Dark Space

by Stephen A. Fender

  Roslyn’s breathing slowed and her rigid body slacked somewhat under Shawn’s hands. Releasing her, he stepped a half-pace back. She reached for her shoulders where Shawn had grabbed her.

  “I’m sorry,” Shawn muttered. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “It’s all right … just … it’s fine,” she said as she tried to shrug off the altercation. “I shouldn’t have popped off to you like that … sir.”

  Shawn could see the apology was heartfelt, and while he was impatient to find Santorum, he didn’t want this moment to pass without saying something. “You’re among friends here, Roslyn. We can stow the ‘sir’ stuff.”

  Roslyn nodded, apparently satisfied over his answer. “Then, as both your friend and his, Shawn, I’m coming with you. I have a feeling you’re going to need a moderator, and I’ve known Jerry the longest.”

  “Where?” Shawn asked more calmly.

  “The hangar deck. He said he had some checks to do on his fighter and—”

  Shawn’s worst fear had just been realized. “Oh no,” he mumbled, then took off in a sprint toward the main hangar, leaving the two women to rush after him.

  %%%

  “Shawn, slow down!” Roslyn called after the commander as the three dashed through the Duchess of York’s passageways.

  Vaulting through a series of concentric hatches, Shawn rounded a sharp corner, grabbing a handrail at the bottom of a stairwell and hefting himself upon the steps. Skipping every other one, he was in danger of risking a bruised knee if he stumbled against their unforgiving surface. Risking it, he kept going, taking shallow breaths as if he were running a race.

  Up and up he went, and five flights later, flung the hatch opened at the top. Launching himself into the hangar, he was greeted by several crewmen gawking at him as he made his way across the deck to where the Rippers fighters had been stationed. The area was completely empty.

  “Shawn!” Roslyn called after him as she entered the hangar.

  He turned to see her running down the length of the hangar in the opposite direction. Without waiting, he quickly joined her and Melissa. “The Rippers were merged with the Jolly Rogers, remember?” Roslyn said. “They’re located aft.”

  In his haste to get to the hangar he’d completely forgotten. Cursing under his breath, his legs were beginning to feel the strain of his intra-ship marathon. Perfect.

  They continued on, past rows of Maelstrom fighters and the Marines’ VTOL craft. Running between the two immensely large Mammoth logistics transports, the three entered the aft hangar deck in unison. Slowing to a jog to catch their breath, they each scanned a different area of the deck.

  “I sure hope this is all worth it,” Roslyn said, her breath labored.

  “Where the hell is he?” Shawn asked aloud.

  Melissa shook her head, her eyes scanning the bay. There were a dozen fighters in here, all painted with the dull yellow-and-gray of the Jolly Rogers crest. A maintenance tractor was moving another fighter from an unknown squadron into an ordnance alcove, while a large crane overhead lifted the battered remains of a Maelstrom to the reclamation section of the deck, there to be stripped of all useful components before the hulk was broken down and recycled. There, two men in fitted suits, each holding cutting lasers, waited like obedient dogs would to get table scraps.

  “I don’t see him,” Melissa finally said.

  “Neither do I,” Roslyn added.

  “You sure this is where he said he was going?” Shawn asked as he gave the compartment a once-over.

  “He said he was coming down here to talk to Drake about the damage to his fighter.”

  “Drake?” Shawn asked as he looked at Roslyn.

  She nodded, still catching her breath. “His patrol was scheduled to lift off a little while ago.” She then looked at her watch. “Takeoff was scheduled for six minutes ago.”

  Shawn, wide-eyed, looked frantically for the nearest officer in the hangar. About thirty yards distant he spotted the distinctive yellow and gray coveralls of a maintenance officer. As he took off in another sprint, Roslyn and Melissa had little choice but to chase after him once again.

  The officer, a junior-grade lieutenant, looked startled as the carrier’s air group commander rushed up to him. “Yes … s-sir,” he stammered, bolting to attention. “What … ah … what can I do for you, Commander?”

  “Lieutenant I’Rondus?” Shawn asked with little formality.

  Startled, the young officer blinked several times before answering. “He’s … ah … gone, sir. He took off about—”

  “Was anyone else here with him before he left?” Melissa asked.

  “No, sir … ma’am, I mean.”

  “Are you sure?” Shawn asked.

  “Oh, yes, sir. Sure as I’m standing here,” he said, and then, realizing his relaxed tone, ended with “sir.”

  “Damn.” Shawn cursed under his breath.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the lieutenant began, “but can I ask what this is all about? I’ll need to put it in my log. Protocol, you understand.”

  Shawn shook his head as he looked about the hangar. “I wish I could tell you.”

  The lieutenant seemed to regard the statement with curiosity, then shrugged. “Well, I guess that’s two strange entries for the day.”

  “Two?” Melissa asked.

  The lieutenant nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What was the other one?” Shawn asked as he cocked an eyebrow.

  “Well, Drake … that is, Lieutenant I’Rondus, seemed a little out of sorts when he left.”

  “How so?” Raven asked as she attempted to fix her black hair behind her head, its unruliness a result of her sprint through the ship.

  “Well, normally he’s a lot more talkative to his maintenance crew,” the young man said, throwing a thumb in the direction of a young woman who was walking across the deck with a stack of computer boards. She was the one in charge of getting Drake’s fighter ready for takeoff, the one enlisted person whose sole responsibility was to let Drake know the status of his fighter at all times.

  “What did he say to her?” Shawn asked as he regarded the woman from a distance.

  “That’s just it. He didn’t say anything. He just jumped in and took off with a wave and a salute.”

  Shawn wheeled back to the lieutenant. “And you didn’t find that strange?”

  “Like I said, sir, I put it in my log, but that was about it. I mean, he had clearance to take off. Besides, being an enlisted crewman, it’s not like she could have said anything. You understand.”

  Shawn nodded as he turned back to the girl, who had since put her stack of cards down and was looking over another fighter. “Yeah. Protocol.”

  “Shawn?” Melissa asked as she and Roslyn stepped closer.

  There were a half-dozen scenarios rushing through his head all at once, and none of them had a particularly happy outcome. But if he was going to act, he’d need to do it quickly. He would have to assume the responsibility for his actions later. He quickly turned to Roslyn.

  “I need you out there right now, Raven.”

  She looked at him as if he’d grown a third arm. “Out there … as in … out there?” she asked and waved a hand to the nearest launch bay.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s crazy. I’m not cleared to take off. Hell, I’m not even on the schedule for today!”

  “I don’t care about any of that,” he said as he held his hands up to stem her thoughts on the matter. “I need you out there, right now,” he said, then turned to the deck lieutenant. “And you’re going to make it happen.”

  “I am?” he asked in a helpless tone.

  “You are,” Shawn said with a nod. “And you’re going to do it right now.”

  The young man looked from Raven to Shawn, then to Melissa, then back to Shawn. “Well, that’s going to make one hell of a third strange entry for the day.”

  “But—” Raven began, but Shawn cut her off.

  “No more ‘buts,’ Commander.
That’s an order from your CAG. Get your rear in gear and light those fires.”

  She looked to him for a moment, wondering if he’d gone completely batty or if he was going to change his mind. “Okay, fine. But what are you going to do? Come out there with me?”

  “No. I’ve been grounded. I need to get to Ramos and get this all straightened out before it all blows up in everyone’s face.”

  Roslyn raised her hands out Shawn. “But what about Jerry?”

  Shawn raised his hands in a similar gesture. “Who do you think you’re going out to get?”

  “But, I thought Drake—”

  Shawn shook his head. “If I’m right, that’s not Drake. It’s Nova masquerading as him.”

  “Okay, hold on,” Roslyn pleaded as she closed her eyes. “Run that by me again?”

  “Get to your fighter, Commander. Once I get to the bridge I’ll let you know more.”

  “Then what happened to Drake?” Roslyn asked.

  Shawn turned to Melissa. “That’s your job, honey. I have a suspicion he’s still on board, and if that’s true, he’s very likely in danger. You’ve got to organize a search party to find him.”

  “I’m on it.” And without another word, she vaulted from his side to a nearby hatch.

  “I suppose that’s the kind of response you want me to give you from now on? Just say ‘yes, sir’ and be on my merry way?” Raven asked him jokingly as Shawn watched Melissa leave.

  “I like you just the way you are, Raven: obstinate, argumentative, and fully capable of flying that fighter. Now get out of here. Once you’re clear of the ship, do not engage Nova until I’ve given you an order to do so.” He then turned and took off for the nearest lift to the elevator.

  Raven shook her head as she watched him leave. “If it’s even Jerry out there,” she said under her breath.

  %%%

  Shawn rushed through the doors to the bridge in such a hurry that everyone present, including Captain Ramos, turned to him in surprise.

  “Problem, Commander?” Ramos asked in his usual calm tone.

  “I’ve got Raven getting ready to launch down in the hangar,” Shawn said in a hurry. “She’ll need authorization to take off.”

  Ramos nodded, seemingly unfazed by Shawn’s serious lack of protocol. “I know. I just got a call from a very worried deck officer down there. He said you were taking it upon yourself to authorize the launch.”

  “Sorry, sir. It’s an emergency.”

  “As I asked before … problem, Commander?”

  “It’s Lieutenant Santorum, sir. I have reason to believe he’s commandeered a fighter without authorization.”

  “Based on what evidence?”

  Shawn didn’t have time to go through it all. If he didn’t, it would give Jerry more than enough time to get to the jump gate and escape to wherever he was going. “You know that ‘trust’ that you and I were talking about earlier? Well, now it’s time to put it to the test.”

  Ramos stared at him for a long moment, with the rest of the bridge officers staring between their captain and the commander. Ramos pursed his lips, then nodded slowly. “Commander Weberity,” Ramos said to his flight control officer. “Authorize the launch. Immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Ramos then turned to the communications station. “Lieutenant Flynn, monitor all communications between Commander Brunel’s fighter and the other Maelstrom. I want this recorded.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Ramos then turned to his sensor officer. “Samantha, feed the Maelstrom’s coordinates to Raven. Let her know everything you can about this region, and give her a full tactical analysis of the other fighter.”

  Shawn watched as the young woman did as she was ordered.

  “Captain,” came a voice from the opposite side of the bridge. Shawn turned to see who it was, and noticed the lead security officer approach the command area.

  “What is it, LSO?”

  The dark-skinned man looked at Shawn, then Ramos. “Call just came inform the lower decks. It was Special Agent Graves. She said she found Lieutenant I’Rondus.”

  Shawn felt a lump form in his throat. “Is he …”

  “She reports he’s alive, but unconscious. The security team found him bound and gagged in his own quarters. He’s got some injuries.”

  Shawn nodded. Considering Drake was supposed to be out on patrol, it was the last place anyone would have accidently come across him while Jerry made his escape. “Medical team?” Shawn asked.

  Weberity nodded. “Dispatched. Agent Graves said she’ll stand by until they arrive.”

  “Seems your hunches have some merit, Commander,” Ramos said stoically.

  “Sir,” Samantha said from the sensor station. “Commander Brunel’s fighter has left the carrier.”

  Both Shawn and Ramos turned to her. “What’s her position, Samantha?”

  “Three-quarters of a mile, ninety degrees to port beam. Speed is one hundred fifty.”

  “And Santorum?”

  “Also speed of one-fifty, bearing three-two-two.”

  “He’s heading for the jump gate,” Shawn said.

  Ramos nodded and then turned to Shawn. The two men exchanged a wordless stare. They each knew what needed to be done.

  Ramos turned slightly to face Weberity. “Order Raven to change speed to three hundred. Intercept.”

  “Aye.”

  Ramos then caught Shawn’s eye. “The question is,” he added under his breath, “what does she do when she catches up to him?”

  “Captain, Lieutenant Santorum has changed course,” Samantha almost shouted. “I think he’s spotted her.”

  “Range?”

  “They are ten miles apart, but closing on one another rapidly.”

  “He’s going to engage her?” Shawn asked in disbelief.

  “Either that or he’s had a serious change of heart about what he’s doing out there,” Ramos groaned.

  Shawn watched the screen as the two fighters came closer to one another. “Any chatter?” he asked.

  “Negative,” Flynn responded. “Raven is hailing, but Nova is silent.”

  “It’s too aggressive,” Shawn mumbled, “even for Santorum. Something has him spooked, and it’s not just Raven.”

  Ramos watched closely. The two fighters would be in weapons range of one another in less than fifteen seconds. Shawn was right, and every fiber in his being was telling him so. “Order Raven to disengage, quickly!”

  “Yes, sir,” the communications officer acknowledged, then began issuing the order to Roslyn into his headset. “J-R-One-Zero-Zero, this is Duchess. Break off your pursuit. Say again, break off your pursuit. Bandit may be hostile.”

  “Sir!” Samantha shouted. “Lieutenant Santorum has hot-status. He’s getting a positive sensor lock on J-R-One-Zero-Zero.”

  Shawn quickly turned to Weberity. “Get her out of there!”

  “Sir, J-R-One-Zero-Four is firing missiles,” Samantha continued.

  “J-R-One-Zero-Zero, evasive!” Weberity shouted. “You have incoming! Repeat, you have incoming!”

  Shawn turned helplessly to the sensor screen as the missile leapt from Jerry’s Maelstrom and exploded the second it impacted Roslyn’s fighter.

  “In the course of a day, your lifelong perceptions can most certainly change. I mean, when I got stuck behind a desk and was up to my knees in paperwork, I thought it was the worst thing in the universe. Within a day, I was up to my knees in something that truly is the worst thing in the universe: snow.”

  -Shawn Kestrel

  Chapter 5

  On the screen, Captain Ramos and his sensor officer, Lieutenant Samantha Dorsey, watched as Commander Brunel’s fighter vanished from the scope. Sweat had broken across the captain’s brow as he wondered what kind of insanity had taken over Lieutenant Jerry Santorum that he would fire upon his own people with a total disregard for their lives.

  Although the captain was just as aware of Nova’s movements as she, Samantha knew it
was her duty to report the latest sensor readings. “We’ve lost J-R-One-Zero-Zero’s signal, Captain.”

  Ramos’s hand crept up to cup Samantha’s shoulder. Sitting at her side at the helm console, her close friend, Lieutenant Ashlee Kidd, looked at her in sadness. Losing a crewman was never an easy thing for anyone, regardless if one knew that person or not. Ashlee got the impression that this was the case with respect to Samantha and Roslyn’s relationship, but losing a shipmate was akin to losing a piece of oneself, and the young woman felt a twinge of sadness at the news.

  Ramos moved forward slowly, the heel of his boot tapping against the floor with restrained rage as he looked out the large forward windows. Nova was far too distant to see with the naked eye, but the Duchess’s finely tuned sensors could track anything the size of a feather up to a range of eight hundred miles—twice as far if linked into a satellite network. “What is the position of J-R-One-Zero-Four?” Ramos asked, his throat suddenly parched.

  “He’s returning to previous heading,” Samantha reported.

  Ramos nodded. “He’s heading back toward the jump gate. Shawn—” he began, turning to address the commander who had been standing beside him a moment before, but Kestrel was gone.

  %%%

  As soon as the missile had impacted with Raven’s ship, Shawn had bolted from the captain’s side on the bridge. Quickly making his way to the emergency elevator located in a nearby passageway, Shawn rocketed down to the pilots’ main briefing room. Once there, he put in a hurried call to his longtime friend and mechanic, Trent Maddox, and told him in no uncertain terms to meet him in the hangar in five minutes. Grudgingly, as was the norm with Trent, the mechanic had agreed.

  Donning his flight suit, Shawn had no real perception of what he was doing. His brain was on autopilot, his hands moving as if they had a memory of their own as they clasped, zipped, and tugged at the various pieces of his suit. He was angry, of that there was no doubt—angrier than he’d ever been in his life. More furious, even, than when he had discovered his wife had been all but murdered during a Kafaran raid years ago, this anger was born of something deeper. It wasn’t that he had been lied to; he had been betrayed. His shipmates had been deceived, and there was no telling how far that betrayal stretched or how many lives had been jeopardized or lost over it—or how many would be. It was imperative that Shawn find out the extent of the subterfuge, no matter the cost. Everyone’s lives could very well depend on it. It was this resolve that fueled him now, and before he’d even realized it, he was suited up and ready for flight.