“Mrs. Grey, please check that all personnel are cocooned and safe and announce liftoff.
“Yes, Sir.” The information/communications specialist did just that. All of Gregor’s lieutenants responded, vouching for themselves and their families.
“Let’s all buckle in.” the three on the bridge pressed icons that activated the pressure pad systems which would keep them alive during high gravity pressure.
Once everyone became ensconced in their flight pods, Gregor continued. “Mrs. Grey, please open the bay doors.”
Pressing an icon on her control board, Patricia complied. The double camouflaged doors built into the mountain, swung out, opening up the view of the valley below.
“Mz. Forsythe, Launch, if you please,”
The Gazelle’s pilot began slowly, gently lifting the small freighter off its struts, babying the control thrusters to push the ship through the doors and into the light that it hadn’t seen in years. Once free and floating in safe air, Jean retracted the landing gear, fired up the fusion engines and slid the accelerator bar forward while adjusting the alignment for a fast run through the atmosphere and into space.
With everything and everyone collected and stowed on the fleet little cargo ship, Gazelle, Lawrence Gregor, the head of one of the most successful crime organizations in the known human amalgamation, proceeded to put his tail between his legs and run.
Within five minutes, Gazelle blasted through Novia Prime’s troposphere, stratosphere, mesosphere, thermosphere and broke into the big dark of space. Once the ship achieved three-tenths the speed of light, Jean backed off the acceleration, angled the ship on its preprogrammed flight path and switched on the autopilot.
“Mz. Forsythe.”
“Sir?”
“How’s the ship?”
“All is five-by-five, sir. We are on our way.”
“Your flight plan is laid out to avoid our unwanted guests?”
“Of course, sir. We are going to take the same track as your wife and daughter. We are going to hide behind Novia Prime for as long as we can then make a quick dash to Novia Two. From there we will loop around Novia Two and make it appear that that is where we launched from. Then we will set a course that swings wide of the fleet. We will look like just another freighter heading to the gate and showing a little nervousness about being close to those war ships.”
“Thank you, Mz. Forsythe.” Turning his attention to his information/communication officer, Gregor continued, “Mr. Grey. Please activate the destruction system.”
“Yes, Sir. With his acknowledgement, Patricia keyed in a security sequence that gave her access to the destruct menu and began working down the options.
Back on the receding planet, in the bowels of the Gregor estate, localized explosions occurred. Fires began. Canisters of acid opened and poured their contents into and through the banks of computers in the data center. Data crystals overheated, boiled and cracked. Drives dissolved. Processors and memory melted. Secret tunnels hidden rooms and private offices became awash in flame and exploded or collapsed into useless rubble and blocked passages. It all took place in less than ten minutes. Nothing of value remained. The Federacy would not be pleased.
Dreadnaught Odin
Once again, Vice Admiral Weiskoff stood on his bridge deck. This time he stared out the view screen, inspecting Novia Prime. He watched as four assault transports launched and headed for the Gregor compound. He knew that each transport carried a squad of twenty-five troopers – a hundred total. More than enough to take care of Mr. Lawrence Gregor and his thugs.
He waited for six minutes. Then he turned to the monitor that tied into the helmet cams of the four lieutenants and eight sergeants. He watched as the transports performed precision combat drops, destroying everything they landed on. The heavy, well armored ships smashed fountains and walkways, crushed gardens and greenways, razed brooks, creeks and walking bridges. Viewing through his troops’ helmet cams, Weiskoff watched them deploy by stages, seizing ground, protecting the deployment. No hostiles could be seen.
First Platoon moved towards the large mansion. Looking up, they saw the hardened balconies, possibly concealing entrenched defenses. The lieutenant called back for mortar and rockets to aim at those balustrades, in anticipation of any attack. Again moving forward, First Platoon reached the front doors of the massive edifice. He signaled the breaching unit to come forward. Two men and a woman responded. Creeping forward to within arm’s length, one of the men reached out and tried the handle while the other two stood, weapons ready. Unlocked. Holding his hand up, the trooper counted down from three and pulled the door open. Dropping, he centered his rifle and swept up and down while the two others sectioned their quadrants. Nothing, no one. Signaling forward, the three carefully paced into the large open entrance way, at the ready, quartering, searching for any enemy movement.
Three minutes later vice admiral Weiskoff watched his elite strike team stand around in the big entranceway searching high and low for any hostiles or enemy fortifications. None were found. Everything looked rummaged, abandoned. The lieutenants ordered two-man teams to begin securing the building. They broke off in multiple directions and began the process. An hour later, after the teams searched every room, hallway, closet, cabinet and possible hidey hole, again, no one was found, nothing of importance discovered. All that the teams found were variously burned, soggy remains or electronic devices and components melted down to so much slag.
They found Gregor’s office. All that was left was smoking ruins with intermittent fires briefly flaring and dying. The giant vault door stood closed and formidable. Second Platoon’s officer ordered a demolition team to get it open. After the team inspected the project, they determined that the amount of explosions required to open the door would bring down the mansion. Cutting torches, drills and saws were the only way in.
After thirty minutes of focused heat from the oxy-torch and pounding rods through the hole to knock out the slag, a two-inch hole went through to the vault inside. After the hole cooled down, the team snaked in a fiber camera with a light, and slowly rotated its viewer over the area. With the Vice Admiral, lieutenants and sergeants all watching on their personal pads, the camera revealed shelves of unimportant items, empty spaces where things had been stored and a door at the back.
“Cut in. Get to that second door and see where it leads!” The four officers heard the command from their vice admiral.
“Sir,” they all replied.
After two hours and multiple bottles of oxygen/acetylene gasses, the demolition team succeeded in cutting a hole large enough for entry. One of the members crawled in, saw the anchor bolts and proceeded to open them. Once completed, he pushed the door open. Now everyone could see the ransacked vault filled with nothing but cast off rubbish.
The metal door at the back of the vault became the next target. This one opened more easily. It took only an hour. Since the door swung outwardly, it just barely opened before encountering an obstacle that defied the efforts of multiple large troopers. The demolition team then proceeded to cut off the now visible hinges. Once completed, two troopers used grappling hooks to pull the door down. The crash of steel on concrete punctuated what the four lieutenants saw. Nothing. Just a completely blocked tunnel, collapsed with mounds of dirt, boulders and the rubble of reinforced walls.
Vice Admirable Weiskoff saw this along with his officers. He almost vibrated with the rage that he felt. Only his years of self-control stopped him from exploding.
“First Lieutenant, begin tearing down walls. See if there are any other entrances.”
The Federacy ground forces attacked the mansion with abandon. They destroyed walls, pulled down cabinets and shelves, generally made the entire edifice unlivable. They found multiple secret entranceways to some kind of tunnel system. What kind of system could never be discovered. All of the entrances had been closed by explosions.
The four squads returned to their assault craft, boarded and flew back to their base ship.
The Federacy’s effort to apprehend the criminal Lawrence Gregor, ended in failure. His criminal organization vanished. His resources and infrastructure disappeared. Vice Admiral Weiskoff sat in his office, seething at his own failure.
The three-ship armada left the Novius system and began its journey back to Cencore.
Hotel Neptune
Hotel Neptune proved to be everything advertised. The luxury of the four room suite surpassed anything imaginable. The high quality, almost instantaneous service confirmed all the advertising. And Krag Marston was both bored and frustrated.
The doctor they found for Keiko demonstrated professionalism and discretion. And also expense. But that was to be expected on a planet like Pacifica. The doctor performed the surgery that cleaned and sealed the wound. Two weeks later his cosmetic surgery made any scarring nonexistent. Physically, Keiko mended rapidly. Emotionally, she healed slowly.
The morning ritual barely varied. Everyone rose, ordered and ate breakfast. They planned the day. In public, Keiko continued to be the rich politician’s daughter on convalescence and vacation, limping around with her cane, drawing looks and phrases of condolences and compassion. Krag continued to be her security and bodyguard, constantly vigilant, constantly available for any support required. Sue played her role as personal secretary and Mack proved to be the perfect errand boy.
When not playing their roles as secretary and errand boy, Sue and Mack spent their time divided between the luxurious Oceanside accommodations, sightseeing around the resort tourist traps and shuttling to the moon to study the artifact.
“Still nothing,” Sue sighed as the two stared at the artifact sitting in its cradle. “If we can’t see inside I can’t look at the code, if there is any.”
“We’ve been over every square millimeter with scopes, sensors and scanners. Staying with passive investigation isn’t getting us anywhere. Damn!” Mack replied.
“Maybe we should just crate it up,” Sue commented dejectedly.”
“No, no, Lassie.” Mack had grown to use the nickname more and more. “We just haven’t found the key, the right button to push. We’ll find it”.
“You are always the infernal optimist, Mack.”
“Don’t you mean eternal?”
“No. infernal, as in annoying.”
“You wound me,” Mack laughed, while placing his hand over his heart.
“Besides, this contraption doesn’t even have a button.”
“One more hour. Then back to the hotel for the sunset and drinks.”
“Ok,” Sue sighed. “One hour. No more.”
This afternoon Keiko chose the pool. Laying on the overstuffed chaise lounge, she had her legs, damaged and not, stretched out, bare feet pointed up. Her black bikini highlighted her flat belly, small, firm breasts and slender arms.
Looking down her body, she saw the almost healed bullet wound. “I need to get back to working out,” trying to will herself into action and failing, she laid her head back down, closed her eyes and tried dozed off. But the images of those two men she had killed kept creeping into her mind. The images of how violent, so murderous, Krag could be kept overlaying her own acts.
Krag sat in a chair, shirtless, feet on the ground, arms resting loose. The table next to him held a tall non-alcoholic drink and a shoulder bag. If someone were to open the unzipped bag they would have found Krag’s slug thrower, handle out, within an easy grab. He took his bodyguard duties seriously.
Keiko’s emotional barrier troubled him more than he wanted to admit. And it didn’t seem that she would bring that wall down anytime soon. Sitting slightly back, out of her view, he would constantly scan the surroundings. Periodically, sadly, Krag would look at Keiko, feeling the loss of their connection.
It had taken three weeks. But, finally, Krag Marston summoned up the courage to address the elephant in the room. Turning in his chair, facing Keiko, he began.
“Keiko, we need to talk. I can’t stand seeing you like this, depressed, withdrawn. This isn’t like you. Talk to me. Let me help.”
“No. it’s me. I just need to deal with it.”
“Keiko. I know it’s what we did on Calius. Please, let’s talk it out.”
“I’ve never hurt anyone before, killed anyone.” Keiko practically whispered this as she refused to look at Krag, stared down at her hands.
“I know. It’s horrible. You never get over it. But it happened.”
“And, I don’t know, you were so violent. You’re not who I thought I knew.”
“Yes I am. You know me. What I did is not who I am. I was taught how to be a killer. The Federacy made me kill. But I never turned into someone who kills without compassion, regrets, memories. For me, for those twenty years in the service, death was a video game. I flew around, got into fighter fights and played tag. I never saw someone die. And those that did die were evil, violent criminals and pirates. At least until Pantea. That’s why I quit. That’s why I do what I do now.”
“All those dead on Calius.” Keiko again whispered. “Two by my hand.”
“Yes. But those scientists and military personnel are part of the Federacy, part of the government that is responsible for all those deaths of the civilians who don’t like how the Federacy is tromping all over them. Those scientists and military personnel are responsible for suppressing the populous, putting normal, everyday people into re-education camps. It’s the Federacy which is executing anyone who speaks up. Those on Calius may not be doing it with their own hands, but they are responsible, nevertheless.”
“I know. I keep telling myself that. But, I killed two people.”
They are the enemy of freedom, of people being allowed to be just people. I feel badly that I had to kill. It bothers me. But I don’t feel guilty or ashamed. I feel very ashamed about Pantea. That’s on me. I should never have followed those orders. But Calius? No! We needed to get that artifact away from the Federacy. We needed to stop any possible growth of their power. You did what you needed to do!”
“I don’t ever want to do something like that again. I don’t ever want to feel this way again. And I hurt. I’ve never been injured like this before. I’ve sprained ankles, tweaked knees, hyper-extended elbows. But I’ve never been an invalid. I hate it! I hate what I did! I hate being a cripple! I just hate it!” Each time she shouted the word ‘hate’ she slammed her small fist into the thigh of her damaged leg.
Her rising voice caused others on the deck to look her way. She dropped her head, opened her clenched hands and rubbed them on her legs.
Krag could see Keiko begin the transition from grief and despair to anger. He felt good about this. During his time in the military he had been required to help his charges react to the loss of team mates, of friends. He was fully aware of the emotional path that people needed to take to get back to a semblance of normalcy. And he saw his almost friend begin the first step.
Leaning forward, reaching over, Krag took Keiko’s small hands in his two large ones. “It gets better. It never goes away. But it does get better. And, in a couple of weeks, we can begin training again. We’ll get you through this. All of us. Me, Sue, Mack. We all care about you. We all hurt because you hurt.”
With glistening eyes, wet with moisture, Keiko looked at her enfolded hands and responded, “Thank you.”
Mortek War Fleet
War stood with Flight Overseer and First Fleet Assault Leader on the observation deck of the lead assault carrier Ravager. The two of them watched as the assault troops variously trained, marched, conditioned or practiced single combat on the large training floor centered in the giant ship.
Pointing, Flight commented, “There. Those are the shock forces, the first ones in. they will be the ones who begin the invasion.”
War looked where Flight pointed. He saw Arial warriors flying intricate patterns, all in unison. By groups they would swoop in, drop simulated bombs or fire training weapons at the designated enemy defending buildings and grounds. As this occurred, the two leaders watched the methodica
l approach of ground forces, advancing in shifts, alternating between laying down cover fire or pushing forward, claiming more ground.
“Impressive,” War observed. “How do you think they will do against the soft skins?”
“Very well. From data collected by Intelligence’s spy drones, the primary habitation has no major armies or combat troops. There are no fighting ships stationed in the air or on the ground. The soft skins will never be able to defend against our warriors, our fighters.
“Good. Keep up the training. We’re more than half way there. Keep your people sharp. We must win this planet quickly. We must begin culling quickly. Our colony is depending on us to send back as much food stuffs as we can manage, as soon as possible.”
“It will be done My Lord.”
“Assault Leader. Your attack ships are ready?”
“Yes, Sire. We have two hundred prepared and fully stocked. They will seize the gate and establish space dominance.” The three patrol ships that we observed will have no chance.” Flight Overseer’s full wings spread wide and raised to forty-five degree angles, flashing green and showing that they, unlike War’s, were fully functional.
“Make sure that you are ready. See that it is so.”
Both First Fleet Assault Leader and Flight Overseer nodded their heads in acceptance.
Weiskoff’s Home
As the eldest son, Theodore (Never call him ‘Teddy’) inherited the second largest home on the estate grounds when his grandfather passed away. The largest mansion now belonged to his father, Fleet-Admiral Theodore Millhouse Weiskoff, the Second. His younger brother had his own mansion, the third largest. All ownership assigned accordingly by the rules and traditions of the nobility. The vast grounds of the family estate nestled up against one of Olympia’s oceans and boasted acres of forests, teeming with many breeds of animals originally imported from Old Earth. Theodore’s mansion perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Between the forests in back and the ocean in front, his home sat in quiet solitude, with only the noises of the waves, winds and forest breaking the silence.
Sleeping in the Stars Page 29
