TRNS CRETE, SATURN (182 LS)
POV: Carla Bauernschmidt, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Captain)
“Civilian cargo spacecraft Free Zone Forever, registration C-129421, power down your drives,” Carla said into her headset with her best “I’m bored” voice. “This is a routine contraband inspection.”
“Rep boots and bootlickers! We’re in the middle of an expensive transfer burn!” came the pilot’s angry reply from the radio.
She didn’t even raise her volume as she drawled on, “Under the Republic Security Act, all civilian spacecraft are subject to random search and seizure while transiting the Red Zone. You may apply for compensation due to lost time or damages from the Interplanetary Insurance Office later. Now, cease acceleration on all axis, or we will use force. This is your final warning.”
“Fine, fine,” grumbled the pilot. “We’re complying. We’re complying. God damn Reps!”
“Prepare to be boarded.”
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POV: Baedarsust, Malgeir Federation Marine Infantry (Rank: Head Pack Leader)
Aida briefed the platoon with a holographic model of the ship. “It’s a Porcupine-class cargo spacecraft. Highly modular. Five sections, all segregated with airlocks.”
She pointed at each of the sections, labelling them in sequence. “Sections Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo. The command and control is in Echo. Lemming Squad will advance from the docking airlock near Alpha. Then, clear your way down each section until you find who you’re looking for.”
“We? What about you?” Baedarsust asked. “Are you not joining us?”
“I’ll be with Maurice’s backup team of Republic Marines ready to bail you out externally if anything goes wrong.”
“Oh. It’s that kind of mission.”
“Yes, that kind of mission. So keep your eyes peeled. This is your target: Tristan Paquet,” she pointed at a picture on the screen. “Take him alive… but… if you don’t, get him back to the shuttle for a brain scan as quickly as you can. Remember: for a neural interrogation, you are only allowed to ask questions relating to imminent threats, but anything else that comes up in his mind is fair game. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, LT.”
She shot him a more serious look. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, LT, we are capable of understanding subtext. What are the other rules of engagement on this one?” Baedarsust asked.
“It’s still a civilian freighter, so there’s no reason not to be gentle. But keep your guard up. This is a high value target mission. If you see a weapon in someone’s hands, defend yourselves. A jury will understand.”
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POV: Carla Bauernschmidt, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Captain)
The bridge monitored the progress of the Malgeir Marines as they docked with the spacecraft and began searching through the messy interiors of the cargo modules.
“Captain, Lemming Squad just cleared Section Alpha,” Speinfoent reported from his console.
“Good,” Carla said.
Speinfoent continued, “The Marines are saying we might lose them in the next section. It’s apparently heavily shielded.”
“Put them on the main speaker,” she ordered. “What’s your status, Lemmings?”
Baedarsust’s voice came through the bridge’s sound system. “We are entering the airlock for Section Bravo. It looks like they’ve got some kind of heavy hull shielding. We sent in a small camera drone first and immediately lost the signal. Now we’re going in and clearing it manually.”
Carla wrinkled her nose, looking at her bridge officers. “Is that… wise? And hull shielding on a civilian cargo ship? Isn’t that… a little suspicious?”
“They don’t have much choice, Captain,” one of her navigators said as he shook his head. “A lot of these trans-planetary cargo ships have one or two shielded sections for keeping expensive goods safe from radiation in deep space. Intelligence chips, medical equipment, things like that…”
“Ah, I see. Thank you, lieutenant.” She turned to the sensor station. “Keep a close eye on the section. If anything unexpected happens in there, tell the backup team to get on the section hull and blow their way in.”
Baedarsust’s voice came back on the bridge. “Airlock cycled, entering Section Bravo. Looks clear so far, just… messy… boxes…” His voice trailed off into static.
“We’ve lost their signal… as expected,” Beth reported.
They waited a few minutes.
“Should it take this long to clear this section?” Carla asked nervously.
Aida speculated, “They should be done soon—”
“Ahh— they’re over there!” Baedarsust’s voice came back on the radio, with sounds of gunfire in the background. “Suppress them!”
Carla stood up from her command chair. “Are you alright?”
The shooting became more distant, but the evident panic in Baedarsust’s voice did not. “We’ve retreated back into the previous airlock for now. They shot one of my men— he’s bleeding into his lungs! I’m going to try to get him back to the shuttle for evac.”
“The shooters?” Carla asked urgently. “Are they with—”
“At least six of them, heavily armed and armored! Maybe a robot too. They’re still all in there! See if you can fire a few rounds into them from the ship!”
Carla looked at the gunnery section. “Weapons, target Section Bravo with the thirty-five-mil, and open a hole in the warehouse module for our backup—”
“Hold that order, Captain!” Uintrei said from her station, standing up as well. “Can you play the last few messages back without the translation?”
Carla nodded her permission to halt the order, and Beth did as she asked. Baedarsust’s voice came out of the speakers again in his native Malgeirish.
“Is something wrong?” Carla asked as it played.
Beth frowned. “Something seems off about their Malgeirish.”
Uintrei nodded. “Lungs. We don’t have lungs. We have one lung. I’ve had to correct Terrans many times about this. The Malgeirish word he’s using is different and unnatural in this context.”
“Like if we were to use the plural form of fish,” Beth explained helpfully.
The Malgeir officer continued, “And one of his… men: that wording’s a little anachronistic in the original Malgeirish; the Head Pack Leader would never say that with a female member on his squad. These are basic mistakes you would get from a poor-quality translator fed into one of your fake voice generators. I don’t think that’s really Baedarsust.”
Carla thought for a second, then pressed a button on her radio controls, “Gamma Leader Baedarsust, which one of your Marines is injured?”
“What does it matter?! Just open fire on them or we won’t be here in a moment!” came the reply in the Malgeir Marine’s voice.
Carla let go of a sigh of relief, then looked calmly at Beth. “Did you— where did that signal come—”
“It’s not from the Bravo. It’s from Section Echo, in the crew command bridge,” the electronic warfare officer replied immediately. She turned red. “I should have noticed they were on the open channel and not on our—”
Carla got back on the headset, “Get off the comm, asshole.”
There was nothing on the radio for a few seconds.
Another voice cut through the static — this time a Terran’s rough speech in his native French. “How did you figure it out, jackboot?”
“If you try that one again, you better be in an EVA suit, because we’re blowing your whole section to vacuum,” Carla snarled.
“Alright, alright, geez. Someone can’t take a little practical joke. We won’t harm your alien pets, we promise.”
A minute later, Baedarsust’s voice appeared again in the speakers. “Hello? We’ve just finished clearing Section Bravo. Nobody is here. We are now in the airlock to Charlie.”
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Beth verified the signal’s location on her console, “That’s our Lemmings. The real ones this time.”
“Whew,” Carla said. “I’m glad you guys are okay.”
“Why? Did something happen while we were in there?”
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Carla entered the Crete’s temporary brig, flanked by Aida and Baedarsust with their weapons held tensely at the ready.
“Tristan Paquet,” Carla said as she pulled up a chair to the restrained prisoner.
“You can’t hold me here without charges,” he protested. “What about my lawyer? I want my phone call.”
“You’ll get it. But first, we have a few hours to question you,” Carla pointed out.
“I’m not telling you anything without a lawyer. And when I get a lawyer,” he pointed a finger at her and Baedarsust viciously. “I’m going to sue the Navy. Violating my rights! Sending a bunch of animals after me! Excessive use of force is what this is! And— and— and malicious prosecution and—”
Baedarsust protested, “We barely touched you!”
Carla ignored him, pulling the picture of the Ace of Hearts up on her tablet. “Recognize her?”
Tristan crossed his arms, refusing to even look at the image. “I told you: I’m not talking.”
“You sure?”
“I want my phone call!”
“Alright, suit yourself. If you don’t want to talk to us, you don’t want to talk to us,” Carla said, sighing as she packed up her items and scooted back in her chair. “That is your right, after all.”
“Wait, that’s it?” Tristan asked incredulously.
“Yeah, we’ll drop you off back on your ship right now,” Carla said.
“That’s… alright, that’s cool. I guess I won’t sue you then.”
Carla turned to Aida dramatically. “Oh yeah, send a message to Cassini Base and have them relay it to Atlas via FTL.”
“What do I tell them?” Aida asked.
Carla pretended to think for a second. “Subject highly cooperative. Told us everything we wanted to know. We’ve located the high value target.”
“Wait, what?” Tristan objected. “I’m not cooperating with nobody.”
Carla continued as if she didn’t hear him. “Subject requires urgent witness protection due to fear of—”
“No I don’t! I’m no Rep collaborator!”
“Yeah, you’ve said that,” Carla sighed loudly. “I know that. You know that. But your Resistance buddies on your ship listening to our messages in the clear — they don’t know that. And they certainly will have some questions for you when we also send over this file.”
She hit a button to play a recording on her tablet. It was in Tristan’s voice. “Yeah, you got me. Look, I don’t want any trouble. I’ll tell you what you want to know about her. I just want the bounty payment amount—”
“Hold on, hold on,” Tristan waved his hands. “That’s not me!”
“What’s the matter, Tristan? Afraid of your own people? Surely the Resistance won’t do anything stupid, like try to make an example of a suspected collaborator or anything on something as flimsy as a falsifiable audio recording?”
“No, no. You can’t do this,” Tristan said, panicking. “That’s not my voice— it is my voice, but it’s a fake! I didn’t say that! This is wrong! It’s entrapment!”
“Hey, you’re the one who tried to screw around with fake voices first. Gave me the idea in the first place. And we’re not entrapping you with anything. You are a free man. From us, anyway.”
He crossed his arms. “They’ll be able to tell. Verify it. Everyone knows about the fake voices thing. And they’ll— they’ll know,” he said semi-confidently, almost as if he was trying to reassure himself.
“Maybe,” Carla said, shrugging. “On the other hand, it sounds like a pretty good imitation, doesn’t it? And things are tense out there, aren’t they? All our raids going on in the Red Zone. You think the Resistance is going to give you due process and presumption of innocence? Maybe you’ll get real lucky, Tristan.”
Tristan didn’t say anything, just look down at the floor.
“And even if they don’t believe the recording, they won’t totally believe you either. Whatever happens here today, your life as a Red Zone businessman is over.”
Tristan was a defeated man, and he knew it. Reputation was everything out here in the Red Zone, and well— it wasn’t like he was known for being particularly trustworthy before this. There were rumors in the vents about how he got released early into his short prison stint; they weren’t true, and he had enough connections in the Resistance to shut those people up, but the questions were there…
He buried his head in his hands. “If I tell you what you want to know, you’ll release me?”
“Sure,” Carla grinned. “We were going to do that anyway. Your ship’s right there. We’ll give you a ride back any time you want.”
“And not try to get me killed?” he added, giving her a dirty stare.
“Depends on how useful your information is.”
“Fine,” he said, pointing at the Ace of Heart’s picture on Carla’s tablet. “I do know who that is. And I know where she is.”
Carla sat up. “Where she is, right now?”
He held out a palm. “Hold on, hold on. What do I get?”
“We’ll release you, no charges or tricks. You can tell your friends on the ship we were just harassing you for your smuggling past. We’ll even issue you a small fine for impersonating a Marine officer. Which you deserve.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t care. You said bounty. I want a reward. The full bounty. 25 million credits.”
Carla snorted. “Keep dreaming.”
“Fine, ten million. Once you catch her, fake messages or not, the Resistance is coming after me and my ship. I need that money to get lost.”
Aida cut in. “Five, and only if we get her. Take it or leave it.”
Carla glanced up at her and shrugged in agreement.
“Seven million?” Tristan asked hopefully.
“Five.”
“We can compromise at six.”
“Did you not hear me right the first time?”
He hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Fine. Five million Rep credits.”
“If you tell us exactly where she is. Now. No more delaying.”
“Alright. Deal. I’m one of her couriers. She calls me, I give her a ride. She pays me with an account on Titan through the—”
“Yeah, don’t care. Where is she now?”
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GALILEO-4, SATURN (0.4 LS)
POV: Ambre Martin, Terran (Republic Most Wanted #3)
Ambre Martin woke up as her morning wake-up alarm started to sound.
She checked her tablet as she brushed her teeth and cleaned her face in the kitchen sink of her tiny residential apartment.
No messages.
Ambre was not expecting any. It was just a routine. Routine was good… according to her doctor anyway.
She browsed to the news. Another day, another Republic Marine raid in the Red Zone. Jackboots shot a hole into a mining station, killing six Resistance operatives and nine innocent bystanders.
Good. The more that die for the righteous cause of the Resistance, the more that will rally support in the Free Zone.
A raid on Titan found a weapons and munitions cache.
What else is new? They’re getting closer to the Ace of Clubs though. She really needs to be more careful with her weapons and ships.
Ambre packed up her tablet and walked out of her apartment. Her neighbor was just coming home from work. The young man.
“Good morning, Ms. Maben,” he smiled at her.
“Morning, Carlos. How is your fiancée?” she chuckled.
He blushed. “Oh, she’s doing well. We loved the apple pie you hand-baked for us last week. Do you need the plate back right now? I can go get it.”
“No, no. That’s alright. I have so many plates,” Ambre reassured him. “Another time is fine. You must be tired from your night shift.”
“I’m good, I’m good. Uh… Ms. Maben. Do you need help getting to the clinic?”
She waved away his assistance. “I know my way around. I’ve been on stations like this one since before you were born!”
“I’m sure you have, Ms. Maben.”
She pointed to the new ring on his finger. “And when are we getting Missus Carlos, huh?”
He blushed. “Oh, we’re still setting a date. Things are busy around work. And there’s just so much going on, you know?”
She smiled genuinely at him. “Alright, alright. Go get some sleep, young man. You’ll thank me for that advice when you get to my age.”
He laughed and thanked her as he waved her bye.
Ambre slowly made her way towards the station clinic, watching people pass by along the way. Just going about their daily lives.
All these young people. People with no idea of how things were before the Republic began to take the Free Zone seriously.
No Rep taxes. No contraband inspections. No outsiders telling us what we can or can’t do. And my sons were still alive—
They will see one day. They will all see. And it will all be worth it.
The door to the clinic opened automatically for Ambre as she approached and entered. As usual, there was no line or wait.
“Ms. Maben, right this way.”
She followed the nurse into the examination room to an unfamiliar face. It was a new doctor. A young woman she didn’t know.
She frowned. “Where is Dr. Claude?”
The new doctor pointed to her tablet. “Dr. Claude is not here today. But don’t worry. We’ve got your therapy medications here. Can you lie down on the table and relax for me?”
Ambre laid down on the ergonomic examination table. “Is Dr. Claude okay? She is never late for me.”
“She’s fine. Just had something else come up today,” the new doctor reassured her. She placed a medical inhaler gently over Ambre’s face. “Take a deep breath.”
She took a deep breath as the machine pumped for a couple seconds. It tasted like apple pie.
“Is it her grandfather? Dr. Claude said he’s getting up there in age, and she’s worried he might get the same thing I have if he keeps visiting her brother at the inner gas mines without wearing the safety equipment she bought him.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to worry,” the doctor smiled down at her. “How are you feeling, Ms. Maben?”
She looked at the doctor’s cheerful face and sat up.
Something is wrong.
“I’m sorry. Do I know you?” she asked.
“Yes, I am taking care of you for today,” the familiar-looking doctor’s smile back was unnatural, almost forced.
Ambre stared at her skeptically. “No, from somewhere else. I feel like I’ve seen your face before.”
“That’s unlikely. I am new to the clinic.”
New to the clinic? And Dr. Claude—
That set off even more alarm bells in her head.
“I need to go. I need to go,” Ambre said repeatedly. She got off the examination table, and slowly ambled towards the clinic door.
Something is very wrong.
She felt dizzy. Like she was on an old ship with a malfunctioning inertial compensator.
Her legs wobbled, and a pair of steady hands caught her from behind as she fell into unconsciousness.
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Ambre came to on a standard hospital bed with no memory of how she got there. That was not unusual. Part of the trouble of getting old with neurodegenerative issues caused by being born in high radiation and low gravity from the shoddy stations back in the day…
What was unusual was one of her wrists was zip-tied to her bed.
She sat up, grunting, trying to free her right hand.
“Ah, she’s awake,” a woman in the room said, smiling at her like a shark as she walked up towards her bed. Ambre took a closer look at her face. It was an older face, with more wrinkles and regret. Much more recognizable than that young woman at the clinic.
Ambre sighed, lying back into her bed in resignation. “Of course. I should have known this was you. Only you would come up with a plan quite as convoluted as this instead of a bullet to the back of the head, Lieutenant Commander.”
“We couldn’t risk damaging your precious brain,” Amelia said, amused. “And it’s admiral now. I caught so many of you assholes back in the day they promoted me. Quite a few times too.”
“Your reward for being a good little collaborator, huh?” the Resistance Ace taunted. “Moving up in the galaxy and forgetting where you came from.”
“You’re not. Only thing that’s changed about you is this new face you’ve got. Still stuck in the same old place, fighting the same idiotic cause, with the same bloodthirsty psychos. Not many career advancement opportunities as an Ace of the Resistance, are there?”
Ambre rolled over in the bed as much as her restrained wrist would allow her. “At least I’m fighting for something, Rep. You? Just here to gloat before they send me to Neu-Nuremburg? For old time’s sake?”
“Oh, no,” Amelia said. “You are much too useful to send to prison. At least for now. First, you’re going to tell us everything you know about the Resistance.”
She snorted at the admiral, “I don’t think so. What are you going to do? Threaten me with more prison time? Some deal to cut my sentence so I can get out in time to die from this stupid brain disease? Pour water over my nose until I talk? Pfft. You’ve got nothing on me, Rep. Nothing!”
“See, the thing is… things have changed quite a bit from our day. All this technology,” Amelia said, rolling her eyes dramatically as she waved her arms around. “Kids these days take it all for granted. And not knowing all the precious things they’ve lost. For instance, the expectation that the secrets that are in our head will remain ours forever…”