Drysine Legacy (The Spiral Wars Book 2) (26 page)

“Right, stay up against the inner wall, you’re going to have to run it,” Crozier said, indicating up the dock with one arm. “Can’t spare a vehicle at the moment. Beware of falling debris, we’ve got good cover on the floors above you but be careful of the lower deck trapdoors, we’ve blasted a couple of them but there may be more. That was how the fuckers were getting up beneath us before — you good?”

“Good sir!” said Penn.

“Go!” And Vijay grabbed Lisbeth and they set off running once more, negotiating about a jeep coming the other way up the inner wall, with empty stretchers on the back. They must have been evacuating remaining wounded via the jeeps, Lisbeth thought — thus they had none available for those who could move themselves. No doubt the wounded spacer would be brought back that way.

Lisbeth wanted to grab Skah’s hand, but the little kuhsi was running far more easily than her, dodging bits of fallen wreckage on the decking… and here ahead, wedged into the devastated remains of a shopfront, a huge insectoid hulk, shredded and holed at least sixty times to be sure, legs protruding at broken, ungainly angles. Skah stared as he ran — they all did… and ducked as something new shrieked and whistled behind. Missiles, as heavy sections unleashed more firepower on the upper levels, then huge thuds as the whole rim seemed to shake, and a storm of wreckage came falling down.

On the deck plating before Berth 19 lay a stream of dropped things — duffel bags, shoes, uniform caps. Amidst them, smearing the decking, were bloodstains.
Phoenix
crew, running from the accommodation block, must have been caught in the open. Oh god.

Her lungs were burning from the effort as Berth 18 appeared ahead, up against the lowered section seal that blocked off the entire dock from the under-construction rim on the far side. More vehicles here were leaving, and marines were thick in the inner-rim corridors to her right — there was less firing at the upper levels, and Lisbeth guessed they had marines occupying those levels physically, to avoid any direct threat to the
Phoenix
berth.

Skah took off on a diagonal across the docks to reach the Berth, and Vijay yelled at him, then Lance Corporal Penn. Skah looked back, and saw them gesturing to keep along the inner wall, which he did reluctantly. The middle of the dock, far away from cover, was where the bloodstains were. They passed a mangled and bloodied armour suit, broken open and its occupant removed. And on the right, another corridor and some barabo dockworkers, terrified and begging the marines blocking the way. Another marine, limping in his damaged suit, waving off assistance with his visor up and determined pain on his face.

They ran until directly opposite the berth, then were waved in by marines there, covering behind vehicles and empty ammo boxes. One of them stood out, yelling orders, surrounded by a small group that ran to and from, conveying messages verbally now that coms weren’t working. Several were aiming armour-mounted lasers up the curving dock — lasercom, Lisbeth realised, allowing some distance communication until the station curve blocked it. There was no affirmation from Major Thakur as Skah or Lisbeth passed, just more orders, and an attitude of general displeasure, all expression hidden behind the fearsome armoured visor. But Lisbeth was incredibly relieved to see her, because she’d been on the Worlder ship with Erik, and if she was back safe, no doubt Erik was as well.

She stopped to gasp for air at the ramp, and Vijay walked with her. Skah kept running into the main airlock, and that was fine, onboard he was safe and knew where to go — doubtless now to find his mother.

“Thanks Corporal,” Vijay said to Penn. “How are the others?”

“Bernie’s dead,” Penn said grimly. “Herman’s hurt bad, I left Ruiz to guard them with the Echo Platoon reinforcements. Gotta go.” He turned and left, first to report to the Major, then no doubt to find his section once more. He’d left them to come after her, Lisbeth realised. There was no harder thing for any marine leader to do, particularly with wounded — but he’d been tasked to protect her, and the reinforcements had arrived to take care of his casualties. Had that not happened, Lisbeth was pretty sure he’d not have come at all… and she, Skah and the spacer whose name she still didn’t know, would be dead.

“
L
C
,”
came Trace’s voice on coms,
“I can give you a two minute warning for departure! I’ve still got some stragglers coming in, but we are two minutes to go!”
The engineers had been out on the dock under fire, physically laying cable so
Phoenix
could talk to her marines. Still they were mystified as to how
all
the coms were being jammed, with explanations that ranged from unseen new jamming tech to full corruption of Joma Station’s wired and wireless systems with viruses or nanomites. Erik wasn’t particularly interested — he just needed to talk to Trace without having to physically send runners sprinting through the corridors.

“Tell me the moment we are clear to leave.”

“Aye sir, we also have about a hundred barabo stationers requesting evacuation. It’ll take another thirty seconds, we’ve got them bunched up ready to go.”

“Helm, can we fit them?”

“Aye sir,” said Shahaim, fully fastened into her chair, hands on sticks with full systems displays racing across her lowered visor. “We can fit them.”

“Major, that’s a go with the barabo.”

“Aye sir.”
It was probably a dumb move, Erik thought, but it wasn’t a dangerous one, and he didn’t have time to second guess himself right now. Up the right end of the bridge, Second Lieutenant Harris was exchanging terse conversation with Second Lieutenant Corrig from second-shift, who was filling in for Lieutenant Karle on Arms. Every few seconds
Phoenix
’s closer range cannons hammered away, and defensive anti-missiles destroyed incoming hacksaw warheads. The damage they could do to
Phoenix
was minimal, with most of their numbers concentrated inside the station, but if they missed an incoming drone, and that drone found a soft spot on the outer hull and started cutting, things could get real interesting real fast. PH-3 and 4 were holding position off
Phoenix
’s stern and adding their own firepower and perspective to anything coming at the ship
.

“Scan, status on those inbound marks.”

“Sir, all five are still in combat formation,” Geish replied. “They have marginally gained V, ETA now twenty-two minutes to station intercept.” Those marks had appeared on scan just before Erik had arrived back on
Phoenix
. Now the game was clear — the station ambush to try and bog
Phoenix
down, get her tied up in station operations, recovering crew off the dock and unable to immediately withdraw. And then jump in with the warships. They
looked
like sard, probably the same sard that had tried to kill them earlier — the vector suggested Gala-eighty-eight, their last known location. Only now there were two more of them.

“So we’re just going to leave Joma Station?” Kaspowitz said warily.

“No choice,” said Erik. “Can’t even coordinate a defence with this jamming, and even
Makimakala
doesn’t seem to know where it’s coming from.”

“Four million people on Joma,” Kaspowitz added.

“I know,” Erik said grimly. “Nothing we can do. If the hacksaws are working with the sard, maybe they’ll get withdrawn when these warships arrive.” A big if, with four million lives on station. Local security was relatively unarmed, and hacksaws were relentless. His best guesstimate on observations so far was at least five hundred drones on station, of which they’d killed perhaps fifty. Primarily it was
Phoenix
and
Makimakala
under attack, it didn’t seem as though station bridge or other keypoints were being assaulted… although that might follow once
Phoenix
and
Makimakala
left. “I don’t think they’re after the station, I think they’re after us. Best thing we can do for station is leave.”

“Aye sir,” said Kaspowitz. “I have the escape course locked in, we’ll have to pulse it real close on the gravity slope but it’s doable. Almost no margin whatsoever with our pursuit, it’s going to be tight.”

“Isn’t it always?” Erik muttered, and flipped to the landline again. “Major, we recalculated and we cannot take those barabo stationers, incoming marks are too hot.”

“Aye sir, I’ll keep them out.”

He probably just sentenced them all to die, Erik knew. But
Phoenix
would have to push real hard to make close Rhea orbit and pick up PH-1 ahead of those sard ships. The marines would hit the nearest available acceleration slings, there were plenty along the main-quarter corridor for exactly that purpose… but not enough for a hundred barabo, not before
Phoenix
undocked and got the crew cylinder rotating again, and then finding a hundred spare slings for barabo guests would take more minutes, and get them all killed when the sard arrived. And a 10-G push without acceleration slings would get all the barabo killed anyway. Better to take their chances with the hacksaws, and hope the machines were only interested in killing
Phoenix
. Doubtless the barabo wouldn’t see it that way.

“Sir!” called Geish. “
Makimakala
is leaving! She is pulling back hard.”

“Copy,” said Erik, gazing at his screens and visor overlay holographics. Between them he had a pretty good 3D picture of the space surrounding Joma — most of the ships that could leave had already left, but
Rai Jang
remained in close proximity, just nine-K parallel with her two flanking station defence ships. All three had been closer-in earlier, blasting away at what few hacksaws they could see traversing the outside. With no marine complements, it was all they could do to contribute, but now they’d seen the incoming sard and no doubt wondered if they ought to run as well. With no coms, Erik could not ask their intentions, and all remained on station farside and unreachable by direct lasercom. “Coms, get me lasercom on
Makimakala
as soon as you get line-of-sight.”

“Yessir.”

“LC, we are onboard and locked away!”
Trace said in his ear.
“Clear to depart in ten seconds!”

“Sir,
Makimakala
is attempting lasercom contact!” Shilu called.

“Hatch locked, grapples green,” Shahaim added. “Clear to depart.”

“Nineteen point three, get that fucker,” Harris told Corrig, and weapons thumped as another drone died.

“Standby on lasercom,” Erik told Shilu as his mental countdown from Trace’s mark approached zero. Hit zero, and undocked hard, bow thrusters kicking their heads forward. “Operations, shuttle recovery, the timer is on.”

“Copy LC, shuttle recovery is on the timer.”
Lieutenant Hausler could get back to grapples in less than twenty seconds from here. Erik let
Phoenix
drift back from station, careful not to hit thrust while the shuttles got back aboard.

“Lasercom connect, sir I have
Makimakala
.”

And Shilu put the tavalai warship through without being told.
“Phoenix this is Captain Pram of Makimakala, intentions?”
Damn he spoke good English, Erik thought. Tavalai were always so damn civilised.

“
Makimakala
this is LC Debogande, we have a shuttle on Vola Station with urgent business, we are heading on hard intercept.”

“PH-4 is aboard,”
said Ops — sixteen seconds, holy shit Tif.

“Phoenix we will run cover for you, stay in touch.”

“PH-3 is aboard,”
said Ops — twenty-one seconds, not bad Jersey, she was a little out of practise.

Erik hit the mains with a huge roar that kicked them all back in their seats, 6-Gs and building steadily as the engines warmed. “
Makimakala
thank you for your offer, much appreciated.” As 7-Gs built to 10, and breathing became hard, and speech near-impossible.

“Is that a good idea?”
Shahaim formulated.

“Soon find out,”
Erik formulated back, watching his near-scan holographics, as Joma Station slid by to one side at a steadily accelerating rate. And here came
Makimakala
, following at not quite the thrust — not that she didn’t possess it, Erik suspected, but because she was going to fall back into a cover position.

“Rai Jang just joined us,”
Geish added.

“I see it,”
said Erik.
“Her two buddies as well, so now we have five.”
Five-on-five sounded nearly like a fair fight… except that three of those were light cruisers, and Erik was prepared to bet from their signatures out of jump that all five incoming sard were the same crazy high class that had nearly killed
Phoenix
last time they’d met.
Makimakala
and
Phoenix
together could make a formidable combination, but no human and tavalai warships had ever fought together in all of history, as far as Erik was aware. If you were going to get into a big fight with someone, you’d damn well better know their capabilities, tactics and captain’s personal preferences — and neither warship knew any of that of the other.

D
ale’s marines
took the stairs down from their hotel rooms to the lobby level. In the foyer, where the bar and restaurants were usually crowded with noisy barabo guests, they found instead red-uniformed Vola Station police, all armed and in no mood to let the humans pass. Unfortunately for them, Dale plus his marines made eight, and they were all in heavy armour and weapons, having shared their hotel rooms with it for the past few days.

They formed a short line before the police, as nervous hotel staff backed away, and the small crowd of gawkers on the main strip outside grew larger. Dale lowered his visor, and the overlaid display lit up the cops like bullseyes.
“You no leave!”
the senior cop insisted through his translator mike.
“Order of Stationmaster! You no permission to leave!”

“My warship is coming this way fast,” Dale replied, as his own translator turned it into squawking Palapu. “Either I am on it, or my warship will extract me from this station by force.” The black-furred barabo seemed to swallow hard at that. “You don’t make an enemy of
Phoenix
, friend.
Phoenix
is under wartime alert,
Phoenix
will tear this station apart.”

“Hello Lieutenant Dale,”
crackled PH-1’s com in his ear,
“we have station-confirmed berth at hub number 59, ETA thirty-one minutes, please confirm.”

Dale held up his hand to forestall whatever the barabo cop was saying. “PH-1 this is Dale, I copy hub berth 59 in thirty-one minutes. Request that you change it to a rim berth for convenience, over.”

“Lieutenant we requested that,”
replied Ensign Yu, PH-1’s co-pilot.
“But we’ve just come from the factory and they know we’re carrying a full cargo of missiles. Station rules say no rim docking with ordinance, will ETA be a problem?”

“Not yet,” Dale replied. “I’ll get back to you on that.” He advanced on the cop, powered armour whining and thumping as he raised his Koshaim-20 crosswise before the barabo’s face. “If you fire on us, you will not scratch us. If I fire on you, there will be nothing left. We are leaving.”

He had no desire to fire on poor dumb barabo cops just trying to fulfil some stupid Stationmaster’s order not to let the humans leave the hotel. No doubt that order had something to do with the hooded figure in their midst, with his female staffer companion. Fleet agents must have told Vola Station that Chankow was to be stopped from leaving. Vola Station’s problem was doing something about it.

A loud female voice shouted in Palapu, and Dale looked to see a new officer arriving. Her red uniform was striped and she had short black dreadlocks, tight beneath her uniform cap, and the short trimmed beard that passed for feminine among barabo. The other cops parted for her, and she came right up to the lead barabo cop and shouted at him. Dale’s translator gave him mostly static — either these two were speaking some dialect the translator did not recognise, or they were going at it so hard that Palapu began to sound foreign. On some human stations, Dale had heard angry dockworkers doing that to English.

The officer backed off, and the woman beckoned to Dale. “You come,” she said in English. “Take you to hub fast. Get you shuttle, before you blow many holes in station and station people.” With a glare at Dale’s weapon, before turning to head for the main walk outside. “You come with me, no more trouble with station, yes?”

Dale indicated to his people, and they followed her out, through the bewildered cops and the spectators beyond, and onto the main walk. They made a protective formation about Chankow, the crowd wisely parting before them as the marines kept shoulder-to-shoulder in case of snipers from across the steel canyon to their side. With as many Fleet agents on station as Jokono had warned them of, it seemed very likely that one of them would take a shot at Chankow before he got on PH-1.

Again his uplinks registered an incoming connection.
“Lieutenant Dale, this is the Major, please respond.”
Her voice sounded G-stressed.

“Hello Major,” said Dale with relief. “We’re headed for the station hub now, when we lost contact with
Phoenix
and Joma Station we figured something was wrong and bailed. Slight trouble with the locals, but I think we’ll make the rendezvous.”

“See that you do make the rendezvous, we have incoming sard vessels on our tail, we’re going to be cutting it very fine to make an intercept pickup of PH-1, and then we’re running. We’d do it faster but Vola’s current position is behind Rhea and we can’t manage jump pulse on that gravity slope.”

“Yes Major, we’ll be there. What’s the situation on the coms blackout?”

“Joma Station was attacked by a swarm of hacksaws.”
Dale did not shock easily, but he nearly missed a stride.
“We think they came from one of the ships docked at the rim, or maybe several. No telling who was infested, but if sard could strip Grappler like they did, they could probably do the same to some Joma Station ship and fill it with drones. It looks like sard and hacksaws are working together, Joma’s a complete mess, they targeted Phoenix and Makimakala specifically, we’ve light casualties but it was tight. It’s a whole other bunch of questions to ask Chankow, so we need him alive.”