by John Bowers
"Jesus!" Ho muttered. "Looks like he's coming awfully fast!"
Approved landing speed for fighter recovery was two hundred knots. The approaching ship seemed to be coming much harder than that.
"Lumberjack! Fire retros! Your speed is increasing. I say again, fire retros now!"
"Oh, shit!" Carson looked out the window to his left, wondering if there was any way to get the lift lowered in time. But it was too late, and he knew it. He looked to the right again, in time to see Lumberjack hit the tunnel with all nose rockets firing at full thrust.
Whatever had happened to fill Lumberjack's cockpit with smoke, there would have been no problem had he hit the tunnel at approved landing speed. But he arrived at close to four hundred knots, and fired his retros too late. The top turret struck the tunnel ceiling a glancing blow and disintegrated; the fighter ricocheted into the floor, then tumbled out of control as it hurtled down the length of the ship, bouncing from side to side, top to bottom. The Nakashima fighter's fuel and liquid oxygen tanks ruptured, and with the nose rockets still lit, exploded.
Carson and Ho ducked as a gash of flame boiled over the rescue ship, fragments slamming the fuselage like pellets from a shotgun. Air exploded out of the cockpit, and in spite of his collision harness, the sudden decompression jerked Carson halfway out of his seat.
It all happened in the space of a heartbeat. The ResQMed was slammed against the bulkhead beside the lift and came to rest at an angle. Carson sat up and peered out in disbelief, grateful for once that pressure suits were required during launch. The flame disappeared once the LOX was consumed, but wreckage littered the tunnel, pieces large and small that smoked even in the airlessness of space. Clearly, Lumberjack and his gunner were dead.
"This is the captain," Carson said shakily over the intercom. "Everyone all right back there?"
One by one, his crew checked in. No one had been hurt, though they had been jarred. Only the cockpit had decompressed. Still heaving for air to release his adrenaline, Carson keyed the tower frequency with his chin.
"Sadat Control, ResQMed One One. We've sustained damage from that recovery. Request permission to return to the hangar deck."
The controller's voice sounded only slightly less shaky.
"Roger, One One. You are cleared to return to hangar."
A moment later the lift descended again, returning the medical ship to the hangar deck. Carson taxied back to his parking spot and shut down his systems. Maintenance people swarmed around the ship and began opening hatches. Two minutes later the entire crew stood outside the ship looking at the damage, space helmets under their arms. Carson felt a hand on his arm and looked down to see Carla Ferracci standing beside him, her dark Italian features uncharacteristically pale.
"You okay?" he asked quietly.
She only nodded. "I was thrown out of my acceleration seat," she said. "But no damage."
They both stared at the ship for a minute.
"This isn't the way I like to see an operation begin," she said.
"No."
He said no more, but privately wondered if the accident presaged bad news for the Pluto operation.
* * *
Washington City, DC, North America, Terra
"God damn it!" General Willard raged when the word reached him. His face purpled and he spun in a circle, heedless of the cluster of planning officers around him. He swore again, spectacularly.
Wade Palmer sat in astonished silence, amazed at the top man's reaction. He glanced at Cdr. Kamada, whose almond eyes gave no hint as to his thoughts. It was a bad beginning for the Pluto operation, Wade thought. The fighter squadrons had barely been launched, and suddenly Sadat's flight deck was closed. No one knew how long it would be down, but the estimate relayed back to Washington City was four to six hours.
At the beginning of a battle.
And that was the only carrier.
Wade had privately thought it was a mistake to conduct the Pluto operation with only one carrier. No one knew the strength of enemy forces in the Pluto area, and if they proved stronger than expected, at least two carriers might be needed. He'd expressed that concern to Kamada, but it had gone no further; General Willard had already scoffed at those fears in the planning sessions. The Sirian forces on Pluto were little more than an outpost, he said. It was unlikely they had any fighters at all, and in any case, he wanted to hit Uranus at the same time. Of the five carriers now in operation, one each was patrolling off Terra, Jupiter, and Saturn. That left two for the current operations.
But now …
Wade silently prayed that the squadrons approaching Pluto wouldn't encounter any space opposition. If all they had to do was bomb the Sirian outpost, that would present no problem. But if there was a fight, and fighters needed to be recovered for any reason …
He scribbled in his notebook, and made a mental note that sometimes the man with the most stars on his tunic didn't have all the answers. General Willard had missed this one by a light year.
Orbit of Pluto, Solar System
The maintenance crew responsible for the damaged ResQMed down-checked it until the damage was repaired, leaving Carson and his crew without a mission to fly. The good news was that one ResQMed had launched just ahead of them, so if the fighters needed help out there, they weren't completely naked.
Carson turned to the beautiful doctor and shrugged with some exaggeration.
"Buy you a drink?" he said.
She turned her ebony eyes upward and managed an attempt at a smile.
"I'd rather have a sedative."
He grinned and offered her his arm.
"I don't think scotch is officially catalogued as a sedative, but it should have the same general effect."
He escorted her to her quarters, where she left her pressure suit, and then on to his. Inside, he shed his own suit, then rustled up a couple of plastic glasses and dashed them liberally with liquor. He handed her one and settled into a chair. She took a tentative sip.
"I'm still shaking."
"You do look a little pale."
"Well, you always know it can happen to you out there," she said, "but whoever thought we'd take a hit without leaving the ship? Two people killed before even finding the enemy. That's the real tragedy, from my point of view."
Carson nodded. She was more unsettled than he'd first thought. Inside the rescue ship she'd been holding herself together, but now that they were offline, the shakes were catching up to her. Perhaps the drink would help. He sat silent in deference to her unsettled condition. She would talk when she was ready.
But she finished the drink without another word, her eyes losing their focus as they stared at the bulkhead. Carson poured them another round and waited.
"James?" She frowned at him suddenly. "Why aren't you married any more?"
He let his surprise show. "What brought that on?"
"I'd like to know."
Carson set his glass down slowly, not sure he wanted to talk about it. He waved his hand carelessly.
"I guess we just weren't compatible," he said. "I wanted to stay in the service, she wanted me to get out."
"Is that all it was?"
"As far as I know. If you asked her, she might give you a lot more reasons, but for me, that was pretty much it."
"Any kids?"
"One. That's the hardest part."
Carla's eyes narrowed as she nodded, sensing the pain he was trying to hide.
"I'm sorry for asking," she said. "I just realized you had never told me why it happened."
"Seems odd," he suggested, "that you should ask that question now. After what happened a little while ago."
"I'm not sure, either," she said. "Except I've never come that close to death before. We could have all been killed."
He nodded soberly. He'd been thinking the same thing.
"I don't want to die yet," she said quietly. "I haven't really lived."
"Those two kids in that Nakashima hadn't, either," he said.
"I know
. That's part of it. Their lives are over, just like that. And we may never know why. They weren't even killed by the enemy."
Carson didn't reply. Her eyes were unfocused again, her smooth brow furrowed with concentration. It took her a moment to continue.
"At least I never had any kids," she said. "That's about the only good thing about my marriage."
"How long were you married?"
"Six years. He was a bastard. The worst kind of man you can imagine."
"How old were you?" Carson was trying to do the math. Carla had spent four years in medical school, and she was just now twenty-eight.
"Sixteen. A foolish, foolish young girl. My mama tried to warn me. He's no good, she said. He's a phony. But I didn't listen. I just saw his money, his good looks, his charm. He took me places I had never been, introduced me to important people, made me feel like a princess. He was rich, James. He even had a yacht. Not a space yacht, the other kind."
Carson nodded. He'd known the barest of details, but she'd never told him this much before.
"We married in the Church. He swore before God and Mary to forsake all others just for me, but he never meant it. He was Mafiosa, and vows meant nothing to him." Her eyes glittered with memory. "He had lots of prostitutes, and made money off them. And he fucked them, too."
"God, Carla!"
She met his eyes again.
"I loved him, James! I gave him my heart, and he threw it back in my face."
"And you stayed with him for six years?"
She nodded quietly. "I was afraid to leave him. He said he would kill me. He forced me to —"
She stopped suddenly, her eyes wide as she realized she was telling him more than she'd meant to.
"I-I'm sorry, James. I shouldn't … "
"Hey." He leaned forward and laid his hand on top of hers. "It's okay. I'm your captain, remember? Any time you want to talk to me, it's okay. And if you don't, that's okay, too."
Carla nodded, biting her upper lip. A tear slid down her cheek. She swallowed against the pain.
"All I meant to say was — before I die, I'd like to find a man who really loves me. That's all I meant to say."
Chapter 22
Wednesday, 1 October, 0228 (PCC) - Orbit of Sirius 1
The voyage to Sirius took just over a week. Scarlett Wallace made the trip in extreme comfort; the slave transport contained a VIP cabin, which had been reserved for her by order of the SE. Her personal escort was a cold-eyed young man with more muscles than brains. He bore the rank of lieutenant, but Scarlett wondered how he'd managed it. He was an uninspiring conversationalist, and after a few attempts to engage him in discussions pertaining to what had happened at home during the past five years, she gave up. He either didn't know or was under orders to keep silent. Still, he watched over her like a guard dog, and she supposed that was enough. He certainly made her feel safe enough, for which she was grateful. Some of those merchant spacemen gave her the shudders.
She was aware that other women were on board, but never saw them. They were confined to slave cabins, and she didn't want to see them. It was bad enough to imagine how they must be treated.
They arrived off Sirius late on the ninth day and dropped into a parking orbit. Scarlett looked out at her home world from an observation lounge and felt a chill tingle her spine. Home. What would it be like now, after such a long absence? What dreadful encounters awaited her down there?
She was being silly, she realized. Since her rescue by those soldiers in that little village, she'd been treated like a princess. That would no doubt continue — her daddy was still widely respected even though he was dead. And she was heir to his plantation and shipping company. She realized with a start that she was now an extremely wealthy young woman.
Less than two hours after establishing orbit, the ship approached an orbital docking station. It was a freight station, not generally used by passengers; slaves would be offloaded, then transferred to shuttles for the trip down to the planet. Docking was completed without incident.
The first person through the airlock after docking was another SE officer. He stood tall and fierce as he surveyed the situation and demanded to know the whereabouts of Miss Wallace. Scarlett's escort came to get her, and she presented herself before the officer. He looked her up and down as if she were a prisoner, then his expression softened just an inch.
"Miss Wallace, I'm Captain Davenport. My orders are to take custody of your welfare for the next few days. I trust you had a pleasant journey home?"
"Yes, thank you, Captain. It was most relaxin'."
Davenport nodded curtly, then turned to her escort.
"Lieutenant, I relieve you of the burden of Miss Wallace."
"Captain, my orders were to deliver Miss Wallace to New Birm —"
"My orders," Davenport interrupted icily, "supersede yours. You are dismissed!"
The lieutenant saluted and turned away. Davenport looked at Scarlett again.
"Do you have any baggage?"
"No, I don't. I came home with my life and little else."
"Very well. If you're ready, I have a ship waiting to take you straight to the surface."
He gave her his arm and escorted her down a corridor to another docking gate, bypassing the main part of the station. Ten minutes after meeting her new protector, Scarlett was seated beside him in a small shuttle and felt the bump as it undocked from the station. Her adrenaline flowed at a medium level as she anticipated reentry, which was always unpleasant. To keep her mind off it as the shuttle arrowed toward the atmosphere, she talked to the ebony-uniformed man beside her.
"Have things changed much in my absence, Captain?"
"Oh, yes, indeed. The entire economy is on a war footing now. Patriotism is at an all-time high."
"And how is the war going?"
"Extremely well. The Feddies are on the verge of collapse. We're bombing them back into the Stone Age. Before much longer, we will be invading Terra itself."
"Really?" She smiled breathlessly. "Then the war cannot last much longer!"
"No, it can't. I anticipate two more years, three at the most. They will fight fiercely on the ground, of course. There may be some delays then, but once we initiate the invasion, they will already be defeated. It will just be a matter of helpin' them to see it."
"Do you think they will surrender? Or will we be required to completely crush them?"
"Hard to say. Once we have a couple of continents under control, I expect they'll give it up. They're fanatical about saving civilian life, you know."
"Yes, I imagine."
They hit the atmosphere then. At first it was merely a shudder, then a steady vibration. Scarlett paled and swallowed. The shuttle sank lower and began to buck violently. She closed her eyes as the vibration built to a rapid hammering, like driving over logs at high speed. Her teeth chattered and her hair bounced; she opened her eyes again as vertigo welled inside her head. Davenport noticed her distress and took her hand, gripping it firmly. Scarlett began to pant, sucking air to fight her growing nausea, and just when she thought she would surely vomit, the violence diminished and finally stopped. The shuttle was through the stratosphere and into heavier air, its speed down to tolerable levels.
"Whew!" Scarlett closed her eyes in relief and panted rapidly. "Thank goodness! That always terrifies me!"
"It's perfectly safe," the SE man assured her. "A bit rough, though."
"Yes, very."
She unclenched her left fist and he removed his hand.
"Thank you, Captain," she smiled.
He nodded gallantly.
"If I might be so presumptuous," she asked then, "what exactly is our itinerary, Captain?"
Davenport glanced at her briefly. Like her escort from Altair, he also had cold blue eyes, and it chilled her to think what he might be capable of. But he was on her side, so she was safe enough with him.
"My orders are to take you directly home. There appears to be a great deal of business awaiting your attention. You
have inherited a great deal of wealth, you know. As the sole heir to Wallace Shipping, it all belongs to you now. Everything has been under the control of your cousin Boyd since your disappearance, and I imagine there will be a lot of legal wrangling until everything is settled."
"Boyd?" Scarlett frowned. "Boyd is such a slug! How did he git control?"
"I was only briefed on this a few days ago, so I don't know all the details. But apparently Boyd is the eldest son of your Daddy's younger brother. In your absence, and with no other heirs, the inheritance descended to the next available kin."
"Goodness!"
"Miss Wallace, after what you've been through, the next few weeks may be somewhat stressful for you. There's going to be lawyers and such, and from what I hear your cousin Boyd isn't all that thrilled that you've come back. I want you to know in advance that it may be difficult, but I'm going to be there with you for a while. Anything you feel uncomfortable with, or if things get out of hand, I will deal with for you. You have my word as a Sirian gentleman."
"Why, Captain, thank you ever so much! But … what about your regular duties?"
"These are my regular duties. Your daddy was an important man to Sirius, and the SE feels somewhat responsible for what happened to him. Not that we could have prevented his death, but perhaps we could have had better success at locating and rescuing you. Our honor is at stake here. We aim to protect you until you no longer need that protection. I have been assigned to do that, and I will."
"I am overwhelmed, Captain Davenport."
Davenport patted her hand and almost smiled.
* * *
The shuttle touched down at New Angeles, in Texiana. Scarlett and Davenport emerged into the terminal from the spaceway and were met by two more uniformed men. They were KK, the civilian equivalent of the SE. They escorted them to the terminal roof where a hovercar waited.
When she stepped onto the roof, Scarlett was hit by a blast of heat more intense than she had expected. She hadn't realized it was Sirian Summer. Sirius 1 was the only planet in a binary star system, orbiting Sirius B every fourteen months. Each time it passed between suns, one or another of them was always in the sky — there was no darkness for several weeks. The brilliant light blistered her fair skin and the dry heat was oppressive. She was gasping by the time she slid into the backseat of the hovercar, which had the air running at full blast.
