Darklight Pirates
Chapter Nine

Donal Tomlins ripped the control helmet off his head. Pain stabbed into the irritated patches of skin where the electrodes had been matted down by dried blood. Blinking hard, he focused and saw the command deck around him where the surviving officers worked steadily to repair faulty equipment. The last thing he had touched was the program controlling the RRUs. The Shillelagh was airtight again and the major systems functioned properly. The parts of the dreadnought that didn’t were hardly of any importance, though all but three of the laser cannon turrets had been vaporized, leaving the ship almost defenseless.

“Programmer General, there was a burst to Burran from the Highlander.” The com officer called from the radiation-shielded alcove off the bridge.

Donal half turned and regretted the movement. He hadn’t felt this debilitated since the first day he had donned the controller for the master computer and assumed the responsibility of taking care of a nation of more than a billion souls. The time spent working then had been brief, but it had taken a toll on his body. In spite of warnings and his intensive training, the extent of the agony inflicted by the Blarney Stone that worked its way down into muscles had been unexpected.

Now, as then, his head hurt, and his brain felt as if it would explode. And his back! Just turning in the captain’s chair sent red waves crashing throughout his body. He glanced at the chair arm where the com officer should have signalled. A quick tap with his thumb knocked the indicator off, to go rattling across the floor. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he performed the calculations of the fall and speed of rolling and determined the artificial gravity was set too high. That might exacerbate his back strain.

“Sir!”

“Sorry. A signal from the cruiser?”

“I’ve tracked and recorded it. The message went from Captain Lochlan to Commander Riddle.”

“There will be further communication. Monitor Riddle the best you can without being detected.”

“I don’t have the access codes, sir.”

Reluctantly, Donal donned the helmet again and sent the com officer what he needed to trace Lochlan’s report to whomever ordered the attack. Donal would have taken odds Riddle was not the one who had ordered the Programmer General’s flagship attacked. One of two in the government had to be responsible. His bet would have been on Weir.

Then the real importance of the signal hit him.

“Lochlan set the message? Is he in control of the Highlander?”

“He reported being under attack.”

“All sensors, focus on the cruiser.” Donal barked the order to those on the bridge even as he pushed aside the torment of using the control helmet to access everything at once.

His HUD exploded with data. He cursed himself for not following his son and the Far Kingdom emissary more closely. The condition of the Shillelagh had been important, but he knew their mission could make all that moot if Lochlan called for reinforcements. Head spinning, eyes threatening to pop from his skull, Donal worked the sensors and got pings from the two exos on the cruiser’s bridge. Concentrating his probes there, he watched as ionization trails snaked through the airless bridge and exploded. A spacesuited figure moved suddenly.

“Prepare for free space rescue!” He shouted the command even as he worked through the details using the helmet. As quick as he was, his command lagged what the ship’s officers were already doing. What he wouldn’t give for the Blarney Stone at his command now.

Polarizers blanked the sudden flare as the Highlander blew up. Donal maintained ultra short wavelength scanning to follow the exos blasting from the ship an instant before it destructed.

“Sir, only one exo on lidar.”

He almost passed out as he whirled through a hundred different reports. Then he sank down, sobbing. Donal got himself under control and thought through the problem. He sat straighter as he issued the orders.

“They are magnetically linked. Two exos. Rescue them. Get a dartabout to them right now.”

“Sir, all our smaller craft are damaged.”

Donal heard the report and didn’t bother identifying the source. The words carried the right amount of anguish. Whoever spoke felt the same as he did about losing Cletus and Leanne Chang. He blanked all the sensors save for the radar contact when he received no answer from them on any of the usual radio frequencies. A lasercom might work but not if they were tumbling. Sitting back in the captain’s chair, he set the ship’s computer to calculating an intercept vector.

“That’s dangerous, sir, moving the Shillelagh to pick them up. They are traveling at a much slower speed than we can achieve. If we overshoot them ...”

“Do it. The solution is set into navigation.”

The ship hummed as the engines began edging the massive ship forward. A touch of steering jet altered the vector, then came a huge blast that defied the artificial gravity compensation. Donal was pressed back hard in the chair. He readjusted the helmet and saw that the dreadnought had positioned itself between the joined exo armored suits and a cold death.

“Get a team out to fetch them.”

An airlock at amidships opened. Donal switched to visual as two spacesuited crew launched themselves using rocket packs. They snared the tumbling exos and killed some of the rotation.

Donal checked the roster of those on the bridge. A lieutenant was the senior command officer.

“Lieutenant Sullivan, you have the conn.”

“Sir? But I’m--”

“Senior surviving officer. You’ll do fine.”

“Yes, sir.” The woman waited for him to vacate the captain’s chair, then gingerly placed the helmet on her shaved head.

Donal wished he had corrected the gravity before heading for the airlock. His legs buckled more than once, forcing him to support himself against a bulkhead or grab a stanchion. He finally opened the last dogged hatch and stumbled into the assembly chamber just inward of the airlock.

“Stand back, sir. We need to decontaminate their suits.” The cargo master held out a hand to restrain him. “Nothing serious. The frost on their exos is sodium. The cruiser’s engines must have blown.”

A quick microwave beam boiled off the sodium, turning it to vapor that the exhaust fans whisked away in a few seconds. Deadlier cargo had been unloaded here in the past.

“They were destroyed on purpose,” came Cletus’ voice over an open radio link. The exo opened like a clamshell, and he stumbled out. “Lochlan wanted to kill us and blow up the Shillelagh, too, in a suicide mission.”

“He reported to Ballymore.” Leanne had more trouble getting free of her exo. The hinges had been damaged in the bridge explosion. “There has been a coup to depose you and place Chief Operations Officer Weir in control.”

“I know that,” Donal said. “A burst was intercepted to Riddle and whoever he contacted. That verified what I suspected. Weir is responsible for our misadventures.”

“Misadventures? Father, we were attacked. They tried to assassinate you.”

“Us, Cletus, us.” Donal put his arm around his son, as much for the comfort of touching him again as to support his own shaky legs. “Riddle already claims to be Commander in Chief Armed Forces.”

“He resented my promotion over him. He never did a good enough job commanding the Low Guard to merit any higher rank.”

“The decision was left up to the Blarney Stone. The computer chose you as the better choice. I wrote the selection algorithm but had nothing to do with the data input. The computer collected what it needed on its own.”

“Such a sudden coordinated action against authority does not happen spontaneously. Weir and his confederates planned this for some time. I feel it had nothing to do with Cletus’ promotion.” Leanne stepped a pace away from them. “What plans are in place to counter this treason?”

“We have a short time now while they think the Shillelagh has been destroyed. From the news reports beamed to the space station, Weir is saying that an unfortunate accident occurred when we came out of StringSpaceDrop.”

“How does she explain the destruction of the Highlander?” Cletus considered his own question. Donal was pleased to see that his son found the answer himself. “Never mind. He doesn’t have to admit it at all. Not right away. Lochlan might be blamed for the mishap.”

“A training exercise gone wrong,” Leanne said. “That is unassailable, save by those who know better. If Weir has successfully become Programmer General, who is there to oppose him?”

“There’s one loose end. Or several,” Cletus said. He looked at his father.

“Your mother and sisters. They were vacationing at Emerald Isle while we were gone, but none of them is a fool. They will oppose Weir publicly unless he removes them.”

“What do you know, Programmer General?” Leanne moved closer to Cletus, their arms brushing. Donal noticed his son made no effort to put distance between them, but why should he? The two had escaped death aboard the cruiser. That bonded, forged a bond in fire. They started back to the bridge, the narrow corridor keeping them together.

“An undocumented source says Ebony died taking off in her carrier. From the description of the explosion, it wasn’t an engine malfunction but a missile that took her out.”

“Mother? Bella?” Cletus turned pale.

“I received a coded message which says they are all right. Sean Scarlotti rescued them before Riddle’s marines could find and kill them.”

“Scarlotti? He found the nerve to do something like that?”

“He risked his life because of Bella.” Donal disliked putting such personal affairs out in public, especially in front of Leanne. She absorbed all this like a sponge. Fate had thrown them together, but considering her an ally--or Far Kingdom, for that matter--was stretching circumstance to the breaking point. She had come to Ballymore as an observer and not as an adviser.

“He’s twenty years older than she is. You mean she and him ...?”

“It worked out well if it motivated him to get them away. I don’t know where he took them but I can guess.” Donal reached to the captain’s chair, waited for Lieutenant Sullivan to acknowledge him, then popped a hologram into existence.

“That’s his summer home!”

“I know, Cletus. Sean lacks imagination, but if he moves quickly enough and Kori understands what’s going on, it can be a brief haven. Otherwise, Weir will find them in a matter of hours.”

“Less. Look at what Riddle has ordered.”

“Is that a spy drone swarm?” Leanne stepped closer, as if she could make out the tiny twinkling stars that spread over a quarter of Burran’s western coast. “What are their capabilities?”

“I will give you the specs later,” Donal said. “Right now we have to figure out how to reach my wife and daughter. And Scarlotti, too. He’s shown himself to be loyal and we can use his skills crafting propaganda to counter Weir.”

“Sir,” Lieutenant Sullivan said, looking up from the captain’s chair. “I ordered a priority rush on fixing a dartabout. One will be ready to launch in ten hours.”

“Too long,” Cletus said. “The rescue has to be made now. Weir isn’t going to be fooled long as to who saved them. The swarm will locate them within an hour.”

“The warbots can be assembled, prepped and dropped in five hours.”

Donal looked at Leanne as she made the estimate. Cletus started to speak but clamped his mouth shut when he saw how surprised his father was. He hadn’t guessed that the warbots were in the hold.

“I thought you were only shipping the exoskeletons. How many warbots are there?”

“Two. They are self-assemblying. We will need armaments other than the lasers and aurora guns already mounted. What missiles can you provide?”

Donal looked at the acting captain. Sullivan pressed the helmet down so the electrodes formed a better bond on her sweating scalp. She closed her eyes a moment, then looked at him.

“Sir, we have both five and 10 centimeter rockets in storage. There are 25 centimeter missiles with seeker warheads.”

“How many of each?”

“Can you use a hundred of the five and 10s? We only have a few of the 25s. Some were damaged in the explosion that took us amidships, but none was in the marine armory.”

“The detonators might be faulty in the remaining ones,” Cletus said. “Those were surplus added at the last minute before we Lifted to Far Kingdom.”

“We will chance it, with that in mind. The 25s are my preferred missile. Unguided rockets are good for diversion but not for serious fighting. ‘Fire and forgets’ give a broader mission capability for both attack and defense.”

“The aurora guns--” Cletus began.

“Get the warbots in fighting condition,” Donal cut in. He knew a little about the warriorobots’ capabilities. After all, he had angled for them to be purchased, while keeping at a distance to provide plausible deniability. That Cletus--or Leanne--had them loaded under Sorrel’s nose came as a pleasant surprise. It was about all that had gone right if he wanted to rescue his Kori and Bella. “Can you launch from the cargo bay or do you need the dartabout to get you in close?”

“The warbots are capable of planetary insertion from orbit. If we drop that way, though, there won’t be fuel enough to return to orbit unless we refuel.” Leanne held out her petite hand, measuring distances on the floating globe in the middle of the control room. “Once we land, even jump capabilities will be limited.”

“We can still crash through walls and use the weaponry,” Cletus said. “I read some of the manual on the Mark V.”

“These are Mark IV,” Leanne said. “They are similar but--”

“Get down to the cargo bay. Save my wife and daughter and I’ll make sure the dartabout is there for pickup if I have to carry it down on my back.”

As his son and Leanne rushed the bridge, both chattering at the same time about technical specs, Donal hoped he wasn’t going to have to make good on that promise. He silently accepted the control helmet from the lieutenant and settled into the captain’s chair, a great deal of work ahead of him.

#

“So I read the wrong manual?” Cletus watched as the warbot assembled itself with some small help from auxiliary robots. He stared up at the huge war machine. Rockets were already loaded at the shoulder hard points. The 25s were divided between his and Leanne’s equally awe inspiring warbot, loaded into the hip launchers.

“You field tested the Mark V on Far Kingdom. This is similar. For our purpose, this model is better. It is lighter and quicker. We won’t face heavy artillery or tank fire, so the lack of armor isn’t a concern.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Leanne used a laser pointer to trace out the torso armor.

“Hardened steel plate, not the STF, but adequate for this mission.”

“Can the Mark IV be outfitted with the liquid armor?” Cletus worried other aspects of this model were similarly lacking.

“They are capable of being retro-outfitted. The existing armor is almost as good.” Leanne looked up at him. “My life will be at risk. The armor is better than any you have on even your MBTs.”

“We can be sure to draw missile fire from aircraft.”

“There are countermeasures built in. You won’t even need to activate them. If the missiles home in on either radar or heat signatures, this model will scramble the signal and cause a miss.”

“Much of the weaponry is laser guided.” Cletus worried about Leanne’s easy dismissal of Burran firepower. The warbot was spectacular, unlike anything in their arsenal, but even the metallic behemoth could be brought to its knees with sufficient high explosives detonating all around it. The Mark IV was even more vulnerable without the STF reactive armor.

“You might consider tracking such missiles and manually interdicting. If we move fast and keep a low profile, we can reach your mother and sister in time to protect them.”

“What do we do? Open up and let them into the cockpit? There’s hardly room for the driver.”

“The warbots have a cargo hold large enough for a human or two. The ride will be rough for anyone there if we engage in a prolonged fight. We need to believe the Programmer General’s promise of a quick retrieval.”

Cletus walked around the warbot and saw that the armor was lighter around the joints. If he were the attacker, the ankles and knees would be his primary targets. Damage there affected the balance and ability to use the main drive rockets to lift over small mountains. The next target would be the missiles on the shoulders. A decent strike there detonated the unfired warheads. Such an explosion high on the frame would rattle the driver, no matter how well protected from shock he might be in the belly of the robot.

“You see the weaknesses of such an attack vehicle. Good. But do not become fearful. Boldness wins the battle. Your fighters have never faced such a war machine.”

“I’ve trained with many of the Low Guard. They’ll be on the lookout for weaknesses. And the Air Force--the Middle Guard--will simply exhaust their missiles, then break off for their home base to refit for a new sortie.”

“Make sure none escape. Your systems will warn of incoming missiles. Track the ionization trails back to the fighter launching the missiles and blow them out of the sky.”

Cletus took a deep breath and held it. She made it sound easy. Perhaps the Far Kingdom equipment made it easy, but those were his soldiers on the ground, his pilots in the air. If the orbital defenses came into play, those were his spacers. Every death he caused was a fellow citizen, another Burran by birth and loyalty.

“It will be difficult,” Leanne said softly. “Those trying to kill you and your family are ignorant of the true situation.”

“If there were some way to alert them, to let them know Weir is usurping power.”

“The heat of battle is not the place for such conversions of faith.”

“Have you been in many battles? Using a warbot?” Cletus had seen how cool she was in a firefight wearing the exoskeleton. She was even more at home in the armored giant. How much of her expertise came from training and how much from actual combat?

Leanne said, “Your chariot awaits. So does mine. Do you want to mutually connect, as we did on Far Kingdom?”

“Make sure I don’t get into too much trouble,” he said. “Don’t stop me if I risk my neck to save my mother and sister.”

“When you call up your HUD, look for the purple panel. The small cargo compartment hatch is controlled there.”

“Mission,” he said. “Rescuing them is the primary goal, fighting is secondary. It won’t matter if the soldiers see us launching back for orbit since the Low and Middle Guards can’t follow. The orbiting station is on the far side of the planet for another three hours and won’t come over the horizon able to fire on us for almost four. That’s our time window.”

“Your space-borne batteries are powerful enough to destroy a warbot?”

“The lasers are powerful enough to level a city. That’s why Eire and Uller depend on guerrilla warfare and minor incursions along our borders rather than mounting a full-scale attack. Their capitals would be reduced to plasma within a day if they tried.”

“They do not have orbiting fortresses of their own?”

“Burran has prevented it.”

“Yet another reason for your neighbors to hate you.”

“Our politics is of no concern,” he said, ire rising. She looked steadily at him, a slight smile curling her lips.

“There is no need to hide fear for your family behind anger at me. You know the true enemy. Let’s mount up.”

She climbed the ladder on the warbot’s leg and swung lithely through the hatch above where a human’s navel would be. She sat for a moment, short legs dangling. Then she lithely swung about and disappeared into the guts of the robot. The clang of the hatch and sound of the unit pressurizing prodded Cletus into motion.

He climbed with less agility but still wiggled about into the cockpit. He settled into the upright frame, fitting arms and legs through the surrogate controllers after he fastened the web belts around his hips and chest. Cletus twisted to and fro, then found a comfortable position. A nod brought up his HUD. The virtual display proved less comprehensive than the warbot he had driven on Far Kingdom. He scrolled through the panels, saw that the automatic check down program worked satisfactorily, then drilled to the purple panel. He acquainted himself with opening and closing the hatch to the cargo compartment, then turned his attention back to the weapons systems checks.

He ran at full power. He had forty rockets on his shoulders and five 25s loaded at his hips. The fusion reactors hummed with power, and the warbot’s propulsion system quivered in anticipation.

“All we need now is my mother’s location.” He anxiously searched the display for the blazing white star that would show his mother and sister had been located. The com officer had worked wonders, considering the Shillelagh’s dilemma and their need to keep from being discovered still in orbit.

“They are located.” Leanne’s voice carried a sharper edge than before.

Cletus verified, locked in on the target and superimposed a map of the terrain around the white star. He recognized the locale immediately. It was near a Low Guard base used as a military prison. He wondered if Leanne ought to give the order, then he decided. His family, his world, his problem.

“Launch,” he said, seeing the cargo master had opened the bay doors.

The kick from the warbot’s driver rockets almost blacked him out. He kicked up the oxygen level to clear his head, then plotted the descent vector that would bring him and Leanne to the base.

He made a silent promise to his mother and Bella that he would see them safely off-planet, then let the inboard computer handle the flight. Cletus hardly noticed the buffeting as he slashed into the upper atmosphere or the rising heat from the descent. He focused entirely on how to approach for the rescue, dozens of simulations flashing through his battle computer to find the optimal solution. It was going to be a quick insertion, grab and exfiltration.

He had not anticipated antiaircraft fire before he reached five kilometers.

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