by Jake Elwood
"Captain?"
Tom turned. Carver stood in the corridor, absent-mindedly powering down the gas scanner. "You're Captain, right, now that we're disconnected from the Kestrel?"
"I suppose I am."
"Haskell says the hull is clear and we're good to go."
Tom touched his bracer. "Swanson. What's your status?"
"I'm here, Sir."
He turned. Swanson stood in the entrance to the kitchen. "We have enough food and water for at least a week. I'm not sure how much exactly. I figured a week was plenty."
"Good work," Tom said, embarrassed that he hadn't thought of it. He lifted his bracer. "O'Reilly? Status?"
"We're ready to go, Sir."
Tom called Boudreau.
"Mr. Thrush. Is there a problem?"
"No problem, Sir. Just a status update. We need to test the engines. After that we're ready to go."
"Keep me posted," Boudreau said, and cut the connection.
Tom took a deep breath. This was it. Command. "Haskell. Keep an eye on the engine. We're about to try some thrust." To Carver and Swanson he said, "You two stand by. Be ready for damage control if something blows up. I'll be on the bridge."
Only when he squeezed himself into the second seat on the bridge did he think that O'Reilly might not appreciate the supervision. I should have stayed away. He'd see it as a vote of confidence.
He pushed the thought away. I need to learn the helm controls on this ship. I might as well start learning them now.
Some gentle experimenting with the console on his side of the bridge brought up a navigational display that showed the locations of Garnet and Argo. The ship was a blue circle between those two points, merged with a yellow circle indicating the Kestrel. Tom zoomed in until both ships appeared as simple oblong shapes with a visible gap between them.
The console was refreshingly simple, with far fewer features than anything he'd seen on the Kestrel. He adjusted the perspective of the display to give him the best view possible of the space between the ships.
"Thank you, Sir," said O'Reilly, peering past him at the display. "If you don't mind leaving that view up …"
"Sure. Put the engine through its paces, please."
O'Reilly nodded, tapped at a console several times, then pressed his thumb against a flashing button. The hum of a nav thruster filled the bridge, making Tom jerk his head up in surprise. Even full engine thrust didn't make this much noise on the Kestrel.
He swayed gently sideways as the ship moved. He watched the gap between vessels widen. When a readout in the corner of the screen told him a hundred meters separated the two vessels, O'Reilly tapped another icon. The thruster hum vanished, replaced by a deeper rumble that seemed to fill the entire vessel. The ship surged forward, pressing Tom back against his seat.
"No internal force fields," O'Reilly murmured. "Or if they exist, they don't kick in until you really punch it."
They raced toward the distant energy storm, and it grew, the details becoming sharper with every passing second. Columns of golden fire played back and forth between a saffron layer and the buttery layer beneath it. Tom said, "Let's not get too close to that."
"Right." Harper tapped his screen. "Let's see how tight she corners."
The storm front slid to the left, and Tom's body tried hard to slide left as well. O'Reilly braced an elbow against the edge of a console to keep himself upright. Tom leaned sideways until his shoulder was against O'Reilly's ribs. The centrifugal pressure built and built – until suddenly it vanished. Tom straightened up in his seat, and O'Reilly lowered his elbow. "Internal force fields," O'Reilly said. "I knew there had to be some."
When the ship straightened out, the void ahead was dark and empty. Tom could even see a couple of stars. His console told him the Kestrel was dead ahead, too distant to be visible.
"Andrew?"
"Yes, Captain?"
"I can't remember the name of this ship."
"Her name is Free Bird."
"Good to know."
A tiny speck appeared in the distance, and he leaned forward, as if that would help. The speck grew slowly as the distance between the two ships closed, until Tom could identify the Kestrel, made absurdly small by distance. He said, "I guess we don't really need to rejoin her, do we?" He fiddled with his display and managed to switch it from navigation to communications. "This is Free Bird calling Kestrel."
"Kestrel here," said Boudreau. "Do you have a working transponder?"
Tom stared blankly at his own console, then looked at O'Reilly. O'Reilly tapped a couple of icons, then said, "There."
"Got it," said Boudreau. "Keep it transmitting. We'll give your code to the defenses at Garnet. Now, are you spaceworthy?"
Tom glanced at O'Reilly, who nodded. "Affirmative," Tom said.
"Then we'll see you at Garnet. Steer around that storm. Your ship's not built to handle it."
The Kestrel began to move. The frigate had seemed quite large to Tom. Hauling tonnes of ammunition from one end to the other had made the corridors seem endless. But the ship looked as fragile and inconsequential as a toy as it moved from left to right across his field of view. It headed straight for the energy storm, and Tom cringed. Intellectually he knew the frigate could handle almost any energy disruption in seventh-dimensional space. As he watched, though, he couldn't help imagining an acorn being lobbed into a campfire.
The Kestrel reached the storm front and vanished into the maelstrom.
"I've plotted a course toward Garnet," O'Reilly said. "We'll have to adjust as we go, but I've got the first leg mapped out."
For a moment Tom didn't respond. He gazed through the windows, feeling deliciously isolated. He was suddenly envious of the pirate crew, who could feel every move their ship made. What would it be like to sit in this bridge every day, to see the storms of hyperspace as a deadly force demanding constant vigilance and respect? Gooseflesh stirred on his shoulders.
O'Reilly said, "Sir?"
"Let's go," said Tom.
The nose of the ship swung around until the storm was dead ahead but slightly below the horizon line. The main engine came to life, acceleration pushing Tom back until the internal force fields kicked in.
"How long until Garnet?"
O'Reilly rubbed his jaw, thinking. "A lot longer than we took coming out. Three days, maybe?" The seat creaked as O'Reilly leaned back. "We can't accelerate too much. We have to be ready to make course adjustments." He waved his arm at the space ahead of the ship. "Even if it looks like clear sailing, these storms move around. So we have to keep our speed low."
He tapped his console, then looked at Tom. "If our luck is good, we'll fly in almost a straight line. If we have to cut back and forth avoiding storms, it'll take longer. I'd say, anywhere from two to four days?"
"Do we need two of us on the bridge?"
O'Reilly shook his head. "It's a one-person job, Sir."
Tom stood. "All right. I'll come check on you in an hour or so."
"I'll be here."
Tom nodded and headed aft.
He paused in the corridor between the bridge and the kitchen. For a moment he was alone, out of sight of his crew, and he let a pent-up wave of emotion hit him. There was excitement and a sense of triumph, but beneath it was a massive, ugly wave of anxiety that threatened to engulf him. I don't know what I'm doing. So far, the crew is listening to me. They're acting like I'm a real captain. But the Kestrel is gone. The real officers are far away, and getting farther every second.
How long until they figure out I'm faking it?
He took a deep breath, wiped his palms on his uniform shirt, and walked into the kitchen.
Carver and Swanson sat at the table, listening while Andrew described the Free Bird's technical specifications. The two spacers turned to look at him, and the AI went silent. Tom said, "Is Haskell with the engines?"
Carver nodded, smiling. "He's fascinated with them, Sir."
Swanson stood. "Is there something we should be doing, Sir?
"
Carver made as if to rise, and Tom held up a hand. "As you were." I should give them some orders. Any orders. Show them I know what I'm doing. Demonstrate I'm in charge.
Instead he said, "To answer your question, Swanson, I'm not sure." He sat down beside them. "We're roughly three days out from Garnet. The ship seems to be functioning properly." He looked around, thinking about the pile of dirty spacesuits heaped in a stinking cabin. "I'm sure there's hundreds of things we could do. I don't know if anything is urgent, though."
There was a moment of silence, interrupted by a loud growl from Swanson's stomach. She averted her eyes, embarrassed, and Tom smiled. "Actually, there's one thing we need to take care of." He turned to look at the oven and chiller units along the bulkhead. "Can you cook, Swanson?"
She shrugged. "I don't know, Sir. I've never tried." She looked at the oven. "How hard can it be?"
"Oh, for …" Carver shook his head, looking disgusted. "I can cook." He gestured at the bulkhead. "I'd be lost in the kitchens on the Kestrel, but this is just like the kitchen we had back home. My dad made me cook dinner on the weekends from the time I turned twelve."
"I'm relieved to hear it," said Tom. "You're in charge of food for the rest of our voyage."
"Aye aye." He rose and walked to the chiller. "Lunch is in half an hour."
Well, that's food taken care of. What next? Give everyone some down time? Let them sleep?
Sleep where?
Tom turned to Swanson. "I want you to talk to Andrew. Ask him about cabin assignments. Make sure everyone's got a cabin, and then find out about laundry facilities. See if we have any clean bedding on board. If we don't, you'll be doing some laundry."
"Aye aye, Sir."
"I'm not going to set a duty roster," he said. "Try not to be asleep at the same time." He thought for a moment. "Do either of you have any helm experience? No? Swanson, when you're free I want you to go to the bridge and learn to fly this thing. Otherwise O'Reilly and I will be doing watch and watch." Once I get O'Reilly to train me, he didn't add.
Her face lit up. "I can fly the ship? Really?"
"Really," he told her, and smiled at her excitement. "You can take your first lesson as soon as the cabins and bedding are sorted out."
He left them alone, heading aft.
He found Haskell on hands and knees, his rear end in the Firebox, his head and shoulders in the engine room. Clicks and whirring sounds came from a variety of tools. Tom waited for him to finish whatever it was he was doing. When a minute passed without a reduction in activity levels, Tom said, "Haskell. What's going on?"
"Hello, Lieutenant." One blue eye appeared as Haskell looked back over his shoulder. "Sorry, Captain. Do you mind if I don't get up? I'm in the middle of something."
"That's fine. Is there a problem with the ship?"
"No problem, Sir. Just a bit of a mystery I'd like to unravel. She's a long way from being new, and they've made quite a few modifications to her. In the Navy it would all be done by the book, with standardized parts and so on." He grunted as he tugged at something out of sight. "Things would be clearly labelled, too." He lifted a small hand scanner, squinted at the readout, then set it down. "This tub, though? It's quite a jumble. A real mess, I would have said at first. But they knew what they were doing, for the most part. They didn't do it the Navy way, but they did careful work."
"All right," Tom said. "Carry on with what you're doing, I guess."
"Do you mind handing me that E-spanner, Sir?" Haskell lifted one knee and pointed with his foot. "It's the thing with a yellow handle. I'd grab it myself, but it took me almost five minutes to get these wire ends clear, and I don't want to let go of them."
Tom found the tool and passed it to Haskell. "Lunch is in half an hour."
"That's great, Sir. I haven't eaten in ages."
"Have you picked a cabin?"
"No, Sir."
"Swanson will have the cabin assignments. She can fill you in on everything else that's been going on, too." He looked down at Haskell for a moment, then said, "Carry on."
"Carrying on, Sir."
Chapter 19
"Captain?" Tom was at the controls of the Free Bird's laser cannon, trying to figure out how to use the thing, when the call came over his bracer. Swanson's voice was tight with excitement, and Tom sat up so sharply he banged his head on a steel crossbeam. He swore, then thumbed his bracer and said, "What is it?"
She must have heard the strain in his voice, because she said, "It's not urgent, Sir. It's just really interesting."
Really interesting? The laser cannon was on the underside of the ship, almost directly below the bridge. That put Swanson above him, and he stared upward, wondering what she was talking about. Then he clambered up out of the cramped little turret and stepped into the bridge.
"Look, Sir!" She pointed, and he lowered himself into the other seat so he could see what had her so breathless.
The Free Bird was running between two storm fronts. Above them a sheet of pure energy stretched as far as the eye could see, varying in color from soft blue to deep indigo. The other storm simmered beneath the ship, so close that it alarmed him. This storm was red, and it boiled and bubbled and fired enormous geysers of energy straight up. When he checked the navigation display and discovered the two storms were more than a hundred kilometers apart he relaxed somewhat, but he was far from comfortable.
The storms, however, were not what Swanson had called him in to see.
A halo of energy surrounded the nose of the Free Bird, a pale yellow glow generated by the passage of the ship through highly-charged space. It was harmless and normal, Tom knew, far weaker than the similar halo generated by the Kestrel.
On the edge of that halo, however, something moved.
"Sprites," Swanson said, her voice hushed as if she thought she would frighten them away. "I never thought I'd actually see one."
Tom didn't answer, just sat and stared. Half a dozen sprites played around the nose of the ship. Each sprite was roughly human-sized, but utterly inhuman in appearance. Composed apparently of pure energy, they were shimmering collections of light, primarily dark purple but with iridescent flashes of every color in the spectrum. They darted in and out of the ship's halo, never quite touching the hull, seeming to become more substantial the closer they came.
"Oh, my." He tried to think of something more profound to say, then gave up and just repeated himself. "Oh, my." He'd seen footage of sprites, but it hadn't prepared him for the reality. They were impossibly beautiful, delicate and lovely and ethereal, and he couldn't have looked away if he'd tried.
Some scientists claimed sprites were a natural phenomenon, an energy discharge no more alive than a lightning strike. It seemed perfectly obvious to Tom, however, that the sprites were creatures of energy who found it amusing to play in the energy fields around a spaceship.
They were maddeningly difficult to study, and there was no consensus as to what their nature truly was. As he watched them, though, Tom had no doubts.
Sprites were alive.
He might have watched for hours, but the show came to an abrupt end. One sprite darted sharply across the bow of the Free Bird, plunging down in the direction of the red energy storm. The others kept dancing in and out of the halo for a few more seconds, but then they turned as if on a signal and followed the first sprite. In an instant they were gone from sight.
Swanson turned to look at Tom, her expression tragic. "What scared them away?"
She had her answer a moment later when a ship burst out of the blue energy field above them. It was oblong in shape, the hull painted a deep burgundy. It was visible for only a moment before it vanished into the roiling storm beneath.
Tom stared, trying to make sense of what he'd seen. Burgundy was the color of the Dawn Alliance. The ship was the size of a fighter, but he'd never heard of a fighter with that shape. Not that it mattered. A fighter wouldn’t be in deep space alone.
"Shut down our transponder," Tom barked. Sw
anson gave him a startled, helpless look. She didn't know how to shut down the transponder, and neither did he. "Andrew!"
"Shutting off the transponder," the AI said smoothly. "Is that what you wanted?"
"Yes." Tom glanced around wildly, trying to control the adrenaline flooding into his system. He closed his eyes for a moment, comparing the remembered silhouettes to the endless graphics he'd studied. No. Not a fighter at close range. That was a carrier a long way off. He imagined fighters pouring out of the carrier in waves, rushing the Free Bird, overwhelming her …
"Take us up."
Swanson stared at him.
"Up!" He pointed at the wall of blue energy above them. "Into the storm. We'll be fine if we don't go in too deep."
"But-"
"Now, Swanson!"
She flinched, then reached for her console. The nav thrusters hummed, the nose of the ship tilted up, and then the main engine rumbled. A blue expanse filled the window, becoming mottled as the ship came closer. The main engine cut out, the nose thrusters hummed, and sparks flashed across the windows as the ship plunged into the storm.
In the corner of his eye, in the last instant before the blue cloud thickened and became opaque, Tom saw another carrier, so distant it was as tiny as a teardrop, plunge into the gap between storms.
Then a layer of blue energy surrounded them, and the rest of the galaxy vanished from sight.
Thrusters continued to hum, then fell silent. Swanson, her voice small, said, "I think we're stationary now, relative to the storm." She pointed downward. "The storm front should be about fifty meters that way."
Tom didn't answer, just stared out the windows. He couldn't see more than a few meters in any direction. He tapped his console. The ship's scanners had even less range than his eyes. Only incredibly bad luck would allow them to be detected now.
"What's happening, Sir?"
He looked at her. "Sound Battle Stations."
She looked at him blankly.
"Never mind. Andrew. Wake up the crew. Order everyone into vac suits."
Swanson said, "Oh my God. What's happening?" When he didn't reply as she said, "Captain? What's going on?"