Vengeance of Sukesh: John Mason (Legend of John Mason)

by Barbara J Robertson

  “Because he is not my Father, Johnnie. He is my stepfather,” Victor answered, taking apart an old robot.

  Johnnie said, “He knows who your Father was, Victor. He was his best friend. I’m not trying to tell you what to do. But it would show a lot of respect to Uncle Johnnie if you’d call him ‘Dad,’ especially in front of other people. You’re a very smart kid, Victor; try to think how good Uncle Johnnie would feel.”

  Victor had to think about it for many days. John Mason never asked him to call him “Dad,” and neither did his Mommy. Would his Father in heaven be disappointed with him, if he called John Mason “Dad”?

  Their trip home was fast and smooth, and they were very happy to see Houston as the big fighter landed. Mason visited Dr. Brandt on Tuesday as planned, and Rachel accompanied him. He was in microsurgery for eight hours this time, plus another two hours in recovery, and he got home in the evening. These new implants took a longer time of adjustment, especially his brain implants. He stayed home with the boys all day Wednesday, while Rachel and Caitlin went shopping. Amanda, the neurosurgeon, helped Rachel keep a close watch on Mason’s adjustment process to his new implants.

  Since the advent of the URE, Thanksgiving Day was a world-wide holiday. A wonderful party was held at the Mason home. Mason helped Caitlin with the cooking, while Rachel and Amanda shared hostess duties. David and Eric watched college football and kept Victor busy playing his games. Grandpa David buckled John David in his high chair in front of the big vid screen, next to him. The little scamp was now walking and running, as fast as he could go.

  After dinner, Mason brought up a subject to the Grandparents he and Rachel had been discussing for quite some time. “I am considering adopting Victor as my son. But I told Rachel I would not do that without your blessing, Eric, Amanda.”

  “Would you want him to change his name from Baines to Mason, John?” Eric asked.

  “Absolutely not. I’m proud to have served his Father; he and Rachel were my best friends. Victor would keep his name alive,” Mason answered.

  “We would be honored if you would adopt Victor. You have always treated him as your own son anyway. Will you be asking him, as well?” Amanda asked.

  “I wouldn’t do it without Victor’s agreement. I’ll offer to adopt him, and he can consider it. He and Rachel can discuss it. I will respect his decision,” Mason said.

  Their holiday was over too soon, and they returned to Mars. Upon receiving his December assignment, Mason had mixed feelings. The High Council would be meeting in secret in the Alps, at a posh resort in France. He would stay there, and transport the High Councilmen to various places around the planet afterwards. But not only could he not take Rachel, he could not tell her where he was going. She would have made a fabulous snow bunny, Mason thought.

  Admiral Mason drove her teams to bring the initial phase of the Great Vault Project to completion, and she petitioned the Joint Chiefs to allow her to return to Houston, and manage the project’s next phase remotely. A full-time team would remain on Mars X, but she wanted to come home, having fulfilled her project’s obligations to the Joint Chiefs. They finally agreed to let her move back to Houston. They were all ready to come home. Mason packed his gear to be shipped home, except for his uniforms. His family took the transport to Earth.

  Colonel Tyrone advised Mason to "stay loose,” and not insist on following his family too soon. He was assigned a one bedroom apartment much closer to Mars III base for a month or two; obviously, a test of his commitment to the High Council.

  Mason left Mars for his secret assignment. The Alps were magnificent, and his suite in the resort was plush. The primary topic was the selection of another Joint Chief; the Space Forces Admiral Kensington was retiring. The other topic was the invasion, of course. Sukesh escaped SS4 under the noses of the battle cruiser CO and XO. His whereabouts were unknown. The High Council wanted him captured alive, brought in to court-martial, and publicly hanged in the Earth Command Main courtyard, the fate of all traitorous officers.

  Mason kept to himself on his off duty time, called Rachel, and worked out in the gym. Right on schedule, the new Joint Chief from the URE Space Forces was chosen, Admiral Del Rey. The meeting was adjourned after three days, and Mason flew the High Councilmen home, the last of which was Madam Li Yun. She made him stay two nights in Beijing, her primary residence, to become familiar with the massive city.

  Madam Li Yun notified Mason to meet her at the Grand Beijing Hotel. He took his guard post fifteen minutes early, as he usually did. In walked Madam Li Yun, High Councilman Arepas, Admiral Worthington, and Commandant Richardson.

  Mason stood guard from 10a.m. until noon. He was asked to go to lunch on his own and return at 2p.m.; highly unusual. Li Yun was never left unguarded. He suspected they were talking about him, and he was right.

  Upon returning to his guard post, Mason was called to attention in front of them. “The High Council is aware of your desire to move back to Houston with your family. It is our intention to allow you to do so; but first, we have an assignment for you, Major Mason,” High Councilman Arepas stated. “Sukesh was spotted on Space Station 6 yesterday. Any attempt to send a squadron there would only alert him to our intentions, which are to capture him alive, and bring him to court martial. We wish you to leave tomorrow for SS6 to capture him.”

  Admiral Worthington spoke, “We will be giving you a new fighter, the XR-8. It is unregistered. It does not officially exist. Colonel Tyrone sent you the technical specs on this fighter previously. Top speed for this fighter is unknown. We have tested hyper-space 12 in it.”

  12? Mason was salivating. “You will be in disguise, masquerading as an arms dealer. Sukesh is buying weaponry there, and craft. You will become proficient with the operation of this fighter today, and leave tomorrow. Convince him to take a test ride with you, and bring him in, Mason. Stun him, gas him, or sedate him. I don’t care. But I want him alive,” Admiral Worthington ordered.

  “Understood, Admiral,” Mason said.

  “You will capture Sukesh and deliver him to this body in Houston before December 21, the Joint Chiefs Annual Dinner. The event is proceeded by speeches, promotions, and awarding of medals. No, your name is not on the selection list; but Admiral Mason’s name is. And no, you may not share that information with her, Major Mason!” The Commandant barked.

  “You will follow our plan to the letter, Major Mason. Improvise only as a fail-safe. We already have assets in place to assist you. Now, go at once to this address via the waiting URE shuttle, and take your flight training on the XR-8. Good luck, Major Mason,” Admiral Worthington concluded.

  Mason had the unwelcomed task of informing Admiral Mason he was being sent on a secret assignment without being allowed to come home first. He had not spent one holiday season at home with his family, or celebrated her birthday with her, and was determined to finish this assignment by the Admiral’s specified date of 12/21, no matter what. He was in OCS when she got her first Rear Admiral’s star, and wanted to see her get her second star in person, a Vice Admiral. It would be an important occasion for her, and a significant career milestone.

  “Admiral Mason, I have to go where they send me, and whenever they tell me to go. You know I can’t refuse an assignment from the High Council,” Mason explained. “I have to be back in Houston by December 21, at the latest. Those are my orders. So, I’m sure I’ll be home with you for Christmas and your birthday this year,” he said confidently.

  “I certainly hope so, John. We miss you a great deal now, and I don’t want to spend another Christmas and birthday without you near me,” she said, sounding disappointed. “I got used to your being around every day, and it’s difficult to be without you again, John. Please try to be here with us for Christmas,” she said softly, her voice choking up. “I miss you.”

  “As you order, Admiral Mason. I’ll be there with you by the twenty-first of December,” he said, trying to reassure her. “All my love to you, Admiral,” he finished.

&nbs
p; “And all my love to you, John. Admiral Mason out.” She was consumed with worry. Now what? Where were they sending her husband? Was it another deadly, black ops mission, where he would face incredible odds of success? Would he be sent there all alone, without any support? Would he miraculously be victorious again? Or would this be his last mission? She could not bear to think about it anymore. She wanted him home with her, now. Not later.

  XXXI

  Space Station 6 was not a shining example of URE space architecture. It was functionally adequate, bare bones infrastructure on the “wrong side” of the solar system, strategically placed in orbit directly opposite Titan One. It did have great lodging in its high-end suites, though; but few would pay the price to stay there, except for the annual “Spacecraft Show and Exhibition,” held every December. It was a glorified arms and fighting craft brokered sales event where private individuals, merchants, pirates and even the Space Forces bought and sold more or less interesting space craft.

  The Space Forces usually sold their not-so-gently-used space craft at this show, after all the weaponry was stripped off. Most used private, mercenary and merchant craft were purchased here. There were only eight docking stations on the station itself, so the area surrounding SS6 looked like a used shuttle lot, where used craft floated in space, awaiting buyers. The weaponry was bought and sold under the table, of course. Pirates would buy near-junk vessels, loaded with all kinds of weapons and munitions.

  During this December show, if you were an arms dealer, you were here, no matter your specialty. The restaurants would transport in better chefs and menu items just for the week. The fare rivaled Titan One in quality during the show. The fancy suites on the station were full at top rates. Homely SS6 would compete with Titan One for service excellence, at least for those with pockets full of large denomination charge crystals.

  The lounges and bars brought in higher class girls, to keep their patrons inside and drinking. The hotel provided call girls of the highest quality, who charged at least $10,000 per night. The businesses wanted the visiting men with the big money loose and fast, and going home with empty pockets.

  Occasionally, a test vessel or rejected fighter would go on sale by the Space Forces, advertised as a craft too expensive to produce in fleet quantity. It was this type of vessel that Mason was supposedly selling for the URE, a test fighter too expensive for the Space Forces, and therefore a “reject.” The Joint Chiefs passed the word around an arms dealer named “D’Alessandro” would represent a very high tech reject for sale to the highest bidder.

  Mason was “D’Alessandro,” his undercover name. He was provided a wardrobe, custom masks, many slices, and an unlimited expense account for his role. They sent him to a chic hair designer for a very trendy haircut, and dyed his hair coal black. They planted accomplices at SS6 several days before to work with D’Alessandro. After reading the detailed plan, Mason openly refused to have a “Call girl” accomplice stay in his room overnight with him, or even associate with one. Madam Li Yun agreed, and the Joint Chiefs wrote her out of their playbook.

  The XR-8 was the most radical design ever built for a Space Forces fighter. Mason took one look at it and knew it was a spy fighter. It could make hyper-space 12 and beyond, but no test pilot was allowed to push it to its limit. It held mountings for the usual weaponry, but Mason would be flying her with only missiles and laser cannon; no bombs or torpedoes. It was not like the Space Forces to sell weaponry at an arms show.

  The XR-8 was made of titanium, light and strong, and was left in her gleaming white base metal color. It was an elongated V-shape, designed for long range use, and even contained a small sleeper cabin, with a shower. There was seating for 6, in addition to the pilot, co-pilot, navigator, and jump seats at both pilot positions, eleven total, in an emergency. It was one and a half times as long as Mason’s war bird, and a little wider. Her wings spread and collapsed, as the atmospheric need required. She was advertised as being the “trillion dollar fighter,” and she looked it, whether or not the actual research, design, and manufacturing costs were that high.

  The XR-8’s engines were designed and developed in Mars X’s north corridor over many years, first as the XR-6, then the XR-8, the more advanced version. This was the top secret project Sukesh was after in the north corridor during his attack on the base. The engines were a radical new design, utilizing a hydrogen-based fuel cell as its primary energy source. Special crystalline energy cells were also in place, of an undisclosed nature, which only needed replacing every five or six years. The sealed propulsion system was revolutionary, and few knew its specifications.

  Mason was to masquerade as “D’Alessandro,” a very high-end, exclusive arms dealer, representing the URE for the XR-8. D’Alessandro’s job was to lure Sukesh onto the XR-8, subdue him, and bring him back alive for public court martial and hanging. Mason was authorized to kill Sukesh, if necessary. But he was offered a substantial bonus if he brought him in alive. It wasn’t the bounty offered to him, but rather the opportunity to capture the hybrid responsible for his torture, and the torture and unwilling alteration of hundreds of men and women, including Admiral Hanson, that made Mason so driven to succeed at this mission. Not to mention the explosive vest intended for his Admiral during the Mars X attack.

  Mason packed a separate hanging gear bag with his Prime Marine uniforms, and stowed the bag on board the XR-8’s locked compartment inside the sleeper. The designer wardrobe provided for him was flashy and very trendy, to make him stand out in the crowd. Mason was concerned about his height; Sukesh knew how tall he was. They both worked on the bridge of the Hesperia for nearly six years, prior to Sukesh turning traitor, and being captured. Mason was given elevator boots, to make him over 2.25 meters tall. His masks were stored in a secret compartment in the XR-8, and Mason took out one per day, for his use in the next day’s masquerade. His facial hair on the mask was a sharp, well-trimmed black beard and moustache. He looked like a rich arms dealer, in his fancy, flashy street clothes and his mask.

  The XR-8 flew like a shooting star to SS6. The usual trip time at hyper-space 6 was two weeks, but Mason was there in 6 ½ days. His was one of the reserved docking stations, of course, where everyone could see the XR-8. He carefully put on his mask and checked that no edges showed anywhere, then changed into his bright green designer suit and elevator boots, grabbed his designer gear bag, and strolled off the XR-8 into the air lock. He remotely locked the XR-8. Anyone trying to illegally access her would be in serious trouble; she was docked with her shields on full, a deadly sting.

  Mason sauntered to the hotel after clearing security and checked into his penthouse suite. He assumed his suite would be broken into by Sukesh or one of his agents. He carried no Space Marine or Prime Marine-marked clothing or accessories whatsoever. Even his wrist comm link was an experimental model, with a large screen and gun metal band, loaded with sensors, so the Joint Chiefs could monitor his vital signs. As if they gave a damn about him. After the SS4 raid, Mason knew for certain he was merely their newest expendable asset, capable of impossible feats. If he was killed, too bad. Some other hotshot would be waiting in the wings. It only took a couple of years for him to figure it out.

  Mason unpacked, scanned his room, and found three active cameras, which he disabled immediately. He raided the bar and poured a drink from the sealed, new vodka bottle there, and poured half of the bottle down the drain, to make any intruder think he was nearly drunk. He went downstairs to register for the show, and ate at the most expensive restaurant, per his orders. He hung out in the high end lounge and drank French champagne; anything but bourbon. The girls came and offered their services to him, and he refused.

  He was to talk with a cocktail server named “Mitzi,” and no other server there. At 10p.m., she took over his table. She brought him a second bottle of champagne, and said Sukesh arrived there last night around midnight. Mason cased the lounge; there was real money changing hands already. His orders were to be loose, act cocky, and eager to make
the sale, dealing only with the high-rollers.

  Mitzi intentionally would spill out champagne as she took the bottle out if its ice bucket, to keep Mason sober, but make it look like he was drinking the entire bottle. She was a pro; she looked comfortable in her sexy, scanty costume, but not with customers who tried to hold or touch her. Probably a young officer in intelligence, Mason decided. She came to his table to pour more champagne and mouthed, “He is here,” to Mason.

  A large group of darkly-dressed men came in, with one in the center of their group. Mason glanced at them, but did not look too long. The call girls wasted no time visiting their large booth, but were sent away. Sukesh’s table ordered several bottles of vodka in various flavors and a bucket of ice. They drank and drank, while Mason sipped his champagne and people-watched. Several men came over and introduced themselves to him, and he just said “D’Alessandro,” and nodded at them, never shaking hands or touching them. He paid his exorbitant tab, over-tipped Mitzi, and left. He made the scene, as ordered.

  In his room, Mason noticed every one of the “tells” he left had been disturbed, as he expected. He scanned his room, and new cameras were installed, very small ones in nearly imperceptible nooks and crannies where most would not think to look. Mason found them and flushed them down the toilet. Satisfied most of the electronic eyes were gone, he sent his message: “Tell the kids I said hello. All is well. Going to bed. D’Alessandro.” It went to an unregistered comm link address, owned by the Joint Chiefs, of course.

  The next day he stayed inside his room until the auctions began in the afternoon. The XR-8 was advertised to be auctioned the last day, with a minimum bid of $500 million. He hung out by the fighter, like any good salesman would. Everyone wanted to see it, but shied away when D’Alessandro told them his minimum bid. Another day done, he went to eat, and hang out in the lounge again.

  Sukesh and his party came in around 11p.m., and sat further away from him. More vodka was ordered for their table, and girls refused. D’Alessandro sipped champagne and watched everyone, and left around midnight. He had set his predictable pattern.