Gavin Smith - War in Heaven

Metal on metal rang through the assault shuttle as a docking clamp attached itself. It felt like the shuttle had been restrained. We rose into the shuttle airlock. When the air was pumped in and the pressure equalised the airlock split in two and folded down into one of the Thunderchilde ’s flight decks.

All around us was organised chaos. They were too busy to even have us escorted. A red line superimposed over our IVDs showed the way to our destination. We made our way past mechanics readying fighters and long-range strike craft for flight.

I saw a recently docked flight of fighters having their cockpits drained of acceleration gel, the gooey pilots unplugging themselves and climbing out. EVA remotes, heavily armed and equipped with extensive countermeasures, were being prepped.

I saw a skin mech, an EVA-converted Bismarck, being armed, readying it to climb out onto the hull of the Thunderchilde for added firepower and an eyes-on perspective. I’d always thought that skin mech drivers were suicidal; now I just hoped that they were as desperate as the rest of us.

There were a lot of raised voices, metal clanging on metal, the screaming sound of power tools over PA announcements and the occasional shower of sparks, but no panic. To give the RSAF their credit, everything was brutal efficiency and urgent professionalism. The panic would come later. I had to stop thinking like that. I had things to do. I had to blackmail an old man and put all of this, everything, in jeopardy for one person. Pagan was not going to have his sacrifice. First I needed a doctor.

‘Of course, Sergeant. We’re getting ready for a major fleet action. I have nothing better to do than attach a new toy laser to your fucking shoulder,’ one of the ship’s surgeons told me.

‘Thank you, sir,’ I said. Trying not to smirk at him. Ruperts hated when special forces did that.

‘What are you complaining about?’ Mudge asked. ‘Nobody’s hurt yet. Surely you’ll be busy later on.’

Probably not, I thought. Not that many injuries in fleet actions. Space is unforgiving: it tends to make more dead people.

The surgeon turned to give Mudge the eye. Mudge smiled at him but it was bluster. He was still shook up by what we’d seen on Earth.

While the surgeon was glaring at Mudge, Rannu embraced his British army heritage and stole what we needed from the RSAF.

The surgeon installed the shoulder laser with ill grace. I put in the new claws myself. I had a replacement Mastodon in my shoulder holster, and a new Tyler Optics laser pistol — the bigger, more powerful TO-7 — rode at my hip. They wouldn’t help but their familiar weight made me feel better.

Mudge had bought replacements for the kit that Rannu had lost on Lalande 2 as well. Except the kukri — I don’t think that could be replaced.

Pagan came out of fleet Command and Control to meet us. He looked tired and twitchy. He was on something to keep going. We’d need something soon too. He looked at us suspiciously. Behind him the red glow of a holographic display disappeared from view as the door slid shut. Two solid-looking Rock Apes, soldiers in the RSAF Regiment, flanked the door to C amp;C.

‘What?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘We need to talk,’ I said.

‘I think you’ve made your feelings perfectly clear,’ he said.

‘Don’t be fucking difficult. I don’t want to talk about feelings. We need somewhere private. Where God can’t see us,’ I told him.

He knew something was up but I think he trusted Rannu enough to believe that we weren’t going to do anything too stupid. Certainly nothing that would jeopardise the operation.

Sharcroft and Akhtar, both of whom were on board, were giving us free run of the ship because they thought that they were going to be able to march us at certain death.

Pagan was sharing an officer’s stateroom with Merle, who was in there, a wire stretched between his plugs and a port in the wall of the cabin. I guessed he was connected to the ship’s internal isolated computer system.

They would have to open all the isolated systems to God if they wanted to stand a chance of winning. I knew that all over the fleet cargo holds were being filled up with mass-produced, networked, solid-state memory. Like every tribe in history, we wanted, needed, our god to be bigger than theirs.

Merle was stripping down and cleaning his fancy gauss sniper rifle. He seemed unsurprised as we entered.

‘Give us the room, will you?’ I asked.

‘I’m a little busy,’ he said.

Nothing was ever easy with Merle. Rannu glanced over at me.

‘Fuck it. Let him stay,’ I said, but I knew Rannu was watching him now and I knew that Merle was suspicious.

Mudge lit up another cigarette. He’d pretty much been chain-smoking since we’d left Buckinghamshire. I don’t think he’d taken anything though. I guessed his consciousness was feeling a little fragile.

‘What?’ Pagan asked, turning to face me.

‘Sit down,’ I said, nodding at his bunk. He looked like he was about to argue but sat down. Merle quickly reassembled his rifle and then Mudge handed him a box. Merle looked at him questioningly.

‘A new Void Eagle. To replace the one Jakob lost,’ he told him.

‘Thanks, darling. Though I’m not sure anything can replace a gift from my departed sister when she first joined the Tunnel Rats,’ Merle said to Mudge while looking at me. With what was going down, I wasn’t sure I wanted Mudge giving Merle more weapons.

‘Are we free from God?’ I asked. Pagan nodded. ‘Anyone else?’ Pagan sighed — he was looking more and more pissed off — but he took out a white-noise device and set it off.

‘We deactivated any audio/visual surveillance earlier today,’ an exasperated Pagan said.

‘We’re all alone,’ Merle said meaningfully and then looked at Rannu. He was letting us know that he knew something was going down. He wasn’t as trusting as Pagan.

‘What do you want, Jakob?’ Pagan demanded.

‘Tell me about Nuiko,’ I said.

‘What?!’ he said incredulously. ‘I thought we weren’t going to talk about our feelings.’

Merle was staring at me. He shifted slightly. Rannu would need to be faster. Mudge was starting to look a little unsure.

‘Well it’s bollocks, isn’t it? You’re in love with a spaceship. You’re not fucking her; you’re fucking a dream, an icon. She doesn’t want you thinking about her twisted body in its metal tank. It’s sense porn, not a relationship,’ I said. I’d have liked to be able to hate myself for saying this shit but we were well beyond that now; besides, what was another little atrocity in our brave new world. Even Mudge was looking at me appalled. It was no better than when I’d been possessed and called him a faggot. On the other hand, if there was anyone here who had taught me how to get under people’s skin quickly it was him. Pagan was too shocked to answer immediately.

‘Jakob, just fuck off. Leave the ship or I’ll have security escort you off,’ he finally managed to say.

‘Well convince me it’s something real,’ I said.

‘I don’t have to convince you of anything. Fuck off!’

I drew the Mastodon and put it to his head. I was moving relatively slowly. Merle was moving much faster as he reached under his armpits for his two Arbiters. Rannu was moving faster than Merle. He kicked Merle off his bunk as the two compact Glocks slid out of the wrist hoppers and into his hands. Merle was furious. I hoped he didn’t make a move. He was key to this.

‘Merle, you weren’t properly introduced on Lalande 2. This is Rannu. He’s better than you,’ I said.

‘Because we can’t do things without pointing guns at each other,’ Mudge said in a tone of resignation.

‘This is pathetic, Jakob,’ Pagan said. ‘I’m sorry we both betrayed you-’