RECORD LOG 9452779306 – M107 ATLAS TRANSPORT “CHROME”
BRIDGE LOG – AUDIO ONLY
ENSIGN ZAMALLOA: Hey, El-Tee. Coffee?
FLIGHT LIEUTENANT PÖTSCHKE: Hm? Oh, yeah, thanks.
ZAMALLOA: Not that it’s any of my business, sir, but… quiver for your thoughts?
PÖTSCHKE: Oh, come off it, Jon. We’re AWOL, you don’t need to call me ‘sir’ anymore. And as for your quiver, I doubt they even take Imperial currency outside the Empire. You could just as soon bribe me with one of your socks.
ZAMALLOA: Duly noted, El-Tee. Seriously, though, what is on your mind?
PÖTSCHKE: Sure you’re interested? It’s pretty out-there, honestly.
ZAMALLOA: Try me.
PÖTSCHKE: I was just thinking how amazed I am that human beings can maintain a civilization across the Hundred Worlds, let alone fight over it all. Spread out over all those light years, barely able to communicate with each other or get from star to star… it all just seems so flimsy, like it’s presumptuous of us even to try to keep it all under one hat.
ZAMALLOA: I’ve thought about that too, actually.
PÖTSCHKE: Seriously?
ZAMALLOA: Yeah, when I get really, really high.
PÖTSCHKE: Oh, fuck you.
FLIGHT OFFICER WALLOWITCH: El-Tee? I’m picking up breaker fire consistent with a two-one-six entry vector.
PÖTSCHKE: Point of origin?
WALLOWITCH: E-I Cancri, most like.
ZAMALLOA: Blake’s people again?
WALLOWITCH: I-Eff-Eff inactive. Switching to visual… there.
ZAMALLOA: It’s a Valk!
PÖTSCHKE: With Cee-Ar plates!
ZAMALLOA: Could the CoRe have taken E-I-Canc without us knowing it?
PÖTSCHKE: When you’re as alone as we are right now, Ensign, anything’s possible.
WALLOWITCH: Negative on cargo. If it’s an attack force, they’re going about it all wrong.
PÖTSCHKE: And that’s your tactical assessment, is it, Flight Officer?
WALLOWITCH: Aye, sir.
PÖTSCHKE: József?
ENSIGN IDRISS: Aye, sir?
PÖTSCHKE: Ping ‘em. Nothing fancy, just a friendly beep or two.
IDRISS: Aye sir, greenline beep outgoing.
PÖTSCHKE: Response delay?
IDRISS: Four seconds out, four seconds in.
ZAMALLOA: Two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand…
PÖTSCHKE: …I count eleven seconds, Ensign. No word?
IDRISS: No sir.
WALLOWITCH: They’ve fired their thrusters, sir.
PÖTSCHKE: Cee-Bee-Dee-Ar?
WALLOWITCH: Negative, inbound for planetfall.
PÖTSCHKE: They probably think we’re one of Blake’s pursuit ships, trying to run a game on them.
ZAMALLOA: Or they are one of Blake’s pursuit ships, trying to run a game on us.
PÖTSCHKE: Seems unlikely. Why send a ship after us all the way from E-I Cancri when they can just send one up from Two-Two-Bee? Blake kicked Golia’s ass without breaking a sweat, and he still has plenty of planetbound assets to send after us.
WALLOWITCH: Or maybe they’re AWOL, too.
PÖTSCHKE: That’s… an interesting idea, Flight Officer.
ZAMALLOA: No, think about it: what would you do if you went AWOL and ran into an enemy ship? I mean, one you wouldn’t want to defect to.
PÖTSCHKE: I’d… head for low orbit, evasive tactics and then try to slingshot around to the jump cannon before they can make contact.
ENSIGN LUCAS: Sir? Maybe they’d rather defect to Blake’s people than to us.
ZAMALLOA: Right, right! Maybe they came here looking for Protectorate forces and the first thing they saw is us, and now they’re panicking!
PÖTSCHKE: A CoRe military ship defecting to Blake? I don’t think so.
ZAMALLOA: Come on, El-Tee, they could have any number of reasons for wanting to switch sides. Maybe they’re facing court martial, or maybe they have valuable tech to defect with-
PÖTSCHKE: And maybe you’re projecting! Seeing a ship with enemy markings and assuming they’re defectors is about the most optimistic thing I’ve ever heard, Ensign.
ZAMALLOA: They weren’t broadcasting an I-Eff-Eff.
WALLOWITCH: They’re still not.
ZAMALLOA: They’re still not.
PÖTSCHKE: József?
IDRISS: Aye sir?
PÖTSCHKE: Gimme a comm channel. Tightbeam, if you please.
IDRISS: Aye, sir.
ZAMALLOA: What are you gonna tell them?
PÖTSCHKE: The truth, I was thinking.
ZAMALLOA: The truth?
PÖTSCHKE: Gotta start somewhere. Attention, unidentified ship! This is Flight Lieutenant Pötschke of transport vessel Chrome, formerly of the Imperial Space Corps. We are AWOL and currently unaffiliated with any government. We are not, I repeat, not hostile, and are seeking to defect to any legitimate authority that’ll have us. We are also undamaged, if a little low on fuel and oh-two, and capable of offering assistance to you, should any be required. Over.
(silence of 14.6 seconds)
UNIDENTIFIED #1: This is… Captain Vergara of the Confederate transport Gradišče. We are here on special envoy status, deets eyes-only. That’s quite a story, Chrome. How did you get here, if you don’t mind my asking? Over.
PÖTSCHKE: We performed an in-system drop for an em-cee-cee, part of an extraction op. The, ah, the mission commander left us up here to bleed while he took the fight to Blake’s ground-based ops, and we came to the joint conclusion that we’d had enough of his shit. We ran; Blake’s fighters chased us to the edge of their oh-two range, and then turned back. We haven’t seen ‘em since; we suspect they may simply be waiting for our oh-two to run out, then they can swing right back and salvage the boat without too much trouble from us frozen corpses. Over.
(silence of 8.7 seconds)
UNIDENTIFIED #1: Roger that. I take it your cee-oh’s fight with the ground-baseds didn’t fare much better… can you provide deets on your ‘extraction?’ Over.
ZAMALLOA: They’re prodding us… how much do we give ‘em?
PÖTSCHKE: All of it. Why not? If we’re serious about this defection stuff, we’ve gotta sound like we mean it.
ZAMALLOA: I suppose. Just don’t give away the store, El-Tee.
PÖTSCHKE: It was all pretty need-to-know, Gradišče, but as I understand it, Blake had kidnapped a member of the Imperial Council and we were sent to retrieve her. I’m not sure when, but at some point the op seemed to have mutated from a simple extract to a full-blown smash-and-grab that was to establish an Imperial presence in the system. Needless to say, it failed. Over.
(silence of 16.8 seconds)
UNIDENTIFIED #1: Roger, Chrome. We will relay your sitrep and surrender to Ay-Dee Leonis. While I am unauthorized to provide assistance with your defection, I would advise you to attempt to make your way to Gliese-Triple-One-Six and closer proximity to our border patrol assets. Over.
PÖTSCHKE: Uh, understood, Gradišče, but we’re a little cooped up in here and the clock is ticking. I hate to press you, but I have our safety to consider, and a safe hop to Gliese-Triple-One-Six seems unlikely at this point. You’re gonna have to do better than this, over.
(silence of 15.6 seconds)
UNIDENTIFIED #1: You drive a hard bargain, Chrome, but we’re simply neither authorized nor equipped for a defection assist. Now, we still haven’t sent out a message buoy, and we still won’t if you keep pushing us like this. The choice is yours, over.
WALLOWITCH: Holy fucking shit.
ZAMALLOA: Is he threatening us?
PÖTSCHKE: I believe he just did. Seems we need to stick him the same. Attention, Gradišče. So you’re a special envoy, huh? Who to? Blake himself, or are you headed further in? What kind of envoy travels into hostile space without an escort? And I’d think that anyone with envoy status would have more than enough authority to haggle with a low-level defector. Over.
(silence of 18 seconds)
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Okay, so you have problems with our story. Now tell me exactly what you plan to do about it, Chrome. You’re unarmed, so are we. Is this gonna be round after round of chicken until your oh-two’s bled, or should we come over there and settle this with fisticuffs? Over.
WALLOWITCH: The nerve of this guy…
PÖTSCHKE: Can it, Flight Officer. Negative, Gradišče, but what we can do is ping Blake’s people down on Two-Two-Bee and see how they feel about a Confederate troop transport poking about in their system. Over.
(silence of 16.3 seconds)
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Chrome, that would be detrimental to all involved. Over.
PÖTSCHKE: We’re dead either way, over.
(silence of 10.9 seconds)
UNIDENTIFIED #2: You have alternate suggestions, over?
ZAMALLOA: Awful friendly all of a sudden, isn’t he?
PÖTSCHKE: Yeah… I am starting to think our friend Vergara has something he very much wants to keep under wraps. Attention Gradišče: why don’t we start by having you come over here and beef up our oh-two and fuel? That way, we at least won’t have to deal with this eight-second delay. Over.
(silence of 9.3 seconds)
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Seems we have little choice in the matter, Chrome. See you in twenty-two hours or so. Over and out.
RECORD LOG 659366728 – M115 VALKYRIE TRANSPORT “GRADIŠČE”
BRIDGE LOG – AUDIO ONLY
CARLSON: Oof. Was that the heliopause?
MEIJER: Sure was. Ji-Hwan, could you get the breakers?
BRITT: You got it. We’re out. Viewer?
CARLSON: Yup. Retracting canopy.
BRITT: Groovy. Oh… is that the star over there?
MEIJER: Uh-huh, En-En-Three-Five-Two-Two in all its glory.
CARLSON: Okeydokey, let’s start the- whoa! Got something on broadband… it’s a ping. Greenline. From a… let’s see here… it’s from an Em-One-Oh-Seven just over a million klicks out.
MEIJER: A One-Oh-Seven, eh? One of ours?
CARLSON: Negatory. Imp markings.
BRITT: Uh-oh.
MEIJER: Easy, Ji. Just start dropping us down for the cannon slingshot, nice and slow.
BRITT: What, we just ignore them?
MEIJER: Well, they’re not armed, are they? Annie?
CARLSON: Nope. One-Oh-Sevens are jumpships, by and large. Any armament heavy enough to pack a punch would generate too much drag, both for accel and decel.
MEIJER: What I thought.
BRITT: But just because the specs don’t show it-
MEIJER: Even if they’ve somehow MacGyvered up a weapon off spec, they’re not our problem. We’re here for the cannon, nothing more, nothing less.
BRITT: Yes, sir. Vectoring in… Annie, give me the gravmet feed on the HUD, will you?
CARLSON: Mm-hm.
BRITT: Thanks. Just out of curiosity, what do you think those Imps are doing here?
MEIJER: You know how I feel about speculation.
BRITT: Well, if we’re not going to investigate, what else do we have?
MEIJER: Ji…
BRITT: As the designated pilot of this not-exactly-above-board venture of ours, I just want to be prepared for whatever happens, and I’d like to get everyone’s thoughts on possible scenarios involving that One-Oh-Seven. Would you mind that terribly?
MEIJER: Ji-Hwan…
BRITT: I mean… Annie, what’s your assessment?
CARLSON: Well, an empty jumpship in a hostile system has at least one obvious solution.
BRITT: Right. Which is?
CARLSON: They jumped in here with an Em-Cee-Cee that’s currently planetside and are subsequently awaiting an extraction order.
BRITT: So you’re saying that there could be a raid-
CARLSON: Or any kind of op, really.
BRITT: Or any kind of op! In progress, planetside. Right?
CARLSON: Right.
BRITT: Right, my thoughts exactly! Now, offhand, I’d say that provides for all sorts of opportunities to get what we came here for-
MEIJER: Ji-Hwan…
BRITT: Opportunities that might not come again!
MEIJER: So you’re saying we should investigate, is what you’re saying? Every second on the mission clock is one closer to Ay-Dee or Registry or whoever tracking us down and sending feds or trackers or even military-
INCOMING TRANSMISSION: Attention, unidentified ship! This is Flight Lieutenant Pötschke of transport vessel Chrome, formerly of the Imperial Space Corps. We are AWOL and currently unaffiliated with any government. We are not, I repeat, not hostile, and are seeking to defect to any legitimate authority that’ll have us. We are also undamaged, if a little low on fuel and oh-two, and capable of offering assistance to you, should any be required. Over.
CARLSON: Holy mother of Satan…
BRITT: What the fuck…
MEIJER: Well. That was unexpected.
CARLSON: What the hell do we tell them?
MEIJER: Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.
BRITT: Eddie, are you kidding? This is an intel goldmine! We’ve got to- aw, fuck it, Annie, turn my mic on.
MEIJER: No! Dammit, Ji-
BRITT: This is… Captain Vergara of the Confederate transport Gradišče. We are here on special envoy status, deets eyes-only. That’s quite a story, Chrome. How did you get here, if you don’t mind my asking? Over.
MEIJER: You son of a bitch.
BRITT: Will you take it easy? I’m gonna keep swooping us around. It’s just a leisurely little chat as we swing on by.
MEIJER: ...alright, but nothing on us. Not a word.
BRITT: Of course.
MEIJER: Annie, can you confirm any of what he said? About their fuel and air?
CARLSON: This far out? Not really, no… I mean, maybe if those fighters scored any hits on their fuselage, there could be some minor scuffing, but if the timeline checks out and they’re still floating around out there, it doesn’t seem like-
INCOMING TRANSMISSION: We performed an in-system drop for an em-cee-cee, part of an extraction op. The, ah, the mission commander left us up here to bleed while he took the fight to Blake’s ground-based ops, and we came to the joint conclusion that we’d had enough of his shit. We ran; Blake’s fighters chased us to the edge of their oh-two range, and then turned back. We haven’t seen ‘em since; we suspect they may simply be waiting for our oh-two to run out, then they can swing right back and salvage the boat without too much trouble from us frozen corpses. Over.
CARLSON: Heh. I like this guy.
BRITT: What are the chances he’s on the level?
MEIJER: Zero.
CARLSON: Zero?
MEIJER: Zero. But go on and prod him some more, Ji. I’d like to hear what he comes up with next.
BRITT: Roger that. I take it your cee-oh’s fight with the ground-baseds didn’t fare much better… can you provide deets on your ‘extraction?’ Over.
MEIJER: Probably feed us more of the same.
BRITT: But what’s he trying to pull? I mean, what does he stand to gain from all this? I mean, assuming they’re Blake or whoever, why go to all this trouble for us?
CARLSON: They might be trying to lure us in, take us alive for intel.
BRITT: There’s like a bazillion other ways they could do that, and far more plausible ones.
MEIJER: I dunno, they seem to be fooling you pretty well.
BRITT: W-
INCOMING TRANSMISSION: It was all pretty need-to-know, Gradišče, but as I understand it, Blake had kidnapped a member of the Imperial Council and we were sent to retrieve her. I’m not sure when, but at some point the op seemed to have mutated from a simple extract to a full-blown smash-and-grab that was to establish an Imperial presence in the system. Needless to say, it failed. Over.
BRITT: Holy moly. Could it be…
MEIJER: Sounds like it is.
CARLSON: Or at least they’ve done their homework.
BRITT: If all that’s true, then they’re here for the same reason we are! We should be working with these guys, not-
MEIJER: Christ on a bike, Britt, how naive can you be?
BRITT: Okay. Let’s assume for the sake of argument that you’re right, that this is some fiendishly wheels-within-wheels-
CARLSON: Boys. Boys! We’re getting sidetracked here. Remember the part where we’re on a clandestine mission to, you know, rescue a guy? Let’s just maintain our cover and keep on rolling. If these guys can hurt us, let ‘em try. In the meantime, let’s just keep our distance and tell ‘em what a CoRe ship would.
BRITT: Which is what?
MEIJER: To quote the first Confederate rule of engagement: when in doubt, foist the problem on someone else.
BRITT: Roger, Chrome. We will relay your sitrep and surrender to Ay-Dee Leonis. While I am unauthorized to provide assistance with your defection, I would advise you to attempt to make your way to Gliese-Triple-One-Six and closer proximity to our border patrol assets. Over.
MEIJER: Um, Britt… ess-oh-pee in a friendly-slash-neutral encounter would dictate we drop a buoy to blip the nearest garrison… you do know that, don’t you?
BRITT: Yeah, but it doesn’t matter.
MEIJER: What?
CARLSON: If they’re telling the truth about Blake’s fighters and their oh-two, they’ll beg us to help them rather than just sliding on out.
BRITT: Yeah. In fact, if they do anything but call us back in panic mode, we’ll know they’re full of shit.
MEIJER: But won’t they know we’re full of shit when we don’t call home?
BRITT: Sure, but what are they gonna do about it?
MEIJER: I see your point.
BRITT: ‘Bout time you gave me some credit.
INCOMING TRANSMISSION: Uh, understood, Gradišče, but we’re a little cooped up in here and the clock is ticking. I hate to press you, but I have the safety of my people to consider, and a safe hop to Gliese-Triple-One-Six seems unlikely at this point. You’re gonna have to do better than this, over.
BRITT: You drive a hard bargain, Chrome, but we’re simply neither authorized nor equipped for a defection assist. Now, we still haven’t sent out a message buoy, and we still won’t if you keep pushing us like this. The choice is yours, over.
MEIJER: Ji-Hwan, you fucking idiot…
BRITT: What? What’d I do?
MEIJER: He can fuck us just as bad, you realize. If he’s half as desperate as he says he is, all he has to do is ping Blake’s people planetside and they open up a world of hurt on both our asses.
CARLSON: Oh shit…
MEIJER: Indeed.
BRITT: Fuck. What do we do?
MEIJER: Sit tight. Let’s see how high our Chrome-plated friend is willing to let the pot run before he calls our bluff.
INCOMING TRANSMISSION: Attention, Gradišče. So you’re a special envoy, huh? Who to? Blake himself, or are you headed further in? What kind of envoy travels into hostile space without an escort? And I’d think that anyone with envoy status would have more than enough authority to haggle with a low-level defector. Over.
BRITT: Ed?
MEIJER: Gimme that thing. Okay, so you have problems with our story. Now tell me exactly what you plan to do about it, Chrome. You’re unarmed, so are we. Is this gonna be round after round of chicken until your oh-two’s bled, or should we come over there and settle this with fisticuffs? Over.
CARLSON: Maybe harassing them might not be the best idea.
MEIJER: Let’s just focus on getting out of here, shall we? The closer we are to the jump cannon when that dickbag calls back with a new barrage of threats-
INCOMING TRANSMISSION: Negative, Gradišče, but what we can do is ping Blake’s people down on Two-Two-Bee and see how they feel about a Confederate troop transport poking about in their system. Over.
MEIJER: (inaudible muttering)
CARLSON: There it is.
BRITT: So what do we do? Wait until he actually does it?
MEIJER: E-tee-ay to the cannon?
BRITT: Fourteen hours.
MEIJER: (inaudible muttering)
CARLSON: The ping’d take seconds, and even assuming Blake wouldn’t be paranoid enough to just send a squadron or two of Ninety-Nines or Two-Fifty-Fours to come get us, it wouldn’t take an escorted Em-Forty more than two or three hours to break atmo and make us-
MEIJER: I Know! Chrome, that would be detrimental to all involved. Over.
BRITT: Like he doesn’t know that.
MEIJER: Well, what else am I gonna say? You know, this is some mess you’ve gotten us into.
BRITT: I’ve gotten us into?
MEIJER: “This is an intel goldmine! Just a leisurely chat as we swing on by!”
BRITT: Sorry.
MEIJER: Next time, just do as I say, okay?
INCOMING TRANSMISSION: We’re dead either way, over.
CARLSON: You know, I’m actually kinda starting to believe this guy.
BRITT: Yeah?
CARLSON: Yeah. It’s got a ring of truth to it.
MEIJER: Shut up, both of you. You have alternate suggestions, over?
BRITT: So I’m never allowed to suggest a course of action ever again, but it’s perfectly fine for some dipshit Imp defector to dictate our playbook now?
MEIJER: He’s got us by the balls, Ji-Hwan! What the hell else am I supposed to do?
INCOMING TRANSMISSION: Attention Gradišče: why don’t we start by having you come over here and beef up our oh-two and fuel? That way, we at least won’t have to deal with this eight-second delay. Over.
MEIJER: Seems we have little choice in the matter, Chrome. See you in twenty-two hours or so. Over and out.
CARLSON: Wow.
MEIJER: Ji-Hwan?
BRITT: We’re aligning. It’s gonna take the helm a minute to triangulate, but assuming their orbit stays consistent, shouldn’t be no big thing.
MEIJER: Good. Annie, I want a complete tactical assessment of the Chrome. Pull up everything we have on it, asset tracking, Imperial Oh-Bees, standard One-Oh-Seven complements, everything.
CARLSON: Got it. There won’t be much to pull up in this bucket, but I’ll see what I can find. We, uh, we looking for anything specific here, Ed?
MEIJER: Yeah. People. I wanna know how many people are on board that thing.
BRITT: Can’t wait to see what he looks like.
MEIJER: It’s funny you should say that…
RECORD LOG 9452779489 – M107 ATLAS TRANSPORT “CHROME”
STAGING COMPARTMENT LOG – AUDIO ONLY
PÖTSCHKE: All set?
LUCAS: Aye, sir. Docking complete, just waiting for the pressure to equalize… there it is.
ZAMALLOA: All stations report clear, El-Tee.
PÖTSCHKE: Great. Let’s do this. Sergeant Thawley, run the lock.
THAWLEY: Aye, sir.
(hatch opens)
PÖTSCHKE: Welcome aboard. I’m Flight Lieutenant Pötschke… which one of you is Captain Vergara?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: I’m afraid he doesn’t exist, Flight Lieutenant, but you can call me Ed. This is Annie.
PÖTSCHKE: That’s not your entire crew, is it?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Not really, no, but I wasn’t about to serve them up to you à la carte. Some are still on board.
PÖTSCHKE: You’re aware of your bargaining position, yes?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Yeah, well, there’s ‘bargaining positions’ and then there’s self-destruct systems, if you take my meaning. You’re not the only one with nothing to lose anymore.
PÖTSCHKE: Fair enough. If you’ll be so kind as to follow me, there’s a briefing room adjacent to the staging area where we can talk.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Lead the way.
RECORD LOG 9452779722 – M107 ATLAS TRANSPORT “CHROME”
#2 BRIEFING COMPARTMENT LOG – AUDIO ONLY
PÖTSCHKE: Now. Ensign Lucas, maybe you can get us some coffee?
LUCAS: Aye sir.
UNIDENTIFIED #3: He’s an ensign?
PÖTSCHKE: I’m sorry?
UNIDENTIFIED #3: He’s an ensign and you’re a flight lieutenant?
PÖTSCHKE: Hah. Yes. I see your point. The… Imperial Space Corps draws manpower from both sides of the aisle when assembling even small strike teams. Loyalty and experience are in somewhat short supply in the Empire these days.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: (snorts) I’ll say.
PÖTSCHKE: You’ll forgive me if I don’t share your amusement, “Ed.” Now, did I pass?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: I’m sorry?
PÖTSCHKE: I assume your question was of a vetting nature, yes?
UNIDENTIFIED #3: Actually I was just curious, but you can believe I was testing you, if that makes you feel smarter.
PÖTSCHKE: (chuckles) Okay then.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: How… would you suggest we begin here?
PÖTSCHKE: Well, you could start by coming clean with me. I have been nothing but forthright with you, and since we are both in something of a predicament here, I believe it would be beneficial to all of us if you simply told me what you are doing here.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Yeah. Right.
PÖTSCHKE: On the other hand, if you’d rather sit around trading sarcasms, I’ll happily call Blake down on En-En-Three-Five-Two-Two and patch him directly through to us. I’m reliably informed he can be pretty glib himself.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: He’d cream your ass too.
PÖTSCHKE: I don’t know. Perhaps not. We are defectors, after all, and always looking to make new friends. Perhaps if I present Blake with some freshly captured Confederate fugitives, full of valuable information on his neighbors, he might overlook our trespass and grant us passage.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Passage? Passage where? Back to the Empire?
PÖTSCHKE: The Allied Rim, the Confederacy… who knows, maybe we could even join his army?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: He’ll torture you just like he’ll torture us. He’ll torture your men.
PÖTSCHKE: First of all, they are not my men. We’re deserters; they owe me nothing. I only speak for them. Second, he would soon find that we do not know anything. I already told you everything I know over the radio; if he tortured us, he would find only what we already have on file. There is no more to us than meets the eye, Ed. You, on the other hand, are full of secrets. Juicy ones too, from what I can smell. Blake will take his time with you.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: If he’s half as smart as I am, he’ll know better than to let you live.
PÖTSCHKE: For us, the choice is simple. We either die up here, or we take our chances with Blake. If there is another solution, it is up to you to present it.
(silence of 4.8 seconds)
UNIDENTIFIED #2: How many men do you have on board?
PÖTSCHKE: Wouldn’t you like to know?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: I’m trying to cooperate with you, dickbreath. Whatever happened to Mr. Nothing-But-Forthright?
PÖTSCHKE: Very well… fourteen, myself excluded.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Standard complement on a long-range jump cannon like the one in this system, Annie?
UNIDENTIFIED #3: Twenty-three or so. And knowing Blake, it’ll be undermanned.
PÖTSCHKE: Are… are you suggesting we board the cannon?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Maybe.
PÖTSCHKE: To what end?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: What do you think? So we can capture it and point it wherever we damn well please.
PÖTSCHKE: You’re mad.
UNIDENTIFIED #3: You think he’s mad now? You should hear the plan he had when we jumped in here.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Annie!
PÖTSCHKE: Yes, perhaps I should hear it.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Loquaciousness of my companion aside, I’m still not feeling terribly inclined to, you know, tell you my life story here.
PÖTSCHKE: Oh, come now. You don’t seriously believe I’d risk any of my people on this ridiculous notion of capturing a working jump cannon without knowing exactly who you are and why you’re here, do you?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: I thought they weren’t your people.
PÖTSCHKE: You know what I mean. And I can’t help but notice that you’re not answering my question.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: If I come clean, I’m going to need some form of assurance that you won’t just give us over to Blake.
PÖTSCHKE: You’ll get none. You already know the stakes here; you have no hand.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: We came here to board the cannon; we need it to get where we’re going.
PÖTSCHKE: That much I gathered. The whole story, Ed, or nothing.
UNIDENTIFIED #3: Ed. I think we both know that if Pötschke’s telling the truth, he’s our best chance of getting this done. And even if he’s lying, then we have no choice. We’re out on a limb here as it is.
PÖTSCHKE: You should listen to your friend, Ed. The truth shall set you free. Who knows, maybe you can even help us, too.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: (blows out breath) Alright. We’re intelligence operatives. Some time ago, a colleague of ours went missing and we were tasked with retrieving him. The evidence pointed to Blake. We… have access to certain technology that allows us to track our colleague; his last known location was the En-En-Three-Five-Two-Two jump cannon. By accessing the jump log on the cannon, we can find out where Blake took him, and maybe even use the cannon to follow him there.
PÖTSCHKE: I cannot help but feel as if you are continuing to withhold information from me.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Well, what did you expect?!
PÖTSCHKE: Who you are working for would be a good start.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: That’s hardly relevant.
PÖTSCHKE: It is to me. I want to know who I’m helping.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: We’re no friends of the Emperor’s, if that’s what you’re worried about.
PÖTSCHKE: Ensign Lucas, get me Ensign Idriss at the comm station. He’ll know Blake’s exact frequency-
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Oh, come off it, Pötschke, he’s not even down there.
PÖTSCHKE: What?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: That’s right. We’re tracking our guy through a wetware auto-repeater that plings us every time he’s within eighty feet of a jump computer. He jumped from this system for parts unknown three days ago on a One-Oh-Seven we’re almost certain Blake himself was on. How’s that for full disclosure?
PÖTSCHKE: So by helping you, we anger Blake? I mean, you mean to engage him?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: You’re damn right we do.
UNIDENTIFIED #3: Face it, Lieutenant. Blake’s already taken shots at you. If you tried to entreaty with him, he’d take you prisoner. You’d be a slave, worse off than you were in the Empire.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: The only way you’re getting out of here is through that cannon, and it’s not like Blake’s people were just gonna hand it over to you.
PÖTSCHKE: Yes… yes. I suppose you’re right about that.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: So you’re with us?
PÖTSCHKE: I will discuss it with my men- I mean, my cohorts; I’ll have an answer for you before the hour is out.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: I sure hope so.
UNIDENTIFIED #3: Oh, and Lieutenant, before you go…
PÖTSCHKE: Yes?
UNIDENTIFIED #3: What exactly was your plan?
PÖTSCHKE: Pardon?
UNIDENTIFIED #3: When we found you floating out here. What was it you guys were planning to do, exactly?
PÖTSCHKE: Oh, that. I suppose… I suppose we were waiting for our luck to change, Annie.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: (snorts) Figures.
RECORD LOG 659369680 – M115 VALKYRIE TRANSPORT “GRADIŠČE”
BRIDGE LOG – AUDIO ONLY
BATTLECOM ENGAGED
MISSION CLOCK: 00:48:16
MEIJER: Are we in?
BRITT: We’re in!
MEIJER: Okay, positions! You! Where’s Pötschke?
ZAMALLOA: He’s dead! We lost him taking five-deck…
MEIJER: Are you in charge now?
ZAMALLOA: What?
MEIJER: I said, are you in charge now?
ZAMALLOA: Yes… yes I am! Sergeant!
THAWLEY: Sir!
ZAMALLOA: Status?
THAWLEY: We lost Chang and Okabe… with your casualties, that brings us to six men.
MEIJER: Take your positions, we’re about to short the lock-
ZAMALLOA: Roger!
MEIJER: Clear?
BRITT: Clear! Pop it!
THAWLEY: Down!
BRITT: Wha-
MEIJER: Britt!
ZAMALLOA: Sergeant, flashbang-
CARLSON: Check that! There’s sensitive electronics in there-
ZAMALLOA: Sergeant, gimme your-
THAWLEY: Motherfucker!
MEIJER: You okay?
THAWLEY: I’m fine. He’s down. Miss Carlson, is there anyone else in this compartment?
CARLSON: Negative, last one down.
MEIJER: Roger. We lost Britt.
CARLSON: Under- understood.
THAWLEY: Sir, are you hurt? Are you injured?
ZAMALLOA: No, it’s just a-
THAWLEY: Corpsman!
MURRAY: Here, Sarge. Here, let me see that, sir.
ZAMALLOA: It’s really just a- (screams)
MURRAY: Here, sorry sir, just hold still. Hold still, okay? Can you do that for me? Just hold still?
ZAMALLOA: Hold still?
MURRAY: Hold still.
ZAMALLOA: Holding still.
AMESBURY: Heyo! What do we got here?
MEIJER: Hn? Oh, you’re the comtech. This is, uh, this is the jump computer, it looks like-
AMESBURY: Yeah, that’s it. Here’s the uplink… Idriss, do you copy?
IDRISS: Yeah, I’m here.
AMESBURY: I’m on the terminal now.
MEIJER: It’s unlocked?
AMESBURY: Looks like they didn’t find time to log out… hah. The idiot wrote all his passwords on the mainframe brace.
MEIJER: That’s handy.
AMESBURY: I’ll say… Idriss, I can’t hook up with you, everything checks out on my end, what gives?
IDRISS: I think the receiver took some damage in the crash.
CARLSON: You can always hook up with our dee-en.
AMESBURY: Uh… Ensign? Sir?
ZAMALLOA: What? Oh, yeah, sure… do it.
MURRAY: There you go sir, easy does it… you feel that?
ZAMALLOA: Yeah… feels good.
MURRAY: That’s right sir, just lie still…
ZAMALLOA: Pretty… bubbles…
AMESBURY: Can we do something about all the blood floating around in here? It might gunk up the transmitters-
MURRAY: Yeah, sure thing, Amesbury, I’ll just haul in a wetvac while our cee-oh bleeds to death, shall I?
AMESBURY: Man, he ain’t our cee-oh. He’s a son-of-a-bitch softheart navy puke deserter who can’t-
THAWLEY: Lock that shit up, marine. Right now. You’ve got a job to do.
AMESBURY: Aye, sir. Uh…
MEIJER: Carlson.
AMESBURY: Right. Carlson, are the numbers coming in on your end?
CARLSON: Loud and proud. Wow…
MEIJER: What? What is it?
CARLSON: Boss, you’re not gonna believe this… am I okay to talk?
MEIJER: Go ahead.
CARLSON: Seems like a One-Oh-Seven came through here, alright, but it wasn’t headed for Why-Zee or Triple-Six or even Luyten’s Star…
MEIJER: Back to Dee-Ex?
CARLSON: Negative… I dunno what to make of this. There’s no star within four parsecs of… hold on… oh wow…
MEIJER: Talk to me, Annie.
CARLSON: Boss, did you ever hear of a place called WISE Ten-Forty-Nine Fifty-Three-Nineteen?
MEIJER: No.
ZAMALLOA: Luhman Sixteen.
MEIJER: What?
ZAMALLOA: Brown dwarves!
AMESBURY: He’s losin’ it…
MURRAY: Sir, please hold still…
ZAMALLOA: Luhman Sixteen! WISE Ten-Forty-Nine Fifty-Three-Nineteen, it’s a brown dwarf system, real close to Earth...
MEIJER: Annie?
CARLSON: Checks out. Near-invisible, hard to track, fast mover… shipboard comp took an age to find it, but there it is: Luhman Sixteen, ay-kay-ay WISE One-Zero-Four-Nine-Dash-Five-Three-One-Nine.
MEIJER: And it’s in range?
CARLSON: Yup.
MEIJER: Annie, tell me we have survey records.
CARLSON: Not as such, no.
MEIJER: Damn.
AMESBURY: Well, we can still chase him, right? Jump in-system and find him?
MEIJER: We’re in pretty rough shape, what with your bossman bleeding like that, and a solar system is a big place to hide. We’d be a lot better off with a complete survey.
AMESBURY: Hey, hold on. Lemme see… got it! Cannon comp has a partial survey, dated twelve-six-four local, let’s see, that’s…
MURRAY: Two weeks ago.
AMESBURY: Two weeks ago!
MEIJER: Amazing. Is that a… planet?
CARLSON: Amesbury, get me the feed.
AMESBURY: Here it comes. Check it out!
CARLSON: ‘Planet’ would be generous. Asteroidal rock, either proto-system debris or a captured chunk of something.
MEIJER: Big enough?
CARLSON: Big enough.
AMESBURY: Big enough for what?
MURRAY: To build a Jump Cannon.
MEIJER: That’s right.
THAWLEY: Well, I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch.
CARLSON: It’d be use-once-and-destroy; look at the mineral survey. Even if you brought in a tug full of composite ore, there couldn’t possibly be enough carbon in that rock to build a complete casing. One jump and the blowback’d crack the fuselage open like a beer bottle in a freezer.
MEIJER: But it’d be accurate?
CARLSON: If you build it to spec, sure.
MURRAY: And no one has better Cannon specs than Blake.
AMESBURY: So what? Why build a Jump Cannon that’s only good for one jump?
CARLSON: To get to somewhere worth building it for. Last known coordinates put Luhman Sixteen at two-point-one parsecs from Sol.
ZAMALLOA: Sol. Sol… Sol! Sol! Sol!
THAWLEY: Corpsman, get him out of here, now!
MURRAY: Aye, sir, sorry, sir, Amesbury, gimme a hand!
ZAMALLOA: Sol! Sol! Sol! Sol!
(hatch seals)
MEIJER: Jesus.
CARLSON: Will he be alright?
THAWLEY: He’ll be fine. Is this crap for real?
MEIJER: The Jump Cannon? It makes sense. If you think like Blake, it does. You think your guys’ll wanna come along for this?
THAWLEY: What, jumping to this Luhman Sixteen system on a hunch to stop what I can only assume is a vastly superior force hellbent on a one-way invasion of Earth?
MEIJER: That about sums it up, yeah.
IDRISS: Sergeant Thawley? Corporal Murray reports that Ensign Zamalloa is in surgery in medbay, which I think puts me in charge, but, uh, if it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon have you in command.
THAWLEY: We’ll have it your way, son. What’s our status?
IDRISS: Mostly okay, but ess-bee-ar has Protectorate fighters on inbound. My guess is that the Cannon crew were supposed to check in at oh-three-hundred. E-tee-ay seven hours.
THAWLEY: Understood. Mr. Meijer?
MEIJER: Yeah?
THAWLEY: Do you think we could jump to Luhman Sixteen before that time?
MEIJER: Annie?
CARLSON: An hour for prep, another for cal…
MEIJER: Maybe an extra hour for Sergeant Thawley’s men to rig the Cannon with e-em-pee charges?
THAWLEY: Better make that fifteen minutes.
CARLSON: Yeah. Yeah, we could make that, easy.
MEIJER: Sergeant?
THAWLEY: Let’s do it.
A.R.M.I. INTEL-AN COMM LOG
TRANSMISSION 71-57-64-23-8
SECRETARY: Good morning, General Longden’s office, Claire speaking, how can I help you?
BRENNAN: Hey Claire, what’s up? Is Vince in yet?
SECRETARY: No he’s not, the general is stuck in traffic, unfortunately. Can I take a message?
BRENNAN: Uh, yeah… maybe ask him if we got any deep pings last night, any kind of repeater activity, tightbeam packets, encrypted buoys… anything like that.
SECRETARY: So basically same message as last time, yeah?
BRENNAN: Yeah, pretty much. Anything urgent, anything with my codes on it.
SECRETARY: Sure. I doubt there’ll be anything, because the general usually has those forwarded directly to-
BRENNAN: Yeah yeah yeah, right, right, sure… actually, you know what? Forget it. Never mind about it.
SECRETARY: Okay, sure… would you like me to tell him to call you when he gets in?
BRENNAN: No, it’s fine. Thanks, you’ve been real helpful. Later, Claire.
SECRETARY: Goodbye, Mr. Brennan.
LONGDEN: Hey, Claire! Sorry I’m late again… that was Brennan again? How many times is that he’s called?
SECRETARY: Including just now? That’s… eight calls in three days, sir.
LONGDEN: Wonder just who the hell it is he’s expecting a call from.
SECRETARY: Me too, sir.
BRIDGE LOG – AUDIO ONLY
ENSIGN ZAMALLOA: Hey, El-Tee. Coffee?
FLIGHT LIEUTENANT PÖTSCHKE: Hm? Oh, yeah, thanks.
ZAMALLOA: Not that it’s any of my business, sir, but… quiver for your thoughts?
PÖTSCHKE: Oh, come off it, Jon. We’re AWOL, you don’t need to call me ‘sir’ anymore. And as for your quiver, I doubt they even take Imperial currency outside the Empire. You could just as soon bribe me with one of your socks.
ZAMALLOA: Duly noted, El-Tee. Seriously, though, what is on your mind?
PÖTSCHKE: Sure you’re interested? It’s pretty out-there, honestly.
ZAMALLOA: Try me.
PÖTSCHKE: I was just thinking how amazed I am that human beings can maintain a civilization across the Hundred Worlds, let alone fight over it all. Spread out over all those light years, barely able to communicate with each other or get from star to star… it all just seems so flimsy, like it’s presumptuous of us even to try to keep it all under one hat.
ZAMALLOA: I’ve thought about that too, actually.
PÖTSCHKE: Seriously?
ZAMALLOA: Yeah, when I get really, really high.
PÖTSCHKE: Oh, fuck you.
FLIGHT OFFICER WALLOWITCH: El-Tee? I’m picking up breaker fire consistent with a two-one-six entry vector.
PÖTSCHKE: Point of origin?
WALLOWITCH: E-I Cancri, most like.
ZAMALLOA: Blake’s people again?
WALLOWITCH: I-Eff-Eff inactive. Switching to visual… there.
ZAMALLOA: It’s a Valk!
PÖTSCHKE: With Cee-Ar plates!
ZAMALLOA: Could the CoRe have taken E-I-Canc without us knowing it?
PÖTSCHKE: When you’re as alone as we are right now, Ensign, anything’s possible.
WALLOWITCH: Negative on cargo. If it’s an attack force, they’re going about it all wrong.
PÖTSCHKE: And that’s your tactical assessment, is it, Flight Officer?
WALLOWITCH: Aye, sir.
PÖTSCHKE: József?
ENSIGN IDRISS: Aye, sir?
PÖTSCHKE: Ping ‘em. Nothing fancy, just a friendly beep or two.
IDRISS: Aye sir, greenline beep outgoing.
PÖTSCHKE: Response delay?
IDRISS: Four seconds out, four seconds in.
ZAMALLOA: Two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand…
PÖTSCHKE: …I count eleven seconds, Ensign. No word?
IDRISS: No sir.
WALLOWITCH: They’ve fired their thrusters, sir.
PÖTSCHKE: Cee-Bee-Dee-Ar?
WALLOWITCH: Negative, inbound for planetfall.
PÖTSCHKE: They probably think we’re one of Blake’s pursuit ships, trying to run a game on them.
ZAMALLOA: Or they are one of Blake’s pursuit ships, trying to run a game on us.
PÖTSCHKE: Seems unlikely. Why send a ship after us all the way from E-I Cancri when they can just send one up from Two-Two-Bee? Blake kicked Golia’s ass without breaking a sweat, and he still has plenty of planetbound assets to send after us.
WALLOWITCH: Or maybe they’re AWOL, too.
PÖTSCHKE: That’s… an interesting idea, Flight Officer.
ZAMALLOA: No, think about it: what would you do if you went AWOL and ran into an enemy ship? I mean, one you wouldn’t want to defect to.
PÖTSCHKE: I’d… head for low orbit, evasive tactics and then try to slingshot around to the jump cannon before they can make contact.
ENSIGN LUCAS: Sir? Maybe they’d rather defect to Blake’s people than to us.
ZAMALLOA: Right, right! Maybe they came here looking for Protectorate forces and the first thing they saw is us, and now they’re panicking!
PÖTSCHKE: A CoRe military ship defecting to Blake? I don’t think so.
ZAMALLOA: Come on, El-Tee, they could have any number of reasons for wanting to switch sides. Maybe they’re facing court martial, or maybe they have valuable tech to defect with-
PÖTSCHKE: And maybe you’re projecting! Seeing a ship with enemy markings and assuming they’re defectors is about the most optimistic thing I’ve ever heard, Ensign.
ZAMALLOA: They weren’t broadcasting an I-Eff-Eff.
WALLOWITCH: They’re still not.
ZAMALLOA: They’re still not.
PÖTSCHKE: József?
IDRISS: Aye sir?
PÖTSCHKE: Gimme a comm channel. Tightbeam, if you please.
IDRISS: Aye, sir.
ZAMALLOA: What are you gonna tell them?
PÖTSCHKE: The truth, I was thinking.
ZAMALLOA: The truth?
PÖTSCHKE: Gotta start somewhere. Attention, unidentified ship! This is Flight Lieutenant Pötschke of transport vessel Chrome, formerly of the Imperial Space Corps. We are AWOL and currently unaffiliated with any government. We are not, I repeat, not hostile, and are seeking to defect to any legitimate authority that’ll have us. We are also undamaged, if a little low on fuel and oh-two, and capable of offering assistance to you, should any be required. Over.
(silence of 14.6 seconds)
UNIDENTIFIED #1: This is… Captain Vergara of the Confederate transport Gradišče. We are here on special envoy status, deets eyes-only. That’s quite a story, Chrome. How did you get here, if you don’t mind my asking? Over.
PÖTSCHKE: We performed an in-system drop for an em-cee-cee, part of an extraction op. The, ah, the mission commander left us up here to bleed while he took the fight to Blake’s ground-based ops, and we came to the joint conclusion that we’d had enough of his shit. We ran; Blake’s fighters chased us to the edge of their oh-two range, and then turned back. We haven’t seen ‘em since; we suspect they may simply be waiting for our oh-two to run out, then they can swing right back and salvage the boat without too much trouble from us frozen corpses. Over.
(silence of 8.7 seconds)
UNIDENTIFIED #1: Roger that. I take it your cee-oh’s fight with the ground-baseds didn’t fare much better… can you provide deets on your ‘extraction?’ Over.
ZAMALLOA: They’re prodding us… how much do we give ‘em?
PÖTSCHKE: All of it. Why not? If we’re serious about this defection stuff, we’ve gotta sound like we mean it.
ZAMALLOA: I suppose. Just don’t give away the store, El-Tee.
PÖTSCHKE: It was all pretty need-to-know, Gradišče, but as I understand it, Blake had kidnapped a member of the Imperial Council and we were sent to retrieve her. I’m not sure when, but at some point the op seemed to have mutated from a simple extract to a full-blown smash-and-grab that was to establish an Imperial presence in the system. Needless to say, it failed. Over.
(silence of 16.8 seconds)
UNIDENTIFIED #1: Roger, Chrome. We will relay your sitrep and surrender to Ay-Dee Leonis. While I am unauthorized to provide assistance with your defection, I would advise you to attempt to make your way to Gliese-Triple-One-Six and closer proximity to our border patrol assets. Over.
PÖTSCHKE: Uh, understood, Gradišče, but we’re a little cooped up in here and the clock is ticking. I hate to press you, but I have our safety to consider, and a safe hop to Gliese-Triple-One-Six seems unlikely at this point. You’re gonna have to do better than this, over.
(silence of 15.6 seconds)
UNIDENTIFIED #1: You drive a hard bargain, Chrome, but we’re simply neither authorized nor equipped for a defection assist. Now, we still haven’t sent out a message buoy, and we still won’t if you keep pushing us like this. The choice is yours, over.
WALLOWITCH: Holy fucking shit.
ZAMALLOA: Is he threatening us?
PÖTSCHKE: I believe he just did. Seems we need to stick him the same. Attention, Gradišče. So you’re a special envoy, huh? Who to? Blake himself, or are you headed further in? What kind of envoy travels into hostile space without an escort? And I’d think that anyone with envoy status would have more than enough authority to haggle with a low-level defector. Over.
(silence of 18 seconds)
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Okay, so you have problems with our story. Now tell me exactly what you plan to do about it, Chrome. You’re unarmed, so are we. Is this gonna be round after round of chicken until your oh-two’s bled, or should we come over there and settle this with fisticuffs? Over.
WALLOWITCH: The nerve of this guy…
PÖTSCHKE: Can it, Flight Officer. Negative, Gradišče, but what we can do is ping Blake’s people down on Two-Two-Bee and see how they feel about a Confederate troop transport poking about in their system. Over.
(silence of 16.3 seconds)
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Chrome, that would be detrimental to all involved. Over.
PÖTSCHKE: We’re dead either way, over.
(silence of 10.9 seconds)
UNIDENTIFIED #2: You have alternate suggestions, over?
ZAMALLOA: Awful friendly all of a sudden, isn’t he?
PÖTSCHKE: Yeah… I am starting to think our friend Vergara has something he very much wants to keep under wraps. Attention Gradišče: why don’t we start by having you come over here and beef up our oh-two and fuel? That way, we at least won’t have to deal with this eight-second delay. Over.
(silence of 9.3 seconds)
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Seems we have little choice in the matter, Chrome. See you in twenty-two hours or so. Over and out.
RECORD LOG 659366728 – M115 VALKYRIE TRANSPORT “GRADIŠČE”
BRIDGE LOG – AUDIO ONLY
CARLSON: Oof. Was that the heliopause?
MEIJER: Sure was. Ji-Hwan, could you get the breakers?
BRITT: You got it. We’re out. Viewer?
CARLSON: Yup. Retracting canopy.
BRITT: Groovy. Oh… is that the star over there?
MEIJER: Uh-huh, En-En-Three-Five-Two-Two in all its glory.
CARLSON: Okeydokey, let’s start the- whoa! Got something on broadband… it’s a ping. Greenline. From a… let’s see here… it’s from an Em-One-Oh-Seven just over a million klicks out.
MEIJER: A One-Oh-Seven, eh? One of ours?
CARLSON: Negatory. Imp markings.
BRITT: Uh-oh.
MEIJER: Easy, Ji. Just start dropping us down for the cannon slingshot, nice and slow.
BRITT: What, we just ignore them?
MEIJER: Well, they’re not armed, are they? Annie?
CARLSON: Nope. One-Oh-Sevens are jumpships, by and large. Any armament heavy enough to pack a punch would generate too much drag, both for accel and decel.
MEIJER: What I thought.
BRITT: But just because the specs don’t show it-
MEIJER: Even if they’ve somehow MacGyvered up a weapon off spec, they’re not our problem. We’re here for the cannon, nothing more, nothing less.
BRITT: Yes, sir. Vectoring in… Annie, give me the gravmet feed on the HUD, will you?
CARLSON: Mm-hm.
BRITT: Thanks. Just out of curiosity, what do you think those Imps are doing here?
MEIJER: You know how I feel about speculation.
BRITT: Well, if we’re not going to investigate, what else do we have?
MEIJER: Ji…
BRITT: As the designated pilot of this not-exactly-above-board venture of ours, I just want to be prepared for whatever happens, and I’d like to get everyone’s thoughts on possible scenarios involving that One-Oh-Seven. Would you mind that terribly?
MEIJER: Ji-Hwan…
BRITT: I mean… Annie, what’s your assessment?
CARLSON: Well, an empty jumpship in a hostile system has at least one obvious solution.
BRITT: Right. Which is?
CARLSON: They jumped in here with an Em-Cee-Cee that’s currently planetside and are subsequently awaiting an extraction order.
BRITT: So you’re saying that there could be a raid-
CARLSON: Or any kind of op, really.
BRITT: Or any kind of op! In progress, planetside. Right?
CARLSON: Right.
BRITT: Right, my thoughts exactly! Now, offhand, I’d say that provides for all sorts of opportunities to get what we came here for-
MEIJER: Ji-Hwan…
BRITT: Opportunities that might not come again!
MEIJER: So you’re saying we should investigate, is what you’re saying? Every second on the mission clock is one closer to Ay-Dee or Registry or whoever tracking us down and sending feds or trackers or even military-
INCOMING TRANSMISSION: Attention, unidentified ship! This is Flight Lieutenant Pötschke of transport vessel Chrome, formerly of the Imperial Space Corps. We are AWOL and currently unaffiliated with any government. We are not, I repeat, not hostile, and are seeking to defect to any legitimate authority that’ll have us. We are also undamaged, if a little low on fuel and oh-two, and capable of offering assistance to you, should any be required. Over.
CARLSON: Holy mother of Satan…
BRITT: What the fuck…
MEIJER: Well. That was unexpected.
CARLSON: What the hell do we tell them?
MEIJER: Nothing. Not a goddamn thing.
BRITT: Eddie, are you kidding? This is an intel goldmine! We’ve got to- aw, fuck it, Annie, turn my mic on.
MEIJER: No! Dammit, Ji-
BRITT: This is… Captain Vergara of the Confederate transport Gradišče. We are here on special envoy status, deets eyes-only. That’s quite a story, Chrome. How did you get here, if you don’t mind my asking? Over.
MEIJER: You son of a bitch.
BRITT: Will you take it easy? I’m gonna keep swooping us around. It’s just a leisurely little chat as we swing on by.
MEIJER: ...alright, but nothing on us. Not a word.
BRITT: Of course.
MEIJER: Annie, can you confirm any of what he said? About their fuel and air?
CARLSON: This far out? Not really, no… I mean, maybe if those fighters scored any hits on their fuselage, there could be some minor scuffing, but if the timeline checks out and they’re still floating around out there, it doesn’t seem like-
INCOMING TRANSMISSION: We performed an in-system drop for an em-cee-cee, part of an extraction op. The, ah, the mission commander left us up here to bleed while he took the fight to Blake’s ground-based ops, and we came to the joint conclusion that we’d had enough of his shit. We ran; Blake’s fighters chased us to the edge of their oh-two range, and then turned back. We haven’t seen ‘em since; we suspect they may simply be waiting for our oh-two to run out, then they can swing right back and salvage the boat without too much trouble from us frozen corpses. Over.
CARLSON: Heh. I like this guy.
BRITT: What are the chances he’s on the level?
MEIJER: Zero.
CARLSON: Zero?
MEIJER: Zero. But go on and prod him some more, Ji. I’d like to hear what he comes up with next.
BRITT: Roger that. I take it your cee-oh’s fight with the ground-baseds didn’t fare much better… can you provide deets on your ‘extraction?’ Over.
MEIJER: Probably feed us more of the same.
BRITT: But what’s he trying to pull? I mean, what does he stand to gain from all this? I mean, assuming they’re Blake or whoever, why go to all this trouble for us?
CARLSON: They might be trying to lure us in, take us alive for intel.
BRITT: There’s like a bazillion other ways they could do that, and far more plausible ones.
MEIJER: I dunno, they seem to be fooling you pretty well.
BRITT: W-
INCOMING TRANSMISSION: It was all pretty need-to-know, Gradišče, but as I understand it, Blake had kidnapped a member of the Imperial Council and we were sent to retrieve her. I’m not sure when, but at some point the op seemed to have mutated from a simple extract to a full-blown smash-and-grab that was to establish an Imperial presence in the system. Needless to say, it failed. Over.
BRITT: Holy moly. Could it be…
MEIJER: Sounds like it is.
CARLSON: Or at least they’ve done their homework.
BRITT: If all that’s true, then they’re here for the same reason we are! We should be working with these guys, not-
MEIJER: Christ on a bike, Britt, how naive can you be?
BRITT: Okay. Let’s assume for the sake of argument that you’re right, that this is some fiendishly wheels-within-wheels-
CARLSON: Boys. Boys! We’re getting sidetracked here. Remember the part where we’re on a clandestine mission to, you know, rescue a guy? Let’s just maintain our cover and keep on rolling. If these guys can hurt us, let ‘em try. In the meantime, let’s just keep our distance and tell ‘em what a CoRe ship would.
BRITT: Which is what?
MEIJER: To quote the first Confederate rule of engagement: when in doubt, foist the problem on someone else.
BRITT: Roger, Chrome. We will relay your sitrep and surrender to Ay-Dee Leonis. While I am unauthorized to provide assistance with your defection, I would advise you to attempt to make your way to Gliese-Triple-One-Six and closer proximity to our border patrol assets. Over.
MEIJER: Um, Britt… ess-oh-pee in a friendly-slash-neutral encounter would dictate we drop a buoy to blip the nearest garrison… you do know that, don’t you?
BRITT: Yeah, but it doesn’t matter.
MEIJER: What?
CARLSON: If they’re telling the truth about Blake’s fighters and their oh-two, they’ll beg us to help them rather than just sliding on out.
BRITT: Yeah. In fact, if they do anything but call us back in panic mode, we’ll know they’re full of shit.
MEIJER: But won’t they know we’re full of shit when we don’t call home?
BRITT: Sure, but what are they gonna do about it?
MEIJER: I see your point.
BRITT: ‘Bout time you gave me some credit.
INCOMING TRANSMISSION: Uh, understood, Gradišče, but we’re a little cooped up in here and the clock is ticking. I hate to press you, but I have the safety of my people to consider, and a safe hop to Gliese-Triple-One-Six seems unlikely at this point. You’re gonna have to do better than this, over.
BRITT: You drive a hard bargain, Chrome, but we’re simply neither authorized nor equipped for a defection assist. Now, we still haven’t sent out a message buoy, and we still won’t if you keep pushing us like this. The choice is yours, over.
MEIJER: Ji-Hwan, you fucking idiot…
BRITT: What? What’d I do?
MEIJER: He can fuck us just as bad, you realize. If he’s half as desperate as he says he is, all he has to do is ping Blake’s people planetside and they open up a world of hurt on both our asses.
CARLSON: Oh shit…
MEIJER: Indeed.
BRITT: Fuck. What do we do?
MEIJER: Sit tight. Let’s see how high our Chrome-plated friend is willing to let the pot run before he calls our bluff.
INCOMING TRANSMISSION: Attention, Gradišče. So you’re a special envoy, huh? Who to? Blake himself, or are you headed further in? What kind of envoy travels into hostile space without an escort? And I’d think that anyone with envoy status would have more than enough authority to haggle with a low-level defector. Over.
BRITT: Ed?
MEIJER: Gimme that thing. Okay, so you have problems with our story. Now tell me exactly what you plan to do about it, Chrome. You’re unarmed, so are we. Is this gonna be round after round of chicken until your oh-two’s bled, or should we come over there and settle this with fisticuffs? Over.
CARLSON: Maybe harassing them might not be the best idea.
MEIJER: Let’s just focus on getting out of here, shall we? The closer we are to the jump cannon when that dickbag calls back with a new barrage of threats-
INCOMING TRANSMISSION: Negative, Gradišče, but what we can do is ping Blake’s people down on Two-Two-Bee and see how they feel about a Confederate troop transport poking about in their system. Over.
MEIJER: (inaudible muttering)
CARLSON: There it is.
BRITT: So what do we do? Wait until he actually does it?
MEIJER: E-tee-ay to the cannon?
BRITT: Fourteen hours.
MEIJER: (inaudible muttering)
CARLSON: The ping’d take seconds, and even assuming Blake wouldn’t be paranoid enough to just send a squadron or two of Ninety-Nines or Two-Fifty-Fours to come get us, it wouldn’t take an escorted Em-Forty more than two or three hours to break atmo and make us-
MEIJER: I Know! Chrome, that would be detrimental to all involved. Over.
BRITT: Like he doesn’t know that.
MEIJER: Well, what else am I gonna say? You know, this is some mess you’ve gotten us into.
BRITT: I’ve gotten us into?
MEIJER: “This is an intel goldmine! Just a leisurely chat as we swing on by!”
BRITT: Sorry.
MEIJER: Next time, just do as I say, okay?
INCOMING TRANSMISSION: We’re dead either way, over.
CARLSON: You know, I’m actually kinda starting to believe this guy.
BRITT: Yeah?
CARLSON: Yeah. It’s got a ring of truth to it.
MEIJER: Shut up, both of you. You have alternate suggestions, over?
BRITT: So I’m never allowed to suggest a course of action ever again, but it’s perfectly fine for some dipshit Imp defector to dictate our playbook now?
MEIJER: He’s got us by the balls, Ji-Hwan! What the hell else am I supposed to do?
INCOMING TRANSMISSION: Attention Gradišče: why don’t we start by having you come over here and beef up our oh-two and fuel? That way, we at least won’t have to deal with this eight-second delay. Over.
MEIJER: Seems we have little choice in the matter, Chrome. See you in twenty-two hours or so. Over and out.
CARLSON: Wow.
MEIJER: Ji-Hwan?
BRITT: We’re aligning. It’s gonna take the helm a minute to triangulate, but assuming their orbit stays consistent, shouldn’t be no big thing.
MEIJER: Good. Annie, I want a complete tactical assessment of the Chrome. Pull up everything we have on it, asset tracking, Imperial Oh-Bees, standard One-Oh-Seven complements, everything.
CARLSON: Got it. There won’t be much to pull up in this bucket, but I’ll see what I can find. We, uh, we looking for anything specific here, Ed?
MEIJER: Yeah. People. I wanna know how many people are on board that thing.
BRITT: Can’t wait to see what he looks like.
MEIJER: It’s funny you should say that…
RECORD LOG 9452779489 – M107 ATLAS TRANSPORT “CHROME”
STAGING COMPARTMENT LOG – AUDIO ONLY
PÖTSCHKE: All set?
LUCAS: Aye, sir. Docking complete, just waiting for the pressure to equalize… there it is.
ZAMALLOA: All stations report clear, El-Tee.
PÖTSCHKE: Great. Let’s do this. Sergeant Thawley, run the lock.
THAWLEY: Aye, sir.
(hatch opens)
PÖTSCHKE: Welcome aboard. I’m Flight Lieutenant Pötschke… which one of you is Captain Vergara?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: I’m afraid he doesn’t exist, Flight Lieutenant, but you can call me Ed. This is Annie.
PÖTSCHKE: That’s not your entire crew, is it?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Not really, no, but I wasn’t about to serve them up to you à la carte. Some are still on board.
PÖTSCHKE: You’re aware of your bargaining position, yes?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Yeah, well, there’s ‘bargaining positions’ and then there’s self-destruct systems, if you take my meaning. You’re not the only one with nothing to lose anymore.
PÖTSCHKE: Fair enough. If you’ll be so kind as to follow me, there’s a briefing room adjacent to the staging area where we can talk.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Lead the way.
RECORD LOG 9452779722 – M107 ATLAS TRANSPORT “CHROME”
#2 BRIEFING COMPARTMENT LOG – AUDIO ONLY
PÖTSCHKE: Now. Ensign Lucas, maybe you can get us some coffee?
LUCAS: Aye sir.
UNIDENTIFIED #3: He’s an ensign?
PÖTSCHKE: I’m sorry?
UNIDENTIFIED #3: He’s an ensign and you’re a flight lieutenant?
PÖTSCHKE: Hah. Yes. I see your point. The… Imperial Space Corps draws manpower from both sides of the aisle when assembling even small strike teams. Loyalty and experience are in somewhat short supply in the Empire these days.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: (snorts) I’ll say.
PÖTSCHKE: You’ll forgive me if I don’t share your amusement, “Ed.” Now, did I pass?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: I’m sorry?
PÖTSCHKE: I assume your question was of a vetting nature, yes?
UNIDENTIFIED #3: Actually I was just curious, but you can believe I was testing you, if that makes you feel smarter.
PÖTSCHKE: (chuckles) Okay then.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: How… would you suggest we begin here?
PÖTSCHKE: Well, you could start by coming clean with me. I have been nothing but forthright with you, and since we are both in something of a predicament here, I believe it would be beneficial to all of us if you simply told me what you are doing here.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Yeah. Right.
PÖTSCHKE: On the other hand, if you’d rather sit around trading sarcasms, I’ll happily call Blake down on En-En-Three-Five-Two-Two and patch him directly through to us. I’m reliably informed he can be pretty glib himself.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: He’d cream your ass too.
PÖTSCHKE: I don’t know. Perhaps not. We are defectors, after all, and always looking to make new friends. Perhaps if I present Blake with some freshly captured Confederate fugitives, full of valuable information on his neighbors, he might overlook our trespass and grant us passage.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Passage? Passage where? Back to the Empire?
PÖTSCHKE: The Allied Rim, the Confederacy… who knows, maybe we could even join his army?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: He’ll torture you just like he’ll torture us. He’ll torture your men.
PÖTSCHKE: First of all, they are not my men. We’re deserters; they owe me nothing. I only speak for them. Second, he would soon find that we do not know anything. I already told you everything I know over the radio; if he tortured us, he would find only what we already have on file. There is no more to us than meets the eye, Ed. You, on the other hand, are full of secrets. Juicy ones too, from what I can smell. Blake will take his time with you.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: If he’s half as smart as I am, he’ll know better than to let you live.
PÖTSCHKE: For us, the choice is simple. We either die up here, or we take our chances with Blake. If there is another solution, it is up to you to present it.
(silence of 4.8 seconds)
UNIDENTIFIED #2: How many men do you have on board?
PÖTSCHKE: Wouldn’t you like to know?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: I’m trying to cooperate with you, dickbreath. Whatever happened to Mr. Nothing-But-Forthright?
PÖTSCHKE: Very well… fourteen, myself excluded.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Standard complement on a long-range jump cannon like the one in this system, Annie?
UNIDENTIFIED #3: Twenty-three or so. And knowing Blake, it’ll be undermanned.
PÖTSCHKE: Are… are you suggesting we board the cannon?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Maybe.
PÖTSCHKE: To what end?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: What do you think? So we can capture it and point it wherever we damn well please.
PÖTSCHKE: You’re mad.
UNIDENTIFIED #3: You think he’s mad now? You should hear the plan he had when we jumped in here.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Annie!
PÖTSCHKE: Yes, perhaps I should hear it.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Loquaciousness of my companion aside, I’m still not feeling terribly inclined to, you know, tell you my life story here.
PÖTSCHKE: Oh, come now. You don’t seriously believe I’d risk any of my people on this ridiculous notion of capturing a working jump cannon without knowing exactly who you are and why you’re here, do you?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: I thought they weren’t your people.
PÖTSCHKE: You know what I mean. And I can’t help but notice that you’re not answering my question.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: If I come clean, I’m going to need some form of assurance that you won’t just give us over to Blake.
PÖTSCHKE: You’ll get none. You already know the stakes here; you have no hand.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: We came here to board the cannon; we need it to get where we’re going.
PÖTSCHKE: That much I gathered. The whole story, Ed, or nothing.
UNIDENTIFIED #3: Ed. I think we both know that if Pötschke’s telling the truth, he’s our best chance of getting this done. And even if he’s lying, then we have no choice. We’re out on a limb here as it is.
PÖTSCHKE: You should listen to your friend, Ed. The truth shall set you free. Who knows, maybe you can even help us, too.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: (blows out breath) Alright. We’re intelligence operatives. Some time ago, a colleague of ours went missing and we were tasked with retrieving him. The evidence pointed to Blake. We… have access to certain technology that allows us to track our colleague; his last known location was the En-En-Three-Five-Two-Two jump cannon. By accessing the jump log on the cannon, we can find out where Blake took him, and maybe even use the cannon to follow him there.
PÖTSCHKE: I cannot help but feel as if you are continuing to withhold information from me.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Well, what did you expect?!
PÖTSCHKE: Who you are working for would be a good start.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: That’s hardly relevant.
PÖTSCHKE: It is to me. I want to know who I’m helping.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: We’re no friends of the Emperor’s, if that’s what you’re worried about.
PÖTSCHKE: Ensign Lucas, get me Ensign Idriss at the comm station. He’ll know Blake’s exact frequency-
UNIDENTIFIED #2: Oh, come off it, Pötschke, he’s not even down there.
PÖTSCHKE: What?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: That’s right. We’re tracking our guy through a wetware auto-repeater that plings us every time he’s within eighty feet of a jump computer. He jumped from this system for parts unknown three days ago on a One-Oh-Seven we’re almost certain Blake himself was on. How’s that for full disclosure?
PÖTSCHKE: So by helping you, we anger Blake? I mean, you mean to engage him?
UNIDENTIFIED #2: You’re damn right we do.
UNIDENTIFIED #3: Face it, Lieutenant. Blake’s already taken shots at you. If you tried to entreaty with him, he’d take you prisoner. You’d be a slave, worse off than you were in the Empire.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: The only way you’re getting out of here is through that cannon, and it’s not like Blake’s people were just gonna hand it over to you.
PÖTSCHKE: Yes… yes. I suppose you’re right about that.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: So you’re with us?
PÖTSCHKE: I will discuss it with my men- I mean, my cohorts; I’ll have an answer for you before the hour is out.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: I sure hope so.
UNIDENTIFIED #3: Oh, and Lieutenant, before you go…
PÖTSCHKE: Yes?
UNIDENTIFIED #3: What exactly was your plan?
PÖTSCHKE: Pardon?
UNIDENTIFIED #3: When we found you floating out here. What was it you guys were planning to do, exactly?
PÖTSCHKE: Oh, that. I suppose… I suppose we were waiting for our luck to change, Annie.
UNIDENTIFIED #2: (snorts) Figures.
RECORD LOG 659369680 – M115 VALKYRIE TRANSPORT “GRADIŠČE”
BRIDGE LOG – AUDIO ONLY
BATTLECOM ENGAGED
MISSION CLOCK: 00:48:16
MEIJER: Are we in?
BRITT: We’re in!
MEIJER: Okay, positions! You! Where’s Pötschke?
ZAMALLOA: He’s dead! We lost him taking five-deck…
MEIJER: Are you in charge now?
ZAMALLOA: What?
MEIJER: I said, are you in charge now?
ZAMALLOA: Yes… yes I am! Sergeant!
THAWLEY: Sir!
ZAMALLOA: Status?
THAWLEY: We lost Chang and Okabe… with your casualties, that brings us to six men.
MEIJER: Take your positions, we’re about to short the lock-
ZAMALLOA: Roger!
MEIJER: Clear?
BRITT: Clear! Pop it!
THAWLEY: Down!
BRITT: Wha-
MEIJER: Britt!
ZAMALLOA: Sergeant, flashbang-
CARLSON: Check that! There’s sensitive electronics in there-
ZAMALLOA: Sergeant, gimme your-
THAWLEY: Motherfucker!
MEIJER: You okay?
THAWLEY: I’m fine. He’s down. Miss Carlson, is there anyone else in this compartment?
CARLSON: Negative, last one down.
MEIJER: Roger. We lost Britt.
CARLSON: Under- understood.
THAWLEY: Sir, are you hurt? Are you injured?
ZAMALLOA: No, it’s just a-
THAWLEY: Corpsman!
MURRAY: Here, Sarge. Here, let me see that, sir.
ZAMALLOA: It’s really just a- (screams)
MURRAY: Here, sorry sir, just hold still. Hold still, okay? Can you do that for me? Just hold still?
ZAMALLOA: Hold still?
MURRAY: Hold still.
ZAMALLOA: Holding still.
AMESBURY: Heyo! What do we got here?
MEIJER: Hn? Oh, you’re the comtech. This is, uh, this is the jump computer, it looks like-
AMESBURY: Yeah, that’s it. Here’s the uplink… Idriss, do you copy?
IDRISS: Yeah, I’m here.
AMESBURY: I’m on the terminal now.
MEIJER: It’s unlocked?
AMESBURY: Looks like they didn’t find time to log out… hah. The idiot wrote all his passwords on the mainframe brace.
MEIJER: That’s handy.
AMESBURY: I’ll say… Idriss, I can’t hook up with you, everything checks out on my end, what gives?
IDRISS: I think the receiver took some damage in the crash.
CARLSON: You can always hook up with our dee-en.
AMESBURY: Uh… Ensign? Sir?
ZAMALLOA: What? Oh, yeah, sure… do it.
MURRAY: There you go sir, easy does it… you feel that?
ZAMALLOA: Yeah… feels good.
MURRAY: That’s right sir, just lie still…
ZAMALLOA: Pretty… bubbles…
AMESBURY: Can we do something about all the blood floating around in here? It might gunk up the transmitters-
MURRAY: Yeah, sure thing, Amesbury, I’ll just haul in a wetvac while our cee-oh bleeds to death, shall I?
AMESBURY: Man, he ain’t our cee-oh. He’s a son-of-a-bitch softheart navy puke deserter who can’t-
THAWLEY: Lock that shit up, marine. Right now. You’ve got a job to do.
AMESBURY: Aye, sir. Uh…
MEIJER: Carlson.
AMESBURY: Right. Carlson, are the numbers coming in on your end?
CARLSON: Loud and proud. Wow…
MEIJER: What? What is it?
CARLSON: Boss, you’re not gonna believe this… am I okay to talk?
MEIJER: Go ahead.
CARLSON: Seems like a One-Oh-Seven came through here, alright, but it wasn’t headed for Why-Zee or Triple-Six or even Luyten’s Star…
MEIJER: Back to Dee-Ex?
CARLSON: Negative… I dunno what to make of this. There’s no star within four parsecs of… hold on… oh wow…
MEIJER: Talk to me, Annie.
CARLSON: Boss, did you ever hear of a place called WISE Ten-Forty-Nine Fifty-Three-Nineteen?
MEIJER: No.
ZAMALLOA: Luhman Sixteen.
MEIJER: What?
ZAMALLOA: Brown dwarves!
AMESBURY: He’s losin’ it…
MURRAY: Sir, please hold still…
ZAMALLOA: Luhman Sixteen! WISE Ten-Forty-Nine Fifty-Three-Nineteen, it’s a brown dwarf system, real close to Earth...
MEIJER: Annie?
CARLSON: Checks out. Near-invisible, hard to track, fast mover… shipboard comp took an age to find it, but there it is: Luhman Sixteen, ay-kay-ay WISE One-Zero-Four-Nine-Dash-Five-Three-One-Nine.
MEIJER: And it’s in range?
CARLSON: Yup.
MEIJER: Annie, tell me we have survey records.
CARLSON: Not as such, no.
MEIJER: Damn.
AMESBURY: Well, we can still chase him, right? Jump in-system and find him?
MEIJER: We’re in pretty rough shape, what with your bossman bleeding like that, and a solar system is a big place to hide. We’d be a lot better off with a complete survey.
AMESBURY: Hey, hold on. Lemme see… got it! Cannon comp has a partial survey, dated twelve-six-four local, let’s see, that’s…
MURRAY: Two weeks ago.
AMESBURY: Two weeks ago!
MEIJER: Amazing. Is that a… planet?
CARLSON: Amesbury, get me the feed.
AMESBURY: Here it comes. Check it out!
CARLSON: ‘Planet’ would be generous. Asteroidal rock, either proto-system debris or a captured chunk of something.
MEIJER: Big enough?
CARLSON: Big enough.
AMESBURY: Big enough for what?
MURRAY: To build a Jump Cannon.
MEIJER: That’s right.
THAWLEY: Well, I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch.
CARLSON: It’d be use-once-and-destroy; look at the mineral survey. Even if you brought in a tug full of composite ore, there couldn’t possibly be enough carbon in that rock to build a complete casing. One jump and the blowback’d crack the fuselage open like a beer bottle in a freezer.
MEIJER: But it’d be accurate?
CARLSON: If you build it to spec, sure.
MURRAY: And no one has better Cannon specs than Blake.
AMESBURY: So what? Why build a Jump Cannon that’s only good for one jump?
CARLSON: To get to somewhere worth building it for. Last known coordinates put Luhman Sixteen at two-point-one parsecs from Sol.
ZAMALLOA: Sol. Sol… Sol! Sol! Sol!
THAWLEY: Corpsman, get him out of here, now!
MURRAY: Aye, sir, sorry, sir, Amesbury, gimme a hand!
ZAMALLOA: Sol! Sol! Sol! Sol!
(hatch seals)
MEIJER: Jesus.
CARLSON: Will he be alright?
THAWLEY: He’ll be fine. Is this crap for real?
MEIJER: The Jump Cannon? It makes sense. If you think like Blake, it does. You think your guys’ll wanna come along for this?
THAWLEY: What, jumping to this Luhman Sixteen system on a hunch to stop what I can only assume is a vastly superior force hellbent on a one-way invasion of Earth?
MEIJER: That about sums it up, yeah.
IDRISS: Sergeant Thawley? Corporal Murray reports that Ensign Zamalloa is in surgery in medbay, which I think puts me in charge, but, uh, if it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon have you in command.
THAWLEY: We’ll have it your way, son. What’s our status?
IDRISS: Mostly okay, but ess-bee-ar has Protectorate fighters on inbound. My guess is that the Cannon crew were supposed to check in at oh-three-hundred. E-tee-ay seven hours.
THAWLEY: Understood. Mr. Meijer?
MEIJER: Yeah?
THAWLEY: Do you think we could jump to Luhman Sixteen before that time?
MEIJER: Annie?
CARLSON: An hour for prep, another for cal…
MEIJER: Maybe an extra hour for Sergeant Thawley’s men to rig the Cannon with e-em-pee charges?
THAWLEY: Better make that fifteen minutes.
CARLSON: Yeah. Yeah, we could make that, easy.
MEIJER: Sergeant?
THAWLEY: Let’s do it.
A.R.M.I. INTEL-AN COMM LOG
TRANSMISSION 71-57-64-23-8
SECRETARY: Good morning, General Longden’s office, Claire speaking, how can I help you?
BRENNAN: Hey Claire, what’s up? Is Vince in yet?
SECRETARY: No he’s not, the general is stuck in traffic, unfortunately. Can I take a message?
BRENNAN: Uh, yeah… maybe ask him if we got any deep pings last night, any kind of repeater activity, tightbeam packets, encrypted buoys… anything like that.
SECRETARY: So basically same message as last time, yeah?
BRENNAN: Yeah, pretty much. Anything urgent, anything with my codes on it.
SECRETARY: Sure. I doubt there’ll be anything, because the general usually has those forwarded directly to-
BRENNAN: Yeah yeah yeah, right, right, sure… actually, you know what? Forget it. Never mind about it.
SECRETARY: Okay, sure… would you like me to tell him to call you when he gets in?
BRENNAN: No, it’s fine. Thanks, you’ve been real helpful. Later, Claire.
SECRETARY: Goodbye, Mr. Brennan.
LONGDEN: Hey, Claire! Sorry I’m late again… that was Brennan again? How many times is that he’s called?
SECRETARY: Including just now? That’s… eight calls in three days, sir.
LONGDEN: Wonder just who the hell it is he’s expecting a call from.
SECRETARY: Me too, sir.
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