Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  “How are the repairs going?” called Maria from her position at the programming station.

  “The readouts showed that they'd sealed and repaired the hull breach. Now they're going to repair the armor and work on a few other damaged sections on the hull,” called Draza Mac walking towards her. “Looks like they're going to work on the starboard engine housing after that.” He waved to the drones maneuvering around the bay, “Watcha working on?”

  “On the programming for these things, “she replied. “It was pretty basic code and I'm trying to get them a little more responsive and a little smarter...” They watched the unmanned fighters circle each other for a moment. “There seems to be a lot of you Marines over here...”

  The Sergeant shrugged, “We're mechanically inclined and they needed manpower to run this place... I guess we fit the bill. I heard we've got some coming from the Archer too when she comes back from patrol. The Bowman needs all her manpower for repairs, so I don't guess we'll be seeing any of their guys.”

  “Probably not. But I heard there are several ships coming, so we should have a lot more people here in a few days. What's going to happen with the prisoners?”

  Draza Mac leaned on the console. “There's a Marine transport coming, it's bringing a whole company for the station and it'll pick up the prisoners.” He was staring at the drones now. “Y'know, these would make great scouts. You could send out single ones to designated spots and let them just sit there like forward observers...”

  “And since they're not actively patrolling,” interjected Maria, “their fuel would probably last a week.” The Sergeant nodded in agreement. “That's a terrific idea.”she added. “They're small enough that they might even go unnoticed...”

  “Yeah. And you could have a hundred or two sitting in a central location, waiting to be called by the sentry, or sent manually by the controller. The response time should be much shorter.”

  Maria was busy writing notes on her e-Pad. “Thanks, these are some really great ideas.” Suddenly, she had an enthusiasm for the task she previously didn't think was possible. Or exciting. This was something creative, a new tactic to invent... certainly more enjoyable than just improving the original programming.

  ■ ■ ■

  The tug from Blackmount Station actually arrived a full day before the two new missile frigates the UFW sent to patrol the area and protect the station. So by the time they did arrive, escorting the Marine troop transport, the tug had already maneuvered the wrecked pirate frigate to the station, managing to gently maneuver her into the Resurrection's interior bay. Using power jumpers and a little elbow grease, the tug crew was able to extend the remaining landing legs of the shattered frigate so they could set her on the deck upright, without fear of her shifting or rolling over. Because Blackmount Station was so well established, they had an abundance of equipment and the tug was on loan to Resurrection without a return deadline. The squat little ship which was basically all engines, docked on the same side of the station as the Bowman, about two-thousand feet forward of her position, the stasis transmitters capturing her hull.

  Temporarily acting as the station's Traffic Control Manager, Steele was in the upper deck of the tower, directing the various ships coming and going around the station. After securing the hull of the Marine troop transport, he remotely extended the gangway tube, watching the cameras mounted inside the tube as he guided it toward the hatchway on the side of the transport's hull. The graphic lined up on the video screen, the tube contacting the outer rim of the hatchway. “Lined up with positive contact, Marine 756...”

  “Marine 756, contact, aye. Locking boarding structure, stand by. Marine 756, has positive lock. Ready to pressurize.”

  Jack slid the lever on the console and watched the readouts on the screen imposed over the video of the hatchway. “Pressurizing... seals positive.” The console lights went green. “Atmosphere reached and sustained, ready to accept personnel.”

  “Aye, thank you Resurrection tower. Preparing to disembark.” Jack watched the hatchway pop open, swinging partly outward then rotating in out of the way. A Marine officer appeared in the opening and looked square at the camera, saluting. “Permission to board, sir.”

  Jack couldn't clearly see his rank, but it really didn't matter, he was just curious. “Aye, permission granted. Welcome aboard Resurrection Station.”

  He watched the figure turn and look over his shoulder, “Let's go boys and girls, grab your gear! This is home for the next twelve months...” Marines started filing out past him, “Mind your heads,” he reminded them, “no gravity in the gangway.”

  Steele turned away from the video, keying an open page on the flight deck. “Who do we have down on the deck to receive..?”

  Dayle Alaroot keyed his mic, “Warrant Officer Alaroot, I can handle it Skipper...”

  Jack keyed his mic, “Thanks, Dayle. We've got a Marine company coming in on the starboard side. Do you have someone who can get them situated?”

  Dayle picked up his e-Pad off the wingtip of the cargo shuttle being unloaded, “I've got the layout sir, I'll take care of it. Sergeant Mac and a few of the boys will handle the prisoner transfer.”

  ■ ■ ■

  It didn't seem like an entire week. Probably because the days ran into one another, time blurring, the work progressing nonstop around the clock, ships coming and going continuously, people filtering in from all over the galaxy. It was exhausting. But, things were shaping up and progressing nicely. A new Station Administrator arrived with a bridge and station crew, and the Air Boss and his support staff had arrived earlier today. The only personnel they were still short on for general operations, were deck hands for staffing the bays and engineering. For the time being, the arrival of the Marine company earlier in the week was a blessing for the staff shortcomings. Of course, it would probably be a while before the restaurants, stores or clubs were open, but at the speed things were happening, Jack didn't expect that to take more than a few weeks. All-in-all, it seemed the UFW had really stepped up to the plate to take advantage of the situation. He had expected their response with resources to be more lukewarm considering their initial hesitation; it was refreshing to see they had collectively pulled their heads out of their asses and moved with conviction. But then again, it was a free station, how could they not?

  Sitting on the grass, his legs extended, Jack leaned against a tree staring up at the stars shining through the alumiglass dome of the EcoSphere. Birds chirped, flitting through the trees and there was an actual breeze like in a real meadow. The grass, more like a lawn, was trimmed and soft, the sweet smell of it being freshly cut. He inhaled deeply, almost tasting it. The lights were slowly dimming, simulating a day turning to dusk. Fritz dropped his ball in Jack's lap and backed up, his tail swaying ever so slightly. “Throw,” he said slowly, annunciating, his artificial eye whirring quietly as the iris adjusted. “Throw.”

  Jack grinned, tossing the ball across the meadow, the Shepherd rocketing off in pursuit, tiny bits of grass flying as he ran. He watched the dog scoop up the ball on a bounce without breaking stride, streaking into a sweeping turn, cutting to the left and heading back, the fading light glinting off his polished metal skull plate and artificial ear. He skidded to a stop and dropped the ball, his tongue hanging to one side, panting. “Throw,” he said once again. Jack threw it again, watching the Shepherd repeat his glorious sprint. He paused at the brook that wound through the meadow and into the trees, for a quick drink before returning. He dropped the ball and lay down next to his friend and rolled on his back, feet in the air, wiggling in the soft turf. Finished, he rolled on his side and looked up a Jack for an approving hand. It wasn't often that he got a chance to run that hard, except on quieter days he could manage a lap or two on the Freedom's flight deck. The Officer's garden wasn't much bigger than an urban front yard and it was nice for a stretch and a roll, but fetch and a run were out of the question. No, nothing beat a good run on soft turf.

  Jack looked down at him,
“Is your CABL system making you faster, or am I imagining it?”

  The dog opened his eyes, “Don't know...” he annunciated slowly. “Maybe.”

  “Because I think mine is...” Steele snatched a flying insect out of flight with his thumb and index finger, wiping it on the grass. Soft footfalls on the grass behind them seemed to have a normal pattern, no urgency, no attempt at stealth, so neither one of the two paid them any heed. Until the footfalls stopped very close to them. Jack turned to see bare feet with painted toenails and a dangling picnic basket. He followed them up to the owner, his beautiful wife Alité, sandals dangling loosely from her other hand, dressed in a clingy, dark red sundress. “Hiya,” he smiled.

  “Hello... you boys look terribly busy,” she teased. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything important...”

  Fritz's head lay on Jack's thigh, his tail thumping on the grass. “Food...” His nose had told him everything he wanted to know.

  “Yes, you silly eating machine,” she chided, “I have food.” Fritz jumped to his feet and she looked around the meadow, her eyes searching the trees and the brook. “We're the only ones here,” she whispered, “it's sooo quiet...”

  “Then why are you whispering?” Jack whispered, joking. He rose to his feet, taking the basket from her hand, “Pretty isn't it?” She nodded. “The ship I came out on was just like this one, makes me wonder if it was the same cruise company.”

  “I still can't believe it's so quiet.”

  “As soon as there's more people on this station, it'll never be this quiet again.” They looked up as birds flitted among the trees. “Want to see the waterfall?”

  Her eyes lit up, “Oooh, there's a waterfall?”

  He took her hand and led her across the grass toward a path that passed into the trees and followed along the brook, the Shepherd trotting along. After a few minutes they came upon a rushing waterfall cascading down from above, over thirty feet, splashing down into a small pond and feeding the brook. Alité beamed, her eyes sparkling in the fading light as they spread a little blanket on a broad, flat rock next to the water. Bare feet dangling in the water, they sat side by side, drinking the sweet, fruity wine and noshing on the sandwiches she'd brought. Fritz waded in the brook and entertained them for tidbits, sloshing and fetching his tennis ball.

  Her eyes twinkling, she looked at him mischievously,“Want to go in the water?

  He smiled wryly, “We don't have any towels, we'll get cold...”

  “Then we'll have to warm each other up,” she replied, standing up. She lifted the hem of her sundress over her head, shedding it easily, unabashedly revealing her nudity underneath.

  “You were going commando,” he noted, “you wicked wench.”

  She smiled crookedly as she crossed her arms over her breasts and jumped off the rock, tucking her legs and cannonballing into the pond. Laughing, Jack was busy stripping off his clothes, covering his belt and sidearm with his shirt. Alité surfaced under the splash of the waterfall with a whoop.

  “Cold?”

  She swam toward him, “Not really, a little brisk,” she grinned.

  He jumped over her, dropping into the water and surfacing about the same place she did, the waterfall pounding down on him. “Whooo!” He stretched out, swimming toward the rock where she had climbed out, preparing to jump again. After several jumps apiece, they were ready to quit. Pushing their clothes aside they rolled themselves together in the little blanket, giggling like children in the near darkness. The light in the Ecosphere imitated a full moon, but they were under the canopy of the trees and the shadows were deep. There was a gentle breeze rustling the trees and the constant sound of the waterfall drowned out the rest of the universe. It made drifting off easy but the hard rock wasn't ideal for real sleep.

  Jack rubbed his face, yawning. “Do you hear music?”

  Alité listened carefully, the distinct sound of a beat like dance music could be heard filtering through the constant of the waterfall. “I think I do. Sounds like club music.”

  ■ ■ ■

  Following the beat of the music to its source, Jack, Alité and Fritz, found themselves outside the doors of the Starlight Lounge, which was supposed to be closed - like almost everything on the Promenade. The restaurants, nightclubs and shops all had what could only be described as a normal entrance, with swinging or rotating doors. There were no self-sealing or bulkhead type doors. Cautious, Jack entered slowly through the heavy hardwood double doors, giving his senses a moment to adjust to the rush of input. The music had a thumping dance beat, the club dark except for the accent lighting and the dance floor light show.

  Having been closed and unused for some time, the air was a little stale, a musty smell of cigarettes and cigars circulating through the air system. The club was void of patrons but Jack hadn't expected there to be any. His eyes searched the darkness, feeling the intentional nudge on his left thigh as Fritz brushed past him. He motioned for Alité to wait near the door and followed the Shepherd's lead, winding through the tables and past the booths on the left side of the club, circumventing the center liquor bar, heading for the bar at the back of the club. Jack stopped when Fritz stopped, the Shepherd indicating on the back bar. Side by side they advanced, Jack's hand gently resting on the grip of his sidearm. When the figure behind the bar stood up, the only thing that kept them from reacting was the fact that he had his back to them. Focused on an e-Pad, the bald man with the thin build seemed to be reviewing the bar stock and inventory.

  “Excuse me!” called Jack. Startled, the man whirled around, his eyes wide. “What are you doing in here?” asked Jack, rather loudly. The man's response was unintelligible over the music. “Would you mind turning that down?” Jack motioned to the music.

  The man nodded and keyed the mic on his earpiece. “Hughard, turn the music down!” He paused for a moment, listening. “We have someone here I need to talk to, turn it down!” With a hand gesture he indicated it would take a moment, returning to his notes on the e-Pad.

  Jack was divided between watching the thin man and continuing to scan the darkness around him. The music hadn't changed and he was beginning to lose patience, his little voice warning him of some kind of deception. He watched the man's boney, angular face but saw no expression there as he continued to review the information on his e-Pad.

  “Here boss!” Jack could feel the press of cold steel against the right side of his neck, it felt like the barrel of a firearm. “You just stand real still there, mister,” said the voice in his ear, “don't turn your head or move your hands.”

  The thin man cracked a crooked smile, lifted his hand above his head and turned down the music with the small remote control he retrieved from his pocket. “Ahh, that's better.” He tossed the remote on the bar. “Now, suppose you tell me who you are, and why you're bothering me.” He indicated the man at Jack's side, “Before Hughard does something you might regret...” The thin man suddenly turned to his right, his head whipping around. The look of fear crossing his face quickly turned to abject horror.

  “I see you have met my companion,” said Jack with an evil grin. The man stared at the shadow that appeared out of the darkness, one eye glowing green in the dark, pearly white fangs bared widely, snarling, a guttural growl that chilled him. “I know what you're thinking,” began Jack, “he can't stop Hughard here from killing me... Let me assure you, Hughard could not stop him from killing you. You are only alive because I'm alive.” The thin man backed up slowly, the dog advancing an equal distance of his retreat. “What we have here,” continued Jack, “is a good old fashioned Mexican standoff...”

  “Or not,” said the distinctly feminine voice. Hughard had no idea she was there until the vicious little karambit blade was pressed into the soft part of his neck near the carotid artery, her arms wrapped around his neck from behind. “The blade is curved like a talon and razor sharp,” Alité whispered in his ear. “it cuts real easy. Move, fat boy, and I'll open you up from ear to ear... you'll be dead before you
hit the floor.”

  “Yes ma'am,” he croaked nervously.

  “Real nice and easy now, drop the gun,” she urged, pressing the point of the knife against his neck. He dropped his arm slowly, releasing his grip, the firearm clattering on the floor. “Kick it away... carefully.” He reached out with the toe of his boot and kicked it away. “Now, I'm going to let go. Do anything stupid and your boss still dies a horrible death. Understand?”

  “Yes ma'am.”

  Alité released him and backed away into the darkness, searching for and finding the discarded pistol. “Got it.”

  “Back up.” Steele stiff-armed Hughard back. “Move and I'll let her shoot you in the back.” He turned to the thin man, locking eyes with him. “Fritz, come.” The Shepherd jumped up onto the bar, alighting gently without so much as disturbing a glass or stack of napkins. He walked slowly along the top of bar, past the thin man, staring him in the eyes, baring his teeth, snarling, his tongue lashing in and out, ears pinned back. He turned for a moment, staring at Hughard, offering him the same werewolf grin before jumping to the floor. He shook his coat smooth, snorted and sat calmly next to his partner. “Now,” said Steele, stepping forward. “Who are you, what are you doing here? And why did he,” he waved at Hughard, “have a firearm on this station?” The thin man stared blankly, muttering. “I'm not going to ask twice,” added Steele, “and it better be the truth or I'm going to come over the bar and do something you'll regret.”

  Hughard shifted and Alité reminded him she was still there by kicking him in the ass, “Behave yourself, fat boy.”

  “Odello...”

  “What?” Jack raised one eyebrow.

  “My name. Odello. I b-b-b-bought the club.” He waved his hand nervously, “Or rather, I've leased it from the station.” He laid the e-Pad on the bar and slid it over toward Jack to show him the digital version of the lease agreement. “We got here a few hours ago and signed the lease. I t-t-t-thought we'd get an early start on inventory.”