by Frank Carey
TABLE OF CONTENTS
TABLE OF CONTENTS
COPYRIGHT
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Captain Quinn Bracken
Adventures of the League Space Patrol Book 1
By Frank Carey
COPYRIGHT
Copyright © 2018 by Frank Carey
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
League Tale #57
CHAPTER ONE
The mission of Space Patrol is a simple one: search out problems and deal with them. If a Space Patrol ship can deal with the situation, then they will deal with it, otherwise, they will call in specialists like Star Guard, Space Command, or the Elf Marine Expeditionary Force. Space Patrol has been designated the official first responder for incidents inside League boundaries.
Based on Tralaska's moon, Sienna, Recon-8 was on station when the call came to check out something in the system’s primary star. They were to change course and check out an odd sighting reported by a solar probe.
Captain Sheila "Dragon" Mersk and her wingman, Lieutenant Nesta "Ghost" Tranna, triple-checked their systems--especially thermal shielding--as they approached Trala, the Tralaskan system's star. "Checklist complete," Dragon announced as their canopies went opaque. From this point forward, they would be on instruments. "What do you think, Ghost, another wild goose chase?"
"Maybe, ma'am, but one can never be too careful."
"Always the optimist, Ghost. What's our ETA?"
"Eight minutes. Scans still clear. Probe is gone, and I'm picking up nothing but solar wind."
The two pilots were flying state of the art patrol craft with enhanced sensors, weapons, and shields. It was the shields that worried Dragon, though. "Ghost, shield status?"
"Shields are holding at 110%. The generators are singing happy songs."
"Make sure they stay that way. If one of them blinks, you have less than a millisecond before you and the ship are toast."
"Aye, ma'am. No toast today... Wait one... I've got something."
"Don't keep it to yourself. Let the dragon know what you're seeing."
"Aye. Large object dead-ahead. Approximately two-clicks long... That can't be right,"
"Talk to me, girlfriend,"
"Confirmed. Object is not orbiting Trala. Reading a null gravity field. Ma'am, that thing's pulling a Cygnus,"
A Cygnus was a maneuver named after a spaceship in an old Earth science fiction movie. The ship, the Cygnus, could generate a null-gravity bubble around itself, eliminating the need for an orbit.
"Are we tied into Space Patrol?"
"Confirmed. They are receiving data."
Dragon mulled over the sensor data. "The area around the ship is reading space-normal for a Goldilocks planet. Any sign of a shield generator big enough to keep out the radiation?"
"No, ma'am. It may be a side effect of the null gravity field.”
Dragon thumbed a switch on her control stick which launched a shielded probe. "Probe away. Telemetry is good. Entering bubble in three... Two... One... Mark!” Receiving data." She stared at the readout. "Null gravity field... It's a ship, and it looks lifeless. She's sitting in the corona, yet her hull is as cold as the dark side of the moon." She zoomed in on one of the images of the ship's hull. "Ghost, does that look like a hangar door?"
"Aye, ma'am," she replied as she changed the zoom level. "I think those are ships parked inside."
Dragon looked, then got on the comm. "Space Patrol Actual, this is Recon-8, do you copy? Over?"
"Recon-8, this is Actual reading you loud and clear. We've received your data stream. What's the play, Dragon?"
"Request permission to board ship via open landing bay."
"Lady, you certainly have a set. Command concurs. You are go for a look-see. Solar Research Ship Hermes will rendezvous in two hours. Sheila, take it easy. If that bubble bursts, I lose two of my best pilots."
"Damn, Juran, I didn't know you cared. We'll be careful. Recon-8 out. Ghost! Pop two probes and set them to station keeping just outside the bubble."
"Aye, ma'am. Probes away."
"Ready for this, Ghost?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"You lie like a rug! I'm scared spit-less!" She closed her eyes and said prayers for the two of them to her family's gods. "Proceed, one-quarter-speed and watch the transition."
"One-quarter-speed aye, ma'am."
The two craft headed toward the waiting behemoth.
###
Dragon panned her hand-torch around while Ghost made a final check of their ships. "We're set ma'am. Both ships are set for immediate shield activation and emergency take off. We can be in other-space before we exit the bay."
"And destroy this antique with our FTL-backwash. Let's hope it doesn't come to that." She pulled out her scanner and aimed it toward the body of the ship. "The gravity is Tralaska normal. Let's see if we can find the control room."
"Aye, ma'am," Ghost said as she retrieved her scanner from her belt and activated it. The two headed toward the interior of the vast ship. Once inside, they found a large corridor which seemed to run the length of the ship. "Left or right, ma'am?"
Dragon took a 1-credit coin from her sleeve pocket and flipped it into the air. "Call it, Ghost."
"Heads left."
The coin landed heads up. "Left it is." Dragon unsnapped her weapons retention strap. "A girl can never be too careful."
"Roger that," Ghost replied while following suit.
The pair proceeded up the corridor using their helmet lights to illuminate the passageway. Along the way they passed large robots nestled into wall niches. "Mechanoids?" Dragon asked as she ran her scanner over one of the inert constructs.
"The design is different and there's no life signs. Mechs are living creatures. These are lifeless hulks," Ghost replied.
They continued down the corridor until they found a large, open, double-door. "What's with the open doors?" Dragon asked. "Hasn't anyone heard of security?"
"Hidden in a null-g bubble inside a stellar corona probably keeps the riff-raff out," Ghost noted.
"Was that humor?"
"Yes."
"Wow. OK." Dragon looked around. "Lots of machines. I wonder what they do?"
"The scanner thinks they're planet-forming mechanisms," Ghost replied.
"They make planets?"
"No. They remake planets. We humans call the process terraforming. Take an inhospitable planet with the right mass and distance from its star and drop a few hundred of these things onto the surface. They spend a few years turning yuck into an Earth-like environment. You then seed the planet with plant and animal life specifically engineered to adapt and transform. My father and mother do this for a living."
"Damn, you are a fountain of knowledge." Dragon walked over and thumped a machine. "Nobody home."
&n
bsp; Ghost frowned as she bent over and examined a broken wood-like crate on the deck. She picked up a splinter and dropped it into an opening in the side of her scanner.
"What did you find?" Dragon asked.
"A splinter of organic material. Assuming it's carbon-based, I can get a C14 estimated age... Wow."
"How old is it?"
"The reading is off the scale. This puppy is older than dirt."
Before Dragon could react, their ships sounded alarms via the comms embedded in their wrist. The two pilots looked at their displays. "We're moving," Ghost said.
"At least it's away from the star. Girlfriend, it's time to leave!"
They raced back to their ships and lifted off within minutes of arriving. Out the huge door they could see Trala getting smaller as the huge ship pulled away and headed into space.
"Space Patrol, this is Recon-8," Dragon transmitted over the emergency channel. "The alien ship is moving away from Trala and is outbound, over."
"Actual to Recon-8, copy that. We've picked you up on system scan. Your heading will take you to a rendezvous with Tralaska in thirty-six-hours at present speed."
"What are our orders, Actual?"
"Follow, observe, and await further orders, over."
"Follow, observe, and await further orders, Aye."
"Sheila, you and Nesta be careful. We don't know what we're dealing with, so keep an eye out for anything unusual."
"Roger that, Actual. Recon-8 out. Ghost! Did you get all that?"
"Aye, ma'am. We babysit the behemoth until we're relieved."
"I hope you didn't have anything planned for tonight, girlfriend."
"Naw. He's understanding."
"When did you start dating again. Tell me everything from the beginning..."
CHAPTER TWO
The Space Patrol Command Center on Sienna was on full alert the moment the alien ship rose from Trala's corona. Center Commander Cyrus Nystrom, a Basili, paced the room while watching the stations around him. His focus was the large central view screen which displayed an image of the alien ship--now designated Tango-1--and its two escorts which were dwarfed by the two-click long ship.
"Confirm ETA," he ordered. A small flap of his wings signaled his vexation.
"Confirmed, sir. Thirty-five hours and fourteen-minutes until orbital injection.”
"Any word on the analysis of the Recon-8 scan data?"
"Preliminary analysis suggests it's a terraformer supply ship," one of the center techs reported.
Commander Nystrom frowned. "Why here and why now? Get me Recon-8."
"Aye, sir," the communications officer said as she pressed buttons on her console. "You're on, sir."
"Dragon, this is Actual. Are you monitoring comm channels?"
"Actual, Dragon. "Ours or theirs, sir?"
"Good question. Set your scanners to broad spectrum. If that thing's broadcasting or receiving, I want to know about it."
"Aye, sir. Monitoring... Yikes...."
"Yikes? Explain Yikes, Captain."
"Something is communicating with the ship, and it's talking back. I'm sending the data on channel three."
"Communications officer! Confirm!" Nystrom ordered.
"Aye, sir!" The comm officer flicked switches. "Confirmed, sir. Tango-1 is communicating with another target near the inner edge of the system's Kuiper belt. Designating second target as Tango-2. Coordinates displayed, sir."
The Kuiper belt was a large asteroid belt starting just outside the orbit of Trala's ninth plant. Nystrom looked up at the numbers displayed next to the image of Tango-1. "Scheduling Officer, do we have any assets within range of those coordinates?"
"Checking sir... We have one patrol craft, the Valkyrie..."
Nystrom hung his head. "Bracken. I have done something to anger the gods," he muttered. "No one else?"
"No sir, just Captain Bracken. The next nearest is Patrol-6 and they're a day away."
He looked to the ceiling and muttered something. "What's her call sign?"
"Wingnut, sir."
He flapped his wings. "Comm, get Wingnut on the horn and mark the message priority one."
"Aye, sir!"
Shortly, a voice came over the room speakers. "Space Patrol Actual, this is Wingnut acknowledging your priority-one message."
"Wingnut, this is Actual. We are transmitting data and coordinates. You are to proceed to location and report on what you observe."
"What am I looking for, Actual?"
"If we knew that, we would tell you. Read the dossier as you proceed to station. Any questions?"
"No, sir! I just want to thank you for the opportunity..."
"Thank me when you find out what's out there. Actual out." Nystrom rubbed his face with his hand. "Gods forbid we catch a break here and have a competent pilot anywhere near the problem."
"Sir!" the comm officer reported. "Defense Minister Serena Mall is waiting in your office."
"It never rains. Tell her I'm on my way. XO, you have the conn. Keep me posted."
"Aye, sir!" his second in command replied to the captain's retreating back.
###
Nystrom walked into his office and found Minister Mall sitting in a chair flanked by two, large, male guards. "Piss someone off again, Serena?"
She lowered her eyes and smiled. "You know how it is on Tralaska. Vendetta is a way of life. Boys, give us the room, please."
Her guards stepped out of the room, leaving the two alone. Nystrom walked over to the room's bar and prepared a drink for his guest. "What's up, Serena?"
"What's up? You have a two-kilometer-long alien ship on approach to Tralaska while it's carrying-out a conversation with some unknown thing at the edge of the system, and you ask what's up?"
"How the hell... Never mind. Yes, but we have the situation under control. We have two recon ships shadowing the ship and a patrol ship checking out the object at the edge of the system. I promise we will call in reinforcements when necessary."
"Who did you send to check out Tango-2?"
"What color underwear am I wearing?"
"Excuse me?"
"You know the designation of a target ten minutes after we assign it, so you must know the color of my undies."
"This is Tralaska and information is the stuff of life to us. As for your foundations, I would guess blue."
He smiled. "Scamp. As for Tango-2, we sent Wingnut..."
"You sent Quinn Bracken? Have you lost your mind? She nearly wrecked a ship while parking at the Tralaska-1 station. She's a menace."
"Isn't she your niece?"
"That's beside the point. Didn't you have anyone else you could send?"
"Minister, I'm not in the habit of discussing personnel with..."
She raised her hand in surrender. "I concede I have overstepped my bounds. Forgive me, but Quinn is a sticking point in my relationship with my sister. First, she marries a human, then they have children..."
"How terrible, contaminating the genetic pool with alien DNA," he said with a flap of his wings. "My gods, what was your sister thinking?"
"Are you through?"
"You do know my people had interstellar space flight before your planet was found by the Goranthi?" he informed her.
"I know. Look, I misspoke, OK? It took us thousands of years to develop our superiority complex, so cut us some slack, OK?"
He smiled at her. "As long as you and Joaquin have Joanie and I over for dinner, then I'm fine."
"Thanks. So, what's next?"
"Quinn scouts the location of Tango-2, then calls in a report. We react accordingly. For all we know, it could be an old satellite that's keeping tabs on Tango-1. I will let you know the moment I find out anything."
She got up, hugged her friend, then walked out, leaving Nystrom alone with his thoughts. "Quinn, do not fail us," he whispered before returning to the control room.
CHAPTER THREE
Quinn changed her vector so she would intercept the coordinates given to her by the commander.
Once she was underway, she brought up the information packet the commander sent. "My gawd, the universe is coming to an end!" A voice said in her head. It was her Alue copilot, Stanley, speaking via the sub-audible communications system. "Quinn Bracken is reading a briefing packet!"
"Funny, Stan! When is your next show, comedienne?"
"I'm here all night, folks. Remember to tip your waitstaff. So, they found a big ship hiding in Trala's corona. Fancy that."
"Yeah, and it's talking to something or someone out here," she sat back. "Maybe I didn't screw up as badly as I thought."
"Nope, you dented Tralaska-1. The only reason you're here is because you're the only one flying around the armpit of Tralaskan space."
"Thanks. I feel so much better now."
"Glad I could help. How'd the date go? I take it you're broke again."
"The date was wonderful, and Ali's brother paid for it."
"Wait, you were able to take your sweetie out on someone else's dime? Who is this wonderful gentleman?"
"His name is Oliver Winchester and he's co-owner of..."
"Margaux's Roadhouse and Arcade. Damn, woman, you have hit the jackpot."
"What are you talking about?"
"The guy is rich as sin. He's built a huge gaming empire in the span of only a few years. Rumor has it, he had something to do with the Iona incident."
"Olly? Cute little Olly? I don't believe it."
"Yes, cute little Olly."
"So, what are these rumors?"
"Don't know for sure. Space Command and EarthSec slapped so much secrecy on the op even the brass doesn't know the whole story. Quinn?"
"You never call me by my first name."
"Quinn?"
"Yes. Stan?"
"Remember your loyal co-pilot when you move into the mansion."
"You have my word, Stan, or should I call you Moron?"
"And you call me a comedienne. Didn't Ali mention any of this?"
"No, and she loves to share."
"You should ask her. I bet she's got some juicy stories to tell."
"You are a gossip, sir."
"Yep, and damn proud."
