Gateway To The Universe: In Bad Company

by Craig Martelle

  “Auburn tells me that everyone will be issued a ship suit, an emergency environmental suit. It’ll keep you alive in the vacuum of space until you can get back to a contained environment. Why can’t you breathe out there? More classes. More science. More engineering. Learn that stuff, but there are the important things that we’re already good at.” Terry waited, but he saw the warriors nod.

  “We’re good at fucking up bad guys. Consider us as meals on space wheels, delivering shit sandwiches to all corners of the ‘verse.” Terry thrust his arms in the air and issued his war cry. The warriors joined in.

  The large space that was the hangar bay filled with the volume of seventy voices, raised in unison.

  ***

  “Smedley, I have to say that was most enlightening,” Ted said as he leaned back in his chair. “What time is it?”

  “It is nine in the morning. You have not slept. You have not eaten. If you do not eat and rest, I will close out your access to all systems.”

  “Emergency override, authorization Ted the Magnificent…”

  Smedley interrupted. “Stop it, Ted. I let you think you installed that little gem to create a backdoor, but it doesn’t. I didn’t expect you to try to use it so quickly. I’m putting my foot down,” Smedley said over the speakers in the panel.

  “You don’t have feet,” Ted replied, confused.

  “Logging you out in three, two, one.” The screens went blank and Ted glared angrily at the darkness.

  “I’ll find a way in the backdoor, or my name isn’t Ted the Magnificent,” Ted declared.

  But your name isn’t Ted the Magnificent, Smedley countered through the comm chip.

  Ted didn’t dignify that with a response. Of course his name was Ted the Magnificent. Who said that he couldn’t give himself a name?

  Without the stimulus from the computer, Ted felt both hungry and tired. As he walked from the Pod Doc space, he found himself trudging along on his way to the mess deck. He realized that no one else was around. Not the crew or the FDG. He wondered where they’d gone, but not enough to call them using the ship’s communications.

  He rather enjoyed the solitude. He felt like bacon. He wondered if there would be any.

  ***

  Captain San Marino slept very little. His place was on the bridge and that was where he spent nearly one hundred percent of his waking hours. The nanocytes that coursed through his veins were designed to help keep him sharp over long periods of time. He was wired to go without sleep.

  “When will the gate engines be fully charged?” he asked navigation.

  “Thirty more minutes, Captain,” a man immersed within a holographic systems map stated. Micky chewed on the inside of his lip as he watched the bridge crew work.

  The captain was in charge of the whole ship, but he had section leaders to take care of their business. Engines, Structure, Environmental, and Stores. A commander was over each critical ship system. Four competent, experienced leaders.

  That left Micky to drive the boat, which was what he loved to do more than anything else. He’d never taken the War Axe into a fight.

  He wasn’t in a hurry. With the FDG on board, he needed to keep training his people to fight the ship. He needed Terry Henry Walton’s people to perform damage control. They needed to be part of the solution, not the problem.

  “Spin it down, helm,” the captain ordered. The man in the three-dimensional bubble stiffened.

  “Captain?”

  “Take the gate engines offline. We’ll form a gate and transit as soon as we’ve conducted three successful damage control drills in a row. It won’t be perfect, but it has to be good enough. How many times has one of ours been jumped as soon as they exited a gate? The answer is too many times.”

  The captain tapped the small screen built into the arm of his chair. It rested beneath his right hand where the most common emergency system controls were less than a finger-breadth away.

  He opened the ship-wide communication. “All hands. Damage control drill will begin in fifteen minutes. Review your procedures and prepare to assume your emergency stations.”

  The bridge crew silently went about their duties. He watched a few surreptitiously expose the hoods of their ship suits. When the alarm sounded, they’d be suited in no time. He didn’t begrudge them that, but he couldn’t have anyone taking shortcuts.

  “Stow your hoods, people.”

  Without looking, the crew casually secured their hoods inside the rear neck pouches. Micky was proud of his crew. They were eager and motivated. No captain could ask for more.

  He tapped his right finger once and swiped it across the screen. The emergency klaxons pounded an ugly staccato at the outset, followed quickly by a long bass tone. He activated ship-wide comm. “This is a drill. This is a drill. All hands man your stations. Smedley, report the damage and dispatch damage control.”

  The instant Micky raised his finger from the panel, Smedley’s liquid tones filled the air. “Hull breach at frame one-three-four, level five, section six. All hands, hull breach. Secure and recover. This is a drill.”

  The captain visualized the bustle within the ship as crew members ran down the passages, using the port side to run aft, that was, the left side of the ship as one looked toward the nose. Aft was the rear of the ship. In emergencies, the crew ran forward on the starboard side and ran to the rear using the main port, or left side, corridor. Those simple rules kept the crew from running into each other.

  The lateral passageways offered a way for a crew member to get from one side of the ship to the other. Going in the right direction was important to minimize the time it took to get on station or get into a position for damage control.

  The ship was filled with repair bots standing by. They conducted most of the repairs within damaged sections. That was the plan anyway. The War Axe had never been in battle, had never had a breach.

  From a relative standpoint, the ship wasn’t that big. The captain could run from the bridge to the engine compartment in less than a minute, but the engines were twelve decks below the bridge. The captain could run to the bow of the ship in four minutes if he worked at it. Six, if he took it easy.

  Why he would be running forward, he wasn’t sure. He’d done it during drills, but his place was on the bridge. In case of a hull breach, doors would slam shut to minimize the loss of atmosphere, creating self-contained zones throughout the ship. Then it would be each section for themselves until the crew and the repair bots fixed the problems, and the people could link up again.

  The ship ran itself. Mostly.

  Micky’s role was to manage it all. It was best for him to stay where he was. He casually snapped open the pouch at the back collar of his ship suit and pulled the hood over his head. It settled into place, and thin magnetic strips sealed together with a hook and loop backup. The hood filled with air and became a transparent bubble around the captain’s head.

  He noted that he was last to complete the emergency action. Fifteen seconds had passed since the klaxons first sounded. The target was five seconds. Next time, he’d set a better example.

  He tapped a finger on his arm chair console.

  “Secure the bridge,” Micky said. The double bulkhead doors slammed into place, isolating the bridge from the rest of the ship. “Systems, report.”

  A Yollin worked at the systems station. A holo image of the ship floated in front of him. He used his hands and mandibles to manipulate the image. He was from an upper-class family and had four legs. He was the only member of the bridge crew without an environmental suit.

  The Yollin didn’t use one and the Federation was good with that. If the captain had been given a choice? He’d still wear his. Many in his crew were young and were still invincible, in their minds. Micky San Marino’s job was to protect them from themselves.

  “Smedley,” the captain said quietly. “Schedule a ship suit confidence exercise for later today. We’re taking our crew and passengers on a spacewalk.”

  A capital id
ea, Captain! Smedley replied directly into Micky’s brain.

  K’thrall turned his whole body to look at the captain. “Damage control bots are operating at maximum efficiency,” he said in his clicks and tones that the translation chip turned into words the humans could understand.

  “What about the crew? Did anyone get trapped behind the barriers?”

  “Five of our passengers only,” K’thrall reported.

  ***

  “How in the hell did this happen?” Terry beat his fist against the bulkhead that sealed him and Char into the space. His clear bubble helmet fogged as he complained.

  Marcie paced as she tried to communicate with Lieutenant Kurtz by using the comm chip to speak through the EI. Kimber and Timmons leaned against the wall, more accepting of the situation, yet uncomfortable with it. Dokken danced back and forth as he tried not to get run over.

  “Smedley Butler runs the exercises. If you had the senior leadership of a unit all in one place at one time, you would cut them off, too,” Char suggested.

  Terry stepped back from the hatch. “It’s exactly what I’d do and now that we have chips, my man Smedley knows where we are at all times, don’t you, Smedley?”

  They all looked around as if the EI would materialize. Silence greeted them.

  “We’re cut off,” Marcie said, throwing her hands up in frustration. Char joined Timmons and Kimber leaning against the wall.

  “If I had reviewed the procedures, I’d know what we’re supposed to be doing.” Terry’s memory had never failed him. If he read something, he remembered it forever. He still casually read Shakespeare by reading each page within his mind, flipping them casually to read on.

  He stood with his feet shoulder width apart, knees slightly flexed as if getting ready to start calisthenics or engage in hand-to-hand combat. He closed his eyes and started looking through everything he had read about the ship. Terry had reviewed the maps in the rec room as soon as they came on board.

  He knew exactly where they were. And that didn’t help him one bit. The bulkheads of the War Axe were designed to isolate the smallest space possible around a breach to leave as much of the intact ship accessible as possible.

  It made sense, unless you were trapped in the small space that had been designated for the breach. Finally, Terry joined Char, slammed his back against the wall, and slid to the floor. The others sat down as well. Terry looked back and forth and sighed into his bubble helmet, fogging it momentarily.

  When it cleared, they could see he was chuckling.

  “The entire senior leadership. One grenade could take us out.”

  “Kae is out there with them. And Ramses, and Cory, and Joseph, and everyone else. Damn, Dad! Mom always said you were a control freak.”

  “Don’t put this on me! You know he’s a control freak.”

  “He is,” Timmons added.

  Dokken panted and bobbed his head as if he wanted to say something. Terry tapped his head. “I can’t hear you, boy,” Terry apologized. He petted the huge German Shepard’s head, finishing with a good scratch behind the dog’s ears. Dokken sighed, worked his way between Terry and Char, and laid down, with half his body in each of their laps.

  “How much room do you think there is? I would have never taken you for a lapdog,” Terry said as he and Char absentmindedly stroked Dokken’s thick hair. He made for a warm armrest.

  “So now we wait,” Terry lamented.

  “Kaeden and the others will do just fine. The FDG is well trained, thanks to that Colonel Walton guy,” Kimber offered with a smile. Char bit her lip to keep from laughing. She was ready to get out of the cramped space, but would never share that with her husband.

  “I’m not good at waiting,” Terry said softly.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Valerie and Robin watched the others hurrying around the rec room, taking head counts, checking ship suits, and accomplishing very little besides being active.

  “Put on your hoods!” Kae ordered, looking at the two Vampires.

  Valerie glared back, but Robin elbowed her in the ribs. “We’re supposed to play nice, remember?”

  Robin pulled her hood over her face and let it snap in place. The air flow started and positive pressure expanded the bubble around her head. “Funky,” she admitted, bobbing to an unheard beat.

  Valerie followed suit, clicking the clear plastic material into place. It inflated around her head as air filled the space. She breathed deeply.

  “I see what you mean,” she replied. The air was clean and the pressure almost forced the air into her lungs. She wondered if one was unable to breathe if the suit would keep them alive. She determined to ask, just in case she needed to kill an enemy who was wearing something comparable.

  The Vampire flexed and stretched. The ship suit already felt like a second skin. “I thought space suits would be more bulky,” Valerie admitted. “What do you think it’ll be like fighting in space?”

  Robin shrugged. “I’ll probably still kick your ass.”

  “Hardly,” Valerie replied. “Need I remind you that I took out the entire clan of wannabe ninjas that turned you into what you are.”

  “With my help, and I resent that.” Robin turned to put her hands on the wall, stretching. “They taught me some sword techniques, but you’ve taught me more than they ever could.”

  “Thanks.”

  ***

  The captain tapped his panel. “This concludes the drill. Department heads and Force de Guerre senior leadership please report to the captain’s conference room for a debrief.”

  Micky unsnapped his helmet and took a deep breath. He always did it the same way, as if the air on the bridge was better than the clean air of the suit. He could already hear the small generator working to recharge the compressed gas cylinder. It was capable of pulling air from a near vacuum, but it took time.

  The captain climbed down and walked from one person to the next of his bridge crew to thank them for their efforts. The most important thing to him was that they took it seriously. No one was running through the motions.

  He had seen that on his last ship, but he hadn’t been the captain. He tried to talk to the captain, but she wouldn’t listen, stating that her culture did not give awards when people did their jobs. Morale suffered. The ship had a high efficiency rating, which confirmed in her mind that she was doing the right thing.

  Micky wasn’t convinced. He liked his way. He slapped the helmsman on the back and gave him the thumbs up. The man pointed to the holo image of the systems, specifically to the gate engine. “Not yet, wild man, but soon.”

  ***

  The bulkheads lifted back into the overhead, and Terry vaulted to his feet. Then stopped to listen to the captain’s announcement.

  Smedley, can you have Kaeden join us for the debrief?

  >>He is already on his way, sir.<<

  “There you are, you slimy worm! You stay in my head unless I tell you otherwise, you understand?” Terry snarled aloud.

  >>Ooh, Colonel, um, how about no, and say we did?<<

  I’m now hating your programmer, you sandy little butthole! You smegma-infested, warthog-faced buffoon. You decrepit pile of Klingons circling Uranus! Terry stated boldly in his best mindspeak.

  >>Lashing out! I get that more often than I care to admit. But I can’t change standing Federation orders. I hope you understand, although you can lash me with your tongue whip as much as you’d like, if it makes you feel better,<< Smedley said happily.

  Terry turned his head sideways and pounded on it as if trying to drive water from the ear on the opposite side.

  “I hope you fall out of there so I can stomp on you!” Terry declared.

  >>I’m afraid if the comm chip fell out of your ear that way, Colonel, you would be in no condition to stomp anything. The captain is in the conference room, as is Major Kaeden and the four department heads.<<

  Terry stopped what he was doing as the others watched him curiously. “We need to find some bad guys quickly because
I need to beat the shit out of somebody,” Terry declared as he straightened up and marched smartly toward the aft section of the ship where the stairway to the bridge was located.

  “Do you think it’s settled?” Timmons asked, although he knew the answer. He’d been in the pack long enough to know.

  “Not at all,” Char said, confirming his suspicion.

  When’s lunch? I’m hungry. Can we have more beef? I like beef. Much better than bistok. Please? More? Dokken pleaded.

  “No,” Terry said, cutting the dog off. “We won’t be eating for a while, buddy, because we’ve got some stuff to do first.”

  An orange flash appeared ahead as Wenceslaus disappeared down a side corridor. Dokken roared the war cry of his people and darted forward, sliding through the intersection and slamming into the opposite bulkhead. He continued to bark, froth flying from his dog face as he raced after his arch enemy.

  An orange cat.

  Terry stopped at the side corridor to watch Dokken disappear around the corner at the far end.

  “I’m not sure he would know what to do with the good king if he caught him,” Char said.

  “I suspect you’re right.” Terry looked from one face to the next. Timmons, a Werewolf, far older than Terry Henry. Kimber, Terry and Char’s adopted daughter. And Marcie, their daughter-in-law, married to Kimber’s brother. “What the fuck are we doing?” Terry asked abruptly.

  “What do you mean?” Char asked, suddenly concerned at her husband’s change of mood.

  “We’re going to a distant galaxy where we’re going to be a mercenary group, working for pay that we have no idea what it’s worth, doing the bidding of a person we’ve never met.”

  “Because Bethany Anne asked. That’s why. She’s been out there. She’s seen the bad guys, and to make the universe a better place, she left her people in charge. They know about us from Akio. If he is confident that we’re the right ones for the job, then I have no doubt that we are. This isn’t about any of that, my lover. This is about control. You don’t know, and that scares the crap out of you because you’re thinking of all the worst possibilities. Like being trapped in a small compartment while everyone you know is out there, doing the best they can without you.”