Wings of Steele: Revenge and Retribution

by Jeffrey Burger

  ■ ■ ■

  “What the hell's going on?” asked Lisa, hustling to keep up with Mike's longer strides as they trotted down the corridor.

  “Your guess is as good as mine, Lisa, I haven't heard a thing. Are you in trouble?”

  “Not that I can think of,” she panted. “I have an e-Pad and an eGo-h, why didn't he just call me on one of those...” She slowed her stride when she thought of the Remora, “Ooh...”

  Mike Warren slowed, grabbing her by the hand, “Keep up. What, ooh?”

  “The Remora, I'm in trouble for the Remora.”

  “Doubt it,” said Mike as they rounded a corner, “why would they need me? Coming thru!” he shouted, parting a group of crewman down the middle.

  Lisa passed through the group behind him. “I don't know... Elevators?” she pointed.

  “No time. Stairs,” he huffed. They rounded another corner and he cut ahead of her, taking the stairs two at a time, his boots clanging on the metal steps. “Keep up, Kiddo.”

  “Doing my best, you're a lot faster than me...”

  The run from the galley to the bridge was better than half of the Conquest's 1,987 foot length, through populated corridors and up six decks. Mike eased to a stop, pausing outside the bridge door, waiting for Lisa to catch up, making sure he was tucked and his gig line was straight before entering. “Tuck yourself,” he prompted as she tromped to a stop.

  “What?” she wheezed, pinching a stitch in her side.

  “Straighten up,” he whispered. “You can't go in like that.”

  “I just ran a half mile and you're worried about my shirt?”

  “Fifth of a mile,” he corrected her, taking her e-Pad so she could make her adjustments. “It wasn't the run, it was the stairs. Stairs are the killer.” He pulled her belt buckle to the middle. “That's better. You ready?” He handed the e-Pad back to her.

  “You mean... other than not being able to breathe?” she huffed. “Sure, I'm good... to go...”

  The Marine sentry who had remained motionless and silent outside the door, activated the control and it split, disappearing into the walls with a metallic scrape. It was the first time since she'd been on the Conquest that Lisa was afraid to walk through the door onto the bridge. What had it been, four months? Five months..? Her internal dialogue abruptly ceased when Mike Warren paused inside the door, waiting to be noticed, saluting to the Captain when his attention shifted momentarily in their direction. She mimicked Mike's salute with almost perfect timing.

  A quick salute and the Captain nodded in the direction of the Admiral's office, turning back to his bridge duties. Everything felt different and there was an impending sense of dread that rolled in her stomach, her heart hammering.

  The door to the Admiral's office, the same door that she had passed through daily for months, suddenly seemed foreign. Mike stepped to the door without hesitation and it slid cleanly into the walls with a hiss. Stepping through into the office, he left enough room for Lisa at his side and saluted. She followed suit, feeling extremely uncomfortable.

  She tried to read the Admiral - her brother, and for the first time she could recollect, found nothing there but a blank slate. It chilled her. He and Captain Paul Smiley rose from their respective leather chairs, returning their salutes. It looked like she and Mike had interrupted an important conference of some kind. She was more than happy to come back later.

  “Do you know why you're here?” asked the Admiral.

  “No, sir,” replied Mike Warren, “but I expect you're going to tell us.”

  The Admiral smiled briefly, at least it looked like a smile to Lisa. “I'll let the Captain explain it to you,” he said, sitting back down, crossing his legs casually at the knee. The smile disappeared as quickly as it came and Lisa felt weak in the knees. Her hands were trembling, having a difficult time holding onto her now sweat-slippery e-Pad. She pinched the leg seams of her pants to keep her hands still.

  Paul Smiley glanced down at his own e-Pad, “This hearing is to determine if events recorded during the egress of Rikovik's Reef and the transition through to Aegeron Pass are properly recorded and accurate.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied quietly.

  “I have not asked you a question as of yet, Cadet.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Lisa Steele...” She twitched when he said her name like someone had just shouted in her face but the Captain took no notice and continued. “On or about interstellar date; 70522.523, did you or did you not, launch from the UFW Frigate, Revenge, in the ship's newly acquired Remora fighter during gate transit from Rikovik's Reef to Aegeron Pass, with the express mission of providing a communication link between the Revenge and a yacht, piloted by Admiral Steele?”

  Lisa swallowed hard, “Yes, sir,” she croaked, her mouth feeling pasty.

  “And you were able to ascertain that the yacht was substantially damaged?”

  “Yes, sir, it was.”

  “You were successful in communicating with both; Admiral Steele in the yacht and the bridge of the Revenge? Relay information?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you were issued clear, distinct orders by both; Lt. Commander, Brian Carter prior to launch and Admiral Steele, in flight, to vacate the vicinity of the yacht if it threatened to drop below safe transition protocols?”

  “Yes, sir,” she squeaked, her voice cracking. Am I having a heart attack? I think I'm having a heart attack...

  “And, did you or did you not, disobey both of those direct orders?”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice quivering. No, heart's still beating I can feel it in my ears. But I can't feel my hands... maybe it's a stroke... God, I'm having a stroke...

  “And in doing so, not only risked the safety of the UFW craft you were piloting, but your own life and the life of your crew member, Marine Sergeant, Draza Mac?”

  “Yes, sir.” She was clenching her jaw to keep from shaking. It wasn't helping. Oh my God I'm going to prison...

  “And contrary to orders, common sense, better judgment and every known tactic or technique developed over eons of space flight, attempted to use a fighter craft like a lowly recovery tug? Severely damaging the craft entrusted to your care, nearly losing your bird, your life and the life of your crew member?”

  “But...”

  “Answer the question, Cadet.” He tossed his e-Pad on the chair behind him.

  She clenched, fighting her nerves. “Yes, sir.”

  “And by sheer guts, fortitude, willpower and brute force, use every ounce of skill you'd developed, persevered to survive an event that has never been recorded before? And in the process, saved the Admiral and twenty-three other lives?”

  Lisa took a deep breath, not only taking pride in the fact that she had not failed or abandoned her brother, but recognizing a different tone in the question. “Yes, sir.”

  “And would you, if presented with the same situation again, react in the same manner, risking your life, without hesitation or regret?”

  “I regret nothing,” she said, raising her eyes defiantly and looking at him squarely, her heart pounding.

  “Then I cannot think of anyone who deserves these more than you do...” Captain Smiley extended his arm toward her, his opening palm revealing a pair of golden flight wings. Paul stepped forward, removed and pocketed the training emblem from her uniform tunic, replacing it with the polished pilot's wings.

  The Admiral rose from his seat as the Captain stepped back from the speechless young woman. Mike Warren, standing silently, hadn't budged an inch since their entrance into the room.

  “I think we have a problem mister Smiley...”

  “What's that, Admiral?”

  “This pilot seems to be out of uniform...” he stepped to his sister and pulled the cadet pips off her collar, taking a moment to replace them with a new set. Satisfied, he stepped back, “This Ensign is still dressed as a Cadet...”

  Captain Smiley looked over the cow-eyed young woman, “That can't be
right, can it?”

  Steele shook his head, “No it's not. Please see to it that she visits the ship's tailor and is immediately fitted for the proper uniform of her rank.

  Captain Smiley looked to Mike Warren, “Lt. Commander, will you see to it that Ms. Steele finds her way to the tailor for a new fitting?”

  “Aye, sir. New uniform for the Ensign.”

  The Admiral rubbed his chin, “Something tells me we're forgetting something, Captain...”

  “Ah yes.” Paul grabbed his e-Pad off the chair behind him and paged to a new document. “From the office of UFW Fleet Command: In light of the actions of UFW Cadet, Lisa Steele, on or about interstellar date; 70522.523, in which she did willfully and without concern for her own safety, remain with a crippled, private space conveyance that had dropped below transfer gate protocols. At great risk to her and her crew, even as the transfer tube deteriorated, Ms. Steele used her UFW Remora spacecraft to push said private conveyance safely through the gate into Aegeron Pass. This heroic, selfless act of bravery, has duly been recorded and is being rewarded with the UFW Meritorious Halo Award, with lightning bolt...” Paul waved his hand, “Signed; UFW Fleet Command, Fleet Admiral, Warn Higdenberger.”

  Lisa recognized her brother in the Admiral now as he stepped forward with a warm smile, a small open box in his hand containing a campaign ribbon. “This is the Meritorious Halo ribbon, it goes under your wings on your uniform. An actual medal will come for you as well. The little silver lightning bolt on it, represents you surviving a tear during transition. There are only two people in the entire UFW fleet with this exact ribbon...”

  “You..?” she asked, accepting the box.

  Jack shook his head, “No, not me. You and Sergeant Draza Mac.” He stepped back, shoulder to shoulder with Captain Smiley. “One last bit of business before we dismiss you...”

  “Right,” began Captain Smiley.“Lisa, you will report to flight combat training day after tomorrow when our new class starts....” He nodded at Mike, “Mr. Warren here, will not only be one of the primary class instructors, but your private tutor. There is a lot to learn and we're going to push you pretty hard, both mentally and physically.”

  Lisa's pulse quickened, “I'm going to be a fighter pilot...?”

  Paul smiled, “Lady, you're loaded with raw talent and a huge set of, um... stones. I'm expecting nothing but good things from you...”

  ■ ■ ■

  Showered, refreshed and in a new uniform, sporting her new wings, rank and citation ribbon, Lisa Steele and Mike Warren walked the corridor toward the officer's lounge. She kept looking down at her new wings, the reality still sinking in. “I swear to God, I thought I was going to pee myself. Or pass out... In which case I would have peed myself anyway...”

  Mike guffawed, “You did fine. You know why they did that, right?”

  “No, not really... They wanted to mess with my head?”

  “Heh,” he snorted, “maybe a little. But mostly I think to impress upon you that being a bonehead is not going to have pleasant results. You screw something up you get reprimanded – and let's be honest, what you did was insanely stupid...”

  “Hey...” she objected.

  “Well it was. I'm not saying I or any other pilot wouldn't have tried it... Wait, I take that back,” he said with a cancellation wave. “I probably would have never thought of something as ridiculous as crushing the nose of my fighter up the ass of another ship to push it...”

  Lisa tossed her hair back in frustration, “Y'know if you're trying to make me feel better, you're failing miserably.”

  “What I'm getting at,” explained Mike, “is you had a unique perspective; one of less experience, which benefited you. Working from a vantage point of less... knowledge, you did not know what you were doing had nearly a zero percent chance of succeeding. No one told you it couldn't be done, so it never entered your mind that you couldn't do it. So you just went and did it.”

  “Sooo, you could say I did something impossible then.”

  “That's what I'm saying,” he said, punctuating with his hands. “It was against direct orders, so they had to reprimand you. But you succeeded, so they rewarded you. I'm pretty sure they just wanted you to understand that there are consequences to your decisions. Thank God it wasn't a posthumous award...”

  “Pssch, yeah, that would suck.”

  “Fortunately for you, it all ended well... you have the Steele guardian angel on your shoulder... it must run in your family. We should drink to that angel and pray he's never asleep when you need him.”

  “Or her,” mused Lisa, sighing. “Yeah, I could use a drink... a couple... or four.”

  “I hope you bought your ITC card, because tradition says drinks are on you tonight...”

  ■ ■ ■

  “Li-sa! Li-sa! Li-sa!” chanted the people in the crowded Officer's Club.

  “I didn't know I had this many friends!” Lisa shouted to Mike over the noise.

  “Don't let it go to your head, you'd be surprised how fast free drinks spreads around the ship!” he shouted back.

  “I have to pay for everybody?”

  “Just one round,” he nodded. “But all night for your friends,” he grinned.

  Lisa wove her way through the throng, running into Sergeant Draza Mac. “Hey Mac!” she hugged him then suddenly pulled away, “Wait, are you going to be in trouble for being in here? You're not...”

  “An officer,” he said, finishing her sentence. “It's alright, you can say it, it doesn't offend me.” He pointed to his Meritorious Halo citation ribbon, “It's my night too...”

  She took a drink handed to her by a passing waitress, “So do you have to buy drinks for everybody too?”

  “I don't know, you might want to ask that guy over there,” he shouted, pointing across the room to a far corner. Lisa turned to follow his finger, spotting her brother and Commander Dar Sloane standing together, waving at her over the heads of the crowd. “The answer is,” continued the Sergeant, “the Admiral's got your back, your money's no good here.” He grabbed her by the arm, “And if you ever need a back-seater, I'll fly with you... Any time.”

  ■ ■ ■

  After more than a couple hours of noise, music and drinks Jack needed a break, dragging Lisa out of the Officer's Club by the hand, followed by Mike Warren and Dar Sloane. “Wow,” he opened his mouth and pulled on his earlobes, “my ears are ringing.”

  “Mine too,” added Lisa as they strolled down the corridor.

  “That bash is going to cost you a pretty penny, Jack,” commented Mike in a moment of casual off-duty dialogue. “Er, sorry... Admiral...” he mumbled.

  “Forget it, Mike. It's just us.” He shot a sideways glance at Lisa, “It's worth every last dime,” he smiled, “and then some.”

  “So where are we going, Jack?” asked Dar Sloane.

  “You call me Admiral,” teased Steele.

  “Sorry, Admiral...”

  “Kidding, Dar.” He waved toward the elevators, “One last thing to show you, Lisa, then I'm headed off to bed. You all can go back to the party if you want.”

  “Not if I want to be able to get up in the morning,” commented Mike. “Besides, I need my beauty sleep...”

  Lisa and Dar exchanged glances and Dar wanted to say something but he dared not, especially in front of her brother. He decided to wait for a better opportunity.

  The elevator ride down was silent except for the hum of the cab as it descended nine decks, the steel doors opening with a hiss on the hangar deck, directly below the flight deck. The smell of electronics, lubricants and metal were tangible enough to taste. “I'm getting to like that smell,” said Lisa, “it makes my mouth water.”

  Jack slung his arm around her shoulder and gave her a little squeeze, “My little sister is becoming a real pilot, she's all grown up now...”

  She pushed him off, laughing,”Quit it...”

  Walking past several occupied repair stations, they came upon an empty stall and Jack c
ame to an abrupt stop, looking around. “What the hell,” he mumbled.

  “What?” asked Mike.

  “It was right here...” he pointed, “they must've moved it...” He waved his arms above his head in frustration, “HEY!” he shouted, “Where's...”

  A head and shoulders popped up, suspended in mid air about seven feet off the deck, the mechanic looking down at the confused pilots, “Admiral! Wasn't expecting you tonight, just chasing down a few little things...” He reached forward, doing something with unseen arms and hands. An outline glittered, the shimmering shape of the Remora wavering as it gradually appeared like a mirage in the desert, finally becoming solid. The mechanic climbed down the boarding ladder of the flat-black fighter which had come to resemble a giant black wasp. He ducked under the nose and extended his hand as he approached, “Admiral.” They shook briefly. “She looks great, doesn't she?”

  “Astounding,” was all Jack could manage, examining her new profile.

  “She's not really a Remora anymore, she's way more advanced than that. Your engineer, Hoecken Noer... he's brilliant. Just amazing what that man can design.”

  “So what is she?” asked Lisa staring, mouth agape.

  “Ma'am,” said the mechanic with a sweep of his hand, “Meet the Reaper...”

  “She looks bad ass!” breathed Mike. He reached up and put his hand on one of the nose guns, examining the turret. “These don't look familiar, what kind of guns are these?”

  “Good question,” gestured the mechanic. “We originally intended to install standard Particle Gauss Guns, but Hoecken Noer had a better idea... Cryo Gauss Guns...”

  Jack raised an eyebrow, “Come again, Chief?”

  “His new invention. Took a couple of standard guns and reverse engineered them, rebuilt them into these things right here in the machine shop.”

  “A Frankengun,” mumbled Jack.

  The Chief offered a puzzled look at the term but decided to ignore it, pulling a nine-inch steel spike out of his tool pouch, handing it to Jack. “That's your projectile. It's accelerated by Gauss coil magnets, barely touches the barrel, no friction. The tip is a super hard alloy, for penetration, as is the outer skin. The inside is another type of alloy, softer but very dense.” He took it back and threw it on the floor with a clang and stopped its roll with the toe of his boot. “Totally inert. No explosive or propellant. On the other hand, a Gauss Particle is a super-hard steel ball, only does one thing.” He bent over and picked up the spike again. “But this baby, will penetrate as-is and break up inside, or, when frozen, explode on impact like a frag grenade.” He pointed at the turret, “The ammo rack is normally ambient temperature and dry. Want them frozen? Switch the system and it floods the rack compartment with refrigerant. Want them back again? Just switch the system back and the refrigerant drains back into the reservoir... of course it will take a while for the ammunition to warm back up...”