Cold comfort, p.18
Cold Comfort, page 18
“Where’s your captain?”
She considered the question for a few seconds and then nodded towards a door at the back of the bridge. Moments later, a half-awake grey-haired man stumbled out of the cabin, prodded by Lora Cyone’s gun. Unlike the woman who’d been sitting the harbor watch, his eyes did not shine with fear once he’d taken in the strange sight of armed, battledress-clad soldiers on his ship.
“What do you pirates want?” He asked angrily. “I’ve got nothing on board worth stealing, and you’ll never get away with it anyhow. The Chuluk military will mow you down.”
Decker chuckled, raising his visor to show his face.
“As far as the Gwangar of Chuluk and his army are concerned, we’re still working for them. But we’re not pirates, captain. We’re escaped slave soldiers looking for a way home. Like I told your man at the ramp, we’re your outbound cargo, and we’re ready to load.”
The spacer stared at Zack with amazed disbelief.
“Escaped slave soldiers, human ones at that? It’s truly a wondrous universe. And where’s home?”
“Anywhere that’s under the protection of the Commonwealth Fleet. My name is Zachary T. Decker, late of the Commonwealth Marine Corps, and for my sins, the commanding officer of what my troops have chosen to call Decker’s Demons.”
“You’re very far from home, Mister Decker. What makes you think I’ll take you there? I doubt you can sail this ship yourselves. Otherwise, my crew and I would likely be bleeding our last out on the deck right now.”
Zack raised his blaster to eye level.
“This, for starters. I’ve got almost two hundred more of them, and each comes with its own highly trained soldier, eager to get as far away as possible from the Atabek of Danjor, our former owner.”
The captain snorted derisively.
“Guns won’t buy you a passage that long. You do understand that you’re looking at weeks of travel on a ship that isn’t rigged for so many passengers.”
“Perhaps, captain.” Decker nodded agreeably. “But here’s an offer you might want to consider. My unit is fully equipped, including heavy weapons, and we have over a dozen solid combat skimmers. Once we reach the Commonwealth, we won’t need our gear anymore. It’ll be all yours, and you know as well as I do that you can make a healthy profit with it in the badlands.”
The man considered Decker in silence, his eyes betraying nascent interest as he calculated the benefits of the offer against the cost of transporting escapees across so many light years. The sight gave the ex-Marine renewed hope. Deep space traders understood profit and this one was no exception. It was time to sweeten the pot and seal the deal.
“There’s another inducement,” Zack said when the spacer didn’t reply. “The Fleet offers a bounty for each human returned from slavery. I don’t know that they’ll apply it to Nelvans, but I have a good hundred or so Commonwealthers in my ranks. If you negotiate it right, you might even be able to get your fuel costs repaid.”
“And what if I refuse to carry you?”
“Then I’ll make the same proposal to your first officer.”
A flare of anger briefly crossed the captain’s eyes as he digested the implied threat.
“I suppose you would do that,” he replied grudgingly.
“We’re armed, and we’re desperate. It’s not a good combination from your point of view. I’ll just throw this out for good measure, in case you’re thinking of a double-cross. I spent a fair amount of time working an armed civilian freighter as gunner and security officer. In fact, I’m probably still on the Merchant Guild rolls as an esteemed member. I also have two dozen ex-Navy and Marine types in my outfit. We might not be savvy enough to sail your ship through the Coalsack, but we can figure out if we’re being hoodwinked.”
“I guess you leave me no choice, Mister Decker.” The merchant held out his hand reluctantly. “You have yourself a deal: all of your equipment, plus the Fleet bounty the moment I transfer you and your unit to Commonwealth authorities. Though how we’re going to manage with so many people on board is something I’ll have to discuss with my officers.”
“Glad that you’ve seen reason, captain...”
“Berand, Dirk Berand. Welcome aboard Dragonfly, I suppose.”
Zack flicked on his radio.
“Decker to all call signs. It’s boarding time.”
With a sigh of resignation, Berand turned to the woman still sitting in the command chair, a look of pure astonishment on her face.
“Jenny, rouse the bosun. He’ll have to show these fine soldiers how to secure their skimmers so they don’t go bouncing all over the hold when we lift. Then, recall the liberty parties and have the purser figure out where we’ll be bunking up to two hundred passengers.”
“We come with our own bedrolls, captain,” Decker interjected. “We can turn any cargo hold into useable barracks.”
“Sure,” he nodded, “but you’ll need facilities, and we’re not exactly over-endowed in that respect. I suppose you’ll be sticking to me like a bad odor, speaking of facilities?”
Zack grinned.
“Of course I will, captain. You know how it is: trust but verify.”
Berand nodded again.
“Sure, though I wonder which gods I pissed off to deserve this. As if being forced to trade on the far side of the nebula wasn’t enough punishment.”
“So you are from what I call home.”
“Yup, though we’re based out of the Yotai system on a route that connects the Commonwealth frontiers with the trans-Coalsack sector.”
“Dangerous space.”
“We have our guns and our engines to keep us out of trouble.”
“And now you have a two-hundred strong security force as well.” Decker’s grin turned into a fierce smile.
“If it gets to the point where you’re needed, we’re probably well up the creek, and I don’t aim to let things go that far.”
**
By the time a misty dawn unfolded over Chuluk, Decker’s Demons were stowed away, secured and beginning to grumble at the delay in lifting off. Though Zack had spent the rest of the night shadowing Berand while Jase Resson worked with the ship’s purser and Lora Cyone made a nuisance of herself with the bosun, the crew of Dragonfly had accepted the change in cargo and destination with the calm stoicism of deep space traders. They were twenty-five in all, and when Decker remarked on the small size, Berand had shrugged philosophically.
“Finding honest crew ready to sail in these parts costs a premium over the standard pay rates. It’s cheaper to automate what you can.”
He handed Decker a mug of real coffee, its aroma instantly triggering an orgy of anticipation in his salivary glands. It was ambrosia to taste buds long since inured to the bitterness of kahvass and he said as much.
“We get ours at Yotai, shipped in from Earth. Costs a pretty penny. I tried to find some demand for it in these parts, but even the Nelvans, who are apparently as human as you or me, didn’t cotton to the taste, so now I carry enough for the crew. If you have inveterate coffee drinkers in your unit, Mister Decker, we’ll run out very quickly, and I’ll become very cranky.”
“Most of my folks who drank the stuff before they were taken have been cut off for so long, they’ve probably developed tastes more akin to the Nelvans, so no fear. Now if you have Shrehari Ale on board, that could become a problem.”
Berand snorted.
“Sorry, my friend. Dragonfly is a dry ship. I’ve had too many bad runs with drunken crew in the early days. If we get a reiver on our tail, one soused bosun’s mate could spell the difference between escape and disaster.”
Decker made a small grimace but nodded approvingly.
“Probably just as well. After years of abstinence, I figure a mere whiff of booze would set my troops on a massive bender.”
“Captain,” Jenny Marsh’s high-pitched voice cut through the thrum of a starship waiting for permission to lift off. “Chuluk control has given us their blessing, though they express polite puzzlement at our not taking on the planned cargo.”
“Tell them we got new orders,” he replied. “Anyone living under a piece of work like the Gwangar should know about capricious superiors. We’re going to have to continue this conversation later, Mister Decker. Finish your coffee. I’d rather not chance hot liquid sloshing around the bridge if we catch some bad turbulence in the upper atmosphere.”
The ex-Marine nodded once and drained his cup.
“Tell you what, captain. This is going to be a long trip, and I can only stand being called Mister Decker so often. Reminds me too much of my old man and he didn’t like me enlisting in the first place. Zack’ll do fine between us.”
“I was about to reply that you can keep calling me ‘captain’, but that would have been churlish. Dirk will do for me, but don’t take it that we’re friends. I’m still thoroughly pissed at being hijacked, even if the trip will make us a good enough profit, now that I’ve seen the quality of your gear.”
“Understood, Dirk.” Zack smiled. “And thanks for allowing me on the bridge whenever I want.”
“It’s not like I had much choice, boyo,” Berand nodded at the blaster strapped to Decker’s hip, “but you’re welcome nonetheless.”
“Just out of curiosity,” he said taking the command chair from the first officer, “what was it you were doing for the Gwangar of Chuluk?”
“Getting rid of an infestation. Unfortunately, the infestation got rid of most of my unit. Decker’s Demons are all that’s left.”
“An infestation of what exactly?”
“Shrehari.”
While a stunned Berand digested the revelation, Zack strapped himself into the gunnery seat, feeling eerily at home even though it didn’t look much like the one on Shokoten. He ran his fingers over the console, instinctively activating the pre-launch check of Dragonfly’s weaponry and sensors. What he saw made him smile with appreciation. It was indeed well armed.
A siren reverberated through the freighter, followed by the first officer’s voice ordering all crew to secure for launch and all passengers to lie down on their bedrolls. A low, nerve-grating rumble began in the bowels of the ship, followed soon after by an alarming lurch and a feeling akin to a heavy weight bearing down on the humans as thrusters pushed them free of the tarmac and straight up into the gray clouds. Within moments, Chuluk vanished from sight and then sunshine, the first Zack had seen since arriving on Garada, bathed the hull.
Soon, the sky turned purple and then black while the pressure eased as artificial gravity replaced the pull of the planet. A brief exchange with the primitive orbital control station and Dragonfly broke away, leaving the Gwangar to deal with the Shrehari invaders himself, and good luck to him as far as Zack was concerned.
Though he felt a stab of regret when he remembered the hundreds of dead slowly rotting north of the Gandabeg Mountains, they were alive and headed for home where he could collect the debt he was owed. The debt for a life extinguished so brutally, and another life sold into slavery. No refuge was secure enough to protect Harmon Amali from his vengeance.
— EIGHTEEN —
“I don’t know how you Marines do it.” Jase Resson wiped the sweat from his brow with an already damp cloth. “Living for weeks on end in a tin can, using the strangest nooks and crannies to keep in shape.”
“Nothing to it,” Decker replied with a pleased smirk. “You just have to imagine you’re training to take over the red light district in Niew-Amsterdam.”
The XO snorted, eyes following the troopers of Decker’s Demons as they raced through the hold along a parkour that Decker had laid out among the packed vehicles. Boredom was the worst enemy in deep space, but lack of exercise came a close second.
“That’s the other thing with jarheads. Sex seems to be the first and only thing on your mind.”
“Like a wise man once said,” Zack replied with mock solemnity, “a man who won’t fuck won’t fight.”
“In that case, you should be a one man army, the way you’ve been going at it with Lora since we lifted off.” He jerked his chin towards Cyone, who was starting her run through the parkour.
“Jealous?”
“Nah, but well done, Zack, going where few men have gone before.”
“She’s not that scary.”
“Frightens the pants off me, if you want the truth. You know that none of the troops dare bring back broken ordnance. Our Captain Cyone’s basilisk stare is more than they want to face.”
“She does love her weaponry,” Zack nodded agreeably.
“And yours too,” Resson added, laughing.
“Excellent parkour,” a gruff voice boomed behind them. “No doubt the laggards will complain about all the sprains and bruises, but it’s the best idea I’ve seen for keeping fit during a long crossing.”
The two officers turned around as a sweating Lieutenant Kidder skipped off the top of a logistics skimmer, rivulets of perspiration running down his face.
“I had an even better idea,” Zack said struggling to keep a straight face, “but it involved convincing the crew to open the airlocks during FTL travel.”
“You may safely keep that one to yourself, sir,” Kidder replied, leaning over to place his hands on his knees while he fought to recover his breath. “Some of us aren’t getting any younger, and that includes you.”
“Any idea how much longer on this leg?” Resson asked.
“A few hours at best,” Zack replied, straightening his back with a quick grimace. Kidder hadn’t been wrong with his quip about age. “We should emerge to fix our leg through the nebula before the end of the watch, if not earlier, and then it’ll be a clear run to the Peralka system. Captain Berand said we’ll need to stop there and buy new parts for the environmental recyclers. Dragonfly wasn’t built to carry this many eating, breathing and crapping humans. Plus we need food. Lora says we’re within a few days of going down to ratpacks.”
“Ugh.” Kidder made a face. “We go there, the environmentals are going to die an ugly death while we’re still in deep space.”
As if on cue, the emergence klaxon sounded three times and Zack quickly scanned the hold to make sure all the troops still on the parkour course froze in place. Smashing one’s face against the armored glacis of a skimmer, on top of the usual nausea, wouldn’t do much for morale.
Thankfully, everyone in sight had the brains to stop and hang on to the nearest solid surface, though Decker suspected they’d find the odd dumbass among the riflemen kissing the deck at something closer to terminal velocity than was healthy for a human.
Emergence queasiness gripped them without warning and Zack felt a fiery spear thrust through his guts. But before he could even acknowledge the awful feeling, it was gone. Dragonfly was back in normal space and at its most vulnerable. He hoped the ship’s gunner was alert to any lurking asshole who thought bagging a nice fat freighter would be a good idea, such as the fine folks who sold him into slavery.
The intercom chimed twice, and a voice called out urgently.
“Major Decker, please report to the bridge at once.”
“Uh oh,” Jase Resson grimaced. “That doesn’t sound like Berand wants to serve you a cup of coffee.”
“No, it doesn’t. Wrap up the parkour exercise and get the troops ready for action. I want Nunez’s detachment at their stations stat. If we have a bad guy on our tail, we just might get to test the theory that bored ex-Marines make good starship gunners. I doubt we’ll have to repel boarders but what the heck, never waste the opportunity for a good battle drill.”
**
“What’s up?” Decker, sweat-soaked towel still wrapped around his neck, stepped into a bridge seething with fevered activity.
“Two ships showing high power readings are accelerating our way. In these parts, they can’t be honest. You claim you’ve got more experience with this kind of stuff than the rest of us, so do your best warship Marine act, Zack.”
“Any identification on the bogeys?”
“None, sir,” the rating at the gunnery console replied without looking back at him. “Just fast and powerful.”
“Most ships transiting the nebula drop out of hyperspace to take a sighting, so I’m not surprised that bad guys would be lurking. It’s just that this time, our number came up.” Berand sounded worried.
“Sir, we’re being hailed.”
Decker looked at the first officer in surprise.
“It’s coming from those two, Jenny?”
“Yes, sir. It’s in a language I can’t understand. I’m running it through the translator, but so far, it’s drawing a blank.”
“Put it on.” Zack grimaced at Dragonfly’s captain. “It’s never good news when pirates want to talk to you.”
As soon as the first words rang out from the speakers, his grimace became pained. Decker not only recognized the language. He understood it all too well.
“That,” he said, “is Danjori, spoken exclusively on Danjor and taught to all who become slave soldiers of the Atabek.”
“What do they want?” Berand blanched at Decker’s words.
“Us. When we disappeared from Chuluk, his royal grossness the Gwangar must have sent a pungently worded complaint via subspace to my former owner. As we’re likely the first Danjoran silahdars to ever escape, it looks bad for business. I can’t imagine how expensive it must have been for the Atabek to charter a pair of ships. That is if he didn’t charter more than just those two to retrieve us, but there has to be considerable pride involved. I’d say that the end goal is to bring all of us back to Danjor for a lengthy stay in the juluk pits, until we die in agony, as a warning to others.”
Berand shuddered at the thought, having been treated to a lengthy and detailed description of the ordeal over a cup of coffee one night watch when both were feeling restless.
“Basically,” Decker continued, “you’re being ordered to heave to and surrender us to the Atabek’s men – in this case, men being figurative since, by the accent, the crews of those ships are likely all Danjoran. If you cooperate, you may keep the equipment as compensation, and you’ll be allowed to continue on your travels. If you don’t...” he made a cutting gesture across his throat.
