When the Dust Settled

by Jeannie Meekins

  “Okay… Keep a lock on us.” He spoke to Gillespie and Kowalski. “Hurry up, we’ve got company.” He headed back to the hatch to keep a lookout. He switched his torch off and clipped it to his belt before ducking his head out, then pulled it back immediately as a weapon blast skimmed past him. “McReidy, get –”

  “Wait, I’m not finished,” Kowalski called, his voice echoing in the dark, beams of light spotting from the bridge.

  Gillespie joined John at the hatch. They pulled their phasers out and returned fire, ducking back behind cover as shots cracked against the fuselage and shook the framework. As John peeped out, he couldn’t find an enemy and had to judge his shots from the direction of fire. Kowalski’s position was protected and he continued working in safety. It would only take a few minutes to finish stripping.

  After a short while, the newcomers stopped firing. It took John a moment to realise.

  “Wait,” he whispered, putting his hand on Gillespie’s weapon arm.

  Gillespie lowered his phaser and they listened.

  Through the quiet, John could make out voices – familiar voices. His face screwed up. “They’ve got Red and the others.”

  “Come out,” a foreign voice floated in. “We have your companions.”

  John thought quickly. “Kowalski, stay. McReidy’ll get you out when you’ve finished,” he whispered. “All right,” he called out loudly. “We’re coming.”

  “Weapons first.”

  John tossed his phaser through the hatch. Gillespie was reluctant. John glared.

  “I’d rather –” began Gillespie.

  “Just do it!” John hissed.

  Gillespie relented and tossed his phaser out.

  “Come out slowly.”

  John raised his hands above his head and peered outside, his eyes darting to the shadows. Every muscle was tensed, ready to react to whatever he saw. The three engineers were kneeling in the open with their hands on their heads, a weapon pointed at their heads.

  Their captors were of average height, with a short soft fur that appeared to cover their whole bodies, apart from their faces. They wore sleeveless jackets, pants and boots, all of which appeared to be made from a soft leather. Their facial skin appeared soft, the hair trimmed short and kept well clear. The leader had an eye patch over his right eye.

  “You’re not patrol guards,” John remarked, slowly dropping his hands.

  A weapon pressed into the base of his skull, and the warm breath and presence behind him iced his blood. He hadn’t seen or heard any approach. He did, however, hear Gillespie’s sharp intake of breath.

  “I didn’t say you could put your hands down,” the leader spoke.

  His hands rose again.

  “We are Skarens. You are… human.” The statement was made with a hint of distrust.

  “Yes,” John answered.

  “This is not your part of the galaxy. Why are you here?”

  “We need parts for out ship.”

  This statement sent the Skarens into a flurry. They began talking wildly in their own language; the translator in John’s communicator unable to keep up.

  The leader hushed them and turned back to John. “My companions say you rob us of our living. I should kill you now… Tell me why I shouldn’t.”

  The weapon twitched at the base of John’s skull.

  “We only want what our ship needs.”

  “You lie! All humans lie!”

  It was obvious to John that these Skarens were scavengers. They made their living by trading whatever was of any use. Great. Their only experience of humans were black marketeers.

  “Commander,” McReidy interrupted, “patrol heading your way. Fast.”

  “You left a line open?” The leader’s eye opened wide.

  The translator missed the next word but they all clearly heard, “Get them out of here.”

  “Turn off your communication device,” the leader ordered.

  “Get Kowalski,” was John’s last command before he obeyed and switched off his communicator.

  “If you value your life, run!”

  Red, Wright and Rodgers were hauled to their feet and slung in the direction of the nearest cover. John looked up as a spotlight wandered across the ground and towards the wrecked transport, then he quickly raced after the Skaren leader, ducking and weaving through rock and wreckage alike. A second spotlight joined the first, crossing paths and spreading their reach.

  John lost track of the Skaren and stopped to see where he might have gone. A hand reached out and grabbed his sleeve, pulling him to the ground, and he rolled under the shadow of a shattered engine jet as the light passed over it.

  A hand clamped across his mouth and the strong smell of sweat hit his nostrils. After a few moments, the lights passed and the hand pulled away.

  “Voice is movement.”

  John nodded his understanding, then tensed as the words were in clear English and hadn’t come through his translator. A push to his back and he rolled cautiously out from under the engine. He stood up and looked around for the others but the moon was silent.

  He spun around to face the Skaren, whose eye was on the sky.

  “We must be careful of the patrols.” Again, the Skaren used English. “Where there is money to be made, there is always someone who wants their share.”

  John looked up as an approaching craft skimmed low, whistling through the atmosphere. Spotlights arced across the surface of the moon, lighting up shadows. He pressed back against the fuselage and held his breath, wondering if Bismarck was in any danger.

  The craft passed and he breathed again

  “Why did you help us?” John wondered.

  “You are not professional raiders. You are not very good at it.”

  “The uniform didn’t give it away?” John queried.

  “Some of the lowest scum in the galaxy wear uniforms.”

  It was hard not to agree, but John couldn’t help taking the comment personally and his eyes lowered involuntarily.

  The Skaren laughed when he saw this. “I am Keel Roppa.”

  “Commander John Madison.” John was relieved as the others began to appear out of the gloom. “You speak English well.”

  “It is wise to learn the languages of those who cannot be trusted. That way, there are no misunderstandings. What do you need?”

  “What do you want in return?”

  A wry smile broke across Roppa’s face. “That depends on the value.”

  John sighed and looked to his crew. They needed the parts; that was all there was to it. He reeled off a list. Roppa sent his men out.

  “They will be a while. So, Commander Madison, we have time to… get to know each other. Is that the correct term?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Roppa began to walk a little distance. John followed, indicating to the others to stay where they were.

  Most of the moon’s surface was covered in debris. Roppa moved easily around, seeming to know every step. John felt like he was jumping stepping stones across a river. Spying a clear patch of ground, he jumped down. A cloud of dust rose past his knees so thick he couldn’t see through it.

  “Don’t do that,” Roppa advised. “You’ll never find your footing.”

  The dust wasn’t willing to settle. John scrambled out of it and sat down on a rock. Roppa was already sitting opposite him.

  “Keep an eye out for patrols. They move in quickly.”

  John glanced around. All he could see were his companions, and they weren’t looking very happy. He dreaded to think what they were talking about. “How did they know we were there?”

  “By tracking your communication signals.”

  “Are we safe here in the open?”

  “They cannot track my movements.”

  “Why not?” John asked in the tone of a curious child. “You must have a ship.”

  “Aha, Madison!” Roppa grinned. “That would be giving you too much.”

  John nodded. “And what value do you place
on those parts?”

  Roppa turned serious, the grin disappeared from his face and his voice was heavy. “Food and medical supplies.”

  “I think we can provide that.” After all, there only appeared to be a dozen or so of them.

  “There is great famine on my world. Many people die.”

  John knew he had spoken too soon. One day he would learn to keep his big mouth shut.

  “I will try,” he found himself saying. Obviously, that day would not be today.

  By the time his men returned with the parts, Roppa had a list made out of everything he wanted. John took the list and glanced at it as they made their way back to the others.

  Red and Kowalski were rifling through a bag of chips, Wright was running his scanner over some huge coils of wiring and Rodgers was checking the integrity of some of the larger pieces.

  “How’s it look?” John asked.

  “It’s everything we need,” Red answered excitedly, not even looking up from the chips.

  “Some of them,” Kowalski held one up for John to see, “won’t fit. But we can tweak them.”

  “All good here,” Wright said.

  “A bit of work needed,” Rodgers added, “but nothing we’re not used to.”

  John went to switch on his communicator. Roppa grabbed his wrist. “You can have your equipment… after you get what I want. You,” his eye pierced through John, “will get it. They will stay here… In case you change your mind.”

  The Skaren’s smile didn’t hide the implied threat.

  John switched on his communicator. “Bismarck, where are you?”

  “We’re here,” McReidy answered.

  John noted that she wasn’t giving anything away. He looked to Roppa. “Give me twenty minutes.”

  The Skaren frowned.

  “Steve.”

  Gillespie stood up; the tension in the Skarens increased.

  John grabbed Gillespie’s arm and lifted the sleeve above his watch. “Twenty minutes,” he indicated on the watch.

  Roppa nodded. “Twenty minutes.”

  He gave the rest of his crew a reassuring look. Not one of them doubted he’d be back. “Bismarck, bring me up.”

  *

  John transported back to the ship. Roppa’s list was stuck in his hand and his supply officer was stuck on the moon. He automatically made for the bridge, criticising himself for not checking out the moon better, for getting caught unprepared and for promising things he didn’t even know if he could deliver on.

  “Why can’t I keep my mouth shut?” he asked himself as the bridge door opened.

  “Because it’s impossible,” McReidy answered.

  He thought he caught a glint of a smile in her eyes as she answered, but she turned back to her console too quickly. What did she mean by answering it? He would deal with that later.

  The bridge wasn’t where he needed to be, he realised. He had to see the doctor. “McReidy, come with me.”

  Her head dropped a fraction.

  “Giacomo, you’re in charge.”

  As they headed toward sick bay, John tore the list in half and gave McReidy the section with non-medical supplies.

  She stopped in her tracks, her hands on her hips. John kept walking.

  “And how am I supposed to get all of that?” she wanted to know.

  John turned back. “Any way you can,” he shrugged.

  He grinned to himself as he spun around and continued on his way. She stood still for a moment, her boots silent on the corridor.

  “I’m going to kill him,” she finally mumbled.

  His grin widened as her quiet words reached him.

  “One of these days, I’m going to kill him.”

  *

  Dunlop was in the middle of examining Crocker when John burst in, his focus on the scanner readings. The engineer’s head had repaired but the doctor wasn’t taking any chances with him.

  “What do you want?” Dunlop asked, his brow creasing as he tapped the scanner screen a couple of times.

  “We’ve got a situation down on the moon,” John told him.

  Dunlop’s gaze flicked to him then back to the scanner as he moved it over Crocker’s head.

  “We got jumped and… Anyway, I agreed to give them all this stuff,” he held the list out to the doctor, “and they’ll let the guys go.”

  Dunlop continued with Crocker, leaving John holding the list.

  “One day, I’ll keep my mouth shut,” he finished.

  “Impossible,” Dunlop told him, repeating McReidy’s opinion.

  “Does everyone in the universe know that?” John asked in exasperation.

  “Probably.” Finished with the scanner, Dunlop took the list and read it through. “Their requirements seem to agree with what you say. It’s all basic stuff really. What we haven’t got, we can manufacture. It might take a few hours. I assume you have checked out their story. I’d hate to think they’d sell the stuff.”

  “I never even thought about it,” John confessed.

  “Then do it.”

  It was back to the bridge. It didn’t take long for Tan to confirm the Skaren’s story. That should have been the first thing to do on returning to the ship, but John found it hard to think clearly when his emotions were involved. He tended to act first, to go on his instincts. And right now, they told him to trust Roppa.

  John checked his watch – nineteen minutes. A call down to the surface gave an approximate time. Roppa would wait. He was in no hurry. When everything was ready, he would give the co-ordinates for delivery.

  “You know, sir,” Giacomo broke the silence that engulfed the bridge. “We could transport them straight out of there.”

  “I know,” John answered. “But what would that achieve? We’re not out here to make enemies.”

  “And I still can’t find their ship,” Hartford was scratching his head. “It’s got to be cloaked, but then there’s no exhaust trail in scanning range.”

  “Leave it, Mister Hartford,” John told him. “Just make sure there’s nothing else out there. We don’t need any more patrols.”

  In the back of John’s mind was also the notion that the Skarens had snuck up on them. He wasn’t willing to gamble with the lives of his crew against a race with an unknown technology.

  At the appointed hour, John called back.

  “Transport the supplies down here,” Roppa told him.

  “I thought –”

  “That I’d tell you where my ship is? Ahh, Madison, you do amuse me.” The light tone turned serious. “You and the supplies down here, now.”

  John transported down with the supplies. Ignoring the labels, Roppa opened a few random cartons and checked their contents. Satisfied, he agreed to the trade and contacted his own ship. The supplies disappeared. The crew and equipment transported back to Bismarck. John stayed a few minutes longer.

  “Do not judge our race by those you may have come across,” John said.

  “In my business, you rely on instinct. But you confuse me.”

  “I have no quarrel with you. We only came here for mechanical parts.”

  “Then go now.” Roppa looked anxiously around. “The patrols will already be tracking your transporter signal.”

  John offered his hand; Roppa took it. A long scar showed down his forearm where the hair had not grown back.

  Back to top

  Chapter nine

  They were only days from the jump gate and days from there to their first destination. Zimon was a bustling system that made use of traffic coming through the gate. Its outward culture was commercial. Its subculture ran to the more extreme tastes. John felt the system had lost itself in its own commercialism. However, it did make a good starting point for Command to shore up support.

  Protocols were something Captain Barrett had dealt with. He had insisted John knew at least the basics – any second in command who didn’t know what his captain was walking into wasn’t worth his salt.

  John was happy to leave protocols for now
and focus on the ship.

  The helm was the first thing that needed perfecting. If they hit the jump gate with a patched up helm, they could be shaken to pieces or thrown anywhere in the galaxy.

  The Skarens knew their work. Their choice of parts was more than adequate. A few adjustments with component sizing and the helm was handling like a new ship. Giacomo revelled in the conditions.

  John decided that all bridge crew should know how to fly manually. It was a decision he came to regret. Some of the piloting was as graceful as a learner behind the wheel of a car for the first time, and he found himself gripping the arms of his chair tightly as though he was hanging on for dear life. A couple of them were even banished from the helm. At least he knew who not to put in charge!

  * * *

  The jump gate system was decades off being complete. A dozen or so gates created artificial worm holes to some of the outer reaches of the galaxy, using alien technology that Earth was still catching up on.

  It relied on a massive hypergiant star’s ability to bend gravity and time. The theorists argued that black holes should have been used – their potential reach greater. But the theorists hadn’t created the system, and sometimes it wasn’t wise to mess with forces beyond your capabilities.

  While the technology wasn’t shared, use of the gates was. An annual fee kept finances flowing for future gates and maintaining the entire system.

  John couldn’t help wondering what it was going to cost Earth for the gate Ark Royal had destroyed. A hint of a wry smile hit him as he realised it was the first time he’d consciously thought of Ark Royal. He dismissed it immediately and shifted in his chair.

  The gate that serviced Earth and every other world in its range was in a stable orbit around a blue hypergiant; close enough to the star to use the its gravity, yet not get sucked in by it. The hypergiant had an official designation in a star catalogue, but was simply known by most humans as Cronos.

  On first scans, Cronos shone mid blue. As they neared it, its colour deepened. A silvery corona drifted and faded into the surrounding space; its beauty and grace defying its danger.

  Bismarck had been through the gate several times and the process had become second nature.