Wings of Steele: Revenge and Retribution

by Jeffrey Burger

  “Red Lead to Red Three, can the chatter.”

  Drawing in the cool oxygen to calm her nerves, Lisa closed her eyes for a moment, focusing on releasing the tension and relieving the jitters. The blue shimmer of the stasis field flickering to life glowed through her eyelids, making her stomach jump. Stop it, you've done this dozens of times over the last few weeks, this is no different... She opened her eyes just in time to see the launch doors split open wide, the flickers and tendrils of the gate iris washing back toward the stern as the ship passed through the gate into the system. The darkness and stars of Whisperfire visible through the crackling blue static of the stasis field, she listened to the tower countdown.

  “Blue launching. Red, launching...” Before the words were complete, the catapult fired her Cyclone into the dark ink of space. Reaching forward and lifting the safety cover, she punched the engine igniter, rewarded with a satisfying thump and a kick in the seat. Scanning the sky over the canted gull wings of her fighter, she shoved the throttle forward, the engine roaring in response, pushing her into her seat, the Cyclone's gyro adjusting the gravity system to minimize the G forces. She swept in on the wing of Red Three as the flight arced away from the Conquest.

  On their current heading, Red Flight would soon overtake the Revenge, currently flying point for the Task Force, its unique stealth abilities and array of specialized sensors their advanced eyes and ears.

  The Whisperfire System had an interesting green hue washing through it, gentle waves with brighter ribbons streaming across the sky. To some extent it reminded Lisa of videos she'd seen of the Northern Lights on Earth. It was mesmerizing and she found it difficult to look away. When she caught the comet tail of Red Three on her left pulling away from her, she adjusted speed and course wondering if the Ketarian was purposely making random adjustments to make her life more difficult. They were cruising after all, everything should be fairly constant. Should be - if you weren't flying wing for a bitchy, temperamental feline...

  Whisperfire's sun seemed weak, perhaps because it was filtered through the green haze stretching across the system, but it still prompted Lisa to lower her visor. There hadn't been much information in the database about the system, except, previously there had been mining operations on one of the system's planets which had been abandoned due to low productivity. Currently there were no known residents. As a matter of developing a habit with a positive bent, she had decided to check the database about any new system they were in before launching. It felt like a worthwhile effort, mostly for her own curiosity and edification, but you can never tell when some little scrap of seemingly useless random fact of information might prove useful.

  Lisa eased the throttle back, adjusting for Lieutenant Margareth's antics. It was like trying to keep pace with a yo-yo. Bitch. She wondered how long it would be until the novelty of messing with the new guy wore off. Screw it, she was happy just to be flying... let crazy-kitty play her stupid game. Then another idea hit her, how wise is it to piss off the person supposed to be protecting your ass in a fight? Hmm...

  ■ ■ ■

  Lieutenant Ragnaar adjusted the Revenge's sensor focus, a red target outline with adjacent notes forming on the big screen. “Picking up a structure in orbit around the fourth planet Commander.”

  Lt. Commander Brian Carter looked up from the maintenance screen he had been reviewing on the command chair's console. “On screen.” From the red target square, a picture zoomed in as an inset on one side of the screen, a rusted, dilapidated mining station coming into focus. “Wow, she's seen better days... Any signs of life?”

  “Some indication of low grade power usage...” Ragnaar sent the readings to the big screen, scrolling them next to the image of the station. “Everything you're seeing here is indicative of automated systems,” he pointed. “Many of these older stations have no real off switch. Once they go live they run until they fail or they're damaged to the point of system collapse.”

  “How long will they run unattended?”

  Ragnarr rotated his chair to face Brian, “I've seen stations over two hundred years old still running like the day they were put on line. As long as the solar collectors are intact, they have continuous power.” He motioned toward the screen, “This station configuration looks to be a warehousing station for ore storage...”

  Brian stood up and walked to the center of the bridge, staring at the image, “So why isn't this place listed on the charts?”

  Ragnaar shrugged, “Probably because it's been inactive for a long time. It wouldn't be the first place I've seen that isn't recorded. There's a lot to keep track of out here and if it's not somehow interfering with ship traffic, it get's forgotten.”

  Brian pursed his lips, “Or maybe someone deletes it on purpose.”

  “Possible,” countered Ragnaar. “More likely, the last survey ship through the system to take a scan, didn't see it because it was orbiting on the far side of the planet and they didn't bother to check. They may have assumed it shut down and dropped into the planet so they deleted it from the chart.”

  Brian folded his arms, “Can a station like this be put back into service?”

  “Sometimes, depends on her condition. You wouldn't know that without paying it a visit. I wouldn't recommend that, some of them are death traps.”

  Brian raised an eyebrow, “How so?”

  “This one,” pointed Ragnaar, indicating the screen, “is a rust bucket. Docking and boarding could be a major problem. If she's not structurally sound she could damage the ship or trap you there once you disembark. Then there are the automated security systems... Some stay active.”

  Brian nodded, “Good point. Let's get a better look at her and get her back on the charts.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “And let's inform the Conquest of our little course deviation...”

  ■ ■ ■

  “One-hundred miles and closing, Commander.”

  Brian Carter diverted his attention back to the big screen, “Thank you Mr. Ragnaar, on screen. Let's do a circuit around her at about fifty miles... record of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Lieutenant Maria Arroyo, who hadn't been present for the first sighting of the station was seeing it with fresh eyes. “Shields up...” she called from the first officer's seat

  “Aye, shields up.”

  Brian shot her a perturbed look,”What are you doing, Lieutenant?”

  “Take us to yellow, Commander.”

  “What are you seeing, Arroyo?”

  Maria pointed at the big screen, “Her positioning and navigation beacons are lit and there are signs of use here and here...” she drew with her finger on her task screen, making electronic notes on the wrap-around holo-screen for everyone to see. “Take us to yellow...”

  Brian pursed his lips for a moment, thinking. “Go to yellow...” he agreed reluctantly. The klaxon sounded, yellow lights flashing throughout the ship. “What you missed earlier,” he explained, “is that once these older stations were bought on line, they would run on their own indefinitely, until they broke down or were destroyed... sometimes for centuries.”

  “And in that time,” she replied, what's to stop squatters from moving in and making it their own?”

  “Security systems usually remain functional,” answered Ragnaar without looking back.

  “And for every security system is someone who can defeat it,” Maria countered. “And what's to say the previous owners even cared enough to lock the door when they abandoned it?” She was watching her tactical sensor screen. “I'm reading passive sensor use... that wouldn't be something they left functioning...”

  Brian wasn't taking his eyes off the big screen, “Any information on this structure? How big is it?”

  Maria began reading off the statistics. “The ID says it's a MineSpec VS200. It has two external docking gantries for freighters on opposite sides of the station. An internal bay big enough to hold a fleet of work shuttles and consumable goods or cargo. Storage for up
to a quarter-million tons of ore, and accommodations for up to two-hundred people. It says minimum crew requirement for mining operations is seventy-five.”

  “Orbiting, Commander. Video recording in multiple spectrums.”

  “Thank you Mr. Ragnaar. Looks pretty much as you'd expect it to...”

  Maria stiffened, “Power spike!”

  “Movement!” called Ragnaar, zooming in on the image. “There!” he pointed.

  “Defense turrets... Dammit!” Brian slapped the red button on his console, the red alert klaxon screaming through the ship, red lights flashing. “All hands to battle stations! Helm, break! Get us out of here!”

  At the helm, Quixetta leaned the Revenge over, making best use of her main engines' directional thrust, pulling her through an evasive arc away from the station, her engines vibrating throughout the ship.

  “Those are not on the standard specs!” shouted Maria, flipping back to her tactical screens.

  “Son of a bitch,” hissed Brian. “Think they're automated?”

  “You wish,” countered Maria, an adrenalin hit thickening her Spanish accent. “We have company... Fighters!” she pointed at the screen, long-tailed points of light appearing from the back of the station.

  “How many?”

  “Three... Four... Six... No, seven!”

  “Craaaap!”

  “And a bonus... a heavy gunship!”

  Brian shot Maria an unbelieving glance. “Helm, head for the task force...”

  Maria shook her head, paging back and forth on her screens, searching for information on the ships in pursuit, “I've got nothing on these things, they're not in the damn database...”

  “Fuck me,” muttered Brian under his breath.

  “That gunship is about half our size with twice as many guns...”

  ■ ■ ■

  The Conquest's alarm klaxon sounded, red lights flashing in the tower and elsewhere about the ship, the call to battle stations echoing through the address speakers.

  Commander Paul Smiley turned away from the comm on the holo-screen in the flight tower, tapping the flight controller on the shoulder with authority, “Launch White and Black Flights, immediately! Activate, Green and Yellow and at least one rescue bird...”

  “Aye, White and Black.” As the assistant Controller called up the additional pilots to the flight line, the Controller keyed his mic, “White and Black Flights, confirm launch ready...”

  “Black Flight, ready.”

  “White Flight, ready.”

  He scanned the deck below, confirming personnel and equipment were clear and ready, his fingers dancing across the glass floor plan of the flight bay, arming the launch racks and activating the stasis fields in front of the doors for the two flights of Lancias, blue strobes calling the pilots attention to the active stasis fields. The Strobes turned solid green when the doors reached their locked open position. “Launch in three, two...”

  ■ ■ ■

  “Seven-to-one are bad odds, Admiral...”

  Jack Steele, Captain Ryan, and Commander Paul Smiley occupied insets on the Revenge's holo-screen . “Nobody's debating that Mr. Carter,” admitted the Admiral. “You did the right thing. Can you stay ahead of them?”

  “So far, so good...” Brian glanced off at Ragnaar who nodded a quick confirmation.

  “Good, have you taken any damage?”

  Brian's attention went back to the comm on the big scree, “No sir, they haven't fired... Yet. But we can tell their weapons are hot and shields up.”

  “Red and Blue Flight's are vectored to intercept,” added Paul, cutting in. “White and Black have been launched for cover. You've got sixteen birds out there with you...”

  “Don't outrun them, just drag them to us,” instructed the Captain. “The Westwind has swung wide, pass between us.”

  Brian rubbed his forehead, “Will do. Listen, we can't find any matching information on these ships, we don't even know who they are. Have you come up with anything?”

  Jack shook his head, “We looked at your data feed, nothing in our database either. We'll worry about who they are at a later juncture.”

  ■ ■ ■

  Lisa's comm crackled in her helmet, “Red Leader, go hot people. Arm all weapons systems, guns ready.” She reached forward and lifted the safety covers, flipping the toggles, arming her systems, the Cyclone's targeting screen winking on, immediately searching for targets. The weapons stores menu opened and the status gauges for her guns lit up, showing their ammunition count and charge level, the generators whining momentarily as they woke up. It was all a bit unnerving... and exciting at the same time. Her fingers tingled and she found herself breathing heavily, her hands sweating in her gloves. Shit was about to get real.

  “Red leader to Red Flight, we're swinging wide right, Blue is going left, Black and White will go above and below; the Revenge will pass through us. We're going to flank these jokers and cut off their exit... Like it or not, they're going through a meat grinder. Break in three, two, one.”

  Lisa was expecting a comment from the Ketarian but got nothing. Good. She gritted her teeth as she rolled her fighter and pulled, craning her neck to keep an eye on her wing leader through the sweep, maintaining her distance and relative speed.

  “Stay with me Princess...”

  Lisa bit the inside of her cheek. Dammit! Red Flight rolled back in the opposite direction, arcing back to parallel Blue Flight, White and Black appearing on her scope, high and low, a little further back but closing quickly to parallel the flanking flights. In position, the flights slowed, the trap ready to spring.

  Lisa watched the Revenge streak past, its dark shape a mere blur momentarily blotting out everything beyond it, driven across the field of stars by her engines' blue halos.

  “All ships, ident beacons on...”

  ■ ■ ■

  Standing between the stations in the center of the Conquest's bridge, Steele stood facing the holo-screen, Fritz sitting at his side. “This is Admiral Steele, UFW Task Force Lancer... please identify yourself.” The group of unidentified ships sat motionless, facing the task force, the Revenge falling back into formation between the Conquest and the Westwind.

  Eager to catch their prey, affected by tunnel vision and a singular mindset, the unidentified ships were a little late in breaking off their pursuit. Too late to avoid the surprise party thrown in their honor. All this fuss and they had completely forgotten to bring a gift for the host when they ran out the door with haste... Of course, in all fairness, that's when they thought the surprise party was theirs and the Revenge was the gift.

  Studying the ships on the holo-screen - zoomed in, Steele felt a familiarity and he was running through his memory to figure out why. His eyes narrowed, “Ģreirggådariopshé senvou mé, I uso té strument Ö té cōnstruktures, as markez Ö té antiqos arkuitekos...”

  The bridge was silent when Captain Ryan leaned over to him, “What in the hellion did you just say?”

  “It's Gogol,” whispered Jack, “I said: Greg sent me, I wear the tools of the builders, marks of the ancient architects... The ships look Gogol to me.”

  “You speak Gogol?”

  “Just the one sentence,” admitted Steele. “I'm taking a stab in the dark here...”

  A tactical officer turned in his seat, “Captain, the ships are powering down weapons and shields...”

  “All of them?”

  “Yes sir. All of them.”

  An inset comm-frame winked into existence on the holo-screen, the Gogol Commander looking back at them with a sallow, greenish hue to his thin, smooth skin, veins visible beneath the surface. When he blinked, translucent eyelids swept across his large glassy eyes. “We apologize for the intrusion, Admiral Jack Steele of Earth. I am Captain Céaraviņņeågŏlshun, and this is my squadron. We are bounty hunters...” He noticed Fritz at the Admiral's elbow, his eyes widening. “Is that the animal who speaks?”

  Jack reached out reflexively and patted Fritz on the head, “It is. Hi
s name is Fritz.”

  “He is as handsome as I have heard...”

  Steele held up one hand to politely interrupt, “Thank you Captain... may we call you Ceravin? It is easier for us...”

  “Of course, Admiral.”

  “Thank you. Now, about what brought us to this moment, and just as important, why you seem to know so much about me?”

  “Ģreirggådariopshé, the Gogol you call Greg; has informed the Imperial Gogol Senate of your fairness, light, and honor. When you let him act as a liaison for Veloria instead of killing him, they expressed a great deal of respect for your thoughtful treatment of him. I understand he is thoroughly enjoying studying with the person called Professor Walt Edgars.”

  “I am glad of that...” Jack couldn't help but crack a knowing little smile. As an Archeologist, anthropologist and historian, the Professor could not resist the temptation to compare the similarities between the Ancients, the Builders and the Masons. The best way to do that was to become a Mason. And in his twenty-odd years on Earth, he made his way through all the fascinating levels, astounded by the parallels. However, when Jack paired Greg with the Professor he had no idea the Professor was a Brother, it simply never occurred to him. Until he received his royal ring from Alité, the Masonic engravings perfectly representing his achievements. In retrospect, Jack couldn't have paired Greg up with anyone better suited to teach him about the truths he sought. “I'm hoping Greg's involvement will help us better understand each other; our society and yours...”

  “As well as some ancient history perhaps...” added Ceravin.

  “I look forward to that,” nodded Steele. “In the meantime, what happened here..?”

  “Well, we are bounty hunters...”

  “So you said,” replied Steele.

  “And you...” Ceravin waggled his finger at the screen, “you Admiral, were running with your ident beacons off.”