by Cheryl Angst
Inside the relative safety of the woods, John took the time to put on his clothes before surveying his surroundings. He had cut his feet running through the prickly grass, but he ignored the pain and stuffed them back into his boots. He completed a small reconnoiter within fifty meters of his entry point. Satisfied he was alone, he chose a secluded spot between two large trees and settled down to wait for Kree.
* * * *
“Monroe to Cmdr. Santiago.”
“Santiago, here,” she replied as she toggled the communications panel on the captain’s desk.
“Sir, I think I found the transmission you’re looking for.”
“Excellent work, Lieutenant. Send a copy to me here. Santiago out,” Rebeccah replied as she waited for the transmission record to appear on the screen. The tiny packet of information arrived and she leaned forward to study the details.
Fifteen hours prior to the malfunction of the forward sensor arrays, Petty Officer Randall received a short message from the avian homeworld. Rebeccah used the captain’s encryption key to open it.
“Preserve rendezvous at all costs.”
Rebeccah toggled the communications panel. “Santiago to Lt. Cmdr. Karenshikov.”
“Karenshikov here, sir.”
“Commander, I need you to send a team to PO Randall’s quarters. He is under suspicion for colluding with avians and sabotaging the Firestorm,” Rebeccah explained.
“Aye, sir,” replied Karenshikov. Rebeccah turned her attention back to their new orders. Despite requiring extensive repairs, the UESF expected the Firestorm to hunt down and apprehend vessels suspected of smuggling information, drugs, and other contraband items into avian space. They’d been assigned a huge swath of space on the human side, and the nearest UESF ship would still be almost three days away should trouble arise. She couldn’t help but think someone didn’t want them to come home.
* * * *
John heard Kree long before he saw him. If the avian was trying to move quietly in the dark, he wasn’t succeeding. Sounds of snapping twigs and rustling branches continued for several seconds and then ceased. After a moment of silence, they started up again. When Kree moved within five meters of his position John made sense of the odd pattern of sounds.
The rustling stopped. “Human?” Kree whispered. “Can you hear me, human?”
John chuckled at Kree’s naïve approach to finding a target in the dark. Silently getting to his feet, John moved between the trees, stopping undetected a mere half meter away from the avian. John tried, and failed, to keep the humor out of his voice, replying, “Yes.”
Kree whipped around and fired an energy beam into John’s chest. Every nerve in his body shot pain signals to his brain. John collapsed at the base of a tree in a pile of raw nerves and twitching limbs. He panted and waited for the tremors to subside before looking up at Kree, who crouched over him.
“What’d you do that for?” he gasped.
“You startled me,” Kree replied, his black eyes huge in the dappled moonlight.
John groaned and rolled onto his knees. “Remind me never to do that again.”
“Never do that again,” Kree dutifully replied. “Can you walk?”
“I think so.” He stood and leaned against a nearby tree while waiting for his head to clear.
“Good. We haven’t much time.” Kree started to move off through the forest, snapping twigs and branches with every step.
“Are we supposed to be stealthy?” John asked.
Kree turned and glanced over his shoulder. “Of course,” he replied. “How else do you expect to sneak into the launch compound and steal a raptor?”
John shook his head. “If that’s the case,” he replied with a lopsided grin, “I think you’d better let me lead.”
* * * *
“Karenshikov to Cmdr. Santiago.”
“Santiago here.”
“Sir, we’ve searched PO Randall’s cabin and discovered a small portable computer in his sleeping area that appears to contain some sort of manifesto,” Karenshikov said.
“Any sign of Randall?” Rebeccah asked.
“He failed to report for duty on beta shift, sir. I have teams out searching the ship. I’ll let you know as soon as he’s located.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m sending Leading Seaman Lucas to the bridge with the computer. I’m assuming you’d like to see the file.”
“Yes,” she replied. “Keep me informed.”
“Aye, sir.”
* * * *
Leading Seaman Lucas had just left the captain’s office when Rebeccah’s communications panel beeped again. “Karenshikov to Cmdr Santiago.”
“I take it you’ve found PO Randall?” she asked.
“I think so, sir.” Karenshikov paused. “At least, we’ve found something that could be Randall.”
A thick ball of tension gripped her throat as she replied, “Explain.”
“We found material that appears to be the remains of a human being in airlock fourteen, Port Lima. The unit has been decompressed, but the uniform among the remains is PO Randall’s.”
She closed her eyes and willed herself not to vomit. She took a deep breath and said, “Assemble a team to deal with the recovery of Randall’s body. Given the circumstances, I want you to treat the airlock as a crime scene.”
“Aye, sir.”
Chapter 50
John hunched his shoulders each time the avian mentioned the word “conspiracy.”
So much for stealth, John thought. Kree talked endlessly of what he’d learned during his days masquerading as a mercenary.
“This entire operation is being paid for by a male named Shrawk. He’s the CEO of Innovative Industries.”
John peered back at Kree. “Should I know that name?” he asked.
“Probably not,” he replied, “but its parent company is XCom Manufacturing.”
John stopped in his tracks. “My abduction is being bankrolled by the largest avian weapons manufacturer in the galaxy?”
Kree nodded. “There’s more.” He waited for John to start moving again before speaking. “They still plan on destroying your ship. Now that they know its location, they’re putting the plan I overheard almost a sunturn ago into action.”
“The Firestorm should be well on her way back to Earth now,” John replied.
“She was, but not any longer. Your government ordered your ship to patrol the border, but when they found my signal they disobeyed and re-entered avian space.”
“You sent my ship a message?”
“How else did you think you’d be getting home? Even if you had wings, I doubt you could hold your breath long enough.”
Warmth spread through John’s belly. The Firestorm--his ship--was coming back for him.
“When will she arrive?”
“She won’t. Not now. Shrawk’s people directed their agent on board to cause some sort of malfunction that would keep them along the border of avian space long enough to get the Wren in place,” Kree said.
“The Wren?”
“A heavy-duty transport vessel designed to ferry people from one system to another. I came here on her sister ship,” Kree replied.
“What’s a transport ship going to do against a UESF warship?” John asked.
“The Wren is going to let the Firestorm destroy it,” Kree replied as he gestured for John to turn down the slope to their left. “The perimeter of the compound is one hundred meters that way.”
* * * *
Kree stared at the human sitting in the dirt. The moonlight played across his soft features, highlighting the fragile nature of human skin. He found this human to be quite likeable and wondered how he’d learned to cope so calmly with imprisonment and escape.
As though reading his thoughts, the alien whispered, “Let me tell you, torture and imprisonment do not get easier with age.”
He had no idea how to guess human age. A twinge of sadness made him bold. Grock would’ve known. “How old are you?”
“Pushing fifty-five Earth years.”
Kree’s eyes widened. “A war veteran?”
The human nodded.
Kree recalled his mentioning a previous imprisonment. “Which camp?”
“Which time?” the human chuckled drily then replied, “I was taken prisoner five times during the war. I was sent twice to Gellehert Camp, once to Oryxia Camp, and once to Tweeleden.”
“That’s only four,” Kree replied.
“I escaped from Gellehert and Oryxia. I tried to escape from Tweeleden, but got caught. That earned me a visit to Drenagor Camp.”
“Drenagor?” Kree choked, horrified. The treatment of human prisoners at the hard labor camp was the blackest mark on avian history. “You were sent to Drenagor and you survived?”
“I was held for less than a sunturn.” John shuddered. “Still, my stay was far longer than anyone should experience. I was lucky. As a fleet commander, I was worth ransoming for high level avian commanders. I was part of the Gamma Sector exchange.”
Kree had studied the Gamma Sector exchange during his hatchling years. The exchange of POWs before the battle in the Epsilon Sector marked the start of the final offensive against the humans. Most of the people ransomed fought and died in the final battle between the two sides. Those that remained prisoners until after the ceasefire were glad to have been kept from the fight. The death toll from the single battle reached over one billion.
Kree whistled softly. “It’s a good thing Trillip didn’t know your history, or I’d never have gotten you out.”
“To be perfectly honest,” John replied, “your mercenaries here are a very pale imitation of your military. They’re far too cocky, and way too sloppy.”
“But their weapons are still lethal,” Kree said.
“True,” John replied as he turned his attention to the new troop of soldiers heading out to replace the current guards.
Chapter 51
“Sir, sensor arrays are operational again,” reported the lieutenant at the engineering console.
“Excellent,” Rebeccah replied. “Launch a squad of flyers so we can run through a few simple tests. I’m not heading further into avian space without knowing for certain those sensors are functioning properly.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Flyers scrambled, sir,” reported Lt. Monroe. “What do you want to do with them?”
Rebeccah adjusted her position in the captain’s chair and said, “Order them to approach the bow of the ship from different directions and speeds. I want those sensors calibrated to detect a flyer at five kilometers.”
“Aye, sir. Formation breaking off now.”
Rebeccah rested her jaw in the palm of her hand as she watched the flyers disappear from the viewscreen.
* * * *
John shook his head, marveling at the audacity of the avian’s plan.
“You will have less than a minute before they get raptors into the air to follow you,” Kree whispered. John glanced at his companion then turned his attention back to the nearest hangar. “Once you’re airborne, the first thing you’ll need to do is deactivate the raptor’s ID beacon. If you don’t, they’ll be able to track you at their leisure.”
John nodded.
“And I can guarantee they won’t treat you nearly as kindly if they get their claws on you again.”
“Understood,” John replied. He stared at the young avian. “What are you going to do? Won’t they suspect you?”
“I haven’t given my future too much thought.” Kree shrugged and flicked his tail. “The problem is ‘Kree’ is dead. I read his obituary in the local news feed. I have no job and no nest to go back to.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Kree said. “I’ve discovered a lot about myself during this adventure, and I like who I’m becoming.”
“I suspect you were always who you are, you just didn’t see it.”
The avian shrugged then bared his teeth in a smile. “Perhaps.”
“Where will you go?”
“I think I may stay with the mercenaries in order to keep an eye on them.”
John’s eyes widened.
“I thought my old job was important--a way for me to ensure you humans didn’t sneak up on us. Now I realize my own people need watching just as much.”
“Coming to the realization that one’s own people are often as guilty of unethical acts as one’s enemies is tough,” John said.
Kree nodded. “Look to your own people, human. This conspiracy is not solely avian in composition. Shrawk had human help.”
A ball of ice formed in the pit of John’s stomach. Power and corruption often traveled hand-in-hand, but he was hard-pressed to imagine anyone callous enough to try to profit from the deaths of billions.
John shook his head. “I shouldn’t be doing this, but I’m going to give you my personal communications code. If you hear anything urgent and need to get in touch with someone on my side, I want that person to be me,” John replied.
Kree nodded, memorizing the alphanumeric sequence.
John held out his hand. “Thank you.”
The avian’s eyes widened, and he seemed unsure of what to do.
“Shaking hands is a gesture of friendship--trust--among humans.”
Kree took his hand and watched as John moved their joined fists up and down before releasing his grip.
“It has been interesting, human,” Kree said. “Ready?”
“Likewise,” John replied with a crooked grin. He took a deep breath. “Ready.”
John sprinted around the side of the hangar as Kree pressed the detonator and the woods to the north of the compound exploded into a massive ball of flame.
* * * *
“Flyers are safely in the bay, sir,” Lt. Monroe reported.
“Good work,” Rebeccah replied. All six sensor arrays detected the incoming flyers within a five point six to five point two kilometer range, excellent statistics for their make and model, as well as for having the equipment repaired outside of space dock. “Prepare to resume course to the Cerces system.”
“Aye, sir. Plotting course and speed,” replied the lieutenant at navigation.
“Sir,” the ensign at communications cried. “I’m picking up a distress beacon.”
“The captain?”
“No, sir. Avian.”
“Avian? I want details,” Rebeccah replied.
“It’s very faint. Unless there’s another avian ship within ten thousand kilometers of our position, I doubt anyone else will pick the call up. Sir, they’re reporting significant quantum generator damage, their propulsion systems are offline, and they are drifting toward interstellar dead space.”
Rebeccah resisted the urge to ignore the beacon in order to continue to search for the captain.
“Can you identify the vessel?”
“The ID tag on the recording lists the ship as a civilian transport designed for long hauls. Registration is the Brown Wren, sir,” said Lt. Miller.
“Set a course to intercept,” Rebeccah ordered. She couldn’t refuse to save an entire ship for one man--even if that man was John.
* * * *
John sealed the cockpit and started the engines while searching for the navigational controls. He’d flown a number of raptor simulations during the war, both virtual and live, as training exercises for the younger pilots, but in both cases the control panels had been modified to resemble the more familiar flyers. He toggled the display on and prayed his understanding of avian text wasn’t as rusty as he thought it was. He buckled himself in and ran through a quick pre-launch check.
He wagered that all the instruments showed appropriate levels for takeoff and taxied the raptor to the open end of the hangar.
So far, so good.
Once clear, John rotated the craft around its lateral axis, bringing the nose almost perpendicular to the ground. He mixed the plasma fuel injector canisters and stared anxiously out the cockpit, fearful of being spotted by the avians rushin
g about the compound.
He engaged the thrusters and was thrown into the seatback as the raptor shot into the air at a terrifying speed.
He caught a glimpse of the raging inferno through the side panel of the cockpit’s transparent canopy. Talk about a distraction.
His proximity alarm wailed as he narrowly missed an incoming fire suppression craft. He swore and altered course away from the high traffic. John frantically searched for the raptor’s transponder. If he couldn’t disable the box before he broke through the atmosphere, the escape would fail.
Sliding around in a seat designed for a much taller person with a tail, John struggled to maintain control of the ship while simultaneously disengaging the transponder. Once disconnected, John took the added precaution of smashing the device repeatedly against the side of the cockpit. He tossed the broken pieces over his shoulder as the ship broke free from the planet. John held his breath as he prepared to cut the rockets and bring the quantum drive online.
He keyed in the last known location of the Firestorm, courtesy of Kree’s intelligence gathering, and plotted a somewhat circuitous route in order to reduce the likelihood of being discovered. He couldn’t afford to bring the entire mercenary army on his heels, but he needed to find his ship before the raptor ran out of fuel and oxygen. The plot to destroy the Wren weighed on him, and he prayed he wouldn’t be too late.
Chapter 52
“Firestorm to Brown Wren,” Rebeccah continued to hail the craft in broken avian as they approached its position. “We offer help.”
The Firestorm crept closer to the darkened ship. Their scans indicated the exterior quantum drive had blown, knocking the vessel off its standard navigational alignment. The Wren drifted, rotating slowly about its longitudinal axis, toward interstellar space.
“This is the Wren,” the high pitched, slightly whistling voice of an avian crackled through the communications system. “We surrender. Don’t fire. We surrender.”
Rebeccah’s shoulders relaxed when she realized the pilot spoke English. “Wren, this is the Firestorm, we are responding to your distress call. We will not attack. We’re here to help.”
