by Rolf Nelson
Tracking
Skelton’s arm was properly bandaged and his clothes showed no sign of the previous day’s events as he paced back and forth. He was dealing with a string of minor crises while waiting for a call with any news for the ladies. Allonia paced back and forth as well; she was now dressed in less downtown businesslike attire, and in a more practical lower-profile style. She picked up a grape from a bowl on the desk each time she passed it. Sharon sat in an overstuffed corner chair with her feet tucked up and chin on her knees, staring silently across the room seemingly oblivious to the scattered bits of conversation that fell upon her ears.
Signing off with another contact, Skelton tossed his com down on the desk and ran his fingers through his hair. “The two guys you put down were nobodies. Trying to make a score and impress someone so they could join up. Dead guy was ripped on the newest designer twiggers, likely wouldn’t have noticed getting shot in the arm like I did. Other guy just a fool hoping for a chance. No great loss. Only coincidence they were there and recognized me.”
“Bad luck for them.”
“Not good luck for us, either. Nothing raises a profile like shooting a couple of people in broad daylight in a public place, even if they needed shooting.”
“Not sure raising my law enforcement priority is possible,” Allonia said dryly.
“So what exactly are you wanted for?”
“Existing.”
“Sounds sketchy.”
Allonia smiled ruefully and took the last grape. “I’m sure the official reason is a little less vague, but also less scary sounding.”
“Less, or more?” Skelton asked, unclear on what exactly she meant.
“Yes. Both. Depends on what you’re afraid of, I guess.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m more worried about drugged-up guys trying to kill me than good looking young ladies, even if she’s a good shot.”
“There is a whole lot more to the story than we’ve told you.”
“So I gather, but the BOLOs just say priority one in connection with anti-government threats, which only adds to your charm among most of the people I know. I’m all ears any time you want to let me in on the secret.”
Allonia just smiled faintly and shook her head.
Skelton’s com flashed vividly and vibrated on the desktop. Seeing the colors, he tapped it and held it up to his ear a moment, then waved it to put the news story on a wall screen. The news-drone rattled on about exclusive footage and terrorist extremists being exterminated and valiant space-navy forces, but the image that grabbed their attention was the video loop of a mountain valley erupting in vast flashes of white and towering mushroom clouds along its length. The images repeated from various angles, high and low, close and more distant. Allonia abruptly sat, face blank and unblinking, while Sharon stared uncomprehendingly for long minutes while it played, and replayed, as the meaning slowly sank in. Skelton looked back and forth between them and the screen, trying to divine thoughts and meaning. His com flashed again. After listening for a moment, he flipped through to another channel. Another scene was being looped through various videos, an angular speck above a barren ocean, followed by nuclear fire, with more words about a resounding success in fighting rebellious forces and space-pirates.
“I… I don’t understand” Allonia said at last, her voice husky and rough from tension. “Two blasts. Why two?”
“Nukes. Not just two, a bunch of them. You were right, they are in serious shit…. I hate to say it,” Skelton said apologetically, “but it might be time to focus on finding Kam and Helton, then finding some other way off-planet.”
“I’ve known them since I was a kid. Quiri and Taj, just gone…. No. No. It can’t be.” Her voice firmed, her face changed from shock to determination. “Two attacks. Not just two warheads, two separate locations. She must have given them the slip on the first attack.”
“They nuked the whole valley. It looked like a dozen separate blasts. The whole thing went up.”
“Taj is tougher than you’d believe. No, I refuse to believe Quiri couldn’t out-fly a couple of cruisers in Tajemnica.”
The screen changed to a pretty young lady interviewing a ship’s captain, looking sharp in his dress uniform. On the screen behind him were images of six more captains, one generic outline tinged in red with the caption ship lost in action, identity withheld pending notification of kin.
“It was a well-coordinated multi-national task-force,” the captain explained, sounding confident and cultured. “We had solid intelligence that these extremists were in the area with hostile intent, and with a multi-pronged attack utilizing a mix of cruisers and frigates we cut off all escape routes, chased them away from populated areas so they could not try to inflict civilian casualties, and in a text-book case of applied tactics we ended the threat these extremists criminals and their ship represented. Unfortunately, they were desperate and dangerous enough to not only have military grade weapons, they used them and tragically we lost one of our heroic frigates and her crew. But in the end, it was hopeless, and a dozen nuclear missiles ended their last stand over the open ocean.”
Skelton cut the sound. “Seven,” he said softly. He looked at Allonia carefully. “They came after you with seven cruisers. An entire carrier group worth of ships. And more.” He sat down and leaned back, looking between them. “You two are so hot you are radioactive. So… are you more valuable working for me, disappearing, or getting turned in?”
While they try to reply his com flashed again, urgently. Looking at the number, he breathed deeply then answered. “Talk to me.” Listening carefully for a few moments, he shook his head. “Three? No, no, wait, start over.” He poked a button to put in on the speaker.
“The sweep picked up all the normal losers, screw-ups and paperwork violations,” the voice on the com said. “I only came across one guy with a total blank record – nothing, not even a name, so they filled it in with Unknown. No genetic swab matches, even. Nothing unusual with anyone else in his press company, nobody matches your descriptions. I did find two guys in another sweep with very thin folders and the unlikely names of Alias Smith and Jedidiah Jones, but they have little data and no photos. They got pumped through the sweat tank and into holding orbit aboard a training scow already.”
“Can you find out where they are to be deployed?”
“Not from here. They are out of our system, now. Sorry. I did what I could.”
“Thanks, thanks a million. That makes us even, I think.”
“No, you still owe me. Tickets to a new production downtown would be nice.”
Skelton grinned. “We’ll see who needs who more first. If I find anything you might like I’ll let you know.” He waved his com silent, then drummed his finger-tips on the desk. “Ain’t that a wonderment…. Your ship’s gone, your brother and husband are in orbit destined for an uncomfortable end, most likely….”
Sharon started to cry, then screamed at him “You cold bastard! How can you-”
Allonia stood and strode over to his desk, leaning over it. She stared into Skelton’s eyes with grim expression and hard eyes. “You owe me your life. And I’m going to collect, if I have too. You are going to find out where that ship’s coming down if you have to call in every favor you have, and owe half the city before you’re done.”
“You’re a little short on leverage, you know” Skelton pointed out, as much to see how she reacted as making clear the point of fact.
“If you eventually get connected to us, they will send their most persuasive interrogators to interview you, and they likely won’t give so much as a nod to the niceties of the law when they do. They will know everything you know. And then you will disappear.”
“So just what did you do to become such a target?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Let’s just say we did things and know things the governments of several planets find very problematic. Work with us, your potential profits are huge. Huge. But the risks are even bigger. Dorek survived Dustb
owl. He’s not about to die in a conscript uniform for the camera. So, you are going to help me find out where they are coming down, and get me there…. Because if he comes back here to find out you didn’t, I’m pretty sure he could make life around here rather uncomfortable.” Her voice was intense, and her eyes flashed as she stared into Skelton’s, her normally pleasant face looking deadly serious.
“I see why Kam married you.” He glanced at Sharon’s worried face, then brought his eyes back to meet Allonia’s demanding glare. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Chapter VII
Initial Training
The first few hours were frenetic: everyone was tired and frazzled, the automatic instructional directions started blaring loudly ordering everyone around, the recorded commands couldn’t be silenced or reset, Helton worked on getting Mike Company organized, and Kaminski started putting the two “rifle squads” into something like an organized training plan. Finally, the recording said something that people agreed with. It was breakfast time. With relief on everyone’s face, the now quiet voice helped them walk through the meal procedure, taking the pre-packaged high-calorie “meal-brick” in its sealed envelope, heating it, and disposing of the waste. A few people couldn’t stomach it, others scarfed it down with gusto. Two men from 6th squad got into a fight over an unclaimed extra meal, battering each other bloody with poorly trained blows that both amused the rest at the lack of skill, and frightened them with the near maniacal expressions of the two combatant’s well-“medicated” faces. Eventually, one of them was beaten into unconsciousness. Kaminski walked over to the “victor” and held out his hand, clearly directing the man to hand it over.
“I beat him fair and square! It’s MINE!” the man screeched back at him.
“It wasn’t his to lose. Not everyone is here,” the sergeant replied calmly.
“Tough shit! He’s not here to fight for it, screw ‘im.”
“Not how it works. Everyone does their share, everyone gets their share. You haven’t earned it.”
“The Hell I didn’t. I just beat him.” Kaminski looked at him hard, still holding out his hand. He snapped his finger, indicating now, please. With a feral scream of rage, verging on falsetto, the man charged him, swinging. Kaminski blocked hard, and smoothly chopped with a bladed hand on the side of his assailant’s neck, causing the jugular and carotid to be violently compressed, sending a pressure-wave through the major arteries and veins to the brain, giving a sledgehammer blow to the gray matter inside the skull with his own blood as it was forced by the sudden compression to go elsewhere fast. Turning the block into a grab, he gracefully caught the suddenly rag-doll man and set him carefully on the deck amid a surprised silence. He looked around, casual-appearing, but gauging people’s reactions closely.
“We work as a team. Thievery from other soldiers will not be tolerated. Even if the person isn’t there to see it…. Clear?” Around him, somber nods and murmured “yes’s” were all that could be heard a moment. “They want us all like that. Is that where you want to be?” A lot of head shaking greeted the rhetorical question. Kaminski looked over at the other 6th squad members. “These two idiots drink extra from the cooler?” A couple of them offer an uncertain yes, one reply is more definite to the positive, causing Dorek to nod that it was what he expected. “You should avoid that. If you can’t control yourself…” he indicates the prostrate form, implication clear.
Kaminski tossed the food pouch to Helton. “Who’s not here?” he asked, holding it up.
“The tied-up guy. Still passed out,” came an anonymous reply.
“Any medics here?” Nobody volunteered anything, so Helton dropped it on the deck so he could finish his own meal. “I’ll take it up when we’re done.”
Karkhov lead Helton to the starboard side berth room that the violent man had been tied down. As the door slid open a wave of stench - a mix of alcohol, urine, vomit, and sweat, with an acrid chemical bite - rolled out. “Wow.” Holding his nose and struggling to hold back his gag reflex, the M Company leader waved Helton forward. “Be my *cough* guest.”
“The joys of leadership,” Helton replied dryly.
“I’ll wait here. Guard the door for you.” Helton nodded understanding, took a deep breath with his face turned away, then pulled his shirt up over his nose to try and keep at least some of the smell out before stepping into the room.
The man was bound, none too loosely, on a bottom bunk, still in street clothes. A big guy, dark skinned, face turned toward the wall. The rest of the room was empty, the rucksack had been dropped on the floor, and the uniform left on top. The name tag read, undoubtedly created by the uniform contractors in a minor fit of pique at finding no database entry, UNKNOWN. Helton tossed the food pouch and water bottle on the bed near his feet, resulting in nothing more than a slight groan and a twitch. “Hey, friend. You awake?” Another small groan issued forth. Helton reached out and cautiously shook a foot gently at arm’s length. “Brought you a food pouch. Breakfast.” A grunt, then Unknown turned his head a bit and rolled over slightly. It’s the scariest face Helton has ever seen: battered, bruises showing through the swarthy skin, cut and bloodied, the one eye not swollen shut massively bloodshot, many multi-hued knots standing out, a beard matted with vomit and blood, and blood-stained lips with an obviously loose tooth hanging by a thread.
“Do you remember anything?” After a long pause, he elicited a slightly slurred grunt that sort of sounded like no. “Know where you are?”
After a bit of throat clearing and croaking by Unknown, Helton picked up the water bottle and with a bit of effort helped him get a small swallow down. Laying back with a sigh ending in a cough, Unknown whispered roughly “’Script.”
“Right you are. Conscript. Brain’s working. That’s good.” He offered another bit of water, and after the faint smile he understood as a yes, he poured some more down. “Know how you got here?” The long pause made Helton wonder if the stranger went to sleep, passed out, or was just thinking hard.
“Must a’ been… a… whole bunch… of stupid,” the words came out slowly, the minimal lip movements obviously painful.
“Ay-yup. That it was, I’m sure. Seems you put a hurt on a press gang, and beat the hell out of the whole cell full of conscripts before you got put down… Got things under control, now?”
Another grunt that sounded like assent.
“Tag says Unknown. Got a name?”
Another long pause. “Unknown is… fine… for now… as long as… you’re not… pilot.”
Helton looked more closely, then his eyes widened in surprise and recognition. “Unholy crap.” Working rapidly with the field knife from his pack, Helton cut the cords loose while calling out to Kharkov in the passageway. When the younger man stuck his head in, the orders were rapid-fire. “Ice packs and first-aid kits. See if the auto-doc is accessible.”
“You sure he’s safe to turn loose?” Alex asked, eyes wide with surprise and uncertainty.
“Quite. You have no idea how lucky you are.”
“Lucky?!”
“If he wasn’t drunk off his ass, and from the smell of it likely been given a spiked drink as well, if he’d decided he wanted to beat up on you, you’d likely all be dead. And send a couple of strong guys in here wearing shorts so we can get him into the shower to clean him off.”
Kaminski was just finishing up his meal-pouch, and the remains from a few others who didn’t finish, when Helton strode purposefully into the cargo bay where everyone was still taking a lunch break following the meal. His face was serious as he waved for Kaminski to come over away from the main group of men.
“What’s up?”
“Apparently, when the first sergeant goes on a bender he doesn’t mess around.”
Kaminski’s faces assumed the blank expression he got when he’s not sure what’s going on. “Say again?”
“Unknown is someone we both know very well, and in need of some significant medical attention. A c
oncussion obviously, alcohol poisoning likely, spiked drink from the smell, bloody urine, but no obvious major bones broken. Certainly needs a full eval at the very least. I didn’t even recognize him at first, but it’s definitely him, and his brain isn’t total mush. They are cleaning him up now.”
“So, what does that change?”
“Not sure. We need to see what kind of shape he’s really in. He’s messed up, needs a real doc. For whatever reason they didn’t ID him, maybe Taj removed him from some databases when she altered our entries. Details can wait.”
“OK, auto doc is the best we can get fast.” Kaminski stroked his chin a moment in thought. “But we’ve got to get to real aid. That means not just training hard and landing wherever they drop us and fighting through.”
“Total take over?” Kaminski nodded. “We have any pilots that you know of?” Kaminski frowned, shook his head slowly. “He’s going to be thrilled to hear I am piloting.” Helton was rewarded by an ironic grin.
“Things are looking up. An impossible mission, outnumbered, a ship we can’t control unless you take the helm, no way to contact friends, best fighter we know needs a doc, with a bunch of amateurs as our primary army. Piece of cake.”
“The Colonel did say I lead an interesting life. Shall we go see if we can make it interesting for others, too?”
“Moffet!” Helton yelled across the bay at the 5th squad leader. “Slight change of plans!” With a grumble and a few choice words Moffet heaved himself to his feet and ambled over to Helton.
“What now, Mister Boss Man Sergeant Sir?”
“The universe just took an interesting turn. I’m assigning you a couple of the rifle-squad teams. We need access to the auto-doc, preferably the whole ship, ASAP.”
Kell Moffet frowned, looked down, then back up and back and forth between them. “You want to fix up the nut-job who messed up Mike Company that bad?”
“Absolutely. And we need the whole ship. Any of your guys do space-walks?” Kell shook his head. “Pilots?”