Kill Valerie Hume, page 1
Kill Valerie Hume
Kill Valerie Hume
Midpoint
Kill Valerie Hume
By Martin Wilsey
This is a work of Fiction. All Characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental.
Kill Valerie Hume
Copyright © 2015 by Martin Wilsey
All rights reserved, including rights to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Cover Art by Jessica E.
For more information:
Blog: http://wilseymc.blogspot.com/
Web: http://www.baytirus.com/
Email: info@baytirus.com
The Solstice 31 Saga:
Still Falling (2015)
The Broken Cage (2015)
Without a Storm (2016)
Solstice 31 Saga Short Stories:
The Outer Ring
Kill Valerie Hume
“Dammit, Hume. Are you trying to get yourself killed, again?” Deck Chief Jubinski yelled. DC Jub yelled, all the time. It’s how you actually knew when you were in trouble. If he wasn’t yelling when he spoke to you, you were in some deep shit.
“If I were trying to kill myself, I’d stop by and eat more of your chili, DC,” she said.
Hume did, yet another, Zero-G combat workout. She preferred to work out on the vast, open central core flight deck rather than in the Zero-G gym. In the gym, all the walls were padded and uniform. That space was nowhere near as big. On the flight deck, the obstacles were real: docked ships, bulky equipment, huge machines, crisscrossing cables and other infrastructure. All of it had random handholds and footholds, like the real world. Besides, there, she was allowed to wear her full security team suit, helmet and weapons. DC Jub even let her fire her Frange carbine in there, in vacuum, because it only fired frangible, nonpenetrating rounds. He also knew she almost never missed.
She did fast launch-and-tumbles across the vast central space, while firing her Frange rifle on every rotation. She never missed her drone target. It was dangerous because the hub was Zero-G and already in vacuum. The security suit she wore allowed maximum freedom of movement, but it barely protected her from vacuum. It could rip, easily. And, while a Frange will not penetrate any kind of metal, it will go through her suit. DC Jub always thought she’d break her neck when she got to the other side. But, she always stuck her landings.
It was a quiet morning on the Main Flight Deck on the Ventura. The only ships on the MFD today were the ones being prepped for tomorrow’s planet survey, including the Memphis.
Hume was assigned to the Memphis. Her first post as part of a command crew. It was the captain’s pinnace. The largest ship in the MFD, it had five decks and a regular crew compliment of thirty-six. She noticed movement near the aft skid. She stuck the landing; and, her practice allowed her to focus, instantly, with no dizziness.
There were five men in combat fatigue suits and helmets, performing an inspection of the Memphis. She knew who they were. They were the tactical team that would stand ready on the Memphis.
She quickly launched, hooked a cable, changed direction, and ran a few steps along a girder. And, while she still had enough downward inertia for traction, she launched again, soaring across the vast space in a slow, scanning spiral that allowed her to see the soldier ascending on an intercept vector.
Hume synched a strap that drew her Frange to her back, as if she hadn’t seen the man.
Just before they intersected, Hume tucked and twisted, easily avoiding his outstretched arms. She pounded on his shoulder blades, stopped, and stole his forward momentum, leaving him stranded, and neutralized, in a fixed position. She had estimated his mass and velocity, closely. He wouldn’t drift near a handhold for at least an hour.
She sped to the flat flight deck doors, glad they were closed. If they had been open, she would have been lost to the vastness of space. Instead of doing the polite thing and retrieving the man or, at least give him a kick to the wall so he could save himself, she launched directly toward the group of men below that were now watching. When they saw her do this, two of them launched toward her.
Just before they were on her, with their arms spread wide, Hume piked and barrel rolled with her feet tight together, landing directly behind the first man’s neck. She avoided his hands easily, as she thrust him away, into the second man. Both tumbled away, not grasping each other as they should have.
She was redirected into the side of the Memphis, where she ran along at a 90° angle to the horizon, and completely surprised the remaining three men, bowling them into each other and away, like pins rolling a spare. She heard them laughing in her proximity comms.
She halted her forward momentum instantly, reversed from following them with one hand on a ladder rung attached to the strut. Right into another man that had been out of view under the belly of a lifeboat attached to the bottom of the Memphis.
He was in the process of drawing a sidearm.
Her sudden reversal in Zero-G startled him, and that was all the pause she needed. In a well-practiced move, she spun and rolled up his shooting arm until her legs were wrapped around his neck, and the gun hand was cruelly twisted to the point of hyperextension.
Incapacitated, he strained against her hold, a couple times. It only risked his arm breaking.
Hume didn’t peel the handgun out of his fingers, even though could have.
“Good afternoon,” she said, in a polite manner, so everyone within proximity heard. “Thanks for the workout guys. Next time, please don’t go easy on me. This was fun.”
She let up on the tension, as a few of the soldiers returned. By the time they had handholds and they were standing near, only the first one had not yet returned. She released the man. Taking the chance that he had more discipline than to shoot her.
She could tell just by looking at these men that they were ground pounders. They had little to no experience in Zero-G combat.
“That was pretty badass, LT. Gots some wicked Zero-Skills there,” one man said.
“Damn, she tiny!” another said.
“Big enough to make you look like a fool,” a third said.
“Sergeant, I think we need a bit more training in Zero,” the last man said. He was the one still floating, alone, in the center of the bay.
Everyone laughed, except the Sergeant, as he holstered his gun and rubbed his wrist.
“A little help, please.” Everyone laughed, again.
“I’ll fetch you, if I can ride you back, piggyback,” Hume said, as she launched at him with the precision of an expert’s arrow in flight.
At least he knew the proper way to catch an incoming rescue, preserving and transferring most of the momentum to his body, so that they floated towards the bulkhead behind them.
“I’m Hume,” she said.
“I’m Ferris,” he replied.
“I’m going to ride you back to your buddies like a rented mule,” Hume said.
“Stop trying to arouse me in front of my friends,” he said, as they lighted on the wall and prepared to thrust back to the Memphis.
“If I had been trying, you’d be far more injured.”
They launched, together, and she sat up on the base of his spine, looking like a child getting a horsey ride from her father. Hume even stood, and pretended he was a surfboard, for a few moments.
She launched for an exit airlock, and said, “Back to work, slackers.”
She’d never saw any of them again…
***
“Yo, Hume!” she heard, from across the cafeteria. Her HUD identified the voice and location of the owner, before she could look up. Heidi DeGroat, from Human Resources. While she was on duty, she always kept the setting on full data augment. The names of everyone in the room seemed to hang above their heads. Addition data was also there. Icons indicated if they had any past infractions or convictions. The security system’s AI also conveyed what it thought was important.
Heidi’s augment revealed just her name and her work area. Hume’s favorite. No commentary on her new hair color, though. Today, it was mostly blonde, with a deep streak of dark purple.
Hume sat her tray at the end of the mostly full table already buzzing with morning conversation, despite the early hour. A flurry of good mornings were acknowledged with a raised coffee mug salute.
“Gah, how can you eat those eggs every morning?” Heidi asked, as always.
“I need the protein. Plus, if you add enough onions, cheese and hot sauce, they’re not so bad.” Hume didn’t mention how awesome the thick-cut bacon was.
Heidi was a fruit-and-cereal breakfast eater.
“Did you get to Peck’s Halfway last night? Peck broke out an excellent case of bourbon.” The comment shifted the conversation at the table, like gravity, “It was so good the case was gone fast, but so expensive the only one to get drunk on it was Peck.”
“Sorry I missed it,” Hume said.
“Yeah, it was perfect for you. As little as you drink it might as well be good,” Heidi continued, but Hume no longer listened.
Her HUD drew her attention to a man that had no identifiers. There was no name above his head. No data available. This was not usually a problem. Not everyone had a HUD or was tagged in any way. She knew of just over a hundred people on the ship that had no augmentative tech. Security simply used lanyards or face recognition.
This man wore gray maintenance crew coveralls.
As he moved through the crowd, AI~Caisy captured a full image of his f
ace.
No match.
She got up as he moved away. He never saw her. Hume snatched her last piece of bacon as she moved, and said, “Gotta go. Busy day.” Farewells drifted behind her.
“Caisy, track subject using visuals,” Hume said, in a businesslike command voice. A tactical map of the near spaces of the level came up in her HUD on one side, indicating the subject’s position. He was paused, just around the corner to another busy hall. People streamed back and forth.
Hume didn’t rush. She moved with the crowd, as they exited the cafeteria, starting the busy, landfall day. As long as he stayed there, she would just introduce herself and chat.
Why was her adrenaline up so high? She felt it. Everything seemed to slow.
That’s when he looked around the corner and locked eyes with her, in a moment of recognition.
He ran.
Hume activated her security uniform’s pursuit mode. Braiding detail cords glowed and flashed bright yellow. A high pitched whine emitted from the suit as she ran. The well-trained crew cleared a path in the center of the corridor.
AI~Caisy closed bulkheads, to contain the runner, who only had a 100 meter head start but was faster than Hume expected. No one ran, anymore.
Hume dove through a closing door just as it began to reverse. With a quick roll, she was on her feet again, instantly. She landed in the large, inorganic waste storage room. Her tactical map no longer contained the subject’s location, since there were no cameras in the waste room.
Her HUD indicated, “Reinforcements, ETA four minutes.”
Hume stopped her uniform from strobing, but left the uniform’s lights on, to cut the darkness. It was a huge room, stacked high with trash pallets from all around the ship that would be automatically sorted for the fabricators.
“Sir, I’m Security Chief Valerie Hume. I’d like to speak to you,” she said, into the darkness beyond the glow of her uniform. “Caisy. Lights,” Hume said, under her breath.
Hume saw the reflection, in the bulkhead steel, of the shape dropping down onto her from above. Her Zero-G combat training had taught her three-dimensional awareness. She easily rolled away in time, as a giant axe slammed onto the floor where she stood a moment ago.
“I know who you are,” the man said, calmly, as the axe swiped at her again, missing her by a fraction. Then, again, into the floor as she backpedaled.
He was fast. “Stop or die!” Hume called out, managing to keep the panic out of her voice. She was on top of the trash bins now. She jumped, avoiding a swipe at her legs. As she did, she drew both her sidearms from her thigh holsters.
“To hell with polite community policing,” she thought, or said; she couldn’t remember, later. Before she touched down, she put four Frange rounds into the man’s chest. He went down, and the axe clattered away.
After touching down, lightly, on the trash container, she descended to the floor, with a foot on either side of the man. Both guns pointed at his dead face, for a full ten seconds, before she spoke, “Emergency medical team to reclamation Bay 12, stat.”
She calmly holstered her guns, and knelt to feel for a pulse at his neck; she knew there shouldn’t be one.
She never expected his eyes to fly open and his hands to grasp her neck in an iron grip.
“Kill Valerie Hume,” he growled, through gritted, bloody teeth.
She broke both his wrists and pinned down his arms, as she watched the light go out in his eyes.
She wasn’t sure he was dead, when the warning lights began to flash.
“Warning: Prepare for Emergency Dump Protocol,” the PA system warned.
“Caisy, cancel dump protocol,” Hume said. There was no reply.
“Caisy. I am still in Bay 12!” She ran for the door. “Open the door.”
“CAISY, we are still moving faster-than-light!” Hume screamed. “Everything in here will be evacuated and turned into its base molecules!”
Her HUD indicated there was no active RF in the bay, at all.
“Activate emergency HUD-to-HUD broadcast.” She choked down panic. She heard the machines of the bay doors begin to cycle. “Emergency, Bay 12 is about to vent, and I am in here!”
“Bay 12 is closed and nominal. Who is this? Get off this frequency,” a bored sounding voice said.
“Hume, Jack Miller here. There’s a Heavy Maintenance Suit docked in Bay 12. Alcove number seven.”
She ran.
“Hume, Bay 12 is closed and quiet. I’m looking at it on my monitors. You got this all wrong,” the same bored voice said.
She saw the suit. It was open in the dock, waiting for the next user. She climbed up and lowered herself into it.
Her thigh holsters caught on the sides, stopping her.
With practiced speed, she released the five buckles. The lights in the bay turned red, as she threw the webbing and the holsters to the deck and slid into the suit.
It closed and it sealed.
It took her a moment to find the display controls. When she activated it, she gasped.
Bay 12 was now completely empty.
Thousands of pallets were gone. Vaporized. She watched, as the door shut, rapidly, finishing its cycle.
“Valerie Hume, report to Captain Everett, on the bridge, immediately.”
She found that she had a difficult time talking. “Acknowledged,” was all she managed.
Martin Wilsey, Kill Valerie Hume
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