Red Sky Dawning

by Ian J. Malone

  “Ooh, good times,” Danny murmured over his glass.

  “Yeah, it was,” Lee and Mac echoed.

  “You totally still owe me for lying to Mom and Dad about that,” Katie said. “To this day, they still think you losers were living it up at La Vila.”

  “In any case,” Lee said, “Mac’s offer stands. If you opt to hang around here and stick close to home, I understand that. On the other hand…” He leaned back in his chair and flashed a grin. “If by some chance you’ve got a hankerin’ to venture a bit further off the beaten path than St. George Island…Well, Danny and the guys can get you accommodated.”

  “Plus it’d give Lee and me a chance to see you a few more days once we get back from the honeymoon,” Mac said. “Really, give it some thought.”

  Katie eyed the crab cake on her plate and considered the offer. “So just out of curiosity, since you guys have been so forthcoming with the details here, how far off the beaten path are we talking about? San Diego? Napa Valley? ’Cause I’ve kinda done those.”

  Before anyone could respond, the band’s lead singer stepped forward and called the bride and groom to the dance floor as the opening bars of “Please Call Home” by the Allman Brothers played from the piano.

  Mac grimaced at her feet again. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends.”

  Lee laughed and rose from his chair, then he helped his wife from hers.

  “Hey Mac,” Hamish said. “Be sure to catch up with us later. Link, Kris, and I have a very special wedding present to give ye…though we’ll have to take a brief trip to the basement to see it.”

  “The basement?” Katie asked.

  “Aye,” Hamish said with a devilish smile. “It’s a wee bit big for the gift table.”

  * * *

  Standing in the lift alongside Madisyn, Link, Hamish, and the two newlyweds, Danny felt the lift slow to a crawl before reaching PGC-East’s bottom level.

  “No peeking until I tell ye,” Hamish said to Lee and Mac.

  “C’mon Hamish,” Mac protested, eyes still closed. “You know I hate surprises.”

  “Oh, bloody well get over it,” Hamish said once the steel lift-doors swooshed open. “Our present, our rules. Now shut it already, and take four steps forward.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Mac muttered then did as instructed.

  The six emerged in the facility’s primary docking bay. “Okay, that’s far enough,” Hamish said. “Go ahead and open them up.”

  Peering through her fingers, Mac’s previous look of irritation vanished. “Holy crap, is that—”

  “Aye, the very same one we rescued ye in.” Hamish gestured toward the once-decrepit, now completely refurbished, Newbern-class freighter parked on the nearest platform. “Mr. and Mrs. Summerston, please allow me to introduce ye to yer very own luxurious honeymoon cruise-liner.”

  “Dude, it’s totally not a piece of crap anymore!” Mac said, springing from her feet into Hamish’s arms, though never once averting her eyes from the vessel’s shiny-new re-plated hull.

  “Still looks like a giant UPS truck, though,” Danny said, noting the ship’s tall, boxy fuselage and short, stubby wings.

  Lee gave him a look.

  “What?” Danny asked. “Tell me she doesn’t.”

  “I presume ye like her, then?” Hamish said with a chuckle as he set Mac down.

  “Are you kidding? She’s absolutely amazing!”

  “She really is, Hamish,” Lee said. “That’s some impressive wrench-work you guys put in on this thing. Really, I’d have never known this is the same ship from the Myrick mission.” He paused for a closer look at the ship’s engine nacelles. “Holy crap, is this thing runnin’ on an Ester 172?”

  “A scaled-down version of sorts, but aye, same drive.” Hamish folded his arms over his chest. “The 172s were built for our new cruisers, and that’s a bit too much power for a Newbern, even one as overhauled as this one. So, Kris and I came up with the 172-Beta engine, which is what ye’ve got here. To date, it’s the only one of its kind, actually.”

  “Nice,” Danny said next to Madisyn. “Any performance lag from the original line?”

  “Negligible,” Hamish said. “She still boasts a top cruising speed of forty million kilometers per second with a max burn capacity of ninety thousand revolutions per decigram of caldrasite. Now, is she the Harkens? Heavens, no. But she’ll get ye where ye need to go, and I might add, in a fraction of the time she used to.”

  Mac gave a whistle. “This is unreal, Hamish. Really, I don’t even know what to say except, nicely done, man.”

  Hamish shrugged. “In fairness, Admiral Katahl deserves a lot of the credit. Our old friend here had been rotting away in dry dock for over a year since her decommissioning, and she was well on her way to becoming scrap for some of our new ships. But the admiral pulled some strings to have her turned over to Link, Kris, and me for privatization. Throw in a few favors from some engineering friends, plus a wee bit of TLC, and she was back on her feet.”

  “Back on her feet?” Lee laughed. “Man, that homely little tub never looked so good.”

  “She is rather lovely isn’t she?” Hamish turned to regard his handiwork. “Propulsion, armor, defensive systems, bridge avionics…all updated to the new three-point-one series specs, and that’s not even taking into account the new amenities.”

  “Amenities, you say?” Mac asked.

  “Indeed,” Hamish said. “In light of the nature of her maiden voyage, we took the liberty of equipping the old girl with a king-sized bed in the master suite, sixty-inch flatscreen with full media library, and a Jacuzzi tub.”

  “The tub’s all me,” Link said with a grin. “FYI, I pushed for a water bed, but I got out-voted.”

  “Thanks anyway, Link,” Mac said. “As long as there’s a wet bar, I’m sure we’ll manage.”

  “Stocked it myself,” Madisyn said. “Red wine for you, bourbon for Lee, plus I took the liberty of throwing in a few extras for the sake of variety.”

  Mac smiled with approval.

  “And now we come to the best part.” Hamish directed the group toward the catwalk stairs across the bay while he stayed below. Once they’d reached the top of the platform, he grabbed a corner of the sheet covering the ship’s bow and went on. “Given this ship’s new status as a private vessel and the fact that no one but me ever really cared for the name Enterprise—”

  “Butt-awful,” Link coughed.

  Hamish turned a deadpan look to his friend. “Jar-Jar…Binks.”

  Ever the Star Wars purist, Link hung his head in shame.

  “As I was saying,” Hamish said. “Given all that’s happened, what with the ship’s makeover and all, we thought a name change was in order. Now, please know that many possibilities were considered here, by all parties involved. However, as I won out in a draw for final say…” He turned to Lee. “And I hope ye don’t mind, brother. But I opted to score one with the bride on this one.”

  Then, without further ado, Hamish tugged on the curtain, which fluttered to the deck below, revealing the freighter’s new registry number and name: NCF 385-P, CS-Mattingly.

  A high-pitched shriek ripped through the air as Mac clutched her cheeks in excitement.

  “I don’t get it,” Madisyn said. “What’s a Mattingly?”

  “Not what. Who.” Mac lowered her hands from her face, which practically glowed. “And not just any who. He’s the greatest ballplayer of my generation!”

  “Wasn’t he a little before your time?” Danny asked.

  “Dude,” Lee said. “Her first onesie had pinstripes. No kiddin’—her mom’s still got it.” He leaned around to Madisyn, who still looked confused. “Don Mattingly was a really good baseball player for the New York Yankees that Mac and her brothers pretty much idolized growin’ up. They even named the family dog after him.”

  “Really good baseball player,” Mac scoffed, tracing the ship’s frame with her eyes before coming right back to the name. “Sorry, dear husband, but wh
en you’re a six-time All Star with nine Golden Gloves, three Silver Slugger awards, and a league MVP, that pretty much certifies you as a badass. Just sayin’.”

  Several minutes later, once Hamish had finished his tour of the Mattingly’s newly refitted exterior, the group started up the freighter’s rear boarding ramp to check out the interior.

  “Hey fellas, I’m gonna skip the rest of the tour and get back upstairs to help out my old lady,” Link said. “Don and Frank were starting to get a little rambunctious.”

  Danny made a whipping sound.

  “Suck it, Crockett,” Link said.

  Once Link was gone, Lee started for the ramp and Danny halted him by the arm. “Hey, bro, hold up a sec.”

  Lee turned back to face him.

  “Listen, once we close down your reception later, I’m gonna duck out to make the drive down south.”

  Lee gave a slow nod, and Danny could see in his friend’s face that he understood. After all, Lee had ridden shotgun on more than one occasion over the years for the annual pilgrimage back to Miami Springs, and he knew better than anyone what awaited Danny there.

  “You gonna be all right?” Lee asked.

  “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I just…” Danny looked at the floor. “I just haven’t been home in a while is all, and well, since I’m here, I kinda wanna go see her.”

  Lee opened his mouth to respond. But in classic Summerston form, he paused to collect his thoughts before doing so.

  Good old Lee, Danny thought. Always the thinking man.

  “Listen, brother, I’m sorry I can’t go with you this time,” Lee said. “But I’ve got—”

  “Please. No explanation needed, bro. Believe me, I get it. I’ll be fine. You just worry about enjoying your honeymoon when you get outta here, all right? That should be your only concern right now.”

  Lee raised an eyebrow. “You know who is free to go, though?”

  “Ah c’mon, man,” Danny groaned. “Not this again.”

  “Sucks when somebody else has the lecture stick, don’t it?” Lee said, only partially in jest. “Really, brother, I ain’t tryin’ to jump your business. I know you’ve gotta take that step when it’s right for you. But Danny?” He paused and set a hand on his best man’s shoulder. “You’ve been with Madisyn for almost five years now, and the fact is, this is a part of who you are. If you’re gonna stay with her, you’ve gotta let her in, man, and I mean all the way. I know that ain’t an easy thing for you, and I know that better than most. But it’s gotta happen at some point.”

  Danny felt his expression go solemn. “I know, Lee, I know. And next time I’ll take her with me. But for now…” He paused and glanced up the ramp in time to see Madisyn’s bright red hair vanish through the back of the cargo hold. “For now I just need her to hang back and give me some time to work a few things out first. It’s not a big deal, trust me. And besides…” His look turned sly. “Given how long it took somebody to step up to the plate with Mac, I figured you of all people would understand that.”

  Lee rolled his eyes. “Heisman-worthy convo deflection there, sport.”

  “It’s what I do, amigo. Now come on. You’ve totally gotta see the rest of this crazy-ass deep-space RV that Hamish and his cronies built for your trip.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 8: Dark Horizon

  Having concluded his meeting with the Eurial Sun’s Max Larson a few minutes early, Masterson escorted the thin newsman to his shuttle in docking bay thirteen, where the pair exchanged farewells. Masterson liked Larson. He always had. As reliable sources of favorable spin went, the Sun’s editor-in-chief had been a good one for years, dating all the way back to his days as a beat writer for the war. Masterson would need that, too, when he returned from this next mission—hence the early tip Larson had just received.

  Once the shuttle was away, Masterson headed for the lift that would take him back to the Kamuir’s bridge, his mind still churning through the details of the order he was about to give. The crew wouldn’t take it lightly, nor should they. This was a dangerous part of space he’d be asking them to broach, one from which few ships ever returned. Captain Timmons had said as much during their meeting in Detron City when he had explained where he’d found the smashed network buoy containing the Auran data drive. Yet for all of the vessels that’d gone missing in that region, Masterson was only interested in one of them…a single shuttle launched one hundred and three years ago under the command of a Tomys Rayner, never to be heard from again. Masterson had to know what was out there. For if his intuition about that part of space was correct—and according to drive files, he had every reason to believe it was—then the region may well be home to an ally far more powerful than a news reporter.

  The lift eased to a stop, and Masterson stepped out into the dim red light of the Kamuir’s command center.

  “Commandant on the bridge,” Lieutenant Commander Briggs announced from his upper-level post at tactical.

  A physically fit man in his late thirties, Briggs wore his walnut-brown hair in the same regulation high-and-tight that a lot of the men did. His sharp jaw was clean-shaven, and under his left uniform sleeve was an ornate tattoo of Ardisyn—the Alystierian god of temperance—on his forearm. He was a good soldier, Masterson had always thought. He was loyal and committed, but not to the point of sycophantism like some of the others onboard. In short, Briggs knew when to ask questions and when to keep his head down. Plus there was a certain quiet strength about the man that Masterson had long since seen as intrinsic to good officers.

  “As you were,” Masterson said, descending the steps to his command chair in the center. “Report.”

  “The last of our resupplies are complete, sir,” Major Reau Langella said in a casual, almost care-free tone. “Orbital security says we’re clear to disembark. As always, sir, the crew awaits your order.”

  Masterson regarded his XO with a frozen stare. By gods, you even look like a slaring rodent. He wondered how such a puny man could ever develop such a swagger. Then again, sons of Alystierian ministers didn’t typically have to develop much of anything.

  “Very well, Major.” Masterson rose from his seat and assumed a formal stance to address the whole crew. “Helm, prepare to break orbit and lay in a course for sector 285.76. Execute on my mark.”

  As expected, a collective gasp rose from the bridge.

  “Excuse me, sir?” Langella blurted. “Last I checked, those coordinates put us squarely at the heart of the Rynzer Expanse.”

  Masterson scanned the unnerved faces around him and readied his explanation. He’d need to be delicate, yes. But he’d waited an eternity for this opportunity, and he’d be damned if he’d see it all undone by ghost stories and senseless paranoia.

  “Indeed they do, Major,” Masterson said in a cool voice. “That is precisely where I intend to take this ship and her crew.”

  Langella scratched his head then punched up the command log on the terminal in front of him. “Sir, are we not to proceed to Belathon 4 as previously instructed? To my knowledge, and according to the last update from Eurial, those are still our orders.”

  “Those were our orders,” Masterson said. “However, in light of our loss at Vendale 2, and given our ever-pressing need for caldrasite, our priorities have changed.”

  Langella wrinkled his beak-nose. “I wasn’t informed of this. Nor, for that matter, has there been any alteration to our mission status on the fleet-net.” He pointed to the terminal. “I’m looking at it right here, and as of 0752 it still has us bound for Belathon.”

  “I would certainly hope so.” Masterson folded his arms over his chest. “You’ll recall, Major, that the Vendale 2 development was also fleet knowledge, and that didn’t end so well for us, now did it?”

  Langella’s expression twisted, but he didn’t speak.

  Masterson rose to his full height and brandished his tablet. “As of last night, it was brought to my attention that a possible solution to our caldrasite shortage may exist in the ex
panse—and not just any solution, but perhaps the ultimate one where our fuel issues are concerned.”

  Langella leaned forward slightly. “Brought to your attention by whom?”

  “The initial discovery came by way of a deep-space probe we dispatched to the expanse’s border six months ago,” Masterson said, “the data from which goes directly, via daily subspace stream, to Dr. Miles Tarsus, head of our C-100 program. Once he reviewed and authenticated the data, he felt compelled to bring it to me at 0300 this morning, at which time I immediately took it before the chancellor.”

  Masterson paused for a moment, stifling a look of pride that he didn’t dare show the crew. After all, while everything he’d just said was true, and completely traceable, no one could know that it’d been Daryn Reese who’d hacked the probe and planted the data, knowing full well the process such information would trigger, and where that process would end: right back on his own desk.

  “And what exactly was in this mysterious data?” Langella asked.

  “The location of a planet,” Masterson said. “A planet that, according to the probe’s preliminary scans, is home to an eleven-hundred-square-kilometer reservoir of untapped caldrasite.”

  Every eye in the room went wide, save for those of Lieutenant Commander Briggs. The Kamuir’s head of security wore the same calm and composed expression he always did.

  “If memory serves, sir,” Briggs said, “that’s almost three times the size of the Aurans’ mine on Kendara.”

  Masterson nodded. “That is correct, Commander. In addition, the caldrasite in this mine registered an impressive 91.7 percent, making it by far the purest deposit of mineral on record.”

  The room began to stir, and Masterson could sense them beginning to understand. “Gentlemen,” he said, holding the tablet aloft, “if these findings are accurate, even remotely so, then we have no choice but to investigate—a point, I might add, that the chancellor and I are in full agreement on. This fuel shortage, in concert with our lack of C-100 technology, has handcuffed us for far too long in this war, and we must do something to change that. Make no mistake—pure-caldrasite technology is the future, and we must have it. But what good are C-100 ships if we have no fuel with which to power them? That is why we must undertake this mission.” Masterson stepped down from his command chair and began to pace the room, mindful to make direct eye contact with every member of his crew. “Hear me, brothers…the Aurans have their Kendara. Now it’s up to us to find ours—and by ‘us,’ I mean this crew. We are the warship Kamuir, gentlemen—flagship of the empire, beacon of the fleet, and tip of the Alystierian spear. We have a history, a legacy to uphold. And, if I may say, no other crew in all of the empire could’ve ever borne that mantle with the level of valor and integrity you have—one of a myriad of reasons I’m proud to be your commander. Your strength, your courage, and your conviction are known throughout the fleet, and that’s precisely why the burden of this mission must fall on our shoulders, for no one else’s are fit to bear it. To hell with the ghosts. Let them run back to their beloved expanse and cower like the rest of our adversaries. Their resources, however, their secrets, are ours, for they may well be our salvation.” Masterson fell silent for a moment while his words sank in. “Now, when our glorious empire needs us most…who among you will answer the call and go with me?”