Ace sighed and prepared to do it all over again. If he knew Collins, they’d be in the room until they won the day.
22
Flint
Flint grunted as the air burst from his lungs. He was flat on his back, Bull standing over him.
“Had enough?” Bull asked.
“Marines. Always wanting to prove themselves,” Flint said as he tried to get his breath back. He raised a hand. “Don’t worry, you have.”
“We’re going into some hairy situations here. I don’t think it’ll be all bomb and dash,” Bull said as Flint got into a seated position. The ship had a state-of-the-art gymnasium and training center, one Flint was getting only too used to, mostly from the vantage point of floor to ceiling.
“How about we take a break for a minute?” Bull offered. The man was sweating profusely, so at least Flint had proven to be a challenge. When they’d first started hand-to-hand practice, Bull had left the hour as dry as a freshly-pressed uniform. Flint would take the small victories, since he wasn’t able to win any big ones.
“You sure you want in on the first incursion?” Flint asked his new friend. Ever since the day they’d fought the Wendigos and faced their mortality via the Suckers’ imminent attack, they’d hung out whenever they were able. It felt good to have a friend around, and a male one. One he couldn’t feel bad about getting beaten up by.
“I’m all in, Flint. This is the stuff the Fleet Marines were trained to do in our sleep. Too bad we didn’t have many opportunities. We were usually bringing down some terrorist or a white-collar criminal embezzling money from a sanctioned Fleet construction job.” Bull wiped his forehead with a white towel, sitting down on the bench beside Flint. “But I’m good. I can help.”
“After being on the tail end of the last two months of training with you, I have to agree. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to hand-to-hand between me and a Watcher,” Flint said.
“Just because you can’t beat me doesn’t mean you can’t take down one of them.” Bull hit Flint’s arm with his elbow in a light tap, and they both laughed. “Weapons practice?”
Flint checked the time and figured there was no harm in spending another half-hour before he had to get ready for their meeting. Today was two months since they’d devised a plan, and even though they each knew where they currently stood, it was time to evaluate and adjust if needed.
“What’s with you and Wren?” Bull asked out of the blue. In the last two months, he’d never asked a question like that.
“What do you mean ‘what’s with us’?” Flint asked after taking a long drink of water.
“You’re obviously into her. I mean, you have a standing date, and I see you together far more than that,” Bull said.
Flint didn’t know what to say. “Sure, I like her, but Bull, we’re heading into an almost ‘no win’ situation. I don’t think now’s the time to be playing dating games, do you?”
Bull shook his head from side to side. “Flint, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s the perfect time. See, I’ve been seeing this woman from Engineering. She’s a real smart type, but when the holotablet shuts down, believe me…”
Flint raised a hand. “Okay, I get the picture. How about we go work on our aim for a bit and cut the locker room talk?” Usually, he didn’t care if someone went on about their conquests. He’d heard enough of it over the years: first from his days with the Earth Fleet, then from rich clients with their arm candy of the week. But something aggravated him when Bull talked about Wren that way. They were friends, nothing more.
But… she had kissed him when he’d made it back from the surface two months ago. It could have been an innocent, happy gesture, so Flint hadn’t let himself assume more from it than just that.
“Let’s go blow some stuff up. That always makes me feel better,” Bull said, clapping Flint on the shoulder.
Charles
Charles searched inward and found the running clock. It had been one hundred and forty-three days, eleven hours, and nineteen minutes since their meeting. Chief Engineer Tomas had been given two months, or approximately sixty days, to complete the task. At first, they’d thought it was going well. Within a week, the programmers had coded most of the functions back, but when they ran the first tests, they noticed something was backwards, and three key functions had fried as a result.
Benson had instituted some backdoor mirror program to reverse the instructions, causing chaos within the physical hardware. The delay from this was huge. Charles knew they were close, and Captain Barkley was growing impatient. They’d started to consider building smaller Shift drives to modify onto fighters, but they didn’t have the materials to pull it off. It also would have made any missions they sent the fighters on, in the words of Flint Lancaster, “suicide missions.” Charles didn’t like the connotation, but he agreed, based on his own calculations, that Flint was right.
“Charles, can you give me a hand?” Tomas asked.
Charles got up from his desk, unlatched from the charger he’d brought with him to the job site, and walked across the massive room. The Shift drive concept was complicated, but for smaller vessels, the hardware wasn’t substantial; on a ship like Eureka, it constituted an entire two-thousand-square-foot section of the ship.
The cleanup had begun, and Charles saw at least a dozen androids working to remove the unused clutter from the drive’s housing. In order to repair it, they’d needed spare parts from countless things, ranging from a coffee maker from the Pilgrim – due to a metal that wasn’t used any longer – to two of their own EFF-17 vessels. The captain had opposed that until Tomas had proved there was no other alternative in their vicinity. Captain Barkley eventually caved when she realized they were out of options.
The androids worked hard, and Charles wondered if they ever noticed him being different from them. These models were shorter and stouter than he was: worker androids, meant to lift, bend, and move things. They were a matte gray, scuffed and squeaky. He attempted a wave hello but received no response in return. He understood. They weren’t programmed to interact with him.
Charles shuffled his feet forward, finally arriving at Tomas, who’d witnessed the whole ordeal without saying a word. “You know you have friends here, right?” the chief engineer asked.
Charles looked him in the eyes and felt something. “I do?”
“Yes. Everyone on this project considers you a colleague at this point. We couldn’t have done this without your help, Charles, and you’re a pleasure to be around. Don’t worry about them. You’re different, and we like it.” Tomas waved a hand, as if gesturing that he was moving on. He spun in his seat and pointed at a 3D image projecting off his console.
“This is our test run, without actually using the drive’s hardware – just the software – and cutting short of firing the Shift up.” Tomas’ finger rose with the blue light arcing through the 3D tubes heading around the cylindrical energy tower. Charles viewed it as the blue light sources all coalesced to one focal point, and the tower shone bright as a result. “This is the part we’re concerned about. Benson left so many traps, and we think that at this point we’ve found them all, but we can’t be too careful.”
Charles considered this. “What would you like me to do?”
Tomas peered at him, the blue lights of the projector casting a glow over his pale face. “I need you to confirm my findings. Can you please see if this will work? I can’t take any chances. We only have one run on this, and it’ll be a disaster if we fail.”
Charles nodded – a human gesture, but one that came naturally to him these days. “I will be happy to. I can start now.”
Tomas didn’t hesitate but jumped off the chair, letting Charles take it. To most people’s surprise, he didn’t weigh as much as they assumed. He often received looks from people as he sat down, expecting the chair to explode under the android’s mass. With most current models, they were only around one hundred kilograms, and standard Earth Fleet construction was built to sustain weights far above t
hat.
Charles understood Tomas’ caution. Every time they thought they’d bested Benson’s bug, something else went wrong. If they tested the drive, thinking it functional, they could all end up dying, and that would solidify the war’s outcome, according to Captain Barkley. They needed to be absolutely sure.
He set to the tests, using his own personal parameters created throughout this process. Charles stayed perfectly still while the console ran the scenarios.
Flint
“We’re a go, Captain.” Flint was nervous. He liked to consider himself a hard-headed nerves-of-steel kind of guy, but today, he felt the polar opposite. Five months. They’d been stuck here for five long months, waiting for this damned Shift drive to be repaired, and here they were, finally testing it.
Charles was confident it would work, and normally, that was enough for Flint, but something about it didn’t sit well with him. For all he knew, Benson had messed with Charles’ programming too. He hated even considering it, but these were desperate times, and billions of lives were potentially at stake.
Junior Lieutenant Mark Foggle sat at the station to Flint’s right, and he looked even more worried than Flint felt.
“Hold, please, Lieutenant Lancaster. We’re waiting on final word from the Pilgrim,” Captain Barkley said.
Flint tapped his finger on the console, hardly even noticing he was doing it. They’d begun to disembark the crew and staff two hours earlier, and these things took time. They weren’t going to risk it and test the drive only to have all of them in jeopardy. This way, if something bad happened to the Eureka, the crew could still be utilized in the fight, with the Pilgrim.
It was the right call, but Flint wished he was on the other ship for this moment. He wasn’t a coward, but if something did go wrong, this was no way to go.
Flint watched the icons of their amassed fleet dance across the corner of the viewscreen as all mandatory vessels moved from their hangars to the colony ship’s. Ace would be inside one of the small dots, and he was also glad to know that Wren had been transported away for the time being as well. She’d argued with him, but that was one battle he wasn’t willing to lose. She must have seen something in his eyes, because she’d given up and gone on the lander without further complaint.
The icons drifted farther and farther from their large vessel, and soon the console notified him there was nothing left within their potential blast zone. “Good. No one but us birds left over here to get fried,” Flint muttered.
“What’s that, Lieutenant?” Barkley asked.
“Nothing. The ships are out of the blast zone,” Flint returned.
Even though Flint couldn’t see the rest of the Eureka, it still felt strange to know she was almost empty. All usable ships were out of the hangars: all androids, food, and water were moved. It had been a week’s worth of work just on the chance there was an issue. If Flint ever saw Benson again, he was going to punch the man in the face. Hard. And he knew there’d be a long line to get there too.
“Very well. Begin the charge.” Captain Heather Barkley walked behind Flint and set her hand on his shoulder. Flint glanced up to see a hard stare toward the viewscreen where he projected the drive’s display.
“Starting charge,” he said, and they all watched as the blue lights cascaded around their tubes before flashing together as they reached the peak of their charging cylinder. He let out a small cheer and pumped his fist in the air as the charge began, the percentage showing on the right of the viewscreen, just above the time to Shift capability.
Barkley smiled at him but kept her tone serious. “We aren’t in the clear yet.”
“Captain,” Lieutenant Harry Tsang’s voice cracked from the side of the bridge. “The others and I were talking earlier, and we think you should…”
“That I should what?” she barked.
Tsang had drawn the short stick and had to tell her. Flint was just glad it wasn’t him.
“You should evacuate. You’re too important to the success of the mission,” Tsang said.
“Is that so? Flint here isn’t important? Half of the plan was his, and he’s running point on the first leg, probably the second too. Why doesn’t he leave? Mark has a wife and kid aboard the Pilgrim. Does that constitute an excuse? Look, we’re all going to be fine. This is only a precaution. We’ll run the test, come back, and get moving along to the first part of this mission.” Captain Barkley started the rant yelling, but by the end, the wind was out of her sails.
“We had to try,” Flint whispered.
“Make sure it’s the last time,” Barkley said, and no one spoke.
Flint sat back, knowing the next few minutes would be the longest of his life.
23
Ace
Ace didn’t enter the hangar; instead, he stayed out in space, hovering at a safe distance, pointing his fighter’s nose toward the massive bulk of the Eureka. He patched in to the countdown and saw the seconds tick away. Soon the lights on his HUD blinked green, and Ace found himself holding his breath as he waited for them to test the Shift drive.
All of their plans hinged on being able to Shift to the different locations. Without it, they were boned, and without the Eureka, they’d be fighting a sword duel with a cooked strand of spaghetti.
Ace was itching for a fight. He trained every day: on the old simulators, the new, and the modified Watcher fighters. Apparently, they were keeping scores of each pilot’s performances with all eight squadrons, and Ace was in the top six. He was number four, actually, but even though it sounded good, he was determined to excel further. To become the best: not just for bragging rights, but to keep his team safe in the coming days.
If they were able to acquire the six enemy ships like they planned, Ace would be flying one of them, so he’d trained longer hours than the rest, alongside the other five, one of whom was Flint. Flint didn’t seem like a fighter pilot to Ace. He was more laid back, never too cocky or obnoxious, but when Flint was inside a fighter cockpit, something triggered in him, and he became an animal. He was ferocious, and Ace had never seen such a thing. Even though he didn’t compete with the other squadrons in the training sessions, Ace had no doubt that Flint would have finished in first place if given the chance. He’d told the older man this one night, and Flint had just waved a dismissive hand at him, denying it.
Ace didn’t know the whole story, but something must have happened to take Flint from the cockpit of an EFF-17 and into a Recon ship before running transport for the Fleet, eventually landing himself as an independent freight runner. From the rumors Ace had heard, this meant he was a smuggler. Ace didn’t have the guts to ask Flint about his checkered history, and couldn’t blame him for not opening up about it.
The funny thing about the past was this: it was over. It didn’t matter anymore, and even though it had only been a handful of months since Ace himself had been living on the streets of Old Chicago, it felt like a lifetime ago. He could sometimes go a full day without remembering the cold on his ears or the raw, gnawing hunger eating away at his stomach.
Ace had been enjoying getting to know the rest of his squadron over the months leading up to their upcoming mission, but there was a nagging sensation at the back of his mind that most of them wouldn’t survive what was about to happen. He might not survive.
Ace thought he was the last remaining fighter outside the Pilgrim, when another pulled up beside him, slowing with reverse thrusts until it stopped a safe distance away. He instantly recognized the pilot as none other than Oliv. She’d become as close to him as anyone in his life, even closer than Serina had.
Thinking of Serina hurt his stomach. If she was still alive, it had been almost half a year on this side of the Rift. That meant fifteen years had passed, and Serina was in her thirties. Ace squeezed his eyes shut, hoping she was all right. That she was safe and happy, and never lost that sassy grin or the look of hope in her eyes.
“We’ll meet again,” he whispered, cutting his communication line at the last moment.
Sometimes it felt better to talk out loud to those who were no longer with you. There was something tangible to sound; it brought life to the words and made them more real, more possible.
Ace waved to Oliv, whose head was turned toward his ship. He could picture her smile behind the mask: goofy, but somehow serious at the same time.
Only a few minutes had transpired since the countdown ended, and Ace worried there was something wrong with the Shift drive. This had to work.
He looked away for a second, glancing down at his controls, and when he returned his gaze out the viewer, the Eureka was gone.
Oliv’s voice carried through his headset. “They did it!”
Let’s hope they make it back.
Wren
Wren watched nervously as the Eureka vanished from the viewscreen aboard the bridge of the Pilgrim. It was a packed house as all invited were standing, waiting to see if Jarden Fairbanks’ vessel could make the Shift and return.
When it vanished, the entire place went up in celebration. Wren joined them, but inside, her joy was contained. This was such a small part of what they were about to take on, but without the Shift drive, it was all for nothing.
Captain Aldene Hawk, the ever-serious one, didn’t break a smile; nor did her first officer, Commander Banks. They sat down, the man’s thick fingers thrumming in a constant rhythm along his chair’s arm.
The Eureka’s destination wasn’t far away – only ten thousand kilometers. Regardless, they’d have to wait for the drive to charge.
“Wren, are you well?” Charles asked, breaking her contemplative state.
“Charles.” She was startled to see him. “I thought you were staying aboard the Eureka.”
“Barkley asked me to leave. I didn’t want to argue with the captain, so I vacated on the last transport. She told me I was too imperative, should things…not work out.” Charles’ orange eyes glowed brightly. Wren hadn’t spent enough time with the android recently and was hoping to remedy that once everything was over.
The Resistance- The Complete Series Page 42
