The Belt Loop (Book Two) - Revenge of the Varson

by Robert B. Jones

  The Piru Torgud cast a malevolent gaze over the assembly but offered nothing further. He turned on his heels and marched away, his footsteps barking out a warning to any that would stand in his way.

  His measure passed the council 477 YEAs to 2 NAYs with one tally marked DID NOT VOTE.

  The Malguur Domain — the Varson Empire — was going to war.

  PART TWO: Homecoming

  Chapter 9

  Operating at only one-quarter efficiency it took the CNS Corpus Christi more than two months to make the trip from the Belt Loop back to the docking station orbiting Elber Prime. The captain had already sent back several of his crew on fast courier boats: men gravely injured in the battle with the Kreet — the Worms. Courier time to Elber was only about seven standard hours for fold-equipped skiffs and messenger boats. For anything over 350,000 metric tons, the transit time was ordinarily two weeks. Some of the newer destroyers could make it in less than twenty-four hours if they pushed it.

  Elber Prime was the second of eight planets orbiting the G7IV star and the cool yellow-orange light painted an eerie wash over the planet, its single satellite Canton and the huge Colonial Navy docking station hanging in the void over the planet’s terminator like a discarded doorknob set.

  Blaine Diggs loosed three volleys of seven static grenade canisters from the weapons bay’s port flank when the ship was 40,000 kilometers out to announce her arrival. The resulting fireworks display was put on every view screen on the ship and the cheers and yells abounded.

  “Bring her in slow, Mister Gant,” Captain Uri Haad said to his helmsman.

  “Aye, aye, sir. Port Authority has cleared us into Docking Bay Seven,” Gant acknowledged. Noname Gant, nicknamed Nono, had been sailing on the Christi since her launch and still no one knew how he had obtained his unusual surname. They’d ask but he wouldn’t tell. The young lieutenant commander ran his hand down the control stack and made small course corrections. “Our two one seven, pitch down two degrees, sir.”

  “Take her in, Mister Gant, cut main drive engines on my mark. . . three, two, one, mark!” Haad commanded.

  “Anti-matter drive off-line, cooling commencing, sir.”

  The upper docking ring had sites enough to accommodate twelve ships at a time with articulated docking collars radiating away from the central hub at thirty-degree intervals like the ribs of some nightmarish umbrella skeleton. Seven of the twelve stations were occupied with a variety of ships: destroyers, fast-attack boats, battle cruisers and the like. The lower nacelle housed the Elber-bound shuttlecraft and other assorted skiffs.

  The quartermaster on the Christi jockeyed the ship into docking bay seven and used his vernier thrusters to gently nudge the 435,000 metric-ton ship into a comfortable halt with only the slightest shudder to be felt when the docking collar made contact with the damaged ship.

  On the main blister a curved view of the docking station loomed in stark relief. Hundreds of lights flashed from the observation ports on the lower rail of the floating dock.

  “Looks like we’ve drawn a welcoming party, captain,” Davi Yorn said. He was second in command on the Christi.

  “Shut her down, Mister Gant,” Haad said to his helmsman. “All engines stop. Maintain the Higgs Field and at your discretion turn us over to the Port Authority. Make ready the umbilical receptors.”

  His orders were acknowledged and Haad opened the intraship comm link. “Now hear this, this is the captain speaking. On behalf of the senior officers and chiefs, I would also like to add my personal expression of gratitude to each and every man, woman, er, and child aboard the ship for a job well done. The Christi is battered and bruised but she saw us through the storm of battle and held up her end. Each of you should be proud; each one of you should disembark today with your heads held up and your chests straining your tunics. We are back in port and our ship has delivered us. We mourn for our lost friends and fellow sailors. Guiding us safely back to port was not my doing. You are the heroes of this voyage. Take with you this thought and repeat it to yourself with each and every breath you take: if it were not for ME, if it were not for MY unselfish efforts on behalf of my shipmates, this day would not have been possible. Enjoy your shore leave, ladies and gentlemen, and say a prayer for those of us that did not return. That is all.”

  Davi Yorn raised an eyebrow. “Man, woman and child, sir?”

  “Did I really say that?”

  “I can play it back for you, if you’d like.” Commander Davi Yorn was the XO on the Corpus Christi and he had been sailing with Captain Haad for many years. Possessing a few years’ more experience in the Colonial Navy than his captain did not seem to bother him. He accepted his role as the “go-to” guy on the ship and until recently he had no desire for command or a ship of his own. Yorn was tall and thin and sported a bald head by choice. His coffee-and-cream complexion presented a sharp contrast to the dark blue starched tunic he wore with his rank insignia displayed both on his left sleeve and his collar. “You said, ‘each and every —’”

  Haad held his hand up in a stop sign. “I believe you. After the trip home, dealing with Harold Hansen, I guess I subconsciously made him a part of the crew.”

  Harold Hansen, Har as he liked to be called, was a stowaway. At least he had been up until the Christi’s final confrontation with the killer aliens two months ago. Haad had been held at gunpoint by a killer alien worm on the bridge and like a caped super-hero Harold Hansen had burst from the overhead and landed squarely on the alien’s back. After the smoke cleared, Har was sentenced to confinement in the captain’s ready room until further notice. Soon it was discovered that Har’s mother, Lieutenant Maxine Hansen was responsible for smuggling the kid aboard in the first place. She took her punishment in stride and in fact came out of the incident with an invitation to attend the Colonial Navy War College on Bayliss.

  “I see,” Yorn said. He ran a hand over the back of his head and felt the scar he had received at the hands of a very seriously ill chief petty officer as he tried to blow up an alien ship. What he wound up doing was blowing himself up and killing a few of his shipmates.

  “See to it that the ship is secured, Number One. Let’s have an orderly dispersal for those crewmen going ashore. For those of us that remain to ferry the ship over to drydock on Canton, how about we have a little celebration in the wardroom after the crew departs? It’s been a long three years, and I think I could use something a little stronger than some of cookie’s coffee. You?”

  Commander Yorn looked at his captain. Throughout it all, Uri Haad had remained his staunch friend and ally. Uri was a few years older, not quite as tall, but perhaps broader across the chest. He had deepset dark eyes set in a rugged face and wore his short hair military neat; taken as a whole, he was the personification of a Colonial Navy ship captain. He was decorated with three angry scars across the side of his left cheek that snaked all the way around to a point just above his ear. Souvenirs of the Varson conflict. Somehow Uri Haad wore them with pride and only during periods of extreme stress did he even seem to notice them. “Maybe that won’t be such a bad idea, sir. What’ve you got down below?”

  “Oh, just some two-hundred-year-old single malt.”

  A few heads on the bridge turned toward the two senior officers. “Hey, don’t you need me to take the ship out to Canton, sir?” Lieutenant Cain Washoe said. He was the Christi’s Science Officer and a veteran of the Belt Loop campaign and sort of the senior citizen on the bridge. He had been reduced in rank a few times before joining Haad’s present crew but Washoe had served well.

  Captain Haad strained to keep the smile from his face. “Negative, Mister Washoe. After you secure your station I suggest you head on down to the hub and try to behave yourself. I won’t be sure as to the status of our lady until we drydock her but I’m confident she’ll sail again. Just a little tender love and care, that’s all she needs.”

  “If it’s all the same to you, sir, I’d still like to stay for that toast. To you. And Commander Yorn.
We had a pretty rough time of it back there and you managed to pull us through.”

  Twisting his head to one side, Haad finally relented. “Done,” he said. Then in a louder command voice, “All of you, listen up. Short meeting in the wardroom in, say, forty-five minutes. For the bridge crews. Let’s make it invitation only. Let’s get her penned up, and ready to make the hop to Canton. Mister Diggs, disengage your fire control circuits and get below and make sure the weapons bay is secure. Check behind the chiefs and make sure all of the sidearms are accounted for before any crew member departs.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “And get back to the wardroom by 1430 hours,” Haad added.

  Lieutenant Commander Blaine Diggs was the Weapons Control Officer for the ship and it was his responsibility to oversee any and everything on the Corpus Christi that went boom, crackle, sizzle or bang. He smiled at the captain and headed for the port hatchway.

  “Incoming message on the comm, sir,” Ensign Sid Corman said from the communications alcove.

  “Put it on speaker, Mister Corman,” from Haad.

  Two seconds of static followed by the white noise of modulated carrier. “Uriel. Vincent Paine. Welcome home.”

  Haad stiffened subconsciously. Even though Admiral Vinny Paine was considered a close friend, he was still Haad’s boss’s boss. “Thank you, sir. We’re grateful for the assistance you delivered us. Quite timely, I might add.”

  The gravelly voice grunted a raspy chuckle. “Well, looks like you needed it. Have you seen your hull?”

  “Roger, sir. I flew drones around it before we left the Loop. Pretty banged up but still serviceable.”

  “And you did a fine bit of sailing yourself, I’m told. Pax Curton sent me the recordings by courier.”

  Haad paused and rubbed the left side of his face. “I did what was necessary, sir. For my crew, for my ship.”

  “The Board of Inquiry meets tomorrow at 1100 hours, Uri. Dress whites. From my end, it should be pretty routine,” the admiral said.

  Yorn and Haad exchanged a look. Routine? In the Colonial Navy things that were described as routine often left one hanging by the nearest yardarm. “Roger, sir. We’ll be there.”

  Admiral Paine cleared his throat. “No, Uriel. Just you. Sixth floor, 1100 hours.”

  Haad looked around the bridge. “Aye, aye, sir. Understood,” he said and waited for the connection to break. “Well, I guess that cancels our little celebration, gentlemen.”

  Chapter 10

  “Aww, Mom, do I hafta?”

  Lieutenant Maxine Hansen looked at her son Harold. Harold had celebrated his twelfth birthday three weeks ago while the Christi was limping its way back to port. Harold had bright eyes and a maturing square face topped off with a mop of unruly dark brown hair. A little taller than most twelve-year-olds, he was almost refugee-thin from his three-plus years hiding out down in the storage compartments. His appetite was not stimulated by the constant nagging and prodding from his mother. No, he was an excitement junkie, driven to playing war games on his portable reader and quick to miss meals in favor of reading one more chapter from his stash of alien space-opera novels. Max would have preferred him to have been studying his math and science lessons but he was stubborn, bordering on the obstinate, when it came to academics. Not to say he wasn’t bright for his age but Har Hansen liked to set his own priorities. Right now, wearing military garb was the lowest of the low on his list.

  “Yes, you do. You’ve managed to trash all of your other clothes and the ones that you overlooked don’t fit you anymore. Har, please, not today. Please don’t fight me on this, too.”

  He stuck out his lower lip and picked up the tailored uniform. One of the laundrymen had sewn it together for her. It was a reasonably good imitation of a Colonial Navy work uniform in dark blue khaki. Max looked at him and thought of her late husband Jerrod. He had been killed in a mining disaster on Bayliss when Harold was still seven years old. Because she had no other options for him when she had to ship out on the Christi, Max broke about twenty different rules and regulations and smuggled him aboard the warship. She turned her head away before he could see her cry.

  “Well, I think it looks dumb. Like I’m some kind of freakin’ mascot around here. I won’t wear it!”

  She blew out a long sigh. “Look, Harold,” she said as she turned around, “you don’t have a choice. I disposed of your rags and things along with the rest of our trash from below. You might as well get used to doing things that you don’t want to do. They won’t put up with your childish bullshit when you get to Bayliss.”

  “Then I won’t go!”

  “So you agree that what you’re doing is childish? Is that what I’m hearing?”

  Shit, Har thought. Trapped. He figured that his life should have been a lot easier than the last few weeks had been. After all, he had practically single-handedly saved the whole rotten ship, especially that grumpy captain. If it wasn’t for his heroics on the bridge in subduing that alien, the whole Colonial Navy might have gone down the drain. Where was the respect? Where was his medals and citations and that other military junk? His photo sessions with the senior staff? Maybe a write-up in the Navy Times? He felt slighted and now, to heap more insult upon his heroic bearing, she wanted him to wear this cut-down clown costume.

  “Did you hear what I just said? Quit fooling around and get dressed. We’re on a pretty tight schedule as it is. Your classes start in three weeks and my course starts the week after. Get a move on, young man!”

  They were both booked on the same courier boat out of Elber bound for Bayliss in a matter of days. Captain Haad had arranged for Harold to become a ward of the Colonial Navy and attend the military school on Bayliss while Maxine attended the advanced tactics, strategy and control school at the War College a few kilometers away.

  “Aww, Mom, do I hafta?” he moaned again.

  She pulled him in close and tousled his hair. “Believe me, Har, you do. Can’t you see that going along with the program, following orders, is what makes the world go around? Do it for me if you don’t want to do it for yourself. I risked everything I had to keep you with me. My career, my freedom. Everything. All I’m asking you to do is put on your clothes so we can go out and get in line for the sideboys. After we make planetfall I promise to let you pick out your new things from the best shops in Haven. Deal?”

  He quickly broke the embrace and looked up at her. She had tears in her eyes. Was what she said true? Had she risked it all for him? “Okay, mom. I, I mean, I just —”

  Max reached around and lightly swatted him on his butt. “Just get dressed, son. And remember, I outrank you, too. No more lip, Har. You’re going to have a wonderful time on Bayliss, going to a real school, meeting new friends, playing sports. I hear they also have female cadets there. Maybe you’ll find a pretty young lady to talk to.”

  He jumped away from her. “That’s so lame. Talking to girls is sissy stuff. I’m going to do manly things with other men. Girls. Sheesh.”

  She looked at her son and laughed out loud. He reminded her so much of her dead husband: the cut of his jaw, that steely look of determination in his dark eyes. “Well, before you can get started on your manly adventures, you have to get off this ship first. Now get moving.”

  He brightened and tried to hide his scowl when he picked up his truncated uniform. “No rank? What is this? Are they insane?”

  She shook her head and smiled. “It beats a striped suit and wrist restraints, Har. Just put it on.”

  He lowered his eyes and said, “Aye, aye, Mom.”

  And Lieutenant Maxine Hansen smiled in her heart and she hugged him again with all her might.

  * * *

  Doctor Anson Isaacs was at the inner door of the triple airlock leading onto the docking station. He had a contingent of corpsmen and medtechs with him and they had pushed almost twenty gurneys to the seal. It took about fifteen minutes for the whole docking process to unfold. Fittings had to be checked, umbilicals had to be inst
alled from the other side, pressures had to be equalized and gravities had to be synchronized. Once the Christi powered down to internal batteries it depended on the dockside generators to keep the boat’s various habitats serviceable. Isaacs studied the flashing lights on the huge roll-up door and looked at his watch. He had ordered a Fleet ambulance to be on stand by for his arrival at the port and had made arrangements to get the wounded headed to the Naval Hospital just outside of Nova Haven soonest. Out of the twenty, he had concerns that two weren’t going to make it.

  The severely wounded crewmen were in the front of the queue and with his assistance they could whisk right through Port Control without any delay. The steady hissing and twittering of several portable life-support machines filled the air in the sideboy. Soon the entire length of the mammoth hallway would be filled with departing crewmen and officers and he was certain that Commander Yorn had ordered a salute to the captain when he departed the ship. It was tradition, it was fitting and proper, it was almost demanded in this situation. Captain Haad had certainly saved all of their collective slices of bacon when he out-maneuvered that alien ship. The damage could have been a lot worse, Isaacs thought. The last blast from the worm ship had pushed the Higgs Field right into the keel of the ship and had ruptured many pressure doors. But had the captain not made his sudden dive and turn, the alien energy weapon would have hulled the ship and killed many, many more good sailors.

  He heard footsteps and turned to the rear. Commander Yorn and Lieutenant Commander Milli Gertz approached down the quarterdeck gangway. He looked at his watch again and felt a slight change in pressure in his inner ears. Only about a minute to go, he figured.