David Gunn - Maximum Offence

To make it work, we need a voice link between us and the bomber to make it sound as if we are on board. And we need to find a way to stop the bomber from showing up as empty when scanned for signs of life.

‘Half a dozen goats would do,’ says Colonel Vijay. That’s a joke, apparently.

‘Cruiser coming into sight,’ says the SIG.

And my gun’s right. The Silver Fist cruiser is that bloody great shadow above us blocking out the sun. As we watch, its nose creeps over the edge of the hub.

‘No time,’ I say. ‘We launch now.’

‘And then?’ asks Colonel Vijay.

‘We take the tug and head in the other direction-’

‘As fast as we can,’ he finishes for me.

It is not much of a plan, but it’s what we’ve got. And would remain so, except for Franc, who has suddenly reappeared on the edge of our discussion. ‘Permission to speak, sir?’

I nod.

‘To Haze, sir.’

‘Make it quick.’

Franc’s lip twitches. ‘Yes, sir,’ she says.

When she speaks to Haze her voice is a whisper, her words swift, and I can almost feel the tension burning off her. Just once, he tries to interrupt her, and she shakes her head. ‘My life,’ she says, loudly enough for the rest of us to hear.

‘Franc . . .’

‘You said so.’

Reaching for his hand, she opens his fingers and touches his palm to her lips. Then he puts his hand on her head and says something so softly that I doubt even Franc can hear.

‘Sven,’ says my gun. ‘We’re running out of-’

I slap it into silence.

Keeping her shoulders back and her chin up, she marches briskly towards me and stamps to attention. Should be Colonel Vijay she asks, but he is too busy looking appalled. As I return her salute, I already know what she intends to say.

‘Please, sir,’ she says.

And proves me wrong.

‘Take this,’ I say, ripping off my arm again. ‘It’s chipped,’ I add, when she looks puzzled. Genotype human equivalent. Status DH class 2 . . .

Reaching up, she kisses my cheek.

‘Thank you.’

For letting you kill yourself? I think. She must see that thought in my eyes, because she smiles. ‘For trying to give me back my scars.’

‘Trying?’

‘Already fading,’ she says. ‘The U/Free really fucked me over.’

Sweeping her gaze across the Aux, she goes for a smile. Most of them are playing catch-up, and Iona and Ajac don’t realize what is happening until Franc is inside the B79 and its hatch is hissing shut. And even then, they’re not sure they believe it.

Bolts blow, grapples release. The B79 shivers, and drops away.

A few seconds later, it lurches through the mirror hub to stop a mile or so above us, and away to one side.

‘Piggyback her calls,’ I tell the SIG.

Only it’s doing that already, and we hear Franc’s first contact. Most people would try for a hailing frequency. Franc punches the emergency button and relies on it to override everything else.

‘Three-braid Carson,’ says a man. ‘Who is this?’

‘Trooper Franc,’ she says. ‘I’m flying the bomber . . .’ Franc hesitates. ‘Well, it’s flying itself . . . No,’ she says. ‘It’s not flying at all. But when it does, it flies itself. Mostly . . .’

Never underestimate metalhead contempt for the un-Enlightened.

And don’t forget, she is female and militia, talking to a Silver Fist officer. He’s probably surprised she can talk at all. We wait, as he says something off screen, and then he is back.

‘Let me talk to your senior officer.’

‘You can’t,’ says Franc.

‘Why not?’

‘He’s unconscious.’

Anyone running software will know she is frightened. Assuming they’re too stupid to pick that up just by listening.

‘Everyone’s unconscious.’ She sobs, stops herself. ‘No,’ says Franc. ‘Not true. Mostly they’re dead, I think.’

‘ You think? Can’t you run scans?’

‘No,’ says Franc, sounding young. ‘Don’t know how.’

The three-braid sighs.

‘I want to surrender,’ she says.

‘And your officer is alive?’

‘Yes. Only his mouth’s turning blue.’

‘ Oxygen starvation ,’ someone mutters almost out of range.

The three-braid hisses him into silence. The Enlightened is thinking. Unless he is scanning her. So we wait where we stand in the corridor, and Franc waits inside her bomber. Anything said between us will be overheard, so we say nothing. Three-braid Carson finally comes back on air.

‘Your weapons are active,’ he says. ‘Shut them down.’

Franc says nothing.

‘Did you hear me?’

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Only I don’t know how.’

Overdoing it , I think. And then I realize she’s not overdoing it at all. Franc means it. She’s not sure how to shut the cannon down. We leave her being talked through the control panel by a pilot from their end.

He’s good, and we’ve just got to, See the third touch-pad on the right, the orange one, well tap the bottom right corner twice . . . when I decide it is time for us to get out of there.

Setting our boosters to slow burn, Haze keeps in the B79’s comms shadow as our tug drops away from the hub and leaves Hekati’s mirror ring high overhead. We’re going to be a small blip below a bigger blip.

Also, that hub contains Hekati’s AI, which should throw up enough electronic chatter to mask us from the braid in the cruiser above. At least, that is the theory.

‘Don’t need to know the detail,’ Colonel Vijay tells Haze. ‘Just need to know it’s going to work. It is going to work, isn’t it . . . ?’

Seeing me listen, the colonel blushes.

Yes, I’ve heard his father say that too.

‘Suit check,’ I say.

Everyone scans their read-outs.

We’ve all got suits this time. Old mining issue, with out-dated radiation patches on the breastplates, clumsy clasps, and out-of-date fasteners. But they’re water-lined against g-force, and all have full oxygen tanks.

The SIG’s meant to keep checking our safety status. Only it is far more interested in what’s going on above.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ I say. ‘Put her on the speakers.’

My gun does as it’s told.

‘Trooper Franc,’ says the three-braid.

‘Sir,’ she says.

Nice touch , I think.

‘Bring it up slowly . . .’

‘I’m trying.’

Another voice comes on, telling her how to feather the boosters. I’ve no idea what he means and nor does Franc, but she concentrates as he talks her through which buttons to tap.

‘So,’ says Franc. ‘Tapping up makes me go faster?’

‘Yes,’ the pilot says.

‘So I want to tap down?’

He agrees this would be good.

The B79 obviously slows, because the pilot’s next comment is to congratulate Franc and suggest she steer towards the middle of the cruiser. ‘You’re too close to the engines,’ he says.

‘Put it on screen,’ I tell Haze.

‘Sir, that might-’

‘Do it,’ says the colonel.

Haze shrugs, which is close to outright insolence for him. Our braid’s turning into someone else. I’ll deal with that later. For now, my attention is on the B79 that suddenly appears on our screen. We’re locked into one of Hekati’s own cameras.

The B79 hangs below the cruiser like a tiny fish nosing towards a floating alligator. Although it’s hard to see much more from this distance.

‘Bring the picture close.’

Haze wants to object, but he tightens the focus anyway.

The mirror hub is above us, and Hekati’s habitat is a vast circle around that. The struts that hold the habitat to its hub revolve slowly overhead. I want to be up there with Franc, but that’s absurd. This only has meaning if she does it by herself.