Waypoint Magellan

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Waypoint Magellan Page 16

by L S Roebuck


  Amberly reached into her duffle bag and produced her mother’s conch shell.

  “I believe this is yours,” Amberly said, and handed the artifact over to her mother.

  Now it was Kimberly’s turn to be emotional. The older Macready looked as if she would burst into tears. “Yes, your father gave me this.” She traced the pearled exposed interior surface with her pale finger. She held the shell to her ear, and then slowly smiled. “I’ve heard the real great waters of Arara. I’ll hear them again soon. I won’t need this anymore.”

  Amberly thought for a moment. “What about the people on Arara who don’t want to lose the connection to Earth? Surely there must be —”

  “Yes, we may have to subdue an enemy on Arara who don’t see our vision for a real future, for owning our own future. For a chance to make a perfect world. No worries. The Chairman has it in hand, if she hasn’t already put her plans in motion. Don’t you see, Amberly, we are finally going to be able to build the perfect society,” Kimberly said as she stood up. “But enough of this. I’m tired. I need a shower, and I need to prepare for the task ahead. Please stay here until Dek or I come for you. Will you do that for me, sweetheart?”

  “Mom, wait,” Amberly called out. “People are going to die, right? How did you become okay with innocents dying?”

  “Sweet Amberly,” Kimberly said as she stepped for the door. “Death is the way of things. Plants and animals die so that we can live, eventually our forefathers die to make space for us to grow. The old way must die to make way for the new.”

  “What about Kora?”

  “Well, hopefully she’ll make the smart choice and join us,” Kimberly frowned.

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  Kimberly took the conch shell, which traveled for decades and eight lightyears from earth, and threw it to the floor shattering the priceless object into a thousand fragments. “Some of the old things must die.”

  Kimberly slid out the door.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Skip handed North his data pad. The two were sitting in the mission prep room at Marine headquarters. The room had no viewports, but was brightly lit – too brightly lit for Skip, who preferred to work only in the soft glow of a magnetic interface screen. In the middle of the room was a cold steel table, bolted to the floor. Two rows of matching aluminum chairs surrounded the table.

  Skip shook his head. “We are in deep s—”

  The door slid open, interrupting Skip’s expletive, and Lt. Smythe Johnson, in standard Marine uniform, came in followed by an-out-of-breath, disheveled Lydia and an amazingly well made up, composed Kora. Lydia wore a basic brown jumpsuit common for normal lab work. Kora wore a snug red dress with black stockings and a black beret.

  Lt. Johnson, who commanded one of the two Marine strike units on Magellan (the other commanded by North), was originally from Arara, and had been stationed on Magellan for the last four years.

  North noticed the energy-discharging stun sidearm normally carried by uniformed officers was missing on Johnson. Instead, he had an automatic rifle that used bullets. North was about to ask Johnson why he was packing solid ammunition when Lydia spoke.

  “I came as soon as I could,” she apologized. “I wasn’t able to crack the code, but Am... er … Kora was able to get the decoder key. Is that true?”

  Skip pulled the key out of his pocket. “Bingo. And I’ve only decoded the newest message so far, and it’s kind of cryptic, but sounds bad to me.”

  “What did it say?” Johnson demanded, in a commanding voice as if Skip were a Marine under his command. “Can I see that keycard?”

  Skip handed the keycard to Johnson. Johnson inspected it carefully.

  North pulled up the coded message on his data pad and began to read: “Dek. Meeting resistance on Marquette. We’ll make the stand here. Initiate contingency code Scorched Earth. You have discretion on Friend or Foe protocol. Eliminate foes. Retrieve Raven One at all costs. For the future, Chairman: signature code X-120-Tiger-Alpha-321-Pi.”

  The blood drained from Johnson’s face, and he muttered under his breath, “Scorched Earth. No.”

  North couldn’t make out what he uttered and looked at the pale Johnson, “Come again?” But before Johnson could repeat himself, Kora jumped into the conversation.

  “Well, I’m no military gal, but I don’t like the ‘Scorched Earth’ and ‘Eliminate Foes’ part,” Kora said.

  “I am military, and I don’t like it either,” North fumed. “And you said Amberly left with Dek, who is no longer on Magellan. I knew Dek was trouble. I am going to give that guy a piece of —”

  “Wait, what do you mean, ‘No longer on Magellan,’?” Kora pressed. “Where’s Amberly?”

  “Apparently, someone stole the Firebird,” North said. “My guess is Amberly and her precious Dek are on it.” North could barely contain his combination of hurt and jealous anger. His fists were clenched, and his gaze was hard as his biceps.

  “What? It’s impossible to get a ship off this station without a pass card,” Lydia said. “Even if they subdued or bribed the dock watch, the electronic safeguards wouldn’t release a ship out of Magellan dock without it.”

  “Apparently,” North said again, slowly for emphasis, “Amberly stole my expired pass card and someone — maybe Dek — created a forged card.”

  “No way, I mean, no one is that smart. That would require someone to crack the master Magellan security codes,” Skip said. “I mean, with those codes cracked or bypassed, someone could steal the ships, control the Tube, access the police and Marine armories, shut off power to anywhere in the Magellan, even turn off life support and if they were real creative, vent our atmosphere.”

  “Well, someone is that smart,” said Lydia. “But I don’t think that Amberly is in league with Dek. It seems pretty clear from the message that Dek is involved in some sort of … conspiracy.”

  “Why would Amberly steal from you, North?” Johnson asked.

  “Well she didn’t exactly steal the pass, she sort of swindled it from me,” North’s anger had turned to dejection, and slight embarrassment. “I sort of … traded it for a kiss. I know it sounds quite idiotic when you say it out loud.”

  “A kiss?” Kora said knowingly. “I’m impressed.”

  “This isn’t the time,” Lydia said to Kora with a half scowl.

  “I saw Amberly leave with Dek, and she did seem secretive, but also under duress,” Kora said. “I don’t think she’s involved intentionally in some sort of trouble.”

  “Seems like she can’t make up her mind,” Skip said to the table.

  “Dek better have some answers,” North said. “I better inform Commander Anderson.”

  “Are you sure this Dek is some sort of a danger to Amberly?” said Johnson. “What makes you think that?”

  “Well, when I decrypt the rest of his messages, I’ll know for sure,” said Skip. “Let me get back over to Central Communication and I’ll pull some more —”

  “I’ll go with you, Skip, wait till I get back from Anderson’s office,” North said, and he looked over at Johnson. “You coming?”

  Johnson eyed Skip, Lydia and Kora skeptically. “You guys should all wait here until we get back.”

  North and Johnson took off down the hall towards the commanding officer’s quarters and office.

  “Shoot,” Skip said. “Johnson didn’t give me the encryption keycard back.”

  Anderson sat at his desk. He was a quiet man, and at 83, was the oldest serving officer in the Marines on any waypoint. A bit of grey stubble grew on his face and his shaved head. His eyes were small and dark and calm.

  “So you helped this Amberly girl steal a Valkyrie?” Anderson said evenly, but with an intensity that revealed his anger.

  “I’m sorry sir,” North said. “But I didn’t help her. And I think she may be operating under duress.” He stood at attention, looking straightforward.

  “Wasn’t it her mother that was responsible for our last Valkyrie disappea
ring? Do you know if this one is coming back?” Anderson said, disappointment filling the air.

  “Commander, perhaps we should summon the Wing Commander here,” Johnson suggested. “We should get some corvettes out looking in the Spencer Belt for our missing bird. And shouldn’t we inform the XO as well —”

  “Good idea. Get Jindal down here. But no need to bother Rita,” Anderson said, pleased with Johnson. Anderson was a man of action, who respected other men of action, who worked quickly to solve issues before they evolved into problems.

  Johnson produced his infopad and started sending a message to Magellan’s Wing Commander, Devansh Jindal, who commanded a unit of 10 combat-rated pilots, though none had ever seen action outside of a simulator.

  “Jindal indicates he’ll be here in a moment, sir,” Johnson said.

  “Sir, with all due respect, I think we have a bigger problem,” North said. “This message that my friend Skip intercepted and decoded indicates there may be some larger conspiracy threatening the Magellan.”

  “I need hard evidence, North. What do you have?” Anderson sounded skeptical.

  “Besides the message and the theft of Firebird, nothing,” North sighed. “But we have a military-grade decryption key that belongs to a transient from the American Spirit, a Dek Tigona. I was just about to head down with Skip to Central Communication to see if we can decode some more of his messages.”

  “North, do you have no sense of what you are asking?” Anderson stood up now, and some of the calm was leaving his voice. “Do you know what the governor will do if he finds I authorized snooping though civilian communiqués without an appropriate warrant? The guy already wants to do away with the Marines altogether and absorb us into the civilian police force. I better talk to the governor first. I am already on notice with those guys after the bar fight you started last week.”

  “Sir, that Marine had it coming —” North was interrupted with a finger from Anderson indicating he wasn’t interested.

  Jindal entered the room. “Reporting for duty, sir.”

  “Devansh, please sit down,” Anderson said, motioning for a chair. “We have a missing Valkyrie I need your flyboys to hunt down.”

  “Missing?” said Jindal as he took the chair indicated. “Which one?”

  “The Firebird.”

  “Awww, that’s my favorite.”

  “I want you to sweep the Spencer Belt, I can’t imagine where else they could be hiding. It’s not like they’d make a run for deep space,” Anderson stated the obvious.

  “Now, show me this message key you have,” Anderson said and turned and looked to North and Johnson.

  Johnson pulled the device from his pocket and slowly set the device on the edge of Anderson’s desk.

  Then in a snap, Johnson brought the butt of his automatic rifle down hard on the key, shattering it into worthless pieces.

  “What the hell!?!” said North. Anderson looked taken aback, trying to figure out what Johnson was doing. Jindal had a disinterested look on his face. In a split second, North surmised Johnson’s motive, and North’s hand went for his sidearm. But North wasn’t fast enough.

  Johnson had already flipped his gun around and disabled the safety. He loosed a spray of bullets at the heads of the seated officers. Several bullets punctured into the brains of both Anderson and Jindal.

  North’s right arm suddenly erupted in pain, causing him to drop his energy gun to the floor. He had taken a bullet to the elbow, had suddenly lost the use of his lower arm, and his blood spurted out over the now dead bodies of Anderson and Jindal. Jindal’s body had fallen out of his aluminum chair and now laid face first on the floor.

  “You bastard! You’re one of them.”

  Johnson leveled his gun at North and smiled. “Correct.”

  At the same moment, North let his body drop to the floor and Johnson’s second spray of bullets only ended up grazing North’s ear. Ignoring the pain in his arm, North swung his legs so they caught the chair just occupied by Jindal not even a minute ago. His shin pushed the chair solidly and it flew into the legs of Johnson causing him to stumble forward onto the ground and lose control of his gun. A few shots went off as Johnson hit the ground, but none of them hit targets. Johnson’s face slammed into the cold steel floor and his mouth began to bleed.

  North struggled to get to his feet, almost passing out from the intense pain in his elbow, where blood still flowed freely. Johnson rubbed his mouth as he started to rise, noticing that he too was bleeding, though not profusely. Johnson thought that North might go for the automatic rifle, so he started to scoot towards it, knowing that he could beat North to it.

  North however, wasn’t going for the gun. He threw himself at Johnson, and landed on the back of the crawling man. Johnson tried to free himself, but couldn’t quickly escape with the 190 pounds of North straddling his back.

  “Get off me, you lug!”

  “Why? So you can kill me too?”

  “We are all going to die, moron.”

  “Sorry about this,” North said. Using his left hand, North began to wail on Johnson, hitting the pinned man on the temple with powerful left hooks, until the fourth shot knocked Johnson unconscious. “No, actually, I’m not sorry.”

  North found some binders in Anderson’s drawers and cuffed Johnson. Then he ripped off the sleeve of Jindal’s shirt and wrapped it around his upper right arm in an attempt to make a tourniquet. He was already feeling woozy and lightheaded from blood loss.

  North attempted to assess the situation. Clearly Johnson and whoever he worked for was attempting to eliminate as much of the senior leadership of the Marines as possible in advance of who knows what, North thought. With Anderson and Jindal gone, it was just him, the murderer Johnson and XO Rita Moreno, the chief of base operations.

  He was about to comm Moreno, when the thought struck him that maybe the reason she wasn’t here already was because she was in on whatever Johnson had planned. If they took North out, they would control the resources of the Marines.

  But if she wasn’t compromised, then he could use her help. He couldn’t take the chance. Instead he decided to comm one of his own grunts, someone he could trust completely, like Eli Wong.

  “Eli,” he spoke into his infopad. “I need you in the commander’s office immediately. Come armed and come silent. I’ll fill you in when you get here. And bring a first aid kit, too. Hurry.”

  “Yes sir,” came the deep, drawled voice of Wong. “Is everything okay, sir?”

  “No. Hurry.”

  North righted the chair that he used to take out Johnson, and lifted Johnson’s limp body into it. Johnson was starting to regain consciousness. North grabbed a second and third set of binders, and used one to link the binders around Johnson’s hands to the chair. The other he used to bind the chair to the late Anderson’s desk.

  North recovered the automatic rifle, sat down in Anderson’s chair, and punched up the communication terminal, entering his own password into the magnetic screen. He called up Skip’s communicator.

  “Skip, are you there?” he said, as he looked around for something to clean some of the blood from his hands and face. The red splatter was everywhere and was starting to thicken and congeal.

  “What’s up?”

  “Grab Lydia and Kora and get to Commander Anderson’s office. It’s just down the hall and to the right from the conference room. Hurry. I’ve been shot and Anderson and the Wing Commander are dead.”

  “What?!” Skip said, shocked and confused, “Dead?”

  “Hurry. We’re in dan–”

  North didn’t finish his sentence, but instead fell to the floor, stunned by an electronic side arm. Every nerve in his body felt like it was exposed to the vacuum of space, and he writhed on the floor, conscious, but unable to control his body. He saw three Marines, one with his weapon drawn, clearly the one who had shot North.

  These three were part of Johnson’s unit – Mooney, Phan and Boro. Mooney was of Irish descent, but was third genera
tion Magellan. He was an average build and otherwise unremarkable. Phan, who had shot North, was short and muscular, Asian – probably of Vietnamese descent. He joined the Marines after being recruited on Arara. Boro was dark skinned, tall and muscular. His ancestors left earth on Waypoint Cortes centuries ago, and all they had ever known since was life on the waypoints.

  North was trying to piece together what was going on and force himself to recover from the stun gun’s effects. But he couldn’t control any of his muscles and still involuntarily twitched on the floor, as if having a seizure. The pain had subsided slightly, but North could tell he would soon lose consciousness as his body went into shock.

  Johnson was fully awake now, and North, lying on the floor, could see Johnson’s men freeing their supervising officer from the binders.

  North heard the now free Johnson give some orders to the trio of Marines.

  “Just bash his head in or something,” Johnson said to Boro.

  “Kill him? Are you sure? I don’t know,” Boro said. “It isn’t right. North was a Marine like us and at least he should have the dignity of dying on his feet.”

  “You idiot,” Johnson said and uttered a string of expletives at the dark-skinned man. “Scorched Earth means that they are going to destroy Magellan. We don’t have time for traditional obsolete notions of honor. Kill or be killed, survival of the fittest time. Get it done. Phan, we need to go kill his friends waiting in the briefing room. And then both of you meet me in the hangar bay so we can find out what the plan is when Firebird gets back. Mooney, Boro is going soft. Please off that knuckle-dragger North.”

  Johnson seemed unsteady, but put his arm around Phan. “We must move quickly, or this will all be for nothing.” The two of them left the room.

  Boro looked at Mooney, who had picked up the automatic rifle and pointed it squarely at North’s head. North still did not have enough control of his body to speak, but his eyes were wide and defiant.

 

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