by Linn Schwab
Peter focused his eyes on the pipe, since she seemed to be calling it to his attention. It looked like just a normal section of pipe. Other than an apparent continuous drip, there didn’t seem to be anything unusual about it. But then he caught a glimpse of something in the background, just to the left of the commander’s shoulder. On a section of the station’s inner hull, he noticed another group of numbers on a welded steel plate. LV–44706. Immediately upon seeing this second string of characters, he recognized exactly what they represented.
“Hull registration numbers,” he said, running his fingers across the lettering. He chuckled and let out a lengthy sigh. “That’s why no ships ever go back. Everything that comes out here ends up being put to use.”
“Perhaps,” the commander said. “I can’t guarantee there isn’t another reason. But whether there is or isn’t, I think this alone could be enough to explain it.”
“Yeah, I would have to agree. I don’t know why this never occurred to me before.”
“Maybe it’s just because these numbers aren’t staring you in the face everyday.”
“I suppose.” He looked around at some of the other hull plates and tried to imagine the complexity of disassembling ships in the middle of nowhere and using their components to construct a space station. “So this whole facility was built with pieces of transport ships?”
“Mm–hmm. It’s my understanding that the transport ships were actually designed with this in mind.”
“Like a giant set of building blocks,” Peter observed. “That’s pretty ingenious.” As he imagined the transport ships being disassembled, he recalled something Commander Ingman had mentioned to him on the Melbourne. “Listen, Karen,” he said, “I can’t help but notice when I walk through those agrispheres that you seem to be making use of all available space. If my understanding of what I’ve been told is correct, there could be as many as sixty battleship crews arriving here from Earth any day now. Are we gonna be able to feed all those additional people?”
“How many extra people are we talking about?”
“Well, let’s see,” Peter said, “a normal battleship complement consists of more than twelve hundred souls. So if I’m right, I guess we could be talking about upwards of seventy thousand new arrivals. Do you think you can grow enough to feed everyone?”
“Seventy thousand? Yes, we can absorb that many. But it will put us dangerously close to our limit. If we should happen to lose one of our stations, we could find ourselves in a desperate situation. Is there a reason why so many are arriving all at once?”
“Yeah,” Peter explained, “they were supposed to take part in a massive assault. If things had gone according to plan, there was a chance we could’ve taken the planet, and then we wouldn’t have been faced with this situation. Unfortunately, our plan met an untimely fate. And now, instead of storming the planet, we find ourselves right back at square one again.”
MANEUVERS 065
Jay stepped inside the Melbourne’s bridge and found Commander Ingman at the tactical display. “You wanted to see me, Commander?” he said.
The commander waved him in closer. “I’d like your input on something, Jay. Take a look at this,” he said, pointing at the image on the tactical display. “Right now, the Mona Lisa is sneaking through that wreckage field, searching for intel on where those fighters are being launched from. We told Captain Hoile he’d have forty–eight hours to complete his search. After that window of time expires, we’re supposed to create another distraction so he can bring his ship back to safety and report his findings to us.”
“I take it the time for that distraction has arrived?”
“It’s getting close now, yes.”
Jay looked out through the windows and focused on a pair of damaged light cruisers undergoing hasty repairs in the distance. Somehow, both the Sacramento and San Felipe had managed to withdraw from the previous battle and join up with the fleet at the rendezvous point. But both vessels had been heavily damaged by torpedoes and their crews had suffered significant casualties. “That first distraction nearly cost us two cruisers,” he said. “Are you sure it’s worth it to try it again?”
“Admiral Sands wants to know what’s back there, Jay. He’s convinced there could be a target of great importance in that area. Also, we’re gonna try something a little different this time. That’s why I asked you to come up here.” He pointed at the tactical display again. “We know from our first assault that there are likely to be destroyers hiding along the edge of that asteroid field. Our plan is to position our gunships within firing range, and send our fighters into the asteroid field to chase those destroyers out into the open.”
“And blast away at them with impunity,” Jay said. “That sounds pretty brutal.”
Commander Ingman nodded. “Regrettably so. But such is war. Before we go ahead with this, Jay, Admiral Sands and I would like to know if you think this plan has a reasonable chance of succeeding. If we send our fighters inside that asteroid field, will they still be able to operate effectively?”
“If they’re operating as individuals, then yes. But you can forget about squadrons flying in formation. It would be foolish to even attempt that in there.”
“Would an individual fighter be effective against a destroyer?”
“I think so,” Jay said. “I think we should have the upper hand in there. Destroyers will have a hard time trying to maneuver. It should be pretty easy for us to target them.”
“Alright, that settles it then. Tell the other pilots to start getting ready. I’ll inform Admiral Sands that the plan is a go. Get everyone down to the hangar deck. I’ll let you know when it’s time to deploy.”
* * * *
Relaxing in a chair on the Zephyr’s bridge, Jenny kept her eyes trained on a piece of wreckage that obscured her view of the battlefield. “This is a bad position,” she said. “We can’t see a thing in here. We’re completely dependent on someone else to inform us when we need to launch.”
“We have to remain hidden,” Captain Wells insisted. “If we move any closer to the edge of this field, there’s a good chance those enemy forces will spot us. A ship this size isn’t easy to hide. It takes a fair amount of cover to keep us concealed.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jenny said. “I’d just really like to find out what they’re up to. My gut tells me it’s a mistake for us to just sit here while they hide in the shadows and plot another scheme.”
Captain Wells tried to guess what Jenny was thinking. It seemed clear that she was contemplating something. “We can’t even be sure they’re still out there,” she said. “They may have moved on to another location.”
“Not a chance,” Jenny argued. “They have us outnumbered here, and they know it. The question is, why aren’t they coming after us?”
“Perhaps they’re looking for a way to increase their advantage, and reduce their chances of taking further losses.”
Jenny took a deep breath and got to her feet. “We’re already in deep trouble as it is. We can’t afford to let them gain any more advantage. We need to do something to keep them off balance.”
“Okay. What do you have in mind?”
As Jenny turned around, she saw Charlie Sinclair and Nancy approaching. “I think it’s time for us to launch an assault of our own. Maybe we can catch them off guard. Nancy,” she said, “are all of the fighters ready yet?”
“As ready as we can make them,” she answered. “Are we gonna be launching soon?”
“We’re going after them,” Jenny informed her. “Go tell everyone to get ready. Charlie, our two squadrons are going to take point. We’ll have the others follow us in.”
“Are you sure,” Captain Wells asked, “that Commander Eldridge would approve of this action?”
Jenny shrugged. “I don’t know. She left me in charge of fighter operations. What do you think Commander Hutchins would’ve done?”
The captain grinned at her and nodded. “Commander Hutchins would’ve liked the way you think
. Good luck, Captains McNeil and Sinclair. If you do manage to get the jump on them, give them a face full of lead for me.” She reached for a microphone and issued an order over the ship’s intercom. “Lieutenant Nelson, cycle up the airlock doors and prepare the flight deck for fighter launch.”
* * * *
As the Mona Lisa inched her way through the wreckage field, her crew kept watch for any type of structure that might be large enough to launch fighters from. The field was littered with the remains of warships, but many of them were mangled beyond recognition, which made it fairly easy to determine they were harmless. More than twelve hours into his current shift, J Mac rubbed his eyes and looked out at some fragments through the starboard windows. “This place sure gives me the creeps,” he said. “Can you imagine how many bodies are floating around out there?”
Captain Hoile frowned and nodded in agreement. “It sure seems like a lot of ships met their fate here. This must be one of the largest junkyards in the universe.”
“More like a graveyard,” Derrick said. “I doubt any of those bodies will ever be recovered. It’s pretty sad when you think about it, actually. What an awful place to have to spend eternity.”
“Yeah,” the captain agreed, “that is very sad. It would be hard to imagine a place more likely to harbor restless spirits.”
“Gee, thanks,” J Mac said. “As if I wasn’t creeped out enough already.”
The captain looked at him and grinned. “Don’t worry, Jerry Mackenzie. Ghosts can’t harm you unless they know your name.” He faked a gasp and covered his mouth. “Oops. Did I just utter your name?”
Derrick snickered and raised a hand to his ear. “Wait. Is that a ghostly voice I hear? ‘Jerr–rry. Jerr–rry.’”
“Very funny,” J Mac said. “Now I know I was right to keep my name to myself. I can’t even trust my own roommate with it.”
“You do realize we’re going to figure it out eventually,” Derrick said. “There are only so many names that start with the letter J.”
“Yeah, well until then I guess I can sleep well at night, since you’ve just supplied your ghost friend with misinformation.”
On the opposite side of the bridge, an officer stood up and raised his arm. “Captain Hoile,” he said, “I think I’ve got something off to port.”
Captain Hoile rushed over to his side. “Where?” he asked, peering out through the windows.
“Look just beneath that crumpled transport ship, sir. Way off in the distance. There’s a carrier that still seems to be largely intact.”
“Full stop!” the captain ordered. “I want a camera trained on that carrier right now!” He looked at the closest monitor screen and watched as the camera zoomed in on the ship. “Looks pretty beat up,” he said. “If she’s still operational, it wouldn’t take much to finish her off.”
“Should we move in for a closer look, sir?”
“No,” he said, “I don’t think we...” As his eyes moved along the hull of the carrier, he noticed a flurry of movement near the stern. “Wait a minute. Oh, crap! They’re launching fighters! Kill the bridge lights and unlock the guns! Helm, we might have to make a run for it. Start looking around for an escape route.”
“Do you think they saw us?” Derrick asked.
Captain Hoile kept his eyes fixed on the fighters. “I don’t know. It looks like they’re just lining up in formation. We’re gonna sit tight and stay dark until they move.” He turned to his radio operator. “Make a note of that ship’s location. If those fighters come after us, I want you to switch the transmitter on and try to get a message through to Admiral Sands.”
“Well,” J Mac said, “I guess now we know where all those fighters were coming from.”
“Maybe,” Captain Hoile said. “But there may still be other locations as well.”
“How many fighters do you see?” Derrick asked.
“I don’t know. Looks like several dozen at least. You think we can hold off that many?”
Derrick shook his head. “If they come after us, we don’t have a prayer. Only chance we have is if they don’t know we’re here.”
Captain Hoile fell silent and watched the screen as fighter after fighter poured out of the carrier. With each new plane that joined the formation, he felt as if the end of his life was drawing nearer. After a few minutes, he called Derrick over and pointed at some of the planes on the screen.
“Lieutenant,” he said, “some of those planes have yellow markings on them. Do you have any idea what that signifies?”
“No, sir, I really have no idea. We don’t know much about their operations. Maybe they’re squadron leaders or something.”
As Captain Hoile watched the screen, the formation suddenly started to move. “Stand by,” he yelled, “they’re moving now.”
“Here we go,” Derrick said. He felt his heart rate escalate.
The enemy planes snaked away through the wreckage and slipped out of sight somewhere off in the distance. A wave of relief swept through the Mona Lisa as her anxious crew tried to catch their breath.
“Captain,” the helm operator said, “should we turn around and head back now?”
Captain Hoile glanced at the mission clock and determined he still had some time remaining. “No,” he said, “we’re not turning back yet. Admiral Sands wants to know what’s behind that asteroid field, and we’re almost close enough to get a good look. Let’s give those fighters a little more time to clear out, and then we’ll start moving forward again.”
QUANDARIES 066
“Good morning,” Veronica said to Dave as she turned the infirmary lights up again. She walked to his side and set the breakfast tray down. “Is your leg feeling any better yet?”
He opened his eyes and said, “Ahh, good morning, Lieutenant Marlowe. It’s nice to see your face again.” She answered him with a polite smile. “Let’s see,” he said, trying to raise his left foot. A burning sensation shot up through his leg. He winced and set it back down again. “Looks like it’s going to be a while yet. If you were planning on asking me to go dancing with you, I’m afraid I’ll have to take a rain check on that.”
Once again, she responded with a look of confusion.
He laughed at himself when he realized what he’d said. “You don’t know what a rain check is, do you?”
She curled her lips in and shook her head.
“I guess I should have expected that,” he said, “seeing as you come from a world that doesn’t even know about baseball. Why would you know what a rain check is.” He noticed a serving of grits on his tray. “Unless of course you do have them and just have no idea what they’re called.”
As Dave reached for the spoon on his tray, Lieutenant Marlowe observed him closely. He recalled that on the previous day, she’d left the room shortly after dropping off his rations. “Are you planning to stay and chat for a while?” he asked, wondering what her intentions were.
“Um,” she said, nervously avoiding his gaze, “I was just wondering. Have ... you ever killed anyone?”
Dave suddenly felt as if his heart was going to stop. The anguish in her voice had been impossible to miss. He could tell from the pleading look in her eyes that she desperately wanted the answer to be ‘no’ — that she was going to be crushed if she learned otherwise. That she wanted to believe he wouldn’t hurt anyone. This left him in a very uncomfortable position. He could lie to her, but he didn’t have the stomach for that. And he sensed that since it was taking him so long to respond, she’d most likely already figured out why. Lying to her now wouldn’t really serve any purpose. How to break the news to her was his foremost concern.
“Look, uh ... Lieutenant,” he said, placing the spoon back down on his tray, “this is a tough situation for all of us. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t regret the fact that our two worlds are at war with each other. Believe me, none of us get any enjoyment out of killing. It’s a burden on our souls we wish we didn’t have to bear. But when push comes to shove, you fall in line with your co
mrades and swear to protect them at any cost. I suspect it wouldn’t be any different for you, if you were to find yourself in combat. But it’s something I truly hope you never have to experience. Because chances are, it’ll leave a much deeper scar than being shot through the leg ever could.”
With tears trickling down both of her cheeks, Veronica backed away from him and quietly made her way to the doorway. Her faltering footsteps were so muted in sorrow they seemed to vanish as soon as she left the room.
Dave hung his head in regret and wondered if he’d ever see her again. She’s obviously not my biggest fan right now. I hope she can eventually get over this. She really seems like a good kid.
The sound of someone running echoed in from the corridor. First one set of footsteps. Then another. And another. A single file of young girls in green uniforms ran past the doorway in their morning workout drill. Same girls as yesterday, he told himself, convinced that he recognized some of their faces. Judging from their appearances, he guessed their ages to be somewhere around twelve to thirteen years. Too young for military service, he hoped. What could they possibly be doing here?
“You don’t look very happy,” Major Richards observed, stepping in through the doorway now. She noticed the breakfast tray at his side. “Do you find our food to be disagreeable?”
“No,” he said, “it isn’t that. I think I may have upset Lieutenant Marlowe. It certainly wasn’t intentional, but it doesn’t make me feel very good about myself.”
“Oh, I see,” the major said. She grinned at him in a teasing manner. “Not exactly spoken like a fearsome warrior. Worried about hurting a young girl’s feelings...”
“Well, you know, I think that’s exactly what the problem is, Major. Apparently, she just couldn’t picture me as a killer. Maybe I should’ve tried to appear more threatening from the start.”