Ep.#5 - Balance (The Frontiers Saga - Part 2: Rogue Castes)

by Ryk Brown

  They also didn’t tell them what Nathan considered the most important thing of all: that Nathan was a clone. He and Jessica had discussed that topic for the entire flight from Vancouver to Winnipeg. In the end, they had somberly agreed that the truth might complicate matters, which was a risk they could not take. Under any other circumstances, Nathan would certainly have told them. He knew that it would not change how his family felt about him. But there was far more at stake than his relationship with them, and he did not have the right to risk it all to satisfy his own conscience. When it was all over, assuming they survived, there would be plenty of time for truths.

  Due to headwinds, and numerous stops en route, the trip had taken them nearly sixteen hours to complete. Surprisingly, the journey had been more enjoyable than expected…at least to Nathan. He had forgotten the joy of true, aerodynamic flight. The balancing of a small aircraft against the forces of nature was a difficult skill that had long since become obsolete in the face of the brute force of modern propulsion systems. Lift was no longer a function of airspeed and airfoils. These days, it was lift-fans and thrusters, and even they would soon be replaced by the new anti-gravity lift engines being developed based on designs from the Data Ark. Nathan doubted he would ever have a chance to fly the old aerobat again.

  Jessica had not enjoyed the journey at all and had spent most of her waking hours complaining. Luckily, she had chosen to sleep most of way, which had given Nathan plenty of time with his own thoughts; something he’d not had the pleasure of since regaining his memories a mere ten days ago. He had not realized how much he needed the time to figure it all out within his own mind. He carried the memories and experiences of two men within him. Two separate identities that had to be reconciled.

  Connor Tuplo lacked the dramatic life experiences and diplomatic environment in which Nathan Scott had been raised. He had been a clean slate; an identity that he did not know was false, and had been sent off to live a life that was a lie. Part of him still resented that, although he both understood and agreed with the reasons his friends had made that decision for him.

  More than anything else, the time in the air had given him a chance to truly experience his own senses in a way that the demands upon him had not allowed. He saw things differently than before. He felt and heard things differently. He even felt as if he processed information differently. The question was: was it a change for the better?

  Now, nearly twenty exhausting hours after he had bid his father and sister farewell, Nathan found himself standing on a moonlit, secluded stretch of beach, watching the waves roll in. But it wasn’t the waves that interested him; it was what was supposed to be under them.

  “Are you sure this is the spot?” Nathan asked.

  “Yup,” Jessica replied confidently. “We used to call this ‘make-out beach’ when I was young.”

  “Good spot for it.”

  “Here goes nothing,” Jessica announced. She held up the remote control device in her right hand, pointed it toward the ocean, and pressed the query button firmly, holding it down for a full second. She brought it back close to her, both of them looking down at the device, waiting for a response. Fifteen seconds later, a light on the remote blinked three times, paused, and then blinked three more times.

  “Yes!” Jessica exclaimed triumphantly.

  “Chalk up another win for Ranni Enterprises,” Nathan joked.

  “Tug would be so proud,” Jessica added.

  “Let’s go find a hotel and get some sleep,” Nathan said. “We’ll start looking for Abby first thing in the morning.”

  * * *

  “Jump plot to first rally point received,” General Telles reported. “Loading plot into jump navigation computer.”

  “We call it the ‘jump nav com’,” Robert corrected over the general’s comm-set.

  “The word ‘com’ usually refers to communications,” the general argued.

  “True, but in this case, ‘com’ is short for ‘computer’.”

  “As long as it is used in conjunction with ‘jump’ and ‘nav’ preceding it, it shouldn’t cause confusion.”

  “Of course.”

  A red failure light began to flash on the jump nav com screen. “The jump nav com did not accept the plot,” Telles reported as he attempted to load the plot a second time.

  “Try reloading the plot,” Robert suggested.

  “I have already done so,” Telles replied. “It failed a second time; I am now running a file repair utility. There may have been some signal degradation during transmission.”

  “Ask the sending ship to retransmit the plot,” Robert instructed.

  “That ship has already jumped away,” Telles reported. “As have the others.”

  “They are supposed to wait until you have confirmed a good plot load,” Robert said.

  “I am aware of that requirement,” Telles replied. “Perhaps they had a… I have a new sensor contact. A Jung frigate; ten kilometers. They are locking missiles on me.” General Telles quickly dialed up an escape jump and pressed execute. “Initiating emergency escape jump.”

  “If you jump, you won’t be able to use the plot they sent you.”

  “I am aware of that, as well.” General Telles dialed up another escape jump, with a different jump distance than before, then throttled up his engines and initiated a turn to starboard.

  “What are you doing, General?” Robert asked.

  “I am taking evasive measures, in case the frigate attempts to track my escape.”

  “The further you get off your original jump track, the greater the chance that you will not be able to rejoin the group,” Robert warned.

  “Must you continue to state the obvious, Captain?”

  “Sorry, sir. May I ask if you have a plan?”

  “I am Ghatazhak. I always have a plan,” the general assured him as he punched commands into the ship’s auxiliary computer to his left.

  “Care to share it with me?” Robert wondered.

  “As I execute a series of turns and escape jumps to shake any pursuers, I am parsing the damaged file in an attempt to recover the destination coordinates. If I am unable to do so, I will simply begin executing jumps along a direct line to the Pentaurus sector. Once there, I will execute Mister Sheehan’s evasion algorithm, and work my way back to the Aurora on my own.”

  “Just like that? Navigate your way across the galaxy?”

  “The jump navigation computer in this gunship is quite capable of making the calculations.”

  “And if the jump nav com fails?”

  “There are backups,” the general replied. “Two of them, if memory serves.”

  “And if they fail?”

  “Then I will perform a series of manual escape jumps, keeping the proper constellations in my forward window, adjusting along the way for distance and stellar drift. With any luck, I will eventually find my way home.”

  “If you live long enough.”

  “The gunships should be loaded with enough food and water to support a crew of six for at least a month, which means a crew of two should be able to last at least three times that length. A crew of two Ghatazhak, six times that length.”

  “Unless you get swallowed up by an uncharted black hole, or something,” Robert mused.

  “In which case, I will never know it.”

  “General, I’m pretty sure you’ve got this under control,” Robert admitted. “Maybe you don’t need the sim time?”

  “Nonsense. Practice can only improve one’s performance.”

  “True, but we only have two units, and others may need the practice more than you do.”

  General Telles stopped what he was doing. “That is a very good point, Captain. Please end the simulation.”

  “As you wish.”

 
General Telles placed his hands in his lap, as the images around him faded away to black and the muffled sounds of the activity around him returned. A moment later, the VR helmet was removed from his head, allowing him to see the room around him again. “A very useful device. I appreciate your attempts to make the simulation more challenging, Captain.”

  “My pleasure,” Robert replied, setting the VR helmet on the table next to him. “Apparently, I didn’t try hard enough.”

  “I look forward to the version that can simulate more complex motions in order to simulate physical combat.”

  Robert and Vladimir exchanged glances.

  “That will be interesting to watch,” Vladimir commented.

  “Telles, Anwar,” the master sergeant called over the general’s comm-set.

  “Go for Telles.”

  “We just received a transmission from the Morsiko-Tavi. She has entered the 72 Herculis system, and is requesting instructions.”

  “Tell them there has been no change, and to continue to the staging point outside of the Tau Ceti system,” the general instructed.

  “Yes, sir,” Master Sergeant Anwar replied.

  “What if the Seiiki doesn’t make it back in time?” Robert wondered.

  “Precisely why we must train as many potential pilots as possible,” the general replied calmly. “With or without the crew of the Seiiki, the mission will be executed as planned.”

  * * *

  “God, I miss this stuff,” Jessica exclaimed as she sat in the driver’s seat, sipping her coffee.

  “This isn’t even good coffee,” Nathan said.

  “When you haven’t had any coffee in seven years, all coffee is good coffee.” Jessica reached into the bag and pulled out a donut, taking a big bite. “And donuts…don’t even get me started.”

  “You keep eating those donuts and you’re going to ruin that rock-hard body the Ghatazhak helped you build,” Nathan teased.

  “No way,” Jessica insisted. “I’m an ectomorph, with just a touch of meso. I can eat like a pig and not gain a pound.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. My friends all hated me. My mom used to say that I could eat more than all my brothers combined.”

  “High metabolism, huh?”

  “Yup,” she said, reaching for another donut. “The Ghatazhak training just made it worse. The more I exercise, the more I eat.”

  Nathan looked to his right as a sedan with military plates drove by. “Military plates,” he pointed out, keeping his eyes on the vehicle as it pulled into the driveway of Abby’s house. “They’ve got to be picking her up.”

  Jessica watched as she sipped her coffee. In the distance, she noticed Abby come out of the house and head for the car that had just pulled up in her driveway.

  “That’s her,” Nathan said. “I guess we have the right place.”

  “Score one for Miri.” Jessica quickly finished her donut and placed her coffee in the cup holder.

  “Are we going to follow her, or what?” Nathan asked. “You want me to drive, so you can eat?”

  “I’m on it,” Jessica insisted, starting up the car. She waited for the car to back out of the driveway and depart, and then pulled out to follow them.

  “What’s the plan here?” Nathan wondered.

  “We follow her, and hope she makes a stop on the way to work.”

  “And if she doesn’t?”

  “Then we wait until she gets off work, and follow her again.”

  “And if she still doesn’t stop somewhere?”

  “Then we wait until dark, and find a way to make contact with her without showing up on any of the Alliance surveillance systems.”

  “You’re sure they’ve got them?”

  “Positive,” she said as she turned the corner to follow the vehicle carrying Abby.

  “Don’t get too close,” Nathan warned. “You don’t want them to know they’re being followed.”

  Jessica looked at him. “Who here has spec ops training?” When he didn’t answer, she queried him again. “Who?”

  “You do.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, I got the car.”

  “Your sister got us the car, Nathan.”

  * * *

  Gil Roselle walked down the corridors of his battleship, the Benakh. The ship had been his command, his home, for over seven years. Together, he and Marty had taken the captured Jung battleship and turned her into the most powerful ship in the Alliance fleet, at least until the launch of the Alliance’s newest protector class ship, the Cape Town, a month earlier.

  The Jar-Benakh. In Jung, it meant ‘the battleship Benakh’, hence, the prefix had been dropped. He had tried for years to get her name changed, but Galiardi wouldn’t allow it. To Admiral Galiardi, the Benakh was a five-kilometer-long reminder of just how dangerous the Jung were. His plan was to eventually use the captured warship as a training vessel. She would be stripped of all weapons, and her jump drives would be replaced with her original linear faster-than-light systems. She would also be fitted with override systems that would prevent her Jung crew from stealing the ship back and using her to return home.

  As much as Gil hated to admit it, the admiral’s plan was a good one. Assuming that the Jung who crewed the Benakh did their jobs as agreed, it would provide invaluable combat experience for Alliance warship crews. There were still more than thirty Jung battleships in the Jung fleet, possibly more. Galiardi’s plan would ensure that Alliance crews would be ready for them.

  That was one of the main reasons Gil was retiring. He could wait another five years, when the conversion was scheduled to take place, but that meant his executive officer, and best friend, would never get a command of his own. Galiardi wanted to be rid of Martin just as much as he wanted rid of Gil, and Robert Nash, the last of the old guard. At least if Gil retired now, Marty would get command of the Benakh, and a promotion, which meant a more comfortable retirement when the Benakh was taken out of frontline service. Unfortunately, it was not going to work out that way.

  “You going somewhere, Gil?” Martin called from behind as he jogged a few steps to catch up with his friend.

  “Just heading down to spend a few days with Shari,” Gil replied without breaking stride.

  “Technically, we’re still on alert, you know.”

  “The rest of the fleet is on alert. The only way the Benakh moves is if all the other ships are destroyed, or we’re attacked. Besides, it didn’t stop me the last three times I went down.”

  “Sooner or later, Galiardi’s going to have your ass for it, Gil.”

  “Galiardi can kiss my ass,” Gil snickered.

  “I thought Shari was on assignment on Sorenson?”

  Gil glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “I’m going to meet her there, and fly her home when she’s done.”

  “Right,” Martin replied. “With four sets of class-alpha Marine armor and four pulse rifles? You and Shari planning on robbing a bank?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Martin,” Gil insisted, a deadpan look on his face.

  “And the timed charges you set on our sensor arrays?”

  Gil glanced at him as they walked.

  “I’m the XO. Nothing happens on this ship without me knowing about it.”

  “Bullshit. You’ve been watching me, Marty.”

  “You tipped your hand on purpose, Gil. Who’s bullshitting who, here?”

  Gil said nothing, just kept on walking.

  “You’re setting me up, Gil. Whatever you’re about to do, you need the Benakh’s sensors down to pull it off. And guess who’s going to take the blame when that happens?”

  “Then I guess you don’t have any choice, do you?” Gil said, a small smile creeping ont
o his face, knowing he’d just outsmarted his friend.

  “I could still arrest you, you know.”

  Gil finally stopped walking. “But you won’t. And you know why? Because you hate what’s happening to this Alliance as much as I do…as much as Nash does.”

  Martin glared at Gil, unsure how to feel.

  “Come with me, Marty,” Gil urged, grabbing his friend by the shoulders. “Fight for someone worth fighting for.”

  “Who?”

  “I can’t tell you that,” Gil replied. “All I can tell you is that when you find out, you’ll understand why I’m going.”

  Martin shook his head, confused. Gil had warned him that he was thinking of leaving, but not like this. “What about Shari?”

  “That was never going to last,” Gil confessed. “Christ, she’s thirty years younger than me. She’s going to want kids someday. What’s she going to do, change diapers on her kids and her husband at the same time?” Gil looked at him. “Last chance, Marty.”

  Martin stared at his friend for nearly a minute. “What do I need to bring?”

  Gil smiled. “Just a fearless attitude, my friend.”

  * * *

  Nathan and Jessica had spent the entire day sitting in their vehicle, parked in a shopping mall where they had a good view of the only road in and out of the base. All day long, they had taken turns watching vehicles depart, checking each of them using a small, telescopic viewing device, to determine if Abby was a passenger. It was a long shot, as they were not always able to see well enough to be sure, but it was better than trying to slip into her home at night without being detected by Alliance surveillance systems.

  Luck had been with them. Finally, as the sun was setting, they had spotted her leaving the base, and had followed her. Much to their surprise, and their good fortune, Abby did not appear to be going straight home.