by Wayne Basta
Zeric followed the corridor until he came to an intersection. To his left and right were more corridors. Picturing the ship in his head, he assumed those led to the port and starboard extensions that held the ship’s mining lasers and tractor emplacements. Continuing forward, he passed several unmarked rooms until he came to a stairwell that led up and down.
Zeric thought that whoever had designed this ship had been terrible with labels. Assuming the bridge would be on the top deck, he climbed the stairs and was rewarded by emerging into a spacious control room. The stairs led up into the middle of the room so Zeric had to spin completely around to see the whole room.
Lining the aft walls were several control stations and holographic display tables. Zeric assumed those were for monitoring mining activities. He realized the ship must have a decent sensor array to track hundreds of asteroid pieces. That might come in handy if they were pursued by Alliance craft.
Walking around the safety railing encompassing the stairwell, Zeric headed toward the control stations at the bow of the ship. There were three of them and one display terminal. When he examined the stations, he finally found some labels and was able to identify the one that controlled the ship’s systems.
Hoping his luck held, he attempted to bring the ship’s reactor back online. With only a little protest, the fusion reaction started up and his display came fully to life. The terminal started an automatic diagnosis and, after a minute, gave him a basic status report.
The ship’s fuel reserves were at twenty-five percent, which worried him, but the hull appeared to be completely intact. There were no indications of any breaches, which meant the ship was spaceworthy. Life support was coming online and the stale air of the bridge was being replaced. The log indicated the ship had been here for quite some time, which suggested no one would come looking for it, but would also be problematic, as it meant all the navigation data was far out of date.
Once the diagnosis finished, the ship reported that all primary systems were online. A prompt came up asking if he wanted to run a check on secondary systems. Zeric looked at the estimated time to run and decided that that was not necessary. The longer he sat here, the greater the chance he would be discovered. They wouldn’t be using any of the secondary systems, anyway. Getting up from the terminal, he moved over to the helm controls and spent a few minutes familiarizing himself with the layout.
Zeric did not consider himself an excellent pilot, but out of necessity, he had learned to handle most craft. At least in basic operations, he thought.
If he had to handle this ship in any tricky maneuvers, it might be difficult. But, for now, all he had to do was lift off and get out of the compound.
With slow and deliberate steps, Zeric powered up the engines.
The ground starting to shake was the first indication that something was coming. The rest of the group appeared nervous, but Maarkean knew that it meant there was a large ship approaching, and he tried to steady himself. It would not do to start showing signs of weakness to this bunch now that they were so close to their objective. He only hoped it was Zeric and not someone else.
Suddenly, the air started to blow furiously, and lights appeared from the sky. Above them stretched out a massive ship. They had laid out a set of flares to mark out a landing zone, but when they saw the ship, Maarkean realized that it wasn’t going to be large enough. He started waving everyone back until he realized it was unnecessary, since they were all practically fleeing.
As the big ship dropped from the sky, Maarkean hoped the field itself would be big enough. When he had told Zeric to find a large enough ship, he had been doubtful the man would be able to. He had been expecting something like a mid-range passenger shuttle.
Maarkean was surprised that the sight of Zeric returning made him feel more secure. He did not trust the group of revolutionaries they had hooked up with. Glancing over at the motley group, he thought about how idealistic and inexperienced they were. Some of them actually thought that, in breaking prisoners out of jail, they were doing something noble, when, in truth, they were just rebellious criminals. Maarkean shook his head, knowing he deserved to rot in prison for what he was doing now. While, if it were true, he could sympathize with the injustice of innocent people being imprisoned, there were legal ways to address that. Attacking a government institution was the act of a traitor.
What surprised Maarkean was not that he didn’t trust them but that he trusted Zeric more. The man had tried, not only once, but twice, to steal Maarkean’s ship, and he was trying to break his criminal friends out of prison. Yet Maarkean understood those motives. Zeric did this out of loyalty to his friends. The others did it out of some idealistic bullshit and commitment to a rabble-rousing terrorist.
He reminded himself that this group claimed to have not actually done anything illegal until he had come along. By every indication he got from them, it appeared to be true. They were far too optimistic to have been participating in dozens of terrorist plots before. But their leader must have done something to have ended up in prison. He didn’t buy the story that she was just a protester and a delegate to some congress.
With another sharp vibration of the ground, the large ship touched down. A cloud of choking dust filled the air, obscuring their view and irritating Maarkean’s throat. After a minute, the dust settled, and he was able to see again. When Maarkean got a good look at the ship, his opinion of Zeric’s abilities improved slightly. It was exactly what they would need, if a bit larger than he had expected.
The noise of the engines receded and Maarkean could hear again. The silence was conspicuous by its sharp contrast to the noise the engines had made. It was a good thing they had set their rendezvous so far out in the middle of nowhere.
The welcome silence was broken by the whirring mechanical sounds of a door on the side of the ship beginning to open. Maarkean started toward it and the others followed, carrying a tool chest for removing tracking anklets and a few crates of civilian clothes they had gathered for the prisoners to change into. The door opened up into a cavernous space. By the time the group climbed inside, Zeric emerged from a door along one wall.
The Terran smiled at the group, looking distinctly proud of himself. “Well, what do you think?”
Before Maarkean could speak, Lohcja said incredulously, “This is a hunk of junk. It’s too big. It’s a bloody freighter. We can’t escape from Alliance patrols in this. And how will we land in the prison without crushing the whole place?”
“That’s exactly the plan,” Zeric said with a cocksure grin. “We crush the perimeter wall with this thing. Makes it easier to get inside.”
That idea had not occurred to Maarkean, but it dealt with a hole in the plan he had not yet worked out. The weapons on the Cutty Sark would be adequate to take out the guard towers, but it would take some concentrated fire from them to break a hole in the prison’s perimeter walls. This huge ship might do what Zeric was suggesting.
“He’s right,” Maarkean said. “This is perfect. Mining freighter, right?”
Zeric nodded and then pushed his ball cap up off his eyes as he patted the hull of the freighter. “Yep. Reinforced hull. This baby will be able to withstand quite a bit of punishment.”
“I like it,” Pasha said. This was surprising, given that the man had hardly said much since Maarkean had met him. If Pasha liked it, he was sure Jairyd would.
“She is a beast to fly,” Zeric confessed, turning to Maarkean. “These cargo bays are big enough that the Cutty Sark could fit inside. Maybe you should be the one to fly her to the prison. You could take off from there.”
Maarkean considered the idea, but he dismissed it quickly. “No, I’ll need to be in the air running interference before you guys land. And the landing will be the trickiest part. Besides, those bays weren’t designed as hangars. It would be an incredibly tight fit, and it would not be an easy launch and docking process. Certainly not something I’d want to do in combat.”
Looking over the group, Maarkean
wondered again about the stupidity of what they were about to attempt. If Saracasi’s life wasn’t on the line, he would just walk away right now.
“All right, we all know the plan. It’s early evening at the prison, so it will be full dark by the time we arrive,” Maarkean said, trying to sound confident. Then, in a rush of bravado, he said, “Let’s go be heroes!”
With the exception of Zeric, who just raised a curious eyebrow, the platitude energized the others. Jairyd and Pasha gave a grunt of approval, grabbed their gear and headed toward the elevator door. More hesitantly, Ceta and Meyka followed. Lohcja nodded to Lahkaba, and then the Ronid turned to follow the rest. That left Maarkean and the Kowwok, Lahkaba, who would serve as Maarkean’s gunner, alone in the cargo bay.
“You really think this will work?” Lahkaba asked, his voice betraying hesitation.
“It better,” was all Maarkean could reply.
Chapter Six
Saracasi smiled as she listened to Chavatwor. The Kowwok was well into the tenth minute of his speech – well, ‘lecture’ would be a more appropriate word. When he had started speaking, his normally timid nature had been replaced with an animated and excited flow.
When she had learned that Chavatwor had been a ship-wright before coming to Olan, she had asked him about it. He had owned a starship repair shop where he made custom upgrades for ships. For wealthy clients, he had even had the chance to design a few custom ships from scratch.
Saracasi’s undergraduate studies had been in starship engineering, and she had been considering an advanced degree in hyperspace theory. Despite having been close to graduation, she found that half of what Chavatwor said was over her head. The theories and formulas he had in his head, along with the specifications of countless ships and components, amazed her. She had learned more in the last ten minutes than she had in her entire last semester. Of course, then her attention had been on other things than school.
“Enough already!” Larin growled from the top bunk.
Chavatwor jumped visibly and Saracasi almost did the same. She had forgotten the other Kowwok had even been there. The occupants of the nearby beds were off in other parts of the small room. It had been oddly comforting to pretend for a brief time that it had just been her listening to Chavatwor with no one else around.
“Go jabber your techno-babble someplace else. Some of us are trying to get some sleep,” Larin said angrily.
Chavatwor took Saracasi’s arm and started to lead her down the aisle. “Don’t worry about him. He gets like this sometimes when we haven’t been allowed outside in a while. I can’t really blame him. I feel it, too.”
It had been three days since they had been let out of the barracks. Food had been brought to them in the form of boxed meals, so they had been denied even those brief sojourns outside. The others told her that the guards did this sometimes to mess with them. It was a way of preventing a routine and keeping the prisoners’ spirits down.
Others took a different view. They declared that the fact that they were not being brought to the mess hall for food meant that the guards were short staffed and there were not enough personnel in the prison to adequately guard them all. Those who thought this suggested it would be an ideal time to attempt an escape. Luckily, not many were in this group, and it was made up mostly of relatively new arrivals.
Being trapped inside the building for three straight days was beginning to wear on even the calmest of the group. Most were snappish, like Larin, and a few scuffles had broken out. So far, Faide had managed to keep anything from escalating.
Gamaly appeared to be taking the situation the hardest. Her spirits had lifted somewhat when she had seen Zeric. She had been hoping to learn something about Gu’od from the other inmates during meals, but they had not been back to the mess hall since that first time. The lack of news had been wearing at the woman, and Saracasi wasn’t sure how to help.
Part of her still wanted to be mad at Gamaly and blame her for the fact that she was in here. She had spent the first day avoiding the other woman. The second day, when it had become obvious that they were not going to get outside, Faide had organized some athletic games. The beds were pushed to the side. Everyone was broken up into teams, and Saracasi had ended up with Gamaly.
Competing together in what was ultimately a profoundly silly series of events had broken down any remaining resistance she had. Gamaly was just too likable, and the distress she felt about her husband made it impossible to view her as anything other than a person. She knew deep down that if they ever got out of here, they would have to deal with the past, but for the moment she put it aside.
She had spent most of the last few days getting to know the people of Building 15. Most were quiet people, and she could not hazard a guess as to why they had ended up in here. There were even a few families, which surprised Saracasi. Because of Gamaly, she had assumed most families were split up. One family of Ronids had been here for five years, and their son had spent almost all of his teenage years in prison.
When she was not meeting new people, Saracasi found herself spending a lot of her time with Asirzi. The young Liw’kel had been here for a couple years and was part of Faide’s inner circle. She worked hard to help keep things calm and tempers down. Saracasi found herself more and more attracted to the woman, even beyond her initial impression of her beauty.
She tried to suppress these feelings. She had no idea how soon it would be before she was taken back to Braz, and she didn’t want to become too close to anyone, emotionally or physically. Also, the building wasn’t designed for privacy – although one of the bunks was pushed aside for a few hours each day and covered with blankets, and she had noticed a few of the couples slipping away to that bunk during those times. When she found herself wondering if it was first-come, first-served or if there was some kind of rotation in place, she decided to spend some time away from Asirzi.
To avoid those thoughts, she found herself with Chavatwor talking about starships. This was a topic that she found fascinating, and despite Larin’s disapproval, she thought this would keep her occupied for a while. She and Chavatwor made a few laps of the building and, while discussing hull design, found themselves near the building’s entrance.
That was when the alarm sounded.
The old familiar anticipation before combat filled Maarkean. It had been sixteen years since he had last felt it. A cold sweat covered him as dread swirled around in his stomach. In the next few minutes, the fear would be wiped away, replaced by nothing but the focus required to stay alive. For now, though, his mind worked out every possible outcome that could occur, the majority of which involved his fiery death.
During the war with the Dotran, he had flown many sorties. The feelings had always been the same: dread before the battle, during the inevitable waiting period, and then sharp relief when adrenaline spiked, and utter calm once the battle began. Since the war, he had felt the sensations of combat before, such as when Zeric had attempted to steal the Cutty Sark. But all of those situations had been sudden and unexpected and had, consequently, spared him this period of anxiety. There was nothing like the build-up of emotions that came from intentionally planning to go into battle.
Looking over to his right, Maarkean considered his co-pilot. Lahkaba had engrossed himself in the ship’s operations console. It was apparent that his shipboard experience was limited, though he was a quick learner. Operating the ship’s systems was not why he was here, though.
“First time in combat?” Maarkean asked.
“No,” Lahkaba said. “First time aboard a ship, though. I was in the Dotran infantry for a time.”
“During the war?”
There was a pause before Lahkaba responded, “Yes.”
In the war, Maarkean had flown against a number of adversaries, and he was sure at least some of them had been Kowwoks. It was a shock to realize that he was now sitting next to someone who had once been his enemy. And he was attacking representatives of his government with this former enemy.
Maarkean decided to meet the source of the tension head on. “Must be difficult fighting beside a former Alliance officer.”
“No,” Lahkaba replied. “I bear no grudge against the Alliance for the war. I only fought during the war because I was drafted. Despite what we are about to do, I prefer the Alliance over the Confederacy.”
For the first time, Maarkean wondered how many of the Kowwoks he had fought in the war had been willing participants. The Kowwoks were technically members of the Dotran Confederacy, but unlike the Braz and Terrans, they were more like second-class citizens than equal members. They had been incorporated into the Confederacy centuries before, but had never really been assimilated into their society.
“If you’d rather live here than in the Confederacy,” Maarkean asked, “then why fight the Alliance with your political group?”
“My home has always been Sulas. I fight the government’s actions of imprisoning innocent people and treating them unfairly based on species. Up until now, our efforts have been peaceful. Our only consequences were harassment and brief arrests. I fight now to free people from unfair imprisonment. Like you do for your sister.”
Maarkean had always been taught that the Alliance had its flaws but was better than any of the other governments out there. Despite his current associates, he still thought that those that came here to seek a better place and then complained when they arrived were ungrateful troublemakers. Saracasi had always argued with him that injustice was injustice, even if one injustice was not as bad as another. Now, that argument started to make some sense to him.
“I have the prison on my sensors,” Lahkaba said, bringing Maarkean’s attention back to the challenge at hand. He had almost forgotten his fears.
“Better get to the gun controls,” Maarkean responded. “The fun’s about to start.”
