by Mike Smith
Paul noticed her entrance, and was about to offer her a seat when he noticed the shock in her eyes. “Miranda, is everything okay?” He asked, concerned.
Miranda could only stare at Paul, or more precisely at what he was wearing. For like Jon, Paul was now dressed in the immaculate white uniform of the Imperial Navy, the rank of Captain clearly visible on his lapel. Breaking the silence, Miranda uttered, “Nobody told me that it was formal dress for dinner this evening.”
Paul looked surprised, before looking down at this uniform in understanding. “I haven’t worn this in years. I think it’s a little tight around the waist.”
“You are going soft, Paul,” Jon quipped.
Miranda could only lick her lips, eyes darting between the two officers, so similar in their white navy uniforms, yet both so different. For while Jon was tall and lean, with a whipcord-like strength, Paul was shorter and stockier, but Miranda could still see his strong muscles beneath his uniform. Miranda was firmly of the opinion most of the female members of the crew would have traded their right arm to be where she was at this precise moment, in the company of the two handsome officers.
“Apologies, I feel slightly underdressed.” Miranda flashed a smile.
“Not from where I am sitting,” Jon replied, giving her a wolfish grin. Admiring her in the knee-length, black dress she had worn for the occasion. “Although I do wonder what you would look like in a uniform? I must confess to having a thing for women in uniform. Maybe I could interest you in a commission?” He laughed.
Miranda just rolled her eyes. Jon was in one of his rare exuberant moods and as far as she could tell these moods usually only occurred prior to him embarking on a life-or-death venture.
“If you would like me to leave, so that you two can resume your flirting in private?” Paul interrupted, trying to hide his amusement.
“Not at all,” Jon replied, laughter in his eyes as he stood, sliding back a chair so Miranda could take a seat. He had to bite back a startled intake of breath as he glanced down at the endless expanse of back on show, as he could see all the way down to her derrière.
He and Miranda had been close for a while back on Terra Nova, going as far as to share an all-encompassing kiss prior to him leaving the station to face Harkov and his fleet. At the time Jon had given little thought to the consequences, as he did not expect to live much longer. However, since then he had been keeping a distance from the gorgeous young woman, not wanting to give her the wrong impression, as his heart had long since belonged to another. But it was times like this when his resolve waivered and he wondered if he should stop living in the past and move on. Not wanting to face such weighty problems at the moment, as he needed to focus on the mission at hand, he returned to his seat.
Paul broke the silence between the couple by inquiring. “So Jon, have you thought about your next steps after you arrive on Tartarus?”
Jon gave the question due consideration, before shaking his head. “We don’t have enough intelligence about the facility, where they could be keeping Marcus, his current health status. I guess that we will have to play it by ear.”
“So no plans to just walk up to the front door and loudly demand his release?” Paul smirked. “Relying on the fear inducing presence of the great Praetorian Commander?”
“Funny.”
“Miranda,” Paul turned to the younger woman, with a sparkle in his eye. “Did you know our beloved Commander here has a certain reputation?”
As a matter of a fact, Miranda did have some inkling of this, as she remembered Paul mentioning it during a discussion in his office, after Jon had been badly injured during the Syndicate assault on Terra Nova. “I seem to remember you mentioning it,” she replied dryly. “How did it go again, something along the lines of being invulnerable, possessing a magic sword, being the best pilot in the galaxy, clairvoyant and telepathic,” Miranda ticked each one off on her fingers as she said them. The only one that she purposefully left off was Paul’s final addition, that according to the crew, at least the female half, Jon was rumoured to be the best lover in the galaxy. As Miranda was almost certain that Paul was making that up, just to embarrass her, and she would not fall for the same ploy twice.
As she listed each one, Jon flushed a brighter shade of pink, so much so that by the time Miranda had finished his face was bright red. “Some of that might be a little exaggerated,” Jon muttered looking down to hide his embarrassment.
“I don't know,” Paul chuckled. “I remember in the Epsilon Indi system once when a band of pirates, who had established themselves in the system, fled at your very name.”
“It might have been more to do with the Imperial task force I was commanding at the time,” Jon replied sarcastically.
“Anyway, I think you missed off a few Miranda,” Paul prompted.
Miranda shot Paul a warning look, as she knew exactly which rumour Paul was referring to. “How could I forget?” Miranda slapped her forehead theatrically. “You can also breathe in a vacuum. As I remember after the energy shield in your office failed, you walked out as if you were taking an afternoon stroll.”
Jon waved his hands defensively. “Hey don't look at me. That has nothing to do with me, ask Paul. He was the one who insisted on the modification.”
Miranda looked at Paul inquiringly, who replied with a grin, “The energy field was not the only barrier protecting Jon’s office.”
Miranda frowned. “But I have been in that office, I could touch the shield, there was no other barrier there.”
“Not one that you could see,” Paul replied. “Have you heard of a nano-lattice before?”
Miranda nodded her head. “I have heard of them, but never seen one. Ultra-thin lattices, barely a few atoms thick, incredibly strong, but brittle. They are usually found in casings to increase the tensile strength of the container.”
“Correct,” beamed Paul. “However, in this case there is a nano-lattice embedded inside the energy shield and this is constructed at the exact wave-length of visible light, making it practically invisible to the naked eye. Embedded inside the field, this helps protect the lattice, which as you said is extremely brittle, otherwise simply touching it would tear the lattice.”
“So when the energy shield failed, the lattice stopped the office explosively decompressing?” Miranda guessed.
Jon nodded his head and added. “Got damn cold though, as the lattice was enough to maintain the air-pressure, but did nothing to reflect back the thermal radiation from the room. Temperature must have dropped by almost twenty degrees in a few minutes.”
“So is your entire reputation the same?” Miranda asked sharply. “Just a pack of lies, wrapped in misunderstandings and padded with unsubstantiated rumours?”
“Not all of them,” Paul replied with another smirk, purposefully not elaborating on which of them were true. Glancing at the clock Paul was surprised to note how much time had passed. “Well, I need to leave as I need to check in with the shift commanders before I hit the rack. We still have a lot to do if the Sunfire is to be combat-ready in time to pull you off Tartarus.”
Jon stood, offering Paul his hand, which he took in a firm grasp. “I know you’ll be there, ready and waiting at the agreed time,” Jon replied earnestly.
It was Paul’s turn to nod, looking between the two of them. “You look after yourself on Tartarus. We don’t know anything about this Tyrell Corporation or Sejanus, so watch your backs.”
“And you look after my ship,” Jon replied seriously. “After all she’s practically brand new with only one former owner. Just try and not scratch the paint. You look after her and they will look after you.”
Paul shot Jon a strange look and replied, “You mean that she will look after you.”
“That's what I said.”
“No you said that they would look after you.”
“Didn’t.”
“Did.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Ok let’s agree
to disagree. Anyway, you look after yourself Paul, I promised Carol and the kids they would see you back alive and in one piece.”
Paul nodded and enfolded Jon in a firm embrace. “You look after him, and yourself, okay?” Paul addressed the question to Miranda. Who nodded in response. “You staying longer?” Paul inquired, motioning towards Jon’s half-finished scotch.
“Yeah,” Jon replied. “I am expecting some more visitors later.”
“Miranda?”
“I’m calling it a night, I want to get some rest before tomorrow. First time that I ever step on a planet,” she replied, nervously.
“I’ll walk you back to your quarters,” Paul replied. “’Night Jon.”
Jon made a shooing motion with his hands, until the pair left the small dining room with a wave. Retaking his seat, Jon refilled his scotch glass from the bottle, before reclining in his seat to await his other visitors.
*****
It was many hours later and the scotch glass in front of Jon was now almost empty and his eyelids heavy with sleep, when the doors slid quietly open without any announcement.
Without having to look up, Jon motioned towards the empty seat on the other side of the table. “Take a seat Steve, I have been expecting you.”
As the ghost of Captain Stephen Ferguson, former Commanding Officer of the Sunfire glided into the room, before settling across the table from Jon.
“Pour yourself a drink,” he added tiredly knowing that there would be many more guests before the night was through.
*****
It was late in the night when Miranda passed the private dining room, on her way back from getting some warm milk from the galley. Miranda’s nerves were shot to hell, with the excitement of finally being able to step onto a planet warring with the terror of what the next couple of days could bring.
Surprised to see a light still on in the room, she stopped, considering ringing the announcer, but if Jon was still there and asleep she did not want to wake him. Therefore she carefully activated the door control and it slid open quietly.
As she had thought, Jon was snoring quietly, still seated where he had been last sitting when she had left him a couple of hours before. A half-finished scotch glass on the table.
Taking one of the blankets she had commandeered from a supply closet on the way back, as there seemed to be a cold breeze on the ship, she draped it over Jon’s sleeping body and switched the lights off as she left.
Chapter Nine
Sluis Van Shipyards, Sluis System
A few days later Jon, Miranda, Gunny and his team of Special Forces were nervously assembled outside the docking bay of the Phoenix, waiting for the go ahead from Jason.
Jon had already paid off the Dock Master to ensure that, apart from the crew of the Phoenix, the rest of the docking bay would be deserted at this late hour. However, they were still waiting for Jason to re-route all the security cameras inside the bay. Station security would probably take exception to an armed hijacking of a freighter right under their noses.
“What the hell’s taking so long?” Gunny cursed, trying to hide his massive bulk, ineffectively, against the bay door.
“Jason knows what he is doing,” Jon replied, eyes continually flicking down both lengths of the corridor. While it was very early in the morning on the station and the number of people walking the corridors was extremely light, it was only going to take one person to approach this bay and the entire operation would be blown. There was just no way to hide Gunny and a dozen of his team, all decked out in black tactical armour. As they were not expecting major resistance from the crew, as all were civilians and likely to be armed with personal side arms only, it was decided that speed would be of the essence for this operation. The plan being for Gunny and his team to overpower the crew of the freighter before anybody could raise the alarm.
It was for this reason that all the assault team were armed with stun weapons only, as it was extremely unlikely that the civilian crew would have been involved in the kidnap and imprisonment of the Emperor.
Gunny nervously fiddled with the stun pistol in his hands. The stun pistol was a natural progression from the electroshock or Taser weapons widely introduced by civilian law-enforcement agencies at the beginning of the 21st Century. Those early weapons used an electrical current to disrupt control of muscles, which caused temporary paralysis. They were the first non-lethal weapons to be widely deployed and could be used in situations that would otherwise have been unsuited to a more lethal weapon, such as a firearm.
However, while these weapons were widely deployed, they had a number of limitations, mostly linked to short range. The law enforcement officer had to be within a few meters of the target—not a preferred option when he or she could be armed with a more lethal firearm. Similarly, most of the early models were limited to a maximum of two or three shots, before they needed to be reloaded. Hence you were screwed when faced by four or more antagonists at one time.
Consequently there was a need for a more effective stun weapon, with a longer range, larger clip capacity and the ability to adjust the stun effect from temporary paralysis to rendering the target unconscious for a lengthy period of time. The project was put out to tender and eventually won by a joint bid from Heckler & Koch and Taser International. The resultant weapon was the electro-laser, directed energy weapon. It used a low power laser to form an electrically conductive laser-induced plasma channel (LIPC) to transmit a powerful electric current, immobilising the target. The weapon had a range of up to thirty meters and the current could be adjusted to modify the effect as necessary. The weapon was an outstanding success and within a period of twenty years had replaced almost all other firearms used by civilian law-enforcement agencies.
During this time Heckler, Koch & Taser (HKT), as the combined company became known, superseded and practically replaced all other small arms manufactures on the planet. The LIPC pistol as it became known, was the weapon of choice for almost a century, until it was replaced with the pulse energy pistol. This was because portable energy storage via the use of nano-technology finally reached a level to deploy direct energy fire, multiple times, with an output level sufficient to kill.
“Commander,” Jason’s voice came over their tactical communication-net. “I have disabled all surveillance systems and internal sensors in the docking bay. You now have a thirty minute window before the security system automatically resets.”
“Acknowledged,” Jon replied, relieved. Turning to Gunny he said. “Wait for my signal until I have checked that they do not have any sentries guarding the ship.” At a sharp nod from Gunny, Jon activated the door control and slipped into the docking bay.
Working on the assumption that if there was a sentry, and he observed Jon creeping around, he was certain to raise the alarm, Jon instead strode towards the entrance ramp of the freighter. With a datapad in hand and a stern frown on his face, he looked to all on the station like another self-important bureaucrat. Jon’s assumption turned out to be correct, when still several meters from the freighter one of the crew stepped out from the shadow of the ship, pulse pistol in hand, the barrel pointing directly at him.
“Where the hell, do you think you are going?” He demanded.
“I’m from docking facilities,” Jon replied, not breaking his stride. Offering the datapad stretched out in front of him like a peace offering. “Your Captain is overdue in paying your docking fees. If he does not pay in the next twenty-four hours your ship will be impounded, pending payment of the late fees fine, plus a three hundred per cent release fee.”
“Three hundred per cent?” The crewman exclaimed in disbelief. “And you dare accuse us of being criminals? Here give me that,” he insisted, reaching out for the datapad in Jon’s hand. Taking his eye off Jon for just an instant, he glanced down at the device. “What the hell is this?” He demanded. “This is the menu for the station’s canteen.”
The instant he had taken his eye off Jon, he was already moving, pinning the wrist that hel
d the pulse pistol. With a sharp twist of his hand, the pistol went flying from the crewman’s grasp, spinning away underneath the freighter.
“What the hell?” The crewman cried in pain, watching the pistol spin away from him. He tried to bring up his other hand to protect himself, but lost precious seconds discarding the datapad in his hand.
By then it was too late, as Jon’s fist came spinning towards him, impacting on the side of his jaw with a sharp crack. The crewman dropped unconscious to the floor. Grabbing both his arms, Jon pulled the crewman over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, before depositing him unceremoniously back in the shadow of the freighter from where he had originally appeared. Glancing around to ensure nobody had observed what had taken place, Jon jogged up the boarding ramp, disappearing into the dark, gaping mouth of the freighter.
*****
Gunny, counted to sixty in his head, twice, before motioning to the rest of his squad to prepare to move out.
“I thought Jon said to wait for his signal?” Miranda hissed at him.
“You don’t know the Commander as well as I do,” Gunny replied. “Jon’s idea of a signal is when he saunters back out here in thirty minute’s time to report he has secured the ship.”
Miranda could only stare at the now closed doors in disbelief.
“Anyway,” Gunny continued. “The Captain gave me firm instructions before we departed that I am not to allow the Commander to go off and pull a John Rambo.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Miranda demanded, confused.
“No idea. The Captain didn’t explain it to me either,” Gunny scratched his chin. “I guess it must be a term from one of those period documentaries that he and Carol always seem to be watching after the kids have gone to sleep.”
