by T J Mott
Her face flashing a look halfway between surprise and delight before she caught herself. That same pale, lovely face flashing a wide, brilliant smile as she agreed. The petite woman standing nearby, looking up at him with a sweet smile and eyes crinkled in gentle amusement as he stammered through a nervous exchange. Feeling his own heart threaten to flutter right out of his chest. Tripping over his own words as he described his upcoming trip to Mars while trying to set something up with her after his return. Feeling like he was on top of the world, ready to conquer anything, as he disembarked the ship an hour later and left into one of many of Earth’s orbital stations to find his shuttle—never to see her again. Until today.
And with her, the hope of finally finding real information about their respective abductions. How were they taken from Earth, and by whom? Where was Earth? Did she know enough to backtrack, to retrace her steps and help him return home?
“Ten minutes, Marcell! Get back here now!” The main ops channel burst into his thoughts, feeling like a tiedown band snapping into his face, violently returning his awareness to reality. He was in a slave hold aboard a disabled ship, in charge of a damaged task force that had mere minutes to flee before the enemy’s overwhelming reinforcements would arrive and destroy everything he had just gained.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and gently placed a gauntleted hand on Adelia’s shoulder. She flinched at his touch and began to shake. “Don’t be afraid,” he stammered. “You’re safe now. I’m getting you out of here.” He knew his voice sounded tinny and processed through the helmet’s external speakers, and that she could not see through the mirrored finish of his faceplate. And his armor—he’d purchased this design of armor for his Marines specifically because of how intimidating it looked.
He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then slowly stood and took a step back to let the medics in. He switched off the external speakers for his comm and set it to his squad’s channel. “How is she?” he asked softly.
“Her vital signs are pretty repressed, but she seems stable,” replied one of the medics. “She’s drugged but safe to move.”
“Stand up, sweetheart,” one of the medics cooed, trying her best to sound soft and unintimidating despite the bulky battle armor she wore. “We need to get you inside this suit.”
As they struggled to suit up the confused woman, Lieutenant Rossell made preparations for them to end their boarding action. “Marines, I want everyone but Fireteams Alpha and Echo to get back into the transports immediately! Echo, get moving as soon as you can, and Alpha, keep them covered. Pilots, get lined up best you can for a quick exit before the men return. Caracal, anything you can do to receive us quickly would be appreciated!”
“Copy that. We’re rotating now to give you a straight shot into the hangar and leaving it depressurized with the airlock open. Be aware we have men in vacsuits ready to get you clamped down. Once your transports are locked in place we’ll be jumping immediately.”
Thaddeus butted into the channel. “Ops, this is Marcell. What’s our situation out there?”
“About to get very messy, Admiral!” Bennett replied. “The faster you can go the better! Seven minutes to intercept. Hyperdrives are charged and ready for a short jump, but the Panther’s drive is having trouble holding a charge. It’s going to be a rough jump for them.”
“Any word on the other corvettes?”
Bennett’s response was low and cold. “Negative, Admiral.”
He turned his attention back to the cargo hold. Adelia was now mostly suited up. The medics helped her to her feet. She stood shakily. She looked ill; her face was dangerously pale. Two Marines gripped each of her arms, helping her stay upright as the medics worked to close the pressure seals on her suit. She definitely looked drugged, Thad thought as he saw her head bob around slowly, and he felt anger well up within him.
“Okay, she’s all suited up!” exclaimed one of the medics as he snapped her helmet into place
“Alright let’s go men!” Thad barked, hearing his words echo throught the channel as a buzzy, distorted shout. “As fast as she can go, we gotta leave now!”
As they reached the cargo hold’s door, Adelia collapsed suddenly. A pair of Marines quickly helped her back to her feet but she was too shaky to stand on her own. “Someone carry her!” Thad shouted. “We don’t have time for this!” One of the larger Marines complied, scooping her up and tossing her over his shoulder in a rescue carry. Thad thought he heard a shriek through her suit’s amplifier.
“Four minutes!”
Thad gritted his teeth in frustration as they raced down the central corridor, heading aft as fast as they could. There were still men cycling through the airlock at the end of the corridor, and many more to follow. “How many more men do we have inside?” he asked.
“One fireteam is through, the second is cycling now.”
That airlock was going to slow them down too much. And his task force could not risk a confrontation with the Depot’s squadron.
He frowned inside his helmet. He knew what he needed to do to survive. And he didn’t like it. “New orders. Once we’re all through the last bulkhead, tear down that airlock.”
The comm channel remained silent for a moment as the implications passed through everyone’s minds. “Copy, Admiral,” Rossell replied quietly.
The Marines continued to run. Thad personally brought up the rear as the group raced towards the aft of the ship, but no one attacked them. His breath came to him in short, ragged bursts as he forced his legs to continue sprinting. Darkness began to creep in at the edges of his vision.
“Three minutes, Admiral!”
“Shut up, we’re on our way!” he shouted as they passed into the last section before the hangar.
***
The captain of the Cassandra was silent and furious, not even acknowledging his bridge crew as they called out reports and tried to update him.
“The deuterium tank is empty, it must have been breached.”
“Still no comms—confirmed that our comm antennas are damaged.”
“The primary coolant circuits are reading zero pressure.”
He watched the security monitors as the boarders tore down their makeshift airlock and vented the aft section of his starship. Automatic bulkhead doors quickly slammed shut, isolating the rear section and preserving atmosphere in the rest of the ship. But no one in the affected section had time to get to the emergency vacsuits, and within seconds the members of his crew—and living cargo—in that section had fallen unconscious. And within minutes, all had suffocated to death.
“We have a preliminary casualty count. Estimated fatalities are thirty-eight crew, and three hundred cargo.”
He grimaced as he considered how much capital he’d just lost. All of it uninsured.
Now he watched as the last of the boarders scrambled into the hangar and filed aboard their transports. And within minutes, both transports were gone, charging straight for the open hangar of the enemy ship, all visible through the few external cameras that their little corvette had missed during its final attack.
Moments later, the two enemy ships disappeared in a pair of brilliant flashes of light and phi radiation, right as the Depot’s squadron of Uhlan patrol ships arrived with railguns blazing.
He’d heard the comm chatter before the engagement. His attacker was that Earth-crazed pirate, Thaddeus Marcell. He'd vaguely heard of the man before, but he'd never actually encountered him before.
He wasn’t sure how he'd do it yet, but he knew he'd repay Marcell somehow. The lives of his cargo and the sudden, huge delay in his schedule demanded it.
Chapter 9
Thaddeus’s two remaining starships sat a small fraction of a light-year away from the Waverly Depot, having barely jumped in time to escape the squadron. Their rest would be short though. Attacking the Depot from within had bought him the time he needed to board the Cassandra, but now that action was a liability. Soon, he knew, every armed vessel in the system with hyper
space capability would be following.
He was still seated inside the Marine transport. It and the Caracal’s hangar were completely depressurized. The transports’ hatches were already open, but the Marines were waiting for atmosphere to return before disembarking the craft.
He looked around at the cramped vessel. Normally, it could seat two eight-man squads plus the transport’s standard crew of four. But it didn’t have enough seating for the six extra members, and so several Marines stood in the aisle to make room for Adelia and the medics. She sat in a jumpseat near the aft end of the cabin, flanked by the medics, with her helmeted head hung low and her chin resting on her chest. The oversized pressure suit shook visibly as she shivered within it. Her comm was switched off to keep from exposing her to the platoon’s chatter during the raid, and without atmosphere to relay sound Thad did not know if she was talking, crying, or just sitting in silence.
As he watched her, he felt cold inside. Gone was the anxiety and anticipation he had felt before. Neither did he feel any sense of accomplishment or relief. Instead, he felt tired and emotionally numb. The scene seemed so surreal to him, as if it couldn’t possibly be real, as if it was just one more dream in that long line of recurrent dreams where he finally found something to lead him to Earth. Part of him feared that he’d soon wake up and find himself soaked in a cold sweat back in his bed on Headquarters, no closer to locating Earth than before, and again cursing his subconscious mind for tormenting him in his dreams.
He stood uneasily and then slowly made his way through the crowded cabin, pushing past the standing Marines. Every muscle in his legs burned in protest with each step. He knelt down on the deck in front of Adelia, with his head about level with hers, and gently picked up one of her trembling, gloved hands from her knee and held it between his. She didn’t react at all. His thick armored gauntlets dwarfed her thin gloves. He fumbled with the comm controls on her wrist, and despite the low dexterity of the gauntlets he managed to open a direct channel to her, and suddenly, her quiet sobbing filled his helmet.
Her head was tilted down and he could barely see through her faceplate. “Adelia,” he said softly. He held her hand between his, but she made no indication that she was aware of him, and he realized her seat’s restraints were all that was holding her upright. “I know you’re scared. But listen…you’re safe now. It’s all over. I’m going to take care of you.”
She didn’t respond, and he watched and waited in pained silence, listening to her cry softly over the comm and giving her hand the occasional reassuring squeeze.
Then, Thaddeus felt his ears pop, and he saw the pressurized armor suits around him deflate slightly around their softer areas. Air was returning to the hangar. A couple minutes later, Rossell gave the order to disembark.
The medics were the first off the transport. They held Adelia up and pushed her along as she stumbled towards the exit. Thaddeus followed close behind. The transport was parked up against the rear wall of the hangar and already secured to the deck.
A nearby hatch into the frigate’s interior opened and more medical staff burst in, rolling a gurney ahead of themselves. They laid her down on it and then fumbled with the releases on her helmet. Thad watched as her tousled dark hair poured out of the helmet. Her face was red and wet with tears, her cheeks puffy and bruised, her eyes tired and unfocused and seemingly not aware of her environment. They began to roll her to the exit.
Thad took a step to follow when suddenly Bennett’s voice piped into the helmet he still wore. “Admiral Marcell, we need you in the Command Center ASAP,” the Executive Officer said rigidly. He sounded angry, his tone conveying utter contempt as he spoke Thad’s name and rank, and his voice was uncharacteristically nervous and high-pitched.
He followed them through the hatch, exiting the hangar and entering one of the Caracal’s corridors. The medics turned into the passage and continued rolling Adelia towards the infirmary. Thad stopped and watched, keeping his eyes locked on Adelia for as long as he could. They disappeared around a corner.
“On my way,” he growled before turning, going the opposite direction from the infirmary.
***
“Report!” he snarled as he burst into the Caracal’s Command Center. He was upset at being pulled away from Adelia so soon after recovering her. Couldn’t he quit being the Admiral for just a few moments? She was in the infirmary and that’s where he needed to be. He had managed to remove his helmet on his way to the Command Center, dropping it somewhere within the frigate, but still wore the rest of his armor. He was not used to its bulk and his shoulder slammed into the hatch’s frame as he passed through. Loud, indistinct chatter filled the room, and a number of electronic alarms sounded beneath the voices.
Reynolds, Bennett, and Allen all stood around the room’s central holodisplay. Reynolds was cool and composed as always, but the other two men were clearly uneasy. And it was easy to see why. A holographic wireframe model of the Caracal hovered above the display, set up as a damage control summary. It flashed, changing second by second as the frigate’s crew evaluated its condition and logged damage reports. Even this early on, well before anyone understood the true extent of their damage, Thad could clearly see that the Caracal was not in good shape.
“I hope your happy, Admiral,” Bennett snapped a little too loudly, once again emphasizing Marcell’s title with undisguised contempt. Veins bulged in his neck and temples, pulsating visibly in time with his heartbeat, and his face was tinged with red. Bennett had always been a gaunt man but he appeared to Thaddeus to be even thinner than normal. “Your mission was a disaster and we lost a lot of good men!”
Thaddeus frowned angrily at the frigate’s Executive Officer, but he held back a retort. A disaster? We just successfully rescued someone from Earth!
Chief Engineer Allen exchanged a worried glance with Reynolds, just for the briefest moment, but long enough for Thad to notice it. Then he stepped forward towards Thaddeus. “Admiral, we had a severe magazine explosion during the battle.” His voice was reasonably calm compared to Bennett’s, but the slight quaver in his tone betrayed some of the stress and uncertainty he was concealing. “It destroyed all of our portside weapons. We’ve lost two of our four primary thrusters. The Depot’s squadron hit us with their railguns as we jumped and we have at least three hull breaches we’re still trying to lock down. Beyond that, well, damage reports are still coming in.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Thaddeus said coldly, still glaring at Bennett and waiting for the veins in his neck to rupture.
“If you’ll excuse me, sir, I have a lot of work to do.” Thad nodded. Allen’s eyes flicked arount momentarily, casting a worried look at both Reynolds and Bennett, and then he quickly left the Command Center.
“Casualties?” Thad asked.
“They’re still pulling bodies from the portside sections,” Bennett growled in anger. “But it’s clear we lost a lot of men.”
Thad narrowed his eyes as Bennett muttered something derogatory about Earth under his breath, but he decided to pretend he didn’t hear it. “And the corvettes?” he asked.
“We are nearly crippled,” Captain Simon’s voice reported from the Command Center’s main speakers. “No fatalities, but we just barely survived that jump. Partial hyperdrive core meltdown, we saw two thousand degrees before the sensors quit! Still assessing the damage, but I doubt we’re leaving soon. And it’s sixty-seven degrees in here now and, with all due respect, Admiral, my crew is pissed from the heat.”
“And the others?” Thad asked.
“Still no word on the Shrike and Owl,” Reynolds answered. His voice remained characteristically calm and authoritative, sounding refreshingly composed compared to the anger and anxiety Bennett was displaying. Was his calm demeanor a result of his decades’ worth of command experience? How many prior missions had he survived despite damage to his ship or escorts? Or could his apparent lack of worry be due to his advanced age and the cynical realization that he was already nearing the end
of his life? “We lost contact with them during the battle. That’s all we know, Admiral.”
Thad balled his hands into fists at his sides. Where had things gone wrong in the station’s main hangar? But at least I rescued her…
“We’re receiving a phi-band hail from the station!” someone shouted from the Command Center’s comm section.
“Accept it,” Reynolds responded quickly.
“But they’ll pinpoint our location if we answer!” Bennett protested.
“They already know where we are,” Reynolds replied sternly. “Our jump was well within detection range of the station. There’s no way they missed our exit flash. Open the channel.”
Thad turned towards the rest of the room and saw the comm officer hesitate. His expression was both fearful and uncertain, but after a moment he complied. “Channel open. Audio only.”
“This is Governor Gage, commanding officer of the Waverly Depot and representative of the Waverly Governing Coalition. May I speak to Thaddeus Marcell?”
“Marcell speaking,” Thad responded gruffly while turning to study the holographic model of his damaged frigate. “What can I do for you, Governor?”
The governor laughed. “You can surrender, of course,” he responded in a nearly sing-song manner. Then his voice became grim. “You should also know that I have your two little warships and their crews in custody. Your little gambit has upset a lot of customers, and many are openly calling for your execution in response to the death and destruction you caused in our hangar.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Thad shrugged, a pointless gesture since the comm channel was audio-only. “I’m sure you’re going to have fun with the cleanup. And insurance. And the media. Just wait until word gets out that you were specifically warned that this would happen if you tried to stop my operation. I’m sure the lawyers will love that part.”