Empty Casket Conspiracy (Terran Patrol Book 1)

by Lewis Dually

  “It was shot down. A lucky shot too. One single fifty caliber round penetrated the hull and punched a hole in the starboard graviton controller. They lost pitch control and crashed into the jungle. It took us six weeks to find the bullet hole and figure out what happened.”

  “Lucky shot indeed.” I said, and then an idea hit me. “Will this thing fly?”

  “No, we never bothered fixing it.”

  “I mean can you fix it?”

  “Sure, the graviton controller is an easy fix. We’ll just need to wire in a Nav controller and load a GUT fuel mixture for the reactor but that shouldn’t be a problem. Why?”

  “I’m not sure, let me stew on it awhile.”

  As I stewed on it we walked down the cargo ramp and started around the port side of the ship. Shaw was right. This thing was patched together out of scrap. No two hull plates were the same and none of them were square. It looked like a giant patch work quilt. My mind was racing with possibilities and I could only come up with one logical conclusion. I turned to Shaw and asked.

  “Is this the only thing you have that can give us an idea of the Black capabilities?”

  “It’s the only tangible object. We have lots of eye witness reports and radar recordings.”

  I looked at Sprite and then back to Shaw. “This ship is real interesting to look at but it doesn’t give me much useable information for this mission.”

  Sprite looked befuddled. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I can’t base my estimates of Black technology on this ship. This thing is a junk yard dog, patched together out of scrap yard refuse and mail order parts. Any one of a hundred shuttle mechanics in the Belt could build this same ship in their off time. For all we know this is some Alien junior high school science project. I see nothing here of any use to our mission.” Looking at Sprite I asked. “What do you think?”

  “Well,” Sprite rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “I do see one thing of use to me. It’s nice to know what to expect when we have to board one of their ships. Before this tour I was picturing slimy reptilians with three inch fangs spitting acid and laying eggs in my brain. Now I know they’re a lot like us. It will be no different than boarding a German or Chinese ship. That’s a real morale booster for the troops.”

  Walters spoke up, “I was thinking the same thing. Seeing the crew quarters with the pictures and books and all, it doesn’t feel like they’re Aliens anymore, just adversaries. And knowing that some of our systems are compatible with theirs might come in handy.”

  Walters turned to Shaw. “Dr. Shaw, can you give us copies of all the eye witness reports?”

  “You bet. I already have them for you. Just give me your command net number and I’ll shoot them over.”

  Fifteen minutes later we turned in our visitor’s badges at the admin office, left Dr. Shaw to do whatever it was that he did and headed for the jump pad. Walters was reading eyewitness reports on her tablet and I was wondering how young people could walk and read at the same time without falling flat on their face. I would. She didn’t even stop reading as we climbed in the back of the troop transport for our drive back to the shuttle. Amazing. As we neared the shuttle pads I looked out the window to see the Jump Master gone and in its place was an old friend, Shuttle One from the Dawn Rising.

  Standing at the top of the open cargo ramp was Ensign Gale Schmitt. She snapped to attention, saluted and then said, “Welcome back, COMMANDER!”

  CHAPTER 5: The Dawn Rising.

  “It’s good to be back Gale. How are you?”

  “FANTASTIC! Wait till you see Grandma!”

  “Grandma?” Walters asked, “Whose Grandma?”

  “Grandma is the Dawn Rising.” I replied with a grin. “She’s the oldest ship in the fleet. Somebody called her that once and it stuck.”

  “She ain’t old anymore Sir!” Gale proclaimed, “She’s all spift up. We got a new reactor and engines and armor and wait till you see the guns, lots of guns, and torpedoes too.”

  “So I heard. Gale, this is our Navy Seal Commander, Commander Brad Sprite, and this is my aide, Ensign Sara Walters. Everyone, this is Ensign Gale Schmitt. We have two Schmitt’s on board so I call her Gale.” I explained.

  “Not anymore Sir.” she replied, “Petty Officer Laramie Schmitt was transferred to the Constellation. I’m the only Schmitt you got.”

  Gale had one of those over exuberant personalities that was a joy to be around most of the time. We made our way to the cockpit and prepared for takeoff.

  “Walters,” I said, “I noticed in your file that you haven’t logged any orbital maneuvers in the last three months.”

  She hesitated before she answered. “Yes Sir.”

  “That won’t do. You wanted space duty, it’s time to earn your wings. Take us Home.”

  Walters looked a little nervous as she settled down in the pilot’s chair. I looked at Gale and gave her a nod. She understood and slipped into the co-pilot chair ready to assist if needed.

  Walters adjusted her seat restraint and pulled on the Coms set. Then she checked the board. “All green.” She announced. Then she grasped the lift and pitch controls…. and froze.

  “OH boy.” I heard Sprite say behind me.

  For ten seconds she just sat there, then she looked at Gale and whispered, “What’s our number?”

  “178S1” Gale replied.

  Walters flipped the Coms link broadcast switch and announced. “Shuttle one seven eight sam one requesting clearance for departure pad seven to Dawn Rising at United Earth One, over.”

  “Shuttle one seven eight Sam one you are clear for departure, no birds in your vector. Have a safe trip, over.”

  The desert sank in front of us as we lifted off. In one fluid simultaneous motion she climbed vertical, rotating 90 degrees port and pitching up 22 degrees. In twelve seconds we were in full forward flight and lined up for a straight shot to U E One. Smooth as silk. I looked back at Sprite. He was already asleep.

  I sat down in the forward observer’s seat and Gale turned to face me. “Sir, congratulations on your promotion. We were all thrilled to hear you were coming back. Are we about to do something important?”

  “Why do you ask that?” I replied.

  “Well there’s been a lot of activity over the last six weeks. We got a major upgrade and more weapons than the Constellation I think. Then four days ago Seal Team Nine comes aboard and now you show up with the Seal Commander and an aide. Fleet Commanders get aides Sir, not Skippers. What’s going on?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Is the Shasta docked on the station?”

  “Yes Sir. She’s on pier nine. They got a company of Marine Recon on board. Are we going into battle?”

  “Search and acquire. No battles we hope.”

  “Awesome!” she chirped, “Back to the Belt?”

  “Sector six.”

  “The far side, even better. I like being far from home.” She proclaimed while grinning from ear to ear. “I love the Navy!”

  “Me to.” I agreed, “Now settle down and give me an update on personnel. Who’s in command?”

  For the next ten minutes Gale filled me in on transfers, engine tests, weapons tests, and general scuttlebutt. When we reached the station and docked with the Dawn Rising I started to wake up Sprite but he stretched and yawned just as I reached for him. “Are we there yet?” He groaned as he stood.

  Exiting the shuttle we found the entire ships company in formation. They snapped to attention and the yeoman announced, “All ships company present and ready for inspection, SIR!”

  First officer Lieutenant Sam Barnes stepped forward. “Welcome aboard Sir. I hereby relinquish command of the UES 178 Dawn Rising to you Commander Paul.”

  “Thank you Lieutenant Barnes, I accept command.” Barnes saluted and took his post.

  “Thank you crew of the Dawn Rising for your warm welcome. It’s been too long. The enquiry into the events of 12 February 2065 and the death of Specialist Granger Shelton have concluded. For
his heroic sacrifice in the line of duty, Specialist Shelton has been awarded the Navy Cross and it will be presented to his parents at the annual Navy Gala in Norfolk on September One. Unfortunately we will not be able to attend. The Dawn Rising has been assigned to lead a classified mission. Effective immediately all shore leave is canceled. Level two security protocols are now in effect. All ships entries will be locked and manned by armed guard. No one will enter or exit the ship without command approval. All off ship communications will be restricted to command personnel only.”

  “Chief of the boat.”

  “Yes Sir.” Master Chief Logan replied.

  I scanned the ships company for a moment as I readied my stop watch. Then I said to the Cob. “We have a fire in aft storage compartment 7 D.”

  The Cob turned to the crew and shouted “FIRE DRILL, FIRE DRILL, LOOK ALIVE PEOPLE THIS AIN’T NO PLEASURE CRUISE! THREE MINUTES, THE CLOCK IS TICKING!”

  The shuttle bay erupted into pure pandemonium. In all my years in the Navy I’d never seen a more disorganized mess. At least ten crewmen were knocked to the deck. They looked more like a bunch of trainee’s rather than the well-seasoned veteran crew they were. Six weeks in space dock had made them dull and it was time to sharpen their edges.

  The next ten hours were a trainee’s nightmare. We ran every drill in the book over and over until they got each one right, and then ran it again to make sure. In between drills there were instructions on proper procedure, praise for exceptional performance and a lot of good old fashion butt chewing. The less experienced crewmen thought they were being punished or that the newly minted Commander was flexing his muscle. The old hands knew better. They knew six weeks of down time could dull the senses and slow reaction time but that didn’t help them like the workout any better. With our mission at hand, dull and slow wouldn’t cut it. After running the third fire-in-the-reactor drill with loss of artificial gravity, I decided they had had enough. That was always a rough one. There are always injuries when you turn the gravity plates off and crewmen start floating all around the ship in the middle of a fire drill so I headed down to sick bay to check on our injured.

  “I hope you’re done.” Dr. Otis Hirschenbaucker griped. “You’re driving me to drink.”

  Hirsch was a grizzled old grump of a country doctor. He had been a large animal vet in Kearney, Nebraska for twenty seven years. Then in 2059 the Navy recruited him after he passed a SWAFS test. He did three years of Med. school and at age fifty five he traded cows for sailors and tried to replace barn yard manner with bedside but it didn’t take.

  “How many?” I asked.

  Hirsch was watching nurse Martinez rap gauze around Tech Specialist White’s head.

  “Three broken bones, one concussion and a dozen lacerations bad enough to need stitches. With commanders like you, who needs Aliens? By the way, the concussion was your new aide. Somebody forgot to tell her to stop running and turn on her mag boots when the gravity drops out. She’s over there in four tossing her cookies.”

  I left Hirsch and spent a little time with every crewman in the sick bay. Tech Specialist White had a broken nose, Petty Officer Hernandez broke a finger. Both would be just fine. Master Chief Logan had the most serious injury, two broken ribs.

  “I would think the Cob would know better.” I said as I peeked around his curtain.

  “Sorry Sir.” Cob replied. “I do. I’ll be alright. Just get me wrapped up tight and I’ll get back at it.”

  “I don’t think so. Doc Hirsch says your down for five days at least. He don’t want that rib punching into your lung. What happened?”

  “I was in the Gun Deck corridor when the gravity dropped out. All of a sudden I hear a banshee screeching behind me and turn to see this crazed mess of red hair shooting down the corridor strait at me. I tried to catch her but that didn’t work out so well. I think her knee got me under the arm. We both tumbled and rolled all the way to the amidships bulkhead. I heard her head hit the hatch rail. She’s over there. Got herself a pretty sweet concussion.”

  I slapped Cob on the foot and said. “Thanks for softening her landing. I’d hate to lose my aide before we even get out of space dock.”

  Cob grunted something and then said, “Yes Sir.”

  Walking over to bed four I found Walters bleary eyed and hugging a trash can. “You ok?”

  “Yes Sir, I’ll be fine in a bit. I’m sorry Sir. I forgot to turn on my mag boots when the alarms sounded. Next thing I knew I was flying. Is the Master Chief ok?”

  “Broke ribs.” I said. “He’ll be down for a week or so. Don’t worry, he ain’t one to hold a grudge.”

  Walters looked up from her can. “Sir, I found something interesting in the missing person’s reports.”

  I waited for her to continue but she stuck her head back in the can.

  “Uuuggg.” Then she looked back up and continued, “About eighty percent of the missing persons are from the same employment agency. They work all over the Belt and for several dozen outfits. Everything from miners to shuttle mechanics but they’re all from the same agency. I cross referenced the ships manifests and found that they all traveled to the Belt on one of three transports owned by Quintoe Logistics. The same three shuttles that bring back the empty caskets to Houston.”

  She stuck her head back in the can. “O geeze. Make it stop.” She groaned as she made a couple dry heaves. I wanted to let her rest but she wasn’t ready yet. She looked back up and continued.

  “Quintoe Logistics is owned by R. P. W. Inc. who also happens to own Belt Line Staffing service.”

  “Let me guess,” I said, “Belt Line is the staffing service that hired all the missing persons.”

  “Yes Sir. They’re the sixth largest staffing agency in the Belt but their number of missing persons is ten times higher than any of the others. I don’t know what to make of it yet. Any ideas?”

  I didn’t know what to make of it either but I decided it was time to answer a question that had been nagging at me for five weeks.

  CHAPTER 6: Déjà vu.

  “Get me the Shasta on secure channel,” I ordered the Coms officer, “Put it through in my ready room and have Commander Sprite report to me as well.”

  I walked into my ready room and sat down at my desk. It felt good to be home. Pulling a fresh can of snuff out of my desk I cut the lid loose with a thumb nail and stuffed two of the little brown packets in my cheek.

  Just then the Coms officer came on line. “Sir, I have Lieutenant Commander Fox on one.”

  The monitor lit up and Leland Fox appeared in a white T-shirt. Except for a little less hair he looked much the same as he did when we bunked together at O C S eighteen years ago. He and I were two of only five Navy officers who were officers before we passed the SWAFS test. The rest of the current crop were made officers because they were SWAFS immune.

  “Good morning Allen.” He said. He had obviously just climbed out of the rack. “Congrad’s on your promotion. So what’s up?”

  “Thanks.” I said, “I was going to come over but I’ve been busy running drills. We’re working the kinks out of these new systems. Did you get my briefs?”

  “Yes. Sounds like a needle in a hay stack to me. Do the sea dogs have any idea how big the belt is? We’re supposed to find a hand full of Aliens hiding in a billion miles of rock cluttered space?”

  “That’s what the sea dogs want.” I replied.

  Sea dog was a term we used for the upper Admiralty. Their careers were spent on the oceans and they only handled space opps because the Navy had taken over NASA. None of them were SWAFS immune or they would be out here doing my job.

  “I’m working on something that might help narrow down the hay stacks. Dr. Shaw is coming up at ten thirty hours on a shuttle run from Groom Lake. I want you to pick him up and then head for sector six. When you get there send out your recon units and see what pops up. There is one ship that interests me. She’s the Javelin, 2-2-5-6-2 flying under Quintoe Logistics. Find her and observe. I wan
t to know where she goes and what she does. Keep it covert. I think she’s up to something. See if you can figure out what and if anything pops give me a burst on command link channel fifteen.”

  “Sure thing, I’ll start my departure prep and pick up the Doctor. I thought he was going with you?”

  “He’s supposed to but I don’t want him in my hair right now. He and I don’t mesh real well so let’s see if you can get along with him.”

  “Oh thanks” Leland snorted. “You look like heck by the way. How long since you got some rack time?”

  I looked at the duty cycle clock and realized we were two hours away from the morning duty change. No wonder Leland was in his T-shirt. It had been twenty three hours since I rolled out of the bunk in Houston and would probably be another twelve before I crawled back in mine.

  “Too long.” I replied. “Have a safe trip Leland.”

  We signed off and I waited for Sprite. While I waited I looked at a picture of Granger Shelton and me hanging on my wall. It was taken in front of the observation window on the U E One station seven years ago, the day we both graduated Space Flight Opps. We were looking out at the vast emptiness of space and discussing Aliens, would they be friend or foe? For the first time since coming on board I was aware of my deep sorrow. He was my best friend and I doubt if I’ll ever have another.

  The door chime sounded. “Come in” I said and Sprite walked in with Master Chief Hill.

  “Have a seat.” I invited. They both took a seat and we got down to business. “The Ramses is docked at pier one offloading hydrogen. She will be there about ten hours before she continues on to Houston to empty out. She’s one of three ships owned by Quintoe Logistics. She’s carrying three caskets with missing miner’s personal effects. I want to look at those personal effects but I don’t want anyone to know we looked.”

  “I’m in!” Sprite said with a grin, “I’m ready for some sleuthing around. All this boat time is driving me nuts. What’s the plan?”