Читать книгу The Book Of Schemes - Marcus Calvert - Страница 5

Gunnery Sergeant Ned Urlich emitted a soft grown as he slowly regained consciousness. Red alert klaxons blared as Urlich surveyed the cramped interior of his coffin-shaped cryobed. In his late thirties, the grizzled marine had been in quarantine stasis since an exploration run on Planet GS-453. An isolated swamp world near the Galactic Rim, Planet GS-453’s environment was toxic to human life but ideal for space armor drills.

Urlich was leading such a drill when he was swept off a low cliff by a rockslide. The half-mile fall didn’t hurt him. But it did rupture the right shoulder seal on his armor. His men quickly patched the leak, before the planet’s toxic atmosphere could kill him off. Yet, he picked up some sort of contagious viral infection that the sick bay geeks couldn’t identify or purge from his system.

As a result, Captain Yemtis ordered him tucked away in stasis until they could reach Delphi Station and get him properly detoxed. A glance at a wall monitor told Urlich that he’d been asleep for about two weeks. They should’ve been halfway there by now. The cryobed’s seals self-unlocked, something it was not supposed to do without medical staff supervision.

“Computer,” Urlich called out as he opened the stasis bed. “What’s going on?”

“This is a ship-wide emergency,” a female voice replied. “Your assistance is required.”

“Explain,” Urlich yawned as he rolled out of the cryobed in his white patient’s gown and bare feet. He wiped white crud from his gray eyes and stretched his lean, 6’2” frame. Urlich’s weary muscles made audible sounds as he felt the aching remnants of every injury he had earned after nineteen years of hard, devoted service to the Corps.

“A saboteur bypassed ship security and poisoned the water supply.”

“How many dead?” Urlich asked, worried.

“3,996 crewpersons.”

Urlich was speechless for a few moments. A carrier-class ship, like the Bismarck, had a standard crew of 4,000 (give-or-take a few).

“You’re saying I’m the only one left?”

“Correct.”

“And this saboteur?”

“The crew managed to identify her before they succumbed to the poison. Unfortunately, they were not able to capture her alive.”

“Any clues as to motive?”

“Affirmative. Long-range sensors have detected twelve hostile vessels closing in on our position.”

“What class?” Urlich asked.

”Trojan-class Raiders.”

Urlich sighed and began to pace.

He knew that only smugglers and pirates used Raiders these days. The ships were fifty years old and way too small to deal with a spacecraft carrier like the Bismarck. With a full crew, the Bismarck could take on fifty Raiders and probably win.

By himself, it wouldn’t be so easy.

Even with the AI handling the defensive weaponry and thrusters, Raiders tended to carry swarms of fighters and boarding pods: too many for the Bismark’s guns to take out. Without fighter support and marines to fend off boarding parties, the pirates could probably take the carrier. They’d lose most of their ships and crew doing it. But they’d still win.

Urlich wondered if the AI could take out the Raiders before they launched their ships. Perhaps some fancy maneuvering and long-range shooting could trim their numerical advantage.

“So what’s the game plan?” Urlich asked. “While you’re killing off their fleet, what do you want me to do?”

“The weapons are inactive, due to a ship wide systems virus.”

“You neglected to mention that little detail,” Urlich stopped and scowled. “How bad is the bad news?”

“We’ve also lost communications and most of the other core system functions as well. Emergency power is at 49% and falling.”

“Let me guess: we can’t run away either?” Urlich asked, as he resumed his pacing about.

“Affirmative,” came the computer’s reply. “The saboteur rendered our reactor drives inoperable. With a normal contingent of engineers, it would take 8.33 hours to repair.”

Urlich headed for the door of his quarantine room, which slid open. Normally, it could only be unlocked by one of the med techs. But the computer had bypassed the safety protocols. After all, with everyone else dead who could he possibly infect?

“ETA on incoming ships?” Urlich asked as he exited into a corridor and almost tripped over a dead crewman.

“6.54 hours.”

Urlich sighed as he looked around. The corridor was littered with a sixteen uniformed bodies – all pale and with green bile on their lips. They couldn’t have been dead longer than a few hours. Urlich crossed himself as he made his way toward his quarters.

“And why did you wake me?” He asked with growing frustration. “Just blow us up.”

“Due to the virus, I cannot activate the auto-destruct.”

Urlich reached an elevator, hit a button, and waited for it to arrive. He understood what duty required him to do. He had to destroy the Bismarck before it could fall into enemy hands. There was just one problem with this: he wasn’t quite ready to die yet. In fact, he was about nine months away from retirement and his life dream of restoring vintage hovercars. The only thing he loved more than being a marine was fixing things. As far as Urlich was concerned, there was a way out of this mess. He’d just have to figure it out in time.

“What’s this AI virus do again?” Urlich asked as the elevator doors opened.

“Full-system shutdown,” the computer replied. “Including artificial gravity and life support.”

“How long until you’re completely helpless?” Urlich asked as he stepped into the elevator.

“52.5 minutes. Are you headed for Engineering or toward the fighter bays?”

“My quarters,” Urlich muttered. The elevator lights began to flicker as he pressed a button for one of the crew levels. “I’d rather die with my boots on. And turn that fucking siren off, would you?!”

“Affirmative,” the computer replied.

Exactly 10.21 minutes later, Urlich exited his quarters in full combat dress as he headed for the bridge. He couldn’t think of a single way to avoid dying. If he hit the flight bay, he could snag a heavy bomber and nuke the Bismarck. The problem with that plan was that he’d be stuck in deep space without enough fuel or air to make it to Delphi Station or any of the nearest colony worlds, which equaled a slow death.

The only bright spot Urlich could see to blowing up the reactor – from inside the ship – was that he might take a bunch of Raiders with him. Or he could rig the ship with nukes, hop a fuel shuttle, and head home. While the shuttle was slow, it had enough fuel and life support to get him somewhere civilized. The only problem was that the pirates could catch up to him with ease. And because fuel shuttles didn’t have weapons, that option sucked too.

Since escape seemed unfeasible, the only fun thing to do would be to rig the ship with nukes, proximity mines, and maybe a dead man’s switch. He could suit up in space armor, wait for the bastards to board and kill as many of them as he could – before they took him out. Once he died, the dead man switch would set off the nukes … and make the Bismark go “boom.”

A stubborn part of him refused to accept any of these options. As Urlich headed for the armor bays, he passed an open door and heard Jimmi Hendrix music blaring from within. Neo-Classical Earth music was pretty popular with the swabbies and jarheads – one of the few things they had in common. Urlich backed up and saw that one of the crewmen was slumped over his desk, halfway into a farewell letter. A portable music player – roughly the shape and size of a silver dollar – blared Purple Haze.

As Urlich listened, something happened within his infected brain. A dozen new ideas suddenly popped into his mind as the space marine bobbed his head to the music.

“Computer,” Urlich said as he left the quarters. “Don’t you have a secondary AI core? I heard they’re left uninstalled, in case of situations like this.”

“Affirmative,” came the reply. “However, the saboteur damaged it before she was killed. The engineering team managed to repair it but died before they could install the unit.”

“Could you talk me through it?” Urlich asked with sudden confidence.

“You’re unqualified to install the unit. The probability of you successfully activating – ”

“Shut up and start talking me through it!” Urlich yelled as he moved on.

The computer began to talk. At first, it made sense. But once the gunny was out of earshot of the music, it abruptly sounded like the high-level techno jargon he tended to ignore before his accident. He stopped, told the computer to pause for a moment, and then ran back into the range of the music. As he did, Urlich realized that everything the AI had said made sense again.

It had something to do with the music.

And probably that damned swamp virus as well.

Strange, Urlich thought, as he snatched up the music player and ran toward the bridge elevator.

Another dozen new ideas slipped into his brain along the way.

Another 15.3 minutes later, Urlich manned one of the bridge’s system stations and typed like a man possessed. Metallica’s Don’t Tread on Me blared in the background. Even the ship’s computer had difficulty following what he was doing. At first, it thought he was attempting to prep the secondary AI core for installation. Then, it recognized that he was going after the AI virus.

Unfortunately, the techs on the Bismarck barely had time to discover its existence before they died. Even if the crew had survived, it was unlikely that they could’ve countered the systems virus in under a week – if ever. It was so far beyond state-of-the-art that even the AI itself couldn’t begin to understand how it –

“Gotcha, bitch!” Urlich triumphantly muttered.

Were it possible, the AI would’ve scratched its proverbial head. Somehow, its primary operating systems were returning to normal.

“How you feeling?” Urlich asked the computer.

“Communications, weapons, and life support are all returning to normal,” the AI replied. “Emergency power core has stabilized and begun recharging. However, the main reactor drives are still inoperable. Activating auto-destruct –”

“Whoa!” Urlich angrily interrupted. “Anybody ever tell you that you’ve got a fuckin’ death wish?! C’mon! We don’t need to die today!”

“The ship’s engines are still down. Only maneuvering thrusters are operable, which will neither allow us to flee or adequately maneuver for long-range combat. Even if we could, I would be unable to repel all twelve enemy ships, their fighters, and boarding pods. Eventually, they would capture or destroy this vessel.”

“I agree,” Urlich replied with an evil smile. “So why even let them attack?”

The Bismarck came into view of the incoming Raiders.

The twelve-ship fleet was led by the Rasputin and commanded by Captain Noah Vermes. A tall, brown-bearded man in his early forties, Vermes sat in his captain’s chair with an eager look upon his cruel face. A form-fitting black uniform hugged his muscular frame as he watched the Bismarck helplessly drift.

This would be the haul of a lifetime: to capture a spacecraft carrier intact, complete with enough armaments and supplies to keep his fleet running for at least three years. Then there was the ship itself – complete with its pair of fancy new AIs; either of which would net a fine sum on the black market. He already had buyers lined up, with the Interstellar Jihad offering the most money.

Frankly, Vermes wasn’t too fond of selling to terrorists. But any sworn enemy of U.N. Command sat well with him. The idea of a bunch of neo-Muslim fanatics blasting the military with one of its best warships struck him as ironic.

“Launch fighters and boarding pods,” Vermes ordered. “Once the ship’s secured, send the dropships.”

“Aye sir,” replied one of his techs.

Within moments, Vermes could see the various cruisers launch their hundreds of fighter and boarding pod complements.

“Sir,” another tech called out. “There’s still one life sign aboard.”

“Is it our girl?” Vermes asked hopefully. He had placed a few wagers that his handpicked saboteur would still be alive. Arenda was a really good lay – not to mention one of his best “gremlins.” The clever girl was probably waiting around in a spacesuit.

“Negative. The life sign’s male.”

“It’s probably someone in their sick bay,” Vermes replied with a disappointed sigh. “Isolate the life sign and notify the boarding parties to take him alive. Maybe he knows enough classified information to be a useful hostage.”

That would sweeten the deal with our prospective buyers, Vermes thought.

“We’re being hailed through the ship’s main communications array,” a third tech announced with a hint of worry in her voice.

Vermes frowned. There was still one mobile crewmember that hadn’t succumbed to the poison aboard his prize. What bothered him more was that the systems virus hadn’t yet taken down the Bismarck’s communications array, which should’ve gone down with the AI.

“Tell the fleet to prep shields and weapons,” he stiffly ordered.

“Aye, sir,” replied the female tech.

“Put him on-screen,” Vermes commanded as he leaned back into his chair and put on his game face.

The image of Urlich appeared on the screen, still in his marine garb. He sat in the captain’s chair, with his feet propped on Captain Yemti’s balding corpse as if it was a footrest. Ulrich had a lit cigar in his mouth. Jay-Z’s Big Pimpin’, blared in the background. Shit! Vermes thought to himself. He was hoping that he’d be dealing with a spineless ensign with a piss stain in his pants – not a fucking space marine!

“Hi,” Urlich muttered as he exhaled smoke through his nose.

“Sir,” announced the first tech. “The Bismarck’s powering up. Shields, thrusters, and anti-ship batteries are on-line.”

Vermes sighed. So much for the easy way, he thought. Still, they could batter down the Bismarck’s defenses and take the ship. But he’d lose half his fleet doing so. And the value of his prize would shrink with every hull breach. Maybe this jarhead wasn’t that bright, Vermes hoped. A little polite bullshit might just win the day without a shot fired.

“Identify yourself,” Vermes called out.

“Marine Gunnery Sergeant Ned V. Urlich,” he replied with a smug grin.

“Sergeant’s don’t get paid much,” Vermes pleasantly grinned. “Nor is it very likely that you’re ever going to take on my fleet and win.”

“Are you making me an offer?” Urlich asked teasingly.

“I’m open to suggestions,” Vermes replied, knowing that he’d kill this son of a bitch the first chance he’d get.

“Well,” Urlich whimsically replied. “How about you let me fly off in one of the Bismarck’s fuel ships? I would, of course, raid the ship’s Paymaster’s Office on the way out. Then, once I feel safe, I’ll tell you where I left the nukes.”

“‘Nukes?’” Vermes asked with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Urlich lied with pride. “Booby trapped ‘em myself after I activated the secondary AI core. Did I forget to mention that I’m a demo specialist?”

“Must’ve slipped your mind,” Vermes thoughtfully replied. He had bomb disposal teams capable of finding and disarming nukes. But the Bismarck was four miles long and two miles wide. And the marine had plenty of time to stash them throughout the ship and find nasty ways of hiding them from detection.

“Sorry. I’m forgetful that way,” Urlich shrugged. “Old age is creeping up on me. That’s why I wanna retire early and disappear.”

“One of the colony worlds?” Vermes asked. “Somewhere out past the Rim?”

Urlich nodded.

Vermes glanced at a tactical monitor and realized that his fighters and boarding pods had just entered the Bismarck’s optimal firing range.

“Do we have a deal?” Urlich asked. “Or do I get to have a little target practice before I die?”

“We have a deal,” Vermes sighed. “We’ll wait for you to launch before boarding.”

Vermes signaled one of his communications techs to have his fleet ships, fighters, and pods stand down. He’d have to find those nukes before Urlich got out of the range of his fighters. The pirate didn’t want to any of the Bismark’s crew to survive. He wasn’t a fan of living witnesses: especially this one.

“Very thoughtful of you,” Urlich replied as he glanced at his watch and started to rise. Then, he sat down again, as if he had just remembered something. “Wait a sec. I forgot to mention one more thing.”

“What?”

“About that kickass systems virus …”

“What about it?” Vermes impatiently asked.

“Not that one,” Urlich replied. “I was talking about my virus.”

On cue, all of Vermes’ fighters and boarding pods suddenly shut down. Six seconds later, each of his Raiders suddenly shut down too. Every system went offline – from life support to weapons to reactor cores. Vermes and his bridge crew suddenly found themselves afloat in a darkened bridge, minus their artificial gravity.

Vermes saw Urlich wave a middle-fingered good-bye, a split-second before the Rasputin’s communications systems failed. Then it hit Vermes like a slap in the face. The bastard had a slipped a fast-targeting systems virus into his transmission! Worse than that, when Vermes gave the stand-down order, he had unwittingly infected all of his other ships. Urlich’s virus had somehow bypassed his fleet’s anti-viral systems during their brief chat. The pirate realized that it could take days, perhaps weeks, for his fleet to get back up and running again.

The pirate shook his head at the thought of being outsmarted by a jarhead with a taste for bad music. They’d probably give Urlich a chest full of medals for capturing a pirate fleet single-handed. Vermes ordered his bridge crew to fish out the spacesuits and portable communications gear. They’d have to broadcast a surrender call to the bastard or risk being picked off like skeet. While Vermes didn’t relish the idea of ending up in prison (again), the crafty old pirate felt confident that he could escape (yet again), given time and planning.

The Bismarck’s maneuvering thrusters suddenly flared to life. Vermes watched the ship move closer, well within easy firing range of his entire fleet, and then halt. Odds were that Urlich was merely flexing his muscles. Vermes listened intently as one of his communications officers sent a surrender signal, via one of the portable communications units.

“Signal acknowledged and surrender accepted,” the officer replied.

Vermes breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment, he thought that Urlich was actually going to open fire –

A half-second later, the Bismark’s four massive ion turrets turned The Rasputin into a ball of fiery debris. On the bridge of the Bismark, Urlich drank out of a plastic beer can, with five other unopened cans laid out on a tactical console. Captain Yemti’s corpse was respectfully re-positioned in his command chair, where the marine figured he belonged. The sergeant paced around the bridge, deep in thought. In the background, Paint It Black, by the Rolling Stones, was playing.

“There are regulations against killing prisoners, Sgt. Urlich,” the AI noted. “Even in these circumstances.”

“Yeah,” Urlich agreed as he tossed the empty can aside. “Lucky for me I’m going AWOL before they can court-martial me.”

“You’re deserting because of brain-enhancing virus?”

Urlich smiled. If the AI could put it together, so could the docs at U.N. Command. He could never go home again.

“That’s right,” Urlich replied. “Once the brass figured out what it could do, they’d snatch me out of my prison cell and stick me in a lab. I’d spend the rest of my short, short life being vivisected. While I’m sure they’d figure out how to replicate it, the virus would just end up as one more weapon that the bad guys could steal.”

“What is your plan?”

“We’ll think of something. But for now, would you kindly kill each and every last one of these mother fuckers?” Urlich asked, as he grabbed another beer can and popped it open. “They’re blocking my view of the cosmos.”

“Affirmative,” the AI replied.

The massive warship’s missile batteries and ion turrets leisurely targeted the rest of Vermes’ helpless fleet and opened fire.