Dispersal by Addison Gunn

Author:Addison Gunn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
Publisher: Rebellion Publishing Ltd

21

DOYLE WAS HOISTED aboard the battleship via a stretcher lowered from the port side. Upon closer inspection, it had proven not to be a battleship, but a Bay-class dock landing ship, about one-hundred-eighty meters long and thirty meters abeam. With two large cranes between the superstructure and the flight deck, and an arsenal of cannons, miniguns, GPMGs and CIWSs, it looked a monster compared to the Tevatnoa, which, while larger, was not nearly as well-armed.

The Tevatnoa offered no help to Cobalt, currently a kilometer away off the landing ship’s port bow, stationary and quiet on the St. John’s River.

As the rest of the team climbed a cargo net obligingly dropped by the ship’s crew, Miller could only guess as to what communication, if any, had taken place between the two vessels. He imagined Gray and Lewis in the Tevatnoa’s bridge, cursing Miller’s name for boarding the unidentified vessel, but what choice did he have? Given Doyle’s condition, and the threats from the water below, he saw no alternative other than to follow du Trieux’s suggestion.

Once on deck, Miller watched the medics tend to Doyle, accepting an offered heat blanket.

“Get your handzz off me, you wankerzz,” Doyle spat from his stretcher. “Who the hell are you anyway?”

“He’s had fifteen milligrams of morphine,” Miller told the medics as they whisked him away. “And his knee is shattered.”

The crew wore wrinkled dark blue Royal Navy uniforms. Given their lack of fungal growths and alert expressions, Miller’s first guess was that they were uninfected. The sailors stood impassively over Miller and his team, keeping their Glock 17s trained on them until an officer approached, stomping down the deck with heavy steps.

He was a commander, going by the rank insignia in the middle of his jacket. He wore a navy blue baseball cap so low on his head his ears stuck out like satellite dishes. Putting a hand on his holstered Glock, he eyed Miller up and down as if appraising a prize pony. “Name, rank, and serial number, please.”

“My name’s Miller and that’s all you’re getting.”

“American, then,” he said, pursing his lips. “Uninfected?”

Miller saw no harm in admitting that much, and nodded. “What are your intentions with that cruise ship?”

“We mean to marry her,” the officer said, before puffing out his cheeks and breaking into what Miller supposed was some sort of laugh. Once the officer noticed no one else was joining him, his toothy smile fell and he cleared his throat. Then, with hand extended, he added, “Weapons, please.”

There was little point in resisting, so Miller unholstered his Gallican and handed it over as another sailor reached for the strap of his M27.

“Knives, too,” the commander said.

Morland grumbled and du Trieux muttered something in French, but their weapons were taken by three seamen, who disappeared across the deck and down a stairwell.

Gesturing to his left, the commander said, “This way.”

Urged forward by the armed sailors, Miller and the others followed him across the deck and up a ladder, stopping on the main deck.

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