Friends in Command (Sons of the Starfarers: Book IV)

by Joe Vasicek

  Apollo’s lips narrowed. “I’m sorry, Captain, but if we’re going to pinpoint those coordinates, we need at least eight hours for the jump drives to charge.”

  “It’s not like there’s a hurry, Captain,” said Mara. “Whoever activated that distress beacon did so almost three months ago. We’re not going to save anyone by now.”

  Aaron sighed and sank back into his chair. “You’re right, Mara,” he said. “Let’s stand down to alert level three. Mathusael and Phoebe, keep watch on the bridge. The rest of you get some rest before we investigate that distress signal. Report back here in eight hours.”

  * * * * *

  The nebulous clouds surrounding the rift glowed a dull blue through the porthole windows of the mess deck. Mara idly admired the view as she sat at one of the tables, nursing a hot cup of reconstituted tomato soup. She was one of the lucky ones—her sleeping shift more or less aligned with the downtime as the Merope-7’s jump drive recharged, but most of the other officers were not so fortunate. The dream center was full of people resting their bodies by plugging their minds into the simulators—a stop-gap measure at best, since simulated dream consciousness wasn’t nearly as restful as natural sleep. All the same, the mess deck was empty, except for Lieutenant Castor.

  “Good downshift, Mara,” said Castor, slipping into the seat across from her. “How are things with you?”

  “I’ve been worse,” she said, sipping a spoonful of the soup. It tasted a bit salty, but considering that all the Merope-7’s fruit and vegetable stores were all either on ice or reduced to powder, she had no complaints.

  “So there’s been a change in the mission. We’re searching for a missing operative now?”

  “Yeah. Aaron’s brother—the guy who almost got everyone killed at the Battle of Colkhia.”

  “Ah,” said Castor, his good-natured smile waning. The Battle at Colkhia had almost been a disaster because the beacon that was supposed to pull the Flotilla out of jumpspace hadn’t gone up in time. Instead of jumping together in unison, concentrating their forces in a surprise attack, the Flotilla had been scattered all throughout the system, making it easy for the Imperials to pick them off one at a time with their superior firepower. If the Aegis platoons hadn’t captured the Starfire, the largest battleship in the Imperial expeditionary fleet, the battle would have ended in disaster. As the former commander of Fourth Platoon, Castor knew that all too well.

  “So what system are we putting into next?” he asked.

  Mara shrugged. “Don’t know yet. Aaron hasn’t decided. We just found an emergency beacon, though, so it looks like we’ll be investigating that first.”

  “An emergency beacon?”

  “Yeah.”

  Castor shrugged. “Well, that’s something to do at least. Up until now, things have been exceptionally quiet.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that lasting much longer, Lieutenant,” said Mara. “There’s something very creepy about this rift. We’re picking up hundreds of deep space transmissions, echoing through space like whispers in the dark.”

  Castor pulled out a rag from his apron and rubbed down the smartglass surface of the table, even though it was already clean.

  “Sounds like a protection racket.”

  Mara frowned. “A protection racket?”

  “Sure. Pirates don’t take everything by force. If you can get your victims to pay you without firing a shot, it’s a whole lot better than risking your ship in a raid. But it only works in certain regions, like a rift in a nebula where everyone has to pass through a narrow bottleneck to get through to the other side.”

  “Interesting,” said Mara, stroking her chin. “But why the transmissions?”

  “That’s the linchpin of the whole operation,” said Castor. He finished with the table and stuffed the rag back into his apron. “Every time a starship enters or exits jumpspace, it emits an electromagnetic signal. If you know approximately where a starship is going to come through, you can wait around nearby until you pick up that signal. Since it takes ten to twelve hours for most jump drives to recharge, that gives you enough of a window to hit anyone within ten to twelve light-hours of you. The transmission lets you know who has and hasn’t paid. If a ship comes through without transmitting, then you go after them.”

  “Oh come on,” said Mara. “The Shiloh Rift is a lot wider than ten or twelve light-hours across, even at its narrowest point. How could one pirate ship stop even a fraction of the traffic that comes through?”

  “Because it’s not just one pirate ship—it’s as many as twenty or thirty. Most pirate fleets have outriders equipped with jump drives for this very sort of thing. And no, they won’t catch everyone who comes through, but they will catch enough to make most starfarers pay the protection fee.”

  Mara swallowed another spoonful of soup and stared out the nearest porthole as she thought about it. It made sense, in a perverse sort of way. The Outworlds were lawless enough that it wouldn’t be hard for a group of pirates to get away with something like that. She’d have to mention it to Aaron.

  “How do you like your new position?” she asked, changing the subject.

  Castor’s smile returned. “I like it a lot, actually. It’s a nice change not to have people’s lives depend on me. I get to see the crew and talk with them about whatever’s on their minds, without the burden of command.”

  “So you wouldn’t want to go back to commanding troops again?”

  “Not at all. Understand, I never really cared about moving up the ranks. I was a star wanderer for five years before I settled down, and station life never really suited me. This war was my chance to get out and see the stars again. Does that make sense?”

  “Not really,” Mara admitted. “But I grew up never thinking I’d leave my home station, so it was a lot different for me.”

  “Once you’ve wandered the stars, it gets into your blood,” said Castor, leaning forward with his hands on the table. “They call out to you—the stars, I mean—and sometimes you can’t help but answer.”

  A star wanderer, she thought to herself. If her life had turned out differently, she might have been married to a man like Castor. It was an Outworld tradition for the oldest son of most families to take his father’s starship and seek his fortune among the stars. It kept the far-off colonies from becoming too inbred—colonies like Megiddo Station.

  Would she have been happy with that, though? She thought of what Mathusael had said about strength and toughness. The war had made Castor tough, but it had drained a great deal of his strength, some even visibly. If it weren’t for her intercession to bring him on as the Merope-7’s quartermaster and morale officer, he probably would have been lost.

  “Are you holding up all right?” she asked.

  “Very well,” he said, nodding. “I love serving and being part of life on a ship like this. When you’re a star wanderer, you spend a lot of time by yourself, and it can get very lonely on some of the long voyages.”

  “I’ll bet,” said Mara. She took a sip of her soup.

  “In any case, I was never really suited for command. All those soldiers in Fourth Platoon who died… it’s hard not to blame myself for their loss.”

  Mara nodded. “I know how you feel.”

  “That’s why it’s so much better to be in a supporting role rather than a command one. I can share in all the camaraderie of serving with you guys, but without all the burden.”

  He takes the strength he needs from us, Mara realized. The thought gave her pause. Was that true of everyone else on the crew? She knew that Aaron relied on her, but she didn’t realize it was the same with everyone else—or that she could rely on them.

  She finished up the last of her soup and set the bowl down on the table. Castor took it from her and stood up to return it to the washer unit behind the counter. While he did that, she rose to her feet and checked the duty roster on her wrist console.

  “I don’t know what to do about Aaron,” she muttered. “It’s like he’s chasing gh
osts, taking us out into the rift like this. His brother’s probably dead, and we’re not going to find him out here.”

  “Always the pessimist, aren’t you?” Castor called out over his shoulder.

  “Yes, and for good reason.”

  “Oh?”

  “A pessimist is never disappointed. If you turn out to be wrong, it’s a pleasant surprise.”

  “Perhaps,” said Castor. “But sometimes you’ve got to lighten up. If all you can see is the worst in everything, you’ll always miss the good.”

  “Maybe. In any case, I should be going. I’m needed on the bridge in seven hours, and between now and then, I’d better get some shut-eye.”

  “Of course. Sweet dreams, Commander.”

  I’d rather have no dreams at all, she thought silently. With so many people depending on her, the last thing she needed was a reminder of how much of a monster she was.

  * * * * *

  “Target coordinates set, Captain,” said Apollo. “We’re ready to go on your mark.”

  “Take us out, then,” said Aaron. “Alert level two. We don’t know what’s at this distress beacon, so I want to be ready for anything.”

  The hum of the jump drives reverberated once again through the floors and bulkheads. Aaron closed his eyes and held his breath. The hum grew in pitch until it was almost a whine. His stomach flipped, though not as hard as the first jump into the rift. He opened his eyes, and a temporary wave of dizziness swept over him as the whine of the jump drives died back down.

  “Status report,” he said, gripping the armrests of the command chair with white knuckles.

  “All systems are in the green,” said Mathusael. “Reactor looks good, jump drives are charging. Diverting power to scanners and weapons.”

  “Good. Jason, what do you see?”

  “The distress signal is coming from an unidentified object about six thousand klicks off our bow,” said Jason. “I’m picking up heat signatures consistent with the reactor of a light freighter.”

  “Can you get us a visual?”

  “Of course, sir. Scanning now.”

  The main screen below the forward window blinked on. It showed a grainy image of a dark object superimposed on the dim blue background light of the nebula. The image brightened, and a set of green grid lines superimposed itself onto the foreground object to enhance it. Aaron narrowed his eyes; it looked like a small- to medium-sized civilian freighter.

  A light freighter like the Medea.

  “Is there anything else on the scanners?” he asked.

  “Negative, sir. Scanners aren’t picking up anything else within sensor range.”

  “Good. Phoebe, can you hail them?”

  “Hailing,” said Phoebe.

  Several tense moments passed in silence. Phoebe frowned and looked up.

  “Sorry, sir. They’re not responding.”

  “Captain,” said Jason, “the interior temperature of that ship is only two kelvins warmer than the background temperature of the rift. I’m also not picking up any sort of artificial gravity field. I don’t know for sure, but it looks like—”

  “Like it’s a derelict,” said Aaron. He leaned forward with his fingertips pressed together, resting his chin on his thumbs, and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

  “Captain,” said Apollo, “if you want to send out a team to investigate, I can get us close enough in about forty-five minutes.”

  Aaron took a moment to think. On the scanners, the derelict starship looked almost exactly like the Medea. The only reason he knew it wasn’t was because there was record of it coming through Ithaca. Still, his heart couldn’t help but beat a little faster knowing that his brother could have been on the other side of that emergency beacon. Whoever had done this, whatever they had done, he had to see it with his own eyes.

  “Sir,” said Mara, breaking the silence that had descended on the bridge. “Your orders?”

  Aaron blinked and realized that everyone was looking at him intently. He drew in a sharp breath.

  “Yes, Lieutenant, that sounds like a good idea. Mathusael, how many EVA suits do we have?”

  “Five, Captain—eight, counting the spares.”

  “We won’t need that many. Apollo, take us within a hundred meters of that ship, but don’t dock. Mathusael, grab two of your men and come down with me to suit up. We’ll use tethers and rocket-packs to board. Mara, take the bridge.”

  “Sir,” Mara said in Deltan as Aaron rose to his feet. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “To investigate that emergency beacon?”

  “No—to leave your post and risk your life boarding that derelict. What if something happens while you’re gone? Frankly, sir, this is something you should delegate to an away team.”

  The other officers stared at them with puzzled eyes. Even though no one else could understand them (with the possible exception of Jason), he felt a need to keep them aware of what was going on.

  “Thank you for your concern, Commander,” he answered in Gaian, “but this is something I have to oversee myself. I’m sure you’ll be able to cover for us if anything goes wrong.”

  Mara’s cheeks reddened, but she nodded in deference to his command. “Very well, sir. We’ll keep a channel open.”

  She saluted him with a shaky hand. He returned the gesture and nodded to Mathusael, who followed him out the hatchway.

  “Take care of yourself, sir” Mara blurted as he swung his feet perpendicular to the wall.

  “Of course,” he said in Deltan, giving her a boyish grin. “That’s what I do best, after all.”

  Though he tried to put a good face on it, something told him she was not convinced.

  * * * * *

  Mara rose slowly to her feet and assumed the captain’s chair, her legs feeling wooden. She had a very bad feeling about Aaron leading the away team, though of course she couldn’t countermand his orders.

  Apollo gave her a questioning glance, bringing her back to the present. “Commander Soladze?”

  “You heard the captain. Get us to that ship as soon as you reasonably can.”

  “Understood, Commander. Moving out.”

  Mara stared out the forward window as the sublight engines engaged, pressing her into her seat as the ship accelerated. The bridge dampers compensated for most of the acceleration, but she still felt as if she were lying slightly on her back. That didn’t bother her nearly as much, though, as not knowing what lay on the other side of the glass.

  All they knew was that the signal they were investigating looked like it came from the wreckage of a typical Outworld starship. It had been transmitting for at least several months, so there was little chance that anyone on board was still alive. But what had caused them to activate their distress signal in the first place? They were close enough to the nebula that the ship’s hull integrity might have been compromised by the high particulate density. On the other hand, it could easily have been pirates. And if that was indeed the case, she had every reason to believe that they could be using the beacon as some sort of trap.

  “Lieutenant Thetana, how are our weapons systems looking?”

  “Plasma cannons are charged, and drones are in the chute, Commander. The moment something shows up, we’ll be ready to blast it out of the sky.”

  “Good. Keep it that way. I want your itchiest finger on the trigger.”

  Jason grinned. “Understood, Commander.”

  I almost wish those pirates would show up, Mara thought to herself. We’d sure give them a nasty surprise.

  She settled back for the wait. The officers had their orders, so there wasn’t much for her to do except watch them do their work and be ready for when things went crazy. That was the thing about military life: All the excitement was concentrated into a few brief moments of absolute panic, so the rest of the time was filled with utter boredom. Rarely—if ever—was there anything in the middle.

  As she waited, the wreckage slowly getting closer on the scanners, the h
atch to the bridge hissed open behind her. She turned and saw Katya step inside.

  “Lieutenant Nova. What can I do for you?”

  “Commander, I’ve found something that I think you and the captain might want to know about.”

  “Is it something you can tell me now?” Mara asked

  Katya glanced around the room before answering. “I think so. It has to do with the signals we’ve been picking up all over the rift.”

  “What is it?”

  “They’re designed to look like ordinary navigational signals, but they’re actually much more,” said Katya. “Each transmission contains a packet of encrypted data disguised to look like an ordinary beacon. I’ve managed to crack the encryption, though, and found that the packet is an audio recording.”

  Mara frowned. “An audio recording?”

  “Yes. Every signal contains an audio recording disguised to look like a navigational beacon.”

  Why the hell would the pirates make everyone do that? Mara wondered. What exactly has been going on in this sector for the past few months?

  “Good work, Lieutenant. Crack a few more of those transmissions and see if you can find any pattern in what they say.”

  “Right, Commander. I’m on it.”

  Katya saluted, and Mara returned it. As the hatchway door hissed shut behind her, Jason chuckled to himself.

  “And I thought this post would be boring.”

  “Just keep your finger on that trigger, Thetana.”

  At length, the wreckage of the distressed ship came into view. With the engines burning to give them a gradual stop, it grew from a tiny black point amid clouds of blue to a ghostly shape, almost like a hole in the starfield. Jason swung the high-beams onto it, illuminating the dark gray hull.

  “On screen,” Mara ordered.

  The main screen lit up to show a magnified image of the wreckage. It was clearly a starship of some kind—or at least, it had been. The whole right side of it had been blown away, so that half of the cargo hold was exposed to hard vacuum. Black scorch marks and misshapen, twisted metal showed that the ship had been painted with plasma fire. The forward cockpit window was shattered, the bulkheads riddled with holes from projectile cannons and flechettes. Little pieces of scrap flashed in the beam of light, revealing a wide field of debris.