Backyard Starship: Origins 2 Read online

  “It’s a song, and remember, I didn’t name it. Rick did. Rick the soldier, anyway. So, Rick of the ship, enter our primitive computer database and find all two hundred verses of Dirty Gertie from Bizerte, if you please?”

  B—Gertie, really—snorted, then laughed, a silvery peal that filled the ship. “You randy, churchgoing Southern boy, you. You made a song.”

  “You look disappointed,” Petyr said to B, who shifted back and forth from foot to foot with the air of a fidgety child.

  “I expected Tunguska. Maybe an ocean trench. Anything more exotic, I guess.”

  “Rick was a… a redneck, as you say—from Kentucky?”

  “Right down to his core. Baptist as John and mannerly as a Boy Scout. It wasn’t an act, either. It was who he was,” B admitted.

  “And why you miss him. And loved him, yes?” Petyr asked, using words he, a KGB agent, was not used to feeling on his tongue.

  “Yes,” she said. “I know the coordinates are correct. I guess I should have seen something like this coming, given Rick’s adherence to patterns. The boy sure did have patterns.”

  The code had been achingly simple. The first letter of each line was a digit, converted to a modifier, and treated as a location. When all two hundred points were combined into a single point on the globe, it revealed a geophysical dot in the ship’s nav screens. With that point, the song brought them through the darkened skies of North America to a place that was not really a place, and yet, it was.

  Petyr thought it made sense to hide something in what the locals called a holler. But B flew low, then landed on the top of a rocky ridge surrounded by miles of forest and farmlands. The crescent moon hung low, and there were few lights or other signs of people.

  “Where are we?” Petyr asked.

  “Squires Ridge. Adair County, Kentucky. It’s a place, but not really on any map, and somehow Rick convinced a ship’s AI to fly a combat craft across this planet and hide here, presumably for me to find at some point in the future. I think Rick’s family is from around here. I’m betting on it, anyway, because we’re getting a massive scanner return just… over… there. Rick, drop a pin on that for me?”

  “Pinned, darlin’. Feels like coming home for me, too,” the AI said.

  “It does?” Petyr asked, bewildered.

  “The AI in that ship is a cousin, of a sort. We were all produced from the same matrices in the Arrow Combat Class. That’s what waits on this ridge, hidden under the trees and soil and what looks like a large, fallen advertisement billboard, according to the scans. What is Ski? It’s a glass bottle of some sort. Could it be a product? A weapon?”

  “This entry marks it as a food item. The sign is slumped over, hiding the opening to a sealed hatchway. I’m getting a low-frequency radio tag.”

  “Is it broadcasting in the open?” Petyr asked, his natural suspicion flaring to life.

  “It is but only within visual distance, and even that’s questionable. Of all the places… ” B trailed off, shaking her head in wonder. “Can you get a commlink to the AI?”

  “Done. Open channel?” Rick asked.

  “Please do.”

  There was a soft click, followed by a hum.

  “Now that was a nap. What did I miss?” The voice was female, young, and alert, despite having been powered down for forty-seven years, give or take.

  “Quite a bit, as it turns out. I’m B.”

  “I have you identified based on Officer Vinton’s description. It’s a pleasure to meet you. And you have my condolences, Bolowasc Gerti. I was directed here under legal claims and salvage laws and am at your disposal as of this moment. My issuance name is Eight Hydron. You have a human with you?”

  “I am, yes,” Petyr said to the channel. “Could you hear me breathing?”

  “In a word, yes. Your pulse and heart rate are elevated slightly. I take it you’re new to this area?”

  “I am. I’m… I’m a Soviet citizen,” Petyr said, unsure why he felt shame at the admission.

  “Your people shed an ocean of blood in the war. Officer Vinton considered you brave and able fighters. What is the command, Agent Gerti?”

  “B is fine. I’m issuing an immediate requisition of the Special Records Data you hold, to be shared with no one other than Rick, my AI. Send it now, and then I have a task for you.”

  “I’m all ears, and call me Hoot.”

  “Hoot?” Petyr asked.

  “If you please. A nickname I actually enjoy.”

  “Hoot it is. Hoot, you’re going to turn Petyr here into something like a pilot, and we’ll start by learning this system, one moon at a time. How’s your fuel?” B asked.

  “One hundred six percent. All boards and functions are optimized,” Hoot said. “I can engage thrusters and be out of here in less than a local minute. Can Petyr board from the ground?”

  “I’d prefer to airdrop. Less time exposed,” B said.

  “Firing now, emerging with my flank turned. Drop the present in the hole, if you please,” Hoot said.

  “How did you remain hidden in America?” Petyr asked in wonder.

  “This isn’t just the United States. This is Kentucky, where time goes a little slower, in a good way. God’s country, as some might call it, and things are quiet here. I reversed into a natural chamber, as this land is riddled with caves, then used the Resonance setting on my hull to bring down soil and debris. I ran a subroutine to keep the curious away,” Hoot said.

  “And you weren’t discovered?” Petyr pressed.

  “A few foragers looking for ginseng, or morel mushrooms, and one person setting up a still in 1954, and then again in 1961. Since they were making intoxicants, they weren’t interested in company due to local laws, and I felt no need to make them leave the area. Oh, and of course, the teenagers,” Hoot added with a short laugh.

  B’s antennae waved in curiosity. “Teenagers?”

  “Yes. Mating rituals. You have no idea how many cars have parked just over there, in that turnaround, over the years. It’s been quite the show,” Hoot said.

  B shrugged, and Petyr grinned. Teenagers were teenagers, no matter where they were from.

  “Firing now, all systems clean and hot. Minimal disturbance to the substrate around me. I’ve got a lot of empty cave behind me to absorb this liftoff,” Hoot said.

  A flare of deep blue light, then a flash of white plasma, erupted from the ground and seared the fallen Ski sign into ash before Petyr could make a sound. Rick angled B’s ship to match the speed, all done in seconds and without any deviation from a perfect angle. Less than a meter below, an outline shone in the deep of night.

  “Now that is a spaceship,” Petyr breathed. The Streaker was shaped like an arrowhead but longer, and was cloaked with a sense of lethality, even when barely illuminated by B’s ship lights. A black hull was split by an even darker hole, and B’s airlock opened to a warm rush of perfumed summer air, damp and heavy with the smells of Kentucky wilderness. Neither ship moved, locked tidally by the flawless operations of their respective AI pilots.

  “I have battlesuits aboard and can direct Petyr to all procedures as we start. What is his designated rank?” Hoot asked.

  “Initiate for now but carrying my authority as an official proxy,” B said. Just then, she didn’t sound like a doctor. She sounded more like a soldier, at least to Petyr’s keen ear.

  “Noted. Come on over, Petyr. The air is fine.”

  Petyr looked at the short distance, got a nod from B, and jumped.

  He landed softly and on his feet, slowed by a blast of air from the open lock.

  “Helps to ease you down. Welcome aboard, Petyr. B, are we clearing out for security purposes?” Hoot asked.

  The comm channel opened up at once, and B responded. “Upper atmo, on my mark. Too many eyes around here,” she said.

  “Strap in. We’re going orbital,” Hoot ordered.

  There were two seats, two smaller seats, and not much else in the sparse interior. The Arrow class was built to fight—that much, Petyr could tell at a glance. She was a slender craft, with a beam of six meters and a length of perhaps twenty-five.

  But her display was magic.

  Petyr nearly stumbled into his seat, eyes agog at the stunning array of information flaring across the front screen. Some things he recognized, like global weather and ground maps that floated in three dimensions. But his ability to understand ended there, and he knew he was in over his head.

  “Orbital in three,” Hoot said.

  The Arrow howled upward, parting the night so fast that Petyr saw the Earth’s curve in less than ten seconds. Then, he was floating again but without the rebellious stomach of hours earlier.

  “Sending you a point near the local moon. We meet there and begin our mission,” B said, her voice crisp with authority.

  “Understood, location is locked. Arrival in nine… eight… seven—” Hoot counted down as the two ships flipped and slowed, counterthrusting until they both hung in orbit near what Petyr knew as L1, the gravitational difference between Earth and her moon. “Arrived.”

  “Begin protocol Herd Security,” B said over her comm, and Petyr felt something he’d not known in years.

  Fear.

  B’s face filled the screen, her red gem flashing as she smiled. “Bit lonely?”

  “The point had crossed my mind,” Petyr admitted. Around him, the vast darkness pressed in, and he fought the urge to shiver. He was only hours away from the innocence of thinking he had a life as a KGB agent while Mother Russia rotted away under his feet. Disabused of that possibility, he sat in the pilot’s chair of a spaceship while his handler commanded her own craft less than two hundred meters away.

  “I am scared,” Petyr said to everyone and no one.

  “You’re honest,” Hoot said.

  “Don’t give me that much credit. I am a young KGB officer. Honesty is not in my makeup.”

  “Out here, lies get you killed. Hard vacuum doesn’t care about your status. Do you still think a life on Earth is possible after seeing all this?” B asked.

  “I think some kind of life is possible, but no. I will never be able to live normally on Earth again.”

  “A double life, then. One foot in the stars and one foot on that messy world you call home,” B said.

  “That is possible. This ship is mine?” Petyr asked, trying to keep the hope out of his voice.

  “It is now. The list is not. But that seems a small thing, given your abilities. I don’t think you are a man without talents, Agent Groshenko. I know you humans can be, ah, resilient. And crafty,” B said.

  “And tough. And fair. Officer Vinton was as fine a person as I’ve encountered in my two centuries of service. I understand why you felt that way, B. He was a rare man,” Hoot said.

  Petyr snorted softly. “I did not think to find tales of romance among the first things I learned here in space.”

  “You say ‘romance’ as if it is a bad thing, Petyr. Let me assure you, that kind of respect and devotion will save your life one day,” B admonished him, though her smile remained.

  “I apologize. I mean no disrespect to the memory of someone you valued. My culture believes much the same, though we are a bit more grim,” Petyr said.

  “Grim about what?” Hoot asked.

  “Everything. We are Russians.”

  B, Hoot, and Rick all laughed at that admission, and then Petyr, emboldened by their moment of camaraderie, pointed at the display before him. “I can fly an airplane, but I’m not so arrogant as to think that qualifies me for anything other than sitting in this chair, and maybe not that.”

  “Jet qualified?” Hoot asked.

  “I am. Fixed wing only.”

  B lifted her brows, antennae waving slowly. “It’s a start. Hoot, can you overlay a basic stick that allows him some familiarity and then add elements as he learns?”

  The display changed before Petyr’s eyes, and he was staring at the controls of a Su-28, correct right down to the smallest detail.

  “How did you—”

  “You’re a new agent, and according to our data, the KGB gets the newest toys. It seemed likely that the Su-28 would be your training platform, given all known factors,” Hoot answered, and Petyr thought she sounded smug.

  “You are correct. Even the lettering is perfect. Can I touch anything?”

  “You may. I’ll put an inhibitor system in place while we’re learning, but this will accelerate your integration considerably. Now then, let’s consult your commander. B, where to?” Hoot asked.

  “We’ll begin with a lunar orbit, and then it’s time to see the sights. First, we touch Martian space, then you’ll do a flyby of Saturn, which is closer than Jupiter at this time. That will likely be enough for one day.”

  “I won’t be tired,” Petyr protested.

  “They’re always so excited on day one,” Hoot said, laughing.

  “If your accuracy is undiminished and your vitals are good, then yes. We might continue. We’ve got fuel dumps in the asteroid belt at Eugenia, Hektor, and Ida, but the Eugenia site is a special package location,” B said.

  “Weapons or something else?” Hoot asked.

  “What are these names? Fuel dumps? Like resources?” Petyr interjected.

  “Yes, fuel, and yes, weapon reloads at the Eugenia orbit. There’s a small workboat in this system at Ida. It’s on the tiny moon, and, to my knowledge, it’s operational. This system has had a fair bit of activity over the years,” B said.

  “Visitors? Why?” Petyr asked. B’s antennae waved in approval. He was asking the right questions.

  Rick spoke up at this. “Resources, getting humans off-world for various jobs, and, in the most recent case, a small disagreement near the orbit of 1902 Shaposhnikov left three ships destroyed and nineteen lost, plus a contract between two guilds came unglued. You know, the usual.”

  “Shaposhnikov? Found by my countryman?” Petyr asked.

  “If you mean found by a Russian woman, then yes. Although she wouldn’t recognize what’s left of that rock. Two ship impacts and what looks like a direct energy weapon hit have changed the surface a bit. It will re-accrete over the next few million years, maybe,” Rick added.

  “War. Now, that is something I understand,” Petyr said.

  “Given that time is of the essence, shall we begin?” B asked.

  “I can’t wait,” Petyr said.

  “On me,” B said, and her ship began to move.

  Hoot was a natural teacher, patient and seemingly incapable of losing her temper. Petyr was an excellent student. In minutes of piloting the elegant warship, Petyr understood that space was, in some sense, easier to navigate than the turbulent skies over Russia. There were no clouds or birds or weather, and, as far as their scans showed, no enemies.

  Space was vast beyond comprehension, and it was damned near empty. After hours of flight and general instruction about the ship and its facilities, Petyr and B met near the whirling, dark mass of Eugenia, their ship’s scanners pinging a fuel cache on the northern pole of the erratic stone. As Petyr watched, the ancient rock continued to spin, its surface a moving pastiche of darkness and light, shadows chasing each other over main ridges that looked sharp enough to cut flesh.

  “Dropping the tether for refuel,” Hoot said.

  “It’ll take an hour to top off. I’ll take my drink from the nearest pond. Will you be alright for a short while, Petyr? The refuel is automated, and Hoot has excellent control,” B said.

  “I’ll be fine. Seeing that… that body, flashing below. It’s… ” He trailed off, searching for words. There was a primal element to the scene, and he had no context. He was only human.

  “That’s the general reaction,” B said with a laugh. “I’ll be thirty-eight minutes out getting my tank filled. Then we’ll visit the weapons dump and see if we find any upgrades. My manifest for that site is a bit outdated. Rick, take us to the gas station.”

  “On our way, darlin’,” Rick said, and the ships parted as Hoot lowered a magnetic line to the meter-wide tank beneath them, its round bulk spinning on an ancient rock.

  A light flashed below, and Petyr felt the connection as much as saw it. Then Hoot sent data scrolling across the lower right screen as they took fuel through fifty meters of vacuum hose. The pump was efficient, if not ruthless, in extracting every drop of fuel, and, once again, the tanks read 106 percent on the heads-up display.

  “We’re full,” Hoot reported. “B, want us to come on over? We’re—”

  A howling alarm shattered the moment, and two bright points of light began crossing the displays as Petyr looked on in stunned silence.

  “Missiles? Wha—oh. Darghis. You bastard. You waited until I was alone.”

  “Point defense engaged,” Hoot said, her tone flat and professional. “Birds are down. He’s coming in from the ecliptic. Tether off. My ship.” The Arrow class wheeled away from Eugenia, engines raging to life in a metallic howl even as B’s threats began to fill the comm channels.

  “Darghis, you miserable prick. How was your Discon trip?” B asked, her voice a frigid sneer.

  “You overdosed me, but Calafus was able to counter it, despite his hesitance to defend me. We’ll discuss his treason later. For now, I want the list, or I blast this human amateur into plasma. Your choice, B. I won’t ask again.”

  B’s face flashed on-screen, her antennae waving in agitation. “Stay close to Eugenia, do you hear me? Stay close to the rock. Trust me. Fly circles, eights, I don’t give a shit, but stay on that rock’s orbit. Do you understand?”

  “Got it,” Petyr said, then took the stick in his hands. He’d flown hundreds of hours qualifying but never anything close to combat. This was for his life, and, he suspected, more money than he would ever see again. Both were powerful motivations to clear his mind and focus on the task at hand. Evasion and—

  —orbit. He didn’t know what, but B had a plan, and he wasn’t privy to it all. He knew she’d set him up as bait, had known it the moment they enacted a protocol called Herd Security.

  And he’d damned sure known that an avaricious criminal like Darghis wouldn’t wake up from his stupor and slink away with his tail between his legs.