Henry Gallant Saga 2: Lieutenant Henry Gallant

by H. Peter Alesso

  “Probe away, sir. It’ll be a week before it begins transmitting.”

  The captain didn’t respond, but Gallant could guess what he was thinking . . .

  Tau-Beta—an Earth-type planet?

  CHAPTER 3

  RUN

  Clang! Clang. clang . . .

  The footsteps were fading away, allowing Gallant to exhale in relief.

  Ever since he had started running, he had been operating on raw nerves and guesswork. Now with the medication taking effect, his natural mental and physical toughness began to return.

  The enemy was an aggressive predator, but Gallant didn’t intend to be a passive prey. What he needed was a way to fight instead of run. He didn’t know how knowledgeable his opponents were about his ship, but he would need to adapt to stay alive and possibly help retake the ship.

  With the AI and comm down, how can I contact the captain?

  The captain would rally the crew around the bridge, so Gallant started walking on his still unsteady legs. Ideas flew through his mind while he tried to ignore the raw emotions tugging at him.

  I can still fight. I know every bolt and duct in this ship. I’ll find a way to buy time for the others.

  After a few minutes, he reached a point where several corridors and decks converged into a funnel-like passageway approaching the bridge.

  This spot is defensible, he thought. I might be able to hold them here, at least for a while.

  He found a weapons locker and pulled out a plasma rifle and several grenades. Abruptly he stopped to reassess his opponents. They were well-trained warriors in battle armor with plasma blasters, as well as AI assisted sensor equipment. Even in the pitch-black of the ship’s interior, they could track him using thermal imaging. If he fought using conventional weapons and tactics, he could expect to pick-off two or three in a firefight before they killed and bypassed him. He decided to fight asymmetrically.

  He evaluated his assets: hand-to-hand combat skills, superior knowledge of the ship, and fighting in an oxygen environment against methane-breathers in environmental suits.

  If I could mask my thermal image, I could become a stealth fighter, he considered. I could pick them off one at a time before they knew they were in danger.

  He hesitated only a few seconds before adapting the risky strategy.

  Taking a deep breath, he pulled a hose from the bulkhead and covered himself with cold lube oil to disguise his thermal signature. Then he picked up a crowbar and a titanium blade knife.

  He hid behind the twisted door of an equipment panel and waited. He was ready.

  Someone’s coming.

  He timed his attack and threw a metal bolt across the room to let it strike against the metal bulkhead. The twang drew the attention of a pair of aliens entering the compartment. He stood up, moved quickly behind them, and with cat-like reflexes struck.

  Whack! Whack!

  The crowbar was sufficient to break the tubing to their methane-feed breathing apparatus. As they struggled to get their breath, he inserted his deadly knife into what he hoped was a vulnerable seal around their armor plating and completely cut open the breathing apparatuses, one after the other. Both aliens were dead in a minute. Not a shot was fired; no noise was made.

  Looking down at their lifeless bodies, Gallant felt a moment’s hesitation. He’d killed before; it was never easy—never solely about right or wrong—just necessary.

  For a second, he imagined the aliens standing over his dead body. Would they hesitate?

  The escaping methane gas caused him to gag and interrupted his introspection. Dragging the bodies to a storage locker, he placed them inside and shut the cover. With this act, he banished any misgivings.

  The hunted is now the hunter.

  He waited once more.

  After several more minutes, two more aliens were similarly dispatched.

  With his confidence growing, he decided to become more aggressive. Expecting all live crewmates to be with the captain on the bridge, he set a series of trip wires attached to grenades at key access points in the Operations compartment. Then he left the section and entered the engineering spaces. He found half a dozen aliens gathered nearby and quickly tossed several grenades into their midst which exploded destructively. However, the blast concussion knocked him down.

  Quickly recovering, he got up and continued his breakneck ride through the deadliest battle he had ever fought. He fired his plasma rifle at the wounded aliens and tossed another grenade. The noise was thunderous and the flash of light gave him a chance to see down the corridor and get his bearings. His sense of smell detected the acid fumes rising from the explosives followed by smoke. Looking away, he sprawled across the deck and crawled back to the operations compartment. Losing himself in the smoke and confusion, he retreated to his hiding spot at the passageway junction and listened to the turmoil he had caused.

  To add to the chaos, several trip wires went off. Blast followed blast across the nightmarish metal landscape. He was satisfied he had disrupted the boarding party’s advance. Possibly he had given the captain enough time to organize the bridge’s defense.

  Again he waited.

  After a few moments of agreeable respite, he was beginning to enjoy a glimmer of optimism when . . .

  Why has everything gotten so quiet!

  CHAPTER 4

  RIVAL

  EARLIER IN THE DAY . . .

  Gallant stood in the entrance to the wardroom where half dozen officers congregated around the dinner table. From the variety of their comportment—good-natured bantering, rapt debate, disgruntled complaining—they could have been young businessmen casually relaxing after a hard day’s work, yet the subtle tension of their body language suggested they were concealing a shared disquiet. Noting the absence of the captain, Gallant tried to further assess the tenor of the room, but his fellow officers’ temperaments were distorted by the executive officer’s presence. Such was his insight—garnered over the course of their interstellar journey, wherein he contrasted the inspiration of their amenable captain against the repression of their perfectionist XO, Anton Neumann.

  Lieutenant Commander Anton Neumann let his perfectly even white teeth sink into a succulent piece of filet mignon. He chewed the morsel thoroughly before fixing his strangely penetrating blue eyes on Henry Gallant. For a brief moment their gaze met and exchanged a measure of their intense dislike.

  “You’re late,” Neumann said mildly with a questioning nuance.

  “My apologies,” Gallant replied formally. “Number two reactor’s criticality safety rods required recalibration.” He selected the seat at the foot of the table—the farthest from Neumann.

  “Is there a problem, Mr. Gallant?” asked Neumann. He paused, waiting for a reply, and then added, “I trust you completed the realignment protocol.”

  “No, sir, no problem, and yes, I completed the protocol realignment according to standard procedure,” said Gallant. While Neumann was strict about protocol and performance, he couldn’t be called a martinet; still Gallant resented being questioned by the XO in front of his peers.

  “Very good,” concluded Neumann.

  The son of a rich and powerful asteroid-mining magnate, Neumann had enjoyed a life of privilege, growing up poised and self-assured. “Winners always win,” was his favorite saying, and, having inherited his father’s ruthless competitiveness, he seemed to epitomize it. Tall with a powerful physique, jet black hair, and cold blue eyes, he was strikingly handsome. When he chose to, he could display a dazzling smile. He looked every inch the “winner” he professed to be. He had even represented the Space Academy in the 2166 Solar System Olympics where he had won two gold medals in track and field events, which were prominently displayed in his quarters. A product of advanced genetic engineering, he was, in every way, the prototypical example of Earth’s evolutionary aspirations.

  In contrast, Gallant was born without genetic engineering, and, as an orphan, he had to struggle above his family’s poor circumstances
to reach his current rank and position. Ironically, the lack of opportunity which had deprived him of the advantages of genetic engineering had resulted in his emerging with unique mental abilities—the result of a natural selection mutation. His goal of being the engineer on the first FTL spacecraft was the culmination of all his endeavors. Now that he had achieved the desired position, serving under Neumann cast a pall on it.

  The two men had first met several years earlier, both as midshipmen aboard the battle cruiser Repulse. Both were fighter pilots with exceptional records, and, after a while, they had developed a healthy respect for each other. However, their rivalry intensified when they each began wooing the same young woman, Kelsey Mitchel.

  Gallant served two years at the Space Academy on Mars, before traveling to Jupiter for a two-year deployment on the battle cruiser Repulse. Attractive brunette Kelsey Mitchel was assigned as the navigator on his fighter. They served together through many hazardous missions, and, as their relationship thrived, Gallant took it for granted she would eventually choose to marry him. That she made a different choice surprised and disheartened him—she agreed to marry Neumann when he returned to Earth after this voyage.

  Given what Neumann had to offer, Gallant never blamed her. Rather he harbored an abiding spite toward Neumann, who Gallant suspected merely pursued Kelsey as a prized conquest.

  Now the die was cast, and despite Gallant’s best efforts to forgive and forget, serving with Neumann rubbed salt into the wound.

  “Kelsey,” muttered Gallant as he played with a small object in his hand. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the sharp look Neumann gave him and realized he had been overheard, but he didn’t care.

  The small coin-like piece he rubbed in his hand wasn’t a coin at all, but a music box capable of holding every piece of music every recorded. In actuality it retained exactly one recording—the only recording that mattered—Kelsey’s.

  He let his mind drift back to a place far away several years earlier. He recalled people and events passing through his life with a swish and then they were gone; their importance—to what might have been—remained in his memory of what was.

  One night at The Lobster Tavern on Jupiter Station—Kelsey was dressed in slacks and a sweatshirt with the letters UPSA. She was sitting in the center of the room, tapping her fingers impatiently on the top of her table. Her brown hair was pulled back from her face into a ponytail and fell across her shoulder. When she wasn’t tapping, she was making faces of displeasure, as if something important of hers had gone astray. With all of that, her classical facial features still made her the most striking woman in the room.

  Unceasingly, men she knew, as well as locals she didn’t, would come over and try to join her.

  “Hi,” she would say. “It’s great to see you, but I’m waiting for someone.” Then she would tilt her head to one side and flash a big smile, which somehow said she was disappointed and she hoped he would understand. This placated most, but one hopeful suitor remained hovering over her until she spotted Gallant. She stood up, waving her arms excitedly. As he approached, her last admirer capitulated and withdrew as Gallant sat down.

  After a while the crowd convinced Kelsey to use her lovely voice to sing. She chose a sweet melody of passion and farewell. It mesmerized all who listened. The melancholy tones touched Gallant so much, he made a recording and kept it ever since.

  Unfortunately, after her song was finished and she joined him again at their table, Gallant sat passively, looking on as . . .

  Neumann crossed the room and asked Kelsey for a dance. She stood up, and he took her hand and led her onto the dance floor.

  “It’s been quite an evening,” she said, placing her hand on Neumann’s shoulder, her bright eyes shining with delight.

  “A wonderful evening—thanks to you,” he said as he drew her closer.

  Kelsey nestled comfortably into his arms. Her sweet breathe brushed past his cheek; her soft hand gently caressed the nape of his neck.

  Kelsey and Neumann made such an attractive couple they invited stares from the evening’s crowd, but they seemed indifferent to their momentary celebrity as the joyful participants of the evening’s festivities swirled around them in rhythm to the music.

  Gallant’s mind refused to shrink from the churning desires of the memory—Kelsey would remain an unsatisfied yearning of his past.

  Damn him. Gallant looked down the length of the wardroom table.

  The boisterous and good-natured atmosphere of his fellow officers did nothing to improve his spirits. During their journey together from Sol, Gallant had come to know his colleagues, their likes and dislikes, as well as their eccentricities.

  The ship’s weapons officer, Lieutenant Stahl, was short and squat, but with broad shoulders and giant muscular biceps. He was a consummate professional. He never wanted to discuss anything but tactics or equipment, especially the latest upgrades.

  Stahl nodded to Gallant and punched in his authorization code on the galley panel. The auto-server popped up and displayed a tray of synthetic entrees and side dishes.

  “We’re getting close to the Earth-type planet,” he contributed, sparking a discussion on the planet’s attributes.

  “What do you think, XO? Will we have real steak and potatoes instead of synthetics, sometime soon?” asked Lieutenant Rogers, the ship’s supply officer. Sitting there eating synthetic food stuffs, only whetted their palates for the goodies they expected to find on the planet.

  “Don’t get your taste buds all excited—we don’t know what will be edible,” piped up the ship’s medical officer, Lieutenant Marcus Mendel. Despite the fact he was responsible for the crew’s physical conditioning, he was overweight and the least likely officer to be found working out in the gym. The ship’s “class clown,” he frequently victimized his shipmates with his witticisms. “I could save endless hours of toxicity testing if you would volunteer to be our guinea pig, Rogers.”

  “No thanks,” said Rogers.

  “In any case, we’ll have an opportunity to explore a planet comparable to Earth. It should be a treasure trove of new knowledge,” said Stahl.

  Mendel smiled and held up crossed fingers.

  The youngest members of the wardroom, Lieutenant Junior Grade Richard Palmer and Ensign John Smith, stood up and showed thumbs-up. Palmer and Smith were spending every available hour of the day working to qualify for their duty assignments, Officer of the Deck and Engineering Officer of the Watch, respectively. Their study and duty cycles kept them fully occupied, so any chance for a diversion would be a welcomed opportunity.

  Neumann made a wry smile. “Does anyone have further data on Tau-Beta?”

  Gallant said, “I stopped in the CIC earlier and left the captain there reviewing the latest info. The images are showing many varied life-forms. We’ve rescheduled engine maintenance tests to avoid any delays.”

  “I thought you still had engineering update issues to resolve, Henry?” asked Lieutenant John Paulson, one of the officers who shared a tiny stateroom with Gallant.

  “Yes, Gallant, I’ll be conducting an informal inspection of the engineering spaces on the mid-watch. I’ll review your recalibration results then. I’ll expect them to be up to standards,” said Neumann.

  “Yes, sir. Please excuse me,” Gallant said, rising from the table, annoyed by Neumann’s criticism in front of the wardroom officers. “I’ve got the next OOD watch and it’s time to start my walkthrough.”

  His chest tightened and he gave Neumann a withering look as he left the wardroom.

  Egotistical bastard.

  He stopped abruptly in the corridor and reflected on his behavior and emotions. While he didn’t want to be jealous or bitter, he had to admit those passions had found fertile ground in his heart, and he was hard-pressed to exorcise them.

  No matter how much he denied it, he would never find peace until he found a way to move on from Kelsey.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, Gallant had completed h
is walkthrough and arrived on the bridge in time to witness the Intrepid's approach to the Earth-type planet, only four days since they had entered the Tau Ceti’s system. He was glad it was impossible to die of curiosity because he certainly would have tested the proposition.

  “What do you think is going to be down there, sir?” Chief Howard asked Gallant.

  “I don’t know, but I can’t wait to find out.”

  “I’ve got a theory.”

  “Spill it.”

  “We’re going to find tropical islands with dancing girls—paradise, simply paradise.”

  “Well, you would know. You’ve visited enough ports. I hope the natives are friendly.”

  “Aren’t they always?”

  “Mr. Gallant, we’ve reached the two hundred thousand kilometer limit,” reported Helmsman Craig.

  “Very well,” responded Gallant. He pressed his comm pin and said, “Captain?”

  “Coming,” responded the captain.

  In a minute, Captain Cooper came bounding onto the bridge from his ready-cabin off of the bridge area. The captain used his ready-cabin during eventful periods to be able to respond instantly to emergencies. His normal quarters were an additional deck and compartment away, but they included elaborate furnishings and provided a small reception area which he found useful when he was receiving visitors while in port.

  Gallant considered the Intrepid to be a sleek and beautifully designed ship. Its 180,000-tons were shaped like a huge missile with a length of 710 meters and an extended beam of 133 meters. It housed the engineering compartment’s dual engines. Intrepid's limited armament included short range plasma and laser cannons. Her crew of twelve officers and 214 men were highly trained and fully prepared to face any challenge.

  “Captain on the bridge,” announced the Chief of the Watch.