Reegan pointed back to turret #1, “Am I seeing gaps and holes in the armor on this turret?”
“Yes sir. It was penetrated, the guts were liquified.”
“Any chance of loss of atmosphere in this section of the ship?”
“No sir. Bulkhead doors held up and the turret’s internal damage solidified when it cooled - it self-sealed, pretty much solid inside there.” He indicated the outer frame, “This entire structure will be removed in the yard and replaced.” Manipulating the hologram like it was solid, the Chief drew it closer, effectively zooming in. “I wanted to show you this as well; see these blue dots all over the hull?” He waited for a nod, “These are where the camera-emitters for the ARC system are mounted… if you notice they are in a pattern. This allows for considerable overlap…”
Reegan raised an eyebrow, “And?”
The Chief selected a few buttons on the keyboard, sections of the field of blue dots turning red. “These are the damaged units. We have enough spares to replace only about half of the affected areas. But,” he raised an index finger, “if we take some of the viable camera-emitters off the hull and move them into the damaged areas I believe we can cover most of the hull with the ARC system without compromising its effectiveness. It has to be done in a very precise pattern, but I am confident I have determined the right overlaps to make it work.”
“Will there be any gaps?” asked Ragnaar, examining the image closer.
“Yes, but small. Small enough to be inconsequential - especially when the Perseus is moving.”
“Sorry to interrupt, Skipper,” came the voice over the ready room speakers, “Lieutenant Braskus and his wingman have joined-up and are on final approach for recovery.”
Reegan checked his MOBIUS, nearly eleven hours in the cockpit. I hate to do this… “Wave them off,” he ordered. “Tell them we’re heading down to the surface and we’re going to need their help scouting a location.”
“Aye, Sir.”
■ ■ ■
Loech Braskus had to admit, it was a pretty good spot. Not one of a kind on this planet to be sure, but certainly hidden. Though he wasn’t quite sure there was anything on the planet they needed to hide from. It wasn’t inhabited, and the lifeforms were bound to be sparse - there wasn’t much to speak of in the way of flora and fauna, though they did pass over some green plains and scattered patches of forestation. He recalled a survival instructor once mentioning something about creatures in less than favorable environments being more dangerous. Something akin to bad places breed bad things... hostile lands equal hostile creatures… But he wasn’t stranded, and he wasn’t alone. And the box canyon only allowed access from the ground in one direction, protected by nearly vertical walls on three sides – and they were as deep and far back into the canyon as the Perseus would fit. Unless those two Miro Class destroyers they saw, flew directly overhead and scanned straight down, they should be safe from detection.
He let his helmeted head rest back against his headrest, the canopy motoring back, a wash of cool planetary air filling the cockpit, long shadows cast by the canyon walls coving his P-57 fighter. He reached forward shutting down the last of his systems, the dash and its screens going dark. “Damn I’m tired…” He could hear the footsteps on the river gravel outside the fighter, walking up on the right side of his ship, a shallow river rippling past on the other side, just beyond his wingtip.
“You coming down, Lieutenant?”
Braskus rolled his head to the right, a deckhand standing on the moist ground at the bottom of his ladder, “I might need a bit of help getting out of this thing…”
His wingman appeared next to the deckhand, “Come on L.T., the sun’s going down and it’s getting chilly out here…”
Wrestling to extract himself from his helmet, he dropped it over the side to waiting hands. Assisting with the pilot’s harness and umbilicals, the man reached in, grabbed a handful of his pressure suit and pulled him to his feet.
Loech Braskus grunted, his knees protesting.
“You got it, Lieutenant?”
Standing in the cockpit, gripping the edge of the canopy, Braskus flexed his legs, wincing. “Yeah, I think so.”
Climbing down the ladder took effort, his knees stabbing at him on each wrung. He was thankful for the crewman who stood on the ladder behind him, stepping down each wrung with him.
His boots crunched on the rounded pebbles, “Solid ground feels good…”
“You getting too old for this, L.T.?”
Braskus shot his wingman a steely glance, “Stuff it, Junior.”
The Perseus was tucked in, parallel to the canyon walls along a running river fed by a small waterfall at the back of the canyon, both of her P-57s sitting along the water in front of the bow of the ship. Crew members, and equipment poured out of the belly and down the cargo ramp, nearly everyone aboard would be pitching in.
The three men walked under the bow of the Perseus, Braskus walking gingerly, “So they’re going to attempt to fix her here?”
“Yes, Sir,” replied the crewman.
“Why?”
“From what I heard, the command staff thought it would be easier to avoid the patrol down here,” he shrugged. “Give them time to pass on through the system and take the opportunity to bang out a few dents. Made sense to me…”
Braskus frowned, not sure being grounded and vulnerable was the best course of action, “I guess…” he countered, skeptically. The canyon walls were nearly vertical in most places, rugged, jagged, nearly three-hundred feet up, presumably cut over the years by the action of the river. Horizontal stripes in the walls marked the centuries of wear. Despite the moisture at river level and the damp, polished, river gravel, the air felt dry, crisp. Twilight came on fast, the spread of stars above becoming more pronounced. The Lieutenant adjusted the helmet cradled in his arm, “That was fast, what’s the day-night cycle?”
“A little over eight hours each… We’ll probably only get half that daylight in this canyon, though.”
■ ■ ■
The sounds of equipment, tools and voices mixed-in with the sound of falling water, echoing back and forth off the canyon walls, an odd cacophony to have a conversation in, where random words and parts of conversations could be heard clearly while others were muddied and washed away by the surrounding noise.
“You never said anything about work on the starboard engine!”
“Calm down Commander,” waved the Chief. The two men walked along the water toward the stern of the ship, the sunlight glittering on the water, casting dancing reflections across the hull of the Perseus, shadowed by the canyon wall. “We may be able to produce another ten percent of power if we’re successful.”
“What about the other repairs?”
The Chief Engineer recognized the Commander’s stress, “You can relax. All the repairs are moving along well, we should have everything that we’re able to do, done before dark tomorrow.”
Don’t push them too hard, Chief, we don’t need them dead on their feet at their stations.”
“They’re doing a pretty good job of taking care of that themselves, working in shifts with frequent breaks…”
Reegan motioned toward two sizeable hoses stretching across the pebble beach, laying in the water near the waterfall, “I see we have lines in the water?”
“Thought it couldn’t hurt to take on some fresh water. We tested the quality, it’s about as good as it gets, you can literally drink it right out of the…”
Reegan’s comm chimed in his ear, “Commander, can you read me?”
He touched his earpiece, “Reegan, I’m here…”
“Skipper we have contact.”
“What?”
“Our spotters on the east rim of the canyon have visual contact.”
“What kind of contact?”
“Pirate fighters. They look to be FreeRanger ships.”
“How many?”
“Three...”
“Distance, speed and direction?�
�
“Twenty-eight miles, sub-sonic, a heading parallel to our position.”
“Command officers on the bridge, now. I’m on my way.”
■ ■ ■
Reegan stood in the Captain’s ready room, hands on hips, the live screen behind him connected to the scouts on the rim of the canyon. But his anger was directed elsewhere… “How did they find us? Did they see you? Did they track you?”
Lieutenant Loech Braskus leaned against the holo-chart table, arms folded, “Of course not. Our P-57s are far too small to see at that distance. We even doubled back before breaking for rendezvous. And our exhaust trail is nothing compared to what this ship,” he nodded toward the bridge, “leaves behind. If they picked up anything, it would be the ion trail from the Perseus.”
“Commander. C o m m a n d e r…”
Reegan wheeled around, facing the screen, “What…” he demanded flatly.
“Sir, we don’t believe they’re here for us. They don’t appear to be searching - they appear to be surveying.”
“Explain.”
“They have been concentrating on the flat plain about fifty miles to the east of our position, flying a grid pattern. Our position up here on the ridge puts us high enough that our instruments can track them even when we can’t see them…”
“What do you think they’re looking for?”
“I don’t think they’re looking for anything in particular, Skipper. I think they’re mapping a plot of the area…”
“Plotting? For what?”
“If I had to guess, an outpost or a base.”
“Oh, bullocks,” exclaimed Derrik, “That’s just bloody brilliant; of all the places we could have chosen to set this crate down, we picked the yet to be installed garden of the freaking enemy…”
“If that’s true,” interrupted Ragnaar, “It is going to get very busy here, very quickly.”
Reegan began pacing, “That means that entire fleet is probably coming here…”
“They’re probably already here,” commented Braskus. “Or at least fairly close. I doubt that those light fighters are too far from home.”
“We should immediately ready for departure,” said Ragnaar, matter-of-factly. “Chief, prep the engines for startup…”
“Belay that…” ordered Reegan.
The Chief Engineer shook his head, “Even if it was prudent to do so, we cannot, I have men up inside the starboard drive, effecting repairs, Lieutenant…”
“Commander… we have a ship incoming.”
Reegan turned back to the screen, “What have you got Ensign?”
“A Miro Class destroyer, she’s heading straight to the zone they’ve been surveying.”
“Just one?”
“Affirmative.”
“One up in top cover,” commented Loech Braskus. “Think they’re dropping a security team?”
Reegan scrubbed the stubble on his jaw with his fingertips, “I don’t know… Maybe.”
“We need to get off the ground, Commander, we are vulnerable here…”
Reegan nodded, “Yes we are Mr. Ragnaar. But lifting off and flying into a small fleet isn’t going to go well either. If they are building something here, they need to come down to do it. The more of them on the ground in the same position as we are, will improve our odds of getting out clean…”
“I might be stating the flipping obvious here,” started Derrik, “but I find it odd that the FreeRangers are pushing this deep into Dark Territory…”
“I was thinking the same thing,” agreed Reegan. “I can only surmise this planet has some logistical or tactical significance, or there is some resource here worth the risk.”
“Which means getting caught here would mean certain destruction,” offered Ragnaar.
“Agreed. So let’s do our best not to let that happen, shall we? Get to work people, we need to speed things up,” clapped Reegan. “I want to be able to lift off at a moment’s notice when the opportunity presents itself…”
Derrik waited until the other offices left the room before approaching Reegan, “We have an opportunity here…” he said quietly, the door to the bridge closing with a hiss.
“For what...?”
“To see what these rats are up to, of course.”
Reegan’s face registered astonishment, “You can’t be serious…”
“Hear me out…”
“We are out here alone, systems from anywhere familiar, no help or support, probably presumed lost, and you want to…”
“Leave a listening post,” interrupted Derrik, switching from plan A to plan B.
“Oh.”
“You didn’t think I was insinuating that we should park here and spy on them, did you?” he lied.
Reegan’s brow furrowed, “Well I…”
“I’m not flippin’ daft…” interrupted Derrik. “Though I wouldn’t mind throwing a monkey wrench into their plans here.”
“A what?”
“Something heavy to jam up their progress.”
“Ah,” nodded Reegan, understanding. “No, as much as I’d love to do damage, we’d never get close enough to accomplish anything but our early demise. Our mission is survival. And if we can return with some information while we’re at it, that’s a bonus.”
“So you’re OK with leaving a post?”
“Yes. Set it to scan frequencies and search for communications. If we can get it high enough but still keep it hidden, maybe it can collect some photos or video…”
“Irregular burst transmission,” added Derrik. “Maybe once a week? That should keep them from finding it too quickly. A twenty second signal?”
“That should work. Can we set two of them up? Relayed? If one fails or is destroyed the other will take over…”
Derrik cracked a smile, “We can set it up like a dead-man switch. If number one stops communicating with number two, then two will take over the process and number one will self-destruct. Enough to take out anyone tinkering with it. We can separate them, one on the ridge at either end of the canyon…”
■ ■ ■
“Coffee, Commander?”
Reegan looked away from the scout team’s live feed on the big screen. Blinking hard, he rubbed his eyes, “Yeah, please.” He adjusted his command seat and held out his empty cup, the porter refilling it for him. “What time is it?” he muttered, glancing around the darkened bridge.
“3:42 in the morning,” replied the porter. “Daylight in about two hours.”
“Where’s Commander Brighton?”
“Right here,” volunteered Derrik, leaning forward, appearing from behind the porter standing between them.
“You staying awake?”
“Barely.” Derrik held up his empty cup at the porter, “I’d kill for a fresh spot of tea…” She nodded and disappeared.
“Perseus, this is the scout team…”
“Go ahead scout team.”
“The first destroyer, DD93, has lifted off, she’s headed for orbit.” The video feed zoomed in and focused on a shape heading up into the starry sky, a blue-white tail propelling it upward. “We have another destroyer coming in. We’ve identified her as the DD62…”
Derrik went rigid, sitting up - away from his seat, “Reegan...!”
“I heard him. The one that got away…”
“Well technically,” waved Derrik, “the DD62 and DD217, both got away.”
“What the hellion is she doing here?”
“That changes things…” he adjusted his seat, “we need to take her down…”
“What? Are you insane?”
“It’s our mission…” insisted Derrik.
“No, the people she was carrying was our mission,” countered Regan. “And there is little to zero chance they are still aboard her. I am not risking our ship and crew on the remote chance she has anyone aboard that matters.”
“But…”
“Not an option.”
“Perseus, we have a problem…”
Reegan keyed his
comm, “This is the bridge, what’s wrong?”
The video feed swung away from the landing FreeRanger destroyer to a black form, low on the horizon, blotting out a large section of stars, “She was so low we didn’t pick her up until now. She’s on a slow approach to the landing zone and she’ll pass directly over your position in five minutes…”
■ ■ ■
“Get those damn things loaded!” screamed the Chief Engineer, pointing at the P-57s as he ran down the ramp onto the riverbank. “Turn everything off and get inside, NOW!”
“What about the equipment, Chief?”
“Whatever you can carry - leave the rest! Get everyone inside!” he waved.
“We have 2 inside the starboard powerplant!” called someone running past, carrying an armload of tools.
“Hellion,” he shouted, “still? They should be done already! Get them out of there - warming will commence in sixty seconds!” The man tromped to a stop, dropped his tools in a heap at the foot of the ramp and sprinted off in the opposite direction, heading toward the stern of the ship. “Make sure they get their gear out of there!” he called after the man. “Hurry, hurry,” he waved, directing traffic up the ramp. He kept checking the sky over the canyon ridge across the river. Ducking under the wing of a P-57 as it slid silently by, he dashed to the portable power station extended from the ship‘s belly, systematically shutting down all the circuits, yanking cords free, tossing them aside. Slapping the master switch, the control panel went dark, its hydraulics slowly retracting the unit up into the ship. He snatched one last cable free, letting it drop to the ground, following the last fighter up the ramp, looking around for stragglers. “Close us up!” The ramp began to rise, lifting him and the last P-57 up along with it.
“We’re out of time, Chief…”
“Closing as we speak, Commander. Stand by to engage ARC system…”
“Wait! Wait!” The crewman who had dropped his tools at the foot of the ramp dove through the opening head-first, landing on his belly, scrambling up, two men running up behind him, one hobbling from an apparent injury. “Stop the ramp! Stop the ramp!”
Resurrection Page 17