“This is Killer #453,” Brent said, as the image of a Killer starship materialised above them. Chris felt, more than heard, the angry helpless rage that flared though the audience at the sight of the massive starship. “You’re going to board her.”
The shock that ran through the audience was greater this time. They all knew that boarding a Killer starship meant jumping right into the unknown, yet they’d all volunteered to be Footsoldiers, knowing that one day they might be called upon to jump right into a Killer base. The Defence Force might sneak around Killer star systems, trying to learn as much as they could, but the Footsoldiers had always known that the only way to learn would be to capture one of their systems. It wouldn’t be easy — they knew nothing about internal defences, but the outer defences on an Iceberg were known to be formidable — but they were the best. If it could be done, they could do it.
“Once you board the craft, you’ll have to proceed independently towards the main power source and put it out of commission,” the Admiral continued. One of the few things that were known about the Killer starships was the location of their main power plants. No one knew how they worked or what they looked like — which added yet another degree of risk to the mission — but they knew where they were, roughly. “We cannot advise you on passing through the internal defences, or what kind of environment you might encounter, but we believe that there is no other way to secure control of the ship. Do not lose contact with the escorting starships; we need whatever data you can retrieve from the interior.”
Even if we don’t survive, Chris finished, ruefully. He understood why the Admiral hadn’t said that out loud — he wouldn’t want to demoralise them with the knowledge that the Defence Force starships had been ordered to abandon them rather than attempt a rescue — but no one in the audience was fooled. They all knew full well that it might be a one-way trip. It was what they had signed up to do.
“I want operational plans in my processor by 1900,” the Admiral finished. “Good luck,”
Chris opened up his secure processor and linked into the other Footsoldiers. One advantage of their communications implants was that they could share tactics and information — and hash out assault plans — without needing to talk aloud. They had also been known to use the channels for whispering during boring lectures, but the senior Footsoldiers tended to stamp on that hard. What little they knew about the Killer starships was waiting for them and rapidly assessed, before the discussion turned to the more mundane issue of breaking into the starship. Nothing the Defence Force had used had scratched the surface of the ships, yet openings had been observed on their massive hulls. It was just possible that they could be used as access points.
“I don’t like this,” one of the Footsoldiers said. “There’s far too much that can go wrong.”
“If you’re backing out, I know hundreds who will take your place,” someone sent back. “They’d all volunteer too.”
“I wasn’t saying that,” the first Footsoldier said quickly. “I was just saying that she’s going to be a bitch to crack.”
The planning session was well underway when Chris was interrupted by a message, summoning him to report to the Admiral personally. He disengaged from the network and left the room, walking quickly through the corridors to the Admirals office, passing some of the clerical staff as he walked. Normally, he would have stopped to flirt with the girls, but time was pressing. It reminded him that he would have to ensure that his men spent some time in a brothel, or attending to their other needs, before they set out on the mission.
He’d expected to see the Admiral when he entered, but he was surprised to see another person sitting in the office, waiting for him. She was young — at least on the surface — blonde and surprisingly attractive. She wore the simple white uniform of the Technical Faction and carried an insignia he didn’t recognise.
“This is Captain Kelsey,” the Admiral said. “Captain, this is Paula Handley, a technical from Intelligence.”
Chris nodded, slowly. Intelligence was the heart of the Technical Faction, a distributed university that stretched across hundreds of asteroid settlements and research bases, including several that had gone rogue or created rogue AIs. He’d visited once when he’d been looking for his future career, but he hadn’t found patient study to be a suitable career path. Research work bored him when he could be blowing things up.
“She will be accompanying you on your mission,” the Admiral continued. “She…”
“Absolutely not,” Chris said, firmly. By long tradition, the CO of a given mission had absolute authority — and responsibility. “I cannot take a civilian into a combat zone.”
“The entire galaxy is a combat zone,” the Admiral snapped, coldly. “Paula has volunteered to accompany you…”
“She’s not trained, or checked out on the suits, or anything else,” Chris said, equally coldly. “She will be nothing more than a liability…”
“She has a name, you know,” Paula snapped, irritated. “I do know the risks and I do accept them.”
“We have to consider the possibility of failure as well,” the Admiral said, before Chris could say something cutting about civilians who didn’t know what they were getting into. “If your teams are wiped out, we still need to learn what we can, even if it’s only what killed you all. Paula will carry observation equipment and she’s the closest thing we have to an expert on their gravity technology. Your men are good, but they don’t have the understanding she has, so she’s going. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Chris said, annoyed. He scowled at Paula. “You will do exactly as I tell you at all times. I don’t have the time or the patience to deal with disobedience. If you turn into a liability, we will simply abandon you, understand?”
“Yes,” Paula said. He was pleased to see that she didn’t back down easily. “I understand.”
“Good,” Chris said. “Now, come with me. We’ll go get you checked out on a suit.” He smiled, suddenly. “Feel free to change your mind at any time.”
Chapter Five
At first there was nothing, and then there was pain, a strange distant pain that almost felt as if it were happening to someone else who just happened to share her body. She wavered on the edge of awareness for a long time — hours or days or months or years; she couldn’t tell and they all seemed believable — before slowly struggling up towards the light. Her eyes flicked open, yet she could see nothing, but darkness. It was a moment before a strange green glow — the emergency illumination system, her mind whispered to her — penetrated her eyelids and illuminated the cockpit. She was lying in the wreckage of her scout ship.
“I’m alive?” She said, or tried to say. Her throat hurt in a manner she hadn’t felt since she’d swallowed something far too large on a bet, back at the training centre. Her mouth was dry and tasted foul; her body seemed paralysed, unable to move. A wave of panic swept through her mind and she found herself twisted and turning in the chair before remembering the straps that bound her safely, protecting her from sudden acceleration. “What happened?”
Lieutenant Chiyo Takahashi lay back and concentrated on summoning up information from her implants. Nothing happened, not even a ping to reassure her that they still had minimum levels of power. That was impossible, her mind insisted while she reeled in shock; no one ever lost their implants. Only prisoners and criminals were stripped of the internal network devices that were the birthright of every human and she wasn’t a criminal, was she? Her head felt so musty — normally, her implants would have cleaned her mind and helped her return to sanity — that it was impossible to be sure of anything, even her own name. She didn’t even know what she was doing in the cockpit of a scout ship…