Silent Order: Ark Hand

By Jonathan Moeller

The galaxy is at war, and the shadows of human history might destroy the present.

When Jack March agrees to help Dr. Adelaide Taren track down a tip about an archaeological find, he doesn't expect to be drawn into a deadly Machinist plot.

Because the secrets of the find are rooted in the past, but they might change the course of the future...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Moeller
• Release date: Sep 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463659250

Jonathan Moeller

Standing over six feet tall, Jonathan Moeller has the piercing blue eyes of a Conan of Cimmeria, the bronze-colored hair of a Visigothic warrior-king, and the stern visage of a captain of men, none of which are useful in his career as a computer repairman, alas.He has written the "Demonsouled" trilogy of sword-and-sorcery novels, and continues to write the "Ghosts" sequence about assassin and spy Caina Amalas, the "$0.99 Beginner's Guide" series of computer books, and numerous other works.Visit his website at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.comVisit his technology blog at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/screed

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SILENT ORDER: ARK HAND

Jonathan Moeller

***

Description

The galaxy is at war, and the shadows of human history might destroy the present.

When Jack March agrees to help Dr. Adelaide Taren track down a tip about an archaeological find, he doesn't expect to be drawn into a deadly Machinist plot.

Because the secrets of the find are rooted in the past, but they might change the course of the future...

***

Silent Order: Ark Hand

Copyright 2018 by Jonathan Moeller.

Smashwords Edition.

Cover image copyright ID 114296096 © Luca Oleastri | Dreamstime.com.

Ebook edition published September 2018.

All Rights Reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

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Chapter 1: Extraction

The mission had been going splendidly, and then it all went to hell.

When it went wrong, Jack March was standing in a lounge off the base’s main hangar bay, a cigarette in his hand. The lounge had been carved from the rock of the little asteroid that served as the pirate base, the floor covered in metal deck plates. Metal tables and benches were bolted to the floor, and against one wall was a row of cooking equipment – food dispensers and coffee makers and the like.

Three of the Agotanni Pirates stood facing March, cigarettes in their hands. They were rough-looking men, unshaven and hard-eyed, and all three had the same tattoo on the back on their right hands, a stylized design of black lines that looked like a cross between a shattered mirror and a spider’s web. Every single one of the pirates had a plasma pistol belted at their waists, and despite the shabbiness of the base, their weapons looked well-maintained.

March had gone up against space pirates many times, both during his time as an Iron Hand and during his years as an Alpha Operative of the Silent Order of the Kingdom of Calaskar. Most of the time, pirates were brutal and dangerous, but undisciplined and lazy. The Agotanni Pirates were brutal and dangerous, but they were also orderly and diligent and eliminated witnesses to their crimes in a systematic fashion. They were like a religious cult that financed itself through piracy and extortion, and March did not want to fight them.

Fortunately, if the plan worked, they wouldn’t suspect a thing, and he would leave without them being any wiser.

You been flying long? said one of the pirates, a scar-faced man who was missing his right ear. His black eyes glittered like the edge of an obsidian knife.

Twelve years, said March. He glanced to the right, through the door into the hangar bay. His ship, a Mercator Foundry Yards Class-9 blockade runner called the Tiger, sat near the lounge. The cargo ramp was down, and a half-dozen blocky yellow drones on treads rolled back and forth, unloading the water tanks and pallets of prepackaged meals March had flown to the asteroid base.

That’s a Calaskaran ship, said the pirate, his black eyes narrowing.

March took a draw on the cigarette, blew out the smoke. No, it’s not. It’s Mercatorian. And I’m not Calaskaran. Technically, that was true. He had been born in a labor camp on Calixtus, one of the worlds enslaved by the Final Consciousness.

Cute, grunted the pirate. But your ship’s registration is Calaskaran.

March snorted. We’re not that far from Calaskaran space. Flying with a Calaskaran registration is a great way to keep the Royal Navy from shooting at you. You should try it sometime.

See, said the pirate, that’s what worries me. The Royal Navy isn’t fond of us. They pay bounties for pirates, and the brothers of the Agotanni are at the top of their shit list. So maybe when you leave, you’ll fly back to Antioch Station and tell the Royal Navy assholes in their blue uniforms where to find us. That way you get paid for the delivery, and you also get paid for turning us in.

March shrugged. I could, but that would be stupid. One, I’m getting paid well for this delivery, and I want to get paid well for future deliveries. Two, I know how the Agotanni operate. You declare a blood debt against anyone who betrays you, and you don’t stop until you collect. Not worth the trouble to betray you.

The pirate grunted. You know a lot about us, is that it? We...

Jarlem, said one of the other pirates, growing exasperated with the conversation. We should be glad that fear of the brothers has spread so far and wide.

Jarlem glared at him, took one last draw on his cigarette, and then ground it out in an ashtray on one of the steel tables. Fine. He jabbed a finger in March’s direction. But see that you heed the lesson, captain. Do not betray the brothers of the Agotanni. Else you shall regret it bitterly.

I have no intention of doing so, said March. Though if the Agotanni Pirates realized that he was an Alpha Operative of the Silent Order, they would kill him on the spot. Speaking of that, when am I going to get paid?

Jarlem’s eyes narrowed. You’ll get paid when we’ve finished unloading your cargo. And when we’ve checked it over to make sure that you’re not cheating us. The brothers of the Agotanni might respond with a blood debt to those who betray us...but we’re not fond of those who cheat us, either. And if you cheat us, we’ll take both your life and your ship as payment of your debt.

March shrugged. Suit yourself. But you’ll find everything on the manifest exactly as it says. Can’t get repeat business if you go around stealing cargo. He smirked. I’ll leave cargo stealing to you gentlemen.

Smart, said Jarlem with a sneer. Real smart. Men with smart tongues wind up losing them...

Jarlem, said the second pirate. We’d better wrap up the unloading. If the station master comes down and sees us shooting the shit with a privateer, we’ll never hear the end of it.

Yeah, yeah, said Jarlem. He pointed at March. Stay here until we come back. We’ll let you know when we’re done unloading. He waved a hand at the counter of food preparation machines. Help yourself to some of the bounty here. But don’t leave the lounge. You’ll regret it if you do.

Wouldn’t dream of it, said March.

Jarlem stalked back into the hangar bay and started bellowing instructions at the cargo drones, the other two pirates following him. March watched them go, and then crossed to the counter and made himself a cup of coffee. The coffee maker was old, and it rasped and burbled as it spat out a stream of coffee.

That was just as well.

March tapped the microphone hidden in his collar. Vigil.

Captain March? came the voice of his ship’s pseudointelligent computer. The microphone in the collar of his jacket had a bone conduction speaker that carried the sound to his ear without anyone else overhearing it.

Report, said March.

The drones and the Agotanni Pirates are unloading the cargo from the hold, said Vigil. They have made no attempt to enter any of the other areas of the ship, nor have they attempted to access any ship systems.

ETA until they’re finished? said March, lifting the coffee to his mouth. It didn’t taste half bad, come to think of it. Maybe the Agotanni Pirates had hijacked a freighter carrying some decent coffee.

Thirty-seven minutes, said Vigil.

Good, said March. Do you have a fix on Memnon’s transponder?

Yes, said Vigil. Based upon the internal schematics of this facility, the transponder is located in cargo bay three.

I see, said March, taking another sip of the coffee. He glanced through the door to the hangar bay, but Jarlem and the other two pirates were busy with the cargo drones. March walked to the computer screen mounted next to the door and tapped it a few times. A map of the base appeared. The pirates’ supply dump had started as a failed asteroid mine, and the Agotanni had only bothered to build their base on the first few levels. Cargo bay three was a short distance down the main corridor from the hangar. By now, Memnon ought to have concealed himself within one of the empty crates in the bay. As part of March’s delivery contract with the pirates, he had agreed to haul some of their empty containers back to their suppliers.

And in the process, March would also smuggle out the Alpha Operative of the Silent Order who had spent the last several months spying on the pirates and tracing the maze of their supply networks and shell accounts.

And all March needed to do was wait, and the pirates would load Memnon onto the Tiger for him.

He took another sip of the surprisingly good coffee, and then the trouble hit the fan.

An alarm blared through the cargo bay, and Jarlem and the other pirates froze. March’s first thought was that it was a decompression alert, but that usually generated a roar and a gale-force wind as the atmosphere was sucked into the void of space.

Alert, said Vigil in his ear. Dark energy surge detected one million kilometers from the asteroid. Two starships have exited hyperspace.

Can you get details? said March, looking into the cargo bay. Jarlem and the other two pirates had pulled their phones from their belts.

Unable to comply, said Vigil. The rock of the asteroid blocks most sensor readings.

Right, said March, and he stepped to the wall terminal. Public access terminals like this could usually pull in an overview of the sensor data. Unless the pirates had locked it down, of course. Fortunately, the pirates hadn’t. March tapped in a command, and the overview data from the station’s sensors appeared on the screen.

Two Shrike-class gunships were on an intercept course for the station. The Shrike-class gunship was another product of Mercator Foundry Yards, which sold its wares to anyone who could pay. That had let March get his hands on the Tiger, and Mercator Foundry Yards made better small freighters than any other manufacturer in human space. Unfortunately, the company also made good starfighters and small attack ships, and they likewise sold those ships to anyone who had the credits. The gunships were sleek and deadly, their hulls armored and bristling with weapon hardpoints. March recognized the insignia painted onto the Shrikes’ fins, a stylized image of a sword and a scroll. That was the emblem of the Sultanate of Al-Mhabat, which meant the gunships were flown by Al-Mhabati corsairs.

And the Al-Mhabati corsairs and the Agotanni Pirates hated each other in a blood feud that had endured for centuries.

The lights flickered, and the terminal screen dimmed for a second. The station’s radiation and kinetic shields had just come online, as had its weapon emplacements. March had scanned the asteroid base on his way in, and he wasn’t sure if the base’s defenses could deal with two Shrike-class gunships. If the Shrikes’ plasma cannons and missiles punched through the shielding, they would destroy the base and kill both March and Memnon in the process. The corsairs of Al-Mhabat would be delighted to kill two Alpha Operatives of the Silent Order under other circumstances, but if they blew up the base, they would never know of their success.

Which mean March had to move.

He took one last glance at the map, memorizing the position of cargo bay three, and stepped towards the door, intending to sprint across the cargo bay and head for the main corridor.

Instead, he spotted Jarlem and the other two pirates jogging towards the lounge, and Jarlem had murder on his face.

You! he roared.

What? said March, backing into the lounge and noting the position of the metal tables and benches. What the hell is going on? Who’s shooting at the station?

You led them here! roared Jarlem, striding into the lounge as March backed away. He shot a quick glance at the nearest bench, saw that it hadn’t been bolted to the floor as it should have been. You betrayed us!

Who the hell did I lead here? said March. Despite the urgency of the situation, he felt a flicker of amusement. Jarlem wanted to kill March for something he hadn’t even done.

You’re a spy for the Kezredite scum, said Jarlem, and you gave them the coordinates of this base. He started to draw the plasma pistol from his belt. But you won’t live long enough to enjoy...

March moved first.

He stooped, whirled, and seized the metal bench with his cybernetic arm. It was heavy, well over seventy pounds, but his metal arm could handle much more weight without strain. He whipped it before him like a baseball bat, and it caught Jarlem on the side of the jaw. His head snapped to the side, and Jarlem stumbled with a yelp of pain. March released the bench, and the momentum of its swing struck another pirate in the chest, throwing him back. The third pirate yanked a plasma pistol from his belt, but March was already moving. As his left hand had thrown the bench, his right had drawn his own pistol from its holster. He pulled the trigger, and the plasma bolt burned through the pirate’s chest. The pirate managed to get one shot off before he fell, the errant bolt blasting a crater in the wall behind March.

He ignored it and shot both Jarlem and the second pirate before they recovered their balance.

March stepped over their corpses and ducked into the doorway, risking a look through the hangar. The cargo drones continued their sedate unloading of the Tiger’s hold. There were stacks of crates and barrels against the rough-cut rock walls of the hangar, and equipment gantries hanging from the ceiling, but March didn’t see any other pirates. Likely Jarlem and his two comrades had been assigned to deal with unloading the cargo. That, and the rest of the pirates had rushed to their battle stations.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, the distant rumble of an explosion came to his ears, and a vibration went through the stone floor beneath his boots. The lights flickered, once, and then came back on as curtains of dust fell from the ceiling overhead. All of those were bad signs. The Shrike gunships could deliver a serious pounding, and asteroids of this size tended toward tectonic instability. For that matter, if the atmosphere barrier in the hangar bay door failed, March would find himself sucked into space or dying from lack of oxygen.

The plan for the mission had to be abandoned. It was time to improvise.

Vigil, March said, running into the hangar bay. Another explosion rumbled through the asteroid base, the floor shaking. An instability spike went through the station’s gravitics, and March stumbled as his weight fluctuated, the barrels and crates shifting. Start the preflight sequences. And close the cargo ramp and seal the airlocks. Don’t let anyone but Memnon or me onto the ship.

Acknowledged, said Vigil, and March heard the faint whine as the ship’s cargo ramp started to close. A flash of light caught his eye, and he saw one of the Shrikes fly past the hangar entrance, its plasma cannons blazing. If a plasma bolt landed in the hangar bay, March was going to die, but the station’s energy shields held for now.

A wide corridor opened off the hangar bay, and March ran into it. Closed doors lined the corridor, plaques next to the doorways announcing their function. Machine shop, life support equipment, cargo bay one, cargo bay two – there!

March headed towards the doors to cargo bay three, and two pirates came around the corner. Like the late Jarlem and his friends, they were wearing ship crewers’ jumpsuits, their hands marked with the tattoos of the Agotanni Pirates. Unlike Jarlem and his friends, they were carrying plasma rifles. Likely they had been sent to figure out what had happened to Jarlem and the others or to kill March and seize the Tiger.

For God’s sake! shouted March, and the pirates faltered. Run! The atmosphere barrier in the hangar is going!

The pirates froze for a half-second. A breach and the resultant decompression was one of the chief fears of every man who traveled aboard a starship or worked on a space station. The pirates didn’t freeze for long, but it was enough