■ ■ ■
Derrik Brighton leaned back against the holo-chart table in the Captain’s ready-room, drumming his fingers on its edge, “Forty-eight hours and it looks the same as when we came through the gate. This is maddening, like driving through a bloody snowstorm… except it’s freaking green.” He tried to blink away the images, “I don’t know how the gunners are doing it… Bloody hell,” he motioned in Ragnaar’s direction, “I don’t know how you’re doing it.”
“Short station time and lots of breaks and rotation,” replied Reegan. “But you’re right, it’s giving me headaches.”
“I have noticed,” began Ragnaar, “a great many of the crew are on edge. Irritable.”
“May I make a suggestion?” prompted Derrik.
Reegan cocked an eyebrow, “What do you have in mind?”
“Full stop. Go dark for a couple of hours. Shut off the screens and give everyone a break…”
Reegan’s face registered astonishment, “We’d make a hellion of a target that way…”
“For who?” Derrik shook his head and waved it off, “No, look, we can’t see anything out there and anything out there can’t see us… If there is anything out there. We haven’t seen a damn thing since we left Zostinar…”
“There is no guarantee that we are undetectable,” countered Ragnaar.
“You said yourself,” continued Derrik, “that Captain Nagol’s holo-chart showed no planets or star in this system.” He pointed toward the bridge, “If that is what’s left after a supernova, there isn’t anything out there…”
“You are right,” interrupted Ragnaar, “the chart does show this system as empty, but there are personal notations on the chart we do not understand. Most of the glyphs throughout the chart are understandable but these are not. And the notations are in Gogol - the computer cannot translate and none of us read Gogol.”
Reegan sat on the corner of his desk, his arms folded across his chest, “I don’t know, I just don’t like the idea of sitting in a traffic lane… Even if we moved off the lanes…” He closed his eyes and bowed his head with a sigh, “they need a break, I get it, but this is not the place to…”
The ship’s comm chimed, “Commander to the bridge. Commander to the bridge…”
Reegan launched himself off the corner of his desk, Ragnaar and Derrik close behind him as they passed from his office onto the bridge.
“Report!” Reegan slid to a stop, dropping into his command chair, Ragnaar brushing past to get to the helm.
“Distress beacon, dead ahead, Skipper. The signal is weak, but it might be the conditions out there…”
Reegan could feel the hair bristle on the back of his neck. “What is it? How big is it?”
“No idea, Skipper. Sensors aren’t picking up the source, just the beacon.”
■ ■ ■
“The signal shows two life forms, Skipper. Are you sure you want to make the pickup?”
One escape pod. Two life forms. No debris. No ship. Sitting in the middle of the shipping lane in the middle of a system. Sure, nothing at all suspicious about that… happens all the time. Is what Reegan would try to convince himself of, if he happened to be a complete idiot. But he had no delusions that there wasn’t a 99.9% chance that this wasn’t a setup. Unfortunately, there were intergalactic travel laws regarding response and assistance to crafts in distress. And as a UFW military vessel, he had obligations – they were the good guys. He pinched his bottom lip in contemplation. “Yes... And let’s go to red alert…”
■ ■ ■
Not much bigger than the Mini-Cooper he left outside his flat in London, Derrik Brighton regarded the damaged emergency pod sitting in the ship’s cargo bay, a growing puddle of water forming around it. Hoping to question the two occupants of the lone pod, he was disappointed that the woman and her young son were both unconscious. The spy in him wanted answers to the curious puzzle. He watched as they were transported on a hover-gurney toward the ship’s infirmary under armed guard. “Make sure you completely disable this thing,” he indicated the pod, “we don’t want anybody tracking us with it.” The two deckhands who had opened it, nodded and immediately set to work, removing access panels on the unit.
His comm chirped in his ear, “Mr. Brighton, what’s our status?”
Derrik keyed his mic, “Mr. Reegan… a mother and young son. Both out like a light, probably some hypothermia - the pod was frozen shut, looked like it had been out there for a while. The lads had to really work to get it open…”
“Infirmary?”
“Yes, under guard. I’ll check in a tad later to see if we can gather anything. We need to let Doc do his thing. I hear that we’re back under way, have we detected anything?”
“Negative… Which almost bothers me. It felt… too easy…”
Derrik watched the deck hands tearing the electronic guts out of the pod. “We’re not out of the blasted system yet…”
“That’s what worries me. I’d like you back on the bridge.”
“Right. On my way.”
■ ■ ■
Derrik Brighton paused next to the command seat and passed Reegan a cup of coffee, “Got a minute?” he whispered.
“Where have you been?” hissed Reegan, accepting the mug and rising from his seat.
“I took a little… detour.”
“Reegan checked the time on his MOBIUS, “I guess so…”
“Don’t get your knickers wedged…” Derrik turned and headed for the Captain’s ready room, “Still nothing out there?”
“No. And I know I should be relieved, but I’m not.”
“And you shouldn’t… I think I’ve got this figured out.”
“Really…” Reegan’s tone had a touch of derision.
If Derrik noticed, he gave no sign of it. “Too many questions running about in my head, I had to stop by the infirmary to ask Doc a few questions…”
“And?”
The GIS agent leaned back against the chart table and folded his arms. “It turns out, our two little… um, rescue babies, are nothing more than living batteries…”
“What are you talking about?”
Derrik tossed a wired device about the size of a modern cellphone on Reegan’s desk, “They’re both braindead - or at least there’s no brainwave activity. Doc says they are heavily drugged. Basically comatose. There was a device like this installed on both of them, tapped into the spine between the shoulder blades… It uses the body’s natural electronic field for power. As long as the body remains alive, the unit has power.”
Reegan picked it up to examine it, “What is it?”
“A tracking beacon. Whomever is out there was never going to hit us in the traffic lane, they can’t see well enough to predict where we’ll be to make an intercept. That only leaves two places to hit a target…”
“The gates.”
“Exactly. They’re going to be waiting for us.”
“Then what’s the point of the pod?”
Derrik shrugged, “Bait. We’re not pinging a signal, they don’t know who we are - I’m guessing most ships who pass through these systems don’t broadcast. They needed us to pick up the beacons so they could hear us and target the signal...”
■ ■ ■
The senior bridge staff had taken to congregating and napping in the Captain’s ready room during their down time, assuring them the quickest response to bridge calls that might arise in an environment where the ship was navigating nearly blind. The comm chirped, “Approaching the Mirbellus gate. All hands to battle stations – all hands to battle stations…”
With a slap on his knee, Ragnaar rose from the sofa in the captain’s ready room, “Here we go…”
Derrik rubbed his eyes, “Why does it seem the second-half of this system took less time than the first-half? Not that I’m bloody complaining mind you, I hate this friggin’ system…”
“You think this is really going to work?” asked Reegan, following them out onto the bridge.
&nb
sp; Derrik stepped aside to let the Commander pass, “The Chief gave me his assurance that everything was tested and working.”
Reegan unceremoniously dropped himself into his command chair, “Let’s hope so.” He pointed at the first mate’s seat, “Mr. Brighton.” Without question, the on-duty first mate relinquished his seat.
“Mr. Ragnaar, reduce our speed.”
“Aye, reducing throttle.”
“Electronic Warfare, fire the first probe…”
“Aye, firing probe…” Lieutenant Yoli's hands danced across her controls, the probe streaking away from the Perseus, a trail of bright green following it into the swirling clouds. “The decoy beacons will go live in sixty seconds,” she reported, swiping to a new screen. “The shields we installed on the probe are successfully mimicking a much larger target…”
Reegan took a deep breath, “Wonderful.” He turned to Derrik, “The gunners have all been briefed?”
Derrik smiled but it was a tight, uncomfortable gesture, “Yes.”
Reegan watched the probe disappear into the ever-moving sea of green, its bioluminescent wake fading. “Ready the second probe… time the decoy beacons to go live thirty seconds after launch.”
“ARC system?” inquired Derrik.
“Not much point,” countered Reegan, “considering we glow like we’re on fire…”
“Probe One decoy beacons live in; four… three… two… one…”
“I’m only seeing one signal...!” objected Reegan, “Where the hellion is the other one?”
“Attempting manual override…” The bridge fell silent as everyone on the bridge held their collective breath while Lieutenant Yoli worked to awaken the sleeping decoy beacon. “Manual override successful, we have both beacons!”
“Thank the Gods,” sighed the Commander. “Let’s pray this works…”
“Probe One running true, Commander... picking up movement on both sides of the track.”
“What do we have Yoli?”
“Too much interference for identification, Sir, but we have multiple targets converging on the probe... Tracking on screen, relaying target information.” On the main screen, target icons appeared, scattered around the probe’s path, attracted to the decoy beacons.
Reegan keyed his comm, “Gunners, stand by for target confirmation.”
“Converging...” Lieutenant Yoli snapped momentarily rigid, “Probe destroyed!” The probe’s icon pulsed red where it was destroyed, frozen in place along with the spread of targets it was relaying information for.
“Weapons?”
“No weapons fire detected, Sir...”
“Collision?”
“I do not believe so. The targets were very close but decelerating...”
“Fire the second pro...”
“Ship’s sensors picking up multiple targets!” interrupted the Lieutenant. “Targets altering course from last known track, vectoring on an intercept with the Perseus...”
“Torpedo solution,” ordered Reegan, “six birds, ten-degree spread, two second interval between pairs, proximity or contact detonation!”
“Lead target entering current magnetic scan range...”
“On screen!”
Still hidden in the mists, appearing on the screen before them by magnetic resonance, was a thing of nightmares. An irregular, oblong body, massive claws, an open maw below with something that looked to be a disk-shaped tongue. An ungainly, lumbering, horror. And there were others... like sharks to prey.
It chilled Reegan to the bone, “By the Gods...”
“What the bloody hell are we looking at...?” exclaimed Derrik.
“The Grinders,” replied a weak voice from the back of the bridge. “You must run...” she urged. Supported by the ship's doctor, the rescued woman clung to the edge of the holo-chart table, pale, her legs barely able to support her. “They will capture and cut up your ship for parts like they did ours...”
“That’s a flippin’ ship?”
“Yes... evil ships. And evil people.”
“Skipper, I’m not detecting any type of shields in use…”
Reegan turned back to his screens and keyed his comm, “Turrets, HE rounds, fire at will!”
The young woman, unable to stand any longer, sunk to her knees, the doctor easing her to the floor. “You are armed? Destroy them... please. Send them to the hellion they deserve.”
Secondary turrets all along the sides of the hull, chugged away, the recoil vibrating through the deck, streaks of green bioluminescent fire brilliantly marking the path of the high explosive projectiles.
“If you have them,” she said weakly, “use energy weapons...”
Ragnaar raised an eyebrow in doubt, “They will be ineffective in this...”
“Use them,” she insisted. “Use them. Set their universe on fire...”
Reegan gnashed his teeth, “Main turrets, fire at will!”
The Zawunk-Zawunk of the heavy lasers preceded an intense flash of green so bright, so massive, it blotted out all visibility, eliciting a painful, unified gasp from the bridge crew as the fire rolled away from the Perseus in waves, consuming everything in its path, devouring clouds of bioluminescence for thousands of miles, opening a sphere of clear space around them, leaving the Grinder ships without the concealment they needed.
“All stop! Cease fire!” Reegan rubbed the bristling hair on the back of his neck, “By the Gods, there’s hundreds of them…”
“Full sensor suite back on-line… Torpedo solutions for six birds, all tracking, no spread required…”
With a sphere of destroyed and shattered Grinders surrounding the Perseus, floating dead in space, Reegan’s fingers hovered above the launch initiator…
“Incoming hail, Skipper.”
“On screen…”
A video square winked in, an icon marking the Grinder ship on-screen where the signal originated; an odd-looking man with a pinched, bird-like face staring at the bridge crew of the Perseus. “Stop it! Stop it! You’re killing them! Just stop…!” he screeched. The man gripped the sides of his head like he was in pain, “Billions… Trillions of Fillaree lost…”
“Fillaree are the organisms in the clouds,” whispered the voice behind Reegan. He didn’t turn, he could feel her behind him, clutching the back of his seat, hiding, peeking past his shoulder, speaking in his ear. “The Grinders revere the Fillaree, worship the Fillaree.”
Reegan slid out of his command chair and stood in the center of the bridge his hands clasped behind him, “Commander Reegan, captain of the Perseus.” His voice was even, measured, “I’m not going to repeat myself, so listen carefully. You planned to ambush my ship. I do not think Toberus Interstellar Investments would take kindly to you attacking us,” he lied.
The Grinder spokesman looked panicked, “But you were not broadcasting company colors…”
“No. But I expect you’ll remember this ship. The next time it travels this system I’ll expect clear, unmolested passage…”
“But…”
“Or so help me,” snarled Reegan, stepped forward, pointing menacingly at the man in the video square, “I will make it my business to set this entire system on fire, and kill anything and everything in my path. Is that clear?”
“Yes, yes. No more kill Fillaree - no more…” He pointed in the direction of Reegan’s command chair, “But yes, you return our…”
“Absolutely not. They stay with us - non-negotiable.” The Commander keyed his comm, as much for show as for command, “All gunners switch from HE to energy. If it moves, kill it. Burn it down.” He looked back up at the screen, “Now, move your ships or I will clear my own path.” He watched the indecision in the man’s face, “There is no more discussion. You have thirty seconds.” He turned away from the screen and nodded at the Communications Officer who ended the comm feed, the video square winking out.
“They do have the capacity to overwhelm us, Commander,” offered Ragnaar. “They have sufficient numbers.”
The Comma
nder nodded his understanding. “Put us in motion, Mr. Ragnaar. Let’s get to that gate.” Reegan slid back into his command seat, pulling up the torpedo solution on his right holo-screen, assigning two, MK*25V, high-speed torpedoes to the Grinder leader’s ship, locking it into the targeting system, knowing the pilot would detect being targeted. “Let’s see if he is willing to be the next one to die.”
“Might be a good time for the ARC system,” advised Derrik,
CHAPTER TEN
BLACK WIDOW, TUSCANY SYSTEM : BEHIND SCHEDULE
Michel Thorne wasn’t eating, so much as he was pushing his food around on his plate. Making a mess, staring without seeing.
“Something wrong with the food Skipper?”
Unaware he was even doing it, much less being watched, Michel started, his fork leaving the plate as he snapped back to reality, “Sorry, Cookie. No, I guess I was preoccupied - a lot on my mind.”
“You want something else?”
Michel glanced down at the mess on his plate, the swirls of color and texture, laying his fork and knife across it, “No, I guess I’m not really hungry. Thanks though…”
Without judgement, the grill chef cleared the plate off the table, leaving his commanding officer with the soda he loved so much. Stuff they made supply runs to Terra for. He’d tried it once, he was not impressed, the overly sweet carbonated drink assaulting his palate. He shrugged it off, some of the other Earthers on the Black Widow liked it too. Personally, he couldn’t understand the attraction. But then again, everyone was entitled to their own tastes.
■ ■ ■
“Snap out of it, you’re being paged, Skipper…”
Michel responded to the nudge on his shoulder, “Thanks, Cookie.” He tapped his earpiece, “Thorne, go ahead.”
“Comm coming in from Antwerp Shipworks, Skipper.”
“Ahh crap,” he breathed. “OK, send it to my quarters, I’ll be there in a couple.” He tapped his earpiece, ending the comm with a light chirp, already on his feet heading toward the corridor. He could pretend he didn’t know what it was going to be about, but he did. He didn’t relish having the conversation, but there was no way of avoiding it - no matter how much he wanted to. He contemplated walking a little slower, maybe the comm would get disconnected. But that never happened when you actually wanted it to…
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