The Hidden Prophet: Starship Fairfax Book 2 - The Kuiper Chronicles Read online

  “I will. Thank you for your time, Captain.”

  On their way back to the bridge, Lucas motioned for Jan to walk beside him. “Alright kid, who did you recognize?”

  “Um, wow, man, who didn’t I recognize, Sir? There was Sharky, of course.”

  “Sharky’s a player?”

  “He’s smalltime, more of an info source than a player, if you know what I mean. His boy Max. Also smalltime, does collections for some of the casinos sometimes. But then you got guys in there like Tracey Kipper, and Bobby Rush, and Rory Falmoth, all mid-level gangsters in the Amsel Brother’s family establishment, sort of the old-guard mafia family based out of Rust.”

  “I’m familiar. Any family in there?”

  “Yeah,” the kid said, disbelief in his voice. “An Amsel and a Holub. Ronald and Porgy. Who would’ve guessed, right? Hey, are you really gonna not turn them in for any kind of bounty? Cause Captain, I gotta tell ya, we would be sitting pretty. I mean, if you mean to keep your word and protect these guys, we can only hope the Rome Eater people don’t catch a whiff that they’re here, cause if they do, these guys are goners. It’ll mean an all-out assault on the Fairfax, cargo or no cargo. There are blood-feuds, family wars, and massive payouts here. It’s a perfect storm.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  ---

  “Captain, you’ve healed so beautifully!” Cyclops grinned on the viewscreen. Lucas managed to keep from glaring at the comment.

  “Thank you, Cyclops. I see we’ve entered Earth space and are slowing. I await new orders regarding the cargo on my ship.”

  “Ah ah, on my ship, which I stole from you and let you borrow on loan to do your job. Don’t forget who’s loading the guns now, Captain.”

  “Of course, Cyclops.”

  “You will be boarded by a trio of small freighters from the convoy. They will take the cargo from you.”

  Lucas blinked. “We aren’t going to make the delivery?”

  “The situation has changed, as you may have noticed. We have more than enough ships here to do business ourselves.”

  “I have noticed. Why the fleet, anyway? And why the attacks on Ceres and Mars? I thought you didn’t want anything but your own little patch of space.”

  Cyclops’ one eye narrowed. “I’m afraid the answers are above your paygrade, Captain. Don’t worry yourself about them. You have a new mission, anyway. Once the cargo has been offloaded, you’ll receive my next instructions.” The feed ended.

  “Clear as Martian mud,” Lucas muttered.

  “Ships requesting docking on hangar deck,” Jeffrey announced.

  “Thank you, Jeffrey,” Lucas said dryly. “Please confirm their Rome Inc. IDs, and dock them.”

  “IDs confirmed. Ships docking now.”

  A few seconds later, Cyclops reappeared on the screen. “Oh, and one more thing, Captain, now that my ships have docked and my cargo is being loaded.” He grinned. “I’ll also be taking those Ceres refugees you have stowed away in the belly of my ship. I believe they’ll find accommodations much more to their liking over here.”

  “Jeffrey!” Lucas looked at the ceiling, as if speaking to the Fairfax. “What did you do?”

  “Surprisingly,” Jeffrey said, “I’m not the one who told.”

  A familiar man, pale and with a slight frame, appeared onscreen beside Cyclops. The man from the Ceres bombing.

  Lucas groaned inwardly.

  “You made a good run of it, Captain,” he said. “But I told you they were mine. And now they are.”

  Chapter 26

  Ada hadn’t slept a wink. She’d lain in bed, running scenarios and trying to understand the purpose of the cargo contents. War was all she could come up with. Umbrador’s video message, and her dying words, echoed in her mind. The end of the world. Sue for peace, not war.

  She derided herself for beginning to trust Lucas and his crew. Of course they were in on the whole thing, and had played her for a fool. Why else would they be so gung-ho about plunging so far into the inner system? She didn’t buy his duty malarkey. Maybe some of his confusion was genuine, or maybe he was just a consummate actor. It didn’t matter. Either way they were delivering a super weapon into the hands of a crime syndicate that had committed mass genocide just days before, and proven themselves ruthless in their methods and inexhaustible in their resources. She didn’t know how, but she had to stop it from happening.

  She was crouching in the back of the adjacent cargo bay, one that held a few odds and ends other than the blue tubs, behind a row of copper coils. Another time, she might have inspected the wire, wondering at the ingenuity to think to use wired power when the Fairfax had lost wireless power functions after being attacked by Brant. Now, they were merely her cover, while she subvocalized with Moses, getting a readout on her device of lifeform activity on the hangar deck.

  As she watched the dots flurry around from bay to ship and back, a plan began to form. It wasn’t a good plan, she admitted to herself. Chances of her own survival seemed slim. Somehow that thought didn’t dissuade her. She was worn thin these days, beaten up by too much pain, too many disappointments. She would miss Crush, she thought wistfully. And Joyce. And Moses, and her dream of flying around the system in Cupid, carefree. But it had only ever been a dream. There was really nothing for her here, and had been nothing for her at home since she had left.

  Silently, she asked her father for his forgiveness. If he was alive, she may be leaving him to capture or torture. If dead, she was certainly leaving without getting justice. But she knew that if there was a chance he could have stopped a system-wide war and saved millions, probably billions of lives, by laying his own life on the line, he would have done it in a heartbeat. He had done it every day, working for the Blade.

  Besides. If she died, she would be with Raya.

  It was difficult to empty the tub. More difficult still to hide its contents. But in a few minutes she was laying curled up in a fetal position inside. She held her multitool up to the side and thought. “Moses, is there a way you can punch a couple of holes in this thing so I can breathe?”

  “I think so. Hold still a moment.”

  The device in her hand warmed, and a series of short, controlled bursts emanated from the small-arms blaster. Ada lifted the lid over her head and dropped it into place, then called up the code once more from Umbrador’s data stick to activate the lock.

  She waited.

  Sometime later the noise of men shifting the tubs about grew closer, and, finally, they lifted her.

  She held her hands to the sides, trying to steady herself. Abruptly, the motion stopped.

  “This one feel different to you?” a voice said.

  “Yeah. Lighter, I think. Hang on.” They set her back down and tried to open the tub. “No good, all locked up. Well, not our place to worry, I suppose.” They lifted her again.

  She felt them set the tub down once more, and then roll her away through the cargo bay and out onto the long hangar deck.

  “Last one,” someone yelled from over her. The cart sped down the length of the deck. Ada bit her lips together, fighting the urge to vomit, and banged her forehead into the side of the tub as it came to a stop. She closed her eyes and focused on slowing her breath.

  The sound of the hatch hissing shut marked the end of human voices. She counted backward from one hundred. The ship lifted and moved forward. Ada called up Moses and ran the lock code, then braced her arms and legs against the lid and pushed.

  Nothing happened.

  Her heart began beating faster, and suddenly it felt like there was no air left in the tub. They’d stacked another on top of her. Maybe more than one. She couldn’t possibly lift them from inside; they were far too heavy. Now she was stuck until either she suffocated or was discovered by the druglords, and they would still get their precious cargo.

  She cursed. Not today.

  With nothing left to lose, she began to rock against the sides of the tub. Soon she was throwing herself,
as hard as she could, with what little leverage she could muster. The tub wiggled. Another rock, and it swayed. Ada gained hope and rocked furiously. The tub tilted and careened down, the lid slipping off as it fell to the side. She rolled out quickly and ran into another stack of tubs, but managed to avoid being crushed by the two that toppled over from the stack she had escaped.

  “Alright, Moses. Time to work some magic.” She opened another crate and stared down at the thing inside. It was grotesque, a near perfect replica of the nano-bot Doctor Saran had shown her, but on a scale many times larger. There was no way its purpose was healing.

  She reached a hand into the crate and felt all around it for a port or console, grimacing as her hands run under its belly and over its many legs. “Moses, are you able to detect the object I’m touching right now?”

  “Affirmative. The machine is cycling just enough power to run, but is below a cold threshold. An acceptable analog might be mammalian hibernation.”

  “Don’t poke the bear,” Ada muttered to herself. “Are you able to detect any kind of programming? Is there an operating computer?”

  “The nature of the hardware suggests expansive computing support, but without waking it up, there is no way to know exactly what is being supported.”

  “Hmm.”

  She took a deep breath. No backing out now.

  “Can you wake it?”

  “I can attempt to generate extra wireless power from your multitool and feed it to the machine. This may or may not be enough to trigger it past the threshold.”

  “Do it.”

  “It will also likely kill power to your multitool.”

  “Will I still be able to communicate with you? Is my earpiece synced to Cupid or the tool right now?”

  “We will be able to communicate as long as you stay in range. But none of the Rome Inc ships likely to take this cargo are within that range. I estimate another three minutes of contact.”

  She blew out her breath. “Understood. Do it now.”

  The multitool grew hot in her hand, and she set it down on the lip of the open tub. It emitted a piercing high frequency that rose until she could no longer hear it, only feel it as a rising pressure in her head. Then it was gone.

  A minute passed.

  “Moses?” She picked up the multitool. As predicted, it was dead. “Moses, are you with me?”

  His voice sputtered in her ear. “Ada… …stimate was wrong. Range now… …for contact.” He broke up into nothing, leaving Ada alone.

  Another minute.

  An energy filled the cargo hold, like static electricity clinging to the air. Ada held her breath and listened. A low hum ramped up to a quiet whir, and running lights flared on from along the sides of the machine’s body. An emotionless voice spoke into the darkness.

  “We are hive. We await orders from the lawgiver.”

  Ada sat back against the stack of tubs, her mouth hanging open. The message repeated.

  Orders from the lawgiver.

  “Moses?” she subvocalized.

  “We are hive. We await orders from the lawgiver.”

  Chapter 27

  “Won’t they just set off another EMP?” Tompkins asked, charging up his blaster rifle. “Seems like that’s been their MO so far.”

  “Maybe,” Lucas said. “But I don’t think so; it would fry their cargo shuttles’ nav. Catch.” He tossed him a blasting pistol. “All hands on deck, kid. If we make a big enough show of force, maybe nobody has to get hurt.”

  “Seems counterintuitive to me,” Tompkins muttered as he holstered the pistol, “but you’re the captain.”

  “Don’t forget it.” He moved toward the hangar doors.

  They were standing on the deck, waiting for the mid-sized military transport shuttles to dock. Rome had send them over as soon as the cargo had left the hangar, expecting to find the Ceres survivors ready to be loaded. If they thought Lucas was going to hand over the last surviving refugees from the bombing, they had another thing coming. He didn’t care how bad the baddest mafia baddie among them was. Rome had shown itself to be the baddest, and this was where Lucas drew the line.

  “But, Sir.” Tompkins trotted after him. “Even if we do manage to convince them to take their transports and shove them, so to speak, and we get to keep all our passengers, what happens next? Won’t they just shoot us out of the sky?”

  “Not if we have their cargo.” Lucas smiled.

  “Ahh.” Tompkins spun around, looking at the others. “Am I missing something?”

  “Don’t worry, kid,” Lucas said. “Now get your guns ready. We need every man.”

  “And about that, Sir. Where are all the usual suspects? I don’t see Randall, or Mulligan, or the onetime love of my life, Lieutenant Blue Eyes. Shouldn’t they be the ones standing here?”

  It was true—the usual suspects were all absent. Lucas had to fill out his ranks with untested privates, a couple of Mulligan’s security boys, and whoever could be spared from Adams. Even Jan stood with a blaster pistol in each hand, doing his best to look fearsome and imposing.

  “Just do you.” Lucas patted Tompkins on the back and faced forward.

  The outer bay days opened, and the transport shuttles eased into the airlock. After the air cycled, a small squad of grunts ran down the hatches and formed into lines, facing Lucas’ men. Behind them, a familiar slight, pale man ambled out of the central ship. He took one look at Lucas and smiled.

  “Well, well, Captain! A pleasure to finally be with you in the flesh. And where are my onboarding passengers? Tisk, tisk.” He shook his head, pouting. “You haven’t brought them here at all. Instead, you’ve brought… men… of your own, with every so many pretty little guns. Oh!” His eyes popped open. “Are we going to have a party?”

  The sound of blasters charging echoed through the deck. “Get down!” Lucas screamed. His men dropped to their bellies as the grunts shot a volley over their heads. The little man laughed.

  Lucas glanced up and to his sides. No one was hit; it had been a warning. “If your men get another shot off,” he yelled, “you’ll never see your cargo.”

  The man’s smile fell. “What are you talking about? The cargo’s away. It’s already in our hands. You don’t have any cards here, Captain!”

  “I think you’ll find you’re mistaken.”

  The outer doors slid open again, and all three Rome Inc. freight shuttles landed snugly beside the transports. The man turned, watching in consternation as Caspar, Mulligan, Darren, and Randall all leapt down to the deck from the ships.

  “What’s this?” he said. “What are you playing, Captain? You know you can’t get away with—with—you’re surrounded!” He began flinging spittle. “You’re hopelessly outnumbered and surrounded, and you will comply!”

  “Charges are set, Sir.” Caspar waved a salute as she jogged onto the main hangar deck.

  “Charges??”

  “It’s simple,” Lucas said. “You want the last of the Ceres survivors. I’m saying no. You’re going to get back on your ships and leave without them, because if you don’t, we’re going to destroy your cargo.”

  “You—you—” His pale face was beginning to look like an eggplant. “You’ll never get away from us, you know that, don’t you? We will hound you across the entire system! We will chase you into the sun itself if we have to!”

  Lucas shrugged. “I’m waiting.”

  The man stood quivering for a moment, then turned in a huff and boarded his ship. The grunts followed.

  Back on the bridge, Lucas asked for a split tactical and panoramic cam view onscreen. He watched as the transports made their way back to a lurking battleship. After a minute, Cyclops came through on a livefeed.

  “I’m very disappointed in you, Captain,” he said. “I thought we could do business. But now I begin to understand you.”

  “We’re leaving,” Lucas said. “If you pursue, we will blow your cargo, one tub at a time. Leave us alone, the cargo stays intact.”

  Cyc
lops sneered. “And how will we retrieve it once you’ve left Earth space?”

  “We’ll leave it in the belt for you. On what remains of Geta-4. That’s where we picked it up, that’s where we’ll drop it off, and we’ll be square.” He was finished worrying about Taurius and the summit on Pluto. He needed to get back to Fleet headquarters, back to the Council of Kuiper, and make a report, before things in the inner system got out of control even for the Empire.

  “That sounds very reasonable,” Cyclops said. “But no. Turn about, Captain. Try to run from us now. I think you’ll find it difficult.” He smirked, and the feed ended.

  “Cryptic,” Caspar muttered.

  “Par for the course.” Lucas enlarged the tactical readout as Randall brought them facing away from the caravan. Tactical lit up with a sea of dots. Lucas stood, staring at the screen, dumbfounded. A wall of Earth Empire battleships hemmed them in all the way to the edges of the Rome Inc. caravan. They were truly surrounded.

  “Guns and missiles locked onto us,” Jeffrey said.

  “Which ones?”

  Beep. “All of them.”

  Jan cleared his throat. “Game over.”

  Epilogue

  Caspar watched Lucas and the others leave the hangar deck, heading for the bridge. Someone had to stay behind and clean up the mess. Apparently everyone else had forgotten they had set explosive charges on cargo shuttles inside their own airlock.

  Or maybe they thought she’d been bluffing. She quirked her mouth. Why bluff when you had the goods?

  She’d mounted the three to the exterior hulls, and it didn’t take long to deactivate them. She paused before leaving. What was all the fuss about? Worth more than the value of Holub and Amsel bounties combined? Her wheels started turning, and she imagined herself opening one of the tubs to discover a fortune in Prophet right under their noses, hidden once more on the Fairfax this whole time. She crossed around to the back of one of the ships and opened the hatch.