“Wherever they went, they left in a hurry,” Rojek said. “After you, Commander.”
Curtis paused at the threshold, waiting for a moment before taking his first step through the door. Taking a deep breath, he boarded Polaris, walking down the corridor with quick paces, eating up the distance to the hatch on the far end. Rojek followed at a discrete distance, and he could see Montgomery peering into the corridor, eager eyes eating up the ship.
“Come on, Monty,” Curtis said, relenting from his earlier stance. “Just stick with us. This ship is a maze inside if you don't know where you are going. Easy to get lost.”
“I know the layout, sir,” Montgomery said. “I grew up wanting to serve on one of these ships. Built models, the whole thing. Then I grew up, and...”
Turning to the young crewman, Curtis said, “Sometimes that little kid you used to be turns out to be smarter than you thought.” Opening the hatch at the end of the corridor, he stepped through into the cavernous hangar deck, row upon row of gleaming fighters and shuttles in position, as though the launch crews had only stepped away for a moment. He could almost see the swarming technicians racing around, struggling to prepare ships for battle. The way it was once, and if he had his way, would be again.
“Look there, sir,” Montgomery said, pointing to the nearest fighter. The inspection hatches had been taken off, careful notes scrawled along the side in marker, footsteps in the dust leading towards it. Keranos had been here, months ago, had checked out the fighters and apparently been satisfied with their potential flight-worthiness.
“Go back to the airlock, Monty,” Curtis said. “Clear a space for Kani and Nguyen to come on board, and have them start checking over the fighters. Two of them at least. I want to know if we're going to be able to use them in the near future.”
“Two, sir?” Monty said.
“You a flier, kid?” Rojek asked.
The technician looked down at the deck, and said, “I washed out of Flight School in my second year. Failed Political Reliability.”
“Other than that,” Curtis asked, “were you any good?”
“Top of the class, Commander.”
Clapping the young man on the shoulder, he said, “I'll pin on your wings when I get a chance. For the moment, make it three fighters, not two, and tell Nguyen from me that she isn't getting into a cockpit with her arm in a sling. And before you thank me, remember there's a good chance you'll be going into action in a few hours from now.”
“I won't let you down, sir.”
“I know that, pilot,” he replied. Gesturing to a hatch, he said, “Come on, Felix. Let's see if we can get all the lights on.”
“Coming, Teddy,” Rojek said, still looking around the vast room. “I never thought I'd ever see this ship again. Even when I heard about Keranos, saw those components he'd found, I just didn't think we'd pull this off. Or that there would be something wrong, some reason why it wouldn't work. It was meant to be, Teddy. That's as far as I can go.”
“I thought you were an atheist, Felix.”
“Maybe I'm open to a better offer.”
The two of them stepped into an elevator, emergency power snapping on, the doors smoothly sliding shut as Curtis tapped the familiar control to send them rising to the command deck, ten levels above. His eyes were drawn to a brown stain on the floor, and he looked around the carpet, then up at Rojek.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“Blood. Maybe we're getting a partial answer to what happened to the crew. We'll know more once we can access the command logs.” Tapping at the monitor panel on the wall, he added, “Primary reactor's cold, but looks undamaged. Weapons offline but operational. There's some pretty bad hull damage on our underside, but they had a good start at fixing that.” He paused, then said, “Half the docking ports on the rear section are listed as damaged, though. Pressure doors have sealed off that whole area. Top priority for the maintenance team.” He paused, then asked, “You think we can do this, Teddy? She's meant to run with a crew of three hundred and ninety. I don't know if we're going to be able to manage thirty.”
“We'll just have to make do with what we've got. Moretti's a good tech-runner, and she's got a good crew working for her. Norton should be able to fly her.” He paused, then said, “We'll make it work, Felix. We've got to. For Polaris' sake, if nothing else. She deserves a lot better than to rot away in some rock in the middle of nowhere. She was built to fight, and that's what she's going to do.”
Looking at his eyes, Rojek said, “Answer me a question? Honestly?”
“Sure,” Curtis replied.
“How long have you been working for the Underground?”
“Just about a week. You know that.”
Frowning, Rojek replied, “That's what I thought, but it just seems...let's just say you're looking pretty damned good for someone who's spent two decades in a stupor.”
With a shrug, Curtis said, “I can't explain it, Felix. Maybe it's being here. I just know that it all feels as though it has dropped away, as though the last twenty years didn't happen. Or that it was someone else who lived them.” Looking around the elevator, he added, “I haven't felt like this in ears. Not since before Mareikura.”
Shaking his head, Rojek said with a smile, “I actually feel sorry for those ships heading this way. They aren't going to know what hit them.”
The doors slid open, and Curtis looked out at the command deck, his eyes slowly moving from station to station, soaking in the room he had known so well. The sensor positions on the left, a trio of stations for technicians to work the controls, then the helmsman's spot at the front of the deck, underneath the now-silent holoprojector, and the viewscreen beyond, the exterior pickup only showing bare rock outside.
Over to the right, the weapons and defense system consoles, three other positions, chairs swiveled as though the occupants had been forced to leave in haste, and another stain on the deck, just like the one in the elevator, a smear of some long-forgotten battle. To the rear, on either side of the door, the two engineering consoles, flickering a sea of amber and red lights. And the Political Officer's station, Rojek's old position.
At the heart of it all, slightly raised from the floor, the command chair, with the master control console before it. From there, Curtis could operate the ship, monitor every function, even fly and fight the ship in at least a rudimentary way. Like a man hypnotized, he walked towards it, while Rojek moved over to the engineering station, and ran his hand over the back of the command chair, a single tear forming in the corner of his eye.
After twenty years, he'd come home.
“I think I can bring primary systems back up,” Rojek said. “Want me to try?”
“Go ahead, Felix,” Curtis said, settling down into the chair, a faint wheeze from the cushion below. He looked up at the control console, tapping in his command sequence, and the viewscreen flickered into life, showing images of the interior of the ship, most of them the same empty, deserted decks that they had seen when they boarded, a few others demonstrating signs of battle, scorch marks on the walls. No bodies, though, none anywhere.
“I'm in,” Rojek said. “My codes still work here. Probably the only place in the Galaxy. I'm bringing the emergency reactor to full power. We'll probably have brownouts halfway across the ship while the systems settle down.” Curtis remained silent, and he continued, “Tau Drive is out, but I think it can be fixed. Moretti will be over in fifteen minutes with her crews. I'll start dumping telemetry data down to her.” He looked back at Curtis, and said, “Hey, Teddy, you awake?”
“For the first time in twenty years,” he replied, as the overhead lights flickered on, the consoles bursting into life all across the command deck, flashing systems updates and monitor readouts, a flowing stream of reports as the systems, one by one, came on-line. It was almost more eerie than it had been before, and he could still see his old crew work
ing their controls. There were ghosts here. That much was certain.
Shaking himself out of his reverie, he tapped in a command sequence, and said, “I'm going to bring up the logs. Maybe Caldwell can tell us what happened to the ship, and where the hell the crew ended up. If they'd found their way back to either the Federation or the Commonwealth, I'm pretty sure there would have been someone here long before this.”
“Most of the maneuvering thrusters are operational,” Rojek reported. “It'll take some fancy flying to get out of here, but I think Roxy will be up to the challenge. Two of the forward turrets are armed and ready, even after all this time, but I'd want to run a full diagnostic before we risked firing them.” Frowning, he said, “We ought to run one on the whole ship, Teddy.”
“If we had a spare week, I'd agree with you,” Curtis replied. “We've got five hours at the most before we need to be on the move. We'll just have to prioritize what we have.” A light flashed onto his console, and he said, “Here we go. The last log entries. A couple of them are missing, but I've found three of the last six.” He looked up at the viewscreen, and the arrogant, angry face of Commander Caldwell snapped into the picture. He looked so young, barely in his thirties, and a crowd of technicians and crewmen were running around behind him, a host of familiar faces, all of them likely long dead.
“Command Log Three-Nine-Seven-Two,” Caldwell began. “As expected, we found the two Rebel ships in this system, operating out of some sort of alien base. Our fighters have completed their first attack runs, and I am preparing to engage the enemies. Both appear to be converted merchant ships, so I expect them to be no match for our offensive and defensive systems.” Glowering off-camera, he continued, “Repairs continue to the sabotage on our interstellar communications system, but Lieutenant Morgan assures me that they will be completed within the hour. Note attachment, request for official censure of the engineering team for this failure. End log.”
“He said that right on the command deck?” Rojek said, shaking his head in disbelief. “The man always was a bastard of the highest order.”
“These days, he'd probably be a cut above the average,” Curtis replied.
The second log snapped on, and now Caldwell had a savage cut on his forehead, blood staining the side of his face, and rage filled his eyes. Behind him, the sound of gunfire could be heard in the distance, traces of smoke drifting through the air all around.
“Log Three-Nine-Seven-Four. The enemy now controls more than half the ship, and our casualties are now running into the hundreds. In my judgment, we can no longer expect to retake the vessel, but I will rot in hell before I permit it to fall into the hands of the enemy. We still control life support. I've ordered the oxygen withdrawn from the air in all sections, and locked down all spacesuits and respirators. The bastards are going to choke to death, and I'm going to be there to watch.” He looked behind him, figures racing for him, and continued, “All locked on automatic. It can't be changed. Even if I'm now surrounded by...”
A crack echoed from the speakers, and Caldwell tumbled from the chair, blood spilling out of a gaping wound in his chest. The screen grew blank, and Curtis' mouth opened as he realized the enormity of Caldwell's actions. To save his ship, he'd murdered his crew. The stain on the deck to the right was almost certainly that of the late unlamented commander, killed by one of his bridge technicians in a desperate, and doomed attempt to save their lives.
“I don't believe it,” Rojek said, horror filling his face. “How could he have done that to his crew? How could anyone have sunk as low as that? There must have been a chance. They could have surrendered, could have...”
“Twenty years ago, some rebel commander had the same idea as us,” Curtis replied. “To take this ship and use it as the flagship of a rebellion, a final attempt to bring down the Federation Fleet. It wouldn't have worked then, but it might have worked now. And strange as it sounds, Caldwell's the one who might make all of this possible.” Reaching for a control, he said, “One more entry.”
“Log, ah, Three-Nine-Seven-Five,” the figure of Technician Dietrich said, slumped on the command chair. “To the best of my knowledge, I am the sole survivor of the complement of the Starcruiser Polaris. Everyone else was either killed in the battle, killed when Caldwell rendered our air unbreathable, or volunteered to go ahead of the rest of us to save what little we had in the respirator. All the officers are dead, so there's nobody with authorization to bring the life support back on, and our attempts to hack the systems failed.”
Looking down at a readout, he added, “Just enough in my pack for a couple of hours. Long enough to do what I have to do. We've stashed Polaris in the asteroid that the rebels were using as a hideout. It should be safe there for a while. I'm not expecting any more rebels to arrive, but we're a little closer to the Commonwealth than I'd like. We'd hoped to get the Tau Drive working, but there aren't any specialist engineers. Weren't any. So that wasn't an option, either.”
“If anyone is seeing this, those of us who survived the battle left messages for our families. Please see that they are transmitted. As for our remains, we loaded all the bodies onto a couple of the shuttles and fired them into the sun. That bastard Caldwell was thorough. He flushed out their lifesystems as well. Killed us all.” Closing his eyes, Dietrich added, “Almost done now. I'm the last one. It's been three weeks since I've seen another living being. This is a ship of the dead.”
Looking at the rear of the bridge, he added, “The last of us are on another shuttle. We're going after the rest of them now. Not Caldwell. We get to bask in the light of a star. I made sure he'll never find a place to rest in peace. Strapped him to a missile and pushed him past solar escape velocity, on a course that might take him to another galaxy in a billion years or so. Too good for the bastard. Polaris is safe.” He paused, rose from the seat, and said, “Remember us. Avenge us.”
The technician walked off camera, the image showing nothing but an empty seat before finally fading out. For a long moment, Curtis and Rojek looked at the blank screen, before Rojek finally broke the silence.
“He had a son. Sam, I think. He's in the fleet now, a Lieutenant.” After a pause, he continued, “I guess that just about explains everything.”
“Yeah,” Curtis said. Quietly, almost to himself, he said, “Don't worry, Spaceman. We won't forget. And you will have your revenge. I swear.” Turning to Rojek, he raised his voice, and said, “Twenty years ago some forgotten rebel wanted to bring this ship into the fight. Let's make it happen. Turn on all exterior lights, and open up the docking ports. We've got a lot of work to do before our guests arrive, and I want to make sure we show them the welcome they deserve.”
Chapter 16
Cordova walked through the engineering section, leading a team of technicians as they raced back and forth, hurriedly inventorying the damage and listing potential repairs. Realistically, in the time, they'd only be able to make some temporary patches, before rushing to the hidden supply depot the Underground had assembled for this day. Even they wouldn't be able to make many significant repairs. Gliese 625 was more of a bolt hole than an operational facility, only a handful of waiting technicians sitting on a burned-out moon, waiting for a day that might never come.
Four and a half hours until the first ships might arrive. They could hope to have longer, that either the Federation or the Commonwealth ships had been delayed by some unknown event, but they couldn't dare count on that. She looked around the interior of the seemingly endless engineering bay. Out of the ship's crew, four-fifths, more than three hundred people, were dedicated to keeping it running. Stripping everyone they could from Hanoi had yielded eighteen, not counting the skeleton staff up in the control room and the handful of technicians laboring under a reluctant Kani to get at least some of the fighters ready for launch.
“Major,” Moretti said, running up the corridor towards her. “I need to move more parts over from Hanoi if we're going to get
the ship moving. I'll have to send all but one of our shuttles back.”
“Get moving, then.”
“It'll leave us with no way to evacuate in a hurry. We haven't checked over any of Polaris' small craft yet, and the Commander...”
“Commander Curtis is in charge now, Moretti. I'm just another member of the crew. You'd better find him, but I'd strongly suggest simply proceeding as fast as you can. What's the status of the Tau Drive?”
“Sokolov and Strickland are out on the hull now, checking the stabilizers. I think we can risk a transition. Give me eight hours, and I can guarantee a safe run. Less than that, and it's chancy.” Raising her hand, she added, “I know, I know, I'll get it done somehow. We're taking a lot of risks just moving the ship, still less taking her into a battle.”
“Get moving quickly enough, and we'll be out of here before the enemy ships arrive.”
“Do you really think we can get clear in time?”
“Not if we sit around talking about it. On your way, Moretti.”
Without a word, the engineer sprinted down the corridor, a mix of exhilaration and terror flooding her face. This was a dream come true for her, Cordova knew that. The chance to take command of an engineering department on a Starcruiser, to bring her back to full operational condition after twenty years in mothballs, far too good to pass up. But in truth, they'd need weeks to do a through job, and she wasn't even sure they had hours.
She felt strange, walking the same decks that her father had walked, twenty years ago. She remembered the day he'd left home and his job with the Solar Freighters, going right from his hasty ninety-day conversion training to serve on Polaris, first as a Midshipman, then a Lieutenant. The anxiously awaited letters telling of the battles they had fought, some of the adventures they'd had, the amusing stories that he felt he could tell the eight-year-old girl she then was. Every one had been savored, read a hundred times, shared with friends. And now, she could almost see the ship as it had been then.
Starcruiser Polaris: Blood of Patriots Page 16