“Yes, Captain.”
For the next two hours, Krag did busy work and thought about Keiko. She confused him. Here was this tiny woman that fought like a banshee, never retreating, never giving up. She was tough and smart. Then she would flash moments of kindness and humor. It took a while, but in the privacy of Griffin she talked, voiced opinions, joked. When it came time for him to take command she became the loyal subordinate, following directions and treating him with respect and honorifics. In public, she was almost subservient, assuming the role of dutiful female, led and protected by the dominant male. But when the time came, she would shed that role and assume the proper role that brought success.
Yes, she confused him. But she also stirred him. The solitary space pilot was growing comfortable having her around. She held her own in Nuevo Aires. She showed competency and efficiency. Her situational instincts were solid. He was beginning to trust this tiny Asian woman. He was beginning to depend on her. He was beginning to like her.
For the next two hours, Keiko sat quietly joyous. Sitting in the co-pilot pod, she felt as though she belonged. The captain had allowed her to take Griffin out of orbit and pilot it towards their destination. He trusted her enough to leave her at the helm. He relied on her to monitor his ship and make decisions. She felt right sitting in this position. She felt right being around Krag.
He didn’t treat her like a doll or a pet. He didn’t try to control her. He listened to her. He let her contribute. And now, he trusted her with his ship.
Neither of them knew it, but this seven hour flight became a transformative moment in the lives of two singular, solitary individuals.
* * * * *
At the end of two hours, Krag returned to the flight deck. The professional formality of the hand-off was thicker than any ocean fogbank. Krag and Keiko, surprised by their own emotional revelations, wrapped themselves in protocol and courtesy.
After two more hours of duel introspection, the switching of positions occurred exactly as before-formal and polite.
An hour before the scheduled arrival at the shipyards, Krag returned to the flight deck and took his place in the command pod.
“Keiko, I will take us in. Would you like to fly second chair and monitor the procedure?”
“I would love to, Captain.”
“I have the stick.” Modern spacecraft had no control stick. But the anachronistic acknowledgement of transferring control of a vessel still found its way into the modern lexicon.
“You have the stick,” Keiko acknowledged.
Krag pressed a sequence of icons on his display screen and all of the ship’s control transferred to his command. Keiko continued to monitor her own display and absorbed the sequence of commands and procedures that her captain executed as he flew through the asteroid belt, hailed the hidden landing hanger, guided his ship in and landed. Krag had brought the Griffin in stern first, resulting in the nose pointing towards the now-closed hanger doors.
As Krag powered down, he heard over Griffin’s intercom, ”Boyo, boyo, open up my baby and let me see how badly you’ve abused her.”
Krag smiled and dropped the cargo bay ramp. Climbing out of the command pod, he tapped the pilot’s pod and announced, “Welcome to the Gregor Shipyards, Keiko. Let’s go meet a true Irish curmudgeon.”
Keiko pulled herself out and followed Krag through the ship and to the ramp where the fiftyish, stocky, salt-and-pepper-haired Hank was just entering the ship, followed by a younger version of himself.
Reaching Krag and Keiko, Hank smiled a big grin, held out both arms and clasped Krag’s extended hand in both of his. Pumping his arm, Hank welcomed, “Krag, me lad. I hear good things about you and what you’ve done with my ship. I hope you didn’t break anything.” Releasing his grip, Hank turned to Keiko. “And this must be the magical Mz. Suzume.”
Keiko shot Krag a questioning look. Krag responded, “Keiko, this is Hank McCauley, the terror of the shipyards. Hank, this is Keiko Suzume, procurer of hard-to-get objects.”
Keiko gave a slight head bow and Hank carefully nodded back. “That’s as good a label as anyone could think up. Sounds all kinds of impressive. You need it on your web card. And this is my boy, Hank, Jr. But don’t call him ‘Junior’ he’ll grind his teeth and glare.” Hank’s chiding humor was obvious. “Call him ‘Mack’. He goes by ‘Mack’.” Hank said this as he put a hand on his son’s back and guided him forward. “You’ll like him, Krag. He’s smarter than me and really knows his way around a ship.”
“No one’s smarter than you, Hank,” Krag answered. Turning to Keiko, he continued, “This old dog is the guy who put my ship together. No one else in the Federacy could have done it.”
“Blimey. I’m going to blush. You’re just laying it on for more free toys. But, I’ve got bad news for you, boyo. I don’t work on ships anymore. I’m the head cheese around here now. I run the place. So no freebies from me.” Hank said the last with a wink. “Now you’ve got to butter up me boy.”
Pointing to Krag, Hank introduced, “Mack, this is Captain Krag Marston, formerly a major in the Federacy’s space fleet. He flew fighters.”
“Ya. I know um. I remember Major Marston from about five years ago, when he brought Griffin for upgrades. Hell, Major Marston.” Hank’s son, Mack, held out his hand.
“Just Krag, now. Or Captain, Mack.” Krag took the proffered hand and shook it.
Opening his hand towards Keiko, Hank continued, “This is Keiko Suzume. We know absolutely nothing about her. To everyone but a chosen few, she is nothing but a whisper. But Mr. Gregor refers to her as royalty. So be polite. Captain Marston, not so much.”
“Now, let’s see my ship.” Krag flicked a look at Keiko as Hank voiced his command.
Krag and Keiko followed as Hank led his son through the Griffin. The tour took the better part of four hours, with Hank constantly commenting and describing. Mack had his data pad out and for the whole time furiously entered notes, thoughts and ideas. Halfway through they reached the galley where Krag called for drinks and they all paused for a timeout.
“So, what do you think, Mack?” Hank asked as the four of them sat around the table.
Hesitantly, the thirty-something man began. “Well, seeing how you reinforced the ship’s frame and reactor mounts, integrated the fusion drives and worked over the gravity mags, that must have been a bitch. Keeping everything balanced on the exponential power curve, that had to be crazy hard.”
“See, I told you he was wicked smart,” Hank beamed at Krag and Keiko. “He’s got a good feel for the heart of a ship. You can’t learn that.” Turning back to his boy, he asked, “What else?”
“Weaponry. It isn’t bombardment caliber, but it’s fast and nasty. I like the Gatling rail guns. But there’s no way that a pilot could work them and fly the ship. You must have done something else to the system.”
“See? Smart.” Again Hank preened to his audience. “We did, Mack. You’ll see when we get to the bridge.”
“Why haven’t I seen the design specs on this ship, Pa?” Mack asked.
“The Captain and his toy are Mr. Gregor’s secret Son. Very few people know about him. And those that do know keep real quiet.” Hank continued, almost apologetically to his son, “Up until now, I am the only one who was allowed to see the full schematics. Hell, I wrote them. But now, you get to be number two.” Hank said that last as he pulled his data pad out of a thigh picket
Mack looked mollified as he held up his data pad. Hank, who had been running the tour straight from memory, touched his pad to Mack’s. It took seconds before the completion ding. Mack looked at his panel, fingered through multiple pages, grunted and hibernated his pad.
“This is good stuff, Pa. I’ll need some time to work through it.”
“You’ll get it. Now, back to the tour.”
After the tour’s conclusion, the four were back at the ramp with Mack furiously tapping at his pad. Krag and Keiko stood waiting. Hank asked, “We have suites here. Would you like to have
us prepare one for you?”
Krag looked at Keiko. She gave a small negative head shake. “No,” Krag responded. “We’re pretty comfortable onboard. But, thanks.”
“Ok. But you’re coming to dinner at my place. Tomorrow night. That’s an order,” Hank half joked.
Again, Krag glanced at Keiko. He got a head nod. “We’ll be there.”
“Good. Tomorrow morning, we have things to go over and new equipment for your latest escapade. Say Nine?”
Keiko nodded. Krag answered. “Works for me. Nine it is.”
Hands were shaken all around. Krag and Keiko were left standing, watching the irascible engineer and his son as they walked the ramp and disappeared around the ship.
For Krag and Keiko, the rest of the evening was a simple supper in the galley, soft conversation and retreating to their perspective cabins to study Shelly’s intel.
* * * * *
The next morning, promptly at nine, found the two refreshed and waiting for Hank, morning drinks in hand and data pads in thigh pockets.
Hank pulled up in a loader, towing a hauling cart. Mack sat next to him. A double-humped bulge hid under a large canvas. Jumping out of the cab, Hank skipped around to the small trailer. Mack reached the other side at the same time. They both grabbed a forward corner and majestically pulled the covering off their prizes.
“Holly shit,” Krag exclaimed. Then he looked apologetically at Keiko. She shrugged. Where did you get those?”
“You like?”
The four of them were looking at two top secret, highly clandestine infiltration vehicles. The single seat flyers were technically named ‘Covert Entry and Return Vehicles’, or CERVEs. These two were currently sitting on their landing struts in the hauler bed with their wings rotated and laying against the little planes’ fuselages. Krag had heard about them but had never seen one, let alone two.
“I like,” was his only answer.
“Have you ever flown one?”
“Never.”
“Then let’s get started.” Hank flicked a hand at his boy who scrambled into the loader’s cab, released the hitch and came around to lift the first CERVE. Once the loader’s two tongues were under the plane, he backed up, drove up the Griffin’s ramp and carefully lowered it onto the cargo bay’s deck. The other three watched as Mack repeated the action.
Once the second was resting on its landing skids and Mack had reconnected the loader to the hauler, the four of them walked back up the ramp to admire the small, very expensive, very illegal stealth planes.
“We also got the schematics, flight manuals and all security access protocols,” Hank boasted. Pulling out his data pad, he continued. “Here.” Krag and Keiko each held out theirs, touched and received the data pack.
Pointing to each of the planes, Hank began. “Mr. Gregor said that you like birds, Keiko. So we named these beauties ‘Sparrow’ and ‘Hawk’.” He got nods of approval from both Keiko and Krag. “These planes are designed for low orbit insertion and pickup. So you launch from space, glide through the atmosphere, land and jet back out into space. They’re four meters long and, with the wings extended, two and a half meters wide. These babies weigh less than a thousand pounds. So you can pull them around on their wheels like a wagon.”
Walking around to the front and pointing underneath, “They have hybrid scramjets that can fly both below and above supersonic levels. This cuts down on fuel requirements and increases the speed capabilities. A word to the wise. Running subsonic will blow through your fuel in less than an hour. So don’t do it. Supersonic, you can go for more than four hours. Also, you need to brute-force your launch from a parked status in a gravity well. So you have only about ten minutes of subsonic flying time or about two hours of supersonic flying time before you run out of enough fuel to achieve orbit. Top speed is mach five, or five times the speed of sound. These planes can go faster, but you would black out.”
Hank walked back to the side of one of the planes, pressed a button and the canopy hydraulically hissed open. “The cockpit is fully survival designed. It’s pressurized and has its own oxygen supply. But you’ll want to wear flight gear for the gee’s and emergencies. Since these planes are so small and unarmed, flying is a throwback to the old winged jet days. You have a steering column, throttle, pedals and toggle switches. To avoid detection, there are only minimal electronics and no active sensor equipment. They are truly stealth planes. You sneak in, do your deed and sneak out. They can’t take a hit. They’ve got no active concealment tech. just stealth plating and coating. Anything with a rocket sees you, you either go fast or die.”
Hank ended his walkthrough with that happy note. “Keiko, have you ever flown?”
“Just once. I took the Griffin out of orbit and monitored most of the flight here.”
“Have you ever driven an air car?”
“Yes.”
“It’s just like that, only more fun. Let me help you in.” Hank stepped back to let her come around to his side of the plane. He pointed to a spring-covered toehold and Keiko place a foot in it, grabbed the front glass and sprang up, ending with one foot in the foot slot and one foot on the pilot seat. Easily balancing, she finished her step, slid down into her seat and looked at Hank.
“Ok, you’re a graceful little thing. I’ll give you that lassie.” Looking over, Hank saw Krag already in his plane and strapping on his helmet. Turning back to Keiko, he handed her the pilot helmet and watched as she put it on. “There’s a rocker button by your right jaw. Press it and your command screen will come up.”
Keiko did as she was told. The smart padding in the helmet expanded and conformed to Keiko’s head. The command screen materialized on the helmet faceplate. “I see it.”
After her response, Hank closed her canopy and, using internal communications, proceeded to walk her through the gauges, flight monitors and controls. He taught her how to use her eyesight to focus in on specific readouts, activate icons and communicate over the secure network. With the plane and helmet in simulator mode, Hank worked through scenarios with Keiko as she and Krag practiced simulated maneuvers and situations. At the end of the morning, Krag was comfortable and Keiko was exuberantly frazzled.
Opening up the canopy, Hank commented. “Good, for the first time, Mz. Suzume. Next we go live. We’ve got flight suits for the two of you, so let’s get changed, eat lunch and go again.”
Krag followed Hank’s lead and exited his own stealth jet. The four of them exited Griffin and headed towards the asteroid’s living quarters, where Krag and Keiko headed to their respective dressing areas, stripped down, wiped off the sweat and dressed in their new flight suits. They found Hank and Mack waiting by the CERVEs when the two returned.
“Now lunch,” Hank announced.
The three followed him as he headed to the commissary. Once they arrived, they ordered, grabbed their meals and collected at one of the tables.
Hank did most of the talking. He described his first meeting with the ‘right, honorable’ Major Krag Marston. He painted the picture of a ram-rod straight representative of the Federacy trying to do something clandestine and illegal.
The three of them had a good-hearted chortle at Krag’s discomfort. Krag took it well, alternating between embarrassment and amiable glares at his host.
Hank signaled that lunch was over. “Now, we go live,” Hank stated. “Krag, once you get us into space, I’ll pilot the Griffin. Mack will fly that shiny, new shuttle for observation and rescue. And you two get to fly your new toys.”
Keiko looked exuberantly tense. Krag, all business. The four went to the Griffin’s flight bridge where Krag dropped into the command pod. Keiko immediately took the pilot pod. After looking at his father, Mack took over the sensor/weapons pod.
Krag closed the cargo bay hatch and began running through pre-flight checks while Keiko continued to learn as she watched her own display mirror the Captain’s. While this was happening, Hank had pulled his data pad and used it to announce to the shipyard that the o
uter doors were to open and that all personnel not in extreme environment gear were to be in pressurized habitat areas. Once Krag gave Hank the thumb up for ready, Hank repeated the announcement and waited as Krag, using his remote cameras, verified that the giant cavern was empty of personnel and the blast shield was raised. After again receiving the thumb up, Hank pressed an icon on his pad. The large hanger doors slowly crawled up, opening the landing bay to the vacuum of airless, black space.
Millions of years ago, there were five planets orbiting the Arium star. Today there were only four. Sometime long ago the planet between the third and fifth planet had exploded. Astronomers and scientists had no idea what caused the explosion. But the result was a band of rocks that collectively were three times the mass of Old Earth. Most of these rocks were smaller than boulders. Many were larger than good-sized buildings. And more than a few were bigger than battle cruisers. Gregor’s shipyards were in one of these behemoth rocks. Over the millions of years, gravitational and space tidal forces uniformly dispersed these chunks of rock around the Arium star.
Hidden within this asteroid belt was a large empty area concealed from external eyes and sensors. This void was where Hank guided Krag to take his ship. Once there, Krag pulled Griffin close to a fairly large asteroid, matched its orbital speed and parked. With his ship now effectively hidden, he exited his pod and waited for Hank.
“We’re here. This is where I do my testing for various and sundry experiments. Let’s go play, children,” Hank laughingly commanded, while clapping his hands. The four of them left the bridge and headed to the cargo bay. Hank helped Keiko get situated in the Sparrow while Krag climbed into the Hawk, buttoned down his helmet linked it to his cranial web and ran through the pre-flight ritual. Once Hank had finished walking Keiko through her own pre-flight ritual, insured that her helmet was sealed properly and the canopy was firmly locked in place, he announced, “Time to go, kiddies.”
Mack, by now had taken command of the shuttle, done his pre-flight and was also ready for launch. Hank left the bay, firmly sealing the bulkhead. He returned to the flight deck, sitting himself in the pilot pod. Tapping an icon, the massive vacuums kicked in, sucking the atmosphere into the holding tanks. Once most of the air had been sucked away, the cargo bay ramp lowered and the upper door clammed open. The flushing of the remaining atmosphere buffeted the little jets, but the floor clamps firmly held them in place. First Mack took the shuttle out, moving far away from Griffin, leaving plenty of room for any mistakes.
Sleeping in the Stars (Marston Chronicles Book 1) Page 18