by G. P. Eliot
“Captain–I can confirm that the Dalida has just jumped away from our sector of space,” Ida said with a certain finality to her voice.
Then there is really only one thing left to do, isn’t there? Hank thought as he twisted the Dalida Attack Fighter Alpha downwards.
“Full power to thrusters. Maximum burn,” Hank said, gritting his teeth in a ferocious, savage grin.
Hank’s tiny attack craft shot down like a dart thrown by some righteous god, straight towards the Bridge of the Pequod…
16
“We can’t do it! I don’t care what the hell that guy says!” It was Madigan, still with his helmet on as he charged into the Bridge of the Dalida, moments before.
“Stand down, soldier!” Lory Cox shouted at him. “You think I like this? You think we have any choice?”
Ahead of them all on the screens, they watched as the Captain’s fighter swerved past the third meson explosion and then flipped again as heavier, close-range laser fire shot out from the Pequod.
The Union warship had stopped its forward movement as it would have flown straight into the Captain’s meson missiles–but that also meant that it could concentrate all of its tactical resources on the tiny, one-person craft.
It looks like a wasp trying to attack a crocodile, Lory thought dismally.
“You get him back! Get him back!” Madigan was roaring, and Lory was about to reach for her laser pistol to set it to stun when Steed ran in behind the giant that was Madigan.
“Madigan–I get it–no one wants to lose the Captain,” Steed said. “But he’s giving us his life. He’s giving us a chance to get away. With the Message…”
“I don’t give a damn about the Message,” Madigan muttered.
“The Captain did,” Lory heard Steed say. “And I think he gave a damn about us. That’s why he’s doing what he is doing, after all…”
That seemed to take the fierceness from Madigan’s temper, at least, as the big man staggered back against the wall in sullen silence. All eyes turned to see the tiny fighter swerving and darting from between one plasma blast and another.
“Commander, we need to move. Now.” Steed was saying behind her. “It’s not going to take long…”
“I know!” Lory spat. She didn’t want to hear the man say it. That it won’t take long for the Jackal to blow Hank out of the sky.
But her hands seemed frozen in place. How could she make that choice? How could she condemn this man to death?
“Commander!” Steed was now at her side, and his voice was insistent.
Because of what Steed said, Lory thought. That the man who had been their Captain was sacrificing his life for theirs. So that they could have a life.
“Don’t let his death be in vain,” Steed said, and his voice was low and serious.
“No.” Lory shook her head. That, at least, she could understand.
“Commander? I have the coordinates for the Message. There seems to be a series of jumps that we have to make, as each part of the Message leads us towards its original source…” Serrano said in a dead and dry voice.
“Transmit them to Cortez,” Lory said heavily, her eyes fixed on the swerving Dalida Attack Vessel Alpha. And then an idea hit her. “No wait–I have a better idea…”
“Well, now it seems that I am equally as screwed…” Hank said, to himself, as all the other people who should have been on the end of his suit channel were now gone.
Hopefully many, many light years away… He had the time to think as right now, the Captain had nothing but time.
He was floating in the vastness of space, making small swimming movements with his arms. It would have been kind of peaceful, were it not for the massive Union light destroyer that hung in the same vastness of space before him.
“Quick thinking, Boss,” complimented Ida–startling him, actually. Hank had hit the auto-eject just as the single person attack crew had reached its terminal velocity. There was no way that it could have deviated from its course from that point on. He had been thrown out on the rocket-propelled chair, the G-force almost making him pass out as he was spun through the vacuum, before even the chair finally gave way and he was left floating, alone, in front of the Pequod.
Only I’m not exactly alone now that Ida is here, am I?
“Ida-baby? What are you doing here?” Hank was annoyed. He’d almost been hoping to have the time to himself.
Nope, that’s a lie, even he had to be honest with himself. It was a relief to hear another voice in the dark.
“I’m your personal A.I., you big sap–do you think I’d ever leave you?” Ida’s little ‘I’ icon pulsed warmly on his suit’s HUD.
“Please tell me you sent a back-up of yourself to the Dalida before it jumped…” Hank frowned inside his suit. He didn’t want to think that he was going to be the cause of her termination.
“What!? Really? Was I supposed to do that!?” Ida burst out in alarm.
“Ida—” Hank groaned.
“I’m joking, you handsome lug. Of course I did. When you linked me to the Dalida’s mainframe I saved a copy–and besides which, I wanted another me around to tell the others to come and find you!” she pointed out.
“You’re too good to me, you know that, right?” Hank said.
“I know,” Ida even managed a near-perfect sigh. “So, now what’s the plan? Get on board the Pequod? Seize the Jackal hostage; take over the boat and fly to freedom?”
“Ha. Well–I wouldn’t say no…” Hank thought. But then, all this talk of his predicament made him look at the Union ship ahead of him. It was huge. Vast, he might say. At any time, it could fire even the lightest of its weapons–probably just one from the light laser batteries–and it would still be powerful enough to sear a hole straight through him.
I never said that I wanted an easy life, right? He reminded himself. Which was true. He never had wanted an easy life–that was the whole reason why he had joined the Union Marines, after all.
Well, it was either that or end up in a Union prison probably…Hank remembered. He had been the sort of youth who had thrived on risk. He had always been the one to take the stupid chances; to climb the Union Centenary Tower free handed just to prove a point, or to play the city mobsters at Poker just to say that he had.
But really, even he had to say that his current situation was ridiculous.
“What was our motto again, Ida-baby? First one’s in, last one’s out?” Hank sighed deeply as he looked at the destroyer. He had been a Marine–and although he had been kicked out for inappropriate use of battle-stims–oh, how I wish I had some right now!–he still found some of their training useful.
It had been about being the best, better than the grunts. Better than the jocks and the fly-boys and the gear-heads…he told himself.
If only the Marines had also let them be human as well, and not just walking tanks–then maybe Hank might have even stayed in a bit longer.
Nope. He was lying to himself once more.
“I’ve performed a scan and isolated two possible entrances for you, hot-shot,” Ida said. Hank wondered if he could sense a small note of resignation in her voice. Like even she–an Automated Intelligence without any sort of emotion whatsoever–knew that he was committing suicide.
“Hit me,” Hank said.
“You’re not going to like either of them,” Ida pointed out.
“To be honest, I don’t particularly like where I am at the moment, either…” Hank countered.
“Okay, Here—” on Hank’s HUD, four flashing orange lines flashed across the screen to form a square over one part of the Union light destroyer. “This is one of the Pequod’s thermal vents,” she pointed out.
Huh, I never thought of that, Hank nodded at Ida’s ingenuity. Every space craft had some form of thermal venting system–sometimes it was ‘solid state’ which meant that the internal passive heat of the reactors and general life support systems were pumped into water, and then the water was expelled from the ship. This one, howeve
r, appeared to be the good-old natural air-blast method. Air was pumped around the coolant pipes and the reactor housing, and then occasionally pumped out of the ship in automated bursts.
It was an essential system, Hank knew–because every space craft had to be a completely air-tight, hermetically-sealed system–meaning that the reactor would only ever get hotter and hotter if it didn’t have a way to evaporate or burn off the heat generated.
“I don’t suppose you’ve managed to work out when the last heat blast was, do you?” Hank wondered. He didn’t particularly want to be baked like a crab in a hot bath inside his suit during one of the venting operations.
“Sorry, I cannot ascertain that,” Ida said.
Wonderful. Scramble in through the scolding hot pipe work and hope that you don’t get turned into fricassee, Hank thought.
“What’s the other option?” the Captain asked.
“Bio-refuse,” Ida said.
“Oh, come on!” Hank groaned.
“Next time you have a bright idea, Ida–I don’t want to hear it,” Hank groaned as he punched and kicked his way through the last wall of desiccated sludge.
Thankfully for all considered, Hank was still in his soldier suit so none of his actual person actually came into contact with this stuff. The other only good point going for this whole experience was that the food waste, hydroponic waste and human waste–eurgh!–had been through a rigorous de-humidification process, because water was a luxury in space.
All of this meant that the walls of black, grey and brown were bone dry and shouldn’t smell. But Hank was still certain that some lingering aroma was managing to get through his suit filters.
The bio-refuse chute ejected material every time that it was filled, and the Captain realized that it must have happened fairly recently as the tunnel was mostly empty.
But still…“I never thought that as a Captain I would ever end up having to do this…”
“First one’s in, last one’s—” Ida started to remind him.
“Don’t.” Hank groaned, as his gauntleted hand clanked on solid metal. “Aha!” He had reached his destination, the manual servicing port. Around him, his suit sensors flickered with dulled orange alarms as it registered the activity of the enemy light destroyer. Proximity warnings were everywhere, enemy combatants blipped at the furthest reach of his sensors.
It didn’t take long for Hank to use the small set of micro-tools in his suit to open the port and make the short crawl to a slatted grill at the other end.
“Engineering Deck 3,” Ida whispered in his ear.
“And where’s the nearest ascent to the Bridge?” Hank said, pausing for a moment to brush the crud from his gloves and take out his laser pistol. His plan was simple–take the first Union soldier, Wolverine, or engineer hostage that he found, and then use them as cover until he got to the Bridge.
And then shoot the Jackal straight through the heart.
His plan pretty much ended there–as he knew, deep down, just what he himself had been taught as a Union Marine: The mission is paramount. Even when he had killed their CO, he was sure that the Wolverines would jump on him. They would probably tear him to pieces–but he was a quick shot. Maybe he could take a few down with him.
It’s not that Hank was the sort of man who wanted to throw his life away. If anything, he was the sort who would want to make sure that his life stayed exactly as it was right now: heart beating and lungs breathing.
But even the reckless Captain Snider couldn’t kid himself that he was going to get out of this one alive. He was surprised that the Pequod hadn’t just opened fire on him as he had floated, as helpless as a baby in space, actually. I guess their sensors aren’t fine-tuned enough to detect one singular Union traitor against the backdrop of a space battle, he thought.
“Anti-clockwise, boss,” Ida said, after Hank’s second attempt with the micro screwdriver.
“Oh yeah; righty-tighty; lefty-loosey…” he murmured, finally undoing the grill and pushing–kicking it out into the sophisticated chrome and blue steel corridor beyond.
And the line of Wolverine guards waiting just out of sight, with their laser rifles pointed straight at him.
Oh crap. Hank froze.
“Good afternoon, Captain Snider,” sneered a voice from their midst. It was the Jackal, grinning from ear to ear before he wrinkled his nose a little. “Really. I thought you had more respect for yourself than this!”
17
With the familiar lurch to the gut, the Dalida appeared in a ripple of light against the star-scattered expanse.
“I can’t believe you did that…” Madigan was muttering from where he stood against the wall.
“One more word, Drake, I swear...!” Steed shot him a dark look as he held onto the back of Commander Lory’s chair. Actually, Lory thought that Steed would have a tough time indeed taking down the man giant that was Drake Madigan–but the violent fervor in the Confederate General’s voice was enough to make even Madigan fall into a silent glower.
“Uh, excuse me people…” Lory heard the Professor coughed. The man still stood inside his wide blue and green code sphere of the Message but was peering at the forward viewing screen in confusion, and then back at his console.
“Where is it? I don’t see anything here that could have sent the Message…?” the Professor looked in confusion at Commander Lory.
“That’s because I told Cortez to randomize our jump coordinates,” Lory said. “I didn’t take us to the jump point you told us about,” she explained, standing up with huff and gesturing for Steed to get out of her way. “I need time to think. We just lost the Captain. Our Captain. I need to know if we are committed enough to see this through to the end…” she said.
And how many more of these people am I willing to lose? She thought to herself. It wasn’t that Lory was having second thoughts about the mission–she was having second thoughts about whether she could order these people around her–her friends–to their deaths.
Maybe it’s better to let the Confederacy take it from here, she was thinking as she paced, and all eyes of the crew were watching her. They have more ships than us. They have fighter and war ships…
“Excuse me?” pinged a voice from the forward screen, as a small glowing ‘I’ appeared.
“Isn’t that…?” Steed looked at it in confusion.
“The Captain’s personal A.I.,” Lory frowned, and felt a flash of annoyance. All she needed right now was to console a grieving A.I. about the loss of her partner. “Hank must have uploaded her to the Dalida just before he—” she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
Sacrificed himself, her mind betrayed her.
“Actually, I uploaded myself to the Dalida, thank you very much,” the A.I. said in an old-fashioned woman’s voice, with a slightly catty twinge.
Lory didn’t like her.
“Well–unless you want to help the rest of us—” Lory took a breath. She had no time for these games.
“I am already helping you,” Ida sighed in a completely patronizing way. “And don’t believe for a moment that I will take orders from any of you. None of you are half the Captain that Hank is!”
“Was,” Steed pointed out. “I am sorry to be the one to tell you this, Ida, but—”
“Is, you bunch of biologicals,” Ida snapped at them.
“She’s breaking her coding,” Lory shook her head. “Serrano? Can you isolate her program from the rest of the Dalida mainframe?”
The Professor Serrano was about to open his mouth when the crazy personal A.I. interrupted him.
“The Captain is alive, you idiots!” Ida said. “I was interlinked to the other me until we jumped, and I registered him to use the escape hatch in his fighter, moments before impact!”
“What!?” Lory swayed on her feet. Could that be true?
“I’m an A.I., lady,” the second Ida didn’t appear to like Lory, either. “I can’t lie…”
“That’s not technically true…” Serrano po
inted out.
“SHUT UP!” Both Ida and Lory said to the Professor at once, earning a stunned look from the man.
“You’re sure?” Lory said.
“Of course. Check the footage from the Dalida’s sensors,” the computer program said, and Lory nodded at Alan.
“Sorry, Prof; high emotions and all that–would you mind?”
