“Well, at least we have this as our backdrop. It illustrates my point, if nothing else,” Drexler replied and swept his hand up in a wide arc to indicate the refugee cloud. The promenade deck was a space fifty meters around, capped by a transparent dome. Normally, the dome provided an unobstructed view of the stars. Now, it offered a window into a theater of pain.
Drexler had enough of the chaos. He left Mumlo, pushed through the crowd and jumped up on a makeshift stage set roughly in the center of the crowd. The Liner’s comm system amplified his voice to the group, but it did little good. Drexler persisted until the mob settled down.
“We are here to come up with a plan.” Drexler said, “We can’t do that by shouting at each other. We must cooperate. It is our only chance!”
“Plan! Chance! A chance at what?” bellowed a short, squat, simian humanoid. “What chance have we when the Lizards destroy or steal any vessel that travels the Trades? What can we do with no weapons, no warships!”
“But we do have weapons,” Drexler shouted back, “We have the power to do the unexpected. We can use our ships as weapons themselves. The Lizards think they’ve won? We can show them they’re wrong!”
The crowd responded by swelling up like a rogue wave.
“Erratic behavior is not a weapon,” the Simian shouted back when the wave of voices calmed. “What are you suggesting? Throwing our ships at them so they can blow them up? What good will that do?”
“Of course not!” Drexler shouted back. Arguing with one person in a mob was a fool's errand, but he did not see any other choice. “I can show you how to use your ships as weapons.” His statement drew laughter from those species capable of it, which was the majority.
“Reggie,” Drexler called on a private comm, “relay to helm this order: come around and hold at the top of the dome, as close as possible.”
“I can’t believe you’re making me do this,” Reggie replied.
“It’s the only way,” Drexler said.
“Destroying my own shuttle. It’s the only way? What if I asked you to cut off your foot and burn it?”
“I don’t have time to argue with you, Reggie,” Drexler replied. “We can’t start blowing up the hopelessly damaged refugee ships yet. It might cause a panic. It’s not the mood I’m going for here.”
The helm crew positioned Fleetfoot I a few kilometers above the dome. Drexler stood on the podium and pointed upward. The mob took notice of the ship, its dangerous proximity and simmered down.
Reggie launched a shuttle that accelerated to fractional C with a flash of blue light. “Look.” Drexler shouted. “Just an ordinary Freighter with standard particle emitters. I invite you to look at your display screens. You will find data on my shuttle’s trajectory.”
Many Captains unrolled display scrolls, activated helmet data units, or otherwise retrieved the information that Reggie shared on open channels. When Drexler was satisfied a critical mass of Captains had their eyes on the shuttle, he told Reggie, “Now.”
The normally blue halo of radiation emanating from Reggie’s hull flared bright white. Every creature on the deck hunkered away from a blinding flash. In the distance, something resembling a new star appeared.
“Check your data displays,” Drexler shouted. “See it with your own eyes! That was one of my shuttles destroyed by a directed energy beam from two AUs away.”
The crowd murmured as those with data shared it with those who did not. Captains compared notes, argued among themselves.
“Hey,” Reggie said in Drexler’s comm implant. “You look and sound just like a circus ringmaster.”
“Nice sharpshooting,” Drexler replied. “I think they’re convinced.”
They were. Drexler stepped down from the podium to be instantly mobbed by Captains who demanded to know how he destroyed the shuttle. That was when Drexler set the hook. He secured agreements from the most eager Captains first and told the rest to call him for a meeting to discuss modifications. He got the impression that the Captains themselves were ready to commit their ships to the cause, but they could not say the same for their crews. Private companies ran most of the ships. Drexler walked away from the crowd, and Mumlo lumbered along beside him.
“That’s it?” Mumlo asked. “You got them all stirred up, and then you just walk away?”
“You never were much for sales,” Drexler said, “You always stayed behind when Marshall went out to secure contracts. The old man took my sister and me along with him when we got old enough. Get them excited, then make them come to you. It’s a classic play.”
They walked across the promenade deck to the airlock where the shuttle waited for them. Drexler stepped inside, and Mumlo ducked his head entering. Before closing the hatch, Drexler looked back at the group of Captains. Someone else was up on the podium now. He couldn’t tell what species it was up there, but whoever it was would be a leader.
“Reggie,” Drexler said aloud, “find out who that is speaking to them now. Let me know if he ends up in the Armada.”
“What Armada?” Mumlo asked.
Drexler took manual control of the shuttle and started the departure sequence. Instead of heading directly back to Fleetfoot I , he took the ship out a few hundred kilometers, then idled. The Luxury Liner was surrounded by the vessels commanded by the arguing Captains they left behind.
“That is our armada,” Drexler said, pointing them out with a sweep of his hand. “Reggie, get a good look and save a detailed report on all of them. I want to know everything about those ships and more.”
“I hope you know what you are doing,” Mumlo said, folding his three-jointed arms across his massive barrel of a chest, “because I have not a clue.”
“Don’t worry,” Drexler said, “When the time comes, you will know better than anyone.”
Drexler brought the shuttle into the cargo bay and feathered it down on the deck under manual control as he had hundreds of times before. What the crew called the shuttle bay was one of the few cargo modules given over to a purpose other than freight.
Building the shuttle bay was one of the first modifications Drexler’s father made to the ship some forty years ago. He chose a module on the port side, closest to the tractor section. From the inverted dome on the ship’s belly that was the loading bridge, crew members had a direct, line-of-sight view of the bay doors. The loading bridge was close enough to wave to the crew that monitored comings and goings. Drexler did so as the particle field preserving the bay shuttle atmosphere shimmered, and the bay door rumbled closed.
First Officer Mumlo ambled away without further discussion. Drexler took that to mean their recent peace accord had reached the end of its tether. It was more than obvious that Mumlo was unhappy with Drexler. The Captain put that on his very long list of items of great concern. Instead of heading for the bridge, Drexler went to another cargo module further aft where he assigned a group of new crew members. The group was another list item he planned to cross off now that he had the opportunity.
The cargo bay Drexler assigned them to was farthest away from the tractor decks. The module was barely used because Fleetfoot Interstellar ran freight at a fraction of its capacity for nearly a decade. Assigning this group to refurbish a disused bay served two purposes. First, Drexler had a strong hunch that they would need all of the ship’s cargo capacity for the job at hand, and second, it got the troublesome group far away from sensitive happenings.
This was no ordinary group of commercial astronauts. They were former BJP special operations soldiers sent to infiltrate the crew by none other than Drexler’s brother-in-law, Senator-Colonel Abhay Nautiyal. One of the big surprises that came from being captured, hunted and nearly killed by Reptilians on planet Kelgar 7, was the discovery that the Trade Union suspected Drexler and his father of being some kind of mercenary spies in league with the Reptilians.
It was still a mystery to Drexler why anyone would come to that conclusion. Drexler desperately wanted to solve that mystery but, with all the other matters he had
to attend to survive, that particular riddle would have to wait. So, Drexler assigned the stowaway crew to the most obscure duty he could imagine.
The sound and vibration of running footsteps came to Drexler through the scaffolding as he climbed down the main catwalk and into the bay. The compartment looked brighter than he remembered. It was apparent that the soldiers had complied with their assignment to clean and repaint the bulkheads. But just now, they were nowhere in sight.
He could hear them running around between several large, disused, three-ton cargo cubes. They arranged the cubes in a pattern that formed angled corridors. Drexler’s boots hit the newly painted deck, and the sounds of activity ceased.
“Hello?” Drexler called. He received no answer. He muttered a foul oath under his breath. Someone was playing games with him. “I know you’re in there. It’s your captain. Come out. We need to talk.”
“Why don’t you come in, instead,” a voice called from the makeshift maze of crates.
“No thanks,” Drexler called back. “No time for games.”
“We are training,” another voice called, echoing in the cavernous space. Drexler saw no motion.
“You’re not being paid to train, you’re being paid to work,” Drexler called back, anger rising in his voice to accompany the heat in his cheeks. “Come out, damn it!”
“OK, OK,” a voice spoke from a distance startlingly close. Drexler caught sight of motion to his left. He turned to see a human form that seemed to melt from the cargo bay wall and become a person.
“What the hell is that?” Drexler asked. He was no longer angry, but amazed. He recognized the tall, slender form of the former Lieutenant Zoyo Darzi clad in her ship-standard EV suit. The suit was deployed with its hood up over her head, and its active cloth hardened to form a helmet. Darzi shouldered her combat rail rifle and stepped closer to Drexler.
“Camouflage. We are practicing with the combat protocols of these EV suits,” Darzi said, using the comm system to speak through Drexler’s implants. “This ship and its equipment are full of surprises.”
“And so are you, Darzi,” Drexler replied. “I was very surprised to find out you were still sending secret messages to your former commander. That’s why I stuck you back here in this cargo bay.”
“Well,” Darzi said, as she deactivated the helmet, turning the cloth into a regular hood again. She pulled the loose material away from the sculpted angles of her face and let her thick mane of long, black hair spill out around the collar. “It’s good, honest work anyway, and we can practice with camouflage tactics on our off hours.”
Drexler swallowed hard, trying to harden his face rather than allow his mouth to drop open as it threatened. The sudden attraction surprised him, and that was the last thing he needed. Darzi was trouble in more ways than he could count. Also, he still thought that Darzi would arrest him if she could and turn him over to the BJP.
To provide cover for his attraction, he stepped around Darzi and called into the space between the cargo cubes. “If you’re in there, come on out. We need to talk.”
Four more human forms gelled into view, seeming to issue forth from the cargo containers themselves.
“I do have to say, that is impressive,” Drexler couldn’t help remarking. “The suits may come in handy.”
“What do you want to talk about?” Darzi asked.
“I want you to send another message to my brother-in-law,” Drexler said.
Darzi shook her head and displayed a wry grin. “Isn’t that what you exiled us for?”
“Yes, but this time, the message is mine,” Drexler said. “I need you to use your encrypted comm device a bit differently this time.”
“Well, step into my office then,” Darzi said and led Drexler between the cargo cubes.
Drexler realized they’d made the best of their exile by converting the cargo containers into living quarters. He admired their ingenuity in spite of himself. He supposed their adaptation came from being forced to make the best of it after Reggie got them kicked out of the BJP military. The other four members of Darzi's team deactivated their suits, and everyone filed into Darzi’s cabin.
They sat on worn-out flight chairs salvaged from the spare parts inventory around a makeshift table made from the skin of a cabin door. Everything in the quarters was improvised but done so with deliberate care. The overall effect was a homey feel.
“Don’t be offended that I won't offer you refreshments,” Darzi said, folding her arms across her chest. Drexler noticed the faces pointing at him around the makeshift table were far less than friendly.
Darzi nodded to Corporal Chaudri, one of the two soldiers on her team in charge of communications. Chaudri returned with a rounded, rectangular white box and set it down between those seated.
“Reggie, do your thing,” Drexler said.
The device hummed, and its edges glowed. A hologram appeared above it showing the positions of more than two hundred ships.
“What the hell,” declared Sergeant Ethan Jones. The cockney lilt of his speech gave his Hindi-accented Tradespeak an odd flavor. The already pale skin of his face was made more so by the thick mass of scar tissue that stood in for his right cheek from just below the right eye socket to the line of his jaw. Dr. Abiola had done a great job growing back the skin after Jones was grazed by a rail rifle projectile back on Kelgar 7 planet. He noticed Drexler staring at the scar tissue before he continued his remarks. “That looks like a convoy schematic. I recognize the names of the ships, including this one. What are you playing at here?”
“That is the actual Armada, well, the Armada-to-be, anyway. But that’s not where it’s going. I need you to send it using encryption you know the Reptiles can break. Don’t make it too easy. I want them to think they’ve found something good.”
“What armada?” Jones asked.
“Never mind that,” Drexler said. “I’ve got it handled.”
The communications Corporals passed glances to their colleagues while Darzi’s Staff Sergeant sat still as a statue. Staff Sergeant Kaur resembled a shorter, rounder version of Darzi, with eyes even more intense.
Darzi kept her arms folded across her chest and turned her large brown eyes into narrow slits through which she peered at Drexler. “You will need some military expertise for what you have planned,” Darzi said.
“Well,” Drexler replied, “do you know where I can find any military people who are looking for work? I know of some Reptilians that need fighting.”
4
Captain Aahloh hailed the approaching vessel again and received no response. He double-checked the display scroll, then rolled it up and stowed it in the side pocket of his command chair. A rumbling hull announced that his ship, the Jubilee, pierced the termination shock zone at more than three-quarters the speed of light. It was too late to turn. The ship was locked in its approach to the Nolok solar system. A standard approach maneuver was already dangerous enough without another ship bearing down on them. Aahloh considered the situation carefully.
The vessel left blinkpoint translation seconds after the Jubilee and made a straight line toward the freighter as if on rails. It was enormous and seemed to have a radiation leak. Its energy signature was exceedingly noisy as if its particle emitters were damaged. The hull configuration suggested Reptilian design, but it bore no resemblance to any freighter, transport or pleasure craft on record.
What concerned the Captain most was the speed with which the vessel approached. It behaved as if its crew had lost helm control or had a runaway fusion reactor and could not slow down. Aahloh was surprised the ship could survive the transition from interstellar space to the Nolok heliosphere at nearly the speed of light. His ship could not do that. He was pushing design limits already at the current speed.
Always reliable and competent, the Jubilee’s artificial intelligence gave an emergency alert. “Proximity warning. Safe distance exceeded. Trajectory change is not advisable. Recommend velocity increase to avoid collision.”
; “AI, acknowledged,” Aahloh said. “Protocol station, are their comm systems down?”
The human crew member checked his display and ran all the hailing routines on record. “If they had active comms, their transceivers should have responded automatically, as per regulation. I get nothing. No transponders of any kind. I think that craft is hurt. Its crew is in trouble.”
Aahloh’s webbed finger stabbed a button on the armrest of his command chair. The wind pouch diaphragm below his chin inflated like a balloon, and he grabbed the microphone. The Captain did not like bioimplants, so he used the old-style comm system with external speaker and mic. “Medical units, be advised. Stand by for potential casualties. We have a probably damaged ship inbound.” Aahloh switched the channel to address his engineering crew. “Chief Engineer, are you monitoring this ship?”
“Yes, Captain, we are. The shock region slowed it down quite a bit. That ship may be in trouble, but we need to stay away from it. If it gets any closer, it may collapse our gravity bubble.”
“Affirmative,” the Captain replied. “Increase velocity fifteen percent.” He gave the order knowing full-well that the speed increase in space so dense put hull stress far outside safe limits.
The bridge deck lurched beneath the crew as the helm station complied quickly. Everyone realized the danger. Aahloh unrolled this display scroll again and kept a close eye on the Jubilee’s protective field. The shock region was thinning out, but increased speed drained capacitors and put more stress on the hull. His entire flight plan was useless. Expending energy to accelerate in thick space meant a shorter flight time to Nolok 4, but more reactor maintenance. That meant putting in early for deuterium and helium. He was less than pleased.
“The ship matched our speed!” Helm replied.
Aahloh dropped his display and punched the comm button again. “Unidentified ship. Reduce speed. Your behavior is non-compliant with safety regulations. If you can hear us, we understand you are in distress. Reduce your speed and we will render aid.” Aahloh turned to the helm and said, “Report any velocity change and―”
Rogue Messiah: Fleetfoot Interstellar Series, Book 2 Page 3
