Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  Jack nodded, “Yes. Like in the movies.”

  Nina blinked, then nothing. “On a ship?”

  Jack nodded again, not being able to read her reaction. “On a ship. But only because it beats floating through space in your underwear.”

  Nina blinked again, then turning to Lisa, punched her in the arm hard enough to topple her over. It was a good thing they were both sitting on the floor. “You bitch! Why didn't you fucking tell me?” Lisa, who righted herself, stared at Nina blankly rubbing her arm. Nina, visibly excited, bounced up and down, “This is fucking awesome!”

  Lisa frowned, “You like this idea? You want to go?”

  Nina's mouth went crooked, “You mean why would I want to leave this glamorous life of cleaning rich people's houses, scrubbing their toilets and picking up after their brats? That life?” She rubbed her hands together, “Fuck it, let's go, I'm ready!”

  “Wasn't expecting that,” replied Jack, “so, good then...”

  “No, not good then,” injected Lisa, “what about mom and dad?”

  “Once the ship contacts you, you'll have at least an hour. Go online and write them an email. Then call them right before you leave. It won't matter by that time if the men in black know you're there, it'll be too late.”

  “What about the house, our stuff?”

  “Lock it up. No matter what, they'll get in if they want to. I'm guessing after you're gone they'll only come back one more time.” He leaned back, “Oh, and remember to bring the comm-tablet with you.”

  “Will we be back?”

  “Sure. Tell mom and dad we'll be back, but don't say when. I guarantee someone will be listening to the call and reading the email. Between you and me, I'm hoping we'll be back by Christmas.”

  “What about me?” asked Nina, “I want to tell my sister.”

  “Don't tell her where you're going, just that you'll be traveling for a while. Be careful how much you tell her, it could put her in danger.”

  Nina nodded, smiling, “OK.”

  “They're back again”, announced Lisa, pointing at the security monitor. “Two SUVs pulled up out front.”

  “OK,” reminded Jack, “same drill, turn off, unplug and stay quiet. Turn your comm on about every twelve hours and check for messages. Don't dial out.”

  “Wait! Who will be the one calling?”

  “ Me or Commander Renae Ribundell of the UFW77.”

  “A woman?”

  “Yep. Bye for now...” He punched the button and ended the comm.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BALYENNE SYSTEM, RAEFER STATION: RECUPERATION AND REVENGE

  FreeRanger Commander T. B. Yafuscko, Tibby to his friends, sat along the windows of the station's lounge overlooking the navigation channel in and out of the facility, his leg propped up on an adjoining chair and a drink in his hand. Raefer Station wasn't pretty like many others, it wasn't designed by a station architect for style or grace, it was a hodge-podge of pieces, forms and shapes fitted together like some odd puzzle of Tinker Toys, Erector Set pieces and Lego blocks that grew and expanded over time. No it wasn't pretty, you couldn't even call it handsome, but it was functional. And it wasn't without its creature comforts; booze, women, gambling, some interesting black market stuff to be had. For most people it was a way station, a place to recover, repair or refuel and resupply. The mechanics were good, the service was decent and the accommodations were acceptable. But for Tibby and what was left of his crew, it was just a place to be stranded. He watched out the window as the FreeRanger destroyer DD36 pulled away from the station, having deposited him and his shipmates there. He took a drink of the clear liquid that had such a bite he winced a little.

  Ensign Grinah strolled over looking way more ladylike than the Commander was used to seeing her. She sipped her drink, “You still drinking that acid wash Tibby?”

  He nodded, “It's an acquired taste I know...”

  She shook her head, “You know they use that stuff to get the carbon deposits off of thruster and burner nozzles, right?”

  He grinned, “It keeps my pipes clean...”

  “I don't know how that stuff hasn't burned a hole through your stomach and down into your leg...” she quipped. “Speaking of which, how's the leg?”

  He wiggled it on the chair, “It's all soft tissue damage, nothing broken.”

  “Stimulators?” she asked, pointing at the wires and little modules strapped to his leg.

  “That's what the doctor said, though I think it's all a bunch of crap.”

  Grinah moved around behind him so she could watch out the window as the DD36 slid away. She sipped her drink and her free hand rested on Tibby's shoulder, something more than just a friendly touch. “How long will we be here?” she asked, facing the glass.

  “About ten days,” he replied, “they're bringing up a destroyer from the rear.”

  “Hmm, wondering who we'll be serving with...”

  Tibby patted her hand, “It's our ship, they're giving me command.”

  “We don't have enough crew left, do we?”

  He looked up and back over his shoulder at her, “I gave them a head and duty station count, they're sending it with a partial crew.”

  She hugged him from behind and playfully kissed the top of his head, “That's wonderful, Tibby...”

  “What's this then...?”

  Grinah stood up looking a little caught off guard as several crew mates entered the empty lounge, “We were just celebrating, we're getting a destroyer...”

  “It's not a cruiser, but it'll do...” said one, getting a drink resembling a beer from the bartender.

  “Does it have a GOD drive?” asked another.

  “Oh right, because that worked out so well for us last time...”

  Tibby motioned them all to sit down and get comfortable. “I don't think so, the jump drives only fit in newer ships, older ships just don't have the room. From the information I was given, it's an updated and refitted Miro Class destroyer...”

  “Miro Class is a forty year old ship... we're screwed.”

  “But the Miro was a fast and maneuverable design...”

  “Yeah, read between the lines - fast and maneuverable is code for tin can with teeny guns...”

  Tibby held up his hands, “Hold on, hold on! The DD217's never been hit, her main guns have been replaced with brand new boron laser cannons, her electronics and sensors are all up to date, her engines are only five years old and her shields are new...” he let that sink in for a second. “It's either that or walking.” It was quiet for a moment.

  “Who's the skipper Tibbs?”

  Tibby took a sip of his drink and winced a little. “I am.”

  “Oh shit yeah, I'm in.”

  “Fuck it, me too.”

  “Outstanding, count me in...”

  As more surviving members of the crew filtered into the lounge the news disseminated through the group with few complaints. Tibby as a commander was well liked and respected - probably far more than their late captain.

  A young pilot leaned against the glass near Tibby, sipping a drink. He was just a kid really, barely twenty, thin and lanky with a buzz cut. “I heard a rumor walking through the bazaar...”

  “So that means it's at least twenty-five percent true,” joked the Commander, eliciting chuckles from the group.

  The pilot shrugged, “Maybe, but I heard the Council is putting a bounty on the cruiser that got us... it comes out to about a million credits per crew member.”

  Tibby straightened in his chair, “Really? That might be interesting... but it only looked like a cruiser, damn thing had a ton of fighters...”

  The pilot shifted, standing with his back against the glass, his foot against the wall below, making him look like a bird standing on one leg. “I wouldn't know, I never got launched...” He was feeling a little guilty about being the only surviving pilot on the ship but if he hadn't been around to pilot the shuttle, none of them would have left the crippled ship.

  “And thank
the Gods for that, Ensign, or none of us would be here.” The Commander swallowed the last of his drink and winced, “It wasn't pretty. Our first flight lasted about sixty seconds, maybe a whole two minutes. They were outnumbered, outgunned and outclassed. There's nothing you could have added to that fight except another frozen corpse floating in space.” Tibby hailed the bartender signaling he needed another drink. “So did anyone else hear this rumor too?”

  “I did,” said a stocky engineer with curly rust-colored hair. “I was talking to one of the mechanics, he said they put out the bounty because we weren't the first to fall to that ship, it's got quite a tally - he said about ten kills... And get this; it used to be one of ours!”

  “The guy switched sides?” asked someone.

  “No,” replied the engineer, “the ship belonged to one of our FreeRanger freelancers, and it was stolen!”

  “The UFW stole a ship? I find that hard to believe.”

  “As I heard it,” said someone else, “he's a freelancer on their side.”

  Tibby got his drink and sipped, wincing. He waved a hand, “OK people, remember these are rumors and only about twenty-five percent of what you're hearing is true. And from what I'm hearing from you, it might be closer to ten percent...” A roll of chuckles crossed the group. “A freelancer for the Federation? I just don't see that, they're far too rigid to allow that.” He adjusted his injured leg. “But I do want to find out more about this bounty and see if it's real... I wonder how the Council would plan to pay it out if there were more than one ship involved in the take-down...” He eased his leg to the floor and reached for the cane the doctor had given him. “Let's go get some dinner and discuss this a little bit more - this deserves some consideration and investigation...

  “You think that's why the skipper was so anxious to get to Klinghoffer?” asked Grinah as she helped him up. “He wanted the bounty?”

  Tibby looked down at her as she shouldered underneath him to help support him, “Y'know, I hadn't even considered that. I guess it would depend on when the bounty was issued... if it's even real.” He nodded, his mind working on that concept. “But that would explain some things, wouldn't it?”

  “Like his odd behavior...” added Grinah.

  Tibby smiled, “His behavior was always odd. But he did seem to be acting differently.” He motioned toward the elevator, “Let's go make a comm call, I have a friend I need to talk to.” He waved at the group, “We'll meet you in the restaurant in a few minutes, I need to make a comm call first...”

  ■ ■ ■

  “Supply Command, Major Izadore, can I help you?” He wasn't even looking up at the screen.

  “Commander T. B. Yafuscko of the DD217...”

  “Tibby?” The Major looked up. “Buddy! The 217 is for you?”

  “Yep! How's it going, Izz?”

  “Always good here in Supply Command, Tibbs. Hellion, if I knew the 217 was going out for you I would've... wait, hold on a sec,” he turned to his right, working on a computer, the keys pipping under his fingers. “There.” He turned back, “I bumped it up on the schedule, it'll go out tomorrow, you should have her in four or five days. She was actually due in about two weeks... they'll load her up tonight.”

  “Izz, I really appreciate it...”

  He waved his hand, “Don't mention it my friend... say, what happened to that cruiser you were on?”

  “Gone...”

  “Gone gone?”

  “Gone gone. UFW blew it right out from under us. The skipper over-extended our jump. We came out of portal with no system power to speak of, right in front of three UFW cruisers on patrol...”

  “Oh, God! When did this happen?”

  “Day before yesterday. The strange thing was, one of the cruisers had fighters... lots of them, like a small carrier or something. They were patrolling in front of the cruisers.”

  Major Izadore sat back from the screen, his hand rubbing the top of his shiny head, “You poor bastards... I hadn't heard about any of this yet. How did you make it out?”

  “Two of our destroyers GOD-jumped in to their rear to pull the UFW off of us and jumped back out again. It gave us enough time to get out. The destroyers rendezvoused and picked us up later, dropped us off here.”

  “Wow, amazing...”

  “But that's not even why I called, Izz... we've heard a rumor that they issued a bounty... I need to know if it's true... and on who - if you know.”

  “That's my boy, Tibby, always after the credits,” smiled the Major. “I've heard something about that, but tied to a desk, I don't really pay much attention to that stuff.” He turned again to the computer beside him. “Let me look it up, see if I can find anything.” The keys pipping under his fingers, he scrolled through reams of digital papers. “Any idea when this was supposed to have been issued?”

  “Recent, say a week or two?”

  “Hmm...” the Major kept looking. “Here's something, there's only one that recent... Oh shit! One hundred-million credits... Bounty order number FRC05/232/8411, issued on the ship; UFW JCC 54 / Freedom. For extreme aggression against the FreeRanger fleet and assets...” He looked back at the comm, “It looks like it was initiated a couple weeks earlier, but it was rushed through and issued right after they destroyed the Oceania in Haruna Tier. It must've been the final straw.”

  “Wasn't the Oceania an ore miner...?”

  “Yeah, ours.”

  “Really? When did we get an ore miner?”

  “You really don't know...? We have a whole fleet of them. VirTech Mining is a FreeRanger company... not that the UFW would know.”

  Tibby shook his head, “Shit, I had no idea.”

  The Major smiled, “It is an extremely valuable asset... allows us free access to almost any system... the UFW even purchases some of the materials VirTech offers.”

  “So why did they destroy the Oceania then? Did they figure it out?”

  The Major leaned back in, “No I don't think so, the official UFW report is that the ship was adrift without power or crew and it was dangerously close to a gate. When our destroyers jumped in, the UFW assumed it was to pirate the Oceania, so they destroyed it.” He shrugged, “Kind of ironic actually.”

  “I'm betting VirTech didn't see it that way...”

  Major Izadore leaned back, guffawing, “Yeah, probably not.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  UFW77, TERRAN SYSTEM: SOMEONE CALL FOR A TAXI?

  Commander Renae Ribundell swiveled her seat to accept the hot coffee-like drink handed her, “Thank you...” she blew on it before sipping, turning back to the main screen. A giant blue and green marble covered with swirls of scattered white, enveloped in a soft blue halo and suspended in the starry blackness, filled most of the screen. Half of the globe was shrouded in darkness. “Never been to this one,” she commented, “It's rather pretty...” The screen's glow illuminated the dimly lit bridge of the corvette, UFW77.

  “Terra is the only one in this system that will hold life,” commented the Ensign at astrometrics.

  Commander Ribundell nodded, “Yes, Captain Steele called it Earth... odd name,” she mused. “So where do we stand, Mr. RyeCyn?”

  Lieutenant RyeCyn zoomed in the view screen on the west coast of Florida from his tactical station, “The landing party is gearing up, all hands are at battle stations and our landing zone is half-way between dusk and dawn...” A target box blipped at the landing point to illustrate the location.

  “It won't get any better than that. OK helm, take us in.” The Commander crossed her legs at the knee and sipped her coffee. “Shields up?”

  “Yes ma'am...” The screen returned to a normal view, the target box retreating to a miniscule mark on the picture, overlaid with the approach path arc, declination mapping and the orbit paths of the network of satellites circling the planet. The helmsman followed the plot line, navigating the UFW77 toward its entry point into the atmosphere and down to the surface. “It's like a floating junkyard up here...” The globe moved to the center of
the screen as the nose of the ship swung and the ship left its twelve-thousand mile orbit.

  Commander Ribundell sipped her coffee, “Do try not to hit any of them...” she commented, pulling up the ship's tactical screen on her command chair's console, knowing full well she didn't have to worry about the helmsman's abilities. Reviewing the system stats, she glanced up, “What's our ETA to the landing zone?”

  “Forty-seven minutes...”

  The Commander checked the ship's chronometer on her console and compared it with the call log from her comm pad, “Good, that fits right on schedule.”

  As the ship headed down toward the planet, relatively speaking, the navigation computer removed satellite orbit paths from the screen as they were passed, no longer relevant to the ship's course to the surface, the globe's image growing quickly.

  Commander Ribundell pressed the comm button on her console, addressing her crew...

  ■ ■ ■

  Chief Petty Officer Layora Cress sat on the deck near the 77's boarding ramp in full deployment gear, leaning casually back against a crate, her boots crossed at the ankles as she filed her prep report on an e-Pad. A phase rifle lay alongside her legs, her helmet sitting on top of it. The Chief paused and checked her chronometer, if they were on schedule, they had ten minutes to the landing zone. She reviewed the members of the crew she picked for the landing party and the equipment they would be taking with them. Unlike larger ships that would carry a contingent of Marines for ship's security and boarding or landing duties, the UFW77 was a corvette, basically the same size as a frigate only lighter and faster - with little room for more than the allotted crew. But there were members of that crew like the Chief and her team of about fifteen who were specially trained and equipped for duties like tonight's excursion. For this landing, the team would number six members including herself, because she fully expected things to be short and sweet. But she had six more members that would be ready and equipped, standing by in the 77's hold just in case things got complicated. From the same planet as Commander Ribundell, CPO Layora Cress had the same characteristic raven black hair and shining all-black eyes.