Sorry for the lack of regular updates. Fell behind, but this is the last of it! 19666 words. Major edits needed. Enjoy.
Jakob retreated to the captain’s, his, office. He still had some difficultly in the transition, but the tension over the deadly drama that had occurred weeks ago in the room was almost all quieted. He sat as his desk, with four access pads active in front of him as he began plotting and planning for the fearsome, looming battle. Every scenario increased his panic level slightly. The first group of plans ended quickly, with a straight head on encounter leading to certain destruction. The Rainier had three times the armament, crew, and mass of the Alexia. The crew was newly formed, and slightly piecemeal, with selections of all the regional ships transferring to the new vessel, but Jakob could not count on a lack of cohesion. A single battle, like the one that had spurred the incident, had the ability to fuse the group’s style and let it grow from there. He could not count on Admiral McCullen, if he were still alive, or any of the Alexia’s transfers to object or sabotage the attack. The Rainier was a ship of the line and could still be considered loyal to the government and Confederacy, if that even still lived. No crew member would object, at least when something could be done to save the Alexia.
The second and third runs were predictions if the ship followed a strafing attack or evasion and retreat. Strafing so far seemed the best option, because while the Alexia was faster in normal space, and more maneuverable. The Rainier had more fuel reserves and an up to date quantum threading device, allowing the pursuing behemoth to eventually hunt down its fleeing prey.
After about the hundredth iteration, all leading to the destruction of the Alexia in under half an hour, Jakob slunk down into the metal chair and rotated it back towards the screens. He could feel his intestines dropping out. He did this. The guilt seized his mind. By standing up for his beliefs in that small instance on the bridge, he doomed the crew aboard the Alexia to a certain death.
Determination took hold next. His mind had hit that point of desperation where a man either shatters and remains only the husk of a man, or the man bends and springs back with renewed purpose, driving him to beat back the terror and guilt that he waded through. Jakob had begun taxing out all the available ships resources by queuing hundreds of war game scenarios to be processed hoping one to come back with the Rainier destroyed and the Alexia salvageable. He found that the second criteria was needed to eliminate any calculation that did not involved slamming the Alexia into the power and propulsion sector of the ship and hoping for a chain reaction to burn up the ship.
As time closed towards ten minutes until the message time elapsed, Jakob’s frustration level, rather than desperation level, began escalating. After a proposal that he felt had major merit collapsed into destruction nearly as quickly as a blind charge would have, the captain could not help but slam his fist on the desk, crushing a tablet and sending small shards of screen and plastic floating into the room. It was the echo from the access shaft that made him realize that he had yelled when he did it.
Marie crept into the room, slowly opening the slightly ajar door with a muted knock. “Sir, everything okay in here?” asked Marie quietly.
Jakob began nodding slowly while staring at one of the pads, until he actually realized Marie was in the room. She repeated her question, and Jakob could not help but frown and shake his head slowly.
Finally find his voice, which surprised both of them on how hoarse it sounded, Jakob replied, “Marie…. Sit, please. I’ve come to realize that I’ve damned us all. I can’t think of any way for use to defeat the Rainier alone. It is simply a better craft.”
“Oh,” replied the first officer in a slightly stunned and disappointed acceptance. “So, we can’t even run?”
Shaking his head again, Jakob answered, “No, not without them eventually running us down. Our advantages are not significant enough for us to destroy them.”
“Destroy them? Why not distract or harry or try to escape with minimal combat. Can we make our advantages more… significant?”
He closed his eyes briefly, “To what end though? We’ll take it as a definite that we won’t destroy the Rainier. What would keep them from hunting us down? Where would we go, now that the Alexia is an enemy of the state?”
“To answer the last question first, where are we now? Why are we here?” She leaned back in the small chair across from the captain’s chair, her lips closed tight, deep in thought. “As for everything else… I don’t know. All I can say is that the ship is fully functional and we’re able to do whatever you order. Are any of those special protocols any good for a situation like this?”
“Those protocols were written many years ago at least, for ships even less capable than this. They mainly describe destroying sun, or planets, or habitats. Things that no one should even know were once thought about. I’ve already taken to removing those protocols from the lists, but they wouldn’t help on an enemy like this, anyway.” Jakob sighed deeply, glancing at the time as it approached to the hour mark. “Two minutes,” he said resignedly. “Perhaps I should address the crew soon.”
Marie’s eyes had drifted to the large screens behind the captain’s desk, suddenly widening. “Sir, that’s it. I think I know how to survive the day. We’ll let tomorrow decide itself, but I think we can get away without immediate pursuit.”
The plan was a basic theory turn drastically complex. Three minutes past the expiration time and still no word or shot from the Rainier. Marie had returned to the bridge, leaving the captain alone again.
At seven minutes after time expired, the Rainier hailed the smaller ship, with a simple message, “We require direct communication with the compliance liaison. You have five minutes to reply before we open fire.”
Jakob had finally arrived from the captain’s office above the bridge. Still in dress uniform, he wore a grim, teeth clenched half smile. Disabling the gravmag, he landed gracefully on the upper bridge before turning it back on. Flipping the all call switch, he spoke to the crew as confidently as he had ever, “Attention crew members of the starship Alexia. For those informed only by rumors and hearsay, I will set the record straight. As captain, I have removed this ship from the command of the Rainier, the assimilated Confederacy, and the new Republic. If anyone has objection to this, you will be allowed to leave the ship freely when we next make port; however, it is in your best interest to continue working and performing admirably. Otherwise, we all may end up wreckage. May your shots be true.”
He released the button and locked eyes with Marie, who tried to give a forced smile as his gaze turned to her, but she was unable to hold it honestly. Releasing the mock smile and letting her face relax, she instead gave an affirming nod and mouthed a whisper of ‘Good luck.’ Jakob then call below to make contact with the Rainier.
Instead of the face of Captain Fletcher, the commander of the Rainier, that Jakob had been expecting, the Rainier’s compliance officer’s smug sneer filled the screen. “What took you so long…” His also unusually sharp voice trailed off. His jowls that drooped from this jaw shook slightly as the Republic officer straightened his uniform. “You are supposed to be in custody, Jakob Hanson. You are to be relieved of command from that vessel. If you do not resign yourself to our officer on board, we will be forced to open fire on your ship.”
Jakob really smiled at this. “Sir. I have resigned…” His smiled got appreciably wider as he expectantly prepared to deliver his next words, “The Alexia from the Valiant Confederation of Forces, the Republic, or whatever this new mockery is called the Valiant Army of the Republic. With all due respect, you have no authority over this vessel any more, so you can remove your little toad face before I figure out how to shoot you too. Put Captain Fletcher on.”
The bureaucrat huffed loudly, “You swine… I ought to teach you something about respect and…”
A voice in the background loomed over and suppressed whatever the liaison was saying, “Get out of there you… The communications angle shifted to Fletcher, who was sitting in his command chair and looking very disappointed. “Captain Hanson, what the hell do you think you’re doing? We’re loyal to the Confederacy, despite all of its flaws. Surrender yourself and let’s return home peacefully.”
“Fletcher,” started Jakob, “I hold no ill will against the Rainier or its crew, but I’m afraid there is no other option for this ship. Your ship stands directly in between us and our service to the Empire. Surrender now and we will let you return unmolested and unharmed.”
The Rainier’s captain laughed loudly for a few minutes. “You know, I’m glad to have never played poker with you, Hanson! Do you actually believe that the Alexia can best the Rainier in a fair fight? Common sense dictates absolutely not, but we ran the simulations just as well as you have. You have no hope. We’ll either cripple you here or run you to ground and cripple you somewhere else. Give it up, don’t force us to kill our comrades.”
The captain of the Alexia just smiled broadly in return. “Well, Fletcher. You need a better crew, because we came up with something not in your simulations... something pretty damn amazing. I’m sure you’ve heard of… damn what did they call it… Hurricane Alexia? If that was a hurricane, then this would be a tsunami. See you in the afterlife, Captain Fletcher.”
The communication with the flabbergasted captain severed abruptly. Jakob began the activation of protocols, saving the one he developed on Marie’s recommendation for last. After another two minutes, he said, “It’s time. Activate protocol JH507, code name Rainier X.” Jakob then retreated from the command chair and took up his old workstation, since he had not yet appointed a third in command. Calling out again, he said, “Activate the quantum thread!”
Two officers simultaneously cried out, “Sir, we’re near planets, the threading won’t work.”
Smiling with his own cleverness, he corrected them, “We’ll be fine. Final target for threading is the nose of the ship”
A different engineer yelled back this time, “But that’s reciprocal space. We can’t put matter really there.”
His frown quickly disappearing, Jakob added, “Gentlemen, and ladies, I’m captain of this ship, presently. Please refrain from questioning my every order. Target the nose of the ship.”
“Sir,” called out another voice from the lower bridge, “The Rainier is powering up its weapons. All of our weapons are on standby. “
A few more reports trickled into Jakob’s station; all systems were good to go. Ash and his troops were stationed strategically throughout the ship’s known weak points.
“Target all weapons at the pinnacle of the needle. I need you to engage the thread and fire weapons at the same time. Do not allow the linkage to collapse until the spread is completed.” He watched his screens intently, waiting until his instincts took control. The timing would have to be impeccable, and if the theory were wrong, then the Alexia was surely doomed, if not the whole sector. Jakob’s battle with inner doubt and sanity almost allowed him to miss the signs. Yelling aloud, into the intercom, and in type, Jakob commanded, “Engage!”
It was certainly no hurricane.
Fletcher was very confused. The new captain of the Alexia stole a little of the veteran captain’s confidence. The small pang of doubt send Fletcher scanning through all of the predicted battle scenarios again, looking for one that gave the cruiser a greater than ten percent chance at survival. Sorting the list of thousands of variations, he found the highest survivability ranking of two percent involved knowledge of flaws that were top secret information of the Confederacy.
Satisfied that he had been bluffed by one of the best, the Rainier’s captain ordered the weapons to be brought online. Turning towards Magda, who had transferred to be a first officer on the Rainier, Fletcher asked, “You served with him, right?”
Looking down at her station, she replied, “Aye. Sir.”
“Could you guess what he’s so confident about? Or is it simply a bluff?” asked the captain.
“Well, sir,” replied the commander hesitantly, “I never saw him bluff anyone. His strategies are… phenomenal. I couldn’t begin to guess what he’s doing… but I could also never see him doing this, rebelling against the organization that he helped protect… that his whole family had been a part of.”
“Commander, I’m not sure how much of the situation that you’re aware of, but his motivations seem entirely reasonable from this chair. I know to not make the mistake of thinking him some sort of traitor or coward.” The captain then added under his breath, “Hell, I’d be tempted to join him…”
Clearing his throat, he spoke up again, “I saw in a report somewhere recently about this hurricane business. Any idea what he’s talking about?
“Sir, I can only assume that he is talking about the recent encounter with the Ferryman and Death, two Reaper of Doom ships. His strategy, named Pickle, oddly enough, had the ship in a near constant spin, using the leech hooks to grapple and turn the enemy boats. It was quite impressive, I’m sure there’s a video somewhere.”
Holding up his hand, he responded, “No, no. Not necessary in this situation. I doubt anything could be learned from it in this short time. As you suggest, he is a cunning strategist, but there is no know way for him to beat the Rainier.” Magda nodded, but lacked such confidence.
The minutes passed as the ship prepared for combat. A bridge officer called out. “Sir, I have been trying to verify these signals that I’m getting, but it makes no sense…”
The captain turn towards him and politely asked, “Is this at all relevant, lieutenant?”
“Well, sir, as best as I can read this and figure, the Alexia is powering up its quantum thread drive, and it appears to be short range, within the system. This has been going on for a few minutes now.” Answered the young officer, cautiously.
“I see... no. He wouldn’t do it, would he?” exclaimed the captain as he turned back around to face Magda, but her only answer was a shrug and a passively confused expression on her face.
The space between the two ships began to ripple, bending the light from distant stars like a twinkling field of fireflies. The space fabric made the Alexia seem like a mirage, but it also appeared to last, without retreating into the portal that it had made.
Recovering from his initial stunned period, Captain Fletcher roared to his staff, “Open fire! All batteries!”
The Rainier, with its full array of cannons, missiles, and a high mass rail gun, erupted into a colorful display of fire. Particle shot glimmered as it traveled, missiles burned bright red as their rockets spewed combusting fuel, and energy cannons left blue streaks of light as they silently dashed through the vacuum. Simultaneously, the Alexia burst into an equally colorful but less massive display of colors. Within seconds of each ships volley arcing away, the ripple of the quantum threading drive solidified growing taut and rigid, like a pane of glass in oil.
The following was a hope of the Alexia’s captain and never occurred to Fletcher. The nearby planet that had been undergoing terraforming had ceased being inhabited when the Empire fell, since the funding for the project dried up quickly. The folding of space was always done distant from any large masses, because the objects gravity would prevent distortion and often cause objects to be pulled in with a much greater gravitational pull. If the ships had been in open space, away from a system, the attacks would appear to have stalled or accelerated and continue on to the target. Instead, both the Rainier’s and the Alexia’s weapons fire entered the wrinkle. The fold shimmered slightly with the planet’s effect finally being felt.
To planets hung in space, one being the true planetary body and the other acting like a snapshot of the planet, refreshing its image every three seconds. Both volleys penetrated the planet’s surface, accelerated by the intense field. The planet began glowing from the impact, until a brilliant flash of light exploded, first from the true planet and then more intensely from the plain.
The temporary, teleporting shield began to falter, but was quickly stabilized for the rest of the tactic to complete itself.
“Sir…” said the lieutenant that announced the formation of the space fold.
“Well, holy hell....” was the only response from Captain Fletcher. The soft thud of the gravity simulating magnets pulling a fainted person to the ground was the only sound heard from the compliance officer.
“Prepare for a second volley! The planet is…” The captain cringed slightly as he realized part two of the plan. The inverted field changed the directionality of the movement. Chunks of planet, rocky debris, and dust began spewing out from the portal as the loss of the gravitation field jerked all the pieces back.
“Shit.”
“Kill the quantum thread drive! Evasive maneuvers!” commanded Jakob. He turned towards Marie and said, “I’ve done all that I can. It’s all up to you now, Commander.” He unstrapped himself from the computer station and went back to the command chair.
Slightly surprised, Marie paused for a few seconds before assuming authority. “Alright,” she exclaimed, “we need to inflict enough damage to the Rainier to prevent them from following immediately behind us. We are going to use the planetary remains as shielding elements. All thruster controls are to keep us and those rocks separate!”
Her fingers began racing over all of her screens, trying to get a complete picture of the new environment that the ship was in. She had been forced to navigate though an asteroid field as part of her training to command a large vessel. This was not only a very advanced and chaotic area, but she had to do so under combat situations. The large sections of terrain acted as good shields to absorb all of the particle shot, while smaller rocks collided with missiles, detonating then in transit. Cannon blasts, however, manage to puncture the halo about the Alexia and only the deft evasive action take by the Alexia.
The slightly faster and more mobile Alexia darted in and out of the rocky barrier, trading stinging damage to the Rainier and taking only a few major hits, all of which were repairable by the ship and crew in a peaceful setting.
The Alexia finished it’s third pass on the engulfed Rainier when Marie thought it was the best time to organized the retreat, blasting away from the Rainier as it used its cannons to clear a path slowly. Entering commands into her multitude of screens, she ordered the Alexia to boost away from the system before engaging the still primed, but strained quantum threading engine.
Both ships separated ways, one stuck in a temporary cocoon of rock and dust and the other traveling quickly away from the scene.
The ship traveled quickly through the dead space between the Rainier and the nearest system. An impossibly long lull between the heaves of the needle and thread passing through the fabric of space caused alarms to erupt throughout the entire ship, but the ship lurched forward anyway, silencing the alarms and causing a stir of relief throughout the whole crew.
After a few more minutes of plodding along through space, the Alexia emerged in a distant, but uninhabited system. The whole crew was visibly relaxing. Jakob stood from the command chair and surveyed the lower bridge. He decided that before realization set into the crew of their future he needed to address them all, but at the moment, all he could do is sleep. After passing command to a lieutenant that was off duty at the time of the conflict, Jakob trekked through the labyrinth of halls and corridors be arriving at his door. He hesitated slightly on latch to enter his new quarters.
Overall, he was suppressing the remorse and regret and memories over the death of Captain Reynolds and the life that he really had lived before that. Surely, the Confederate head doctors would consider him obsessive, racked with guilt, or creepy, if they would have learned that Jakob kept a large number of the mementos of Clifford Reynolds life. Jakob felt it was essential to remember the lessons of the Captain, even his most fatal one.
Powering on Reynolds’s old sand imager, Jakob sank into the chair. After taking several minutes to decide what to call up, he had to spend almost an hour attempting to figure out the archaic controls. Finally figuring out how to call up recording, Jakob turned back to very recent history.
The Rainier displayed prominently in the magnetic dust. The two ships hung there in space, illustrated in sand. Jakob clicked a few more times to zoom out to catch the planet and view the destruction that his idea had caused.
The quantum needle was immune to these types of scans, because the technology did not yet exist when the model was created, but all the weaponry lit up the whole display in bright blobs and dashes, streaking across the moving image and disappearing just before contact the with Alexia.
He had not yet seen what happened to the planet, only knowing what would probably happen when his plan went into action. The weapons fire just disappeared into the invisible hole, but slowly the small planet appeared to erupt volcanoes sprouting sporadically over all of the planet’s surface. Within minutes the fake volcanoes connected to form fissures and rifts, like ice cracking to fishing holes, and only mere seconds later, the large sections of planet sank into the core of the world. As if there were some invisible machinery beneath the surface, the sinking was not smooth and instead the chunks of terrain seemed to be grabbed by a wood chipper, unevenly pulling the pieces into the hidden inner workings and spewing the rocky shrapnel from the exit that the reversed needle made.
The demonstration also showed the tremendous skill of the Rainier. While the massive ship could not escape or evade the onslaught of debris Jakob’s tactic had generated, the vessel ceased firing at the Alexia once if saw the result of the firepower, and began blasting the most threatening asteroids first, splitting them into pieces and directing their momentum away from the juggernaut. The gunnery crew of the once Confederate ship used deadly, extraordinary accuracy on the rubble, preventing anything larger than a fist from getting near the ship.
The whole recording of the battle lasted about twelve minutes. Jakob had been able to watch is another two times before he admitted quietly, “That really was the best I’ve got…”
The first frame of the footage that showed just the Alexia hung in the suspended sand. Jakob’s eyelids drooped after a couple of still minutes, and finally allowing the exhausted captain to drift into a deserved rest.
::::::: The Mind of a Sane Madman :::::::
Jakob Hanson had had bizarre dreams before, but none seeming as strange as the bad montage of his life that crept along. He just wanted sleep, but it appeared that the evening decided otherwise. Some say that dreams happen because of a random firing of neurons or recent thoughts that continue to float and bounce around the person’s short term memory. A different sort of people think it is providence or the subconscious trying to communicate with the conscious mind. Jakob generally fell into the first category, with random dreams filling his recent memory, but sometimes he could not deny the inspired timing of that random medley.
Jakob looked through the tiny crack in the crumpled metal that had him pinned to the wall of the station. He felt a warmth bleb from his leg, and he knew, although he could not see it, that the collapsed wall had punctured his leg. He had no idea why he could not feel the pain, but his whole body ached from the compression of impact. Despite being in a no gravity section of the space station that he lived on with his family, the massive sheet would not budge. He was old enough to know how to use his head in a tough situation, but all he could focus on was how and why did the interior wall smash him into the freight. He knew that people without authorization were supposed to stay away from the storage rooms, but in his free time Jakob had taken to exploring the masses of tied down crates and sacks. The occasional find of forgotten inventory was well worth the risk of being caught to the young Jakob. The image of the sliver of light through the folded metal began to fade as Jakob was quickly overcome with intense resignation.
An image solidified after appearing as a muddy jumble of indistinguishable voices and blurry sounds. The clarifying agent, it seemed to the dreamer, was a soldering iron being pressed into his flesh. The sounds were still muddled, but from his own perception, rather than a dream. One of the medley was his voice and the accompanying echo. It was a disheartening penetrating scream, one that his captors ended up recording and using the shrill noise to torment the next victims before they even entered the room. Pain arched through Jakob’s spine, branching and penetrating into his tissues, worming its way to his hands and feet.
“Lieutenant Hanson,” said one of the five men in the room. “Give us all your information about the Confederacy. Otherwise Carl will have to make you squirm.” His smile displayed a vicious dishonesty. Jakob knew that regardless of what he told them, the sadistic Carl wielding the soldering iron would plunge it deep into his flesh again, perhaps fatally this time.
“Fuck you,” replied the officer defiantly, except the words were masked in a muffled grunt because of the damage sustained in his jaw from another torturer. He had to smile, revealing the red saliva that now coated his teeth, since he did manage to spray the speaking Guildsman in the eye.
“You little shit. Give him four of those damn pills and we’ll see if he’s going to be ginning then.” The sinister smile was back, but the falsity of it was displeasingly absent. Two of the five remained sitting on the overturned bucket and the small crate, while the large man, Carl, squeezed on Jakob’s lower teeth until he opened his mouth. Shoving the four small round, orange pills into his mouth, the last man clamped his hand over Jakob’s mouth. “We’ll be back in a couple of hours. Enjoy.”
The Confederate struggled against his chains briefly, confirming again how tight and heavy they were. He had noticed no effect from the drugs forced that were forced into his system, until the group, minus the greasy, raven haired one that had been resting on the bucket, returned. The spokesmen of the group heralded their return, full of sarcastic.
“Hello, hello, dearest Lieutenant Jakob Hanson. Let’s see if you’re willing to be more cooperative this time, shall we?” He nodded at Carl, who was now equipped with a pair of electrodes.
The two clamps sparked across his body. Having been the second method of torture they had tried, Jakob felt readied and braced himself for the pain. This time, however, he blacked out within seconds of contact, the pain too much to bear being awake for.
The splash of warm water sprang the dream Jakob back into consciousness. The ugly toothy smile of Carl standing over him, urinating, would have previously made him vomit or enraged or both, but now he just rolled his head to the side as the loud one explained, “Ha ha. He’s not dead. Just a Confederate coward, can’t even take the drug without passing out. What a…”
Once again the voices became warped and indistinct. A more familiar site quickly organized itself inform of Jakob. This time he was unpinned, unshackled, but still trapped. He had seen this scene many times, in his room, in review hearings, and in his nightmares.
The bridge of the Alexia resolved itself in front of him. Jakob was at his work station, working as the second officer on the bridge. The Bryanna had managed to return him to the Alexia only very recently, after rescuing him from a Guild command ship. The Alexia had taken another pounding after being left unassisted for so long against two Guild attack cruisers. The Hiro command group was spread through out the system, unable to aid each other, but isolating the enemy vessels that outnumbered them. The Enyo had been assigned to the mission that reclaimed Jakob and fifty other prisoners for the Guild command ship Platinum Arrow. The Enyo, with the highly skilled Captain Nguyen, sprang from target to target. Jakob was calculating the intercept course to disable the four frigates that were closing behind the sister, when the Golden Orb, a smaller style command ship, equivalent to the Loki, the command ship that had lead the rescue effort and presided over the Bryanna, had emerged from the nearby moon and raked the defensive ship.
The attack dealt a significant blow to the Alexia, disabling communications and knocking out control of the power and propulsion functions. The first officer had volunteered to rush down to the engineering section to get an estimate on the repair job. A final volley collapsed the main access shaft that lead to the bridge, sucking the few crew members into space before the hatches were all sealed. Stunned by the rocking of the ship and his sudden acting promotion, the disbelief was transient, quickly fading into frustration when he realized that his entire station had gone down. The main monitors continued to show the last target, the lead frigate behind the Enyo, chasing the attack ship through an icy planetary ring. The frozen rocks bounced harmlessly from the ships surface. The Golden Orb had closed major distance between the ship. A well targeted shot slowed the Enyo enough to allow the frigates to begin nipping away at the Enyo’s defenses, like piranhas chasing down a beast in their territory. The Alexia, and Jakob, could only watch as her sister ship was chewed up. Frustration filled him as began smashing switches and buttons, hoping one of them would allow him access the ship’s heart and save the ship, but no such restoration came, and the Hiro’s attack ship floated silent, its rubble mixed with the icy rings.
Jakob yelled, roaring in frustration, resignation, and determination, his dream matched his reality. Quickly shutting up, suspiciously looking at the dark corners of the captain’s quarters, Jakob retired to his bed, exhausted, but still allowing the sand display to loop everything that had happened before he could remember.
::::::: Frustration, Resignation and Determination :::::::
McCullen sat in the brig of the Rainier, sullen, pissed off, and betrayed. The incompetent rat that called himself Stevenson visited the cell, expounding on how he should appreciate the consideration that he was getting. How the Republic and the central command were issuing orders in his arrest to make him comfortable.
“Horse shit,” said the admiral aloud as the thought crossed his mind. He knew that there was nothing in the orders received. McCullen had reviewed it three times, since he was still awake, before the split tongued weasel had rallied up the guard force and acquired the testicular fortitude to pound on the door. At the time, he could only hope for the leadership aboard the Alexia that her crew was more loyal to her captain, rather than the rubber stamp on the paychecks.
The Rainier was a new ship, crewed with veterans to the fleet and new recruits, rather than the types that retire when the ship or captain does. Even if some were loyal to Captain Hanson on the Alexia, they would not show it here, for fear of repercussions.
“Damn rat,” stated the prisoner, straightforwardly, to the empty bars around him. The brig of the vessel was more than a few closets with a set of bars or metal grid. It would have made an entire level on the ship the size of the Alexia, with small cabin sized enclosures of wire and bars on all four sides. Despite the shiny new floor and walls, the bars all seemed to have the dull acid washed generic metal shading. He sat on the two long benches that flowed through the center of the cell and remarked on how every single cell was identical to this one, except he was the only person in the entire room.
The visit from the compliance liaison occurred after the officer had been booted from the bridge by Captain Fletcher. He had snaked his way down to gloat over the imprisoned admiral.
“Well, it’s nice to see you haven’t hung yourself, Mister Franklin McCullen,” he had said, pride dripping with every word.
“That still admiral to you. I wasn’t notified that I have been relived of command of this vessel from central command. And that letter that you got said nothing. Especially since I take orders from the central command of the Valiant Confederacy of Forces and not the Valiant Army of the Republic. You gentlemen are traitors to the Empire and the council. I had assumed a coupe de tat or some sort of menacing grand coordinated effort, but you bureaucrats just tugged a few stings and red taped the real government into submission. Your imprisonment of me is illegal and I’m going to tear you to pieces when the crew finally realigns themselves and releases me from here. I’m not sure what type of information you review before you make these decisions, but they do seem awfully rushed. I mean, you did wait for the Guild to be annihilated, so smart move there. Hell, that may have even set you all up… shit, for all I know you all are members of that whipped organization, but the Confederacy beat you once. Worked damn hard, but we did win. And we will beat you again. Can I get some water?”
“Why?” replied the Republican, with his tiny features locked into a sneering expression. “So you can continue your horrible and stupid monologue so full of… full of… so many fallacies that you only succeed at making yourself look like and idiot and foolish and idealistic… You all over estimate your own strength. All of the Imperial admirals, captains, and commanders all agreed on paper to server whom ever represented the government, and the people, even if that was not the Imperial council of dunces.” He snickered slightly, soundly like a sickly woodland animal, before setting his face in the plastered lip pursing scowl and continuing, “And no, we are not ex members of the Guild, but we are very appreciative of the efforts by the Valiant Confederacy to break up the impenetrable monopoly possessed by that behemoth. That is, actually, the entire reason we did not turn our new force on the Confederacy. Because they worked so well against the Guild and other smaller mercenary groups, we offered to allow them to become a semi autonomous division of the new Republican Army, operating in small tasks, especially around the outer worlds, where respect for authority is minimal, and force and violence is almost a currency.”
“Although… it appears that the control of the Valiant Confederacy of Forces Central Command over its own admirals, command groups, and most especially individual captains and commanders was significantly overestimated. An error we are working to correct at this time, before we try to unify control of the forces under the new Republican Congress.” The words ‘ ‘commanders’ hung with a silent bitterness for a few moments. “We intend to allow each of the core colonies to vote on important matters. Finally human dominance and destiny over the galaxy will be realized. The Valiant Army has already agreed to move their Tradepost station to the Sol system, designating Earth and the whole Sol system as the true center for governance and culture.”
“Is that it? You’re Earthen, or Martian, aren’t you?” replied the admiral incredulously. He then smiled jokingly, “You know, I went to both Earth and Mars, and I can say, you all really need to get over yourselves. That self righteous superiority is going to get you know where quick and, to tell the truth, I was not impressed at all by the Earth. Especially with all the epic poetry and travel broadcasts I’ve heard of it. I know for a fact that the twin sunset of a quaint little planet that I can’t seem to remember the name of is far better than anything the Earth has to offer. That polluted heap was great for being the cradle of space travel, but, really, people left for a reason.”
The compliance officer only licked his lips in response, but his eyes seemed to be aflame with anger and hatred for not only the admiral, but so much more.
“Any chance on that water?” began Frank, expectantly, before shrugging, clearing his throat with a solid cough, and carrying on, “Anyway… what was I saying. Hm... Called you an idiot, check. Called you a weasel or rat… not to your face. You, sir, are a two faced rat weasel, alright there, check. Oh, enemies. You do realize that there are considerable forces resting and retired to those wild outer worlds. I expect you all will find in short order that you’ve made a massive underestimate. Especially after deciding to reveal your true intentions by imprisoning me, an admiral on the greatest active ship in space. You do have the Titan, and I assume the grand admiral, to use, but since when has the Titan been stocked with anything but a ceremonial crew highly skilled and doling out aid and pushing paper like they were chips at a casino. Once I’m free and jettison your sorry ass out of the ship, I’ll find some pirates of mercenary band and bring them down on your friends in high places and on central command for living so long that they have relearned the fear of death. So, listen, I fly with danger and destruction. I accept that I’m a harbinger of suffering for my allies and enemies alike, but I make no double speak or cover ups about it. And now you’ve gone and brought in the great commander, no Captain Jakob Hanson. I’ve reviewed all of his strategies and tactics, and they’re better than any I’ve seen from anyone, Confederate, Imperial, or Guildman, in a long time. Prediction of capabilities, but allowing for flexibilities and many unknowns. It was a splendid read… but you have gone and tried to have him seized, like me, over a little matter like taking captives, versus killing them outright. And the lovely Commander Fields… who would probably make a better pilot than most and still have time to do all of your jobs without breaking… oh dear god… You all did that.”
The rat’s eyes widened slightly. “Yes. She’s a great threat, even if she doesn’t try to work outside the system. Her populist appeal and contrary views made if seem very… practical. And there’s no way in hell that you’re escaping from here. And the esteemed Captain Hanson is about to be the first Confederate captain to have his ship destroyed by this Republican Ship. The crew of the Alexia has chosen a side, and it was regrettably the wrong one. I expect to hear the sounds of destruction very soon. If they choose to flee, which I hope they show that much cowardice, not only can this mighty ship overtake and obliterate them, but our agent on board is more than capable of handling the Captain and his rebellious ship.”
The commander of the Rainier’s reply was cut off as the red alert sirens echoed throughout the ship. The Republican only grinned broadly as he backed up a few steps, before turning and walking away, with the steady clank of the gravmag boots connecting with the floor almost entirely masked by the resonating shrill alarm. Disabling his boots, the admiral switched to a lounging position and jammed his foot in between the mesh and the bars to keep himself steady in the center of the cell. He stretched back, attempting a poor fake yawn and interlaced his stubby digits into his grey hair. He closed his eyes and tried to act serene through the tortuous blaring alarm and the sickly hopeful feeling that had taken to yanking on his stomach.
“Just thirsty,” said the admiral mutely, wanting to convince himself of that and the confidence that he projected at the little worm that had just left.
Admiral McCullen awoke abruptly. He had not meant to drift off to sleep and was impressed with himself for nodding off in the painful racket. A noise from outside his cell brought him further out of his stupor. Shaking his booted foot free from the metal bar, the admiral turned to see Captain Fletcher standing at rest outside the cage, with a balled fist covering his mouth. Frank rotated his body slowly and engaged the gravmag control. After confirming his solid footing, he strolled over to the mesh that separated the two men and leaned forward onto it, resting his head on his arm on the wall. “Captain Fletcher. How nice of you to visit.”
The captain returned the polite smile, but quickly let it drop as he said, “Admiral, have they been treating you well?” Frank only nodded in reply, so the captain continued, “Good… good. I’m sorry it had to be this way sir. Squirmy would probably want to throw a whole lot of us in here, but at least he is very by the book. Won’t act with orders from central… well I guess that means orders from the Republic now. I cant’ get you out of here yet. Crew is too new and I don’t kow who is a plant. I know the bastards have them, but no idea where they are. So… I don’t know if you would have guess already, but we were forced to engage the Alexia…”
The admiral’s head perked up and the two men made an intense eye contact. “Engage, not destroy?” he aked, failing to restrain the glimmer of hope that was hanging in tones.
Captain Fletcher only nodded for a minutes, before he supplied, “Yeah, engaged. Turns out he shot the compliance liaison dead after being ordered to surrender. What kind of man is he? I’ve been asking around and I know a little of his reputation, but the man I’ve been seening isn’t the guy I’ve heard about… with the Enyo, and Cornerstone, and the whole Platinum Arrow deal Seemed a bit of a dead end commander, due for desk work… but the man out there today…. It was phenomenal, something you’d be impressed with. I’ll see if I can get it piped down here later… for leadership review, of course.” He added after a quick glance at the boot scuffle behind him.
“You know, Fletcher, you have to take care of this ship and this crew. They’re probably going ot end up sabotaging the Alexia and in all likelylood, this ship if we don’t keep the governmental line all the damn time… Did you know that they’re the ones that hired the mercenary band that attacked the Alexia… and for dispatching the two Republican ships that destroyed the Hiro. And not even to take out the Commander on those ships, but to take out a lieutenant commander named Fields. They seem to think she will become some great politicall opposition figure. They’re ruthless, so watch your back. Find some crew from the Alexia that transferred, perhaps they’ll be better allies, or at least quicker ones.”
“Damn… I’ll look into those crew members though.” Replied the captain. He paused thoughtfully and nodded after agreeing with himself to ask, “Sir, have you ever heard of someone using the quantum threading engine as a defensive mechanism?”
“Defensive? I can’t think of a use for it and have never heard of one thus far. I mean, the planet cracker special protocol uses the threading engine to… well, crack planets, but the whole procedure is complicated. Besides that, I know of no other purpose for the quantum thread, other than high speed transit. Why? The Alexia invent something?”
“You could saw that. I’ll let you ponder over the scenario before I show you our data on the event, but imagine the ripple in space, the… the folding, being link into the core of a planet nearby. And all the ammuntion that enter from either side of the fold begin to rip the planet up… far quicker than I would have expected. It all happen within minutes of…”
“Minutes!” interrupted the admiral, “the offensive protocol takes hours to complete, with highly variable results.”
“Indeed sir. But the planet fractured, and the fold then absorbed all of the pieces. Spewing out everything that it had collected in our direction. And that was a lot of stuff. We could not pursue with an entire planet now spread out around us in every direction, so the enemy ship escape, almost unharmed.”
“Very interesting, captain. I look forward to seeing that video… and data. Are you in pursuit, now?” asked the admiral loudly, with his eyes darting past the captain and down the corridor.
After exchanging a curious look, complete with questioning eye brow raise, Captain Fletcher shook his head slowly, speaking in just as loud, pronounced tones, “No sir. Our compliance liaison from the Republic is request orders, means while we are to track and free ourselves from this rubble.”
The actual sleep proved to be extraordinarily not restful for Jakob. He reached out from the sleep suit and rubbed his eyes and temples for a minute. With his eyes not yet adjusted, he groped around the front of the cotton sack, his hand searching for the small metal knob that locked him into the tight wall mounted sleeping bag. Finally finding it in the darkness, with his headache growing constantly bolder, he pulled the cool orb and fell slightly out of the wrappings, because of the lack of pressure to hold him in.
He drifted in the dark chamber for another minutes before the noise called from his computer terminal again. The sound was instantly familiar, with the captain recognizing it as the racket that woke him up only minutes ago. Despite being almost completely naked, he slipped on his specialty boots and took the few steps towards the desk. Without the suit, the boots possessed only minimal magnetic activity, a byproduct of their typical function. Also without wearing the suit, Jakob would not be able to sit down with any expectation of feeling a slight tug downwards to keep him stable and in the metal chair. Finally making it over to the desk in a dragging floating combination, he scooped up the remote control pad and pressed the buttons required to view his messages. Finding only two in there, one was marked urgent and had a very recent time stamp. The other was from late last night, from when the captain had had his reminiscent dream, marked ‘Are you awake?’ from a Commander Fields.
With the hybrid of apathy and determination, frustration and excitement, and resignation and defiance resulting from last nights napping dream in front of the magnetic sand imager, he decided to review Marie’s message first. It was a written note:
Jakob,
I wanted to let you know that I feel lthat this is somehow my fault. I have been reviewing reports from the Confederacy for day now and I have not found a single instance of Imperial, now Republican, I guess, ships firing on any Confederation vessels of any other disappearances. However, the Imperial force destroyed an entire mercenary brigade only a few weeks ago. The enemy force is unlisted, expunged from the records, but back dating and cross referencing has led me to believe that the force was led by the son of an Imperial Council member and the whole thing is political. I cannot help but think that the Republic wants me dead for some reason and they sent the Reapers and two of their own ships to vanquish us. They are now going to use the Rainier as a tool against, as well as the rest of our Confederate comrades…
Well, all of this is what I would have told you anyway tonight, but… are you still awake? I really could use a night cap and some company. I’ll bring. Let me know. If I don’t hear from you, I will assume that you’ve passed out over your command station and are drooling on some of the pads.
Good night.
Marie Fields
He read the message a few more times, having to silence the beep of urgency that the pad emitted twice. He smiled stupidly and replaced the pad onto his desk. It was then that he noticed the sand projection device was still on. Switching the machine off he found a clean uniform, not dress this time, and set it outside his shower before he entered and took one. The near blistering hot water allowed him to clear his sinuses and mind, so when he exited the shower and began drying off he could actually function without a side trip to the main medical bay.
Sliding into the one piece suit and activating the gravmag control, he traveled back across his quarters and answered the incessant bleating of this control pad. The urgent message was from the bridge, the audio played back an officer’s voice that the captain did not recognize. ‘Damn,’ he thought, ‘I really need to leave my crew.’ The audio went like:
“Captain, this is the bridge calling in an urgent message. Your presence is required on the bridge immediately. We feel that there is a risk to our security and any alert message will notify the saboteur that we know of his or her existence. I hope to see you soon. Bridge out.”
“Sabotuer…?” pondered the captain aloud. He scooped up the remote control pad and check his uniform in the mirror, straightening his collar very slightly. He then began a hurried pace down the hall, attempting to review information as it scrolled down the screen of the tablet in between the heavy thunks of his boots striking the cold metal beneath his feet. He paused as he turned the corner in the corridor that led to the main access shaft for the bridge. Pressing the three keystrokes that it took to call a person, he talked into the pad, “Marie, where are you?”
Ten seconds later, a hollow reply came from through the speaker on the pad, “Captain, I’m on the bridge awaking your arrival.”
“Excellent” called back Jakob, “I’ll be up there shortly. I want you to prepare a conference of the upper leadership and we are going to have a nice talk.”
A silence answered him for a few seconds before an answer came back, “Aye sir. Senior staff is on its way to the bridge now sir.”
Resuming the futile effort to read and walk through the decently busy corridor, Jakob quickly marched down the hall, not amking eye contact with any of the crew, but he had managed to view some of their expressions. A few beamed with pride as the captain of the Alexia approached. Many politely looked towards him and nodded. A good many more, too many, thought Jakob, looked at their captain in disbelief, but among the looks of awe and disbelief there were only a smattering of those that had scorn. The rest were probably career Confederate sailors and wanted a peaceful life and to retire planet side with family and children and real atmosphere, food, culture, and all of that.
Finally he arrived at the end of the long residential, blue corridor. After tucking the pad in a pouch that hung from the belt of his uniform, he began climbing the rungs of the access shaft. The magnetic interactions between the boots and the rungs were minimal, almost as if the equipment was disabled. The rungs in all of the access shafts through out the entire ship were made from a less magnetic alloy to not exhaust crew members that tried to climb the long shafts. After reaching the bridge entrance, the captain pushed open the hatch, already suspicious from the previous interaction with Marie, and was now more suspicious because the bridge door was rarely, if ever, shut closed.
Pushing the door open slowly, his instincts were heighten. The work stations revealved by the slow swing of the opening door were unmanned. His eyes follow the edge of the door while he sunk into a battle ready pose, but the entire bridge seemed deserted. The building tension in his body had almost begun dissipating when he heard the slight heavy treading of a heavy boot up on the upper bridge. Disabling the gravmag on the small control unit that was strapped to his belt next to the pad carrying pouch, he tapped off of the lower level ground as silently as possible. As his head cleared floor level of the upper bridge, he was knocked back, figuratively when the entire upper bridge erupted in a massive cry.
“Surprise!” yelled the chorus of officers, with the rare “Happy birthday!” being shouted by individuals that picked the wrong phrase to say. Jakob was surprised, indeed. He was so stunned that he forgot to catch himself and engage the gravmag after reaching the upper deck of the bridge. So he continued going, eventually colliding with the ceiling of the bridge, narrowly missing the peripheral access shaft that lead along the secondary hull of the ship.
A few supportive ‘oohs’ accompanied Jakob’s descent back to the upper bridge. He smiled and thanked them all, shaking each ones hand. After he found Marie, he pulled her towards the side of the group and asked, “Are you sure it’s my birthday today? I thought it was still a month or so off.”
The first officer tried to restrain her smile. She gave a short, controlled laugh, before answering with her voice still full of suppressed laughter, “Do you even know what day it is? I know we’ve had a rough couple of months, but seriously?”
Ash, the de facto leader of the Ground Assault Strike Squad, began to pass out the cake flavored packets, since real cake would generate crumbs throughout the entire ship, perhaps finding its way into important components and causing a systems failure, or at least that was an old confederate protocol.
After the group of officers had consumed the entire case of cake flavored goop, Marie called out over the rumbling, milling crowd, “Alright, I need all of the senior officers to head upstairs into the captain’s office. Normal bridge crew, get back to work!”
All of the crew members began filing down to the lower bridge, with half moving to work stations on lower bridge and the rest moving out into to access shaft, presumably filing upstairs to the captain’s office where a conference table sat generally unused by the captain’s of the Alexia.
After about four minutes, only Marie and Jakob remained on the upper bridge. He turned towards her after watching Ash finish ushering everyone one else not on the bridge crew out of the room. Giving her a large smile, sweeping his hair away from his face and cocking he head slightly, he began slowly, “Marie… I really want to thank you for everything that you’ve done for the Alexia and the Confederation, but especially for me. I really appreciate our late night discussions, and drinking, but really it was the conversation. Thank you for being such a friend to me through all of this. And I wanted to say that I’m sorry that I never got back to you last night. I don’t think all of our hardships are resultant on your familial relations alone. We’ve always been known as outliers, even in the Confederacy and could have provided some other sort of risk, but regardless, I’m sorry I didn’t check my messages. I think we could have both really used a companion last night…” His beaming smiled had degraded into a sad smile, but one that felt even more honest than his previous one. He inhaled deeply, while the zipper on his uniform slid down a notch from being only a little too tight, before continuing, “And especially thank you for all of this. You did give me a scare, coming onto a deserted bridge like that.”
Marie returned a warm smile. She brushed her blond hair away from her eyes and leaned in towards Jakob, and answered in a whisper, “You’re welcome.” She quickly moved forward and kissed him on the cheek. The kiss only lasted a brief second, but she rapidly disengaged, blushed, and hurried off of the upper bridge.
Jakob felt his face flush and a warm tingle that traveled down his spine and into his finger tips and toes. His hand softly petted the region where her lips had connected and his stupid wild animal smile returned fleetingly. His face fell stern and controlled. The captain roughly adjusted his uniform before mock stomping out of the room. All to put up a face of a stern, wise, judgmental captain, even though that was the complete opposite of what echoed from his brain to his fingers and toes.
After making the quick climb up the rungs of the access shaft, Jakob took a deep breath and entered the murmuring conference room, something he had always thought to be a lion’s den. The muttering between officers quickly fell dormant, creating a stagnant, still air about the meeting.
Jakob rushed to fill the dead air, speaking quickly in a departure from his prepared meeting notes, “I expect you all are wondering why you all are here.” His voice grew a little more confident with each word, with the words falling into cadence and a clear articulation. “This morning, when I awoke, I had a message left for me by a member of the bridge crew. First, this member never clearly identifies herself, so the idea may be ill conceived. But in the entirety the issues must be addressed. The message stated that we have a saboteur aboard our ship. I can assume it is either a normal member of the crew that is displeased with my recent decision to engage the Rainier and sever all ties with the Confederacy, or a plant, placed here among the new crew from the Republic.” Jakob paused, as gossip pulsed through the group. “For those relying on rumors for your information, let me give it to you here. Before the engagement with the enemy capital ship, the Rainier, we both received an uncoded message for the compliance liaisons, requesting the imprisonment of Admiral McCullen, Captain Hanson, and Commander Fields. The order stems from a disagreement that Admiral McCullen and I take a side on against the compliance liaison officers, namely the capture of surrendering enemies and allowing them safe transit to allied space, versus to wanton destruction of any person or force deemed to be in contrary of the interests and whims of the new Republic. The other major point of concern was the message, which bore the stamp of originating from the central command office, was signed to be from central command of the Valiant Army of the Republic… The Confederation of Forces is no more. So, we, officers of the free ship Alexia, have a choice to make. Do we scatter? Retire? Fight to the death? Build an army? The only option not on the table is rejoining the Republic and its Valiant Army.”
A disconcerted and asynchronous flurry of words began flying from each of the officers mouths. Marie, of course, and Ash had prior knowledge to the letter from the Republican government, but were unaware of the sabotage threat against the ship. The ruckus continued until the mammoth Ash stood and pounded on the table three times with his head sized fists.
“Shut it,” he spoke in a moderate even tone. His fierce gaze drifted down the entire table length, making an intimidating eye contact with each officer. He stood a head taller than everyone else in the room normally, but lorded over everyone at the table since he was now the only one standing.
Jakob looked up at the large man and smiled, “Thank you, Commander Kilburn.”
The giant’s mouth gaped, his face showing his obvious confusion, “Sir, I’m only a lieutenant commander until a… oh.”
“Congratulations Ash. Now please, sit, and let us figure out what we’re going to do.” He quickly raised his hands in front of him and lowered his palms slowly towards the table, softly hissing, “Ssssssssh. Let us be civil through out all of this.”
His audience did not seem amused, except for Marie, who hid her chuckle beneath a palm that covered her mouth.
“Alright, first thing is first, who can I count on to stay loyal and do their best for the safety of the Alexia, until we reach the next safe port. I will release you all from any obligations at that point in time, assuming I haven’t been killed in combat, in mutiny, or by some weasel’s saboteur plant.” Every member at the table, although some more hesitantly and slowly than other, raised their hand.
“Excellent,” congratulated the captain, “now let’s get a little deeper… first, let’s see if there are any questions. One at a time, please.”
The crew around the table remained completely silent. Eventually a gunnery lieutenant, the highest rank an enlisted officer can obtain without going to command school, asked the first question, "Captain Hanson, I've been on the ship for a few weeks now, I was absorbed from the Hiro and I recognize the feats that you've accomplish, but I never met you. I intend to do my best to serve you and this ship." He trailed off briefly, trying to gather his thoughts before resuming, "By the way, I'm Lieutenant Powell, in charge of all of the port turrets. Very unusual set up by the way, I mean, most ships appoint officers over a certain type of weaponry, allowing the officer to become expert in that particular field, but by doing region, it allows a concerted effort and... You already knew all this..."
Jakob smiled and motioned for him to continue while saying it, "Please, your question."
Lieutenant Powell cleared his throat and continued. "Ahem, well, sir, what ever happened to the compliance liaison officer, the douche from the Republic bureaucratic whatever?"
Jakob only chuckled, slightly take aback by his own nonchalance of command and admitting to the man he killed. "Well, to put it directly, the compliance liaison officer from the Republic was shot and killed, by me, when he attempted to arrest me. I still have the weapon and would admit to it in an open court. Of course, I'll claim it as self defense; he was trying to abduct me as a political prisoner. "
"Serves him right. Uhm, that was it, really, but just wanted to let you know that you do us right in the gunnery area and we all support you on our side," replied the port gunnery lieutenant Powell.
Another man down the table chimed in without Jakob directing him to take the discussion, "Sir, gunnery lieutenant Wesson, here, uh, sir. We're behind you too, over on the starboard side. No worries."
"Thank you, Lieutenant Wesson. Please hold off on your comments until we make sure there are no more questions" replied the captain to the unexpected praise. Jakob felt this was going too well so far.
"Sir," called a middle aged man on the far right side of the conference table from Jakob's position at the head of the table near the door. He waved his hand slightly and Jakob nodded in his direction. "How the hell do you expect to beat the Confederacy, let alone the Republic? Surely you'll find detractors and allies here and there, but most captains and crews look at something like the Republic and get scared shitless at its immense size and capabilities. This whole thing is suicide."
"And you are?" questioned the captain calmly.
"Sir, Lieutenant Commander Fitzgerald, sir. Senior helmsman," said the man, indignantly.
"Oh, Charlie? Damn didn't recognize you from over here. Yes. You could suggest that attacking the Republic directly would be suicide. I don't expect to fight every battle alone though. I know that the highly skilled crew of the Alexia can eliminate over and comparable ship, Imperial or mercenary. The Republic did not build these ships. The Empire did. The Empire stocked them with crew. All volunteers these days, no more conscripts. I think that they'll aid us... not immediately and certainly not all the time, but perhaps we'll be able to gain enough strength to topple this regime... perhaps replace it with some of our own." His eyes almost unnoticeably flicked towards Marie. He knew his answer would not sate most of his critics, but it was the last of the questions that he received. The commentary period that followed generally broke down into three groups. The first group was lower officers, in charge of munitions and gunnery groups, repair and maintenance, and the power and propulsion. This group, the ones that ran the whole ship, supported the captain in all of his efforts. They believed in a noble cause and fighting. The second group was doubtful, capable of walking after a particularly intense battle or argument. The officers from the medical branches, excluding the new chief medical officer Marseilles and the drone and personal fighter pilots fell into this category. The final category was occupied by people who felt resistance really was suicide and were intending to bolt as soon as possible. This group included the research and technical specialists and the command staff. Jakob felt he could afford to lose the specialists, because the ship would be unavailable to test inventions or provide a secure environment for them to use; however, the loss of a command staff would be a death blow to the ship, because the ship can technically run itself, the dexterity of the entire vessel would collapse without proper leadership to guide and direct the defensive cruiser. An additional small category also existed, the ultra loyal. Unlike the first category, which were loyal to ship and purpose, a select few were serving under the captain directly, namely Marie, 'Doc,' and Ash and the entire GASSer division, which was still severely undermanned.
The discussion began to stray from Jakob's original purpose and was now pressing over the ninety minute mark. Signaling to Ash, the large man did not stand this time and instead shouted, "Oy!"
The officers quickly silenced and allowed the captain to once again speak. "Now for the other business at hand. I want every single one of you to be on the look out for suspicious behavior. The saboteurs, if they exist, are likely to be a new crew member or someone who disagrees with my decision to break away. Understood?" The captain stood and signaled to everyone to leave, occasionally shacking hands with officers as they filed out and towards their standard work stations. Marie stayed behind while Ash ushered the last of the people out, closing the hatch door behind him. He grin was very broad as the mechanism locked.
Marie wandered over to the chair across from the captain's desk and sank into it. "I didn't even do any talking and I'm exhausted. I think that that went well though. Although I wasn't expecting nearly as many officers willing to walk away after our first safe docking. But... they are kind of right. It is suicide."
Jakob round his desk and sank into his chair, as well. "You know, it's not really suicide until we do it, and I think we will be able to pull it off. Assuming there are no disasters or major enemy encounters, I think that our rendezvous will pay off," countered the captain. He continued after rubbing his eyes again, "Marie, I forgot to thank you for something. Thank you for that kiss, I think it really made the meeting go so well."
"The meeting went 'well' in your opinion? From all the progress, I think it did nothing effective what so ever," retorted the commander.
"Ah, but I now know who supports us and who isn't going to be around. I need to come up with some solution to the whole loss of command staff. But I haven't been able to come up with something. “He just shrugged, before adding, "I am going to return to my quarters. I did not sleep well at all last night and need some rest before we hit the point."
"Rest well, sir. I'll be on the bridge." She slowing pushed herself from the chair and slunk towards the closed hatch. After pulling the latch and cracking the door, she turned towards him with a smile racing across her lips. After a few seconds, she descended the shaft, back onto the bridge.
Katsuro and Marissa were lounging at Lee’s Cottage. As retiring Confederate officers, especially after their impressive record of battles and conflict, they were entitled to a large pension each. The vice admiral left behind by Admiral McCullen vacating the base and transferring himself to the command of the command ship Rainier was a wormy, groveling man.
The couples’ easy day of drinking refreshing, chilly drinks and basking in the natural warmth of a sun was rudely interrupted when the vice admiral almost crawled up to the pair and spoke in a stuttering tone.
“Ex… excuse me, Commanders, but, uh, you ha- have some vis- visitors, wai waiting f-for you in con- conference room.” The man seemed to cringe every time he stuttered, as if he were pet that was abused randomly. Setting down his grotto whiskey, Katsuro glanced at his fiancée and turned back to the vice admiral and nodded.
“Sure. We’ll be there in short order,” replied the retired commander. He turned towards his wife and lifted her from the cloth lounge chair. After gaining her footing and straightening her skirt, the pair followed the man into the Cottage, deep through winding hallway of small offices. Finally arriving a room with an elongated table sitting dead center; however, there were only five chairs around the table; two of which were already occupied by two men in an odd Imperial uniform.
The sniveling, balding vice admiral sat in the closest chair, on the same side of the table as the two officials. One of the officials was lounging back in the chair with his head drooped, attempting to appear asleep. The other official was alert, sitting uncomfortable close to the table and completely straight backed. The alert official motioned for the two to sit after the station command had scooted his chair quite close to the table as well, an action he seemed uncomfortable with.
The couple took their seats across from the new pair, and waited impatiently for the two to speak. It was a good several minutes until the man pretending to be asleep spoke up.
“So, I guess you’re wondering why we have interrupted your retirement. But it is a very urgent matter and you represent the most accessible officers from the Alexia’s command staff. The inquiry started by and later resolved by Admiral McCullen seems incomplete, or at least, pre maturely concluded. The matter had been shifted to us after the admiral had left for deep space and, given recent events, we have reason to believe that Admiral McCullen was either coerced into resolving the issue or he is working in tandem with Captain Hanson of the Alexia.”
“I’m sorry, mister…” baited Katsuro, hoping for more information, although the pair never took it. “I’m not up to date on recent events, so you’ll have to fill me in.”
The stiff backed investigator replied in a well articulated and precisely punctual tone. “As of four standard days ago, Admiral McCullen, formerly of the Valiant Army of the Republic ship Rainier, defied standing orders presented by an on board compliance liaison. Captain Hanson and Commander Fields, currently of the rogue ship Alexia, have violated the same charges and resisted arrest, killing the on board compliance officer.”
Marissa looks towards Katsuro and asked quietly, “What’s a compliance liaison officer?”
The stiff official snapped his head towards her and bellowed, “Please speak directly to use for any queries that you may possess. Please do not converse among your selves about your compatriots. To do so would further imply guilt on your behalf in these matters.”
The lounging official spoke mutely, “Moronic,” followed by an indistinguishable phrase.
Meanwhile Katsuro stood and shouted, “Hey, shit head. It is my future wife and we’re both retired from service and were cleared from any wrong doing with regards to Captain Reynolds’s death. We came here willing, to talk to some officials, which we’re doing. So keep it civil or we’re out of here.”
“Calm down, Okado. We are just going to talk,” answered the slouched official, who finally looked up from staring at the underside of the desk. He met Katsuro’s gaze, visibly clenched his teeth and directed his eyes downwards, towards the chair. The man had pulled aside the large, bulky overcoat that he wore to reveal a pistol in a holster, strapped beneath his arms. The vice admiral, who looked wildly confused, quickly darted his eyes from the official to the standing Katsuro, but the stiff necked official blocked his vision of the gun. Otherwise he would have found some excuse to slink away from the table on pressing, important, official business.
The retired armor leader grunted and slowly sat back down, muttering as he sank into the padded wooden chair. The rigid man pressed again, “Please repeat your question.”
Marissa leaned forward in her seat and placed her elbows on the table. “Well, sirs,” she said sarcastically, “I was wondering what the hell a compliance liaison officer is and why it is on the Alexia.”
“Ah. Yes.” The man spouted out mechanically. He paused for a few seconds before resuming his punctual tone, “A compliance liaison officer is an appointed officer, typically from the Republic Office of Military Force Integrity, that is assigned to once Imperial vessel or other aligned vessel that may present a risk of disloyalty to the Republic. Captain Jakob Hanson willfully disobeyed a destroy order on all enemy ships, despite repeated orders to do so when the task was possible. Admiral Franklin McCullen was asked to resolve the matter and showed his disloyalty.”
The vice admiral grunted and nodded at this declaration.
“The Rainier obeyed instruction from the Valiant Army of the Republic central command authority,” continued the official without pause for breath. “Admiral Franklin McCullen is now in custody, awaiting trial and execution.”
“Wait,” chimed in Katsuro, “how do you know he’ll be executed? What’s the point of a trial?”
The man blinked, “He is a traitor. He will be executed.” Pausing to determine if the GASSer had any more questions, he continued unphased, “The Captain of the Alexia resisted the arrest and committed an act of first degree murder and treason by firing and killing on our compliance liaison officer. Captain Hanson has taken the ship rogue after evading a conflict with the Rainier. The juggernaut is in pursuit and will destroy your previous station in short order. It would be beneficial if you can review our data and supply us with additional information. It will also help us rectify any misunderstanding in regards to this business with Captain Reynolds’s murder.”
A long silence stood in the room, with Marissa staring intently at her soon to be husband, the reclined official returning his gaze to the table legs but tucking his hand under his armpit, and Katsuro and the stern official sat with their eyes locked with ferocious venom skirting between the two. The vice admiral, who had been examining both of the large men yammered, “Mur- murdered?”
Another long pause sank over the group in the quiet conference room before Katsuro replied, “That’s what he said, but you must be mistaken. Captain Clifford Reynolds committed suicide. He was found in his office by the now hero Captain Hanson. Who, I may add, has finally grown a set and that really puts you in some deep shit. The chief medical officer at the time, Miss DeVille here, announced the time and cause of death.”
“You, retired Commander Okado, are a liar. And by all accounts a traitor to the government. I believe there is no other choice than to have to take you into custody to await trial.”
“Trial? Don’t you mean execution?” retorted Marissa sharply.
“Same thing,” answered the stiff man. He stood up rigidly and nodded at his associate.
The other, still sitting official, only shook his head. “Oh balls. You had to go and do it this way. Look, there’s not going to be a trial. Or an execution, of you two, at least. Our superiors have listed Captain Hanson as a top priority with a kill order on him. Not only did he kill a liaison from the Republic, but the dude was the brother of a revolutionary, high up shit kind of guy. Look Empire, Republic, whatever. Government could be run by the god damn pope for all that I care. But, as you probably have guessed by now, we’re enforcers and we got orders. We’re going to follow them. You’re obviously not going to be intimidated and my idiot assistant is going through the ess oh pee like it was toilet paper. Just help us and we’ll go away, but we do have the means to get dirty with this. So, what do you say?”
Katsuro rubbed the stubble that he called a beard. After chiding himself to shave, at least for Marissa’s sake, since she did always complain about it, he leaned forward towards the table, resting his chin in his fingers and his elbow on the table. Taking a deep breath he opened his mouth to reply when the standing official, with a blank expression interjected.
“You are also culpable of treason. You are abetting traitors. Orders have been pre-assigned.”
The sitting official raised his hands up speaking slowly, “Whoa, what?”
Katsuro’s instinct had begun to kick into high gear, with time seemingly slowing down, when the rigid official reached into the sitting man’s jacket, which was spread open from raising his hands, and yanked the holstered gun from his jacket, jerking the official forward as he yelled, “Shit!”
The official’s involuntary reaction to resist the force that was pulling him forward sent him slamming into the back of the chair, slightly raising the front end from the ground. His insane compatriot quickly disabled the firearms safety lock and on handedly, without pause to aim, fired one close range shot into the man’s head. To Katsuro the motion seemed slow paced, with the droplets of blood and brain scattering towards the end of the room and the chair passing the apex of the turn and sending it over backwards, spilling the already dead Republican enforcer out onto the wood slat floor. The monster then swung the weapon around, searching for his next target.
Katsuro had already vaulted himself up onto the table and was sliding in towards the shooter, while reaching down to the small baton object at his side. For years, everyone had stop it was a simple police or crowd control baton, with only a few of his comrades realizing that it was a Japanese style short sword or dagger, known as a wakizashi. The dealer that had sold it to the commander had said it was an authentic replica from feudal Japan, back on Earth. The Japanese colony that he had grown up in heralded their proud, honorable history, but always lamented no longer having any artifacts of their ancient history, or items before colonization. The blade possessed a forging stamp that had been worn down, suggesting to Katsuro that it was old, but probably not authentic. Regardless of its origin or value, the retired commander maintained the blade, keeping it very sharp and usable. The soldier tugged the blade free with his left hand, bringing it up above the man and swinging it down in a strong backhanded sweep. In a move that should have removed the gunman’s head, the blade only bit into his neck a few centimeters.
The violent man turned his neck with a continued crunching sound. His body turned with a few seconds delay. The pistol discharged when Katsuro’s other hand snapped out and seized it. The bullet flew from the barrel and smashed into the samurai’s upper right chest, sending him down towards the table. His folded legs supported his weight and prevent him from crashing into the table, but his head did fly back.
The revolver’s shot that had burst through his chest had traveled through him and smashed into the dead center of his fiancée’s chest. As his massive thighs tightened under the strain of the falling man, her body collapsed back into the chair, with her head rolling about her neck. Every muscle in the retired armor commander, the ex special operations agent, the once lover to a French doctor, and the samurai tighten. His instincts and combative nature sprang into action, ignoring the pain, reacting before he lost too much blood. His powerful legs, once required to drive a heavy armor suit into combat thrust his body forward. His strong arms, although the right was weaker from the bullet wound, grabbed the protruding blade, which was still imbedded in the killer’s neck. Gravity, something he had never counted on before, provided just the right assistance this time. His weight, his force, his strength drove the small sword downwards, through the creaking, crunching, and hissing noises emanating from the metallic chest. The two toppled over, with the freed right arm and head half of the gunman falling away from the remainder of the frame and Katsuro’s panting body. The head whirled and ground joints, and sparked and buzzed, attempting to locate its other component. The lower half, full of gears, wires, and pneumatic fluids, rested silently already dead to the world. The gun hand dropped heavily to the floor with a thud, but the gun had not been cocked.
Katsuro rolled off of the experimental robot and tried to drag himself underneath the table towards Marissa’s chair. Her pale skirted legs unnaturally cocked lifelessly, only meters away. He collapsed beneath his muscular weight, blood pouring into his lung and flowing out of his chest. The vice admiral fled wordlessly from the room, his chair thudding to the ground seconds after he had cleared the room.
The saboteur had struck again. Marie sat in the command chair again, days worth of shifts after the meeting with the captain. Besides sleeping, she had spent most of her off duty time in the hull tunnels again. She always felt guilty and chided herself for slinking away from her duties and taking time to rest, but she rarely acted upon the guilt. Her need to flee was not too strong and never struck in the middle of a crisis. It was always after, when she had time for reflection, instead of the constant demand for decision and action.
She ran her fingers through her straight hair, repeatedly attempting to tuck it behind her ears and knowing that it never sticks there. After a frustrated sigh, she turned her attention back to an equally frustrating analysis of the new and risky sailors aboard the Alexia. She could not find in either category that was capable of tampering with the quantum threading engine control software, where a small spot of code had been deleted but unsuccessfully stopped the ship thanks to the redundancies in the system and incomplete knowledge of the differences between Imperial standard and Confederation systems, capable of sneaking into the GASS hanger and disconnecting some air hoses, which was a stupid sabotage event since the mechanics responsible for those suits seem to polish every square centimeter three times a day, and the most recent and most effective of uncoupling the solar powered fuel recharge system.
The damage was very severe since the systems were fragile and were not expect to break until the ship suffered critical damage. Two man crews would be working around the clock, with inspections every six hours for progress reports for the next week. Until the broken pieces are inspected, repaired, and reconnected properly, the ship would be unable to use any energy intensive systems or massive amounts of fuel. Life support, local propulsion, and medical systems were online, as well as particle cannons, since they were made of debris and fully spent fuel, and missiles. Energy weapons, near light speed travel, the quantum threading engine, research activities, and diamond shield generators were all suspended until the ability to use the suns to reverse the fusion waste back into fuel.
With no where to go and rumor being far reaching, the whole crew was searching for the one of their own that was a traitor. New crew members were quickly ostracized from their new communities. People that had spoken against the new captain began receiving the silent treatment. Complaints of discrimination and accusations of disloyalty began flooding through lower officers onto higher and higher ones. The overwhelmed senior officers felt they could not resolve all of the presented issues themselves, so they turned to the officer in charge of all the Alexia’s personnel: Marie.
Her first pass through the thousands of issues, despite the fact that the Alexia was currently running with a crew of one hundred and ninety seven, eliminated about seven hundred complaints, typically hyper paranoid crew members jumping at shadows and small grievances finally being brought to light. The second examination involved computational analysis that bundled complaints against specific people and cross referenced them among all of the other reports, even the dismissed ones and previous problems.
Now it was the third pass. The ghosts left behind by Captain Reynolds provided the captain with two analyses, which he promptly turned over to Marie. It was essentially a summary sheet with three columns: Means, Motive, and Opportunity. Their data processing had been run twice. The first assumed only one person committed all three events alone. The second placed no limitation on number of crew members. The first analysis generated no positive hits and the second produced names of fifty crew members, forty of which were new to the Alexia.
After hours of analysis, Marie set the pad back down. None of the crew members from the second list had all three categories represented by scores of five, the highest any one person received was a three in threat level. The special operations breakdown of the data resulted in the conclusion that one person was concealing their motive or skill set or there was a mastermind that was not on the lists.
Marie also performed the same investigation, independently from the ghosts, just to be certain that neither of them had adjusted the results. In the end, all she ended up with was a headache and a few less hairs. She shifted her weight to the left in the metal chair and rested her forehead into her hand propped up by the armrest. The sudden chime from the control pad indicated that her requested computations were done.
“Hm… did I lose some time?” she asked aloud softly. Checking the time, the data was back a good hour before the estimated time, which was highly unusual. She had made some adjustments to the weight of the factors going into the motive component of the equation. The normal equation used tags such as place of birth, home world, service record, previous professions, Confederation standing, and known negative interactions with and attitudes towards Captain Hanson. Her modification eliminated any recent information, focusing on the early life of each of the original fifty generated by the ghost’s study. One name was on the list. The name had been triple red flagged by various studies, but each viewing of the profile showed a different crewmember.
After a careful analysis she called the captain, “I’ve found the mole.”
Twenty minutes later she was in the captain’s office with the two special operations officers. Both looked extremely nondescript. Each was moderately tan, rounded faces, fit, and brown haired. Marie had asked them if they were related and both remained expressionless as the two made eye contact.
The slightly taller than average male only smiled, while the just shorter than normal height woman, giggled and said, “Oh heavens no! We don’t even look anything alike!”
They both smiled and chuckled while the captain intensely reviewed the tablet that Marie had provided to him.
After a few minutes he shook his head and tossed the pad to the desk, with its slightly magnetic backing grabbing on to the metal desk. He sighed and said, “There seems to be nothing out of the ordinary for this… this Richard Sorge. Why do you feel that this is the saboteur, Marie?”
She glanced down at the tablet that was resting on the desk. “Sir, please reexamine the profile… but first, what did you see Ensign Sorge’s position as?”
Scooping the pad free from the desk, he keyed in some data and looked at it again. “Ensign Sorge,” he replied absently, “he is a rear battery technician, not an ensign… but… now he’s a… I’ll be damned. The mechanic got a promotion.” He looked at Marie with a wide smile. “Lieutenant Richard Sorge is now working in telemetry and spatial analysis.”
Both ghosts pulled out small palm sized data pads and made almost identical key strokes. They simultaneously chanted, “A mutating profile mask, fascinating.”
The woman looked towards Marie and smiled. She clasped her hand around her shoulder and shook it affirmatively, while saying “Excellent work Commander Fields. Our meta analyses failed to detect this threat because it cross references the Confederation identification numbered, rather the individual names. The masking algorithm must have been designed by someone with sophisticated knowledge of our systems… likely an internal affairs department.”
“Indeed,” agreed the other agent, “this person was likely in place on our ship, generating regular reports for internal affairs and sending it to central command, likely all files were the same size to avoid detection. Lost in the buffering systems data allowance whenever we engaged in communications with command.”
The captain examined the profile once more. “So, who is he really? Obviously he is acting with this fake ID, in case it is discovered that there’s a mole here. And if he works for central command, why is he trying to undermine our work now.”
The female agent replied first, giving an inquisitive glance at her coworker, “Sir, if I may. The saboteur is likely acting under orders of the Republic now. From the communications that we’ve intercepted before leaving the Rainier’s comm sphere, it appears that the new government has seized control of the Valiant Confederation of Forces, hence renaming it the Valiant Army of the Republic. The name change was only the most obvious change. Most of the admirals in central command have been systematically forced out of the organization. While our branch of intelligence directly reports to central command, we are under no terms to serve their…” She paused to smile and chuckle. Before she could continue the other ghost took up the explanation.
“Their often ridiculous, laughable requests. Instead, as an independent intelligence arm we serve the community and are trained to take any actions that we may feel as necessary to protect civilization. The Republic, in all of our analyses, has been deemed detrimental to the stability of civilization in space. Not only does supporting you further our goals, Captain, but we believe that the future would be better served with you acting uninhibited. It is for that reason that we did not turn over the information regarding the murder of Captain Reynolds’s in our report to central command. It was Admiral McCullen’s intuition that initiated the inquiry against you both.”
Marie stared at them incredulously, before asking “How deep do your fingers go?”
The male ghost smiled and replied, “About six centimeters.” The pair chuckled before he asked, “I kid. Our fingers personally or the organization?”
His counterpart responded, “Pretty far, but obviously not far enough if internal affairs slipped an agent in here. He must have come on as a crew replacement in the past, after we were assigned here. We don’t normally inspect the actual crew additions, before our initial examination of each crew member and their profile. We found the data to be accurate and never began a new… census, if you will.” She noticed the captain’s disbelieving stare and supplied, “But what we’re trying to say, sir, is that we’re loyal to you, not central command, not the Rainier command group, not even our agency, although we will still fulfill their reasonable requests.”
Jakob closed his gaping mouth and straightened his uniform with a few tugs. He placed the palms of his hands down on the desk and took a few deep breaths. When he was satisfied that he had not gone insane he ask, “Back to the matter at hand, who is Richard Sorge?”
The special operations agents exchanged a puzzled look again, as if they were communicating telepathically by just making eye contact. Simultaneously, they consulted their small devices for a few seconds. “No idea sir. We’ll need to return to our stations to determine this.”
Jakob nodded and replied, “Alright. Carry on. Please make this a top priority. I need the ship to be functional again.” He waved his hand towards the door, dismissing the duo.
“Wait,” Marie declared. “Where exactly are your stations? I’ve been all over, and I mean all over, this ship and I’ve never seen any intelligence processing areas. In fact, I’ve never seen either of you anywhere except in this room and on the bridge.”
The ghosts smiled. The male agent replied, “You haven’t seen us, but we’re there. Actually, only maintenance workers come closer. We’ve seen you many time… moping, if that’s the appropriate word, through the tunnels and shafts.”
“Actually, I believe we’ll show you, Commander Fields, and Captain Hanson, but I know he’ll decline. He needs to rest and would rather depend on our services than interfere with our work. That’s the reason our location is kept hidden, to keep officers from making demands and pressuring us. I think… Marie, here, will not be a bother. In fact, her thoroughness might aid in our rational checking analysis and act for guidance in the absence of central command.”
Her partner had looked confused for a moment, but finally nodded in agreement. “Yes. Absolutely,” he answered an unasked question, still nodding.
“How…” began the captain, before he waved them away. “I don’t want to know. You’re right. Just let me gather my thoughts and get some rest. Please pipe it to me whenever you determine who the mole is.”
“Aye sir!” they replied together. Marie wondered if it was the quirky giddiness that surrounded the pair or if the mockery of their tone was intended. “Follow us,” beckoned the brown haired woman as they began walking to the auxiliary shaft.
The auxiliary door was smaller with an older wheel latch. Marie had found many of these designs in her explorations of the periphery of the Alexia. The group descended down the shaft, after disabling the gravmag boots. They moved slowly, since the shaft had been designed for maintenance work, rather than constant travel. Marie recognized some of the numbers written in white reflective paint on most of the connecting shaft doors. In fact she often had traveled through the MB7AX206 shaft to enter the bridge from a small hatch above. She knew that the MB stood for main bridge, although there was no secondary bridge, and the other letters and numbers stood for which doors that she had been traveling between.
Continuing down the auxiliary shaft another half minute, the male ghost called out, “This is it!”
Since Marie was trailing, she noted the nearest hatch was labeled MB4AX211. She caught the rung as she came to the same position as the pair of agents. The message on the hatch was different than the others. Instead of a white, tape-like paint indicating a serial number for locating the purpose and position of the shaft, the lettering was a slightly worn red stamp declaring, “Danger! Do not enter! Self Destruct Explosive Device within!” Next to the door was a simple, self contained access pad, dictating the service record of the explosives within. The cursory glance showed that the inspections were carried out monthly by the same engineer.
“We’re S and M,” supplied the woman. “We do the inspection monthly.”
“So that isn’t some sort of a ‘Keep out’ gimmick. The self destruct is in there?”
This time the man added, “Oh, yes. One part of it anyway. There’s another near engineering, the ones the maintenance workers think is the only one. If the ship is compromised this charge will eliminate the information stored on the bridge, which is directly above us, and in our data center, directly below the explosive. The other charge would destroy the main engine, the main computer server, and the quantum threading computer, if not quite getting the engine. Schematics say it will, our calculations differ.” He spun the lock and entered the even smaller crawlspace. The travel was quick with having the force of gravity causing them any strain in the tight tunnel.
The tunnel suddenly widened out as it dead ended into a rectangular room. Following the orientation of the bridge and how they traveled down the auxiliary shaft, she would have described the massive cylinders as being overhead. The twelve canisters were painted a hazardous red color, also stamped with the logo found on the entrance hatch.
She turned towards the pair and remarked, “Is this really enough to destroy the bridge and your stations?”
“Definitely. To make things simpler, please call me Mark and call her… Stacy,” replied male ghost.
The woman identified as Stacy added, “Which isn’t our real names, by the way. I’m sure that when you ran us in your own program it was different. We go by two letters as a team. We’ll come up with names that use those letters as we see fit, as long as they begin with an M or an S.”
Marie just nodded.
“So, we’re through here,” stated Mark, opening the hatch that Marie marked as below them. The small chamber contained at least four other hatches. Entering the adjacent room, he motioned for the two women to follow.
Marie ducked slightly to enter the hatch. The room appeared to be three spheres fusing into one. The antechamber, as Marie had decided it was, contained sleep suits, closets, the bathroom, and a small meal repository. The two connecting globes were connected to the antechamber and each other. They were both identical, with a harness connected to four of the points where the orbs were fused. In each of the work stations were two hundred and seventy degrees of touch screen monitors and ports and equipment. While each screen appeared to be about one third of a square meter, the image on each of them seemed to be continous.
Marie nodded in approval as the pair showed off their work station. They announced that they had work to do and opened the hatch. Marie had been watching Stacy, who was still in the left sphere station, while Mark had reopened the hatch. Her face morphed from the laughing intelligence officer to something far more serious. She was about to ask what was wrong when she realized the Stacy was looking past her, not at her.
Turning, she saw Charlie Fitzgerald, the communications officer that had challenged Jakob in the meeting, looking very surprised. The aged gentleman rushed towards the open access door, directly across from the one that they had entered from. The small hatch proved to be a challenge for him, as he smashed his shoulder into the edge. Cursing and looking back, he saw Mark moving slowly towards him. Charlie quickly pulled himself into the shaft and spun the door latch, sealing the entrance.
Mark traveled quickly towards the explosive tanks, studying the small black box that was now stuck to one of the middle canisters.
Marie called back to Stacy, “When did Charlie join the ship?!”
Stacy, who had already pulled up the information replied, “Charles Evan Fitzgerald joined the ship… at the same time as Jakob Hanson… wait… when the captain rejoined the ship after being freed from the Platinum Arrow. They were both imprisoned on the ship, presumably tortured. Wait again… Dammit!” She paused to recall his current name. “Mark, we missed him. We found the leak as well. How goes the incendiary device?”
Looking back out of the antechamber, Marie witnessed the deft ghost removing wires and putting in new ones until the device mounted on the cylinders simply fell off. He smirked and replied, “Done. Magnets disabled, sensor in a feedback look, remote is disabled. So we found the mole?”
Stacy replied as Mark started buckling himself in the right orb, “Yes, but he’s no mole. He’s an out and out spy. He snuck aboard with a rescue from a Guild capital ship. Data was manipulated prior to his transfer to the Alexia to make him appear to be the legitimate Charles Evan Fitzgerald. He somehow convinced the Imperial Office of Force Review and Confederacy Internal Affairs that he was a reliable agent. He’s spend years digging through the system, and it appears that he’s been leaking data to the new… Republic Office of Military Force Integrity, as well as central command.”
“Who’s the real Charles Fitzgerald then?” asked Marie, already knowing the answer.
“Dead, it appears. He was captured from the Bryanna two months prior to being rescued,” answered Mark without having to review his plethora of screens.
“Tell Ash to seize Fitzgerald,” ordered Marie.
Stacy turned and grinned, “Order had been sent after his identity was confirmed.”
Ash had successfully captured the saboteur. The resistance had been minimal when the GASSer had recruited his entire taskforce into subduing the imposter. The S and M ghosts, who had already changed their aliases again, complied all of the evidence against the lieutenant commander and presented it to the captain.
The captain provided a mock trial, where Marie had presented the information, near verbatim, minus the cheery attitude, against the accused. Jakob presided over as a judge with a select portion of the officers that had been asked to the previous meeting acting as a jury. In modern trials, no lawyers were allowed, and the jury only served to provide witness to the information presented against the accused and the explanations offered in defense.
The man masquerading to be Charles Evan Fitzgerald offered no defense or objection to the evidence. His only statement, given at the close of the proceedings, was “You’ll never win.”
He was executed within hours. The jury members were giving a rifle with two shots. Of the fifteen members, only five shots of the thirty bullets were not blanks. Each weapon was fired twice at the guilty and the body was jettisoned into space.
Repairs continued on the ship as the captain selected a new officer to replace the spy.
Jakob sat in the chair in his office, staring at the large screens that represented windows. He had rotated the image away from the normal direction because the freshly repaired solar units were regenerating the fusion fuel, as well as collecting stray elements to replace the heavier atoms that had to be removed from the engine. He had ordered that the entire ship had to be searched to remove any traps laid by the saboteur. For such a labor intensive task, the crew only presented a token rumbling of complaint. No one wanted to have a critical failure out in deep space, where there was no fuel and little chance of a rescue.
The Alexia had been stopped in the system for almost two weeks before moving on. Jakob didn’t know where he should go, but he did know where he shouldn’t go.
A solid knock on his office door broke him free from his circular pondering. “Come in,” he yelled, hoping that whoever was out there was listening.
The latch depressed and Marie entered the chamber again, closing the door behind her. “Sir, what are your orders?”
“Marie, please sit.” She followed his instruction, sitting across from his desk chair. After taking the chair, she stared at him wordlessly, expecting him to continue. “Marie,” he continued, “I’ve become concerned recently that I may end up like Captain Reynolds… I just… I mean, I’ve taken to watching that damn sand imager in my quarters. I’m staring aimlessly out of the window… I feel… like I’m going to begin making the fatal mistakes that he did.”
Marie gave a hesitant warm smile and replied, “Well, Jakob, the difference between you and Captain Reynolds is that those sort of… mannerisms actually suit you. You’re probably mimicking him, the closest captain that you’ve probably interacted with, to a small degree, but Captain Reynolds seemed to have lost his grip on reality, losing all the fragments that made him a leader. That same introspective appearance is legitimate on you, and I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
Jakob lowered his head, fighting the urge to turn back to the stars and forget about everything in the blankness of space. His mind wrapped around and absorbed what his first officer had said before he finally nodded and said something too softly to be audible. He cleared his throat and began again, “Thank you Marie. Please, always speak your mind when we’re talking. I think my dreams are starting to bother me…” He looked up at her hopefully.
Understanding the implied question, Marie asked it. “What dream would that be?” she asked with an even tone.
“It’s the same one really. Or same three, regardless I can’t even call it a dream. For most of the nights since we battled the Rainier, I’ve had this dream, or memory… It is a memory, three memories, but things are different slightly. It was from when I have a teenager, before finally entering the Confederacy. I had been exploring… looting, I guess would be a better term, but exploring the warehouses on the space station where my parents worked. I remember a very loud crashing noise and then I was pinned, wrapped in a steel sheet. The edge had cut my leg and I was terrified. After struggling for a little bit, I had resigned myself to end up dying in that hold… and the memory or dream switches to when I was being held aboard the Platinum Arrow. My captors had given me a drug common in the Guild, but the drug enhances all of a persons tactile nerve receptors. It was marketed to make sex more intense… more exciting, but either one of these men or it may have been standard procedure realized that it worked the other way. It didn’t heighten just the good sensations, but all of them. So they dosed me, and tortured me, beat me, and the pain was excruciating, but I wasn’t afraid, just determined. The last one… I think you were on board at that point. I was on the bridge, recently back from rehab after I was rescued. It was the day the Enyo was destroyed, and we were helpless, stranded on our own ship. Unable to help. It was wrong, just so damn, frustrating.”
He paused for a few moments, taking a breath and obviously hesitating. With a deep inhaled he continued, “But those memories aren’t really true. I was rescued within minutes from the space station storage rooms. I was scared shitless, not some indigent hero, when I was being tortured on the Guild ship… and yeah, I was frustrated on the bridge that day. There was a deep sorrow that I couldn’t do anything to help our side, to save the Enyo… but in the end I was glad that I live through the day when a good many didn’t. This dream that’s been hound my sleep… it’s like it wants to color me some sort of self sacrificing hero, when that’s not true in any form.”
Minutes went by in silence, before Marie formed any words to speak, “Well, Captain, you are a hero. You’ve saved this ship countless time. Sure the self sacrificing bits that you dream may not have been true, but they were real, in the slightest. I think each one of those experiences make you Jakob Hanson, Captain of the Alexia, a free ship and enemy of the state.”
Releasing a gusty exhaled, Jakob smiled. “You really are a friend, Marie. I think all of this stems from the battle with the Rainier. In the planning stages, I felt so desperate and afterwards, instead of success, I felt like… well, like that feat would be my best. I’ll never be able to top that move. Everything would be downhill from here.”
Marie laughed slightly, “Well, it will at some point, but as long as you have this ship, you have a family and a purpose. It’d be a disservice to them all if you were to simply give up and declare that you’re done with this all now. When the Rainier comes again, we’ll have to hope for a miracle. They’re not likely to give us any chances this time. And…” The comm bleeped at the captain, cutting Marie off.
“Sir,” blurted out of the pad.
Mouthing an apology to Marie, he mashed the answer button, “Hanson here.”
“You’re needed on the bridge, sir. Commander Fields if she’s there too. We’re detecting the formation of a needle stick outside the system. The gathered fabric is large and thick too sir.”
“On our way,” answered the captain. After releasing the button, he slouched into his chair and turned towards the window, trying to spy the invisible anomaly. “I guess we’ll be needing that miracle now.”
The two descend down into the bridge. A young lieutenant had been waiting for them to enter. With little acknowledgement, the man began talking quickly, “Captain, Commander. We detected the folding about ten minutes ago. Calculations suggest that it may be the Rainier, but it’s actually bigger than that. The folding represents something that would be similar to the Titan or the Rainier towing four or more frigates.”
“But nothing equivalent to a light cruiser or greater?” asked Marie, a slight edge to her voice.
The officer, who was obviously prepared, only glanced at his access tablet and recited, “No ma’am. For a light cruiser to be included it should be a mass similar to… a Guild capital group. One capital ship, one defensive heavy cruiser and two lighter attack cruisers. Or…”
Marie cut the lieutenant off, “Thank you, lieutenant. Please keep us informed about your analysis.”
The two quickly disabled their gravmags and leapt to the upper bridge. Bypassing the command chair, both officers quickly strapped into the workstations at the aft of the upper bridge, and waited. Marie looked sideways and asked in a low volume, “Anything we can do? Any plans for whatever will come out of the fold?”
Jakob only sighed, watching the image on one of his small monitors. The needle was invisible to plain sight; the effect on the background of stars was not. The stars blinked and twinkled, moved and flashed. Finally Jakob responded, “Yes, to both. First, we can hope that a supply convoy bursts though the fold and means us no ill will. To the second question… it all depends on what comes out. If it’s the Titan, we’ll ram it at full speed. If the Rainier and frigates come out, it would be interesting, and we’d give it our all. If it’s anything less than that, we’ll have to see how organized they are, if they’re even hostile, and perhaps we may be able to defeat the entire mass.”
The whole bridge crept to a silence, with even the computer chirps beeping in hushed tones. The rift opened after minutes of waiting. The nose of a command ship breached the empty, rippling space, appearing out of nothingness. While still emerging, a half dozen frigates rushed through the opening, followed by two battleships and a defensive light cruiser. Marie cast another glance towards the captain, who seemed fully focused on the screen.
The fleet hung in space, only drifting from their initial momentum from exiting the thread travel. Nearly five minutes passed before the command ship fired her engines again, with the remaining ships quickly following suit. The fleet moved closer towards the sun, where the Alexia waited after recharging her fuel stores.
The young lieutenant called up to the senior officers from the intercom, “Sir, these ships are not standard. They contain many modifications and seem to be based on retired ship models. They all bear the same insignia, an orange bird with open wings, surrounded by a blue circle. Sending the image up to you now.”
Marie mashed the button to respond with a curt, “Thank you, Lieutenant,” while Jakob leaned into his screen to examine the fleet closer, despite having the ability to zoom in.
The cluster moved closer. Marie repeated her question, “Sir, do you have a plan? Shall I go to alert?” After a minute with no response, she added, “I’m going to raise the alert, sir. All hands-”
“Belay that order,” commanded the captain. “Hail the command ship. When they don’t answer, hail the cruiser.”
“Aye sir. Command ship… completely unresponsive sir. Hailing the cruiser… Connection established.”
“This is Captain Jakob Hanson of the Valiant Confederation of Forces defensive heavy cruiser, the Alexia. We are acting as an independently of central command and would like to render assistance.”
A few moments hung silently in the connection before a response came, “Well met, Captain of the Alexia. This is Captain Luther Branson of the cruiser the Eagle. I am currently in command of this division and we’ve come here searching for you, Captain. Our command ship, the Condor, was significantly damaged by a Confederate marked ship. Our intelligence reports suggest that perhaps an alliance is in order.”
Marie shot Jakob an alarmed look, but he just smiled. With a nod to himself, he replied, “Captain, perhaps an alliance is in order. I invite your captains to a conference aboard the Alexia, so we may discuss terms.”
The connection rested with eerie stillness because coming alive with, “We’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Calling back down to the eager lieutenant, Jakob ordered, “Please have Commander Kilburn escort the three captain to my office when they arrive.” Releasing the switch, he turned to Marie, cutting off her protests, “Yes. I know what I’m doing, I assume you don’t recognize that emblem? They’re Raptors, Marie. Raptors.”
Marie’s eyes widened slightly. “That doesn’t mean that they won’t cross us. They’ve done it before.”
Unbuckling his harness, he slid out of the chair and replied, “Only traitors. Come! We need to prepare.”
Captain Hanson sat at he long table in his office, with Commander Fields seated to his right. To his left was a vacant set, left open for his second officer, when he found one. Ash opened the hatch door to the office and directed the three captains in. The armor soldier took a position near the door, just in case.
The captains all sat on the side with an extra seat. Captain Branson motioned to his colleagues, “Captain Tilley of the Osprey and Captain Clemens of the Hawk. As you might have guessed, we’re from the Raptor Armada, captain. And we’ve come to ask for your aid.”
Marie spoke in the silence that followed, “We’re prepared to deliver whatever assistance you require.”
The two accompanying captains chuckle, but were quickly hushed by their leader. The captain of the Eagle replied, “Thank you, Commander Fields. Material assistance would be appreciated, but we’ve come to ask Captain Hanson to take a position as Admiral of the Raptor Armada.”
Jakob put his head in his hands. Running his fingers through his slightly too long hair, he sighed. Looking back up, he wore a smile and replied with a steady tone, “I accept your request, Captain, under once condition.” All three Raptor captains tilted their heads curiously, as he continued, “I want to keep my ship and have Captain Fields take the Condor.”
Branson smiled in return, “Agreed.”
Monday, November 30, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment