Loyalties (HMCS Borealis Book 3) Read online

  For good measure — and he knew it was coming — the datapad chirped again, then became silent. Eric could only shrug at Sap, who had closed his eyes.

  "Buddy," came the man's voice, louder as it called to them. "You should've shut off your datapad."

  Well, thought Eric, it's not like the day was going to get significantly worse. "I know," he called out. "Sorry." He gave a tight-lipped smile back at Sap, who shrugged and turned his attention toward the door.

  Eric shook his head. So much for subtlety. "We're going to come out, all right? We have no weapons."

  "Good for you," said the voice, "but we do. So move nice and slow, buddy. Hands where we can see them."

  Holding his hands above his head, Eric stepped through the door into the hangar, Sap following a few steps behind him.

  One wide hangar door was open and daylight flooded in, silhouetting the rear of a ship. Between two round sublight-engine exhausts, a wide cargo ramp led up into the ship's darkened hold.

  At the bottom of the ramp were stacks of large plastic shipping crates. Most were closed, but others had their lids open, revealing the jumbled contents.

  Two people stood behind the crates, holding handguns pointed at Eric and Sap. The man was tall and thin, with wild grey hair and a lined face. He chewed his lower lip as he watched Eric and Sap move into the hangar. Next to the man was a younger woman, shorter than him, with a green leather jacket and her brown hair braided behind her head. "Huh," she said, nodding at Sap. "A Dosh."

  "Far enough, buddy," said the grey-haired man. "That'll do." He waved the handgun in their direction but his finger stayed on the gun's frame, away from the trigger. "So what's your story? You guys missed your ride?"

  "This is Sap," said Eric, pointing to his companion. "And I'm Eric. Yes, we missed the last ship out."

  "Good afternoon," said Sap, giving a slight tilt of his head.

  "Yeah. Hi. I'm Jerry," said the man, pointing at himself. "Short for 'Jericho'."

  The woman raised her free hand, giving a brief wave, then gesturing to the ship behind her. "I'm Maya; I own the Nova Cat. Jerry's my pilot."

  "Eric, you military?" asked Jerry. "You look like you've seen service."

  "Yeah," said Eric. "I'm in the reserves now. Royal Canadian Navy."

  He saw the tilt to Jerry's head, the slight raising of one eyebrow. The gun was still pointed at him. "RCN?" asked Jerry. "Is that so?"

  "It is."

  "Hey Maya," said Jerry, not taking his eyes off of Eric and Sap. "Our buddy Eric here got a message, so we know the network's working. How about we look this guy up? You got your datapad?"

  "Yeah," said Maya. With her free hand, she reached into a pocket of her jacket and pulled on a datapad. The corner of the device got caught in her pocket, and she struggled with it until it came free. Cradling the device on her fingers, her thumb hooked around the side of the datapad and clumsily poked at the screen. "Got it," she said. She glanced up at Eric. "What's your service number?"

  Eric knew it as well as he knew his own name. "Sierra Zulu seven, twenty-seven, thirty-five, forty."

  "Uh huh," said Maya, fumbling with the datapad. In her right hand, the muzzle of her gun drifted off target as she concentrated on the device. "It says it's waiting for… oh, here it is."

  Her eyes scanned the text on the datapad, her lips pursing as she read. "Eric Cho," she said. "Lieutenant, RCN." She looked back and forth between Eric and the datapad in her hand. "Yeah, that's him." Reaching out with her left hand, she held the datapad where Jerry could see it, its screen tilted toward him. "Last ship was Borealis."

  "No shit?" said Jerry. After a moment's hesitation, he took his eyes off Eric and Sap long enough to glance at the datapad in Maya's outstretched hand. "Well, goddamn." He turned to Sap. "What about you?"

  Sap had been standing still and calm, his hands raised. "I will not be found in that database. I could give you the address of a Dosh information portal —"

  "Nah," said Jerry with a shake of his head. "I've seen Dosh network addresses; it'd take half an hour to type it in." He turned back to Eric. "So, Borealis went to Daltanin space and back, and now here we are. Four people with a planet to ourselves. For a few hours, anyway."

  Maya scoffed. "Yeah, if we're lucky…"

  "Maya…" warned Jerry.

  Eric watched the two of them, then waved his upraised hands to get their attention. "Uh, are we good? My hands are getting tired."

  A smile creased Jerry's face. "Yeah, buddy. Come on over."

  As Jerry holstered his gun, Eric stepped forward, crossing the hangar floor toward the crates and the rear of the ship. He slowly lowered his hands to his sides.

  Maya holstered her own weapon and leaned forward, reaching out over a crate to shake Eric's hand. "Hi again," she said. "So how'd you two miss the last shuttle?"

  Glancing over at Sap, Eric saw his companion shaking hands with Jerry. Sap's green eyes were studying the collection of parts on top of the crates; he made a brief hum, the way he did when he found something interesting.

  Eric turned toward Maya and shrugged. "We had a spot on the last ship, but we stayed back to let some hysterical kids take their dog."

  Maya's eyes widened, and she laughed. "Are you bullshitting me? For a dog? You guys are idiots."

  Sap's voice came from the other stack of crates. "It was a nice dog."

  Jerry folded his arms across his chest, watching Sap. "No way you did that. You're full of shit."

  Sap looked up at Jerry, then down at the parts on the floor around him. "I saw your ship landing, and hoped you might present another way off the planet." His eyes went from Jerry to Maya and back. "Your vessel is inoperative, isn't it?"

  Jerry unfolded his arms, stepping forward. "Now look, buddy—"

  "Stop it, Jerry," said Maya. She sighed. "Yes. The reactor won't come back online. Do either of you know anything about reactors?"

  Sap pointed at one of the parts on the crate in front of him. "Plasma coil," he said, "from a Quasar thirty-five hundred. It will work in your reactor."

  Jerry shook his head, gesturing dismissively. "No, no. You don't get it. Maya and I talked about that. Nova Cat doesn't have the stock reactor."

  "I know," said Sap. "Your vessel has a Collingwood reactor. The Quasar-model plasma coil will fit. If you give it a quarter turn clockwise, it will fit behind the resonator. You will need to drill two new holes to clear the mountings."

  "Wait," said Maya. Her eyes lit up, and her voice was higher. "Wait wait wait. Oh my god, are you a Dosh engineer?"

  Sap gave the woman a short bow of his head. "We prefer the term 'Mechanician'. I am Saparun Vish, member of the Guild of Mechanicians. I am certified to level seventeen."

  Maya's mouth fell open. She bounced on her feet, tapping Jerry with the back of her hand. "Really? You're fucking kidding me! I can't believe our luck."

  "Nor we ours," said Eric. He stepped closer to an open crate. Inside, he saw jewelry, credit chips, and expensive heirlooms. "Wait a minute," he said. "You've landed here to loot the place, haven't you?"

  Maya was about to say something when Jerry spoke up. "Yeah, we have. Is that a problem?"

  "All this stuff's been abandoned," said Maya. "Their owners left it behind. And the Horlan will just harvest it."

  Jerry took another step forward, closer to Eric. "Buddy, if you don't like it, you can stay here. You're not going to get in our way. You got a problem?"

  "Jerry!" warned Maya.

  Eric shook his head, raising his hands deferentially. "No, no, I don't have a problem with it." He turned to Sap, who was examining a plasma coil he held in his hands. "Sap?"

  Sap sounded distracted. "Waste not, want not."

  Jerry seemed satisfied by that. "All right, then. Good. Just so we understand each other." He raised his eyebrows at Maya. "Boss?"

  She rolled her eyes. "If you boys are done being boys, let's just get off this damn rock, shall we? Welcome aboard Nova Cat."

  "Thank you. Tha
t's quite a name," said Eric.

  "She's quite a ship," said Maya. "And if our new friend Sap here can get the reactor going, maybe we can survive the day."

  Sap just hummed in response.

  "Yeah," said Eric. He forced a smile to his lips. Whatever Maya and Jerry were doing, he needed to play along. They might call what they were doing 'scavenging', but he called it stealing. The stuff they were collecting, it all belonged to other people. But the bottom line remained: this Nova Cat was the only way off the planet.

  Maya nodded toward Eric. "Your datapad chirped because you had a message. You gonna read your mail?"

  "Oh," said Eric. His hand went to his pants pocket. "I'd forgotten all about it."

  "I'm amazed you even got a connection here. The network's gone to shit."

  "Yeah," said Eric, pulling the datapad from his pocket and tapping at the screen. "Everyone in human space is hitting the net at the same time. Trying to find out what's going on…" he tapped again, and a list of messages popped up. "Huh," he grunted. He opened the first one with a touch of his finger. "RCN Personnel Command."

  Jerry snorted; it sounded loud across the hangar. "You've been recalled to active duty, I bet."

  "Yeah," said Eric, reading the message. He shook his head. "I'm to report to Borealis three days ago, at New Victoria."

  "That's not gonna happen. New Victoria is gone; it was hit yesterday. Nothing left. I bet your Borealis is gone too, if it was still there."

  "I don't know," said Eric. He put away his datapad. "She's quite a ship."

  CHAPTER 2

  A pockmarked grey moon leapt into view. As the whining of the jump engines wound down, the ship banked to the left and the airless rock slid by the windows.

  "Jump complete," said Chief Black. "System Omicron Seven-Fourteen, planet four, moon 'A'. We're four thousand kilometres from navigation plot. Pakinova, let's tighten that up next time."

  "Aye aye, Chief," said the young woman at the helm.

  Shifting in the captain's chair, Dillon yawned. "Splendid," he said. "Sensors, is anyone home?"

  The technician at the sensor station shook his head. "No sir, no contacts. System empty."

  Dillon paused a moment, absently fiddling with the pen he held in his hand. "Very well. Let us know if anyone shows up. Chief, run through the checklist."

  Chief Black nodded, her eyes on her terminal. "Aye aye sir. Jump capacitors recharging. Hangar is ready to release the sensor buoy."

  "Go ahead and release."

  "Aye aye, sir. Releasing now." Black put one hand in front of her mouth to stifle a yawn, as her other hand tapped at the console. A distant thud echoed through the ship, as a hundred-kilo buoy was ejected from its rack in the hangar bay. "Buoy launched," said the Chief. She looked up at the sensors tech.

  Dillon could see the young tech move faster when the Chief was watching him. The seaman's fingers sped up as they slid across his console. "Sensor buoy is silent," he said, his voice cracking. "Buoy is in passive mode. I'm getting a feed from it through the Tunnel cell relay. Fleet HQ acknowledges the data stream." His eyes darted to Dillon and then the Chief, before going back to his console. "Buoy is good, Chief."

  "Deep joy," said the Chief, giving her console one last poke. She leaned back in her seat, scratching at the back of her head. "Jump drive will be charged and ready in twenty-two minutes. We'll keep our ears open until then." She rolled her head sideways to look at Dillon. "We're way ahead of schedule, Captain. We can start on the third list."

  Dillon nodded. "Please do. Thank you, Chief." He slid two fingers across his datapad. Five hundred and sixty-one buoys so far. For two monotonous weeks, they'd been jumping from system to system, leaving sensor buoys everywhere they stopped. Each of them was now quietly listening for activity, watching for the enemy: the Horlan.

  Seven centuries ago, while humanity was colonising the Americas, the Horlan had invaded this part of the galaxy. They had been repelled by the Palani, at great cost: over a trillion of their people, and all but five planets of the Palani empire, reduced to ashes. Now, the Horlan had returned. While only a fraction of their former strength, their invasion had ignored the Palani and swept deep into human space. Humanity needed to buy time: time to prepare defences, and time to evacuate colonies that couldn't be saved. Even a thousand human ships couldn't defend a thousand worlds. Not against the Horlan, who just kept coming.

  He shook his head, trying to rattle his brain loose and wake himself up a little. Everyone was getting tired and frustrated, including him. It was the same routine, day after day, and the crew’s patience had begun to chafe.

  His thoughts faded away at the sound of marching boots on the deck behind him, coming to a halt next to his chair. Even without looking up, Dillon knew that the most punctual young officer in the fleet had arrived on the bridge. That told him the time: it must be oh-eight-hundred exactly. Dillon rotated his chair away from the windows, turning to face the man who stood at attention behind him. Even standing still, he had the gangly awkwardness of youth. "Sub-Lieutenant Tremblay. Good morning."

  "Good morning, sir. I am here to relieve you."

  Dillon grunted in acknowledgement, putting his hands on the arms of his chair and shoving himself to his feet. "Sub-Lieutenant Tremblay, I stand relieved. The bridge is yours." He gestured toward Chief Black. "Enter into the ship's log please, Chief."

  Turning back to Tremblay, Dillon saw the redness in the young officer's eyes. "Are you awake, Tremblay?"

  "Mostly, sir. Trouble sleeping, sir. I wake up every time we jump."

  "Yeah, it wakes up a lot of people. Did you ever meet Seaman Riley?"

  Tremblay's eyes shifted, a crease forming on his forehead. "No sir, can't say I did."

  "Must've been before you joined the ship. Poor bastard threw up every time we jumped. Singh gave him everything in the medicine cabinet, but it didn't help."

  Tremblay cringed, but Dillon continued, pretending not to notice the effect his words were having on the young officer. "Yeah, probably the worst week in that guy's entire life. But he didn't complain, didn't try to shirk his shifts. Impressive, really."

  "Yes sir. Sounds like a tough guy."

  "Or just determined as hell. Anyway, we can't keep this pace up forever." He lowered his voice, motioning for Tremblay to lean in closer. "You probably see it: the crew is getting bored and cranky. I've overheard some of them complaining that there's a huge war going on out there, and we're just hopping about, dropping buoys."

  "I've heard some of the same, sir. But the buoys will give warning of Horlan movements. It'll save lives. And it has to be us placing the buoys, sir; we have the most advanced jump drive. We can do this twice as fast as anyone else."

  "I know," said Dillon. "But that won't stop the crew from getting restless. Keep an eye on morale."

  "Aye aye, sir. How about giving them a 'finish line'? Can I give them an idea how much longer we'll be doing this?"

  "Officially? Another three weeks, until we run out of buoys." He pursed his lips. "Unofficially? The jump drive is a prototype, and hasn't been overhauled in months. I expect it'll call a stop to our deployment long before we're out of buoys."

  "Aye, sir. I understand."

  Dillon stepped back, noting as he did that he was still fiddling with his pen. It was a subconscious thing, and he knew the crew could see it. They could measure his stress by it. He dropped the pen in the cupholder next to the captain's chair. "That's all, Sub. First Officer Kalla will be along at twelve hundred to relieve you."

  "Aye, sir."

  "And the rest of you," said Dillon, pointing around at the bridge crew who looked up from their consoles. "Behave yourselves."

  * * *

  Gloved white hands danced across the datapad. Amba had to admit, she was getting better at using the human interface. As much as she initially hated it, it did have a certain intuitive nature to it; she just had to think a little differently.

  That made her stop, her hands still floating abov
e the console. Did that mean she was starting to think more like a human? Had the year and a half spent living among them begun to change how she thought?

  Leaning back in her chair, Tassali Amba Yenaara paused to read what she'd already written. One hand went up to push an errant lock of blue hair back over her ear, tucking it under her golden circlet.

  Documentation. The humans loved it. They also called it 'paperwork', though there was no paper. But still, everything had to be written down. Her every interaction with a crewmember had to be put into readable format. She had been asked to provide details of conversations with crewmembers; apparently it was normal for chaplains to record the minutiae of counselling sessions with the crew. But she continued to refuse to do so. The Navy insisted that the documents would remain permanently sealed and confidential, and no one would ever read them. If that was true, then why even make a record? If untrue — if they intended to read it someday — then all the more reason to not write it down. She respected the privacy of the crewmembers who came to her for advice, and she knew they appreciated that. Sometimes it seemed like the human bureaucrats needed reminders of how to be human.

  She reviewed the report again: it contained the minimum necessary to appease headquarters, but lacked any useful detail of any kind. She felt she was getting better at that, too.

  The door console chirped at her. A glance at the display on the wall told her who it was, and she reached up to tap the console with her finger. She'd tried to train the computer to recognise her voice, but had given up. It was absolutely determined to rephrase everything she said, to make her sound like an imbecile. With a kick of her boot and a soft creak from her form-fitting coldsuit, she swung her chair around to face the opening door.

  Dillon stood in the airlock between her cabin and the passageway outside. Under his open overcoat, his uniform was creased and rumpled. A shadow of stubble darkened his face, and his eyes were red with fatigue. But there was light in them, the way they looked at her, and a grin cracked the corner of his mouth. Even now, she still felt a thrill, a tiny moment of joy, every time he smiled at her like that.