Fracture sf-5

by Randolph Lalonde

  “There you go, Oz. Have it brought in then take the command chair. I'm going down with four squads to meet whoever's on board personally.”

  “Already tired of commanding a carrier?” Oz asked with a chuckle.

  “No, I want to see what kind of scum they dislodge from that ship and meet it personally. Jason can fill you in on what we're seeing up here.”

  “All right, on my way up. Chief Vercelli has Flight Command.”

  “Going to offer him the same treatment Jake gave Captain Gammin?” Jason asked as she stood.

  “Nope. This one's all yours once we get him to the brig. We need information about these people and the sector we're in.”

  He genuinely smiled. “Time to put all that interrogation training to work, oh boy. Do you want me to start communicating with the rest of the raider ships and seeing if any of them want to join us now that our Captain has made a mess of their captor?"

  Ayan smiled at him over her shoulder. "Always the clever one. Just make sure we have enough room for fighters once the ships are finished landing."

  It only took Ayan a few minutes to change into the combat vacsuit that the fabrication centre had made for her. It felt like a second skin and she couldn't help but smile a little as all the improvements her and Laura had developed during their time together at Special Projects came on line.

  She left the head gear retracted into a hood and strapped her sidearm on as she made her way to one of the main lifts. Two squads were waiting for her when she arrived. The other pair were already in the main hangar.

  She was the subject of many sidelong glances at first. Of all of them she was the shortest, but she wore the same armour and had seven slashes on her cuffs, designating her rank as the same as the Captain's. He'd appointed her to the position without telling her and left her to seek out her own place on the ship. It led her to test her skills and get some practice at commanding the Triton in simulation and to her surprise she managed to take control. It wasn't easy, far from it. The Triton was designed as a multi-role close combat carrier and mission platform. It had the capacity to run several operations all at once, acting like a mother ship with sub crews.

  Lucius Wheeler had never used the vessel to its full potential in any respect, and it was becoming plain to her that Jake had every intention of doing just that. Oz increasingly took care of day to day operations while Jason organized the security office like an intelligence unit. The Chiefs Jake had appointed were getting better at their jobs and respected the help offered by the former First Light crew. The only Chief that didn't directly benefit from their military experience was Frost, the Gunnery Chief. He was already amazing at his job even though he was a mess off duty in many respects.

  Ayan couldn't help but muse about how it felt like a month had passed since she arrived aboard the Triton. It had actually been fourteen days and she had done so much it boggled her mind. With the right direction the crew made fantastic accomplishments and responded very well to her clarity and positive reinforcement even though three in ten often required more training. The largest project she'd participated in was the construction of two replacement engines in the main hangar. When they had settled into the obscured portion of the asteroid field they would replace the pair that Wheeler and the Saviour had ruined.

  The one thing that bothered her about the two weeks was the little time she'd had to spend with Jake. She felt as though they were drifting, as though he was becoming less and less open to her as time went on and she was often at a loss for words. Being told she was his biggest problem was the ultimate statement of how far they'd managed to drift apart. She suppressed the wave of emotion as it threatened to overtake her and set her expression in a stern, hard stare.

  “If you don't mind me saying so, Ma'am, it's good to meet you. My name's Sean Orlando.” introduced the lieutenant standing beside Ayan.

  "I'm glad to meet you too." She had read that he was one of the surviving military officers from the Enreega system. The details of the taking of the Triton and the refugees from Enreega kept her up far later than she'd prefer to admit a few nights beforehand. The stories were a compilation of several journal recordings volunteered by the crew threaded together with Jacob's accounting.

  He was surprisingly articulate. The intelligence and expressive quality of Jonas Valent was in there along with a more sardonic wit and a sort of confidence that came from experience. It was all recorded before Jonas Valent's memories surfaced. That's what struck her.

  He spoke of taking a turn for the better when he decided to rescue instead of steal a cargo train filled with slaves. Seeing so many people stowed away for transport, mistreated and left in a barely liveable cargo hold while the hauler dragged them between solar systems was like a personal insult to him. He wished he had remained behind and ensured that the Galleon hauling the slaves was actually destroyed and decided to check arrival logs whenever he made port.

  So much had happened to him and the crew of the Samson since they had made that decision, to rescue the slaves instead of steal them for Regent Galactic. It was just as Jacob said in the log; “Some decisions change everything that follows. If I didn't turn away from profit and choose to help those slaves find their freedom I wouldn't have taken the Triton, been in a position to take people on from Enreega and I wouldn't have met Ayan in her time of need.”

  That was one of the things that touched Ayan, that she was a consideration in possibly the most influential chains of events in his life. The story that Security Chief Stephanie Vega had pieced together from other people's logs that led up to and continued from their encounters in the Enreega system was riveting, she couldn't finish reviewing it in one sitting, though she wished she could. It explained how the current crew members came together, why so many of them were unwaveringly loyal and part of the mythology that seemed to surround her former self and Jonas.

  Since she'd come aboard eyes were on her and she'd done her best to live up to the expectations of the crew, directing the construction of the new engines, teaching when she had time and being a good commander. Much of it was within the scope of her training, but whenever someone looked at her with adoration or admiration she was surprised. She'd mentored junior officers before, but being at the heart of a ship wide mythology was completely different.

  She still hadn't settled in new quarters. The decision was up to her, but being in the more common junior officers quarters seemed right until she was firm in her choice. Stephanie had presented her with options for accommodations, offering senior officers quarters in the command section, the aft dorsal guest quarters which were lavish enough to make her too embarrassed to move in and she finished her offer of accommodations with an apartment in the botanical gallery. That was where she wanted to be most, but it didn't feel right somehow. She didn't feel like moving from one place to another when being on Triton felt somehow transient. As though she were just stopping there for a short time before moving on. It was a feeling that plagued her ever since she woke for the first time in Freedom Tower on the Freeground colony.

  She'd discussed it with Minh-Chu, who had proven to be a fantastic friend. He seemed to fit in perfectly, making a name for himself in a matter of days, taking the lead of the new squadron and teaching everyone a few things about what it meant to be a fighter pilot. Excitement, humour, enthusiasm all had their place as long as you did your job well, approached each task with the seriousness it demanded and looked out for each other was a philosophy he proved by example. Even though he was a daring, excitable pilot, there were few fighter jocks who wouldn't take him as their wingman or fly on his wing.

  Life on the ship was easy for him, easier than it was for her. He had already taken the Wing Commander's quarters at the fore of the lower decks, in front of the pilot's berthing. The view from there looked out from the front of the ship and he had a perfect view of ships landing in any of the three hangars beneath.

  After reviewing the history of the ship since Jacob and his crew had taken over she
was most amazed at how eventful and encouraging it was. Ayan found it intimidating at times, she had to admit but more than anything she hoped that she could be a part of that story. That she could make good choices and, even though they saw her as a kind of icon already, gain respect as a commander.

  The lift door opened and she snapped herself back to the present. She was surrounded by soldiers and they awaited her order. Ayan led them out into the busy hangar. They were working on a fighter that had just arrived with severe damage. They had to use a pry-bar to loosen the cockpit of the Uriel fighter. Regardless of the numerous dents and scorches the fighter had done its job protecting the pilot and her SIO, defending the Triton, engaging her enemies and bringing back the ship they had disabled only minutes before.

  The disabled ship that the Uriel fighter had hauled in was an old half oval shaped yacht that had seen better days. Before the heavy duty elevator had finished raising it to be flush with the deck the main hatch slid aside. Several humans in dirty old service jumpsuits and partial vacsuits of various clip or zip together designs escorted a bloodied older woman. Her golden hair hung dishevelled, her lip was broken open, her left arm hung at an awkward angle, her eye socket and cheek were already puffing, changing colour.

  Two crew members, a man and a woman, dragged her forward and tossed her on the deck. Ayan looked the forming crowd of twenty three over as her built in scanning equipment displayed results on the inside edge of her hood. After a moment she confirmed that the beaten older woman was the only one without a slave implant. She exhaled slowly, steadying her nerves. Ayan had never been faced with a situation in any way similar to what she was seeing. Refugee slaves that had a little time with one of their captors but were good enough to let her live. “All right, someone call for a medical team and stay close. Time to make friends,” she whispered to the security personnel surrounding her.

  Ayan led the way to the refugee crew, striding confidently and swiftly. They followed behind her like a black wave. “Welcome to the Triton. We don't support slavery. We'll provide food, reasonable lodgings and will let you leave as soon as we've made port.”

  A scrawny, filthy man with bulging eyes and uneven cheekbones stepped forward nervously. “If you have work and food that doesn't give me a rash I'll take it. I think I speak for everyone.”

  “Aye, but find a cell or an airlock for the doctor here first,” added the tall woman standing beside the first speaker.

  Ayan stopped five meters away from the group and looked them over. Her gaze came to rest on the blonde woman on the deck. One unswollen green eye looked at her pleadingly. “They beat me, please help,” she rasped wetly.

  “You're the only one without a slave implant,” Ayan said. It was more a statement than a question. “First we'll use Captain Valance's nanobot program to remove them from everyone else while you receive treatment for your injuries. Then we'll be putting you in a cell. We're not allied with any governments so until we decide what to do with you, that's where you'll stay.” Ayan highlighted the program Jake had used to neutralize the slave implants and forwarded it to the soldiers around her. The suspense in the air surrounding the slaver's exact fate was palpable. “Just so you know, Doctor, I'm the kinder commander aboard. Captain Valance already executed your Captain and his First Officer aboard the Palamo.”

  The medical team arrived and Ayan stopped them with a gesture just as they were about to focus on the wide eyed woman on the deck. “Does anyone else have life threatening injuries?”

  No one in the slave crew stepped forward. Most of them stared at Ayan in astonishment.

  “All right, go ahead and treat her. Don't take her to medical, take her to the brig instead.” She turned to Sean. “You four, make sure she gets there. Squads nine and ten; offer to remove their implants and add them to the ship registry as guests until we can figure out where they'll be working if they wish to stay. After you've finished, help these people to medical, lower aft berthing, the galley, whatever they need.”

  Chapter 10

  Triton Bridge Culture

  Oz narrowed the focus of his secondary display to Minh's position, his fighter's status, and physical report. His Ramiel fighter was between the station and the planet, running close scans of the damaged structure. The fighter itself was under stress, fighting the gravity of the dense planetoid beneath as Minh manoeuvred between the hanging struts of the structure.

  The fighting had stopped outside the station. Every single ship had been secured, disabled or destroyed, nothing had gotten away. It had been a nightmare to coordinate and Oz had to give Minh credit, if he weren't so easy to work with, so decisive and well practised something would have slipped past them and there would have been many more losses.

  The day had been won on their front, but there was so much left to do. “Ronin, it's time to come on in.”

  “But I don't want to get out of the water, mom,” Minh replied, mock whining.

  “Seriously, you need to come on back and take care of the squadrons. You've got a lot of pilots who had to bail and don't know if they accomplished anything today. Nathan's finished the debriefings but a thumbs up will mean a lot more from you.”

  “What did we accomplish today Oz?”

  The question was only mildly surprising. Minh had been more pensive, more insightful ever since he'd been back. No surprise, considering all the time he had all to himself. Oz thought. “The word's in from the Captain. The Palamo is a slave ship, so is the rest of that raider fleet you just nailed down. We just freed over eight hundred on the Palamo alone, tally on the rest isn't in. We've also landed five slightly abused ships on deck.”

  “Freeing slaves, capturing ships. Now that's something.”

  Oz watched as Minh's sleek, predatory starfighter angled away from the planetoid and passed between two main supports. He set a course for Minh to follow to the main hangar, alerted the deck crews that he was inbound and sent it to his fighter. “Calling everyone else in behind you. I'm setting a patrol of one squadron that's finishing their rest cycle.”

  “All right, I'll visit the bridge when I can get free.”

  Oz stepped down from the platform and invited deck Chief Vercelli to take his place. “Sorry Chief, I know his stats were fine but I need Ronin to have enough energy left to take care of house keeping when he gets back aboard.”

  “I've been around the Flight deck long enough to know a Wing Commander spends half his time flying a desk. I have to tell you, this flight control deck is something else. It makes it a lot easier to follow what's going on and make decisions. I see you have some pretty fierce training though, you make running things look easy.”

  “I've had a lot of training and experience on a couple carriers. You're right though, these systems are so easy to run my five year old niece could operate them.”

  “I liked your choices here today. I think we're going to get on well.”

  “Thanks Chief. Tell me if anything interesting comes up.”

  “Will do.”

  Passing from the flight control deck with the constant chatter of two dozen operators, coordinators, tactical officers and technicians to the bridge was like going from one world to another. The combat stations on the bridge were nearly silent, calmly maintaining systems, keeping aware of changing conditions as fighters landed and took off and monitoring the exterior situation. Jason had joined the three communications officers at their stations, where they monitored local transmissions and directed the screening of the massive quantity of data they'd downloaded earlier.

  “Captain Valance reports completion of a full sensor sweep on the Palamo. Five other ships have surrendered. Chief Vega reports that she's finished her sweep of the station and the injured are being loaded onto the Cold Reaver. She's attached a communications device to a structural support, hoping that we can use it to get through to the survivors,” Agameg Price reported from the Captain's chair as he stood and made his way back to the lead tactical terminal.

  “Thank you Lieutenant.
Did the Captain have any directions for us?”

  “He said he'd be finished checking the viability of the Palamo in the next half hour but it doesn't look good. The initial scan is at the top of the command log.” Agameg smiled and checked in with his own subordinate who had much less to report.

  “Right above this message from Chief Frost called; 'All dressed up for nothin.'” Oz shook his head and called up the report on the Palamo.

  “Frost can be a little,” Agameg hesitated a moment, considering his choice of words carefully. “Abrasive. He's very good at his job though.”

  “So I hear,” Oz nodded as he looked at the slowly turning three dimensional view of the Palamo. “Now that's an old carrier,” he muttered. Its rectangular hull looked like the decks were roughly stacked atop each other. The power plants and landing bays were easily distinguishable, like the design was modular at one time but the parts had grown together as time wore on and repairs were made. “I can see why he doesn't think it's worth salvaging. One bay is completely compromised, there are about thirty compartments open to space and the reactors are cold.”

  “Do you think Captain is looking to take on another carrier? There's the Viscount's Pride as well, though it doesn't look as well crewed and it's in much worse condition than the Palamo.”

  Oz thought for a moment, looking at the old carrier. He could picture it in its day, some government had paid billions of dollars to put into service, most likely over a hundred years before. What he was seeing was a carrier made for extremely long range combat. Its strength was in its fighters. Some of the old, scorched launch ports had been sealed or patched over, and they obviously used one of the broad decks to launch their various fighters. They had added large exterior holds, throwing the vessel off balance and one of the landing decks had been refitted to launch guided missiles. “If he is, this isn't the one he'd want. Besides, we'd need a whole other crew and we're just getting the hang of the Triton.” He looked to Agameg, who was watching him as though he was soaking in every word, taking in every mannerism. “What do you think? Would the Captain Valance you know want to expand his fleet?”