Ghost Squadron Omnibus

by Sarah Noffke

  Julianna rolled one of her shoulders back, trying to ease the tension in her neck. “Hatch, I think you have the intention of trying, in your own weird way, to be helpful, but I’m not sure your approach is good for morale.”

  “That is an important topic, and I’m glad you’ve brought up,” Jack stated, clearing his throat again. He gave Eddie and Julianna a hesitant look. “It hasn’t gone unnoticed by me that stress is running high on the ship.”

  Hatch attached a wire to the end of the client, his focus intent on the device. “That tends to happen when the crew is trying to stop a race of deceptive shapeshifters who could end us at any moment.”

  “I realize that,” Jack stated with a confident nod. “Still, if we don’t take care of ourselves, we’re not going to be in a position to stop the Saverus.”

  “Spoken like a man regurgitating something Liesel would say,” Hatch muttered, earning a small chuckle from Knox.

  Jack cut his eyes at Hatch, releasing a steadying breath. “Although Liesel was the one who gave me this idea, I do speak as the Chief Strategist.”

  “Tell me, Jack…What happened to your slacks?” Hatch asked, sounding particularly cranky.

  Jack looked down at his clothes. He did appear a little more casual than usual, in his woven, trim pants and loose button-down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. “I thought I’d try something different. These are supposed to be breathable, which is good for your skin.”

  “For your skin maybe,” Eddie said, diverting his eyes as he suppressed a grin.

  Hatch puffed out his cheeks, his gaze still focused down. “I’m just glad you ugly humans cover your bodies in the first place.”

  “I bet you’re glad you don’t have to wear pants,” Eddie said, letting out a deep laugh. “I mean, humans put theirs on one leg at a time, but Londils—”

  “Shut up, Captain,” Hatch groaned.

  Jack coughed to clear the air. “Anyway, as I was saying. I’ve had Ricky Bobby monitoring our stress levels, and he reports that they’re at an all-time high. Therefore Liesel has volunteered—”

  “And there we go,” Hatch interrupted. “I knew she’d be behind this.”

  “As I was saying,” Jack stated. “Liesel has put together some stress relieving techniques for the crew, and will offer them starting this evening.”

  Eddie laughed. “If you think I’m doing yoga, you’ve got another thing coming.”

  “No one wants to see you in yoga pants, or whatever that getup is that Jack is wearing,” Hatch remarked.

  “Amen, doc!” Eddie exclaimed.

  Jack shook his head. “It’s not yoga, although Liesel will offer those sessions in the morning, if she gets more requests.”

  “It’s funny, I thought we recruited her to be the engineer, not the activity director,” Hatch stated.

  Eddie laughed. “She’s quite the bargain.”

  “Anyway,” Jack said again, trying to steer the discussion back on track. “Liesel is offering a Pinot’s Palette class tonight in the lounge.”

  “A what?” Knox asked, looking up suddenly from the workstation.

  Jack nodded with a smile. “Apparently, it’s been proven to help people unwind and channel creativity. Liesel gave me some data suggesting that letting out creative steam improves morale. Ricky Bobby was able to back up her findings, so I’m confident this is a method worth trying.”

  “And yet we still don’t know what it is,” Eddie stated. “What’s Pinot’s Palette?”

  “Wine and painting,” Julianna said, her tone dull.

  Jack shot her a smile. “That’s right. Wine is shown to decrease stress hormones and lower blood pressure, putting artists more at ease. While you sip on a glass, Liesel will guide you through the process of creating your own masterpiece.”

  Eddie waved his arm forward, encouraging Jack to say more.

  “That’s it,” Jack stated with finality.

  “Where’s the part when you say, ‘Just fucking kidding’?” Eddie asked, his tone serious.

  Jack shook his head, striding for the exit. “I’m not at all kidding. I take your mental well-being seriously, and don’t want you overdoing it. I think this event is what you all need; a way to relax while also team building.”

  “We’re busy working on the Tangle Thief,” Hatch grumbled.

  “Yeah, I’d love to, but I’ve got to help them with the Tangle Thief,” Eddie joked.

  “The hell you do!” Hatch exclaimed.

  “I’d go, but I don’t want to,” Julianna stated blankly.

  Jack sighed. “As you are the captain and the commander of this ship, I can’t force you two to do anything. I can only give you the data showing that stress hormones are elevated in every single member of your crew. I hope you’ll lead by example, though—you might not need this, but there are others on this ship who could benefit.”

  Julianna gave Jack an insolent expression. “Fine, I’ll go, but I’m sipping whiskey, not fucking fruit juice.”

  “If she’s going, I’ll go too,” Eddie agreed.

  Jack beamed. “Good. I think you both made a wise decision,” he said before turning and striding away.

  “We’ve been had, you realize that, right?” Eddie asked Julianna.

  “Yeah. Let’s go grab a few bottles of whiskey,” she said. “I need to get started early if I’m expected to hold a paintbrush and not use it as a deadly weapon.”

  Eddie looked impressed. “I’d actually pay good money to see that.”

  “I’d take your money,” Julianna said as they sauntered away.

  When the captain and commander were gone, Hatch’s head snapped up. “Damn, I thought they’d never clear out!”

  Knox let out a relieved breath. “Yeah, I was running out of ways to look busy with this thing.” He pointed to the Tangle Thief.

  “I already told them it won’t lead us to the other parts of the device, but they don’t listen.” After a beat, Hatch’s face brightened for the first time that day. “Ready to get to work on the DeLorean?”

  “Hell yeah,” Knox enthused. “I’ve got an idea for using cold fusion to bypass the problem we’re having with fuel.”

  Hatch combed a tentacle over his chin. “Interesting. I’m not sure if that will work, but we can take a look.”

  Knox hopped up off his stool. “I left the plans in my room. I was working on it all night.”

  “All right, then,” Hatch stated, waving the boy away. “Go get them while I pull out the tools.”

  Knox disappeared, leaving Hatch alone in his lab.

  Jack was right about the crew’s morale. For Hatch, it was at an all-time low. But working on the DeLorean was his Pinot’s Palette…and doing it with Gunner helped.

  Hatch was leaning over the engine of the DeLorean, trying to remember what they’d been working on last, when he’d been rudely interrupted by the group going on about Noah’s ark. He shook his head at the ridiculous notion.

  “I’m sorry,” a muffled voice stated, yet another interruption.

  Hatch pulled his head out from under the hood, straightening and listening intently. “What? Who was that?” he finally asked.

  “Me,” the familiar voice of Pip called from overhead.

  Hatch’s tentacles wound together tightly, their version of making fists. “Oh.”

  “I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry,” Pip said, his voice uncharacteristically melancholy.

  “For being a coward?” Hatch asked gruffly.

  “For scratching your car,” Pip stated.

  “It’s a bit more than a scratch!”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  “That’s what cowards say,” Hatch seethed.

  A long stretch of silence filled the space.

  “I know you don’t make mistakes,” Pip finally said. “But maybe you can understand that, as someone new to emotions, and brand new to having access to a body, it’s a bit much for me. I wasn’t thinking, and allowed the thrill of the moment to get the bes
t of me.”

  Hatch puffed out his cheeks, keeping his eyes low in an attempt to cover his own emotions. “I trusted you.”

  “And I let you down,” Pip said, his tone subdued but still strong. “I understand that you’re very disappointed in me and that earning back your trust will take time.”

  Hatch thought about dragging out Pip’s misery with a round of insults, but the AI sounded more grown up than the mechanic had ever heard him.

  “I wish you hadn’t run off,” Hatch finally said.

  “As I am confined to the networks of the Etheric, we both know I can’t run,” Pip said without humor. “But you’re right. I should have stood up like a man—I mean, like a man or a woman. Don’t tell Julianna I said that first part. Anyway, I should have taken responsibility for my actions, which I intend to do now and in the future.”

  “Yeah, well, everyone makes mistakes,” Hatch allowed.

  “You don’t,” Pip reiterated. “I checked over your records for the last ten projects, and there wasn’t even the slightest miscalculation. I can’t imagine how hard it is for you to share space with the rest of us.”

  Pip sounded so unlike himself that suddenly all Hatch wanted was for things to return to how they were. “I’m no island,” Hatch admitted. “I still need the rest of you, in order to do my job.”

  “I’d like to continue helping you with that, if you’ll forgive me for making mistakes… although I can’t guarantee it won’t happen again,” Pip said.

  “You know what?” Hatch asked.

  “What?”

  “It’s a sign of great strength when someone can hold their head up after making a mistake, take responsibility and learn something,” Hatch offered.

  “I’m not sure I was really good at holding my head up afterward, but I’ll work on it,” Pip stated.

  “I’ll help you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Q-Ship, Cantjik Sea, Planet Sagano, Behemoth System

  Lars flew the Q-Ship steadily over the turquoise waters of the Cantijik Sea, his eyes scanning the expanse that seemed to go on forever. Fletcher hadn’t been still since he took the copilot’s seat, but his nervousness was justified. His mission to stop Rosco had purpose now, whereas before it was simple revenge.

  Vengeance had built empires and also turned them to dust. It was an emotion both productive and terrible. Life is full of fine lines like that, Lars thought. Good and bad share a paper-thin fence.

  “There they are.” Fletcher pointed to a group of four islands to the north. One was quite large, and the other three half its size.

  “I bet Rosco’s hiding on the biggest island,” Nona said from the back.

  “We’ll have to fly over it to find out,” Lars stated, cloaking the Q-Ship.

  From their position, it was clear that the three smaller islands had suffered. Most of the trees were broken, and there were scorch marks on the soil. Several structures lay in ruin, and trash and debris were strewn a great distance from them.

  “Whatever happened to those islands doesn’t look pleasant,” Nona observed.

  “Maybe someone has already taken Rosco out,” Lars mused hopefully.

  It’s not that he didn’t want closure for his friend—it was more that he wasn’t sure if this was the path to get it. The closer they got to Rosco, the brighter the scorching fire in Fletcher’s eyes. Lars feared that his friend’s need for retribution might burn him alive.

  “I doubt it,” Fletcher stated, narrowing his eyes at the islands. “The terrorist group he runs has been active, though aloof. We need to cut off the head of the beast…then we’ll be one step closer to justice for all.”

  The larger island appeared untouched by the violent forces that had ripped the smaller ones apart. Two towers stood on either end, a lookout stationed in both. The vegetation stood tall and lush, and in the center of the island stood a large, open compound made of bamboo. It was flanked by guards holding automatic weapons.

  “Looks like we found the base of operations,” Nona stated, sitting up in her seat to peer out the windows.

  Fletcher ground his fist into his palm, his teeth clenched. “Let’s land on the beach on the far side of the island.”

  “I think…” Lars began, his tone careful, “we should check out the smaller islands first. Find out what’s happened.”

  “Rosco is obviously inhabiting the large island,” Fletcher argued. “Why waste time when we know where to find him?”

  “Because if he’s responsible for the destruction of these other islands, we should find out what we’re up against, collect some intel,” Lars explained.

  Fletcher stubbornly sharpened his gaze on the land mass ahead of them.

  “I think Lars is right,” Nona chimed in from the back. “I know you’re anxious for this mission to be complete, but if we rush it, we could make a mistake.”

  Fletcher appeared to be on the verge of saying something, but only shook his head.

  “The island looks incredibly well guarded, and we have small numbers,” Lars said, calculating. “That’s both to our advantage and disadvantage. I’m not worried about our chances of sneaking into the compound, but I’d like a bit more time to investigate.”

  “Hatch gave me two of the personal cloaking devices,” Fletcher argued.

  “Which sound great, but I caught the captain and commander while they were wearing them on a mission,” Lars reminded him. “The cloaks aren’t foolproof and they superficially inflate a soldier’s confidence.”

  Fletcher chewed on his lip and softened a degree. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s check out the smaller islands first.”

  “What about that one? It’s populated, but from what I can tell, the habitants are civilian natives.” Nona pointed, pulling her face away from her scope she’d been studying the islands through.

  “Good work,” Lars congratulated her, taking the ship in for a landing.

  Fletcher knew that Lars and Nona were right, and he had recruited them for the mission because he respected their input. At his core, he knew he was too invested in killing Rosco, and that his hunger could be his undoing. That’s why he’d let his teammates accompany him. He trusted Nona to keep him honest, and Lars to implement strategy.

  The Q-Ship set down in one of the many clearings surrounded by scorched forest. In the distance, a child carried a pail of water away from the salty sea, her face and arms darkened from the sun. She wore a dress of torn rags, and her black hair was matted to her head.

  “She’s headed for the village over there,” Lars said, catching Fletcher’s line of vision. He pointed at a series of dilapidated huts on the higher end of the beach.

  Why these natives didn’t live inland, Fletcher couldn’t reason. Staying close to the edge of the water wasn’t just a risk, but being subjected to the unforgiving winds also made for uncomfortable living.

  “What’s the plan?” Nona asked, her eyes eager.

  Fletcher strode toward the back of the ship where they stored extra supplies. He retrieved four warm blankets and handed them to Nona, who had been reaching for her rifle.

  “Leave the guns behind,” Fletcher stated. “Something tells me that these people have seen enough guns to not trust those who wave them around freely.”

  When the Kezzin smiled, it made his face look strange, but it also suited him. “I would agree. Good instinct,” Lars noted.

  Fletcher pointed to two large containers of fresh water. “Can you carry those?” he asked Lars.

  The pilot nodded, picking up the ten-gallon containers like they weighed nothing.

  Fletcher pulled a large bag filled with rations and first aid supplies from the back of the storage unit, throwing it over his shoulder. “I say we bring these people gifts and earn their trust. Maybe then they’ll tell us something useful about the large island.”

  “If nothing else, our offerings will mean a great deal to them,” Lars reasoned with gentle pride.

  A group of children looked up from a game they wer
e playing in the dirt when the team of three strode in the direction of the camp. The settlement was small, consisting of only half a dozen small huts and a few larger ones. Women sat around a fire, some sorting through berries, others weaving. They looked up with alarm when the children hollered, running in their direction.

  Fletcher faked a smile, hoping that the universal expression would tell the women that they weren’t in danger.

  One of the women stood, and her height was surprising. She had to be over six feet tall. Her shoulders were wide, but her hips narrow. The children all disappeared into one of the larger huts.

  “What do you want?” the woman asked, her voice rough. Like the children, her clothes were threadbare, and her skin hung loosely around her eyes.

  From the large hut the children now hid in, three men appeared, their expressions hostile.

  “We mean you no harm,” Fletcher stated, bowing. “We bring you gifts.”

  Nona set the thick blankets down in front of the tall woman and straightened, dwarfed by her height. She then darted her eyes to the water and medical bag that Fletcher and Lars had set down. Fletcher unzipped the bag to show the rich bounty within.

  “Why have you brought this?” the woman asked, her chin raising high in the air.

  “Because we are visitors to your land, seeking information,” Nona stated.

  The three men had come to stand beside the woman, and their eyes narrowed at the supplies.

  “What is it you want to know?” the woman asked.

  “What happened to your island, and what do you know about the larger island north of here?” Fletcher dared to say.

  The wrinkles on the woman’s face deepened. “Rosco happened, to this island and to our sister islands.”

  Fletcher let out a heavy sigh. “We feared as much. We’re here to take him down, but we thought you might offer some insight.”

  The old woman measured him up with a penetrating stare. After a long moment, she put her back to him and strode for the fire. “Then come this way and make yourself useful. We labor while we talk, or the work never gets done.”