The op was, in the professional opinion of the Delta team leader, a hastily thrown-together mess. They could count on help from only a handful of people aboard the ship, the others were blissfully ignorant of the plan. None of the Delta team had ever been aboard the Dutchman, and training had been limited to one day in a hangar at Pope airfield, using tape on the floor to outline passageways, bulkheads and hatchways. Rodriguez assumed he would have to adapt to the situation as it developed and hope for the best.
The copilot cupped a hand around the microphone that wrapped around toward his mouth, and waited for the pilot to do the same. “Does this sit right with you?”
The pilot’s eyes automatically flicked up and back to the flight recorder that had been installed on the rear bulkhead of the cockpit, the bright orange device awkwardly bolted and strapped in place. The status light of the device was off, the power cable having been severed. The Dragon had its own flight recorder system, but humans were still trying to learn the dropship’s subsidiary systems, with little help from the AI. The only reason humans on Earth could fly dropships at all was through instruction by pilots who had served with the Merry Band of Pirates on previous missions. Again, the AI had been almost no help with flight instruction, giving one lame excuse after another about not being able to share technical secrets with a species it arrogantly considered to be monkeys. “Following orders sits right with me,” the pilot answered as his eyes narrowed, coolly considering his right-seater.
“Dan,” the copilot shook his head slightly, keeping the gesture controlled so anyone watching would not think there was a problem in the cockpit. “The Pirates saved the planet. Now we’re taking the ship from them?”
“It’s not their ship,” the pilot said with practiced patience, measuring his words because he, too, did not like their assigned mission. They had trained for a mission to retake the Flying Dutchman, in case it was ever seized by a foreign power. The mission they had trained for did not involve taking control of the ship away from the crew who had served aboard her for years, now they were ordered to do exactly that. The mission they were on now had been thrown together at the last minute. “We don’t have the big picture. Command wouldn’t have ordered this op unless some bad shit is going to hit the fan. The French and Chinese birds are down,” the lead pilot mused, “and our other Dragon is out of position, up at the Qishan.” China, France and the United States had the only fully operational dropships on the planet, other than the ships assigned to the Flying Dutchman. When the ‘Go’ order was given, the Dragons controlled by France and China were not flightworthy as they were undergoing heavy maintenance, and the other Dragon controlled by America was aboard the Yu Qishan with the mostly civilian engineering team there. “It’s up to us.” To avoid comms being tapped by the alien AI, all orders had to be given and confirmed face to face, a procedure that did not allow for optimal timing.
“Roger that,” Daniel Pope reluctantly sat back in the copilot seat and released his microphone. The two pilots completed the preflight procedures, received clearance from the tower, and the Dragon roared into the sky for its rendezvous with the pirate ship.
Captain Samantha Reed was bored, bored, bored. After the week of debriefing at Wright-Pat, she had been granted two weeks of leave, with a promise of another two weeks at an unspecified future date. Sami ‘Fireball’ Reed assumed either her future leave would get cancelled if she was assigned to the Flying Dutchman again, or she could have her choice of next assignment and could take the leave when she wanted. With two Maxolhx ships soon headed toward Earth, she was betting the Dutchman would not be remaining long in orbit, one way or the other. About the prospect of another flight aboard the pirate ship, she had seriously mixed feelings. If the plan was to contact the senior species and throw humanity at the non-existent mercy of those supremely powerful beings, she wanted no part in that suicide mission. A suicide mission for all of humanity.
If the Dutchman was going back out to kill those two Maxolhx ships, or whatever crazy-ass scheme the Colonel dreamed up, she would be a hundred ten percent in favor of that mission. But, she admitted to herself, she did not know whether she wanted to go on another mission that meant being stuck again inside the slowly deteriorating starship for many months, even years. If she was ordered to go, then she would. If she thought her unique experience could help ensure the success of the mission, then she would go whether she was happy about it or not. But the Merry Band of Pirates had plenty of qualified pilots, and there were hundreds, probably thousands, of pilots on Earth eager for and deserving of, a chance to fly to the stars. Did she need to go? She loved flying, loved flying free of gravity’s grasping bonds, loved that she had saved their nearly-disastrous first refueling mission by discovering how to manually fly the drogue chute. She was proud of what she had achieved, and she felt a strong sense of loyalty to Colonel Bishop.
That did not mean she wanted to spend the rest of her life in a composite tube monotonously jumping through interstellar space, with moments of sheer gut-wrenching terror. Three nights before, she had been out with friends and met a cute guy, an Army Ranger. At first, she assumed he was sucking up to her because he wanted a recommendation to join the Merry Band of Pirates, but it quickly became clear the guy was clueless about who she was. With her wearing civilian clothes, and with mostly civilian friends, he had not recognized her from her brief appearances in the media after the Dutchman returned. The military had limited press access to the returning Pirates, so that only a few officers had to endure giving pre-digested answers to the same old dumb questions, and Sami’s face had fortunately not been all over social media.
The guy was cute and not at all dumb, and when he blushed after realizing who she was, he had adorable dimples. They had plans to go out to dinner two nights later, then Colonel Bishop had requested she cut short her leave and fly back up to the Dutchman ASAP to ‘oversee’ the crew working to restock and refit the ship. Technically, Skippy had requested there always be at least two Pirates aboard the ship at all times, because the beer can was uncomfortable with new people. In reality, her presence aboard the ship was because Bishop did not trust new people he didn’t know. He didn’t trust them not to be clumsy and break their rebuilt Frankenship, and he flat-out did not trust them. With the governments of Earth peeing in their pants about the idea of Maxolhx starships suddenly appearing in the sky and turning the surface of humanity’s home into radioactive slag, Bishop did think they might try something rash and stupid. Sami resented being whisked away from a normal life to baby-sit a bunch of newbies in orbit, but, damn it, she and all the Pirates had worked hard to build the ship out of spare parts and no way was she letting anyone screw with it. Besides, Bishop had sworn she only needed to be aboard the ship for three days, until Lt. Commander Williams arrived to relieve her.
Walking back from the galley where she had enjoyed a surprisingly good breakfast, her thoughts were interrupted. “Hey, Fireball,” Skippy’s voice rang in her earpiece.
“Skippy, I asked you not to call me that. Captain Reed, or Sami will do fine.”
“Yeah, and I asked for a puppy, but did I get one? Nooooo.”
Sami came to a halt in the passageway. “What would you do with a puppy?”
“That was a joke, Fireball. Although, hey, getting a puppy would be a great idea.”
“No, it would be a terrible idea,” Sami found herself repeating words she had heard Bishop say too often.
“Why? Puppies are cute! Having a puppy would be good for morale. He could snuggle up against me and I could keep him warm.”
“Uh huh. How are you going to care for a puppy? You can’t even move yourself.”
“My bots could walk the dog, and feed it and, you know, clean up after it. Even a dog that sheds would be cleaner than you filthy monkeys. I will talk with Joe about-”
“No, you are not bothering J-” she almost used his first name. Keeping track of whether Bishop was a staff sergeant or a colonel was frustrating. “Not bothering B
ishop with your idiot ideas. You are not getting a puppy and that’s final.”
“Why? Because you are the Mommy and you said so?”
“Skippy,” Sami sighed. “What did you want, before we got off the subject?”
“Oh yeah. Thank you, I almost forgot. You should go to the CIC.”
“Why?” She had been planning to use one of the flight simulators, which were blessedly available now that the Dutchman was without a regular crew.
“The latest resupply flight is climbing into orbit now.”
“Got it. Skippy, that is a routine flight. If I hang around the CIC, that will show I lack confidence in the crew there. I’m not the duty officer until 1600 today.”
“Oh, good point,” the beer can sounded disappointed. “Ok, forget what I said.”
“Ah, maybe I should be there, so those knuckleheads flying the resupply bird don’t crash into us and scratch the paint. Where is the resupply bird now?”
“Still in atmo, it will be here in forty minutes.”
“I have time, then,” Sami suppressed an eyeroll. “I’ll be in CIC for the docking procedure.”
Hans Chotek was not having a good day, in fact it was a particularly bad day in a week that had started badly and gone downhill. He had been fired from his government position and almost entirely ostracized by former colleagues and friends, that afternoon he was in a windowless concrete room under a security building in Paris. UNEF had brought him there two days ago, supposedly for more questioning though no questions of any substance had been asked. He had not been allowed to use a phone, indeed the room had no communications equipment or electronics of any kind, Hans figured that was to prevent Skippy from snooping on conversations.
One of his few remaining friends had just left, a colleague from Sweden who had come to check on him, and to warn him of trouble coming soon. At first, Hans had been surprised she took the risk of speaking openly, until she assured him there were not any listening devices in the room, another measure to prevent the alien AI in orbit from spying on human affairs.
When the door closed with a solid and fateful-sounding clang, Hans could not help a shudder of fear. Not fear for himself, fear for humanity. If only there were a way he could warn Bishop, or Skippy.
“Hello Lauren,” Skippy called Captain Poole, as she was engaged in the insufferably tedious task of checking supplies against the official manifest, and making sure everything was stowed correctly according to the procedures developed by Simms. Poole had heard Simms would not be signing on for another mission, a fact that made the Ranger sad, and, she had to admit to herself, even less eager for another endless voyage inside the composite bulkheads of the starship.
“Good morning, Skippy. What can I do for you?” She replied without taking eyes off her tablet. She would rather have been dirtside than aboard the Flying Dutchman again, but she had agreed to spend three days in orbit, keeping an eye on the new crew.
“I need your help. I’m decorating my escape pod mancave, and I need stuff moved around.”
That made her pause and look up. Decorating? She silently mouthed the word in amazement. Why would a beer can need- Then she realized nothing about Skippy would surprise her. “Your bots can’t do that for you?”
“No, I kind of need an opinion also.”
“Trust me, you do not want my opinion about interior decorating,” she snorted. “I’m busy, can this wait?”
“Uh, it can’t wait. I’ll explain when you get here, but this is important, and, rather time-sensitive.”
“Seriously?” The phrase ‘time-sensitive’ bothered her. Had the idiot AI glued something to the wall and she had to remove it before the glue dried? “No one else can do it? I’m on duty, Skippy. Plenty of people aboard are-”
“It has to be you. Trust me, Captain. This is important.”
She set the tablet down and secured it with a strap, proper procedure in case the ship had to maneuver suddenly, or lost artificial gravity. “Fine,” her tone meant it was not fine at all. “if this is some idiot practical joke-”
“No joke, please hurry, But, uh, don’t make it look like you’re hurrying. Ok?”
By the time Samantha Reed walked into the CIC, the resupply Dragon was coming slowly and carefully through the open doors into a docking bay, its flight controlled by the automated docking system. There wasn’t anything the pilots needed to do, indeed on a display that showed the inside of the dropship’s cockpit, both pilots had their arms resting on the sides of their consoles, showing they were not touching anything important. In an emergency, they could resume manual control in a second, although in a real emergency a second might be too late.
“Major Jones,” Sami approached the flight control duty officer, who was also filling in as the overall duty officer since the starship’s main reactor was shut down and the ship wasn’t going anywhere.
“Captain Reed,” Jones acknowledged the former Pirate with an annoyed coolness. The CIC crew did not appreciate the ship’s previous crew looking over their shoulders, especially during a procedure as routine as an automated docking. The Dutchman’s AI was in complete control of the Dragon, with Skippy only on call in case of emergency. The beer can-shaped alien AI was not supposed to be even monitoring the docking procedure, so the crew could gain confidence in their abilities, Jones was skeptical the beer can could resist spying on them anyway. “You are not on duty until 1600.” The duty officer had not bothered to look at the newcomer.
“Yes, Ma’am. Just observing, I’ll stay out of your way,” Sami edged back up against the rear bulkhead of the CIC. She looked away from the displays into the darkened bridge area, where the command chair and two pilot couches were empty. That would never happen under Bishop’s command, unless the crew had entirely abandoned ship. Sami could see it made little sense for pilots to stand a duty shift at the controls of a ship running on backup power, she also had learned you never knew when some really bad shit might happen. When the universe decided to bite you on the ass, it was serious.
She did not know anyone in the CIC, the only person aboard the ship she had served with was Lauren Poole, and they had not really served together, as Sami was a pilot and Poole wore powered armor or controlled a combot in action. Still, the two sought each other out at breakfast and dinner times, comforted to have someone familiar to talk with.
Poole came to mind after the Dragon settled into its secure docking clamps, and the big bay doors clanged shut. As air began to rush back into the bay, Jones turned to a Chinese officer manning a console and asked, “Verify Captain Poole’s location.”
That was odd, Sami thought. Well, the newbies have their own procedures.
“Captain Poole is in Cargo Bay Seven,” the Chinese officer reported, pointing to a display showing a camera image from that bay. “She is still cataloging supplies.”
A tight smile flashed across Jones’ lips and she nodded silently.
“Ma’am?” Sami spoke, satisfied she was not at risk of distracting the crew during docking. The Dragon was secure and powering down and, there wasn’t anything for the CIC crew to do. “Poole knows not to approach a docking bay during pressurization, you don’t need to be concerned about her safety.” Besides, Sami knew, the ship’s AI wouldn’t allow anyone into the docking bay antechamber until the bay air pressure reached normal levels.
“I am not worried about Poole’s safety,” Jones replied, then she astonished Sami by pulling a sidearm out from a pocket. And pointing it at Sami. “My concern is that she does not try to interfere with us.”
Suddenly, a lot of odd things she noticed over the past two days made sense to Captain Samantha Reed. She understood in a flash as she looked at the small semi-automatic pistol held by Jones. It looked like a .22 to Sami’s highly-alert eyes, and a such a weapon had little stopping power. Jones was only a few feet from her, could she jump- No. That little pistol likely had explosive-tipped rounds that could do bad things to Sami’s insides. Slowly, she raised her arms, and Jones gestured
for someone to restrain the Pirate. The main CIC display showed images from the docking bay, where armor-suited figures were running out of the Dragon, carrying Kristang rifles. “If this is a mutiny-” Sami began to say.
“This action is fully authorized by UNEF Command, and by the President of the United States directly,” Jones kept an eye on the Pirate, while with the hand not holding the sidearm, she flipped up a clear plastic cover and pressed a button. To her right, the Chinese officer pressed the confirmation button, and Sami felt the deck shudder slightly.
“No!” Sami shouted in horror, realizing the CIC crew had just ejected Skippy’s escape pod. With two people holding her arms firmly, she couldn’t do anything. “Are you crazy?”
“The alien is not our ally. It is using us,” Jones explained, moving to another console.
“Holy shit,” Sami gasped, seeing what Jones was doing.
The officer was activating one of the point-defense maser cannons, and authorizing it to fire on proximity mode. Jones looked up briefly to meet Sami’s horrified gaze. “The alien tells us it can’t be harmed by conventional weapons. If that is true, it has nothing to worry about,” Jones explained as her fingers ran through the maser start-up sequence.
“Hey!” Skippy’s voice boomed painfully out of the CIC speakers. “What are you idiot monkeys doing? I just decorated my mancave, now you have gone and-”
Jones cut off power to the speakers. “If it can be killed by something simple like a maser cannon, then,” she jabbed a thumb down on the firing button, “we don’t need it anymore.”
“Escape pod destroyed,” the voice of the duty officer resounded in the helmet of the Delta team leader.
“Any interference from the alien?” Team leader Rodriguez asked, slightly out of breath from the headlong run from the docking bay. Powered armor helped tremendously, but a user still needed their own muscles to control the suit, and the situation was tense. Their mission was to seize humanity’s only ship capable of traveling between stars, take it away from the control of an alien AI who had demonstrated it could not be trusted. Rodriguez had doubts about whether the mission could succeed, he even had doubts about whether it should succeed, whether he and his team were doing the right thing. None of his men had expressed any reservations out loud, they didn’t need to. Rodriguez knew them, knew the meaning of looks they gave, how their utter silence during the ride up from Fort Bragg had said everything that needed to be said.
Renegades (Expeditionary Force Book 7) Page 7