Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  “Well, I do sell or trade some...” grinned the doctor.

  Alité pulled a bottle out of the rack, wiped the dust off and looked at the label then put it back. “I remember the wine cellar in the basement of the house... I don't remember all this...” her hand gestured across the room in a sweep.

  “Times have changed, my dear, the way we live has changed.” He pointed towards the far end of the room. “Actually that is the house cellar over that way. When we added the barn, I decided to add a tunnel to the barn for inclement weather so the boys could check on the animals... It all kind of grew on its own after that,” he smiled. “We keep all types of supplies down here, off in other rooms.”

  “Speaking of changing times, just what happened here?” asked Jack. “We heard rumors of civil unrest, of a revolution. Then the planet disappeared off the UFW communications grid. When we came in, the space station that was supposed to be up there,” he pointed upwards, “is down here, crushed against the bottom of the ocean...”

  Boney sighed heavily. “Hand me that bottle you were looking at, Princess,” he pointed. “If we're going to talk about this, we're going to need a little lubricant...”

  ■ ■ ■

  “Tower to Lieutenant Zorvano...”

  Walking through the terminal, the Marine Lieutenant paused and looked out through the golden tinted glass at the tower, the two Marines with him, walking on. “Zorvano, go ahead,” he replied.

  “Sir, that storm cell is headed this way... doesn't look like it's letting up.”

  “Copy,” replied the Lieutenant. “Have the ground crews get those birds in a hangar somewhere... And get our boys off the roofs. Have a couple of them come into the tower so they can continue to observe as best as they can. I don't want anyone outside when that crap gets here.” He started walking to catch up to the other two Marines heading for the food court. “Oh, and update the task force, let them know we may be out of touch for a while.”

  The Corporal acknowledged and started relaying the orders to the Marine units spread across the facility. He would be able to reach everyone but Foxtrot, who had drawn the task of continuing to explore the depths of the facility's subterranean levels.

  Ensign Santine was reclining in full flight gear on one of the terminal's loungers making a detailed study of the inside of his eyelids when someone smacked his boot, first tentatively, then more forcefully. “Hey, flyboy. Wake up...”

  Santine lifted his head and blinked, “Huh?”

  “Go get your birds inside, we got weather closing in.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  VELORIA : PANDORA'S BOX

  It was a red, spiced wine, sweet and heavy and absolutely wonderful. Jack swirled the crimson liquid in the wine glass and watched it cling to the sides. His helmet, assault pack and carbine lay beside him on the kitchen floor of the farm house. “So the King started all of this..?”

  The rain whipped against the windows, the lightning flickering, creating shadows across the table and walls. Boney refilled their glasses. “Yes... And no. There was a very complex chain of events occurring at the same time. I think it was a matter of task overload. The constant stress of combating the pirates was a huge drain on our economy, and since we're not a hugely industrial people, it was getting more and more difficult to get some of the things we needed...”

  “I was kind of curious about that,” said Jack sipping at his wine. “We didn't see any type of factories anywhere...”

  “There are some,” replied Boney. “They're in the cities, mixed in with all the other buildings. But many things we simply buy, transport, or trade for. Veloria is a fairly new civilization on this globe. Our people were transplants from another planet many systems away. Our ancestors came here about six hundred years ago to develop a food source for the home world, where they were running out of real estate. We were a space-faring, industrial civilization, but here, we were starting all over again. Our largest products were, and still are, in the agriculture and mineral markets.”

  “OK, so how'd we get from that to this..?”

  “Hold your britches... It took some time, and so does the story.” He sipped his wine before continuing. “Originally there was a Governor for each of the three territories on the planet with an Over-Magistrate for Veloria as a whole. The Governors were not replaced as attrition took its toll and the Magistrate became a King - by his own proclamation. The family has maintained its position since, through lineage.”

  “Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely...” nodded Jack.

  “I've never heard it put that way,” said Boney, thoughtfully, “but it's very true.”

  “Are you saying daddy was corrupt, Boney?” It was the first thing Alité said since they'd started the conversation.

  “No Princess,” replied the doctor, “it was your great, great, great grandfather, Magistrate Toberus, who proclaimed himself to be our first King...”

  “So that's why it's called the House of Magistrate...” she interrupted, nodding. “I never understood that.”

  “Yes. Your father was a good man, but in an increasingly impossible position.” He turned back toward Jack. “The pirates have been around for centuries and it was getting more and more difficult to get supplies to and from the home world. We had to give up, the ship and material losses were too great. Our ships were too old, too slow and too ill-equipped. We started hiring freelance Captains to do our shipping, incurring some heavy transportation costs. To compensate for the rise in operations costs, import taxes rose and that hit the people really hard. What the King wasn't prepared for, was that it also hit the business world, because they were suddenly hit with retaliatory tariffs on their own goods being delivered elsewhere. The UFW stepped in about a hundred and fifty years ago when we joined the federation and supplied us some ships on a lend-lease type of program. Our military was limited, our Stellar Navy small and we continued to have difficulties with the pirates, even with the UFW's protection. In an effort to bring money into the government coffers, King Leõn, Alité's father, sold some of the mineral rights on the third continent to an off-world mining consortium a few years ago. When he used that money to fund ships and additional military, the population was incensed.”

  The doctor paused to pour himself some more wine. “King Leõn thought it was an investment, the people didn't see it that way. Neither did the business sector. Especially when he revealed to them that to export their goods, they must forgo freelance transporters, and use government ships without any cost savings whatsoever. There was a considerable amount of unrest on both sides, which seemed to be instigated by some groups of people that weren't necessarily Velorians.”

  “Spies?”

  “I have no doubt...”

  Jack sipped his wine. “To what end? What were they trying to accomplish?”

  Boney shook his head. “Nobody knew. Overthrow the King maybe, destabilize the economy - which was already pretty shaky. He was becoming increasingly unpopular. There were several sizable clashes between the people and the Peacekeepers before the King banned unlicensed gatherings of more than ten people at a time.”

  Jack winced, “That was probably a bad idea...”

  “It was. Because the way the law was written, it affected all types of gatherings - like church services, town meetings, attending school... and the Peacekeepers were encouraged to be aggressive in the enforcement of the law...”

  Jack groaned, “Oh man, that's bad...”

  “The King was getting bad advice and bad intel from his advisers and there were thoughts that it might have been on purpose...”

  “More spies?”

  Boney sighed and nodded. “It appeared the goal was to undermine King Leõn's grasp on Veloria as a whole. They knew the economy was the tipping point for the control. Destabilize it and the population would likely do the rest. They didn't know that he would attempt to appease the people by artificially manipulating the economy, such as it was. He actually accelerated the collaps
e by intervening. When he attempted to force an increase in the income level for the working class, and more assistance for the poor, the business class resisted the burden. They were at a threshold of survival that was close to collapse as it was. The whole thing set them against each other. With the instigators working overtime... well... it was an all-out three-sided war.” He up-ended his glass and drained it, looking drained himself. The rain had reduced to a light drizzle and the lightning had moved on, but nightfall had arrived. He reached back and turned on a light, blowing out the candle on the table.

  “But this planet is supposed to have about two billion people,” said Jack, “where did everyone go? Were casualties that high?”

  “A hundred years ago we had a couple billion people. But a long war with the pirates, people moving to other worlds with better economies, space travel and attrition took care of that. Until the revolution, we probably had a billion... Now? I don't know, five hundred million maybe? The cities were the worst... that capital,” he pointed out the window, “held nearly fifteen million or so. Now, maybe a couple hundred thousand.”

  “My God...”

  “Uh huh.”

  “What about the military,” asked Jack, “the Peacekeepers...”

  “Wiped out in the first month or so. Rumors were, that as they saw the predictable end approaching, many of them simply slipped into the populace to disappear.”

  Jack grimaced. “How long did the revolution last?”

  Boney stared at his empty glass. “Not quite a year.”

  “So the Air and Space Port... all the vehicles we saw...”

  “Oh, people fled for their lives,” said Boney. “At least the smart ones did. The rest had to stay and fight, the shuttles never came back.”

  “But you stayed, Boney,” said Alité. “Why?”

  “I'm too old to start over again, Princess. And the boys decided, if we were staying, they were staying. I couldn't convince them any differently. Truthfully, I didn't want to.” He turned around and glanced at the timepiece on the wall. “Hmm, Willamena should be home from the neighbor's soon, she'll be so excited to see you.”

  Alité smiled, “I don't think I've seen her in ten years...”

  “At least,” nodded the doctor.

  “But how are you surviving now?” she continued. “To get the things you need?”

  “We're one of the lucky families,” replied Boney. “The farm supplies us all the food we need, and plenty to barter for other things we want...”

  “No problem with looters or anything?”

  “Very rare...” He paused to wrestle the cork out of a fresh bottle of wine, an almost clear white. Pouring it into clean glasses, he continued, “You'll like this one too, very light. Where was I? Oh yes... they don't seem to wander too far from the city. Not sure why. We're about four miles out here, with a pretty wide view and field of fire... We're pretty well armed and they know that too. To keep them happy, once or twice a week, we go down the road and set up a tent about a mile from the city, with fruit and vegetables, maybe some wine. They come out to meet us and trade, or pay.”

  “Pay? With what?”

  Boney shrugged, “Precious metals, or ITCs, Interstellar Trade Credits. We can still use the ITCs for some black market stuff like fuel. There's a truck that comes around about once a month with fuel - we use it for the farm equipment and generators.”

  Steele raised one eyebrow, “A fuel truck? Where's he getting the fuel?”

  “Don't know. The mining consortium, maybe. They come and buy food from us from time-to-time, too.”

  Jack looked up from his glass, “Wait, I thought you said they were on the third continent... how are they getting a truck way over here..?”

  “I've heard rumors that they may be mining somewhere on this continent as well...”

  “No one here to regulate them any more...” observed Jack, his eyes narrowing.

  “I guess not.”

  Steele's jaw set, “Hmm... I smell a rat...”

  ■ ■ ■

  “Y'know,” said Dayle Alaroot, “either these mission rations are getting better, or it's the wine...”

  “It's the wine.” Steele wrinkled his nose, “Believe me, it's the wine.”

  Leaning against whatever was at hand, the Marines sat on the floor of the barn and ate their dinner, washing it down with wine out of a full cask from the wine cellar, graciously provided by Boney. Thankfully, the rain had stopped, the doors were open and the fans were on, bringing the ionized, fresh rain scent into the barn.

  “You want my fruit cup?” asked Alité, quietly.

  Sitting almost shoulder to shoulder, they were leaning against two sides of the same pillar. Looking over, Jack raised one eyebrow, “Are we talking about food, or something else?”

  She held up her meal's fruit cup, “My fruit cup...” she said disdainfully, the corner of her mouth curling up.

  “Oh, because they're both pretty sweet,” he teased quietly, cracking a wry smile. She didn't speak, instead, continued to hold it in front of him, unblinking, trying not to smile. “Are you sure?” he asked more seriously. “It's like the only edible thing in this meal...” he took it from her hand and she pursed her lips to blow him a kiss.

  “So that explains most of the crap that happened on the surface, Skipper,” said Dayle, “but what happened on the station?”

  “Nobody down here knows,” said Steele, opening the fruit cup. “My best guess is sabotage. Whomever the instigators on the ground were with had agents on the station. It was the only connection Veloria had off-planet. When the station went down, they dropped off the UFW grid...”

  “No distress call? No nothing? That's pretty unbelievable...”

  Steele nodded, “Agreed. Unless it was orchestrated espionage, a coordinated attack of some kind.”

  “Cut communications first.”

  “Exactly,” replied Jack. “What I don't get is that there were no calls for assistance from Veloria during the revolution to try and save... well, whatever was left. Why didn't they put out a distress call as soon as the shit went down?”

  “That's not a revolution,” commented Dayle, “that's overthrowing a government. This was all planned in advance...”

  “If that's true, and I think it is, the timing was exceptionally well staged. Doctor Marconus was saying that communication from the surface and the station were severed almost immediately when things broke out, including local communications and power. About four to six weeks in, when the military and Peacekeepers were eliminated, is when things got really bad and people fled in mass. He said that's about the same time the station came down.”

  Dayle shook his head. “This goes beyond the planet, Skipper. This is way bigger. It has to be.”

  “Think someone in the UFW could be in on it...?”

  Dayle stared for a moment his mouth open, thinking. “I don't know... I don't think so. Why would you ask that?”

  Jack stuffed the wrapper from his meal into its bag, “I don't know, it just seems kinda sloppy that a planet on a main trade route falls off the communications grid and they wait months before deciding to investigate it?” He shook his head, “Just doesn't sound right in my book.”

  “Meh,” shrugged the Marine, “the higher-ups do stuff all the time that doesn't make sense to us little people... Fact is, you're the first gold-braid I've ever met that didn't have his head up his ass...”

  Steele cracked a smile, “I'll take that as a compliment...”

  “As intended.”

  “Don't forget,” added Jack, “you have to stop thinking like a grunt. You're an officer now; you have your own gold braid.”

  “Shit...”

  ■ ■ ■

  Mike, Brian and Derrik were in the Freedom's galley, drinking coffee over their e-Pads as they compared patrol notes, when Paul walked in and sat down at their table. One of the food porters behind the counter smiled when he caught her eye and brought him a cup of coffee, pot in hand to refresh the others who
had been there a while. “Can I get you gentlemen anything else?” she asked, after topping off all the cups.

  “I think we're good,” replied Paul. She nodded and walked away, leaving the senior flight officers to discuss their business. The Commander stirred sugar and cream into his coffee. “Anybody see Jack's report this morning?” He slid his e-Pad across the table so they could sync their own and share the information.

  “No wonder I didn't notice it,” said Brian, “It's not from his e-Pad...”

  “Yeah,” agreed Paul, “it's Warrant Officer Alaroot's pad. Farther down in the report you'll see Skipper's was hit by lightning...”

  “Hit by lightning?” said Mike, “how the hell... did he get hit by lightning?”

  “No. Evidently he left his pad in the truck they were using and it got zapped. They're having some seriously violent weather patterns...”

  “Understatement alert,” muttered Brian, reading the report while listening to the conversation.

  “Anyway,” continued Paul, “they've actually come in contact with some locals and it looks like much of the city might be impassable, or at least difficult to navigate. He's requesting an Invader for a ride to the other side of the city so they can check on the palace...”

  “Where are they now?” asked Mike.

  “Off the reservation,” answered Brian, still reading. “A farm about four miles east of the city.” He looked up, “Looks like Miss Alité knows the family pretty well.”

  “What time does he need the ride?”

  Paul glanced at his watch, “It's still dark at their coordinates, figure about two hours.”

  “I'll take it,” volunteered Brian. “I'll grab one of the newbies for the co-chair.”

  “Take Tusker,” said Derrik, “he needs some second seat time.” Brian sighed but did not speak. “What?” asked Derrik.

  “He's such a geek,” joked Brian.

  Derrik sipped his coffee, “And almost top of his class in electronics and countermeasures.”

  “When is that convoy due in?” asked Mike paging through reports on his e-Pad.