“Sounds good,” Emily said, leading a chorus of “Fine,” “That’s great,” and “Okay,” from the people behind her and her father.
Cole nodded toward the airlock behind him, saying, “All right…all aboard. Mr. and Mrs. Vance, after we take delivery of two of the three dropships I purchased, Emily can fly you down to your place to pack a few bags if you like. You’re welcome to use the laundry facilities in the Flag Officer’s quarters, and we can even set you up with ship-suits if you like.”
Carl looked to his wife, and she nodded, saying, “The house is secured and in a very quiet neighborhood, and ship-suits are fine with us. Besides, that’ll save you a trip down to the planet.”
Cole nodded and called Sasha as he led the group aboard. After handing off the grandparents to Sasha and Talia, Cole called Yeleth to ensure they were topped off for food. Cole no longer worried about water; he had discovered a recycler in the life support facilities whose sole purpose was ensuring a proper water mix throughout the ship.
Flight Deck, Battle-Carrier Haven
Docking Slip 12, The Gate
Tristan’s Gate System
24 August 2999
Cole stood before an assembled group representing much of the crew—with two surprises. The first surprise was the customized suit that awaited each current member of Cole’s crew. The second surprise was the 128 ship turrets sitting on the flight deck in eight rows of sixteen. While those turrets were not a surprise at all for the poor sods who moved them from the fabricators to the flight deck, most of the crew had no idea the turrets were ready for installation.
“May I have your attention, please?” Cole said. Srexx was helpful and routed Cole’s voice through the speakers built into the bulkheads of the flight deck, giving Cole an almost-eerie echo throughout the cavernous space. “As you can see, we have the turrets that will bring us one step closer to ensuring we can defend ourselves against any who would attack us. There’s just one problem; they’re on the flight deck and not on the hull. Anyone care to guess how that situation changes?”
A wave of groans and muttering passed through the assembled ship’s company.
Cole grinned. “Sasha, you have the bridge. Talia, I’m hoping we won’t need you, but please, be ready on the hospital deck. Everyone else, report to Purser Yeleth for your work assignments.”
That day, they installed thirty-two turrets with zero injuries or fatalities. They used both of their new dropships to ferry work crews to the outer surface of the ship, using the troop shuttle with all the seating removed to transport turrets from the flight deck to the outer armor for installation.
Cole’s proficiency at piloting was legendary among his crew, especially those who’d witnessed (survived) it first-hand. Many expected Cole to stay on the troop shuttle or a dropship, making runs between the outer surface and the flight deck, but the captain proved them wrong. The work assignments were a series of rotations. Anyone with a minimum of a Journeyman Pilot rating split their time between piloting either a dropship or the troop shuttle and working in zero-g installing turrets. But the crew loading turrets into the troop shuttle with the cargo sled had it easy, right? Yeah…not so much. They rotated into zero-g work assignments just like the pilots, except that there were many more crew rated to drive the cargo sled. Cole tried to ensure everyone had either a stint loading turrets with the cargo sled or piloting one of the small craft (if they had the requisite pilot’s rating), and at no point during any of the work did Cole do either job. He was the first person off a dropship to stand on the outer surface of his ship, grabbing a set of tools and leading an installation work party himself…never once leaving zero-g until all his people left zero-g for the day.
The second day, Sasha met him on the flight deck with her suit. She argued that—since everyone other than Cole had rotated out of zero-g at different times throughout the first work day—the second day was her turn and Cole could mind the bridge. Cole started to argue with her about it and considered pulling rank until a memory of his father crossed his mind.
“Leadership isn’t difficult, son. Start by showing your people the worker you want them to be by being that worker yourself. If you drive yourself to the point of exhaustion, so will the people who rely on you for guidance. If you slack off and don’t care, so will your people, and if you do your job while being certain to take care of yourself at the same time…so will they. First, last, always: lead by example. Everything else comes from that.”
Cole couldn’t recall what had prompted that lesson about his father’s success as CEO of Coleson Interstellar Engineering, but as he faced Sasha and his work crews in the moment of truth (as it were), he remembered his father’s words. Cole agreed without argument or discussion, and he spent more than the odd moment on the bridge that workday savoring Sasha’s expression of utter surprise his near-immediate and total agreement had provoked.
The third day, Cole and Sasha rotated between the bridge and the work crews, just like the people in the work crews rotated between the dropships or the cargo sled, and when they finished early on the fourth day (28 August), Cole declared liberty for the entire crew until the morning of August 30th. Cole didn’t tell them they’d get to do it all over again when they returned; he didn’t want to spoil their fun, after all. Only then, they’d be installing the shield emitters Haven was missing…all three thousand, seventy-two of them.
Chapter Forty
Battle-Carrier Haven
Docking Slip 12, The Gate
Tristan’s Gate System
4 September 2999
Cole smiled to himself as he entered the bridge. Haven was now as she should be: sixty-four dorsal energy turrets, sixty-four ventral energy turrets, five shield layers, and a full load of missiles, torpedoes, and bombardment rounds, and to make matters even better, he was just eight-hundred-twenty people shy of having the ship’s complement full. That was not counting the ‘air’ or ground-force elements; the base complement for a ship of Haven’s class was 5,116, and as of the morning of September 4th, the ship had 4,296 on the payroll.
Sasha looked up from her tablet as Cole passed, on his way to the helm. “Captain, Yeleth reports she has signed off on the delivery of the final dropship.”
“What’s our status with the raw materials orders?” Cole asked as he sat at the helm, swiveling to face Sasha.
“Yeleth informed me we’ve received all raw materials orders,” Sasha reported, “and the salvage job on the frigate and Beauchamp are progressing apace. She purchased warehousing at the station and left Julianna Painter in charge.”
“So, we’re ready to go?” Cole asked.
Sasha nodded. “We can depart at your leisure, Captain. All hands are aboard.”
“Well then, I think it’s time we saw a new star,” Cole said, clapping his hands once as he swiveled back to the helm.
Haven undocked from the Gate and set course for Oriolis. As soon as the ‘Engage Hyperdrive’ control activated on his helm station, Cole keyed it, setting the hyperdrive at 100% power, and Haven vanished from Tristan’s Gate.
Oriolis System
6 September 2999
Entering Oriolis was easy…for Haven, but not that easy for anyone else. Upon arriving in the system, Mazzi soon reported that the nearest jump gate was blockaded, with only certain ships being permitted to pass through, either to or from the jump gate. The ones that wouldn’t turn back were destroyed. At that, Sasha directed an alarmed look to Cole.
Cole shrugged. “I’m sorry, Sasha. We’re not here to liberate the system. We just want as many of Harlon’s Howlers as we can find almost a month after his message.”
Cole’s tone did not convey he expected overwhelming success in their mission.
“Captain,” Jennings at the comms station said, “we are being hailed by an Aurelian cruiser heading our way.”
“Mazzi, bring the ship to alert status and raise the shields. Jennings, put the message on the forward viewscreen.”
The forward vi
ewscreen activated. The focused image showed the head and torso of a man wearing the rank insignia of a commander in the Aurelian Navy. He was frowning into his video pick-up.
“Attention, Battle-Carrier Haven! We have no record of you being granted access to the system. You must heave to at once and prepare to be boarded and searched.”
“Jennings, open a channel, please,” Cole said and, when the speakers chirped, gave the man a frown of his own. “We’re just here to retrieve family and friends who were trapped on the planet when all the unpleasantness broke out. We have no interest in whatever is happening in the system. I can’t say I like your people roaming all throughout my ship, poking their noses who knows where. We have no cargo aboard, beyond our own foodstuffs.”
“That is immaterial, Haven. Colonel Grunling has ordered that all shipping entering or leaving Oriolis is subject to search.”
“I see…and just who is this Colonel Grunling that he should have such authority?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “He is the military governor of the Oriolis System, assigned by General Lindrick.”
“How quaint.” The man bristled at Cole’s words. “I wasn’t aware Commonwealth military forces had the authority to administer civilian systems.”
“General Lindrick is overseeing the Provisional Parliament while the government is rebuilt following the coup attempt by the Thyrrays and their allies. The General is still conducting investigations to ensure all traitors and insurgents are identified.”
Cole laughed. “Oh, I’m sure he is. After all, he can’t have anyone with widespread popular support opposing his new regime, now can he?”
The commander’s face took on a shade of red as his nostrils flared. “How dare you! You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
The comms call ended, and the cruiser raked Haven’s stern with their forward energy weapons. The outer-most aft shield layer dropped fifteen percent, with no bleed-through to the fourth shield layer.
Cole looked at Sasha. “I don’t think he wants to talk anymore.”
“Can’t imagine why…”
“Did you slip into the pick-up? You have that effect on people, sometimes.”
Sasha gave Cole a flat look, to which he laughed.
“Mazzi, sound battle-stations. Jennings, put me on ship-wide, please.”
The speakers chirped.
“Attention, please. We have arrived in the Oriolis system and found it to be overseen by military forces, with someone called Colonel Grunling acting as military governor. We are being fired upon by an Aurelian cruiser and are moving to respond. I suggest you get somewhere comfy, because I may maneuver the ship. That is all.”
The speakers chirped, and Cole keyed the command to bring the weapons online. Then, he stopped. “What am I doing? I have a weapons officer now. Mazzi, weapons free.”
The aft batteries discharged, invisible beams raking the cruisers bow shields with a little bleed-through to score the cruiser’s armor. Cole executed a sweeping turn that brought the port weapons to bear on the cruiser. The cruiser attempted to unleash its own port broadside, but they must have been suffering damage to their power distribution—or perhaps fire control—because the ‘broadside’ was anemic. Haven’s outer-most port shields dropped ten percent.
Sasha left the command chair to lean over Mazzi’s shoulder and point at a spot on the cruiser’s hull, saying, “The bridge should be…right about…there.”
Mazzi keyed the command to fire the port broadside in four barrages. The first two barrages of sixteen energy mounts each shredded the cruiser’s shields and opened several compartments to space. The final two barrages bored into the hull like a core-sample drill, melting a two-meter hole through the cruiser’s armor…then its outer hull…then its outer compartments. Cole did what he could to keep Haven at the proper angle to keep the weapons emplacements focused on the point Sasha wanted, and doing so resulted in a gash down the cruiser’s side shaped in an arc, much like carving a thin wedge out of a melon.
Haven’s port weapons emplacements shut down when they overheated, but the matter was decided. What Sasha and Cole couldn’t see was that the energy weapons carved all the way through the cruiser, striking the inside of the starboard shields and proceeding to create a reflection of the slagged arc on the port side. Within moments of Haven’s port weapons shutting down, the cruiser’s running lights flashed, alternating between ‘Ship in Distress’ and ‘We Surrender.’
“Cole,” Sasha said, “we have several individuals in spacesuits, floating amid the debris from our strikes. I don’t think anyone aboard the cruiser will rescue them before they run out of air.”
“Really? Doesn’t the cruiser have a shuttle deck or something like that?”
“Not anymore, Cole; I think we gutted it.”
Cole sighed. “I don’t know if we have time for this, but I can’t leave these people to die. Jennings, call Emily for me, please, and route it to the bridge.”
Within a few moments, the speakers chirped.
“You needed something, Cole?”
“Do those dropships have airlocks that could retrieve a person floating in space?”
“Sure. They’re intended to drop a company-sized unit for planetary operations, but they can also double as assault shuttles and dock with a ship when needed. Why?”
“We have several Aurelian Naval personnel floating in space, following our pointed disagreement with a cruiser. Can you grab a few people and take one of the dropships out to retrieve them? The cruiser has surrendered, and I’d rather not have more people die than necessary.”
“Why can’t they pick up their own people? Cruisers have huge shuttle decks.”
“We…destroyed it, Emily.”
“Heavens and stars, Cole! What kind of guns does this ship have?”
“I’m still working on the answer to that question. The last time I asked Srexx, he answered me with ten pages of mathematical equations and something about energy differentials. Do you mind flying out to pick up those stranded spacers?”
“No, I don’t mind. If they ask, what’s their status?”
“Uhm…rescued?”
Silence.
“Cole…in a situation like this, they will be wondering whether they’re prisoners of war, soon-to-be slaves, indentured servants, or any of several other possible and rather unsavory outcomes. When they ask, what should I say?”
“Oh. Go with ‘rescued,’ and tell them people up the chain are still working out all the details.”
“Can do.”
The speakers chirped again, and in about fifteen minutes, Cole saw one of the dropships appear on the near-space sensor display as it left the bow egress port and circled back around to the floating spacers.
“Captain,” Jennings said, “I think the cruiser is trying to hail us.”
“Trying?” Sasha asked. “How do you try to hail someone?”
“I think they’re having difficulty with their comms array.”
“Well, if they keep the signal steady,” Cole said, “put them through.”
Some minutes later, the dropship had rescued about a quarter of those floating in space when the bridge’s viewscreen activated as the speakers chirped.
The image on the viewscreen was not a pretty sight. A man dominated the foreground in a Navy-issue soft-suit. He stood in the glare of what looked like improvised spot lights, with a darkened corridor stretching out behind him. Sometimes, a spark somewhere down the corridor would light up the surrounding space. Debris of varying sizes littered the corridor. The man himself looked young. Dirt and grime lined his face, and his facial expression and mannerisms exuded an air of desperation. To top it all off, visual and auditory static plagued the transmission.
“This…I am Senior Lieutenant Shen Karnacky, and I am the senior officer aboard the Aurelian cruiser Steadfast. I…we…my people are running out of air, and I beg that you name whatever terms you desire for taking our survivors aboard. I’ve polled the people I can, and all of us
agree that almost any fate is better than dying in the ruined hulk of a ship.”
Cole and Sasha shared a look for a moment, Sasha’s expression showing her surprise.
“We never fired on your engineering compartments. Can’t you still drive the ship?”
“Yes and no, sir. You are correct; the engineering compartments are almost untouched. The problem lies in our life support systems. Almost our entire air and water supply were vented to space when your last attack vaporized sections of the supply pipes, just inside the inner hull.” Outside the range of the video pick-up, Sasha’s eyes went wide, and her left hand flew to her gaping mouth. “Beyond that, we have many people cut off in the forward sections. Every emergency bulkhead at Frames 15 and 20 dropped and locked into place when you cored the ship in your last attack, even on decks that were not damaged. We have basic comms throughout the ship, as long as the power runs hold, but we’ve been on suit-air for twenty minutes already.”
Cole sighed. “Are your life pods usable? Can you fill them, launch them, and control where they go?”
“Yes, sir, but your ship’s the only vessel close enough to retrieve them.”
“Tell everyone to get to the nearest escape pod. They’re welcome to land on my hangar deck, but there better not be any hotdogs at the controls. I don’t want skid marks on the decking. Oh…and everyone leaves. If a lone occupant fires a pod before everyone’s off the ship, I may just space the fool if whoever it is has the nerve to land on my flight deck. Am I understood?”
The lieutenant jerked several choppy nods.
“All right. We have medical facilities for any wounded who need treatment. Go, Lieutenant. See to your people. We’ll pick up your escape pods.”
It Ain't Over Page 32
