Legacy Fleet: Invincible Read online

He launched his six-foot-three frame out of the command chair and paced in front of the bridge crew. “We are here to impress the Russians, to scare them with our battle precision. You all understand this, right?” He waited until he saw nods all around. “Good.” He leveled his stare at Halsey. “XO, secure from general quarters and let’s run the drill again.”

  “Aye-aye, sir,” Addison replied.

  “I’ll be in my ready room, Commander. Call me when you’ve got this lot sorted out.” With a final disgusted glance, he strode away. Addison glared at the closed door of the ready room.

  And leave me to clean up your mess, sir. Addison took a deep breath. This is not how it was supposed to work. The CO was the strategy guy, the one who set policy; the XO—her—was the tip of the spear, the one who executed that policy. She was the bad cop; he was the good cop.

  Not with Baltasar. Addison had met micromanagers in her career, but this guy was a nanomanager. He was into every detail, scarcely giving her time to breathe, much less do her friggin’ job.

  You don’t choose your captain, your captain chooses you. She could almost hear her grandfather’s voice in her head. The Old Man had done forty years in the Fleet, retiring as an admiral. Her family name went all the way back to World War Two on Earth, when the Fleet was a collection of steel ships sailing the oceans. She sighed to herself. Oh, for simpler times.

  “Alright, people, you heard the captain. We’re going to set up and run it again. This time we’re going to break the fleet record for spot-to-shot,” she said, referring to the drill that required them to sense, classify, and place at least one mag-rail round on an incoming hostile. The Fleet record was twelve seconds. They were at fifteen seconds and Captain Baltasar wanted his crew at ten.

  “XO, the record is impossible,” said the comms officer, Lieutenant Anders. “That was set years ago by the Constitution, under ideal conditions on a premeasured course. Why are we still doing this?”

  Addison fixed Anders with a withering glare. “We are doing this, Lieutenant, because here on the Invincible, we don’t chase records, we set the performance standard.” She worked herself up so her voice carried to all the watch standers. “Is that clear, Anders?”

  The comms officer swung back toward his station. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Anders was a good officer, he could take the heat. Proctor was another story. Addison strode to the sensors station and stood so her body was between Proctor and the rest of the bridge.

  “How’re you doing, Ensign?”

  The poor kid was literally shaking from the bawling-out she’d gotten from the captain. She clenched her jaw and frowned at the screen. “Fine, ma’am.”

  “Zoe, look at me.” She had the kind of deep green eyes that probably drove the male junior officers nuts, but the edges of her eyelids were quivering. Christ, the kid is going to cry! When did I become a friggin’ wet nurse? What kind of officers are the Academy graduating these days?

  Addison glanced over her shoulder. The rest of the bridge crew were all busy. She leaned over Proctor’s station. “Here’s the deal, Proctor. This drill is really all about you. Think about it: we’ve got twelve seconds to go from first contact to weapons away. If you take more than half of that time to classify the target and get coordinates over to fire control, we’re dead. Got it?” Proctor nodded. Addison dropped her voice further. “This used to be my watch station, and there’s a trick to cutting your time.” Proctor was frowning now, listening intently, all trace of her previous frustration gone. Maybe I misjudged her; this one’s got grit.

  “What is it, XO? What’s the trick?”

  Addison called up a simulation on the screen. “Don’t do double identification. Get one look, send it to fire control, then do your second look.” She punched in the sequence while Proctor watched.

  “But don’t procedures require two looks?”

  Addison nodded. “They do, but they don’t specify the order. It’s a loophole, but it’s real. Besides, this is a hot war scenario, us against the Russkies. If that was really going down, we’d be firing on one look. Trust me.” She smiled. “Besides, I happen to know the sensors officer on the Constitution and she told me that’s how they got the record. Between you and me, there may have been alcohol involved.”

  “I can do that,” Proctor said, nodding. “Thank you so much, XO.”

  “Don’t thank me, Ensign. I’m just doing my job.” She spun on her heel and raised her voice. “Alright, people, are we ready to kick some Russian ass this time?” Technically, the drill was against an unknown strike force, but everyone knew this was really a drill that simulated an attack by the Russians. Occasionally, the computer would throw in the Chinese or a friendly for good measure, but almost all the drones were programmed with Russian tactics.

  Addison listened to affirmations from every bridge station, ending with Proctor on sensors: “Ready, ma’am.” The ensign’s back was straight, her chin set. Yes, Addison decided, I underestimated that one.

  She marched to the door of the captain’s ready room and punched the call button.

  “Come,” he said as he released the door.

  Captain Baltasar stood with his broad back to the door, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the emptiness of space.

  “I’m disappointed, XO.”

  “Sir, I—”

  Baltasar whirled on her. “Stop. I don’t do excuses, Commander Halsey. I do results. You’ve been with me for nearly six months now and I would have figured a smart young officer like yourself would have taken that fact on board by now.”

  Addison bit the inside of her cheek, barely able to restrain herself from responding. They’d come out of space dock four weeks ago with half the crew new and he was dressing her down like some friggin’ newbie greenhorn?

  “When I requested you as my XO, I wanted the best—I expected the best.” He was behind her now and he leaned close to her ear. “This is not your best, Commander.”

  She could feel the muscles of her jaw quivering, aching to be released, but she clamped her teeth together. Baltasar moved into her field of view, his icy blue eyes locking with hers. She met his gaze and held it. Seconds ticked away.

  “Are you pissed off, Commander Halsey?”

  She unclenched her jaw. “Yes, sir,” she choked out, her eyes still fixed on his.

  “Good. Let’s go shoot some bad guys.” He stalked out of the room. Addison followed.

  Captain Baltasar swung into his command chair and ran a hand across his iron-gray crewcut. “Weapons Officer, release the drone.”

  Addison took her place behind the CO’s chair. Now they waited. The drone would travel on a preset path, then reapproach the ship as a target. For the spot-to-shot drill, the clock started when sensors picked up the target.

  Fifteen minutes later, Addison heard the sensors chirp and Proctor raised her voice. “Captain, sensors show an unidentified incoming vessel.”

  “Very well, Ensign,” the captain replied. “XO, take us to general quarters.”

  “Aye-aye, sir,” Addison said. She keyed her display. “All hands, general quarters.” Addison counted to herself.

  One-Mississippi, two-Mississippi . . .

  Proctor was hunched over her screen, her fingers dancing across the panel. C’mon, Proctor, Addison thought.

  Seven-Mississippi . . .

  Addison saw Proctor hit the send key on her panel.

  Ten-Mississippi . . .

  The weapons officer sang out, “Captain, I have a firing solution on the incoming target. Request permission to fire.”

  Twelve-Mississippi . . .

  Addison wanted to scream at the back of Baltasar’s head. “Fire, dammit!”

  “Weapons hold,” the captain said.

  “Captain, I—” Addison began.

  “Captain!” Proctor broke in. “New classification is friendly. It’s a merchant, sir!”

  Addison felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. Baltasar had switched the drone pattern on her. How co
uld she have fallen for that?

  “Stand down,” the captain said. He looked over his shoulder and beckoned Addison closer. She could smell his aftershave.

  “XO, if you ever advise a junior officer to break procedures like that again, I’ll have you court-martialed. Do I make myself clear?”

  Her cheeks were on fire, but she met his gaze. “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter 4

  SS Renegade

  Five light-years outside Caliphate space

  Captain Laz Scollard plucked at his lip as he stared at the screen. Asteroid 8576543B looked like any one of the millions of asteroids in this part of space, but it wasn’t. This asteroid was worth five million credits to him and his crew.

  “Scan again,” he said.

  “Laz, this is like the third time I’ve scanned,” said Mimi, his first officer. “There’s nothing out there.”

  “Scan. Again. All frequencies, all sectors, very, very carefully.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” she came back with an unhealthy dose of snark. Again he regretted sleeping with Mimi—or Me-me, as he liked to think of her—but space was a lonely, boring place without someone to share your bunk with.

  He forced Mimi out of his thoughts. The deal was the thing, and this one smelled to high heaven. The only part of the deal that didn’t smell bad was the price tag. Five million credits was the score of a career, enough to retire on even. He’d be a legend in the privateer community—not that that meant much to him.

  It seemed simple enough: pick up a “package” out in no-man’s-land and take it to predesignated coordinates in the demilitarized zone between Russian and Chinese space. Easy peasy. With his cloaking device, he could slip in and out of anybody’s space undetected, but the deal contained the three words every smuggler hated—cash on delivery. To complete the transaction, they’d have to uncloak, and that meant risk. In his experience, no one paid five million credits for an easy job.

  To make matters worse, he had no idea who the package was from or who it was going to. Not that he hadn’t tried to find out, but all of his connections came back empty-handed. And so Lazarus Scollard III was here, about to risk everything on the biggest payout of his career.

  “Scans are clean, Laz,” said Mimi. “Can we please get on with it?” She laid her hand on his thigh and squeezed. “You’re overthinking it, dude. It’s five million credits—that’s ten times our normal rate. We all agreed, remember?”

  She was right, they all had agreed. But it was his ship. If they got picked up, it’d be his neck on the line.

  “Put-up-or-shut-up time, Captain Scollard,” Mimi taunted. “You blow this one and I’ll never sleep with you again.”

  Mimi might be a bitch, but she was also right. He punched the intercom.

  “Topper, Little Dick, you guys ready?” he said.

  “Standing by, Skipper,” came the replies made tinny by the microphones in their space suits.

  “Let’s do this by the numbers, people. I’ll turn off the cloak, send the activation code, and get us as close to the package as I can. You guys scoot out and grab the package, then we re-cloak and skedaddle out of here. I’ll leave you guys on an open channel, but let’s keep the bullshitting to a minimum. Any questions?”

  There were none.

  Laz’s heart was racing. Five million credits will do that to you.

  “Dropping the cloak,” he said. “Mimi, send the code.”

  He winced as the pulse of energy left the ship. They’d just announced their presence to anyone within a radius of a few hundred thousand kilometers. Immediately, a steady blip of signal came back to them.

  Mimi smiled. “Come to mama, baby. I’ve got a lock on the signal, Laz.”

  “Moving in,” Laz replied, nudging the controls to move the Renegade closer to the asteroid. “Put the image on screen, Mimi. High mag.” He scrutinized the viewscreen. “There.” He stabbed at a blinking light on the craggy rock surface. Laz nosed his ship even closer. “Alright, guys, go pick this thing up. And hurry.”

  A few seconds later, Topper sailed past the cockpit on a long line. He used hand thrusters to slow his progress as he got closer to the surface of the asteroid. The blinking light went off.

  “I got it, Skipper. Not very big, though. I’ve seen Little Dick take dumps bigger than this thing.” Laz could hear the rest of the crew laughing on the open line.

  “Knock it off, all of you,” he shouted. “Get your ass back inside and let’s get the hell out of here.”

  “Sorry, Skip,” Topper said. “Reel me in, Little Dick.”

  ***

  Topper was right. The package really wasn’t very big at all. Laz estimated it was less than half a meter square and light enough for one man to lift in normal gravity.

  The Renegade was under the cover of her cloak and on her way to the preset drop-off coordinates. Everyone had gathered in the galley to see what five million credits looked like.

  The answer was not much.

  The matte black exterior was smooth except for the protruding light they’d used to locate it on the asteroid. Laz rapped his knuckles on the material. It sounded hollow. He looked at Gizmo. “Can you open it?”

  Gizmo dug a finger in one armpit as he walked around the table in a slow circle. He pushed his glasses up his nose with his free hand, nodding absently.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Mimi asked.

  Laz resisted the urge to make a smart-ass response. “This is a COD job. Let’s see what’s inside.”

  Gizmo chuckled to himself, then reached out and twisted the light fixture that protruded from the case. The black cube separated into two halves.

  Topper elbowed Little Dick in the ribs. “Told ya.” The two men were meatheads, but they were Laz’s meatheads, and he knew he could trust them in a firefight.

  A silver rectangle with a handle, about the size and shape of an attaché case, rode on a magnetic cushion inside the cube. Laz plucked it out of its magnetic cradle and laid it on the table. He squatted down for a closer look. Up close, he could see faint lines running all around the outer edge. On either side of the handle were two black discs. Locks?

  Gizmo squatted down next to him. Laz could see the remnants of breakfast in the engineer’s beard. “Whaddaya think, Gizmo?”

  “Somebody went to a lot of trouble, sir.” Gizmo was the only one on the ship who called him “sir.” Like himself, the engineer was a Fleet refugee, just another dishonorable discharge who’d turned to the dark side of the private sector for a living. Somewhere deep inside, the man still retained a shred of respect for Laz’s position as captain of the ship.

  “Can you open it?” Laz asked.

  Gizmo tugged on his beard, dislodging some food particles. “Mebbe. If I have enough time.”

  Laz looked up at Mimi. “How long till we get to the drop point?”

  Mimi shrugged. “Twelve hours, give or take. I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “And I still don’t recall asking you for your opinion.” Laz turned back to Gizmo. “Give it a shot?”

  Gizmo nodded, his eyes never leaving the case.

  ***

  It took the engineer eleven hours and change to open the case. Laz had given up hope that Gizmo would get it done before they reached the coordinates, but the man surprised him again.

  “I got it, Captain,” Gizmo said over the intercom with a hint of pride in his voice.

  The galley was crowded with all manner of electrical equipment, tools, and other gear, but the table that held the silver case was bare except for an electronic keyboard.

  “Are you gonna play us a song, Gizmo?” Topper said, snickering. Little Dick chuckled alongside him.

  “Knock it off, guys,” Laz said to them. “We’re meeting our mystery buyer in thirty minutes. No time for bullshitting around.” He turned to Gizmo. “Tell me what you got.”

  “Resonance crypto,” the engineer said. “Never seen anything like it. Pure genius. The only reason why I noticed it
at all was that I was playing music while I had the case hooked up to the scope and saw a tiny response. I musta played the same song fifty times before I figured out the right chord.”

  Laz checked his watch. “Much as I’d love to see the big buildup here, Gizmo, we’re about out of time. Let’s cut to the chase.”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied, with a touch of regret. “The case responds to a ten-note chord. Watch.” He spread his fingers across the keyboard. The resulting sound was a screech of discordant notes, but after a few seconds the top of the case moved. “Go ahead and open it,” Gizmo said over the racket.

  Laz lifted the lid of the silver case. Inside, nestled in foam pockets, were twelve glass tubes about the size of Laz’s index finger, each filled with glowing green liquid. He lifted one and held it up to the light. The liquid seemed viscous, reminding him of sparkly algae.

  “What is it?” Topper asked, looking over Laz’s shoulder.

  Laz shook his head. “No idea.” The goo inside the tube seemed to be moving on its own. Whatever it was, it gave him the creeps.

  “Maybe it’s a biological weapon,” Little Dick said.

  “Captain?” It was Mimi on the intercom. If she was calling him Captain, it must be serious.

  “Go ahead, Mimi.”

  “There’s a ship at our rendezvous point.”

  Laz felt the muscles of his stomach contract. That bad feeling about this deal was still there, nagging him like postnasal drip.

  “Who’s our lucky buyer?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light.

  “The Chinese.”

  “Military or civilian?”

  “Oh, definitely military.”

  “I’ll be right up.” He spun to face the rest of the crew. “Gizmo, seal the case back up and all three of you take it to Airlock One.” He looked at Topper and Little Dick. “Full weapons complement, but no shooting. Understand? We want our money and we want to be around to spend it.”

  All three nodded, suddenly solemn.

  Gizmo nodded to the tube that Laz held. “What about that one, sir?”

  Laz slipped the tube into his breast pocket.