“White Three and Four on final approach...”
Jack and Paul turned back toward the glass overlooking the bay as the two controllers running the tower directed flight traffic, “Copy, White Three and Four, runway is clear. Taxi left after touchdown.” The other controller pointed out their approach speed by tapping on the screen as he directed craft in the bay to the launch tubes. The first controller nodded, “White Three and Four, your approach is above velocity threshold, bring it down a bit.”
“Copy tower, too hot, reducing speed.”
The second controller directing the floor traffic was able to contact individual crewmen, calling them by the large numbers on the backs of their colored vests. “Thirty-Two, you need to clear equipment from that revetment, I'm going to need that space.” He got the affirmative wave he was expecting and moved on to surveying other movements.
The controller watching the landing approaches had a video screen showing the approaching craft and its relationship to the ship's fantail with an info graph overlay to prove proper alignment, speed and attitude. “Three, you are square and level...”
“Copy tower.”
Looking over the controller's shoulder, Jack looked up from the approach screen to watch the Cyclone of White Three slide through the blue electric haze of the stasis field which rippled like water as the craft passed through it. The anti-gravity auto-adjusting, the skid plates on the landing gear sent a momentary shower of sparks skittering across the deck as the fighter slowed and turned off the runway, taxiing to a stop near the revetment nearest the elevator to the deck below. The canopy slowly opened upward and a ground crewman hooked a ladder to the side of the craft under the cockpit.
White Four slid through the stasis field much like White Three and after touching down, taxied over to the next revetment, coasting on anti-grav, settling to the deck as the pilot shut down the systems and opened his canopy.
“Tower, White One and Two on final approach...”
“Copy, White One, runway is clear. Taxi right after touchdown. White Two, your approach is well above velocity threshold, back it down.”
“Copy tower, I have plenty of room...”
The two controllers looked at each other, baffled at Maria's response. “Screw it,” commented Paul, “make her go around.”
“Sure thing Commander.” He readdressed the stubborn pilot, “Negative, White Two, go around. Repeat, go around and re-approach.” White Two stubbornly continued her approach, with reduced speed but still above standards. “White Two, abort your approach, you are hot and off the square...” As a precaution he palmed the emergency button on the console, dropping emergency nets from the ceiling that stretched across the end of the runway to protect the tower and launch tubes.
The Cyclone of White Two passed through the stasis field nose high and off center slamming hard on the deck, then bouncing, a huge spray of sparks spreading out across the deck from the craft's skid plates on the landing gear, metal squealing. Sliding down the runway, White Two managed to stop with the very tip of her nose nudging the net. Rising off the floor on anti gravity, the Cyclone's nose swung to the right, taxiing toward the first revetment, ribbons of smoke trailing off the landing gear skid plates.
Jack and Paul looked at each other in disbelief. “What the fuck is wrong with her?” asked Jack.
Paul Smiley shrugged, “She's your ex-girlfriend...”
“But she's one of your pilots,” countered Steele, “and possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
“Who's in your crew,” added Paul.
“Dammit...” sighed Jack.
“Sir...” The controller called their attention to the deck below, where three Marines stood next to White Two as White One coasted gently abreast of it, canopy open.
Steele snatched the e-Pad from Paul Smiley, “Sorry, gotta send a quick note...” He quickly typed a cryptic note and hit update, handing it back to Paul. He looked down at the deck below, the Marine in the middle raising his e-Pad to check the incoming message. He looked up at the tower and nodded briefly.
■ ■ ■
Marine Warrant Officer Dayle Alaroot stood flanked by two of his men, alongside of White Two, waiting for Lieutenant JG Maria Arroyo to climb down out of the cockpit of her Cyclone. At the top of the ladder a ground crewman helped her unbuckle and unplug from her bird.
“Could you believe that landing Sarge - er, sir?”
Dayle shook his head, “Pretty sketchy... she's not going to impress anybody like that...” He looked down at the vibrating e-Pad in his hand, flipping it over and pulling up the message. “Uh oh...” He turned back, looking up at the tower and nodded.
“What?” whispered the Marine Corporal at his side.
“She definitely didn't impress someone...” He noticed her descending the ladder and halted the conversation.
Once at the bottom, the ground crewman unlocked her helmet from her suit and helped her remove it, saluting and walking away once she was free of it. She held the helmet tucked under her arm, looking at the armed Marines standing three abreast. “Uh, hello...” it didn't sound like a greeting, more like a question.
The Marines saluted, “Ma'am,” Dayle Alaroot extended his hand, I love the artwork on your helmet... may I?” Without thinking, she handed it to him to examine and he passed it to the Corporal to his right without looking at it, the Marine setting it gently on the deck behind him.
Maria frowned, focused on the helmet behind the Marine Corporal like a child who'd lost a woobie to the washing machine for an hour. “What's going on here?”
The Warrant Officer was going to play this by the book - or as close as he possibly could. “Lieutenant JG Maria Arroyo?”
“Yes...” her reply was suspicious at best.
Dayle Alaroot flipped the e-Pad over in his hand and pulled up the charges, “Lieutenant, you are under arrest for; sedition - negatively affecting crew morale and attitude, failure to obey a direct order - endangering your craft and...”
“What the fuck are you talking about you ass...”
She lunged at the e-Pad but was immediately restrained by the two Marines accompanying the Warrant Officer who continued to complete the charges, “...and endangering the ship and lives of her crew.”
“You're out of your mind Jarhead,” she snapped, “I know what I'm doing, let me go or so help me God...” her foot came up off the floor aimed at his crotch but missed by almost a foot, the Marines at her elbows holding her fast. She was seething mad, and struggled like a cat, spitting and snarling.
The Marines kept their composure but Dayle Alaroot was losing his patience, “Ma'am, I'm going to tell you this once, so listen up, we can do this nice and easy or handcuffed and hogtied. Your choice. Personally, I'd rather escort you calmly off the deck...”
“Fuck you, I'm not going anywhere with you...”
Dayle sighed, shaking his head, “OK, we'll do it your way... cuff her.”
■ ■ ■
Jack and Paul paused at the Marine sentry standing at the entrance of the short corridor, ”Number four, at the end on the right,” offered the Marine. Jack nodded and they stepped past, “Watch your nuts, sir,” came the quiet advice behind them. Jack waved without looking back, indicating he'd heard the sentry. The corridor was much narrower than the others throughout the ship, and the one-window doors for each of the eight rooms, four on each side, were on a forty-five degree angle facing the hallway entrance to offer better prisoner control and observation.
Another Marine at the end of the hall nodded as they approached, stepping forward to greet them, “Captain, Commander...”
“Is she behaving?”
“She got a lot more cooperative when we hogtied her...”
Steele's eyes widened, “Hoo boy, was that necessary?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Is she still...”
“No sir,” interrupted the Marine, “but she is a fighter... you want one of us in there with you?”
“Stee
le smirked, “No we'll be OK. I hope she knows better than to swing on me... cuz I'll deck her.”
The Marine smiled without responding, reaching past them to key the security code into the door pad. “Just knock when you're ready, sir...” The door swished open with a hiss and the two officers stepped into the small, sparsely furnished room, the door closing quickly behind them.
Maria lay on the sole cot against the wall, her back to the room and the door, “What...” she said flatly.
Jack and Paul exchanged glances before Jack spoke, “I would expect you to rise in the presence of a superior officer,” his tone was calm and even.
“Fuck off Jack...”
“Excuse me?!”
She didn't move from her position, “Oh, sorry... Fuck off, sir...”
Steele's jaw clenched and he took a deep breath but it was Paul who hit the proverbial wall, roaring, “PILOT, get your ASS off that cot and come to attention NOW!” She bounced up to her feet like she'd been physically ejected off the cot. She wobbled for a second, the instant change of position leaving her a little lightheaded. “Pilot,” he continued calmly but firmly, “I have no idea what your problem is... and truthfully I don't give a rat's ass. After that absolutely disgraceful performance, your total lack of regard for your fellow crew members and your complete disregard of a direct order, I don't see that I have any other choice,” he extended his hand palm up, “give me your wings.”
“B-b-but I was...”
“YOU DON'T GET TO TALK, LADY!” Paul roared. “Give me your wings,” he said calmly. Tears welled up in her eyes and her bottom lip quivered as she unpinned her wings with trembling hands. She fumbled with the clasp, finally freeing it, taking one last look at them before dropping them into the palm of his waiting hand. The tears broke free and rolled down her cheeks and she clenched her teeth to keep from sobbing out loud. Paul looked down at the wings in his hand, closing the clasp gently. “Our squadron is a team; our ship's crew is a team. As much as the members of our squadron need to be able to count on its other members, those two teams depend on each other for their very survival... and your actions tonight jeopardized not only the members of your squadron but the crew and well-being of this ship as a whole. That is totally unacceptable and will not be tolerated. You are formally suspended from flying for one month, minimum. You will need to prove to me that you are worthy of getting these back before I ever let you near another bird.” He clasped his hands behind him, “Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” It was barely a squeak.
“I'm sorry, I didn't HEAR YOU!”
“Yes, sir,” she replied with a little more force.
“You have an attitude problem, lady. You're broken... and I don't have time to fix you, I have a squadron to run. You're on your own.” He turned to Jack, “Captain, I'll wait for you outside.”
“Thank you, Commander... actually, let's meet in my ready room.”
■ ■ ■
Steele walked through the door of his ready room on the bridge, the door sliding closed behind him with a hiss. Paul rose from the couch against the wall, a bottle of water in his hand, “How'd it go after I left?”
Jack dropped a set of Lieutenant's collar pips on his desk, “I need a drink.”
“Holy shit, you took her rank?”
Standing at the minibar against the wall, Jack poured himself a short snifter of Diterian brandy, “Want one?”
“No, I'm good...”
Steele sipped and let the thick warmth run down his throat, clearing his sinuses and his head. “She is restricted to her quarters and common areas of the ship... I think because we have some personal history, she thinks she gets certain privileges. I think she was taking too much for granted... well, until now.” He sipped again, “Maybe a month with absolutely nothing to do will get her attention.” He pinched his lower lip in thought, “She doesn't have a CIA handler here, maybe she needs that kind of guidance...”
Paul stared down at the water bottle in his hand, “We don't have time to babysit, this is a military unit...”
“Yeah, I know. She needs to learn how to play on a team without needing to have someone constantly show her how...” Jack watched the swirling dark liquid clinging to the sides of the snifter. “Yknow, it occurs to me that she got used a lot... the uncle, the husband, the CIA, maybe even the family.”
“But we don't know the family part of her history,” added Paul.
“You're right, we don't. But there's a definite pattern here and it had to start somewhere...”
“Including the family is quite a leap,” Paul sipped his water.
“Maybe, maybe not. What if the history started with the family. That might be why the CIA chose her, because she was pliable...”
“And,” interrupted Paul, “that would mean she never recognized it for what it really was, she saw it as guidance.”
“Right. Makes me wonder if all this crap she's been doing is some kind of cry for the abuse and deceit she's so used to, she sees it as guidance and doesn't know anything else...”
“That would explain why she's so hung up on your dusty old ass; she's got a daddy thing going...”
Steele grinned, “That's cold, dude.”
“C'mon, you're closing in on forty...”
“Hey, I'm a few years off yet... You should talk, Pappy...”
Paul smiled, “Getting back to our problem child, I think I know who might be able to help us on this...”
“Our very own Professor Edgars?”
“That's who I'm thinking...”
“Good idea, I'm not ready to give up on her yet...”
CHAPTER TEN
UFW FREEDOM, IRUJEN SYSTEM: SHIT & THE PROVERBIAL FAN
The gate transit between Longreach and Irujen was almost twenty-four hours; Jack wondered if that was how Longreach got its name.
It was twelve hours into the transit to Irujen and most of the Freedom's senior staff were in Steele's ready room on a split-screen video conference with the other members of the task force. The Admiral had received a communique from UFW Directorate on Tanzia. It seems that there had been no communications of any kind from Veloria in several months, and in light of the recent and ongoing unrest there, the Directorate was concerned about what events might precede a total disconnect from the Federation's allied network. The task force was being temporarily detoured from their pirate hunting mission to investigate the status of the Velorian home world.
Jack was concerned how Alité might react to the fact that her home world had literally fallen off the grid and how he might broach the subject with her. Though her parents, the King and Queen, had been initially informed of her rescue from the pirates and then again when Jack and Alité's son, Colton was born, they had made no effort to reply to the communiques. And in Alité's case, she had made no additional efforts to contact them... Walrick had explained to Jack that it was a fall from grace issue, that the royals would no longer view her as a member of the family.
None of it made sense to Jack... it was holding the abducted responsible for the abduction - that didn't register properly with the family values he grew up with. Mentally he shrugged it off because she had a new family now, one that wouldn't abandon her if things got tough. Maybe she was better off for it, at least he hoped so. In light of the stresses happening on Veloria, she was probably much safer here.
“Mr. Steele... Mr. Steele...”
Jack suddenly realized his mind had wandered off on a tangent, “Yes, Admiral...”
“You were saying you had an idea for improving our success in tracking down the pirates and their bases...”
“Yes, sir. We need someone on the inside...”
“Meaning a spy?”
“Well, yeah. But in police work, we called it a deep undercover operative.”
Admiral Kelarez's expression was dubious, “How would you expect to accomplish something like that?”
“I'm simplifying this, but there's two basic ways,” began Jack, “you recruit someone fr
om within their organization and send them back in, using them as an information pipeline, or, you send someone in from the outside in an attempt to burrow in as deeply as possible. Sending someone in from the outsides generally gives you more predictable control because you know the qualities of the operative going in. Someone who's an insider and has been turned has a higher likelihood of failure for a wide number of reasons. The latter is generally a little more difficult, but I think it will be more expedient in our case.” He waved his hand expressively, “There are certain risks and dangers either way you go.”
“In a perfect universe, how would you get someone inside?”
Jack looked around at the others in his ready room then back to the screen, “We have to provide them something they want. The easiest thing that comes to mind is a service - smuggling should do it. So we'd need a ship and a hand-picked crew.” Steele could see the questions on the Admiral's face. “It would need to be a smaller ship, fast, armed, decent shields, good amount of cargo space... something a crew of about eight to ten could handle...”
The Admiral turned to his left to consult with one of his officers, “Sounds like a Maultier, doesn't it?” The officer confirmed his assumption and he turned back to the screen. I suppose we could ask UFW Directorate if they have...”
“No, no don't do that, sir,” interrupted Jack, “the less people that know about this, the better. I would prefer to liberate one from its previous owner.”
“You want to steal one?”
“It will give the crew street cred...” Steele saw the blank look on the Admiral's face, “credibility in the criminal community...” he explained. “It's important that your criminal reputation can be confirmed.”
Kelarez nodded his understanding, “But please tell me you're not thinking of doing this yourself...”
Jack smirked, “No of course not. I'd have a handpicked crew with me...”
The Admiral shook his head, “Oh, I don't even want to think about how many ways this can go totally wrong...” he rubbed his forehead. “In light of our redirection to Veloria, I'll have some time to think about this idea. I'll admit it's intriguing, but I'm not fond of my task force's carrier Captain being absent when I might need him.”
Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2) Page 15
