Metal Boxes - At the Edge Read online

  Charles shouted, “We’ve been building ships for aliens who eat human children? Good Prophet, man! How many ships?”

  Nelson shrugged, “I don’t know. I mostly haul livestock. You know, um…foodstuffs and workers.”

  Stone knew from experience that Hyrocanians would not differentiate between foodstuff and workers at suppertime. He wondered how deep the virion nest’s infection went into the Hyrocanian’s brains. Had they stimulated their hunger long enough that it was now set as a cultural imperative or could it be undone?

  Charles said, “Take us there now, Nelson. Show these empire agents that the Prophet is only trying to bring peace and prosperity. Prove to me I haven’t been lied to.”

  Nelson shook his head. “I ain’t going back right now. That dock is all but full of ships. I ain’t gonna be around when them aliens show up to claim their new ships.”

  Numos said, “I think that is documentation enough that we don’t have time to send for UEN reinforcements. Hammer, send the Marvin back to Lazzaroni Base with Agent Ryte’s complete report, including the coordinates to this spacedock. On the double, if you please.”

  Before anyone took a second breath, Hammermill said calmly, “Shuttle already on standby, Captain Numos. Shuttle away, sir.” Two beats later, he said, “Shuttle reporting civilian blockade between them and the jump point.”

  Charles shouted, “Stone, take me to that spacedock.”

  Stone looked at Numos. The man shrugged. “We’re going there anyway.”

  Stone shook his head. “Agent Ryte, please broadcast the Prophet’s spacedock coordinates. Let everyone know where we’re going. I’m not taking on any more passengers than we already have, but they can follow us if they have jump engines.”

  Hammermill said, “Tammie, please also broadcast this message to all spacecraft in our vicinity: To the Platinum Pebble shuttle Marvin. This is empire Galactic Marshals Deputy, Lieutenant Theo Hammermill. Tactical is approved for weapons free. Blast your way through any ships that don’t get out of your way. Any ship not moving on my mark will be considered an enemy combatant.” He held up one finger, asking for a moment as he listened to the Marvin quietly reporting through his dataport comms. “Mark.” He waited another second. “The Marvin reports all clear and moving toward the jump point at top speed.”

  Stone glanced at the monitor to the civilian freighter. It was empty. He said, “Agent Ryte?”

  She nodded, “Coordinates broadcast. There seems to be a rather dynamic conversation about who is going where and who believes what.”

  “How long will it take to get to the Prophet’s spacedocks?”

  Ryte said, “It will be a quick two-week jaunt through one navigation point. If we leave now, we will get there before the Marvin even reaches Lazzaroni. The coordinates of the jump point for the Prophet’s spacedock are closer than the navigation point for Lazzaroni space, especially since the Marvin has to make four connective navigation point jumps. It isn’t a straight jump from here to Lazzaroni.”

  Stone shook his head. The time anomaly was rearing its ugly head again. The Marvin would exit from their first jump at the same time they entered hyperspace, even though they had spent three weeks in the gray. Each of the four connective jumps was instantaneous from a standard galactic time point of view. From the crew’s perspective, the Marvin would spend a total of nineteen weeks in hyperspace transit. However, the time of travel for the Marvin was the standard galactic time in real space moving from one jump point to the next jump point. Even at top speed, a couple of the jump points were a day apart.

  It would take three standard galactic days for the Marvin to reach Lazzaroni. Even if the UEN had a reaction fleet on standby, it would take any ship three SG days to reach Holliman’s Rift usisng the most direct jump point. A total of six SG days minimum would pass before help could arrive.

  Stone was in the UEN long enough to know there was no fast reaction fleet. It might be days or weeks before the UEN could gather enough ships in the right configuration, not counting how long a gaggle of admirals would take to reach a consensus on what action to take.

  He looked at Numos. “Dash, we must try to block that shipment.

  Numos nodded, “Of course, Signore Stone. However, allow me to point out that we have civilians aboard who did not sign up for this type of engagement.” He looked at his navigator, “Gordy?”

  Gordy smiled, “Captain, I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but I’ve heard enough to know that if you want me off this ship, you’ll have to throw me off. My sister died at Point Alpha Beta years ago, before Trey Stone showed up. I can’t think of a better time for a little payback.”

  Numos smiled also, “I know you’re a navy vet, Gordy and served your time with honor and distinction. I never thought you wouldn’t volunteer, but I had to ask, just like we have to ask every civilian aboard.”

  Gordy said, “I thought it was strange that this ship had such a high number of military veterans aboard. Half of our engineering staff is retired UEN.” He grunted. “Oh hell, that answers a few questions about your deckhand crews, too. Galactic Marshals? Everyone?”

  Numos shrugged, “Not just a high number of veterans, Gordy. Everyone on the Pebble is a veteran, even the piglets and drascos have seen combat. But we still have to ask.”

  Gordy said, “I’ll bet you my next month’s pay that you don’t have any crew who wants to get off.”

  Stone said, “Tenfold pay bonuses for everyone who stays.”

  Gordy said, “Oh hell yes! I’ll take your money, Boss. But I’d pay you to go, if I had to, just to get the chance to hit back at the four-armed freaks.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Stone was surprised that no one wanted off the ship.

  Even Beffie-pie’s entourage and crew seemed to think it was some grand, adventurous lark that would make for an excellent vidcast. Gonzo, medically clean of the alien virus, but still in the throes of greed and envy, was rigging up dozens of cameras to catch all of the action from every angle. He was positive he could turn the weekly reality vidcast into an award-winning documentary. Marybeth did not want to go but refused to return to Holliman’s Rift. She claimed she was a celebrity and no one, human or alien, would dare hurt her.

  There were still a few civilians aboard from the spaceport riots. They were claiming political refugee status and refused to go return to Holliman’s Rift regardless of the outcome at the Prophet’s spacedock. Most had scattered throughout the ship, volunteering to help in any capacity. They freed deckhands and veterans from their daily duties so they could prepare for whatever action they might encounter at the spacedock.

  There was little to do during the two-week hyperspace jump. Unlike the Rusty Hinges that required more repairs than they had time for, the Platinum Pebble was in perfect condition. But, the crew checked and rechecked every system from human waste to the liquid metal spinning discs of their anti-gravity and shield engines.

  Remembering his time aboard the Ol’ Toothless when he was in charge of ammo feed chains, Stone did not want any snafus on his ship. Weapons were loaded with one shell in the chamber and safeties on with spare ammunition stacked nearby.

  It had not been a surprise to Stone that every deputy had their own combat suit—designed after his own specially made suit. He was certain Allie would not have accepted such a suit unless everyone had one. He was surprised to learn that every human civilian crewmember also had one. Most were UEN veterans familiar with navy combat suits. They easily made the transition to the quick plug and play options on the upgraded suit.

  He looked across the ranks gathered on the shuttle hangar deck. The Galactic Marshals deputies under Allie and Hammermill were running their final suit checks. They blinked in and out as their camouflage settings were checked and tested. They banged each other on the backs, shoulders, legs, and buttocks with wild abandon, often stopping to tape down a spare weapon hanging on the outside, trying to keep it from rattling.

  Unlike most military ou
tfits, their armored combat suits were no longer clean and uniform. They were ragged and beat up, looking like they were bought as military surplus and personalized for mercenary use. Decals were stuck everywhere and anywhere. When he spotted a Union United football team sticker, the worst team in the league sponsored by the Loaders Union, Stone chuckled. He had introduced Jay and Peebee to a few members of Loaders Union 7173 back on Brickman’s Station several years ago when they were little more than baby drascos.

  He spotted Jay and Peebee off to the side waiting patiently as they watched him. Both were dressed in their black marine issue combat armor. Both had a dozen different kinds of weapons hanging from hooks and press-studs scattered within easy reach of their hands. Like the Galactic Marshals, their weapons were taped down to avoid rattling.

  Jay said, “We’re ready, Mama. Hammer says we have to rescue more humans, but we may be able to kill more Hyrocanians, too.”

  Peebee added, “We’ve done both before. We can do it again, right, Mama?”

  He nodded in response. He could send them voice messages one-on-one or in tandem, but they could easily see him.

  Jay asked, “Promise us one thing?”

  Peebee said, “If Jay is killed. Kill me quick.”

  Jay added, “And me.”

  Stone opened his P.A. comms to both the drascos only. “No one will die here.”

  Peebee snorted, “Someone always dies. I’m not planning on Jay dying, but I don’t want to live without my sister.”

  Jay said, “I don’t want to be a male. They are nasty creatures, only good for giving us children.” She patted her belly where three more daughters grew from eggs to birth size. Pregnant or not, Stone knew he could not keep the drascos away from any fight where there was a possibility of killing Hyrocanians.

  Stone did not want to think about either of them getting killed. It could happen and it would distress him if either or both died, but probably not as much as if he was the one to get killed. “Girls, have you thought about how different you and your daughters are from the wild drascos on Allie’s World?”

  Jay said, “They’re smart, but not civilized. They want to stay wild, not like us. We’re different.”

  Stone said, “Yes, you are. Have you thought about what a male would be like if it wasn’t born wild, but was different like you?”

  Both were silent for a moment. Peebee said, “We will have to think about that. Maybe you shouldn’t kill me right away when Jay get’s killed, just to see what will happen.”

  Jay said, “Me? I’m not gonna get killed. You’re going first because you’re too impulsive.”

  Peebee wonked in laughter. “Not me, you’re too cautious. I’m going to outlive you.”

  “Are not.”

  “Are too.”

  “Want to bet?”

  Stone left them arguing about the terms of the bet. He doubted the drascos were in any more danger of dying than the three dozen piglets in armor gathered off to one side. The only one he recognized was Frank. They had all lined up for his inspection, each expressing their loyalty to him personally, claiming to owe their lives to him. Numos assured him that each one had either been aboard the Rusty Hinges or the Freedom Wagon during the Q-ship battle in Hyrocanian space.

  He spotted Numos with many of the civilian crew rallying around him. Their suits were as functional as his. The ship was stripped down to a skeleton crew, barely enough to get the ship from one place to another. In spite of the fact that many in the assault force might not come back, those left behind had argued to be on that team, not stuck behind on the ship. None argued harder than Gordy, but Numos overruled him, giving him the command on the bridge.

  Preacher Mary had not argued. She sat quietly at her tactical station, surrounded by the ship’s weapons controls. Given the signal to fire, she was to send a Platinum Pebble sermon that the Hyrocanians would not forget. She would not have to worry about shooting any Holliman’s Rift ships by accident as it appeared that none of the impromptu civilian fleet had bothered to follow them to the Prophet’s spacedock.

  “Hey, Boss,” Dollish said as he swaggered up, his combat suit giving him a rolling deadly look.

  “Tim,” Stone replied. “How does the new suit feel?”

  Dollish did a little jig that set a row of knives jingling across his chest. “Crap. I guess I better get those taped down.”

  Stone noticed a camouflaged suit behind Dollish, but the suit did not have its IFF transponder on so he could not tell who it was. He asked, “Who’s your friend, Tim?”

  The faceplate popped open and Hector grinned back at him. “Dang it, Boss.”

  Dollish laughed. “I told you he could see you.” He reached over and slapped the back of Hector’s helmet. No one could have felt such a light tap, but Hector rubbed the spot with a gauntleted hand and grinned.

  Stone said, “Hector, are you sure you’re ready for some of this?” Stone was happy to see the young man was clean shaven. He cleaned up well. His scraggly beard had hidden his good looks.

  Hector nodded. “Yes, Boss. LT Hammer has signed off on this. I haven’t had much time in the sims, but I’m pretty good.”

  Dollish said, “It’s not like the sims, Hector. You go down here and there isn’t any reset button.”

  Hector smiled, “Yeah. I’m not stupid, you know.”

  Dollish asked Hector, “Where are you supposed to be?”

  Hector walked past Stone until he was ten feet behind him. “Right here, Tim.”

  Stone saw Hectors IFF transponder pop up on his HUD.

  Dollish nodded. “And I’m here on Signore Stone’s left. Remember, the Boss moves fast and fights angry, so you stay close, and you’ll be okay.”

  Stone said, “Jay and Peebee are leading the way. So, we keep them in sight, right?”

  Barb Tuttle interrupted. “No, Boss. I got the right.”

  Stone smiled, “All together once again?”

  “Captain Vedrian said to keep an eye on you. She said there ain’t no way to keep you out of trouble, so my job is to keep you alive. She mentioned something about honeymooning for a couple of weeks backpacking across Galaides Five—”

  “Oh, no. Over my dead body.”

  Tuttle laughed, “No, Signore Stone. If you don’t come back, it’ll be over my dead body.”

  “No. I mean, I’m not going to Galaides Five. The place is little more than one giant swamp between tiny polar caps.”

  Dollish said, “I wondered about that when Allie mentioned it. Sure doesn’t seem like your kind of place, Boss. All that open outside and everything.”

  Stone shouted loud enough that Allie could hear him across the hangar bay. “I am not going to Galaides Five.”

  Tuttle shoved Stone’s shoulder, sending him careening into Dollish. “It’s really amazing that you still think you’re in charge, Signore Stone.”

  Before Stone could reply, Tuttle turned around to face Hector. “You keep your eyes on the Boss. What happens to Dollish or me isn’t important! Got me?”

  Hector chuckled. “Sure. I got it, Barb. Sheesh! Give the girl a taste of the Ol’ Hector and she thinks she’s suddenly all I can think about.”

  Stone looked at Tuttle. She shrugged and leered back at Hector. “He is a scrappy little guy, but he does have some amazing—and enthusiastic—attributes.”

  Hector leered back. “Yeah, and you’re all of that, but you’re too tall for me. I like my women petite, dainty, and frail.”

  Stone laughed, “I used to think that way, too.”

  Dollish joined in the laughter. He pulled four knives from sheaths at his chest and began juggling them. “You know, I’m not sure I like women at all.”

  Tuttle said, “That’s not how I remember our time together on Allie’s World.”

  Dollish blew raspberries at her. “You just remember whatever you like. I’m thinking I’m going to marry Jay or Peebee, whichever will have me.”

  The drascos looked over at them. They had just finished their bett
ing argument about who would die first. Finally, there were two less voices inside Stone’s head.

  Jay broadcast shipwide through her TTS. “Thanks for the offer of marriage, Tim. But, I’m waiting for Hammer to ask me.”

  Peebee wonked in laughter. “No. Hammer likes me better—”

  Before Hammermill could respond, Gordy interrupted over the ship-wide comms push. “Transit from Hyperspace to normal space in fifteen minutes. Non-combatants to safety zones. Seal the crash hatches.”

  There were no safety zones. It was a small lie to give comfort to those not planning on joining the fight. If the Hyrocanians had active ships in or near the Prophet’s spacedock, they might not have much of a chance. Numos had shared with Stone that their shields could hold against three or four ships of Rusty Hinges quality, but any more ships would pound them to scrap before they could make a jump back out of the system.

  Emmons had spent a lot of time interviewing the Prophet. It either did not know or would not say when the expected Hyrocanian fleet would show up to collect its new vessels. It stated they sometimes brought only one ship filled with Hyrocanians to populate the new ships and sometimes they brought dozens of warships of multiple configurations and origins. No one could prove whether it was telling the truth or lying.

  Stone asked Hector, “Where’s your friend Lowther?”

  Hector said, “He says his place is protecting Signorina Stone. Maybe so. I don’t see that it will matter much if we get shot to shit before we can get out the door.”

  Tuttle said, “Hatch.”

  “What?”

  Tuttle laughed, “It’s a hatch, Hector. It’s not a door.”

  Hector said, “Whatever you call it. I still don’t see why we don’t just come out shooting. Why the boots-on-the-deck assault?”

  Tuttle asked, “Boss?”

  Stone said, “There’re civilians there, Hector. I believe that many of them didn’t volunteer to build enemy ships. They’re forced slave labor. A barrage from the Pebble would kill many civilians. We’re doing surgery, not pounding rocks with sledgehammers.”