The Queen's Spawn (The Wrecking Squad Book 4), page 28
Not all of it.
Not yet.
She cracked both thumbs. “If we could get hold of his autoship, then we can hack the navcom, find where its heading. If our hunch is correct, it should take us to where the Butcher is building ships with Senti metal.” Rebekah gestured to the screen. “He kind of does things on a big scale.”
“A worthwhile endeavour,” said the Senti. “We both believe the Butcher will have the spawn queen aboard his battleship. It would seem logical that it would be guarding any smelting operation and shipyard.”
Rebekah wasn’t so sure, and Tremil’s glance her way hinted she had picked up her doubts. She grimaced and flicked her gaze to Hendricks who shrugged.
“We’ve come this far. We either go all in, or face the consequences with the Senti Queen.” She glanced at Kefi, who held her gaze with her empty eyes. “Fuck, it’s more than that. We walk away, we leave the Butcher building ships the fleet can’t detect.”
She was met with Hendricks’ grim smile and the slightest tilt of her head. Tremil squashed in a little closer, hooking her arm in Rebekah’s. Once again, she would be taking children into battle. The countess wouldn’t have batted an eyelid at that, though she would have stripped away any humanity first, shaped the girls in her image. But Heki and Tremil were family, and without them they would be a blunt force, slow, deliberate, and unable to match, never mind beat, the Butcher. What hope for them then? For every family out there?
“Okay people. I want a flight plan, trajectory and probe structures all aligned to an attack run. We’re going in hot, dropping our payload, then running.”
“Payload?” said Hendricks. “What payload?”
Rebekah smirked. “It’s an autoship, ain’t it? Know any specialist repair crews around here?”
There was a thunk over comms, a hand slapping a forehead, perhaps. “No, no, no. Hey, surely I’ve been upgraded by now? Think of all the things I’ve done. How many times I rescued Savvo. Raiding Daphene, ran around a parade ground wearing weights. I got beaten up pretending to be a groundpounder called Sparks! When is enough, enough?” Arin’s pleading tone echoed in the galley.
“When ‒ our glorious leader ‒ your Captain says so.” ZZ3 sounded almost happy. “Besides, you have a Senior Rescue Warbot to look after your sub-engineer’s skin. Isn’t that right, Captain?”
“Oh yes,” she eyed Kefi. “How long do you need?”
“I need two of your hours.”
“If we’re doing this, you have one. We need to get there as soon as we can.” Rebekah stood, gathering her slate.
“One and a half if I am to ensure a safe journey,” stated the Senti. “No less.”
She nodded. “And we’ve got a lot to do in a short space of time. Hendricks, how’s your gunnery?”
“Rusty,” said the engineer. “But I guess I have an incentive to improve.”
Tremil squeezed Rebekah’s arm, her eyes a little wider than she expected. A wave of the girl’s trepidation washed over Rebekah and the symb along the girl’s neck mithered before settling again. “You need the ghost ship program?”
“We’ve enough to do. I have the probe access now Arin and Dricks have automated it. Besides, I’d like to save that for what comes next.” She dropped a hand onto Tremil’s still hooked in her elbow, and glanced around to smile at the returning Heki. “Don’t push too hard, understand? Once we’re through, I’m going to need you both if we’re to access the autoship and ride their defensive screen. Crew don’t get to slack even if they’ve moved the ship impossible distances.”
Arin stomped about the hold, arms full of a combination of munitions and explosive that Rebekah eyed warily.
“You need all those?” she asked.
“Too right. We’re being dropped in a shit-filled autoship controlled by an insane AI with a penchant for spacing humans. Thinking on it, I might need some more.” He began to turn away then stopped. ZZ3 was attaching the plasma torch but also halted, blue eyes swirling before fading into red. “Who’s in charge?” said Arin.
“What?”
“Out there.” Arin waved towards the cargo bay doors. “When we’re being thrown at a stolen ship in the hope we’ll stick, and then hacking our way inside. We need a hierarchy, otherwise it’ll all go to shit.” He placed his collection of armaments on the floor, crossing his arms. “We need to sort this out now, before we go.”
Rebekah shook her head. “You have the weirdest of timing. Check the ship’s logs. The manifest.” She headed for the cargo bay exit. “And stop talking yourself into this stuff. Dricks is on edge about what I’m proposing, so stay fucking focused.”
Arin, hands on hips, shook his head, ZZ3 looming behind. A metal limb landed gently on his shoulder. “You should check them,” said the warbot. “And whatever they say, you are my glorious leader.”
Arin patted the metal, feeling its warmth, the reassuring companionship. “Thanks, ZZ3.” He slipped out his slate from a thigh pocket, pulling up the manifest. “Hey, hey. I’ve been promoted.”
ZZ3 withdrew its hand, eyes settling to a calm blue. “You have?”
“Yeehaw. I’ve been upgraded to Senior Technical Engineer. How about that, Senior Rescue Warbot? Senior Technical Engineer. That makes me in charge of … of …”
ZZ3 cut in. “Warbot repairs, probe design and navcom systems as well as suit management.”
“That’s right,” Arin paused. “That might sound like what I’m already doing to you, Mr Warbot, but I am now a Senior too.” Arin started collecting the equipment he’d left on the floor, stowing much of it in his suit’s pouches. “Do you think I’ll get paid more?”
“You get paid?” said the warbot.
Chapter 40
Karal
Savvo eye-clicked his HUD, the visor returning a blank map of the dockside. Again. Still clear, but he had a feeling he was missing something. Dock workers milled about his position, one or two of the maintenance crews too, each sending a look of thanks Savvo’s way, his presence a reminder of the attack, and their subsequent rescue. It wasn’t helping as he tried to focus on the new issue instead of the old.
“Savvo,” hissed his comms. “Anything?”
“No.” He slapped the wheel of an autoloader at his side in frustration. The dock area was vast and busy with repairs, readying M4 for a return to collecting and then shipping ore back to Almaar or the colonised planets and moons. Tweem included. The tower would take longer, but the transponder system imported from a defunct asteroid family wasn’t far off being operational. Jenkra was nothing if not efficient.
Barclow cut in again. “We should check out the warehouses again, then call it a bust and move on to M3.”
Savvo agreed. M3 would be a nightmare to scour. The warrens tunnelled into the asteroid filled with the miners who worked the field. Rough and ready, it was a rowdy place which wouldn’t welcome the intrusion of Barclow into their slice of not-so paradise. He started the walk back to the warehouses, the sections piled on top of each other like the high rises back on Almaar, wrapped in handholds and stairwells.
“Savvo?” It was Davina. “You still on M4?”
“Affirmative,” he said, the word slipping easily from his lips, while thoughts of ZZ3 danced at the edge of his mind. The warbot would have ripped every single door off if it thought crew were under threat. What he’d give for that thoroughness now.
“Good. Yens had an idea I was following up on.” Savvo cast his mind back. Yens? Barclow had insisted Davina could only help with his assistant at her shoulder. Was that his name? “About cross-referencing Erikson’s arrival date against all the standard equipment checks via the database. Anyway, Trent had done all of that and left the file accessible. Stuff started going missing only a few days after the transport arrived, but it got me thinking. I’ve worked through Duboit’s expenses, and Erikson rented out several storage areas in his name.”
“On the docks?” he asked, eager for some kind of breakthrough.
“Two. Quarter D Level 1 and E Level 1.”
“That’s effin’ odd,” said Barclow. “Hard to get hold of the ground floor. Reserved for the heavies.”
Savvo knew what he meant, the pre-constructed auto loading trains and tracks either recovered from the larger, mined-out asteroids, or built ready for the next. Maybe some of the main parts for the massive mining drills they’d often had to repair. Rare space to get hold of. Big enough to store most of what Trent had listed as missing twice over.
“Paid through the nose,” said Davina. “And agreed any current equipment stored could remain there.”
“I bet he did. Fuck,” said Savvo. “Meet me there Barclow.”
“On my way.” The security chief hadn’t barked back about who was in charge, Savvo taking that as a plus. The warehouses were a good fifteen minutes away, so Savvo used his newfound fame and waved down one of the loaders to blag a lift. In return for being the centre of attention, he reached the corner of a huge warehouse block that glinted blue in the harsh dockside lights. He couldn’t see the top for the nest of stairwells in the way as it pierced the outer rim of M4 and entered the residual lighting, but he could make out the huge painted markers along the base.
He clamped to the deck and drew out his handgun, leaving the carbine maglocked to his back for now. Striding along the metal wall of the lower level, he passed section C and an eye-click focused in on the distant figure of Barclow as he waited beside a massive set of doors. Savvo hoped he’d sorted an override code, because gaining entry without a warbot was going to be an issue.
“Can we get in?” he said, eye-clicking his suit control to up the pace. “Got the override?”
“No, I’ve been stood ‘ere twiddling me effin’ thumbs waiting for a super-‘ero to do it all.” Barclow’s gruff response made Savvo smile briefly. The security officer cradled an odd-looking weapon in his arms. By the time Savvo arrived, his visor had analysed and labelled it as a riot control gun. Savvo didn’t have to time to check what that meant as Barclow tapped impatiently at the lockpad.
“Cover me,” he ordered, giving Savvo little choice in the matter. His HUD showed the first third of the warehouse was likely clear. If it was correct.
The hum of motors vibrated through the deck and wall, and with a clunk an access door began to open, leaving the massive entryway for the mining equipment closed. Barclow barged in, keeping low, but hardly demonstrating an aptitude for stealth. Three steps inside and Savvo followed, his HUD clicking over to infrared on his instruction. He had half-expected the warehouse lights to erupt into life, but apparently Barclow had opted for them to remain off. The security chief’s suit was hardly state-of-the art, but tough and functional, like the man, and Savvo wondered about its capabilities a little late.
With no heat signature registering, he dropped to one knee beside Barclow, taking station beside a set of large lockers labelled with part numbers. “Anything?” Savvo asked.
“Nothing,” answered the security officer. Ahead of them was a train engine, massive, sleek-lined but pitted from use and as cold as the rest of the warehouse. “Cover me,” he said again, and inched forward before spurting for the train. Once there, the ex-army man swept below, peering through the wheels ahead.
Savvo joined him, leaning on the nose of the train, surveying the multitude of cranes, drilling arms and tracks spread out before him. The enormity of the space was beginning to sink in. They were going to need a search team if he couldn’t pick anything up on his HUD. Or a drone. He glanced at Barclow, a thought wheedling its way in. He hadn’t thought to bring drones; why would he? But the ship’s crews and maintenance teams would have plenty.
“Hey, Barclow. I have an idea.”
They were in a cab, squashed in like so much trash. Their lives forfeit for the Butcher’s goal of survival. Desiccated and very dead, fifteen naked bodies discarded and forgotten. The drones had swept the warehouse, buzzing between the mighty machines, lighting their path, speeding up the process with their operators tucked safely behind a couple of Barclow’s team.
“Savotini,” said Barclow, he tapped his helmet, rising from the last of the bodies he’d med-tagged.
Savvo accepted the request, and the data rolled over his HUD screen. Thirteen had been dock workers and on record, all tallying with those that had left their jobs soon after Erikson’s arrival. Two were unknown and piqued Savvo’s interest. He strode over, with Barclow kneeling next to one of the dried-out cadavers. A glance caused his heart to jump, and he eased in next to the security chief.
“Is that …” Savvo took in the bald head, pinched, dried cheeks.
“Victor Gonzales,” finished Barclow. “Know him?”
“We’ve run into each other. At least, Rebekah and Arin have.” Something tickled his memory. Had Davina mentioned it? Or Rebekah? “This guy had been fooling the facial IDs.”
Barclow shifted, lifting the wrist that turned to dust at his touch, exposing the wrist bone. There was scarring, and recent. “They dug out his wrist ID scanner. The bastards could be anywhere on Karal if his history is anything t’ go by.”
A flag and a message dropped. One of the drone controllers calling for Savvo’s attention. Savvo’s, not Barclow’s. He pulled up the message, a camera feed. “Oh.”
Barclow glared at him. “What? A penny drop?”
“No,” he sent the image over, then replied to the operator. “Mining explosives clamped to the doors. If we’d come in that way …” He let that sink in. And if they had access to one set, then they had access to a lot more. It was a storage facility after all. “A secondary mission. Fuck.” He slammed a hand into the cab wall. “Not recon. Resource denial.”
Barclow stiffened. He knew what that meant as well as Savvo. Standard armed forces practise. Cut off supply, drain your enemy of what they need to keep going. “They’re rigging the docks?”
“Maybe everywhere. People are resources too. The autoships as well. Whatever order of priority the fucking Butcher has set.” Savvo glared at the pile of bodies, nothing more than dust-covered bone and soon less than that. They didn’t even bother to cover their mess.
Mining charges. How many?
“Davina?”
“Here.”
“Can you and Yens do a trawl of what mining charges were missing,” he thought for a moment, “and where the remainder are stored.”
“Do I want to know why?” she asked.
“Hard to fucking answer that. We’re looking primarily at the heavy-duty kit, aimed at cracking metal deposits, second priority are the smaller charges. ASAP.” He cut off the comms, Barclow staring at him, the man’s eyes steely beneath a bushy brow. Savvo shook his head in response.
“What we need are the repair crews,” said Barclow, and tapped his helmet, Savvo briefly wondering if it was a habit or a comms glitch. “I’ll put a call out.”
“Wait,” said Savvo. Arin and ZZ3 would have been five times quicker than a repair team untrained in explosives. But there were no auto repair crews like the Sunstar’s out there. Anywhere for that matter. Not many Breakers with their old warbots on the run.
Savvo switched his gaze to the bodies of the dockers. “Want some advice?” He carried on regardless, “Miners. Pull them a team at a time and get them to M4 ASAP. Tell them they’ve earned the chance for some serious Calc but only if they keep the fuck quiet.”
Barclow’s helmet bobbed as he nodded. “Not my area of exper-effin’-tese. They need anything with them?”
“It’ll all be here waiting. Recall Monk and Selles’ crews from M2, the only two repair ships in dock. Do that first, and we’ll get the search up and running.”
Sending miners on the hunt for explosives with hand scanners and bloody autobots was going to set everyone on edge. He could imagine the panic as those with limited knowledge put two and two together and made up whatever answer they wanted. But miners on the outside of Karal’s infrastructure, now that was doable, and they had the sensor equipment to penetrate the hulls. It’s what they did.
“Have Karal’s repair teams on call and ready to run alongside. The miners will sweep the external, the repair teams internal, but we keep them linked. Barclow, they’re going to need to know what they’re looking for. Calc will wire their mouths shut, but drink …” Savvo splayed his hands wide.
“Yeah. I hear ya.”
“Savotini, Barclow,” the comms kicked in. Davina in the background, but the voice was new. Yens. “We’re looking at fourteen of the larger charges as newly missing, and all since the attack. We only found them because I ordered a stock check. I think the database had been pre-prepared for the theft. Still working on the others, but I’ve got a stock anomaly in progress right now. Someone’s tampering with the storage unit Section B 13a. A botch job and in progress.”
Barclow responded. “On it.”
“I’m on it,” said Savvo. “We need those miners ASAP.” He unclipped his carbine and headed for the exit.
“Effin’ consultants,” echoed in his comms. “Dobson, Mint, follow the super-‘ero. Keep ‘im alive.”
Savvo left his minders behind, increasing the power-level of his navy-suit and pounding up the stairs. Each step became just the slightest bit easier as the gravity gradually reduced, and it took minutes for him to reach level 13 where he then slowed, crouching, and running a quick scan with his HUD. Activating his wetware, he calmed his mind, slowed his breathing. The sublevel sat just above head height, the steps angling off and away from the main stairwell. His HUD mapped the target area, which sat around the next corner, with some additional heat registering. Here they were just above the glare from the lower dock lights, and at the far reach of the upper. Shadows hung heavy from the main block wall, clamps and higher decks spreading patches of darkness his HUD adjusted for.
With no time to wait on his back-up, Savvo synced his carbine and headed up the side stairs, keeping tight to the wall, sighting towards the corner. They were in a vacuum, no sound travelled, and he was heading blind into combat.
