“Yes, sir. An Invader from the Freedom and a squad of Marines.”
“Fine. At this point I think we need to leave it to them to finish the task. We're calling you and your support flights off the surface, I need you up here.”
“Sir, I...”
“Not open for discussion, Lieutenant Carter. The Revenge is the only ship in our happy little group with a GOD drive, and I need to put you and that ship to better use. We'll monitor progress on the surface through the tower at the Air and Space Port.”
Brian felt torn, Jack was his best friend but it was hard to argue with an Admiral - especially when he was right. Still, it was like hearing you mother when she was angry to and used your full name compel you to obey - a bit grating on the psyche. “Yes, sir,” he replied, none too happily, his jaw set. The screen winked out unceremoniously, flipping back to the UFW logo.
Brian gathered himself for a moment before walking out onto the bridge. “Prepare to break station,” he said as he emerged from the ready room, the door swishing closed behind him.
“Aye, sir. Breaking station. Heading, sir?”
Brian plopped himself into the command chair, angry for being forced to abandon his friend. “Set course to rejoin the task force...”
Ragnaar swiveled around, “Sir? We're abandoning the search?”
“Orders from the Admiral,” Brian replied gruffly.
“Sir,” began Raulya, staring at her screens, “Red Flight and Zulu One are breaking off and leaving the surface... they're heading off-planet!”
“That is correct, Lieutenant. We have been recalled.”
“What? What about the Invader and the Marines? Fritz..?”
“They will be remaining here to continue searching,” he replied flatly, interrupting.
“Incoming signal from the Archer.”
Brian sighed pensively; he still hadn't had enough time to unclench from the first communication. “On screen.”
The Admiral's face appeared as an inset on the big screen. “Sorry for the interruption, Lieutenant, I know you're busy. Just one more thing, your rank has been changed to Lieutenant Commander. Pending review.”
“Sir..?”
“That is all. Carry on, Lieutenant Commander.” The Admiral's picture winked out, leaving the bridge in an awkward silence. All eyes momentarily turned to Brian, and he wondered if he had just been bribed, or rewarded.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
FREERANGER - DD217 : ZENDER'S TREK
Ensign Grinah sat down at the table across from Commander T. B. Yafuscko, with a cup of dark Nadarian coffee and a pastry. “We just entered Zender's Trek, Tibby,” she said, blowing the steam off her coffee. The galley was between meals and occupancy was light, a small handful of crew members picking up a light snack or a beverage.
“You come all the way down here to tell me that?” he asked curtly, without looking up from the reports on his e-Pad.
Her head bobbed back like she's been slapped in the face. “T. B. Yafuscko,” she snapped quietly, glancing around and leaning in, “what is with the attitude?” She pointed at the empty bowl near his elbow, “Did you find a bug in your cereal this morning or something?”
He snorted and looked up smiling. “Sorry my dear... I can always count on you to keep me balanced, can't I?”
“So what's the deal, mister?” she demanded, leaning on her elbows.
He exhaled deeply, “Agh,” he waved, “it's all these lame assignments they keep sending us on. It's irritating. I want to be in the hunt for that bountied ship. We'll never get there running all this other garbage. I can't even seem to get any intel on what's going on.”
“What do we have here in Zender's Trek?”
“Emergency distress call from a Maultier - some cargo transport that ran into trouble...”
“Whose is it, do we know?”
Tibby glanced at the e-Pad. “McSuddeth Mining. Don't ever think I've heard of them before... have you?”
Grinah sipped her coffee. “Aren't they a sub of VirTech Mining?”
“Really? That's interesting... That's the same outfit that lost the freighter in Haruna Tier a few months ago... they're not having a very good year...”
“Mining's a dangerous profession,” said Grinah, biting into her pastry.
“Yeah, but transporting ore shouldn't be...”
“The Oceania...”
Tibby nodded, “Yep, that's the one. I read the report that Izzy sent us...”
“Major Izadore - your friend from supply...”
“Right. He got it from VirTech. As long as it doesn't have anything confidential in it, it's public domain. VirTech never said where the Oceania had picked up its load and the UFW wasn't very happy about that. But VirTech claimed it was a privacy and security intrusion that could jeopardize its mining operation with competitors if the location was revealed. So the UFW didn't pursue the point, probably because they'd destroyed the ship and were concerned about a liability push-back from VirTech.”
“Was there any information about why they destroyed the ship?”
“Yeah, the UFW part of the report had some very disturbing descriptions of the crew all being bludgeoned to death. The boarding team said it was pretty gruesome. It seems there may have been some kind of fighting amongst the transport's crew, maybe a mutiny. The boarding party encountered some major mechanical anomalies that were incongruent with an undamaged ship...”
“Anomalies? Like what?”
Tibby waved at the steward for a coffee refill. “Like the anti-boarding defense systems coming on automatically after system startup, and mining automatons attacking the boarding party...”
Grinah lifted an eyebrow, “How is that even possible?”
Tibby smirked and shrugged his shoulders. “The ship was totally dead. They had to do an absolute cold start using a firing tool. Maybe something went wrong.”
Grinah waited until the steward had finished pouring and was out of earshot. “You, Mr. Yafuscko, know damn well that's not possible.” She blew on the steaming coffee, “I've never heard of anyone having to do an absolute cold start before, but a startup could never automatically initiate core systems on its own. They're designed like that for a reason...”
“I know.”
“So, what then?”
He was still smirking, “All I know is they had to fight their way off the ship and they lost some men.”
“Sounds like they panicked, to me. And made the rest up to cover themselves...” She cocked her head, “What? Why are you smirking like that?” She waved her hand dismissively, “Oh please, not the phantom story again...”
“Or wraiths,” he added.
Grinah sighed, “For such a smart and well traveled man, I find it hard to understand how you can believe in such things.”
“It's not so hard to understand when you've actually seen what they can do. And I have.” He frowned, “I just wish I knew where they picked up that load, it might explain a lot.”
Grinah opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by the ship's comm system. “Skipper to the bridge, please.”
The Commander rose and leaned over the table, kissing Grinah on the forehead, “Gotta go, see you topside?”
“Yep,” she smiled, “I'm going to check something in engineering first.”
■ ■ ■
“Go to yellow alert...” ordered Tibby.
Aye, sir. Yellow alert.” The horn sounded twice and the ship's lighting flashed yellow, the corridors filling with crew members hustling to their stations. “She's in pretty bad shape, Commander...”
The tactical officer manipulated the image on the DD217's big screen, zooming in for a better view of the damage. Tibby watched the crippled Maultier hobble along, trailing bits of itself, a steady stream of atmosphere and bodily fluids, her port engine shredded and blackened, twisted metal extending outward like some kind of bizarre sculpture. “I'm guessing that was not an accident...” he said sarcastically. “Open a channel and hail them, please.”<
br />
“Aye, sir. Hailing...”
The transport's Commander appeared on an inset in the big screen, a hazy pall hanging in the air behind him on the bridge. “Thank you for coming, Commander. As you can see, we're heavily damaged...”
“Yes, I can see that,” replied Tibby, “Who did you piss off?”
“Commander, I'd love to discuss it with you in detail, but our hull is badly compromised and our systems are struggling to keep up. For the safety of my crew, we really need to get off her as soon as we can.”
“I think you need to answer my question first, Commander,” replied Tibby, sternly.
“A UFW fighter.”
“One fighter? It caught you with your shields down, then...”
“We were in the process of a GOD jump, Commander. Our shields were offline.”
Tibby pursed his lips and nodded. “What were you carrying that they objected to?”
“Nothing. We're empty...”
In Tibby's mind, that just didn't make a whole lot of sense. It was either a lie or the transport Skipper wasn't telling the full story. “And where did this all take place?”
The transport Commander hesitated, his face lined. “I'm not at liberty to say. It would violate my contract with McSuddeth Mining, on location and operation confidentiality.”
Commander T. B. Yafuscko leaned forward in his seat, his elbows on his armrests, fingers steepled, his face foreboding. “You might want to rethink that answer, sir, or violating your contract may be the least of your worries. It doesn't sound like you have anything to offer us for the effort we're putting forth, here...”
A voice from off screen prompted the Maultier's Commander to look away, informing him there were several system failures pending, that the earlier fire had weakened hull supports just forward of the port engine and the hull was buckling. Seriously concerned about his crew's predicament, he was feeling a little desperate. “You do understand, our indemnity contractor will pay you for our ship's recovery or salvage...”
Tibby sat back and laughed, “Recovery? Does this ship look like a tug to you? Anything I get through official channels, I have to split with the Council. I need something... extra. And from what I'm hearing, you have nothing to offer us...”
“Gold. We have gold credits...”
“See there, that's what I'm talking about,” he waved. “You should have led off with that information; it would have saved us some time. How much?”
“About a million credits...”
Tibby's face reflected annoyed skepticism. “About?”
“A little over a million, I don't know exactly.”
“Fine. That'll do for a start. But we're not finished with the discussion about your encounter with the UFW. Understand?”
“Understand.”
“Good, prepare to evacuate your ship. Personal effects are fine, no weapons...”
“Thank you... I've been informed our hull has buckled and cargo doors are jammed, we cannot get our shuttle out of the bay.”
“Use your emergency pods, we will pick them up.” Tibby leaned to his right, “Ready both shuttles, rig for E-pod recovery.”
■ ■ ■
Commander T. B. Yafuscko and about half his crew knew the uncertainty of abandoning ship, having had a cruiser shot right out from underneath them. Whether in a pod or evacuation shuttle, it was not a pleasant experience. Though certainly more pleasant than dying, it was disconcerting, frightening, nerve wracking, physically abusive, even terrifying. But the Commander had no compunctions about leaning on the Maultier's Skipper and using his circumstances against him... After all, Tibby wasn't running a charity; he was in the business of making money for the council... and himself. Would Tibby have left them to die? No, that wasn't in his nature, but it was useful to make the Skipper think it could go that way. They were still better off than if the UFW had gotten to them first. Dead or prison were the only two choices there, and prison was only marginally better than dead.
Of course, it was different between actual FreeRanger ships, they were literally brothers-in-arms and nothing was spared for their support of each other. Corporate ships and personnel were different. Not that those people's lives were actually worth less, but the corporations were not part of that fighting brotherhood. The odd instance arose where a retired FreeRanger stood on a corporate bridge, affording him, his ship and crew a considerable amount of extra consideration. This had not been one of those instances.
■ ■ ■
The DD217 had made the necessary recoveries, stood down from yellow alert and were again under way, over a million gold credits in profit for a glorified cab ride. The galley was considerably busier than it had been earlier and Tibby sat down at a table across from the Maultier's Commander, whose crew was taking advantage of a real meal for the first time in over twenty-four hours. “You got your boys all squared away?”
The man smiled wearily, “Yes, thank you, Commander.”
Yafuscko extended his hand, “Tibby.”
The other man shook his hand, “Hitada, good to meet you. So where are we headed? I assume you'll drop us off somewhere.”
“Raefer Station. It's not the closest, but it'll probably be the safest for you and your folks.” Tibby glanced around at the dirty, worn crewmen of the transport ship, quietly eating without the usual banter, joking or animation that would accompany a meal.
Hitada nodded, “I know Raefer, not the prettiest station, but it's homey.”
Tibby chuckled, “Definitely not the prettiest.” He sipped his steaming coffee. “You lose anybody?”
“Two in the port engine room and two more from engineering. Almost lost a couple more in the fires...”
“You couldn't vent?”
Hitada shook his head, “The stress of the jump and the heat warped the struts and several bulkheads. We weren't airtight, the doors wouldn't seal. It kept leaking atmosphere into conflagrated areas and feeding the fires. Took us forever to put them out.”
“Sorry to hear about your men,” Tibby sighed, “it's rough, I know from experience. We had a cruiser shot out from underneath us in Haruna Tier. The biggest drawback of the GOD jump... no shields or weapons.”
“It happened to you too?”
“Yep, we were jumping in. Our Captain overextended our reach and we were in a power depleted state. They were all over us; we didn't expect them to be there.”
“Oh Lord...”
“Yeah, it was bad,” admitted Tibby. “We lost more than half the crew. The only thing that soothes my conscience is that I was second in command, it wasn't my stupidity that caused it.”
“We were jumping out,” volunteered Hitada, “they were on us so quick we couldn't jump off the surface fast enough...”
“Wait,” waved Tibby, astounded, “you were in atmosphere? That's gutsy.”
“It's definitely wicked. Very stressful on the hull. But we had no choice, it's the only reason we're alive now.”
“No doubt...” confirmed Tibby. “So, tell me what happened, and don't leave anything out. Pretend I'm your best friend, wife, mother - whatever makes you happy. It's not going in any reports, in fact, it's not going any further than me.”
“Can I have that in writing?” joked Hitada.
“Nothing in writing,” smirked Tibby, slyly, “just you and me, no records...”
■ ■ ■
Tibby sat on the edge of the bed and Grinah knelt behind him, kneading the knots out of his shoulders and neck in the semi darkness. “So where are we going after we drop them at Raefer Station?”
“Velora Prime...” he mumbled, lost in what her hands were doing.
“Why, what's in Velora Prime?”
“That's where the Freedom is. We're following the bounty...”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
VELORIA : LOST & FOUND
There was a moment that he saw movement out on the water from the corner of his eye, something gently breaking the surface. But by the time Jack Steele could actually look up a
nd focus, it was gone. If he had even seen it at all. He couldn't seem to shake the feeling he was being watched but he contributed it to the bouts of wooziness that attacked him from time to time, passing quickly when he concentrated, forcing them away. Or at least that's how it seemed. He figured he could add concussion on the list with the broken arm. So each time he made a decision, he contemplated it slowly trying to stabilize his thinking, hoping he was making sane, rational decisions. How long did the effects of hypoxia last? Surely they should be gone by now... Then of course having your mind wander all over was not helpful either, calling into question and introspection every single little interpretation of... Stop it! Shut up!
At some point, like it or not, you just have to flip that mental coin and make the leap of faith that the little voice in your head guiding you is the sane one, not the one with the concussion. As long as the sane one could get the concussed one to shut the hell up.
If pressed for a reason as to why he turned inland and away from the beach at that particular time or place, Jack probably couldn't have clearly articulated why. It was a whim, a hunch, not even as substantial as a gut feeling or intuition. Maybe it was because the shade of the trees looked inviting. He paused and sipped several handfuls of fresh water from the clear, crystal blue ocean; splashing some on his face and neck before heading across the sand toward the tree line.
That was about an hour ago. At least that's what it seemed like, it was hard to gauge with mush for brains and no watch.
The battered, dark gray ejection seat was embedded in the dirt on the forest floor, canted to one side, the shredded olive drab parachute stretching up into the trees, clinging to the limbs and branches, the lines hanging limply like so much spaghetti. The seat had to be from one of the Gogol fighters. Steele had never seen anything quite like it, such an odd configuration. It almost looked like it was meant to be straddled like a motorcycle, facing what would normally be the back, legs bent, indentations on the sides for the knees. But that didn't make a whole lot of sense, there didn't seem to be any way to work the rudder and directional jets like that. They must have a much different type of control system, he mused. It would be interesting to see one up close. Then there was the other obvious question, was Gogol the name of the fighter craft itself, or the people who flew them?
Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2) Page 41
