Traitor

by Drew Avera

  "There are two centers of trade and commerce that will have the resources that you are seeking. The eastern shore of the continent and a city situated north of the vast desert plains."

  Captain Dickson rose and studied the map displayed on the monitor. He manipulated it with his hands, expanding the image for a better view. On the eastern shore, he noted a tendency for high winds and rocky terrain which would make landing a scout craft in an emergency quite difficult. But landing in the other location would prove to be more hospitable. "Computer, target your scans for the city and its outskirts for Commander Hoyt's craft," he ordered.

  He watched as a graph closed in over the terrain, zooming in closer and closer at a fraction of a second until he could make out small details in the layout of the city.

  "There is a ship matching the description of Commander Hoyt's scout craft located five klicks southwest of the city."

  "Show me," Dickson ordered.

  The image zoomed in, magnifying with such intensity that even the sand became detailed in the image of the Consulate scout craft. It was like standing above the ship in a hangar bay. The more detail Will saw the more he realized that Kevin had come to this place during an emergency. He manipulated the camera angle and zoom feature and noticed damage to the ship. At least that's what he thought it was at first until he realized the belly panel of the craft was strapped to the deck, presumably for maintenance.

  "Got him," Captain Dickson said as he reached out and grabbed the ship’s com. He hesitated as he brought the transmitter to his mouth, remembering Admiral Hardak’s last words demanding that he stay in orbit around the planet and not to engage. He glanced over at the console and noted the time. It would be a full fifteen hours before Hardak arrived in the Karnack sector. What was the worst that could happen?

  "This is the captain speaking. All hands prepare to enter atmosphere to extract Commander Hoyt as per orders from the Chief of Naval Affairs. We land within the hour."

  He replaced the transmitter onto the arm of this seat and walked over to the viewport of his ship. He eyed the planet warily, knowing all the potential hazards to his health once he arrived, and to his career when Admiral Hardak found out what he had done. But he owed it to an old friend to get to the truth. He could not lead an innocent man into harm's way over a mistake.

  Why would I think it's a mistake, he wondered?

  That was the question that kept him up at night since this started and it was high time he got to finding the answer.

  Dickson distracted himself with the readouts on the display. He cycled through the menu pages, taking note of the engine parameters, the environmental controls, and the life-support system half a dozen times. Each time he reinitiated the sequence he cursed under his breath. The line of events that made up the last week of his life was taking its toll and he couldn't find a way to quiet the nagging feeling that something wasn't right.

  Lieutenant Harrison barged onto the bridge, the steel door slamming against the bulkhead as he rushed in and faced his commanding officer. "Captain, Chief Nesbitt is raging about the fact that you don't want the extraction team to disembark upon touchdown. I tried to ease the situation, but he doesn't want to hear anything from me," he said, his voice had a tangible whine to it.

  Captain Dickson turned his attention away from the lieutenant, rolling his eyes as he noted the display once more. Harrison was beginning to grate on his nerves. Everything was an assault on his self-esteem, and he took any amount of friction as a reprisal. Dickson didn’t see much of a future in the Consulate for the troubled officer, but he hated admitting that he might have something to do with the other man’s shortcomings.

  "What should we do, sir?" Harrison moaned.

  "Heaven forbid the chief does not get his way," Dickson said through his teeth. "The special operators always act like they're God's gift to the fleet. One day they’re going to learn the opposite is true. Where is he?"

  "He's in the armory, sir. Surrounded by more weapons than we have people to handle them. It was quite intimidating sir," Harrison continued, "I thought he might snap my neck."

  Dickson scoffed, "what gave you that idea?"

  "He said he was going to if I said another word to him," the lieutenant replied meekly.

  Dickson let out an exasperated sigh and glanced over to the junior officer. He scoffed at the thought that this coward was a potential candidate to be a future commanding officer of a warship.

  The candidates grow weaker with each passing year, he thought before responding. "He's probably just blowing off steam. His type is fast to talk, pretty quick to squeeze the trigger, but most of the bile and indignity that he shouts is more out of frustration than hatred." At least I think it is, he mused.

  "What can we do to settle him down?"

  Dickson didn’t see much of a point if he was being honest with himself. With close to an hour before entering Karnack he figured Nesbitt would have plenty of time to gather his thoughts into a coherent debate rather than rage flippantly at the ship’s junior officer.

  This was the part of the job he hated, taking care of the whiney blowhards with itchy trigger fingers. Their involvement often resulted in uncomfortable dispatches until the Consulate Navy’s little darlings were finally able to get the opportunity to squeeze off a few rounds.

  What it must be like to be so easily entertained, Dickson thought as a wave of nausea washed over him.

  "All you have to do, Lieutenant, is console the chief and pander to his feelings. Don't ever let anyone intimidate you on your ship. They treat us like we’re the taxicab dropping them off for a night on the town and that our only value is getting them there on time. What are they going to do when everything turns upside down in the blink of an eye? What are they going to do when they’re stranded in a bad situation and their only salvation is the very ship and crew that their attitudes trampled on en route?"

  The lieutenant shrugged and had an expression on his face that he never formed thoughts deeper than pondering what shoe he should put on which foot first. "I don't know."

  "Of course, you don't," Dickson said indignantly. His hands ran along the console on the bridge, autonomously initiating another systems check for the seventh time since he gave the order. "Oh hell. Follow me down to the armory and I’ll try to smooth things over. I may as well get a handle on the situation. If nothing else it will be a learning experience for you to see how a real captain handles himself. Maybe next time you won’t try to run and hide behind my leg like a little ankle biter. Have a bit of a spine about you and maybe the Consulate will trust you with a ship in the future, instead of a desk."

  Dickson watched the lieutenant's face go pale. He knew he hurt the other man's feelings, but he was just happy that Harrison had any feelings. He came across as such a muted individual that Dickson often wondered if the lieutenant was a sophisticated droid dispatched to carry out the mundane chores of life on a ship. Of course, it was when Harrison's whiny nature kicked in the Dickson realized that his command had become more about babysitting duty than serving the Empire.

  "Yes sir," Lieutenant Harrison chimed. He was like a puppy ready to go for a walk.

  Captain Dickson retrieved his jacket from the pilot's chair and took his time sliding his arms into the sleeves. He wasn't looking forward to the altercation that he knew was inevitable. He took no pleasure in having a confrontation, especially those that were unnecessary. Yet here he was about to go into a tight space to talk to a mad man with a gun fetish to keep his lieutenant from pouting about it.

  He had better things to do.

  "Harrison," he said, drawing the lieutenant's eyes to him. "If I get shot today, you're fired."

  Chapter Ten

  They approached the city from the southwest. Mangled, steel beams protruded skyward and beckoned to a horrific point in Karnack’s history. On the other side of the mechanical graveyard, a burgeoning city loomed, its rising structures interspersed with older, dilapidated buildings which gave the feeling of two
points in time colliding together.

  "This place has seen better days," Auden said remorsefully as she pulled back her hood and peered upward at the overhanging metal gnarled by heat and violence.

  “I wish I could say that I didn’t know what caused this," Kevin said, his voice barely above a whisper as he felt out of place speaking about events that claimed so many lives. "But I've seen this type of destruction before when training with Consulate weapons systems."

  They walked through an entanglement of downed beams and into an open street leading deeper into the city limits. On the other side of the chaotic border, they found themselves in a place more resembling their homeworld. It stood in contrast to their first impression of this alien, war-torn place. "Do you think we will find the scrapyard?" Auden asked as she pulled her hood back over her head.

  Kevin pointed towards the east. "I did a little research before setting out this way," he said. "There's a junkyard not too far from here, right on the edge of the desert."

  "The streets are surprisingly void of people," Tara interjected, her statement drawing their attention to her. "Does anyone even live here?"

  Kevin shifted his arm towards his face producing a deep cough into a sleeve before answering. "There are about one million inhabitants on this planet and I do not doubt that they’re interspersed throughout the surviving cities. If they saw our ship land here, then they may be hiding. I don’t think the Consulate is in good standing on Karnack. So, keep an eye out, I suspect someone is watching us."

  "That doesn't sound very inviting," Auden chided.

  "It’s not meant to be inviting. This is meant to observe strangers and these people are probably fearful of the ones who did this to their planet."

  They turned down a side street, cutting through a narrow alley as they trekked eastward towards the suspected scrapyard. Small sounds interrupted their otherwise silent ramble as small animals and rodents scurried away from the clattering of their approaching footsteps. Still, none of the locals presented themselves and it gave the place a foreboding, ghost-town feel.

  "I think that's it," Kevin said as he pointed forward. Tall structures sprawled upward like tendrils from a fixed point on the ground to produce an enormous arch. If not for the precision in which the structures were joined, it would have appeared that the bomb blasts had simply destroyed another building. Kevin recognized that the arch was intelligently designed and not an ironic accident. The care it took to make something beautiful from disaster astounded him.

  They walked under it, scanning the features for security cameras, or a person hiding in the mesh of steel framing, but they saw no one.

  "If there's no one here, how will we pay for the parts, or even find them to pay for them?" Tara asked.

  "I'm not sure," Kevin answered, his voice going tight as the sound of a cocked weapon reverberated nearby.

  "That's far enough. Hands up and identify yourselves."

  "We come in peace," Kevin said as he lifted his hands. His daughters followed suit and Tara inched closer to him trying to hide behind his bulky frame.

  "Not many humans come here. What do you want?" The man said as he approached. Light shone through the structure of the arc and fell on his pale, scaly skin. Deep-set yellow eyes peered at the humans forebodingly and the man never lowered his weapon.

  "Our craft had to make an emergency landing outside of the city limits," Kevin replied, trying to keep his tone civil despite the trepidation of having the barrel of a loaded weapon pointed in the vicinity of his children. "We’re searching for modules to repair our drive. Once the ship is fixed, we’ll happily leave."

  The Grotan licked his lips. He followed up with a low, guttural growl, displaying daggers for teeth before he finally responded. "What kind of ship?"

  "It’s a Consulate Scout Craft. CSC-57." It was a long shot that the Grotan man would be familiar with the model spacecraft, but there no reason not to answer truthfully.

  "What kind of emergency brought you here? Why should I help you?"

  Kevin hesitated to answer but he was caught between a rock and a hard place. What choice do I have? "We’re on the run from the Consulate. Something is afoot and somehow I suddenly became public enemy number one," Kevin answered with a tinge of regret in his voice at having revealed his hand prematurely. There was no benefit in giving that much information to the Grotan unless he was willing to help. But Kevin was morally opposed to lying and saw no purpose in hiding the truth.

  He hoped his stance wouldn’t backfire.

  The Grotan spit on the ground before bringing his eye back to the sight of his weapon. "Running from the Consulate? I can't say I'm surprised. Even out here we've heard the news that the new admiral is making waves. Leave it to his kind to rule with oppression."

  Kevin had a hard time denying that fact. The truth was that the changes taking place hit a raw nerve and no longer reflected the Navy he had sworn an oath to serve. "We could debate this for hours, but I'm afraid that we don't have that much time. Are you willing to help us?"

  The Grotan straightened, no longer staring down the barrel of his weapon as he continued to aim it precariously at Kevin's chest. Kevin bit back the urge to request that the man lower it. "Are you armed?"

  Kevin nodded before shifting to reveal the handgun holstered under his arm. "I'm the only one," he replied. "You can never be too careful."

  The Grotan approached, allowing the barrel to droop as he closed in. He used the tip of the barrel to open Kevin's jacket before reaching with his free hand to draw the firearm. Without glancing at it, he tucked it into his pocket and backed away. "You can say that again. But," he said as he lifted the weapon away from his uninvited guests. "I might just have the parts that you're looking for."

  "I certainly hope so, friend," Kevin replied as he extended his hand to the Grotan.

  The pale, lizard-like man gawked at the human’s open palm for a moment before he reached out and grasped it. "Friend? We'll see."

  "57's are solid ships," the Grotan who identified himself as Chuck, which was short for a seven-syllable name that Kevin had trouble annunciating, said as he slung his rifle over his shoulder. He grunted before leading the way. "Original construction of the ships started almost a hundred years ago. They weren’t designed as scout ships at first, but they didn’t make very good destroyer class ships with the crew limitations. With the war over I'm a bit surprised they haven't come out with a new version yet."

  Kevin and his daughters followed Chuck around the corner and down long plots of steel structures. Most of the piles of material look like rusted, crushed steel, with only a few bits of technically superior items standing out in the crowd.

  "I think the last time I saw a 57 on Karnack was about twenty years after the war ended." Chuck stopped and held a finger to the air for several seconds before speaking again. "It was at the only remaining shipyard on this ball of dirt."

  "This planet was a shipyard?" Kevin asked skeptically. It had not occurred to him that this place might have been a booming technological center in its heyday. What did that say about judging places based on their appearances?

  "Of course," Chuck said with a chuckle. "What do you think started the war in the first place? Our economy was a dumpster fire, and the Heshians demanded more work for less pay. Once our people stopped putting in the effort, they tightened the economical noose. They put us in a corner, they did, and you can see how that turned out."

  Kevin glanced at his daughters and noticed the bewilderment on their faces. He wasn't even alive when the war took place and based on one inhabitant’s point of view, everything he knew about the conflict was glossed over. A single textbook mentioned what sparked the rebellion in the first place, but if what Chuck said was true, it seemed that the Heshians were forcing the Grotans into a form of slavery that typically only stained humanity's history, and not the other races of the galaxy.

  "It sounds like quite the ordeal, sir," Kevin said.

  "Things are a bit better since
then," Chuck muttered, but Kevin wasn't so sure he believed it. The Grotan man cut down a narrow alley between two towers and disappeared into the shadows. "Follow me, young man."

  Kevin darted down the same alley that Chuck had, extending his hand behind him to take Tara’s hand so they could stay in contact. Each one held onto the other as they maneuvered through the mesh of iron debris.

  "Seems like a painful way to get where we’re going, Chuck," Kevin said through heavy breaths.

  "There's a reason for that, young man. You'll see it when we get there."

  Kevin watched Chuck's shadow shift to the left and he narrowly avoided being stabbed by a protruding piece of metal before he followed the Grotan out into an opening that he hadn't expected to find. "You can't leave these babies out in the open or else they’ll draw too much attention. Sure, she’s seen better days, but what on this planet hasn't. Am I right?"

  Kevin’s jaw went slack as he looked at the remains of a 57 spacecraft nearly identical to his own. The wings were half torn off and there were other fissures in the fuselage to show its age, but as long as the drive was still intact, he might be able to work with it. "This is amazing. Are all of the internal mechanisms still intact"

  "Absolutely. I have some spare wings and other parts that I intended to use to rebuild it one day. Unfortunately, I got too old to keep up with the hobby and it has been neglected ever since."

  Chuck looked at the machine for a while and Kevin could see that it hurt the old man's heart to see it in such a condition.

  "Is it all right if we take a look?"

  "Help yourself, young man. Don't let me get in your way?" Chuck took a seat on an old toolbox in the corner while Kevin, Auden, and Tara ducked under the craft. The belly panel was tacked on with the corner fasteners and Kevin was relieved to find that they were only finger tight. He used his thumb to apply enough pressure to back out the fasteners and had Auden hold one side as he took the other and they gently lowered it to the ground.