Orion was the first one up. “Let me, Cap,” she said, already moving down the narrow aisle between the seats and scurrying toward the hatch. Using the back of the pilot’s seat as a step-ladder, she climbed up and onto the shuttle’s roof. A moment later she poked her head back in from outside. “Lots of room up here—seems safe.”
One by one, they climbed up and onto the shuttle’s fifteen- by thirty-five-foot roof. The three rhinos went last and it took them a little longer. The back of the pilot’s seat couldn’t support their weight, but eventually they muscled their way up and out using their own upper body strength. Jason went back below and brought up his and Dira’s packs.
Bristol stood and faced in the general direction of the next drone’s location. Without looking up, he asked Jason, “If you’re having so much trouble with your communications to Ricket, how are you going to tell him where to send the drone’s pair and give him the specific coordinates?”
“I’ve been thinking about that, too. What if I sent a NanoText message?”
Bristol furrowed his brow and finally looked up. “You know, that actually might work. If the message doesn’t go through directly, it will buffer the data and keep trying until it times out. Why don’t you try it?”
Jason didn’t answer Bristol but brought up the hovering ocular keypad for NanoTexting, wrote a short message, and sent if off to Ricket.
Less than thirty seconds later Jason received a message in return.
Receive inbound NanoText: Science Officer Ricket:
Received message, Captain. This may be our best method for communicating while you are in that particular time realm. I will stand by for drone coordinates. Also, Traveler is requesting to rejoin your group.
Capt. Jason Reynolds:
That is fine, we could use his help. I’ll send coordinates once I’m on solid ground.
Receive inbound NanoText: Science Officer Ricket:
Also, Captain. As soon as you have a free moment I’d like to bring you up to speed on developments here. The Lilly is back in Earth orbit. We’ve located Granger.
Disconnect NanoText Command: Science Officer Ricket.
Jason was about to inquire about The Lilly, as well as Granger. Two subjects that were, of late, constantly on his mind. But they would have to wait.
“Bristol, take a break and help the rhinos with their phase-shift coordinates. But first, see that wide beach area?” Jason asked, pointing across the lake. “Would that put us in a good position for moving toward the drone?”
“That’ll work. They don’t know how to set their own coordinates?”
“They might. I want you to double-check their settings. Matter of fact, set up the coordinates for all of us, link our belts, and we’ll phase-shift together.”
Bristol shrugged and went to work on the settings. Billy was at Jason’s shoulder. “So much for having an improved attitude.”
“As long as he does his job, I’m willing to put up with it.”
Bristol was soon back and looked bored. “Done.”
Jason caught Orion’s eye.
“Aye, Cap?”
“I want everyone’s weapons set to their most lethal rail-gun settings.”
Although Gunny gave the appearance of staring into space, Jason knew she was accessing each of the team’s weapons configurations, via her HUD, and making the necessary adjustments. “We’re all set, Captain.”
Jason gave a quick nod to Grimes, Petty Officer Chris Myers, and the young Indian woman, Chameli. All three were staying behind with the Magnum. Chameli looked at Rizzo pleadingly, not seeming to understand why she was being separated from the young SEAL.
“Bristol, phase-shift us onto that beach,” Jason said.
Chapter 30
Mollie had changed her clothes and was halfway to the gym when she stopped. Did he mean my spacer’s jumpsuit or my regular everyday clothes? She looked down at her jumpsuit and shrugged. Probably, this is fine … this is what I usually wear.
Teardrop quietly hovered along at her side. As they approached the gym entrance, she turned to the drone. “Stay right here, Teardrop. If I need you, I’ll contact you with my NanoCom.”
“I’ve been instructed to stay with you, Mollie.”
“You don’t go into the bathroom with me, do you?”
“No.”
“You don’t go into the mess hall with me, do you?”
“No.”
“I’m only going to be a few feet away from you. Stay here.”
Mollie hesitated before entering. Although it felt somewhat like a game, and she loved games, trying to kill someone was serious. How serious was he? She’d been racking her brain which items in the gym could be used as a weapon. There was a jump rope hanging on the back wall. There was also a set of dumbbells closer to the entrance—maybe the smaller one could be used to conk him on the head. But her mind was going somewhere else. She thought back to Chief Petty Officer Woodrow’s exact words: “When you enter the door again, you’ll have eight seconds to try to kill me. Try to remember what is in this compartment that could be of use to you.”
He never actually said I’d have to use the items in the gym, only to remember what was there that I could use, and that I’d only have eight seconds. She thought about that some more and smiled. She entered the gym.
Woodrow was right where he’d been when she left, sitting on the mat with his back against the far wall.
“Eight seconds and counting,” he yelled, getting to his feet.
Mollie stood perfectly still, as if paralyzed.
He continued the countdown, “Six, five, four …”
Mollie moved to her left and Teardrop entered the gym. With less than a second to spare, a small panel on the drone’s torso slid open, its weapon instantly deployed, shooting Woodrow where he stood.
It took him several minutes to come around. Mollie was sitting cross-legged in front of his prone body and waiting for his eyes to open.
He groaned and leveled one unfocused eye on her. “You wretched little scoundrel.”
Mollie smiled. “Did I do OK?”
Woodrow slowly sat up and rubbed his temples. “Fine. You did just fine. I can see I’ll need to be very explicit giving you instructions in the future.”
“What is emlicit?”
“Explicit. I’ll need to be more exact with what I mean.”
Woodrow got to his feet and walked to another door. “Come on, we’re going to work on your ability to throw things.”
“I’ve got mad skills throwing a Frisbee,” Mollie said, jumping to her feet and following him into the adjacent compartment.
She’d been there before, with Orion and her mother. This was the shooting range.
There were four long lanes. At the far end of each lane was a full-sized target holding the outlined diagram of a man tacked to it. The second lane’s target was moved in closer, perhaps ten feet away, and its shooting barricade moved off to the side. A counter held a collection of five different items. Mollie stepped over and looked at each one carefully.
First was a regular knife, like a steak knife; second, an old fountain pen; third, a long piece of broken glass; fourth, a long screwdriver; and fifth, a scraggly piece of sharpened metal.
“What the heck are these for?”
“As I said before, you won’t be able to fend off an adult attacker in hand-to-hand combat. At least, not until you’ve learned to fight dirty. You’ll need to take advantage of the things around you.” Woodrow stepped over to the group of five items and picked up the screwdriver. Without even looking at the target, he flicked the screwdriver underhand down the lane. Mollie looked around Woodrow to check the target. Dead center in the heart! She let her jaw drop and her eyes widen to show him she was impressed.
“I want to learn to do that!”
In a blur, Woodrow snatched up the remaining items and again, without looking at the target, in rapid order flicked the knife, fountain pen, glass shard, and sharpened piece of metal. Where the original
screwdriver was seated dead center in the heart, the other four items landed in a perfect circle around the screwdriver.
Mollie simply stared at the target without saying a word.
“Okay, pay attention. This looks a whole lot more impressive than it really is. Practice is all it takes. Once you come to understand certain fundamentals, like an object’s center of gravity; gauging an object’s weight and the necessary force needed to throw it; and, most importantly, visualizing a target in your mind when you’re not actually facing it, like you’re in a room that’s pitch dark, then tricks like these can save your life.”
Woodrow pointed to the target. “Fetch.”
Mollie retrieved the five sharp objects and brought them back to the counter. Woodrow picked up the screwdriver and flipped it around, end over end, several times in his fingers.
“Let’s start with this. We’ll begin with basic overhand throws, nothing fancy.” Woodrow moved over to a cabinet and returned with twenty identical-appearing screwdrivers. The tips on them were slightly sharpened.
“Do you always hold the object by the blade?”
“Good question. No. You’ll discover much of this over time, but it’s all about rotation. Depending on your distance from the target, you may want to hold the object by the blade, or its heavier end, the handle if there is one. You’ll come to instinctively know, based on how far you are from your enemy, and some other factors we’ll get into later. For now, we’ll keep things consistent. I want you to watch me throw these screwdrivers. Watch my hands, watch the position of my feet, and how I turn my body each time I throw—take it all in.”
Woodrow positioned himself in a straightforward manner, one foot back, and one forward, at a line on the deck. He held the first screwdriver by its tip, brought it back over one shoulder and let it fly. Again, a dead center heart shot. Keeping the same slow methodical pace, Woodrow threw the rest of the screwdrivers. The target showed tight groupings in head, heart, and stomach.
“All right, you ready to try?”
“Yes!”
“Fetch.”
Mollie removed the screwdrivers from the target and returned. She handed them to Woodrow and took his position on the line. He handed her the first screwdriver.
“Remember what I said. Nice and easy now.”
Mollie threw the screwdriver. It hit the target handle first and bounced onto the deck.
He handed her the next one. “Remember, the weapon needs to rotate. I’ve found there’s a full rotation per three meters.”
She threw again and this time the tip of the screwdriver stuck in the target’s upper thigh area.
“Oops, I missed.”
“What you did is incapacitate a potential enemy. Good job. Again.”
Three hours later Mollie was hitting the target consistently. Headshots went to the head; heart and lower torso shots too found their mark. Her groupings weren’t as tight as Woodrow’s, but she was feeling more and more confident.
Then he moved the target further back another ten feet and she started throwing once again. Nothing stuck and her aim was completely off. Frustrated, Mollie screamed at the target, “I hate you!”
Woodrow seemed to find that funny, so Mollie laughed with him. In time, she nailed the target with even more precision than when it was sited closer. By the end of the day, Mollie had practiced throwing all the items, some with better results than others. She’d come to a basic understanding of the principles involved. The steak knife was by far the simplest to throw and enabled her to hone her targeting skills.
“That’s enough for today, Mollie. You did very well. Much better than my first attempts were at throwing sharpened objects. You’ll come here every day and practice throwing these objects at multiple distances. Over time, you’ll learn how to throw a variety of knives. Some you’ll throw from the handle, others from the blade. As you’ve learned, it depends on where a weapon’s center of gravity is. You understand?”
“I understand. And I’ll be here, I promise,” she answered, feeling a sense of accomplishment. She only wished, with sadness, that her mother could see how well she had done.
“I have a gift for you, in addition to the other objects you will practice with.”
Woodrow went to the cabinet and brought back an item. It was a small knife in a dark brown leather sheath. “This knife is designed for throwing. It’s very old, impeccably balanced, and forged of the finest steel. It’s small enough to fit around your wrist or be kept in your pack, whatever. It’s not a toy. It cuts through flesh like butter. Treat it with respect and it will last you a lifetime.” Woodrow held out the knife and Mollie took it. Holding it up, she pulled the small blade from its sheath.
“The blade is light blue. Kinda pretty.”
“Careful with that.”
“I’ll take good care of it. Thank you. Can I practice with it now?”
“Sure, for a few more minutes.”
Chapter 31
Admiral Reynolds was on the horn for the better part of three hours. Over the past sixteen years, he’d made friends and strong alliances with many of the Allied planets’ ruling officials and military leaders. Above and beyond his command position with the Earth Outpost for the United Planetary Alliance—EOUPA—the admiral had retained his position as commanding officer for all Allied forces. With the latest Allied space victory against the invading Craing fleet, the admiral was heralded as nothing short of a hero. The reality was the war was far from over. In fact, they’d inflicted little damage to the Craing’s overall defenses. Sure, they’d struck a surprise offensive jab to the Craing’s military machine, but not enough to bring them to their knees.
Recent estimates ran as high as one hundred thousand to one hundred and fifty thousand Craing warships in fleets spread across the universe. Every day, new Craing warships embarked from orbital shipyards situated far out in deep space, ensuring them of no single location of vulnerability.
But, as the admiral had quickly realized, Allied complacency had already set in. It was taking more time than he’d planned on, but slowly he was getting the Allied forces to awaken to the chilling reality of their situation. Added to that, the prospect of the Craing acquiring the latest Caldurian technology, as the admiral warned them would assuredly happen, sparked new fear in those in power of the Allied planets. What he’d been driving into their heads was that their new reality demanded quick action. It demanded they go quickly on the offensive. From their latest reactions, they were ready.
The ball was in the admiral’s court. But before any kind of preemptive attack could be instigated, he needed more intelligence. Specifically, he needed to know what Granger, and the Craing leadership, was planning. And he needed to know if the Craing and Caldurians had vulnerabilities, and what those were … if any.
A familiar melodic chime indicated there was someone at the captain’s ready room door.
Without getting up, the admiral instructed the AI to allow entrance.
“Admiral, we have a situation,” Ricket said, entering the ready room.
“Have a seat. What’s going on?”
“I’ve been getting acquainted with the Minian’s bridge, her functionality and capabilities. There’s still much to learn. But while I was reviewing the various sensor settings, specifically the short range scans, let me tell you, the levels of sensitivity are really quite—”
“Ricket, for God’s sake you need to get to the point.”
“Yes, sir. I found something.”
“Here, in local Earth space?”
“Closer to Mars, actually. It’s a ship, drifting, and she’s cloaked.”
The admiral stared at Ricket for a moment and then nodded. “I bet I know which ship that is. It’s the, um, Her Majesty. That ridiculous luxury liner turned warship. We were wondering what happened to the late Captain Stalls’ ship. We knew it was cloaked and out there … somewhere.”
“Truth is,” Ricket continued, “I found it by accident. Even the Minian had a hard time detectin
g her.”
The admiral was only half listening to Ricket. His mind was already contemplating the possibilities. The ship could be just the thing he was looking for. A way to get close-in to the Craing undetected.
“Ricket. Here’s what I want you to do and with all haste. Put together a boarding party and bring back that vessel.”
“The cloaking device would need to be deactivated, sir. Difficult, on a near-invisible ship.”
“But possible? You could do it?”
“Admiral, I’m needed here to deploy the last two paired drones down to Captain Reynolds. As automated as I’ve tried to make things, I’d feel nervous getting too far away from the Minian.”
“No, you’re absolutely right. Earth’s very survival is at stake. Who else could do this—get on board that ship and reconfigure her cloaking device?”
Ricket looked at the admiral and made a sour expression. “Well, there’s really only one person. That would be Bristol.”
The admiral’s expression turned equally sour. “That pimply kid? I thought he was one of the pirates?”
“He is, was … He’s currently down on Earth assisting with navigating through the various time realms. As unpleasant as he is, he’s quite intelligent and he already knows the configuration and operation of Her Majesty.”
“Okay, here’s what we’ll do. You’ll take Bristol’s place on Earth. Send back Bristol, and maybe Billy or Orion; either of them could lead a team of the available SEALs still here on board The Lilly. We’ll intersect with Her Majesty, and deploy Bristol and the team.”
Ricket nodded and seemed to be contemplating the logistics of it all. “That still takes me away from the Minian. Although we have concluded, it seems, that data transmissions do work effectively, such as NanoTexting; I can pre-program the automated systems and control them remotely.”
“Whatever, Ricket. I don’t need to know how to split an atom here. If you feel it can be done with relative certainty, then we need to move ahead,” the admiral urged him.
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