The Orphan Alliance (The Black Ships Book 3) (5 page)

The
Völund,
in
transit to Weirfall

T
he
sound hit Harry as soon as the seals breached on the Midgaard lighter. They
were being lowered to the small hangar deck of the
Völund.
The image of
gladiators being lifted into the ancient Roman amphitheater came to mind as his
crew cheered themselves hoarse, welcoming him home. 

Harry had heard a half million Oaxians cheering his name,
and it had been an incredible experience, but it paled next to this. He was having
a hard time mastering his emotions as he stepped off the ramp and his people,
his military family, surged around him, all wanting to be the first to welcome
him back to his ship.

“The old
man’ll
pitch a fit when
we get back,” Carol, his first officer, shouted over the din as Harry and
Lothbrok were both hoisted up onto shoulders. “But it’s worth it, even as a
simple morale exercise!”

The two returning heroes were carried out of the hangar and
thrust into the forward riser shaft. Arms grabbed them four decks up and pulled
them out. Once again they were hoisted up by a mix of Harry’s old civilian
crew, soldiers and Midgaard crewmen from Lothbrok’s flagship.

As they rounded the corner and entered the crew lounge, they
were met by another cheer, slightly slurred this time as the celebrants here
had access to the ship’s liquor stores. An odd quintet of musicians, three
Royal Marines and two Midgaard crewmen, struck up a celto-alien fusion tune
that bounced merrily along.

The stars outside the windows blurred and a smooth wave of
distortion swept through the room as the main drives activated, bringing the
approach corridor at Weirfall rushing toward them. It would be a two day run to
the Alliance world.

As the distortion waves faded, bottles of white ale were
thrust into their hands. The
Völund
had never been a dry ship and, when
she had been drafted into US Navy, Major Liam Kennedy, Harry’s security chief,
had taken him aside and suggested asking for a complement of Royal Marines.

The hastily-formed human fleet was largely composed of mixed
crews and the presence of the Royal Marines would mean a relaxation of the
American tendency to field ‘dry’ or alcohol-free units.
This must be the
last of the beer from home,
Harry thought as he took a deep drink.
Just
as well, it was starting to turn anyway.

After an hour of good cheer, Harry was eager for some quiet,
and a free head. He decided the facilities by the hangar deck might be
relatively unused and so he headed for the forward riser. In his
semi-inebriated state, he began to work his way down, hand over hand so as not
to drift free and knock himself out.

Two decks down, he heard one of the Marines talking to an
American crewman. “Mutiny? Nah. It’s only mutiny if we failed to get him back –
you wait and see. The admiral will growl at us, but he’s glad we went. And now
we’ve got our ‘Arry back, our life expectancy just went up. You ever hear about
his run-in with those Caradi pirates?”

“No.”

“Well I wasn’t there, mind you, but Major Kennedy told us
about it when we came aboard…”

Harry drifted out of earshot, suddenly feeling very sober.
They
don’t realize how lucky we were against those pirates,
he thought.
They
might have easily called my bluff and we’d be frozen corpses, floating in space
between Khola and Cera.

He stepped out onto the grav plating and headed forward.
Through the windows of the hangar, he could see Lothbrok, looking out at the
light show of the forward compression wave. Forgetting his bladder for the
moment, he entered the hangar and came to a stop by his friend, looking out the
huge opening, protected only by the energy shielding.

“What troubles the Lord of Beringsburg?”

A dark laugh. “Beringsburg,” he said flatly. “You and I saved
Caul’s ship not to mention Caul’s own hide when we fought the Dactari at Earth,
and he gave me Beringsburg, a prize he offered to any man who might bring him a
captured infiltrator from
Bliekr’s
faction.”

“So he rewarded you for the prisoner rather than for his
rescue,” Harry shrugged. “It still raised you to Hauld status.”

“Our family could have rivaled Caul’s once, but we chose to
support his father, Odin. My father borrowed heavily to field fifty-nine ships
and, when they went missing twenty-five centuries ago, our house fell into
ruin.”

Harry nodded. Lothbrok’s father had been among the missing
Midgaard. They had taken refuge on Earth, forming the nucleus of Nordic
mythology. Some of Lothbrok’s own relatives had played prominent roles in the
Nordic conquests of Britain.

“Caul gave me a place in his household, but it hasn’t been
easy. Being a common warrior when you were raised to lead a great house is a
hard thing, Harry.” He remained motionless, staring out at the flowing lights
as passing stars streaked by. “Beringsburg can barely support ten ships so that
was all I received from the spoils of
Bliekr’s
faction.”

So that was the source of Lothbrok’s troubles. He was a
hauld, but just barely. Harry knew that a hauld could easily lose his status if
he failed to support the minimum fleet of ten ships. Any hauld could challenge
his status and there had to be a few remaining haulds left from house Bliekr
who would like to absorb Lothbrok’s small fleet.

“Caul is a good man, but he won’t involve himself in this,”
Lothbrok stated darkly. “I’m a useful warrior to him, with or without the ten
ships. There’s always some dirty work to be done.”

“But he wouldn’t want to lose the ships,” Harry began, then
caught himself. “Whoever challenges would still be obligated to fight for him,
seeing as he’s the leader.”

Lothbrok nodded. “And I end up standing watches on the
bridge of the
Ormen
again.”

Harry realized this was more than just a future concern.
“Your ships?”

“The
Visund
had a core breach and fell into the
atmosphere of Weirfall eight days ago.” Lothbrok looked over at his Human
friend.

“I have nine ships.”

Harry kept his face impassive. The last thing his friend
would want was pity. “How much time do you have before someone will challenge
you?”

“It might have happened already, if I hadn’t left to come
after you. Valdemar will move against me at the next Althing. He’s the most
powerful of
Bliekr’s
old haulds.” He looked back out
at the haze. “Oaxes looked like a respectable place,” he mused. “Make a decent
fief.”

Harry laughed. “Oh sure, they’re struggling to end thousands
of years of occupation and they’ll be happy to simply bend the knee to a new
alien?”

“Well, it was just a thought,” the Midgaard said
dismissively.

It was the careless tone that clued Harry in. Lothbrok was
seriously thinking about seizing the planet to reverse his ebbing fortune.
He
might have something there,
he realised.
It may need some modification.
“They
may not like it if you call them a fief or refer to yourself as the lord of
their world,” he began slowly. “But they’re going to need our help. After what
we did to the garrison, you can bet the Republic is going to make an example of
them.”

“Well I’m not going to just defend them without some sort of
mutual obligation,” Lothbrok retorted.

“No,” Harry agreed. “They do have a historical precedence
for this kind of thing – we just need to adjust it a bit. You become their
‘Warlord’ and they provide you with the cut of their taxes that would have gone
to the Republic. They’re free to manage civil affairs as long as they hold up
their end.”

“And they get exclusive access to the Weirfall market,” the
Midgaard enthused, “rather than having to share the Ufanges market with
competitors. It would go a long way
toaward
balancing
their economy.” He caught the look of surprise on Harry’s face and grinned. “If
you were raised to lead a major house in our society, you need to understand
economics.”

“So that gives us operational ships, but we still need to
arm them,” Harry scratched at the stubble on his face. “The Oaxians founded a
colony on Tauhento, back before the Empire. I’d bet they’ll want a shot at
independence too, as long as we can help Oaxes survive. They’re the number
three producer of rail weaponry in the Republic,” he added mildly.

“Now we have a plan!” Lothbrok hammered Harry on the
shoulder. “You can be the Warlord of Oaxes and I’ll go to Tauhento.”

“Me?” Harry tried to speak but his mind was too busy
processing the concept to bother with conversation.
I’m a naval officer, not
a feudal lord. Then again...
 He stared out at the distortion.
I
know them better than anyone in the Alliance now.

“You’re practically an Oaxian yourself now,” said Lothbrok,
as though reading his thoughts. “You carry the memories of some of their
greatest heroes and you sure as Niflheim lit the hearth under them in that
arena. Besides,” he spoke quietly, earnestly, “I want to know there’s someone I
can trust on the other leg of this stool before I risk my neck on it.”

“You know,” Harry said before pausing, barely believing his
own words, “I can almost see Towers going for this.”

“You speak in jest?” the Midgaard demanded. “Of course he
will. It balances close to eighty percent of the Weirfall economy if we open up
Oaxes and Tauhento to them.” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “I see I
shall have to give you some lessons before we take you back to Oaxes.” His face
darkened suddenly, an unwelcome thought re-asserting itself.

“And I have to find a way to survive the next Althing.”

Petite Tortue Island, Caribbean

T
ommy
and Kale stood in the office, waiting for its occupant to return from the
coffee pot outside. Gelna had seen more than enough of Earth as a prisoner of
war and so he had decided not to join his comrades.

“This time wait till he sees us before flapping your gums,”
Kale suggested.

“I assume you’re talking about me,” a man stood in the
doorway, a steaming mug in his hand. He tilted his head slightly as he frowned
at them. “I’m pretty sure you didn’t just sneak past me, so how long have you
been hiding above the ceiling tiles?”

“Well,” Tommy began, “we’re actually being projected from
orbit. No offense, but we’d rather not take the chance of getting infected…”

“Understandable,” the big man set his coffee on a stained
desk blotter before dropping into his chair. “The last part, I mean. That first
bit didn’t make a lick of sense.” He opened a drawer to his right and began
rooting through its contents.

“Well, it’s true.” Tommy was a little disconcerted by the
man’s apparent nonchalance. “We’re being projected by a ship that we…” He
stopped as he found himself looking down the barrel of a handgun.

“If you don’t start making some sense,” the man said with
the air of someone who was merely offering friendly advice, “I’m gonna project
you through that door.”

 “We’re not really here,” Tommy insisted. “Look.” he
waved a hand toward Kale who recoiled.

“Watch it, would you? I’m standing right next to you on the
bridge. Nearly took an eye out.”

“Sorry, mate,” Tommy replied, then laughed. “Here, have a
look at his legs,” he said to their host. Kale’s legs were in the middle of a
chair.

“Huh!” The man dropped his pistol back in the drawer and
shoved it closed. “Won’t be any use, will it?”

“Not without a magazine in it,” Kale muttered.

“Yeah, well, it makes it too heavy,” the big man replied
with an easy grin. “I mostly just use it when we pretend I’m a private
detective and the wife… Umm…” He scratched the side of his head. “Maybe we
should get back to why two ghosts are standing here?”

“Wait a minute.” Kale looked over at Tommy. “D’you know who
this is?” His voice was incredulous. “This is Frank Bender; the guy who built
the first response fleet.”

“One of the guys,” Frank corrected. “Pretty sure there was
an entire army of workers involved.”

“Yeah, but you were running the show and you started putting
ships into orbit months ahead of schedule.” Kale looked back at Tommy. “You
wouldn’t have been more than ten back then, so you might not remember, but we
got to Mars just weeks before the Dactari were going to launch their ‘shake
& bake’ invasion.”

The Dactari had decided against the risk of sending a full
fleet to subdue Earth. All of their existing military forces were already in
use on internal security operations. Stripping away units would have left them
vulnerable to the separatists that had plagued the Republic as well as the
empire it had replaced.

They had decided to send a smaller force to seize Mars. Once
established there, they would clone their invasion troops and manufacture the
weapons needed. Their intelligence estimates had lodged a firm belief in
Dactari thinking – the Humans had only a handful of crude intra-solar vessels
powered by rockets. They could never hope to pose a threat to the operation on
Mars.

Designs for advanced vessels had existed for years at DARPA
but the economic reality of building such ships was beyond any one country. The
presence of a hostile force in the solar system had changed that equation.

“Look, guys,” Frank held up a hand. “It’s not that hard to
beat a military schedule when you’re used to building commercial vessels.
There’s none of the usual bullshit where some casino manager is telling you
that the carpet needs to be redone because the pattern doesn’t look right when
you walk in from the promenade.” He grinned. “I love working for the military.
As long as the crew doesn’t fall out when you turn, they don’t give a damn
about how it all looks.”

 “We caught ‘em just in time,” Kale insisted. “If you
hadn’t beat the schedule, we would have been the newest subject world of the
Dactari Republic.”

“And the Dactari would be dying of plague along with us.”
Frank leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Who knows, we might have wiped
them out entirely. The cure doesn’t work on them like it does on us.”

“So you’re working on the cure here?” Tommy asked.

“Oh yeah.” Frank nodded. “Some of the researchers who caused
it are the ones who make the cure. This is a government facility that does
R&D and prototype production on new warships, but we had a cop suddenly
show up here with his family and a handful of scientists about two years ago.
The scientists were trying to reverse engineer Midgaard longevity and they
pretty much succeeded.”

“So that’s where they got their hands on the organelles,”
Tommy said.

“Huh?”

“The bacteria we found in the plague victims are a variant
of an organelle belonging to the race that built our ship,” Tommy explained.
“Somehow, the Midgaard must have gotten their hands on it.”

“So the Midgaard didn’t come by it naturally?” Frank looked
down at his coffee, picking it up and taking a long sip of the hot liquid. He
set it down with a satisfied sigh. “There’s a problem with our vaccine, a two
percent chance of the retrovirus mutating in your body and attacking the
bacterial phase of the inoculation.

“They’ve set up a lab here, where it’s relatively secure –
rot monkeys can’t swim or operate boats – and we’ve been taking shuttles out to
whatever enclaves we can find to inoculate them.”

“Then this is ground zero for the cure,” Tommy said quietly.

“And for rebuilding our defenses.” Frank’s voice grew
serious. “We’ve built three new Hussar class ships so far and two more are
almost ready to lift off the graving docks.” His pride was obvious as he
talked. “They can dance circles around any other ship we’ve ever built, and
they’re all assembled by retrained plague survivors.

“When we find a group that’s too small to make it on their
own, we usually bring ‘em back here.” He waved a hand at the window behind
them. “That building out there has one of the world’s largest collections of
Dactari training capsules. Half the pods we captured at Mars are in there. We
take anyone older than fifteen and give ‘em a job. There’s a sixteen-year-old
girl here that’s made some amazing break
throughs
in
the field of pitch drives.”

“It’ll get pretty damned crowded here if you keep that up,”
Kale muttered.

“Not really,” Frank grinned. “Most of the folks we bring
back get other training. We make ‘em into steelworkers, electricians, computer
programmers – whatever we need to take a plant or a mine on the other side of
the world and get it running again.” He started to raise his mug again and
stopped halfway. “Oh yeah, anyone we send back out also gets the memories of a
couple of special forces operators that work security here.”  

“You’re colonizing the planet.” Tommy thought of his sister
and aunt on Guernsey. “I know of a couple of recruits you could use. Especially
my half-sister, Deirdre Kennedy. She was half-way through a masters at…”

“Any relation to Dr. Jan Kennedy?” Frank cut in, an eyebrow
raised inquisitively.

Tommy’s mouth was still open from his interrupted sentence,
and it just stayed that way as he stared down at the big man. Finally, he got
it working again. “What?”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Dr. Kennedy managed to get a
tissue sample from a Midgaard subject during their ride back here from Khooler
or something like that…”

“Khola,” Tommy supplied numbly.

“Yeah, sure. Anyway, she identified the underlying mechanism
that lets the Midgaard live for thousands of years.” He grimaced. “The
scientists that showed up here had gotten their grubby little paws on her work
and, next thing you know, the dead are strolling around snacking on the
living.” He leaned over his desk in alarm. “You all right?”

Tommy was now sitting on the floor in the middle of a filing
cabinet. “She’s my step-mum. I left the
Völund
before they came back to
Earth. It would kill her to learn she was the cause of the plague.”

“Hey, Alfred Nobel was probably horrified at what his
explosives were used for but he put his money to good use by starting the Nobel
Prize,” Frank offered, still leaning over his desk.

“Actually, he owned several munitions and weapons
factories,” Kale amended. “He didn’t come up with the idea for the prize until
his brother died and a French paper printed an obituary for Alfred by mistake.
They say it made him rethink everything.”

“Yeah, well… really?” Frank sat back in his chair.

“Called him the ‘merchant of death’.”

“Thanks, guys,” Tommy muttered. “You’re a big help.”

“Look,” Kale began in a matter of fact tone. “It’s
hypocritical to call him that. He sold a ton of weapons, sure, but there had to
be
customers
too. Democratically elected governments were buying his
weapons hand over fist. Ordinary citizens, who are ultimately responsible for
the actions of their elected leaders, were pointing fingers at Nobel and
blaming him for all the deaths, but the blood is ultimately on
their
hands.”

“And he did leave a lasting legacy, giving recognition to
those who advance the human condition,” Frank added. “So why don’t you come out
of that filing cabinet and,
ummm
… have a nice stand?
Do you have any chairs on your ship?”

“It’s not like she created the plague,” Kale was looking at
the books on Frank’s shelves. “She made a discovery and someone else used it to
let the genie out of the bottle. If it’s anyone’s fault, then it’s the
researchers that showed up here and it sounds like they’re working to fix the
problem as best they can.”

Tommy got back to his feet. “Well, our family doesn’t have a
large personal fortune to hand over, but I do have a sister who might make a
good addition to your staff. And our aunt is a retired nurse.”

“We’re always interested in bringing in new folks who’ve had
useful training. They tend to pick up more from the pods than someone who’s had
no relevant experience to compare it to.” Frank cocked his head at Tommy. “What
was your sister doing her masters in?”

“Physics. After her long trip on the
Völund,
she
became fascinated with propulsion systems.” He grinned. “Wanted to be able to
come visit her brother without spending the better part of a year in transit.”
His grin faded slightly and his gaze seemed to pass right through Frank for a
moment. “There might be one other thing we can do before we have to leave.
Keeva, can you provide a scan of the planet’s surface, showing the current
locations of infected and uninfected humans?”

Frank looked behind himself, then back to Kale with an
unspoken question on his face.

“He’s talking to the ship,” Kale explained. “We can use
thought but it’s more polite in a group to speak out loud. You won’t hear her
side of the conversation because she has to take you aboard and map your neural
‘
whats
-its’.”

“Sure, why not?” Frank said with a resigned shrug.
“Telepathic ships are probably all the rage where you came from.”

“No,” Tommy said as he stepped over to the desk and pointed
at one of the data chips on Frank’s desk. “She’s the only one in that solar
system. This one?” The last two words seemed out of place. He nodded. “This chip
has the data you’ll need to find un-infected humans.”

Frank looked down at the
wifi
data
chip. He reached out and took it, sliding it into a reader built into his
monitor. A screen opened automatically, showing a graphic representation of the
planet, divided into octagonal sectors. He reached out and touched one, causing
it to expand. It was now subdivided into even more sectors. A haze of orange
showed on the lower left octagon and he touched it.

The new zoom showed some small dots and a few larger ones.
He looked up at Tommy. “This shows people?”

Tommy held up a hand as he stared intently at Frank’s
stapler. He looked up again. “She’s putting a constellation of probes in orbit
so your data is maintained. They can write to that chip from orbit so you can
have a real-time picture of where everyone is. She says that if anyone
approaches a probe to study it, the entire constellation will disintegrate and
you’ll be flying blind again.”

“This might just keep us from slipping back into the Stone
Age.” He looked up at his two visitors. “You can’t imagine what it’s like –
taking a shuttle out with a load of doses and only finding a handful of people
to inoculate.” He looked back at his screen. “With something like this, we can
hit the major concentrations first. Our species may end up with millions
instead of thousands.”

Tommy nodded. It had been a spur of the moment idea, but it
was a damned good one. Now they had to go to Jupiter.

And hope that his damned good idea wasn’t just a waste of
time.