Captive Galaxy 1: The Bellerophon: Ambush

by J. W. Kurtz

  "Aye, sir," Jason Petty said while he offered a sarcastic salute and flashed a wide toothy grin missing a tooth.

  "Sounds good," Takashi said.

  Darius had just opened the hatch to lead the team out of the cabin, the heavy door whisking into the bulkhead, when he heard an excited Jason behind him. Darius turned back to locate the source of Jason's enthusiasm.

  "Found it!" Jason exclaimed.

  "Found what?"

  "What do you think?" Jason said as he held out his hand to display his missing tooth, glistening with wet blood and covered in fine pieces of grit gathered from sitting on the deck. Before Darius or Takashi could comment about the find, Jason wiped the tooth on his coverall sleeve and jammed it back into the empty socket in his mouth. A pained grimace appeared on his face as the root came into contact with the damaged gum nerve.

  "FUCK!!!"

  "I bet," Darius said deadpan as he lead the trio out of the cabin. Jason went left, a hand to his jaw, holding his aching mouth, while Darius and Takashi went right toward the med-bay. Their separation was only about 10-meters when an announcement came over the 1MC speakers throughout the ship and crackled through the personal communicator that each crewmember carried. Darius, Takashi, and Jason stopped in their tracks to listen.

  Chapter 10:

  Time: 16:22 (Zulu)

  The last iron maiden to expel its charge was the steel cask containing the pilot Oren Pfeiffer. Prior to stepping out of the acceleration couch he had given a mental command that deactivated his connection with the ship. Pilots wearing the NIFS helmet usually needed assistance unplugging the data line and the umbilical from the breather since they were still blind due to wearing the "garbage can," were covered in slimy gel, and very weak and disoriented from the drastic change in perception both visual and tactile. To go from a 2-meter and 80-kg human, to 700-meters and 80,000-ton starship, and then back to a corporeal form in the space of 10-minutes often taxed the human system. Confusion and coordination issues, not to mention a rather violent headache resulting from the effects of the wild neurological fluctuations of such an interface, were common and far from absent here.

  Pfeiffer was now kneeling before the acceleration couch, his still numb left arm leaned on the bulkhead rib partition that separated his couch from the one formerly occupied by Captain Wray, his right hand balled in a fist helped to prop him up on the deck. Cold gel pooled beneath him as it dripped from his exhausted body to drain through the deck grates to a collecting cistern beneath the compartment. Pfeiffer concentrated on his breathing as he waited for Wray to assist him in recovery.

  The final actions performed by Pfeiffer, as one with the Bellerophon and prior to disconnection, was to confirm that the region of space they now found themselves in was clear of foes and other dangers. Only the Siren device operated by those responsible for pulling the Belle' from transit space was located in his active sensor sweeps. That and the quiet drifting debris field that was the former Vulture class frigate. A debris field with no indications of operational lifeboats. Pfeiffer had then put the Belle' on a slow orbit of the still active hostile Siren device.

  The Siren was approximately 20-kilometers starboard of the Belle' now. Any closer than that would be dangerous due to the possibility of being within a lethal field of shrapnel if a self-destruct was initiated. Siren's were illegal for civilians to both possess and operate or really even to think about. The Siren in service by the crew of the Belle' had a self-destruct protocol that was initiated via proximity if not disabled by the proper electronic handshake. If a craft got within 10-kilomters, all evidence would be destroyed, and the craft entering that envelope risked damage. It was an expensive yet necessary way to operate as Siren's were a pretty expensive piece of illicit hardware. Privateers hunting privateers in a secret war was one thing. The CDF or local system constabulary forces chasing you down for illegal operations was another. That was a fight that was unwinnable in the long term.

  Captain Wray was already dressed and had a compress bandage haphazardly affixed to his head from the injury sustained in his cabin when the Belle' collided with the rival Vulture frigate. When he saw Pfeiffer exit the acceleration couch he moved to assist his pilot. He disconnected the NIFS heavy data line cable and oxygen umbilical's and then draped a heavy towel over the shivering shoulders of the drained Pfeiffer. The Captain gently lifted the helmet off the shaved head of his pilot and set it on a nearby consul. A thorough cleaning and maintenance cycle would be required before the NIFS would be tip-top again. Wray then helped an improving Pfeiffer remove the breathing mask. The tired eyes of Pfeiffer soon met those of his captain.

  "We're good, sir. The Belle's in a lazy orbit 20km off the hostile, and still active, Siren positioned to our starboard. Gravimetrics are of course still off the chart. Our own Siren is parked and powered down approximately 100km away from our current position, on the same plane as us. There's nothing out to our active radar and lidar range of 10-light minutes," Pfeiffer said before a long pause where he took some slow and deep breaths and then continued, "if that Vulture had friends in the area they're a ways out. When the writing was on the wall, when her fate was sealed, there wasn't so much as a wide-spectrum distress call. So I don't think they had any nearby support. Also, there were no acceleration couches ejected."

  "So the crew never received an abandon ship order then?" postulated a disappointed Wray. "Shame. Would've been nice to know who attacked us."

  "Yeah, no distress call, and no survivors to respond to anyway even if they did have help in the area. Just before it was over for the Vulture though we got hit by what I thought was a ranging laser, but since it wasn't followed by incoming fire, and since the wavelengths are so similar, I'm wondering if that wasn't a comm laser. It was a pretty tight beam, but not tight enough that it didn't stray over one of our sensor arrays. Unfortunately, if it was in fact a comm beam, it isn't recorded cleanly in the Belle's memory core. Too much damage to the sensors on the side of the ship that got hit by the beam made it a jumbled mess. The port side sensors of course."

  With this revelation, the interest of Wray was piqued. During battles in the vacuum of space, lasers performed many duties. The amplified and tuned light is used as a range finder, to blind sensors, send tight beamed communication with a low probability of intercept, and of course they can be used as offensive and defensive high powered energy beams. With no active lifeboats from the destroyed frigate there was no one to question about this last act. If indeed it was a communication laser, Wray played with the possibility that there was an agent on board. It was a paranoid thought. The paranoid will think they're being followed, and thought crazy because of it, that is until they are indeed being followed; then they aren't so crazy.

  Save for the worm Totts, he trusted everyone on the Belle' with his life. Everyone on his roster had either served with him, so he knew their character first hand, or the they had been vetted through a very thorough process headed by Wray himself. He supposed he could be wrong about someone... But being a solid judge of character had always been something Wray knew he'd been spot on about throughout his life. As for Totts...he wouldn't have setup an ambush of a ship he was on. He lacked the stones to willingly put himself in harm's way, despite every hunting sortie by the Belle' being a high-risk operation. This would not stop Wray from having Ayad keep an even tighter surveillance on the reviled company man.

  "Well done bucket head," Wray said in a lightened tone. "Now get yourself cleaned up and head over to the pilots cabin. I'll get some folks up here to help out. I think we have a lot of work ahead of us here. You'll need your strength. And be careful in the corridor, the gravity plating wasn't working. It's zero-g immediately on the other side of the hatch."

  Pfeiffer smiled momentarily but his mood quickly became somber as he spotted a heavy blanket, pulled from a locker by Wray, draped atop the broken remains of Stacy Franks. Her body was across the bridge from where she had originally fallen, the high speed frantic maneuvers of the recent
battle having tossed the lifeless corpse of his former colleague and comrade about like a ragdoll. Pfeiffer rose on unsteady legs and worked his way over to her body. He again kneeled on the cold steel of the deck alongside her body.

  The wordless Wray looked up from the station he'd seated himself at, following the pilot with his eyes. Pfeiffer considered for a moment to pull the blanket back but wisely thought better of it. He could tell from the form betrayed by the thin fabric of the synth-wool blanket that the high-g maneuvers had done the corpse of Franks dreadful damage. The wet pulpy stains leaking out from under the blanket covering her body did not help to quell the nausea he was already suffering from as a result of the NIFS disconnection. He noted the streaks and splatters of drying blood on various positions throughout the bridge. The overhead. Several bulkheads. And now before him on the deck. Thinking about it now, Pfeiffer and Wray should have secured her body prior to getting into the acceleration couches, but he understood the importance of their haste as seconds absolutely mattered.

  Pfeiffer quietly said a few silent words before making his way quietly to the hatch on his way to the pilots cabin a short way down the corridor. A hell of a way to make a paycheck he thought to himself. A hell of a way.

  With Pfeiffer leaving him to man the bridge alone until further crew arrived, Captain Wray stood and momentarily observed the few sounds of the vacated bridge. He looked about the compartment and sighed at the loss of another soul who had trusted his leadership with her life. It never got easier. The loss of Franks was far from the first, and with this profession, he knew it was far from the last.

  Wray, now sporting several extra gray hairs than he had started the day with, strode over to his captains chair in the middle of the bridge to pick up the wireless microphone from its cradler alongside. He activated the system and spoke into the microphone, addressing every compartment and space on the ship with the 1MC which also broadcast through the active synched personal communicators of the crew. He sat down in the cushioned seat as he began his announcement.

  "Attention. Attention. This is the Captain," the voice of Captain Wray reverberated throughout the steel corridors of the Bellerophon. Conversations were silenced. Obnoxiously loud, non-vital heavy equipment, was temporarily turned-off. In places where the 1MC system was non-functional or absent, personal communicators were withdrawn from pockets and volumes turned up. After a purposeful moment to allow the entire crew to listen closely, the announcement by the Captain continued, "I congratulate you all on your swift actions in preparing the Belle' for battle as we were pulled abruptly from transit space in ambush by an unknown foe. We rose to the challenge, and piloted by Oren Pfeiffer, we defeated this foe in kind. The remains of the offending vessel are now drifting into oblivion. We did not escape this action unscathed however," the Captain could be heard drawing a deep, yet resolute breath before speaking again into the 1MC, "crewmate Stacy Franks was lost, and I have no doubt there are injuries amongst you, and possibly fatalities as well, due to the nature of the violent collisions. The Belle' has also suffered significant damage. We have some hard work ahead of us, but I am confident, with your continued hard work and determination, that we'll be underway in prompt fashion and return to the Cove to repair more thoroughly and refit as needed. You are directed to follow your regular duty station checklists, report to your department heads, and be ready to receive an upload shortly with more specific damage assessment queries and repair details. Department heads are to report a headcount and department status ASAP. Those who are injured and unfit to perform your assigned tasks, are to report to medical, with assistance if necessary. I don't want anyone passing out or getting lost on the way. Emergency bridge team is to report to the bridge immediately. Condition yellow is being set and will be maintained throughout the ship until further notice. There may be breaches or weakened structures, especially on the port side of the Belle'. Vacsuits and helmets people. Suit-up and keep your helmet handy. No exceptions. Let's get to work people. Captain, out."

  Chapter 11:

  Time: 16:26 (Zulu)

  "Shit," Takashi muttered at the conclusion of the announcement from the Captain. He held his throbbing head as he made his way to medical with Darius leading the way.

  "What?" Darius asked.

  "I hate wearing vacsuits," a complaining Takashi answered.

  Darius, who was used to wearing a vacsuit as a second skin as part of his standard flight kit, laughed at the complaining cook. In complete fairness Takashi performed more duties than that of a cook, but it was the only one he was really good at, so that is how most of the crew identified him. Vacsuits were not standard garb for a culinary engineer.

  "Would you rather have your lungs sucked out your nose or your eyeball jelly freeze while you're still awake and feelin' it?"

  "Well of course not," Takashi replied.

  "Then you'll put on the damn suit and enjoy it over the alternative. I've experienced vacuum. Pardon the pun here, it sucks," Darius said with a wicked chuckle before stopping the two man procession at a utility storage locker, which he promptly opened and withdrew two vacsuits and two helmets. Thankfully they were the "one size fit all variety" and both Takashi and Darius were lucky that they were the templates for such an economical sizing system.

  While serving in the CDF, the endless drills had prepared Darius for most standard shipboard procedures, such as putting on a vacsuit under duress. Besides, a pilot that couldn't get into a secured vacsuit in under 30-seconds wouldn't be a pilot for very long. They'd be a corpse right quick. Whereas the skill and speed of Darius getting into a vacsuit spoke of military training and experience the opposite could be said for Takashi as it was painfully obvious he'd never served in the CDF or any service for that matter. With practiced hands Darius swiftly assisted the injured Takashi after Takashi had attempted to put his own suit on backwards for the second time, much to the amusement of Darius and consternation of his charge. Darius then picked up the two helmets he pulled from the locker, checked them quickly to make sure they were up to snuff, and handed one to his crewmate who accepted the helmet and his assistance with an embarrassed nod and "thanks."

  One right and a left followed by another right brought the two nearly to the medbay but here their path was blocked. Not by a sealed hatch or a pile of poorly secured storage containers hastily piled in the corridor that shifted during the maneuvers of recent combat. No, the corridor was blocked by a foreign object protruding from the bulkhead on the right, across the corridor before the pair, and then into the bulkhead on the left. There was a slight taper to the black painted object that allowed light to be seen on the other side of the object between the overhead and the bulkhead on the left. Both Darius and Takashi stood there in silence taking in the strange scene.

  Takashi was the first to say anything. "Looks like a..."

  "...missile," Darius finished.

  A pregnant silence descended upon the two. Out of reflex they both took several steps back. Takashi out of reflexive fear. Darius out of training. Takashi took out his communicator with the intention of signaling the Captain and Darius nearly slapped it out of his hand.

  A shocked Takashi looked up at his friend and whispered, "WHAT THE HELL?!"

  "If that is in fact a missile your radio emissions could set it off if it's a command detonated warhead. Then we're royally screwed. Though we probably won't suffer long because either the explosion will outright atomize us or the rapid decompression will suck us out through jagged holes in the hull tearing our vacsuits to shreds in the process....why are you whispering by the way?" Darius asked.

  "I don't...know," Takashi started in a whisper and finished in a normal volume. "I didn't want to set it off."

  "Well, with all the loud alarms and the announcements over the 1 MC, if that didn't set it off, you talking normally surely won't. The radio emissions from your communicator on the other hand...in fact power it off completely to make me feel better," Darius directed as he took out his own personal communicator a
nd shut off the device.

  Darius then inspected the nearby bulkheads along the corridor behind them along the route they had just travelled. He soon found what he was looking for and walked over to open a box next to an active monitoring station. From the box he pulled out an ancient looking handset attached to a hardline cable running back into the box. These were used by damage control teams in an emergency, when a hands free set wasn't available or the shipboard wireless communication system was down. Darius flipped an analog switch in the box and put the handset up to his ear. He waited for what seemed like an eternity and then a familiar voice spoke loud enough through the handset speaker that Takashi, standing several meters away needn't lean closer to hear the conversation.

  "This is the Captain. Go."

  "Protochenko, sir. Darius. Sir, umm we have a problem," Darius said with great concern in his voice. Concern that worried the still dizzy Takashi who was now leaning against a bulkhead just around the corner from the blocked corridor. Darius recognized the apprehension in his voice and felt sheepish for a moment. The worry in his voice disappeared as he got to work.

  "Go ahead, Proto. What's the problem? Why are you using the hardline? Is the shipwide personal com net down?" Wray asked.

  "Boss, I have what I believe to be an unexploded munitions here. A very large undetonated munitions. I recommend you turn off all wireless and radio emissions until this is cleared. Those could interact in a bad way with any functional circuitry onboard this thing," Darius thought for a moment before adding, "and keep us steady. No maneuvering. I have no idea how this thing is still wedged in like it is. I'm assuming this was that second strike that shook the ship."