Rescue at Waverly

by T J Mott

  He looked up to the sun and smiled. He hadn’t seen it in how long now? The sight froze him in place. It was bright, blinding him so he saw nothing else, but Thad could not look away from it. His body would not move, his head refused to turn, his eyelids would not close or even blink, and his pupils stayed fixated on that brilliant light.

  Eventually he realized it wasn’t the sun hovering over Wyoming. It was the light in the ceiling of his cabin. On the Caracal.

  He sat up, disturbed. He stood and paced the cabin a few times, trying to shake the sleep from his mind. His head throbbed and his throat was parched. He nearly reached for the half-full glass of whiskey that sat out, but then thought better and instead quickly downed two glasses of water.

  He stepped up to the cabin’s only window and looked out. His cabin, a VIP suite permanently assigned to him, was on one of the upper decks of the Caracal and faced forward. A bright red pinprick sat directly in front of him. It was the unnamed carbon star not too far from the Waverly system, still hours away at their present sublight speed.

  He looked around at the frigate’s surroundings as the memories of his nightmare faded away, noting the color-shifted and misplaced stars in the backdrop. The ship was moving fast enough for relativistic effects to alter his perception of the universe outside. By now, they were far enough from their hyperspace exit point that even if anyone had followed them, they were well outside of sensor range. The ship was essentially invisible, impossible to track—until it jumped again and announced its location to everyone within the nearest light-year via the hyperdrive’s phi-band radiation flash.

  His thoughts soon returned to the previous day, and his heart began to burn with wrath as he remembered Adelia’s breakdown near the aft bunkroom. She hadn’t said much, but it was enough. He’d make them pay.

  The Sol system had had its share of problems, but slavery was generally not one of them. Earth’s forces had done an excellent job of patrolling the system and dealing with outlaws. Illegal slavery had certainly existed, but it was not common. But out here, it was openly flaunted despite being technically illegal in about two thirds of known space. Communication was so slow, and interstellar space so vast, that patrolling and enforcing law and order among the thousands of empty cubic light-years between inhabited systems was basically impossible.

  I had it so easy. Yes, I was a slave, and I didn’t have my freedom, but it wasn’t really that bad, not for me anyway. I did the exact same stuff once I escaped, except then I got paid for it.

  But Adelia had been through some rough times, rougher than he could ever imagine, and now he wasn’t sure how to help her. He was starting to realize that attacking and boarding the Cassandra may have been the easy part of rescuing her.

  I really hope she has some information my analysts can use. Information on her captors, so I can find them…and make them suffer.

  And information on Earth.

  What a price I’ve paid. I lost three of the four ships in my task force, and half the gunners on my flagship. But is that too big a price for details that could lead me back to Earth?

  He’d spent years gathering power and building up a secret empire, stealing technology and information all for the sole purpose of finding a way home. Thad’s organization was undoubtedly the largest secret empire in the galaxy. Very few people knew the full extent of his resources: the interstellar shipping companies he owned which supported his operations, the spies he’d inserted into sensitive locations in some of the galaxy’s most important governments, and the vast treasure trove of technology he had stockpiled at Headquarters. The Commodores knew of this, and some of his staff at Headquarters knew, but to the outside world he was only known as a ruthless, yet efficient small-time mercenary with a quirky obsession for Earth.

  And he’d spent years fruitlessly chasing Earth rumors. And despite all his time and effort, Adelia was his first real clue, the first payoff from his massive investments in empire-building. Hopefully more clues would follow.

  No, that price was not too big. No price is too big. I have to find Earth.

  I have to.

  ***

  “Well, did you get our pilot?”

  Lieutenant Commander Green shook his head. “No,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I didn’t even talk to her about it.”

  Durant frowned in surprise. “Really? After that spat with Bennett, surely she wants a way out.”

  “Haven’t you heard the gossip? Apparently, during that ‘spat’ she claimed to be a Hyberian Raider.”

  Durant blinked a couple times. “A Hyberian Raider.”

  “Yes.” Green let out a short burst of nervous laughter. “Don’t you see? The officers are cracking. First we had someone from Earth. Then Bennett snaps at people. Now we have a Hyberian Raider. What’s next?”

  “Maybe she was just saying that to intimidate him,” Durant offered hopefully. “Maybe she’d still join us. She’s pretty smart, surely she sees we have no hope. I mean, as the pilot she ought to know better than anyone that we can’t outrun them.”

  “I don’t know, Durant.” He quickly scanned the room again, a nervous habit he’d picked up recently. Four people—four conspirators, he thought somewhat uncomfortably, although circumstances had left them no choice but to mutiny—were in the room, a small unused office near the officers’ quarters. The only door was closed. “She’s losing her grip on reality. And we need to be very careful who we trust. One wrong person gets involved, and we all go to the brig and die when Marcell’s enemies blow us out of the skies.” He laughed nervously again. “Besides, if she finds out I’m involved she may turn us in just to spite me.”

  “Oh?” quipped Steins, a member of the Deck Department. “You two have a history?” he asked with a mischievous smile on his face.

  Green shook his head as a fresh wave of disappointment welled up within him. “I wish we had a history. No, she hates me. Always has. What a shame to leave her here, I’m rather fond of her. And we could definitely use a pilot of her skill.”

  “Yeah. To the piloting part. Not to the fond of her part. I really don’t get what you see in her.” Durant sat down and switched on the computer, opening up an encrypted file which was shared among the conspirators. “Anyway, good news is, we now have Kahr from Engineering.” He pointed over at Steins. “And Steins here can fly the transport, he normally works the hangar.”

  “Good, good.”

  “I talked to Jag,” added the fourth conspirator in the room, a junior engineer named Scoll. “He’s in. Really sharp with a pistol, too.”

  “And Litt,” Steins added.

  “And now we pretty much have run of the ship,” Durant declared triumphantly. “There’s so much repair work to be done that nobody will notice the engineers or deck guys, no matter what they do. Kahr is already working on the hypercomm modification you requested.”

  Green smiled briefly. “Great. But what about the Marines?”

  “We can’t exactly lock them up,” Scoll said. “The ship is locked wide-open to assist with repairs, and none of us have the codes to override it. And they’re split up between two sections. But Kahr and I can weld some section doors shut. It’ll have to be done quickly, and won’t be too strong, but it should hold long enough to keep the Marines locked down while we get away.”

  Green swallowed. Their plan was extremely risky. But still not as risky as staying around until Marcell’s enemies catch up. “So,” he said as he studied the data on Durant’s display. He pointed to a couple spots on the frigate’s blueprint. “Once we’re ready to move, Kahr and Scoll need to weld these doors closed. Meanwhile, Steins waits in the transport with all the preflight done already. You, me, and the rest will arm up. I’ll volunteer to work some sensor station shifts to keep an eye on the Command Center and Marcell, and I’ll alert the group when the time is right. Then we storm the Command Center, shoot whoever we have to, and take Marcell.”

  “Then we all get to the transport and run like hell.” Steins smirked slightly
. “The funny thing is, with the Caracal’s damage and unbalanced thruster output, that little Marine transport is actually faster. So once we’re away, there’s nothing they can do about it.”

  “Perfect,” Green said. “So we burn away, then we hail everyone in the area and turn in Marcell for a split of the bounties. And before too long, we’ll be away from that maniac and his inane fascination with Earth. We’ll be alive, and hopefully wealthier, too.”

  Steins frowned. “I still don’t like grabbing Marcell,” he said. “It’s risky, draws too much attention to us when we’re away. What if we just escape on our own and leave him here? Let his enemies deal with him while we’re safely aboard the transport? And then we join up with them?”

  “Consider that our backup plan if we fail to take him,” Green said. “But Marcell’s live bounties are astronomical. If we fly him straight to our pursuit, alive, and cooperate, it should go well for us. And the Caracal and the rest of the crew won’t be able to stop us.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Scoll said.

  Green nodded uneasily. Me, too. “It’s our best chance though. All right, back to work. I’ll signal when we’re ready to make our move.”

  ***

  The sudden sound of the door chime intruded on his thoughts and snapped him back to reality. He groggily walked—nearly stumbling on his way—to the door of his cabin and opened it. “Yeah, what is it?” he grumbled, not really feeling awake or sober.

  The door swung open. On the other side was Adelia, standing in the well-lit corridor that connected to all the VIP cabins. He squinted and rubbed his eyes as the piercing light flooded into his cabin.

  “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “No, it’s alright,” he said, speaking slowly and focusing on his enunciation so he wouldn’t slur his words too much. “I was already awake. Come in.” He stepped aside and she walked into his cabin. “Take a seat.” He looked around and realized there wasn’t much choice. His cabin was severely spartan, lacking in furniture and decorations. He had a bed, an overstuffed chair by the window, and an office chair which was bolted to the floor near the cabin’s only computer terminal and table.

  She walked up to the overstuffed chair, sniffing the air and frowning as she stepped. She stood over it, as if struggling to decide whether to sit or not, and then remained standing after all. “It smells like booze in here.”

  He shrugged nervously. “Probably,” he slurred. He scanned the room and saw an empty bottle on the floor by the bed, another in the sink, and a half-full glass on the table by the computer.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he lied, answering perhaps a bit too quickly to sound convincing. “So what’s on your mind?” he asked as he sat down by the computer. He leaned back in the seat and threw an ankle over his knee, and tried with only moderate success to keep his eyes trained on her. His eyes kept drifting to the left, and, even while sitting still, it felt like the room itself was twisting to the right.

  “I just couldn’t sleep,” she said. She was still standing, and she looked quite uncomfortable now. “I had some nightmares. And I don’t think I’m running on ship’s time.”

  “Does Janssen know you’re out wandering around the ship?” he asked with a slight smile.

  “I was restless. He said it was fine as long as I came back.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What happened?” she asked. “I walked around for a while. The ship looks damaged.”

  “Just some battle damage,” he responded, being intentionally vague. “It’ll get fixed up when we get home.”

  She frowned. “Are you sure you’re all right?” She squinted at him and her frown grew more serious. “You’re drunk.” He reluctantly nodded and made a lopsided smile. “What’s going on? What happened? Why do this to yourself?”

  His smile faded and he realized he wasn’t sure how to answer her. There was an answer, but he didn’t quite know how to put it into words, even within his own mind. And he definitely didn’t want to tell her how badly the ship was damaged, or how severe their situation actually was. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, trying—and failing, he realized, as her expression became even more worried—to sound reassuring. “Truth is, I’m probably drunk as often as not. I know how to function like this.” And as those words left his mouth, he immediately wanted to kick himself in the face.

  “Uh—Thaddeus…” She looked surprised now, and even more uncomfortable. “You…” She was clearly flustered.

  “I’m just trying…” His eyes flitted around the cabin as he searched for the words that were right there, yet still out of his grasp. Finally he found them. “Just trying to make it. The galaxy is a hostile place, and I’ve been through a lot. It isn’t easy.”

  She stood a few meters away, looking down at him with both worry and disappointment in her eyes. Finally she spoke again. Very quietly. “Thad, don’t destroy yourself.” He then listened to her footsteps crunch lightly on the carpet as she turned and left his cabin.

  Chapter 16

  The Command Center was eerily quiet. Nobody held idle conversations, and everyone within was monitoring the ship’s sensors and operations with intense concentration, as if sheer focus and strength of will could help the Caracal escape. They were still coasting towards the carbon star at high sublight speed, angled to eventually skim the upper atmosphere, and were still a couple hours away from the next hyperspace jump.

  Thaddeus watched the display at his seat in the Command Box, which currently showed a filtered visual image of the star. He’d never seen a carbon star in person, and appreciated the distraction the strange and wonderful sight provided from his current predicament. It was so large, larger even than certain star systems, and the outer atmosphere so thin, that it didn’t have a well-defined photosphere like main sequence stars. Instead of a nice, bright, evenly-lit sphere, it was a fuzzy, somewhat amorphous blob. The outer surface swirled in and out like a frothy liquid boiling in extreme slow motion. Huge, dark red clouds floated high above the blurry glowing ball. It was not even clear where the star stopped and space began.

  Also unusual, Thad thought, was the complete lack of the great, looping, parabolic prominences that occurred in most stars when ionized plasma got swept up by the star’s magnetosphere, funneled along by invisible lines of magnetic force. This star’s upper atmosphere was too cool to be ionized, and thus completely unaffected by magnetism.

  Adelia also sat in the Command Box, at the normally unoccupied seat to his left. When the news of Poulsen’s plan finished disseminating through the crew, morale had lifted considerably. The mood aboard the Caracal had lightened so much over the past day that it almost felt like a different crew. Between that and Janssen’s success at controlling her withdrawal symptoms, Thad had finally agreed to give her general access to the ship. And she had wanted to see him, and his officers, in action.

  Notably absent, however, was Bennett. Normally, the Executive Officer was constantly on his feet, monitoring the entire Command Center, giving advice and receiving feedback from everyone, and acting as a filter to decide what information was important enough to forward to Reynolds or Marcell. Commander Allen, as Chief Engineer and third-in-command, was now the acting Executive Officer, doing his best to fill that role in addition to his standard duties.

  Green had finally re-appeared from his sulking, too. Thaddeus had not seen him since the battle against the Cassandra. He knew the Chief Gunner was still reeling from the loss of his men. He’d not worked any shifts in the Command Center, nor had he been present at any of the recent planning and status meetings among the senior officers. Thaddeus and Reynolds had decided to let him be and put off any decisions about possible reprimands until after the mission. But now he was back, silently—but diligently—working the main sensor station for the shift.

  Thaddeus kept trying to make small talk with Adelia, but she seemed reserved and withdrawn now and their conversations, though polite, were continual
ly short and awkward. He knew she was still upset at finding him drunk, and though she wouldn’t openly say as much, he could tell she was not comfortable even with his present state of only mild intoxication. She didn’t know how he operated, and she didn’t yet realize that it didn’t interfere with his ability to run his organization or command its ships. If anything, he thought, it helped him command. It controlled some of his anxiety, leaving his mind clear to analyze the situation objectively. She’d come to terms with it, eventually—he hoped.

  And so he watched the main monitors at the front of the Command Center as a countdown timer ticked down the many minutes remaining until their jump. Another monitor showed a map of the system, and it contained an overlay of all the phi-band flashes they’d detected since arriving in-system. Around two dozen ships had followed them, though none of them were in sensor range. Pursuit was close, but the Caracal was still safe for the moment. Everything hinged on the hope that Poulsen’s next hyperspace jump would confuse their pursuit enough to lose them, allowing them to slow down to reasonable speeds for their return home.

  But the silence broke suddenly. Thad heard blows, quickly followed by shouts, and when he looked away from the mesmerizing view of the giant carbon star, he saw that Poulsen had pinned Green to the deck. He was prostrate, with the side of his face mashed into the deck. She was pressing one of her knees into his back, pinning him down with most of her body weight, and she had one of his arms twisted around behind him for control. “Traitor!” she shouted, loud enough for the entire room to clearly hear her.