Junkyard Dogs series Omnibus

by Phillip Nolte

  Santana Nexus Station, somewhere on the third ring January 4, 2599.

  Having absolutely no say in how the next events in his life were going to unfold, Ezra Hellfire Brimstone went with the strange men. The group headed immediately around the ring to the nearest spoke and took the elevator to the central spindle area. Here they transferred to one of the four north-south spindle elevators and headed southwards all the way down to the tenth ring of the station, an area which Brimstone knew had been the military area of the station before the current course of events had altered everything.

  The small entourage went deep into the former military ring and finally Brimstone was escorted into a compartment that contained another five or six heavily armed men and a very well dressed and well groomed man sitting behind an impressive desk. The desk had a sign on it that read "Admiral Harriet Kingston." Whoever this person was, he was high up in the power structure of the Sheik's Revolutionary forces. He had been allowed to take over the offices of the former military commander for the Nexus Station!

  "Have a seat Mr. Brimstone."

  Brimstone had not recognized the man, but he did recognize the voice. This was the same person to whom Brimstone had sold his nuclear self-destruct device. Trying to regain some kind of composure, Brimstone addressed him.

  "I did not think that we would ever meet again," said Brimstone.

  "Nor did I," replied the stranger, "but then I started thinking."

  "That can be both good and bad," replied Brimstone.

  "Indeed," returned the stranger. "It then occurred to me that while you claim to have given me the codes to activate the nuclear device I purchased, I have no way to tell if you have swindled me until I actually attempt to utilize the device."

  "I assure you, the codes are active."

  "You may assure me all you like," replied the stranger, "But we both know that your promises really don't mean much in this situation do they?"

  "I...I have no rebuttal," said Brimstone, for once at a loss for words.

  "You need to see what I have planned for our device," said the stranger.

  "I assume you wish to really blow something up, a warship or something like that..."

  "Nothing so mundane as that, Mr. Brimstone, I assure you." The stranger turned to his guards. "Bring Mr. Brimstone along; I have something to show him. We will be returning to the spindle."

  With Brimstone in tow and the stranger leading, the group retraced their steps through the tenth ring and took a spoke elevator to the central spindle. Within about ten minutes, they found themselves in a receiving bay near the airlock area at the south end of the station. There were several armed guards in the bay and, unlike some of the other guards onboard the station, these looked to be very alert. Brimstone looked around and immediately saw what it was they were guarding: a very stout-looking cargo container. Through the open side door of the container he could see his nuclear self-destruct device. Only his device wasn't the only thing in the container; the self-destruct unit appeared to be connected to a very complicated looking machine of unknown function. It was hard to make out much detail in the dim confines of the cargo box but the new device was at least five times longer than the self-destruct module. The cargo container was further protected by the shimmer of a force screen.

  "I see you are keeping our device well-guarded," said Brimstone.

  "It is a necessary precaution," replied the stranger.

  "What does this other machine do," asked Brimstone, all but certain that he would learn nothing but willing to try anyway. To his surprise, the stranger explained in detail.

  "I believe you've heard that I have dabbled in Whitney hyperdrive research?"

  "It has been mentioned," replied Brimstone.

  "Then you must have deduced that it is one of my inventions that is keeping the authorities in the Sol-Terra Quadrant from interfering in our affairs out here."

  "I've heard some rumors but that was supposed to be impossible!"

  "Impossible for others, perhaps, not for me."

  "So what is the purpose of this new device?"

  "The device that I have connected our 'power source' to is a Whitney hyperdrive field generator powerful enough to transfer very large objects."

  "But...that's impossible!" replied Brimstone.

  "As I said, impossible for others..."

  Careful not to touch the force screen, Brimstone got as close as he dared while attempting to look the device over in more detail. Between the dim light and the shimmer of the force screen, there wasn't a lot to be seen.

  "With that fusion device to power it, it must be extremely powerful," said Brimstone.

  "Oh, yes."

  "What do you plan to do with it?"

  "Turn the Santana and Sol-Terra Quadrants into chaos."

  "With this thing?"

  "Oh yes, with the nuclear bomb to power it the device generates a hyperdrive transfer field a good two hundred kilometers in diameter in the instant before both the device and the power source are consumed in the explosion. It is quite ingenious, if I say so myself. In the chaos of the current strife, we plan to approach Old Earth and set the device off in the middle of the Federation's Orbiting spaceship docks. The vast fleets of the Federation Navy will be transported into the interior of the nearest star, which would be Sol, in this case. The entire fleet, totally destroyed in a single event. Brilliant isn't it?"

  "They said you were mad, but..."

  "That is why they call me Al Majnun, 'the madman,' Mr. Brimstone," said the eccentric genius, "Guards? This man now knows way too much. Lock him up for safekeeping. Good day Mr. Brimstone."

  The enigmatic stranger left the airlock area.

  Brimstone knew that resisting the stranger's men would be worse than useless and allowed himself to be locked in a holding cell some distance away but still in the central spindle. Brimstone found himself looking through a force curtain again only this time the curtain was between him and freedom.

  Chapter 28.

  UTFN Reclamation Center January 7, 2599.

  After a day and a half of intense activity, the two Scrapyard expeditions were ready to depart, the Asimov and the Dingo to Heard's World and the two mining ships, Donegal and Glendaloch, along with the freighter, City of Darwin to Catskill-Soroyan and Patagonia. Those remaining at the Scrapyard were concentrating their efforts on getting the Perseus back into top fighting trim and on the power interface issues on the Greyhound.

  Kresge sighed as he watched the two groups of ships depart the Scrapyard. The Junkyard Dogs might or might not be able to take the fight to the Santana Nexus but it sure as hell felt good to be doing something! Any kind of hope for the future, even if what they were hoping for was a long shot, was better than just moping around and waiting for something else bad to happen!

  ***

  UTFN Auxiliary Ship Greyhound January 7, 2599.

  It was shortly before midnight on the bridge of the Greyhound. The recruiting and supply expeditions had departed much earlier in the day. With so many ships and so many people gone, things seemed much quieter than usual in the Scrapyard. Harris was in charge of the Reclamation Center's command center, which was essentially the Greyhound's bridge, while Murdock, Kresge, Hawkins, Talbot and the others got some much needed rest. Carlisle, who had not resumed a full duty schedule as yet, was with Harris on the bridge looking over some of the Reclamation Center files on her wrist computer to see if a possible solution to the Greyhound's power interface problems lie somewhere within the inventory of the Scrapyard.

  "Lieutenant? Could you come over here for a minute?" asked Carlisle, her eyes intent on a holo display from her wrist computer. Harris, who had been consulting with one of the two CPOs who had remained at the Scrapyard, Perry Allen, crossed the bridge to the station that Carlisle was working at.

  "What is it, Dr. Carlisle?" asked Harris.

  In spite of the fact that the two of them were tentatively exploring the early stages of a possible relationship, they both strove
to maintain a completely professional demeanor when either of them was on duty or in public.

  Carlisle looked around the bridge at the three other personnel who were manning their stations and spoke very softly. Against the normal background sounds of the various electrical devices and the nearly constant whirr of cooling and ventilation fans, the bridge was noisy enough that only Harris could hear her.

  "I found something on my wrist computer that I think you should see."

  Speaking just as softly, Harris replied, "Okay, what is it?"

  "I was going through the Scrapyard inventory files that the Federation technicians back at the Academy copied from my old unit again and I found this..." She scrolled through a list of files, stopping at one in particular. When she attempted to access the file she got a message: "Access denied. This file can only be accessed by the Station Commander."

  "Well, that would seem to settle the matter, wouldn't it?" said Harris.

  "Normally it would, but some pretty strange things happened out here in the Scrapyard during the attacks a couple of months ago. Look at this..." She re-entered her earlier command on the virtual keyboard in the air above her left wrist. The response was, as before, "This file can only be accessed by the Station Commander."

  Carlisle entered: Identify Station Commander.

  The reply surprised him. "Acting Current Commander is Lieutenant Ryan Harris."

  "What the...?"

  "That was my first response too. Then I got to thinking about it and, near as I can figure, command of the cargo loading process was transferred to Perkins when Kresge left the Scrapyard for the New Ceylon station. With you as the highest ranking officer remaining, he must have transferred overall command of the Reclamation Center to you. That would have automatically updated the Scrapyard computers on the Auxiliary tracking station. When Perkins and the others were...killed, and the tracking station was destroyed a couple of days later, any automatic updating links would have been broken when the computers were destroyed. As a consequence, command was never transferred back to Kresge...or something like that. What I have on my wrist computer is a copy of the inventory and other Scrapyard files that was made shortly after the main facility was destroyed and before the attack on the Auxiliary Tracking Station destroyed it as well. Somehow, this copy of the files 'thinks' that you are in command. By the way, this is also the only copy of these files currently in existence anywhere in the Santana Quadrant."

  "Any idea what's in it?"

  "No, but I could take a guess. It's probably personnel files and higher level security stuff, most of which doesn't matter much anymore because all the personnel were killed when the Scrapyard main facility was destroyed."

  "I don't know if it's a good idea for us to be messing with this."

  "I don't either, and I certainly don't want do anything illegal. However, we are currently at war and these files might have information we could use."

  "How about we take this up with Kresge in the morning. Given the current state of affairs, he should know about it."

  Carlisle looked relieved. "That's the same conclusion I came to, Lieutenant, but I wanted to run it by you first."

  "Thanks for telling me about this, Tamara." He stopped for a second and looked carefully at her still somewhat pale face and added, "It's late, don't you think you should be getting some rest?"

  Oblivious to the passage of time, as she often was when something that intrigued her caught her attention, she was surprised to find out how late it was and decided she agreed with him.

  "I...I lost track of the time," she said. "So we talk to Kresge first thing in the morning?"

  "First thing."

  She closed the special file, got up from her station and headed for her quarters. On the way she began to realize just how hard she had been pushing herself. Too hard probably, she concluded. Still in her coverall, she flopped down on the bed and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

  ***

  Tamara Carlisle was in deep trouble and she knew it. She didn't know how she'd gotten into this situation but the creepy place she found herself in was dark and shadowy. Ominous indistinct shapes of various sizes lined the walls and floor. She was weightless and somehow it came to her that she was facing an unknown attacker. Something furtive and threatening came out of the shadows. As the figure came towards her, she made ready to defend herself with the hand weapon that had suddenly appeared in her hand, a quantum knife. She looked around frantically, seeking some avenue of escape but suddenly there was nothing around her but bare walls. As her attacker came out into the light, she recognized the face of Fahada, the Sheik of Barsoom's female professional killer!

  Carlisle parried a blow from Fahada's knife and plunged her own blade into her adversary's abdomen, just below the ribcage. Blood began to flow and the face of her enemy contorted in agony before she...morphed into someone else! Carlisle recognized Jessie, the Veritian raider that she had been forced to kill on the bridge of the Terrier during the first battle for the Scrapyard. Her new victim cried out soundlessly and while he was writhing in pain, he morphed yet again, this time into the man Carlisle had killed in single combat within the hold of the battlecruiser, again during the first battle for the Scrapyard. Her adversary was wounded but not yet dead. He plunged his own knife into Carlisle's side and...

  ...She cried out and awoke in a cold sweat, her body contorted and her fingers clutching the bedclothes in a death grip. The pain in her side where the shadow adversary had stabbed her was partially genuine and she realized that she must have tensed and strained some the muscles in her still-healing side near her sore ribs during her thrashings. That pain was already subsiding and she was relieved to discover that she hadn't reinjured anything. Her surroundings were also unfamiliar and it took her sleep-altered mind a moment to realize that she was safe in her quarters on the Greyhound. It was sometime in the early morning which meant that she had been sleeping for several hours.

  Thank God, it was only a dream...but it had seemed so real!

  Only half awake, with tear streaks on her face, Carlisle, still dressed in her shipboard coverall, pushed out into the near darkness of the short corridor outside her small quarters on the Greyhound. She went two doors down in the dimly lit corridor and rapped softly on the door.

  "Ryan? Are you in there? Please, I need to talk to you."

  "Carlisle?" came the sleepy reply moments later. "Just a sec..." After the short time required for Harris to pull on a coverall of his own, he opened the door to let her in. She wore a stricken look and her face was streaked with tears. She held his eyes briefly with hers before going into his arms, burying her face against his shoulder and bursting into tears in earnest. He closed the door and embraced her tightly.

  "Tamara?" he asked, his voice just above a whisper, "What's wrong?"

  Still clinging to him, she took a deep breath and managed to regain partial control of herself. Her explanation came out in a jumbled rush. She replied in the same hushed tone, so there was no possibility that they would disturb anyone else, "I just had the most horrible dream! I was fighting with Fahada and when I stabbed her, she turned into that raider that I killed on the bridge of the Terrier and then..."

  "Easy," said Harris, gently stroking her hair. He was reminded of the time he had comforted her after she had killed the very same raider that she was describing from her dream.

  "But it seemed so real!" Carlisle had stopped crying after the initial outburst but she was still clinging to the Lieutenant with her eyes tightly closed.

  "Dreams can be like that sometimes, besides, you're still recovering from some pretty serious injuries, including a good smack to the head."

  "That Fahada woman...she disturbs me." Carlisle drew her head back and turned her puffy, red-rimmed eyes to Harris's face. "Am I like her, Ryan? Am I a...killer? I...I just saw the faces of two of the men I killed in my dream..."

  Harris shook his head emphatically. "No, Tamara, you're not a killer. You're a soldier. There i
s a big difference. Sometimes soldiers are forced to kill others in the line of duty. The very fact that you're dreaming about it and it bothers you so much means that you have regrets. What you feel may not be comfortable, but it's perfectly normal."

  "It felt...awful..." She looked relieved but the plea in her eyes was unmistakable as she asked the next question, "Ryan? ...can I stay here with you for a while? I really don't want to be alone right now."

  Refusing her never even crossed his mind.

  "You can stay as long as you need to, Tam."

  He led her over to the small couch that took up one entire wall of his cramped quarters. He sat down on the couch and patted the space next to him, inviting her to join him. She sat down next to him and he twisted slightly, leaning his back against the arm of the couch so that the two of them could partially recline and she could snuggle up against him, her head on his chest. He put his arms around her and held her close. Over the next few minutes, he could feel the tension go out of her as she relaxed and her breathing became more normal. As exhausted as she was, she was fast asleep within a few minutes.

  Harris leaned his cheek against the top of her head. He could feel the inviting warmth of her lean, muscular body and the even beating of her heart. Her hair smelled fresh and clean, imbued with the pleasant, mild fragrance of the waterless shampoo that she favored. He also thought he could detect a subtle hint of the perfume she had applied back on the bridge of the Terrier some two months ago just before all the trouble with that raider had broken out -- the very same raider that had haunted her in her dream.

  Harris realized once again just how much he had come to care for her. He was certain that she felt at least somewhat the same way about him but neither of them had spoken of it as yet. He had to admit that they had probably both remained silent because neither of them knew where such a path would lead them. With her safely in his arms, he discovered that he was content for the moment. The future would take care of itself...somehow.

  He was asleep himself just a few minutes later.