“I put her back on duty, gave her wings back to her.”
Walt chuckled, turning to look at Jack. “Is that what that was... we were wondering.”
“So you think she's going to be OK?”
“Doctor - patient relationship my boy.” Walt winked before going back to his sensor readings. “She'll be fine.”
Jack sat down and pulled up his status screens, the multicolored swirl of the gate filling the big view screen ahead of them. “Are we using a probe?”
“No, sir,” replied Raulya. “The Archer took the lead on that. She launched one of the new sensor drones we got from the station. We should have information in a few seconds...” Forwarded by the Archer, the information came in on her tactical screen, “Got it.” She relayed it up to the big screen as an inset, the data and video feed showing almost a quarter of the system void of ships or movement. “Clear space, Skipper.”
“Nice. Wish we had these going into Irujen. Woulda saved us a lot of headaches.” The three ships passed through the gate simultaneously in a vertical delta triangle formation, guns armed and fully manned, the Freedom with a flight of four birds ready to launch. As the view cleared, nosing through the gate, Steele hit his mic, “Tower, clear to launch.” The floor rumbled almost immediately, two Cyclones firing out of the Freedom's nose like torpedoes, their engines flaring. The New Vanus system had no Class 014 type planets, the closest thing to something habitable being a Class 12a, which was considerably more primitive and not terribly stable yet. Though the most striking thing about the system was its motionless waves and swirls of iridescent blue dust. Steele eyed the sky. “Raulya, how are our sensors doing since the repairs?”
“Hundred percent, sir. No issues.”
“How about the Bowman?”
“Still having teething problems,” she replied. “They're having to recalibrate everything. We're working with the Archer to feed the Bowman our combined readings on a system by system basis for them to gauge their new settings.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Resurrection Station didn't have a sensor lab to calibrate the setup, I'm sure it's going to take some time to get it right.”
Steele nodded, “OK, keep me apprised on their progress.”
“Aye, sir.”
The floor rumbled again as two more Cyclones left the launch tubes and Jack checked the roster on his left screen to see who was on the patrol. “Take us down off yellow alert and retire the gun crews.”
“Aye, sir.”
“The Archer has plotted a course, three-zero-three, by one-six-five, by seven-nine-eight. A straight course to the Velora Prime gate.”
“That's fine, Ensign Zwellin,” replied Jack, “keep us in formation.” Despite his curious behavior the day they met in the corridor, the little man had proven to be a decent navigator. He was a nervous little fellow, but he always got the job right.
“Aye, sir. Inputting now.”
“Time to gate?”
“Thirty-seven hours at present speed,” replied Zwellin.
Jack swept his flat glass keypads, shutting off the three screens on his command chair before rising. “Walt, I've got a meeting with the pilots and another with the Marines for this little foray to Veloria, I've got my comm if you need me.”
“Consider the fort held, my boy.”
Jack patted the Professor on the shoulder as he headed for the bridge door, giving the on-station Marine a quick nod as he passed into the corridor, the Shepherd trotting alongside.
■ ■ ■
“OK, now hold still, sir.” Down near the Marines' armory, Steele was standing barefoot in his underwear on the center of a rubber padded circle, with his feet shoulder length apart and his arms outstretched to the sides at shoulder height. Wearing a pair of dark goggles to protect his eyes, a cylindrical probe hovered just out of reach, circling him while firing red laser pulses at his form, feeding measurements back to the software of Draza Mac's e-Pad, drawing an exact three dimensional representation of his body on the screen. “OK, arms down at your sides, feet together. Just another thirty seconds...” The silent little probe shifted around, measuring again, calculating anticipated range of movement. Once it was complete, it floated over to its charging stand and settled in, shutting off, the whole measurement process taking less than two minutes. “You're all done for now, sir. You can get dressed.”
“Thanks, Sergeant.” Jack stepped off the pad and sat down at the bench near the charging stand to put his pants and boots on. “I was wondering how you guys measured for your equipment... but now what?”
“Now we send the measurements to that thing,” pointed the Marine. The silver machine had several large polished silver canisters connected to it with flex hoses, and what looked to be a three foot deep bin in front with a hatch on top. “That's the Zorek - Smit machine,” he added.
“Awesome!” said Jack, “I've always wanted one of those...”
“Really?” Draza Mac looked surprised.
“No,” shrugged Jack, waving, “I really have no idea what it is...”
“Oh,” chuckled the Marine. “It's a pretty neat machine. Here, I'll show you.” He stepped over to the machine and slid the e-Pad into an open slot on its control surface, which locked it in and connected it to the machine. Using the e-Pad, he called up the fresh measurements from the scan and initialized the machine. “This is color here,” he made some adjustments on the machine's control pad, checking the screen to confirm his choices. “And here it goes,” he added, pushing the initiate button to begin the manufacturing sequence. Blowers kicked on in back of the unit and it sounded like coarse sand rushing through the flex hoses from the canisters to the bin in front. Steele could feel heat radiating from the front of the machine and Draza Mac pointed to the containers in the back, “It pumps the raw component material through the machine to the bin in front, where the laser system constructs the finished product, colors it and cooks it. Unused materials are cooled and sent back to the hoppers.” Jack could hear the sandy material running back through the return pipes and a new set of blowers began running in the front of the unit. “Texture and cool-down,” explained the Marine, “that's what you're hearing now.” It took all of about five minutes total before the hatch on the top of the bin unlatched automatically, a rush of warm air exiting the machine, smelling like a combination of hot plastic, welded metal and burnt electronics. A carrier rose from the bin with a finished, form-fitted hard armor torso in a digital multi-cam pattern.
Jack raised his eyebrows in amazement, “Holy crap, that's incredible...”
The Sergeant lifted the ultra-light armor off the carrier and moved it over to a rack to hang it up with several others. “Once the whole set is done, we install the interior padding by hand.”
Jack ran his hand over the surface and checked the edges. “It feels perfectly finished.”
The Marine pointed to a whole set with helmet, torso, lower body, thigh and shin guards on the rack. “Yep, no cutting or fitting. All we add is the impact padding and the hardware - like that one on the end.”
Jack was examining the one created for him, “Looks like a pretty snug fit...”
“It's actually pretty comfortable, they're much lighter than the last type we had. Stronger too.” He tapped on it with his knuckle, “And of course, good ol' military technology; they combine energy dissipation with ballistic protection. You'll wear a full 2ndSkyn suit underneath, then the armor. The 2ndSkyn keeps you climatized and prevents chafing, the padding offers impact absorption and helps the armor feel like it's part of your body.”
“Very cool.”
“Excuse me?”
Jack smirked, “Very impressive.”
“Ah, gotcha.” Draza Mac turned back to the Zorek - Smit machine and sent the carrier back down, closing the hatch on the bin. “Well, I'd better get back to work, I still need to make the rest of the parts for your armor.”
■ ■ ■
Flying in the lead, Lieutenant Mike Warren was the first one to pick up the mass on his long ran
ge scanners. “Blue One, Blue Two...”
Lieutenant Brian Carter keyed his mic, “Blue Two, go...”
“I've been switching back and forth between LIDAR and LADAR, I just picked up something sizable ahead.”
“I'm on MPD, I've got nothing. Hold on...” Brian switched over to LIDAR and waited for a complete sweep, “Whoa, there it is. Holy crap it's big.” He keyed-in the data feed button. “No ident yet.”
“Yeah, I've got nothing, either.”
“Call it in? They're liable to hear us...”
“Blue Flight, all stop.” Mike got the confirmation from Brian and the two other Cyclones in the flight while he searched the open space around them for some place to shadow the unknown. The only thing remotely close was a light asteroid field he could see looking straight upward through his canopy. He broadcast the coordinates on short range signal and the flight turned upwards toward the field. “Once we have a little cover, I'll send a directional signal home.”
It only took a few minutes but for some reason the field didn't look any closer. “Blue Two, Blue One.”
“Blue One, go.”
“Uh, I don't think that's an asteroid field, I think it's a gravel field...”
“Son of a bitch!” Mike yanked the throttle back, braking hard as he hit the edge of the field, the stones bouncing off his unshielded plating and canopy. The rest of Blue Flight did the same thing, gravel bouncing and ricocheting off their Cyclones. “Everyone OK?”
“We're good,” replied Brian, looking around, checking the two younger pilots. Shields off to reduce their sensor profile, the group moved slowly through the field, its density growing thicker as they penetrated.
“Blue Flight, all stop.” Mike Warren sent a narrow focus directional message to the Freedom, receiving a confirmation the same way, aimed to their coordinates.
Brian was carefully watching the blob advance on his sensor screen, the signal distorted by the surrounding rock and gravel. The four Cyclones were close together, almost close enough to see each other in their cockpits. “This thing is huge, Mike.”
Mike Warren was switching scan modes looking for something to cut through the rock clutter. “Must be ferrous material in this stuff, the MPB magnetic radar looks like snow. Actually getting the best reading on the LADAR...”
“Brian was adjusting zoom to bring the outline closer and saw a small margin of space in the middle. “I've got good news and bad news... The good news is, it's not as big as we thought. The bad news is, there's two of them in really close formation.”
“You're kidding...” Mike's brow furrowed.
“Nope. Zoom in on it. Worse news, I think there are fighters too.”
■ ■ ■
“So you put her back on the roster?” Suited up, Jack stuffed his flight gloves into his helmet, staring at the new memorial plaque on the side of the control tower bearing the names of the three flight members of the Zulu lost in Irujen.
“Yeah, she's on Yellow flight, going out after our patrol. I've got her flying Duncan's wing.” Paul adjusted his flight suit.
“I hope she follows his lead.”
“I think the Professor's work with her has really helped,” offered Paul. “She seems different, more together. I think maybe she's got her head on straight now.”
Jack wiped some invisible dust off the memorial plaque with the sleeve of his flight suit before turning away from it, clearing his throat before replying. “Yeah, that would be a good thing. For all of us.”
The lights around the flight bay flickered yellow but before the two pilots could react or question it, the lights flicked to red as the battle station klaxon blared throughout the ship. “All hands to battle stations! All hands to battle stations! Flight Control, launch Red and Yellow Flights, immediately!” The catapults whined, deck vibrating as the two Lancias sitting in the tubes launched into space. Jack and Paul leaned into a dead run for their fighters positioned on the deck just outside the launch tube doors.
Sliding to a stop on the deck, Jack grabbed the boarding ladder hanging from his Lancia, handing his glove-packed helmet to the deck man standing there. Scrambling up the ladder and dropping into the cockpit, the curved door of the launch tube had already retracted down into the floor, the catapult sled returning to its start position. Sealing his helmet to his suit, the deck man began checking Jack's belts and connections as the pilot sealed his gloves and began his startup checklist, flipping switches and bringing the Lancia's systems on line... Master power, comm system, anti-grav, air scrubbers, circulation system, avionics one, two and three. Screens winked on, coming to life, filling with data, the dash and controls lighting up, the fighter lifting off the floor, a soft blue-green glow under its landing gear feet. Jack pulled the canopy drop lever, lowering it and sealing it, the cold wash of the cockpit air system blowing through his open visor. Using the flight stick he maneuvered into the launch tube, releasing the stick on the deck hand's signal. Fuel systems, engine power, blowers, navigation systems, passive targeting...
With a shove of his shoulder, the deck hand nudged the fighter. Floating on anti gravity, it moved just enough to get the last leg of the launch sled to lock into the notch on the Lancia's belly. Tethered to the fighter by his comm cord, the deck hand called the pilot. “Anti-grav off, retract gear, sir.”
“Copy.” Jack hit the switches and watched as the green gear lights on his panel winked out, matching the thumps on the bottom of the hull, confirming his gear had retracted completely. The deck hand yanked on the comm cord, popping it free of the Lancia before palming the button for the tube's blast wall. The launch tube wall raised, sealing him in. “Red Two, clear to launch...” he crossed his arms across his chest, grasping onto the harness straps.
“Red One, clear to launch...”
Jack heard the launch confirmation in his helmet and he was shot through the blue stasis field and out into the black before the words were even complete. Clear of the Freedom, sailing free, he lifted the two safety covers and punched the switches, firing his engines. Not seeing Paul, he looked around. “Red One...?”
“On your eight o'clock, big guy. Red Flight, form up, we're going to hold for Yellow Flight.”
Steele twisted around in his harness, taking in the enormity of the vast canvas of color and flecks of white spread across the expanse of the system like some heavenly abstract painting. He inhaled deeply without realizing it, the same autonomous response one reflexively does when stepping outside after a rain. Cruising slowly, Red flight got an update from the bridge of the Freedom while the members of Yellow Flight formed up behind them and Lt. Commander Derrik Brighton's, White Flight was readied and held on standby, prepared to launch.
Ensign Duncan Taylor keyed his mic, “Yellow One, Red One, we've got your six, boss...”
■ ■ ■
Mike watched as the ships got closer, the right screen showing scan data, listing speeds, headings, estimated mass and approximate shapes. “Still no idents on any of them, they're not broadcasting a ping.”
Brian nodded inside his helmet. “And with all this crap around us, Christ, it's like sitting in a cloud made of gravel. I'm not even getting a schematic. I'd really like to know what type of ships we're dealing with.”
“What about a short ping?” asked one of the younger pilots. “See if they respond or ping back?”
“Think they'll pick us up?” asked Brian.
“I'm surprised they haven't picked us up already... maybe this ferrous stone is protecting us.”
“According to my calculations, Lieutenant,” began one of the younger pilots, “the fact that we have our weapons, shields, engines and ident systems off, reduces our recognizable scan profile by at least eighty percent. With our current surroundings, I'd have to estimate we are nearly invisible.”
Mike eyed the identification sequencer next to the comm system. It was common to patrol in hostile territory with the broadcast off to reduce the sensor signature. “OK, braniac, how long can I send a ping wi
thout giving up our location?”
“If the sound jockey is good, fifteen seconds he'll have a direction. Thirty seconds he'll have an area, he'll pinpoint you in forty-five or less.”
“Good to know...” Mike reached out and pressed the momentary ping button, holding it for five seconds, sending out a short UFW ident signal.
■ ■ ■
“Admiral, I just picked up a five-second ident signal.”
“Whose?”
“UFW, sir.”
“Direction?”
“No, sir. It was too short to get a signal lock or even a direction.” The Petty Officer listened carefully, her eyes closed, sweeping her sensor beacon in all directions for signals. “Got it again, same thing, sir. I think they're prompting us for a reply.”
“Direction?”
She shook her head, “No, sir. Too short. I'd say he's doing on purpose, he doesn't want to reveal his location.”
The Admiral calmly turned to his left, “Take us to yellow alert.”
“Aye, sir.”
He checked the status screen on his command chair. “We've got twelve birds out?”
“Aye, sir. Raefer Flight is out.”
“Let's go ahead and launch another flight.”
“Aye, sir.” The FTLO Flight Tower Liaison Officer keyed his mic, “Launch Grendel Flight.”
“Thank you, Mr. Singh,” commented the Admiral casually. “Let's ready another flight.”
■ ■ ■
“Ohh, that's not good...”
Mike instinctively looked out over at Brian's Cyclone, a half ton of gravel and rock floating between them. “What's not good?”
Brian was studying the zoomed image of the blobs they were tracking on his right screen. “I think it's a carrier, I just saw about twelve more dots appear... all at once.”
“Are you shitting me?”
“Nope, no shit.”
“Holy crap, it just keeps getting better...”
Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2) Page 22
