by Taylor Smith
Cade nodded. “Which is good though, right? If you’re trying to hide from something, you’d shut down anyway.”
“That’s the gist of it!” George smiled and smacked Cade on the shoulder. “Yeah, you’d want that, but whether you can turn everything back on is the question, eh?”
Flinching at the friendly smack, Cade sighed and wished people would stop hitting him. As far as transit went though, he hated the tanks as they always made him wonder if he’d wake up afterward. He also found that he was rather claustrophobic. It had to be done, however, and since he’d been reassigned from the rear sections of the ship, he knew there would be a different tank area for the crew, rather than going back to the dent tank sections. “So where’s my tank?”
George chuckled. “You don’t have one.”
“What?” Cade shouted a little too loudly.
“You’re a pilot now,” George grew a sly grin. “We ride it out. Someone’s gotta drive the ship.”
Cade shook his head, suddenly scared. “You’re joking.”
“Nope,” George replied and pointed to his head. “The systems will be tied to our implants, monitoring our bodies. The ship will go into power saving mode turning everything off except crucial systems. That’s enough power for a couple of people to ride it out. It’s weird and kinda’ feels funny, but it’s safe for the most part.”
Cade simply stared in disbelief at his friend. He was never told about this, or he would never have chosen navigation as a specialty. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to study weapons systems or plumbing.
He was still reeling in shock when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw the crew had all begun leaving the bridge, headed for their tanks and the Captain stood over him.
Captain Kova had a wide smile on his face as he said, “Ya did good today, Mr. Cade. I hope ya survive the jump.”
Cade stared as the Captain and the rest of the crew left the bridge. Turning back to George, he saw that he was bouncing, trying to hold in his laughter.
“He’s just messin’ with ya, mate,” George said between breaths.
Cade turned back to his console and glared at it. “You know,” he said with a sigh, “the airlock gag was enough.”
Chapter 4
Haley coughed and sputtered as she fought to force the remaining fluid from her lungs. She’d been trained for this, knowing the tanks were crucial to space travel, but she didn’t like them much. Finally being able to take a full breath, she stretched the sleep from her muscles.
“Good to be out of there!” Saundi exclaimed from her tank nearby, also stretching and grabbing a towel from the rack.
“Very,” Haley replied. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever get used to that.”
“You’d better get used to it quickly, or you’ll be dumped at the next port of call,” came a voice dripping with disgust. “No one will allow your useless hide on a Fleet vessel again.”
Haley turned to see a man, not much older than her, exit a tank while drying his hair with a towel. Even though he wasn’t in uniform to see his rank, she knew better than to talk back. Being one of the youngest additions to the ship and this was an officer’s tank area she was sure he outranked her. “Yes, sir,” she decided to say, and held her tongue.
“And I’m sure you were vomiting and crying for your mommy after your first real jump,” Saundi said suddenly with a vindictive tone.
Haley watched in astonishment as her friend sauntered over to the man, stopping only inches from him and looked him up and down.
Utter shock was plain as day on his face as he finally replied, “What did you just say?”
“Oh, poor little thing,” Saundi said, then looked up at his face. “I bet you really are missing your mommy, being deaf and all on this big scary ship.”
Haley could only watch the scene unfold in awe. The others in the room were laughing and the insulted man had turned beat red. Saundi had always been boisterous, but she thought there were limits, and she’d probably just surpassed several of them.
“You two love birds finished, or should I give you a few more minutes to find each other’s soft spots!” a booming voice erupted from the far end of the room.
Haley’s attention flew to the tall southern-accented man shouting at the hatch. Everyone in the room reacted instantly, coming to full attention and freezing in place.
The man walked slowly into the room with one hand behind his back and the other cradling a black folder. He had a chiseled expression of no-nonsense as he stopped in front of a woman who looked the oldest in the room and shouted, “My enlisted are already geared-up and at their posts! There are no ensigns there to guide my enlisted! Do you think that is the proper way this Fleet works? Do you think that it is a good idea to leave my enlisted on their own?”
“No, Sir!” the woman shouted back evenly.
Turning his attention to the rest of the room he said, “no it is not! Enlisted crew without the direction of their superior officers! That spells disaster! You have sixty seconds to dry off, dawn a perfectly pressed uniform and have your asses running out of this room to save my enlisted personnel from themselves! Move!”
Even though she hadn’t gotten a good view of the man’s rank pins, there was no question in Haley’s mind that this was a chief of the fleet screaming at them now. Chiefs were the highest ranked enlisted officers, and technically below the rank of Ensign, but no Ensign in their right mind would ever see it that way.
As Haley dressed as quickly as she could, she felt the eyes of the other fifteen or so people in the room on her. She glanced up and saw she was right. That didn’t make sense to her. It wasn’t their fault that a Chief had caught them all being lazy.
“Ensigns Marks and Adair with me!” the Chief said as he walked out of the room.
“Yes, sir!” came the chorus from Haley and Saundi as Haley finally caught sight of his Senior Chief pins and the name stitched across his uniform that read ‘Benley’. It was their fault after all. She imagined that the Senior Chief rarely made an appearance here, and now he was here for them. This kept going from bad to worse.
They both finished dressing in record time and followed Senior Chief Benley out of the room and down several corridors until they came to a briefing room near the center of the ship. Both knew better than to talk or make any gestures at each other knowing Benley would see it, even if he was facing away from them. As they entered, Haley felt a slight wave of comfort as the room reminded her of several of the classrooms she’d practically lived in at the academy. Ten rows of six chairs each sloped downward so all had a perfect view of the front of the room, where a large desk sat in front of a screen.
“Have a seat,” Benley said in a more measured tone as he moved to the front of the room to begin their briefing. He laid the folder on the table and opened it, drawing out several sheets of paper and laying them neatly in-line while the two Ensigns took seats in the front row. He finally looked up and said, “Since I doubt this courtesy has been extended to you thus far, allow me to be the first; Welcome aboard the Valiant. My name is – .”
“Thank you, sir,” the quick reply from Haley and Saundi interrupted him.
Senior Chief Benley stood quiet for a moment and a slight smile penetrated the so far stolid expression. He nodded understanding and continued. “My name is Senior Chief Benley. You may address me as Senior Chief or sir. It’s my job aboard this ship to ensure the enlisted crew under my command not only do their jobs but are commanded properly by the Ensigns and Lieutenants in charge of them. As Ensigns, you two are technically my superior officers but make no mistake; the Allied Fleet has seen to it that my rank supersedes yours in every other manner to ensure my enlisted are treated and commanded properly. You will not salute me, but you will heed my direction. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Senior Chief,” Haley said in unison with Saundi. Although Benley had made it a point to ensure they understood the pecking order, Haley knew that all cadets knew the relationship between the Chiefs
aboard and officers. It was actually taught that way at the academy, though she still wasn’t sure why they didn’t just make it official and move the rank up in the hierarchy. She assumed it was simple antiquity that kept it the way it was.
“Very good,” Benley continued. “Let’s move on to our mission parameters,” he said as he pressed several commands into the desk. The screen behind him brightened to reveal a map of known space. Hundreds of star systems glistened with their names close by. At Benley’s direction, the screen zoomed into a swath of stars along the frontier of Alliance territory and stopped. “As you know, the Alliance is the culmination of the twenty five solar systems that stood together against Earth in the Divinity Wars half a millennia ago. Since our victory and the solidification of our beloved Alliance, we’ve expanded to thirty eight systems. The colonies that exist outside the border are on their own for now. Most settlements out there don’t last long without protection. Once they’ve had enough, they’ll join the Alliance. Our mission is to ensure a strong Alliance presence along the border, so they can see just how rosy it is on this side of the fence.”
“For the last two years, the Valiant has patrolled sectors thirty through forty-two of the Alliance border for unlawful activity against Alliance and Allied assets. In that time we’ve managed to engage over fifteen vessels involved in criminal actions and have eliminated nine. All indications lead us to believe they were all linked to Clew Station.”
The Senior Chief paused a moment and turned to Haley and Saundi saying, “Do you two need to be briefed on Clew?”
“A refresher would be appreciated, Senior Chief,” Haley replied. She’d studied the historical data of both the Clew and Deshi pirates but hoped the Senior Chief could fill in some gaps.
Nodding, he said, “Some of the information here is classified. You both know the penalties for sharing.” Benley pressed several more commands into the desk and the screen behind him responded by displaying the picture of a man in Allied Fleet dress-whites adorned with Captain’s pins. “Captain Julian Neese was dishonorably discharged from the Allied Fleet approximately two hundred years ago for criminal actions against the Alliance. The spooks suspect that Neese was sympathetic to a small faction of colonists living beyond the frontier. His command, the battleship class warship Leviathan, was assigned to that section of the border during a time the Deshi Combine was warring openly with the non-allied colonies out there. The Deshi did a lot of damage across that sector.”
“At some point during that time, Neese cut comms with Fleet Command and disappeared. Speculation back then was that his ship had been compromised and the Leviathan had been destroyed. That wasn’t the case as more than half his crew were found marooned on an undisclosed planet in a non-aligned system. Most of the information obtained at that time was redacted, but enough was left to indicate that Neese had staged a coup aboard his own ship and had gone rogue.” Pressing several more commands into the desk, the screen flashed quickly through images and records pertaining to sightings and even attacks made by the Leviathan. “He went straight to the Deshi solar system, wiped out their small fleet and bombarded the planets military installations from orbit. The Deshi never recovered, and are now considered a wandering band of miscreants and petty thieves. Make no mistake though,” he said with an overly serious overtone, “they are extremely dangerous when encountered.”
“For the next five years,” he continued, “the Leviathan was seen attacking mining and shipping assets outside Alliance territory. Neese communicated with the victims in each case, demanding surrender and cargo in exchange for their lives. The last known incident from the Leviathan herself was a small, newly constructed orbital station for the Hollard system. He stole it.”
Haley had always known that Clew was a space station, and a lot of illegal activity was sourced from there, constantly a thorn in the Allied Fleet’s side. Finding it was always the problem. But she didn’t understand how one could steal a space station.
“How’d he pull that one off?” Saundi blurted the question Haley had been wondering, and then quickly added, “Sir.”
“A station seed, Ensign,” Benley tapped several keys and the screen changed to an image of the construction yards over Adara. Many of the bays sat empty, but a few of the massive, skeletal-like structures showed signs of new hulls being laid. He zoomed into one bay which housed two extremely long ships with what looked like cargo containers stacked along the spine. “This is what he stole. The station was built there in Adara, sold to a colony in the Hollard system and launched several weeks later headed for its destination orbit around Hollard Prime. Neese intercepted the seed in Hollard before they had a chance to construct the station and jumped it out. We’re one hundred percent sure,” Benley pointed at the image, “that is Clew Station.”
That made sense to Haley. At that point it was just a ship highjack, not an actual space station capture and vanishing act. That was so long ago though, and they haven’t found it yet? Surely they’d at least have a lead by now. “Do we know where Clew Station is, Senior Chief?” she asked.
“Yes, Ensign. We know exactly where it is,” he responded with a smile. “It’s in black space.”
Haley almost groaned aloud at the Senior Chief’s joke but didn’t dare. He’d said he knew exactly where it was but black space or interstellar space, the emptiness between solar systems, was beyond infinite and nearly impossible to find anything in, unless you had its exact position relative to at least three other stars. “So how do they find their way home? Did any of the prisoners from the last two years give any clues?” she asked.
Benley became glaringly uncomfortable, looking down at his papers, shuffling them and then placing them back into his folder. “No prisoners have been taken, Ensign.”
“Not one?” she asked, mildly surprised and now very curious. In two years and over fifteen engagements there were bound to be survivors unless the Captain was simply abandoning them, which didn’t make sense either.
The Senior Chief stopped and looked at her dead in the eyes, obviously warning her that the subject shouldn’t be pressed.
Haley instinctually lowered her eyes, now even more curious.
“Look,” Benley said sounding deflated, “the Alliance has been at peace for centuries. I’m sure they taught you well in the academy, but this is a combat vessel on what can be perceived as an active battleground for two years now. Most of the officers and crew of the Valiant is handpicked by the Captain and the XO, each with some form of combat experience. They’re all razor sharp and aren’t taking too kindly to new officers fresh out of the academy being thrown at them.”
He paused before adding, “What the academy taught you was how to be a good officer on a ship that doesn’t see combat and rarely leaves its assigned system. You’re going to find that there is a strong difference between your views of what the Fleet should be, and this ship. Just do your jobs, and keep your head down.”
***
Later that day, Haley was on bridge duty at the tactical station beside the command dais. The bridge was a large room with the raised command platform at the back and a long curved front wall that contained a multitude of screens. A crescent tier containing twelve stations sat four steps down from the Captain’s chair and ran along the front of the room. The tactical station was an area just to the left of the Captain and XO that held a table used for projecting real-time combat and sensor information to the three officers surrounding it, as well as fire control and defensive countermeasures.
Haley had been practically pushed aside, her excitement for her first shift on the bridge extinguished. The other three tactical officers didn’t seem to want anything to do with her. They weren’t overly rude or dismissive, but not very forthcoming either, so she decided to step back and watch quietly for her first shift. She would approach them with questions individually later in hopes to gain some trust in them.
She looked across the room and down into the second level where it seemed Saundi was having more lu
ck, talking animatedly with the communications officer she was shadowing. Haley was a little jealous at this but she also knew it would be more difficult at tactical with three others than a single communications officer which by pure definition was highly social to begin with.
“We’re approaching the beacon, Captain,” called the pilot.
Captain Andrelli and Commander Vitt were talking quietly on the command platform when the announcement was made. The Valiant had been cruising the Vorn system for two days in route to meet an Alliance Scout Ship to acquire intelligence about recent activity in the area. “Very well. All stop,” he replied.
“Aye, Captain. Answering all stop,” the pilot said, immediately followed by the low thrum of the engines dying down and finally silencing.
Haley stared at the tactical data that hung in the air over the table. There was nothing but ghosts and background noise for as far as their sensors could see. Even with the latest in sensor technology that was only a tenth of the Vorn system, and they now drifted on its outer edge near an asteroid belt. Then she noticed it: a repeating ghost reading that had to be a ship.
She moved toward the table and watched more closely, ignoring the sideways glances of the other three officers monitoring the same view. She let her eyes relax slightly and concentrated on one point in space. To the untrained eye, the image was a jumbled mess of information flowing across the static map that represented the area of space they were in. Sensor sweeps were ongoing, and they would report the faintest glimmer as they tried to pinpoint a source and then clear the reading as they disregarded the information as flotsam or random anomalies. The end result was akin to a dense fireworks show across the map, tiny eruptions of data appearing then disappearing as more information was gathered. Most of it was disregarded as erroneous; sensor ghosts.
