by C. R. Turner
Bradley seems to be biting his tongue as he reads his Core-link wrist device. “They need to be accompanied. I don’t want them just wandering around. We’ll meet them at the Cosmic Origin first thing in the morning. It’ll be getting dark soon and it’s already been a long day. Have you located the Timberwolf’s port of origin yet?”
The look on Marcus’ and Taylor’s faces piques my curiosity, and I step closer.
Taylor leaves her console and approaches as she says, “Pos, sir. I believe it’s pronounced Te Enthai. It’s on the opposite side of the galaxy!”
Everyone in the bridge gasps and stops what they’re doing to look at Taylor. I know the Bridgeport shortens the distances from planet to planet, but the other side of the galaxy – that’s incredible.
“Are you serious?” Bradley asks.
“The hundred and thirty-one planets in the combined Talon-Makri catalogue are all in the same relative space,” Taylor replies. “The ten thousand planets in the Timberwolf’s catalogue are—”
“Spread out across the entire galaxy,” Marcus snaps. “What’d you expect?”
Bradley jerks his head back an inch. He raises his voice. “What about the ship’s specifications and log? Grand Master Nueran specifically asked for the log files in case we have trouble with the owners of the Timberwolf when we return it.”
Marcus looks at his console. “The specs and log files are encrypted. We’ll have to crack them back at the SESS.”
“What if you can’t crack them?” Bradley asks.
Marcus shakes his head. “What do you want from us? We can’t take the ship back to Terra Primus, and we’ve only been given two days to inspect it. I could allocate a couple of specialists to try to crack the encryption here, but frankly their time would be better spent surveying the rest of the Timberwolf’s technology.”
Bradley and Marcus glare at each other. Marcus doesn’t know who he’s messing with. Tense, no one speaks for a moment before Bradley shows Marcus his back and joins Hawkins and me by the canines.
“What’s with Marcus?” I ask quietly as the team go back to work.
Bradley shakes his head. “He’s an arrogant sod! It’s been a while, but I’m remembering why I used to hate working with him.”
I’ve seen glimpses of Marcus’ arrogance but nothing like this. I wonder how far back Bradley and Marcus go? “When we first met, when Sam asked you to help find her father, did you know Sam was Marcus’ daughter?”
“Not when I met Sam on Arcadia, but later when I learned her surname, I pieced it together.”
I’m not that surprised. Bradley could hide just about anything behind his deadpan face. “Why didn’t you let on?”
“Marcus forged a reputation, not just in the SESS but throughout the Union, for being one of the most intelligent men alive. When he mysteriously disappeared, he became somewhat of a legend. I didn’t tell Sam I knew him because, at the time, I didn’t want her thinking about her father while on her first mission. When we got back from Hikaru, SI informed me he’d been found and they’d negotiated his release.”
“Oh … I didn’t know that. Is that why people call him Abacus?” I ask.
Bradley and Hawkins laugh.
“I haven’t heard that in years,” Bradley says, smirking. “Where did you hear it?”
“I went to meet Sam at the SESS a few weeks ago and heard a couple of SESS specialists talking about Marcus.”
Bradley pats me on the shoulder and leaves his hand there. “Yeah, well …”
“So, how long have you known him?” I ask.
“Too long. Fifteen … twenty years.”
Max is becoming unsettled, so I scan the sky through the Timberwolf’s windscreens. Barchee’s star is setting. “Sir, do you mind if I take the canines for a walk … take a look around outside the ship?”
Bradley replies, his face lightened, “Sure. It mightn’t be a bad idea, actually. Hawk, go with Walker. Be back in an hour.”
I smile. Whenever someone calls me by my nickname, I have flashbacks from when Max and I first met and we walked all the way to Arcadia.
The circular floor of the lift comes to rest on salt-crusted ground, and a small ramp extends from underneath. Given we’re surrounded by desert, I’m surprised when we’re hit by cold air – I expected it to be as hot as hell.
In the huge expanse of shade, we can now see the extent of just how hard the landing was. The ship’s ten huge cylindrical dampeners have disappeared into gaping square holes in the ground – the shape of the landing pads, I assume. I direct Max over to one of the holes and look down into the darkness. I think I can make out the landing pad, and I’m guessing it may have found bedrock.
Hawkins is a few hundred feet away, heading toward an isolated rocky hill that’s rising out of the salt flat, about a mile away. He looks over his shoulder and flicks his head in a gesture to follow. Jade breaks into a trot a second before I give Max a nudge. He oversteps my command and breaks straight into a run. I laugh and give him another nudge. Hawkins hears us coming and ribs Jade, who responds, but Max is already at full speed and we go tearing past. I hang on for dear life, glancing back to see Hawkins and Jade giving it everything they’ve got. They’ll never catch us. After about a minute, I slow Max to give Jade a chance to catch up. We reach the top of the hill, and I pull Max up just as Jade and Hawkins reach us. I grin. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Hawkins smile so much; he’s always so serious.
The view of the Timberwolf from here is incredible – its hulking mass standing in the cold, dry, desolate landscape with Barchee’s star setting behind us. The sandy beige colour didn’t make sense in space, but against the sand dunes in the distance, I can see why they’d paint it that colour. The hill has only put us level with the keel of the great ship. The deck is still a good six hundred feet above us. The bow of the ship is so far away it’s hard to see it in much detail. Marcus’ estimate of a mile in length is by no means an overstatement. Looking at the ship from this perspective, I’m surprised it can even land on a planet. I can’t even comprehend how much it must weigh. It’s a peculiar sight – a high-tech starship in the middle of a barren desert. I won’t forget this image in a hurry.
I reminisce on a time before I knew SF Raptor. I hadn’t lived a sheltered life, but I was naïve then. Now, while I’ve only been on a dozen missions, my mind has already been opened so much. The galaxy is far bigger than I ever imagined.
Chapter 4
Morning. A yawn escapes me as Hawkins and I sit in the Hurricane, waiting for the lift to descend. I swipe my Core-link wrist device to Terra Primus’ screen: it shows midday. Damn! There goes my body clock again. The doors open, Hawkins drives forward, and once we’re clear of the lift, he floors it. The Hurricane lurches, the tyres howl, and I’m pinned to my seat. We cross the guard-railed bridge to the M1 in a flash.
“I’m awake!”
Hawkins takes his foot off the pedal, and I look over at him with wide eyes and a grin. Hawkins smiles.
When we reach the end of the M1, I climb out to open the fighter bay door. No surprise, four SESS specialists are anxiously waiting. As I approach, I read a sewn name tag on one specialist’s shoulder, then grab the end of a box as he grabs the other.
“What’s on for today, Hilt?” I ask.
“Mirroring the operations ecosystem,” he replies.
I grin to myself, like I’d know what that means. Once all the gear is loaded, I close the rear doors and hold the front passenger side door open. Hilt climbs in, then me. The other three specialists climb in the back row of seats.
As we drive back down the M1, I glance over at Hawkins, then Hilt. Hair parted to one side, glasses, baby-face and no visible tattoos, Hilt’s conservative, almost nerdy, appearance is a stark contrast to Hawkins’ intimidating aura.
Hilt points to a side corridor. “Turn here, please.”
Hawkins slams on the brakes, and we all brace as the tyres roar and the electronics fight for traction against the massive
weight of the Hurricane before we come to a sudden halt.
Hawkins glares at Hilt and growls, “Some warning would be good.”
Hilt clears his throat and looks away. I bite my lip, trying hard not to smile. Hawkins backs up, then turns down the side corridor. Further on, Hilt directs Hawkins at an intersection, and we head down a ramp that repeatedly turns back on itself. After descending half-a-dozen levels, we reach an open area and climb out.
A machine towers above us. Its width must be roughly one hundred and fifty feet, its length – who knows? I step back and look through the openings in the bulkheads – each end disappears into darkness in both directions.
I ask Hilt. “What the hell is that?”
“One of the main graviton drives. There’s a second one on the port side.”
I walk closer and tilt my head up. Each bulkhead has a massive flange-style mount secured with huge bolts every couple of feet around the circumference, fixing it to the ship’s superstructure. I try to wrap my hand over the head of one of the bolts, but my fingers don’t reach the edges. One bolt alone must weigh five or six hundred pounds.
Piping and massive electrical cables run all over the surface of the graviton drive, giving it the appearance of a giant cylinder of steel spaghetti. The SESS specialists set up their computers, open hatches and wander around inspecting the ship as they make the most of their time on board. Hawkins walks over to my side, Ashra in hand.
“Hey Hawk …”
He looks down from his seven-foot stature. “Yeah, mate?”
“Why does Bradley father me?”
Hawkins deadpans. “You don’t know?”
I shake my head.
Hawkins looks away as if he’s considering his reply, then says softly, “You should ask him.”
I glance at the huge tattoo on his neck – an upside-down compass with a scar in the centre, mostly obscured by the ink. I’ve wondered about this piece of art for so long, but it’s only now that we’ve been working together for a couple years and have grown close – like brothers, maybe – I feel I can ask. “Why is your compass upside down?”
“The inversion signifies Bessomi being in the southern hemisphere.”
I frown. “I don’t get it?”
“If you were standing on the southern pole, the northern pole would be toward your feet,” Hawkins says.
“Oh … I get it,” I reply. “What’s the scar?”
“Bullet wound,” Hawkins answers flatly. “I was shot in the neck by a TPRA member when I was leaving Bessomi.” He looks up at the huge graviton drive. “That’s a big drive … for big space.”
I both frown and smile. He’s such an enigma. I’m sure he knows more about the workings of the ship than he lets on. I guess he doesn’t need to let everybody know what he knows. Both him and Bradley are the same – humble – though their knowledge isn’t limited to just the Union, but life beyond Terra Primus. I often wonder about our past and what life was like before the civil war.
“Why was Terra Primus’ history erased?” I ask.
“It was wiped out twenty years ago by an AI and EMP attack as a precursor to invasion. Everything digital was lost,” Hawkins says.
“Oh … I always thought it was the government or the Union that wiped it out. Who attacked us?”
“The Grovlic.”
“That’s the people from Grovsia?” I ask.
“Yeah, that’s right, the Galactic Federation’s right hand, the opposing force in the proxy war on Antarum. Ironically, it was the Grovlic’s expansionism that caused them to fail. They were forced to capitulate to the governing body of the Galactic Federation and sign the peace treaty. We came dangerously close to losing Terra Primus.”
“Is that why the Union police were drafting people?” I ask.
“Yeah. No one would condone the heavy-handed tactics of the defunct Union police, but truth be told, we were seriously outnumbered and if it wasn’t for the Makri, we wouldn’t be wearing these uniforms right now.”
I shake my head in amazement, then gaze at the length of the huge graviton drive as far as the light allows. I don’t think two days is anywhere near enough time for the SESS specialists to look the Timberwolf over. I wonder who came up with the two-day window? Wait! Did I just see something move far off in the dark, around a thousand feet away? I squint hard, trying to make it out.
“What?” Hawkins asks.
“I don’t know. Probably nothing, just … I thought I saw a person moving, but the shape I’m looking at hasn’t moved again. My eyes must be playing tricks on me.”
Hawkins walks back to the Hurricane and returns with an infra-red scope. He fits it to his Ashra, powers it up, then stares through the scope. “It’s a person alright,” he says, lowering his Ashra. He looks back at the specialists – I presume doing a headcount – before looking back toward the figure.
Hawkins presses the button on one of his earpieces. “Hawkins, Bradley, contact?”
“Bradley, go ahead, Hawk.”
“We’re down on level two, just forward of bulkhead thirty-two. You got anyone else down here?”
Bradley’s voice is filled with curiosity. “Negative. What’s up?”
“We’ve got a shadow. About a thousand feet aft of our position. Order?” Hawkins asks.
“Don’t lose them,” Bradley replies. “We’ll send someone down to watch the specialists.”
“Pos, sir. Final.” Hawkins looks at me as he raises his Ashra. “You heard the man.”
I pull my Ashra off my back. My heart races – noticeably more than in training. Hawkins runs up to the specialists and lets them know we’re leaving. They all stop what they’re doing and stare. I struggle to keep up with Hawkins’ long legs. The person lurking in the dark sees us coming and takes off. I scan the area as we get closer.
“Look out!” I drag Hawkins to the ground. The blast from an energy weapon flies over our heads as we come sliding to a halt. There are two of them. I guess the first person was bait for the trap. Hawkins looks at me with wide eyes and a shared comprehension of just how close that was.
He scrambles to his feet, kneels behind the bulkhead, and returns fire with his Ashra – set to stun, it sounds like a nail gun being fired. I can’t see much from my position until Hawkins gets up and heads over to where the assailants were. I follow suit. He’s hit one of them. The guy is lying on the floor, out cold. He’s wearing plain clothing and a strange energy weapon lies by his side. Hawkins hurriedly cuffs his wrists and binds him to the bulkhead.
“Come on, we can’t let the other one get away,” he calls as he takes off.
I sprint after him, and when we reach an underpass that ducks under the graviton drive, he slows to a walk, scanning the area with his Ashra shouldered and trying to work out which direction the other assailant went. No more than a few steps behind, I hold my Ashra at the ready. I wish we had Max with us; he’d know which way to go.
Hawkins gestures to the underpass with his chin. “Stinson, you go that way.”
My heart skips a beat at the thought of us separating, but I swallow and nod. As I step down and warily head under the graviton drive, I glance over my shoulder. Hawkins has already disappeared in the other direction. The dimly lit bowels of the Timberwolf take on a whole new meaning now that we’re hunting an assailant. I wonder if the underpass is just another trap to separate us. When I step up the other side, there’s no sign of him, and I’m faced with three alternative routes. This is crazy. He could be anywhere.
Straight ahead would lead to the other graviton drive on the port side. The other two walkways head off down either side of the starboard drive. I weigh up my options and head straight.
I skip into a run, trying to close any gap while hoping I don’t stumble straight into his crosshairs. Between running and the adrenaline, my heart’s racing. When I make it to the port-side drive, I head aft for a few minutes until I come to another underpass.
“Hawkins, Stinson, contact?”
The sudde
n transmission breaking the silence nearly gives me a heart attack.
I hold down the button on my Core-link until it beeps, so my radio will transmit continuously. “Stinson, go ahead,” I whisper.
“I’m just aft of bulkhead thirty-seven,” Hawkins says. “He’s crossing the underpass heading to the port side.”
I run to the nearest bulkhead to find my location. The writing is in the same foreign language as the rest of the ship.
I shrug. “How can you tell which bulkhead you’re at?”
“The three is made up of five separate lines, one vertical and the others coming off it on both sides like branches on a tree. The seven … well … looks like a seven.” I hear Hawkins chuckle.
I run down to the next bulkhead. Score. I hide behind it.
“I’m in position,” I whisper.
“Coming to you.”
From out of nowhere, an energy blast flies past me. I fall backward, accidently discharge my Ashra. As my head hits the floor, sparks fly behind my eyes. It takes me a moment before I sit up, trying to work out what just happened. The second assailant is down. Hawkins reaches us, kicks the assailant’s weapon away and cuffs him.
“Good work, Stinson.” He glances at me. “Are you alright?”
I stop my Core-link from transmitting. “That wasn’t on purpose. I must have been gripping my Ashra too tight. I shot him by accident.”
I grimace at the feel of blood running down the back of my head.
Hawkins smiles. “Oh well, better to be lucky than dead.”
I climb to my feet, shaky, my head aching. I may have a slight concussion. “Who are they? They’re not wearing the same uniform as the people in the infirmary. Do you think that’s all of them?”
Hawkins shakes his head as he stands, looking the man over. “Don’t know … maybe Marcus can shed some light on it.”
Locked up in the ship’s brig, the two men take turns mouthing off at us in their native tongue while banging on the bars of their cells.
From my seat on a bench that runs the length of the small room, I grimace at Hawkins. “Can you stop pacing? You’re making me sick.”