by Doug Farren
Ken, carrying a small duffel bag over his shoulder, met them at the edge of the woods. A young enlisted man extended his hand and asked, “May I take your bag sir?”
Ken handed his bag over while Doug introduced the third person. “This is Steve Findley. He will be taking care of your property while you are gone.”
Steve stepped forward and held out a small computer tablet. “I will require your thumb print and voice authentication on this form so I will have the legal authority to act on your behalf Mr. Stricklen.”
Ken quickly read over the document then pressed his right thumb on the indicated area of the screen and said, “My name is Ken R. Stricklen. I have read the legal document upon which I have affixed my thumb print. I understand and agree to all of the terms contained within.”
Steve retrieved the pad and said, “Your property will be taken care of sir. Do you have any special instructions?”
Ken pulled a data crystal from his pocket and handed it to Steve. Without another word he turned around and gave his cabin a long last look. Under his breath, and so quiet that Doug could barely hear him, he said, “Goodbye Tash.”
“Let’s go Doug,” Ken said in a louder voice as he spun around and started for the shuttle.
Doug was the only one who noticed the wetness hanging in the corners of Ken’s eyes. Scanning along the direction Ken had been looking, Doug spotted something he had missed during his last visit. On one side of the house, in an area that would always be shaded, was a single gravestone. Turning, he followed Ken into the shuttle. As soon as they were aboard it lifted.
As he settled into his seat across from Ken, Doug introduced the person who had taken possession of the duffel bag and who was now sitting toward the back of the shuttle. “This is Petty Officer Robinson. He will show you to your stateroom once we are aboard the ship.”
Ken nodded his head toward the back of the shuttle. With the introductions complete, Doug continued, “We’ll be docking with the Meerkat – one of the latest fast cruisers. She can make 4.2 Kc and we’ll be pushing her to the limit in order to get to Almaranus on time. The trip will take just over a week which should give you plenty of time to bring yourself up to date on some of the advances that have been made since your retirement.”
Ken avoided looking out the window as the shuttle ascended. Being a military shuttle, the only window that existed was the one in front of the pilot. Six foldaway seats hugged the port and starboard sides. Focusing his attention on Doug, Ken said, “Yesterday you mentioned that the Dragon was being upgraded. I’m curious to know what these upgrades are.”
“The Kyrra sent us very detailed engineering instructions on how to modify the Hess shield generator to boost the efficiency by twenty percent. We’re also upgrading the ship’s Alliance-built weapons and tactical systems to incorporate the latest developments.”
Ken leaned forward and intertwined his fingers. “Explain to me how we are going to get to the other side of the fold.”
Doug leaned back in his seat as he provided the answer. “The Kyrra will completely drop the hyper-dimensional barrier for fifteen minutes. The Dragon will be positioned near the fold waiting to see the stars shift. The moment this happens, the computer will instantly engage the stardrive at maximum and head toward Chroniech space. On the other side of the barrier, three Kyrra ships will be doing the same thing. When the barrier is reestablished we will be in Chroniech space and the Kyrra will be in ours.”
“Won’t the Chroniech notice when the barrier goes down and send their ships over as well?” Ken asked.
“It is a risk,” Doug replied. “That’s why we are staging a large combat force near the fold. The Tholtaran’s are moving two juggernauts and several dreadnoughts into the area. If any Chroniech ships make it into our space they will find it to be quite inhospitable.”
Ken unlaced his fingers and sat back in his seat. “Unless their ships are equipped with that new FTL weapon and shields to match.”
“The experts agree that the weapon was planet-based and we are unlikely to find it deployed in any warships.”
Ken looked over at Doug with obvious contempt on his face. “Experts have been known to be wrong. I, for one, don't trust them.” He leaned forward and looked out the window into the blackness of space. The looming bulk of an Alliance cruiser was dead ahead. They would be arriving soon.
Seeing that Doug had no retort to his comment, Ken asked, “How are we to find the Kyrra?”
Doug leaned forward to stretch his back. He had always found the seats on military shuttles to be uncomfortable. Settling back into the seat he replied, “That’s what’s going to make this mission interesting and that’s why only the Komodo Dragon is crossing the barrier. Because of her Hess stardrive she’s still the fastest ship in the Alliance by far. Part of the message we got from the Kyrra was a complete stellar cartography of Chroniech space. We have the location of every major astronomical body encompassed by the fold along with their relative motions and spectrographic data. It won’t take us long to figure out where we are and to plot a course to the rendezvous point.”
“Why go to all that trouble?” Ken asked, puzzled. “Why not just plot us a route from our point of entry to where the Kyrra have parked their worldship?”
“The Chroniech are unaware of the worldship’s location. To prevent us from inadvertently giving it away we will be meeting the Kyrra some distance from where it’s hidden. The Kyrra have given us the coordinates of what they say is a safe area of space where they will meet us.”
“Well, then why can’t they plot us a course from our point of entry to where they are going to meet us?”
“It’s not that simple,” Doug replied. “The Kyrra have no way to determine where we will emerge into Chroniech space. I’m sure they can guess the approximate location but the hyperdimensional warping of space makes an exact determination of our entry point impossible. On the other hand, any ships coming from Chroniech space will be within a fairly easily determined area as soon as the fold is reestablished.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the pilot. Over his shoulder he announced, “We have reached the Meerkat’s hanger bay.”
Both passengers looked out the window just in time to watch as the shuttle passed through the weak force field that kept the air inside the hanger from escaping into space. The armored hatch had been retracted just enough to allow the shuttle to pass through the entrance. Inside the well lit hanger several small ships of various types could be seen in their berths. The shuttle slid sideways and settled into its designated spot.
While the pilot secured the shuttle’s systems, Doug took care of opening the hatch. Outside the shuttle, Ken glanced at the still closing hanger bay door hoping to catch a final glimpse of Earth. Instead of the beautiful blue marble, he saw the moon sliding past as the cruiser accelerated away from Earth.
“I will leave you in Petty Officer Robinson's capable hands,” Doug said once they had gathered outside the shuttle. Don't hesitate to ask him or any of the other crew members for anything. If you need me, I’ll be on the bridge. Feel free to drop by.”
Ken looked at Doug's departing back for a moment then turned to Robinson who had been patiently waiting, Ken's duffel bag in hand. Gesturing in the same direction with his arm Ken said, “Lead on Mr. Robinson.”
Before starting off, the young enlisted man nervously said, “It's an honor to meet you in person sir.”
Ken didn't know how to respond and when Robinson noted his obvious discomfort he quickly turned and headed toward the nearest hatch. Ken shrugged his shoulders and followed. They arrived a short time later at his assigned stateroom.
At the door, Ken took his duffel bag from Robinson. “Thank you Petty Officer Robinson. I think I can handle it from here.”
“If you need anything – anything at all,” Robinson replied, “please don't hesitate to call me.”
“I'll do that,” Ken replied.
Ken’s stateroom was similar to the one he had oc
cupied aboard the Komodo Dragon although this was not a private stateroom. There was room for four occupants but after a quick glance into the lockers Ken concluded that he was the only one assigned to this stateroom. On one of the bunks lay a new captain’s uniform. He walked over and picked it up. “What the hell am I doing here?” he thought.
He tossed the uniform back onto the bunk followed by his duffel bag. It had been fifteen years since he had last worn the uniform of an Alliance captain. He should be happy to be back in space. He stared down at the limp uniform. It meant nothing to him.
“Computer?” Ken said into the air.
“Yes Captain Stricklen?” a voice near one corner of the small room replied.
It felt strange being addressed by his old title. Ken walked over to the terminal and sat down. “Please reset my chronometer to ship time.”
Ken’s chronometer, a standard Alliance issue device strapped to his right wrist and one of the very few items from his time in the service he still possessed, instantly changed from 0843 to 1411 indicating that it had been reprogrammed. From now on, Ken’s watch would match the time kept by the crew of the Meerkat. “Computer, give me a quick overview of this ship’s internal layout.”
The computer responded by projecting a complete three dimensional floor plan of the Meerkat in the air above the terminal. Ken spent the next half hour familiarizing himself with the ship. As he was finishing, a voice on the ship’s announcing system said, “Attention all hands. Transition to FTL in thirty seconds.”
At the end of the specified time Ken felt the sensation as the ship engaged its faster than light drive. It had been 15 years since he had felt that sensation and it brought back a flood of memories. He had once loved the adventure of space flight. Each time the ship shifted into stardrive represented a chance to see and experience something else he had never experienced before. But, even though the memories were there, the old thrill of exploration and adventure were gone.
Ken got up and stood in the middle of the small stateroom for a moment then took a deep breath and said, “Computer, I need to be brought up to date on current Alliance policies, military hardware, and any other subject a Captain may require to perform his duties. Reference my past service record and construct a refresher course for me.”
“Working… ” Ken had intended to unpack while the machine worked but managed to take only three steps before the artificial voice said, “Training program completed.”
“Damn,” he muttered to himself. “Even the computers have gotten faster.” The unpacking required only a few minutes. Stricklen poured himself a glass of rum from a bottle he had brought with him then walked over to what appeared to be a small window.
It was not a real window. This was a military warship and a window would have created an intolerable weak point in the ship's exterior armor. For psychological reasons, the builders had installed window-like viewscreens to give the crew the illusion of being able to look out into space. Instead of the grayness that would normally be visible through a real window there was a myriad of stars hanging in the inky blackness of space.
For several minutes Stricklen stood in silence, sipping the rum, and wondering what the hell he was doing back in space. As if on their own, his thoughts began to focus on his departed wife. Suddenly, he felt terribly alone and his stomach knotted up into a tight ball. It took a monumental effort and a healthy slug of rum to force the depression away. Shaking his head to clear it he returned to the terminal.
“Computer, start training program.”
Several hours later, the intercom emitted a tone. Ken reached over and flipped the acknowledge button down, “Stricklen.”
“Care to join me in the ship’s galley for dinner?” Doug asked.
Ken wasn’t really hungry but he was getting tired of sitting in front of the computer. For a moment he thought about declining the offer thinking he would much rather be alone but then thought better of it. “I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes,” he replied.
Fifteen minutes, later Captain Ken Stricklen, dressed in the unmistakable black uniform of the Alliance space force, entered the ship’s galley. He paused in the doorway and scanned the small room looking for Doug. The buzz of conversation dropped in volume. People had stopped talking and were looking in his direction.
“You’re a bit of a celebrity,” Doug said from behind.
Ken turned around and replied, “Celebrity? You’re kidding.”
As the two officers made their way toward the food service area Doug replied, “The adventures of the Komodo Dragon following our discovery of the Kyrra time stasis device are now part of the historical curriculum at the academy. Whether you like it or not Ken, you’re part of history now.”
A few minutes later the two old friends seated themselves at an unoccupied table. For awhile nothing was said as the two officers attended to their food. After about five minutes Doug could no longer stand the silence. Through a mouthful of steak he said, “I see the uniform fits you well. You do, however, look as nervous as a cat in a dog pound.”
Ken swallowed his mouthful of salad and replied, “Nervous? What makes… ”
“Fifteen years may have passed but I can still read your face pretty good. I know you’re nervous about the uniform. You keep looking down at it and adjusting the collar and you keep looking around to see who's staring at you. Things haven’t changed that much since you retired.”
Ken stabbed his fork into his salad several times, held it up, and smiled, “The food’s gotten better.” After popping the food into his mouth he continued, “In all seriousness Doug, I was a bit nervous at first. But I’ve been doing some catching up and, from what I’ve seen so far, you’re right – not much has changed. What bothers me right now is the larger question of why I am even going on this mission?”
Doug washed down a mouthful of potatoes with a gulp from his coffee then replied, “First and foremost, you are here because the Kyrra specifically requested your presence. Why they asked for you by name is something only they can explain. I would guess it’s because they are familiar with you, they know you are familiar with them, and they know you are familiar with the Chroniech.”
“I don’t know Doug. It just doesn’t seem right. I’ve been out of the loop for fifteen years.” Ken put his fork down, slid his chair back, grabbed hold of his shirt, and acted like he was inspecting it. “This just doesn’t feel right. I’ve been retired for over fifteen years. I don’t have the right be wearing this uniform.”
“Nonsense!” Scarboro shot back. “The space force would not have offered to reinstate your military rank if they didn’t think you deserved it.”
“Bull shit!” Ken angrily replied, raising his voice and sliding his chair back to the table. “I’m wearing this uniform because the space force wanted to appease me. The only evidence of a Captain you see here is the uniform – the man it covers is a civilian.”
This was getting ugly fast. The room had gone quiet again and people were openly staring at them. Ken’s sudden outburst had given Doug a wealth of information. He was no psychologist but he had become very good at reading people and Doug was suddenly very worried about Ken’s mental stability. He needed something quick to bring Ken back to reality. He chewed on a piece of steak in silence examining the possibilities until an idea popped into his head.
Casually, as if he was changing the subject, he said, “I wonder if engineering ever managed to get aux fusion reactor two back online. They were having some major issues with the primary converter.”
Ken instinctively placed his hand flat on the table so he could feel the tiny vibrations that permeated through the ship’s frame. Each piece of equipment had its own distinctive vibration pattern. Experience had taught him how to interpret the harmonics of those vibrations allowing him to literally feel the pulse of the ship. Without any hesitation he replied, “I’m not familiar with this ship but I can tell you there are four aux reactors online right now.”
Doug smacked his hand d
own on the table hard enough to rattle the silverware startling Stricklen. “That’s what I’m talking about! You have the instincts it takes to be a great Captain. You haven’t lost them Ken. The only thing you’ve lost is your confidence.”
For a brief second Doug thought he had won. Something stirred within his friend and Ken’s face started to change but it was quickly replaced by a look of utter sadness. Ken’s head dropped. He seemed to concentrate all to much on the food in front of him. Ken, however, had stopped eating and now only pushed the salad around with his fork.
After an uncomfortable silence, Doug heard Ken whisper, “I’ve lost a lot more than that.” Without another word, Ken got up from the table and walked out of the mess hall leaving his unfinished meal sitting on the table.
Doug’s thoughts were filled with concern for Ken as he watched his ex commanding officer leave the room. It was quickly becoming apparent that Tasha’s death had put Ken into a deep state of depression and it was beginning to look as if he might not come out of it. Doug was wondering if he should recommend not allowing Ken to join the mission but decided that the message from the Kyrra would carry more weight than his own opinion.
The Captain of the Meerkat, Captain Jeramey Jenkins, paid Ken a courtesy visit on the second day out but did not stay long. Immediately after the visit, J. J. (his preferred nickname) made a beeline to Scarboro’s quarters.
“You have a major problem on your hands Commodore,” the Captain said as soon as Doug had opened the door.
Captain Jenkins was an imposing figure. He had the darkest skin of any man Scarboro had ever met. He religiously spent two hours a day, every day, in the ship’s gym lifting weights. At 173 centimeters, he was not incredibly tall, but his 100 kilograms of hard muscle more than made up for it. He was naturally bald and he sported a thick black mustache under his wide nose.
