it.
Grandpa used to bitch about TerCon outlawing whaling. But even he had to admit that if it hadn’t been banned outright, eventually there’d have been no whales left.
Luckily the gene pool wasn’t too depleted and the Comprehensive Repopulation Programme had a broad enough clone base to bring the species back from the brink of extinction.
Yeah, but nobody’s whaling anymore on Earth. Seems unfashionable these days. Uncool.
Whereas here, halfway across the galaxy, it’s still okay.
What the eye doesn’t see...
The two boats rounded the rear of the Egersund and completed their circuit of the ship. Other than the redback carcass, there had been no sign of life – or death. The Egersund appeared to have been abandoned while its crew were midway through gathering in their latest catch.
So what’s the plan, Sigursdottir?
We’re going to have to send men aboard. There may still be crewmembers somewhere, perhaps injured, unable to communicate. We can’t leave without checking.
Okay. I’ll come with.
What? Why?
Curiosity. I’m in intel-collecting mode. What’s happened on that ship may be relevant to my mission. It may not be, but I won’t know unless I take a look for myself.
I’m under orders from Captain Maddox to facilitate you in whatever way I can. I suppose this counts as that.
And you couldn’t sound more enthusiastic about it.
Too right. Just get yourself over here pronto.
Aye-aye, lieutenant. Sorry. I mean: yes, ma’am.
13
D EV LEFT H ANDLER a message explaining what he was doing. The ISS liaison would find it in his inbox when he woke up.
He then set the jetboat’s controls to maintain a steady position a safe distance from the Egersund and dived overboard. He surged along underwater, covering the couple of hundred metres to the Admiral Winterbrook in just over a minute, a time not even the fastest Pure Olympic swimmer would have been able to equal, although an enhanced Free Olympian might. He ascended the rope ladder that had been lowered over the catamaran’s side for him, and was assisted over the gunwale by a powerful hand that clamped over his wrist and pulled.
The hand belonged to a corporal – by far the tallest woman Dev had ever seen, and quite possibly the broadest too. Her grip had been like a bear trap, and he suspected she had been using only a small fraction of her full strength. Laced with augmentations and modifications, the corporal looked capable of pulverising rocks in her fists.
Her name tag said Milgrom, and she was accompanied by Private First Class Blunt and Private First Class Francis. These two women were small compared to her but both sizeable nonetheless, well above average. Bulked out with ceramic-tile body armour and bristling with ammo and ordnance, the three of them were a formidable proposition.
Sigursdottir appeared on deck, and Milgrom, Blunt and Francis all came smartly to attention. The sea-pattern camo on their battledress had been switched to active. Waves of colour, predominantly blue and grey, rippled across the fabric, moving even as the wearers of the battledress stood perfectly still.
“Just pulled this tiddler out of the water, sir,” said Milgrom. “Looks kind of shrimpy. Shall we throw him back?”
“Don’t tempt me,” said Sigursdottir. She gave Dev a once-over from head to toe as his clothing rapidly dripped dry. “You ready for this? You aren’t carrying any weaponry.”
“I thought this was a rescue expedition. I’ll take a gun if there’s one going begging.”
“Francis, lend him your sidearm. Don’t give me that look, private. You’ve got plenty else to use.”
PFC Francis grumblingly unbuckled her hip holster and passed it across to Dev. He fastened it on and drew the gun to inspect it. Could be worse: a Heckler & Koch hypervelocity pistol, which used a burst of piston-generated condensed hydrogen gas to propel sabot rounds at a speed of seven kilometres per second. The holster belt held an
Grandpa used to bitch about TerCon outlawing whaling. But even he had to admit that if it hadn’t been banned outright, eventually there’d have been no whales left.
Luckily the gene pool wasn’t too depleted and the Comprehensive Repopulation Programme had a broad enough clone base to bring the species back from the brink of extinction.
Yeah, but nobody’s whaling anymore on Earth. Seems unfashionable these days. Uncool.
Whereas here, halfway across the galaxy, it’s still okay.
What the eye doesn’t see...
The two boats rounded the rear of the Egersund and completed their circuit of the ship. Other than the redback carcass, there had been no sign of life – or death. The Egersund appeared to have been abandoned while its crew were midway through gathering in their latest catch.
So what’s the plan, Sigursdottir?
We’re going to have to send men aboard. There may still be crewmembers somewhere, perhaps injured, unable to communicate. We can’t leave without checking.
Okay. I’ll come with.
What? Why?
Curiosity. I’m in intel-collecting mode. What’s happened on that ship may be relevant to my mission. It may not be, but I won’t know unless I take a look for myself.
I’m under orders from Captain Maddox to facilitate you in whatever way I can. I suppose this counts as that.
And you couldn’t sound more enthusiastic about it.
Too right. Just get yourself over here pronto.
Aye-aye, lieutenant. Sorry. I mean: yes, ma’am.
13
D EV LEFT H ANDLER a message explaining what he was doing. The ISS liaison would find it in his inbox when he woke up.
He then set the jetboat’s controls to maintain a steady position a safe distance from the Egersund and dived overboard. He surged along underwater, covering the couple of hundred metres to the Admiral Winterbrook in just over a minute, a time not even the fastest Pure Olympic swimmer would have been able to equal, although an enhanced Free Olympian might. He ascended the rope ladder that had been lowered over the catamaran’s side for him, and was assisted over the gunwale by a powerful hand that clamped over his wrist and pulled.
The hand belonged to a corporal – by far the tallest woman Dev had ever seen, and quite possibly the broadest too. Her grip had been like a bear trap, and he suspected she had been using only a small fraction of her full strength. Laced with augmentations and modifications, the corporal looked capable of pulverising rocks in her fists.
Her name tag said Milgrom, and she was accompanied by Private First Class Blunt and Private First Class Francis. These two women were small compared to her but both sizeable nonetheless, well above average. Bulked out with ceramic-tile body armour and bristling with ammo and ordnance, the three of them were a formidable proposition.
Sigursdottir appeared on deck, and Milgrom, Blunt and Francis all came smartly to attention. The sea-pattern camo on their battledress had been switched to active. Waves of colour, predominantly blue and grey, rippled across the fabric, moving even as the wearers of the battledress stood perfectly still.
“Just pulled this tiddler out of the water, sir,” said Milgrom. “Looks kind of shrimpy. Shall we throw him back?”
“Don’t tempt me,” said Sigursdottir. She gave Dev a once-over from head to toe as his clothing rapidly dripped dry. “You ready for this? You aren’t carrying any weaponry.”
“I thought this was a rescue expedition. I’ll take a gun if there’s one going begging.”
“Francis, lend him your sidearm. Don’t give me that look, private. You’ve got plenty else to use.”
PFC Francis grumblingly unbuckled her hip holster and passed it across to Dev. He fastened it on and drew the gun to inspect it. Could be worse: a Heckler & Koch hypervelocity pistol, which used a burst of piston-generated condensed hydrogen gas to propel sabot rounds at a speed of seven kilometres per second. The holster belt held an
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