by Tony Healey
Chang wished there were a mute switch to the Stationmaster so he could continue yakking but she'd be spared the agony of having to listen to it.
I just want to see the ship.
"This way," he said, leading her to a corridor. The Intrepid was still full of engineers and construction personnel, each and every one of them rushing here, there, and everywhere, working hard to get the ship ready in time for launch.
"Any idea where they're sending you?" Givens asked.
She shook her head slowly. "No, not yet. Unfortunately you can't accept a command position on the prerequisite of where you'll be sent."
"True."
"If I had to guess, though, I'd say it was a military operation of some kind. Possibly offensive."
Givens frowned. They passed a team of people running cables and computer junctions into the wall on their left. Sparks flying from tools. "What makes you say that?" he asked when they'd passed.
"The weapons systems of this vessel. They've designed her to pack a considerable wallop. There's always a motivation for doing so."
"Maybe," Givens said. They arrived at a lift and the Stationmaster called it. They stepped inside. "Bridge or engineering?"
She smiled. "Oh, it's got to be the bridge."
It took mere seconds to arrive there. The lift doors parted for them, revealing the command centre of the Intrepid. Much to her relief, and comfort, it was similar to that of the Defiant. Smaller, perhaps. Fewer stations.
"Did the designers expect a smaller bridge crew?" she asked, noting two stations on either side, a single seat at the helm, and of course, the captain's chair dead centre.
Seeing it vacant, however, did not make her grateful for what she'd been gifted. It only made her miss Jessica King all the more. It made the price she'd had to pay for her own promotion seem all the more absurd. Her own Captain was out there, somewhere, a criminal. The Union's most wanted, for a crime she hadn't committed.
She snapped to at the sound of Givens' voice. "Captain Chang?"
"Yes. Sorry. I zoned out a bit there."
He laughed. "That's quite alright. Let me explain the configuration. On your left, engineering, tactical. Helm at the front, of course. On your right, navigation and communications at the same console, and science."
"Why the decision to combine nav and comms?"
"Oh I thought you knew. All communications officers are now required to be trained and proficiently capable in both. Let's be honest, there's no real need for a designated navigator."
She shrugged. "True I suppose."
"Anything else you want to know about?" Givens asked.
"What about the engineering station up here?"
"A new thing. The new spec is to have the Chief of Engineering on hand at all times, unless he's really needed down there. He or she has their own dedicated team to run things. Most of the time, the Chief will be directing them from the bridge."
"Makes sense," she said, now looking at the captain's chair.
"Care to try it out?"
"What?"
The Stationmaster indicated the chair. Chang shrugged, lowered herself into it slowly, felt the soft, spongy material mould to her body as she settled into it. It was, perhaps, the most comfortable chair she'd ever had the fortune to sit in.
"God. I bet half the bill for this tub was for the chair," she said, making no attempt at hiding the fact that she was impressed.
"Thought you might like it."
The forward viewscreen was impressively wide – it was currently dark and showed nothing. She knew that when they were underway it would give the impression there was nothing there at all. Merely a gaping hole revealing the void beyond. She stood. "Is the ship's engineer aboard?"
"Yes. It's my belief that you'll be inheriting him as part of your command crew."
"As I suspected," Chang said, following him into the lift.
A Chief of Engineering was usually assigned to new builds, to oversee their crucial final stages. They would then remain with the ship, at least for the first couple of months. It just made good sense to have someone so well-versed and experienced aboard. The lift slowed and they arrived at the engineering room. Stationmaster Givens led her through a relative junk heap. It was a mess down there, at the heart of the ship, but Chang knew it was organised mess. Everything had its place, its purpose. One day soon, it'd all be gone.
They stepped into the reactor room.
"Here he is. Chief Kolvin."
"Which one?" Chang looked at a group of four men attending to a blackened console. They appeared to be discussing what had caused it to end up in that state. Two of them were human; one a short, stocky droid, humanoid in design. The fourth was a thin wispy man who appeared to be a Gobol.
Givens cleared his throat. "CHIEF?"
The Gobol turned around, his bushy white eyebrows rising in surprise above his jet-black circular eyes. His bobbled skin was peach, the top of his head completely bald. He had a scraggly white beard, a mouth of small sharp teeth. "Yes?"
"This is Captain Chang. Your new commanding officer."
"Oh. An honour," Kolvin said, offering her his hand. Chang looked down. The ends of his peachy-orange fingers became suckers. She slid her hand inside his and shook warmly.
"The honour is mine," Chang said.
It was rare to find a Gobol serving in the Terran Defence Force. Their proclivity for all aspects of engineering and technology were unmatched. She knew she was extremely lucky to be serving with him, let alone to have him as her Chief of Engineering.
"You flatter me without need. Have you seen the rest of the ship?"
"Bits. There's still much to be done, it seems," Chang said.
Kolvin folded his arms. "Yes. But we are on track. Departure in a week's time. We will have everything squared away before then."
"I don't doubt it. I'm looking forward to seeing her in all her glory."
"She's a nice ship," Givens blurted.
Chief Kolvin smiled. "A fine lady. She will do us proud, once I stop that console there from overloading," he said with a chuckle.
"I can see you're busy, I'll leave you to it. It was a pleasure meeting you."
"And you," Chief Kolvin said.
* * *
Chang asked the Stationmaster to leave her to wander. She thanked him for showing her around and promised to check in with him before they departed. Before he walked away, she asked him where her quarters would be located, then headed there.
At least that was finished. It looked almost identical to Jessica's, only bigger. More of a suite. She wasn't sure if she'd like it, having the extra space without anyone to share it with. What rubbed salt into the wound was the double bed. Chang sat on the edge of the bunk and inhaled; it all smelled so new, so sterile and clean. She looked off to the left where a porthole showed a fleeting view of the stars.
Where are you Jessica?
More than that, she wondered if her Captain was well. She also wondered where Kerrick would send the Intrepid. She had no doubt he meant to use her for some nefarious purpose.
Where are you Captain – I could really use your advice right about now . . .
3.
The dust and sand blew into the Spectre, already coating the ramp in a yellow film. The exit had been open less than ten minutes.
"Deep clean when all this is over," Ardai said, shaking his head. "Can't have this stuff clogging everything up."
Shaw shrugged. "Don't sweat it so much. I think we've got more important matters to tend to, don't you?"
Will couldn't disagree with him.
Shaw ran a hand over the stubble on his chin. "Where the hell are Punk and Barbie? You told Kalar he's gotta stay behind, right?"
"Sure did. I also told those two to be here on the dot."
"For chrissakes . . ."
At that instant, Barbie walked through the entrance to the airlock. She looked at them both, her frame a hulking shadow in such a small room.
"Nice of you to join us," Ar
dai said. "I guess that little–"
Punk ducked in from behind her legs. "You were sayin'?"
Barbie crossed the room to a comm. panel on the wall. "You've gotta hear this."
"What is it?" Shaw asked.
". . . one of our biggest talents, Admiral Grimshaw, was killed less than two hours ago. While the investigation is in full swing to ascertain precisely what happened, we do have several key facts. All of which point to one of our own officers: Captain Jessica King, currently wanted for theft of Union property and treason, is believed to be the terrorist behind the Admiral's death. She and her co-conspirators will be found and punished to the full extent of the law . . ."
Shaw's face was white-washed with shock. "Grimshaw? It can't be . . ."
Jessica. Ardai could hardly believe it. Terrorist.
"It's a fabrication," he said. "It's gotta be."
Barbie laid a huge paw on her skipper's shoulder. "I know you were close, boss."
Captain Shaw took a deep breath. "I had that meeting with him. King was there," he said, looking at Ardai. "There's no way she's involved in this."
Punk swiped at a data tablet. "Looks like she hijacked 'er own ship, took it on a jolly."
"Why haven't we heard anything?" he asked, then remembered they'd travelled in total silence. Not that they were in regular receipt of communications from command anyway. It came when it needed to, when they were ready to receive it. there was a reason they were Shadow Ops . . .
Punk read him the particulars of Grimshaw's death, as they were believed to be. Outside the dry wind stirred up the dust, sent it inside the airlock, not that any of them noticed.
"I can't believe it," Ardai said. "Why would they implicate Jessica in this?"
Shaw's mind reeled. "She's close to discovering the truth. As are we. You can bet that if we're identified, we'll be implicated too."
"Close to what?" Barbie asked.
Shaw walked back and forth. "These soldiers. The hybrids. It's all connected, don't you see? Grimshaw and King must have caught on to something. Now it's up to us to see this through. I owe the Admiral that. God, I owed that man a lot."
"Skipper?" Barbie asked. "Are you alright?"
He took a deep breath. "We need to do our jobs. Investigate. Find these soldiers, if there are any left. Find out who had them made, who ordered it covered up, and why. Who's behind all this? That's the only chance we've got of helping anyone, is figuring that out."
Punk headed down the ramp. "Come on then, let's get this bleedin' show on the road, no?"
* * *
"Punk and myself will take the saloon," Shaw said. "You go with Barbie and check out the starport."
"I thought we were all going to view the site," Ardai said.
"My thinking is that if any of the hybrids fled the planet, they would have done so through this starport. It's the only way outta here for thousands of miles. If not . . . then they're still here, I guess."
Commander Ardai nodded curtly. "Right. I'll check in with the Sheriff first."
"Sounds like a plan."
"Great," Barbie said. "You and the fuzz ball get to conduct your business at a bar, leaving us two to check ship's logs."
Punk cocked an eye at her. "Who the bleedin' 'ell you callin' a fuzz ball, eh?"
"Hey." Ardai tapped Barbie on the arm. "Come on."
Around them, the town was a hive of activity. The residents of Outland wore strange, outdated outfits. Clothing styles from centuries before. Wide brimmed hats. Spurs. Whips coiled at their sides. A few rode the backs of giant reptiles – the tamed beasts known as Rattlers had proved a worthy successor of all-but-extinct horses.
"I'll check in with the pair of you in a couple of hours," Shaw said. "We can update each other on our progress."
"Right. You'll both be wasted by then," Barbie said.
Shaw looked to Punk then back. "No we won't."
But already his head was thumping, his chest was aching. He felt like a drink, like stepping away from the investigation for a couple of hours. Clear his mind.
"Course not," Punk assured him.
* * *
They were steaming drunk.
Music poured from the speakers, lacking the heavy bass and fast beat of most bars, yet having its own feisty rhythm. The pair of them had walked into the saloon with the best of intentions. Sat up at the bar, ordered their drinks. Asked for their contact – a man called Simmons.
"Nope. Ain't seen Simmons in here for a while now," the bartender told them. "Say, uh, you boys wanna nuffer drink?"
That was how it started. Two hours later, and Punk was getting louder, his accent thicker and more pronounced. Captain Shaw noticed a definite haze to everything. Whiskey had that effect sometimes. If he drank enough of it, his arms and legs became numb. Pleasantly numb.
"Where is this guy anyway?" Shaw asked. Over by the door a group of men sat playing cards; they'd been like that since Punk and the Captain walked in.
The Alpor shrugged. "Don't know. How about we have another drink?"
The bartender had given up pouring their whiskey for them – Shaw lifted the bottle and sloshed into their empty glasses. He hoisted his in front of him. "To the Admiral."
"The Admiral!"
They threw them back in unison. Shaw pulled a face. "Man that's got bite . . ."
Punk studied his glass. "You know he's gonna be pissed when he realises we've been in here, knocking these back," he said.
"Don't remind me. Our contact is a no-show, it's a waste of time," Shaw said. "And you know what? A good friend of mine just died, Punk. I couldn't care less what Will thinks."
Boots behind him and Shaw closed his eyes.
Damn my big mouth.
He didn't have to turn around to know who it was.
"Making progress in here boys? Huh?"
Barbie came to stand with her back against the counter. She towered over every patron in the saloon. The men playing cards and smoking peered up at her in abject horror. Barbie sniffed the air around Shaw.
"They smelled marinated."
Will took up a stool next to Punk. He reached for the bottle, gave the open neck a whiff. "Ooh, looks like we have the marinade."
"Now don't judge–"
"No, no, not judging skipper. By all means."
"You're not?"
"Nope."
Shaw narrowed his eyes. "You're pulling me into a trap aren't you?"
"Why would you say that?" Ardai asked.
Shaw wagged a finger. "I know you, Commander. Lure me into a false sense of security, get me to relax, then go on the offensive. Well, I've got my reasons."
Punk nodded. "Got 'is reasons."
Will looked up at Barbie. The Mantipor chuckled. It sounded deep and gruff.
The bartender sauntered over. He looked warily at Barbie. "Can I get you anything?"
Shaw regarded him with his bloodshot eyes, wondering what he would say.
Will smiled. "How about a proper drink?"
* * *
The sun was falling outside. Captain Shaw slung his arm around Will and pulled him close.
"We deserve this."
"You know what? I think you're right," he looked down at the bar top. "That was quite a shock today."
"Damn right it was. The Admiral was a good man, let me assure you on that score," Shaw said. "There's a few filthy rats will swing when I'm finished."
Will watched his Captain pour them each a drink. "Amen to that, sir," he said and tossed it back.
* * *
It was night when they staggered into the street.
Punk ran a paw over his eyes, blinked to clear them. "Where's the bloody ship?"
"I can't believe you guys," Barbie grumbled, shaking her head. "I'm always the last female standing."
Shaw looked at her with an expression of sincere disgust. "Are you calling us women?"
"I don't think anything else applies."
"The outrage! I've never been so insulted in my life!"
The Mantipor had been in the same position before. She'd found that in times like those it was often best to take the upper hand. She bent, scooped her Captain up in her arms and carried him like a baby. If he'd been any less drunk he might have fought her, tried to get down.
But it was soft up there, held in by her fur, and she swayed slightly from side to side as she walked.
"Oooh, that's good," Shaw said.
"Like a baby," Ardai laughed.
Barbie growled in her throat. "I can't wait to throw him in his cot."
* * *
The man watched from the shadows. The Mantipor carried the older man with the eyepatch up the ramp of the ship. The other two followed them up, then the ramp retracted inside the ship; the airlock closed. He had pursued them all the way from Station six, maintaining a long distance to avoid detection. The man didn't know why they were on Outland, only that he would likely have to act soon if he were to ever claim a bounty.
He walked slowly into the artificial light, his eyes never leaving the ship, parked where it was.
Tomorrow, he thought, merging with the night, a phantom of the dark . . .
4.
Will threw the lights and Rick Shaw jolted awake, his arm defending his eyes from the offensive illumination. "Damn!"
"You've got to stop making a habit of this," Ardai told him.
Shaw peered out, gingerly, squinting. "I think you'll find that's we. Plural."
"You might have me there."
"God, what time is it?" Shaw sat, rubbing his face, trying to massage it back to life. "I feel like death."
Will sat on the edge of Shaw's desk. "Already too late."
"My contact never showed. I don't know why."
"Yeah you told me that yesterday. Before the drink, I think."
Shaw held his head in his hands like a sore bear. "You're a poet and you don't know it."
"Funny. Did I tell you that Barbie and I actually did some work yesterday?"
"Yeah?" Shaw looked up. "Find anything?"
"Don't know yet. The Starport manager is going to get back to me. In the meantime, I'm off to speak with the Sheriff in an hour or so."
"What cover did you use?"
"Terran Intelligence Service. Remember we had those ID's knocked up for the Tadarean job?"
