It was true. Though Methuselah had her share of allies scattered throughout the galaxy, there were many enemies seeking her out as well. Pirates with grudges, space federations with warrants out for them; there was no shortage of enemies in space for Faust, and the likelihood of obtaining aid from any of them was practically nil. “I see what you mean. But as this war progresses, some of the space-born may come to their senses and assist us. And if Methuselah is fully stocked and repaired, then perhaps we'll be able to win.”
The cook came by with a plate of steak and a coffee for the Captain. “There ya go, Cap'n. A nice, rare steak, just the way you like. I made the coffee good and strong for you, too.”
Faust nodded and took a bite of his steak, picking it up with his hands. “Very good, thanks.”
As the cook returned to the counter, Stella gulped. “You know,” she began, her voice tremulous, “That anomaly on S.A.L.V.O. I think it may have been one of their warships.”
“Could've been, certainly.” He took a sip of coffee between bites. “But it didn't attack us, if it was. That's why we need your help. You help us assess threats before they become a problem.”
“I'll do my best, Captain,” she said, pursing her lips. “But to be honest, I don't know how much more of this I can take. It's unsafe and... I think I might leave Methuselah when we get to Medeiro.”
Faust gulped down a bite of steak and furrowed his brow. “Do you really mean that?”
“Thank you for trying to put me at ease,” she said, standing up. “I'm going to try and get a bit more sleep.” Stella started from the mess hall and towards her room.
“Stella, wait,” said Faust, standing up.
She didn't turn back, though she'd certainly heard him.
CHAPTER 10
Many of the crew, the Quartermaster and Captain included, had grown too tired to work much longer and had headed to their quarters, leaving Victor at the helm. He paced before the main display, peering up at it. “One day till Medeiro, then?”
“That's right,” replied one of the other mates, doing a quick calculation.
A young mate, Victor had been with Methuselah for but a couple years. In that time, he'd proven himself a capable helmsman however, and was Kanpei's most trusted subordinate. He was calm in the face of danger, confident in his abilities, and most usually cordial. He shared little of his personal affairs with the rest of the crew, choosing to remain professional at all times. When he wasn't manning the helm for Kanpei or the Captain, he was usually assigned to radar. “Pull up that patch right there,” he said, looking over at one of the radar readings. “Onto the main display with it.”
“Dunno what to make of it. We could plot out a new course, if you want,” said one of the mates on radar.
Victor studied the radar reading curiously. It was a long distance off, whatever it was that crowded the screen. “Space is restless tonight, I see. Looks like interference of some sort, pay it no mind.” He dropped down into the command chair massaged his eyes. The sleeplessness had taken its toll on him, too. With Stella resting, he'd been forced to bounce between radar and helm duties. It was a tiring stretch, to be sure.
All around him, the other crewmen in the command center fought the urge to nod off. They leaned against their consoles, their tired eyes studying displays and trying to parse anything meaningful from various readings.
“David,” said Victor to one of them, “bring us up some tea or coffee from the mess, won't you? I think we'll all be needing it. I'll keep an eye on things for you there.”
David nodded and departed as Victor took his spot.
Peering at the display, Victor made certain that there were no alerts and returned to the command chair. He had his tea a short while later, and the hot beverages seemed to rouse the crew, at least for a short while. They perked up a bit, performing their duties with more alertness. One of them was replaced by a groggy-looking mate and the cycle continued.
Victor's father, Ambrose Gerol, had been a well-known space pirate. It had been on his father's ship, Killing Moon, that Victor had first learned to handle a battlecruiser. His father had entrusted him with so much, so that by the time he was eighteen, he could've run the ship almost on his own. Victor might have inherited the ship and become a successful captain himself, had not Ambrose made a run against the Earthlings and perished. Killing Moon had been utterly destroyed during a run at the Solar Reef. He could still remember the day he received the news. Victor bit down gently on the rim of his mug as the memories returned.
The Killing Moon, a respected ship, had been trying to break into Earth-space for some time. The affluent of Earth had long been a target of Ambrose's, and he'd often told his son of the riches to be found if only the barrier around the planet could be pierced. In his arrogance, Ambrose had tried to run the ship through the Reef, believing her shields adequate. The vessel nearly disintegrated on impact, her hull erupting into molten metal as soon as it touched the white hot beams of the barrier. Killing Moon, and everyone on her, died that day. Victor had been placed on a space station with relatives for a time, as Ambrose had considered the endeavor a risky one. They had the nerve to call me lucky after that. The lucky orphan. The lucky one, whose father destroyed his entire crew and ship on a reckless stunt, and left nothing behind. Yeah, lucky indeed.
It was some months after his father's death that Victor approached Faust and asked for work. Impressed with his skill and knowledge, Faust hired him at once, posting him for a brief time as cabin boy. Finding his skills sufficient, he was brought into the command center to serve as first mate, where he would study under Kanpei.
All had been going well on Methuselah until Faust decided to assist the Earthlings. No matter how hard he tried, Victor couldn't restrain his hatred for the people of Earth; the ones that his father had so foolishly tried to attack on his final mission. He'd largely inherited this disdain from his father, who'd exposed him to ample anti-Earth sentiment over the years. Upon hearing that Methuselah would help Earth, he'd been incensed. And yet Victor had not reacted. He'd internalized his anger, had hidden it away, so that none were the wiser. None on Methuselah knew his past; when prompted, he was good at making up stories about he'd grown up an orphan and spent his time working on numerous vessels over the years.
Despite Victor's outrage, he stayed on. Not out of loyalty or goodwill; the very idea that they should assist Earth against the Zhoiri menace was an outrage to him. And yet, Methuselah and her crew had not outlived their usefulness to him. The aliens had managed to do what his own father had dreamed of. With apparently little trouble, the aliens broke through the Solar Reef, something that Ambrose Gerol had died trying to accomplish. How had they done it? A smile spread across his lips as he sat in the command chair, legs crossed. He covered it with his mug of tea. Methuselah will show me how the aliens broke through. I'll stick around until I know how they did it. After that?I'll complete my father's work. The Earthlings think they've seen terrible things in these aliens. I will show them the true face of evil. When I break through on a ship of my own, something my arrogant father never managed, they'll get what's coming to them. Three centuries of greed and cruelty... I hope they've enjoyed themselves, because their fun will be ending soon.
Barnaby, the bosun, arrived on the bridge, interrupting Victor's reverie. “How goes it?” asked the old fellow, his eyes heavy with sleep. “I was just on my way to my quarters, but thought I'd come by and see how things were going. How close are we now?”
“By my count, we're about a day out,” replied Victor. “A bit of interference on the radar, but nothing to worry about. Should be smooth sailing, unless we encounter hostiles.”
“Well, that's good to hear,” declared Barnaby, yawning. “Might put my old mind at rest. I've been sleeping poorly as of late, you see. The Captain and his reckless plan has been most stressful to me. I don't suppose you think it a wise plan, this mission against the aliens?”
Victor shrugged.
“Such stress is
bad for me in my old age. I should really retire to a less stressful job. Perhaps I'll desert at the next stop and take up drinking professionally,” said Barnaby with a laugh.
Kanpei entered the command center. His eyes were narrow, still adjusting to the light. “Victor, all is well, I hope?”
Victor stood up and nodded. “Yes, as I was just telling Barnaby here, it should be smooth sailing for us. A bit of interference on the radar, but nothing of note.”
“Very good,” replied Kanpei. “Do get some rest, Victor. We're leaning on you a great deal.”
“Yessir. Are you sure that you've slept enough?” asked Victor as he left alongside Barnaby.
Kanpei gave a weak smile. “I'm fine, thanks. Get going before I change my mind.”
Victor followed the old bosun out of the command center and started for his quarters. Not long now. When we establish contact with Earth's leaders... then I'll learn more. Earth will know my vengeance soon enough.
***
With a grimace, Faust lowered himself down onto the floor from his bunk. No matter how hard he tried to relax, sleep wouldn't come. Every time he closed his eyes, his vision was crowded not with peaceful darkness, but with visions of alerts on the main display, or of starfighters engaged in a dogfight. Present too were remembrances of the wretched Zhoiri intruder. “Damn it,” he muttered, running a hand through his long hair. “Stella's apprehension was contagious, I guess.”
Will this be the end? He tapped the metal flooring with his knuckles. Well, old girl? Is this it for us? Your last voyage? In his time as captain of Methuselah, almost fifteen years, he'd never really asked such a question. They'd had their share of close calls, no doubt, but never before had they met against so awful a predicament as they were in now. The fight against the Zhoiri, if their luck remained as poor as it had been at Anvil Station, had the potential to see Methuselah to her end. Be a shame to give up that nickname. 'The Undying' would be no more. Shouldn't be that way.
It had been nearly fifteen years since Faust had purchased Methuselah from her previous Captain. The man had been with her for decades and, looking to retire, had sold it at a most reasonable price. The young Faust, who had spent his youth building ships and working as a deckhand on numerous pirate vessels, had taken numerous loans to finance the purchase, and as soon as he assembled a crew, took to paying off his debtors. Or killing them. He'd been careless and brutal in his earliest days, attracting a good deal of attention, both good and bad, for his exploits. His rag-tag crew accompanied him on smuggling missions, assassinations, bounty-hunting runs and more. Some left before long, others stayed for the long haul, while others attempted to take the ship over by force. He chuckled as he reflected on the past fifteen years.
As Methuselah made a name for herself, she gained the attention of pilots and crewmen of greater reputation, and was sought after for difficult, often dangerous jobs from prestigious clients. She built up her crew and did a great deal of work for wealthy merchants and others. Faust always paid his crew well, pursuing jobs more for the thrill and prestige than for monetary payment. With her sordid history however, she attracted the ire of many.
Among her worst enemies was the Zammad Federation, a militaristic force headed by an aristocratic few. Known for their hatred of Earth and for their tireless imperialism, the leaders of the Federation had put a price on Faust's head after a number of run-ins with Methuselah, which equaled a sum greater than all of their other bounties combined. They made their home on the extrasolar planet Tiburon, and had spread throughout the galaxy in search of new planets to colonize. To keep their military expanding at all times, new resources were constantly needed. The Zammad of Tiburon were known to attack pirate ships, and even civilian vessels, in order to ransack them. Many innocent space-born over the years, most of them impoverished, had been taken prisoner and made citizens of the Zammad Federation against their will. Faust hoped that they were unaware of the situation on Earth. They would surely celebrate news of attacks on Earth, however it was just as likely that they would try and take over the planet for themselves, further expanding their reach. He couldn't be sure whether Earth's dispatches for aid would be received so deep in space as Tiburon or its surrounding territories, but the thought of tangling with the Zammad as well as the Zhoiri chilled his blood.
In the way of allies, Methuselah had many. The trouble was in their being scattered throughout the galaxy, however. Many pirates, smugglers and wealthy businessmen like the Weatherby brothers all called themselves friends of Methuselah, however the more he ruminated on the prospect of outside aid, the more he figured it implausible. He considered calling a meeting at Medeiro, inviting all of his friends and calling in whatever favors he could get his hands on, but considered the nature of the work and realized that many would flat-out refuse to assist. Far-flung and busy with their own ventures, it was unlikely that any would take the time to participate in such a risky fight as Methuselah would soon be embroiled in. Some even held anti-Earth sentiments, which would make their recruitment doubly problematic.
It's you and me, old girl. We're in this one together, with no help from the outside. We've carried through countless times in the past. Is there any reason to believe that this time will be different? If we can pick up the pieces at Medeiro, then perhaps we'll pull through again. We've got some years left in us, don't we? The two of us have some sailing to do yet, old girl.
The buzzing of the intercom interrupted his thoughts. It was Kanpei. “Captain?”
“Yes,” growled Faust, standing up. “What do you want?”
Kanpei hesitated a moment. “Sir, please come to the bridge at once. I fear our luck may have just run out...”
***
Faust stormed up to the bridge. As soon as he arrived, Kanpei directed his attention to the main display. “We just picked this up moments ago. We thought it was just interference at first, but now that we're closer, it looks to be something else.”
Faust studied the display. “It looks like a small asteroid field.” He paused, arching a brow. “But... there shouldn't be an asteroid field there.”
“That's right,” replied Kanpei. “We have Stella on S.A.L.V.O and she feels quite sure that they're starfighters. Dozens of them.”
The Captain clenched his jaw and picked up the intercom, buzzing Stella. “Are those Zhoiri vessels? Can you tell for certain?”
Stella could be heard to stifle a sob. “Y-yes,” she replied. “It's just like before. I-I told you we should have gone to hide but... now they've found us.”
Faust threw down the handset with a savage yell. “How close are we?”
“About a day from Medeiro, not far from the starfighters, I'm afraid,” said Kanpei. “We could flee, but... it's quite likely that they're aware of our presence already. We can prepare a new flightpath, but they'll almost certainly catch up to us if we go to flee.”
“Which way are they moving? Are they coming towards us?” barked Faust.
One of the mates on radar glanced his screen. “I think they're actually headed away from us. They're headed towards Medeiro, though whether that's their final destination I can't say.”
Faust stamped his foot and barked his orders to the bridge. “I want you to route all of the energy to the working engine. We're going to take off after them as fast as we can. If we can keep up, we're going to hit them from behind before they have a chance to react. Got it?”
“But why?” asked Kanpei, his eyes brimming with terror. “They could swarm us and sink the ship with those numbers!”
“We'll scramble both of our squadrons and pray that the shields still function. It's a risk, yes, but if they're headed to Medeiro, we'll be in a world of trouble. If that's where they're going, we cannot allow them to beat us there. The entire mission will be lost; we'll be stuck in open space yet again with no hope of aid. What's the nearest station besides Medeiro? Balthazar, perhaps? It'd would take us a week-- longer, with our ruined engine-- to find another place. If they're headed to Med
eiro, we must stop them at once. We'll follow them as covertly as we can, and won't launch a strike until we're sure.”
“But sir!” cried Kanpei. “What if they turn around? They aren't stupid, and they're not just going to turn a blind eye to a battlecruiser on their tail.”
Faust grimaced. “All right, maintain the current distance. It could be that their detection systems aren't as powerful as ours. We're going to tail them from a safe distance and hope that they don't catch on. If they head towards Medeiro however, we're going to punch it and smack them in the ass before they get close enough to do any damage, got that?”
“This is madness!” blurted one of the mates, David. He marched towards the Captain, his hands in the air. “How dare you have us pursue them like this? We haven't got working shields, we can't flee because one of our engines is broken. Does it seem wise to pick a fight right now? Are you stupid, or--”
“Silence!” screamed Faust. He pulled his beam saber from its scabbard and smashed the butt of its hilt against David's nose, sending him to the floor in a blubbering, bloody mess. He clutched at his face, screaming into his hands. The Captain shoved him away from the command chair with the heel of his boot. “Another word and I'll throw you into the void, understood?”
David scrambled away, cowering beside his console, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. The others on the bridge were frozen with terror, their gazes traveling between Kanpei and the furious Captain.
“We are on high alert!” cried Faust, punching a button at his console and sounding an alarm. He picked up the intercom. “High alert! All personnel in position. Gunners at their stations, pilots to the hangar, awaiting my order.”
“Sir, please rethink this!” pleaded Kanpei, helping David to his feet. “It's unsafe, dreadfully unsafe!”
“No!” screamed Faust, pointing the tip of his saber towards the window on the bridge. “It is war!”
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