by Danny Loomis
“What’s up?” he asked, a nibble of concern stealing in.
Grant sighed, shaking his head. “It looks like we have to leave now.” He gave Irish a rueful look. “I had you booked into this place for the next three days. Unfortunately, I screwed up. Which means we have to leave now. You’ve got ten minutes to dress and pack, then we’re out of here.”
Once on the road, Grant got on his phone. “We’re on our way, be there in twenty.”
Irish looked back, half-expecting to see security forces bearing down. “What happened, Sir?”
Grant gave a short bark of laughter. “I had to get a little tough with Ridley. Showed him an identification card that claimed I was a couple pay grades higher than him, and further up the food chain. Unfortunately, I hadn’t checked that particular I.D. lately; it was a year out of date.” He rubbed his chin, carefully driving the speed limit while heading towards the air field. “Usually I double-check any identification I might have to use. This time, I completely forgot. And of course Ridley double-checked to make sure I was who I said I was.”
Irish chuckled, then sobered. “Last year I commented to my superiors that whenever I saw you, it seemed you were a different rank. What gives?”
Once through the front gate Grant glanced at him, then away. “Sometimes it has proven handy, even necessary, to have multiple identities.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Spook stuff.”
“Right the first time.” Grant wheeled into a parking slot next to the smallest and most dilapidated hangar on the field. “Grab your gear, our ride to your new home is inside.”
“What is this?” Irish asked, walking around the sleek looking craft.
“Newly designed attack shuttle,” Grant said, unloading a duffel bag from the rear of the car. “You still get in through the back of it.”
Irish walked once more around the craft which was 60 meters long. Gently pointed at the front, it flared out more than the normal shuttle on the sides. Reminiscent of a destroyer without wings. Except for the boxy rear end, which was the same as other shuttles. “Pretty slick looking.” He hefted his bag, waiting for the ramp to finish lowering before entering after Grant.
“Come on up and strap in the co-pilot’s seat,” Grant said, securing himself in the pilot’s chair while talking. A touch of a button and the rear hatch slid noiselessly up. Another touch, and Irish felt a slight vibration when the gravitics kicked in.
“By the way, both of your crew are civilians, employed by Sector Intel. I would have had one of them be the Captain, but regulations are such that any military ship has to be captained by an officer in the military.” He glanced at Irish. “I still would’ve gotten you out of the lion’s den, even if I didn’t need you as a ship’s captain. I’m glad now that they usually pick me to give the intel briefing to those classes. Enabled me to get you out of the slammer without wading through a lot of red tape.” He double-checked the board. “There’s lots of work for someone like you. Just thought you’d like this job the best.”
“Thanks–I think,” Irish said with a smile. “I highly appreciate what you’ve done for me.”
“You’re lucky it was my turn in the hopper to give an intel brief. Now hang on.” Grant eased the yoke ahead, and the shuttle glided forward.
“Hey, no wheels,” he said with a surprised smile.
“Right. This baby’s only powered by gravitics. We’ve got a skin on it that soaks up power from the sun’s energy. Plus the batteries are 20% smaller and hold 150% more than they used to.”
Grant moved the shuttle onto the runway, and into the air without hesitation. “Had a five minute window for this runway. Lucky we got here in time.”
Irish relaxed in his seat. “Man, that was a smooth takeoff. Didn’t even feel any inertia.”
Grant chuckled. “You wouldn’t, either. The inertial compensator absorbs up to five gravities before things get bumpy.”
“This really is advanced. Why…”
“Why don’t we have this on all our shuttles? Expense is the main reason. In general, with all the bells and whistles we’ve put on it, the cost is ten times what it would be for a regular shuttle.”
He silently whistled. “And this is just the shuttle? What’s the ship like?”
“We’ll talk about that when I have the crew brief you. But cost wise? Expensive as a destroyer.”
Irish remained quiet the rest of the flight, too shocked to think of any more questions.
NEAR SPACE, ALAMO STAR SYSTEM (Day -36)
At first glance, the 520-meter long ship seemed innocuous enough. Grant circled it before landing, to give Irish a good look. Being 250 meters wide gave it the look of a chubby ellipsoid with two Bollard-Singh Cherenkov engine exhausts attached to its flat backside. No markings were apparent on the uniformly dark grey exterior.
“We named her Erebus. She’s the first of her line. A special type of scout ship.” A ramp opened on the front, and Grant drifted inside the docking bay. Once touched down, he ensured the ramp had closed before switching off the shuttle and popping the hatch. He grimaced. “I know force screens keep air from leaving the ship’s bay. But I’m cursed with a phobia about having what seems to be nothing protecting me from open space.”
Irish glanced around curiously when they exited the shuttle, noting he was at one gravity. “How much storage on her?”
Grant waved his hand towards the aft end. “The propulsion units, fuel pods and other gadgets take up about three hundred fifty meters of the space behind us. We still have plenty of room to store enough foodstuffs and supplies to last two squads for a couple years. Plus their gear, weapons and ammunition.” He gestured upwards. “The top third of the ship is for personnel and living quarters.”
They stepped into a lift, which noiselessly moved them upwards.
One of the crew hurried over to greet them when they exited the lift. A short blonde man, heavy with muscles and younger looking than Irish shook Grant’s hand. “Welcome back, Sir.” He looked towards him, an expectant look on his face.
Irish held out his hand. “I’m Staff-uh-Captain Shannon. Please call me Irish.”
He hesitantly took his hand. “Er-Yes, Sir. I’m Willy. Willy Tyson.”
Irish gave a quick glance at his hand, now splotched with grease. “Right. Can I call you Willy?”
“Of course, Sir.” He led them over to the tool room he’d been in when they arrived. “I was just repairing Mister Grant’s sidearm when you arrived.”
“Like I said, Willy. You can call me Irish, okay?” He surreptitiously snatched a rag from the bench and wiped his hand.
“Of course, Si-Irish.” He turned to Grant, handing him an angular shaped pistol, not the normal rounded look. “Couldn’t find parts for your weapon but I was able to make them with our tools here, Sir.”
Grant inspected it, a pleased look on his face. Nice job, Willy. Not surprised you couldn’t find parts, though. This weapon’s a thousand years old.”
Willy shook his head. “Wow. Glad you didn’t tell me. Might of gotten nervous or something.”
A sealed hatch opened at the front of the ship and a hulking form came through. Looked to be over two meters tall. “Hey, Mister Grant. Good to see you again.” The deep velvet sound of his voice echoed from the bulkheads. “An’ this must be our new boss. I’m Jack White, Sir. Everyone calls me Shag, though.”
Irish tried to cover the shock he felt when shaking his hand. “I’m Captain Shannon. But please call me Irish, will you?” A heavy thatch of brown hair that looked more like fur covered his scalp. The skin of his face was heavily scarred, and his nose looked like it had been broken several times. God, what kind of accident had he been through? His eyes sharpened. “Damn, man, my best friend has a nose long as yours.” He smiled. “I think we’ll get along famously.”
“Let me show you where your bunk is.” Grant pointed to the starboard side. He opened a hatch, showing a small room. “Your cubicle is twelve squ
are meters of space. Room enough for a bunk, your gear and a mini-office. Forward of you are rooms for Willy and Shag. Why don’t you get your gear stored?”
Minutes later Irish poked his head inside the flight deck. Roomier than he’d thought. Even Shag, in the co-pilot’s seat, had room for his legs to stretch out. Willy, seated behind the pilot and with a screen of his own, would be able to pivot his entire work station from side to side if necessary. “All set,” he said. “We headed somewhere?”
“Roger that,” Grant said. “I’ve got to be back at Sector HQ for a meeting.” He tossed him a data cube. “Study up on the Erebus while we’re on our way. Take off in five minutes, so you might want to buckle in. There are a row of seats on the port side. Can’t miss ‘em.” He turned back to his pre-flight checks, as did the others.
After closing the hatch, he hurried to his quarters and dug out a data reader from his luggage. Within seconds he’d strapped in and turned on the reader.
A small speaker in the seat chimed quietly. “We are now underway; three G’s acceleration,” came the velvety sound of Shag’s voice. He smiled in appreciation, not feeling any movement. The internal gravity didn’t show even a minor fluctuation, like it did in most ships when accelerating. He relaxed and concentrated on the information scrolling across the screen of his reader.
The first surprise was the primary weapon system for the Erebus. Rather than a laser or capital missiles, it had an electromagnetic pulse beam. He shook his head in puzzlement. What the hell? He hadn’t even heard of making an EMP into a weapon against ships. Normally the pulse was scattered by a force screen, or absorbed and diffused by armor of any thickness. He read on, fascination growing.
They’d been able to come up with a system that narrowed the beam of an EMP down to less than a millimeter in diameter, which helped it punch through force screens and up to five meters of armor without leaving a mark. Once near any electronics, it would fry them. Which meant communications, weapons systems, generators and even the Cherenkov engine itself. The main drawback was you had to be within 2,500 kilometers of your target to use it.
Defensively it had the normal chaff, warbler and decoy missiles. Mainly it relied on its ultra powerful cloaking abilities for protection. Most ships had to creep along when cloaked but this ship could move at five gravities, an unheard of thing. He shook his head. The final weapon listed was the particle beamer, same as what the Wasp had. Although it could be used in space, for the Erebus its main purpose was a surface weapon. Since this ship was able to land on planetary surfaces due to its powerful gravitic generators, it had been decided to leave the beamers for use on ground targets. It only took a crew of three to operate the ship, due to the extensive upgrades on all the systems.
Two Bollard-Singh Cherenkov engines gave it power when moving at over seven gravities, and also for entering/exiting an N-space portal. Inside a star system when traveling at seven gravities or less, it moved on gravitics. Normally it wasn’t feasible to use this method for extended periods, but the Erebus, like its shuttle, had a surface that would absorb energy from the sun at 85% efficiency. This let it stay cloaked and using gravitics or “g-forces” for an indefinite time. Perfect if you wanted to remain undetected.
By the time they closed in on Sector Headquarters, Irish had absorbed the information on the data cube. He touched a button on the armrest of his seat, turning on a large monitor. Seconds later he’d called up an external display that took his breath away. A huge wheel spun slowly in space ahead of them, surrounded with dozens of specks that were ships. The Headquarters was six kilometers in diameter, and had a central tower ten kilometers long. Spokes radiated out from it to the wheel, which was two kilometers thick. This was a treat, since he’d never seen more than pictures of it.
The speaker chimed. “Preparing to dock.” He continued watching in fascination while they neared the central tower, finally nestling into a slot. “Docking complete.”
He’d just gained his feet when Grant strode up. “I realize things are happening awfully fast around you, Irish. I promise, though, things’ll settle down in a few days and we can have a long talk.” He gestured towards the flight deck. “Right now, though, I’d like you to take the Erebus out for a shakedown cruise over the next three days. Get a feel of her and the crew. Okay?”
“Sounds good,” he said to Grant’s back, who was headed for the airlock. He looked after him bemusedly. Damn, Grant was right. Felt like a whirlwind had picked him up from prison. Needed to pinch himself to see if it was all a dream.
Willy’s voice echoed from the bridge. “C’mon, Skipper; we gotta go.”
He gave himself a shake. “On my way.” He stepped through the hatchway, looking around. His. This was his, now. “Okay, guys, let’s take a lap around this star. I need to see how this baby handles.”
By the third day, Irish had impressed the crew with his flight abilities.
“Jeez, Sir, you don’t need to show us anything more. Y’know this ship better than us,” Shag said, eyes still showing shock at the seven-G move Irish had just made to avoid another asteroid.
“Sweet talk won’t get you anywhere,” he said. “Except maybe another free beer at the Officer’s Club on the Tin Can.” Willy and Shag had shared their nickname for the Sector HQ, which when seen from a certain angle did look like one.
Irish dodged another rock, causing Willy to squeak. “And please, guys, call me Irish.” He swooped upwards. “Guess we’d better head for the barn, though. Didn’t Grant say to meet him in his office in five hours?”
Shag gave an audible sigh of relief when they exited the asteroid belt. “Yeah, that should give me time to change my shorts.”
Five hours on the dot they were escorted into Grant’s inner office by his secretary, a severe-looking woman of indeterminate age. Irish gazed around, impressed by the size of the office. Shoot, you’d think room would be at a premium in this place.
Grant shut down his computer and swung to face them, seated at a utilitarian desk. “Sit, sit. How’d it go?” He was looking at Willy and Shag expectantly.
“Not bad,” Willy said with a shudder. “He can definitely make the Erebus fly like it was a Wasp.”
“Amen to that,” chipped in Shag, shaking his head. “He’s got you all beat to hell on flyin’ skills.”
Grant leaned back with a full throated laugh. “Damn, Shag, you make sure my ego doesn’t get ahead of itself.”
“We found a couple problems, too,” Willy said. “Had to fix the front ramp’s seal. Couple bolts stripped out. Only had a small leak, but take care of it when you find it, I always say.”
“The radar glitch was the scariest, though,” Shag said. His eyebrows climbed up his forehead while talking. “We were just taking off from here when he pointed at the radar an’ said there was a fluctuation in it.”
“And it wasn’t just the radar set he pointed at,” Willy said. “It was the power unit to it under the counter. How’d he know where the power unit was?”
Irish shrugged, face warming. “Um–seemed a logical place for it.”
“Yeah, said it’d probably need to have a couple new breaker chips in it, since one was trying to short out, and damaging the one next to it.” Shag ran a hand down his face. “The spooky thing was, you couldn’t see anything wrong.”
Grant sighed, and nodded. “Okay, guess I’d better tell them about you.”
Irish straightened. “You sure…”
“Of course I am,” Grant said. “I think they’d even understand.” He turned to Willy and Shag. “You see, Irish has the second sight when it comes to things electronic.”
Startled, he resisted the urge to giggle. Until he saw the solemn expression on the other two. He had to scrub his face and cough a couple times to cover the mirth that leaked out. He glanced at Grant, then back to his crew. “I’m definitely not the only one with special abilities,” he said. “Both have an aura about them of possessing special talents. Willy can f
ix anything on the ship, even make duplicates of parts if they’re small enough to be done in his machine shop. Shag whispers what I’d swear are incantations when he repairs electronics. I don’t know what I’d do without their unique abilities.” Irish looked at all of them, forcing himself to keep a serious expression on his face. God, that sounded hokey.
Both men brightened at the praise. “Thanks, Sir,” Willy said. “Damn, didn’t think of what I did as special…”
Shag interrupted, looking more serious than he’d ever seen him. “Y’know, Sir, I’ve been picked on all my life about my habit of talking to electronic things. Never thought of it as incantations…”
Irish forced a stern look on his face. “I’ve told you two before. Don’t call me Sir, it’s Irish. Okay?”
Grant gave him a surreptitious wink before turning to the other two. “You know, I think I’ve got the perfect crew for the Erebus. I suspect you’ll all be doing amazing things in the future.”
He tossed each of them a data cube. “For the next month, I want you to take your ship out and give it a thorough shakedown cruise. That includes doing some exercises against different defensive systems listed on those cubes. Just remember, though, you have to contact my office twelve hours prior to doing an exercise. That way I can warn ‘em they’re being tested. And will also, hopefully, keep you from getting shot if you screw up. Other things you need to pay attention to…” It was another twenty minutes before Grant ran down.
He checked his watch. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take all of you to the Officer’s Club for dinner and a couple of drinks.” He stood, pointing at Willy and Shag. “Right now I need to have a word with Irish. You two go get ready.” Once they’d left his office, Grant turned to Irish. “Glad you picked up on that second sight stuff. They’re geniuses at what they do, but aren’t too good on people skills. Make sure they definitely take two days off. They tend to stay on board rather than get away to have a little fun.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll take them on a sight-seeing tour or something,” he said. “I really do think we fit together well.”