Resurrection

by Jeffrey Burger

  Jack examined the data and composite overlays of the time-lapse frames, chewing the inside of his cheek, “If I had to guess, I’d say it looks like a ship exploding.”

  Arturro bobbed his head excitedly, “See that’s what I thought! What I think we’re actually seeing is the shock wave and the debris field swelling, but yeah.” He rubbed his forehead with his fingertips, “So what do you think it means?”

  “I think it means someone had a really shitty day.”

  “No,” waved Arturro, “I mean do you think it was the ship we ran into in the Sulerian System? Maybe they were tracking us?”

  Steele handed him back the e-Pad, “We may never know; and since we’re about to enter UFW patrolled space, they’d never want to follow us here. But all the same, save this data. We’ll file a report with the authorities when we reach Veloria, they may want to send someone to investigate.” He checked his MOBIUS, “Mmm, three hours to Velora Prime,” he muttered. “There’s something we probably need to discuss; have everyone on the bridge in half an hour…”

  Arturro accepted the e-Pad back, “What is it, Captain?”

  “Bridge. Half an hour.”

  ■ ■ ■

  The small talk and chatter ended the instant Jack Steele stepped onto the bridge of the Drake, Andrea close behind him, the only person not in attendance, the Master Chief.

  So what’s going on Captain?” asked Latt, turning away from his navigation station.

  “Hold on,” waved Sam Daxe, stalling his crewmate, “how’s the Chief? Any improvement?”

  Andrea caught the glance from Jack and stepped-in to answer based on her medical knowledge, “He is comfortable, and his vitals are stable and strong. He is receiving a sedative and pain control management. We’re keeping his burns wrapped and we’re starting to see some beginning stages of healing. I’m sure there is much more that can be done on Veloria - a proper medical facility will be able to offer much better care than we are equipped for.”

  “So he’s going to be OK,” said Sam, rather matter-of-factly.

  “Yes, I believe so, barring any complications. Scarring will be the biggest issue, but most major facilities have dermatology wards that can restore most skin issues. I’m confident the results will be excellent.”

  It was quiet for a moment, glances making the rounds between the crew, an expectant sense hanging in the air. Steele cleared his throat, “Once we enter Velora Prime, things will change, and they’ll change quickly.”

  “How so?” asked Gordo.

  “First let me ask, does anyone have any secrets or issues that could cause problems for them in UFW space or on a UFW planet?” Jack held his hands out, “No judgement. I just don’t want to put anyone in a situation that might jeopardize their freedom.”

  There were expressionless looks and glances shared around the bridge before Sam Daxe crossed his arms defiantly, leaning against the side of the first mate’s chair, “Little late to ask now, isn’t it?”

  Steele raised an eyebrow, “Something I should know, Sam?”

  Sam shrugged, “From me? No, not at all. I just think it’s a little strange to ask, two-hours before we enter UFW space if there’s anyone here who can’t go to UFW space - like they’d have a choice.”

  “Sam, I’m asking so I can be prepared. I can effect a writ of free and clear passage. It can be either temporary or permanent…”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” waved Sam, interrupting, “only a territorial judge, high-level government representative, or…”

  “Ranking military commander can do that,” finished Jack.

  Sam’s brow furrowed in consternation, “No disrespect, but captain of a freight courier doesn’t count,” he said sarcastically.

  “True. But a task force Rear Admiral counts.”

  There was a sudden intensity on the bridge and the expression on Sam’s face crossed from surprise to non-belief, “Noooo…” he whispered, unsure.

  Steele ran his fingers through his hair as he glanced at the faces surrounding him, “I am Rear Admiral, Jack Steele. Commander of UFW Task Force Lancer. Currently on special assignment with the GIS. Technically,” he motioned open-handed, “I might be considered MIA, as I’ve been dark far longer than scheduled… Anyway, I am originally from Earth. Some of you may know it as Terra. I now live here on Veloria with my wife; Alité Galaýa Steele - Queen of Veloria…”

  “You’re an Admiral?” blurted Arturro.

  “No… Nope. No way,” laughed Sam, unconvinced, trying to stall the flow of the conversation, his hands out. “That would make you a King…”

  Steele’s expression remained unchanged, stoic. “Yes. Yes, it would, Sam.”

  Sam shook his head, “Look. Cap, I like you and all, but that’s the biggest load of shit I’ve…”

  “Wait! Sam… Sam!” urged Latt, reaching out to slap his shoulder, “what about the Ballistraye System?”

  Sam raised an eyebrow, “What about it?”

  “The Pathfiner Sabers - remember them?” Though he spoke to Sam, Latt’s eyes were on the Captain, “Why would they just let us go like that? Maybe GIS clearance would explain that…”

  Gordo nodded in agreement, “True, they didn’t leave like they’d been convinced, they left like they were scared.”

  Sam looked down, searching his thoughts, “I forgot about that…” He looked back up at Jack, studying his face, “I’m not saying I’m convinced… I mean, I want to believe you, but ”

  With some effort, Steele pulled the sizeable solid-gold ring off his left ring finger, the winged horse, Pegasus, standing rampant against a red rising sun on the top, the sides engraved with detailed Templar symbols. He grabbed Sam’s hand, turned it palm-up and casually dropped the gold into his open hand. “Read the inscription.”

  Taking a moment to scrutinize the heft and detail of the ring, Sam rubbed his thumb over the surface of the emblem on the side, “In Hoc Signo Vinces.” He glanced up momentarily, “In This Sign You Will Conquer…?”

  Steele blinked slowly, his patience fraying, “The inside of the ring, Sam. Read it out loud.”

  “Ah.” Sam rolled it over to read the inside, rotating it slowly, “My husband, Jack Steele, King of Veloria & my heart, Queen Alité Steele.” His mouth scrunched as he chewed the inside of his lip, holding the ring out in his open palm. “Um…” he rubbed the back of his neck as Steele accepted the ring back and returned it to his finger, “awkward.” The rest of the crew was silent as Sam struggled, motioning toward the ring, “The whole Knights Templar thing?”

  Steele nodded, still stoic, “Yes. I am.”

  Sam pursed his lips in contemplation, unsure if he wanted to ask or not. He threw caution to the winds, more uncomfortable than ever, “And the Guardian Angel thing?”

  Steele groaned, exchanging a quick sideways glance with Andrea, “Ahem, yeah,” he rubbed his beard for a moment, “I’m still sorting that out. I’m not really sure that I know what a Guardian Angel is - or is supposed to do. Or how I fit into that. It’s not like there’s a clear job description or manual.” He sighed, “Wish there was, it would make things a lot easier.”

  Sam sat heavily into the first mate’s chair, trying to absorb it all, “Man…”

  “Yeah…” With nothing left to add, Steele shrugged his shoulders, “Guys, are we all good?”

  ■ ■ ■

  A swirl of iridescent colors replaced the satiny lining of the jump transition tunnel, electric tendrils of dancing light caressing the hull of the Drake as she passed into the star-flecked space of Velora Prime. An unconscious sigh of relief escaped Steele’s lips. He was home. He had made it. “Helm, plot a course to the third planet.”

  “Aye, plotting.”

  Jack felt renewed, refreshed. “Sam, you have the bridge, we’re going to go check on the Chief. Give me a shout if you need me…”

  Sam Daxe stayed in the First Mate’s chair, the access, clearance and controls identical for both command chairs. Watching Jack and Andrea over his shoul
der, he waited for the bridge door to close completely before relaxing. “Whew, well that was uncomfortable. Can’t say that I’ve ever served with a KingAdmiralAngel before…” Amid a spread of light laughter, he motioned toward the big screen, “Let’s go, Gordo, best speed without breaking anything new…” The thought of some time on the ground, sunshine on his face, real turf under his feet, fresh air in his lungs, was a welcomed prospect. It had been too long.

  The thought of quality liquor and a woman attending to his every need, was just as appealing and he began imagining what she would look like. If they were lucky, the Drake repairs would take a while… “Say, I’m just wondering aloud here, anybody think he actually needs this bucket of bolts? I mean, don’t you think, in his position, he probably has better ships at his disposal?”

  Latt swiveled his seat around, “Good point. Think he’d let us keep it?”

  Sam smirked, “Great minds think alike, my friend…”

  ■ ■ ■

  Trotting up the corridor toward the bridge, yellow lights flashing throughout the ship, Steele looked over at Andrea, “Wonder what this could be about? We’re in UFW controlled space, we should be perfectly sa…” The lights flashed to red just before the klaxon sounded and in unison they broke into a sprint. “What the hell?” The pitch of the engines changed and immediately he knew they were applying reverse thrust for braking.

  “Sitrep!” shouted Jack as he dashed through the bridge door, tromping to a stop between the command chairs. Staring open-mouthed at the big screen, two formations of fighters blocking their path, “Whoa…”

  Two sets of four, heavily armed Warthog D series fighters with purple tails, in vertical diamond formation, each led by a P6 Spectre with jagged purple slashes decorating its hull, faced them. “That is a wall of hurt…” His mind raced, “Shields?”

  “Shields are up,” replied Sam.

  “Take ‘em down.”

  Sam hazarded a sideways glance, not wanting to look away from the screen, “Are you serious?”

  “They won’t do a damn thing against that amount of firepower. If they wanted to kill us, we’d be dead already. Contact?”

  “None. They just appeared out of nowhere. One second there was clear space, the next second,” he motioned toward the screen, “there they were. Thought I was seeing things at first.”

  “Nothing on scans?”

  Lott shook his head, “Not a damn thing. Until we could see them. And still not much.”

  Steeles eyes narrowed, “Zoom in.” As the screen brought them closer, He nodded once, folding his arms across his chest. “The center one in each formation” he pointed, “a P6 Spectre. Six-man crew, set up for electronic and sensor domination warfare.” He motioned towards the others, encircling them with his finger, “The rest are Warthogs. I think.” He tugged his beard on his chin, “A new model, I’m guessing. Tough bird. Dangerous - even the older models.” He refolded his arms, “Just follow my lead. Open an all-hail.”

  “Aye, all-hail. You’re on, Cap.”

  “Greetings, I’m Captain Jax Mercury, and this is the Drake. To what do I owe this auspicious welcome?”

  “What is your business in Velorian Space?” came the flat reply.

  “No video, audio only,” whispered Latt.

  Knowing the patrol might be seeing his video, he remained pleasantly animated, “As you might be able to tell, we’ve run into a little trouble and are in need of repairs. We are headed to the ASP for those repairs.”

  “What is your cargo?”

  “We don’t have any. It’s in Zukagara where we spaced it, to get away from our attackers.”

  “Why didn’t you stop in Kessler’s Drift for repairs?”

  “Because the ASP is a much better facility and I felt we’d be safer in UFW territory.”

  “This is not UFW territory, this is Velorian territory. Veloria is independent.”

  It was a reflex he couldn’t control; his eyes widening, his mouth open, “I… I wasn’t aware of that. But we’d still like to get repairs at the ASP if that’s alright.”

  “It’s not. The ASP is restricted. Only military or scheduled arrivals are allowed. I will have B Flight escort you to the Space Dock for repairs.” One formation of ships visibly wavered before disappearing completely, the main screen displaying intermittent picture static.

  As they moved off there was a slight distortion and Steele silently pointed it out, his fingers to his lips, the channel still open. “We will follow your lead, B Flight,” he shrugged, hoping they were still listening. There was no more audible communication, the new heading appearing on screen in a text message. Gordo maneuvered the Drake to follow the P6 Spectre in the lead, the Warthog D’s around them in a vertical diamond formation.

  Jack dropped into his command chair and checked his comms screen to be sure the comm had been disconnected before speaking, “I don’t like this. Something has changed - something drastic.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell them who you were?” probed Sam.

  “Something wasn’t right from the get-go. I could feel it.” He circled the big screen with an open hand, “and this all confirms it. Something is seriously wrong here.” He ran both hands through his hair in exasperation, “Fuck. We never had a space dock, where the hell did that come from? And the ASP is an open all-access air and space field… or was.” He was fighting a serious case of butterflies and his mind was racing. “Independent - no longer affiliated with the UFW… what the hell is going on here?”

  ■ ■ ■

  Parked in geosynchronous orbit above Veloria, the space dock welcomed the Drake with a multi-colored, flashing neon billboard, half the size of a football field; Deep Star Space Dock - sales • salvage • service. It was a sharp-edged facility with few flowing lines, boxy in shape, utilitarian in appearance, like a warehouse, void of style or color except for the billboard. Multiple landing pads for small and medium ships were largely rectangular with disk-shaped walled ends, the roof hanging underneath the pad like a tube cut in half lengthwise. Two levels of pads on the short sides of the warehouse structure and tethered mooring for larger ships fitted with gantry cranes for repair and service on the long sides, somehow made Jack think of the old, gas station service garages on Earth - it just had that kind of feel. He imagined somewhere inside, a bell would ring as they touched down and an attendant would rush out to pump the gas, wipe the windows and check the oil.

  Adjusting the Drake to line up on Pad Three on the upper level of the dock, Gordo centered the bullseye and set it down gently, the cameras showing the landing gear flexing to accept its own weight. “On the mark, we’re down.”

  “And our escort?” asked Jack.

  Arturro tapped on one of his monitors, “Gone. Disappeared when we were on final approach.”

  “I bet they didn’t go far,” commented Jack. “I don’t trust them - I get the feeling they’re going to watch us for a while.”

  From underneath the pad, the roof, a structurally ribbed half-tube, rolled slowly, up and over the Drake, to close it in, completing the hangar. “I wondered how that was going to work,” commented Sam, watching the machination, “interesting.”

  “Simple but effective,” observed Jack.

  “Comm coming in, audio only.”

  “Go ahead, connect.”

  “Welcome to Deep Star,” said a distinctly female voice. “It will take about three-minutes for the roof to close and seal. It will take another ten-minutes to pressurize the bay and provide atmosphere. Please keep your hull sealed until the row of signal lights on the wall in front of you are all green.”

  “Understood. We will be needing some repairs.”

  “We can see that. Ran into a fight?”

  “Yes, we did.”

  “Not to worry, we have an extensive inventory and expert repair technicians. Not much we can’t handle… For a price of course.”

  “Of course. We also have an injured crewman who will need medical attention - he has burns…”r />
  “We have a pretty good medical facility. It’s small but well-staffed. If his condition is more than we can handle, we’ll arrange an emergency shuttle to a hospital on the surface. Have you been able to issue pain management?”

  “Yes, he is comfortable.”

  “Wonderful. A medical team will meet you at the bay doors…”

  ■ ■ ■

  Transferred to one of the station’s medical hover-gurneys, the Chief was whisked away to Deep Star’s hospital, the Drake’s gurney sent back to the ship with the inspection team. The repair consultant, a slender, petite woman with silver-grey hair and steely silver-ish eyes remained with the Jack, Sam and Andrea, walking them in the direction of the elevators to the office. Stepping onto a moving walkway that stretched out as far as one could see, they sailed down the long corridor effortlessly, another such walkway to their left, going in the opposite direction. The small group was alone, however, which felt rather odd for such a large facility.

  “Please excuse any messes you might see,” she commented, indicating an open inspection panel, computers and power junctions exposed to the corridor, “we opened just last week and there’s still a lot of work to be done.”

  “The medical bay?” asked Jack, concerned about the Master Chief’s care.

  “Was one of the first things finished,” she replied. “We felt it might be necessary just for the construction crews… because things happen.”

  Steele nodded, “Sure, makes sense.”

  “Pardon me for asking, but have we ever met before? You look so familiar…”

  Jack raised an eyebrow and did a reactive stroke of his beard, “No I don’t think so,” he smiled crookedly, “I just have one of those faces,” he joked.

  She regarded him casually with a curt shake of her head, “I swear, I… hmm, I’ll think of it eventually.”

  “So, what other amenities does the station have?” asked Jack, changing the subject.