by James Palmer
“Initiate docking procedures.” A computerized voice had replaced the human operator at this late stage of docking as the automated tractor beams kicked in. The Charleston rocked slightly as the beams pulled the shuttle into a perfect line if sight with the docking collar.
The human Jeffries had spoken to inside the docking bay was still there, but as nothing more than a redundancy. A human always acted as a backup to the computer, just in case there was a problem, even though there had not been an accident involving a docking procedure since well before the automated system went on line twelve years earlier.
Better to be safe than sorry however so the computers were never given complete control of the procedure. In case of an emergency the tractor beams could be deactivated manually by the dock master aboard the Ulysis or even by the pilot of the incoming shuttle..
“This is Charleston. You have control Ulysis. Take good care of her.” Leaving the final approach to the computer, the lieutenant released the safety straps from his seat and moved toward the rear of the shuttle, mentally running through the docking procedure checklist. With well over two hundred successful flights, docking maneuvers, and landings under his belt, Lt. Melvin Jeffries knew the checklist and his shuttle backwards and forward.
He made certain all of the proper safety procedures had been met before the docking clamps grabbed the shuttle. He had to make sure that nothing happened to the Charleston, his baby. Oh, and his passenger was fairly important also.
Everything checked out perfectly, just as he had expected. He had once commented to a friend that these automated vessels were idiot proofed. Advances in computer technology provided further evidence that proved the point although he preferred to not consider himself an idiot. No matter what his ex-wife said.
“Shuttle is secure. Outer doors closed.”
“We’re in the home stretch now, sir.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“Force field disengaged,” the computer added.
Silently, the massive doors of the cargo bay parted hungrily as the shuttle made its final approach. The ship glided inside effortlessly, gently touching down on the landing platform. Once inside, the docking clamps fastened themselves to the Charleston’s outer hull, then the outer cargo bay doors closed with a loud clang.
“Lock all moorings.” The computer voice said as the shuttle ratcheted itself into place.
“Pressurization is stable, shuttle Charleston” the human operator said, once more involved now that the computer had done the heavy lifting. “Seal is intact and secure. You may open your outer hatch at this time.”
Lt. Jeffries noted the transmission. “Understood,” he said, pressing a wall-mounted comm grid near the hatch. “Opening hatch now.”
He entered the unlock code for the outer door to the shuttle and thumbed the activate switch. The door irised open with an almost imperceptible hiss of escaping air.
Once secured, Lt. Jeffries nodded to his passenger.
“Welcome to the Ulysis, Admiral.”
5
Space lab Science Station
Earth was Sol System’s third planet. It was home to many satellites and space docks, which orbited the jewel of humanity’s history. Although one of these was natural, the remainders were artificially created. Among the more famous were the United Planetary Alliance’s communication station, simply and unimaginably named Comm-1.
Comm-1 had the distinction of serving the entire Earth quadrant, allowing contact between the space stations, the planetary colonies, incoming and outgoing ships, and pretty much anyone else with a transceiver. A military command post was on permanent rotation at Comm-1. The satellite was a vital asset to the UPA and therefore was a potential target to their enemies.
Another prominent fixture in orbit of paradise was the Bridger Corporation’s Starship Plant. The leader in the manufacture of space faring vessels, Bridger Corporation easily secured the bid to become the exclusive contractor for the UPA. The exclusive contracts catapulted Bridger into the limelight, its stocks rising exponentially. Several of the company’s competitors quickly went out of business. Unknown to the public at large, however, was that Bridger quietly scooped up the competition’s holdings, further solidifying the starship manufacturer’s hold on the market. For nearly thirty years, they had held the top spot. A position they did not seem eager to relinquish any time soon.
The Bridger Corp docking struts orbiting Earth currently housed the newest addition to the Alliance fleet, the Pegasus.
However, the Bridger starship plant was not alone in orbit.
If you were to look past the Pegasus’ port side and gaze outward toward Earth’s lone moon you would notice the unmistakable glint of reflected light. A long cylindrical edifice twirled on its axis, slowly and quietly rotating up from behind the contour of the blue green planet. The brightness of the sun glinting off of the shiny hull, for just a brief moment the space station was eerily reminiscent of the legendary Phoenix of old, rising from its perch.
It was a sight that tugged at even the most cynical of hearts. Almost inspirational, it was a beautiful piece of hardware, this homage to the science that had created it.
Space Lab.
A fully functional scientific wonderland, Space Lab housed several hundred scientists, laborers, travelers, and their families. For the last two years, no ship had passed through the Earth quadrant without approval from Space Lab. To date there had been no recorded instances of unknown virus or disease brought back the unsuspecting populace of this sector by explorers from the recesses of deep space. The inhabitants of Space Lab took their responsibility very seriously.
And they were very good at their jobs.
When the UPA reinstated the Space Lab program, there were many in the scientific community with doubts of whether or not this station would thrive in orbit of Earth. Its predecessor had not. Many decades before, an earlier, smaller space station fell from orbit and crashed into the Earth’s atmosphere before plummeting to the waiting surface. The Earth received her own that day in the late twentieth century.
But that was the stuff of ancient history. Much had changed since the 1970’s.
One year after the government reinstated the Space Lab program the new facility went on line and was certified completely operational. It had functioned exceptionally well since then, with one small exception.
In the early days of the new and improved program, Dr. Jonathon DeMarr served as Chief Administrator. He had been instrumental in the overall design of the station’s final look. A brilliant scientist, DeMarr brought a great deal to the table in regard to the scientific aspect of the Space Lab project. However, for all his technical expertise, he lacked the business and diplomatic realms of running a fully loaded space station.
Space Lab could be considered a small colony in its own right.
Unfortunately, DeMarr and his entire staff were killed in a mysterious reactor explosion in the earliest days of the Space Lab experiment. Since that tragic incident, DeMarr’s replacement, Dr. Cynthia Morgan had great success shaping and molding this facility into a more tightly run organization, thereby boosting the advances of the scientific community living and working aboard the Space Lab.
As chief administrator, Dr. Morgan had the task of recruiting new personnel to the station as well as overseeing the many projects being conducted just a few miles above the orbit of the richest piece of property in the sector, Earth.
Being posted to Space lab was a great honor. Qualified candidates for admission into the program were all at the top of their respective fields across a wide array of scientific endeavors. Botany, biochemistry, electronics, warp physics, viral containment, and astrophysics were just a few of the areas that were studied by the Space Lab crew.
With such an impressive mission, space was limited, which made a posting to Space Lab an all the more lucrative goal. There was a waiting list of hopefuls with easily thousands of names and applications.
And Dr. Morgan read every one
of them.
In her brief career, Dr. Cynthia Morgan had gained a reputation as a stern administrator. She allowed her subordinates creative freedom, often granting them permission to pursue individual experiments as long as all of the correct paperwork was filed. Follow that simple rule and approval from the chief was granted.
As stated, stern, but fair.
She had rarely been known to turn a curious mind down unless there were distinct safety concerns. The safety of the station was her first and foremost priority.
“She inspires those under her to greatness,” one speaker had said at the dedication ceremony that signaled Space Lab’s official clearance. It was a big deal and made all of the news nets. She had been forced to give a speech that day, which was not her favorite thing. She was a scientist, not a public speaker. It was the only low point of that day.
“Time?” she asked the computer.
As the computer reiterated the time, Cynthia realized that she had been checking the clock quite a bit and admonished herself for it. “Get a grip, girl,” she told her reflection in the mirror. “He’s just a person, like everyone else onboard. You’re over him. He’s over you. You’re both adults and you’ve both moved on.”
She said it with conviction.
Naturally, she didn’t believe a single word of it.
Not for the first time, she second-guessed her decision even though it was far too late to do anything about it. The shuttle was on approach. He would be arriving any minute now. Dr. Morgan gave her hair one final twist and scowled at her reflection before grabbing her jacket and heading toward the door.
She stepped out into the hustle and bustle of daily life on board Space Lab. Today was a bit busier than usual, though. Tings always got a little busy when new arrivals showed up. The march of science did not always equal the cleanest of workspaces. Clutter was the norm, but on days like this one, everyone tried to get the place just so to show off to the new arrivals.
As the lift doors parted before her, Dr. Cynthia Morgan once again checked her hair clip, pulling the long golden braid of blond hair off of her shoulder. She had looked forward to this day almost as much as she had dreaded it. For the better part of a week, she had obsessed over her decision. She was confident she had made the right call, but that realization did nothing to quell the butterflies performing aerial acrobatics in her stomach.
He was here.
Once upon a time, oh so long ago, he had been the love of her life. It felt like a lifetime since they had been together on Mars. She had been a freshman, newly arrived not only at college but also to the planet. It had been her first trip to Mars. He had been the first person she met after arriving on planet, himself a junior and well versed in campus idiosyncrasies.
They had spent three glorious years together, off and on. It had been a unique relationship, to say the least, but looking back on it, she cherished most of the memories of those days. Most, but not all. There were many regrets associated with those memories as well.
She had been leery of allowing him to transfer to Space Lab when his application came across her desk. She hated to admit it, but having him on board scared her. Although they had both moved on with their lives, Dr. Morgan was afraid of the old feelings that having him there might invoke. But in all fairness, he had earned it.
Besides which, we’re both adults, right?
Dr. James Silver had every right to be there. Despite how things had ended between them, Space Lab was fortunate to have someone of his caliber and reputation aboard. His reputation within the scientific community, that was.
The other she could have lived without.
To all of his conquests, of which there were many, he was Silverfox. The good doctor hated to admit it, but she had once been one of the mighty Silverfox’s conquests. James Silver had a certain way about him to be certain. It wasn’t something she could put into words, but there was an undeniable attractiveness about the man that most women could not deny. It was damned infuriating as she recalled.
The shuttle from Mars began its docking procedures by the time she reached the control room. A young woman from the military contingent stationed on board by order of the Alliance was on shift. There were several military men and women stationed at Space Lab for various reasons, including some that the UPA ruling council did not care to debate with Dr. Morgan.
“Good afternoon, Doctor Morgan,” the lieutenant said.
“Lieutenant Emery.” Morgan nodded. One of the hardest part of the job was keeping everyone’s names straight. In the early days she had a devil of a time keeping them straight, but as with most things, practice made perfect. She knew all of the people on the station, but new arrivals meant knew names to memorize.
Dr. Morgan did not mind having a military contingent permanently stationed at Space lab. Their presence had helped smooth over minor squabbles that could have blown up into much larger issues. In that respect alone, having them there made her job easier since they ran the day to day operations of the station, which allowed her time to focus on more scientific pursuits. Holding the reins over several hundred scientists and their respective divisions was not an easy task so she was thankful that there were those on board who made sure the lights and air conditioning worked so she didn’t have to. Dr. DeMarr’s accident had put a healthy dose of fear into the government, which was good in one respect. It impressed her that they were learning from previous mistakes.
They were intent on making sure those mistakes were not repeated so she would have to make all new ones. She knew all about bad judgement and not learning from one’s mistakes because the biggest mistake of her life was on the ship docking at bay twelve.
“Please don’t let this blow up in my face,” she whispered.
“What was that, Doctor?” Lt. Emery asked.
Morgan blushed. She hadn’t realized she’d said it aloud. She waved away the lieutenant’s curiosity.
“Nothing,” Dr. Morgan said. “Nothing at all.”
6
Alliance Starship Ulysis
The shuttle door opened with a hiss.
Beyond the hatch, the sights and sounds of a fully functional and very busy space dock were heard. Officers and deck hands moved about the bay, moving containers, luggage, and other incoming cargo. Lift trucks moved the larger of these containers, but many were smaller and moved by hand.
A medical team shoved their way past the workers pushing a gurney. “Medical emergency at Platform C,” one of the medics shouted as he waved people out of his way. Admiral James McKeen watched with fascination until they rounded a ship across the bay and disappeared from sight.
The admiral took a moment to inhale the aromas. While not exactly pleasant, it was the smell of working and living aboard a starship on an extended rotation. In this case, that was an understatement. With overpopulation running rampant through the United Planetary Alliance, the starship Ulysis was basically a floating city traveling through space.
“Excellent flying, Lieutenant,” McKeen told his pilot. “Thank you.”
“It was my pleasure, sir,” Lt. Melvin Jeffries replied.
Not one to stand on ceremony, McKeen grabbed his gear and made his way to the door before the computerized voice finished its monologue of specialty services offered by the starship Ulysis as well as a rundown of official customs proceedings that would take place after debarkation.
Fortunately, the admiral was exempt from such trivialities. One of the advantages of being an Alliance flag officer, he decided.
Knowing there would be paperwork to sign, the shuttle Charleston’s pilot was the first one on the ramp. At the bottom of the ramp stood a rail thin young ensign wearing antique wire rim eyeglasses and carrying the not unexpected stack of papers. Wire rimmed glasses were not typically the sort of thing one usually expected to see on an officer, especially considering the advances in medical technology had rendered ocular disease all but extinct, with a few notable exceptions.
The ensign looked none too thrilled
as he stopped the pilot at the bottom of the ramp. There were mundane duties to deal with; files, forms, and assorted scans that were all mandatory for all landings on Alliance vessels had to be completed. Landing on board the flagship of the UPA military without warning, since the admiral’s visit had not been scheduled in advance, undoubtedly added another small stack of forms on top of the standard ones. Looking like he would rather be doing anything else, Lt. Jeffries began the tedious task of signing cargo release forms as the starship’s technicians approached the Charleston for inspection.
The pilot nodded as the older man disembarked from the Charleston. The admiral tossed off a casual salute in Lt. Jeffries direction as he headed toward the bank of elevators in an alcove on the far end of the Docking Bay.
“Welcome to the Ulysis,” the computer chimed in, almost as an afterthought. Some one probably wanted the computerized voice to sound warm and inviting. It had the opposite effect. The computer voice sent chills up McKeen’s sides. He had vowed more than once to get a more humanized voice in these systems someday.
Someday just never seems to get here though, does it? he asked himself. What a shame.
Quickly, he scanned his surroundings. Not a hard job for a man with a prosthetic left eye that saw everything, including several varying color spectrums.
When he had been with the United Planetary Alliance’s Marshal’s service, then Marshal James McKeen, had been the head honcho of the galaxy’s most elite police force. For a few years he had loved every minute of it.
Until the day his luck ran out.
As Marshal, McKeen had enjoyed his work. As the years passed, the frequency of Scavenger raids became the number one problem in the sector. Alliance Legislature had made promises to the outer colonies that the marshal’s Office and the military fleet would be in continual contact and would cooperate with one another to stop the threats posed by the many outlaw bands of Scavengers.
To this day, no one knew to any degree of certainty how many different factions of “Scavengers” were actually out there. All that was truly evident was that there were far too many to effectively control. Most were small communities of ordinary folks who gave in out of a common need to survive. These were desperate people with nothing left to lose who did whatever was necessary to survive.