Starpiercer: Sunlight's Edge

CHAPTER XVI: TOMAS VIII

XVI

TOMAS VIII

"Again, we're only going to make sure that there are no Terrorist Compact affiliates on this vessel," assured the clipped, professional voice of whoever was in command of the two gunboats now skirting alongside them.

"So considerate," muttered Carcosa sourly. " suppose we should thank them for not burning through the tethers too,"

Tomas glanced up at the man, and buried his apprehensions. Carcosa and Roolu had immediately volunteered for the task of 'greeting' their guests with a strange sense of vindictiveness. It was the second time in two days that someone had threatened to board them. This time, it looked like they were going to make good on that promise.

Tomas had locked his mags to what he'd decided would be called the floor, while above him, Carcosa stood on the ceiling. Roolu was at the airlock controls, only kept in place by one of his handlike feet grasping a wall strut. Ahead of them, the airlock was slowly cycling.

"Ever met a Tralfarian?" asked Carcosa. Both of his hands were behind his bald head, like he was leaning back.

Tomas nodded. "Yeah, that girl from the mess. Amanda."

"She doesn't count. You know that when you say Tralfarian, the first thing comes to mind isn't some icejumper or pen-pusher back home on Tralfaris Major." He grinned down at Tomas. It was a humorless grin, almost a baring of teeth. "You think of Tralfarian, you think of soldiers." He nodded at the door. "This is pretty standard practice. Bet my hide they dropped a couple of modular cargo shuttles. Pullo type for the one that's locked to our hull. Six guys'll come out. Naval infantry of course. They never waste the shock corps on sweep-and-scans like this." He stretched. The airlock was equalizing atmospheres, hissing like a snake. That meant that the Tralfarians were aboard. He breathed in, slowing the nameless Fear.

"They'll either have hexfighter gunboats or a sabre type running interference. Torpedo boat, you know? Nasty thing. It's insurance. We fuck these guys up, they turn us into a five-second star."

Tomas met the salvage chief's eyes. "You know a lot about Tralfarians,"

"Yeah," said Carcosa. "Like I said, I've run into 'em before." He gave Tomas a smile that looked equal parts despairing and savage. "That's why I said to bring these." He patted his side. A small, boxy pistol was strapped to it, magnetized to his voidsuit's knee plate. Roolu had one too. Tomas had declined. He'd explained how he'd never fired, much less held a maser before.

"Didn't you just say if we shoot them they'll blow us up?" Tomas tried to imagine what being vaporized by a missile would be like. Probably either horrible and painful, or it would happen before he even knew it had occurred. Like someone just turned off your existence. That would suck. Not even any time to reflect. He shook his head to clear it. He wondered what sort of experiences the man had had earlier in life to make him so wary of the monarchists. He wasn't even a colonial, like Tomas, and colonials and Tralfarians had been at odds for centuries. They'd had at least seven wars throughout history. Tomas had taken a course on several of them in the university. They hadn't been pretty.

The airlock door hissed open, and Carcosa was proven exactly right. Six humans, their bodies, sexes, and builds obscured by thick armored combat hardsuits, zero-g maneuvering packs, and flared helmets stepped out. Every single one of them had a threatening-looking vac-mask on below their helmets that made them look like prehistoric knights from the Lost Homeworld. And every single one of them clutched a dangerous-looking rectangle. Maser rifles.

The lead soldier -naval infantry, Carcosa had called them- approached, his maser held at a non-threatening angle. His boots made loud clunking noises as they magnetized to the floor with each step.