Outriders Page 35

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Their entire purpose is winning the contract for Elathan and Delbaethi territory once they’re ready,” Alexis explained. “So you’re going to trigger Article Thirty-Seven beforehand and promote your own candidate. Suggest a crown corporation, or even a collection of smaller mining companies that can parcel the star systems between them and would be willing to share a greater percentage of revenue with the Confederacy in exchange for contracts. Triaxus and whichever politicians support their goals will bitterly resist, but the opposition will throw them off balance and cause delays. If we’re really lucky, Triaxus might even overplay their hand and earn suspicion with how eager they are. Once other companies get a taste of the profit waiting, they won’t be so easily brushed aside either.”

  “Where will you be while I do this?”

  “We’re attempting a more permanent solution, a way to distribute these files to the Elathan, Delbaethi and Confederacy fleets all at once. Anything less and we risk having intelligence networks or belligerent politicians intercept and destroy the data. If we succeed, this might end the war. But our mission is dangerous…really dangerous. Enough to make me scared not all of us will be coming back.”

  Her father looked stricken at her response, fumbling to find words. “Alexis, you can’t—”

  “Don’t worry. The person leaving on this mission isn’t me. I’ve arranged for Alexis Lawrence to die in a tragic FTL accident, so if my body is recovered nothing will leak back to you and mom. No one will know your daughter was a traitor.”

  “I don’t care about my damn reputation.”

  “I know you don’t, but I always have. Someone needs to protect everything you’ve worked for.”

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. But yes, I do.”

  “Why? You can’t possibly expect me to let you sacrifice yourself on some foolhardy crusade.”

  “I don’t intend to die, and I’m not trying to get myself killed. Believe me, I’m going to fight like hell to survive. Not only for myself, but for the people I love, for all the innocent civilians on Elatha and Delbaeth, even for the Confederacy soldiers whose lives are about to be thrown away so Triaxus’ profit margins can rise. If my life is the cost of keeping all those people alive, then it’s a price I’m willing to pay. This isn’t only about me. When I started studying astronavigation, I never thought I’d have the opportunity to make a difference. But this is my chance to strive for something greater than myself. I can’t run from this, and I hope you understand.”

  “Don’t make me give you my blessing for this damned idealism. Don’t…don’t force me to say goodbye to my little girl.”

  Alexis reached one hand forward to touch the holographic screen. Though there was no sensation of contact, the motion calmed her. “I don’t want to say goodbye either. But you need to be okay with my decision, because it isn’t changing. There are good people looking out for me though. I trust them to keep me safe and do their job while I do mine.”

  “I’m not…not certain what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything. Hearing you voice all your fears will only make this harder for me. Just know that I need to do this, and I don’t regret a thing. If I don’t come home, tell Mom…tell her I died making the galaxy a safer place and that I wish I could’ve seen her one last time, too. Tell her how much I love you both. I couldn’t have asked for stronger role models or more supportive, loving parents. But now my responsibility is making sure others grow up to have the same opportunities I did.”

  Her father’s jaw trembled and his eyes clenched shut. “Alexis…”

  “Goodbye, Dad. I love you.”

  Knowing her strength was fading, she reached with one hand and disconnected, offering him a parting smile in the hopes the gesture might be reassuring. Alexis slumped backward in the chair and exhaled a shaky breath, aware how much more difficult this was for her father. She hated forcing this pain on him, though at least now he could brace himself should the worst happen. A small, poor consolation.

  The door slid open behind her and Rinko entered their shared quarters. “Did I hear you talking to someone just now?”

  Alexis wiped a dribble from one eye and blinked away the moisture before facing Rinko. “Recording a message for my parents. In case something happens on Kanaloa.”

  “I should probably do the same. What do you think our chances are?”

  “Low enough to make me start pondering my own mortality.”

  “Reyes and Tessa will watch over us. Don’t forget we have the easier assignment. We’ll be herding compliant scientists while the others go after the military base. I’m more worried for them than us.” Rinko halted in midstride when she looked closer at Alexis. “Your cheeks are flushed. Are you okay?”

  “I’m…thinking about what we’re facing. I’m not a soldier. I can’t hold my own against the dangers waiting for us or protect others.”

  Rinko lowered herself onto the armrest and touched her forehead to Alexis’. “You don’t need to face whatever comes alone. You have me. Until the end.”

  *

  Taylor felt his skin crawling, an invasive, irritating swarm that left him overheated and uncomfortable. He stared through one bridge viewport at the distant star Tangaroa, a speck from his vantage drifting on the system’s fringes. The Solar Flare waited in the shadow of a misshapen dwarf planet with an orbital period of almost two thousand years.

  All systems and functions apart from critical life support were offline, leaving their freighter practically invisible from all but the most advanced sensor equipment. Taylor knew the Confederacy had spy satellites distributed throughout this star system to identify vessels entering restricted territory, but maintaining a network of linked devices was a financial burden. Harun assured him it was unlikely any satellites existed beyond the last gas giant, more than twenty billion kilometers farther inward than their current position.

  Taylor glanced sidelong at Alexis, who wore a fully sealed spacesuit and stood with her helmet clutched in one arm. “Are the Raptors on station?”

  “Tessa assured me they’re in position among Tangaroa’s inner asteroid belt,” she replied.

  “They’d better be. The Elathan government was supposed to step up and offer us resources. A couple drones is the least they could do.”

  “We’re fighting a war,” Harun retorted. “Our resources are spread across a dozen star systems.”

  “Heard it all before. If your people can launch offensives and blockade facilities, they can damn well toss us a corvette or squad of troops. But I’m not interested in another argument or listening to your never-ending list of excuses.” Taylor shifted in the chair and faced their navigator, ignoring a nagging sensation of unease creeping through his stomach. “You’re certain the numbers are accurate, Alexis? No chance of deviation or drift?”

  A facetious eye roll greeted his question. “We’ve been over this.”

  “True enough. But since this is the riskiest jump we’ve ever attempted, you’ll have to forgive an old man for feeling a might apprehensive.”

  “The calculations are solid. I’ve gone over them manually seven times myself, and run the numbers through our software a dozen times more. I’m confident with the result.”

  “There’s a damn good reason starships don’t exit faster-than-light velocities at the edge of a planet’s atmosphere.”

  “I know the dangers better than anyone aboard,” Alexis replied. “And Rinko needed to circumvent or disable three primary safety protocols and six redundant ones imbedded in our navigation suite before I could even enter the numbers.”

  Harun looked up at Alexis from where he sat in Rinko’s chair. “Since I’m neither a navigator nor a pilot, remind me what the standard drift for a civilian starship like this one typically is?”

  “Depending on distance and duration for FTL travel, say about one thousand to fifteen hundred kilometers from the expected point of reversion to re
alspace. That’s why most ships exit FTL at least ten or twenty thousand kilometers away from any planet or station.”

  “And how close from Kanaloa are we returning to realspace?”

  “Less than eight hundred kilometers from the magnetosphere’s upper edge.”

  Kyla gritted her teeth as though enduring physical pain. “See, hearing shit like that makes me nervous. We hit atmosphere while still decelerating from FTL and the freighter will be torn apart by the change in pressure.”

  “Our jump is only a fraction of a light-year,” Alexis affirmed. “If we were traveling one or two light-years I’d never be willing to try this. But the standard drift deviation for an insystem microjump should be negligible.”

  “Should be,” muttered Connor from the pilot’s station. “The two most reassuring words known.”

  Alexis spread her lips in a grin that came across as a little too evil. “I know what I’m about.”

  “High time we all put more faith in our crewmates,” declared Taylor. He continued to feel queasy about this reckless maneuver, but his responsibility was to keep morale from slipping, whether through honesty, guile or downright falsehoods. “If Alexis can promise we aren’t all moments away from self-inflicted death by smacking into a planet’s surface, I’m content with the notion.”

  “I’m mostly certain at any rate,” she announced.

  Connor turned in his chair and pointed at the corridor beyond their bridge. “You can leave now.”

  Alexis smirked and paced toward the exit with her helmet in hand. “The numbers are already in the computer. Just bring our velocity counterpoise online and trigger the jump.”

  “We’ll wait for you to give us the go-ahead,” Taylor said. “Once you’re snug in your box.”

  “Will do.”

  Taylor watched her depart down the stairs, listening to footsteps clunking on metal echo through the otherwise silent freighter. “Everyone ready for this?”

  “Don’t know if a person can be entirely ready for what we’re trying,” replied Kyla.

  “I’ll accept half-hearted confidence and not completely panicking.”

  “Then as much as I’ll ever be.”

  Taylor claimed his seat and faced the forward terminals. “Connor, you’ll be flying during this stunt. If you have something that needs saying, now’s the time.”

  “Seems to me that the time to raise concerns was before we put this crazed plan in motion. Not during.” He ran a hand through sweat-slicked hair. “I’d rather just get this over with. The longer we chitchat, the more agitated I’m likely to become.”

  “Do I even need to ask how you’re doing, Major? This must be an average day on the job for you.”

  “I can’t say nearly leaping into a planet’s atmosphere is routine for me,” Harun replied, “but I learned long ago to tune out apprehension and fear. I’m prepared for what we face.”

  “Then everyone strap in and brace for FTL.” Taylor secured his seat restraints while the others did likewise. “Connor, bring systems online.”

  A churning rumble reverberated through the freighter as its propulsion core came to life and powered the engines. Status indicators, schematics and consoles activated and cast a glow throughout the bridge before overhead lights shone down.

  “Inducing actuator functioning,” Connor said. “Velocity counterpoise ready for transit. We’re waiting on your word.”

  Several quiet minutes passed while they waited for the science facility infiltration team to perform final safety checks and secure their equipment. Taylor used the time trying not to imagine his shredded corpse strewn throughout a planetary atmosphere like dust particles. His reverie ended when Alexis’ voice emerged from the cargo hold.

  “Captain? We’re in position and ready to deploy on arrival.”

  “Standby.” Taylor clenched his armrests and stared straight ahead at the seething star Tangaroa. “Launch.”

  The Solar Flare leapt into faster-than-light acceleration, blurring the starfield into distorted, intangible streaks of mesmerizing colors. Their insystem microjump scarcely lasted more than a minute before the freighter buckled and reverted to realspace with a sickening lurch as it penetrated Kanaloa’s shallow gravitational well. Taylor pitched forward and uttered a hissing wince when restraining straps bit into his chest and shoulder. A proximity alarm wailed through his skull before Kyla silenced the noise.

  “Kill engine thrust chambers two through five and disable kinetic buffers,” Taylor instructed. “Give me a report on our deceleration.”

  A chirp trilled alongside one piloting monitor while Connor frantically whirled his hands across holographic displays. “Holding steady. Our velocity for a planetary entry is hovering at the upper allowable threshold.”

  “Time to make this look real. Deactivate decelerators.”

  “Decelerators going offline.”

  “Begin broadcasting on an open channel across all spectrums and frequencies,” Taylor instructed. “Get into your roles, people.”

  The Solar Flare hurtled deeper into Kanaloa’s dense atmosphere and their viewports darkened to shield against blinding orange flames licking the hull.

  “Decelerators aren’t responding!” Kyla hollered. “Engines failing.”

  Taylor let a trace of anxiety creep into his voice. “Slow us down however you can.”

  “Eighty-five thousand meters and falling fast,” announced Connor. “Banking maneuvers are decreasing velocity marginally but not enough for a landing.”

  “Shit,” Kyla uttered. “Coupling circuits are shorting. I’ll have to shut down thrust chambers seven and eight before they’re damaged catastrophically. And the number one has trickled down to seventeen percent efficiency.”

  “Get those decelerators back online!” barked Taylor.

  “I’m trying!”

  Taylor activated the comm and shouted into it as though a desperate, unnerved captain. “This is Wade Hackett of the Stingray-class merchant freighter Merchant’s Kiss broadcasting a general distress to anyone listening in the vicinity of Kanaloa. We’ve lost kinetic buffers and have breached the atmosphere with our engines and decelerators malfunctioning. Can anyone hear me? Please, we need help! Mayday, mayday!”

  “Assholes better not pretend they aren’t here or we’re screwed,” Kyla whispered.

  “Sixty-five thousand meters,” Connor said.

  A fiery wall flaring beyond the viewport faded into the blinding gray of dense, murky clouds. Taylor imagined he could hear howling winds lashing the Solar Flare and water vapor dissipating when it touched the searing hull.

  “Decelerators standing by at fifty-six percent efficiency,” Kyla said. “Primed to engage.”

  “Engaging!” yelled Connor.

  Scarred and creviced land littered the landscape alongside swaths of resilient vegetation in a panorama of green and brown contours. Distant mountains thrust upward through a featureless expanse of kilometer-thick glaciers like dark smudges meandering in broken chains. Taylor stared at the world rising to greet their freighter, its desolate, ice-choked terrain pockmarked by coniferous forests and fissures ringed by stunted shrubs.

  “Please, if anyone can hear us we need help,” Taylor said.

  Distortion screeched over the receiving frequency until their sensor suite filtered through hot ionized gases in the atmosphere that made communication difficult during re-entry. Populated worlds used specialized orbiting satellites to eliminate the ionization blackout entirely, though Kanaloa did not possess a dedicated communication network.

  “Forty thousand meters. Velocity is slowing but we’re still far beyond safety parameters.”

  A harsh, unsympathetic voice finally blared through the speaker on Taylor’s console. “Stingray-class freighter, you are in violation of restricted airspace.”

  “Mayday!” Taylor howled. “We need—”

  “Turn back and leave this system or we will fire upon you.”

  “We can’t turn back! Our freighter is damaged
and barely holding together. We’re touching down on your world one way or another.”

  “This is your final—”

  Taylor pretended to ignore the antagonistic planetary controller and hollered through the bridge. “All crew brace for impact! I say again, all crew brace for landing.”

  “Twenty thousand meters,” Connor announced.

  Despite the dramatic charade, Taylor truly did feel nerves fluttering in his stomach. Confederacy troops on the planet might destroy a trespassing civilian freighter to safeguard their restricted military base without concerning themselves at the loss of life. Taylor made a habit of assuming no selfish, criminal act or behavior was beyond the Confederacy.

  “We’re losing the throttle stability distributor,” declared Kyla.

  “Ten thousand meters.”

  Taylor gripped the armrests on his chair and waited to be inundated with screeching alarms that signaled anti-aircraft cannons firing at their intrusion. Yet nothing targeted the freighter.

  Instead the aggressive planetary controller returned, though this time with a softened, more resigned and subdued tone. “Kanaloa Base Command to crippled vessel Merchant’s Kiss. Alter heading seventy degrees on a north-northwest heading if possible. The terrain is moderately level and devoid of vegetation or mountain ranges four hundred kilometers laterally from your position. It’s ideal for an emergency landing.”

  “Copy that, Base Command,” responded Taylor. “We’re struggling against minimal control, but I think we can coax enough to get us there.”

  Connor imbued his voice with an enviable level of strained professionalism faltering against mounting dread. The man clearly missed his calling as an actor. “Five thousand meters. Controls are responding, but I can’t stop our descent.”

  As the least qualified and experienced person on the bridge, Harun’s only task was to monitor their elevation and signal when they reached a mere four thousand meters above the surface. He offered Taylor an affirmative thumbs up and punched a key on the nearest console, opening the cargo hold doors and ejecting everything inside.