The Renegat Read online

  Two of his team members—Omar and Erika—already had their personal computer screens up on clear holographic mode. They were the ones assigned with tricking the redundant systems so that the team could get into the docking bay undetected—at least for a few minutes. Long enough that they would be able to get to the ship he had chosen.

  Two other team members—Igasho and Sera—were going to scrub the identities of the entire team, effectively removing them from the security system the moment the group entered the docking bay. He’d learned that trick by studying what students had done before.

  The system was set up to catch that little maneuver, but he’d tested it (like he had tested everything), not with his own profile, but with the profiles of some of the kids one year ahead of him. He’d set up the scrubbing to look like it was accidental—a glitch in the system. And he’d deliberately chosen candidates who had no real technical expertise. These were the kids who liked the arts, who focused on languages or ship culture or Fleet history, such as it was.

  There was no way those kids had the ability to scrub their own profiles, and they didn’t have the wherewithal to hire someone (or bribe someone) to do it for them. If ship security didn’t look too deeply at the scrubbing, no one would figure out what had happened.

  So far, no one had looked to see if the scrubbing was anything more than a system error.

  And Crowe had learned how long it took the system to recognize it had been spoofed and to solve the problem.

  The fastest the scrubbing had been repaired had been seven minutes. The fastest it had been reported to a human had been ten minutes—and that had been on the same student. It had been an outlier, but Crowe used that figure as his figure.

  He’d tested the team in their simulation. They had to move fast to the ship, and get inside within six minutes. That way, when their profiles returned to the system, they wouldn’t be in the middle of boarding a ship they had no right to be on.

  They hadn’t done it physically—they hadn’t done any of this physically—but they knew what the stakes were, and at least according to some of his instructors, virtual drills created brain muscle memory as effectively as actual drills created actual muscle memory.

  He was counting on that.

  The elevator door opened on First Level, and the team headed en masse to the docking bay entrance. Once inside, they’d run to the ship. Out here, they laughed and joked like kids on a walk, except for Omar and Erika, who were in the middle of the circle, mostly protected from the security imagery—so that the system wouldn’t flag their behavior (or anyone’s behavior) as suspicious.

  The corridor was wide enough to accommodate four across, the ceilings high, and the floor made of a material he always meant to look up, designed to help anyone who had not yet adjusted to the peculiarities of the Brazza Two to maintain balance and stability. This flooring vanished on the main levels, but was part of the entire area around the docking bay, something Crowe had noticed, but didn’t yet understand.

  They arrived at the fifth entrance into this docking bay. This particular entrance had the most minimal security because it was the farthest from any access point. It also led into the part of the docking bay reserved for the lesser-used ships. No outside ships ever docked here, and no small ship in active use docked here either.

  Crowe had spent nearly a week looking up each small ship in this area, its specs, its foibles, and its capacity. He knew he had an inexperienced team, so he wanted something easy to pilot. He also knew that the ship had to be large enough to handle ten, and with portholes big enough that the team could see the Scrapheap with their own eyes.

  He also wanted a ship that could handle the distance to the Scrapheap rapidly, with minimum fuss, and could handle the one maneuver he was most afraid of on its own.

  Bringing the ship back to the Brazza Two and docking in the same spot required piloting skills beyond anyone in this group. While all of the small ships attached to the Brazza Two had an autopilot function, not all of the autopilots worked well.

  Most of that was by design. The Brazza Two didn’t just train gifted students in their early years of study and scholars who would eventually train aboard a specialty ship; it also trained pilots, engineers, and the entire officer corps. They all needed small ship experience, and not all of that experience could come from simulations.

  Many of the small ships in this docking bay were training vessels with certain features disabled or removed. Crowe needed all of the features of a Fleet vessel to work well, just in case his little crew did get into trouble. He needed to be able to activate a part of the ship or give it over to the computer or contact someone on the Brazza Two, ask for help, and then be able to implement that help.

  He hoped nothing would go that seriously wrong on this little adventure, but he also knew that hope wasn’t something a commander could count on.

  Captain Mbue had said that on more than one occasion. Speaking to his class, she had added, Hope should give us the wings to pursue the experience that will then enable us to make the best decisions for that particular moment. Optimism and hope built the Fleet. Experience pilots it. Adventure keeps it moving, ever forward.

  She had never mentioned creativity in any of her speeches, but Crowe liked to think that creativity was part of the Fleet as well. Maybe one of the most valuable parts.

  Certainly, his creativity had helped him catch the attention of every single one of his teachers. They always gave him assignments far beyond anything someone his age should do. And they praised his nonstandard way of approaching each problem they gave him, telling him they had never met anyone who thought like he did.

  He hoped they would have the same reaction to this adventure. If they caught him.

  The fifth entrance into the docking bay was also the smallest—a single door. The eleven crowded around it, and waited while Adil took point. He was slender and small, having not yet hit his full growth, which Crowe believed might make him even more valuable down the road.

  Right now, Adil had to unlock the entrance. Crowe was suddenly breathing shallowly. He wanted to unlock the entrance. He had done every single thing in the simulation, so he knew what the crew would be up against, and some things he did better than others.

  Like opening doors undetected.

  Only his time had been fifteen seconds slower than Adil’s time. And nothing Crowe could do in the simulation made his time faster than Adil’s.

  That was how Crowe had made the assignments anyway. The crew members who did the jobs the swiftest while being the most accurate were the ones who got the job.

  That didn’t stop him from shifting from foot to foot. Each passing second felt like an hour.

  He hadn’t thought about this, about the way it looked when eleven kids crowded around a door. If he had given that part thought, he would have had the scrubbing of their digital signatures begin sooner.

  Adil finished in record time (even though it didn’t feel that way) and the door slid to one side, just like it was supposed to. The crew walked in, with Igasho and Sera remaining just outside the door, as they finished the scrubbing.

  Or, at least, Crowe hoped they finished the scrubbing. Because this was one part of the plan that they had no way to check.

  Igasho entered first. His black eyes met Crowe’s, and Igasho nodded. Igasho believed it was done.

  Then Sera stepped inside and shouted, “Go!” just like she was supposed to do.

  The crew ran for the first time, everyone heading for the scout ship that Crowe had designated as theirs.

  His stomach tightened, and he was still having trouble breathing. He’d checked and double-checked the manifest all day, just to make sure that the scout ship was still in place.

  The ship had the uninspired name of Br2 Scout3. Apparently school ships lost scouts in training so often that the scouts’ names were simple.

  This scout had been in service for almost a hundred years, and was on its last legs. It hadn’t been used much at all, whic
h was one reason why Crowe had targeted it. He knew no one was paying much attention to it.

  He’d run a diagnostic a few weeks ago, piggybacking on engineering’s standard small ship diagnostic. So technically, he hadn’t run the diagnostic at all. He had just added Br2 Scout3 to the list, and the engineering department had run its usual check. The ship came out clean.

  Crowe scurried around some of the other smaller ships—a runabout, an orbiter, a few tiny ships that were little more than pods—following his team.

  He was the one in charge of the scout ship, and he had to get there when everyone else did, but he had a stitch in his side from his uneven breathing.

  He was a lot more nervous than he expected to be. This entire mission was a lot more real than he had ever imagined, and he was beginning to think they were in too deep.

  If he hadn’t made this into a contest with Tessa, he might have backed out right here.

  But he had, and his pride was going to keep him moving forward.

  The team arrived at the ship with two minutes to spare. They were all gathered around the back end of the scout. This ship had a cargo door, like many of the military vessels.

  Usually small ships were coded to the pilots and bridge crew of the larger vessel they rode in, but not training ships. Training ships had entry codes for each class that was supposed to train inside.

  Crowe had investigated which unit was using what type of training ship at the moment. None of them were actually training on scout ships in classes right now, but the classes on the scout ships would start up in a few weeks.

  Fortunately for him, the instructors for that unit were already preparing—or maybe they had never changed the entry codes. He had dug into that part of the shipboard computer, using an instructor identification he had borrowed long ago. It wasn’t the only instructor identification he had borrowed in his time here—he rotated through them when he needed to.

  He’d actually burned three of them on this trip. If the team got caught, he wouldn’t be able to use those identifications again.

  His mouth was dry and his heart was pounding. He stepped up to the back control panel, hidden to the left of the door. Usually this part of a scout ship was opened in the ship’s tiny bridge, but there were redundant systems in all of the Fleet’s vessels.

  Every type of ship had extra ways to enter. Ships that went off on their own without any backup, like scout ships, had several redundant entry points, so that no one could get locked out in a strange environment.

  He opened the control panel with shaking fingers, wishing he had more control over his body right now. He didn’t want his team to know how nervous he was, although they could probably guess.

  Maybe they would chalk it up to adrenaline. Or maybe they were just as nervous, and even more excited.

  No one said anything. He could hear some ragged breathing, but that was about it.

  The panel revealed a triple-coded entry, just like he expected. That calmed him. He had to type in a pattern with his fingertips. The ship would then identify him as a student in the Brazza Two. In the past, the ships had to confirm that someone was in the program that was going to use the ship, but so many records weren’t kept up that the instructor corps abandoned that system and just put regular student records in place.

  The instructors figured there were other ways to prevent students who didn’t belong from getting on the ships.

  And those ways were the ones that Crowe had discovered, overridden, or planned for.

  He had planned for this one. The ship asked him for the class code. He’d found that about a week ago. He swept his forefinger across the flat-screen pad four times, then placed his entire hand on the screen.

  Nothing happened.

  Was he going to fail at this, lose this competition, because he had underestimated the access code to the ship he needed? What would Tessa say about that? She rarely teased him about his failures, but this would be too rich to ignore. She would—

  Metal against metal squealed, followed by a rumble and a series of small clicks. Five of his team members stepped backwards. They had been too close to the back end of the scout ship—the end that was slowly opening like a cargo ship door.

  Just like it was supposed to do.

  He let out a half laugh, catching it before it became an exclamation of joy. Still, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he nodded to his team.

  He gave a one-finger symbol—index finger up—and then pointed at the dark interior. He stepped into the darkness first, even though a captain never went first. But he wasn’t a real captain (yet) so screw it.

  He wanted to run, but he knew better than that. Instead, his boots caught on the ramp, making banging sounds as he walked up it.

  Lights came on around him the deeper he went into the ship.

  His team—his crew—flanked him. Once they were all inside, he nodded at Maida, who would be his second in command on this journey. She grinned at him, her round face and green eyes filled with joy. He had picked Maida for this one because her scores on all of the tests they had done in the simulation were the closest to his.

  She was the only other person who had managed each test along the way. Everyone else had failed at least one.

  She walked over to the interior control panel for the door and the environmental system, and pressed it, shutting the cargo door and making sure the environment was suited for the team. Proper oxygen mix, proper temperature, full gravity.

  Still, they would grab environmental suits as they passed through the armory on their way to the tiny bridge. In a couple of the simulations, things had gone so badly awry that the fake crew needed environmental suits.

  Even though those simulations were outliers, they happened. And Crowe was cautious enough to prepare for the worst and hope that it would never come to pass.

  He glanced at the crew. They were smiling at him, the nerves gone—so far as he could tell. Maybe the crew was all excited about this part of the mission.

  In his estimation, this was the most dangerous part to them and their future careers with the Fleet. If they got caught at this moment, without having achieved their objectives, they’d join all the ignominious previous students who had tried to get a ship out of the docking bay.

  Those students often lied about the reason they were leaving. Most of them were fleeing the school.

  Crowe wasn’t, and he figured he would have the simulations to back him up, but he still hated this part.

  He led his crew out of the cargo area and into that narrow armory. The armory was empty; it wouldn’t be stocked with weaponry unless the scout ship was going off on its own for real. But environmental suits had to remain with all ships at all times.

  Still, he felt a thread of relief when he opened the uniform storage and found dozens of suits in various sizes hanging from pegs, just like they were supposed to be.

  Apparently he hadn’t entirely believed that the suits would be here.

  Everyone grabbed a suit, then spent a few uncomfortable minutes sliding it on over their clothes. Crowe’s suit was newer than the suit he had in his dorm room, and it took him a moment to figure out that the suit operated by touch-command. He left the hood down, and the gravity in his boots off.

  He didn’t wait for anyone else as he headed to the tiny bridge.

  The Br2 Scout3 was a midrange scout ship—or so its specs said—designed for regional exploration. The Br2 Scout3’s standard crew could expect to be on board for weeks, maybe months, as the exploration went on.

  That meant there were two levels on the ship—operations and residential. He wasn’t interested in residential; the crew wouldn’t be on board that long. But operations had to have a fully functional engineering section, weaponry and defensive capabilities, and a bridge big enough to handle a minimal crew which, Fleet regulations stated, was five people at one time.

  The bridge was on the opposite side of the ship from the cargo bay. So he jogged in that direction, a little surprised at
the time it took. The simulation estimate for that seemed to be wildly off.

  Of course, the simulation didn’t take into account the equipment left in corridors from the Br2 Scout3’s last mission, or the way that the sharp angles of the Br2 Scout3’s design slowed down anyone scurrying across the ship.

  The Br2 Scout3 was just barely small enough for a crew of ten to run it, although crew compliment said that this ship needed a minimum of thirty, should the ship be gone for longer than a day or two.

  Crowe finally reached the bridge, and was relieved to find the doors open. He had planned for four minutes of struggle with the control panel so that his crew could get into the bridge. He wouldn’t need those four minutes, which was a good thing, since he had already wasted them and a few more getting to the bridge.

  He wondered how Tessa was doing. He hadn’t heard any sirens or notification of a lockdown, and he would have, since the Br2 Scout3 was still on board the Brazza Two.

  So she hadn’t been caught.

  The others of his crew joined him, environmental hoods down, looking a little flustered and sweaty from their own jogs across the ship. Maida reached his side.

  “Ready?” she asked in a tone that told him she thought he was having second thoughts. If one word could sound like a shove in the back, that ready was it.

  “Yep,” he said, and stepped inside the bridge.

  He had expected something small, but not something this claustrophobic. The ceiling was low, the lights old and a bit grey, the way that lights from a century ago were made. The bridge was designed like half of a bowl, with everything leading to the lower level down front. That level included a wide variety of screens, which could be toggled together to form a holographic representation of space itself.

  He had thought that sounded exciting when he first found out about the design of this type of scout ship. He thought the bridge would seem vast. But now it seemed a little cheap, and the downward dip just looked like a hazard rather than a design feature.