by T J Mott
And she also felt the fear of not living up to her new reputation. Everyone on Headquarters now knew her to be a survivor of the Hyberian Raiders, the mercenary group which had been wiped out by an antimatter strike during a contract in the Sapphire Cluster many years before. Her brother, Ian, had been a major in the group, and he’d raised her after their parents were killed. She’d grown up among them, and even as a teenager she’d fought hard to prove herself, although her brother had continuously tried to limit her involvement. By the time she was an adult, she was finally being brought into the force’s main line, but they’d been destroyed before she could become a true member. But the details mattered little to the rest of Headquarters; in their mind, she was a Hyberian.
She had learned so much by living and growing up around such people. She’d learned to fight and fly, and had reveled in the exciting stories which blasted around their space station whenever the crews returned home after a contract.
And she’d spent so much of her free time in the group’s piloting simulators, participating in re-enactments of old battles, and despite only been a teenager who wasn’t allowed on missions, she proved herself to be one of the top pilots in the group. And then, desperate for action and desperate to prove herself worthy, she’d even given a pilot food poisoning and slipped aboard his gunship as the relief pilot as they departed on an escort mission. Ian had been beyond livid with her, not understanding just how badly she’d wanted to join in on the Hyberians’ missions.
And now, years later, she stood before the men and women of her own gunship squadron, and it was both surreal and frightening. Just as frightening, if she succeeded, was the possibility that the Organization’s idiot leader would send her on some foolish mission to find his precious Earth. Hopefully she could punt those jobs to other units and keep Ghost Squadron focused on traditional merc work.
Vacek stood beside her, as did their new assistant, Lieutenant Nolon. “I don’t even know what to say,” she murmured to Vacek.
“I can’t do everything for you,” he replied quietly but sharply. “You’re the squadron commander, at some point you have to lead. And sometimes that includes addressing the troops.”
Flashing him an annoyed look, she stepped forward slightly and slowly scanned the crowd. The flight crews wore the fairly informal Blue Fleet uniforms—really just off-the-shelf blue utilities with minor modifications—and she noted with satisfaction that they were all officers. Most of them were ensigns, new recruits who had passed the Organization’s background and psychological checks but were still relatively untrained and inexperienced. Several of them were lieutenants who had either transferred from other parts of the Organization or had joined with enough knowledge to skip the lowest officer rank. In any case, her flight crews were clearly young and green.
The squadron’s support personnel stood behind the flight crews, looking even more informal. Most of them were enlisted, likely to be in constant flux as they took time off between contracts or were transferred to other areas of the Organization as its needs changed.
“Welcome to Blue Fleet’s Ghost Squadron,” she said, speaking loudly and with a false confidence that she hoped would mask her own uncertainty. Everyone’s eyes were on her, and the combined attention of hundreds of individuals pressed into her. It almost felt like being attacked. “I’m Lieutenant Commander Poulsen, squadron commander. And as you probably already know, this is Lieutenant Commander Vacek, executive officer. Please excuse the chaos, we’re still sorting a lot of things out.
“First, I’ll address some rumors. Yes, I was raised by the Hyberian Raiders, and to some extent both Commodore Reynolds and I hope this new squadron will be a successor to them. Most of the galaxy fights with big cruisers and battleships, and the smaller ships get ignored. But Admiral Marcell’s fleets have proven that fast frigates and corvettes can be formidable if used correctly, and the Hyberian Raiders accomplished a lot using a fleet mostly consisting of even smaller gunships. I want to continue that tradition, and we’ll be training using the strategies I learned growing up among the Hyberians.
“Next, there’s a lot of work to do before we’re an operational squadron. Now that we have some living space and personnel, we’ll be assisting with construction. If all of us participate, we can finish building our facilities well ahead of schedule. Commander Vacek will be working closely with the base’s construction crews to see how best we can help them, and will manage assignments accordingly. As more things fall into place, we’ll transition into training and skirmishing, and eventually we’ll take on missions for the Organization and its customers.
“Finally, I know there’s a lot to do and we’re still in a very disorganized state. If any of you have questions or suggestions, feel free to contact me or Commander Vacek. We’re also open to suggestions for a unit name, but until then we’re proceeding as Ghost Squadron.”
She swallowed, still feeling uneasy at the attention. “That is all,” she said, probably too quickly. Milliseconds seemed very long when she had the attention of that many people. “Dismissed.”
Nothing happened for a few seconds, and then the crowd began to disperse. The incoherent noise of dozens of unrelated conversations began to echo around the hangar. She looked at Vacek, and he shrugged. “That was a functional address,” he said, “but not very inspiring.”
“If you want inspiring, hire me a speechwriter.”
Vacek laughed. “Now you sound like a politician.”
Frowning at his comment, she paced across the hangar. The main hangar doors and airlock occupied almost one entire wall, and the airlock was just big enough to cycle one gunship through at a time.
She passed through a door to the right of the airlock and entered its control room. Vacek and Nolon followed her, to her annoyance. Through the large glass wall, she could see into the airlock itself, which was completely empty. Reaching the far end of the control room, the one that faced outer space itself, she looked through those windows, seeing a large landing platform outside. The construction crews had finished leveling the rocky surface a couple of weeks ago, although some workers were still out there, painting landing areas and taxiways and setting glow-markers into the asteroid’s surface.
Seven Lancer-class gunships were landed out there, beyond the hangar’s artificial gravity field and strapped down to anchor points in the rock. The asteroid’s natural gravity was minimal. Although it could mostly hold things down by itself, she didn’t want to risk the embarrassment of a gunship floating away if it got blasted by nearby thruster wash.
She smiled as she studied the gunships. These ships were fast, and she still couldn’t wait to take one out. “Beautiful,” she whispered to herself, momentarily forgetting the two officers who accompanied her and wishing she was out flying instead of being stuck groundside, fondly remembering her time in the Hyberians’ simulator machines while detesting all her new duties as a unit commander.
“You’re strange,” said Vacek, and Poulsen frowned. On one level, she appreciated his frankness. She didn’t want a yes man as an XO, she wanted someone who would freely—if privately—question her decisions if he thought she was making a mistake. But sometimes he spoke a bit too freely, and she wasn’t sure where to draw the line.
“What does that mean?” she asked with a strong note of irritation in her tone.
“It means you fit in here.” She squinted, feeling puzzled. “This whole organization is led by very strange people,” he continued to explain. “I don’t know how or why that is, but I’ve noticed you have to be very…different to advance around here.”
“Hmm.” Still frowning, she turned back to the window, remembering some of the old race circuits she’d ran in the Hyberian simulators. These new ships were quite fast in hyperspace, probably the fastest ships in Blue Fleet.
Then she had an idea, recalling a rumor she’d recently overheard in the upper levels of the ops building. Was there a chance they could be even faster? Maybe it’s time I show some initiative ag
ain. She turned to face Vacek. He took a step backwards, appearing slightly frightened by the sudden predatory smile she was wearing. “How well-connected are you around here, Vacek?”
“Fairly well, that’s why I’m an XO. We all keep networked to help different units work together.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Do we have anyone around here with starship design experience? Someone who can edit schematics, or redesign parts of a ship, and organize the actual work of doing so?”
“Yes, there are a few former starship engineers who work here at Headquarters.”
“What do they do?”
Vacek shook his head. “I don’t know. We obviously aren’t in the business of designing starships around here, so I’m sure they’re on some secret project or another for Marcell.” He lowered his voice. “Rumor is the Admiral has secret warehouses buried underground with all kinds of strange projects going on. Though if anyone asks, you didn’t hear that from me.”
“Can you get in touch with them? I have an idea for a side project and need a technical lead.”
“We’re not even operational yet and you’re already wanting to start side projects?” He flashed an expression she couldn’t quite read. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you. Dismissed.” Vacek and Nolon both left the airlock control room, and Poulsen marveled at her new powers. All she had to do was say “Dismissed,” and most of the people she interacted with were obligated to leave. She waited a few minutes and then returned to the main hangar space.
The hangar was mostly empty now, and the three gunships were totally unoccupied. They had passed all their inspections and had been formally transferred to her squadron, but nobody had much reason to be aboard them yet. Her men would be completely focused on building their facilities for the next several weeks or months, and that meant that, at least for now, the gunships were hers and hers only. Until they were operational, the lead gunship was her refuge. Walking up to it, she then climbed up the starboard ladder and boarded it. The bridge was dark, lit only by the hangar lights which shined in through its windows. Shucking off her blue uniform jacket and tossing it at the captain’s seat, she settled down into the pilot’s seat at the front of the bridge. After unlocking the console, she found that the gunship’s computer system was still connected to the Headquarters network via a data umbilical.
She began exploring the Headquarters’ main databases, looking for some very specific information and hoping her new rank gave her access…
Chapter 10
The Foundation truck drove across the countryside during the cold Ailonian night. Although the planet closely orbited its sun, it was a small, weak star, just barely able to bring a temperate climate to Ailon’s equator and the major cities there. And although Ailon was nominally considered terraformed, its atmosphere was thin and it didn’t have much water, leaving the air dry most of the time. Thad’s throat felt a bit parched and he realized with a pang of homesickness that the climate reminded him very much of being in the mountains not far away from where he’d grown up.
He pulled his new ARF jacket—the replacement for the one destroyed in the refinery fire—tightly around himself, grimacing slightly as it painfully rubbed against his reddened and occasionally-blistered body, and stepped out of the truck, joining the other clinic workers behind it. A sudden gust blew, feeling cold and dry against his face.
They were at the refinery near Zhale again. It had taken ten days, but the fire had finally burned itself out. Near the southern end, parts of the building still stood, but beyond that much of it had collapsed after its steel frame had overheated and grown soft from the firestorm. Now, it was quiet and dark. A little smoke still rose from the mess, but he saw no sign of even smouldering embers, so it was probably just trapped vapors being blown out by the wind, Thad thought. The area stank horribly of smoke and chemical fumes.
It was very dark. The sun had set a few hours ago and the facility had been completely cut off from the power grid. The only illumination came from Ailon’s single small moon which hung low at first quarter, and that of the ARF truck’s headlights. As dark as it was on the ground, even the stars seemed bright. Above, the Milky Way stretched completely across the sky, looking very much like it did from Earth, reassuring Thaddeus that wherever in the galaxy Ailon was, it couldn’t be that far away from home.
The refinery complex was completely abandoned and unguarded now. The rescued slaves had been taken away elsewhere, and without any slaves to guard, the Avennian Army troops assigned to the facility had left as well, meaning Ria’s ARF clinic was here completely alone and unsupervised. Thaddeus marvelled at just how invisible the Foundation was. As long as they were not around slaves, the authorities paid almost no attention to them at all.
And why would they? To an outsider like Thaddeus, the Ailon Relief Foundation almost seemed to be allied with Ailon’s Avennian-controlled government.
He looked around at the others as they stood by the truck. The group consisted of himself, Chet, Harve, and Jason, the men who were clearly the strongest of the clinic.
Ria was also there, her short, petite form only visible as a small dark outline since the moon was to her back. “The refinery has been completely abandoned and written off,” she explained, speaking softly. “In a few months they’ll bring in offworld contractors to bulldoze it, but before then much of the cleanup work will fall to the Foundation. We’re still the closest camp, so the initial scouting work belongs to us. We’ll find out what’s in there, inventory some of it, take some notes, and get things ready for the cleanup crews.”
Thaddeus frowned. That doesn’t make sense. Surely the contractors are better-equipped for that kind of work than a clinic.
Removing a bin from the back of the truck, Chet opened it and began handing out the filter masks and headlamps it contained. Ria took the lead and the group followed her into the facility through its loading docks. As they approached, the only noises were their own footsteps and the wind which occasionally whistled through the wreckage. Thad noticed the complete absence of wildlife sounds. No buzzing and humming insects, no chirping birds, no howls from nocturnal predators, all of which would be expected on any planet which had been reasonably terraformed. Avennia colonized this planet solely for its resources, Thad realized with disdain. They terraformed it just enough to support human life, with no thought towards long-term habitability. I wonder what the ecosystem will look like in a few more decades.
After visually scanning the loading area, Thad shined his headlamp upwards. Though the roof had collapsed, the building still looked fairly navigable. There were enough large machines and tall shelving units and other equipment around to support the collapsed roof sections, keeping them off the floor and allowing the group to mostly move about freely, only occasionally struggling to find a route through—or over—the wreckage.
They moved through the site, stopping to inspect any intact tanks and barrels they encountered, with Ria taking notes on an electronic tablet each time. None of it seemed very interesting to Thad, just assortments of common industrial chemicals and metals.
Soon they were near the source of the fire. Thad looked up and saw stars; the sheet metal roof had melted away here. Everything was covered in a greasy layer of soot and ash, and puddles of slagged metal were everywhere.
The main fuel tank itself was still there, but horribly twisted and deformed from heat damage. Thad shook his head solemnly, wondering why it had been inside the building. He was no building architect, but to him it seemed like a fuel tank that big should be outside somewhere, safely away from any workers or equipment. Fuel distribution pipes came in towards it from everywhere, the closer sections warped and drooping and eventually ending in molten, collapsed openings. The machines which had burned and exploded were still mostly recognizable to Thaddeus, apparently made of a tougher or more heat-resistant alloy.
“Wow,” said Ria as she scanned her light across the wreckage. “I can’t believe you survived this.
”
He nodded in the dark although no one was looking his way, quite aware of the mild burns on his arms and face where his filter mask and sleeves rubbed against his skin.
“Where did you find the slaves?” she asked, turning to face him. Her headlamp shined at him, blinding him.
He pointed a finger to the northeast. “Cafeteria’s that way, on the other side of ground zero.”
“I want to see it.” She turned and walked, stepping carefully over some collapsed sections of piping that lay on the ground, and then gingerly placing a foot upon one of the metallic puddles, as if worried that it was still hot. It was clearly cool and hardened, and then she walked across it.
“Follow me,” he said as he overtook her. The two advanced through the wreckage, leaving the rest of the crew behind to continue their scouting and inventory work. Minutes later, he and Ria reached the cafeteria. The inner wall between the cafeteria and main factory floor was gone, replaced by a ragged line of cooled metal where the corrugated tin walls had melted down.
He pointed to the east end. “They were all over here when I found them.” He looked back at the frozen pool of metal that used to be the western wall, and paused with his light shining on it. “That wall was already starting to melt when I arrived. I couldn’t believe there were no exits in here…”
“Ailon has only been formally enslaved for a few years, and those in charge here are inexperienced and single-minded.” Ria stepped up to the inner wall, stopping just short of it. Thad’s light shined on her back, making her orange jacket almost seem to glow in the dark. After examining the destroyed wall, she turned to face him, approached, and stopped a meter in front of him. “Chad,” she said, looking up at him and blinding him with her headlamp again, “if you’d been even five minutes longer, you would have died.” He nodded grimly. “I can’t believe the heat damage here. You should be in a burn unit. How did you get out?”
