Spinward Fringe Broadcast 3

by Randolph Lalonde

  He looked at it for a moment, draped over his black gloved hand. “I don't know if I'll ever measure up to Jonas, but I'm starting to understand him.”

  “I can help you, you know. If you're looking for a road map to those memories, I have seventeen years worth of directions,” Alice smiled at him. There was a change, a drastic one. The hard surface wasn't eroding, but looking into his eyes you could see a light turning on.

  “How are you fitting in here?” he asked.

  “I like Ashley and Stephanie. It's like standing between polar opposites.”

  He laughed and nodded. “I know what you mean.”

  “They're happy here, more so every day. There's something going on between Stephanie and Frost though.”

  “Tell me if it turns into something. Those are two very strong personalities, it could cause problems if they have an issue with each other.”

  “I'll tell you if anything happens,” she winked.

  “There's something I need you to do for me,” he smiled at her. It was genuine, warm.

  “What's that?”

  “I want you to leak some information. Do it through the night bridge staff as though this information wasn't meant for general knowledge.”

  She looked at him a little more seriously.

  “I looked at the Triton from a financial point of view. With a full crew of thirty five hundred and an air wing it would cost a little over two hundred eighty million credits to run for a year.”

  “Oh my God,” she said slowly, her eyes going wide.

  “Tomorrow is payday. Their on-board accounts will be credited and the civilians will start providing services for a fee. Before that happens, I need the rumour that I can afford this ship out of pocket for three years to start spreading. I want everyone to secretly know that I'm wealthy and the only source of real income for the ship.”

  “Why not just tell them yourself?”

  “Because that would invite a conversation about bonuses, overtime, pay by rank, raises and a few other topics. If they think I'm guarding my finances, that I'm hesitant to even divulge how much I have then it makes it harder to question what they're getting.”

  She hesitated for a moment then braced herself. “Jake, do you actually have that kind of cash?”

  “I've managed to save up a lot more than anyone knows over the last five years. The Samson saved me a lot of money, most other ships would have fallen apart under the strain we put her under. That, and I sold my last cargo hauler to her Captain. He had a really good year so he was able to transmit payment right away. Besides, I didn't go against the Aucharians until I got paid for our last capture, thirty marauder corvettes.”

  Her eyes went wide. “That's a windfall.”

  “I can afford to run this ship for four years out of my accounts. No one has a thing to worry about.”

  “So you can actually afford to own this ship and pay her crew on your own. I've never heard of anyone owning their own carrier before,” she said, chuckling but in awe of the concept. “Not all to themselves.”

  “If we find people who are like minded out there, I can afford to invite them as allies, not sign on as a privateer. We take a haul, it's ours to do whatever we'd like with. That, and if we manage to get everything up to spec we can start using excess power to materialize things we can sell.”

  She giggled and gave him a brief embrace. “What do you want to do? This opens everything up.”

  “I want to go get Laura and Ayan, train for a month then show Regent Galactic what kind of enemy they've made, starting with their intelligence network and slavery operations. While that's under way I want to track down whatever's left of Vindyne.”

  “Then that's what's we'll do, but first I have to tell you something, you're not going to like it.”

  Captain Valance crossed his arms and leaned against the front of his black topped desk. “Whatever it is, we'll get through it.”

  Alice took a deep breath and went on. “Before I found Jonas on the Malice, Gabriel Meunez's ship, I finished a strange job. An edxian named Zarrix had purchased a salvaged cargo from a friend of mine.”

  “An edxian? I've never seen one,” Jake commented.

  “I have now. They're strange, couldn't be more alien. I don't even think an issyrian could shape shift into one. Anyway, Zarrix was an exile, and the cargo was from a successful biological experiment. Some company had used edxian DNA to create something else and just as they were about to sell it on the market the edxians found out. They destroyed the lab to satisfy their honour but some of the humans got away with research and raw materials. My friend found their ship after it had undergone hyperspace emitter failure and salvaged it. I delivered the materials and found out that this exile is going to use them to show his people that humans were about to continue their work. According to him it won't matter which humans were planning to go ahead with it, his people will start a war and kill or capture everyone in their path.”

  “Capture? What for?”

  Alice couldn't help but remember the sound of the word from Zarrix, his grating voice was something she'd never forget. “Cattle. Humans are a delicacy. He said they'd be starting with Ara Enormous, since that's where the materials were last,” she paused a moment and shrugged. “I don't know what to do.”

  Jake thought quietly before replying. “If we could broadcast a report from you at the next port, maybe even when we're about to leave the Enreega system, then it could help. The only government large enough to do anything about this in the area is Regent Galactic. I don't expect much movement from them on this.”

  “I wish I still had the Clever Dream. Her computers have all the data recorded from the whole experience. I have my conversation with Zarrix on my command unit, but the extra data would help, especially the more detailed scans of the hold.”

  “Well, we'll broadcast your conversation on our way out of ports. That'll also get it on the Stellarnet. Maybe someone will listen.”

  “Hopefully. I just can't get over the fact that I gave Zarrix everything he needed to inspire his people to go to war.”

  “How could you have known?”

  “You're right, I couldn't have, but if I had destroyed the evidence once I found out what it was it could have stopped there. I was just too afraid.”

  “Would you have survived it?”

  “Probably not, but if I were braver thousands, maybe even millions could have been saved.”

  “I can't blame you for wanting to get out of there, I would have done the same myself. This isn't your fault, the people who ran these experiments and tried to profit from them are responsible. If what the exile told you is right, that's where it started. Besides, what if you tried to destroy the evidence and failed? Then you'd be dead and there'd be no one to warn people about this.”

  Alice looked to him expectantly. He had never seen her appear so vulnerable.

  “No, you did exactly what you should have. Now you're here and we can spread the word. Besides, if you didn't make the choice you did you wouldn't be here, I would still be looking for you,” he smiled at her warmly. “I'd still be out here searching for a daughter I'd never find.”

  Alice sighed and smiled back at him, she couldn't help it. “Thank you Jake, I needed to hear that.”

  “Any time. Just don't tell the crew I have a soft spot,” there was that smile again, open, warm, welcoming. The memory of it would help her through the days to come.

  Two Hours To Hyperspace

  The gunnery crew, all two hundred and eighty three of them assigned to the upper deck, stood in ranks in front of Chief Shamus Frost in shoulder to shoulder lines. The loaders and heavy suits were all at the rear wearing their two meter tall combat armour. Mechanics stood a meter ahead of them and the gunners were lined up down on one knee at the front. All eyes were on the Gunnery Chief.

  Frost didn't use an amplification unit, proximity radio or his comm when the deck was quiet. His eyes scanned from one end of the line to the other, inspecting, looking
for flaws in uniforms and gear that was simple, easy to get right and even easier to find flaws in. “Close your collar Bowes!” he barked. The gunner clasped the high collar of his dark grey vacsuit, as did a couple other members of the large team.

  He nodded to himself. “What you can learn in a simulation is amazin'. You've learned ta work with the lower deck guns, some of you have learned how to arm, disarm an' reconfigure torpedo systems, an' others have even learned how to service a turret while half the barrels are firin'. Only twenty three washed out, now that's impressive. I expect ta send another twenty off my gunnery deck before the next hour is up since a simulation cannot teach you how ta manage yer fear,” he bellowed like it was the only way he knew how to speak. His salt and pepper stubble made him look much older than he was, and even though he was shorter than average with a squat build he seemed tall at a distance. His back was straight, his gaze ran up and down the line making eye contact with everyone as he went.

  “A long time ago I looked to my father and told him that I'd be signin' up for a gunnery crew. He took me aside an' said; 'gunnery crews pay for their victories, their losses and their failures round by round. We're what's left over when Fleet's taken all the better men an' women inta service as pilots, engineers, general maintenance, comm officers, navigators, deck hands, infantry an' even damage control grunts. They look at the bottom of the barrel and see if the sludge can be trained to shoot, load or climb into a killing machine an' get it firing again. If someone can't be on a gunnery team, they can't serve anywhere else.' He was tryin' to tell me not to start beneath the bottom, an' when I didn't listen he showed me this.”

  Shamus pressed a button on his arm length command and control unit and a two meter tall hologram appeared between him and the gunnery team. The view was from behind a much older turret. It was beat up, some parts were replaced through hasty but solid welding and it was built into the side of a ship, not installed in the top. The armoured suit the loader wore was showed signs of age and extreme wear and tear as well.

  The armoured loader ran from another turret further down the line to stop at the one in the foreground. The paired guns were still blazing as one of the magazine wells slid back empty. The loader crewman reached to his right and took a three ton magazine of rounds from a leaning rack and transferred it to the empty well then flipped a large latch on the top of it so he could pull the magazine casing free.

  When he pulled the empty magazine casing out of the well, leaving the rounds loaded inside, one round rolled out. He put the empty casing, a large, bottomless rectangular box, onto another rack to be reloaded then picked up the loose round.

  Frost paused the playback. “What do we do here Acheson?”

  “We put it into a safe waste container for matter recycling,” Acheson called the answer out.

  Frost resumed the holographic playback. The loader placed the round into the large magazine well and the box closed on his armoured arm up to the elbow. In one swift motion the rounds were put in play and as the turret continued to fire most of the armoured limb was pulled right into the workings of the machine.

  Most of the gunnery crew cringed. The crewman had lost his real hand and most of his forearm had been flayed to the bone. Frost paused the image as the crewman activated the emergency seal on his suit instinctively, severing his arm at the elbow.

  One of the mechanics to the right turned and vomited. It echoed across the deck and several other crewmen turned green.

  “This is the recording my father showed me, the man in the suit is my grandad. He made a bad judgement call on account of an ammo shortage. Within eight milliseconds the consequences of that act were paid. The deck was down one good loader, that turret didn't get repaired until after the battle, an' they had to replace two arms. The arm on that suit, and my grandfather's. He was lucky, damn lucky. Some of you won't be. That's the life, we fight hard, pick our targets like deadeyes because a shot that misses today could take out a civilian in twenty years. That's space out there lads, it's not like firin' planetside. Yer gamblin' whenever you shoot in the dark, odds are long that you'll hit someone or somethin' but when you're not sure, you're doin' harm.”

  Chief Frost paused for a moment before going on, letting his point sink in. “I eventually became a loader, then a mechanic an' finally a gunner. I saved so many flyboy asses that they gave me my call sign. I liked that call sign so much I made it my last name. Let me tell you, there's nothin' like seein' a bomber after your ship, markin' it and splitting its hull wide open before it can launch! That kind of victory comes in time, for now if you see an important target, get three sets of eyes on it until it's gone. We don't have fighters, we don't have other ships watchin' our backs, but we do have the best gunnery deck this side of the Sol System, and a crew that did in five days what I thought we'd need a month for.

  Be quick, be careful, be sure of your targets. Every decision you make matters. We're sendin' ammo into space, you don't know who you're killin' if you miss. Today we take this practice shoot, the Captain and the deck hands below were nice enough to provide us with a whole bunch of targets just floatin' out there. You'll learn to fear these machines first, an' someday that fear will turn into respect. Now get to yer stations an' let's do this by the numbers. Remember to watch everything going on in every direction or these machines will eat you alive. Triton!” he shouted at the end of his instructions.

  “Deploy! Dominate! Disappear!” the crew replied, their raised voices echoing across the massive open deck.

  Captain Valance approached from behind. He had heard the whole thing from the express car doors. “How are they Chief?” he asked Frost as he watched the crews run to their stations.

  “Better than I was,” he eyed a burly fellow who wiped his mouth as he made his way off the deck. “Didn't see that comin'. Thought he'd make it past today.”

  “We've put some of the washouts to work on cleaning and light repair rotations. One started tending bar in the main Observation lounge and I've had requests for him to stay on duty there.”

  “Mahajic, aye, good man. I'm surprised there weren't more.” Frost muttered. “This is a good, clean, well designed deck, but she's intimidating as all hell. We'll probably lose two more as soon as we depressurize.”

  “I meant to ask about that,” Captain Valance said as he looked at one of the turrets. The Gunner was getting strapped into the seat as the four magazine wells were drawn closer to the deck so they could be loaded.

  “Aye, we depressurize to minimize damage from fire or explosions, and so we don't lose people if there's a hull breach. We just seal a section off and they keep operatin' if there's anyone left. If there are no turrets left ta run in their section they make their way in through an external emergency airlock an' rejoin the crew.”

  “So you expect to take damage.”

  “We expect to get pounded, there's nothin' like a lot of rail cannons on the field to complicate things. A smart enemy sends their fighters right after 'em, tries to do as much damage as possible to shake the crew up and disable the guns.”

  “Makes sense. How are the lower gunnery posts doing?”

  “Better. They practically trained themselves, some even have experience.”

  “Do you think we'll be ready?”

  “Aye. They're shakin' but they'll pull the trigger.”

  “Good work Gunnery Chief Frost,” Captain Valance said, offering his hand.

  Frost shook it firmly. “Thank ya Captain, you mark targets an' we'll shred 'em.”

  Captain Valance turned back to the express car and looked at the gunnery deck as the large doors closed. It was like watching a ballet, with the mechanics checking vital components on each turret, the gunners activating systems as they slid up into the firing position, and the loaders moving four ton magazines from the large materializers set into the floor between them. The noise was incredible, but he knew that in just a few minutes they'd depressurize the entire deck, and they'd perform their dance in silence.

&nb
sp; The express car doors closed and the vessel began to move. A sudden pain, like a steel rod being jammed into the top of his head stabbed at him. He clenched his teeth and fell to his knees.

  Memories of a strange bridge, commanding the First Light into a battle they couldn't win against cloaking ships that beat at their flanks and rear with massive disintegration weaponry. The massive station was surrounded by asteroids containing the same material the First Light was constructed from. It was like returning to a birthplace, only there was pain, so much pain.

  As the research station fired its big guns crew members were tossed like rag dolls and shattered like glass under the high impact. The ship, the crew were dying, and then he remembered his ruthlessness. The idea to turn towards the largest source of damage, their objective, and use a technology developed for peace, their wormhole generator, to create a gravity well and destroy the station while making their escape.

  “A bird does not sing because it has an answer,” came the last words from his best friend. He had to leave him behind, in the way of the stone and metal maelstrom that would erupt in their wake. Minh-Chu Buu was his name, and they had been soldiers together as well as civilians. His companionship was irreplaceable.

  There was no time to reconsider, and they bore through the station, arriving at Starfree Port with their ship in shambles. Their objective had been to destroy framework research, to prevent it from getting out into the galaxy. The last memory was upon him then, looking out at General Collins' bearded face as he taunted him through the transparesteel of the long term stasis tube. There were two other tubes behind him. The profile of the shadow in one was that of Wheeler, he could see it even through the drug addled memory. The other he did not recognize, there was too much long hair in the way.

  He balled his fists and braced himself as another wave of all consuming pain washed over him. “Every few generations there is a leap in technology so drastic the conditions of life change. This is such a time. Make sure this information lands in the right hands so it is a cure before it becomes a weapon. All your fears are justified,” the voice of Doctor Marcelles echoed in his mind.