“Run the gennys up, you’ll have antigrav. And you have thrusters…”
“Thanks.” Without main engine power, Jack didn’t want to leave too early. He didn’t know how much the Pathfinders knew, if anything at all. But he didn’t want them turning right around and coming back. He wanted them on the other side of the city at least… He ran his fingers over the controls, calling up the power systems for the antigravity and the thrusters, watching the clock on the console. He was going to give it ten more minutes.
The palms of his hands were actually starting to itch, he couldn’t physically wait any longer. “Lifting off Chief. Can you come up and monitor from the bridge?”
“Miss me already, huh...?” he joked. “OK, on my way.”
■ ■ ■
The Chief slid into the first mate’s seat, activating its control screens, pulling up the engineering tabs on two, and navigation on a third. “You got a course plotted, Kid?”
“No, what’s the closest Gate?”
“Kingman Seven-Nine.”
Gradually twisting the antigravity actuator, the Drake lifted slowly, it’s landing legs extending as the weight of the ship lessened - until they dangled loosely, the blue halo growing on the ground as the ship rose into the lightening sky, the stars disappearing one-by-one. Steele shook his head, “Nah, that’s going backwards…”
“Backwards?” Daryl ran his fingers through his short-cropped silver hair. “Alright then, there’s two others; Darpinger Run is the next closest.”
“That’s the one.” Steele toggled the landing gear, hydraulic pumps humming, drawing the legs into the hull, the feet fitting flush.
“Right, course set in.”
“Chief, I’ve got one leg, port side, not drawing all the way in…”
“Shut it down and try again when we’re gravity-free. She’s probably got a weak relay or manifold on that side. Just don’t push her speed in atmosphere or you’ll tear it off.”
“Got it.”
“Byas-Kuyol Tower to the Drake; Captain, you haven’t filed a flight plan... You have incoming traffic to the North at twenty-five miles…”
Ignoring the comm, Steele nudged the throttles for the thruster drives, turning toward the west to avoid the incoming traffic.
“Byas-Kuyol Tower to the Drake…”
“You just going to ignore them, Junior?”
Jack shook his head and adjusted the sweep of the radar, watching the HUD. “That was my plan…” The ship leaned as it swept west in an arc. “And I thought we agreed you were going to call me Jaxon,” he added, irritation creeping into his tone.
“You going to get touchy about that?”
“I might,” Steele replied, pulling up the ship’s weapons screen, scanning for information and specs. “Depends on how annoying you get. Old man.”
Command Master Chief, Daryl Jolly, smirked crookedly. He liked the fact that this kid would push back. He hated a pushover. He’d been around the galaxy a few times - enough times to be a pretty good judge of a man. There was more to this pilot than met the eye, though he couldn’t put his finger on it yet. He was confident he’d figure it out; no one who was untrained could keep secrets indefinitely. The fact that the arrival of the Pathfinder’s patrol jumper seemed to accelerate Jaxon’s departure plans, was interesting to say the least. He was fairly certain it had something to do with the missing crew of the Drake, and its new owner.
The planet’s clouds had fallen away beneath them and the glow of daybreak had given way to darkness again, the curvature of the planet becoming more pronounced, then dropping below their view, the stars returning to visibility once more. The pale blue rim of the atmosphere fell beneath them.
“Altitude approaching sixty miles. Fuel core and engine temps synched and stable - ready for runup. You might want to retry that landing gear before you light-up though.”
“Copy.” Steele toggled the landing gear, the pumps humming, the gear drawing in tight, the last indicator on the screen flashing locked. “Good deal,” muttered Jack. “Igniting main engines…”
■ ■ ■
“Gate to Darpinger Run in twenty-four hours…” yawned Jack, pushing back from the pilot’s station. “Autopilot locked.”
The Chief, still sitting comfortably in the First Mate’s station, waved nonchalantly, “She’s not the fastest ship around…”
Steele stood, shaking his head, “No. No she’s not.”
The Chief rubbed his chin, “You ahh, never mentioned how you got her…”
Steele remained stone-faced, “You’re right, I didn’t.”
“Not trying to pry, mind you, just curious…”
Steele pursed his lips, pausing, scrutinizing the Chief, “Let’s just say, someone owed me a debt.”
“Must have been some debt…” Daryl knew he was pushing a bit, but the piercing look he received, produced a wave of cold that washed over him like a spring rain. Jaxon threw in a wicked little smirk, which made the Chief wonder if he had read the pilot wrong and pushed a little too far. He started calculating the distance between them and wondered how fast Jaxon was with the slug-thrower he wore in a drop-down holster on his right thigh.
“Now you’re prying…”
As a diffuser, Daryl broke eye contact, “You know what? I just realized I haven’t eaten in hours, I’m starving. How about you?”
“I could eat…”
“And I can cook,” offered Daryl. “I’m going to check the galley and see if there’s anything edible for us to eat.”
■ ■ ■
The Drake’s galley was small even in comparison to some homes, barely seating ten people. “It smells good…” volunteered Jack, sliding into a booth.
“It’s not my best work,” responded Daryl, “but I am working with limited supplies here.”
“How limited?”
The Chief slid two plates of food onto the table before sitting down across from the pilot, “A week, maybe two. We’re going to need to stop for supplies somewhere.”
Jack skewed his mouth crookedly, “Hmm, hadn’t thought about that… I suppose we should have gotten…”
Daryl waved an empty fork in Steele’s direction, “Forget it. Byas-Kuyol wasn’t exactly grocery-rich.”
Jack raised an eyebrow, “Didn’t you say you were there almost a month?”
“Yeah…” Daryl indicated his body with a wave of his hand, “I was three hundred-fifty pounds when we got there,” he joked.
Between bites, Steele threw him a wry smile, “So what’s the deal with Byas-Kuyol, then? Why does anyone go there?”
“While I admit, it is, in most aspects and accommodations, little more than a shit-stain on the galaxy’s underwear, it is not without its attractions…”
“Do tell. I must be missing something,” interrupted Jack, “I didn’t see one redeeming…”
“Precious metals. Precious stones. A complete void as far as any kind of law or justice is concerned. In the time I was grounded there, that was the first Pathfinder visit I’ve seen.” He nodded towards Jack, “Something that seemed to bother you some…” Daryl wasn’t sure if the pilot’s refusal to react was telling, or troubling. He studied his food, cautious about eye contact, “While we waited for parts, several of the crew took off to treasure hunt, returning a few days later - with limited success. But it sparked a treasure hunting fever… haven’t seen or heard from them for over two weeks.”
“You weren’t interested?”
The Chief shook his head, “Not in the least. The jungle, any jungle, is no place for amateurs - especially in the grips of a fever that drives men crazy. And that jungle,” he thumbed over his shoulder, “has all manner of things that will kill a man.”
“Think any of them are still alive?” Jack sipped his water.
“No telling. And I’m smart enough not to go wandering around out there looking for them. My best guess? They either struck it rich and killed each other in greed fever, or the jungle claimed them.”
&nbs
p; “Greed and avarice have ruined many a good man…”
“So, what about you?”
Steele raised an inquisitive eyebrow, “What about me, what?”
“How did you end up on Byas-Kuyol? No ship, no crew?” Daryl looked back to his food. “You a bounty hunter or something?” When he glanced back up, the pilot was grinning. “What?”
“You’re not going to let it go,” observed Steele, pointing a fork at the man across the table. “I get it, you want to see who you’re flying with - and I guess I understand that. And I don’t get the sense that it’s out of malice or deception…”
“It’s not…”
“I can see that, you’re not exactly subtle.”
“Subtle has never been one of my strong suits,” acknowledged the Chief.
“You might want to work on that,” chided Steele. He was trying to decide how much was enough and how much was too much. He slid his plate aside, set his fork down and folded his hands on the table, leaning on his elbows. “I came in on a ship owned by a friend of mine, for a medical test at the clinic…”
“The one on the other side of the city?”
“Yeah. Well, something happened during my test…”
His own plate aside, Daryl gave a questioning head tilt. “You’re a Synth?”
Steele recoiled, “What? No! These clowns,” he tapped on the table, “executed a drug raid, killing everyone in the clinic…”
The Chief nodded at the pilot, “Except you.”
Steele opened his shirt, revealing the scar across his chest, “Not for lack of trying.”
The Chief recoiled, “By the Gods. How did you…”
“Where they failed… I did not.”
“You killed them,” Daryl said matter of factly. “All?”
“All.”
They were both silent for a few moments, before the Chief indicated the scar under Steele’s tunic, “But you’re healed…” it was more a question than a statement.
Jack shook his head, “I can’t explain that. Yet. I think it had something to do with that goo in the scanner’s chamber. Why did you ask if I was a Synth?”
“That’s what that clinic does…”
Steele’s eyes went wide, “What?”
“It’s not widely known of course, I mean, Synth’s aren’t exactly legal. But then again, there’s not much law out here.” He motioned towards Steele’s covered scar again, “I’ve heard Synths can heal fast - but that doesn’t make sense, if you were a Synth, why would they want to kill you? Unless…”
“Unless what?” interrupted Jack.
“Unless you’re the original Synth and they were making another copy. Destroy the original?”
“No, no, no,” muttered Jack, shaking his head, “I was going in there for a test to prove I wasn’t a Synth. When I woke up, everybody was dead…” He ran his hands through his hair, “And the readout, when I got out of the pod, it showed I was human…”
Daryl rubbed his chin, “I don’t know, kid. These guys were mercenaries… maybe they were looking for drugs. Maybe they were a hit squad. Does it matter at this point?” He waved at the pilot, “So what happened to your friend and his ship?”
“I don’t know. They left without me…”
“That doesn’t make sense either. Before or after the hit?”
Head bowed, frustrated, Steele had his face in his hands, “I don’t know…”
“They weren’t among the dead, were they?”
Steele raised his head, “No, I checked.”
“Yeah, see, that’s troubling.” Daryl rubbed the stubble on his face in contemplation, “That would seem to indicate they had gotten what they came for. I mean, why leave without you, if they came with you? Unless of course, they didn’t need you anymore. The mercenaries might have been the cleanup crew… Who are you important to? Can you think of any reason why these people would want a copy of you?”
“No…” Steele wasn’t answering that question. At least not out loud. And he rejected the idea that Michel, a friend he knew for over twenty years, would have anything to do with a scheme like that. But it sure seemed like somebody had planned it. But who? They would’ve had to have known about his background… To his knowledge, Michel was the only one he had shared that information with. Could someone have monitored his call to Alité...? Was she in danger now?
“Maybe he is a Synth.”
Steele snapped out of his internal conversation. “What? Who’s a Synth?”
“Your friend. With the ship,” added Daryl.
Steele shook his head, “Nooo,” he waved.
“You don’t sound too sure… What about his crew? Somebody had to know about this place,” Daryl thumbed over his shoulder. “Byas-Kuyol isn’t exactly a tourist destination…”
CHAPTER NINE
PERSEUS, THE GRINDER SYSTEM : LONG DUSTY TRAIL
Fresh cup of coffee in hand, Reegan slid into his command chair after some much-needed sleep. He eyed the satiny lining of the transition tunnel as it slid smoothly past the Perseus. “Navigation, report. Where are we?”
“Five minutes from the gate into The Grinder, Skipper.”
“Hmm,” he nodded, scanning his holo-screens, “let’s hope the name is not indicative of what we’re going to find in this system…”
“It would be nice if it was as quiet as the last two…” commented Ragnaar, strolling onto the bridge, passing Reegan’s command chair. “There’s some interesting notations on Captain Nagol’s charts for this system. Wish we could figure out what the hellion it meant.” He dropped into his seat at the helm, “Are we deploying the fighters?”
“I notified them to be ready to launch before I left my quarters,” confirmed Reegan. “If it looks clear, we’ll withhold and GOD jump to the next gate instead.” He blew the steam off his coffee, “If you had to venture a guess, Lieutenant, what do you think Captain Nagol was trying to say?”
“None of us have ever seen markings like that, Commander. Perhaps they are personal information that do not pertain to the navigable system itself.”
“Let’s hope so,” nodded Reegan appreciatively. “Tactical, are gun crews on station?”
“Aye, Skipper. Guns are manned and charged.”
“Probe?”
“Hasn’t passed through the gate yet, Sir.”
■ ■ ■
“Anything from that probe yet?”
“It has passed into Grinder, Skipper, but we’re not receiving a signal…”
Reegan’s mental red alert was sounding off, “Is she damaged?”
The tactical officer shook his head, “I don’t believe so… It does show that it’s on-line and functioning, it’s just not sending back any information.”
“Launch another one…”
“That’s the only one we had left, Skipper. Machine shop is working on replacements, but none are complete yet.”
Neon, electric tendrils reached out from the gate’s corona towards the Perseus, dancing across the bow of the ship. “Thirty seconds to The Grinder,” announced Ragnaar.
“As soon as we’re through, recall the probe,” commanded Reegan. He keyed his comm, “Fighters, stand by to launch…”
The seconds ticked down as they neared the gate, the dancing tendrils of electricity turning into a solid wash of swirling neon colors. The effect only lasted a few seconds as the ship passed through the center, spilling out into the system, the electric plasma sliding off the hull like a retreating wave.
“Shields up.”
“Shields up, aye. Recalling probe.”
Reegan squinted, trying to see through clouds of drifting green micro dust, “What the hellion are we looking at?” It reacted as the ship passed through it, luminescent, leaving a glowing wake in its path. “Oh, I don’t like this… Not one bit.” He tapped his comm, “Fighters stand down, I repeat, stand down…” He pointed to the big screen, “We can’t have them flying around in this… this… whatever the hellion it is.”
As the swirling cl
ouds drifted and collided, the luminescent dust glowed weakly before going dark again, the effect something akin to in-cloud lightning.
“Sensors are severely limited, Skipper,” announced the tactical officer.
“What in the world?” exclaimed a voice from the back of the bridge.
Reegan turned to look over his shoulder, “Ah, Commander Brighton.” He turned back to the big screen. “Astrometrics, do you have any answers for me?”
“High levels of Boron, Sir. Boron is produced entirely by cosmic ray spallation and supernova…”
“But why is it glowing green?” asked Derrik Brighton, moving forward to stand between Reegan and the first officer.
“Boron glows green when it burns…” replied the astrometrics officer.
“But there’s no oxygen out there…” said Derrik, moving close to the screen, folding his arms across his chest. He regarded the sea of undulating green with curiosity, a revelation striking him, “It’s not bloody burning - it’s reacting.”
Reegan’s brow knitted, “What are you talking about?”
I’ve seen this before. On Earth, in her oceans. It’s from a bioluminescent algae bloom in the water. The single cell dinoflagellates in the algae illuminate blue when agitated. I remember when they found plankton growing on the exterior of the International Space Station, so I know it’s possible for something to live out here…”
“And if the organisms were high in Boron that might explain the green color.”
Reegan nodded at astrometrics, “It might. But I’m not as concerned about the color as I am about the quantity…”
“It might also explain the strange notations in Captain Nagol’s charts,” concluded Ragnaar.
Without acknowledgement, Reegan keyed his comm, “Gunners, sharp eyes. Scan your quadrants,” the comm chirped as it ended. “Helm, push on. Best speed our sensor sweep will allow.”
“Aye. Best speed to the Mirbellus gate.” Ragnaar plotted the course, his fingers dancing across his navigation holo-screen, as he made adjustments to point the Perseus on course. “Present best speed gives us the gate in ninety hours.” He nodded towards the green clouds on the big screen, “If this… condition, doesn’t cover the whole system, we can improve on that…”
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