by Daniel Gibbs
“Very good. CAG, I expect to have your mission briefing by then as well.”
“Of course, ma’am,” Whatley replied. “Meanwhile, Spencer here will be brushing up on his Ghost-piloting skills.”
“I’m sure aviation will be up to the task. Dismissed, gentlemen. XO, stay behind for a few. I want to run something by you.”
Justin sprang from his chair and headed out the hatch with Whatley right behind him. It clanged shut behind them.
“Be nice to be on the offensive for a change,” Justin remarked.
“Don’t kid yourself, Spencer,” Whatley ground out as they walked toward the gravlift. “You might be hunting their carrier in that nebula, but make no mistake. They find you, you’re probably dead.” He wagged his finger. “Do not be a dead hero. I don’t have any use for those in my wing.”
“Not dead yet, sir.” Justin flashed a one-hundred-watt grin. “Not for lack of Leaguers—or pirates, for that matter—trying their best.”
Whatley snorted. “I seem to remember bailing your ass out a few times. I won’t be there to do it on this mission.” His expression softened. “Look, be careful, okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
As the gravlift doors slid open and they walked in, Justin thought about the interminable series of combat missions they flew. When will this ever end? What must we do to finally defeat our enemies? He had no answer.
Endless amounts of paperwork, training sessions, and evaluations filled the day. Justin sometimes wished for the simplicity of being a crew chief. Yeah, they’re enlisted, but at least they get to do one job to perfection—keep our spacecraft flying. It was nearly 2115 hours before he darkened the door of the pilots’ mess. Dinner service had long since ceased, and Justin got a sandwich and some freeze-dried fruit pieces. He sat at a table near the windows and stared into the void.
Several bites into his sandwich, Justin realized he should’ve pulled away from the busywork a few hours before. This thing tastes like dried crap. The sandwich was almost bad enough to throw away, but he knew he needed nourishment. So he forced each bite. Usually, freeze-dried fruit would be even worse, but he considered it a reward for getting through the rest of the meal.
Just as Justin was about to pull the package open, the sound of a throat clearing behind him got his attention.
“Hey, didn’t want to startle you,” Feldstein said as she got a glass of water and some freeze-dried fruit of her own.
“Am I that jumpy?”
“We’re all jumpy these days,” she replied. “I’m hoping a snack will help me get some rest.”
“In my case, I hope a late dinner does.” Justin shook his head as he opened the dried fruit and popped one of the tiny strawberries into his mouth. It tasted surprisingly good. “I’ve never flown in a nebula before.”
Feldstein made her way over to his table. “Look, I’m not going to sit down, because we’re doing that whole not-eating-together-alone thing, and I respect your boundary. But I’m worried about you, Justin.”
He furrowed his brow. “Why?”
“Do you realize you volunteer for every dangerous assignment?”
“How’d you know?” he asked, confused. Must be RUMINT.
“Because I know you, and the entire ship’s talking about how Justin Spencer is the hero sent by God to help us win.”
Justin let out a sigh. “I’m not a hero, and I’m sure as heck not sent by God.”
“It’s the ones who deny they are that are usually the real heroes.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “Please, stop throwing yourself into harm's way on every last mission. Let the CAG fly something, for crying out loud.”
“His place is operations.” Justin pursed his lips. “I volunteer because I can’t ask others to do something if I won’t do it myself.”
“Can I be honest with you?”
“When haven’t you been?” He popped another few strawberries into his mouth. “Fire away.”
She folded her arms. “I’m worried you have a hero complex. Yeah, you continually deny that you’re even one, but I hope you’ll at least consider it. If not for your sake, then because one of these days, it’ll get others killed.”
“I have no desire for glory,” Justin retorted. “Do you see me out there soaking up the limelight? No. I’ve got a job. I do it, and I try to bring everyone home safe. Don’t you trust me?”
Feldstein stared at him silently for a few moments. “I do. But I also think you should examine yourself and try to put some reason behind why the first guy in line for every suicide mission cooked up by Colonel Tehrani and the CAG is named Justin Spencer.”
The anger that welled up within Justin dissipated as he realized she had a point. He sucked in a breath. “You’re right. I sign up for a lot. I’ll think about it, okay?”
“That’s all I ask.”
Justin tossed the rest of the freeze-dried fruit into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “I think I’m going to head back to my cabin.”
She nodded. “Thank you. Good luck out there tomorrow.” Feldstein cracked a smile. “I won’t be there to bail you out.”
“I’ll be okay.” He winked. “Besides, who knows—maybe you’ll need me to save your bacon.”
Feldstein rolled her eyes. “I don’t eat bacon, remember?”
“Yup.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
Justin laughed and tossed his plate in the receptacle for dirty dishes. “Guilty as charged. See ya tomorrow, Dvora.”
“Good night.”
A dozen steps, and Justin was back in the passageway, headed to his stateroom. The entire walk back, he pondered what she’d said. Am I turning into a glory hound? I don’t think so. Perhaps guilt played into his actions. I don’t want anyone else to die because I didn’t step up. Justin briefly considered going to talk to Father Elliott about the epiphany but decided against it. The morning came early, and he still had one last thing to do before he went to sleep. More accurately, try to sleep.
Justin touched his finger to the security panel next to his cabin’s hatch and went through as it popped open. He set his tablet catty-corner on the table without bothering to change and engaged the camera function. After confirming the device was recording, he began. “Hey, baby. I’ve gotten into this habit of recording a video for you and Margaret before I go into a particularly risky mission.” He bit his lip. “Not sure how I got it started, but it's something I’ve done for several months now. If you get this, I perished in the line of duty.” How antiseptic the words sounded when put like that.
“Know that I volunteered for the assignment because I thought I could make a difference. Because the Terran Coalition must win. If we don’t, a darkness unlike any the human race has faced will swallow us. It’s my duty to act as if I’m the only thing standing between us and them.” Justin forced a smile to his face. “I love you. I love Margaret. I love our son, who, if you get this, I will never know.”
Tears began to stream from his eyes. “This holo is different, though. You see, I’ve made a change recently. I did something stupid, Michelle. I… Well, what I did doesn’t matter now. This war, it’s eating me alive. My friends keep dying, and any day, my number could be up. We go into space knowing there’s a decent chance today’s our day.” He sniffed and wiped his face. “After what I did, I ended up going someplace I never thought I would. The chapel. Yes, that’s right. Your husband talked to a pastor.
“There’s gotta be something more, Chelle. I’ve reached that conclusion. It gives me some kind of solace. And the idea that if I die, maybe I’ll see you and the kids again sustains me in this fight. In case you’re wondering, I haven’t yet accepted Jesus as my savior. I’m still pondering that and everything it entails. But if you get this, please, pray for my soul.” Justin gulped. “Okay. I’ve got to get some rest and get up bright and early tomorrow for this mission. I love you. Give my best to Margaret, and tell her I fought for something worth dying for and that I regret I couldn’t do more. Godspeed.”
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Justin touched the tablet and turned off the recording before wiping away the tears on his uniform sleeve. A few moments later, he’d stripped off his uniform and climbed into bed. Staring at the overhead in his bunk, he dreaded the next day and more than that, the torment of sleep. The faces and memories of friends lost never gave him a moment’s rest. Justin thought about praying, but his heart wasn’t in it, and so he turned onto his side and closed his eyes.
15
Justin woke forty-five minutes before his alarm after barely getting four hours of sleep. He’d tossed and turned all night, thanks to the nightmares that still plagued him. As he stared at the overhead, he pondered the hours to come. Deciding there was no point in attempting to force more sleep, especially when the day was soon to start, Justin climbed out of bed.
The morning passed in a blur as Justin went through his usual workout, showered, and ate a light breakfast. Once he’d completed the mundane tasks, he reported to the Red Tails ready room in his flight suit, to find it empty except for one man—Major Whatley. As Justin pushed the hatch open, he came to attention upon seeing the CAG.
“At ease, Spencer.” Whatley pointed at one of the leather chairs. “I assume you were coming by to check your flight plan one last time.”
“Yes, sir.” Justin pursed his lips as he walked across the room and sat down. “I double-checked the micro-QET launcher already. Amazing what the spooks have at their disposal.”
“Quite.” Whatley took a seat next to him. “I wish I were going with you on this one, son.”
Justin felt touched by the hint of concern the CAG’s words held. “Thank you, sir. You’ve trained us well.”
“Have you ever flown in a nebula before?”
“Only in sims.”
Whatley snorted. “Listen, it’s beyond anything else you’ve done. Sensors won’t work right. Shields will be disrupted by the high-energy photons present and won’t protect you as well. This is not an environment ships or people are designed to thrive in. Do you get me?”
“I do, sir. Get in, tag the pirates, get out. Contact the Greengold.”
“Exactly.” Whatley nodded. “Meanwhile, we’ll be patrolling the systems in range and hoping to get lucky. You could be out there a while. Ghosts are rated for forty-eight hours’ endurance.”
Justin grimaced. “I know. There’s plenty of water and k-rats in there. Those so-called nutrition bars are disgusting.”
“So is getting blown apart by a freaking pirate. Remember to hook up your waste tube into the bladder and jettison it if you’re in there a while.”
“Yes, sir.” Justin chuckled. “Well, I guess I’d better strap in, sir. Launch in thirty minutes.” He stood.
Whatley rose as well. “Take care of yourself out there. I’ll have the other Ghost ready to support you, just in case.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Dismissed, Captain.”
Justin turned to go and took a few steps toward the hangar before Whatley’s voice rang out.
“One last thing, Spencer.” Whatley stood at crisp attention.
“Sir?”
“Godspeed, son.”
“Godspeed to you, too, sir.” Justin straightened as tight as a board before turning on his heel and crossing the distance to the flight deck in record time. He didn’t want Whatley to see the emotion on his face. Once outside the ready room and striding through the busy hangar, Justin paused to retrieve his flight helmet from the numbered Red Tails lockers. From there, it was a short distance to the SFS-4 Ghost.
I never thought I’d fly another one of these things. Justin stared at it. He’d flown the same craft in the attack on Sol. CDF Command had been nice enough to let the Zvika Greengold keep two of them.
“She’s all fueled up, ready to go, and ground preflight complete, sir,” a crew chief called as she jogged up and snapped off a salute. “Anything I can get you?”
Justin returned her salute before replying, “No, Chief. If it’s all the same, I’ll climb in, do my preflight, and stand by to get underway. Colonel Tehrani wants me in space by oh seven hundred, and it's already oh six thirty.”
“Roger that, sir. Godspeed out there.”
“You too.” As Justin put one leg on the first rung of the ladder leading up to the fighter’s cockpit, he realized that the old animosity he’d felt whenever someone mentioned God was gone. I am changing. That’s for sure.
It took a few minutes to settle into the pilot’s chair and configure everything precisely to his liking. Justin toggled a few of the displays to secondary modes, as he preferred how they displayed information. He sealed his flight helmet and performed a pressure check. All was a go. “Alpha One to flight.”
“This is the boss. Negative on Alpha One call sign, Captain. We’re going with Epsilon One for this mission.” The air boss was the senior officer in charge of all flight operations within a fifty-kilometer radius of the carrier.
“Understood, ma’am. Epsilon One has completed preflight, and I’m ready to depart on your order.”
“Stand by, Epsilon One. Colonel Tehrani would like a word.”
Tehrani’s voice filled the commlink. “Can you hear me, Captain Spencer?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I wish you good luck out there and pray that Allah may bless your mission and return you safely to us. As I’m sure the CAG has already said, don’t take too many crazy chances.”
“In triplicate, ma’am.”
“May we meet again, insha Allah.”
Justin wasn’t sure what the Arabic saying meant, but he appreciated the sentiment all the same. “Thank you, ma’am. Godspeed.”
“Tehrani out.”
A few moments later, the air boss cut back in. “You’re cleared to depart, Epsilon One.”
“Acknowledged.” Justin toggled his engines from idle to full power and accelerated out of the hangar bay, directly into the void. The Ghost raced away from the Greengold, each second putting more distance between him and the carrier. At five hundred kilometers, he pulled up the navigation computer and double-checked the coordinates for the Lagoon Nebula. They were supposed to drop him near a freighter carrying large quantities of rare earth minerals.
“Justin, can you hear me?” Feldstein’s voice cut into the commlink on a private channel.
What? He toggled his mic. “Yeah. Where are you?”
“I’m bouncing a signal off my Sabre’s comms system. Look, I want to apologize for what I said last night. I was out of line, and I don’t want to take a chance on those being our last words.”
Justin closed his eyes for a moment. “They won’t be, and neither will these. Why’s everybody acting so weird?”
“Because you’re flying into a nebula, Justin.”
“I guess there is that,” he replied with a chuckle. “All I’m doing is tagging a bad guy. That’s it. No heroics.” We cannot be having this conversation. Everything in Justin’s mind screamed they were getting too close to each other again, and he wouldn’t take the chance.
“Okay. I’m praying for you.”
Again, Justin marveled at how even a month earlier, he would’ve bristled at an offhand comment about prayer. Today, he welcomed it. “Thanks. I gotta get the Lawrence drive calibrated and engaged. See you on the flip side, Dvora.”
“You too.”
The private channel disappeared, leaving Justin in silence. Nothing was left to do except finishing plotting the jump. Using the Ghost’s navigation system, he entered the XYZ coordinates provided by Lieutenant Mitzner. Once validated, the navcomp’s Lawrence drive activation button turned green. Here goes nothing. Justin pressed his thumb on it, resulting in a satisfying click. “Epsilon One engaging FTL.”
Similar to the effect on a ship, the screens dimmed throughout the cockpit. Justin could’ve sworn the life-support heating system blinked for a moment, causing the craft to grow momentarily colder. A spacial vortex formed in front of the fighter and grew larger by the second until it encompassed the
Ghost.
Justin scanned the wormhole and confirmed it was stable. He increased his throttle, sending his fighter into its beckoning maw. Immediately, Justin closed his eyes for the transit. He’d learned the hard way during the attack on Sol that watching the interior as his craft flew through was a recipe for coming close to vomiting.
A few seconds later, the Ghost popped out the other side, and Justin opened his eyes. The first thing he realized was how different the void of open space was compared to the interior of a nebula. Brightly colored clouds of ionized gas were laid out in front of him. They ranged from orange to red to blue. I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight. Awestruck, he took a minute to quit staring at the beauty of the stellar nursery and focus on his task.
A streak of energy Justin could only describe as akin to lightning erupted from one cloud to another, barely missing his craft. That was enough to bring him out of his rumination. He tightened his grip on the flight stick and kicked up the throttle to half of maximum speed. Okay, time to start looking for this freighter.
Sensor returns were short-range at best. Justin scanned his HUD and saw flickering contacts at three hundred kilometers, but there wasn’t enough resolution to determine what they were. If they’re anything. They could be energy discharges, for all I know. He decided to implement a grid search for the freighter and used the navigation computer to plot a series of waypoints. A button press later, the autopilot was engaged.
Justin sat back, brought up the expanded sensor screen, and stared at it, looking for contacts. Time passed slowly, and after fifteen minutes that felt like three hours, he realized he was no closer to finding the freighter than when he’d started. I’ve got to trust the process. Run the grid search, ID groups of possible contacts, then run them down.
In the face of fear and doubt, Justin had a sudden inspiration. I say I believe in something. Might as well try to place my trust in it. “Hey, uh, God,” he began, feeling silly and strange. “I’m still learning how to do this. Please help me out here. I need to find these pirates, avoid being blown apart by gas clouds, and make it back to the Zvika Greengold.”
