Flight of the 500, page 4
Except not. A blade ejected from the arm of the metallic hand resting on the screen, beginning to scrape at the glass. “You’re jamming me, and now you’re trying to kill my ship?” he said into the void. “It’s been twenty years, and now you finally decide you want me? I’ve literally been stuck in the same spot every day. Inside a prison. What the actual hell?” Raith shifted in his seat, looking for any sort of weapon he could use. Nothing. Stray objects were never a good idea in a non grav-controlled vessel. So. He was flying without metrics, but he wasn’t flying without controls. Time to think quickly.
Conglomerate wanted him. For a second, he considered letting them win. They wouldn’t go to this extent to kill him, so they wanted him alive. Not a bad proposition. However, he’d not spent two decades in prison for an immediate return to servitude under his creditors. He wanted to race again, not run con jobs for criminal overlords.
It was difficult to see, with the sparks flying off the canopy of his ship, but he was an SI. He could make this maneuver work. Synthetic instinct took over. Raith jerked his joystick up, diving straight toward Persepolis’s hull. To his squadron, the move probably looked like suicide, but he couldn’t talk to them. All he could do was act.
Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Now. He spun the DS-10, his cockpit parallel to carbon-steel plating. Persepolis was “above” him, relatively speaking, placing his assailant between them like a sandwich. “Time to press you,” Raith muttered. “Nobody touches me while I fly.”
Easing on the stick, the ship drifted slightly upward. The sparks above halted; presumably, his assailant guessed what Raith was planning. Three meters. Two meters. One meter.
With a muffled scrape, the sound echoing through the ship, rather than through empty vacuum, the wings of his fighter slid against the smooth outer hull of Persepolis. “Hope that didn’t hurt, Persy.” Raith pushed forward on the joystick, drifting away. Glancing up, it didn’t look like—
A new buzzing sound from below. Whether it was the same attacker or not, someone was on the bottom of the ship, too. “They really want me. Okay, new plan.” In a wide arc, he brought the fighter around so its nose pointed toward Persepolis. The hangar of the massive ship was just around the corner from his position. Perfect. “Once again, hope this doesn’t hurt, Persy.”
Gunning the throttle, the DS-10 blasted toward the hull. A second before impact, he pulled the ejection lever.
Raith flew through vacuum, fighters and lasers and projectiles slicing all around. Given his size, it was unlikely anything would hit him. A plume of crimson fire engulfed a tiny portion of hull a few hundred meters away, the heat rapidly disappearing into the emptiness of space. A few seconds later, the jamming signal apparently dead, a flood of information entered Raith’s perceptions.
“Water Two is down, I repeat—”
“We’ve got infiltrators in the hangar—”
“Riot and Gamma, fall back to—”
No time to hesitate. Raith activated his emergency vacuum thrusters—thanking the maker of his MI for including that feature—and jetted toward the hangar. “Hey Persy, Olive, I’m back.”
“Raith? Raith! Thank the universe.” A blip on his UI identified Olive’s fighter running circles around above the hangar. “Hold on. I see you.”
“Didn’t take you for the spiritual type. Oh, and Persy, I’m headed into the hangar.”
“Please don’t call me that,” said the other SI, “I hate it.”
“No time for niceties, Persy, I think Olive’s rubbing off on me. What’s going on inside?”
“Three infiltrators in the hangar. From what I can tell, they’re headed toward—uh—toward your ship. Your racer.”
Raith increased the release of propellant, flipped his trajectory, and flew through the shimmering shield, landing on his feet once inside the ship’s grav-field. “All right, I can handle three. What agents do you have already targeting them?”
“Well, that’s the problem, it appears they may have been my IS-SEC agents. Others on their way, but it’ll be a few minutes.”
“Oh that’s brilliant.” Raith chortled, though he could practically feel the icy stare Olive probably held. “At least IS-SEC is as corruptible as me!”
“Not funny,” said Persepolis.
“I’ll handle them, don’t worry. Where can I find a weapon?” In response, Persy marked a security locker on Raith’s AR display. “Thanks Persy!”
“Olive, is he really worth it?”
“Yes, I promise,” the woman replied.
“I can still hear you both, you know,” interjected Raith.
“We’re aware,” Olive said. “Now do your job.”
“Already on it.” He pried open a locker in a room off the side of the hangar and, a few seconds later, weighed a kinetic combat rifle in his hands. “It’s time to hunt.”
Back into the hangar he went, the expanse eerily silent. The voices of a dozen languages no longer echoed off its walls, most passengers bunkered in their ships, their cabins, or another secure location for the duration of the battle. As Raith marched between cargo stacks and landing pads, Persepolis fed him data about the positions of the IS-SEC agents converging on his new ship. His fingers tightened around the grip of his weapon. He wasn’t going to let them take his ride before even having a chance to fly it.
They’d die first.
“Persy, you don’t have any drones?” Raith said, crouching behind a massive container of foodstuffs. “What about MIs you can control remotely?”
“Uh, well, no,” said the ship. “Uh, they may have, uh, disabled the MI and drone fabricator at the start of the battle.”
“And you didn’t think it pertinent to inform us while we were flying loop-de-loops around your ass?”
“I thought I had a more complete IS-SEC team! How was I supposed to know I had traitors?”
“You’re too trusting.”
“Boys, stop bickering,” Olive muttered. “It’s incredibly annoying.”
“Who said I was a boy?” Persepolis groaned.
“You’re acting like one.”
“She’s got you there,” Raith said. “All right, I’ve got a plan in mind.” He raised the rifle to his shoulder, heading around the corner. “Based on their movements, they have no idea I’m coming, yeah?”
“I’d say so,” said Persepolis.
“Then I’m just gonna . . . charge right in.” Raith darted around the corner of the next stack, finding the first enemy in his sights, facing toward the side-hangar holding the racing prototype. “Easy enough.” Sprinting forward, he targeted the man’s knees, firing two quick shots. He fell to the floor, screaming in pain. “Surprise is over. That’s one, two to go.”
Approaching the man, he whipped the rifle’s butt around to smack the man in the head, and with a grunt, the foe keeled over face-first into the floor. Not pausing to assess his enemy’s condition, Raith passed right by, slipping between two massive pods containing a strange, purple fluid. Beyond, the racer stood waiting, two—
Gunfire smashed above his head, blasting apart the glass containers and raining violet stickiness everywhere. Raith slid behind a storage locker, raising his weapon above and peppering the direction of his foes with a spray of bullets. He had no time to worry about the potentially acidic substance flowing along the floor toward his feet. A problem for another day. If he lost this ship, he lost his chance at freedom.
Gunshots responded, and he lowered his weapon to avoid losing his arms. After a few seconds, the shots ceased, giving Raith a moment to think. And he took advantage, recognizing an opening. “Hey friends, I don’t think you want to kill me! I’m the one you’re looking for, yeah? You tried to capture me outside, at least.”
Silence.
“Look, I have no allegiances, I’m totally willing to join your side if it means I survive. I just want my ship.”
More silence.
“You won’t use that ship properly without the password.”
Silence, then—“If you throw your weapon toward us, we will accept your surrender.”
Silly humans. Raith stood, gun lowered, ready to toss it. “Of course, friends. We’re all friends here.” With inhuman speed, he whipped the rifle upward, firing two shots into the stomachs of each enemy. Stepping over the crate, he said, “Except you always forget SIs are so much faster than humans. Every time!”
The men sprawled on the floor, blood spilling onto cold steel.
“This is my ship, and it will remain my ship forever.” He stalked toward the two agents, presumably from the Conglomerate. “If you’ve got a channel open to your bosses, make sure they know whatever they want, they’re not getting. Twenty years is a long time, and if they can hold a grudge, so can I.” Raith stood over the two men, fear draining blood from their faces. Even if his body had a heart, he wouldn’t be remorseful. He raised his weapon, firing two more bullets between their eyes.
The next few hours passed slowly, Raith sitting against his racer, the two men dead, sprawled in pools of blood. The battle in space ended shortly thereafter. Once the frigate realized its infiltration team failed, it Jumped out of the system. Persepolis’s medical team eventually picked up the third criminal agent, wounded in the leg. His skin blistered from the toxic purple mess drenching his clothes. Not until Olive arrived did Raith move. He looked up as she approached, and he threw the rifle on the floor beside his enemies.
“I’ve thought of a name for this ship,” he said. “Not sure if you’re giving me the rights to name it, but I’m giving it one regardless.”
Olive’s eyes widened, but she nodded.
“Vindicta. The Conglomerate chased me across two decades, and I’m the one who ended up in prison all those years ago, not them. If they face me down during this race, I will end them.”
Olive nodded. “I would expect nothing less.”
“Don’t you stop me,” he said.
“I won’t.”
Kalmykia. Raith had never been, and he still didn’t have a chance to visit, even as Persepolis floated only a few thousand kilometers above its surface. Supposedly, it was an ideal, oceanic vacation world—which probably influenced QuanCom’s choice for hosting their race only a few light-years away. Regardless, mere minutes after they entered orbit, a freighter entered the Persepolis’s main hold, landing near the Vindicta. Olive and Raith met the ship’s crew as they strode down its boarding ramp.
“All four served with Theren at some point over the past twenty years,” Olive whispered. “All highly recommended, highly qualified. They’ll be a great crew.”
“I’m sure they’re excited for a vacation while I do all the racing,” Raith said.
No words, but Olive kicked the side of his leg.
“Just saying.”
The four newcomers—two women, a man, and a non-binary they/them SI, based on the pronouns displayed through AR—approached. Awkward silence ensued. Raith and Olive were both leaning against a crate, arms crossed.
“Well?” Raith said. “You all gonna introduce yourselves or just stand there staring?”
A chorus of awkward laughter erupted from the group before smiles all around. The SI, on the left, held out their hand. “Bonta, at your service, sir! Big fan. I’ve watched all your races, your maneuver in the Emerald Escape was just—”
“Nice to meet you Bonta,” Raith said, cutting off the gush of worship. He was already searching their profiles for their backgrounds. Doubtful they’d replace Hector, but they’d all have to try. “You must be Donyi and Erika, yes?”
“Sí, Master Raith, we are at your service,” the duo said in unison.
Raith cocked his head at Olive and sent her a private message through AR. That better not get creepy.
“I promise, it won’t,” she said aloud, ignoring the looks of confusion.
“And I’m Harrison,” said the man on the end, holding out his hand.
Raith shook it. “Pleasure to meet you all.” Though really, Raith felt anything but pleasure. “We’ll have plenty of time for pleasantries in transit to S-1022,” he added, “but for now, here’s how this is going to work.” He and Olive hadn’t prepped, but he was the racer, they hired him for this job, it was going how he wanted it to go. “I’m in charge of this team. You’re used to working with synthetics like Theren or maybe Persepolis; I’m not like them. I’m not like Bonta here. I’m not your friend. I’m not your colleague. We’re here to do one thing. Win a race. Anything more is a pipe dream you should crush right now. And if we win, you’ll all be the crew who brought Raith back from the dead—plus five percent of the cash winnings for each of you. Understood?”
The four stared in silence.
Olive broke the second awkward moment of the day with equally awkward clapping. “All right, you heard him. No friends, just work. Enjoy the next year, and I’ll see you back on the Persepolis following the culmination of the first Five-Hundred Light-year Classic!” She began to step away, in the direction her ship, the Rift.
Raith nodded. As he’d suspected. He almost let her leave. “A final moment, Olive.”
She pivoted in stride, walking slowly backward. “Yes?”
“Thank you, for everything.” He matched her backpedaling pace. “So where do you go now?”
“Oh, I’ve got other jobs. More people like you to find.”
“And there’s no way to convince you to join us?”
She paused, hand on her hip. “No. I’m sorry, Raith, but it’s time for you to go your own way. Those four . . . they’ll take care of you.”
He doubted that, but he wasn’t going to push her on the idea. Instead, he simply shrugged.
“Though Raith,” she said. “Something to consider. The universe is a big place. This race is a single moment for you. Take advantage, but don’t forget the bigger picture.”
“And what’s that?”
“You have the potential to make your mark. In a universe so vast, when we’re forced to live day-by-day finding a way to live amongst all this craziness, there are few people like you. Don’t waste the opportunities given to you. Many will come.”
“I don’t think I fully understand what you mean,” he replied. “I’m not that special. I just like to race.”
“You’ll know soon enough.” She turned around, resuming her jaunt toward the Rift.
“It’s been good working with you, Olive,” he said. “Catch you around.”
“You too, Raith. You’ll prove everyone wrong.”
The freighter, tagged the Juniper, was piloted by Bonta and crewed by the other three. For the final leg of the journey, Raith was their passenger; the Vindicta clamped to the bottom-side of the freighter for transit. No need to give it any wear or tear.
After final disembarking procedures with Persepolis, the Juniper headed on its way and smoothly made its jump toward S-1022, a brief weeklong trip. Raith leaned into a couch in the ship’s common room, content not to speak to a single person until they arrived. He’d read their profiles. They’d be of assistance, but not in the impending fight. If he was right, and the Conglomerate attempted to impede his victory, these four would be of little help. Possibly even an impediment.
His peace was short-lived, however. A few minutes after Jumping toward S-1022, the crew of the Juniper converged.
“Good afternoon, Raith,” said Harrison. The man was rough-skinned, his complexion like coal. Arms crossed, his black jacket made him look like he thought he was in charge. “A mighty speech you had back there.”
“Thanks friend,” Raith said.
Donyi and Erika sat at the table across from him. Both wore purple hair up in a bun, green jumpsuits tight against their skin. “We respect your independence,” said Donyi. “You’re gonna need that gusto out on the track. Sure. We expected it.”
Erika leaned forward. “We more than expected it; it’s one of the reasons we identified you as a top candidate for Olive to consider.”
Raith sat up. “Wait, what?”
Bonta chuckled. They were a standard SI—by Raith’s estimate, a twenty-third century model. “You sir are funny! You think Miss Olive selected you all by her lonesome? Oh no no no no. She didn’t design your ship. Theren did. But do you think they did it alone?”
Raith opened all four of their profiles, reading more deeply. Was this a trick? Had information been withheld from him?
Harrison tapped his fingers on the metal wall. “What you’re looking for isn’t there, because it’s a secret. The four of us, see? We designed your ship. Built it, even.”
“Nice name, by the way,” Donyi said. “We approve.”
“Well you might be grease-monkeys, but that doesn’t—”
They all laughed, just like when they’d met inside Persepolis. Bonta said, “We’re not offended. You’re in charge, and we’re fine with that. But it’s important you understand another thing. Okay, sir? The four of us? We’ve been preparing for this race for the past five years. We know every bolt of Vindicta.”
Erika leaned back in her chair, her hands raised in mock supplication. “You want to win. So do we. We’re just making sure you know: if you want to win, you can’t ignore us. Because we’re your best chance at winning.”
Raith nodded, unsure of what to say. They’d backed him into a corner. He hated it. They were probably right, but they were going to get themselves killed if they placed themselves too far into this game. He’d need to address that problem later. No time to think about it now.
“Thanks for the advice.” He stood, slipped past Erika, and headed down the ship’s central corridor. “I’ll be in my room.”
Four bogeys. Eight light-years. The upcoming checkpoint rested between the orbits of two gas giants orbiting one another in the far reaches of another uncharted system. The hole through which he needed to guide Vindicta was less than three kilometers wide. Anywhere outside that range, and the gravitational pull of one of the immense planets would knock him out of Jump.
Raith plotted, entering the system’s plane on a vertical trajectory. Perfect. The gas giants spun around each other on his charts, creating an impossibly slow moving bullseye to target. Two minutes out. One minute.
