by Trevor Wyatt
We both hear a notification chime. It's Ashley tablet. Frankly, I'm grateful for the interruption. Our argument is just going to keep going in circles like a dog chasing its tail. She raises valid points about the tensions between our human crew and the delegate members. The war was not so long ago for anyone on board to have forgotten. Re-branding our alien enemies into friends is going to take time— and time is something we don't have.
I watch Ashley look at her tablet frowning.
"What is it?"
She hands me the tablet, "Notice anything out of the ordinary?" I take a long look at the data. It's the report we've been waiting for from the navigations officer regarding the immediate arrival and departure of ships before and after the explosion.
It's a thorough report and at first glance it's an overwhelming map of dots on a page; each one marked by velocity and distance. I begin to have a suspicion over which ship is the one when Ashley points at the screen.
And then I see it—one ship on a flight path seemed normal, until I realize that with its position, it left minutes after the explosion.
Its initial proximity to the blast seems odd too. The ship appears to be almost sitting, waiting for the explosion, and after the explosion it lingered there for about a minute before speeding away.
"Yes, I do," I reply to Ashley, "For one thing—why would a Tyreesian merchant ship just hover nearby when all of the delegates should’ve been departing?" Ashley nods at my thought.
"Exactly," she agrees.
"And another thing," I continue, "Is that the same ship suddenly takes off a minute after the explosion. A captain would normally react to that kind of circumstance by waiting around to find out what happened and possibly offer aid.
“And if it was concerned about its safety it would have initiated a defensive shield. None of those options were employed. It just took off like a bat out of hell and it looks like the flight path is heading straight for the Omarian system on the border of Terran and Tyreesian space.”
"Yes," says Ashley fervently, "The flight path of that one ship makes it our primary suspect." She arches her brows at me, "But if we head that way we need to tell the delegates onboard what we're doing. The situation on the ship could get worse if we suddenly go into FTL. I don't think they'll believe we're sightseeing."
"Think we can convince them we've decided to take a second honeymoon?" I can tell that Ashley wants to be angry, but underneath her annoyance I see she's trying to suppress a smile.
"Well, Admiral Montgomery,"she says, no longer able to hide her smile, "As captain of the Seeker don't you think you should have cleared that flight plan with me first?" I stand up, going to her. We kiss and embrace then looked at each other.
"But where's the surprise in that?" I ask jokingly.
"Ahh," she says. Then she gets serious. "If I don't buy that, then I think we'll have a hard time selling that idea to the crew or delegates. Particularly since the Omarian system is not exactly a place one goes for a good time."
"Bull," I say, "We can have a good time anywhere." Ashley sighs.
"Jeryl, what are we going to do?" She rests her head on my shoulder. I hold her tight. It can be a wonderful thing to work with my wife. To have her close and share in my work—for her to really understand what I go through daily.
And then there are moments I wish we weren't so close in rank, so I could shelter her away from this whole mess. I don't tell her this, I know she's too independent to ever want to be hidden away from ugly shit in the galaxy. It's one of the many reasons I love her; she's a strong, intelligent woman. And I know she's got my back, even when she disagrees with me. Like today. But I know how to make this call and I know it's a risky one.
"We need get after that ship as fast we can," I say, "What's the current FTL?"
Ashley steps away from me, holding her tablet up. "We're at FTL factor of 1, but if we push to FTL factor of 5, we might be able to overtake them. They’re likely traveling at slower speeds. In addition, they don't know they're being chased. Yet."
"Can you tell the navigations officer to plot a course at FTL 5?"
She stares at me for a moment and then relents, "Yes." She opens her comm.
"Crowder, set a course for Omarias sector. FTL factor of 5."
"Yes, captain." She clicks off the comm.
"I hope we're making the right decision, Jeryl."
"Me, too," I say, "But I don't think we have much of a choice. We need to get to the bottom of this mess and we need to do it fast. If we want to avoid war, we're going to need to fight for peace. The longer it takes for us to rectify this situation the more the delegates will lose faith in coming together to build a galactic council.
“We don't have time to wait for a better option. We have to act now. We need to figure out who the hells behind this and we need to stop them."
Ashley looks grim, but I know she sees the logic in what I'm saying. I don't like playing chase either. I'd actually rather be getting something done with the galactic council. But because that has been screwed up, I have no choice but to do what I can to fix the situation as soon as possible.
And if that means taking a ship full of disgruntled aliens and Terrans along for the ride, then so be it.
Ashley
The Seeker drops faster than light travels at the edge of the star system of the Omarias colony.
“Engaging STL drive,” announces the navigations officer and then taps a couple of buttons on his workstation.
There’s an almost indiscernible jerk as the ship heads in the direction of the brown planet ahead.
I’m sitting on my chair and looking at the view screen. There are a lot of ships orbiting the planet. There’s also a massive space dock for smaller shuttles. This is what you should expect from a tax haven colony.
“How long till we get within range of the planet’s gravitational field?” I ask the navigations officer.
The navigations officer does the math. “Ten minutes, Captain.”
“Captain, we are receiving communication from the Omarian Space Station,” says the navigations officer.
I look at Jeryl, who is standing by a workstation to my right.
“What do we tell them?” I ask him.
I know that word would have spread all across the galaxy of what transpired at New Washington. If this exercise is truly being sabotaged by some unseen forces, then can we trust the Omarian authorities?
“I’m not sure we can trust them,” Jeryl answers. “There are so many questions we have that I’m not sure we can trust anybody.”
“I agree with you,” I say.
“On screen.” I say to my communications officer.
A seasoned blonde-haired man appears on the screen. He’s wearing Armada Command uniform and from his insignia, I can tell he is a commander. Maybe the highest ranking officer on the colony.
When the man sees me, he snaps off a salute. Then I notice he’s standing in some sort of a control center. There are work stations about and a crew working.
“My name is Commander Phillips of the Omarias II Space Station,” he says.
“This is TUS The Seeker. I’m Captain Ashley Gavin and onboard this vessel is Vice Admiral Jeryl Montgomery of Armada Command.”
A worried look creeps onto the commander’s face. Do you have anything to hide? I think to myself.
“Are we in some sort of trouble?” he asks after I don’t say more.
I cock my right eyebrow. “Have you done anything wrong?”
The man frowns. “It’s just that I don’t have you on my schedule for arriving ships today, ma’am.”
“This is Terran Union Space and you are a Terran Union Colony. Any Armada vessel can come here as and when they like and choose.”
I am taking the hardline approach so he doesn’t begin to probe me for my reasons for coming. Better for him to be on the spot than me.
“Of course, ma’am,” the man breathes. “It’s just that The Seeker is a harbinger of war and destruction. It is
wise for a colony commander to ask questions when a ship like The Seeker appears in his long range scanners.”
I have never heard my ship being referred to as a harbinger of war and destruction. I don’t exactly like it, but it is fitting. I suspect my ship also strikes fear in the heart of other species. Though, I can’t take credit for this reputation. It has been all Jeryl.
I place my best smile on my face. “Be at peace, Commander. We are here on official Terran Armada business. Stand by. We will contact you if we need you.”
“Roger that, ma’am,” he says. “You are cleared for approach.”
I nod. “Captain Gavin out.”
I cut the feed from my arm console.
“Science officer, what can you tell me about this planet?” I ask. Then I add, “Just the juicy stuff.”
The science officer pulls up the information from his console.
“Omarias II is a colony that belongs to the Nova Corporation,” the science officer reads. “It was founded in 2172 and has grown to a current population of seventy five thousand people. It was declared an economic free trade zone shortly after its founding, which was the major drive for its quick development. Omarias II exempts inhabitants from a lot of laws within the Terran Union, both economic and otherwise.”
“So, I am effectively looking at the lawless outlands?” I ask.
“Correct, ma’am,” replies the science officer.
“Scan the planet for signs of our quarry,” I say to the science officer. “Be as discrete as possible. Low power. Short range. I don’t want to raise suspicions yet.”
“Your very presence here is suspicious, Ashley,” says Jeryl to my right.
“Yeah, well I don’t want to raise suspicions more than they already are,” I say. “I’ve not given anybody reasons to believe I’m after them.”
“Ma’am, I’m detecting the energy readings from the freighter that left New Washington,” says the science officer.
“Where?” I ask.
“At the far side of the planet,” replies the science officer. “It’s orbiting.”
“Gotcha,” I mutter to myself.
“Navigations. Bring us into orbit and place us directly beside the shuttle. Match its trajectory, please.”
“Aye, captain,” the navigations officer says.
Again, the ship sublight drive kicks the ship a little and we enter orbit. We gently maneuver our way past the many orbiting vessels until we come within range of the freighter.
“Matching trajectory,” announces the navigations officer.
“Tactical, what’s the status of our shields,” I say.
“Shields are offline, captain,” the tactical officer replies.
Before I say anything, the navigations officer says, “Trajectory aligned, Captain.”
To the tactical officer, I say, “Raise shields.”
“Hold on,” Jeryl says and the tactical officer hesitates.
I glance at him for an explanation.
“We’re trying not to raise suspicion aren’t we?” he says.
“I have civilians on board this ship,” I reiterate to my husband. “One rightly torpedo from that freighter and the entire quarters of the delegates will be destroyed.”
“Tactical, will you be able to get the shields up before we are fired upon from this range?” Jeryl asks the tactical officer.
“No, sir,” the tactical officer says. “However, our systems will detect their weapons system going online, during which time we can raise our shields and engage powerful evasive maneuvers that they won’t be able to compensate for. And it is against Terran Union laws for a vessel’s weapons system to be online five hundred kilometers away from its atmosphere.”
“Isn’t that law exempted in this colony?” I ask.
The tactical officer checks his workstation for that information.
“No, ma’am,” he says. “That’s why the freighter’s weapons system are offline.”
“Okay, belay my last order,” I say, conceding to my husband’s wisdom.
“Hail that freighter,” I order. “And put it on screen.”
“Hailing,” the communications officer. After setting up the frequency, he begins to broadcast.
“Unidentified Tyreesian freighter,” the communications officer says, “This is TUS The Seeker. Come in.”
A diminutive, male Tyreesian appears on the screen. He looks at me as if I had woken him from a slumber. Accusingly.
“I am Ashley Gavin, Captain of The Seeker,” I say. I feel Jeryl’s presence beside me.
“What can I do for you, Captain,” the Tyreesian says with a hiss.
“Were you in New Washington last week?” I ask.
The Tyreesian man gives me an equivalent of a shrug. I take that for a yes and proceed.
“What were you doing there?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, madam captain, I run a cargo business. What would I be doing in New Washington if not to deliver my goods?”
I mutter to my husband, “Are all Tyreesians this uptight?”
He chuckles. “You should see Leader Greer when he’s riled up.”
“Too bad, we’ll never get to see him.”
“Not if he’s dead,” Jeryl says. “What if he isn’t as Sanchez suggested?”
I look back up at the Tyreesian. “What else did you do at New Washington?”
“Nothing,” he replies, oblivious to my side conversation with Jeryl. “After delivering my goods, I left.”
“How big is your crew?” I ask.
“Fifteen.”
“Do you know Leader Greer?”
The Tyreesian becomes visibly agitated. As do I, when I realize I may be onto something.
“Yes?” That was more of a question than an answer.
“Have you been in contact with him, lately?”
“The last I heard, he died in an explosion.”
“Before the explosion?”
The Tyreesian’s agitation increased.
“Captain, I’m noticing increased levels of perspiration and heightened state of dread,” my science officer says to me. The Tyreesian doesn’t hear this.
“He’s hiding something,” Jeryl mutters to me.
“No,” the Tyreesian says.
I pause and look the Tyreesian in his slits (which apparently they can see through). The next time I speak, my words are measured and heavy.
“I will ask one more time, sir,” I say. “Did you have any contact with Leader Greer while you were on New Washington?”
“No,” the Tyreesian replies, a bit too fast.
“What business do you have in this star system?” I ask next.
“Why?”
“Just answer the question,” I say, feigning irritation. I know I have him on the run.
“Look, human, the last time I checked, I am under no obligation to answer such questions,” the Tyreesian sneers a reply. “And as my permit is still valid for another two years. I have the right to conduct business within Terran Union space.”
I open my mouth to reply, but the Tyreesian is speaking again.
“If there is a problem, let me know so I can get a proper legal counsel,” he says.
“That won’t be necessary,” I reply. “Have a good day and good luck.”
I cut the feed.
“He’s definitely hiding something,” Jeryl says to me.
“Yeah, and I’m going to find out what.” I walk over to the science officer’s station, which is situated to the forward right of the CNC, just before the view screen.
“Scan the freighter for signs of life,” I tell him.
I watch the science officer execute the scan. “Twenty five, ma’am.”
“The Tyreesians sent a ten-man delegate, including Greer himself, Jeryl says.
I march to the center of the CNC right before the view screen.
“Bring him back,” I order.
The Tyreesian appears on the view screen again.
“What now?” the Tyreesian bl
urts.
“Our scans reveals that there are twenty five Tyreesians on board your ship,” I say, trying a gamble. It actually says twenty five life forms, which may include pets and animals.
“You better start cooperating with me,” I proceed. “Otherwise I will send a boarding party and we will seize your ship.”
The Tyreesian begins to sweat profusely, tugging his flight suit as though it all of a sudden became tighter.
“You have no right to do so,” the Tyreesian replies.
“I am a captain of a Terran Armada Battle Cruiser,” I reply through my teeth. “I’ve killed at least a hundred million Sonali during our war. You think I care?” I snarl. All the frustration at everything comes up. “I have every right to board your ship, seize it, and question your crew.”
The Tyreesian begins to mutter nonsense to himself. His eyes begin to vacillate as his face progressively contorts into confusion.
Without warning, the ship is jarred by an explosion on aft. Warning sirens erupt and fills the CNC.
“What the fuck was that?” I yell, picking myself from the floor. “Shields up!”
“Shields up,” tactical confirms.
“What was that?” I ask again.
“Ma’am,” the tactical officer says, “a Tyreesian warship has just emerged from behind the Omarian sun, where it has been hiding, and fired at us. Minimal damange.”
Anger burns bright in my spirit. “Battle stations everyone!”
Jeryl
As soon as the ship is struck, my instinct is to take command. When Ashley looks at me with terror filled eyes, I realize this may very well be her first time in battle as a Captain, and going up against the Tyreesian is not something a green ship captain should be doing.
“I am taking command of this ship for the duration of this engagement,” I say, taking my place on Ashley’s seat.
I stretch my hands over the arm, feeling each buttons on the Captain’s console. Memories of the not-so-distant war comes to me.
“Take us to high alert,” I say as I look around my surroundings.