Wanderer - Echoes of the Past

by Simon Goodson

  Chapter Four

  Sal lay on her bed, thoughts yet again going back to her time with Markus, back to their last few hours together… not that they’d known it at the time. Even now, years later, her memories of it were crystal clear…

  *****

  Sal sat on the cold stone floor, leaning back against Markus’s chest and enjoying the warmth from his body and his arms. Most of the other prisoners were asleep, huddled together for warmth or curled up under any scraps of material they could find. The air was damp and cold.

  Dim light illuminated the cell, but it showed nothing that Sal hadn’t seen almost every day since she was born. Thick, solid bars. A floor that was stone in this case but was as often cold metal. No windows. Nothing to make their lives comfortable. Enough people packed into the cell to make it crowded, though on such cold nights that became something of a blessing.

  “I love you Sal,” Markus whispered in her ear. “I want to stay with your forever.”

  Tears started to fall down Sal’s face, and she grabbed Markus’s arms to her.

  “I love you too,” she replied, turning her head as far as she could. “But I’m scared. You know there’s no way we’ll be able to stay together for long. Even if we get lucky and aren’t split up during the next two or three times they shuffle everyone up it's only a matter of time before they do another male-female split. And once we’re split up we’ll never see each other again.”

  “Don’t say that.” He held her tightly, nearly crushing the air from her. She didn’t mind. “Never say that. We’ll find a way. I swear to you that if we get split up then no matter how long it takes I will track you down again. I love you too much for them to ever split us up for good.”

  Tears poured down her face. Desperately wanting to believe what Markus said Sal turned round so she could kiss him. Her heart ached at the thought of the separation she knew deep down would come. She tried to ignore it, to focus on the moment — on holding Markus as close as she could.

  They’d only been together a few short weeks, but those weeks had been the happiest Sal had ever known. Truth be told, they were the only truly happy times she had known. Every moment of pleasure had been tainted though, had carried the shadow of the inevitable time when they would be separated forever.

  What they couldn’t possibly have imagined was quite how soon it would be. Sal dropped off to sleep for what felt like only a few minutes, then was woken by blazing lights and a blaring hooter. Guards flooded into the cell, separating prisoners into two groups. Sal tried desperately to hang on to Markus, but several guards pulled them apart. Sal was forced further into the cell, while Markus was dragged out kicking and screaming. When Sal tried to force her way out after him she was beaten to the floor by two guards.

  In the end the guards only took eight of the prisoners, out of nearly ninety in the cell, but that made no difference to Sal. Markus was gone, torn from her life, and with him went her broken heart.

  *****

  Sal jerked awake, blinking in confusion for several seconds before she realised she was in her cabin on the Wanderer. She must have fallen asleep while thinking about Markus, then thoughts had transformed into dreams. She could still feel the warmth of his body against her back, his arms wrapped around her, his soft voice in her ear.

  For a moment the sensation was so strong that she wondered if she had somehow brought him back from her dreams, but when she turned over there was only an empty bed. Markus was gone. Despite his promise she knew he would never be able to find her. In fact he was almost certainly dead. When the guards pulled so few prisoners out, and were so picky, there was a particularly unpleasant, and dangerous, task to be tackled. Occasionally, very occasionally, one prisoner would survive such tasks and would then spread the word on returning to their fellow prisoners. Normally all died.

  Sal closed her eyes again and settled down to sleep. Despite the pain that accompanied them she wished for another dream of Markus. In some ways those dreams seemed to be her only true chance at happiness.

  Chapter Five

  “Captain, the last batch of prisoners are on the freighter you chose, the Reliable,” Foster said. “We have control of the remaining freighters.”

  “Good. Hackett, did you find anything unusual?”

  “No Captain. I would have told you if I did!” Hackett replied resentfully.

  “I know. Sorry. I’m just jumpy. I don’t like losing ships at the best of times, and losing one like that… never mind. Have we found anything unusual with the cargo or engines of the other freighters?”

  “No sir. Nothing. I’ve been analysing our recordings of the explosion though, and I think I know what they did. Even at the end, when the engines were fluctuating badly, the containment fields were still running. But they were being used to prevent the engines blowing while increasing the instability, not to prevent the explosion.”

  “I’ve never heard of that. Would it explain the size of the explosion?”

  “Yes sir. I’ve never heard of it either, but I can’t think of any other explanation for the readings. You couldn’t program it either. Someone had to be doing it manually… right to the end.”

  “Damn. Someone was bloody determined to ensure we took no prisoners from that ship. Can we spot if someone tries the same trick in the future?”

  “Already programmed in Captain,” Hackett replied with a smile.

  “Good. Foster, any reason we can’t get out of here?”

  “No sir. Are we taking the prisoners back with us or selling them on the way?”

  “How many did we get in the end?”

  “A little short of four hundred.”

  “Far more than we can absorb then. Set a course for Mufrid Prime. The farms there always need more labour.”

  “Sir, the Gakarst mines are closer and will pay a lot more.” Foster said.

  “No!” There was steel in Dash’s voice, and anger too. “Most of them would be dead within six months. I won’t have that on my conscience. They’ll have to work hard on the farms, but they’ll get fresh air and have at least a reasonable life expectancy. Set course for Mufrid.”

  “Aye sir,” Foster replied hastily, turning away.

  “Foster.”

  Dash’s voice was quiet now. Foster turned back to him.

  “We may not be angels Foster, but we can choose not to be devils. We’ll make a handsome profit from this raid. We don’t need to top it up with blood money.

  “Aye sir,”

  Foster turned away again. Dash could tell he wasn’t convinced, but he would obey the order. Dash sat back in his seat, pondering yet again the difference between most of those he now led and the few who had started out with him. He couldn’t blame them. Everyone who ended up a pirate had a tale of hardship to tell. Many were once slaves themselves, or faced slavery when circumstances turned bad, but that led to contempt for other slaves rather than empathy.

  It was understandable. Empathy would lead to caring, and caring led to despair. The Empire was awash with slaves, trying to change that was impossible. Dash had seen many strong men and women destroyed by seeing the horrors of slavery and having no way to stop it.

  He’d come close himself in his early days of piracy, before accepting there was nothing he could do. Well, not quite. Dash had focused on the small things. Sparing a few people when he could, being choosy about where he sold people. When possible he took slaves back to base where the work was still hard, but reasonable food and even basic medical care would be provided.

  It was an unusual way for a pirate to behave. Some had mistaken it for softness, in the early days. They had soon changed their mind, or died at Dash’s hands. His crew were fiercely loyal and disciplined, traits that were passed on to those who joined as time passed.

  As the ships started to move off the pain of losing Dozer was like a stabbing pain in Dash’s chest. He felt the loss of every one of the original crew, but Dozer had been his closest friend. Heart aching, his thoughts went back to the f
ateful day that had changed everything.

  Chapter Six

  20 years before…

  Seated behind the pilot and copilot, Dash braced himself as the assault ship dropped out of jump space. The scanner lit up with hundreds of enemy contacts. Some started moving immediately, closing in on Dash’s lone assault ship. The fighters alone would make mincemeat of his ship, and many larger ships backed them up.

  “Come on… come on…” Dash muttered. “Where are you?”

  The seconds stretched on and the pirate fighters raced towards them. Then, finally, the display started to flare blue as more and more imperial ships dropped out of jump.

  “Sorry sir,” the pilot said. “We must have jumped too early. The cavalry’s here now.”

  “Thank the stars!” Dash replied. “It’s still going to be tough though.”

  “Yes sir. We’ll get you through though, don’t you worry.”

  “These pirate scum are no match for our fleet! We will sweep them aside!” declared the man sitting to Dash’s right.

  Dash forced a neutral expression onto his face. Political officer Tassalt was a necessary evil, but one that Dash would gladly do without. Dash was convinced that Tassalt was also a complete idiot. He’d been with Dash’s team for nearly two months, had been there through a dozen major encounters, yet still believed every force they faced was vastly inferior.

  Yes, the pirates couldn’t match the discipline of the imperial navy. But they were tough and resourceful and often mounted weapons, armour and shields that made them more than a match for imperial ships of the same size. They were tough enough opponents normally, but now they were defending their home base. Like cornered rats they would be at their most dangerous when fighting was their only option.

  “Hang on, it’s about to get rough!” shouted the pilot, as the first wave of pirate fighters closed in.

  “Dozer, did you hear that?” Dash called over his suit’s radio.

  “Aye sir. We’re all buckled in and sealed up back here. Just tell those fly boys to get us there safely, then we’ll do the rest.”

  “Will do.”

  Dash smiled to himself. Dozer had ensured everyone was ready to go. Dash had expected no less. Dozer had been his number two for three years, and they’d been close friends for much longer. He’d met Dozer the day they both enlisted and something had clicked. Assigned to the same squad they had climbed the ranks together. Dozer always refusing any promotion that would have taken him out of Dash’s shadow. He always insisted that Dash was the better tactician, while he was far better at slapping the men into line. Dash had to admit Dozer was right on both counts.

  Now Dash headed up a team of thirty, plus Dozer. His team had proven so successful that he was allowed to pick and choose who joined when team members died or left. It truly was his and Dozer’s team now, packed with well disciplined, loyal and above all good men and women.

  And that, of course, was part of the reason for Tassalt being with them. The Empire didn’t fully trust its own men, especially not those who built such a tight-knit team. The political officer was there to observe, and report on, their every move. Many teams had one assigned, but Dash had noticed over time that he had been assigned those with more and more hard-line views.

  “Whoa!” shouted the pilot.

  The ship bucked as weapons fire hammered the shields. Dash’s stomach lurched as the pilot started to throw the assault ship around. Heavily armed and shielded for their size, assault ships carried relatively few weapons. They were designed with a single purpose in mind — getting troops to the target in one piece. In theory they weren’t particularly manoeuvrable either, but Dash knew the pilots and engineers often made unofficial adjustments.

  Judging by how much the ship was pitching around they’d really gone to town on this one. Dash certainly wasn’t going to report them — those adjustments gave him and his men a much better chance of survival. Tassalt seemed completely unaware that the ship was performing well beyond its specs, or possibly self-preservation was keeping his mouth shut.

  The battering eased as a wave of imperial fighters streaked past, pouring fire into the pirate fighters. A series of vicious dogfights broke out, giving the assault ship a few seconds breathing space.

  It didn’t last long. Soon they were within range of the larger pirate vessels. Once again the pilot threw the assault ship through turns and weaves that should have been far beyond it. Dash tried to relax, letting the tight webbing hold him in place and focusing on the display. He saw another assault boat pull ahead of them, its pilot sacrificing manoeuvrability for speed. Dash winced at the move. It was straight from the tactical manual, and deserved to stay there. The pilot must be a rookie. Noting its call-sign, Dash opened a channel.

  “Assault Fourteen, start evasive manoeuvres immediately!”

  “Negative,” came the reply. “We are following standard fast burn insertion.”

  “I know what you’re doing,” Dash replied angrily. “And you’re going to get yourselves and everyone on board killed! Now start dodging before the big ships get a lock on you!”

  “This is Commandant Jasel,” a new voice cut in. Commandant was the official rank for a political officer. “The pilot is following my orders. Clear this link immediately.”

  The connection dropped out.

  “No you idiot!” Dash hissed between clenched teeth. “You’re all going to…”

  He trailed off into silence as the inevitable happened. One of the large pirate ships opened fire with its heavy weaponry. Weapons designed to tackle corvettes and frigates cut through the assault boats shields as if they weren’t there. Assault Fourteen became an expanding cloud of plasma.

  “Damn it!” Dash spat, angry at the senseless loss of so many lives.

  “Sergeant Dash,” Tassalt said sharply. “Kindly refrain from distracting the pilots of other ships from their tasks. My report will show that your unwelcome interference contributed to the loss of Assault Fourteen.”

  “How could it?” Dash asked angrily. He knew he should swallow his anger, but the loss of the troops on board Assault Fourteen bit deep. “They were on a straight burn insertion. Nothing I did made any difference. If they’d listened to me they might still be alive.”

  “Nevertheless. You tried to interfere with a Commandants orders. That is not acceptable.”

  “Fine. Tell me then Commandant Tassalt, would you like to order our pilot to follow the same insertion pattern?”

  Tassalt paused for a moment before replying.

  “No. I believe our pilot has the approach under control. However if you interfere with another commandant’s orders again I will be forced to write it up as a serious breach.”

  “Yes Sir,” Dash bit out.

  Technically the Commandant didn’t outrank Dash, and in a combat situation Dash’s troopers would follow their Sergeant’s orders, but it was a fine balancing act. Ignoring a commandant’s suggestions too often was a sure way to kill a career, and probably end up on charges.

  Dash forced his attention back to the display. The rest of the assault ships were all dodging through space, none were trying to repeat Assault Fourteen’s suicidal charge. Even so several had been damaged or destroyed. As he watched Assault Twenty-Seven’s thrusters were knocked offline, leaving it flying a straight line course. Before the crew could recover the assault ship disappeared in a blaze of heavy fire.

  Something struck Dash’s ship with a deafening crash, smashing it sideways. For a few moments he struggled to breath against the pressure, fighting to stay conscious. The pressure eased but he could see red lights across the pilot’s board and wisps of smoke rose from somewhere nearby.

  “Engines good, thrusters good… thank god…” the copilot said. “Aft shield generators damaged but holding at fifty-four percent. Life support is out, good job we’re all buttoned up already. Several fires in the main cabin. Dumping our air.”

  Amber warnings flashed for several seconds, then the air was rapidly dumped fr
om the cabin. Everything went eerily quiet for Dash. Where before there had been all the sounds of a ship in flight and under heavy load, now all he could hear was the sound of his breathing.

  “Dozer, is everyone OK back there?” Dash asked over the radio.

  “Pretty shaken up but no one is hurt. Everyone is on internal air, no leaks. Glad they popped the air when they did… it was getting damn smoky back here. How’s the ship?”

  “Battered, but holding together. Hang on back there.”

  “Will do.”

  The pilot was still throwing the ship through constant flips and turns. Dash focused on the display once more, breathing a sigh of relief at what he saw. The larger imperial ships had reached engagement range and were slugging it out with their equivalents in the pirate fleet. The heavy pirate ships still sent the occasional heavy fusillade towards the assault ships but they were half-hearted efforts. A few Pirate fighters broke free of dogfights to harry the assault boats but not enough to pose a serious threat.

  “Nearly at the base sir,” the pilot called out over the radio. “We won’t be able to stay docked I’m afraid, it’s still too hot out here.”

  “Just so long as you remember to come back for us,” Dash replied. “How long till we dock?”

  “Sixty seconds… give or take,” the pilot answered, swinging the ship through a ninety degree turn then sending it tumbling in a roll. “I’ll give you ten seconds of smooth flight before we make contact.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  Dash changed channels.

  “Dozer, fifty seconds to contact. Ten seconds clear at the end. Get everyone ready.”

  “Aye sir!”

  “Commandant Tassalt, are you ready?”

  “Of course, Sergeant. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “Thirty seconds…” called the pilot.

  Dash retrieved his rifle from where it had been secured, clutching it close, and readied himself to move.