When the Dust Settled

by Jeannie Meekins

  He stepped out of the shuttle into the glaring morning sunlight. His hands automatically came up to shade his face.

  “You don’t look so good,” Gillespie commented.

  “Good morning to you, too,” John grumbled.

  “Eye’s better though,” Gillespie leaned forward for a closer look. “Little bit of purple and yellow. Looks like it’s about a week old.”

  Roppa didn’t take long to make an appearance. The Skarens had come to their decision; one which John had never doubted. Roppa and two of his men would return in the shuttle. That was all he was willing to divulge at this stage. Anxious to be off, Soghra jumped into the pilot’s seat and turned on the engines.

  Roppa frowned angrily. “I may be risking my life, but I don’t intend throwing it away on the incompetency of some suicidal maniac!”

  “That was a long time ago,” Soghra retorted.

  “I have an even longer memory. And I do not believe that your flying skills have improved.”

  “If you have no objections,” John was eager to avert any tensions that might arise, “I will fly the shuttle.”

  Reluctantly, they both agreed.

  Roppa needed an outline of Bismarck’s security systems. Daygarn would already be familiar with them. If he had not understood it to his satisfaction, then he would have ordered someone to explain it to him. The loss of any crewmember who failed to do so would be of no concern.

  Everything was making perfect sense to Roppa and his men. John felt he was missing something. It was as though they had already planned it out and only let him know what was relevant.

  John contacted Bismarck as soon as they were within range. Daygarn was in his chair and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled as his jaw twitched.

  “You have succeeded?” Daygarn asked.

  John grabbed Roppa by the jacket front and dragged him in view of the screen before pushing him away.

  Daygarn smiled. “And with time to spare. Well done.”

  “I want to speak to my crew.”

  “No.” The smile disappeared.

  John leaned back in the pilot’s seat and folded his arms across his chest. “You don’t get him until I know that every person on my ship is alive and in one piece.”

  Out of Daygarn’s view, the exchange allowed Roppa to sum up their opposition. “Four on the bridge,” he noted. “There should be four more… Where would the rest of the crew be most likely held?”

  “In the brig,” Gillespie answered quietly. “They wouldn’t need anyone to stand guard.”

  “There will be at least one. That leaves three. Most likely in engineering.”

  “Why don’t we transport over and take them out?”

  Roppa shook his head. “He will have installed an invasion device. It will disintegrate anything that tries to transport on or off.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “My ship has detected it.”

  “He wants me to transport you across,” John turned his head to the side and coughed loudly – his ribs grabbed – and joined the conversation.

  “No, not until we find his ship. Stall him somehow,” Roppa instructed.

  John turned slowly back to the screen, his breathing short, his face and actions as blank as he could make them.

  He stalled using every excuse he could think of. Daygarn’s patience grew thin. On the threat of immediate execution of the bridge crew, John relented.

  “Let me go,” Vido, Roppa’s second, offered.

  “If he realises it is not me in the beam he will terminate transportation,” Roppa reminded.

  “I am aware of that,” Vido answered.

  “I said immediately!” One of Daygarn’s hands went to his weapon, the other reached beyond the view of John’s screen.

  “I’m looking for the transporter,” John snapped, his head and hands moving visibly as he scanned the controls.

  Daygarn stilled, watching him, his hand flexing around the handle of his weapon.

  “He will most likely divert to his own ship,” Vido continued. “Let us hope our men can pull me out in time.” He paused, eyeing John and Gillespie cautiously. “I never thought I’d risk my life for a human.”

  “Can he do that?” Gillespie asked.

  “Do what?” Roppa asked.

  “Identify someone in a transporter beam.”

  “It’s a unique technique. Not quite perfected, but very possible.” Roppa spoke to his own ship, which had never been out of contact. “As soon as that disintegration shield drops, hit hard and fast.”

  What happened in the next minute or so was almost incomprehensible. Vido was transported to Bismarck. In the few seconds the shields were down, the shuttle party and a number of Skarens also transported across.

  Daygarn diverted his prisoner directly to his own ship, which had to reveal itself to receive. Confirming its presence, the Skaren ship ripped its own man from the grasp of their enemy and destroyed its ship completely.

  As John and the others materialised on the bridge, Daygarn realised he had been double crossed. The bridge crew reacted with the same intensity as John and Gillespie as weaponfire exchanged while Roppa’s knife skills were exemplary as he left a bounty hunter bleeding on the floor. In less than a minute, Bismarck was back in John’s capable hands.

  “Report,” Roppa called over his communicator.

  “Brig clear,” a Skaren voice answered.

  “Engineering…” A low sigh followed by a couple of final shots echoed over the communicator. “Engineering clear.”

  John had a handful of the bounty hunter’s hair in one hand and a Skaren weapon shoved up under his chin, forcing his head up and back and exposing his vulnerability. A bitter stench reached John’s nostrils, causing his eyes to water.

  “Tie him up,” John ordered.

  The bridge wasn’t equipped with restraints and Gillespie retrieved a couple of cable ties from the spare parts cupboard near communications.

  He bound the hunter’s hands behind his back, ripping the ties tight with intent.

  John lowered the weapon and stepped back. “Knees.”

  Daygarn obeyed and slumped to his knees.

  “Everyone all right?” John asked, his attention never leaving his prisoner.

  Giacomo was nursing a bullet wound to his hand. Hartford was unconscious on the floor and McReidy was dabbing at a lightly bleeding nose. Gillespie moved to Hartford and checked his breathing and pulse, before a quick once over confirmed no major injuries.

  Roppa retrieved his knife from the chest of the bounty hunter, wiping it clean on the dead man’s jacket before putting it away. “About my payment.”

  “Name it.” John had no idea what Roppa would ask or how he would provide it.

  “I want him.” Roppa indicated Daygarn.

  Daygarn struggled momentarily against his bindings. The number of Skaren weapons pointed directly at him stilled him.

  “You can’t do this,” he pleaded to John’s better nature.

  “Oh, yes, I can.” There was no remorse in John’s tone. “Take him.”

  “Just a minute – We can make a deal –” Daygarn began desperately, licking dry lips as the sweat began to form on his brow. His pupils widened, the look of fear revealed he knew his fate.

  Roppa took encouragement from this knowledge. “There are a number of worlds where your methods of capture require justification.”

  John knew he couldn’t have sealed Daygarn’s fate any more if he had killed him on the spot. “Get him off my ship.”

  “A pleasure doing business with you,” Roppa concluded. He spoke briefly to his own ship and was gone.

  John lowered the weapon and looked at his crew. He couldn’t keep his attention from McReidy, clearly apparent to everyone there. “You all right?”

  “Yes,” she answered, pinching her nose to stop the bleeding.

  John hit the intercom, his attention still on McReidy. “Madison to crew. Everyone all right?”

  Replies came
in confirming no injuries and he began to relax a little.

  Hartford was slowly coming around. Gillespie helped him to sit up and he groaned as he reached for the back of his head.

  “Take him to sick bay,” John ordered.

  Gillespie nodded and helped Hartford to his feet.

  “Giacomo?”

  Giacomo looked from his hand to John. A bullet had grazed the fleshy side between his little finger and wrist. Blood ran down his arm and dripped into his other hand as he held it beneath. His fingers wriggled obediently.

  “Sick bay,” John told him. “McReidy.”

  “I’m fine,” she insisted, releasing her nose then pinching it again a few seconds later before the next drip fell. “Bleeding will stop in a minute.”

  “If it doesn’t, sick bay.”

  She nodded and took her seat at navigation.

  John took his chair, flicking on the ventilation system. The air would soon clear, removing all signs of Daygarn’s presence.

  He flicked the intercom. “Madison here. Mister Humphries, Mister North to the bridge. Engineering, status report.”

  “Case here, sir. Everything normal. All repairs were finished… before…” Before what, he didn’t want to say.

  “Understood. All other departments, report when you get a chance. I want to know if anyone or anything has been messed around with.” He caught Gillespie watching him. “Well?”

  “I think you should go to sick bay. You took quite a pounding last night.”

  McReidy turned to John, a slight frown as though seeing his bruised face for the first time.

  “A little louder. I don’t think they heard you in engineering,” he snapped back. He caught McReidy’s look and she turned away.

  A few minutes later, Humphries and North arrived, taking their relevant consoles.

  “Mister Humphries, get us out of here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gillespie having brought the subject to mind, John began to realise just how much pain he was in. Breathing comfortably was an impossibility. “McReidy.”

  “Sir?”

  The softness of her voice melted through him. He looked up. Her eyes were filled with a warmth that had previously been reserved for Sean. At least she hadn’t been hurt. No one had been hurt, he corrected himself immediately. “You’re in charge.”

  * * *

  A trip to sick bay brought curious looks as much for its reality as the injuries.

  Bruising covered most of John’s rib cage and he jerked away from the doctor’s probing touch to his cheek. The damage was a few cracked ribs and a bruised cheekbone, which would mend themselves in time. Painkillers would make life comfortable in the meantime. As long as he didn’t over exert himself.

  “Yeah,” he nodded in acknowledgement of Dunlop’s instructions.

  “I’m not saying it to hear the sound of my own voice.”

  John glanced across at Giacomo being stitched up and Hartford undergoing a vision test. “How are they?”

  “No nerve or tendon damage to Giacomo. A couple of weeks and he’ll be as good as new. I’ll keep Hartford here overnight to keep an eye on him. Nothing broken, but he’s got concussion.”

  John nodded. It could have been a whole lot worse.

  “Why is it you seem to get such great pleasure in beating each other up?” the doctor queried, opening a cupboard and taking out a bottle of painkillers.

  “It wasn’t my fault. He started it.” John used the instinctive defence of a child.

  “And you couldn’t walk away?”

  “Not exactly.” He avoided looking at the doctor.

  “Get dressed.”

  John slipped his arms into his t-shirt. Lifting his shoulders to pull it over his head brought a painful moan. The shirt was jerked roughly down over his body.

  “You can’t even dress yourself,” Dunlop grumbled.

  “I don’t think I care for your bedside manner,” John sulked. “Why is it always the big ones who pick on me?”

  “Because they think they can get away with it. And you always have to prove them wrong.”

  John eased himself into his jacket.

  “I assume if I prescribed a week’s bed rest you wouldn’t take it,” Dunlop continued.

  “I’d be bored out of my mind.”

  “Then you better take these,” the doctor handed over the painkillers, “and get back to the bridge where you belong.”

  John headed to engineering first. The engineers looked okay and the place didn’t look like it had been messed with.

  “Red,” he called the chief over.

  “Sir,” Red obeyed.

  “I know you’re going to hate me…”

  Red’s sideways frown wasn’t for the comment as his eyes focused on John’s cheek.

  “But we need to find a way to cut through cloaks.”

  “Sir, the technology –”

  “I know. We can’t cut through what we can’t even detect,” John sighed. “And I ask enough of you boys as it is.”

  “We’ll try, sir.”

  Red’s positive tone and slow nod reassured John more than he realised.

  “Thank you.”

  *

  There were messages waiting for John when he returned to the bridge. He took them in the office, easing carefully into the chair.

  They were locked into the computer. Theoretically, they could have been there for days, undetected and unretrieveable to anyone who didn’t know the correct access.

  He uncapped the bottle and threw down a couple of painkillers while the messages opened. They stuck in his throat and it took a couple of decent swallows before they went down.

  The first message was from Fleet Command. Acknowledgement of the repairs and agreement to pay on completion, followed by a second message confirming payment. At least there’d been no hassles there – and no “Please explain”.

  Their schedule had also been updated “since you’re in the area”. A couple of places added before they were back on track. Confirmation was expected, and sent back as soon as John read the file.

  He deliberated over the new listings. Most of them were along the border. He didn’t want that at the moment. Something nice and simple to take everyone’s minds off the recent incident would be better. Nothing ever turned out simple, he knew that. It had been non stop since this whole war started. The occasional day’s leave had eased the pressure, which only seemed to double with each assignment.

  “Lieutenant Commander, can you come in here?” he called to the bridge. Leaning across his desk to the intercom was painful.

  She was there momentarily, her nose clean, scrutinising his appearance.

  “Sit down,” he indicated the chair opposite. “This may take a while. Coffee?”

  “I’ll get it,” McReidy offered.

  “I can manage it myself.” He rose to his feet slowly, gritting his teeth.

  “No, you can’t,” she told him. A firm hand on his shoulder pushed him back to his seat. “Gillespie told us –”

  “Gillespie’s got a big mouth,” John cut in. His health was not open to discussion.

  He gratefully accepted the coffee, and took a sip while she sat down. A soft sigh escaped. “Needed that…”

  He turned the screen around so she could read it.

  “Command’s added a couple of places to our list.”

  By the expression on her face, she was as displeased as he was. There was something else he noted.

  “Something wrong?”

  “Yes… no,” she stared at her mug.

  “Which is it, yes or no?”

  “Off the record?”

  “If you like,” he nodded.

  She lowered the mug to her lap and looked up at him. “What’s got into you?”

  “What do you mean?” The question was personal. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel defensive. He didn’t know how he felt, but knew it was about time they cleared things up between them.

  “You’ve never bothered consulti
ng me on assignments before.”

  “As temporary as this situation is, as you well reminded me recently.” He saw the uncomfortable blush that she tried to hide. “You are the first officer and it’s about time I started to treat you like one.”

  The confession caught her by surprise. She took a quick sip and put her mug on the desk.

  “Someone told me a while ago,” he continued quietly, almost to himself, “that I can’t take on the universe single handed.”

  “What happened out there?”

  “I thought Gillespie –”

  “No,” she cut him off. “You changed the rules.”

  “It became personal.” The look of sorrow returned to his eyes. “Everything used to be so clear. What was right or wrong. It was black and white. Now it’s clouded over, only shades of grey… What is wrong, and what is less wrong… And I wasn’t prepared to lose you… any of you.”

  The imploring look he gave her made the generalised statement seem personal.

  “You’re not going to hand this ship back to Command, are you?”

  “No.” He shook his head slowly. “Bismarck’s mine and I’m going to keep her. Oh, I’ll stick to orders, but I also intend to strike back. To take out whatever I can when the opportunity arises… This is where this war’s going to be won. Not head to head out on the front. Hitting them where it hurts, right under their noses.”

  “Aren’t you taking this whole thing a bit too personally?”

  “Probably… I want you to pull me back into line when I go too far.”

  “Me?”

  “Not on the bridge, of course. I still expect respect there.”

  He couldn’t explain why. He didn’t have to. When his emotions were involved he lost all rational thinking. McReidy could pick up on this when no one else had been able to.

  “How did the crew cope?” John changed the subject.

  “They never doubted you’d get them out.”

  He noticed that she didn’t include herself in her answer. “And you?”

  She thought about her answer for a moment. “It seems to me that you have a solution for everything, no matter how farfetched it might be.”