Stars in the Sand

by Richard Tongue

   “Won’t that seem a little out of character for a crew on leave?” Nelyubov said,

   “That’s a risk we’re going to have to take. They’ll report anything they see, but we won’t be in safe contact with them after we touch down.” He looked around the room, then continued, “We will remain in orbit for only as long as we need to. Five days, one hour. Any rescue attempt we make will be timed to get us away from the planet, and into hendecaspace, at the correct time.”

   “It might take longer than that to locate them, sir,” Orlova said. “It’s a big planet.”

   “Then we leave without them,” Marshall said.

   “Captain, you said…,” Cooper began.

   Interrupting him, Marshall replied, “We’re not going to take the risk, Corporal. There is a single window of opportunity to pull this off, and during those five days we will do everything in our power to find our people and get them home, but if after that period we have drawn a blank, then we cash in the chips and leave.”

   “I could remain behind,” Cooper said. “Perhaps make contact with the resistance and work out another way home.”

   “I’ve made my decision, Corporal, and it stands.”

   “Yes, sir,” he said, sullenly.

   “What are we going to do about our cargo?” Orlova said.

   Marshall shrugged, then said, “Unload it, and try and replace it with something high value, low mass. We can’t afford to compromise on maneuvering.”

   “I wondered if we might be able to take on something that could be useful for Alamo.”

   Nodding, he replied, “I didn’t think of that. Good idea.”

   “Medical supplies would be useful,” Cooper said. “We don’t know how our people have been treated down there.”

   “Noted, Corporal. Is there anything else?” No-one said anything, and he continued, “Don’t discuss any details of the mission with any other members of the crew. What they don’t know can’t hurt them if they get picked up. Dismissed.”

   Cooper was the first one out of the room, heading down to the sensor controls; when he arrived, just down the corridor, the room was dark, the stations unmanned. He glanced at his datapad; Cantrell was supposed to be on duty, but a quick check of the system logs showed that she had never turned up. Shaking his head, he headed over to the elevator, electing to spend some time at his cobbled-together firing range. Working out a bit of tension would do him good.

   Already there was the missing Cantrell, expertly lining up shots at the target. He hung quietly in the doorway, waiting patiently to finish, noting her score. Perfect. His eyes widened; he’d struggle to get a perfect score, even on a range. That just didn’t happen.

   “Afternoon, Corporal,” she said. “Guess I’ve got beginners’ luck.”

   “Looks like,” he replied, drifting over to take a gun from the locker. Making sure his back was blocking the view, he slid a clip into position, and pulled out the laser projector from the barrel.

   “Fancy a challenge?” he said, before turning round.

   “Sure, though I think it’s unfair competition.”

   He turned, and pointed his gun at her chest, saying, “Try this, then. Who the hell are you?”

   “That was pretty agile work,” she replied.

   “I’m surprisingly good at sleight of hand. My parents gave me a magic kit on my fifth birthday. Now talk.”

   “I don’t know what the hell you are talking about,” she said, pouting.

   “Nice try,” he replied with a smile, “but you’re too damn competent for someone who doesn’t know what they are doing. Add that to your carefully calculated reputation as a screw-up, and it all comes together to something I don’t accept.”

   “Fine,” she said, “I’m not good at my job, and probably don’t belong in the service and your precious uniform. Are you happy now?”

   “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “You don’t make any sense.” He reached down to his pocket, and said, “I think it might be time to bring the Captain into this discussion.”

   “Don’t do that, Corporal,” she said.

   “Give me a reason.”

   “How about a direct order.”

   “I hate to break it to you, but Spacemen Third Class don’t give orders to Lance-Corporals.”

   “Sub-Lieutenants do.”

   His gun wavered for a second as he replied, “What?”

   With a sigh, she said, “I’m not a Spaceman Third. Well, that’s what my record says, but I’m actually a Sub-Lieutenant with Fleet Intelligence.”

   “Does the Captain know?”

   “It was decided that he didn’t need to know that I had been embedded into this mission. Intelligence wanted an officer of their own on board.”

   “I thought Winter was doing that job.”

   Shaking her head, she said, “Mr. Winter had orders of his own; he was never going any further than Spitfire Station. My mission was to stay low and observe, to monitor the situation and to provide a full report when we get back.”

   “Which is why you kept a low profile until this mission was launched,” he said. “You couldn’t risk missing out on the opportunities it would provide, but your record to date wasn’t going to impress anyone.”

   “Do we need the gun now?” she asked, and he put it into his holster, keeping his hand close by. “I wasn’t trained as a sensor tech. I’ve been trying, and admittedly failing, to pick things up on the job. I didn’t even have a commission until a week before Alamo left.”

   “Don’t they normally train people up for jobs like this?”

   “Usually, but there wasn’t time. We had to replace all of our field operatives, hell, we didn’t have any idea who might have been turned by the Cabal. That meant quite a bit of unorthodox recruiting.”

   “What did you do to get this job?”

   She shrugged, then said, “Hacked into the computers at Intelligence headquarters. I wanted interesting work, and it seemed the easiest way to get it.” She smiled, then said, “I think they use that as a recruitment tool, anyway.”

   “Why the hell didn’t they add you to the security team. The number of times we could have used a hacker…”

   “Corporal, use some common sense. Where would you expect to find a spy?”

   Nodding, he replied, “I’m guessing that you were made as nondescript as possible so that you’d have the best chance of getting away should the Cabal capture us.”

   “That was the plan. It’s just business, Corporal.”

   “And this mission?”

   “An opportunity. To both retrieve information and recover our lost people. You might find this hard to believe, Corporal, but I want to get them back too. Any more intelligence we can gain is a bonus.”

   Nodding, he replied, “So, what happens now?”

   “That depends on you, I think. I’m not stupid enough to think that you will obey any order I give you to keep silent, but I will point out that we are about to head into enemy territory, and ask you to refrain from putting my life at greater risk.”

   “The Captain should know.”

   “And if he gets captured, and interrogated?” She shook her head, then said, “He shouldn’t have gone on this mission in the first place.”

   “He cares about his people.”

   “He should care first and foremost about the security of the Triplanetary Confederation. Still, that’s neither here nor there. Thank you for selecting me as your partner, by the way.”

   “You had the place bugged,” he said. “I should have expected that.”

   With a smile, she replied, “You wouldn’t have found them if you had looked. We’re going to be extraction, then; that sounds like a good use of our talents. With you as the muscle and me running shotgun on the computers, I think we should have a good chance.”

  Shaking his head, he said, “I’ll go along with your
deception on two conditions.”

   “And they are?”

   “First, if I decide the Captain needs to know, I’ll tell him. And it will be my decision when that is, not yours. Is that clear.”

   “Quite clear.”

   “Second, our objective is to rescue our people. If we have an opportunity to gather some more intel, we’ll take it, but that isn’t what we’re there to do. That is non-negotiable.”

   “I’m with you on that one, all the way. For the present, I will naturally continue to follow your lead on operations. As a matter of fact, I think you’ll do a good job. We are on the same side, Corporal. I just have a rather wider skill set than you might have anticipated.”

   “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”

   “Probably, but like the Captain, you don’t need to know. Yet.”

   “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I.”

   “Relax, Corporal,” she said, putting her hand on his arm, “Stick with me and I’ll make sure you live to regret it.”

  Chapter 21

   “Situation report,” Marshall said to Weitzman as Ouroboros emerged from hendecaspace.

   “Checking,” the technician replied. “Well, there’s already something wrong, skipper. An orbital defense network, brand new. Laser-based by the looks of it.”

   “How many?” Caine said, standing behind the command couch.

   “Three. They don’t have complete coverage, but they are certainly getting there. Other than that, I’m reading half a dozen large bulk freighters in orbit, all unfamiliar types, and maybe a couple dozen smaller vessels, shuttles, mostly. One station in a high orbit, best guess a command and control center.”

   “Based on what?” Nelyubov asked.

   “Lots of antenna, missile tubes, and what looks suspiciously like a docked fighter squadron. It’s screaming no civilian access.”

   Leaning over his shoulder, Caine said, “This place is a hell of a lot better armed than we had expected, Danny.”

   Glancing up at her, he quietly replied, “This doesn’t change anything. Let’s find out if we’re about to be blown out of the sky.” Raising his voice, he said, “Weitzman, get Traffic Control and clear us for orbital insertion.”

   The technician nodded nervously, and started to play with his controls. After a moment, he  turned to Marshall and said, “I have Orbital Control for you.”

   “This is the Free Trader Ouroboros, requesting permission to enter orbit,” he said.

   A voice crackled over the speaker, saying, “What do you want, a round of applause?” He paused for a moment, then said, “You have an appointment with the skymaster in thirty-five minutes. I’ve cleared a descent vector for your shuttle. That all?”

   “I think so,” he replied.

   “Good. Control out.”

   “That’s the most laconic trap I’ve ever heard,” Caine said.

   “Well, we have an appointment, so we’d better keep it. Frank, have Bradley get down to the shuttle bay; we’re on our way. I’ll keep you informed about what’s happening down there.”

   “Just tell me when I can start breathing again, skipper.”

   “Come on, Deadeye, let’s get this done.” He slipped a datapad under the arm of his jacket, and the two of them floated off the bridge, making their way for the elevator. Flicking through the datapad one last time to familiarize himself with the false documents, he almost crashed into Caine in the corridor.

   “Haven’t you got this stuff memorized yet?” she said.

   “Yes, just...it’s like my flight training. I knew all of it, but I was still nervous as hell. And if I’d screwed that up I’d have had a re-sit. I don’t think the Cabal do those.”

   “Relax,” she replied. “Just stick to the basics, don’t expand on anything you don’t need to, and look as if you have something to hide. They’ll expect it.”

   “We do have something to hide,” he said.

   “Perfect. Just act natural, then.”

   Shaking his head, he swung into the elevator, continuing to read the material as it slid down through the decks towards the shuttle bay. Barbara was waiting at the airlock, wearing a suitably disheveled outfit, and Cooper was hanging around at the rear.

   “Wondering if you have room for two more, skipper.”

   Marshall looked at Caine, then said, “Why?”

   “Because if you run into trouble, then you’ve got one team on the surface, and we’ll have a chance to get lost in the bad side of town before the others turn up.”

   “He’s got a point, Danny,” Caine said.

   “The risk…”

   With a smile, the Espatier replied, “There isn’t much of a risk. If everything goes wrong, then you’ll need someone to rescue you.”

   “Now he really does have a point,” Caine said.

   “I take it Cantrell is hanging around somewhere as well.”

   She dropped down from the roof, swinging gracefully on a trio of hand-holds, “Morning, boss.”

   “Fine, you might as well join the party. Get aboard.”

   Barbara swung into the pilot’s cabin, and Marshall briefly thought about following her before shaking his head; it made a lot more sense for him to continue to brush up on the ride down. He noticed the pilot flashing an odd look to Cantrell as she boarded, sitting next to Cooper at the back, but dismissed it, gliding gently to a window seat.

   The shuttle dropped away from the freighter, gently gliding down towards the planet below. Marshall glanced out of the window, but there wasn’t very much to see; a thick haze smothered the surface, blocking out the view with only occasional glimpses of black sea and gray land underneath, a bleak and forbidding wilderness.

   “First time to a carbon world,” Caine said. “I think it might be the last, as well.”

   “We’re not here playing tourist.”

   “I bet they have some good bars, though. A place like this demands it.”

   “Let's hope we have a chance to try some of them.”

   They were thrown from side to side as the shuttle tasted atmosphere, caught in high winds that tossed it around until Barbara could level off again. Marshall peered into the thick, viscous clouds, and shook his head. There’d be no way to see the stars from the surface. Just isolated under a perpetual gloomy haze, forever.

   Up ahead, a bright light shone on the horizon, and he could make out the planet’s single city – a trio of old domes surrounded by hastily-built prefabricated structures. Going outside here was just a question of slipping on a respirator, every house having its own airlock. Still, he was surprised that they hadn’t built additional domes, rather than spreading out like a virus across the plain.

   To the right, he saw the black sea, a trio of huge ships floating on it, massive tankers sucking chemicals in from the soup they rested on; a couple of helicopters darted around over the city, searchlights beaming down on the ground. They were slowed for landing speed now, cruising down towards the landing strip; Barbara brought them in for a perfect landing, twisting to avoid the crosswinds that threatened to toss them off course.

   As the shuttle skidded to a stop, Marshall stood up, pulling a respirator down from the wall and clipping into the small tank concealed in his pocket, enough to last for three hours. Caine, next to him, did likewise; Cooper and Cantrell set up more elaborate apparatus.

   “Bradley, you stay on board,” Marshall said. “Get post-flight done, see to refueling, and then head back up when you get the word from us.”

   “And if I don’t?”

   “Give it an hour, then head back anyway.” He turned to Cooper, “If you find yourselves stranded, I’ll leave it to you to find a way back up to Ouroboros.”

   “Don’t worry about us, skipper,” Cantrell said. “We’ll be fine.”

   “Well, Deadeye, let’s get going.” He tapped the control on the airlock, and the hatc
h slid open onto the runway, where a couple of bored technicians were making their way over to inspect the craft. They walked towards a cluster of offices at the far end of the runway, presumably the control center, splashing in the puddles of oil on the surface. A few other shuttles were grounded, in various states of repair; one of them looked as if it might have been there for years, several pieces removed and the inside exposed to the air.

   A sign in five languages directed them to the skymaster’s office, and they went through a checkpoint manned by an obviously bored security guard with barely a flicker of interest; like the rest of the buildings, it was an adapted prefabricated structure; a building site to one side seemed to be sign of a more permanent facility under construction, several workers wearing obviously old breathing equipment, worn and scratched, laboring in the conditions.

   Marshall started to feel a tapping on his shoulder, and looked at his jacket to see black stains running down it; gray rain was falling from the clouds, and he felt a chill wind on his face. It was with a relief that he walked inside, Caine hard on his heels, a receptionist wearing a garish green outfit looking up from her desk as they entered.

   “You got an appointment?” He nodded, and she gestured at the elevator in the corner, “Third floor for the skymaster.”

   With a quick glance at Caine, he stepped into the elevator, tapping for the designated floor. As the doors closed, a discordant whine began to sound; it took him a few seconds to work out that it was some sort of music, buried in a sea of electronic garble. He glanced around the car as it slowly rose, noting the temporary repairs to the keypad, the patched-up frame around the door. This was being allowed to slowly decay.

   The doors opened, and he stepped out into an anteroom, a pair of chairs by a window that gave a view of the city outside; it did not inspire him to look, and he knocked on the door; a moment later, it opened.

   “You the Ouroboros Captain?” an officious-looking man behind the desk said. “Got your papers?”

   Marshall nodded, and passed the datapad across the desk, trying not to let his nerves show through. The man skimmed the datapad, obviously only feigning interest, then looked up.