Spinward Fringe Broadcast 6: Fragments

by Randolph Lalonde

  “Aye, on one condition. We come back. We bled for her, we earned her.”

  Oz hadn’t known Frost long, but he was absolutely certain that committing to that promise would define his purpose until he delivered. “You have my word.”

  “All right, my people will fall in line.”

  “Oh, and Frost; make sure everyone knows, if it isn’t nailed down, we take it with us. Now extract your people from the Enforcer, get anyone who can crawl in a loader suit set up in one and start loading everything you can find into containers. Start with guns and ammo.”

  “Oz, shouldn’t we start with survival gear?” Jason asked.

  “Everyone else can work on survival gear. Guns will trade faster than anything else we take with us.”

  “Good point. I’ll pass the word to the commands. You start bargaining for more time with the Carthans.”

  Chapter 42

  Departure

  It took everything Ashley had to keep the tears at bay as Larry showed her how to activate the Triton’s evacuation systems. Throughout the ship directions to the main hangar and operational docking points would appear on the floors. No one could get most of those automated assistance systems working while they were aboard the ship, and the fact that she was just learning about them as they were about to leave was almost too much to take. Zoe was back in her arms again, she knew something was going on, and silently looked from one person to the next.

  If it weren’t for her, Ashley knew she’d be in pieces. David and Nerine had already gone to inform everyone of what was going on. She could hear them packing everything they could find in the medical bay onto rolling chairs, gurneys and into the few crates they had at hand.

  “I’m not staying this time,” Larry whispered to Ashley as he finished his tutorial. Wherever the ship had emergency power there would be arrows and written instructions guiding everyone to docking ports or hangar decks. Carthan transports were already linking with the ship, and the first people they took were the captured Regent Galactic contracted soldiers.

  “I thought this ship was your assignment?”

  “She is, but I can learn a lot more by going to ground with your people.”

  “Spying on us is more important than staying with the Triton?”

  “It’s hard to explain, Ashley. Citadel’s instructions to someone like me, so far away from the council, are layered. There’s a whole list of priorities to consider. I don’t know if you’d understand.”

  Ashley looked at Larry as though seeing him for the first time. His condescending tone was insulting, yes, but she couldn’t help but be almost certain in her suspicions. He was lying to her. Anything he had told her, his promises, they could all be as substantial as smoke.

  “Well, all the emergency systems are doing what they’re supposed to,” he said with a nod.

  She had never been more nervous in her life as he watched him shut down the conference room table. He didn’t even look like he noticed her staring at him. “What’s so important about us?” she asked quietly. Zoe buried her nose in her hair and squeezed her neck. The toddler could tell something was going on.

  “Ashley, I told you, there’s no time,” Larry said irritably as he turned towards her.

  Just as she’d seen in numerous gun slingers movies, she jerked her gun from its holster and tried to pull the trigger.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Larry shouted, rushing her over the table.

  Ashley pressed her thumb against the safety and pulled the trigger again. Larry was caught right at the front of the disabling tangle of surging material. The rear half of the conference room was nothing but stretched strands of the stuff, and Larry hung unconscious in the middle.

  Zoe looked at the mess, at first astonished, then, to Ashley’s surprise, she giggled.

  “Fine, don’t tell me,” Ashley said, cringing at the sound of her own voice. The tears she held back rolled over her cheeks as she reactivated the safety and shoved the weapon back into its holster. Guilt at what she had done was strangely absent as she wiped her face and composed herself. She picked up the last duffel bag and strode to the door. It opened automatically at her approach. A pair of liberated slaves looked over her shoulder wide eyed and she said; “Don’t ask,” in a far more dire tone than intended.

  Without hesitation she dropped her duffel bag, turned on her heel and hit the close and lock icons on the door panel. “Bye,” said Zoe in a sweet sing song squeak as the conference room doors closed.

  * * *

  Oz had won the crew an hour for the crew to gather their things and clear out of the Triton. He passed the word using Crewcast and then cleared out the few things he had in his quarters. He checked Jake’s quarters, his ready room, picking up a few things there and packed as many important looking articles from Ayan’s smaller quarters then made his way out of the command section. All their possessions amounted to two duffel bags and a medium backpack, all of which rested at his feet with travel tags he barely remembered spraying on with his command and control unit. He’d done it so many times during his Freeground Military career that it was reflex.

  The main hangar was filled with crew members getting ready to leave. Most of them helped load survival gear, personal items and anything else they could manage to cram into a storage unit. Some of the crates were short enough to sit on, while the largest were three meters tall. Transports had started latching on to the rear airlocks, and at first the pilots were surprised to see more crates and bags than people. After seeing the irritated, lost and weary faces of their passengers, they abandoned any efforts at informing them that personnel were their priority. “This is a rescue mission,” one was overheard saying.

  “This is an eviction,” shouted an incensed crew member. That drew attention, and few of the dozens of Triton crew who turned their heads cared about who said it. They regarded the pilot, who quickly realized that he could be in real trouble if he said or did the wrong thing. Wisely, he quietly returned to the airlock, and took refuge in his cockpit. After all, most of the remaining Triton crew were armed and fresh from a fight they universally felt should have won them the ship. All of it happened as Oz supervised from the sidelines. He, like most of the crew, was in shock. They had narrowly won the day, but an entirely different set of circumstances from a completely different entity were forcing them to surrender. As he checked to see if Ayan or Jacob were in communications range again, he asked himself what he’d do if he were in command of a law abiding fleet and ran across a crew running a stolen ship. He wouldn’t dare say the answer aloud, but it nested in his consciousness like an infected sore. The law says this ship should have been turned in as soon as it ran into any large law enforcement or military organization. If it came into the Freeground Docks, it would have been cleared of crew and reported to Sol Defence. If they didn’t pick it up after three years, it would either get absorbed by the military, decommissioned, or stripped of arms and put up for auction. He shook his head and watched as one of the airlocks closed and the transport detached, filled with cargo and crew. He was told they’d be holding position near the Triton while everyone finished loading. Then where will we go?

  The constant, slight changes in air pressure resulted in a stirring that felt like a swirling wind. It felt strange across the stubble forming on the top of Oz’s head. The smell of ozone, a sure sign of a heavy fire fight, was carried through the air. Surprisingly, most of the other evidence of the violence that had taken place in the main hangar had been removed. The three ruined fighters, damaged equipment and dead crewmen had all been cleared away. The scorch marks on the deck and bulkheads were superficial. Most of them could be wiped away thanks to the resistant surfaces.

  Assistant Deck Chief Paula directed the maelstrom with the assistance of the remaining deck crew. Oz tried to picture everything on its way out onto transports on the ground. He could see that the short Deck Chief had a method. She was setting all the packed crates into a certain order, and made sure a couple of her people
would stay with each transport to carry her instructions out when they arrived. It was his officer training that kept him from getting involved with the minutia, but it was difficult not to when the alternative was supervision, which sometimes allowed for enough time to think about the long range implications of what was going on.

  The arrival of Frost and the gunnery crew on the main hangar was a welcome surprise. They came down over the aft side of the ship carrying bulk containers. Oz watched as they came up one of the secondary elevators leading to the servicing hangar. There were over thirty loading suits left, and Frost wore the taller, armed encounter suit. The machine was pitted and scarred by projectile and heat weaponry, the cost of Frost unrelentingly leading the charge on the Enforcer. It carried heavy cargo containers in both arms, and limped, just like Frost did thanks to his prosthetic leg.

  His people had done their part in collecting everything they could carry. Oz’s scanning systems informed him that Frost alone carried over four and a half tons of cargo, the rest carried half as much or more each in cargo and ammunition cases. A crowd of lesser armoured crew from the upper decks elevated into the main hangar next, they carried even more equipment between them, and all of it was from engineering stores. Parts, smaller fabrication machines, portable power units, and other semi-portable systems were carried off to the side in haste.

  “Feels wrong looting our own ship, lad,” Frost said to him over a private channel.

  “I know. I’ll do everything I can so we’re loading all this back up before you can climb out of that suit.”

  “Aye.”

  “How are things going on the upper decks?”

  “Commander Everin’s gang are almost finished getting all the footlockers registered to living crew together, they should be down the shaft in a minute. Then they’re heading back up to clear weapons lockers and survival gear out of storage. He plans on working until the last minute. There’s not going to be much to look at when he’s finished. He should be down here soon. Said his people don’t need much help on the ransack.”

  “What about the rest of the crew?”

  “They’re takin’ armfuls from Everin’s people, when they get here things are gonna get stacked right quick. Need anyone to head into the ship and pick up some of the heavier gear? We’re all finished taking what we could from the upper decks.”

  “Paula’s got operations here covered. Head into the manufacturing section and see if you can get one of the medium materializers or mass converters ready for transport.”

  “That’s going to be murder to get out without pulling a few hundred bolts.”

  “Cut the deck out from under it if you have to. Consider it a timed challenge. You have twenty minutes, tops.”

  “Aye, we’re on it. Makes me wish Chief Vercelli were here, he’d have some idea how that’s done.”

  “I’m just glad we still have Paula.”

  “She’s a bit of a screecher, but I haven’t seen much better, fine replacement.”

  “Oh, while you’re in the manufacturing bay, have any extra hands you see take finished work and stuff it into containers, we’re taking everything we can.”

  “Aye, I’ll watch for guns and ammunition first.”

  “Good thinking, Chief. Get to it.”

  “Aye, Commander.”

  The main freight elevator arrived with the third or fourth load of people from the lower decks, engineering and the Botanical Gallery. Everyone was laden with bags, personal items wrapped up in blankets, footlockers and bags of all different shapes and sizes. Just watching them join the growing mass of civilians and crew members was enough to emotionally exhaust him. Few people paid attention to Oz, standing about twenty meters away from the growing crowd. He served for such a short time on Triton that few, if any of the crew members had a chance to get used to him. Before the defence of the ship began all of the respect he enjoyed was borrowed, on loan to him from Captain Valance. Since then he’d managed to gain the respect or the security and gunnery staff.

  If Frost didn’t have a bond with his people before, it was evident that he’d developed one since they started fighting. To watch them, loaders, mechanics and gunners, move from one task to the next like one coordinated unit was to see plain evidence of how they had come together. Chief Grady had united his technical teams, and led them in maintaining the security and functionality of the Triton’s critical systems. In situations where Oz was forced to use man power and firepower Liam Grady found ways to use doors, energy fields, and impassable traps. Trying to penetrate into the core of the engineering section of the ship became so dangerous, that the enemy had no choice but to turn their attention to the bridge. Agameg Price, not a Chief, but a versatile Lieutenant Commander, had gained the trust and allegiance of all the slave volunteers. Oz would have to find out where the shape shifter learned advanced ship combat tactics and how to keep so many people motivated under potentially confusing and terrifying circumstances.

  “Is it all right if we begin grouping the civilians up so we can move them to the transports Commander McPatrick?” Asked one of the security staff from behind.

  Oz thought for a moment. There was no contact from Jacob, Ayan, or anyone who had gotten free of the Triton early on. “Start organizing people into familial groups if you can. Don’t let them board the transports.”

  “Familial groups?”

  “Don’t split up families.”

  “I know, but at most I think there are a few married civvies, not many whole families.”

  “If people look like they want to stick together, make sure they stay together.”

  “Aye, aye sir.”

  The Triton soldiers he was seeing were a far cry from what they were before the fighting began. Those who survived had seen ship board combat that made everything any of them had ever experienced pale in comparison. The fighting was beyond Oz’s experience as well. Not even Pandem was as relentless, or as painful. The memory of his particle rifle rattling against his shoulder was so vivid that it was like a phantom sensation, real the instant he conjured it. The feeling of being shot, and the emergency medical technology kicking in at the same time as the emergency stasis drugs was at the top of his mind as well. He understood Jacob Valance more clearly than ever before. The man had died at least twice, and it must have been a mind blowing, life changing thing each time. The pain was only a notification that something had happened. When the pain stopped, the real changing experience began, and for Oz it was the fading of light from the outer edges, until all that was left were memories, concerns, and parting thoughts. His sisters, nieces, nephews, and the people he was failing filled his thoughts. Oz had heard some soldiers who passed the brink say it was about letting go, falling free from the world, but for him it was like trying to keep his head above water in a black sea, putting every ounce of effort into taking another breath, grasping at the fleeting light and finally fighting the terrible numbness.

  His rational mind knew his heart had stopped beating, his wounds were too great for the medical system built into his ribcage using technology developed by Doctor Anderson and Freeground Special Projects, to heal while he was moving. Medication was being administered, what he was feeling may have felt like dying, but it was actually deep stasis. It didn’t make a damn of a difference emotionally. The lights were going out and he was being pulled out of the fight. When he watched the enemy commander raise his pistol and point it at his forehead, he was sure he had seen his last fire fight.

  “Sir, the Clever Dream is incoming,” Announced one of the Triton security officers nearby.

  Oz looked to the rear of the hangar and could see two armed transports docking, but that’s all. “Where are they?”

  “Just caught a glimpse of them sliding into the landing bay below. They should be coming up the elevator soon.”

  “Someone’s jamming their signal.”

  “What should we do sir?”

  Oz’s eye caught sight of the fellow, he was several meters away helping to o
rganize the civilians and the first of the liberated slaves. His armour showed signs of repair, and his rifle the scratches, dents and burn through spots on the casing that told him he was looking at one of the security officers who had been right in the middle of the fighting. He could tell from the shrapnel pattern across his shoulder that it was Tim Vernon, one of the last surviving bridge security officers. “We make sure they’re safe and clear of any interference once they’re on deck.”

  “Yes sir.”

  There wasn’t much chance of random interference. The Carthans hadn’t put any armed personnel on the deck yet, and they hadn’t made any demands other than the general evacuation of the ship. Jason was right, this was political. Oz only hoped that they were doing the right thing by abandoning the best ship they had.

  Ashley emerged with the next group on the cargo elevator. Zoe’s head swivelled to and fro, her eyes taking everything in from where she sat in the young woman’s arms. With an excited cry that Oz could hear from where he was standing Zoe nearly leapt out of Ashley’s arms, finding her way to the deck suddenly, roughly. To his relief, the youngster didn’t hurt herself in her haste, and she ran between the legs of started survivors.

  In scant seconds she made it across the growing crowd of civilians to a woman with long dark hair who knelt down to catch the eager child. Zoe collided with the woman so soundly that she was forced from kneeling to sitting. It was the sight of a glad reunion.

  That was until he looked back to Ashley, whose vacant arms were slowly lowering. In the corner of his eye, Oz could see the black hull of the Clever Dream rising on one of the main elevation pads, but his attention on Ashley was unwavering. He was watching her slowly fall to pieces as she hesitantly turned away.

  A few worried looks followed her as she took hasty steps to an unmarked Uriel fighter that never made it to the loading rack. Oz caught up to her behind it. At first there was no recognition in her eyes when she looked at him. As soon as she realized who he was, she made an attempt to speak that fell apart before she could make a sound.