Pursuit of the Guardian (Children of the Republic Book 2)

by Jason Hutt

  “I agree, sir,” Ensign Roe responded, “But it’s just not there. There is no entry in the beacon’s log file for any ship departing at that time.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “I know, sir. We’ve dug into the raw data that gets filtered down to the log. The information has been deleted all the way down at that level. If it was there, we’re not seeing it. They’ve either got some override code that allows them to bypass the log or some worm that’s overwriting it. Whatever it is, it’s effective and it’s not leaving any markers behind.”

  “Covert ops,” said Ensign Tran, a young man Akimbe hadn’t seen on this shift before.

  “Where is Ensign Carter?” Akimbe asked.

  “He’s assisting with restoring command interfaces to the thrusters. I volunteered to cover his shift.”

  “Thank you,” Akimbe said, “Now what were you saying?”

  “Special Forces has the ability to do covert insertions. They’ve got backdoors on the standard network and several dark beacons that allow them to jump without being tracked.”

  “Okay, but how did that ragged band get their hands on it?”

  “Well…they are pirates, sir,” Roe said, “And they’re also not that ragged of a band.”

  Akimbe shot her a stern look.

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Ironheart and his Augments. The ship was the Phantom. They’ve been terrorizing the space lanes for the better part of the last decade. It’s rare that anyone sees him and lives, let alone gets surveillance. We’ve only got a few trace signatures in the database to compare to, but we’re fairly certain this is him.”

  “If it is him, how are they able to do this? The equipment allowing them to make jumps undetected would be highly classified. If it was stolen, I doubt it’s something that command would work very hard to recover. It’s possible that whoever is feeding patrol information is giving them this equipment or, at the very least, shipment information. Regardless, that doesn’t help us find them. Ideas?”

  Roe shook her head. “I don’t suppose we could get access to those classified beacons?”

  “Not likely. Special Ops is unlikely to acknowledge their existence,” Akimbe said. As he thought, the image of Max Cabot’s flitting little shuttle danced through his mind. He had been so close. So close. “Ensign, could you develop a tracking program, some Trojan horse of our own, that when accessed could send us the beacon data from where it was accessed…even if it was on this shadow network?”

  “Jeez, I don’t know, sir. That’s not simple. There’s going to be safeguards on those satellites that’ll prevent unauthorized data from transmitting.”

  “Don’t tell me how it can’t be done; find a way to make it work. You’re some of the brightest minds on this ship. I’ll bet two weeks of rations that you can do it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Roe said, “What are we building this around?”

  “An open message. We need to tell Mister Clemence that the flowers are blooming on Ceres.”

  “Sir?”

  “Just compose the message exactly as I just said,” Akimbe said.

  “But sir, an open message will be accessed on every beacon on the network. We’ll have more garbage hits than we know what to do with.”

  “You just told me we’re not looking for hits on our known network; we’re looking for someone in the shadows. Special Ops personnel will have the discipline to ignore the message; Max Cabot will not.”

  “We’ll get right on it, sir,” she said.

  “Good, let me know when it’s out there.” Akimbe walked out of the analytics room, feeling a slight twinge of hope. Cabot was out there and he was close. He entered the bridge and a very bleary-eyed Lieutenant Morgan saluted. Akimbe returned the gesture. “What is it, Lieutenant?”

  “We’ve completed the end-to-end test on the drive, Commander. We’re ready to get underway.”

  Akimbe’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “A full eight hours ahead of schedule. Well done, Lieutenant.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You and your men have worked hard. Of course, I’ll expect this level of effort from here on out.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. We’ll be heading back to station for a few days. You and your teams have earned two days R-and-R.”

  The lieutenant smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Dismissed.”

  Akimbe walked past each console on the bridge. All eyes were on him. “Set course for Icarus Station,” he ordered, “The effort of this entire crew over the past two days has been tremendous. We were caught off guard by an enemy that I underestimated. That won’t happen again. I have every intention of making sure we pay them back in kind, but to do so we’re going to need a lot more firepower.”

  Icarus Station was little more than a supply depot and refueling station. Still, the interior was more than triple the living spaces of the Churchill, the air recyclers had a slightly different smell, and there were three unfamiliar flavors of food additives that could be added to the standard nutrient paste. For Akimbe’s weary crew that was enough to boost sagging spirits and stretch-out cramped muscles.

  The crew of the station was small as much of its operations and maintenance was left to drones. Two ready platoons were always at the station, available to augment the ranks of a depleted crew at a moment’s notice. This duty, waiting around just on the off chance that something would happen and the even rarer chance that reinforcements would be needed, was incredibly dull.

  The ready platoons were eager to have different people to sit at card tables, play in basketball games, and otherwise talk to in hopes of passing the time. It would only be a matter of hours before the exploits of the Churchill and the orders from Akimbe made the rounds amongst everyone at the station. All of which is why Akimbe was the first to debark the ship and he went directly to Captain Boulina’s office.

  The gray-haired old Captain looked up as Akimbe knocked on the edge of the doorframe of his office. He stared at Akimbe with a blank expression and you could almost hear the rust scraping off the gears in his head.

  “Commander Akimbe,” he said, “You’ve got some explaining to do. You left your post without authorization. For that, I ought to report you to headquarters and have you drummed out of this Navy.”

  “I promise, Captain, I have good reason for everything I’ve done.”

  “This is not the private sector, Commander. Good reason does not justify disobeying orders.”

  “I know, sir. Believe me when I say it pained me to do what I did, but it pained me even more to learn what I have learned. Someone within our ranks has betrayed us, Captain, rending us irrelevant and unable to perform our duty.”

  “You better have proof of this.”

  “I do and plenty of it. The files are in your inbox.”

  “You should have brought this forward before you changed your orders and engaged.”

  “Sir, I didn’t quite know who to trust.”

  “What made you decide to trust me?”

  “Forgive me for saying so, but I don’t have much of a choice…and I don’t believe you have the means to do what’s been done.”

  Boulina gave him an unhappy glare before he pulled up the files. He started to read and then looked up at Akimbe. “What happened out there?”

  “It’s all in the report, sir. We encountered a pirate group under the leadership of a sociopath that goes by the name Ironheart. My ship was heavily damaged in the engagement and I lost eleven members of my crew.”

  “Now, you want retribution?”

  “No, I want to stop them from doing this again, sir. They are vulnerable and we have the firepower here to take them out once and for all.”

  “War should not be entered into lightly, Commander.”

  “This is not war. This is just punishment for those who have acted against the best interests of the Republic. They are terrorists and mercenaries, no more.”
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  “I understand you, Commander, but you cannot expect me to make this kind of decision on a moment’s notice.”

  “But sir, we must strike now.”

  “If you have any respect for the authority of my position and your chain of command, then you will give me time to review this report and come to my own conclusion. You have levied serious charges, Commander, charges that I would find hard to believe at face value were I hearing them from an old friend let alone a brash young officer who seems to have developed a taste for blood. I am not in this position because I can be brow beaten by the likes of you. Let me review the report and come to my own conclusion or should I go ahead and submit the charges of insubordination that I have already had drawn up?”

  Akimbe’s cheeks grew hot, but he took a deep breath and regained his composure. “Of course, sir. I apologize.”

  “You are dismissed, Commander. I will summon you when I have made my decision.”

  “Yes, sir,” Akimbe said. He stood and saluted. Captain Boulina returned the gesture. The two men locked eyes for one more silent moment before Akimbe turned and left the office.

  ***

  The only thing Hannah could feel was pain. She spent a day punching the heavy bag until blood poured from every knuckle and her wrists and shoulders screamed in pain. With every punch she threw she heard the footsteps of Republic Navy and Sector Security forces moving in on her. The voices in her head echoed orders of ‘hands up!’ or ‘surrender!’ at every quiet moment.

  When she took a break to eat and forced down the not-quite-pasta-flavored nutrient paste, she could smell the tray of muffins and fruit that had been placed in front of her. She remembered the tiny rivulet of juice that had dripped from her bite of the strawberry and dribbled down her chin. The smells from that tray – chocolate, bananas, strawberries, cheese – all mingled in her mind; luxuries that were out of reach.

  Using a coil of excess cable, she made a makeshift jump rope and jumped for as long as her legs would allow. At ten minutes, her calves burned. At fifteen she felt a crick in her ankle. At twenty, she threw the cable against the bulkhead and collapsed on the floor. She had been out here for three days, with nowhere to turn and no idea of what to do.

  Reggie had apparently decided it was best to keep his distance as for the most part he stayed in the Guardian’s cockpit and checked on her three times every day – once at 9 am, then again at 1 pm, and a final bedtime check at 10 pm. For three days, Reggie trundled in at those times and collected vital signs, measured stress levels, and asked her the same basic questions.

  “How are you?” He would ask.

  “Just fine,” she said.

  “Is there anything I can do to help you lower your stress levels?”

  “No,” she said, “Just leave me be.”

  “Is there anywhere you would like to go?”

  “How about New Vegas?” She said the first night. The second night she had responded, “Anywhere where the Republic will let me walk outside.” On the third night, she simply answered, “Home.”

  Reggie had hesitated at that moment. He registered the downturned corners of her mouth, the red-rimmed eyes, and the gentle quivering of the muscles in her thighs and arms. He analyzed a drop of sweat to check her hormone levels.

  She pulled her knees close to her chest as she sat on the floor and hugged them tight. She started to rock back and forth as she fought back another wave of rage and sadness. Images were projecting from her wrist computer into the air in front of her, pictures and videos of friends and family, all long gone, captured or killed.

  “I don’t know what to do, Reggie,” she said, “I don’t know where to go.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss,” Reggie said.

  “But, I can’t just sit here. I can’t stay in this oversized tin can, eating this crap, smelling this same recycled air, the sweat, the grease.”

  “I understand, Miss. I can make some adjustments to the air processing if you would like to produce a different ambient odor,” he said.

  She ignored him. “I can’t do this, Reggie. I can’t live like this.”

  Reggie’s head tilted downward in what looked like a gesture of pity.

  “Maybe I should just give up. Just end it. Is it worth it? Is there any end to this where I get to live a life? If I just shot myself in the head, it would save the Republic a lot of trouble. I could just slit my wrists and bleed out all over the floor. Save everyone the fucking trouble.

  “My mom is dead, my friends are either, dead, poor, or imprisoned. I have no one. Nothing. I’m fucking pathetic. I hate this. I hate me. I hate this whining. I just hate everything here! I can’t take this goddamn ship anymore! I hate all of them! Fuck all of them!”

  She stopped shouting and buried her head between her knees. She sobbed, her breaths heaving and stuttering between moaning cries. When she looked at the cold, calculating, unfeeling automaton standing before her, a fresh wave of fury blossomed and she started pounding her fists against the deck. Little smears of blood in the shape of her palm print started to appear on the floor.

  Reggie took a step toward her and she felt a small prick on the back of her neck. She looked up at him, perplexed. Then, she slumped to the floor.

  Hannah awoke strapped into the co-pilot’s seat, restraints fastened, with a splitting headache. She blinked, trying to clear the blurriness from her vision. She tried to speak, but her mouth was dry and felt like it was stuffed with balls of cotton. She worked her tongue around, trying to build up some saliva. After a few minutes, she felt like she could speak, but her words still came out slurred. “What happened?”

  “I apologize, Miss, but I had to sedate you,” Reggie said, “I was afraid that you would do permanent harm to yourself. I could not allow that.”

  She didn’t respond, her mind oscillated between grateful and angry, bouncing about like a roulette ball and she waited to see where it would land. “Do that again,” she said, “And I will disassemble you.”

  “That is your prerogative,” Reggie said.

  “You’re damn right it is,” she said.

  “I’ve received a message from your father. He would like us to return.”

  “Of course he would.” Hannah closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “Please brace yourself. We’ll be making the jump in thirty seconds.”

  “I don’t want to see him,” she said, “I don’t want to go back.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss, I am under orders to return.”

  “And if I interfere?”

  “Then, I will have to sedate you again.”

  She sighed, sank back in the seat, and folded her arms across her chest as the ship jumped through the wormhole into a strange system. A bright orange star cast the cockpit in light before the cockpit windows polarized. A pearlescent blue gas giant was visible in the distance.

  “Where are we?” Hannah asked.

  “The system is presently unnamed. Its designation is system one-bravo-eight-eight.”

  “And it’s colonized?”

  “No, ma’am. There are no registered settlements in this system. Records indicate there is an abandoned mining outpost in the system’s asteroid belt between the fifth and sixth planets of the system. That is where we have been instructed to go.”

  “How long ‘til we get there?”

  “We’ll be able to complete a microjump once a system scan is complete; however, we have been instructed not to jump within four hours travel of our destination.”

  “Great,” she said. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a nap.”

  “Because of your earlier behavior,” Reggie said, “I will be monitoring the hold. If I detect any additional self-harm, I am instructed to sedate you.”

  “You’re all heart, Reggie,” she said.

  “I have already enabled several failsafes to prevent actions which may result in catastrophic damage to the ship or its life-sustaining capabilities.”

  “You’ve locked me out of the systems room?�
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  “Yes,” Reggie said.

  “I’m not going to kill myself, Reggie. I’m not done fighting yet. I just…I don’t know what to do,” she said in a whisper. She hesitated at the cockpit threshold. “Can I give you an override command, Reggie?”

  “Yes, if it does not conflict with my baseline programming or higher-level command authorizations.”

  “Don’t tell Max about what we’ve been doing.”

  “Command accepted,” Reggie said. “However, you should know that if he is so inclined, Max may perform a root command override which would allow him to access all files within my memory banks.”

  “I understand,” she said, “I doubt he’ll care enough to do that.”

  The asteroid belt first became visible as a few faint specks across the surface of the system’s bright star. As they approached, the specks became amorphous blobs that glinted in the light. The lumps of rock and metal moved sedately in the orbital path of the belt, with little relative movement between the individual asteroids.

  Within an hour, the outlines of a gray structure could be made out on one of the larger asteroids that was within view. As they continued to approach, more details emerged. A large hangar bay was embedded within the asteroid. White navigation lights blinked on and off around the structure’s opening.

  Several of the surrounding asteroids also had visible, unnatural structures on their surface. One asteroid’s surface had a large pulsating shimmering patch as an enormous swarm of nanomachines ate away at the minerals it contained.

  Another half hour later and Hannah noticed that several of the large structures that looked like they were attached to the asteroid were large ships tethered to its bulk. Shapes scurried across the outside of the hull conducting repairs or re-outfitting several of the massive ships.

  “Docking authorization?” A gruff mechanical voice erupted from the comm. The Guardian’s threat detection systems sprang to life and started beeping incessantly as it detected several weapons systems locking on to the craft.

  “I assume you’re handling this,” Hannah said as they continued to approach.