by Britt Ringel
The four SPs set off in motion, leaving Heskan and Neal alone. “Mr. Secretary, we can take the station’s administrative cargo elevator down to the commercial deck but can you use your authority to have station security clear out the hallways that lead from the lift all the way to Bay Forty-four?” Heskan had purposely arranged to use the bay nearest the lift. “I’ll brief the agents Secretary Brewer is sending us.”
Neal nodded curtly and set to work on his datapad. Only moments passed before Brewer’s promised agents arrived.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Heskan had to admit that the prisoner transfer was proceeding like clockwork. At the start, he split the agents into two sets of four to transfer each group of prisoners prepared by the confinement facility guards, while keeping two agents inside the cargo bay to ensure the Hollarans remained docile. By now, everyone involved in the operation was armed. Even Heskan had strapped on a sidearm. It had been a long time since he felt the weight of an M-41 pistol on his hip. Neal had cleared the transfer route with customary Brevic efficiency and even taken a step further by placing every accessway other than the proper ones along the route on lockout, making it impossible for the Hollarans to escape.
A party of agents tasked with transfer duty rushed into the confinement control room. Neal pointed down the hall toward the holding cells. “There are thirty-six in this group. We don’t have time to do a separate group of eleven.” The aging man hiked up his gun belt to ease his sagging pants. “Commander Heskan is going with you. I’m escorting the last group, the group with their komandor.”
Heskan and the agents jogged down the hall. A confinement guard slid open the holding cell door and began shepherding the bound Hollarans out of the enclosure. Heskan swore he saw several Hollarans bristle as they spied him. All of the prisoners wore simple orange short-sleeve tops with loose fitting pants. Without their uniforms and accompanying nametags, Heskan recognized none of them. He did note that one man was limping on his right leg, which was further hindered by having his hands bound behind him with thick, flexible cord.
The man passed by Heskan and muttered, “What have you done with Komandor Lombardi, ‘Vic?”
“No talking!” bellowed a confinement guard and continued pushing prisoners down the hall.
“Quick march,” yelled an I.S. agent prodding slow-goers forward with his multi-rifle.
The march to the cargo bay could not go fast enough for the I.S. agents. Regardless of how briskly a prisoner walked, he was harassed into moving quicker. Often, a prisoner would stumble when shoved forward by an agent’s hand or a rifle’s muzzle. For the agents, the pressure to relocate all the Hollarans on Brewer’s deadline was extreme. Each agent’s sense of urgency fed off the others until the captors sacrificed safety for expediency. For Heskan, the transfer felt excruciating for an entirely different reason. He worried that a Hollaran would take the chaos of the situation as a sign to attempt an ill-conceived escape.
Heskan’s group reached the cargo bay and he began to hope that his worst fears would go unrealized. The several groups of prisoners coalesced into one, large group and Heskan immediately began to order his agents to split them between the twin cargo containers.
Despite the blank austerity inside the PRESERV-A38 FEUS containers, the Bureau of Internal Security had paid a fortune for them. PRESERV containers were built specially for the short-range shipment of live animals between planets and star systems. Between the empty interior of the cargo bin and its hardened exterior resided sophisticated equipment that regulated the internal environment to provide a habitable living space for livestock. Days earlier, Heskan secured one container through normal channels. He appropriated a second PRESERV container, however, by diverting one originally rented by an intra-system freighter. The cost to secure the second container had been predictably outrageous.
Expressions mixed between confusion and outrage passed through the Hollarans as they were herded into the two containers. Each container was roughly forty meters long by sixteen meters wide. Life support was operating inside them and Heskan was anxiously watching the displays on one of the cargo units when the last prisoner group entered the bay. They quickly joined the back of the two lines and shuffled forward like cattle. Heskan was trying to estimate how long each container’s life support could hold out when he heard audible gasps around him.
Komandor Lombardi marched defiantly into the cargo bay, hands bound behind her arched back. Her ashen skin was a mockery of its natural, olive hue but the woman proudly held her head up as Neal urged her toward the end of a line. Brevic captors met the excited greetings from her crew with harsh admonitions for silence.
Heskan could not take his eyes off the Hollaran komandor. He scanned her face as she marched haughtily past him, her dark eyes never wavering from his own but remaining unreadable. Then she was gone, swallowed whole by a PRESERV cargo container. An agent rolled down the internal alloy gate and warned loudly, “If any of you get the notion to escape, consider that you’ll be facing over a dozen Brevic rifles the next time we open these doors.”
The agent began to reach for the container door controls but Neal stopped him. “As long as the gate is secured, there’s no need to seal the container. You can keep a better eye on them this way.”
Heskan watched as the ten agents took positions near the containers. This is going to be a problem, he thought. The plan called for most, if not all, of the agents to go back to fruitlessly searching for Truesworth after completion of the transfer. Failing that, Heskan gruesomely decided that he could always retreat from the cargo bay to its control room and just decompress the bay. That won’t work if the container doors remain open. Can I remotely close the doors from the control room?
“Mr. Secretary, shall we retire to the control room?” Heskan walked casually to the adjunct compartment without waiting for an answer.
The duo entered the small control room and Neal immediately contacted Brewer to update the status of the prisoners. Heskan watched over Neal’s shoulder as he exchanged news of the Hollarans’ relocation for the status of the hunt for Truesworth. As the conversation concluded, Heskan interjected, “Sir, the prisoners aren’t going anywhere. They’re safely locked up. Would it be more productive to have your agents assisting the search rather than twiddling their thumbs here?”
Brewer shook his head. “Commander, my concern isn’t that the Hollarans will escape but that Truesworth’s renegades will somehow find you. I want those containers protected at all costs.”
Heskan acquiesced sullenly and the connection was closed.
* * *
The organized hunt for Truesworth had been ongoing for forty-three minutes. Seated next to Neal, Heskan waited patiently for the chirp of his datapad. We have liftoff, Heskan thought as he acknowledged the comm request.
“Commander,” the panicked voice of Lieutenant Welch carried over the speakers clearly. “We’ve got a fire detection warning inside Kite! It’s coming from Lieutenant Truesworth’s quarters!”
“What?” Heskan exclaimed convincingly. Off to his right, Neal stood immediately and closed the distance between them.
“You asked to be alerted in the event of anything unusual, Commander. Kite’s internal systems picked up a fire warning in Jack Truesworth’s living quarters a minute ago. What should I do?”
Heskan and Neal exchanged glances. Before Neal had time to react, Heskan issued his well-prepared orders. “Keep the quarters on lockout, Lieutenant… and vent the room. That should extinguish the fire. You need to conduct a search of the surrounding area for any intruders and make sure you have armed guards in Kite’s critical compartments. I’ll contact Secretary Brewer and see if we can send you some help.”
“Thank you, Commander,” a relieved voice replied.
Heskan terminated the connection and immediately connected to Brewer’s private line.
Brewer answered on the first chirp. “What is it now, Garrett?”
“Mr. Secretary, I just received
word from Kite’s captain that an intruder set a fire in Truesworth’s quarters.”
Brewer’s face wrinkled. “He could never hope to take the ship,” he judged.
Heskan tried his best to appear earnest. “Sir, somehow Jack Truesworth shuttled to the orbital and boarded undetected. He also got his traitors on board Kite at the same time. He must have had help on Kite to do that. There’s no other explanation. The question is, how many more traitors are still on Kite?”
“It can’t be enough to take control of a destroyer,” Neal said in support of Brewer.
Heskan let his voice grow loud with frustration. “He doesn’t need control of the entire ship! Think about what just a single quad AMS laser turret could do to this station.” Heskan paused for effect before adding, “Or your ship, Mr. Secretary.”
Heskan watched Brewer’s jaw drop.
“My God,” uttered Neal.
“Garrett, I need your agents,” Brewer informed. “Jackson, get those men moving to Kite. I’m recalling all the agents on Pallene and directing them toward that destroyer. We must not let it fall into rebel hands. I’m leaving Envoy-Three and shuttling down to the surface.”
“Mr. Secretary, should we start evacuating the orbital?” Heskan asked, hoping to add to the confusion.
“No. I can’t spare the manpower for an orderly evacuation and this security breach can never be allowed to reach the public anyway.” Brewer looked direly at Neal. “Your career hinges on these next hours, Jackson. See to Kite’s situation personally. Remember, heroes do what must be done when common men lack the will to act.”
Neal nodded determinedly. “I’ll contact you once I am on Kite. I’ll need help, Mr. Secretary.”
“And I need assistants capable of more than stating the obvious, Jackson,” Brewer countered. “As I said, the agents have already been recalled.”
Neal bolted from Heskan’s side, leaving him alone in the compartment. Brewer observed Heskan. “Garrett, evaluate Truesworth’s chance of success.”
“There are some significant hurdles to clear, sir.” Heskan looked upward as he thought. “Every turret compartment is locked out and the AMSs themselves are cold. They can’t even operate unless the traitors can secure power from Engineering.” Heskan looked at Brewer. “That’s the key, sir. Make sure the agents have control over the power and who owns the turrets is moot. I’d move your agents to Engineering first.”
Brewer exhaled loudly. “I need to get moving, myself. I’ll try to send you some help to look after the Hollarans.”
Brewer’s image on the datapad blinked out. Heskan watched through the observation window as the ten agents quickly followed Neal out of the cargo bay. Seconds later, he swiveled his chair toward the console’s communications panel.
* * *
“That’s the signal,” Vernay confirmed from Hussy’s bridge. She moved away from Truesworth’s sensor station back to her captain’s console. “Diane, move us to Bay Forty-four.”
Selvaggio’s hands played over her controls and Hussy pushed forward gently under her thrusters. Halfway through the maneuver, Truesworth cautioned, “Stacy, orbital control wants to know why we are entering a cargo bay approach zone without proper authorization.”
“Tell them we have authorization and to contact the controller in Bay Forty-four.” Vernay looked over at the auxiliary station to her left. “Denise, open the doors to the middle and aft holds and let the chief know that he’ll be up soon.”
Ensign Gables acknowledged and Vernay saw her status board shift to red, indicating a no atmosphere environment in the corresponding holds. She heard Gables talking with Brown and looked out the bridge’s “windowed” wall screens. The dizzying perspective flipped Vernay’s stomach. After Hussy completed her move to the cargo bay, she began a slow rotation to align with the orbital’s large, retracting cargo doors. Only the opaque, reddish hue of containment fields separated the cargo bay’s atmosphere from the icy vacuum of space. High above Hussy’s bridge from Vernay’s point of view, the freighter’s forward cargo crane came to life. It’s a good thing the chief isn’t afraid of heights, Vernay thought.
“We’re moored to the cargo bay,” Selvaggio said.
Gables waved a hand and relayed, “Chief says he’s ready, ma’am.”
* * *
“Give me a minute, Stacy. I’ve got to close the FEUS doors. Stand by.” Heskan raced out the control room’s door and into the cargo bay. Spinning red lights were angrily complaining about the open bay doors. Heskan ran to the first container and, without word to its occupants, closed the door. He checked the panel to ensure a secure seal and then jogged toward the second container. As he crossed the front of the container, focused squarely on his job, a familiar soprano voice shattered his concentration.
“Garrett, what are you doing?”
He felt his throat catch but answered roughly, “Keeping my promise, Isabella.” Before she could respond, he quickly sealed the container. Heskan checked for seal integrity and then sprinted back toward the bay control room with his head down.
The door slid open, and Agent Jennings leered, multi-rifle leveled at Heskan’s chest. “What promise is that, Commander?”
Chapter 9
“I knew you were a traitor the moment I first saw you,” Jennings said with a malicious grin.
Heskan felt his knees nearly buckle as he stared at the barrel of the multi-rifle. Mustering every ounce of courage, he waved Jennings away irritably and resumed walking toward the console. “Get over yourself, you idiot. You think I’d be stupid enough to try something like that?”
Jennings thumbed the safety off and threatened, “Keep moving toward that panel and I’ll cut you to pieces.”
Heskan stopped and glared defiantly. “You halfwit,” he reprimanded and pointed toward the communications panel. “Brewer is holding right there. He ordered me to move the containers on board a freighter because he knew you’d never be able to keep Truesworth off this station.” Heskan studied Jennings’ expression and added, “Go ask him yourself.”
Doubt flickered through Jennings’ eyes before they dropped to the panel. The blinking console light beckoned him and he reached an uncertain hand toward the controls.
Heskan launched himself at Jennings the instant his primary hand moved off the rifle. He crashed into the I.S. agent and batted the rifle out of the man’s grip before Jennings knew what had hit him. The rifle clattered to the deck, away from both men. Heskan followed up with a roundhouse that Jennings easily deflected with a lightning reaction.
My God, this man is fast, Heskan thought. His spirits plummeted as he realized, I’m not going to beat him in a fight. In the next heartbeat, Jennings continued the circular motion of his parry to slip his left arm outside and wrap it firmly around Heskan, pinning his right arm to his side. Simultaneously, Jennings’ right hand fought to grab Heskan’s left. Heskan involuntarily tried to step away but the martial artist had already hooked a foot around Heskan’s calf, forcing the pair to tumble to the deck. Jennings landed hard on Heskan, lying on top of him. He began to twist Heskan’s left hand awkwardly, causing a jet of pain to wash up Heskan’s wrist toward his elbow as pressure points were abused.
Jennings hissed triumphantly, “You forgot who you’re dealing with, Garrett.” His smile darkened as he twisted Heskan’s left wrist to near the breaking point.
Heskan wheezed through the pain, “You forgot I was armed, Aaron.” Although pinned, Heskan’s right hand had reached his holster. He angled the pistol and pressed savagely into Jennings’ waist. Between both men’s gasps for air, the unmistakable sound of a cocking hammer filled the room. All resistance stopped and Heskan spat, “Now, get off me.”
Jennings released his grip and rolled to one side. Heskan kept the pistol pointed at the man and rose, painfully, to a knee. Shoot him, Garrett, he told himself. You have to do it. You have no way to tie him up and he’ll alert Brewer the second you leave. Shoot him, you don’t have a choice. Jennings stared, as if capti
vated, at the opening of the barrel.
Heskan felt sweat bead on his upper lip. Heroes do what must be done when common men lack the will to act. He decocked the pistol.
Jennings met Heskan’s gaze, confounded. “You’re not going to shoot me?”
“Shut up,” Heskan answered dryly. He pointed toward the cargo bay. “This way, Agent Jennings.”
Jennings led Heskan out the door and to one of the cargo containers. At Heskan’s instruction, he opened the container and the alloy gate. The crowd inside looked on with profound curiosity.
Lombardi furrowed her eyebrows and spoke for the Hollarans. “Garrett, what is going on? Who is this man?”
Heskan fished a small multi-tool from his pocket and, using the knife, severed Lombardi’s synthetic bonds. He handed her both the tool and pistol while saying, “This is the person you’ll shoot twice in the chest if he makes even the slightest move against you.”
Lombardi opened her mouth again but Heskan cut her off apologetically. “Isabella, I’m sorry but I’m on a bit of a schedule here. I promise we’ll talk in twenty minutes.” He rolled the gate down and once again secured the container.
Heskan entered the cargo bay control room, this time cautiously. The compartment was empty and, after pocketing Jennings’ datapad, Heskan sent a final message to Brewer declaring the situation stable in the cargo bay. He then scrambled over to the far wall to lift one of four cargoman’s pressure suits off its anchors. He spent five minutes struggling into the suit and then activated the suit’s comm controls. “Stacy, you there?”
“Affirmative, Captain,” Vernay answered. “That took forever; is everything all right?”
Heskan ignored her while he struggled in the cumbersome suit to pick up Jennings’ discarded multi-rifle. Finally, he answered, “Give me a minute to tether myself to a cargo container and then tell the chief to get us loaded.”
* * *
The cargo transfer took twenty-five minutes. Heskan secured himself to Hussy’s crane rather than a container so he could assist Brown in the grappling of each FEUS and their transfer and placement into Hussy’s cargo holds. The transfer of the first container took longer than the second as each man was more or less “learning by doing.” Brown’s experience in Operations gave him some limited knowledge of large cargo container maneuvers but this was his first time controlling a commercial cargo derrick. By the time they secured Lombardi’s container in Hussy’s center hold, Heskan was drenched in sweat inside his pressure suit.
