by G J Ogden
Sterling picked up the turned officer’s plasma pistol and offered it to Banks, but his first officer just shook her head.
“I won’t be needing that,” she said, moving up to the door that led into the tram’s manual control car.
“Are you planning to attack the aides to the emissaries with harsh language?” asked Sterling, cocking an eyebrow at her.
“Oh, it will be harsh, sir, but I won’t be using words,” Banks replied, mysteriously. She then tipped her head toward the door. “Can you cut me a couple of hand holds?”
Sterling frowned and spun the pistol back into his grip. “Now I really am curious,” he said.
Sterling adjusted the power setting on one of the pistols to its cutting beam mode and sliced two grooves into the door. Once he was finished, he stepped back and allowed his first officer to advance.
“Let’s do this,” said Banks, tearing the sleeves off her tunic and using them like boxer’s hand wraps to protect against the heat of the melted metal. She then dug her fingers into the grooves Sterling had cut and heaved with all her formidable strength. The door broke off its hinges like it were dollhouse furniture and Sterling got ready to fire. However, instead of stepping aside, Banks twisted the door and raced into the cabin, roaring like a Celtic warrior. Using the door as a weapon, Sterling watched, mouth slightly agape, as Banks pummeled the two occupants of the control car with the slab of metal. She continued to wield the door like a warhammer until both mangled bodies slid to the deck like puppets that had just had their strings cut.
“That was… innovative,” said Sterling, stepping inside the control car. However, his euphoria at watching his wrathful first officer subdue the final aides to the emissaries was short-lived. Ahead of them through the glass canopy of the cabin was the second tram.
“Do you know how to stop this thing?” said Banks, peering down at the blinking lights and dials of the consoles.
Sterling cursed then jumped over the bodies to reach the controls, but none of them made any sense to him either.
“Crap, how can we fly space ships and not know how to stop a simple tram!” Sterling yelled, trying various buttons at random. Lights flashed on and off and doors opened, but the tram continued on at speed. Sterling cursed again then took a step back. “Move away, I’m going to blast the damn thing,” said Sterling aiming both pistols at different parts of the control board.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” said Banks. She was staring out at the approaching tram, her eyebrows raised so high on her forehead that they were almost at her hairline.
“Well, unless you have any better ideas?” said Sterling, glancing across to his first officer. Right at that moment, he would have taken anything, but Banks simply sighed and shook her head. Sterling gritted his teeth and placed his fingers on the triggers. “Here goes nothing then,” he said.
“Stop!”
Sterling’s heart skipped a beat. He spun around, thrusting the barrels of the pistols into the face of whomever had just yelled the word. It was a man in civilian clothing. He looked terrified, though Sterling couldn’t be sure whether he was scared of their impending, catastrophic crash or the fact Sterling was pointing two plasma pistols in his face.
“I can stop the tram!” the man said, rushing past Sterling and into the control car. “But not if you blast the controls…”
The man then saw the mangled remains of the two aides on the deck and for a moment, Sterling thought the civilian was going to throw up.
“If you can stop this thing then do it now!” cried Banks, dragging the man over the bodies and dumping him in front of the control board.
The civilian turned to the controls then grabbed the end of a red lever and pulled it back. Immediately, the tram began to decelerate.
“That was it?” said Sterling, feeling slightly foolish that he hadn’t considered pulling a red lever himself.
The man nodded. “They’ve disabled the emergency brakes, but I’ve cut the power,” he replied, now looking far more at ease. “I work on the trams, but it’s my day off today.”
“Lucky for us…” replied Banks, with genuine relief.
“Don’t count your winnings yet, Commander,” said Sterling, peering out of the window. Despite slowing down, the tram was still carrying more speed than the transit in front of them. A collision was inevitable.
“Can you make an announcement?” Sterling said, grabbing the civilian by the shoulders. “If you can, tell everyone to brace. We’re going to stop a little more suddenly than I’d hoped for.”
The man nodded then turned to a control board at the rear of the cabin. Sterling braced himself against the back of the driver’s seat as the announcement blared out over the internal PA system. Neural comms would have been more efficient, but Sterling lacked the mental energy to reach out to the hundreds of people on the tram. He barely had enough energy left to stand.
“We’re still going to hit hard,” said Banks, though she sounded calm. She was simply stating a fact and preparing herself. She then turned to Sterling and managed a weak smile. “Time to clench up, Captain.”
Sterling almost laughed out loud. Banks’ ability to joke at the most inappropriate times still never ceased to amaze him. However, there was no time for the breath to escape his lungs before the tram hit the transit in front. Sterling was thrown against the control board and bounced back onto the deck, alongside the bodies Banks had crushed earlier. Shattered glass rained down on top of him, but he could feel that the tram was continuing to slow. Pushing himself up, he glanced over at Banks. Her superior strength had allowed her to remain standing, though she too was showered in glass, which had cut her face and neck. Sterling blew out a sigh as the tram eventually ground to a halt, the screech of metal against metal barely louder than the hollers from the passengers behind him. An eerie silence followed, punctuated only by the occasional chink of falling glass.
“I think our meeting with the admiral can wait a couple of hours, don’t you?” said Sterling, dropping into the driver’s seat, and resting his boots up on the control board.
Banks dropped down into the seat beside him and did the same. “Aye, Captain. I think you’re right.”
Suddenly, Sterling felt a neural link forming in his mind. He sighed, knowing at once who it was.
“Captain Sterling, am I to expect you some time this century, or shall I send out a search party?”
Sterling sighed again then closed his eyes. The voice in his head was a neural link from Fleet Admiral Natasha Griffin.
“No search party required, Admiral, we’re on our way,” Sterling replied, abruptly severing the link before Griffin could verbally assault him further.
“Did you hear that too?” Sterling asked Banks. His first officer simply nodded wearily.
“I guess our meeting can’t wait then,” said Sterling, pushing himself out of the chair and forcing his aching body to walk out of the control car.
Chapter 4
Special investigations branch
Getting off the stricken tram had proven more difficult than Sterling had imagined or hoped it would be. Emergency first responders had arrived on the scene swiftly, but so had Fleet security. Unfortunately for Sterling's plan to make a hasty getaway this had meant that the process of investigating what happened had begun immediately. And given their pivotal role in overpowering the Sa’Nerran aides and preventing a catastrophe, Sterling and Banks had been required to give immediate statements at the scene. Admiral Griffin had reluctantly agreed to postpone their meeting until these formalities had been dealt with. However, to Sterling it still sounded like the Admiral was more annoyed by how their reluctant heroics had inconvenienced her than she was concerned for his and Commander Banks’ wellbeing. If he was honest, this didn’t surprise him.
“Look, I’m fine, I’ll get these injuries seen to by our medical officer on our ship,” said Banks.
His first officer was trying to shoo away a medic who was attempting to treat the plas
ma burn to her thigh. Sterling had more gratefully accepted first-aid treatment to a similar burn to his shoulder. Now he was being tended to by a different medic, who was patching up the various cuts and scratches he didn’t even realize he had acquired.
“Just let the medic do his job, Mercedes,” said Sterling, as Banks glowered at the first-responder. “Personally, I’d rather be treated here than let Graves loose on my body. Hell knows what macabre experiment he might conduct.”
Banks sighed and stopped fighting the medic off. “Fine, just hurry up, we’re already late for a meeting,” she said to the medic, who calmly continued his work. Likely, Mercedes Banks was not the first stubborn Fleet officer he had patiently attended to.
Sterling’s medic quickly completed her work. He thanked her then allowed her to move on to another injured tram passenger before standing up and flexing his arms and shoulders. Considering everything they’d just been through, he didn’t feel too bad. Then he noticed that his uniform with its distinctive silver stripe was scorched and torn in places, making it look like he’d been dragged through a bonfire backwards.
“Do you think Admiral Griffin will allow us time to change?” said Sterling, trying to dust down his uniform and clean himself up as best he could.
“Do you really need me to answer that?” replied Banks, raising an eyebrow in Sterling’s direction.
Sterling inspected Banks' uniform, which was in a considerably worse state than his own. In addition to the burn marks and cuts, the medic had sliced a neat hole around the plasma wound to her thigh, exposing a significant portion of bare skin. It looked like a fashion statement gone horribly wrong.
“I think it’s against Fleet regulations to flash that much thigh, Commander,” said Sterling, smiling.
The medic finally backed away then Banks stood up and folded her arms, causing the fabric to tighten against her hyper-dense muscles.
“Now is hardly the time to make jokes,” she said, haughtily.
“What, like telling me to ‘clench up’ before we rear-ended another tram at high velocity?” Sterling countered, remembering Banks’ quip moments before they had nearly died.
“That was at least funny,” said Banks, flexing her leg to test the quality of the medic’s ministrations. “Graves would have done a better job,” she added, before the medic was even out of earshot.
“Thank you,” Sterling said to the medic, since Banks had either forgotten to acknowledge the first-responder’s efforts or chosen not to do so. Then he extended a hand toward the platform exit. “Shall we? We don’t want to keep the Admiral waiting longer than necessary.”
By sheer chance their tram had ground to a halt just short of the platform Sterling and Banks had originally intended to alight at, before the aides had commandeered the transit. This, at least, meant they didn’t have far to go to reach Griffin’s office. Sterling considered that to be a minor blessing that would spare them another ear-bashing from the impatient admiral.
Despite their slightly ragged appearance, the silver stripe on their tunics was still visible for all to see. As usual, both of them attracted curious and sometimes even fearful glances from passersby as they made their way along the corridors of F-COP. Ordinarily, these reactions would have been solely down to the mystique surrounding the secretive Void Recon Unit. This was the cover name that Admiral Griffin had invented for the Omega Taskforce. However, on this occasion, Sterling considered that the fact they looked like undead warriors, risen from the ashes, was more likely to be the cause of the stares.
Sterling and Banks passed through the security checkpoint that separated the low security areas of command level four from the sections reserved only for senior officers in the fleet. They had barely made it ten paces toward Griffin’s imposing corner office before Captain Vernon Wessel stepped out and blocked their path. Sterling stopped and sucked in a deep lungful of air, hoping that the influx of oxygen would help to calm his already frayed nerves. Unfortunately, the mere sight of Wessel’s pugnacious face was enough to make his teeth itch.
“Captain Sterling, how nice to see you again,” said Wessel. Whether it was deliberate, or just his natural phoniness, the captain couldn’t have sounded more insincere in his greeting if he’d tried. Wessel then turned to Banks and smiled an oily smile. “And Commander… Bronx, was it?” he said, with a rising intonation at the end of his question.
“It’s Banks,” said Commander Banks, folding her arms and peering back into Wessel’s eyes.
Sterling knew full-well that Wessel had remembered the name of his first officer. The man was just being deliberately rude, and this only pissed him off more. Then he noticed that Wessel’s uniform was different to the one he’d last seen him wearing. As a captain in the Perimeter Defense Taskforce, his tunic normally bore a patch on the left shoulder denoting the planets of the solar system. Now, in its place was a gold star with the letters SIB in the center. The uniform was also darker than the regular navy blue, so much so that it was almost black. Sterling wanted to quiz Wessel about his new attire, but resolved to ask Admiral Griffin instead. He didn’t want to spend any more time in Wessel’s presence than was absolutely necessary.
“What do you want, Vernon? We’re in kind of a hurry,” said Sterling, making a point of sounding displeased to see his fellow Fleet Academy colleague.
“Can’t a friend just say hello, without needing a reason?” Wessel replied, now faking sounding hurt by Sterling’s curt response.
“We’re not friends, Vernon,” Sterling hit back. He was already tired of the man’s crap. “Now we really do have to be going. We have a meeting with the Admiral, and we’re already late.” Sterling tried to walk past Wessel, but the captain stepped back and blocked his path again.
“I’m surprised you didn’t ask about my new uniform,” Wessel said. He swept his eyes over Sterling’s tattered garments and tutted loudly. “Though I see you care little for your own state of dress.”
Sterling smiled and shook his head. He didn’t for one second believe that Wessel hadn’t heard about the incident on the tram. The captain was simply trying to goad him, and it was working.
“I didn’t have time to change after Commander Banks and I ran down a group of Sa’Nerran operatives, then prevented hundreds of people from dying in a tram crash,” Sterling said, maintaining his smile. “Though I do realize it’s never a priority to inform members of the Perimeter Defense Taskforce of such goings-on. You’re all always so busy patrolling the Kuiper belt, defending the solar system against dangerous asteroids.”
A smile curled Banks’ lips, despite the fact she appeared to be doing her level best to keep a straight face. Wessel’s eyes, however, narrowed and sharpened.
“I am no longer a captain in the Perimeter Defense Taskforce,” Wessel said, his words now having a more acidic bite. “Perhaps if read your intel reports more carefully, Captain, you’d know that.”
Sterling shrugged. “Like I said, Vernon, I’ve been busy,” he said, allowing his frustration with the man to bleed into his words. “Now, if you’ll excuse us,” he added, trying to push past Wessel, but yet again the man stepped back and blocked his path. It was taking everything Sterling had not to pop him in the mouth.
“For your information, I am now part of the newly-formed Special Investigations Branch,” Wessel went on.
Sterling let out a breath and stepped back. It was clear that he wasn’t going to get away from Wessel until the man had said his piece. However, he was also now curious to learn about his new post.
“Fine, Vernon, I’ll bite,” said Sterling. “What’s the Special Investigations Branch?”
Captain Wessel smiled another oily smile. “I’m glad you asked,” he said, pressing his hands to the small of his back. “Thanks to recent revelations concerning Captain McQueen and Lieutenant Commander Crow, Fleet security has obviously been stepped up.” Wessel was getting into his stride. “The fact that anyone could now be operating under Sa’Nerran neural control clearly presents new
and significant dangers.”
“I know, we just dealt with some of them,” Sterling interrupted, provoking an irritated glower from Wessel.
“The SIB was formed with authorization from the War Council, under the ultimate command of Admiral Wessel, my father…”
“I know who your father is, Vernon,” Sterling interrupted again. “Any idea when you’ll be getting to the point?”
“As I was saying, the SIB is under the command of Admiral Wessel, but run on an operational level by me,” Wessel went on, still glowering at Sterling. “My task is quite simple. I am to uncover irregularities in Fleet movements and personnel, in order to reveal and apprehend Sa’Nerran operatives.”
Sterling glanced at Banks and the look on her face suggested she understood the implications too. The SIB was basically a secret police force. While Sterling couldn’t argue that there was a need to ensure the Sa’Nerra did not infiltrate the top ranks of Fleet and the United Governments, he couldn’t think of a worse person to head up the department than Vernon Wessel.
“Well, congratulations,” said Sterling, giving his fellow captain a sarcastic hand clap. “I’m sure you’ll do great conducting vital witch hunts against innocent people.” He then picked a piece of fluff from Captain Wesel’s shoulder and flicked it away. “While we take care of actually killing the Sa’Nerran emissaries and their aides, like we just did an hour ago.”
Sterling again tried to move past Wessel, and this time the officer let him through.
“I want to set up a time for an interview, Captain Sterling,” Wessel called out as Sterling and Banks walked away. “Your frequent exploits in the Void make your unit particularly vulnerable to capture and coercion. Just look at Captain McQueen and your own chief engineer.”