Metal Boxes - At the Edge Read online

  He was interrupted by a jolt that almost ripped him away from the hull, the sound of rending metal screeched in his ears almost overrode Teirs-don-chew’s voice.

  “Our shields are still holding. Their power is down to nil, Boss. Go get ‘em!”

  Stone did not wait for a second command. His muscles knew an order when he heard it. Jumping to his feet, he took three running bounces to the edge of Three’s curving horizon and leaped across the distance from Three to the Hyrocanian ship. His shields were directional so he passed that barrier at a dozen feet without even slowing down.

  Twisting in mid-air, he slammed down on the Hyrocanian ship feet first. Without waiting to see if anyone followed him, he slapped a breaching charge on the hull at his feet. Slapping another one a few yards away, he curved and slapped the third and fourth breaching charges in a circle around where he stood.

  “Fire on the hull!” he shouted and depressed the activate switch with the tip of the middle finger of his left hand. The four breaching charges exploded in a curtain of fire all around him. His suit and the vacuum of space protected him from the heat and flame. The hull melted around him and he dropped into a huge warehouse full of boxes and containers.

  The breaching charges were not done. Leading him downward, they blew a hole in the warehouse deck with their secondary explosives. He fell through the second hole catching sight of what looked like a staging point for a hundred suited Hyrocanians. He passed by them again as the breaching charges tertiary explosives ripped through another deck, dropping him into a Hyrocanian barracks. Empty.

  The breaching charges flared again, but the deck only sagged.

  Stone glanced upward, expecting a flurry of fire from the suited Hyrocanians. Explosive decompression on three levels of the Hyrocanian ship generated a tornado of wind. Warehouse crates and swirling enemy were all sucked into space through the gaping hole. Stone activated his boots to fix him to the deck as bunks, boxes, and footlockers of various enemy designs swarmed around him.

  A brief logjam blocked the hole overhead until he fired a rocket into the middle of the jumble. It broke free again, quickly leaving him in the midst of a large empty room.

  He heard Dollish over comms. “Dang it, Boss. You don’t have to clear the ship all by yourself. Leave something for us, would you.”

  Stone said, “That was fun. Let’s keep up with the wanton destruction, shall we? Expect resistance. Kill it. We’re not here to take prisoners. Partner up in teams of four. Frank, their engineering is down due to the nuke mines.” He remembered from midshipman training that mines blasted energy cones of EMP to fry a ship’s electronics. “However, if we can get some power up to a few of their gun emplacements, we may be able to fire on their own ships. Just see what you can do.”

  Dollish dropped next to him followed by a Galactic Marshal and a suited piglet. He said, “My, my, my, Boss. I do like what you’ve done with the place. A touch minimalistic for my tastes, but nice.”

  Stone said, “You three are with me. We watch each other’s six, but our primary goal is—”

  The piglet laughed, “Kill the Eaters, Boss.”

  The Galactic Marshal said, “All of them.”

  He heard Preacher Mary’s voice again and called out to her, “Cease fire, Mary. Friendlies aboard. Teirs-don-chew, don’t hang here waiting for us. Triangulate on Preacher Mary’s course and pick her up. Then Three is yours, run away or ram another ship as long as you’ve got shields. Your ship. Your call.”

  Walking toward a hatchway, he fired a bunker buster from the middle of his chest. The hatch blew away from the bulkhead, peeling the bulkhead back like a poorly opened tin can. He strode forward as a blast of air swept in from the rapidly depressurizing corridor to the vacuum of space that used to be a barracks.

  A pair of unarmored Hyrocanians flew past him, already rapidly dying from explosive decompression. He left them dying in pain on the deck. The vacuum had equalized and somehow the ship’s anti-gravity was still be working.

  Stone turned left in the corridor, just because he wanted to turn that way. A large bulkhead had sealed the corridor to stop the decompression. He stepped up to the bulkhead and looked around. Slapping a big red button, it turned white and a second partition dropped into place behind his team.

  They heard a hiss of atmosphere and a heartbeat later, the original bulkhead slid out of the way.

  Dollish stepped up to the next hatchway in the corridor. Hitting the hatch release button, he tossed a trio of hand grenades into the room and stepped to the side. Three quick explosions later and the piglet looked into the chamber. He backed out and moved on to the next hatch, repeating Dollish’s actions.

  When the piglet backed out of that room, he nodded in satisfaction. “I like it. Not subtle, but effective.”

  Stone stepped up to the next hatch. “Really? Try this.” He fired a bunker buster at the hatch. It burned a quick hole in the hatch that he used to fire a rocket into the room. He was ready this time and stepped to the side as a geyser of flame and heat washed back out of the hole.

  The Galactic Marshal leaned down and looked into the room. “Nice, but a waste of ammunition if you ask me. I think this room was empty to begin with.”

  Stone shook his head, “Dang it. Okay. Wanton destruction is still the order of the day, but let’s just do it with a bit more circumspection.”

  His team laughed. Dollish said, “Sure. Circumspect wanton destruction. That’s an oxymoron if I ever heard one.”

  The Galactic Marshal said, “Besides, I don’t relish throwing a grenade into a storage room full of Hyrocanian ammunition. Oh, don’t get me wrong. Blowing this piece of crap to kingdom come would be cool, but I gots me some killing to do before I go, ifn y’all don’t mind.”

  Stone reached the next hatch release button and pointed at the Galactic Marshal. “Your room.” He hit the button, threw the hatch open and stepped back.

  “Empty, Boss.”

  It took three more hatches before they found a room filled with Hyrocanians. Stone could not imagine what the room was for after the deputy was done with the chamber. It had a strange appearance like it was a room full of office weenies. Not that they had gone quietly, more than one had tried to return fire, but the deputy mowed them down like dry sheaves of wheat.

  Frank said, “Boss. I can give you power to a couple of gun emplacements if you can get some trigger pullers there.” He flashed a map to Stone’s HUD.

  “I’m on my way, Frank. Keep the power off until you hear from me. Come on, boys. Let’s get a hustle on.” Bouncing low through the corridors, Stone only slowed to fire a few slugs down cross-corridors or at clusters of running Hyrocanians. Following Frank’s map, they reached a row of weapons placements just under the skin of the hull.

  He did a Tuttle and simply yanked the hatch away from the wall, throwing it to the side. The room was empty. He pointed at the piglet. “Get in the chair. Figure out how it works and get Frank to feed it power.”

  Dollish and the Galactic Marshal yanked another door off the bulkhead. Inside were four weapons techs, feverishly working on some conduit box, apparently trying to restore power to their weapons. Dollish leaped at them, almost decapitating the first Hyrocanian with his knives. Rushing inside, the deputy yanked a pair away from the box, tossing them behind him into the corridor as if they were useless apple cores. He backhanded the fourth creature, crushing its skull. In the corridor, Stone wrapped an arm around each alien neck he gratefully received from the deputy. He squeezed until they stopped struggling. Dropping them to the deck, he was about to walk away when he heard Grandpa’s voice in his head tell him to finish the job. He turned around. Grandpa was right. One of the Hyrocanians was struggling to its feet. He put a bullet into the brain of each creature.

  “Dollish, this is your seat. It should be point and shoot, but see if you can figure out targeting.” He crooked a suited finger at the Galactic Marshal. Then used the finger to point at the next room. The hatch was open and the room
was empty. “That’s yours.”

  The corridor ended at another empty weapons emplacement. Stone slid into the chair. Just as he expected, it was a point and shoot system. Up. Down. Left. Right. Glancing upward, he was happy to see this was not one of the stupid acid bulb systems, but a cannon that fired mines. He was not sure if converting the mines to human IFF so they could attack and destroy a Hyrocanian ship was be a smart move since he was on a Hyrocanian ship, but it was all he had.

  He reset the IFF code to a sixty-second delay and hoped the mines would travel far enough from his ship to be attracted to another Hyrocanian ship before attaching and exploding. He transmitted the code to his team. “Upload this into your mines and prepare to fire. Frank?”

  “You have power, Boss. Save our other ships.”

  Stone’s trigger fingers itched as he stared into the targeting reticule. He was about to send a flurry of mines at the ship being slowly pushed backward by Six when a huge shadow covered his view, blocking out the sun at his back. A flood of mines washed over the other four Hyrocanians, overwhelming their shields and pounding them until there was little left bigger than an enemy eyeball.

  Stone glanced at his suit’s battle simulator. Appearing out of nowhere were fifty UEN warships of all sizes and configurations. Their leading line finally ceased fire. A flood of SAR vehicles gushed onto the battlefield, searching for and rescuing survivors from all thirteen ships.

  A face popped onto his HUD monitor. Admiral Temple said, “Well, Signore Stone, at least you saved me some of the enemy to shoot at this time, although I’m sure my intervention wasn’t really necessary from the looks of it.” He chuckled. “I’m glad to see you’re alive. I recently met your grandmother and I’m not sure I would want to explain to her that I didn’t get here in time.”

  Stone said, “Admiral, how is the old lady?”

  Temple laughed, “Your grandmother is neither old nor a lady.” He took a deep breath. “Please don’t tell her I said that. On another tack, where is your Captain Numos?”

  “On the Platinum Pebble, sir.”

  “We haven’t been able to raise them on comms yet, but our scans don’t show any real damage.”

  “Speaking of comms, Admiral. Excuse me a moment.” He added comms to Ship Two. “Allie? Captain Allison Vedrian? Allie? Come on, baby, answer me?”

  Temple said, “We show all thirteen of your ships squawking friendly IFF. SAR is on the way, son. Do you need assistance?”

  Rather than answer, he opened shipwide comms. “XO?”

  “XO here, Captain Stone.”

  “Dollish, the UEN has arrived and we seem to have won the battle. There aren’t any living Hyrocanians in the system, except what few we might have on this captured ship.” He paused briefly to listen to the grateful cheers sweeping through his small team. “Do we have damage or injuries that require emergency coverage?”

  Dollish said, “Well, the gunner on forward cannon number nine back on Three reported that he broke a finger using that hammer when the left transverse jammed again.”

  Stone said, “Admiral Temple, we’re good for now, but I would appreciate timely updates on fleet rescues. We could use some marines to help clear this ship we’re on.”

  Temple nodded. “The marines are already on the way to you, son. I’ve got a handful of SAR vessels already headed to Captain Vedrian’s ship. No promises, but I’ll call you as soon as we find out anything good or bad.”

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Stone looked around at the huge auditorium packed with tens of thousands. For the first time in a long time, he felt nervous. He would rather face a horde of Hyrocanians than go up on that stage.

  Over the last month, everyone involved in the attack on the Prophet’s spacedock and the subsequent defense of the system from a Hyrocanian fleet had been fed, feted, and wrapped in praises. For many, it was hollow praise as far too many of their friends and crew had died there, both at the hands of the Prophet’s slave overlords or in the space battle.

  The crews of ships One, Nine, Ten, Eleven, and Twelve were all but gone, a scant few pulled from sealed compartments and cabins. Their captains, Gordy chief among them, were dead. Most of the gunners were found dead with their hands still curled around their empty weapons. Memorial services had been long and hard felt, but war was never without its casualties. Those casualties were usually trained military personnel, but many of these dead were civilian volunteers, bringing home an understanding to all media outlets that their military was composed of civilian volunteers. Men and women who put their lives on the line to protect their friends and families back home.

  The living civilians, human and piglet alike, were all granted financial dispensation and sent home to live in peace. In the case of the surviving crew of the Platinum Pebble, given the opportunity to go home rich, or go back to work, a surprising number of his crew accepted their large bonuses and returned to the ship, Tim Dollish and Dash Numos among them. Dollish’s new fiancée complained about his being a cook on a freighter, but even Marybeth recognized that the Platinum Pebble would never be an ordinary ship.

  The surviving military personnel received medals, were saluted, and sent on to their next duty station, all with extra bonuses from Stone’s own pocket. The only exception sat next to Stone. He reached over and took Allie’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. She had been given a new assignment and then granted an extended furlough. Squeezing his hand in reply, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled at her mother.

  Stone did not want to look behind him. His family sat there, row upon row of family, from his grandfather down to a row of distant cousins he had never met before. His mother and father sat right behind him. Like their children, Allie and Stone’s mothers were holding hands.

  No one had given Stone the itinerary for this meeting. But the news media, basking in the glow of Gonzo’s amazing footage of the whole operation, had so excited the public with speculation about what the Empire would do with Stone that the seats in the auditorium were scooped up faster than mashed potatoes and gravy at a fat man's convention. Half of the crowd wanted Stone reinstated and awarded more medals. The other half wanted him imprisoned for kidnapping and murder as he took the Prophet without a judicial hearing and killed the captain and bridge crew of the slaver’s freighter without a trial. Killing Hyrocanians was cause for jubilation, but killing humans without cause was just not done.

  If another trial was in his future, he should be well represented. Somewhere in the crowd, he had seen his prior court-martial lawyers, Lieutenant Senior Grade Grayson and Grayson’s mother, Signora Boot. He doubted a trial was in his future…this time, because instead of a cold hard cell, he and Allie were firmly ensconced in a five-star resort hotel.

  His grandpa apologized to him in front of the assembled family for his part in getting him court-martialed from the UEN, although the outcome turned out better than everyone involved could imagine. Privately, he growled about how the UEN had better reinstate Stone, although publically the old man kept calling for his grandson to reject reinstatement and come home to the company and family.

  Admiral Temple marched onto the stage and the crowd grew quiet. Allie and Stone jumped to their feet, snapping to attention. Few others in the crowd moved. Temple stopped dead center, performed a perfect ninety-degree spin on his heels and snapped to attention. Holding his head high, he spoke in a clear, loud voice, “Gentlemen and ladies, please rise.” Without waiting for the crowd to respond, he added, “Emperor Alberto Garza.”

  The emperor took the stage, standing tall and straight. His dark skin and flashing bright eyes off-set his brilliant smile. Temple managed to march off stage without ever turning his back on humanity’s highest authority.

  Garza did not march, did not stride confidently, nor did he walk with a purpose. He sauntered to the center of the stage as if everything and everyone would wait for him. He stopped along the way, pointing and waving at various people in the crowd. He laughed, stopped, told a few jokes, and l
aughed some more. He entreated everyone to sit and by the time he reached the center of the stage, they had.

  The emperor said, “Well, enough fun and games. Let’s get down to business. Blackmon Perry Stone, join me up on stage.” While Stone raced up the stage, the emperor got the audience laughing about the time Stone beat him in tennis…obviously by cheating, because, after all, he was an emperor and could not be defeated by ordinary means. When Stone was close enough, Garza stuck his hands out and took him by the hand and wrist.

  Stone was struck by how the emperor had shrunk. He remembered him from when he was a child, but now they looked at each other eye-to-eye.

  Garza murmured so that no one else could hear. “You okay, Trey?”

  Stone said, “Emperor, yes, sir.”

  Garza nodded and spoke to the crowd. “This brave young man’s recent court-martial—while regrettable in light of the last few events—must stand.”

  Stone was not surprised. Governments were always motivated by the needs of the state, never for the good of individuals. He was disappointed, but his family was here and he had a good life to look forward to as a civilian.

  Garza said, “Strength through unity.” With those final words, he walked off stage to a stunned silence.

  Stone was about to return to his seat, but Temple came forward and ushered him to the stage wings. A troop of entertainers rushed on stage to fill the void. Their amplified singing drowned out the angry shouts from the crowd.

  Temple said, “I can tell you’re disappointed at not being reinstated into the UEN. That’s my fault. The agreement between your grandfather and the emperor was for your complete reinstatement and a public apology. I convinced them to allow me to offer you a special commission in the Galactic Marshals, Q-Force. As you know, Galactic Marshals do not always operate openly. Your public dismissal from the UEN allows us many options that otherwise might not have been available.” Temple pulled him farther to the side. “We have a position open for a Galactic Marshal, not a deputy, but a marshal, and I can’t think of anyone more qualified.”