Exiles of Earth: Rebellion Read online

  A moment later, she climbed out of the crawlspace, a hand reaching down to help her up. She looked up to see the face of Spaceman Thakur, one of the thick-muscled members of Lieutenant Romanova’s security detail. He had a smile on his face as he pulled her to the deck, slamming the hatch shut behind her.

  “We always keep an eye on everything happening down here,” the guard said. “Glad to be of help.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that,” she replied, wiping her forehead. “It’s pretty cramped down there. Tough on the muscles.”

  “I know,” he said. “I found that out the hard way. See you around.” As the guard walked off, DeSilva looked after him for a moment, before heading in the opposite direction.

  She was coming to realize that she was being used as a puppet. What she didn’t yet know was just who was pulling the strings.

  Chapter 8

  Mitchell walked around Endurance's outer ring, glancing at the tablet in his hand before stuffing it back into his pocket. Whenever he joined a ship for the first time, he made it his business to get to know it the hard way. Anyone could look over a blueprint, pour over deck plans, even virtually tour the compartments before reporting on board, but nothing could replace going from deck to deck, working through the corridors and rooms that nobody else ever visited.

  It wouldn’t take long for the crew to find all the hiding places on board, places that the officers would likely never go. Commander Ikande was smart enough to know that there were things the Captain could not be aware of, and Lieutenant Hoffman was tied up simply trying to get the ship into the sky. He, on the other hand, had little to do while the ship was cruising through hyperspace. He hated wasting time. Far better to invest it in something that would reap dividends later.

  He heard something in the distance, a screaming curse, followed by a reply in a language he wasn’t familiar with. Instantly, he accelerated down the corridor, racing around the bend to see a pair of technicians facing off, one of them with a reddened face that suggested the first blow had already been struck, a collection of other crewmen goading them on. He sprinted towards them, but their arms were flying, slamming into each other, Mitchell charging to separate the two warring men as they moved to retaliate. One of them hacked through the air with his elbow, catching Mitchell in the side, sending him falling to the deck.

  Silence reigned as the watching crewmen realized what had happened, hastily leaving the scene to avoid being caught in the likely aftermath, but the two fighters had barely recognized that anyone had attempted to intervene. Mitchell rolled, grabbing at the man who had hit him and pulled him backwards, throwing him off-balance and down to the deck, moving his hand behind the fighter’s neck.

  “One move, and you spend the rest of your live in a wheelchair,” he said. Looking up at the other one, he said, “Don’t get any bright ideas. Back against the wall, hands by your sides. His life is on your conscience now. The man cautiously complied, and Mitchell said, “Names, both of you.”

  “Spaceman Abbasov, sir,” the man by the wall said. “And you’ve got Spaceman Hayashi by the throat.”

  “So I do,” Mitchell said, releasing him with enough force to send Hayashi staggering forwards, rising to his feet at the same time. “Get one thing straight right now. If you have a problem with each other, take it to the gym, or at the very least to your quarters. I don’t ever want to see the two of you fighting on the deck ever again. And you can pass the word to all hands that I expect everyone to remember that they are Guardsmen, and to act accordingly!”

  “Are you going to tell the Captain, sir?” Abbasov asked.

  “I should, Spaceman, I really should. You realize what would happen to both of you if I did? You’d probably spend the rest of the trip in the brig, with a ticket to Mercury waiting for you when you get back.” A trace of salt hit his lips, and he wiped his face to clear the blood, the two men panicking as they realized what they had inadvertently done.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Hayashi said. “Kamal isn’t to blame. I’ll take full responsibility.”

  “You’re both idiots. I think I’ve established that.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “Twenty-seven days to Epsilon Indi. Either of you married?” They shook their heads, and he continued, “Good, then you don’t have anyone depending on you back home. You will both donate your entire month’s pay to the Relief Fund. There are a lot of men and women who used to wear this uniform who need that money a hell of a lot more than you do. File your request with the Quartermaster and have a copy of the receipt posted to my terminal. Do that with in twenty-four hours, and I will do my very best to forget that this incident ever happened.” Glaring at the two men, he added, “If, on the other hand, I find out that either of you have so much as a uniform violation for the rest of this trip, I’ll personally see that you end up walking home. Do I make myself comprehensively clear, gentlemen?”

  “Yes, sir,” Abbasov said.

  “Aye, sir,” Hayashi replied, his voice still harsh.

  “Get out of my sight,” Mitchell said, letting the two men retreat down the corridor. A short, wiry man with bedraggled hair stepped out of an elevator, a smile on his face. “Technical Officer Khatri?”

  “At your service, Lieutenant.”

  “You could have given me a hand,” Mitchell replied.

  Shaking his head, he said, “You had to prove yourself to the crew. This way, they know exactly what sort of an officer you are, and the word will pass quickly soon enough.” Raising an eyebrow, he added, “The donation to the Relief Fund was inspired.”

  “I give five percent of my pay every month. Seems reasonable to suggest that others do the same.”

  “As do I,” Khatri replied. “There are some officers who would have taken it as a bribe, or just sent them right to the Captain. They took quite a risk.”

  “You think it was a setup?”

  With a shrug, he said, “You can never quite tell, but it wouldn’t surprise me overmuch. They’re a new crew, but most of them have served together before. A lot of them came off Courageous or worked together in the Mothball Crew.” He paused, then said, “Interesting that the officers were all taken from elsewhere, though Captain Ikande seems to think that this has the potential to be a choice assignment.”

  “You don’t?”

  Patting the bulkhead, the engineer replied, “I go where I’m sent, and keep whatever ship I’m serving on flying right. My ambitions don’t go much further than that.” Gesturing at the elevator, he said, “You haven’t made it down to my realm yet.”

  “I was saving the best till last, but after you,” Mitchell replied, following the engineer through the doors. Khatri entered an access code, the elevator switching tracks to head into the central core, the weightless heart of the ship.

  Glancing at Mitchell, the engineer said, “I don’t let just everyone into our territory. Lieutenant Fitzroy, for example, would have a little accident if he tried to get down here. Fortunately, he seems quite happy playing with his guns and his assistant.”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t know? How do you think she got on board?” Shaking his head, he asked, “How long has it been since you served in the Guard?”

  “Fifteen years and change.”

  “And you’ve spent most of that time in extrasolar space, out on the frontier.”

  “No ties back home worth a damn, and the money was good. I must have logged ten years of hyperspace time, going from one freighter to the next.”

  “I don’t know whether I envy you or not. To see so much, fly so far.” Shaking his head, he said, “The Guard is not the institution you once knew. Too many officers who made their way up through their personal contacts, rather than their skills. It used to be that you needed the right connections to get an independent command, but now we’ve got officers treating their ships like their own personal property. We’re lucky to have Captain Ikande. He’s, what, fourth-generation spacer, one way or another? He’s got too much pride in himself to let the shi
p fall to pieces. Fitzroy would be another question entirely.”

  “They let him bring a mistress on board?”

  “My understanding is that he insisted. The family decided to exile him for a while, and she was the condition that made him agree. And yes, I find it personally abhorrent as well, but I’m smart enough to stay well out of the whole mess.” Gravity faded away as they hurtled towards the center of the ship, their feet drifting clear of the floor.

  “I can’t believe things have gotten so bad.”

  “Believe it, Lieutenant. You want my advice, you find some nice hiding place and sit there.” The door slid open, and the two of them drifted into a large, spherical room, half a dozen technicians floating in the air, drifting from one console to another. “Beautiful, isn’t it. On the new ships, this whole section gets sealed off. They won’t let anyone have any fun. This ship is old enough that we have to do a lot of the fine-tuning manually.” Pushing over to the nearest technician, he asked, “How’s it looking Blanco?”

  “Just about got the new center-of-gravity figures punched in. I don’t think we’re going to spiral out of control today.” Turning to Mitchell, he said, “Good afternoon, sir.”

  “Weren’t all of these calculations completed before we left?”

  “They should have been, sir, but we’ve been moving stuff all over the ship, some of it pretty heavy. Chief Okolo’s had us moving ballast all over the place to keep us stable.” Grimacing, he added, “We crept pretty close to tolerance a few times. I don’t like it.”

  “Me either,” Khatri said. “What do you think of our little ship, Lieutenant?”

  “Beautiful, Chief.”

  “I’m glad you like her.” Looking around the control room, he added, “When they put these ships together, they worked magic. Nothing like this class ever designed before or since. I don’t think anyone’s ever going to pump this much money into a deep scout ever again.” Grimacing, he continued, “Those new Valiant-class Lancers are hideous. They look like a busted fist.”

  “That’s about how they handle, as well,” Blanco added. “An old friend of mine got stuck on the first one. They cut too many corners on the fine thrusters. It’s like having an old drunk at the helm, even with the best pilot in the Guard at the controls.” With a beaming smile, he said, “This ship is something different. She pioneered twelve systems before they took her off the line. They never should have retired her.”

  “And her condition?” He turned to Khatri, and said, “Say what’s on your mind.”

  “If we’d had a month to get everything working, we’d have no problems. With a week, we might have some rough spots. With a day, well, we get all sorts of little problems. We’re still trying to chase down the malfunctions in the Captain’s cabin. I know you checked the systems yourself…”

  “Exhaustively.”

  “But I can’t guarantee it won’t recur, and I can’t even determine whether or not it was sabotage. I know the circumstantial evidence suggests it, but the word ‘coincidence’ exists for a reason.” Frowning, he added, “It’s hard enough keeping a starship fully operational when the whole crew is working together. A lot worse when someone’s actually trying to cause trouble.”

  “Rebels, sir,” Blanco said. “Just like what happened on Fearless. They managed to get something into the networking, shut the whole system down with three Coalition cruisers heading right down their throats. Damn lucky to get out of that in one piece.” Turning to Khatri, he added, “They’re working with the Coalition, sir. Whether they know it or not. I’m convinced of it.”

  “Probably true, Spaceman,” Khatri replied, “though I don’t doubt that we’re attempting the same trick with them. I’ve heard some rumors from Titan…”

  “Chief,” one of the technicians, frowning over her readouts, said, “I’m getting something strange. A malfunction in the hyperdrive regulator. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “What is it, Schneider?” he asked.

  “Here, down in the manifold. It could be a sensor failure…”

  “It is a sensor failure, but the computer’s taking too much notice of it.” Tapping the screen, Khatri said, “It’s cutting power, preparing to bring us back to normal space.” Turning to Mitchell, he said, “If we exit at this speed, it’ll take weeks for us to patch the ship up again to complete the mission. Assuming it’s possible at all.”

  “How long?”

  “Four minutes,” he said. Pushing to the top of the room, he reached for a hatch, and said, “Unseal the locks, on my responsibility.”

  “Sir, that’ll take you into the dimensional field,” Schneider protested. “Anything might happen up there, outside the shielding.”

  “You can live in hyperspace for a while,” the engineer said. “Though I’d ask that you have Doctor Singh standing by when I get back. Inform him that he’ll need a neural function analyzer on standby.”

  “Two of them,” Mitchell said, pushing after him. “I’m familiar with the systems you’re using up there, and Schneider’s right. We can’t risk one man getting disoriented. This way we get two tries at the repair.” Blanco tossed a pair of toolkits at him, followed by a pair of chips, sealed in tough plastic cases.

  “You sure about this, Lieutenant?” Blanco asked. “Officers don’t normally get their hands dirty.”

  “Maybe I’m not a normal officer,” he replied. “Open the hatch.”

  Khatri went first, leading the way into the bowels of the ship, and Mitchell followed, drifting after him, careful to follow the path the engineer was taking. Ordinarily, nobody would dare risk leaving the shielded parts of the ship unless they were flying in normal space, and as they swept deeper into the core, he quickly understood why, his vision blurring, in and out of focus, strange shapes appearing in the distance, vanishing as rapidly as they had come. He looked at Khatri, only a few feet ahead of him, watching as his body seemed to jerk into impossible poses, then switch back again, phasing in and out of reality.

  Eerie sounds pounded into his ears, and he felt himself drifting forward, into the danger zone, his hands reaching for something he could barely remember, hardly perceive. For an instant, he forced himself back to reality, the recalcitrant sensor just ahead of him, surrounded by red lights, the technical staff below doing their best to help him. Some of the sounds resolved into shouts, his name being called out by someone, and he turned his head to see, instantly regretting his action as the movement wrenched at his stomach. He collided with something soft, seeing a fleshy shape tumbling away, a tiny voice in his mind warning him that he’d just kicked Khatri out of the shaft, that it was his task now, and his alone.

  With an effort, he stabilized himself in the shaft, tossing the empty package away, clutching the sensor component in his hand. There was no time for the toolkit, and he pulled the dead chip free, accepting the spark that raced into the air as be broke the circuit, then slid the replacement into place, the lights surrounding it flickering first amber, then a warm, comforting green. The colors seemed to swirl, to dance all around him, and a smile came to his face as he spun around again, dancing in free space to a beat only he could here, a silent rhythm that swept him away.

  Then he felt something tugging at him, pulling at his leg, and he struggled and kicked away, trying to break free. For the briefest instance, everything about the universe made sense, everything was clear, and he desperately wanted to hold onto the wisdom he had gained. Hands snatched at him, dragging him down, and he felt a pinprick in his leg, a brief spasm of pain that turned to a warm glow, speeding through his system. He let his eyes close, felt himself drift, and slid smoothly into the comforting darkness.

  Chapter 9

  DeSilva crawled through the maintenance shaft, toolkit in hand, pausing periodically to check each of the field sensors. After the hyperdrive malfunction, every remotely qualified engineer had been assigned to pull and replace every accessible unit, hoping to prevent something worse from happening. Two weeks of picking through the c
rawlways and corridors, looking for trouble. Chief Khatri was making noises about poor maintenance, threatening to court-martial everyone at the Phobos Fleet Yards when they got home, but deep down inside, DeSilva knew what had happened.

  It was sabotage. The only question in her mind was whether it had been Nguyen working on behalf of the Underground, or some other operative, working for the Coalition. Both possibilities seemed equally likely, but she shied away from the thought that it might have been her allies, her comrades. That they would jump to acts of active sabotage without her knowledge was a horrible thought. Though they’d warned her that she was to be a decoy, a lightning rod to draw the fire of Lieutenant Romanova’s security team. Certainly, there had been an increased presence lately, one of her staff somehow seeming to be everywhere she was.

  Glancing around her, she realized that there were probably sensors tracking her right now, monitoring her every move. Not only Romanova’s, but Nguyen’s, also. He’d said nothing to her since their meeting, merely keeping to the routine work orders and morning briefings, but somehow, he didn’t have to. At every meal, she expected to receive another instruction, a codeword that would bring her back into action. None had come, and she was starting to think that none would ever come. Somehow, that would be a relief.

  She peered ahead, spotting someone else coming down the passage towards her, working on a series of lifesystem monitors. A young man, one of the Midshipmen, his uniform far too clean to be worn by anyone used to such an environment. For a second, she smiled, before realizing that he was about to brush against an active power line. He’d failed to isolate the system. One wrong move, and the cadet would be a burned outline on the deck.

  “Drop to the deck, now! Stand still! Right now!”

  “What?” he asked, turning towards her.There was a faint crackle, his sleeve drifting against the cable, and he jerked to the floor with a gasp of pain, his hair standing on end. DeSilva raced forward, reaching up to shut down the local power grid, and peered over the young man, panting for breath.