“If you were to isolate the voice of the incriminating, tampered recording, you could identify the vocal patterns of the speaker, sir,” Mason suggested.
“Make it so,” Admiral Worthington ordered.
“Isolation complete, Admiral,” the sound engineer said.
“Run it against all Space Forces officers, now,” Worthington ordered. After several minutes, the sound engineer found his man.
“It is Sukesh,” Mason told the Commandant.
“Lieutenant Sukesh is the owner of the voice, Admiral,” the engineer stated.
“I believe he is the one who went rogue from the ONE, Admiral. Sukesh incarcerated me and the bridge crew of the Esmeralda, beat and tortured us, and altered our DNA. He is waging his private vendetta against us all, for trading him to the ONE. He has gained considerable influence and power, and may have sympathizers, sir.” Mason sat back, waiting for their response.
“Why would he specifically name you, Captain Mason? That is still the question haunting me,” Admiral Worthington queried.
“My only hypothesis is that he can still monitor Dr. James’ visits. He heard Dr. James call me the “Most Perfect Man,” and that I was found worthy. This corrupted recording was made the day after the Yellow Man visited our home. This was Sukesh’s attempt to incriminate me, disparage my reputation, and have all of my superiors doubt my loyalty. He wanted me found as a traitor; untrustworthy and, most of all, unworthy. It is Sukesh striking out at the URE, at me, at my wife. He is enemy to us all.” Mason rested his case.
They had much to consider. “Come back for your appointment, Captain Mason. Dismissed,” Worthington commanded.
Admiral Mason waited for her husband at the lift. His intuitive reasoning once again proved flawless. She could only pray he was exonerated again. Why was her husband always assumed guilty until proven innocent? It was not the URE way. Not the way of the Space Forces high command she knew. What was wrong with the Joint Chiefs?
At his interview, all accusations were presented against Captain Mason, and dismissed as an attempt to besmirch and disparage his reputation. No recordings were shown, and Sukesh’s name was not mentioned. Mason was restored to duty.
Mason got to spend several weeks in Houston, and started feeling at home there. He took Rachel and Victor out in a rented shuttle each weekend, teaching her to pilot the small craft. Mason accompanied her to the simulator on base. Rachel passed her pilot’s tests, and got her shuttle pilot’s wings. She was put “next-up” on the requisition list for her own shuttle. No more walking to the public tram station for her and Victor.
Rachel took off work all Thursday afternoon, and asked Mason to pick up Victor. He never questioned her, but it was strange behavior for his Admiral. She didn’t make it home until nearly 7p.m., with a very cocky grin on her face. “John, would you come here, please?” Rachel asked, standing in her front doorway. He came to her, and she said, “Happy Birthday!”
There was a brand new speedster, bigger than the one he rented in Costa Rica. “Sorry I took so long, John. The paperwork took forever. Then I took it for a spin to make sure it worked perfectly. They made me take a couple of lessons, first.” She hugged him. “Do you like it?”
“I love it! And you rode it home, in a skirt? Hot Momma!” He picked her up and twirled her around as she laughed. She handed him a new shiny helmet and the card key, and he took off.
Victor jumped up and down, and wanted to go for a ride. When Mason came back, Rachel changed into slacks, and all three of them went for an evening ride on the shiny steel monster. Mason bought a side car for it, so they could ride her around in her skirt without hiking it up to her stocking tops.
XVIII
Rachel was now 3 ½ months’ pregnant, and her cravings were kicking in. Pizza with white Alfredo sauce, black olives and anchovies. Ice cream with Victor’s fruities cereal on top. Jar after jar of smooth peanut butter went to work with her. Sweet pickles with everything. Mountains of fish and chips, especially chips, with malted vinegar. Croissant cut in half with a chocolate bar in the middle, dipped into her decaf café au lait. More ice cream, with hot fudge. More sweet pickles.
Their home life was easy and relaxed with Mason still in Houston. That was about to change, however, much to their disappointment. “While I realize Admiral Mason is three and a half months pregnant, you are needed on Mars X. The plex dome situation has become appallingly slow, so take three or four space suits with you. You will be there only six weeks, and you will not be returning to Mars until after your baby is born, barring some catastrophe. We need your complete focus on this mission Captain Mason, and your intuitive deductions. You will leave in three days, Captain Mason,” Admiral Worthington announced.
Mason dreaded telling Rachel. They were so happy, and closer than ever. Mason broke the news to her and Victor, and she cried for over an hour. “They want me to go now so I can come home in six weeks and stay with you, barring some catastrophe.” Mason sat on the couch, holding Rachel in his lap, stroking her back, Victor cuddling close.
They went with him on his departure day, and Victor helped him load his gear and stow it in the fighter. Rachel immediately noticed the war bird was fully loaded: bombs, missiles, torpedoes, and she was really worried. But he had his orders to go to Mars. She was not happy he was flying solo, no co-pilot. Moon Base was one thing; Mars was a much longer flight.
Mason put Victor in the side car, and hugged him. He went to hug her, and she openly kissed him, in uniform—a first. She mounted the speedster and moved away from the launch site. She watched him rise up, up, and higher, and start to move forward. Mason dipped the fighter’s nose at her, and shot off like a bolt of lightning.
Mason was at Moon Base in three and a half hours. He refueled and ran for thirty minutes, and was off again. He landed on the base at Mars Colony III in three and a half days, and unloaded. He shuttled to Mars X, and went to work out his stiff muscles. He showered, and then called his wife at home.
“I’m here,” he said flatly. His jaw was set firmly.
“That was good time, John. Any problems along the way?” She asked sweetly.
“Nope. Pretty quiet.” He missed her so much.
Rachel asked, “Will you be seeing Sarah and Dave while you’re there, John?”
“Sure. She’s three months ahead of you, remember? I’ve never seen her pregnant before.” He showed a bit of emotion, Rachel noticed.
“Please tell them I said hi,” she asked, trying to smile for him.
“Will do, Admiral.”
“And John, I love you and miss you very much,” she said softly.
His eyes were red. “Same here, ten times more.” He blew her a kiss as he signed off.
Rachel remembered the too-serious young man she knew on the Hesperia, the Captain’s Prime Marine, always on duty. She was the only one who could pull him outside his role there for the first few years, the only one he would relax with. Now, she knew the warrior was back, full stride, and she wasn’t there to share conversation and laughs with him. She hadn’t seen that Prime Marine face in many years. The warrior had returned.
Rachel was aware John was fully engaged in his mission, and recalled how he used to be: all business, no smiles, and no nonsense. She never knew he could dance until seven years after they’d met; it was at the Admirals’ Dinner, held after the Hesperia docked on Moon Base with its world record-setting horde of smelted platinum. Her late husband, Victor, brought her to Mason for a dance. They danced together as if they had been partners all their lives. She savored the memory of their first dance together, along with all the recent dances with her new husband John. He was the hero and champion that night so long ago. He was her hero and champion now, and the Father of her unborn baby, growing inside her. He was her warrior; her Prime Marine.
Rachel’s problem was, her husband was once again serving with Captain Esther Hanson. She used all her considerable logic and rationale to reassure herself her husband’s activities inside the e
scape pod with Esther Hanson took place when he was single. Their affair happened during desperate times, when they both assumed they were left for dead. Captain Hanson was the aggressor, not her husband. But the imbalance of hormones raging through her pregnant body fractured her logical construct; so subtly, at first, she did not even realize she was becoming emotionally unbalanced and jealous again.
After the first three weeks of his absence, she began casually asking him how Captain Hanson was feeling, a question seemingly innocent. Since he saw her every day, providing an answer was easy. Rachel was still the genetics specialist assigned to both Mason and Captain Hanson, so the questions appeared suitable.
By the fifth week of Mason’s duty tour, rumors were circulating about him and Captain Hanson. The rumors were tormenting Rachel, especially at night, when she was lonely. Esther Hanson was tall and slender, like Mason’s late wife Sherrie. She was striking in her appearance, a true “winter” woman with coal black hair and creamy white skin, and deep blue eyes. Colonel Swenson said Captain Hanson had the best legs in the Space Forces, and John was a leg man. She knew Esther Hanson wrapped those great legs around her husband many times in their escape pod; was she having him again? The thought of them making love was constantly nagging at her as she grew larger, and felt less attractive. Rachel tried hard to overcome her suspicions and fears, and suppress the jealousy.
Mason reported to Captain Hanson after his arrival. She gave him the complete base logs’ downloads from the last two years. “The first three plex-domes for Mars Colony III were erect and operational by this time, yet our dome is not half complete. The former CO was fraught with construction setbacks and difficulties. My job is to get the dome up, get it operational, and get this project underway ASAP, Mason,” Captain Hanson said sternly.
“My job is to assess the situation; to be the eyes and ears of the Joint Chiefs. I know they brought you here to get this project on track. Research scientists en masse can’t operate under these primitive conditions, Captain Hanson,” Mason explained.
“So, let’s get to work, Mason. Assume nothing, as usual. I still feel you are the only man I can trust, as before,” she said honestly. “I trust you to be my eyes and ears, too,” she added. “Although you are not my personal Prime Marine any longer; not my protector.”
“I am always in your corner, Captain Hanson. I’ll make my reports to Colonel Tyrone from your office, Captain, so you’ll have all the information I have gathered,” Mason offered. He went to work, assessing the full Mars X situation. A more thorough analysis of the site had never been conducted. The sloppiness of the construction efforts resulted in humongous construction over-runs. The Joint Chiefs were more interested in fixing the problem and getting the dome up than identifying those intentionally stalling the base’s progress.
The analysis of the current state of dome construction provided by Mason was succinct and detailed. It was clear the contractors bamboozled the first base CO. Since they got away with so many delays and setbacks in the beginning, the construction contractors continued, hoping to make the Mars X dome project a double payday for them. To their credit, the union workers on the site were documented complaining to the Space Forces officers there was no excuse for most of the delays. Days went by when their bosses ordered them to stand by.
All that was about to change with Mason’s report. The construction contractors were ordered to bring the project to completion within sixty days’ time, or their contract’s provision of punitive damages would be enforced; they would have to pay Mars X for being there. The URE High Council even got involved, and ordered the dome’s completion, testing of effectiveness, and approvals to be supervised 24/7 by a dozen more Space Forces officers who specialized in construction of space bases. Another crew of union construction workers was sent in to work the extra shifts. All were subjected to Mason’s interviews, and passed. The dome would be completed and fully operational within sixty days.
With the Joint Chiefs’ acceptance of his preliminary report and subsequent corrective actions, Mason requested to go home a few days early; they granted him four days’ grace. He sent Admiral Mason a text that he’d be home Saturday while he walked to the airlock. Two more days’ work and he’d be on his way home to her, and in her arms.
Mason went to the airlock and donned his space suit, his daily routine the last five weeks. He headed for the quad track, to supervise the arrival and unloading of the big cargo transport bringing the last load of plex glass for the dome. No more delays or problems, he told himself.
The transport was a massive cargo carrier, and the landing site would barely be able to accommodate its giant size and weight. Several Space Forces security personnel were assigned to assist with its unloading. The control tower adjacent to the landing site was lit like a Christmas tree, and the pad’s lights were on bright. He goosed the quad track to hurry; he could not be outside when the monstrous cargo transport was landing.
As he parked the quad track inside the hangar bay, he saw the transport’s landing lights and reverse thrusters engage. He quickly walked to the far side of the hangar bay towards the airlock. A massive explosion occurred. Mason was propelled to the opposite end of the hangar bay by the explosion, blowing half of the control tower into space, destroying the cargo transport and the landing site completely.
He came to, realizing he was outside in his space suit, and injured. He felt an incredible pain in his left side; a sheared-off metal I-brace impaled him there. The base sirens were blaring and red lights flashed in the air. He must get to the airlock before his space suit lost pressurization or he would be exploded into space. Mason held onto the I-brace, and shoved its sheared-off end inside his body a little more, hoping to make a seal with his space suit. He tightened his grip around the brace, grasping his space suit as best he could, in immense pain. Hopefully, the suit’s auto-seal was functioning.
Mason could not get up, so he crawled the entire width of the hangar bay, dragging the three-meter I-brace with him. The hangar seemed endless as he crawled, dragging his body and the I-brace along as fast as he was able. When he reached the air lock, he used its wheel to pull himself up, and he cried out in agony. The pain was excruciating. The I-brace moved up inside his body, against his pancreas and ribs. He managed to turn the wheel, open the airlock, and get inside. With all his strength, Mason carefully held his space suit fabric tightly in his hand, then pulled out the I-brace, screaming in pain. He quickly turned the airlock’s wheel on the inside door, sealed himself inside, and hit the button for air and pressurization. He fell to the floor, unconscious.
Mason awoke in the hospital inside the Mars Colony III base two days later, bandaged from his armpits to his groin. He pushed the call button for a nurse, and waited. The I-brace damaged his pancreas, small and large intestines, and broke a rib or two. But he was alive; he said his prayer of thanks to God for giving him more time.
A nurse came into his room in response to his call. “I’m very happy to see you are awake, Captain Mason. Are you in pain? How are you feeling?” She was young, kind, and concerned.
“I’m glad to be alive,” he responded, still dazed.
“Well, it’s miraculous you didn’t get killed out there, Captain. We lost many men in that terrible explosion. The survivors were transported here for treatment.”
“Is Captain Hanson all right, Nurse?” He asked.
“Yes, she’s fine. She’s been in to see you, you know. I’ll tell her you’ve awakened. Let me see your bandages now.” She decided to get help changing his dressings. “Here, let me give you something for pain now, and then I’ll be back,” she said, adjusting his IV controller.
“I don’t need any pain medicine,” Mason said.
“You will when we change your dressings, sir,” she stated flatly.
The nurse was right. When she and another nurse changed his dressings, he nearly passed out again, the pain was so bad. “We put you in the organ rebuilder yesterday. It’s a fast process, but it has i
ts drawbacks, Captain Mason. You should be fine in a few days.”
“I’m supposed to go home to Earth today, to see my family,” he said, trying to sit up.
“No! You must not do that, Captain Mason! Lie down, please. You cannot get out of bed now. You must remain here until you are released by the doctor.” She helped him lie back, and they finished changing his dressings. “You must try not to move, sir.”
“How long will I be in here?” He asked in a dejected voice, grimacing in pain.
“I really can’t say, sir. The doctor is the one to ask.” She adjusted his IV controller, sending some yellow liquid into his veins. “You’ll sleep, now, sir. We’ll be back later.” When Mason went under a mild sedation, they restrained his chest so he couldn’t try to get up again.
“Mason? Hello, John. How do you feel?” Captain Hanson asked, very worried.
“Like crap, Captain Hanson,” he answered honestly. “But I’m alive.”
“Thank God, John. I lost many good officers and crewmen in the explosion. I’m happy you never made it inside the control tower, or you’d be dead, too,” she said quietly. “I have not notified Admiral Mason yet. Would you like to talk with her, John?”
“If I could, yes, I’d like that, Captain Hanson.”
She had the orderly wheel his bed into the office with a vid screen comm-link. She keyed in Admiral Mason’s private line. “Admiral Mason, Captain Hanson here. I have some good news and not so good news for you, Admiral Mason. The bad news is Captain Mason will be here for a few more days; against his will, I might add. The good news is he has survived an explosion at the Mars X landing site, and should recover completely. And that, in itself, is a miracle. Can you see him now, Admiral Mason?” She tilted the vid screen down a little.
Vengeance of Sukesh: John Mason (Legend of John Mason) Page 24
