Kill Shot

DATE: Year 308-B, Sol 438

LOCATION: EZM Defiance

Captain Clinton hadn’t liked the set up from the beginning: leading on a group of fanatics bent on a suicide run to Earth to relieve the pressure of the EZM’s raison d’etre while making some kind of bizarre deal with the MTC. He could concede the High Commission couldn’t put off a mission to Earth indefinitely. But the Marley fleet wasn’t ready. It would have been easier to get rid of them when they left Jupiter than whatever mess they were dragging everyone into now.

Clinton stood on the bridge of The Defiance, watching the targeting computer resolve the distant heat signature of the Marley fleet. They were drifting, vulnerable, halfway between the Earth Zone and Venus.

-Target locked, the weapons officer said. Range: Ten thousand kilometers.

-We have a clean shot at the main thruster block, Clinton noted.

He tapped his fingers on the console. This was the job Vanderpool had sent him to do. Cripple the fleet. Make it look like a catastrophic failure of their aging reactors. The MTC would swoop in to "rescue" the survivors, and the EZM would issue a press release mourning the tragic loss of the "radicalized splinter group."

Everyone wins. Except the refugees.

-Arm tubes one and two, Clinton ordered. Fire on my mark.

-Captain! the sensor officer shouted. Proximity alert! Multiple contacts approaching off the stern.

Three heavy frigates dropped out of stealth running. They were blocky, ugly, and painted in the slate-grey livery of the New Earth Consortium, led by the ship The Custodian.

-It’s the NEC, the pilot whispered.

The radio crackled.

-EZM Defiance, this is Captain Warden May of the NEC. You are operating a combat-class vessel in a demilitarized shipping lane. Power down your weapons and prepare to be boarded.

-Ignore him, Clinton snapped. He has no jurisdiction this far out.

-We have jurisdiction over all NEC-member registered vessels, May’s voice cut in. It doesn’t matter where you are. I know you people are still learning the rules.

On the screen, the NEC frigates rotated their turrets. They were locking onto The Defiance.

-You are interfering with an internal EZM security matter, Clinton snapped back. We are conducting a wellness check on a wayward fleet.

-With torpedoes armed? May asked. That’s a very aggressive wellness check.

The Custodian moved closer, its shadow falling over Clinton’s bridge.

-I’m not asking again, Captain. You are in violation of NEC regulations. Power down, or I will turn your ship into a cloud of expanding gas.

Clinton looked at the Marley on his scope. It was so close. One button press, and the problem would be solved.

But the NEC frigates were already charged. If he fired, he would be dead before his torpedoes cleared the tube.

-Stand down, Clinton whispered, his jaw tight.

-Sir?

-Power down the weapons! Clinton roared. Cut the engines.

The hum of the drive died. The bridge went silent.

-Smart choice, May said over the radio. Prepare for boarding. And Clinton? Don't try to wipe the flight logs. We’re already downloading them.