard to keep up with him.

  Yep, Goosen thought: he probably was on something.

  Well, at least now Scat could put most of his troubles behind him. With the rebellion finally under way—a rebellion that was long overdue—the difficulties of Scat’s former life, and everything else that got him to where he was, were irrelevant. What mattered now was how things were to finish: hopefully with Trevon’s independence from Earth. If not that, they could at least turf out the Corporate Constituency Representatives from the House, bring down the mighty Lynthax Corporation and tear up its corporate mandate to run the place.

  Goosen sat back down at the console and watched Scat hoke around the refreshment stand along the back wall. He was looking for coffee, but the pot was empty. The young lad, Welks, one of the V4’s original crew, walked over and offered him his. Considerate guy.

  ‘Well, Bing, what have you got?’ Scat said, somehow sounding chipper.

  Bing looked up from the console and blew out some air.

  ‘Ain’t looking good,
Scat. Sorry. That tyke, Rolf’s made life difficult for us. We’ve enough fuel to get us to Constitution, and then perhaps for a trip to Alba, but not much more than that.’

  ‘Alba?’ Scat asked.

  Bing cocked his head to one side.

  ‘They didn’t speak to you about that?’ he asked.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Nettles. Cade.’

  ‘About what?’

  Bing looked a little uncomfortable. He looked to Goosen for support. Goosen made it clear he was on his own.

  ‘Speak up,’ Scat said.

  ‘Nettles came up here when you set the alarm off.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, Matheson let it slip that you’d lost most of the fuel.’

  Scat swung around, looking for Matheson. He was furious. The V4’s former second-in-command was missing.

  ‘Where is the git?’

  ‘In the medical centre, alongside Rolf.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. He nudged up against my neural disrupter after Nettles left.’ Bing shrugged as though it were a genuine accident.

  ‘Is the centre secure enough for the two of them?’ Scat asked, looking at Goosen.

  With Goosen knowing most of the ex-cops, and having advised Scat as to who he could, and could not, trust in the moments after they hijacked the vessel, the role of vessel security had fallen to him. In everyone’s eyes, then, Goosen was Scat’s second-in-command. He had not sought the role and there were no formal structures or hierarchy. Not yet. Everything was developing very ... organically.

  ‘It is,’ Goosen replied, more confidently than he felt.

  ‘And the V4’s medical orderlies have agreed to sign on,’ Bing added, ‘so long as we leave them free to treat anyone who needs help.’

  ‘For the duration? Or just this trip?’ Scat asked.

  ‘This trip. They’ll want dropping off.’

  ‘And Nettles wants to be dropped off at Alba?’

  ‘He does, Scat,’ Bing replied, knowing his new boss would not like that. ‘Cade’ll still be looking for you. He wants to explain.’

  Scat smouldered.

  Marvin Cade was the Trevon secessionist movement’s manipulator-in-chief and unofficial adviser. Scat first met him on Prebos where he was the senior mineral engineer and Cade was a supervisor. Goosen did not know him, other than to hear Thomas, a mutual friend of theirs, sing his praises. It was evident that Scat and Cade had become quite close since Scat became embroiled in Trevon’s politics. Only now, Scat found himself whipping up a messy, chaotic and violent rebellion, leading from the front without any formal authority. He carried people with him by sheer force of personality and a hefty dose of will power. His goals were short-term, his focus razor sharp. Cade gave careful, well-considered advice to politicians from behind closed doors. He picked his moments to influence the debate, and steered the cause of independence with reason. Cade’s goals were longer-term, the vision wider.

  Goosen wasn’t sure the two ways of thinking would always gel. Their relationship was bound to change.

  ‘Find him,’ Scat ordered, looking at Tyson. ‘Bring him here. Get Nettles up here as well. We might as well get this over with.’

  Goosen moved seats to sit closer to Scat, almost crowding him with his bulk.

  ‘By the tone you’re using, Scat, am I to assume Nettles will leave here with his tail between his legs?’ he asked.

  Scat frowned, not relishing the upcoming confrontation. Nettles was a clever and socially skilled operator.

  ‘It’s got to be done, Birdie. This isn’t a friggin’ democracy—not yet, anyways. Love him, or hate him,’ and Scat did err towards the former, Goosen was sure of it, ‘it don’t matter. I warned him once. This’ll be the last.’

  ‘OK, Scat,’ Goosen counselled, quietly. ‘Just don’t alienate the boys, eh? A lot of them still look to Nettles for leadership. You’re the newbie around here, remember?’ He looked down at his graf, and then up at the command cabin clock to make a dramatic point—Goosen could not help himself: acting was in his blood. The split second timing, the carrying off a dramatic scene to applause: he loved it. ‘They’ve known of you for less than eight hours. And some of them have yet to meet you. Like Smithy just did.’

  Goosen leaned back in his chair, hoping Scat understood the point.

  Bing cut in before Scat could reply.

  ‘I think the buoy plan will work, Scat. We’ll just need to upload the software as they come in, and then meet one of them on its way back out.’

  OK. Goosen thought that to be good news. The boss could do with some.

  Scat strode across to the 3-D bench and beckoned them both over.

  The projection was showing Constitution as a small globe at its centre. Lines of red light tracked the buoy routes in and out. The buoy network gave the New Worlds their faster-than-light comms with Earth and provided ftl-enabled vessels with officially sanctioned safe routes, to and from. Before the rebels attacked Trevon and G-eo, they had waylaid the incoming buoys, uploading bugs to prevent them from carrying word of the attacks back to Earth. Some were even programmed to drop off channel on the return trip, so the rebels could pick them up. The rebels needed an ftl-enabled comms system of their own. Stealing one was far easier than starting from scratch.

  ‘We can upload a bug, as we’ve done before,’ Bing explained. ‘Then rather than just let one drop off channel as it leaves, we pick it up and read its data. If the Venture Raider appeared on the buoy’s scanners at any time while it was in orbit, we’ll see it. It’ll also give us an up-to-date satellite location map and, if we’re lucky, a record of the local space-based defences.’

  Scat looked at him, curiously. It was a surprise to Goosen as well. None of the planets had full time space-based defences. There was no need for them. The Outer-Rim was a military-free zone. Only the Inter-Space Regulatory Authority, ISRA, maintained offensive forces outside of the Inner-Rim, primarily to deter smugglers and pirates, and they were both under-funded and under-resourced. That was why he was planning each of their raids on the hoof. Other than the Raider, there was nothing to get in their way.

  ‘What I mean by that, Scat, is that if the Raider has arrived, Petroff won’t have been idle. He would have tipped Welwyn off. They may have launched a few.’

  ‘Fair enough, Bing. Makes sense,’ Scat said, gently scratching the two-day growth on his chin.

  Goosen sighed. They had already wasted two hours in Ashmore space. It will be light above Welwyn City in another two.

  ‘Yes. It’s best we know,’ Goosen agreed. ‘We’re only armed with a light-tug. And we’ll be a sitting duck when we drop out of ftl.’

  Civilian vessels took 30 minutes, sometimes longer, to safely re-spool the flux-drives between jumps, but vessels fitted with military-grade StarGazer sensors could do it in as little as eight. LM-V class tankers were rarely, if ever, fitted with military-grade SG software, but this LM-V was: to help it get ISRA’s negotiating teams to trouble spots around the Outer-Rim as quickly as possible. To Scat, it made sense that the V4 would also be configured for quick jumping, if only temporarily. But there was only one way to find out.

  ‘OK. Get us to Constitution, ASAP. Drop us in along the buoy route. When we’re done with the buoys, we’ll see how quickly we can jump in and out.’

  ‘Sure,’ Bing replied. ‘It’ll cost us in terms of fuel, but—’

  A voice interrupted them.

  ‘You can see us now?’

  A shadow fell across Scat’s face. His shoulders dropped slightly. It was Nettles.

  7

  Terrance Nettles, Trevon independence advocate and House Representative, stood alongside Marvin Cade just inside the command cabin door. They looked a little glum. Maybe they looked forward to this as much as Scat did.

  Scat turned back to the image and pointed to one of the red lines.

  ‘Bing, take us out of here. Let me know when you’ve started to knock out the buoy network.’

&nbs
p; Bing scurried away.

  ‘We’re not so sure you should try it, Scat,’ Nettles cautioned.

  Scat, bit his lip and closed his eyes for a second. Goosen hoped he had remembered to be diplomatic. It was a tall order. It would take some effort.

  ‘Yes, Terrance, I know it’s a risk,’ Scat said evenly. ‘This whole damned thing’s a risk.’

  ‘But there’s no point in taking any more risk than you need, Scat,’ Marvin added. ‘We need to get the reps to a non-Western Bloc planet, a neutral place. They’ve work to do as well.’

  ‘I know,’ Scat replied.

  ‘So you see the need?’ Nettles asked taking a step closer to the bench. He looked into it. ‘Constitution?’ he asked more quietly, as though holding a private conversation. ‘It’s a pity about the FDL, Scat. Tough luck.’

  Scat broke away. Goosen could see Scat did not want this to be a one-on-one. He got back to Nettles’ original question.

  ‘Yes, it is. And yes, I do.’

  ‘So why take the risk? You made your point on Trevon—and on G-eo,’ Nettles replied.

  Scat did not answer. He had hyped himself up for a full 12 hours of destruction; he wanted to make a larger than life statement that Lynthax would take months to recover from. As it currently stood, they had only inconvenienced the company. Scat wanted to devastate it. He also wanted Petroff, but that was personal.

  ‘Scat?’ Marvin said, looking for an answer.

  ‘I’m not finished,’ Scat began. He then quickly corrected himself. ‘We’re not finished. Fuel’s a problem, but we’re recovering some of it now, and we have a plan for entering Constitution space without running into anything we don’t expect. You’ll be safe.’

  ‘We’re not looking for safe, Scat,’ Nettles said, holding his hands behind his back, appearing calm and looking as well groomed as ever. It was as if Scat had sprung him from a spa, rather than three days of detention.

  ‘I know. But shouldn’t we make a more forceful statement, before you crow about it?’

  Maybe “crow” was not a very diplomatic description of Nettles upcoming contribution to the rebellion. But Scat had said it. He could not take it back.

  ‘You already have, Scat,’ Nettles replied. ‘It’s enough.’

  ‘I don’t agree. Remember what I said at the beginning, Marv? I run this show.’ Scat pointed at Nettles. ‘He can run things as he likes when we’re finished for the night. And I don’t take orders from reps: I take them from the rebel council, from Reggie.’

  ‘Reginald Irwin isn’t here,’ Nettles reminded him, ‘and the council’s money can’t buy common sense in any case. But even they would tell you the same thing: you’re being irresponsible.’

  That was a red rag to a bull. Goosen saw Scat’s expression change. Goosen tried to make eye contact, to remind him to stay even. Scat was not looking. He hardened his tone.

  ‘I disagree. Reggie knew it’d get difficult and that I’d have to make decisions that not everyone would agree with—especially you politicos. That’s why you guys aren’t running this rebellion. You’ll just front it. We’re going after Constitution, like it or not. After that, I’ll decide whether to drop you off and where.’

  Nettles looked at him as though an employee had just told him to sling his hook: shocked. If Scat had wanted to show Nettles some respect, or repay him for his weeks of friendship and assistance on Trevon, he had forgotten about it. Scat ploughed on.

  ‘It’s not the right time to take the foot off the gas, Terrance. You don’t know how these things work; I do. I’m not trying to be bloody minded. This isn’t personal.’

  ‘That’s your last word on the subject, I take it. A “sorry, it isn’t personal”?’ Nettles asked him.

  Goosen tried to mediate.

  ‘Actually Mr Nettles, it’s not even a choice. If we stop now, it’ll give Lynthax the time it needs to come after us. And if we don’t keep going, they’ll have more to throw at us when they do recover. And they’ll recover quicker. Scat’s making sense.’

  Nettles did not reply, or even look at him. He turned his head a little towards Marvin, shook it, and then strode from the room.

  Marvin appeared a little worried. Scat shot a glance at Goosen in surprise. Nettles had given up a little too quickly.

  ‘I thought that you’d at least ask him if he wanted a coffee before you told him to sling his ass,’ Marvin said. ‘I don’t think he took that very well.’

  ‘We don’t have any, and in any case, what did he expect?’ Scat said, still looking at the command cabin doorway.

  ‘The impossible, Scat. He’s a politician. Do you have a plan to keep him from causing trouble below decks?’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  Marvin shook his head.

  ‘You’ll see soon enough, Scat.’ he said. As he started to leave, he turned to Goosen. ‘Maybe you can explain it to him, Birdie. You’ve half a brain more than he has. Use it.’

  ‘I heard that Marv. Thanks,’ Scat said.

  Marvin made it to the doorway before turning slowly around.

  ‘Then take a tip from a friend. You can’t fight a war on two fronts. Not without support. Think on it.’

  Goosen, Scat and Bing watched him leave. Everyone else in the cabin kept their heads down, not sure what to make of the exchange.

  ‘That sounded encouraging,’ Goosen said a little sarcastically.

  Scat turned to face him. It looked like he was going to admit to being a head-strong jerk. Instead he looked around him and saw Bing grinning and signing an OK with a finger and thumb.

  ‘Beggar that, Birdie,’ Scat replied. ‘You deal with him the next time. And, Bing, you can wipe that smile of that pug-ugly face of yours.’

  Bing looked around him as though he had no idea why Scat should chasten him. Or why he should refer to him as a pug.

  ‘Eh? I thought you’d just like to know we’re ready to jump.’

  8

  Outgoing Buoy Channel, Constitution

  Tyson almost shouted it out.

  ‘There it is!’

  He pointed a stubby black finger at the cabin’s forward screen, then realised he could just run the cursor over it. Everyone then saw it.

  The Venture Raider was already over Constitution.

  ‘Ah, rats!’ Scat whispered to himself.

  ‘Ah rats, indeed,’ Goosen agreed.

  ‘Put it on the bench, Tyson,’ Scat said. ‘And throw up the satellite data.’

  Looking down at the 3-D, Goosen, Bing, and Khoffi Khan, ISRA’s recently dismissed Earth Representative, followed the fast-forward motion of the satellite system as it spun around Constitution in a confusing mix of orbits.

  ‘Give me tracking lines, Tyson,’ Scat asked. Almost immediately, a two-inch diameter Constitution was lost behind hundreds of yellow circles and ovals. On the other side of the bench, closer to where Khan stood, was the Venture Raider, marked in an angry red. It was maybe 10000 kilometres out.

  Bing’s work on the buoy network an hour ago was producing some excellent intelligence, but with it came some disturbing news. Petroff was ready for them.

  ‘It’s not too late to pull away, Scat,’ Goosen remarked. ‘We’re still two stops on the buoy network from being picked up by sensors. Besides, it’s daylight over Welwyn.’

  Scat was listening, but had other things on his mind.

  ‘Bing, what’s your final word on the Far Dark Light? Enough for another half dozen jumps?’ he asked.

  ‘Over what distance, Scat? We’ve just wasted two jumps proving we can re-spool in eight.’

  ‘Four or five of them in local space. Maybe another one or two after that. To Alba. As well as Prebos—possibly.’

  There was a moment’s silence. Goosen leaned in towards Scat, turning away from the others.

  ‘You’re not thinking of playing cat and mouse with the Raider are you?’ he asked, quietly.

  Scat looked at him, waiting for the follow up.

  ‘’Cos that
would be crazy,’ Goosen said, more softly. ‘Nettles will throw a fit and Petroff’ll have our skins.’ Goosen did not want to put Scat on the spot: not before his authority was accepted by everyone and without question. That meant no one else needed to hear his doubts, but Scat did. ‘And we don’t have the skills-set, Scat, nor the weapons. Not to engage a frigate.’

  ‘Are the prisoners ready for a transfer?’ Scat asked Khan, pressing the point, still looking at Goosen. Scat was waiting on something. But what did he want? A smile? Blind obedience? The idea of taking on the Raider had caught everyone’s tongues. It was madness.

  Khan broke the silence.

  ‘All briefed, Scat. Six shuttles’ worth. And as you requested, we disabled their comms and transponders.’

  ‘And Rolf and Matheson?’

  ‘The medics will fly on the same shuttle. We agreed they can take one of the breathers, some gas, a set of paddles and some meds. They are happy.’

  ‘Good. Load them up.’

  ‘We will not see these shuttles again, Scat. You are aware of that, yes?’ Khan asked.

  Scat nodded. Goosen shot a worried look at Bing and then turned back to Scat. Again, Goosen spoke softly.

  ‘So you’re still going ahead with this?’

  ‘Yes, we are. And we need Li.’ Scat looked at one of the cabin security team. ‘Tell him to bring his bugcam.’

  Behind them, Bing dragged a finger across his screen, stopped and then ran it across the screen a second time; just to be sure he had read it right.

  ‘Scat. You’ll want to take a look at this,’ he said, standing aside.

  As Scat stepped across, Bing tried not to make a big deal out of putting himself between Scat and the others. Something Bing had seen warranted Scat seeing it before anyone else. That did not augur well.

  Scat scratched his head. Eventually he looked down at his graf, sat down and put his head in his hands.

  ‘Give the boss some space, lads,’ Goosen said, sitting down a couple of chairs away from him. He ushered everyone away. ‘You too, Bing. So, what’s up, boss? You want to talk privately?’

  Scat flexed his fingers and stretched his arms above his head.

  ‘Yeah. We do.’

  9

  Scat paced the aisle in the briefing room, one hand thrust deep into his coverall pocket, the other clutching his Grand American sawn-off. Goosen stood to one side, carefully cradling his high-tech Pulsed Impulsive Kill Laser in the nook of one arm.

  ‘Who can you trust, Birdie?’ Scat asked eventually. ‘With your life: out of the 43 that signed on?’ He stopped pacing, sat down in an aisle seat and waited for an answer.

  Goosen took a seat opposite. He ignored the question.

  ‘You worried?’

  ‘Yeah. Kinda. I’m gonna have to piss off the politicos and, as you say, it might not fly with your lads. So, yeah, I’m concerned.’

  ‘Well, Scat, you should be,’ Goosen agreed. ‘You might have taken this ship with a pair of brass balls and an antique shot gun, but you’re going to need a whole lot more than that to keep it. The hijack was too easy. It was a sitting duck. You know that don’t you?’

  ‘I got that, Birdie,’ Scat replied, wanting to get back to the question in hand. ‘But we can’t hand these decisions over to the Reps. They aren’t equipped for this sort of thing. You see the way they flinch at the sight of blood.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Goosen said in loose agreement. Scat held a cynical view of what motivated people, especially politicians; they could turn on a penny. Goosen was of the same mind when it came to politicians, although for him it did not extend to the whole human race. ‘Well let me see. There’s Bing: he committed himself to a hangman’s noose when he flew with me over G-eo. Then there’s Khan: no question.’

  Scat nodded. Khoffi Khan was Ambassador Cohen’s Representative on Trevon—until very recently, that is. Scat did not know him, and Goosen only knew of him, but from what Khan had told them, and what they had read in the papers before the hijack, the Earth rep had every reason to get even with Petroff. After joining the rebels, Khan had told Goosen more: his son was only 15 when he died. He was killed by rubbered shot during a riot, just two days before. The lad was an innocent bystander. And the shot was fired at his head and from above, instead of being bounced off the floor.

  Khan had pressed charges against Lynthax’s private security, but the Inter-Space Regulatory Authority’s Ambassador Cohen had him dismissed and then had him, and his family, deported. It was an odd thing to do just as the Outer-Rim was imploding, but Cohen’s excuse was a simple one: if Khan was in direct and personal conflict with Lynthax, he was no longer able to represent Earth’s best interests on Trevon. Besides, Lynthax insisted. Fate then arranged for him to be on the V4 when Scat and Goosen stormed its command cabin.

  It was no surprise he had pledged loyalty to Scat and the rebellion in return for a chance to avenge his son’s death.

  ‘Who else?’ Scat asked.

  ‘Tyson’s OK if you smile at him enough. And you’ve just met my drinking partner, Smithy and his mucker, Rathbone.’

  Scat looked up. He was unfamiliar with the last name.

  ‘Rathbone was the guy in his undies, Scat.’

  ‘OK. Who else?’

  ‘As far as I can throw them, or for the dirty stuff?’

  ‘The dirty stuff, Birdie. It’s going to get rough.’

  ‘OK. There’s Fellows—he was the armourer, so I’m sure he’ll be useful someday. He knows how to service a PIKL, which is a start.’

  Scat nodded in agreement. Pulsed Impulsive Kill Lasers were hardly run of the mill lasers; they were a tad more complex and a lot more lethal. They did a whole lot of internal damage to a body, hence the term ‘to PIKL’, that is to pickle, a target. Clipping the target was almost as good as hitting it dead centre. As a sniper, Scat had used the more sophisticated dark light version during the resource wars. He rated them very highly and wanted more. The dumbed-down variety was general issue among ISRA’s Outer Rim Force and Lynthax’s paramilitary security, but they had so few of them on board the V4.

  ‘I’d also be OK with Richard Edlin,’ Goosen went on, ‘although he’s still a little green. He and I did amateur dramatics together. We’ve talked about independence and he’s medic trained.’

  Scat tried not to smile. He still could not get used to the idea that this giant of a man—more a Viking with fists the size of hams and the dress sense of a bag lady—could be interested in the arts.

  ‘And then possibly “Georgie” Orwell,’ Goosen continued. ‘He’s as hard as they come, Scat. Cool as ice. He was our door-buster on the hostage rescue team. But what’s your real point? Why the concern?’

  ‘Look, Birdie, I know we need to drop the politicos off, but we need to drop them where they’ll be safe, not arrested. If the Raider’s here already, then—’

  ‘So we go to Alba. Just like Nettles asked.’

  ‘No. Not yet. We take out the Lynthax Building. Then we go to Alba. My point is the politicos won’t like it. They may try to turn the crew.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me, Scat. The Raider will kill us.’

  ‘No it won’t. They want us alive, and they want the V4 back—intact.’

  The penny dropped.

  ‘So that was what that was all about. You’ve seen their battle plan?’

  ‘Yes. Petroff thinks he’s used the buoy network to send word back to Lynthax, Earth. He was asking them to block the Venture Raider’s call up from the reserve. And he’s gotten the local ISRA rep to recall the Outer Rim Force starflyer from its anti-smuggling patrol. It’ll be back in Constitution space in around two hours. Until then we have an opening. It’s like you said: if we don’t attack now, we’ll never get another chance—at least not without needing a much, much bigger force and maybe incurring a greater loss of life.’

  ‘It’ll unsettle some, no question. It’ll take careful explaining.’ Goosen cautioned, still wide-eyed at the thought of pushing
ahead.

  ‘I know,’ Scat replied. He leaned across the aisle and put a hand on Goosen’s shoulder. ‘And this time, we’ll be up against it. We won’t be snatching a vessel from a bunch of civilians. This time it’s Petroff and a trained crew. Can I rely on you?’

  Goosen sucked in air, leaned back and put his two massive hands behind his head. Looking up at the ceiling, he tried to give the appearance of thinking deeply.

  This was the first time Scat had actually opened up to him and laid things out, rather than just tell him how things would be.

  Goosen did not agree with taking on the Raider, but, if it had to be done, there was no one else better suited to lead the charge than Scat. However, although Nettles had known him for a couple of weeks, and Marvin Cade for a little while longer, to everyone else on the V4, Scat was an unknown entity. Even Goosen was basing his trust on the faith the powerful Irwin family had vested in him. Fortunately, over the past few days at least, Scat had done nothing to undermine that faith. And, besides, the rebellion was in its infancy. Scat’s leadership of it was fragile. Goosen could not blow him off. Not now.

  ‘As I say, it’ll take careful explaining, Scat. But the lads I’ve just mentioned should be up for anything and the rest of them will go with the flow if they know they’re on board. That’ll weight the numbers more evenly. No one here likes the way these companies are running the New Worlds, and they’re pissed at the way ISRA dismissed them. But now they don’t have jobs, there’s nothing to be gained by sucking it up and they have nothing to lose by hitting back. There’s sweet FA waiting for them back on Earth. Your biggest problem will be what Nettles has to say about it.’

  ‘I know. So you’re OK with it? I can rely on you?’

  ‘Of course you can, Scat,’ Goosen replied, trying to make it sound as though the question was unnecessary. ‘I’m still curious by nature and you’re my study project: it’ll be interesting to see how this all pans out. And, besides, you’re forgetting something.’

  Scat gave a blank look. He opened his hands in question.

  ‘The land, Scat. Thomas’ promise. It means an awful lot to a lot of people.’

  Thomas Irwin, son of Reggie Irwin, one of the two major Moss Valley families, and a dedicated secessionist, had offered land to anyone who joined the rebellion. Of course the rebellion had to succeed, they had yet to work out the details, and Trevon House would need to vote for it, post independence. Right now, Lynthax owned the ground. If Lynthax and all the other Corporate Constituency House Representatives were tossed out, and Trevon was free of Earth, the planet’s natural resources and its wide open, if frozen, spaces was free for its inhabitants to divvy up for local development. It was strange Scat should forget about that.

  ‘It’s a strong enough lure, then, Birdie? Thomas was on the button?’

  ‘He was on the nail, Scat,’ Goosen confirmed. ‘Why do you think I signed on so quickly? After all, I still had prospects. I have permanent residency—or did,’ he added, implying the authorities may tear it up when they learn he had co-sponsored the hijack. ‘But you’ll still need to do a deal with Nettles. Smooth his ego. Calm his fears. You know the sort of thing, Scat. Be diplomatic.’

  ‘He won’t deal. He wants off the ship so he can strut about and make speeches. If there’s a danger of being caught again, he’ll veto it.’

  ‘Nettles might be play-acting, Scat. Have you thought about that? He may be playing to an audience. If he is to make it back into political life, he’ll have to sound convincing when he says he tried to stop you.’

  ‘I doubt it, Birdie. He was strutting.’

  ‘Maybe so, Scat, but I’ve known him for a lot longer than you, remember? He runs a lot deeper than that polished look of his. He’s very clever. I doubt he always listen to Mr Cade.’

  Scat screwed up his face. He was not having any of it.

  ‘No. He’s going to cause trouble,’ he replied.

  ‘Then make it so he can’t,’ Goosen suggested, bluntly.

  Scat narrowed his eyes and leaned forward.

  ‘You mean ...’ Scat made a knocking motion with his fist, as though holding a mallet.

  ‘What’s left to do?’ Goosen replied with a shrug. ‘As you say, you don’t think you can convince him.’ He added a caution. ‘But you’ll need to do it soon—before you commit to the attack; before you think he’ll raise a stink.’

  ‘A bit obvious, though. That’ll definitely piss people off.’

  ‘Accidentally, Scat. Quietly. At least not in plain view.’

  ‘How?’

  Goosen curled his lip.

  ‘Drug him or knock him out. Push CO2 into his quarters. The only other option is to lock them up.’

  Scat sprang up from his seat and paced the aisle.

  It was the obvious thing to do.

  ‘Can we go back in, now, Scat?’ Goosen asked.

  ‘Yes, let’s. But knock out or lock up, Birdie? What’s your preference?’

  Goosen did not much care. He was more interested in what Scat’s battle plan looked like. Scat had not said anything about it. Maybe he was making it up on the hoof again. Jeeze, I hope not. Not now I’ve committed myself to it.

  ‘Well, I don’t see why we can’t try both. We can manage it all from the command cabin.’

  10

  As they walked back up the aisle, Goosen told Scat that he wanted the original crew out of the cabin. Mostly they were a nuisance. And they could hear too much. Scat agreed without question. He was in a good mood, having solved a nagging problem.

  ‘Right, Bing,’ Goosen said firmly as they re-entered the command cabin, ‘call Smithy and Rathbone. Get them up here.’

  As Scat stood back, Goosen ordered the original crew out of the cabin. The command cabin security team led them out into the ring. Welks followed them out, looking over his shoulder, appearing unwilling to leave. Goosen made a mental note: it might be handy keeping him on the ship—if he wanted to sign on, that is. At least the young lad knew how the thing flew.

  Li stood out of harm’s way. He did not know why he was there, but knowing he was in the doghouse he had switched off the bugcam and left it on the console. His boss, Chan stood alongside him, his thoughts unreadable, as always, but personally confident of scooping yet another exclusive.

  Scat waited until Bing had made the call, and then walked him and Goosen across to the bench again.

  ‘OK, so we slip in under this satellite platform, here,’ he said quietly, pointing to a large multi-satellite platform that was soon to pass over Welwyn. ‘We’ll declare a prisoner transfer and launch a convoy just as we drop into space. You and Birdie will tag along. As you know, none of the shuttles will have comms. If you switch yours off—and the transponder as well—you’ll be just another prisoner shuttle.’

  Bing nodded, frowning. Goosen stood impassively. There was little point in showing fear at such a late stage. He had signed on for this, as he had the previous two attacks. He just hoped Scat had a plan to deal with the Raider.

  ‘Once you’re gone, we’ll jump away and pick you up here.’ Scat pointed to a point in space on the other side of the planet, the coordinates marked in green.

  Bing continued nodding, but fidgeted a little. His small, widely placed eyes kept wandering over to the Venture Raider.

  ‘The target is the Lynthax Building, here.’

  ‘And what of the Raider?’ Bing asked.

  Scat called the Asian news crew over.

  ‘That’s where Li earns his fare.’

  11

  Above Constitution

  Goosen watched the prisoners make their way along the V4’s inner corridors to the shuttles, herded along by the meaner looking of his men, all armed with stuns set to full power. This was the last batch of 30, each of them carrying a single holdall containing their most valuable personal belongings. None of them were permitted to carry electronic gadgets of any kind. Scat had even stripped the small ORF contingent of their uniforms. He was making a statement
.

  As Welks floated by, Goosen reached across, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of line. He spoke into his ear. Welks’ face lit up with youthful enthusiasm. He nodded vigorously. Goosen gave him a push to help him go back down the corridor. The boy had agreed to stay.

  An especially large member of the crew floated past. Goosen pulled him to one side and made him climb out of his coveralls. They looked a good fit: his own clothes were bloody and the dead commander’s clothes he wore were a tad too small. He tied it around his waist.

  Finally, the last of the prisoners air-swum out into the rear hangar, grabbed a guideline and made his way over to the shuttle transports. Then it was the turn of the dead, sick and injured.

  Rolf was still breathing through a tube, but could at least sit upright. A medic pushed him out of the corridor and hooked the bed to the guideline. Behind him, Matheson lay on a second airbed. He wore a nappy and was complaining that no one had thought to cover him with a blanket. Perhaps the crew had not liked him that much.

  Last of all there followed the V4’s dead: all three of them wrapped in US flags, tied together by a line. A member of the V4’s original crew dragged them effortlessly behind him in the zero-G.

  It was only then, as they filed past, that Goosen realised he was taking this fight back to his ancestors—that he was cutting his links with Earth and in a most dramatic way. He might be a Canadian, but his neighbour’s flag still resonated. It nudged his conscience. It reminded him that even though he was fed up with being a citizen of a corporate managed world, he was still proud of his Canadian heritage.

  Ironically, to free himself of the one, he had to uproot himself from the other. But it was too late to worry about that: he had made his choice, even if it was the company that had forced his hand. There was no going back.

  The lingering doubt, or guilt—he was not sure which—made him follow Rolf’s airbed out across the hangar deck and into the prisoner shuttle.

  ‘How is he?’ he asked the medic, pointing at Rolf.

  The medics had already reclined Rolf’s bed and cleared a small space at the back of the shuttle’s passenger cabin. The medic looked up from fiddling with Rolf’s air supply.

  ‘He’ll live. He can’t say much. But he’s got his attitude back,’ he replied, as if he knew him of old.

  Goosen stooped over the bed.

  ‘How’s the throat?’ he asked Rolf directly.

  Rolf glared at him. His throat still burned.

  ‘Still sore, eh?’ Goosen asked, considerately. ‘Any way, I’m glad you’re on the mend. It took guts to do what you did. On your own, that is.’

  Rolf made a noise. It sounded like low, muffled growl.

  ‘Go off yourself!’

  He sucked in air afterwards. Painfully.

  ‘You’ll be OK,’ Goosen added gently, ignoring Rolf’s anger, but feeling his pain. ‘In no time. You’ll see.’

  The medic walked around the bed, fiddling with an IV, pushing Goosen’s large frame out of the way.

  ‘Yeah, he’ll be just fine,’ he agreed. ‘If we can get him to a proper facility soon.’ It sounded like an admonishment.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  The medic replied as he fitted a transparent hood to the bed.

  ‘He needs surgery. The throat’s in a bad way. We can’t do that here.’ He adjusted Rolf’s neck brace and when the cover was sealed tight, he flicked a switch at the head of the bed. The helpless Rolf was now protected against an unexpected venting. The medic looked up. ‘It’s tricky surgery.’

  ‘Oh! I see.’ Goosen said, not really knowing how tricky it was. How could he?

  ‘Anyways,’ the medic continued more optimistically. ‘We’ll be in Welwyn soon. He’ll be fine. Now clear off. He needs to stay calm.’

  Goosen backed off and made his way across the hangar deck to his rebel shuttle.

  Bing was sitting in the co-pilot seat, as he had for the attack on Tremont, G-eo. He was fiddling with the light-tug remote. A loose power pack floated around inside the cabin. He reached up to pluck it from the air and stuffed it in a net above and behind his seat.

  ‘How’s that psycho, Rolf?’ he asked. The dislike was out of place. It sounded personal.

  ‘He’ll live,’ Goosen replied.

  ‘Pity. You look glum, Birdie. Worried?’

  ‘Nope. You ready?’

  ‘As ever. Are they?’ Bing asked, throwing a thumb back over his shoulder at the half dozen shuttles Scat was prepared to lose just to get rid of the V4’s original crew.

  ‘They are.’

  ‘So we’re just waiting on Scat?’

  ‘We are. Shouldn’t be long now.’

  12

  Welks slipped into the command cabin and walked straight over to the flight controls, wondering how his new colleagues would accept him. Tyson slapped the air for a high five and then winked at him.

  ‘OK. Look lively,’ Scat said strongly. ‘Ty? How are our guests?’

  He was referring to Nettles, Marvin Cade and a few others in his retinue.

  ‘You can’t hear them, sir?’

  Scat pretended to listen, and then flashed a smile. They could all hear the ringing sound of a chair striking against the briefing room’s glass door.

  Scat did not expect them to be very happy with him, but what the heck! Confining everyone to their rooms would not have worked. In any case, he did not have enough men to force the issue, and also be ready for an assault. He just needed to isolate the most likely trouble makers, and keep them close, where he could keep an eye on them. The briefing room was a perfect place: it was next door to the command cabin, and during fire drills, or, more appropriately, at rebel battle stations, both rooms were closed off from the rest of the ring.

  The young Edlin had led Nettles, Marvin, and three other civic leaders into the room where he told them to wait: Scat would be along in a minute with a solution to suit everyone. As he left, he locked the glass doors. Marvin had heard him do it. Nettles then blew a fuse.

  But now it was time for Scat to pay his respects. He walked into the ring and spoke to them through the closed door.

  ‘It’s only until we clear Constitution space, Marv,’ Scat said, standing back from the door, hoping it would hold. The rebel guard flinched as Nettles swung the chair at the door again.

  Marvin shook his head. He was as passive as ever, but he looked mad. His face was red.

  ‘Where is the trust, Scat?’ he asked. ‘We’re on the same side, for heaven’s sake!’

  ‘Yes, we are. Marv. Just not on the same page,’ Scat replied. ‘Our goal is to show people that Lynthax is not an all-powerful corporate empire. It’s just a friggin’ company, and a mean-spirited one at that—a company with a dark side. The quickest way to show people that is to go after its information centres, wherever we can find them. Hit them there and we weaken them; we reduce their advantage; we diminish their hold over people. It’ll sting them into retaliation: excessive retaliation. Prodding this hornet’s nest is our number one priority. It means we take risks. The politics can wait till after.’

  Nettles stopped clubbing the door and took a deep breath.

  ‘It’s madness, Scat. You’ll get us all killed. Then where will the rebellion be?’

  Scat shrugged.

  ‘Look at it this way, Terrance, if it all goes well, you can claim it. If it goes badly, you’ll be a martyr for the cause. People will rally around. What’s not to like about that?’

  Nettles looked disbelievingly at him, picked up the chair and swung it again.

  13

  The only people left free to roam the command area of the gravity ring were Goosen’s hand-chosen loyalists. Outside and blissfully unaware that Scat had doubted their loyalty, the rest of the rebels busied themselves erecting barriers along the corridors. They welded doors shut, diverted air ducts, re-routed the electricity supply and upped the ampage. The boss wanted a ring-breach to be as painful and as expensive as possible, and they were making
that happen.

  But Scat had no intention of letting the Raider get close enough to release its shuttles and launch a manned assault.

  ‘Is Li ready?’ he asked Chan.

  Chan checked with Li, who was reluctant to confirm he was.

  ‘Well?’ Scat asked again.

  ‘Is this really necessary, Scat?’ Chan asked. He dreaded parting with such an expensive piece of equipment.

  ‘Is it ready?’

  Chan put an arm around Li’s shoulders.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, finally.

  ‘OK. So pay attention. Ty, you go on my mark. You too, Chan: you’re next. And Li, cheer up. It’s being donated in a good cause.’

  Li looked blankly at him. He had not a clue what Scat was saying. He looked at Chan, who shook his head, not bothering to translate.

  Tyson and Chan concentrated on listening. The cabin was silent.

  ‘... two, one—Tyson—go!’

  Tyson flipped up the ftl switch cover and pushed down.

  ‘Done!’ he confirmed.

  ‘Wait for it, Chan.’

  Chan nodded. Li just looked nervous.

  Tyson raised his arm.

  ‘We have eight minutes from my mark ... Mark! We’re in!’ he said clearly. The jump from the buoy station to the underside of the satellite platform had taken less than 10 seconds. Welks set the eight minute timer and raised a thumb. He then set about orientating the nose of the ship to face the platform, square on. They could jump again in eight minutes, but without using active sensors, they were blind to anything out there that was lurking silently in stealth mode. Everything had to happen quickly.

  ‘Chan. Go.’ Scat ordered.

  Chan nudged Li who got to work on his bugcam remote. In the rear hangar, the bugcam rose from the floor and floated through a small gap between the hangar doors. As it made its exit, it moved off to trail in the ship’s orbital wake.

  ‘It’s in position,’ Tyson confirmed. ‘Two hundred metres outside of the platform’s shadow.’

  Scat spoke to Smithy who was standing in for Bing at the comms console.

  ‘Smithy! Stream it now!’

  Smithy released the message to Welwyn’s space port.

  There was a slight pause.

  ‘They got it. I’ve broken off.’

  ‘Good. Release the shuttles.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’ Smithy spoke quietly to the team in the hangar.

  The hangar rear doors opened fully. Smithy released ignition power to the first of the six prisoner transports. From inside the V4’s cargo office a rebel pointed at the lead shuttle’s pilot and out into the open space. The message was clear. Off you go.

  One by one, the six prisoner shuttles cleared the rear exit. They raced off towards the planet’s surface as a stream of orange fire balls, quickly peeling away and out of sight as the platform continued its orbit above a green and blue, sometimes brown, almost virgin planet.

  Goosen and Bing were the last to go.

  ‘Chan. Do it now.’ Scat ordered.

  Chan hesitated.

  ‘Now!’

  Li got the message. He fiddled with the remote, almost dropping it. Eventually he looked up and around the room.

  ‘It is shot,’ he said, believing his precious bugcam was gone forever.

  ‘He means it’s on its way,’ Chan confirmed.

  Which meant it was probably already there. 10000 kilometres was not very far away.

  Not at the speed of light.

  14

  Satellite Platform, above Constitution

  ‘So, the beggars didn’t play ball, after all’ Cummings said, looking directly at the V4 as it turned its nose to face him. ‘They flew in underneath the damned thing. That’ll piss Petroff off. He won’t be able to use the light-tug.’

  He eased the joy stick back a fraction to keep his twin-engine Roland Assault Vehicle pointing directly at the V4, and his tail a safe distance from the underside of the satellite platform. Ahead of them, the V4 moved fractionally in the forward window, some five kilometres away.

  They listened to the rebel’s short message to the spaceport. From behind the V4, he counted seven shuttles speeding off towards Constitution.

  It was an incredibly clear view. The scale of it reminded him why he had chosen service in the Inner Rim Forces 10 years ago, and was willing to transfer to Lynthax and private security work when the frigate was decommissioned. He loved this life and loved the ship. The pay was not to be sniffed at either.

  ‘So, what changes?’ his co-pilot asked.

  Cummings stared ahead for a few moments more before replying.

  ‘Everything,’ he replied, engaging the sideways thrusters to clear the platform. ‘Petroff was very clear about not breaking that toy of his. Without knocking out the electronics, we’d have to force an entry, and that’s an idea that just won’t fly. We’ll stand the assault team down and go after the convoy.’

  Warrant Officer Rick Muldrow took his eye off the view for a second. The boys in the back would not like it.

  ‘Are you sure? They’ll be free to jump again in around six.’ And the RAV was not best suited to atmospheric aerobatics.

  ‘I know,’ Cummings said with just a touch of bitterness. He had looked forward to boarding the V4 and squaring of with this Scatkiewicz character. Only without the Raider’s light-tug dumbing down its electronics an entry was ... He caught himself. OK. Don’t dwell on it. Move on. What else has changed? ‘But that message talked of six shuttles,’ he noted. ‘They’ve launched seven.’

  Muldrow reached up and switched the weapons systems’ safety off.

  Cummings spoke over the assault team net.

  ‘Tango 2, follow me. We’re going after the shuttles. The rest of you move around to the other side and stay out of trouble. Wait on the Venture Raider.’

  ‘Prepare for high G,’ Muldrow cautioned over the internal comms, ‘and some turbulence. We’ll be air-riding.’

  Cummings pulled the RAV clear of the platform and lit up the main thrusters. Muldrow felt a sudden burst of acceleration.

  There were murmurings of disapproval from the windowless cabin behind them. Turbulence did not truly describe the hammering of a re-entry in pursuit mode. And the RAV’s 20-man assault team was ill prepared for one.

  The troopers pulled awkwardly at their seat straps and clipped their short-barrelled Pulsed Impulsive Kill Lasers more tightly to their chests. They were over-dressed for a re-entry and could barely fit into their seats. They wore their rad-hardened, grey painted, glass-plated protection over Kevlar-lined outer-suits. The space helmets were small and almost completely transparent, but the ergonomically designed Pixane breathing units around their necks added to their upper body bulk. Over the several kilograms of body armour they had also strapped disposable propulsion units to their backs.

  They were fired up and equipped for a hard entry onto an LM, not the atmosphere. Now the assault team was nothing more than ballast on a ship headed into a storm with a hard-driving, physically augmented mad man at the wheel.