by Jason Hutt
Seconds later, the beeping stopped and Hannah noted several points on some of the nearby structures swiveling away from the ship.
“Yes,” Reggie said, “We are cleared for approach.”
“Do not deviate from your current trajectory,” the voice ordered.
Hannah counted more than a dozen ships the size of the Guardian or larger scattered across the hangar bay and at least six more giant cruisers tethered outside the hangar. One ship, with a surface painted as black as the night sky, was crawling with maintenance drones that were doing a wholesale repair of the forward section of the ship. Jagged hull plates and twisted, contorted girders were visible across its forward face.
“Who are these people?” Hannah asked.
“Unknown,” Reggie said, “This facility has been abandoned by the Republic for some time.”
The Guardian passed through the atmospheric field that enshrouded the hangar and maneuvered toward its designated spot on the landing field. A solitary figure stood just beyond a circle of lights drawn onto the pad. The ship settled down with a gentle thunk.
***
The Guardian’s hatch seemed to open with all the speed of flowing molasses. Max was surprised at how happy he was to see the ship in one piece. It was far from his favorite ship, but it was still his, at least for now. The hatch opened and Max waited for someone to step out. No one did.
He folded his arms across his chest and waited. A couple of minutes later, Reggie emerged to greet him.
“Good to see you, sir,” Reggie said.
“Likewise, Reggie. I’m glad you guys are okay.”
“Yes, at least from the outside.”
“How is she?”
“All systems are operating within specified parameters.”
“I mean, Hannah,” Max said.
“Physically, she has no permanent injuries.”
“How about mentally?”
“According to my diagnostics, she appears to be suffering from depression. I recommend evaluation from a doctor to determine appropriate treatment.”
“What happened out there?”
“I am not at liberty to say, Captain,” Reggie responded.
Max frowned. “All right. I’ll talk to her. Look, I want you to do full diagnostics on all systems. Prep the ship. Check everything, fix whatever you can. If we need materials or parts, there’s a couple of shops outside the bay. The shop owners know that everything gets charged to Ironheart.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Send me a note when you’re ready to go. We’ve got less than a week.” Max walked up the boarding ramp and into the ship. The hold was more or less as Max had left it. Hannah’s sleep mat and a few personal items were clustered against the far wall. The readout on the galley supply showed it was still a quarter full. Max noted a few spliced connectors feeding into the bottom of the unit and smiled. Like father, like daughter, he thought.
He found Hannah sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, staring out into the hangar bay. He cleared his throat but she still didn’t turn to look at him.
“You might want to get off the ship,” he said, “Stretch your legs while you can.”
She didn’t respond.
“Reggie tells me you’re not doing great.”
She frowned, but didn’t look at him. She started picking at some dirt on her fingernail.
“Look,” Max said, “I’m sorry I left you. I didn’t know what kind of situation I was getting into. I couldn’t risk it.”
“Noted,” she said.
“What happened out there?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said.
“Hannah, please…”
“What do you want me to do? Want me to throw my arms around you and give you a peck on the cheek like a good little girl?”
“I’d settle for a hello.”
“Fine. Hello,” she said. “Is that good enough for you or do I need to do a little curtsy for you?”
“Jeez…I said I’m sorry,” Max said.
“And I heard you…What are we doing out here anyway?”
“I made a deal with Ironheart…”
“Iron who?”
“Ironheart. He’s…not someone I would normally do business with. We need to fly a mission for him.”
Hannah turned towards him. Max’s eyes went wide and he recoiled just a bit. She was cut in a half dozen places with dried blood still at the edges of her hairline. Her eyes were sunken with dark blotches beneath them. Her right hand was covered with the shimmering sheen of recuperative skin.
“What happened to you?”
“I’m not talking about it,” she said, “What do you get in return for this?”
“He’s giving me what I need to break in and rescue Eleanor.”
“Just for making a run for him?”
“No,” Max admitted, “He’s also getting the ship.”
“What?”
“I’ve offered him the ship in exchange.”
“What the hell do I do?” she asked.
“When the mission is done we get dropped off somewhere out of the way, and live out the rest of our lives in peace.”
“That’s just great. And when you get captured or killed? When you don’t come back?”
“Look, it’s the best I could do,” Max said, “We don’t have a whole lot of options.”
“You’re pathetic,” she said and marched out of the cockpit. He thought about going after her, but after a moment’s hesitation, he sat down and started flipping through the Guardian’s system logs.
The bar nestled just beyond The Cove’s shops was like any other Max had been in his travels across the Republic. He found a dark corner, away from those clustered around the counter on the opposite wall and away from the small groups crowded around monitors that showed a sloop race that had taken place in some remote corner of the Republic about a month ago.
Max sat and drank as people came and went. He watched as Ironheart met with several young men and women, people that Max hadn’t seen before. Several pressed their thumbs to an unseen contract on Ironheart’s wrist computer. After a couple of hours and a steady stream of people, Ironheart finished his recruiting efforts and left.
Hannah came and sat at a table near the entrance, her back in the seat against the wall. She kept her head down as she scanned the patrons in the bar. Max was so far in the shadows that they never made eye contact. A hot meal arrived at her table and she tore into it. Max considered walking over to her and trying to talk. Instead, he ordered another beer and watched as she finished her meal and left.
By the time the dinner crowd arrived, Max could barely make out the patrons who sat five feet from him, let alone those on the other side of the bar. He was numb to the world, unable to follow any of the conversations going on around him, unable to see which sleek racing ship held the lead on the large projection to his right.
He started flipping through messages on his wrist computer. He enlarged the text in order to see the words causing only one message header to appear on his screen at a time. After several minutes of mindless scrolling, he gave it up and went back to drinking. Then, an alert popped up on his wrist computer and Max felt a jolt of adrenalin course through his system.
His search filter on the public message board had a hit.
He tried to access the public broadcasts, but something was blocking the message. He tapped on it repeatedly until a message popped up on his screen.
ACCESS TO THIS FORUM RESTRICTED. PLEASE CONTACT THE NECESSARY SYSTEM ADMINISTRATOR TO CHANGE FIREWALL SETTINGS.
Max frowned. He took a long pull from his mug and leaned back against his seat. A stray thought wandered through his mind. He could bypass the installation’s restrictions from the Guardian and connect directly to the beacon’s forums via the ship’s comm systems.
He downed the rest of his drink and slammed the mug down. He stood too quickly and had to brace his hand against the wall to keep from falling over. He was too drunk to notice the amused sm
iles of those at the tables around him. He staggered out of the bar and back to the hangar.
The ship seemed empty; Reggie had plugged himself into his recharging station for the night and Hannah was nowhere to be seen. Max sat down in the co-pilot’s seat and almost slid off the front of the seat and onto the floor. He pulled up the message.
The flowers are blooming on Ceres.
Max read the line and grinned. He read the single line again and again. He felt excitement welling up. Eleanor, he thought, I’m coming to get you.
***
For the first time since before her fateful trip to Demeter, the outer colonies caucus meeting was full. Maria sat at the head of the table and smiled. Her confident counterstrike had won back more supporters than she anticipated. Even Samir Effren had returned to the table, not necessarily as a supporter, but he was at least an interested observer. At least he’s not moving against you, she thought.
The senate investigation stories were still in the news, but editorials decrying it as politically-motivated garbage were springing up across the media. Half a dozen activists had contacted her, offering to take up her campaign manager position. What had warmed her heart the most though was the message from Monique Dorn. It read simply:
Well done. –MD
Maria had been grinning all morning after reading that, a little half smile that betrayed just a hint of the gusto that powered her thoughts and words as she addressed the other members of the caucus.
“The vote on the FPA revision is a week from tomorrow,” Maria said, “We’ve got more than enough support now to force it off the floor and send Graham and his cronies back to the drawing board and back to the negotiating table.”
Her words were met with smiles and nods around the table.
“When does Graham emerge from his cocoon?” Yesu Temujin asked.
“Two days before the vote,” Maria said.
“Well, this’ll be a nice welcome back,” the elder senator responded.
Maria couldn’t help smiling again. “Great work, everyone. I can’t thank you all enough. Take a nice long weekend and enjoy some time off.”
The meeting broke and most of her compatriots filed out of the room. She lingered for a few minutes, making small talk with Yesu and Hiram Wingate. They walked together out of the conference room, when Maria’s attention was caught by the idle cough of Sanjay Arresh, standing next to the lift.
Yesu frowned at the sight of him. Maria suppressed a derisive laugh.
“Go on you two,” Maria said, “I’ll catch up with you later.”
Sanjay shoved his hands in his pockets and walked up to her. “I trust you know why I’m here.”
“Come to congratulate me for arranging enough support to defeat the FPA bill, I’m sure.”
“Funny,” he said, “Always such a sharp tongue, Maria. You should learn to be more politic.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“That you have, Maria. In more ways than one. My superiors will not sit idly by while you rally opponents against legislation that we care deeply about. We will not stand for this.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Maria.”
Maria looked at him with a dismissive frown. “You can’t stop the vote and you don’t have the support to pull it through without us. You’ve pissed off a lot of people, Sanjay. I’m glad I’m finally going to get to see how you look when you get your comeuppance.”
She turned to head to the lift when Sanjay grabbed her wrist and jerked her back toward him.
“You don’t walk away from me, Maria,” he growled.
She pulled her arm out of his grip and went nose-to-nose with him. “Never touch me again, you miserable little bastard. You seem to have forgotten your place here.”
“No,” he said, “It’s you who has forgotten. And I guarantee you that this will not end well for you. Change your stance, Maria, or everything you care about will disappear.”
“Threaten me all you want. You’ve lost. You just need to accept it,” she hissed.
“The Marshall Conglomerate doesn’t lose.”
Chapter 15
On the Churchill’s bridge, young crewmembers tended to their consoles, conducting final system checks and ensuring peak performance for their assigned system, while Akimbe watched from the command suite behind them. He never used this room while on duty; it felt too removed from the fray, too sanitized to get a feel for what was really going on. His off-hours were spent touring the ship, conducting personal inspections, exercising, eating, and, on rare occasions, sleeping.
Today was different. A tactical projection of his battle group illuminated the center of the office. At the front of the formation were half a dozen fast attack interceptors, newly deployed to Captain Boulina’s command. This would be their first action. Four Republic Navy Cruisers, each fully loaded with combat drones, were arrayed across a ten kilometer line in the center of the formation. Behind them were a dozen smaller picket ships, each fully loaded with commandos and combat drones. The entire fleet moved at best speed towards the jump beacon.
Akimbe sat at the head of the table and started typing a note.
Roland,
Today, we make our first real move on the enemy. We have the element of surprise with us. A little over a week ago we had an unexpected encounter with a group of pirates that was more well-armed than I expected. That engagement was just another link in a sad series of discoveries that suggests that the heart of our beloved Republic is more damaged and diseased than we could ever suspect.
How many of our friends have lost their lives as we’ve fought to maintain order, to mete out justice, and to uphold the rule of law? More than I can remember. Yet, someone in our own ranks, someone with access to classified patrol schedules, to covert ops jump beacon protocols, has been undermining everything that we fight for.
I’ve attached to this note every shred of evidence that we have compiled of this traitorous conspiracy. A similar note is also being sent to Admiral Kersey, Admiral Zanz, Senator Graham, and the President. Since I don’t know who is involved in this conspiracy, my only hope is to broadcast its existence to many in power in the hopes that the message may reach someone who still believes in the Republic we fight for.
I’m allowing for the chance that the force we are about to go up against is more well-armed and well-organized than we suspect, though there’s not a chance they’ll be more ready for action than we are. If I do fall in battle, know that I fell while doing what I loved and fighting alongside men and women who have become the pride of the Navy.
I am admittedly doing something that I would never ask of anyone else – flying into battle with limited intelligence. We have such a force with us that I believe we will crush whatever opposition we face. We will eradicate them from this galactic plane and they will die the fiery deaths that they deserve.
Max Cabot is with them. You’ve been chasing his daughter and his ship, but I have found the man himself. If luck should have it that all three are there, know that I will not allow them to escape. They will either surrender or be destroyed. I have never felt more certain of an outcome in all my life.
Regards,
Djimbe
Akimbe finished typing and hit the send button. It took ten seconds to receive a confirmation that the files had been received by the jump beacon and transmitted to the next satellite in the chain. He paced the room while he waited. The console chimed; the message was sent.
Then, the navigator’s voice broke over the intercom. “Commander, we’ve arrived at the jump beacon. Your orders?”
Akimbe reviewed the tactical projection. Each ship changed color from blue to green.
“The fleet is ready,” Akimbe said, “Jump.”
***
Ironheart stood in the center of his hemispherical command room, raised his arms, and slowly lowered them, palms down, and the lights dimmed in pace with his movements. He made a fist with his right hand
and a projection of a star system appeared above his head in the upper half of the dome.
“Our target,” Ironheart said, “Is a supply convoy headed towards the Demeter system.”
A wireframe image of the convoy showed up, highlighted in yellow in the projection. Max had a seat amongst the other pilots. He stole a glance at Hannah, who was standing just behind his right shoulder. They had argued about whether or not she should be here, but Hannah continued to be as resolute as her mother when it came to getting her way. Max frowned and folded his arms across his chest as Ironheart continued.
“This convoy is protected by Vatican assets, so we can expect some staunch resistance.”
“What, they’re going to pray us to death?” A young man asked from the other side of the room. Ironheart had pulled in as many able bodies as he could, though Max wasn’t sure just how able some of them were. Then again, you didn’t wind up out here if you were at the top of your class. Generally, the people who were out here were unlucky, desperate, dumb, or some combination of those. Max didn’t like to think about what that made him.
“Take that attitude and you won’t survive this operation, let alone any that come after it,” Ironheart said, “The Vatican employs some of the top pilots in the Republic. They also get donations of top of the line tech from the major starship builders. They make for a convenient tax write-off. No, those ships will be more well-equipped than ours and piloted by people who are better pilots than all of you. Our advantage is in surprise and in our numbers.”
“Why are we hitting a relief convoy?” Max asked.
Ironheart folded his hands behind his back and stepped closer to Max. “Always the bleeding heart, Max. We hit what I say we hit and I say we hit this convoy.”
“There’s no money in it,” Max said, “There’s no jewelry to pawn.”
“Not all our money is stolen from purses, Max. You have my word that we will be well paid for this job.” Ironheart continued to march toward him and Max fought the urge to step back. “Are we clear?”
“Yes,” Max said, “Let’s just get this over with.”
“I concur,” Ironheart said, “And Max you will have the pleasure of being the advanced scout for this mission. I don’t want to be surprised again.”