The moving shadow jolted Chase into reaction, a shot of adrenalin powering him up enough to pull himself free and roll on his back, a menacing, unmarked black ship above him, snow falling around it. Why does it look familiar? Suddenly the sniper seemed to be a minor issue. Scrambling back to the other side of the trail, maintaining as low a profile as possible, he realized little of his concealment was left, he was having to trudge through two feet of loose snow…
The ship made a sudden swivel to the right, facing up the road before it suddenly disappeared from view… He could hear the maneuvering jets and he could feel the electromagnetic tingle of the antigravity - even in his frozen state… “How the hell…” Looking up at the clear blue sky, the last sparkles of the snow drifting away, he could see a faint outline - a shimmer… “Fascinating…” Sniper! Momentarily forgetting himself, he envisioned a crosshair on his head, ducking back down and moving - on hands and knees. Oh God, Mercedes! He hustled back in her direction, fearing she would be buried and helpless in the survival blanket, suffocation a real concern.
Reappearing again, Chase waved at the ship, nearly sitting atop the snow as he scurried through and over mounds of the stuff, close to panic as he realized he couldn’t tell where he’d left Mercedes. It all looked the same, the edges of the plowed trail almost indistinguishable. “Hey! HEEYYY...!” he screamed, waving. But with a woosh, the ship zoomed straight upwards, disappearing again, a rumble and a sonic boom as it shot off somewhere.
On his knees, frantically digging with his gloved hands, Chase barely noticed the tank as it plowed its way back, pushing the wrecked truck off to the side so it could pass on the trail. The ground shook as the heavy machine rumbled to a stop, it’s tracks squeaking in the frigid temperatures.
“What the hell are you doing mister? What happened out here? And what the hell was that thing?” he motioned toward the sky.
Without pausing, Chase glanced over at the tank driver sticking out of a hatch on the tank’s hull. “Help me! She’s buried!”
The driver pushed himself upwards out of the hatch, “Who’s buried?”
“My partner, the woman I’m here with!”
The tanker slid off the hull, dropping to the ground, calling his crewmate on his headset, “Do you see any thermal out here? We’ve got somebody buried in the snow…” The tanker dropped to his knees beside Chase and began to dig with his hands, “What happened out here?” he motioned over to the wreck which was nothing more than a smoking skeleton now.
“Sniper. Started shooting at us…”
“What? Why didn’t you call us? Or the mine?”
“We didn’t know who we could trust. We thought you set us up…”
“Well you certainly didn’t make any fast friends last night, but we’re not murderers…” The tanker straightened up, listening to his headset, pushing on Chase’s shoulder, “Over there - over there… Thirty feet to the left,” he pointed, “she’s there!”
■ ■ ■
In the Reaper, hovering at no more than ten-feet above the rolling blanket of white, Draza Mac looked out at the figure scrambling over the mounds of snow littering the previously plowed trail, “Looks like he’s headed right for the beacon’s location…”
“Think it’s one of our people?”
“Draza Mac made a face of dubious skepticism, “I don’t think we could be that luck…”
Warning! IR Threat! Warning! IR Threat!
Lisa cranked hard on the antigravity collective, the Reaper vaulting upwards, snapping on the ARC system, as she kicked the pedals, swinging the nose, punching the throttle, “Decoy! Decoy!”
“Decoy out!”
“Find him Mac! Where is he?”
“Nothing airborne on screen… has to be a ground unit. Decoys broke the lock and he shut down - I lost him. The last signal I got came from that ridgeline to the south.”
Lisa rolled the Reaper in a tight turn to the south, “Can you jam?”
“Jamming,” replied the Sergeant, “initiating IR strobe.”
“Coming up on something…” Lisa adjusted her radar sweep, a profile coming up on a neighboring MFD, Multi Function Display, “Bird on the ground …”
Draza Mac looked out and down as they passed over it, switching to the rear turret camera as it passed under the wing. “That’s not a ship, it’s a T-24…”
“Whatever it is, he’s doing a runup for takeoff…”
“Don’t crowd it, it’s atmosphere only. He can’t outrun you, but he can outmaneuver you. Hang back…”
“Like the Sparrow and the Hawk…” Lisa switched to a broad hailing channel, “Unidentified T-24, shut down your engines…”
“Sparrow and Hawk?”
“Small agile bird, large fast bird. The Sparrow uses obstacles and its small size to avoid capture.”
“Huh,” noted the Sergeant. “T-24s are unarmed, maybe cut the ARC system and let him see you? It might help convince him…”
Bringing the Reaper to a hover in front and a hundred feet above the T-24, she flipped off the ARC, the black fighter shimmering, glittering, reappearing gradually as the receptors and projectors powered down, its menacing shape coming into view. “Shit, he’s gonna’ rabbit…”
“Rabbit?”
“Run…” The T-24 lifted off the back of snow-covered ridge, rotated to its left and shot down the slope like a skier on a downward run. “Dammit, I knew it,” she growled, kicking the rudder and shoving the throttle, the Reaper swinging and shooting down the slope above and behind the aircraft.
“Skipper, I’m getting a second emergency beacon… And I hate to say it, but this guy’s not the mission…” He raised his hands, “I don’t want to be a killjoy, but…”
“But he never actually shot at us,” interrupted Lisa, easing back on the throttle, watching the Sparrow distance itself from her Hawk.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE DRAKE, BALLISTRAYE SYSTEM : RECOVERY
Jack Steele sat up in bed, listening in the darkness to the droning rhythm of the engines; strangely familiar, yet somehow foreign. He had not yet become comfortable with the ship’s sounds. The fact that he was on a ship with a crew of complete strangers only seemed to complicate matters, trust being a prominent issue. His mind and senses never seemed to want to completely switch off, constantly scanning for things that seemed to be amiss, out of the normal… which seemed to be everything. Perhaps that’s what prompted the fitful sleep and strange dreams… Something about a beautiful, but inescapable walled garden, with an identical garden on the other side of the wall. It didn’t make much sense - reminding him of the old Twilight Zone episodes he saw as a kid. He recalled climbing over the wall, dropping down into the same garden he had escaped.
The thought made a chill run across his shoulders and he shook it off, reaching out, but the dog wasn’t there. He didn’t fully expect Fritz to be there, but he’d hoped… Steele always slept better when the German Shepherd was nearby. Call it companionship, call it shared biological rhythms, it didn’t matter what or how - it’s just how it was.
Jack was reassured that he would be reunited with his friend at some point, that he was in good hands - Chase Holt would take good care of him until such time that the universe saw fit to bring them back together again.
“Whelp, I’m certainly not going to fall back asleep… might as well get up…”
■ ■ ■
Still wet, a towel wrapped around his waist, Steele went about laying his clothes out in the muted light of his cabin, an archway separating the sleeping area and a small living area.
“You trimmed your beard… it looks good.”
Steele jumped back from the bed where he’d laid out a shirt, “Holy… shit - Andrea?!”
The tall, lanky, biodroid stood just inside the door to the corridor, a tray of food in her hands. Black knee-high boots, tight black slacks, a white ruffled blouse, and a black leather vest seemed to be her customary mode of dress onboard ship - her duster coat unnecessary. Her alab
aster skin nearly glowed in the muted light.
“Dammit,” he hissed, “what the hell are you doing in my quarters?”
“I came to drop off some breakfast, so you’d have something when you woke up - I did not expect you to be awake yet, it is quite early. I decided to wait until you finished your shower. Are you not sleeping…?”
“How did you get in?” he interrupted, completely missing the concern in her voice.
“At Hoyle’s Station you provided me with your security code for the Drake’s inventory...”
“I can see I’m going to have to change that.”
“Captain, that would be ill-advised. Are you not sleeping well?”
“No. No, I’m not… And what do you mean that wouldn’t be advisable? I don’t think that’s your call to make…”
She moved to the coffee table in front of the sofa and set the tray down. “Captain, I expect you may have reservations about the crew and the Drake. I also expect you may be experiencing suspicion and trust issues. With recent events, I would find it odd if you did not. And this anxiety could easily explain broken sleep…”
He tugged the towel tighter, “Yeah, not hearing the ill-advisable part.”
Andrea moved closer, standing in the archway separating the living area from the sleeping area. “Captain, you have nothing to fear from me - if you remember the conversation in the Wasp shuttle, I am the reason you are here and not heading to Rikovik’s Reef. You hired me… my loyalty is and will always be, with you, my employer.”
“And if someone offers you more money?”
“Our agreement is the contract. The contract supersedes all subsequent offers, regardless of value - unless you agree to release me from that contract. Providing I am even remotely interested in another offer.”
Steele chewed the inside of his lip in contemplation, “I see.”
“And, if need be, I will act as your bodyguard, until such time you feel more comfortable...”
“So, a babysitter, then…” he said sarcastically, baiting for another explanation.
She stepped up to him, looking him square in the eyes, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders, “Someone you can trust…” she countered, rotating him around, firmly but gently, so he was facing away from her. “Completely and without reservation,” she continued. One hand moved to the back of his neck, her fingers tracing the outline of his vertebrae, the sensors embedded in them scanning for damage. “I have noticed you are already free from bruising, is that normal?”
“Not really…”
“No more pain in your ribs, front or back?” her fingers ran down his spine.
“No…”
“Do you have medical nanites?”
“Nani...? No,” he shook his head.
“Then, Captain, to what do you attribute the speed of this recovery?”
“I don’t know,” he sighed, “I can’t explain it.”
“Maybe the others are right about you then…”
“Others who?”
“The rest of the crew.”
He spun around, readjusting his towel, lest it drop off. “Right about what?” he asked slowly, suspicion in his voice.
“That you are, indeed, an Angel. A Guardian Angel,” she said without expression or emotion.
“Bwaaaahahahahaaaa…” he blurted. But it was a short-lived outburst when her expression remained unchanged, “Ahem - oh, you’re serious,” he observed, stunned. “Well that’s absurd…”
She raised a questioning eyebrow, “Is it?”
He frowned in consternation, “Well… yes, of course it is.”
“Are you sure?”
He waved it off dismissively, “Stop. Just stop – the mere thought of that is ridiculous.”
“Are you sure?”
“Stop asking me that!” he insisted, his own mind not so convinced.
But Andrea could tell he was actually considering it, his eyes dropping, searching without seeing, his demeanor quiet and introspective. “Captain, by all accounts you’ve been recently injured, twice, both on Byas-Kuyol and on Hoyle’s. Both sets of injuries different, but quite serious. The injuries on Byas-Kuyol, life-threatening. Yet, I can find no indication of your injuries. No broken bones, no bruising, no tenderness, no alignment issues… No scarring…”
Steele’s eyes flicked to her, then with the spark of a sudden thought, down to his left calf where a sizable childhood scar from a car accident permanently marred his leg. It was gone, his skin and muscle contour smooth and unblemished. He swallowed hard, sitting heavily on the bed. “It’s gone… But… but that’s not possible, it’s been there since I was thirteen.”
Andrea dropped to one knee and ran her fingers down his shin, scanning the Tibia and surrounding tissue, comparing it with his other leg. “I see no difference between the two. The bone density, size and shape are within microns of each other. Was it ever broken?”
“Severely,” he croaked. “Tibia and Fibula, a compound fracture… Took about eight months before I could walk without a cane or a crutch…”
“I see no signs of that now…”
Steele put his face in his hands, “Holy Jesus, what’s happing…” he groaned, near tears - the prospects of things he didn’t understand, overwhelming.
Andrea pointed at his pillows, “You need more sleep, Captain.”
“But…”
“You can rest easy, I will remain here until you wake…”
■ ■ ■
Stepping into the corridor together, the door sliding closed behind them, Jack and Andrea headed to the Drake’s bridge. “Thank you for staying, Andrea… you must be tired.”
“You are most welcome, Captain. I am fine, I do not require rest in the same way you do. I can sleep soundly with external sensors active - which will wake me instantly if necessary. At one point you spoke in your sleep last night. Most of it I did not understand, but there was a name that was very clear; Voorlak?”
Steele slowed his pace, “Voorlak? I don’t remember dreaming it… are you sure?”
“Yes…”
His mouth skewed sideways, “The old man from the lockup at Sentinel Services on Hoyle’s? Odd…”
“And what have you decided?”
He raised an eyebrow, “About what?”
“Your… status. Physical and otherwise…” she whispered.
Oh, that…” he waved it away like he was wiping a chalkboard. “I’m not even going there.”
Andrea frowned, “Not going where?”
“It means I’m not going to talk about it,” he clarified.
“I see. It doesn’t change the reality of things, though does it,” she countered, not really asking. “The facts are the facts…”
“There has to be another explanation,” he hissed. “Because if I’m really a Guardian Angel I really suck at it - I didn’t do that kid Elvidas any good, did I...”
“Do you have a better explanation?”
“No. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t one. I need to start thinking like a detective…”
“But you are a Knights Templar…”
“Well, yes,” he nodded, “a Templar. But I seriously doubt it’s anything like the Ancient Order of Knights Templars the Architects refer to.” He stopped dead in his tracks as a cascade of images raced through his head. Something resembling a castle, an extravagant garden, elaborate religious stained-glass windows, long endless corridors, men in dark friary robes… A monastery? And then it was gone - as fast as it had appeared.
Andrea was two steps past him before she’d realized he’d frozen in place. “Sir?” she asked, turning back. “Did you think of something?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe a part of a dream from last night… just images. Can’t tell if they were familiar or not. I want to say yes - but it was so fast…”
■ ■ ■
Glancing over his shoulder at the sound of the bridge door, Sam Daxe rose from the command seat to relinquish it, “Captain…” he nodded.
“Sa
m,” nodded Steele in return, waving Andrea into the empty seat. “Anybody have a problem with Andrea being my second in command?” He did a quick scan of the faces, not really waiting for an answer. “Good…” Not that it would have mattered if they did. He patted the biodroid on the arm, “You have the comm.” He turned and headed back off the bridge, “Sam, you’re with me…”
Sam trotted up from behind, catching Steele as they passed into the corridor, the door sliding closed after them, “Where are we headed, Cap?”
“Home. Veloria in Velora Prime…”
“Oh… Yeah… I meant right this minute.”
“Galley. I haven’t eaten much, I’m starving.”
“Copy that…”
“So tell me about the others on the bridge…”
Sam wondered why the Captain was willing to trust his opinion… they hadn’t exactly gotten to know each other yet. Of course, maybe he was comparing answers he’d gotten from the biodroid, Andrea. At this point she seemed to be his favored choice. “OK. Latt, the skinny guy with the dark skin - he’s our navigator. Quiet, but good. Knows the trade routes really well…”
“And the pilot?”
“Gordo. And the electronics guy is Arturro. They’re half-brothers or something. Decent guys. They like to work together, employed as a team. They served for the past five years on company escort boats. Both seem responsible and skilled in their duties.”
“And you?”
“Retired military. Shadow Team Four…”
“Commando.”
“That’s right, you remember our conversation…
Steele pursed his lips, “Most of it…”
“Same type of unit as the Command Master Chief” continued Sam, “except he was Team Two.”
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