Ragnarok-ARC

by Patrick A. Vanner

  "Unknown," Green shouted back, bent over his panel and trying to coax information from it.

  "What can you tell me?" she asked after watching him work with his damaged console for a few moments.

  "I'm reading a power emission, so it's a ship of some sort. It also looks to be on an intercept course with us. I would have to estimate course and speed match in approximately twenty minutes. Assuming that's what they are going for." His hands continuing to massage his board and nodding at what he saw, Ensign Green looked up at his captain. "I can't get a mass reading or an IFF signal, though from its heading I would say it's one of ours. But beyond that, I just can't tell. Sorry, ma'am, it's the best I can do with what's left of my sensors."

  "That's alright, Ensign. Good work." Turning back toward Heron, she began issuing orders. "Heron, seeing as how you have the only working channel right now, I need you to get someone to both air locks. Tell whoever greets our visitors to lead them to sick bay on the double. Also pass on that I will await the damage control officer here in command." She couldn't think of anything else at the moment.

  "Roger that, ma'am. I'll pull two of Captain Mathews' marines from the damage-control teams and have them meet the relief ship, and I'll also have my crews put a move on clearing a path for them."

  "Good. Get on that right away."

  "Yes, ma'am." Reaching up, Heron touched her earpiece then began to pass on the captain's orders.

  Alex leaned back in her chair, stroking her chin. Hopefully the relief ship would be able to handle all the casualties.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Courier 254

  October 8, 2197

  1202 z

  Sol

  Lieutenant Web, captain of Courier 254, was keeping a close eye on his instruments. His sensors indicated that the ship they were closing with was showing obvious signs of battle damage. Keeping that in mind, along with their spectacular entrance to the Sol system, he was not going to take any chances of missing something because of residual jump interference. Normally that would not be an issue this long after translation, but with the amount of energy that had been released on the Fenris' arrival, he knew that lingering interference was a possibility. That being the case, he had no desire to fly into a piece of debris that might be speeding along in front of his target. Or, worst-case scenario, anything that might have followed the Fenris through her jump with less than friendly intentions.

  "Time to intercept USS Fenris?" he asked very formally. That's how you did it when you had an admiral not only riding on your boat, but sitting directly behind you. The ensign sitting in the co-pilot's chair and monitoring their course, along with performing a dozen other tasks involved with maintaining the smooth running of the ship, turned to his captain.

  "Sir, time to intercept USS Fenris, maintaining current course and speed, is ten minutes," Ensign Coburn said, pausing for a moment. "Mark."

  "Very good, Ensign. Keep me updated if anything changes."

  "Aye, aye, sir." With that, Ensign Coburn returned his entire focus to his instruments. Calling over his shoulder, Lieutenant Web began to update his passenger.

  "Admiral, time to intercept—" he managed to get out before being interrupted.

  "I heard him, Captain," came a waspish and sarcastic reply from behind him.

  "Ah, yes, sir. Sorry, sir." Actually, Lieutenant Web did not feel sorry at all. In fact, he was becoming more and more pissed off at his passenger. Admiral or no, this was his boat, and there was such a thing as common military courtesy. But Admiral Sean Rachere had apparently missed that class at OCS. Only the fact that Lieutenant Web had not missed that particular class kept him from snapping and telling the admiral something he was sure he had not heard before. Well, that and keeping an eye on his forward sensors. No matter how much of an asshole the admiral was, Web would take him over a catastrophic hull breach any day.

  Several minutes passed, the only sounds breaking the silence coming from the instrument panels. Quite suddenly that silence was broken, causing Lieutenant Web and Admiral Rachere to jump.

  "Holy shit!" Ensign Coburn shouted in a totally unprofessional manner, pointing at an object looming in the distance but growing steadily. Lieutenant Web, opening his mouth to reprimand the ensign, lifted his head to see what he was pointing at. The reprimand died on his lips.

  "Jesus Christ," he whispered to himself, understanding now what had caused his copilot's outburst.

  "Yes," hissed a voice from between them. Out of the corner of his eye, Web could see Admiral Rachere leaning forward, a smile on his face and a glint in his eyes. Feeling his skin crawl, the lieutenant suppressed a shudder at the admiral's obvious glee at seeing the object they were rapidly closing on.

  "Ensign, find me a functional air lock and let's get docked," Web snapped, his nerves, already stressed from this trip, frazzled at the sight outside the armor-plast viewport.

  "Yes, sir." The ensign's reply came back quiet and small.

  Sparing one more glance before turning back to his sensors and preparing for maneuvering, Lieutenant Web let his eyes settle on the scorched, mangled, and horribly disfigured object that was the Fenris.

  * * *

  Admiral Rachere fought against the smile that continued to tug at his lips. Schooling his face once again, he reached out and opened a channel to the passenger compartment.

  "Marines," he began without preamble. "Gear up and get ready. We will be docking with the Fenris momentarily, and I want you all ready to go when we arrive. I don't want to waste any time."

  "Yes, sir," said a voice through the small speaker by his head. "Sir, if I may ask, what exactly is it that we will be doing when we arrive?"

  "Don't concern yourself with that, Sergeant." Rachere, feeling his annoyance rise at having to deal with insignificant questions, embraced it, used it, let it color his expression, hiding his true excitement. "Just be ready to follow my orders to the letter. Instantly. Are we clear on that, Sergeant?"

  "Yes, sir. We'll be ready." If the sergeant had more to say, the admiral did not hear it, having cut the channel as soon as he got his acknowledgment.

  "All hands, prepare for docking maneuvers," he heard that arrogant little pissant of a pilot say. Well, he was going to ruin one officer today; it would not take much more effort to ruin a second one while he was at it. The admiral was still debating whether or not to expend the energy on getting the pilot reassigned to a dead-end position when he felt the ship rock slightly.

  "Excuse me, sir," the pilot said as he stepped by him on his way back to the passenger compartment, where the ship's air lock was located. Standing and following the lieutenant, Admiral Rachere watched as he performed the necessary checks to ensure that they were firmly attached to the Fenris. This would normally be the flight engineer's job, but he had grounded the engineer on Folkvang station to commandeer his seat. "Hard seal. We've got green lights across the board. Confirm."

  "Confirm, reading all green and a hard seal up here, sir," came Ensign Coburn's voice from the small speaker in the panel that Lieutenant Web had just spoken into.

  "Roger that. I'm cracking the hatch now." Admiral Rachere watched impatiently as the lieutenant opened the air lock hatch. Hearing Fenris' outer air lock cycle open, he began to step forward, but a wave of smoke and the stench of burnt metal forced him back, coughing. He waved off the lieutenant coming over to assist him and stood straight. His nostrils acclimated to the smoke quickly, and he felt his confidence and conviction return full force as he stepped forward. Hearing the pilot and marines following him, he stepped from the air lock onto the Fenris.

  A young marine stood there, looking battered and dazed in his filthy hazard suit. The admiral waited for his entourage to join him in the small bay before turning his gaze to the still-stunned marine.

  "Well?" Contempt dripped from his voice; he planned to savor every possible moment of joy aboard the Fenris.

  "Well what?" the marine responded, obviously lost.

  He vaguely wondere
d what they were teaching them nowadays. He pushed that thought aside and turned his full attention onto the unsuspecting marine.

  "I believe that's 'Well what, sir?' "

  "Uh, yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Well what, sir?"

  Suppressing a laugh at this poor marine's apparent confusion and discomfort, he decided to explain the situation.

  "Well, where is my greeting? My 'Welcome aboard, Admiral'?" Blinking owlishly for a moment, the marine was obviously trying to figure something out.

  "Yes, sir," he said at last. "Good afternoon, Admiral. Welcome aboard." Rachere could hear the tone in the marine's voice. The hope that, with the pleasantries taken care of, things would proceed in a way he expected them to. They wouldn't.

  Rachere stood patiently, waiting for the marine to break the silence between them. He could hear the lieutenant and MPs behind him shifting nervously and sensed their discomfort.

  "Excuse me, sir?" The marine finally broke the silence. Rachere just continued to gaze at him. "Sir, where are the medical teams? I'm to escort them to sick bay immediately. And I have a message for the damage control officer. Is he with you, sir?"

  "I'll tell you what, marine," he finally said after watching the marine shift from foot to foot uncomfortably. "How about a few less questions and a lot more shut the hell up? Hmm?" It took all of his control not to laugh at the slack-jawed expression on the marine's face. This game was over. "Sergeant!"

  "Sir." Came the immediate response.

  "Restrain this man and leave him here with the lieutenant, then follow me." Pivoting around, he glared at the befuddled officer in question. "Lieutenant, you will stay here with the ship and keep an eye on our young guest, is that clear?" Mouth working soundlessly for a moment, Web finally found his voice.

  "Yes, sir. May I ask why, sir?"

  "You may not," Rachere bit back at a stunned Web. Yes, he decided, he could spend the energy on taking care of this lieutenant. He waited until he saw that his MPs had shackled the shocked marine. "Ready, Sergeant?"

  "Yes, sir, we're ready." His voice was unsure, but he kept any comments he might have to himself.

  "Good. Then let's go," he said and started marching down the passageway, MPs trotting to catch up. After a few minutes, he reached a working lift shaft and loaded himself and his MPs on board. He punched the destination in. Trying to keep the smile off his face as he watched the location display, he could feel his heart rate speeding up as excitement coursed through him the closer they came to the command deck. Feeling the lift beginning to decelerate, he tugged his uniform into place and tried to get his breathing under control. This was what he had been waiting for, and it was his at last.

  The lift doors parted, and he stepped out onto the command deck, his MPs following him. He could see the destruction around him, and the stares of the men and women present, and he ignored them all, focusing on one single person. Let them wonder why an admiral was on board, and how he had gotten there, he thought. They would know soon enough. His gaze never leaving the face of his target, he stepped down and crossed the command deck, vaguely noting that she looked much different than her file photo, injuries or no. He cast that thought aside as irrelevant and, stopping less than a meter from his prey, spoke, clearly and loudly, his exuberant voice filling the entire compartment.

  "Captain Alexandra McLaughlin, it is my distinct pleasure to place you under arrest."

  * * *

  "Arrest?" Alex croaked. Sitting there, stunned by what she had just heard, she couldn't think of anything else to say. An admiral she did not know had just marched onto her command deck, coming right up to her and telling her she was under arrest. And all she could do was sit there and stare, her mind refusing to work. She felt lost, as if waiting for something, but she could not put her finger on it. After a moment, it occurred to her; she was waiting to hear Greg say something smart. Smart and totally inappropriate, of course. The admiral forgotten for the moment, she felt a pang of grief for her friend. Forcing her mind back to the current situation, she furiously dug through her memories to try and determine why this was happening. She came up with nothing. "Can this day get any worse?"

  She did not realize she had said it out loud until she heard a snigger from Heron. Snapping out of her mental file rummaging, her head whipped up to see her friend smiling and the unknown admiral slowly turning a dangerous shade of red. Best to find out what was going on and how to fix it before her guest had an aneurysm.

  "Arrest?" she repeated, her voice firmer now. "What are the charges?"

  "The charges, Captain McLaughlin, are cowardice in the face of the enemy, desertion in a time of war, and treason." Admiral Rachere was smiling malevolently as he finished. "Now, get up from that chair. You are coming with me." His voice, condescending now, set her on edge. Holding a tight leash on her temper, she managed to grind out a response.

  "Admiral, I don't know who you are or why you came aboard my ship, but you wasted a ride on a relief ship." She could feel her grip on her temper slipping, and she did not care. "This is my ship, and regulations state that you have no standing here, nor are you in a position to give me orders on it. I see no charge sheet, nor have I seen any kind of proof of your authority to carry out any arrest order. In short, Admiral, you will stand aside and let me get on with seeing to the immediate needs of my ship and crew. You are welcome to try to bring me up on charges some other time, but frankly, right now, I don't have time for you." She turned to Commander Denton, preparing to assign her to coordinating the damage-control teams from the relief ship, but one look at her panels showed that the only people to board her ship were the admiral and his MPs. She turned to the admiral, who was now an alarming shade of purple, and questioned him. "Where are the teams from the relief ship?" Ignoring her question, the admiral continued their argument.

  "McLaughlin, I think you will find that I have all the authority I need to carry out any kind of arrest I wish." He drew himself up to his full, unimpressive height, and said, "I am Admiral Sean Rachere, commanding officer of Folkvang station. And as such, I am hereby relieving you of command and taking you into custody." His color was returning to normal as he spoke, full of his own importance. Alex could see that his complexion was the pale, pasty white of someone who spent too much time aboard ship. She decided he could do with a bit more color. Smiling, she opened her mouth to say something that would definitely change his color to something more interesting. As well as give his heart a bit of a workout. She never got the chance, as he raised his voice to talk over her.

  "Before you bring up the chain of command, let me point out to you that you have an independent command, and, as such, when you arrived in-system without your commanding officer, you were automatically placed under my command." His self-satisfied smirk began to annoy Alex, and, balancing on the edge of outright insubordination and violence, she managed to keep her temper . . . barely.

  "I'm still acting under orders from Admiral Stevens and must first complete our misson," Alex ground out through gritted teeth.

  "And those are?"

  "I need to report the destruction of the fleet at Groomsbridge 34, and . . . " Alex hesitated on the last. While she knew she could trust her command crew implicitly, there were too many other people on deck. If Stevens was right about a traitor, it'd be best to keep the knowledge of that information from leaking.

  "And?" The officious prick dangled it in the air like irresistible bait.

  "And . . . some highly sensitive information. Fine—I'll come with you, and we can straighten this out later," she said, capitulating for the sake of her crew. "Just get those medical and damage-control teams off the relief ship and get them working." Rising from her command chair, she turned toward Heron, preparing to turn command over to her as the next senior officer aboard.

  "I didn't come on a relief ship, Captain," a snide voice said behind her.

  "What?" Alex turned to face the admiral, not liking where this was heading.

  "I said I didn't arrive on a relief
ship. I came via a courier boat."

  "Fine. I don't really give a damn how the hell you got here—get that relief ship docked and those crews moving." She could feel her temper rising, and holding it in check was becoming a serious effort.

  "But there is no relief ship, Captain." The admiral's voice, dripping with malevolence, brought all conversation on the command deck to a halt.

  "Say that again?" she whispered, seeing nothing but the smirk on the admiral's face and hearing her heart pounding in her chest. Only one phrase stood between sanity and her complete downward spiral into a killing rage.

  "There is no relief ship, Captain McLaughlin. We don't treat with traitors. Or their crews."

  That was the phrase.

  "You Rat Fuck SON OF A BITCH!" Alex screamed at the top of her lungs, launching herself at the admiral, left hand extended and reaching for his throat as the right groped at the holster on her hip. Admiral Rachere stumbled back from the unexpected fury that had just erupted in front of him and was attempting to reach him, worry and uncertainty etched on his face for the first time since he had received word that the Fenris was in-system.