by Rob Dearsley
The screens blank and the lights come up.
The sudden end to the simulation jars me almost more than the battle. The step-change leaves my head spinning.
Bates claps as he walks through the simulated bridge. “Good work.” His smile is as wide as I’ve ever seen it. “You’ve passed your final test, Commander Hale.”
He produces a small velvet box and passes it to me. I crack it open. The light glints off the new rank insignia.
That’s when his words hit. Commander. I’m a full commander now. All that work and training – months of training and exams to even get to the ship-link stage – is finally all worth it.
The captain extends his hand. His handshake is firm, I’d expect nothing less. “That was some good work. I’m looking for a new XO. The position is yours if you want it.”
I look between him and Bates. Is this another test?
“It’s a genuine offer,” Bates says. “You have twelve hours to think about it.” He passes me his flex. It contains information on the assignment.
I’ll be going with my new rank, joining the captain as Executive Officer on one of the heavy cruisers, the Heimdall.
Thirteen
(Liberty Station, Nowhere)
Niels followed Captain Lloyd into a stateroom nearly as big as the Montgomery’s briefing room and definitely much bigger than his quarters. A pair of sofas flanked a low table and looked out through the window toward the framework arms of the Gateway. Jenna drifted over to the breakfast nook. Stars, was that fresh coffee?
“Jen?”
She looked up from her flex. “I’ll bring you a cup, sir.”
“Thanks.” Niels lowered himself onto the sofa, stretching his leg out.
Lloyd settled onto the opposite sofa. “I’m sorry about the Senate. Don’t take it personally, they always end up rowing back and forth. Although it was quicker than normal this time.” A flash of white teeth as he smiled.
Niels’s reveal of the SDF’s mission to Terra Prime had garnered him some support, but people against the idea, or just against the Senators who supported it, were vocal enough to derail the negotiations into circular bickering. That was when Lloyd and Slater had escorted them from the chambers.
Lloyd seemed like a good sort. He was someone Niels could work with. Being military probably helped. If it had been down to the two of them, they’d probably have a deal by now. “System’s government is no better.”
Jenna brought a pair of steaming mugs over from the breakfast nook. Both men took the offered, coffee. Niels inhaling the scent. Damn, it was fresh. He sipped the hot liquid. Divine.
Lloyd sipped his own drink, closing his eyes.
“Why are you here?” Niels asked.
Lloyd cocked his head, inspecting Niels. “Playing sheepdog. I mean providing close protection.”
“A fighter pilot providing close protection?” Jenna sipped her own coffee.
“I guess Slater and I kind of volunteered when we pulled you out of that protest. It’s what we do.” Lloyd’s eyes moved to track something outside the large windows at the back of the room.
Niels started to turn.
“Down!” Lloyd grabbed Niels, pulling him down, the coffee spilling across the table and floor.
The windows exploded, hailing them with fist-sized nodules of shattered glass. A beat later the shock of decompression hit them. Furniture tumbled toward the shattered windows, as tracer fire ripped through the stateroom.
He’d lost sight of Jenna in all the mess. Please let her be okay. Heavy shutters slammed down over the window, the last of the weapons fire pinging off the metal, denting it. The whole thing only took a couple of seconds.
For a moment Niels lay there, gasping for breath. “Jenna? Sound off?” Lloyd helped him up.
Damn, the room was a wreck, the sofas and table scattered. The breakfast nook had taken a direct hit and was a smoking ruin. “Jenna?”
Still no reply.
“I got her.” Lloyd pulled one of the sofas aside.
Jenna lay there, her arms splayed at an awkward angle, shards of her flex embedded into her side. Starless night, she looked so pale. Like a doll, tossed aside and broken.
Seeing her like that brought Niels’s anger rising. “What in all the hells happened?”
“Damn fighter fired through the windows.” Lloyd bent and checked Jenna’s pulse, pulling his com from his pocket with the other hand. “Medics to the visitor’s suit. Deck five.”
“Is she?” Niles wiped blood from his forehead. He didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t.
“She’s alive. It’s all I can say. Medics will be here in a moment.” As he finished speaking the doors hissed open and a pair of medical officers rushed in, pushing the pilot aside as they clustered around Jenna.
“What’s going on? Is she okay?” Niels demanded.
“Please let us work, sir.” The medic pulled an oxygen mask from his bag, slipping it over Jenna’s face, while the other strapped an IV to her arm before rushing out for a gurney.
As he came back in the medic glanced over at Niels. “She’s stable. We need to move her to the med bay.”
Niels nodded, still in shock, watching the medics load Jenna onto the gurney and wheel her from the room. She looked broken, so small.
“We’re coming with you.” Lloyd guided Niles from the room and down the corridor after the young girl. “Slater, meet me in the medical bay.”
Niels frowned, looking around before he realised Lloyd was talking on his com. Damn it was cold out here. Niels rubbed his arms, suppressing a shiver.
“Here.” Lloyd slipped his jacket over Niels’s shoulders.
“Thanks,” Niels said. The pilot’s jacket pushed back the cold.
Slater met them at the entrance to the medical compartment, her eyes followed Jenna on the gurney. “What the bloody hells happened? It looks like someone tried to blow you all up?”
“Yes,” Lloyd clapped her on the shoulder, pulling her off to one side. “Some git shot out the windows with a Hound. I need you to stay with them while I find out who did this.”
“They shot up the station with one of our fighters. When you find out who did it, bring them by so I can introduce my boot to their ass.” Slater followed them into the med bay, she seemed angrier than Lloyd, who was taking the whole thing remarkably well.
Leaving the pilots behind, Niels started into the medical wing and cast about for Jenna. She’d looked so small when the medics had taken her. There she was. Relief at the sight of the young officer washed over Niels. He rushed over to Jenna’s still form. She looked almost the same shade of grey as the sheets. One of the green-clad medics attended to wounds in her side. Niels caught his attention. “Please, how is she?”
The medic pressed a dressing to one of the wounds. “She’s broken a leg and both arms and has a collapsed lung. We’ve got to get the shrapnel out before we can use nanite infusions to heal the internal damage. Don’t worry, we’ve got this.”
She was going to be alright – as close to as doctors ever admitted anyway. Niels felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Warmth returned to his shaking hands. As his mind thawed, anger moved in to fill the void. How dare they? What had she ever done to them? She didn’t deserve any of this.
He reached out, touching her hand. Brushing the tips of his fingers against hers. Damn it, someone was going to pay for this.
◊◊
Lloyd marched into the hangar deck. Five Wolfhound light attack craft nestled down on their landing gear. The end space was empty. Crap. Someone had taken one of their fighters and turned it against the station. He’d been holding out hope someone had brought the fighter in from outside.
He grabbed one of the flight techs as the orange-jumpsuited man passed him. “Where’s Beta-three?”
“Not sure, sir. It was out when I came on shift.”
“When was that?” Lloyd kept hold of the man’s arm.
The tech looked up at the wall display. “About half an hour
ago, sir. Is that all?” He looked down at Lloyd’s hand, still clamped around his biceps.
“Thanks.” Lloyd let the man go and walked toward Beta-three’s landing pad, squatting on his haunches to inspect the pad. The pad was empty and clean. Just red paint on the rough crete of the floor. He ran his hands over the deck, the lengthways lines in the crete evidence of the station’s in-situ-printed construction.
He wasn’t sure what he expected to find. Some oil spill or trace residue that would point to who took the craft. Like in his books. He imagined himself in one of those long coats, the collar pulled up around his ears, the ember of a cigarette clenched between his lips.
It wasn’t like that in real life. He’d be jailed if he even thought about smoking in a closed environment like the station, and he didn’t have his normal flight coat, the constant chill in the station’s air cut through his long-sleeved undershirt. And, of course, there was no ‘evidence’ apart from a distinct lack of Wolfhound.
He pushed himself up, looking around the bay, as though the Marlow-esque flash of insight would come from above.
The black half-sphere of the sensor domes looked back at him. Blank bar their blinking red activity lights. He was a muppet for not thinking of it before.
Lloyd hurried from the bay toward flight control.
A short flight of stairs led up to the flight control room. Lloyd took them two at a time in his hurry. At the top, he scanned the long room. Banks of windows looked out into space, the glow of the open hanger bays just below them. Consoles lined the wall beneath the window, while status displays ran along the wall behind him.
A controller, a woman with Lieutenant’s stripes, looked up from her console. “Sir? Can I help you with something?”
“Yeah.” Lloyd smiled glancing down at her name tag. “Lt. Foster, where’s Wolf Beta-three?”
She whipped her head up to look him in the face. “What?”
“Beta-three’s out. Where? Who took it?” He pressed.
“Sorry, sir. It was gone when I came on shift-”
“At twenty-one-hundred hours?” Lloyd smelt a rat.
“Yes. Hang on, I’ll check the logs.” She flicked through screens on her console, a frown wrinkling her forehead. Then she flicked back the other way, her frown deepening. Then back again.
“What is it?” He leaned in to read over her shoulder.
She looked over. Their faces close enough he could smell the sweet scent of her perfume. “There’s, umm-” She coughed and pulled away. “There’s nothing here.”
What the heck? Whoever had done this was thorough and smart, taking the ship during a shift change, and scrubbing the logs. That took access. Someone high up the food chain was involved. But who? He pushed back from the console raking his hands through his hair.
“Can you bring up the sensor feeds from the flight deck?”
“Sure thing.” She shot him a smile and pushed back, rolling her chair to the far side of the room and flicked her fingers across the controls. “Up there.” She pointed to the big display above her head.
Lloyd looked up, unconsciously shifting to parade rest. The screen flickered and came up with the optical feeds from the hanger deck. The timestamp read 20:53, seven minutes before Foster had come on shift. Although, she might be leading him up the garden path. In on it, with whoever took the fighter? He glanced down her waist, her chest. No sign of concealed weapons.
Stars, this wasn’t some cheap thriller, there was a normal explanation.
Beta-three was still there. Time scrolled on.
“You want the overlays?” Foster asked.
“Go for it.” Although if whoever did this was using optical cammo then they were in real trouble.
The timestamp flickered from 20:57 to 21:00.
“Wind that back.”
Foster complied, winding the feedback, and then letting it run back to the stutter.
Her long fingers danced over the controls advancing the feed slowly until the stutter. “There’s three minutes missing sir. I can’t see anything in access logs.”
Three minutes. Was it long enough to do pre-flight and launch? Maybe, but you’d have to be an experienced pilot.
“What about the external feeds?” Maybe whoever had taken the Hound wouldn’t have thought of them. Pretty slim chance, but it was worth a look. Foster’s hands danced over the console and the screen changed to show the view outside the station, a similar angle as that from the windows.
The time stamp scrolled forward past 20:57. At 20.59 the aggressively hunched form of the Wolfhound appeared from the bay, pitching around to the right. Giving them a brilliant view of its underside and the empty weapons bays.
That sucked.
“Sorry, sir.”
“No worries, Foster.” He walked over to the windows and looked out. Imagining the fighter swinging past, keeping its cockpit facing away from the station.
Wait. Its weapon racks were empty. Without anything on the cards, the fighters wouldn’t be loaded and three minutes definitely wasn’t enough time to hook up the weapons racks. So, where had they loaded up?
“Hey, can you track the Hound on external sensors?”
Foster flicked through displays on her console, before throwing the feed up onto the main screen again. The scanner showed a planar view of the colony dark circles of various sizes marking the stations while smaller callouts scribed across the system. Ships running back and forth between the stations.
The Hounds should have triangular callouts. There weren’t any. He scanned again, more carefully this time. No, nothing.
“Sorry, sir. No sign of it on optical either.”
He placed a hand on Foster’s shoulder. “Thanks anyway.” Lloyd started toward the stairs. He needed a different perspective.
A different, perspective.
“Foster, if anything comes up call me direct.”
Excited, Lloyd ran for the admin section and an external com-link.
There were dozens of ships in system, they’d all have their scanners running. Although one of those ships had armed the Wolfhound and who knew how many others might be in on it.
The only ships he could be certain weren’t in on it – the only ships he could trust – were the SDF picket ships, and Niels’s flagship, the Montgomery.
He tapped a control, locking the office door and dropped into his chair. He didn’t want to be disturbed for this. He brought up the com-link on his console and opened an encrypted line to the Montgomery. This was going to be a fun conversation.
“Montgomery actual,” said the fresh-faced young ensign.
“I’m Captain Lloyd of the Nowhere Defence Force. There’s been an incident on Liberty station and I need access to any scanner logs you have of the incident.
The ensign’s eyes narrowed, inspecting Lloyd. He clearly didn’t like the idea of sharing data with ‘the enemy’. “I’ll pass you on to the captain.”
The screen flickered to the revolving SDF logo and remained there for a couple of minutes. Lloyd leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. Should he tell the captain about Niels’s involvement? It might get him access to the logs, or it might get a squad of SDF shock troops barging their way through the station to extract Niels. It was a risk.
The screen flashed away from the logo onto a gruff, square-jawed captain.
“Captain, Lloyd. If this is to do with the fighter attack, the SDF bares no responsibility. Our scanner logs clearly show the fighter leaving your flight bay.”
“You saw it? Can you send me the scanner feeds?”
“You don’t believe me. Check your own bloody scanners?” the captain snapped, still on the defensive.
“I can’t,” Lloyd snapped back. No. He had to stop, calm down. Getting pithy with the SDF captain wasn’t going to help anything. He needed to bring this down a notch. “I know someone took one of our Hounds and attacked the station with it. They’ve scrubbed the station logs. I need data I know I can trust.”
&nbs
p; The Montgomery’s captain leaned back. “I’m sending you the scanner logs now. What aren’t you telling me?”
Lloyd’s screen split, one half showing the Captain, the other showing the standard system map.
The triangular callout for Beta-three broke away from Liberty Station, flying out through the mass of capital ships sat in a holding pattern beyond the station's defence perimeter. It briefly merged with one of the larger ships before flying back toward the station, closing on the guest quarters.
As it drew closer the callout flashed red, the ship firing, shooting at him and Niels. Before continuing around to the far side of the station. There weren’t any docking bays on that side. But there were the old cargo bays and they did have space doors.
But the space doors on those bays hadn’t been opened since the station was properly commissioned. They didn’t even have static fields installed.
When the display cycled back to the start the Montgomery’s captain spoke. “The ship it docked with was the Hyperion, listed as a cargo ship on our records. It entered the system five days ago. According to my data, we didn’t search it due to a medical emergency on board.” He gave Lloyd a pointed look. “Apparently, the Nowhere fighter escort objected to the emergency being dealt with on the picket ships.”
Ignoring the jibe, Lloyd pulled up the Nowhere ship listings on his flex, flicking through the listings until he found the Hyperion. “As you say, it’s a cargo haulier.” He scanned the ship’s registration entry. “Interesting.”
“What’s that?”
Lloyd looked up; he hadn’t realised he’d spoken aloud. “Our records show it’s registered to Starlight Industries.”
“Mine too. What of it?”
“The attack on the picket ships last week. It was a Starlight registered ship as well.” The answer didn’t cost Lloyd anything and distracted the other captain from probing that might lead him to Niels’s involvement.
“You think Starlight has something to do with this?”
“Maybe,” Lloyd said.
“There’s more to this that you’re not telling me.” The Captain leaned toward the pickup. “Was Admiral Niels involved?”