The Santana Nexus (Junkyard Dogs Book 3)

by Nolte, Phillip

  Kresge sighed as he watched the two groups of ships depart the Scrapyard. The Junkyard Dogs might or might not be able to take the fight to the Santana Nexus but it sure as hell felt good to be doing something! Any kind of hope for the future, even if what they were hoping for was a long shot, was better than just moping around and waiting for something else bad to happen!

  ***

  UTFN Auxiliary Ship Greyhound January 7, 2599.

  It was shortly before midnight on the bridge of the Greyhound. The recruiting and supply expeditions had departed much earlier in the day. With so many ships and so many people gone, things seemed much quieter than usual in the Scrapyard. Harris was in charge of the Reclamation Center's command center, which was essentially the Greyhound's bridge, while Murdock, Kresge, Hawkins, Talbot and the others got some much needed rest. Carlisle, who had not resumed a full duty schedule as yet, was with Harris on the bridge looking over some of the Reclamation Center files on her wrist computer to see if a possible solution to the Greyhound's power interface problems lie somewhere within the inventory of the Scrapyard.

  "Lieutenant? Could you come over here for a minute?" asked Carlisle, her eyes intent on a holo display from her wrist computer. Harris, who had been consulting with one of the two CPOs who had remained at the Scrapyard, Perry Allen, crossed the bridge to the station that Carlisle was working at.

  "What is it, Dr. Carlisle?" asked Harris.

  In spite of the fact that the two of them were tentatively exploring the early stages of a possible relationship, they both strove to maintain a completely professional demeanor when either of them was on duty or in public.

  Carlisle looked around the bridge at the three other personnel who were manning their stations and spoke very softly. Against the normal background sounds of the various electrical devices and the nearly constant whirr of cooling and ventilation fans, the bridge was noisy enough that only Harris could hear her.

  "I found something on my wrist computer that I think you should see."

  Speaking just as softly, Harris replied, "Okay, what is it?"

  "I was going through the Scrapyard inventory files that the Federation technicians back at the Academy copied from my old unit again and I found this..." She scrolled through a list of files, stopping at one in particular. When she attempted to access the file she got a message: "Access denied. This file can only be accessed by the Station Commander."

  "Well, that would seem to settle the matter, wouldn't it?" said Harris.

  "Normally it would, but some pretty strange things happened out here in the Scrapyard during the attacks a couple of months ago. Look at this..." She re-entered her earlier command on the virtual keyboard in the air above her left wrist. The response was, as before, "This file can only be accessed by the Station Commander."

  Carlisle entered: Identify Station Commander.

  The reply surprised him. "Acting Current Commander is Lieutenant Ryan Harris."

  "What the...?"

  "That was my first response too. Then I got to thinking about it and, near as I can figure, command of the cargo loading process was transferred to Perkins when Kresge left the Scrapyard for the New Ceylon station. With you as the highest ranking officer remaining, he must have transferred overall command of the Reclamation Center to you. That would have automatically updated the Scrapyard computers on the Auxiliary tracking station. When Perkins and the others were...killed, and the tracking station was destroyed a couple of days later, any automatic updating links would have been broken when the computers were destroyed. As a consequence, command was never transferred back to Kresge...or something like that. What I have on my wrist computer is a copy of the inventory and other Scrapyard files that was made shortly after the main facility was destroyed and before the attack on the Auxiliary Tracking Station destroyed it as well. Somehow, this copy of the files 'thinks' that you are in command. By the way, this is also the only copy of these files currently in existence anywhere in the Santana Quadrant."

  "Any idea what's in it?"

  "No, but I could take a guess. It's probably personnel files and higher level security stuff, most of which doesn't matter much anymore because all the personnel were killed when the Scrapyard main facility was destroyed."

  "I don't know if it's a good idea for us to be messing with this."

  "I don't either, and I certainly don't want do anything illegal. However, we are currently at war and these files might have information we could use."

  "How about we take this up with Kresge in the morning. Given the current state of affairs, he should know about it."

  Carlisle looked relieved. "That's the same conclusion I came to, Lieutenant, but I wanted to run it by you first."

  "Thanks for telling me about this, Tamara." He stopped for a second and looked carefully at her still somewhat pale face and added, "It's late, don't you think you should be getting some rest?"

  Oblivious to the passage of time, as she often was when something that intrigued her caught her attention, she was surprised to find out how late it was and decided she agreed with him.

  "I...I lost track of the time," she said. "So we talk to Kresge first thing in the morning?"

  "First thing."

  She closed the special file, got up from her station and headed for her quarters. On the way she began to realize just how hard she had been pushing herself. Too hard probably, she concluded. Still in her coverall, she flopped down on the bed and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

  ***

  Tamara Carlisle was in deep trouble and she knew it. She didn't know how she'd gotten into this situation but the creepy place she found herself in was dark and shadowy. Ominous indistinct shapes of various sizes lined the walls and floor. She was weightless and somehow it came to her that she was facing an unknown attacker. Something furtive and threatening came out of the shadows. As the figure came towards her, she made ready to defend herself with the hand weapon that had suddenly appeared in her hand, a quantum knife. She looked around frantically, seeking some avenue of escape but suddenly there was nothing around her but bare walls. As her attacker came out into the light, she recognized the face of Fahada, the Sheik of Barsoom's female professional killer!

  Carlisle parried a blow from Fahada's knife and plunged her own blade into her adversary's abdomen, just below the ribcage. Blood began to flow and the face of her enemy contorted in agony before she...morphed into someone else! Carlisle recognized Jessie, the Veritian raider that she had been forced to kill on the bridge of the Terrier during the first battle for the Scrapyard. Her new victim cried out soundlessly and while he was writhing in pain, he morphed yet again, this time into the man Carlisle had killed in single combat within the hold of the battlecruiser, again during the first battle for the Scrapyard. Her adversary was wounded but not yet dead. He plunged his own knife into Carlisle's side and...

  ...She cried out and awoke in a cold sweat, her body contorted and her fingers clutching the bedclothes in a death grip. The pain in her side where the shadow adversary had stabbed her was partially genuine and she realized that she must have tensed and strained some the muscles in her still-healing side near her sore ribs during her thrashings. That pain was already subsiding and she was relieved to discover that she hadn't reinjured anything. Her surroundings were also unfamiliar and it took her sleep-altered mind a moment to realize that she was safe in her quarters on the Greyhound. It was sometime in the early morning which meant that she had been sleeping for several hours.

  Thank God, it was only a dream...but it had seemed so real!

  Only half awake, with tear streaks on her face, Carlisle, still dressed in her shipboard coverall, pushed out into the near darkness of the short corridor outside her small quarters on the Greyhound. She went two doors down in the dimly lit corridor and rapped softly on the door.

  "Ryan? Are you in there? Please, I need to talk to you."

  "Carlisle?" came the sleepy reply moments later. "Just a sec..." After the short time
required for Harris to pull on a coverall of his own, he opened the door to let her in. She wore a stricken look and her face was streaked with tears. She held his eyes briefly with hers before going into his arms, burying her face against his shoulder and bursting into tears in earnest. He closed the door and embraced her tightly.

  "Tamara?" he asked, his voice just above a whisper, "What's wrong?"

  Still clinging to him, she took a deep breath and managed to regain partial control of herself. Her explanation came out in a jumbled rush. She replied in the same hushed tone, so there was no possibility that they would disturb anyone else, "I just had the most horrible dream! I was fighting with Fahada and when I stabbed her, she turned into that raider that I killed on the bridge of the Terrier and then..."

  "Easy," said Harris, gently stroking her hair. He was reminded of the time he had comforted her after she had killed the very same raider that she was describing from her dream.

  "But it seemed so real!" Carlisle had stopped crying after the initial outburst but she was still clinging to the Lieutenant with her eyes tightly closed.

  "Dreams can be like that sometimes, besides, you're still recovering from some pretty serious injuries, including a good smack to the head."

  "That Fahada woman...she disturbs me." Carlisle drew her head back and turned her puffy, red-rimmed eyes to Harris's face. "Am I like her, Ryan? Am I a...killer? I...I just saw the faces of two of the men I killed in my dream..."

  Harris shook his head emphatically. "No, Tamara, you're not a killer. You're a soldier. There is a big difference. Sometimes soldiers are forced to kill others in the line of duty. The very fact that you're dreaming about it and it bothers you so much means that you have regrets. What you feel may not be comfortable, but it's perfectly normal."

  "It felt...awful..." She looked relieved but the plea in her eyes was unmistakable as she asked the next question, "Ryan? ...can I stay here with you for a while? I really don't want to be alone right now."

  Refusing her never even crossed his mind.

  "You can stay as long as you need to, Tam."

  He led her over to the small couch that took up one entire wall of his cramped quarters. He sat down on the couch and patted the space next to him, inviting her to join him. She sat down next to him and he twisted slightly, leaning his back against the arm of the couch so that the two of them could partially recline and she could snuggle up against him, her head on his chest. He put his arms around her and held her close. Over the next few minutes, he could feel the tension go out of her as she relaxed and her breathing became more normal. As exhausted as she was, she was fast asleep within a few minutes.

  Harris leaned his cheek against the top of her head. He could feel the inviting warmth of her lean, muscular body and the even beating of her heart. Her hair smelled fresh and clean, imbued with the pleasant, mild fragrance of the waterless shampoo that she favored. He also thought he could detect a subtle hint of the perfume she had applied back on the bridge of the Terrier some two months ago just before all the trouble with that raider had broken out -- the very same raider that had haunted her in her dream.

  Harris realized once again just how much he had come to care for her. He was certain that she felt at least somewhat the same way about him but neither of them had spoken of it as yet. He had to admit that they had probably both remained silent because neither of them knew where such a path would lead them. With her safely in his arms, he discovered that he was content for the moment. The future would take care of itself...somehow.

  He was asleep himself just a few minutes later.

  Sometime before morning, she awoke and kissed him on the cheek before disentangling herself from him and standing up. She straightened her coverall and ran her fingers through her short brown hair.

  "Thanks, Ryan. I feel a lot better. I'd better get back to my own quarters before someone finds us here."

  "I...don't really care about that. Will you be alright?"

  "I think so..."

  "Should you talk to someone besides me about this? Maybe the Istanbul's doctor?"

  "I...don't know...maybe, but it was just the one dream."

  "How about you tell me if you have any more dreams like that?"

  She looked relieved.

  "I can do that. Thanks Ryan. Really, I feel much better now.

  She reached down and squeezed his hand before slipping out the door and returning to her own quarters.

  Harris wore a worried look as he got up and got ready to face the new day.

  Chapter 29.

  UTFN Reclamation Center, onboard Federation Auxiliary ship Greyhound, January 8, 2599.

  Immediately after they had finished their breakfast the following morning, the two junior officers approached the Commander on the bridge of the Greyhound. Kresge looked up at them from his command terminal where they could see that he was still obsessing over the inventory situation.

  "Yes, what is it?" he asked.

  "We came across some information last night that we think you should know about, Commander," said Harris.

  "What sort of information?"

  "We're not exactly sure," replied Harris, "Carlisle was going over the download that she copied onto her wrist computer just before the auxiliary tracking station was destroyed two months ago and she found some...locked files. We think you might want to have a look it."

  "Okay," said Kresge, "Show me."

  Carlisle brought up the same display that she had shown to Harris the previous evening.

  "File folder for access by Station Commander only?" Kresge scratched his head. "I've never seen any of this before. This was not on the command computer of the main facility. At least not that I remember."

  "I found it buried in a folder labeled 'miscellaneous,' Commander," said Carlisle.

  "Any idea what's in it?" asked Kresge.

  "We don't know, Commander," said Harris, "We just copied everything we could onto Carlisle's wrist computer before we abandoned the auxiliary tracking station back during the Veritian Brotherhood's attack on the Scrapyard. Last night, she was sifting through the inventory, looking for donor ships that might have parts to upgrade the Greyhound's weapons systems, when she found this."

  "I suppose I'd better take a look at it."

  "There is a problem, Commander," said Carlisle.

  "And that is....?"

  "The files were copied while we were on the auxiliary tracking station just before it was destroyed and you were back at the New Ceylon station."

  "And this means...?"

  "This copy of the files 'thinks' that Lieutenant Harris is in charge."

  "That's strange," said Kresge.

  "We aren't sure what happened, Commander," said Carlilse, "but it looks like the Lieutenant is the only person who can unlock this particular version of these files."

  "So you're telling me that accessing these files means that the two of you will have to be present, at least when I initially open them?"

  "If we just made a copy to your personal computer, I wouldn't be needed, Sir," said Carlisle.

  Kresge looked back and forth between the two junior officers and shook his head. "Frankly, I don't see that as a problem. Like it or not, you two are my de facto second and third in command. Besides that, I trust you both completely. The fact that you could have accessed these files yourselves without my permission, and you didn't, only serves to reinforce that trust."

  Kresge thought briefly and quickly came to a decision, "I say we all have a look!"

  "We were hoping you'd say that, Sir," said Harris.

  "Chief Jenkins?" Kresge called out the chief who was tending his station on the other side of the bridge.

  "Yes, Sir?" replied the Chief.

  "See that we aren't disturbed for a while, would you please."

  "Aye, aye, Sir."

  The three of them went into the Commander's ready room. Kresge closed the door behind them and indicated that his two subordinates should take the two seats in front of hi
s desk before going around behind the desk and sitting down himself. "Okay, Ensign, bring up that file."

  Carlisle made a few deft movements with the fingers of her right hand and a list of files appeared in the air in front of the three officers.

  "It was this file here, Commander," she said, highlighting the file in question. She attempted to access the file and received the now familiar warning message.

  "This file can only be accessed by the Station Commander."

  Carlisle entered: Identify current commander.

  The reply came back: Acting Current Commander is Lieutenant Ryan Harris."

  "Well, I'll be..." said Kresge. "I remember officially transferring command of the loading and unloading operations to Perkins, before the station was attacked. However, I did list you as the highest ranking officer before I went to New Ceylon, we can assume that the responsibility for this information must have been automatically transferred to you when I left. Can you copy all of those files to this computer, Ensign? We could use a backup or two anyway."

  Carlisle spoke a command at her wrist computer and a string of files being copied appeared on Kresge's computer monitor. After about a minute all of the inventory and other files had been duplicated on the Commander's computer. He brought up the file in question and pushed his chair back from the computer terminal.

  "Harris? Go ahead; input your command code."

  Harris got up and came around behind the desk where he leaned over and typed in a string of numbers and letters. The computer came back with: "Command code recognized, access granted."

  A string of subfile and folder names began to scroll down the screen.

  Harris went back to his seat and Kresge rolled his chair back to the terminal. He placed the computer in projection mode which brought up a holo display that all of them could read. He then picked a folder at random and began to access some of the files it contained. As expected, it was a fairly long list of personnel information and other materials that appeared to be mostly of a mundane clerical nature. Kresge closed the file and began to scroll downward again. Towards the bottom of the list, the name of one folder stood out for all of them.