Derelict: Marines (Derelict Saga Book 1)

by Paul E. Cooley

  He hadn’t known what to say. “Sir?”

  The Colonel had punched a button on his desk, and the blast windows on the wall slowly slid aside, affording him a brilliant view of space and twinkling stars with Neptune’s horizon sitting near the bottom. Dunn had half-expected him to touch another button on the holo console and reveal a 360° over their heads, but the Colonel hadn’t been that big of a showoff.

  “The Mira,” he’d said and stood from his desk, “was my father’s project too, Eric. He was one of the first stationed here, even before construction began on the ship. His team stood on Neptune’s threshold, a fleet of support ships carrying humans both young and old, floating at the construction site. They ferried workers back and forth from the platforms while watching each day’s progress.” Heyes had seemed completely lost in the moment, as if reliving the tales his father had told.

  “The mining ships, the refineries, the housing modules, everything you could imagine, reached orbit and stayed. The Atmo-steel processing plants, dozens of them, churned out thousands of kilometers of girders, pylons, sheets, and more rivets than was possible to count. Platform after platform, module after module appeared, creating a community, a town, and then, at last, a city. For the only moment in my father’s lifetime, the Martian Colonies, the remaining countries of Earth, and every company in Sol united for one purpose: find hope out there,” he’d said and gestured at some point in space Dunn couldn’t see.

  He’d turned and looked back at Dunn. “They built the shipyards. They built the ships. Then humankind together built Mira. While they built the Neptune Shipyards, Trident Station, and the ship itself, humankind enjoyed peace. And then they launched her. And she disappeared.” He’d shaken his head.

  “Now she’s back, sir,” Dunn had said.

  “Yes,” Heyes had said. “SF Gov wants to know what happened and why before the rest of the SF finds out.”

  Dunn raised an eyebrow. “Why would that be important, sir? Are they—?”

  The Colonel held up a hand and returned to his seat. He tapped the air and the blast windows descended, once again closing them in a wood-paneled room. “I think it’s best not to ask why. Some answers are above my rank, understood?”

  “Aye, sir,” Dunn had said. The moment the Colonel made the statement, Eric had known what it meant; SF Gov wasn’t going to tell them when or even if they’d tell the rest of Sol Federation that Mira had appeared. “Is bringing her back a priority, or just the data?”

  The Colonel had leaned forward. “As far as SF Gov is concerned, it’s the data first, the ship second. However,” he’d said in a near sneer, “I’d appreciate it if you did your best to recover her. Understood?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Good,” the Colonel said with a nod. “Your block already has access to the intel as well as ship specifications. I know SF Gov hasn’t given us much time to prep, but you have my permission to lurk near her until you’re ready. So long as you don’t let her get destroyed before you can get the data.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “I suggest you spend as much time as possible studying her blueprints and the schematics. I have already told Portunes to load the information into Black so you can access before stasis and afterward. Mira is roughly 1 astronomical unit from Pluto, and Pluto is at its aphelion.”

  “So Mira is nearly 50 AU from Sol? That would put her, what, 19 or 20 AU from Neptune in our current orbit?”

  “Correct, Captain.”

  Dunn had whistled. “That’s a bit of a hike, sir,” he’d said.

  “Pluto Exo-Observatory should be able to provide you with better logistics than we can, since they’re only 8 light minutes from Mira. The chief astronomer there knows the situation since he’s the one that found her in the first place. His dossier is available as well.” Heyes had returned his eyes to the holoscreen and brought Mira up again, but not the distant shape in the pixelated photo. No, this had been a panoramic view of the ship.

  Dunn had seen the photo before. It was known to everyone in the Sol Federation. Mira floated in space, a ship large enough to house more than 200 humans with enough equipment and supplies to keep them alive for the trip to Proxima Centauri b and explore the system a further five years before heading home. For most of the crew, the trip would be a three-month journey to escape Sol, a sleep cycle, and then another six months away from their destination. He still couldn’t fathom the excitement of being on such a mission. It made search-and-rescue operations pale by comparison.

  “We built her, Captain. Let’s bring her back home.”

  Dunn had left the office numb. It was as if SF Gov had told the Colonel one thing, but really wanted another. And keeping Mira’s reappearance quiet? That didn’t make sense either. What were they going to do? Declare the lanes off-limits to all mining ships while the S&R Black towed Mira back to Neptune? What about Pluto? Were the observatory astronomers just going to promise to keep quiet?

  It didn’t make sense. While he could access the information via his block, he wanted to view it on a terminal where he could better organize his thoughts. And for that, he’d gone to the hangar.

  Portunes, he said in his mind, please run the possibilities around mission reasoning.

  Unable to process that request, Captain, Portunes said in an amused voice. Why don’t you simply ask me?

  “Yeah,” he said aloud. “Why don’t I?”

  The Trio has access to the very same information you have, Captain. We haven’t been told the real reason for the mission, but we agree there is more to the story than you’ve been told.

  Dunn scrunched his eyes closed. He was already getting a headache from having to focus on the words, the statement, every part of grammar he was sending to the AI. He could communicate with images, which was sometimes much easier and faster, but they were completely inadequate when it came to discussing logic or coming up with a plan. May I know the Trio’s thoughts?

  He could almost hear a sigh in his mind as the AI paused. No doubt Portunes was checking with the other members of the Trio that inhabited the facilities. Then again, Portunes was a bit of a drama queen. For all he knew, the damned thing was simply—

  I’m not stalling for effect, Captain, Portunes said dryly.

  “Sorry,” Dunn mumbled aloud. My mind wanders. The AI said nothing, but sent back an image of a bowl of noodles. Dunn grinned in spite of himself.

  The Trio have already had this conversation. We feel it would be a mistake to tell you our ideas. However, we do caution you to expect the unexpected.

  Tell me something I don’t already know.

  No, the machine said, this is different. You are being sent on a mission where the parameters do not make sense with the information you’ve been given.

  He blinked at the holoscreen. Mira floated before him on the display, its 3-D image rotating slowly. What Portunes said was even more confusing. No, he thought, fucking terrifying is what it is.

  Captain, you really should turn off the block if your thoughts are to remain private.

  He rolled his eyes, shook his head, and shifted the display to show another set of schematics. He was doing his best to find the possible ingress points for Taulbee and the marines. Rather than dock with the derelict, the marines might be forced to board the ship via skiffs or z-g maneuvers. The schematics would help him find the possibilities and then plan for each.

  I can help narrow down the options for you, Captain, Portunes said in his mind.

  Of course you can, Dunn thought. So let’s do something about that. In looking at this, it seems as though there are twenty different ways in.

  According to PEO’s scans, Portunes said, Mira is currently tumbling end over end through the Kuiper Belt. If Black Company can stabilize the ship, there are several routes that offer the best chance for success. If, of course, Mira isn’t damaged too badly.

  “Goes without saying,” Dunn said aloud. “Show me.”

  For the next two hours, Dunn and Portunes weighe
d pros and cons regarding ingress and egress points. Nobel brought him coffee, then lunch. He and Portunes added z-g combat scenarios, as well as whether to take a space-capable support vehicle or include a fighter in addition to the two combat skiffs.

  They argued over the suits to use, the amount of ammunition, the proper weaponry, and all the possible corridors which might require specialized equipment. Portunes kept a list of their decisions and logistics requirements to the side of the ship’s schematics. By the time they finished, Dunn’s bio-nannies were in full analgesic mode, stuffing his system with natural pain fighting chemicals to damp down the headache, the eyestrain, and keep him level. But for all their effort, he still felt exhausted. Portunes seemed to realize it, too.

  “Perhaps we should stop now,” the AI said through the speakers.

  Dunn stepped back from the holo-terminal and rubbed his eyes. “Probably a good idea.” He pinched his thumb and forefinger and the list took over the display. He scanned it, looking at the collapsible lists within lists within lists. The amount of data was mind-boggling if he tried to absorb it all at once, but looking at each slice individually, it all made sense. “What’s left?”

  “Well, Captain, I think all that’s left is load out. I will run scenarios to look for possible problems in the various strategies, but I believe my first three simulations tell us all we need to know.”

  Dunn smiled. “You’re a lifesaver, Portunes.”

  “Thank you, Captain. My pleasure.”

  He turned off his mental connection to the AI. The tether between them disappeared and part of the headache departed with it. “Oh, that’s better,” he said. “I’ll need all the data transferred to Black.”

  “Of course, Captain. As soon as I’m certain you have everything you need, Black will receive the encoded data.”

  “Good. Send the logistics list to Taulbee so he and the marines can start loading tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Captain. I shall.”

  Dunn rubbed his eyes. “Guess I need to get a shower, read the bullshit Taulbee and Cartwright put together, and prepare a briefing.”

  “Very good, Captain. By the way, Lieutenant Nobel very much appreciated your decisions regarding Black and information access.”

  Dunn looked forward. S&R Black’s engineer was still engrossed in analyzing readouts and checking diagnostics. The man was so focused, Dunn wasn’t sure a firefight would get his attention. Dunn grinned at the holo-display. “We make a good team, Portunes.”

  “Indeed we do, Captain. You now have 1.25 standard hours before your briefing. Might I suggest you take some time to rest first?”

  Dunn reached for his coffee cup. The dregs were cold, but he drank them anyway, frowning at the bitter taste. “I’ll have plenty of time to sleep when we depart.”

  “True,” Portunes said. “But your team will see how ragged you are.”

  He thought about that for a moment and then nodded. “Okay. I’ll head back to my bunk, catch fifteen minutes, and then get back at it.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Dunn slapped the side of the holo-terminal. “Before I go, do me a favor.”

  “Sir?”

  “Make sure Nobel gets some rest. Lock him out of his terminal in thirty minutes and then get his ass to the briefing.”

  “Understood, sir,” the AI said.

  “Thank you again, Portunes.”

  “You’re welcome, Captain.”

  Dunn nodded at the terminal, waved to logout, and headed back to the steps. Nobel didn’t even notice his departure. The Captain yawned as he walked away from the hangar and toward the personnel decks. Less than 1.25 hours to prepare for the briefing. He hoped whatever Taulbee and Cartwright came up with would snow the team. At least until they left.

  Chapter Seven

  Two pair. A pair of jacks and a pair of nines. The pot? 400 credits. The bet was to him, but Dickerson wasn’t sure what to do. He rolled the vaporizer from one side of his mouth to the other.

  “Come on, Dickerson,” Carbonaro said. Her ponytail bounced behind her neck as she laughed. “Don’t be a civvie. Put the chips down or bounce.”

  He blew out a sigh. The glint in her eye told him she didn’t have shit for a hand, but she’d already managed to scare Elliott and Wendt out of the hand. Carbonaro had taken the last three hands without so much as a counter. Elliott and Wendt were down to a handful of chips. The game was really between him and Carbonaro. She knew it as well as he did.

  “Call,” Dickerson said and threw another 50 credits in the pot. He took a deep drag off the vaporizer and then blew a cloud of vapor over her head. Her nostrils twitched at the strawberry-scented cloud.

  The glint in her eyes faded. She knew she’d lost the moment he’d thrown in the chips. With a groan, she lay down a pair of aces, king high. Dickerson tossed his cards on the table, face up. Carbonaro cursed and swept the pot to him.

  “Asshole,” she said.

  “That I am,” Dickerson said and began organizing his pile. He looked up at Wendt and Elliott. “You guys still in, or what?”

  Elliott held out a hand, gesturing to Dickerson. Dickerson took another deep pull on the vaporizer and handed it to him. Elliott took a pull and blew the vapor in Carbonaro’s face. “I’m done. I’m going to spend the next part of my paycheck on some goddamned X-ray—”

  S&R Black, this is Lt. Taulbee. You will assemble at 1600 Sol in our briefing room. That is all.

  Dickerson’s head throbbed. The message had hit his block like a bomb. Which, of course, was the intent. He didn’t need to look at the rest of the table to know they’d received the same message.

  “Fuck me,” Carbonaro said. She held out her hand to Elliott. He passed the light-weight cylinder to her. She took a drag, held it, and then let the vapor drizzle through her nose. “I just wanted to rip you guys off, get laid, and crash.”

  “Amen to that,” Wendt said. She passed the vape to him. A moment later, the disposable vaporizer was blinking. With a look of disgust, he placed it on the table. “At least we still have forty-five minutes before we need to start a flush.”

  “True,” Dickerson said. He reached into the pack and pulled out another pre-loaded vape. He took a drag and passed it. The bio-nannies in his system were tearing apart the cannabidiol from the mild marijuana strain, converting it, adding it to amounts already stockpiled, and spreading them around for later use. They allowed a portion of the THC psychoactives into the bloodstream, but counteracted the rest.

  He knew what the little buggers were doing inside his brain. Marines took bio-nannie infusions once a week while on base, and were required to use maintenance doses while on mission. When they were off-duty, they were allowed to drink, smoke, and partake in however much THC they cared for. The nannies could clean intoxicants from their bloodstream in a matter of minutes, counteracting any deleterious effects before flushing the rest as waste through the kidneys.

  Goddamned Taulbee. Training mission in the morning, writing reports and summaries in the afternoon, and now he was fucking up their time off before another day of the same mind-numbing routine. Dickerson closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He was stoned. Every part of his being was at peace, except for that little voice inside his head that told him something was wrong.

  A briefing this late before chow? And after official leisure time had been granted? It didn’t make sense. Taulbee was a bastard, sure, but he was also a good CO. He and the Captain treated the marines of S&R Black with respect and camaraderie. Gunny Cartwright was aces. So if they did have a real briefing at 1600, and it wasn’t just a jerk off, then…

  “Shit,” he said aloud.

  “What’s your problem, Dickerson?”

  He opened his eyes and locked them with Carbonaro’s. “We have a mission.”

  Swaying slightly from her own buzz, she smiled at him and slowly nodded. “You just now figured that out? Because I’m pretty sure the rest of us knew the moment the call came in.”

  Dickerson
felt embarrassed, but at the same time, didn’t care. She was right. If he hadn’t been so damned stoned, he’d have figured it out too. Oh, well. “Want to knock boots later?”

  Carbonaro shrugged. “Only if we get a chance after the briefing.” She took another hit off the vape and handed it to Elliott.

  Dickerson tapped a finger on the table’s edge. “If we’re going on a mission,” he said, “you think we need to lighten up on Corporal Kalimura?”

  Wendt snorted out a stream of vapor and fell into a coughing fit. “Are you kidding?” he managed.

  “Why the hell would we do that?” Carbonaro asked. “She’s an arrogant bitch!”

  The other LCpls looked at him with mischief in their eyes. “Elliott? Wendt? You’ve never been in the shit.” He stared at Carbonaro. “You have, Carb. If we’re going on a real mission, we need to actually take her seriously. Or someone could die out there.”

  She opened her mouth to reply, and then closed it. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if she would say anything. Instead, she shrugged. “Yeah. Okay. Right.”

  Wendt and Elliott exchanged glances and then Wendt glared at Dickerson. “Haven’t been in the shit? What about Kalimura? She’s never been in the shit either.”

  Dickerson leaned back in his chair. This conversation was killing his buzz. Either that or the bio-nannies had decided to go into overdrive. “You ever talk to her, Wendt? Know where she’s from? Her history?”

  “No,” he said. “And I don’t care either. She pretty much torched us non-rates the moment she got here. That’s not an NCO, man. That’s not someone who worked their way up the ranks. That’s someone who got gifted a promotion.”

  “Right,” Elliott said. “How do you expect us to respect her if she has no respect for us grunts?”

  Dickerson leaned forward in his chair and put his elbows on the table. “You ever look her up?”

  “Did you?” Carbonaro asked.

  He nodded. “She’s from Mars. Schiaparelli.”

  “Marine brat?” Wendt asked.

  “Marine brat,” Dickerson agreed. “Father died in the shit, and she was right in the middle of it.”