13 Degrees of Separation

by Hechtl, Chris

  He turned fighting a snarl as he saw the scorch marks on the bulkhead. Despite all the scrubbing he had the crew do on their off time, it stubbornly stayed put. He'd exhausted most of their brushes on the thing. Even their toothbrushes hadn't worked.

  His ship was limping along, Apollo class 901, her sister ship wasn't much better off. They'd make up for it though, just as soon as they had prey in their sights. Even now his crew were localizing the signals.

  He turned his attention to the past. He frowned, sitting in his chair. Antigua... he shook that off. He didn't want to face it, so he tuned it out. Traing.

  They'd kept running after Triang, the captains had thought the devil ship would have followed them. The big bastard hadn't, or at least hadn't by the time they'd jumped. Instead of heading south to Briev 4 and dubious safety in the arms of the red queen, they had headed to the nearest jump point, Senka. The problem was, now they were desperate for fuel and supplies. The captains had been forced to reduce crew expendables twice. The air was thin and a lot of people were suffering headaches. They were down to quarter rations and he knew he looked like shit. Felt like shit too. He hoped the coming battle would go over easy, a cake walk as some said. He wasn't sure his people could put up much of a fight if the natives dug in. He didn't have many people to lose either. His crew... he frowned.

  The crew didn't know what the captains planned, the two officers had spent long hours arguing over a scrambled frequency in their quarters. Scuttlebutt said they were going to double back, head to Triang, then south to Briev 4 and either get sanctuary there or refuel and move on.

  Another source said the ships were looking for one of the intel ships wandering the jump lines in the sector. That was a long shot, if it was even true.

  There were dark rumors of sacrificing some of the lower ranked crew in order to get to where they needed to go. Already the CF-901 had fed two of her draftees to the ship's recyclers. One alive, or so the rumors said. She was short handed, down to thirteen people.

  The captains were aware of the trap they were in. Heading back to empire space was the goal, but how to go about it was how they differed. In order to get there they would either have to get enough materials to jump the long chain of dead systems from Senka to Beta 95A3 and the picket stationed there at the Nuevo Madrid jump point... most likely dying somewhere along the way, or head south as the crew assumed.

  For now though, their long range goal was superseded by the immediate goal of survival.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Miner forty niner used the one weapon he had, his tug and his brain. He used rocks as cover to get to his starting point. If this was going to work, he'd have to shoot carefully, he'd only have one shot. Already he was in the red zone on fuel and atmo, if he had to maneuver beyond what was needed to get back to the base he was screwed. Sure the tug might get there on a ballistic course, but he'd be a popsicle when it arrived.

  But, and there always was a but, but, if he didn't do this there would be no home to return to. A perfect catch 22, damned if he did, double damned if he didn't.

  He pushed a two ton rock to hit a bank shot into a pebble asteroid that was on course with the intruders. The Corvettes were keeping the pebble on their flank, it was drifting in an orbit that would cross the base's orbit within two days. Apparently they wanted to use the rock as cover, letting them get in close so the base couldn't be evacuated.

  He timed it so the shot would hit the pebble asteroid from behind, cloaked by the drifting belt, the cloud of dust, and the star four AU beyond. The collision shattered the rock, spraying the ships with the gravel like a shotgun, overloading their shields but leaving them alive.

  “Yeah! Now that's what I'm talking about!” The miner said, clenching his fist and teeth in celebration. He did a fist pump then patted the old girl, miming pulling an air horn cord.

  “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. And a body tends to remain in motion unless acted upon by an outside force... Thanks Newton,” the miner said, grinning. He rubbed at his grizzled chin and then did an assessment.

  One Corvette was damaged, adrift but salvageable with some effort. A lot of effort he thought with satisfaction, studying her spectrographic readings. She was leaking heavily. The other ship however was still functional. It's RCS kicked, she was trying to come around. He could see it was still alive, though venting atmosphere. The other ship had partially shielded it from the shot gun blast.

  He cursed as he powered up. It maneuvered to shoot at him.

  “Oh this is good,” he snarled. He glanced at his fuel gauges. He didn't have enough to get home. One problem at a time he thought.

  This was what it was about, he realized. He dodged behind a rock, keeping to the stern of the craft, forcing her to maneuver. She was inside him, but he could change direction, forcing the ship to expend more fuel to maneuver.

  He remembered a movie his sister had shown him. She'd said it had come from Earth. It was an ocean thing, a documentary of a predator, some sort of big fish with teeth that liked to eat selkies.

  No, not selkies, seals! Yes, he remembered now. Seals. The giant fish would rush up from the deeps to bite them, tearing them apart, sometimes leaping out of the water to do it. The fish were faster than the seals, running was useless. And the only way for the seals to survive a failed ambush was to stay on the predator, wear it out, dive and twist, keep moving, stick near its tail.

  Which was what he was doing. But he knew even his luck would run out eventually.

  And what was he doing it for? The people here? They could care less, all they wanted him for was for air and water. His sister. Barbara. Barbara the barbarian. The only thing he had to live for, his entire universe. What would he do if she died? If he backed off, slunk away and let the bastards get to her?

  He lived for her. No, he couldn't allow it... but... Could he die for her? Would he?

  Realizing no one would be there to help the station and his chances of survival were nil, he recorded a last gruff message to his family and ejected it in a beacon before setting course to ram the second ship. “Don't forget me,” he muttered, punching the drive's engine past the red line one final time. He closed his eyes, relaxed, finally at peace. “I love you sis,” he whispered and then licked his lips, ready for the inevitable.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  Realization on Corvette CF-901 came too late, they were low on fuel and too close to maneuver. Their weapons were useless, the one missile they had left was pointed in the wrong direction. “What is he doing?!” the exec demanded, voice going shrill as he started to stand. The tug was coming faster, on a direct course. “He's got nowhere to go!”

  “He's on a collision course!” the helmsman said, voice rising in panic.

  “He's picking his death. Better to die with your enemy! Helm! All over, get us out of here!” the Captain snarled, clutching at an oh shit bar for dear life.

  “Too late!” the helmsman said just as he tried to get away anyway. Instinctively his hands went up to ward the threat away.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  The tug's surprise sacrificial move dismayed the Corvette crews. The Corvette frantically tried to maneuver but it was too late. Shocked by sudden savage turn of events, how seemingly helpless prey could turn on the predators. When one was cornered, one had little left too loose.

  “On dangerous ground maneuver, on deadly ground... fight,” the Captain murmured. “He did the one thing he could. We didn't see it coming. Pity.”

  “Sir? What do we do?” the exec asked nervously, eyes wide as he turned to his Captain for reassurance.

  “We die. There is nothing left,” the Captain replied, shoulders slumped in defeat. His ship had less than a day's worth of oxygen, most likely less since they were leaking in multiple places. Micrometeorites had breached the hull in many places.

  Corvette 2, CF-901 had been destroyed with all hands, torn apart by the impact of the little tug. There was little if anything to salvage.

 
; Corvette 1, CF-834 had no drive and no hope of rescue now. The Captain closed his eyes, recognizing the inevitable. Some of his people suicided, the exec sobbed when he put his pulser in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Before the air ran out the Captain clung to his duty and purged his computers.

  The remaining men and women on board who stubbornly clung to life and the slim hope of rescue slowly died watching the air run out, cursing the miner. Before they died, the Captain gasped out a final report into the ship's log and then sent out the omega distress beacon towards the jump line leading to Horathian space. He watched the beacon tumble away into the void and then raised his personal weapon to his temple.

  ...*...*...*...*...

  “That's my story. I'm going to ram the bastard, the other's as good as dead anyway. Dead in a couple of hours anyway. So you take care of Barbara for me, tell her to take care. I'll see her sometime. Hopefully not soon. Her or my nieces and nephews. For those of you who found this, let them know that. And to sweeten the pot, reverse the course on this pod, you should find some bits left over. Make sure they get a cut. Spirit of space be with you. Bob out.”

  Roger frowned as the message ended. He stroked it once, nodding. The old man had done right. He'd been an ornery bastard, but he'd been a Senkan to the end. He kept the message and then used it's trajectory to reverse its back trail so he could follow it.

  He did so, picking up the fresh debris field on his scanners after a couple of hours. Carefully he approached, wary of the other Corvette. It was dead he realized, Forty Niner... Bob, had been right. He gleefully picked through the wreckage.

  After a couple of hours he decided to salvage the Corvette. Someone somewhere could rebuild it to defend their home. And if they used parts from the other ship... He looked over to it. Forty Niner had done a number on it, cut her in half, but there were a couple pieces that might still have working equipment. Every little bit helped. Roger grinned a yellow gape toothed grin as he got to work. The tug's robotic arms swung into action.

  The End

  Author's afterward:

  Wow, I honestly thought I'd get this done sooner, and with fewer stories that were somehow longer or something. I mean, when you see anthology books they are like what? 4 to 7 stories right? And here I've got 13. Of course, some are long, some are very short. Shrug, oh well.

  There are a lot more where these came from, dozens more. Maybe a hundred, I don't know, new stories come to me weekly now. (Let's do a head count... okay, 25 in the Founding of the Federation timeline, 23 in the Gottenburg timeline, 13 here in this timeline, and... it looks like 16 so far in the New Federation timeline)

  Sometimes they haunt me until I jot them down. Some keep bugging me until they are roughed out. (Seriously, can't they wait? I do have other things to do!)

  A bit more than half (7) of these stories have been seen by my volunteers. Some I've held back because they gave away bits of Jethro 2 First to Fight or other books.

  If you go back to Jethro 2, PP, GS, and some of the other books you'll see I laid some of the ground work for these stories. And if you keep an eye out, you might notice I laid the groundwork for Jethro 3, PB, and other future adventures. :)

  You can catch me and read some of my ramblings on my Blog:

  http://cyberforge3d.blogspot.com/

  Dramatic Personnel:

  Here are some of the people in the Wandering engineer universe.

  Fleet Admiral John Henry Irons: Engineering fleet admiral, possibly the last in the galaxy. At the time of stasis he was 102 years old with nearly eighty years in the service, 70 as an officer. He has 3 doctorates and multiple other degrees, most of them engineering related. He slept in stasis for 713 years missing the end of the Xeno war. He was a bit of a celebrity before and during the Xeno war, having a hand in the design of the first Stargate and one of the Dyson spheres.

  He spent 15 months on Io 11 after being rescued by her crew. He then spent a year in the Pyrax system and then 8 months on Destiny before transferring to Kiev 221.

  Lieutenant Commander Sprite: Smart, sometimes spunky smart AI and central core of Trinity. Serves as his adjunct. She is currently growing and evolving.

  Proteus: Experimental distributed AI based in the admiral's nanites. Serves as his engineering helper and bridge to controlling his nanites.

  Lieutenant JG Defender: Extremely intolerant dumb AI programmed as the admiral's security.

  Phoenix: Semi-smart female AI core of the starship Phoenix, created by Sprite and Proteus.

  IO 11:

  Captain: Crotchety old woman. Hard Captain, but beloved by her crew. In her eighth decade.

  Vanessa: Purser of the ship, hard penny pinching witch of a woman.

  Emily: Chief of security and XO of the ship. Blue hair, hard cold temperament. Granddaughter of the Captain.

  Lessa: chief navigator.

  Shandra: Chief helmsman. Partner of Jennie.

  Jennie: Assistant chief.

  Faith: Scottish chief engineer. Had been injured just prior to the admiral's arrival. Restored to full health after long time in stasis.

  Io: AI of the ship. First AI created by Sprite.

  Doctor: Female doctor. Mother of Mindy, spent years in stasis after injury.

  Mindy: Teenage Goth daughter of the doctor.

  Doctor: Male doctor, shanghaied from Seti Alpha 5. resettled there with wife and child.

  Deidra: Chief pilot.

  Hibiki: Junior pilot.

  Taki: chief load master.

  Leri: chief of fuel.

  In Pyrax:

  Commander Horatio Logan: Former yeoman and enlisted petty officer prior to and during Xeno war. Sleeper, he was awoken over a century prior to the admiral and served as the chief engineer of Anvil space station before the admiral's arrival. Currently the commanding officer of Pyrax.

  1st Lieutenant Junior Valdez: Son of Senior Valdez, former tug pilot turned small craft pilot and later first fighter pilot in Pyrax. Currently acting LT Commander in charge of all pilots in the system.

  System Governor Walker: Elected Governor of the system. Tall, rather good looking and charming. A corrupt politician. One of the conspirators to remove the admiral from the system.

  Marines:

  Major Jersey Forth: Former Captain of a planetary militia and then security Captain on Anvil before retiring to enter private service. Tough and very good at his job. Recruited into the Marines as a Captain but then elevated to Major.

  Captain Pendeckle: Former 1st Lieutenant. Commander of the 1st Agnostan recon detachment.

  1st Lieutenant Dana Harley: Marine. Former 2nd Lieutenant. Later promoted to Captain. Second in command of the 1st Agnostan recon detachment.

  Sergeant Jefferson: Former assistant DI of F platoon. Later recon and sniper trainer and full DI.

  Sergeant Brenet: Former assistant DI of F platoon. Later advanced trainer.

  Lance Corporal Jethro Panther: Black Neo panther assassin.

  Gunny Schultz: Neo Doberman, former Drill instructor of F platoon.

  Ensign Valenko Kodiak: Neo grizzly bear corporal, graduate of F platoon bootstrapped to ensign.

  Sergio: Neo white Liger, heavy weapons. PFC.

  Hurranna: Neo lynx/bobcat PFC small, wishes to be a pilot.

  Ox: Last Tauren in the Pyrax system. Engineer, communications tech, and apprentice armorer. Lance Corporal.

  PFC Asazi: former female prize fighting champion. Heavy worlder genes, hard charger. Shooter. She has a broken nose and facial scar.

  Lance Corporal Letanga: Leopard cousin of Jethro. Went through sniper and recon training with Jethro. Quiet, reserved but very loyal. He has a limited cloaking ability.

  Lance Corporal Betty: Neo chimp. Went through F platoon with the others. Also outfitted and trained in powered combat armor.

  PFC Shiku: Arctic white Neofox sniper.

  Senjix: Neocheetah, cousin of Cheetahra. PFC. Excellent scout. Graduate of F platoon like all the other Neos.

  PFC Zebo: Gashg driver.
Former member of F platoon.

  PFC Ris'ha: Naga driver. Former member of F platoon.

  Private Shep: Neo Sheppard. Later Sergeant Shep. Head of the Military Police.

  Tungulria: Black Neowolf. The only other Neo to have almost the same cloaking ability as Jethro.

  Petty officers Gusterson: Neo greyhound naval corpsman assigned to Valenko's squad as the medic.

  Harley Quinn: PFC Neo Hyena, jokester. Infamous in F platoon for her pranks.

  Lance Corporal Déjà: Selkie. Former slave of the pirates serving as the chief helmsman on Destiny. Now wants to be a Marine pilot.

  Others in the system:

  Lieutenant Commander Vargess: Love interest of Captain Mayweather. Captain of the Arboth class destroyer Fuentes.

  Fuentes (AI): ancient AI recovered and rebuilt prior to the admiral's departure. The AI had only 1 of 3 cores and was partially insane. Fortunately the AI had been repaired and returned to service.

  Lieutenant Commander Harris: Commander, former tactical officer of Firefly. Currently Captain of Maya.