Starcruiser Polaris: Blood of Patriots Read online

   “Your father was one of the bravest men I've ever known,” Curtis replied. “I wouldn't question that for a second. And while he carried on the fight, I just gave up.” He rose to his feet, walking over to the viewport, watching the gleaming starlight for the first time in more than a decade. “I haven't even been in space for years. I can't do it.”

   “That's it? That's the best you can do? Many of us have risked our lives to find you, plan a way to break you out of this cesspool. There's a ship out there, waiting. Your ship.”

   “Not any more.”

   “Then what about the dead?” she said, her words slamming into Curtis with the force of a hurricane. “All those people you claim remorse for, people you say you murdered. Right now, they died for nothing. Just more names on a list. You want that? You might not owe me, Commander, but you damned well owe them.” Pulling a pistol from her holster, she leveled it at Curtis, and said, “And one way or another, I'm going to see that they collect.”

   The door burst open, Tom racing inside, shotgun in hand, raised at Cordova, but Curtis waved him back, shaking his head.

   “Go right ahead and pull the trigger, Major. God knows I've thought about it often enough myself.”

   She sighed, lowered the pistol, and said, “With you, we might have a chance. I know it isn't a good one. But it's the only chance we've got.”

   He looked down at the ground for a long minute, then looked back up, and said, “You really think my ship's out there, Major?”

   “I've already bet my life on that.”

   “As soon as we reach Polaris, assuming she's in space-worthy condition, assuming she still exists at all, I'm in command. I'll listen to advice, but if you want me to conjure up some sort of miracle for you, it will have to be on my terms, or not at all.”

   “Agreed,” Cordova interrupted. “We'll get you to Polaris. The rest will be up to you.”

   “Fifteen-to-one odds, and no guarantee that we'll even have a ship to make the attempt,” he said. “We'll give them a fight they won't forget in a hurry, Major. I can promise you that much. And maybe the dead might rest a little easier. Maybe we all will.”

   “Good,” she replied, holstering her pistol. “Come on. We've got to get out of here. Lead the way, Tom.”

   “Just a damned minute,” the bartender said.

   “If I remember rightly,” she replied, “you served on Nonconformist during the war as a shuttle technician, under a different name, of course. And besides, you claimed to be watching everything. You certainly got in here quickly enough. Meaning that you know too much. Either I kill you, or you join us. You get to pick.”

   Shaking his head, he said, “How can I refuse a gracious invitation like that.”

   “Then let's get moving,” Cordova said. She reached into her pocket, tossing a packet of pills to Curtis, and said, “Take them all with the last of the beer.”

   “What are they?”

   “First part of your detox. I'm going to need you at your best. And having a twenty-year hangover isn't going to help.” She grinned, then said, “Don't worry. By the time they really start to kick in, we'll all be well away from here.”

   Frowning, Curtis said, “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

   “Maybe,” she replied, “but you're committed.”

   “For going along with this, I should be.”

  Chapter 2

   “As soon as we clear the airlock,” Cordova began, “keep to the side of the dome until we are near the reserve landing pad. There's a shuttle waiting for us, and one of our sympathizers has already made sure that she's cleared pre-flight.” She frowned, then added, “The hard part will come as soon as they realize we're an unauthorized launch, but we'll have to deal with that as we go.”

   “They'll launch fighters after us,” Tom said, locking his helmet into position. “There's a full fighter squadron stationed at the top of the elevator.”

   “Probably, but they're not much good in atmosphere,” Curtis replied. “As long as we're quick, we might be able to outrun them. You've got a ship waiting in orbit?”

   “I was wondering about that,” Tom added. “I thought all of our ships had been destroyed or captured during the Uprising.”

   “They were. We've got another one. After a fashion.” Cordova looked at Curtis, a faint smile on her face, and added, “There's an old friend of yours waiting up in orbit on Hanoi.” She reached for the airlock controls, Tom's hand reaching out to hold her back.

   “Just a damned minute,” the erstwhile bartender said. “You want to take a million-ton tanker on a covert mission?”

   “There's not going to be much covert about this mission,” she replied. “As soon as we step on board, all hell will break loose. We're just going to have to move faster than they do if we're going to have a chance of pulling this off. We've got some people up on Hanoi, and once we've taken the ship, then...”

   “The ship isn't already under our control?” Curtis asked. “And there's a Starcruiser up in orbit as well. Cygnus, on the regular patrol.” He grimaced, then added, “It would be that ship.”

   “Right now, there are two up there. Arcturus came in last night.”

   Shaking his head, Tom said, “This is sounding more and more like a really bad idea, Major. Maybe we'd be better off laying low for a while, going into cover, waiting until we can sneak out of here. I've got a couple of friends who run cargoes for me, out towards Atlantis. They've smuggled people before, and...”

   “No,” Curtis replied. “We don't have time for that. If we're following this trail of breadcrumbs, so are a lot of other people. We're just going to have to play the hand we've been dealt, and hope that the rest of the cards drop our way. Lead on, Major. We're right behind you.”

   The three of them stepped through the airlock, careful to remain inside the sensor perimeter, periodically glancing up at the ever-watchful security cameras. Maintenance out here was as woeful as it was inside, and Curtis knew that most of them hadn't worked for years, and those that did would have operators only spotting a handful of people wandering around outside. Technically, leaving the dome without authorization was a criminal offense, but he couldn't remember the last time anyone had been charged for that alone. As long as they didn't do anything stupid, they'd be left alone, the guards simply assuming they were engaged in some petty criminal activity.

   “I haven't seen you like this in years, Teddy,” Tom said. “Or should I be calling you Commander, as well.”

   “Don't,” Curtis replied, a scowl flashing across his space. “The last thing I need is you starting up with that madness. I'm still getting used to the idea again. As for the rest, I think those damn pills are starting to kick in. My head feels as though it is about to explode.” He paused, then asked, “What about you?”

   “Oh, this is exactly how I imagined my day going when I woke up this morning. There are a few people back in town who will be very disappointed when they learn I've left.”

   “Bet their husbands will be happy about it, though.”

   “Keep it down,” Cordova said, gesturing ahead. “We're almost there.”

   It had been a long time since Curtis had left the safety of the dome, and he looked out over the glassy Kraken Mare, one of the largest bodies of liquid methane on Titan. Points of light littered the horizon, the vast harvesting ships reaping hydrocarbons from the environment, ready for processing and transport back to Earth. He looked back to see Larson Tower reaching to the sky, the space elevator that had been one of the major mega-projects of the days of the United Nations, the predecessor to the despised Commonwealth. Every moment, the ground shook as another capsule raced into the heavens, precious cargo that kept an interstellar civilization alive.

   Cordova moved carefully across the battered landscape, bounding over to the landing pad, the promised shuttle waiting for them, outer airlock open. Curtis followed, carefully covering the ground, while
a nervous Tom hung at the back, watching for opposition. His caution quickly proved justified, as a pair of black-suited figures moved from the rear of the shuttle, pistols in hand.

   Cordova, the youngest member of the trio reacted first, drawing a pistol from a concealed holster in one smooth motion and diving to the ground, firing a carefully aimed shot at the nearest figure. The armor-piercing round slammed through his faceplate, dropping him to the dirt, his arms flailing around as he noisily died. Before Cordova could take a second shot, his comrade avenged his death with a round to the side, cutting into her arm, her scream of agonized pain resounding from the speakers in his helmet.

   “Not today,” Tom said, drawing a pistol of his own, letting his useless sonic shotgun drop to the ground. He didn't have the specialized ammunition that the rebel commando had possessed, but his aim was good enough that it didn't matter. The force of the multiple rounds hitting the target was more than sufficient to knock him down, buying time for Curtis to snatch Cordova's gun from the ground, taking a shot on instinct that killed the man where he lay.

   “Good shooting,” Curtis said.

   “Not bad yourself,” Tom replied. Kneeling by Cordova, he said, “She's out cold. Any idea what her plan was?”

   “No more than you do,” Curtis said. “Get her into the cabin and see what you can do. Looks like her suit's auto-sealed, and the medikit's already on it. Try and wake her up if you can.”

   “I'm not a medic, Teddy, and she needs a damn sight more than first aid.”

   “You'll have to do for the moment.” He glanced back to the city airlock, and said, “We could always go back, take our chances with Colonial Security. What do you say?”

   “Call me Doctor Krieger.” Picking up the injured Cordova, he followed Curtis into the cabin, the lights flashing on as they entered. Curtis raced forward to the cockpit, sealing the outer hatch with the flick of a switch and discarding his spacesuit as he ran, dropping oily residue on the deck. Sliding into the pilot's couch, he looked over the pre-flight checklist, nodding in satisfaction at the completed checks, the course already loaded into the system.

   “Ready for launch,” he said.

   “You remember how to do this?” Tom asked.

   “Just about,” Curtis said.

   “Great. Just great.”

   “Hang on!”

   Curtis tapped the controls to fire the launch boosters, sending the shuttle rising from the surface, then kicked back with the lateral thrusters before throwing the throttle full open, the altimeter racing up as they gained height, spiraling around the elevator in a way definitely in violation of every safety regulation on the books. He looked over the course, shaking his head in disbelief. Whoever had programmed their flight path was a madman, but a brilliant one. A single twitch on a thruster at the wrong second, and he'd smash into the elevator with enough force to knock it out of operation for months, maybe years. The local defense forces wouldn't dare try anything against them, not until they'd reached space.

   The shuttle rocked to the side for an instant, caught by a stray crosswind, and he quickly moved to the guidance controls, nursing his ship along the pre-programmed trajectory, compensating for the slowly thinning atmosphere as they rose. Almost before he realized it, they broke through the cloud cover, and for the first time in two decades, he saw the beckoning stars gleaming in the night, his eyes locked on the staggering view before him.

   “She's not bad,” Tom said. “I think she's in shock, but the medical kit's dealing with it, and the bullet went though clean. I guess she'll do until we can get her to someone who knows what he's doing.” He waited for Curtis to respond, then asked, “You awake?”

   “It's been a long time, Tom,” Curtis said. “A very long time.”

   “Get your head back into the game, buddy.” Gesturing at a side console, he said, “Looks like they just scrambled their fighters. Six bandits in the air.”

   Curtis looked at the trajectory plot, then shook his head, saying, “Just as we expected. There's no way to hide our course as soon as we break out of atmosphere. I'll rig for a straight run to Hanoi, and we'll just have to hope for a friendly welcome when we touch down.”

   “And if they've changed their minds about helping us?”

   “Then there isn't a damn thing we can do about it.”

   The shuttle soared into space, lights flashing on to announce that the exterior of the ship was in vacuum, and Curtis turned for Hanoi, running towards her on a straight burn, while Tom moved back to his patient, now groaning in pain as the effect of the gunshot cut through the sedatives. A warning alarm sounded, the fighters on the move, heading on an intercept course. They'd never reach the shuttle before they docked with Hanoi, and nobody was going to authorize an attack on a fully-loaded tanker without authorization from the top, not to arrest a trio of fugitives.

   “Should we try and contact them?” Tom asked.

   “No point,” Curtis replied. “Either they're ready to receive us, or we're dead.” He threw a control, engaging the autopilot to handle the final approach, then slid out of the couch, walking over to the airlock, gun in hand. “Cover me.” He glanced at the sensor display, saw the fighters reducing speed, moving to cover the tanker. Their commander had realized that there was no chance of a quick kill. This was going to be a longer game.

   With a loud report, the shuttle locked into position, and the double doors of the airlock slid open, Curtis immediately stepping through them to the deck beyond, looking for any sign of approach. Multiple boots echoed on the metal floors in the distance, figures heading towards them. For a moment, he felt sick to his stomach, the artificial gravity field taking effect. One more agony to add to his ever-pounding headache.

   Turning a corner, another familiar face approached, leading a pack of crewmen wearing the green-and-gray of the Commerce Directorate. Frowning, Curtis stepped forward, pistol in hand, and the group slowed to a halt as they saw the weapon. Twenty years since he'd last seen that face, and they hadn't parted on the best of terms back then.

   “Felix?” he said. “Felix Rojek? What the hell are you doing here?”

   “The Political Directorate and I had a parting of the ways,” Rojek said. “I decided after a while I was on the wrong side. Where's the Major? What happened?”

   “Shot while we were trying to get away. We've got fighters inbound.”

   “So I saw,” Rojek replied. “Strickland, get Major Cordova to Medical on the double.” Peering through the hatch, he added, “Who's your friend?”

   “Tom Krieger. Bartender, shuttle technician, and press-ganged rebel at your service,” Tom said with a smile, as the crewman raced forward, snatching a stretcher from the wall as she made for the wounded woman. “It's a pleasure.”

   “What's the situation, Felix?” Curtis asked.

   “Two of our people have taken Communications, locked down the ship, and we've got one of ours at the sensor controls up on the Bridge. There's no way that anyone could have seen your approach, or got any warnings from either the surface or from Arcturus. Everyone else is waiting for our signal to move. We're only going to get one shot at this.” Gesturing at the group of people, he added, “I got a reserve command crew ready to go, in case someone decides not to switch sides.”

   “You think they will?”

   “Probably. We've been preparing for this for a long time. You'd be surprised what you can do with a few friends in Personnel. Most of the crew of this ship are either members of the Underground or suspected sympathizers.”

   Nodding, Curtis said, “Have someone head to Communications and contact Cygnus. They're to stall as long as possible, tell them that they've got some dangerous prisoners trapped on the lower decks, and they need military support to remove them. Be as convincing as you can.”

   Nodding, Rojek said, “Alvarez, on your way. Watch yourself, and don't talk to any strange men.”

   “No, sir,�
�� she replied with a smile, racing down the corridor.

   “That's a bit risky, isn't it,” Tom said. “You're inviting a boarding action!”

   “And stopping those fighters from doing something that we're all going to regret,” Curtis replied. “Come on. Let's get this party started.”

   The group jogged down the corridor towards the elevator, only just fitting inside, as Rojek tapped for the bridge. As the tired mechanism jerked into life, Curtis looked around at the group now under his command, all armed with improvised weapons, metal bars, stunners, anything that they could find. They all shared the same determined look in their eyes, one he hadn't seen since the Uprising. These people believed in something, and they were ready to die to defend it.

   “Roxanne Norton, Second Mate, is one of us. She's at the helm right now. And Frank Montgomery at sensors. The rest are uncommitted.” Rojek frowned, and added, “The Captain's the big question mark. Beverly Hunter, ex-Fleet, but she's spoken out against the Parliament a few times, and one of her cousins was involved in the Uprising.” He glanced at Curtis, and said, “Old habits die hard, I guess. You start collecting all that information, you keep the habit.”

   “Feel free to hang onto it,” Curtis replied. “It'll come in useful. What about the other parts of the ship?”

   “Other teams are on their way to Engineering, and I've already got two people in Life Support. That's all we need to get out of the system, and once we've engaged Tau drive, it's all over bar the shouting anyway.” He looked up at the monitor screen, then added, “Thirty seconds, people. Remember, fast and smooth, and don't fire unless fired upon. We're the good guys.”