Resurrection

by Jeffrey Burger

  “Did you ever…”

  “Meet?” interrupted Sam, finishing his thought. “No, we never met before. Though we went in and came out at about the same time - we were deployed in totally different sectors.”

  “I see…”

  “You say that,” observed Sam, “but I’m getting a vibe that you don’t totally believe me.”

  Steele raised an eyebrow, “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I don’t know…”

  Steele stopped abruptly, just short of the galley, Sam almost colliding with him, “Sam,” he began, turning to face him, “let me be clear; if I don’t believe you, I won’t be shy about making that known. Understood?”

  “Yes, Sir…”

  “And all I ask is that you don’t cut corners or hedge your words to disguise the truth - be level with me. In turn, I will be square with you. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I will believe you until you give me a reason not to. Then never again, we’re finished…”

  “I get it,” nodded the commando.

  “Good. You hungry?”

  “I could eat…”

  A spike of anxiety shot through Command Master Chief Daryl Jolly, coffee pot and mug frozen in mid-air when the two men passed into the galley, the man he knew as Jax Mercury passed him without saying a word or casting a glance, making a beeline to the short buffet.

  “You been avoiding me Chief?”

  “Huh? No…”

  Steele scooped scrambled eggs onto his plate, “Isn’t that pot getting heavy, there?”

  “Yeah… huh? Oh…” Daryl glanced down at the pot and nearly full mug, thankful he had stopped pouring. He set the coffee pot back in its cradle, his eyes darting to the doorway and to Sam Daxe, not sure what to do, not having seen the Captain since the rescue and the awkward cruise back to the Drake. Daxe threw him a non-committal shrug.

  “You eating, Chief?” Steele reached for one of his favorite things; “Mmmm, bacon…”

  Daryl glanced at the man, loading his plate, who seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. “I uhhh…”

  Steele glanced up at the distorted reflection of the Chief in the polished cooler door behind the buffet counter, “Don’t just stand there, you gotta’ eat something, Chief… You too, Sam.”

  ■ ■ ■

  The three men sat at the table, the rest of the galley empty, Sam Daxe and the Chief sitting opposite of Jack Steele, who watched the Chief nervously push the eggs around on his plate, “Eat your food, Chief - there are starving children in China…”

  Daryl Jolly’s face screwed into confusion. “Whaaat?”

  With a shrug, Steele smiled weakly, “I don’t know, something my mother used to say when I didn’t eat.”

  “Did it work?”

  Jack shrugged again, “Sometimes - as long as it wasn’t liver and onions.” He made a face of distaste, “There wasn’t enough ketchup on the planet to cover that taste…” He stuffed an entire piece of bacon in his mouth, “I made the mistake of telling her once that maybe we should send it to those starving children…”

  “Oh?” The Chief raised his eyebrows, “How did that work out?”

  “My father reached over and knocked me off my chair.”

  Sam Daxe tried to cover up as eggs shot out of his nose when he snorted, turning away, hacking, having inhaled part of his breakfast, gagging and laughing at the same time.

  The Chief wasn’t quite sure if he should laugh or not, having the good fortune of swallowing his coffee just prior. Witnessing Sam’s convulsions out of the corner of his eye he couldn’t help but laugh as well, slapping Sam on the back as he coughed bits of food into his napkin. “What are you saying, Captain?”

  Steele took a deep breath, eyeing them both, “We all do stupid things. Some of us younger,” he shrugged, “some of us, a little later in life,” he tilted his head in the Chief’s direction. “The question is, did we learn anything from it. Me, personally, I learned not to be such a smartass… at least not within swinging distance of my father’s backhand.”

  “So you’re saying you want to take a swing at me…”

  “No,” smirked Jack, “what I’m saying, is that you made a mistake and you should learn from that mistake… And never repeat it again.”

  “Or you’ll take a swing at me next time?”

  Steele pointed his fork at him, “Now you’re just fucking with me, aren’t you, Chief…”

  Daryl shrugged, “I’m sorry, Skipper, I fucked up. I don’t have to say that very often, because, well, I’m nearly perfect…”

  Sam Daxe shot out of his seat in a coughing fit, raising his hands above his head… “Juice,” he hacked, turning away, “I have to stop eating near you two…”

  “As you were saying, Chief,” encouraged Jack, watching Sam out of the corner of his eye.

  With a bit of trepidation, Daryl Jolly rubbed his mouth, “I guess I’m saying I’m a bit of… what did you call it, a smartass, myself. I’m not used to having to apologize…”

  “You’re right,” smiled Jack, “you suck at apologies.” But,” he raised a finger, “I can sympathize, because I’m nearly perfect too. In fact, 20/20 hindsight, it’s really a good thing I didn’t kill you back there at Sentinel Services on Hoyle’s, or you wouldn’t have had a chance to make this wonderful apology.”

  The Chief cleared his throat, his expression turning serious, “You know, there was a moment back there I thought you could…”

  Steele nodded, “There was a moment back there when I thought I would.”

  “What stopped you?” asked Sam, sitting back down, not understanding the severity of the situation.

  “I… don’t know,” Jack replied softly, his eyes dropping to the table. Fritz falling to the deck, shot in the face by Captain Kidd, played through his mind’s eye. It felt like a millennia ago, but it was as sharp and clear as if it were yesterday. “I’d only felt that darkness once before…”

  Daryl and Sam studied the man across the table, his eyes vacant, glassy, when he looked back up. “He had just taken the life of my best friend…” The Captain’s mouth tightened, his features hardening, “And as he knelt at my feet, begging for mercy, he offered me a bribe…”

  They watched his eyes narrow, and for a moment, Daryl thought he saw a glimpse of the darkness that he witnessed on Hoyle’s. “What happened...? he urged quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “I painted the deck with his brains…” Steele said mechanically.

  The answer seeming almost flippant and Sam had an impulse to laugh but the Captain’s demeanor told him this was the deadly truth. “By the Gods,” he breathed.

  Daryl swallowed hard when the Captain shifted his gaze to him. Steele’s voice was low, “While what you did was mercenary, I did not see a dark heart. I did not see you purposely being evil…”

  “Is that part of being a Guardian An…”

  Steele’s eyes shifted to Sam, cutting him off mid-sentence, “We’re not discussing that,” he said flatly.

  “Come on, Captain,” urged Daryl, “You’ve got to admit, it would explain a lot of…”

  Steele shook his head, “No. There’s got to be a logical explanation - I’m not ready or willing to accept such an…”

  The comm pipped before the announcement; “Captain to the bridge. Captain to the bridge. Yellow alert.”

  Sam Daxe stood up, “Why doesn’t she just run the yellow alert call?”

  “Because we’re the only three crewmembers on this entire boat, not on the bridge,” replied Jack, stepping away from the table.

  ■ ■ ■

  “Talk to me Andrea,” commanded Jack, striding through the bridge doors, Sam Daxe and the Chief on his heels. “What’s going on?”

  “Pathfinder patrol, Captain. They are on an intercept course - having deviated from a previous heading which would not have intersected with our own.”

  “They?”

  “There are two ships, Captain. By their size I w
ould estimate interdiction patrol craft, crew of about six each, well armed.”

  “How close are we to the gate to Corchoran?”

  “Two hours, sixteen minutes.”

  “Time to intercept?”

  “We will still be an hour from the gate, Captain.”

  “Dammit…” leaning on her armrest, he reached past her, flipping tabs to a chart of the Ballistraye System, “And no place close enough to go to ground…” He looked back over his shoulder, “Chief can we…”

  Daryl shook his head. “Nope, no way to outrun them in this thing.”

  Steele gnashed his teeth, “Mmmm - where’s a good plasma storm when you need one…”

  “And we can’t go nose-to-nose with them,” volunteered Sam, “this ship isn’t suited for that, they’ll cut us up in short order.”

  Steele straightened up, “You two are just rays of freaking sunshine, aren’t ‘you?”

  The Chief shrugged, “I assumed you’d want the truth. We could lie if it would make you feel better…”

  Steele shot him a scowl, “Don’t be a smartass.”

  Sam Daxe rubbed his chin, “Why are you assuming the worst, Cap?”

  “Past experience…”

  “With Pathfinders?”

  “With authority types in general…” He spun around, “OK, I need all you can tell me about the Pathfinders - who they work for, who ‘s legal structure do they enforce, what’s their jurisdiction and what limitations they have…”

  ■ ■ ■

  The Pathfinders worked for the worlds and corporations in much of the dark territory, seeking out offenders that couldn’t be handled by local means. Equal parts law enforcement, bounty hunter and mercenary, they were often the only law in a system; operating with little oversight, roaming freely, paid on results, not presence or deterrence. Integrity or not, a man had to eat - and in dark times a man’s integrity was of little nourishment.

  And while it may not have been entirely accurate, Steele was inclined to equate them with the old adage of the Texas Rangers; One riot, one Ranger.

  The Pathfinder Commander had a hard, military look about him - someone who didn’t appear that he’d have the patience to discuss options at length for any reason. Steele was hoping of all things, that the man was, at least, of the reasonable sort, because he certainly didn’t look to be the type that could be persuaded with niceties or politeness. And yet, Steele didn’t have many other options.

  At almost exactly an hour to the gate to Corchoran, the Drake sat opposite a couple of Pathfinder Sabers. Not that making it through the gate would have helped much, the Pathfinders covered a patrol district of several systems and would have caught them in Corchoran anyway.

  “Captain, I assume you know why we’ve interdicted you…”

  Steele knew better than to use the words; honestly, truthfully, or, swear on your favorite deity, to impress innocence. Speak plainly and without implication of any prior knowledge - of anything. “I have no idea, Commander.”

  “Oh, come now, Captain. You can’t guess?”

  Never guess. And never say you’re sorry, apologize or promise. “Commander, you hailed us and ordered us to stop. We have done that. That is all I know.”

  “You disappoint me, Captain.”

  “I fail to see how that is possible, Commander, as we have precisely followed your instructions…”

  “Why didn’t you attempt to make the gate, Captain?” interrupted the Pathfinder Commander.

  “It simply didn’t occur to me…” Andrea discreetly angled her monitor for Jack to observe out of the corner of his eye, the second Pathfinder Saber, swinging wide to their flank. “Commander, might I make a suggestion? Perhaps it would be more expedient for both of us, if you could be a little clearer about what you want. We have a schedule to keep, and I’m sure you’d prefer to be doing something more productive…”

  The Commander was silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing, appearing he was considering the exchange… before he burst out laughing. “Where are you headed in that bucket of bolts, Captain?”

  “Home. Veloria in Velora Prime.”

  “Velora Prime… In free space…” he said, deadpan, pointing at Steele on the monitor. “You really think the UFW will allow the likes of you, traipsing around their protected skies?”

  “I’ve never had an issue before…” fibbed Steele.

  “And just where are you coming from?”

  Steele had to resist the urge of folding his arms or standing with his hands on his hips, forcing himself to maintain a casual pose next to Andrea. “I fail to see how that is relevant, Commander…”

  The Pathfinder’s brow furrowed, his face dropping to a scowl, “It’s relevant because I say it’s relevant. So, answer the question. Where are you coming from?”

  “G'Naroth Sarat in the Bengaloo System.”

  “Really…” The Commander pursed his lips, “I’m sure you know there are much more favorable routes from Bengaloo to Velora Prime…” His mouth curled into an evil smirk, “Taking the scenic route, are we?”

  “My Interstellar Travel & Shipping Law, is a little rusty, but I don’t recall any restrictions on routes except such as are duly-noted for safety advisories…”

  The Commander waved it off dismissively, “Yes, yes, very knowledgeable. Tell me, Captain, did you happen to take a detour on this illustrious trip and make a stop on Byas-Kuyol in the Castille System? Possibly acquiring that very ship?” he nodded towards the screen. “A ship I might add, we have come in contact with on several occasions. From that personal experience, I can positively confirm that you are not the crew of that ship - which leaves me to believe that maybe, just maybe, you are responsible for that bloody mess at the Byas-Kuyol Medical Center. I am genuinely curious as to how you bested an entire crew of ruthless brigands on your own, Mr. Mercury.”

  The Commander smiled - one of those, smug, I’ve got you, smiles. “I see by your expression you didn’t expect me to know that… But your movements and subsequent arrest on Hoyle’s Station are well documented. What I can’t understand is, why, after turning you in to Sentinel Services - for a tidy sum I might add, these people risked their necks, seriously violating those Interstellar Travel & Shipping Laws you mentioned, to get you back…”

  The Commander folded his arms across his chest, reflecting an air of superiority. “Mr. Mercury, you will turn your ship around and accompany us back to Hoyle’s in Darpinger Run, where you and your entire crew will be taken into custody, your accounts surrendered, your assets seized, and your ship auctioned off. Do something stupid on the way and we will cut your ship apart and leave your bloody, frozen, corpses to float in space forever. Am I clear?”

  Steele exchanged glances with each and every crewmember on his bridge, lastly with Andrea, who discreetly angled her screen towards him, a message simply saying; We will fight! He reached past her and closed the tab, straightening up and defiantly folded his arms across his chest. “Clear the bridge.” Slow, hesitant movements, and furtive glances prompted him to repeat the order, “Everyone off the bridge, please.” He waited until the last of them had shuffled off and the automatic doors closed behind them, leaving him to face the Pathfinder Commander alone.

  “What are you up to, Mr. Mercury?”

  “Please excuse your bridge crew, Commander…”

  “For what?”

  “For something that can only be imparted from one command officer to another…”

  The Commander considered it for a moment before waving his hand, the three-man bridge crew filing out the door behind him. “If you waste my time, Mr. Mercury, I promise you will pay dearly for it later…”

  Steele waited for the door at the back of the bridge to close. “You may not like what I am about to tell you, so I am prepared to sweeten the deal with a fair amount of credits…”

  “A bribe?” chuckled the Commander. “That’s wonderful that you think…”

  “You are familiar with Interstellar Security Codes?” i
nterrupted Steele.

  “Of course,” replied the Pathfinder, suspiciously. “We do deal with the UFW from time-to-time.”

  “You have certified clearance for basic access then?”

  The Pathfiner Commander’s face transitioned from an air of superiority to one of great concern, “Yes… no details, just protocols and responses.”

  “Good. Please open your code reference, I’ll wait…” Steele watched the Commander initiate a new screen on his command console, looking back up when he was ready. “GIS clearance; Arclight. Codename; Promethium.”

  The Commander was wide-eyed, “You’re GIS…” his voice trailed off.

  Jack was not happy that he was put in the position to reveal something so sensitive, but he had run out of options. And uncertain that it would have any effect at all, he rather enjoyed the results and the stunned look. “Yes, I am.” He remained stone-faced, “What is your prescribed protocol and response, Commander?” The comms square went dark nearly instantly.

  There were tense moments where anything was possible, and Steele could hear his heart pounding in his ears. The lead Pathfinder ship rotated slowly away and moved off, it’s wingman following suit before they both shot away. He smiled wryly to himself, “Well that was rude… was it something I said?” But it wasn’t lost on him that it could just as easily have gone a completely different way. Fortunately, in Dark Territory, it seemed the GIS reputation preceded itself - at least to some. Steele was more than happy to accept a lucky break wherever he could get it.

  ■ ■ ■

  Sitting in the command seat, Steele directed Andrea into the first officer’s chair with a wave, “C’mon people,” he clapped, “let’s go, let’s go…”

  Stopping mid-bridge, the Chief indicated the screen, and the empty spread of stars, “Where the hellion did they go? What did you say?”

  Steele reached over and gently pushed him out of the aisle, so the crew could get to their stations. “Helm, Corchoran Gate, best speed. Get us moving…”

  “Aye, Corchoran Gate…” affirmed Gordo, easing the throttle forward.

  “Where did they go?” insisted the Chief, waving at the screen.