The Legacy of Earth (Mandate Book 2)

by J. S. Harbour

  “Aye, sir,” the other three pilots said.

  Just then, the Beetle pilots emerged onto the hangar deck from an aft hatch.

  Lt. Lacy Kent said, “Did I hear something about a debrief, sir?”

  Lt. Ricky Sanderson and Lt. Nash Jackson were escorting her, looking guilty.

  “Sorry, Breaker,” Lt. Ramos whispered when they arrived.

  “He was a damn fine pilot and friend,” Lt. Kent said.

  “Here, here!” Stone said.

  “He’ll be sorely missed,” Lt. Black said.

  “Not to put too fine a point on it,” Marjorie said, “but that was a loss we couldn’t afford. Not this soon. We’ve barely broken in these crates they’re calling fighters, and . . . look at this damn mess!”

  The pilots looked around the hangar, taking in the damage. Most of the starboard side was still covered with foam, except for the aft-most launch bay where a damage control team was working.

  “We need rest,” Marjorie said. “The crew is going to arm and fuel these crates manually. The captain doesn’t want any more surprises, so from now on we run a continuous CAP.”

  The pilots nodded.

  Ramos said, “Rest of the wing will be glad to hear that. Everyone’s still short on flight time even after today.”

  “Okay, debrief at 0700. Get some food and rack.”

  * * * *

  Andy lowered his hand through the hatch and Jolene grabbed it so he could pull her up. “Got ya!”

  Next, he pulled up Leslie Endo and Tyron Jones.

  “Thanks, man,” Tyron said.

  “Yeah, nice of you to volunteer us for your little . . . expedition,” Leslie Endo said, smiling. She patted Tyron on the chest and kissed him.

  “I still can’t get used to the two of you together,” Jolene said.

  “What? Why?” Leslie said in an ambiguously offended tone.

  “Oh, nothing wrong with you two as a couple. You’re adorable together. Just didn’t see it coming, that’s all!”

  “What do you think: Tyrslie? Does it work?” Jolene said, laughing.

  “Tyrslie? That’s dreadful!” Leslie said.

  “Actually, it’s not bad,” Tyron said, nodding gently. “Tyrslie, ha-ha!”

  “Oh, stop it, all of you!” Leslie demanded as they headed down the spine of the ship.

  “This is absolutely amazing and creepy at the same time,” Jolene said.

  “Yeah,” Andy agreed, “this thing isn’t nearly as done as it appears from the outside. I mean, look at this”—he said while pointing a flashlight into the open spaces—“we can see the structural beams and supports, but the interior hasn’t even been started yet!”

  “You know what else?” Tyron said. “I don’t recognize it. The ship class, that is.”

  “You’re right. I just assumed we would have blueprints, but what if Decatur. . . .”

  “Do you mean to tell me we have a half-finished hull with no hardware to make it go, and no specifications or guidelines?” Leslie said.

  “You might be right about that,” Andy said, loud enough to hear an echo. “This isn’t even half done, and without blueprints we would have to . . . scan the dimensions, I guess, reverse engineer the design, then create new blueprints.

  “Ugh! All this way for nothing!” Jolene complained.

  “Not for nothing,” Andy said. “We know that the ship won’t be taking us anywhere. Not anytime soon. Tyron, how about you get a few measurements while we’re here?”

  “Scanning . . .” he said. “I’ll need an exterior walk-around, too.”

  “Yeah, let’s get out of here,” Leslie said. “The echoes give me the creeps. It’s like a dark, empty warehouse.”

  * * * *

  Jazdie closed her eyes as the hatch opened, expecting a rush of air from one direction or the other. Instead, she felt only a light breeze.

  She stumbled into the hall. “Captain? Captain! Is anyone there?”

  No response. The ship was astonishingly quiet.

  Jazdie went right and jogged the short distance to the split between the crew cabins and armory to the right and the cargo hold to the left. She glanced both ways briefly, calling out names, then turned and ran back to the bridge’s main hatch. The small access panel glowed green on the left. She looked at it more closely.

  “Air pressure? Air pressure? There! It’s good! Oh, thank God. . . .” and she palmed the panel open. But, how did the airlock get closed if everyone was dead? Jazdie didn’t know and was too tired to think about it.

  Consoles were shattered. Bullet holes riddled the airlock hatch to the right. The main screen in front was flickering, waiting for an input signal.

  “Ugh, what a disaster!”

  Jazdie slid into the seat facing the helm console and tapped through the status screens to check the ship’s systems. Overall air pressure was below the recommended minimum; oxygen was being pumped in from the storage tanks to compensate. She opened the diagnostics screen and ran a full ship diagnostic.

  “That should do it, tell me if this bucket can still fly. . . .”

  Engine 1 . . . check.

  Engine 2 . . . check.

  Deuterium storage . . . warning.

  Reactor core . . . check.

  Heat transfer . . . check.

  Batteries . . . check.

  Maneuvering . . . check.

  Air management . . . warning.

  . . .

  “So much for that!” Jazdie yelled while trying not to hit the console.

  She walked over to Phix’s engineering console on the left side of the bridge. Two of the screens had bullet holes in them, but the center screen was still functioning. She tapped on both engine readiness icons and watched the power level rise.

  “Okay, I guess. . . .” she said uncertainly.

  Jazdie returned to the helm station. The U-shaped steering wheel looked intimidating. She grabbed it with both hands and tried a test turn. It moved freely but nothing happened.

  “Where’s the throttle on this thing?”

  She looked to a half-dial on the left side of the console. An arrow on a small display pointed to the zero mark, corresponding to the dial handle at the center. She pushed both knobs of the dial forward an inch.

  Nothing happened.

  “Dammit! I’m never gonna get this hunk o’ junk to move! Damn you, Riley! What am I supposed to do now!”

  As if an answer to her question, a red light blinking caught her attention. It was above the throttle dial. She looked closely at it. It was labeled “LOCK”.

  She pressed it. It turned green. And immediately the ship began to move.

  “Yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes, yessss!” she screamed, with each word rising in pitch until her voice was a glass-busting wail while she jumped up and down in the middle of the bridge.

  And, just as quickly, she plopped back into the chair. “Wonder if this thing has cruise control?”

  On the right of the console was a display showing the ship’s position.

  “Ah-ha, there’s the Moon, and . . . there’s me. And . . . who the hell is that?” she said, eyes furrowed, as she stared at a ship signal coming around the Moon’s horizon curve.

  She tapped the icon of the other ship, and a curved dotted line appeared between the Black Dahlia and the target. A confirmation button appeared on the bottom of the screen. Jazdie squinted her eyes, scrunched up her face, and looked around the bridge.

  “I just don’t know! What am I supposed to do?” she asked the empty ship.

  She tapped the confirm button.

  The ship automatically increased speed. She watched the display on the left panel:

  006.67 m/s

  045.22 m/s

  372.80 m/s

  824.17 m/s

  000.86 km/s

  001.03 km/s

  “Shit! Why is it going so fast!”

  The helm was moving on its own. Jazdie looked at the NAV screen again and saw that the Black Dahlia was slowly heading toward the othe
r ship in an arc while coming around the curve of the Moon.

  A notification sound began beeping off to her right.

  “Great, now what?”

  Jazdie walked over to where the sound was coming from. She had no idea what the console was used for. It was covered with hundreds of buttons and three small screens. The first button in a long row of blue buttons was blinking. She pressed the button.

  “. . . tify yourself or you will be fired upon. Repeat, this is the UNS Lexington. We read your identification beacon as the cargo ship, Black Dahlia. Alter your course and reduce your speed, immediately!”

  “Oh. My. Fucking. God!” Jazdie screamed. “Don’t shoot at me! I’m just a girl!”

  “Hello? Who is this?” the voice said through the console speaker.

  “What—” Jazdie screamed.

  On the Lexington, the comm officer turned, “Captain, I’ve got the Black Dahlia, but it’s—”

  “On speaker, Mister Devlin,” Captain Long ordered.

  “Aye, sir. Channel open.”

  “—are you talking about?”

  “This is Captain Dandere Long of the UNSC Navy cruiser Lexington. Identify yourself, please.”

  Jazdie’s mouth fell open and she plopped into the chair behind the console.

  “Captain Long, my name is Jazdie Mirth. I’m the last survivor of the Black Dahlia. I don’t know what to do! The ship was attacked by a . . . a pirate crew. And something happened and everyone’s dead or gone.”

  Captain Long looked up as Cmdr. Plaas walked across the bridge to stand near him, an anxious expression on his face. “At least it’s not another high-speed missile attack,” he whispered.

  Captain Long nodded.

  “Miss Mirth, you need to reduce your speed or cut power to your engines. You’re on a collision course with us.”

  “But, I don’t know how! Wait . . . I think I know what happened. Hang on a minute.”

  Captain Long looked at the projected course of the Black Dahlia on the center bridge screen. It was heading directly toward the Lexington but was still nearly a thousand miles away. They had time. But time would draw short if the Black Dahlia continued to accelerate.

  Long nodded to the XO, who barked orders to the helm officer. The Lexington began to move.

  Jazdie ran to the helm station and tapped a blank spot on the NAV screen two inches to the left of the navy ship. The projected course changed and the confirm button appeared again below. She tapped it. And, for the first time, she noticed a dial on the right edge of the screen.

  “I think I’ve got it, Captain Long!”

  “Very good, Miss Mirth. We’ll continue to wait.”

  Jazdie tapped the velocity level on what appeared to be the autopilot system. It was still set to maximum velocity.

  “From Captain Riley’s emergency maneuver to dodge Drake’s missiles!” she said out loud. She set the velocity to minimum by tapping an icon.

  Jazdie felt the ship shudder and felt herself being pushed out of the chair. She had to grab hold of the console to keep herself from pitching forward. The velocity indicator on the left side of the console began to show the ship slowing.

  003.40 km/s

  003.08 km/s

  002.88 km/s

  002.65 km/s

  “I think it’s working, Captain Long!”

  After a moment, the captain responded. “We see your velocity dropping, Black Dahlia. Good job, Miss Mirth. We’re standing down from alert.”

  “Thank you, captain. I don’t know what else to do here. I was . . . sort of . . . just the cook.”

  “Where are you from, Miss Mirth?”

  “Luna City. My folks have a farm and a water plant. I boarded the B-D two weeks ago. Now I think everyone’s either on Drake’s ship or . . . dead.”

  Captain Long looked again at Cmdr. Plaas. “That ship!”

  “Miss Mirth, this . . . Drake fellow. . . . Did he capture your crew? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Oh no, Drake’s dead, that bastard! I killed him myself after he . . . and then . . . I think he got sucked out of the airlock with everyone else.”

  “Miss Mirth, we have medical personnel who will be able to help you. We’ll talk more after you’re aboard.”

  “Oh, you want me to board? I . . . I don’t know how to do that, sir.”

  “We’ll handle docking from here, Miss Mirth.”

  “Okay, thank you, captain. And one more thing?”

  “Yes, Miss Mirth?”

  “Do I get to keep the ship?”

  Long looked at Plaas and shook his head.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll tow . . . your ship . . . back to Skydock.”

  Chapter 22

  Invasion

  Nekel manned all of the ship’s systems remotely via wireless. She set course for the space station at L4, then sought out the ship’s armory.

  After so many years of inactivity, she had to assume that her people had given her up as lost. And yet, if another agent had been sent, why was there no sign of the mission being undertaken by her replacement? The humans were almost entirely contained on their planet before. Now, they were spreading out fast. Where were the others? Her mission might be irrelevant now that humans had reached the tipping point. Now they had warships. How could they have progressed so damned fast?

  Nekel found the armory and quickly overrode the locks. She examined the human weapons.

  What a barbaric race, who would kill each other, especially with such weapons.

  She picked up a 45-caliber 2011 and held it in her carbon-gray hand, testing the weight. Light. She found a magazine, snapped it in. Then she examined the mechanism to derive its operation, pulled back the slide and released it. She released the hammer and then pulled it back again, and tested the safety switch.

  Crude but deadly.

  Nekel walked back to the hall and entered the cargo bay carrying a duffel bag. She pulled out the pistol first, and—pointing it at a cargo crate—squeezed the trigger. The explosion was deafening. She picked up another identical pistol, armed it, and held both out and fired through both clips as fast as they were capable of firing. The CNT crate slid a few inches across the floor but otherwise showed no sign of damage.

  She put the pistols down and picked up a rifle with the label “M66 TAR 6.8mm” on the side. She found a magazine in the bag and snapped it in, then pulled back the slide and released. She pointed it at a crate in a far corner and used a light pull on the trigger. Six rounds hit the crate in a split second. Despite herself, Nekel smiled. She fired the rest of the clip and then tossed the TAR back into the bag.

  Next, she pulled out a bulky rifle that weighed less than it looked like it should. On the side was the label “SCPL 100kw.” She found a charge mag and plugged it in, took aim on the crate, and pulled the contact trigger. The air sizzled along the beam which punched through the crate. Nekel approached it and peered through the coin-sized hole. The beam didn’t penetrate the other side. She disarmed the laser rifle and picked up the bag on her way back to the bridge, thinking all the while how strange humans were.

  Eighteen hours later, the communications console chirped. Nekel tapped into the comm system directly to open the channel.

  A voice said, “Attention unknown ship. Why are you running without a beacon? Identify yourself and state your business!”

  Nekel did not respond.

  Through the comm channel, she entered the station’s network. She learned that Tandem-Tesla-Tasc was the principle owner of the old Seerva patents and equipment left in orbit—which amounted to a considerable number of assets. Thousands of X8R robots maintained asteroid mines and associated facilities. T3 was the primary supplier and contractor for the UNSC’s military space station in LEO: Skydock Station.

  “Skydock?” Nekel said out loud. She adjusted her mission objectives. Luna City was no longer second on the list. Assuming this T3 station, SSL4, has an entangled photon communication device. . . . She browsed the inventories, security systems
, and—yes, right there, a “hypercomm” device. And it was operational. . . .

  Before even docking, Nekel engaged the hypercomm to her homeworld of Bodekan. How she missed it! A thought sprang into her mind: What if I go back home and report directly? They would expect that, would they not?

  “No,” Nekel said to the lonely bridge around her. “I volunteered for this. My soul is already forfeit.”

  Mikel appeared in the hypercomm buffer. He looked around. There was no familiar theme, just whiteness.

  Nekel?

  Nekel debated how to respond. Mikel was a curious choice to send. Was he not disincorporated from society? That he was still alive meant she had been out of the loop for far too long. She faced the same fate as he had due to her mission.

  A realization dawned on her and she smiled inwardly. She spawned a VI at the hypercomm buffer and engaged him by telepresence.

  “I am pleased to see you alive and well, old friend,” Nekel said through the VI’s avatar.

  Mikel stared at the avatar with a look of revulsion and took a step back. “Wh—what. . . .”

  “It is I, Nekel, obviously. Who else would use this protocol?”

  Mikel paused to think for a moment, then looked up. “Avatar of Nekel, I was only startled, did not mean to offend. Of course, I understand, you and I share a common bond.”

  “I must admit, I am surprised to see you, my friend. How did you. . . .” Nekel said, trailing off.

  “I was granted asylum within the Protestation.”

  Nekel’s eyes grew wide with astonishment—an emotion her avatar could convey, unlike her borrowed body. “Astonishing! They were trivial. If you are here, then. . . .”

  “The Avowed have been overthrown. They are now the minority.”

  “Extraordinary. But, that leaves me in a difficult position,” Nekel said.

  “Your mission is still recognized. Despite many compromises made during the reorganization, one thing everyone agrees on is the danger posed by the Solars and their undisciplined growth. Their development rate is approaching a vertical line. We have only theorized such an event, never seen it happen.”