Wings of Steele - Destination Unknown (Book 1)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  Walter Edgars was not just any Professor, he held seven degrees ranging from interstellar history to general medicine, and he knew the best thing for Jack was to get him back in the saddle. He put his hand on Steele's shoulder. "It's Ok, Jack, you'll do fine. Besides it'll do them good to hear your voice." Jack sighed heavily and allowed himself to slide back into the seat. Alité stood behind his chair and watched her husband work through the pain. "Bridge to engineering," she heard him say.

  "Engineering, Toncaresh here, go ahead..."

  Jack smiled, happy to hear a familiar name. "Hello, Toncaresh." His voice was friendly, warm. "This is Captain Steele, would you be so kind as to warm up the mains."

  "Yes sir, Captain!" The ABS's reply was almost jubilant. "How are you feeling, sir?"

  "I have a headache my friend... but I'm glad to be vertical again."

  "It's good to hear your voice, sir." Jack could actually hear him smiling. "Warmup will be complete in a little over two hours."

  Jack pensively rubbed the patch over his left eye socket, "any way to cut that shorter? We really need to pull out as soon as possible."

  There was momentary silence before Toncaresh spoke again, a light hiss in Jack's earpiece. "Well, we could shove off on thrust engines while we're warming - those we could light and bring online in about ten minutes... we'd be moving right away. Also, we could warm one main engine at a time, that would cut warmup down to about twenty-five, thirty minutes. The other two we could warm and ignite while under way..."

  Jack glanced at the Professor who commented, "Splendid idea, simply right on,” he nodded. “Sharp lad..."

  Jack turned back to his console and keyed his mic. "Good idea Mr. Toncaresh. Do it."

  ■ ■ ■

  UFW Ensign, Duncan Taylor, was just happy someone was there to pick him up. He marveled at his luck. But where did the shuttle come from? To which ship did it belong? To which side? The round, red and gold logo of the flying horse against a rising sun, meant nothing to him, and the name Freedom didn't ring a bell either. But alive, he reflected, was of course, after all, better than dead.

  Myomerr was piloting the shuttle alone, as Maria had been used for fighter patrol, but she found the two ground crewmen assigned to her for rescue, competent and eager. The first, poked his head into the two seat cockpit. "He's clean, Ms. Myomerr, and we're resealed and ready to go."

  "Thanks, Dooby," she replied, calling him by his nickname. "Ask him if he'd like to sit up front with me..." She turned back to the controls as Dooby's head disappeared and announced her return to the Freedom while nudging up the throttles. She pulled off her helmet and laid it on the floor beside her seat.

  Ensign Taylor stood in the doorway of the shuttle's cockpit. "Excuse me," he said politely, "your crewman said it was Ok to sit up here?"

  "Sure," said Myomerr waving to the empty copilot's station, "have a seat."

  "Am I a prisoner?" he asked as he sat down. "They took my sidearm."

  "Depends on how you look at it..." she realized he was staring at her and stared back. He was handsome, to the extreme, she thought. Ice blue eyes, shiny white-blonde hair, chiseled features... and smelling like burnt electronics. She wrinkled her nose reflexively. "Do you feel like a prisoner?" She turned back to her controls.

  He shrugged, "Not much." He studied her features and wondered what a prisoner felt like. "You're a Ketarian, aren't you?"

  Myomerr nodded. "Yep. Why?"

  Duncan smiled a boyish grin, "I've never seen one... you... your race I mean. You're very pretty."

  "Thanks," she replied, "you're pretty cute yourself."

  He extended his hand, "Duncan. Ensign Duncan Taylor to be exact. My friends call me Dunk. You can call me Dunk if you like..."

  She shook his hand. "Ok, Dunk. Ensign Myomerr. No second name, no nicknames." She angled toward the stern of the Freedom. “So what happened back there...?

  “I had an electrical fire, everything was dead, the ejection system included, thank God there was a manual emergency release on the canopy or I'd still be locked in there. I even had to cut through my damn belts.”

  “You might want to contact customer support about that, sounds like a warranty issue...” She grinned, her canine teeth showing, staring at him again briefly, then turned back to the controls and approached the stern of the Freedom to land.

  “Yeah maybe, huh? Wait...” he grinned, “funny.” Duncan stared at the open stern of the Freedom, as it grew in the shuttle's windshield. “Has this thing been here the whole time?"

  "Sure," she answered without breaking her concentration. "About four weeks."

  "We never saw it. Hellion, I flew right over it and never saw it..."

  The Ketarian smiled. "You weren't supposed to. Bet you never saw our fighters either..."

  "Fighters? What fighters?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  FREEDOM, HESPERRIN SYSTEM : METAMORPHOSIS

  Jack was stretched out on the couch in the quiet darkness of his ready room and listened to the healthy rumble of the ships engines. The only light in the room was provided by the holochart hovering above the conference table, a thousand-plus points of light shimmering like magic. But he was staring at the green line which ended at the glowing yellow cube at his end of the table. That was home. Fritz stirred where he lay on the couch across Jack's feet. The Shepherd made little noises in his sleep and his paws made running motions. In his mind, he chased noisy seagulls across a warm golden beach, watching them scatter. Then he ran into the surf to play.

  Steele shifted his view from the holochart to the ceiling and pensively touched the black eye patch Doc had exchanged for the sterile white one. It sort of made him look rogueish like a swashbuckler, but he decided it would take some getting used to and would prefer his sight back. Doc had mumbled something about how well he was healing, but Jack had been too busy thinking about home to listen. He hadn't thought about it for months, but he wondered if his Cobra was still parked along side of Brian's pickup at the back of the hangar at the airport. He fantasized about the feel of the car on solid ground, how it handled, how it felt and sounded.

  Steele was asleep, the holochart still on, when Paul, Mike, Brian and Alité, entered his ready room from the bridge. Fritz was awake instantly, poised for defense over his friend's sleeping form. The long- haired Shepherd hadn't spoken much lately, the novelty of it having worn off. He'd reverted mostly back to his instincts and training in weeks of late and most of his memory and distinct personality had resurfaced as reliably as a fingerprint after sanding. Yet, he remained more than he used to be and enjoyed his uniqueness. With the sense of discord he'd felt recently from LaNareef, the Shepherd rarely dropped his guard or left his friend's side.

  Paul called up the lights after entering but only saw the dog in a relaxed position, the animal's acute sense of smell identifying the visitors as the door opened and before the lights. "Hello," said Fritz quietly, wagging his tail.

  “Hello," replied Alité softly.

  Mike, Paul and Brian, were studying the holochart. "What is it, Pappy?" Asked Mike.

  "Our route home," he answered.

  "That must be home," said Brian pointing at the yellow cube at the other end of the chart. Paul nodded in confirmation.

  "It looks so far..." said Mike in awe.

  "It is," mumbled Jack from the couch, his eye still closed. He swung his feet off the couch and sat up, slowly running his fingers through his hair. "But we'll make it." He rubbed the sleep from his right eye and adjusted his eye patch. "I'm hungry," he announced.

  "I shouldn't be surprised," commented Alité, "you've been asleep for twelve hours."

  "Awww, not again."

  "It's Ok, Skipper," said Brian, "you di
dn't miss anything. It's been real quiet. We're heading into the Hesperrin System soon."

  “Since we can skip the trip all the way to UFW Blackmount in Feerocobi for repairs,” added Paul, “we can stick to the less traveled routes if we wanted to.”

  Jack rose and stretched. "I can't focus on this on an empty stomach, anybody else hungry? I'm starved."

  Mike grinned widely. "A man after my own heart."

  "How ya' feelin' big guy?” Paul asked quietly, as they moved out onto the bridge.

  Alité came up on Jack's blind side and took his hand. "I'm Ok I guess," he replied. They crossed to the exit and continued down the corridor. "But I can't seem to help feeling a little sorry for myself. I haven't looked at it in a mirror yet... afraid to. And flying's out of the question..."

  "We ought to stop and see Doc before we eat," said Alité, changing the subject.

  "Geez," groaned Jack, "haven't I spent enough time in sickbay?"

  "Just for a minute or two," added Paul. Mike, Brian and Fritz, trailed just behind.

  "Ok, Ok," sighed Steele, "let's get it over so we can go see what Marna's got cooking in the galley. I guess my appetite's coming back - that's all I can seem to think about lately."

  ■ ■ ■

  CABL M7 dried his hands on a sterile towel and walked over to where Jack sat, reclined in a contoured chair. "Ok, Captain, let's have a look, shall we?"

  Jack turned to Alité and the others. "Go wait outside, I don't want you to see..."

  She squeezed his hand. "We already have, we're staying." Jack made a face of distaste. "Never mind that," she told him. "Go ahead, Doc." She'd remembered not to call him M7.

  M7 removed the patch, opened Jack's sunken eyelids and examined the socket with his micro-zoom optical. The lens extended and produced a faint whir as M7 zoomed in. "Absolutely perfect..." he muttered. He straightened up and backed away. "I'm very good you know," he told Jack. "In fact, I'm exceptional." He smiled, pleased with himself. "Well," he said, turning away to a surgical implement caddy, "You're ready."

  "For what?" inquired Jack, worried.

  "For this, of course." Doc turned back and held up a small cylinder little more than an inch long, between his thumb and forefinger.

  "What is it?"

  M7 returned to where Jack sat and held out his rubber gloved hand. In it was a small metal cylinder with a tail of wires at one end. During closer scrutiny, Steele saw small rods along its sides and a convex lens wider than the cylinder at the other end. "It's your new eye," the doctor told him. "Temporary of course. We'll get you a more natural one later if you like." It looked much the same as the one Doc had, or even Fritz's, but it was smaller. "It won't stick out like mine does," said Doc. "You'll be able to close your eyes normally."

  Jack was getting over his initial fear and studied it carefully. "How does it work?"

  "Well, I had to put a small chip in your brain and wire it in," explained M7. "And we put little clips on your eye muscles. They'll hold onto these little rods which control the eye and hold it in." Jack was fascinated and said so. "It'll feel funny for awhile," he continued as he bent over Jack to put it in, "but you'll get used to it."

  Using a long set of tweezers, M7 reached to the back of the empty eye socket and plugged the eye's tiny wiring connector into its mate. Jack jumped like he'd been shocked and suddenly realized he was seeing the palm of M7's hand. "Easy, Jack," he breathed. M7 glanced up at Alité. "Hold his head still..." he instructed. She complied and Jack could feel her closeness, which was reassuring. The room moved as M7 lifted the eye and inserted it. Clikit, clikit, clikit... One by one, Doc clipped the muscles onto the control rods, creating a great deal of discomfort for Jack. "Done!" he said, straightening up. He pulled a small vial from his pocket, and with it, put several drops of liquid on the eye's lens. "How's that?" he asked, backing away.

  Jack blinked, both eyes tearing. "Wow..." he said quietly, "I can see!" He stood up, a little wobbly at first and moved to a mirror. It didn't look natural, but it wasn't hideous either. The lens was shaped the same as the front of a real eye but it was all black, looking like a piece of shining, black opal. If he looked real close, he could see the mechanical iris inside. He smiled as the iris moved, "Neat..." He turned around. "Thanks, Doc. Thanks a lot!"

  "Well I can only take part of the credit," said M7. "You'll have to thank Hecken Noer, he built the eye for you."

  Jack didn't recognize the name. "Who's he?"

  "Our new Chief Engineer," said Brian. "He was one of the refugees."

  "Guy's brilliant," added Paul. "He's got the engines operating way beyond original specs," he said with an expansive wave of his hand.

  "Says he can do our fighters like that too," added Mike.

  For the moment, Jack forgot his hunger. "Well let's go see this, Mr. Wizard..."

  "He was down here earlier," explained Mike as the group stepped off the lift at deck four. "He was tinkering on one of the shuttles." Mike lead them through the pilots' ready room and headed for the flight bay.

  Jack, walking hand in hand with Alité, reflected on how much he'd missed with only one eye and what a tremendous gadget it was that he'd been given. When they passed through the doors into the flight bay, he was absorbed in his thoughts and was caught completely off-guard by the reception waiting for them. A throng of about a hundred people descended upon them, smiling, laughing, arms outstretched, embracing. Alité clung to Jack's hand though they could not see each other through the crowd.

  Makeshift tables had been set up and laden with food. There was to be a banquet, right there, right then. Jack was warmed, energized by the hands that greeted him and the smiles that shined on him. Many faces he recognized, the pilots, his bridge crew, the flight crews... but many were new faces. Some of those shone brightest of all.

  Jack and Alité were swept to the head of the table and deposited like shells on a beach by the surf. The crowd ebbed and found seats, the noise retreating with them. Jack and Alité stood at the end of the long table, the crowd standing quietly at their chosen places, pilots mixed with mechanics, technicians mixed with flight crew. Rank seemed to hold no importance for this occasion. But old faces or new, they all proudly wore the Freedom's uniforms.

  Jack cleared his voice and wiped the wetness from his eyes. "Ahem. I um..." he glanced at Alité then back to the faces, "have absolutely no idea what to say..."

  There were scattered pockets of polite laughter. Then Ragnaar, halfway down the table, raised his glass. "To honor..." His voice, as large as the man, boomed in the expanse of the flight deck. The voices of the crew repeated the word in unison and drank.

  "To Freedom," said Jack, raising his glass. The ritual repeated itself.

  "To Captain Steele," said a voice from far down the table.

  "Wait!" shouted Jack, holding up his hand. "I... I am DEEPLY touched by your affection. In fact, I could never hope to find adequate words to express how much, but I don't want this to be just about me. It can't be just about me. This should be about all of us... about you. We have all risked our lives for one another..." he thought about Trigoss and the ABS named Mystic. "Some have given their lives..." He raised his glass. "It is to them... and to you, that I toast." He up-ended his glass and everyone else did likewise.

  The food was excellent, as was Marna's norm. And as people ate their fill, some departed to relieve others on duty so they might attend and partake in the feast. With a desire to meet the new people and become familiar, Jack strolled about the table and filled empty wine glasses from a carafe he carried, chatting amiably as he went. When he got to Toncaresh, he recognized the voice but could not place the face. "ABS Toncaresh," announced the young man with the artificial arm. He stood up and shook Jack's hand. "Glad to se
e you up and around, Captain..."

  Jack smiled. "Thanks. It's good to meet the face behind the voice. By the way, how's the arm?"

  Toncaresh rolled it around like a ball player loosening up. "Just fine, sir, sometimes I forget it's not real..." They talked for awhile longer before Jack moved on.

  Toncaresh elbowed his new friend Marguin, a former refugee who now worked in the cargo bay. "I told you he was different... special.”

  Marguin nodded, “He really seems to care...”

  A little while later, Jack met Hecken Noer. He was not at all as Jack had pictured him, studious and collegiate looking. Instead, he was much older, probably in his early seventies, thin, with an unruly mop of silver-grey hair and matching eyebrows. At first glance, standing there in the long white lab coat, he gave the appearance of what one might picture as the typical mad scientist. But the old man quickly put that feeling to rest when he met Jack's gaze. He smiled a broad, warm smile that seemed to round out his face and his eyes danced and sparkled. Jack decided it made him look more like Santa Claus than a mad scientist. The two men shook hands and Jack was surprised he was not as frail as he looked, he had the grip and vigor of a young man. Hecken Noer began with an apology. "I am sorry, Captain, that I could not have done better..."

  Jack was a bit puzzled. "With what?" he asked.

  "With the eye of course," explained Hecken. "Had to make due for most of it. Basic odds and ends you know... no proper parts or tools. As soon as we have the right bits I'll build you a proper piece." His mannerisms were quick and birdlike, matching his quick halting speech.