“Yes, Captain.” Shar’ran flashed an order to the med techs.Falco nodded toward his commander and followed the lines of the bridge. The Anam Cara was sleek but sturdy; fifty-five meters bow to stern, eleven meters at the beam, the Cyclone Class was lean and mean, and cramped as hell. Twenty-four crewmen and four officers crewed the boat, though during a long turn only a skeleton crew were ever awake at a time. Five years, he pondered. If it wasn’t for staggered month-long sleep schedules, I may have blown myself out the airlock. Falco shook off the thought as the bulkheads starting closing in.
The command bridge of the Anam Cara was big enough to stand, turn and pace five strides in all directions and that was about it. Falco felt at home on the bridge, almost the size of a grav-fighting ring. The boat’s layout and design were based on her original purpose as an orbital skimmer.
The Anam Cara had lived above and below the Karman Line where Earth’s atmosphere ended and space began. She bounced between Mexico’s Luna Station and the ancient, dilapidated sky lab. A few upgrades later, none of which were for comfort in Falco’s opinion, and the Anam Cara was deemed a deep-space scouting vessel. The crew lovingly called her the Rocket Sardine.
Lieutenant Wallace sat at the pilot’s controls, wedged into the bow of the boat while the captain’s chair was a few paces behind him in the center. Science Officer Ensign Holts and Commander Shar’ran were stationed on each side. What the bridge lacked in personal space, it more than made up for in ease of communication.
When Vice Admiral Hallsworth had stated that Ensign Holts was a ‘solid mind’ in the field of cosmology and a handful of other science-based disciplines it was a vast understatement. Falco picked her without ever meeting the young officer. The fact she had made Hallsworth’s science officer list at her age and rank was all Falco needed to know. Ensign Holts was driven.
Holts hailed from the rough end of a struggling Brazilian territory. She had a smooth scalp covered in black dragon tattoos that were a shade darker than her ebony skin. Her striking features created a breathtaking beauty that was only overpowered by her brilliance. Pure and simple, she was a badass. Holts sat at her station with a pile of reports glowing on their paper-thin screens.
Falco was reminded of why he kept their schedules from overlapping, as best he could. Ensign Holts was too damn good to be distracted by a still grieving captain. But, he thought, she could definitely help the process. Falco felt an energy whenever they were in close proximity. Every time they made eye contact, it lasted a little too long, Falco usually being the one to turn first.
Falco kept Holts in his peripheral as the science officer effortlessly moved through the data. Wiping an elegant finger across the screens, data coming and going in various shades of green, blue and gray. The glow from the five readers lit her high, chiseled cheekbones.
“Captain.”
Falco gently shook his head, cleared his throat and found Lieutenant Wallace looking back over his pilot’s chair. On Earth that hair would be non-reg within the United Nations Navy, but standard regs ended in Earth’s upper atmosphere. Vice Admiral Hallsworth allowed ‘certain’ guidelines to turn gray if there was proof the flexibility improved morale. Turned out regs regarding hair and relationships were first to go on deep space missions.
Captain Falco knew the shaggy redheaded Lieutenant was one hell of a pilot and the best grav-fighter North of London. Long ago, he learned that the hard way, on the receiving end of a swollen cheek and a cracked rib. Falco still felt the old Sicilian footballers were a tougher breed than those cave dwelling rugby lads of Scotland. Lieutenant Wallace felt differently and they had been family ever since.
“Lieutenant, let me know when we’ve decelerated to cruising speed.” Falco reveled in the realities of space flight. Old cinematic CGI had far outpaced relative technology, though he had to push back the urge to yell WARP SPEED, RIDE the SLIP STREAM! or We are entering the wormhole. Instead he stoically commanded, Sheets out, Sheets in and, on a good day, FULL BURN.
The latest Solar Sails were a far cry from the originals that only collected visible light and barely pulled your boat to the Mars Station. What they lacked in mobility was more than made up for by their fuel source; which, as he understood it from Holts, was left over from the creation of the universe. One BIG BANG and now there was fuel for eternity, as long as you had the means to collect it.
‘The sails are highly efficient vacuum cleaners for the entire Electromagnetic Spectrum,’ Ensign Holts had observed. And that’s why I am a captain and not a scientist, Falco thought.
Under sail it took a few days to hit MACH 1, a year to push MACH 50, but after three years, the Anam Cara was being pulled through space at a blur. Sadly, the grav-system kept the crew from feeling any of it beyond the initial lurch. Either way, not bad for a Cyclone Class Cruiser! Falco grinned when the forward rockets rumbled and burned, doing their best to slow one of the last iron boats down.
“Commander Azim Shar’ran.” Falco noticed Azim wince as he pronounced both r’s in his surname. Falco knew ‘one r and one r only,’ but loved saying his commander’s full name every now and again. The way it tripped off his tongue or was it the gentle torturous look it left on his friend’s face each time he butchered it? Either way Falco thought, it’s a great name. “Send our position and current data findings to Station Pluto, they should have the COM-Sat back up by now.”
“Yes, Captain Giacomo Francis Falcone,” Commander Shar’ran stated. Falco caught his commander’s sideway stare and could see he was using every muscle on his six-foot-four frame to keep the smile from his dark, weathered face. A face covered with old scars from conflicts around the world. The wounds had mended well, but Falco knew the ones on the inside would always be healing. Another thing they shared.
Locked in a brief stare down, a battle of wills, Falco observed his second-in-command fighting the good fight behind that placid surface, but it was pointless. Those Yemeni eyes gave away anything the warrior in him tried to suppress.
He’s laughing his ass off, Falco thought. My mother loved the name Francis. She had always told Falco he was named after the greatest crooner that ever left a DNA trail back to the fertile soils of his homeland. If only she had used his surname. I love the idea of Sinatra, he pondered. Giacomo Sinatra Falcone…
Until the next stare-down, my Yemeni nemesis, but Falco had little hope in victory against a man that could lock eyes with anyone for days. Yemeni warrior code, he loved it.
“All crew to their stations. I want a full systems’ check,” Falco ordered. He ran through the crew in his head, three seasoned officers, a green science officer and twenty-four rookies strait out of the academy that had never sailed past Mars. They had handled the five-year voyage, the worst part was over.
“COM-Sat is still down, Captain.” The irritation in Commander Shar’ran’s voice was obvious.
“Station Pluto knows we’re here. Lieutenant Wallace, pick a docking bay and we’ll figure it out later. She’s a new station with new station problems.” But new means better beds, food and booze, Falco hoped. He allowed the thought of a woman’s company to take hold, a stranger with no shared history, or expectations beyond the carnal. Seven years and it still did not feel right. He let it go.
The adrenaline of a new adventure dripped into his veins. The United Nations was putting the final touches on Station Pluto. The Anam Cara and her crew needed a few days at the five-star accommodations located on the farthest edge of the outer solar system before beginning their quadrant-by-quadrant scouting mission of the area beyond – searching for anomalies and a wayward dwarf planet named Nemesis.
Seven years ago, humanity had never physically ventured beyond Neptune’s orbital path. Today we have a shiny new SpaceMART with a stunning seasonal view of Pluto, a planet that lost its ‘planetary’ status over two centuries ago and was demoted to a dwarf planet. “Dwarf planet my ass,” Falco muttered as he contemplated her defiant nature. A chunk of ice and rock that chose an elliptical path, a pl
anet that dared to take the orbit less traveled instead of being a lemming like the others and taking the trajectory of spherical monotony. No wonder the desk jockeys took away her identity, she’s independent, thinks outside the circle.
“Captain inspection in thirty.” Commander Shar’ran stated over the COM. “Captain, we have a small asteroid passing a few klicks off the portside.” He continued to scan the incoming data, tapped his controls and a holographic image appeared.
“Kuiper Belt?” Falco moved toward his commander’s station and the floating hologram above it.
“Kuiper Belt, Oort Cloud, take your pick, all one massive asteroid field.” Shar’ran raised his hand. “There.” He placed a hand on each side of the floating image and pulled them apart.
The hologram zoomed in on a red flare streaking through the blackness. Falco followed the rock’s progress.
“You can see its tail out the port window,” Commander Shar’ran paused, “Now.”
Captain Falco walked towards the nose of the Anam Cara and stood behind the pilot’s seat to get the best vantage.
“Beautiful. Never get tired of that sight.”
“It’s covering a lot of space,” Lieutenant Wallace observed.
“Does seem to be going somewhere in a hurry.” Falco exhaled. “Back to work people, we have well-earned R&R coming our way. Enjoy the light show from the station.”
“Captain.” Commander Shar’ran turned at his station to face Captain Falco and Lieutenant Wallace, his broad shoulders blocking the hologram, “I understand Chief Tenzin is stationed here and may have a…” Commander Shar’ran paused and raised a scarred eyebrow, “special event planned for your arrival.”
“Chief Tenzin and I have unfinished business,” Falco stated.
“Can we assume that you will be in the grav-gym this evening?” Shar’ran was now beaming. “I hear it’s quite the venue.”
“Actually, yes, Commander, that is my plan. Wouldn’t miss an opportunity to pay an old friend back.” Captain Falco barked toward Lieutenant Wallace, “Get us docked, R&R begins as soon as inspections are over.”
5
Outer Solar System
Station Pluto, the New Chief
The corridor circled the outside of Station Pluto. Seven thousand and eighty-six meters long, Chief Pema Tenzin quickened his pace not wanting to be late to his meeting with Station Director Lipinski. The ease of his movements gave his form a spider-like grace. The clarity of the meter-thick poly-glass was striking. He abruptly stopped mid-stride and reached out with a short, thick finger and traced the symbol etched into the seamless glass that looked into the great black.
It was as close to a space-walk as one could get from the safety of a vessel, Pema thought. No seams, no visible exterior wall except for the etched symbols every meter or so. The floor was crafted of poly-glass with an infused milky tint that was the newest technology in lighting. A warm glow lit the entire ring. People crashed into each other daily as they looked to comets, Pluto and the debilitating awe of their lonely surroundings.
Chief Tenzin led a crew that coated the interior wall of the corridor with red plaster made of Martian clay. The thought of hundreds of people hugging the wall for reassurance the first few weeks after it was completed brought a needed smile; some even went as far as making physical contact by dragging their hand along its red, pebbled surface as they walked its vast, curving passageway.
It had been rumored that current Station Director Lipinski hired one of humanity’s best interior designers and permanently added her to Station Pluto’s workforce to ensure a comfortable and modern interior. Or was it the original director, or the four that preceded him? Pema could not keep track of the parade of administrators coming and going as it seemed to matter little. What he found astonishing was that each director worked for less than a year at the station when it took a decade for the round-trip. Power has a strange pull on those inflicted by its call.
Regardless of who wore the badge of Station Director, in the end the United Nations Naval forces had the final say in most matters. Guns, boats and muscle still ruled, even on the edge of the solar system. The military element was always pushing for additional steel panels, gunmetal gray paint and colored lines on the floor to help people navigate the station.
“It will add substance and strength to the place,” was the typical jug-head response. Just like it added to the Mars Station. Pema cringed at the image of the great shoebox in space.
The Navy still used steel in constructing its carriers, but in many ways the layered poly-panels were much more resilient than their steel counterparts. The Chinese Viper Class Patrol Boats used only the poly-technology and were stunning to look at. Pema took a moment to envision the newly arrived boats that lay docked outside of his quarters.
His finger trailed over the last of the eight petals of the lotus flower that took his mind off the endless blackness beyond. The etching was done by hand. Each symbol encompassed a square meter of the outside wall of the ‘infinity path,’ as the crew aptly named it.
Pema whispered, “I now give you the appropriately named and technological marvel, the Infinity Wall, watch your face.” He found another greasy spot, a glint of oil from another flattened nose no doubt. Etched symbols were not enough.
He restarted his quick gait as abruptly as he had stopped and continued his arcing path towards his 0900 meeting with the current Station Director Lipinski. Pema found the director waiting and paused in front of the open hatch. Director Lipinski continued to read reports on his desk, no hello or welcome, but simply a quick wave of the hand inviting him in. Pema slid into the office and found a seat across from the Director’s desk.
“Report, Chief Tenzin, and make it quick.” Lipinski folded his soft arms and waited.
Pema sat tall in his chair, stretching his stocky frame to its limit. “COM-Sat should be up within the hour, Director. Online in three, max.”
Lipinski’s gray eyes looked dull and lifeless, his skin an unhealthy yellowish hue. Based on the Director’s appearance it was possible his predecessors had died on duty and were then replaced. Pema fought the urge to smirk. Eighteen-hour shifts will be over soon, the station is almost ready for the ribbon cutting… he chalked up the director’s gaunt look to simply being tired.
“Is everything okay, Chief?” Lipinski rapped his fingers on the desk.
“Director, I am concerned with the damage Station Pluto is taking,” Chief Tenzin stated. “Two asteroids appear on our scanners. They are so close we cannot make any type of evasive maneuvers.”
Lipinski fingers stopped tapping. “Station Pluto gets hit all the time by debris and most of it bounces off the outside layer. Debris is what space is full of, Chief, and why the station has five independent layers and instant sealing repair epoxy between the last three.”
“Yes, Director, but we have lost our COM-Sat twice now.” Chief Tenzin leaned forward, “It may be time to add a second COM-Sat on the upper deck where damage is rare.”
“I see your point, Chief. I’ll speak with the other board members. I want confirmation the second the satellite is online.” Lipinski broke eye contact, stood and moved toward the hatch, “Good to see you again, Chief Tenzin,” he said by way of dismissal.
“Thank you, Director and I will let you know when the COM-Sat is back online.” Chief Tenzin was on the move again.
Whatever it takes to get the COMs up. I am not going back to a grav-sled and monogrammed caulking gun. While he marched down the Infinity Path towards the compartment that accessed the power feeds and his awaiting crew, he locked eyes on Pluto. His gaze was broken by the unsettling darkness that lay behind her.
He reached the hatch that led to the COM connections, punched the code into the screen and pushed through the opening before the door had reached its stopping point.
“Two hours! The COMs will be fully functional in two hours or every one of you will be reassigned to the sanitation scrubbers!” he bellowed. His crew instantly quickened
their pace, the idea of managing the ‘feces-filters’ as they were dubiously known throughout the station, was more than they could stomach. Each scrubber had to be replaced weekly by hand and there were hundreds of them.
“1900 hours in the GRAV Gym.” Chief Tenzin waited for the cheers to subside and continued, “If we have it online within two hours.” He rolled up his sleeves and jumped into the purposeful chaos. “I hear of one wager placed by anyone of my crew on tonight’s opponent, you will be stricken from the Chang list.”
6
Outer Solar System
Station Pluto – Captain Falco
Falco’s eyes never left the Infinity Path. Alone, he slowly followed its perfect curve. Pluto was more beautiful seen first-hand than Falco could have imagined. Five years of living off recycled air and – he attempted to purge the visual of the other recycled essentials that were used – excreted, filtered and used again.
“Pema Tenzin,” he stated and smiled at the thought of seeing his old friend again. Falco looked to the time-telling relic strapped to his wrist and gently rubbed its worn surface. “Twenty minutes.” Based on the station map floating in front of the red wall, he could get there in ten minutes from his current position. The absolute clarity of the Infinity Path was stunning. He dropped the duffel bag from his shoulder.
Falco pushed himself flat against the clear surface. He could feel his man parts flatten against the wall of nothingness, but did not care. He felt like he was hovering in open space. Each palm was flat and he could feel the symbols etched into its cool surface. He strained and stretched; his fingertips searching the designs as his mind guessed the shape. Petunia on the left, kiwi on the right, he thought.
Darkness: Book One of the Oortian Wars Page 4