Relic Hunted (Crax War Chronicles #2)

by Terry W. Ervin II

  O’Vorley said that McAllister hadn’t found any decrypting success until she was able to identify references to me in the context of my actions and them being reported, and watched the encryption code alter between the times of my appearances and actions as the enemy on the dock tracked me. That offered McAllister and her team on the Loki’s Lady the sliver of insight needed.

  O’Vorley was back on the dock, securing some last minute supplies before departure. He said he’d be back before Tech Devatha put me under, a process necessary to successfully insert the tubes prior to initiating cold sleep. More than getting supplies, O’Vorley must’ve been tying up any loose ends.

  “So,” I asked Med Tech Devatha standing next to me, reading some data on a wall-mounted screen, “my blood tests came back positive?” I already knew the answer.

  Smiling, he looked down at me sitting on the examination table that doubled as his bed. “They did, Specialists Bleys.” He spoke with a slight, quick-paced accent.

  Behind me were the two cold sleep berths. One, more square than rectangular, was occupied. They and their equipment consumed as much space as the cramped medical room did.

  “Computer,” Tech Devatha said, “based on blood chemistry and entered data, calibrate sequence, settings, and dosages for Specialist…the Security Specialist.” He leaned against the wall. “It is my understanding that you and our engineer have a checkered history.”

  “She prefers chess to checkers.”

  “That, I know. She excels in chess, like so many other things.”

  “She’s got her flaws,” I said.

  He turned back to the computer screen. “Such as?”

  “Arrogance.”

  He stifled a laugh. “Specialist O’Vorley is good natured and that enables him to get along with our engineer. Pilot Detter, only once did I detect signs of agitation in her. She’s too confident in her skills to be insulted or belittled.”

  “And you?” I asked.

  He gestured, batting a hand at me without turning from the screen. “The medical field is overflowing with individuals imbued with god complexes.”

  I pointed over my shoulder with my thumb, indicating the Bahklack in cold sleep. “What about him?” O’Vorley told me that after the alien thrall and McAllister had broken the CGIG’s communications code, it immediately went back into cold sleep.

  “I believe it is a, her,” Med Tech Devatha corrected me. “She and McAllister communicate through computer translations, an interface which suits both very well. The alien is brilliant on many levels, but lacks insight in direct interactions with humans.”

  “Same with McAllister,” I said with a smile. Before he could frown or say anything, I added, “Same with me—except the brilliant part.”

  That earned me a grin.

  “Specialist Bleys, I believe it necessary to inform you that Engineer McAllister monitors what transpires aboard Loki’s Lady.”

  I stared into the obvious camera mounted near the ceiling. “She knows what I think of her. And I’m aware of what she thinks of me.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Some people change,” I said, rubbing my palm against my thigh. “I even tried it once, recently. Didn’t work out.”

  Devatha didn’t argue. Instead he pulled three long-needled syringes from a nearby wall cabinet and removed their sterile packaging. Then he moved to the climate-controlled cabinet and removed three large vials.

  It wasn’t necessary to read the labels. Their contents would be injected in a prescribed sequence prior to my cold sleep.

  Tech Devatha glanced over and consulted the computer screen. “Roll up your sleeve,” he said, drawing 1.35 cc of opaque dandelion-colored fluid from the smallest vial. After injecting it into my vein, he said, “I’ll be back in nine minutes to administer the second in your pre-cold sleep regimen.” He pointed to the computer console. “Before you disrobe in preparation for cold sleep, use the computer to leave any messages, instructions or other information.”

  He observed my raised eyebrow, and said, “It is my understanding that despite being a Relic, you are competent interfacing with computer systems. Pilot Detter directed me to establish an account.”

  He grinned mischievously before saying, “It will prompt you to set your own password.”

  “I know,” I said. “Even if McAllister’s computer access didn’t grant her access to all of my files, she could hack her way in faster than I could make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

  “Actually, the pilot has the highest level of access, but your point is well taken.” He moved to leave, but turned. “When was the last time you had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

  “An authentic one, with genuine peanut butter and jelly?” I shook my head. “Seems like more than a lifetime ago.”

  He stepped out, commanding the door behind him to remain eight percent open.

  There weren’t any electronic messages to leave. After undressing down to my underwear and lying down on the shelf that would be my bed, I closed my eyes, expecting to hear the humming of Loki’s Lady’s computer cooling fans and other equipment. In addition to that, the acoustical nature of the shuttle’s corridors enabled me to hear O’Vorley, who must’ve just returned, talking to someone.

  “Separate drops to Segreti and Flannigan,” he said.

  “Sent the decryption key in a narrow beam to the coordinates where Evanescent Thunder should’ve been, three minutes prior to the Nuclear Pitchfork’s departure.” The hushed feminine voice wasn’t McAllister’s, so I surmised it was Pilot Joanne Detter’s.

  “They’ll send message rockets.” McAllister said that and paused, before continuing. “We’ll drop out of condensed space after a day’s travel and send two rockets as well. Double our chances of getting word out about the behemoth class transport.”

  “Based upon your information,” the pilot said, “I’ll time our arrival to coincide when the planetary orbital rotation places it opposite the sun from our approach. Roughly three weeks before the behemoth’s scheduled arrival.”

  O’Vorley asked, “What if we’re the only ones there to greet them?”

  “If Fleet gets the messages,” McAllister said, “they won’t miss this opportunity.”

  I didn’t hear Med Tech Devatha offer any input, but I figured he was there with the others, and I appreciated him leaving the door ajar. The small medical lab serving as his quarters, he knew I’d be able to overhear.

  It reminded me of my days aboard the Kalavar, serving as a 4th Class Security Specialist on the civil transport, and often out of the main information loop.

  I’d have to thank Devatha for enabling me to have a periphery connection within the loop.

  A few minutes later, O’Vorley walked into the small med lab. “Hey, Kra. You just about ready?”

  Faking a smile, I said, “Sure.”

  “If you say so,” he said, leaning against the wall. “I think you’re presence on the Bonnisbin Orbital Colony has slipped from notice.”

  Before I could ask why he said, “It was announced that a flotilla of Troh-got war ships with support vessels are en route. Some are talking takeover, like it’ll be a good thing. Others are trying to book passage off the colony.”

  “I doubt bounty hunters and Capital Galactic will so easily forget about me.”

  “Yeah,” my friend said. “You’re right. We’re fortunate Pilot Detter’s request for con-gate initiated travel has already been approved and scheduled.” He glanced up at the med lab’s chronometer. “We’ll be departing in just under two hours.”

  “That means Tech Devatha better get to it,” I said, pointing at the tubes and other cold sleep gear hanging in sterile packaging.

  “Better him than Engineer McAllister. She is certified you know.”

  “She never told you, Kent?” I asked, recalling the outdated long transport shuttle and equipment. “I was her second cold sleep patient.”

  He laughed. “Really? Who was her first?”


  “The obnoxious med tech that had just given her a once through explanation on the procedure. It was either that or me shooting him.”

  Kent raised an eyebrow.

  “Straight forward choice for him,” I said. “If you had been there it’d make sense.”

  My friend smirked and shook his head. “I bet.”

  I awoke to a pair of eyes staring down at me. The left green and the right blue. “McAllister,” I groaned, the aftereffects of the cold sleep meds lingering in my body. Every bone and muscle ached, even my eyeballs. Nausea, and a headache that alternated from throbbing to piercing just behind my eyes.

  “Damn,” the red-haired engineer said.

  In the background, O’Vorley laughed while Tech Devatha’s quick voice said, “You lose, Engineer.”

  It’d hurt too much to lift my head, let alone attempt to sit up. Still, I forced a smile across my lips. “Any day McAllister loses is a good day.”

  “She thought your first word would be ‘Shit,’” O’Vorley explained. “I disagreed.”

  “When it really counts,” McAllister said, her voice moving away, “you don’t want to be around the day I’m wrong.”

  Three hours passed and I was starting to feel a little better. Still, I was curled up under a blanket on Med Tech Devatha’s narrow bed. “If you give me a hand,” I said to him, “I can recover somewhere else. If there’s a spare bunk.”

  “You’re not ready to move,” he said, shooting me a half grin while tapping at his wall-mounted computer screen. “I know. I’ve been in your shoes. Besides, once you’re up and around, our alien friend is next.”

  Tech Devatha reached over to tap a switch, activating the shuttle’s internal communication. Pilot Detter’s voice sounded over the intercom. “Coming up on the mark,” she said. “Are you ready to deploy?”

  Through the intercom, O’Vorley replied, “Engineer McAllister nods yes.”

  Why didn’t McAllister reply directly? My only meeting with the pilot had been brief. Medium height for an I-Tech, sharp chin, wavy brown hair that didn’t reach her shoulders, brown eyes, and a friendly smile. Firm, confident handshake.

  Maybe she and McAllister didn’t get along. Wouldn’t be surprising.

  Keeping my thoughts on anything but my aching body, I asked Devatha, “What are they deploying?”

  “A communications re-transmitter.”

  I didn’t bother craning my neck to follow as Devatha stepped to the other side of the cramped room. “Why would we be doing that?” I asked. The disconnected feeling flowing through me said we were still in condensed space travel.

  “We don’t want to be detected as we approach HD 97658.”

  HD 97658? It took me a moment to think and do a few mental calculations. A mining operation on the single planet orbiting the star. A hot place, not a lot of metals, but a few rare isotopes, useful for forming data storage crystals. Remote robotic mining as the planet’s surface hovered around 900 degrees Fahrenheit. The space dock had a name, Bizmith Orbital Dock. But like all CGIG moons, planets, colonies, and space docks, they’d been stripped of their name. I didn’t know what name had been assigned, but the dock’s orbit kept it in the planet’s shadow, protecting it from the nearby sun.

  It also served as a refueling depot, mainly for smaller class freighters. The knowledge stemmed from my warehouse days on Pluto. Conversations during evenings I played euchre with members of a methane freighter’s crew on layover.

  Capital Galactic had owned the mining operation, and the freighter. The operation might still have some sympathizers there.

  “No patrol gunboats or police cutters protecting it?” With war losses, it was a dumb question.

  Devatha answered it anyway. “Too small of an operation. An early warning satellite and a pair of def-sats. The dock has self-defense weapons. Most current data indicates three turrets mounting dual beam defense lasers.”

  “Deploy, now,” Pilot Detter said over the intercom.

  I grabbed onto the sides of the bed.

  “Deploying,” O’Vorley replied.

  The shuttle lurched, causing my weak grip to fail. I nearly slid off the bed and onto the floor. That’s what happened when you ejected things while traveling in the wake of condensed space, those objects penetrating the vessel’s generated anti-gravity field. And especially when suffering through cold sleep recovery.

  “Would you like to be strapped down, Specialist Bleys?”

  I craned my neck to see the med tech. Apparently he’d weathered the jolt without a problem. “Not unless we have more drops,” I told him.

  “I believe your next concern will be our drop out of condensed space travel.”

  As if on cue, Pilot Detter announced, “Five minutes until we drop out of condensed space.”

  “Ideally they should have a second early warning satellite and detect what we’re attempting. We have a very small window. Fewer than eighty seconds where the local sun will interfere with both the dock’s sensors and the single early detection satellite.”

  It made sense. Warning satellites were costly and in high demand, thus only one. The def-sats wouldn’t have the sensor range to detect a ship as small as ours dropping out of condensed space. The enemy wouldn’t know the number or exact orbital location of those, or of the detection satellite, or if there were any patrolling ships. Thus, they would have a nearly impossible time succeeding at what we were attempting. An undetected approach.

  But there were the treacherous actions of Capital Galactic and her sympathizers.

  Tech Devatha retrieved some clamps and straps. “The pilot will be deactivating the gravity plate after exiting condensed space and reorienting our ship.”

  Carefully, I rolled onto my back. It wasn’t the most comfortable position in my condition.

  Med Tech Devatha adjusted my blanket and pillow. “We’ll be coasting in, providing recon.”

  “Relayed through the re-transmitter.”

  Devatha nodded. “We’ll send narrow beam, a weak signal that the transmitter will boost and dispatch in a narrow beam to a set of coordinates.” He shrugged. “I never bothered to inquire about them.”

  “What are we expecting?”

  “The arrival of a behemoth class transport, carrying at least one, possibly three Primus Crax battle frigates.” He ran a strap across my chest. “McAllister believes their goal is to capture the dock and her fuel stores intact. Destroying or stopping the launch of message rockets. Its strategic location and being only sixty-nine light years from Earth, a valuable base of operations, even if temporary.”

  Something humanity couldn’t ignore. They’d made incursions into human space, but all were launched from long range. The attack on Io was a prime example. But if they were allowed to establish themselves around HD 97685? We didn’t have enough combat ships to meet current needs. Dealing with it would further hamstring current operations.

  Devatha finished strapping down my chest and legs, and taped my pillow to the bed.

  Pilot Detter said, “One minute until cessation of condensed space travel, on my mark.”

  “Will shut down the cascading atomic engine,” McAllister replied, “one minute from your mark.”

  “Mark,” the Pilot said.

  McAllister replied, “Shutdown procedure enacted. Condensed space will end sixty seconds from your mark. Antigravity field will be collapsed three seconds after. Deactivation of gravity plate to follow, upon your command, Pilot.”

  O’Vorley chimed in, “Will shut down shuttle gravity plate on your command, Pilot Detter.”

  “As soon as I verify our trajectory and make adjustments, Specialist O’Vorley.”

  They had no more than eighty seconds to accomplish all of that. Not knowing if there were any CGIG sympathizers on the mining dock, no communication or contact, no coded requests to alter the satellite or dock sensors, or their reporting protocol could be attempted.

  Not now, nor could the military have attempted it. Not with the limited time available
. How long had it taken for the Evanescent Thunder’s or Loki’s Lady’s message rockets to arrive and warn the military and Intel of the behemoth transport’s arrival with its cargo of Primus Crax combat ships?

  We’d raced almost forty light years to reach HD 97658. McAllister had formulated the plan to relay recon, anticipating the military would comply. What choice did they have? There hadn’t been time to coordinate otherwise. Based on the small amount known to them, the military would’ve already formulated a plan to ambush and destroy the CGIG and enemy ships. Fleet and any Colonial Marines they brought along couldn’t arrive early, and risk tipping their hand, could they?

  There were so many variables. So many ways this could go. So many more it could go wrong.

  At least everything aboard Loki’s Lady went as expected, up until now.

  “Ready,” warned Pilot Detter. “Shut down cascading atomic engine.”

  “Shut down initiated,” McAllister replied without emotion.

  The long range shuttle lurched, and the constant feeling of slight disconnection snapped out of existence. Like the humming of electronic fans you get used to and don’t notice, until they’re gone. Silence.

  My body rocked to the left.

  “Adjusting course trajectory,” Pilot Detter commented. After a smaller pull the other direction and slightly downward, she added, “On course. Shutting down thrust engines. Specialist O’Vorley, power down the internal gravity plate. Ten percent reduction every five seconds.”

  “Acknowledged,” O’Vorley replied. “Ten percent increments. Complete shutdown in fifty seconds.”

  “Thirteen minutes from now,” Pilot Detter said. “If we’ve been detected, we should receive a radio contact by then.”

  That told me how far we were from the space dock. Over 90 million miles. Enough time for them to detect us, and send a radio contact.

  After thirty seconds, McAllister announced, “All space condensing systems deactivated and locked down. Proceeding to join you, Pilot.”

  “Acknowledged. Optical scanners will be yours.”

  My arms felt lighter. The sense of fading gravity sent a new wave of nausea through my already sick body.