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RED-LETTER RETRIBUTION
By Steven Lacey
Chapter
One: Life In Shadow
“The distance between insanity and genius is
measured only by success.” ― Bruce Feirstein
THE BRIDGE OF OPMA Retribution was as silent as a tomb.
Retribution (SSF-0019) was a Heisenberg-class, Fusion-powered Stealth
Ship, one of the class of vessels that had the ability to disappear completely
from enemy scans using what was called a nanoscreen, a series of miniature
combination cameras and screens that both projected and recorded an image from
the opposite direction of each side, so that anyone who looked in her direction
would simply see empty space. That, coupled with a state-of-the-art dampening system
made her near impossible to detect. She also had the triple crown of
attributes: speed, maneuverability, and firepower. The latter was especially
impressive; she was armed with eight launch bays, not to mention a wide and
deadly variety of torpedoes at her disposal. She was designed to act as a
one-shot, one-kill vessel; because of the size of the powerplant, the
complexity of the dampening device, and that triple crown, her armor rating was
ridiculously low. A direct hit from even a relatively underpowered vessel and
she had a good chance of folding like a Chinese fan. She wasn’t the kind of
ship you used to charge headlong into a battle; she skulked in the darkness,
stalking her prey, then taking them out with a well-timed attack.
Colonel Henry
LaFours of the OPMA – the Outer Planetary Military Alliance – leaned forward,
one hand over his head, gripping the exposed piping that hung above where he
stood, the other rolled into a fist and thrust down at his side. He stared at
the screen in the front of the cramped room, eyes drawn into the white noise
pattern that was the standard indication a warship was currently in transit
between SlingShots – the series of gates that were spread throughout the solar
system and facilitated high speed travel between sectors, planets, and bases –
and thought idly about the task that lay before them. He had slight concerns
about the mission, to be sure: he hadn’t gotten the reputation for ruthless
efficiency that he had by ever being reckless with his ship. This didn’t stop a
number of thoughts tumbling through his head, the pulse in his neck starting to
jump as he got the same buzz of excitement every time he and his crew were
about to enter what they eloquently referred to as ‘the shit’. Echoing from all
around where he was standing, the sounds of fingers on keyboards, switches
being flipped, the hum of computers and machinery were prevalent, almost
overwhelming. He took a moment, as he often did, to study the confines of the
bridge.
The room itself
was long and thin, with the main viewscreen – where ninety percent of the
information relevant to their ship could appear and be disseminated to the rest
of the crew – on the far wall, with a slight alcove to the left of the screen
that went back several feet, with a door that opened in the wall to the right,
behind the screen. Facing the screen were two stations, on the left, Helm and on
the right, Weapons, where each officer sat behind complicated looking consoles,
with small screens set into each position. Along the wall to the right was the
Communications position, and next to that, the Tactics officer station. On the
left, Navigation sat next to the PRAXIS[1]
station, and against the rear wall, in the corner, was the Engineering
position. Against the wall in the other corner was the Ship Resources
Management console, where the auxiliary officer sat. Extending off to the right
of that station was a small hallway that led to bathrooms, sleeping quarters,
and Henry’s ridiculously cramped office; in the center of the room was his Command
station, a comfortable chair with touch pads built into the armrests and a
small, free-standing console to one side of it. On the other side was the
station for the Executive Officer (XO), who served as second in command of the
ship and was also equipped with a console, one that specifically had control
over the nanoscreen of Retribution.
Henry shook his
head, suddenly, shaking off the reverie he’d fallen into, bringing himself back
to the here and now. Despite the fact that this was something they had done
what felt like a million times over the last six years, despite that fearsome
reputation he and Retribution had
built up among both the crews and generals of the OPMA, as well as their
adversaries in the USEC – the United Solar Enforcement Command – it was always
a thrilling moment in the build-up to the hyper-instant before entering a
potential clash. He took a deep breath to calm himself, unconsciously slipping
his hand into the front flap of his light uniform jacket and checking the
antique-looking pocket watch there before he even realized he was doing it. Sheepishly,
he slipped it back into the compartment, the noise of the rattling chain
drawing a few quick glances from the others, and then looked around, his gaze taking
in everyone else in the room. Finally, he spoke, in a low voice, one that
carried to every corner of the space.
“Major Hart, how
long until we finish transit back to sector 1849?”
Sitting at the
helm controls, Major Renée Hart – a pretty, curvy young woman in her late
twenties – glanced at her readouts before calling over her shoulder. “We exit
the slingshot in exactly three minutes on my mark, Colonel. And… Mark.”
She – like the rest of the crew –
was wearing the standard summer uniform of the OPMA – a black, short-sleeve
military style button-up shirt with red piping on the arms, the last name and
first initial over the right breast, and the letters OPMA over the left. The
trousers were dark grey and black, with a wide, red bloodstripe down the outside
of either pant leg, black deck shoes or boots, and two pins in the shape of the
neutron symbol on each collar, signifying they were members of the Stealth Ship
fleet. A couple of the crew wore baseball caps, but most did not; standard
issue, the caps were a two-toned black and grey, with red highlights along the
front edge of the bill and running up into the crown. The front panel had a
patch that said “0019 Retribution”.
Colonel LaFours, unlike the others, wore a light, short-waisted jacket, that
was mainly black, with a wide, grey stripe running down each arm and across the
shoulders in the back, along with more red piping around the collar of the
jacket and between the black and grey portions of the jacket. He was worrying
with his hat, which was in the military style and called a combination cap,
with a round, flat top and a small plastic bill in the front. Unlike his XO,
who wore one that was gray, while the bill was black, the OPMA logo displayed
in the front in red, and red piping lines around the top and bottom edge of it,
his was unusual looking: it, too, had the OPMA logo in red on the front, but
the color of it was a light, khaki brown, the bill a rich, dark blue, with gold
piping around the top and bottom edges. It was also worn and sweat-stained, the
inside ragged and frayed, a hat that had seen a lot of use. He sighed and hung
it on the hook set into the side of his chair.
“Roger that,
Mark,” Henry said, nodding, before pulling the watch out again and adjusting it
to reflect the time. He turned to look over at his XO, Lt. Colonel Lucy Foster.
She was the youngest member present, with medium length brown hair and bright
blue eyes the color of the summer sky. She was already looking in his
direction, fingers idly drumming on the console in front of her. “Colonel
Foster, is the nanoscreen ready to engage?”
She nodded. “Yes
sir. I’ve already run the calculations; it should be engaging exactly point
three nanoseconds after we exit the gate. If anyone is paying attention, they
should just think it’s a computer glitch and ignore us. Even if they start
looking, however, we’ll be invisible and heading away from there quick enough,
and then they’ll never find us... until it’s too late, anyway.” There was a
certain amount of confidence and arrogance to her delivery, but everyone on the
bridge knew the rule: it wasn’t considered bragging if it happened to be true.
Henry gave a
tight smile at that. “Excellent.” He started to turn away, but a question
plainly written on her face kept him from doing so. “Something on your mind,
Colonel?”
“Well, it just
seems like…” Lucy shrugged. “We were just in this sector earlier tonight for
the fleet briefing, Colonel. It was deader than my love life then, so why are
we coming back now? And, more specifically, why turn the screens on right away?”
Henry gave a
smile and a shrug. “You know how it goes, Lucy. Orders is orders. We got told
to come back here on the sly, so that’s what we do. Charon Base and General
Potenzial seems to think we’re going to have some big-fish company here, so we
hide in the shadows and hope something tasty shows up.” He shrugged, then
turned to look at the PRAXIS Operator and Navigator, who sat side-by-side. “Captain
Hawkins, Captain Hawkins-Brown, I have a job for you two.” They looked over at
him, expectation written all over their faces, mirror images of each other.
“Katherine, as soon as we blow the gate, I want you to run the white noise
protocol and disguise a PRAXIS ping within that ‘computer glitch.’ Tiffany, as
soon as your sister does that, set a course forty-five degrees by sixty-eight
degrees off of the nearest enemy vessel, if there is one. Renée, be ready to
follow Tiffany’s heading. Got that?”
Katherine
Hawkins and Tiffany Hawkins-Brown – a pair of blonde haired, brown eyed, pretty
twins – nodded and replied in unison. “Yes, Colonel.”
Renée answered
half a beat later. “Yes, Colonel. Also, two minutes to exit on my mark.
And…..mark.”
“Thank you, Renée.”
LaFours turned to look at his Tactical Officer, who was leaning back in her
chair, staring at the ceiling. He
took two steps closer and then leaned over to consult with her quietly. “Jill,
thoughts on how we make this work?”
First Lieutenant
Jill McDonald kept staring at the ceiling for a few moments, her brown and
red-streaked hair hanging down her back, overhead lights reflecting off of her
glasses, hazel eyes clouded in thought. “What exactly did the message say,
Hank? ‘Hot target will be in this sector, be prepared for offensive action’.
That’s a little….” She shrugged, “vague, isn’t it? I mean, that could be anything
or anyone.” She shook her head. “I’m starting to think that our intelligence
officers are a bunch of inbred, football-fucking monkeys. They’re not exactly
going to win any awards for illuminating details, now are they?”
Henry gave a big
grin, tipping his hand on his excitement. “What’s the old joke about Military
Intelligence being an oxymoron? Apparently, that includes Psuedo-Military
Intelligence.” He gave a brief laugh. “Maybe we should call it
Psuedo-Military-Science, and then the initials would be PM…” he trailed off as
Jill fixed him with a look that would have stopped a runaway train dead. He
cleared his throat in the ensuing silence before speaking rapidly. “Anyway, I
figure that this sector is remote enough that we’ll most likely be dealing with
patrol vessels, maybe a frigate or two, unless our big fish is already here.
Beyond that, I can’t see this place exactly becoming a hotbed of USEC activity
in the last five hours.”
Unlike most
other OPMA personnel, Henry usually pronounced the enemy acronym either the way
it was spelled(i.e., ‘You Seck’) or by saying each letter, as opposed to the more common and snarky
pronunciation ‘You Suck’ that was ubiquitous among the other OPMA players. If
he had been asked why, he would have told you that his feeling about that was,
though they might be the enemy, and he and his crew were charged with cruising
around the solar system and blowing them the fuck up whenever they could, there
was no need to be a dick about it. Unfortunately, he was the exception rather
than the rule when it came to that particular method of conduct.
Henry pointed at
Jill’s screen. “Assume we’re dealing with the lower echelons of the ship class
chart. Come up with three or four solutions before we leave the slingshot in
ninety seconds. Got it?”
If this
seemingly monumental task was a problem, she didn’t give any indication, simply
nodding as she leaned forward and started typing quickly on the computer in
front of her. He stepped away from her, moving a few yards away to where his
communications officer, Captain Madelyn “Maddie” Andrews, was sitting, the
display on her screen a series of flat lines. She turned her ice-blue eyes in
his direction, her mouth quirking up into the ghost of a smile. “Ah, welcome to
the useless corner of the room, Colonel. I hope you don’t have anything for me
to do right now, because, well…” she gestured with an open hand at her screen,
“I’m goddamned useless until we’re out of transit.”
He bit back a
grin at the vaguely bitter cast of her tone, frowning slightly instead. “Language,
Maddie,” he said, and then continued, not unkindly. “You’ll have plenty to do
in just a minute or so. I want you to fire up the intercept program, get ready
to start trying to decrypt any transmissions from whoever might be in the sector.
I want it running as soon as we’re clear of the gate, okay?”
She gave him a casual
salute. “Yes, Colonel.”
At that moment, Renée
called out “Exit in one minute on my mark, Colonel. And….mark.”
Henry turned and
walked over to First Lieutenant Taja Skybourne, his engineer. “Taj, I want the
minimum amount of juice necessary for the nanoscreen. Whatever’s left, put a
third of it into propulsion, a third into weapons, and the rest in reserve for
wherever we end up needing it.”
She looked at
him with her dark eyes, a typically hard to read expression on her handsome and
sculpted tan face. “What about the bridge stations? Will we have enough power
to run them?” Despite her Indian features, she had the barest hint of an accent
from the American South. Looking at her, it was hard to determine her age,
though Henry knew she was almost ten years older than himself.
Henry twisted
his face wryly. “There’s enough in the batteries to keep everything going for
at least an hour. We’ll be fine there, and as soon as it’s an issue, you can
use the reserve power.”
Taja nodded at
him. “Okay, you’re the boss.”
“Yes,” he said
with a grin and a shrug, “I suppose I am.” He patted her on the shoulder as he
walked back to the center of the room, checking his watch one final time as he
hovered close to the command chair and looked around at the crew. “Okay,
everyone who needs to be doing something right now should already be on it. Major
Starr,” he said to plump, plain-looking Georgia Starr, the weapons officer.
Despite her unremarkable appearance, he knew she possessed a near-mystical
ability with the weapons systems, getting them to do things that they weren’t
necessarily designed to do.
Now, she perked
up at the mention of her name. “Yes, Colonel?”
“Just letting
you know that you’ll have plenty of time to get ready with the weapons if we
need them. Gears, as soon as we pop in, see if you can nail down who we’re
dealing with, see if it’s an old friend, or a new one.”
First Lieutenant
Grace Ellen Amanda Rowan, AKA ‘Gears’, cranked up her ever-present incandescent
grin a few more notches and gave him an insouciant wink. “Ready and willing,
Colonel.” She was a tall and athletic woman in her mid to late thirties and the
oldest person on the crew, with dirty blonde hair in a messy pixie cut.
Gears was the
auxiliary officer and, despite her officer rank, Chief Of the Boat. Her primary
role was issuing necessary orders to the enlisted crew and shuffling them
around Retribution to carry out
various tasks, a task that took some doing. Beyond that, however, was the catch-all
job that included keeping records of all known enemy and friendly ships,
maintaining crew morale, administering first aid, and occasionally relieving
other crew members when they needed to take a break. Of course, this group had
been working together for so long that everyone was at least partially
qualified to do everybody else’s job, a provision that Henry had insisted upon.
Now, Henry
rolled his eyes at her. “You’re a spitfire, Gears,” he said, once again,
pulling out his watch and flipping it open. “Exiting in thirty seconds on my
mark. And, MARK. Lucy, switch us to combat lighting.” The dim overhead
lights - tinted blue and white –
switched over to red. He looked around the room, his eyes stopping on Renee.
“Renee! What are we?”
She replied
immediately with a grin. “We’re a burning candle!”
“And what can
you do with a burning candle?” His question had the singsong delivery that
comes with long practice.
“Light the
fuse,” everyone on the bridge said in unison.
“Louder,” Henry
ordered.
“Light the
fuse!” They raised their voices.
“Burning
candle!”
“LIGHT THE
FUSE!”
“BURNING
CANDLE!”
“LIGHT THE
FUSE!” They were shouting it, now.
“RETRIBUTION!”
“ALLIES,
TOGETHER, WE SHALL PREVAIL!”
Henry grinned. “Good
deal. All stations, prepare for slingshot exit. When we’re in the sector,
switch to combat protocols. Here we go, ladies. Let’s get it done. And…EXIT.”
All at once, the
screen flashed twice, the white noise replaced with a star-field. As soon as
they were out, he heard the furious typing and clicking at the various consoles
as his crew endeavored to carry out the instructions he had issued in the moments
before. He closed his eyes, counted to five in his head, then opened them to
look at his XO. “Okay. XO, Conn, status report.”
Lucy stared at
her screen, but aimed a thumbs up in his direction. “Conn, XO, Nanoscreen is up
and running, Colonel.”
“Perfect. Helm,
Conn, status report?”
“Conn, Helm, I
have received the coordinates from navigation, Colonel. We have safely arrived back
in sector 1849 and are in the pipe, five by five.”
Henry nodded,
satisfied. “Good job, both of you. PRAXIS, Conn, how crowded is it here?”
“Conn, PRAXIS,
uh…” Tiffany paused briefly while she scanned the sector. “We’ve got a single
enemy ship in here, a fusion frigate, but it’s pretty far outside the zone and,
behind the slingshot?” She looked at
Henry in confusion. “How can that have happened?”
“My guess,”
Henry said evenly, “is it probably has something to do with that.” He pointed at the main screen.
The ship had
just begun a slow, lazy turn after exiting the slingshot, revealing mostly
empty space, a few scattered asteroids, and then, in colors so blue and so white
that it lit up the whole bridge, a large, icy comet appeared, moving slowly
across the screen.
“Oh, that’s
right,” Tiffany said, mostly to herself, then turned to look at Henry. “It was
in the weekly briefing. That’s comet 421-Lucas, which is a new feature swinging through the part of the
Solar System between Mars and Jupiter for the next few weeks. It’s currently
going through this sector.”
“Well, yeah,
whenever features like that appear, they have a tendency to affect the borders
of the sector,” Henry replied, rubbing his smooth chin. “So, my guess is, when
that ship was on the way in, something, or someone, passed behind the
slingshot, and….”
“…And hit a jumpshadow,”
Tiffany finished, nodding her agreement. “So, they were in transit, the sensors
detected an obstruction, and that dropped them out of slingshot mode way the
hell away.” Her forehead scrunched up, suddenly deep in thought. “That can’t have
been us, which means that maybe a...?” She trailed off as she leaned forward to
study her screen, cocking her head slightly before she seemed to shake off
whatever it was she thought she had noticed. “No, nevermind.” She shook her
head and started entering something into the keyboard. “I’m going to need a few
moments while I run this down, Colonel. Aside from that ship, a few scattered
asteroids, and the comet, sector seems to be clear.”
Henry’s face suddenly
became a study in pleased surprise. “Oh, I just had a wonderful idea.” He
leaned closer to the Tactical
Officer. “Jill, are you thinking what I’m…?”
“Way ahead of
you, Hank,” she said, punching a series of commands into her keyboard. “Helm,
XO.”
“XO, Helm, go
ahead.”
“Renée, you
should have a new set of coordinates to follow that will bring you right up to
that big bastard. Got ‘em?”
There was a
pause before Renée spoke. “Yeah, they’re in. Redirecting us now.”
Henry turned to
look at his comm officer. “Communications, Conn.”
“Conn,
communications, go ahead.”
“Any luck
cracking their radio yet, Maddie?”
She shook her
head. “Not yet, no.”
“Keep at it. COB,
Conn.”
“Go for the
COB.”
“Gears, have we
met this guy before?” She paused, typing into her keyboard, the looked up at
him, her ever-present smile having slipped away for a rare moment.
“We have,
Colonel. It’s Tombstone.”
“Huh. Well.” As
it happened, he was intensely familiar with the ship and its crew. The captain
of Tombstone was a guy named
Commander Chris Michaels, who, based on all the intelligence passed on to Henry
and his crew from the spooks at Charon Base, seemed to pretty much be a “No
Talent Ass Clown”, achieving his rank based more on his connections and the
skills of his crew than any actual ability of his own. The problem, as it were, was that his crew was comprised of some of the
sharpest players in the game, especially his XO, Lt. Commander Cooper Freeman.
He constantly used outside-the-box thinking to outfox his enemies, his moves
unorthodox and daring, almost always giving him the edge, and the victory. In
public, outside the confines of the bridge of Retribution, Henry LaFours and his crew were known to fear no ship,
no player, and no crew. In here, however, there was a short list of people that
Henry LaFours and his crew were wary of. Cooper Freeman was near the top of
that list. Henry sighed. “XO,
Conn; Lucy, what’s their local time right now?”
She called up
the information on her screen, then looked at him. “It’s about a quarter past
eleven there, Colonel.”
He thought
quickly. “COB, Conn; Gears, run Freeman through the stat-list, tell me how
often he’s active at eleven fifteen local.” He didn’t have to clarify who he
meant; everyone on the crew knew more about Freeman than they really wanted to.
Gears nodded,
entering the information and reading before she turned back to him. “The system
is coming back that he is known to be active in making ship decisions roughly
eight percent of the time between the hours of eleven and midnight. Between ten
and eleven, fifteen percent, and between midnight and one…” she inhaled
sharply. “Oh, fuck. Ninety-seven percent, with a steady decline through the
next four hours to about forty-eight percent by four AM. Guess he’s a night
owl.” She gave a shrug as she said that.
Henry rubbed his
hands on his short, nappy hair, exhaling slowly. “Well, damn. Okay, ladies,
what do you think? If this were any other situation, I would say to hell with
it and just take these guys out, no problem. With Freeman, though, it looks
like – if we’re lucky – we’ll have about thirty, forty-five minutes before he
comes on duty. That’s forty-five minutes to track, target, and take out our
prey while they’ll still be acting within standard USEC parameters. This is
assuming that he doesn’t get called to the bridge as soon as they know we’re
attacking. We’d have to take them out fast, inside of ninety seconds, which is
close to our single engagement record. So, I’m leaving it up to you. Do we act
now, or do we sit back and play the wait-and-see game?”
After a pause,
Jill broke the silence that had settled after his question. “Man….Fuck Cooper
Freeman, and fuck Tombstone. I say we
take that fucking ship out. Asleep, awake, aiming a missile up our tailpipe –
we’re better than him and his jackass captain and their pussy-ass crew. Let’s
fucking gang-rape these bitches!”
Henry stared at
her, jaw agape. “Good grief, Jill, take a deep breath and relax, alright? No
need to get so angry… a simple ‘let’s do it’ would have sufficed.”
“Oh, right.
Yeah, let’s do it,” she said, her voice taking on a demure tone that was as
pleasant as it was false.
“That’s better,”
he said with a smile. He looked at his PRAXIS operator. “PRAXIS, Conn; Katherine,
what is the heading of Tombstone, currently?”
“Conn, PRAXIS, it’s
bearing straight for the comet at standard cruising speed,” she responded
immediately. “ETA, forty-three minutes.”
There was a long
pause. “Well, that just throws a monkey wrench right into the engine, don’t it?
Fuck me running,” Henry swore morosely.
Jill spoke up
again, gently this time. “Hank….Freeman is just a man. A talented guy, sure,
but he’s just like us, part of a crew. And as part of a crew, he’s not the one
calling the shots. Besides,” and here she pointed vaguely at the screen, “his
ship dropped out of the slingshot almost an hour out of the actual sector. Even
if he was inactive before this, he
probably got called up the bridge anyway, which is a standard procedure in a
case like that. So, we’re going to be dealing with him now, either way,
but….again, we can beat him. Him, and
his crew.”
Uh huh. Still,
we should…”
“Conn,
Communications!” Maddie looked up at him suddenly.
“Go ahead,
Communications,” Henry said, looking at her curiously.
“We have an
incoming transmission from Charon Base.” She hit a button, listening for a few
seconds, and then recoiled suddenly. “Jesus, that’s loud!”
“Language,”
Henry said absently. “can you run it for us?”
She hit a
button. “Retribution, this is Charon
Base. Please be advised of following message, forwarded from resource
six-niner-eight-four-three, regarding current possible target.” Suddenly, the
bridge speakers were echoing loudly with what sounded like a buzzsaw at full
volume, loud enough to cause everyone to flinch, a few of them covering their
ears. “Charon Base, this is resource 69843, will make sure Freeman is out of
play.”
The transmission
ended, and Maddie looked up. “That’s it.”
“Well, then.”
Henry paced back and forth for a moment, head bowed in thought, then nodded to
himself. “Okay, right,” he mumbled, then looked up at the others. “Here we go.
Forty-five minutes; gives us plenty of time. Helm, Conn; I want you to match
our speed exactly with that of the
comet. Any attempts to scan for our boat should get lost in the haze of the
background radiation that Lucas-421 is emitting. While I agree that, if we have
the opportunity, we should reduce Tombstone to microscopic dust particles, I
don’t think she’s the big fish that Intelligence was talking about. So we’re
going to play it cool and see how things play out, got it?”
Renée nodded
briskly. “Conn, Helm; got it, Colonel.”
“Navigation,
Conn; Katherine, put up a forty-five minute countdown clock on the screen, so
we know about how long before we need to get primed.”
A moment later,
a timer popped up on the main-screen, scrolling steadily backwards from
forty-five. “Conn, Navigation; Done and done, Colonel.”
“Thanks. Okay,
everybody, now: once we’re in position, I want you all to take a bathroom
break, two at a time. It’s going to be a long stretch of waiting before we
engage, I don’t want anyone unable to concentrate because they have to tinkle.”
A titter passed through the crew, reflected in the wide grin on Henry’s face.
“When we’ve done that, we’ll see what this engagement brings us next.” His
smile slipped away and he shook his head quickly, finally sitting down in the
command chair with a heavy sigh. “Goodness knows, it’s already gone face down
in the plough mud on us.” He stared into space for a moment, waiting for Renée’s
signal. A moment later, he got it.
“Conn, Helm.”
“Helm, Conn, go
ahead.”
“We’ve matched
speed with Lucas-421, sir. We should be just another PRAXIS anomaly.”
“Thank you,
Major Hart,” he said, then gestured behind him. “You know where the facilities are,
ladies. Make use of them.” He waved his hand vaguely at the room. “I don’t care
what order.”
After a quick
discussion amongst themselves, Lucy and Georgia got to their feet, making their
way to the rear of the bridge and disappearing into the passageway that led to
the pair of restrooms behind the bridge. Once they returned, Katherine and
Tiffany went next, and then Maddie and Renée, Lucy taking over the helm while Renée
was absent. Taja and Grace went next, both of them taking much longer than the
others had. Henry was about to joke that they send a search party to look for
them when they returned at almost the exact same time, at which point he and
Jill got up and headed for the facilities. As they walked down the narrow
hallway, Henry glanced at the walls on either side; they were decorated with
row after row of hash marks, four upright lines with a fifth crossing them
diagonally. Henry ran his hand along the right side wall as he passed by it,
humming to himself. As they approached the bathrooms, Jill looked up at him.
“You okay, Hank? You look a little…uneasy.”
He returned her
look as evenly as possible. “Oh, yeah, sure, I’m fine. It’s just…” he waved his
hand back toward the bridge. “You know how I feel about you ladies. You’re my
crew, my responsibility. Every time we get into a scrap, I’m always conscious
of trying to make sure that I take good care of you.”
She made a face
at this. “Hank, you say this all the time, and, dammit, we’re not shrinking
little violets, here.”
Henry held up
his hands in protest. “I know, but that’s not in some kind of a male-dominated
hierarchal sort of way, Jill, and you know that. You know my momma; I was
raised by my mother to be a good southern gentleman, and sometimes that means
worrying about the ladies in your care. We’ve faced big odds, and always come
through like champs, but dealing with someone like Freeman, good as he is…” he
gave a helpless shrug. “It’s the X-Factor. Makes me nervous.”
She smiled. “Oh,
don’t be such a pussy, Hank.” She then punched him on the arm, hard.
“Hey! Ow!” He
rubbed his shoulder vigorously. “What the fuck was that for?”
“For being
ever-so-slightly chauvinistic, ya douchebag.” “Oh, right, this from the woman
who was talking about gang-raping people a few minutes ago.”
She shook her head, “I’m a complicated
girl, Hank.” She then removed his hand, still rubbing his arm, and started
kneading along where she had punched him in an effort to be comforting. “This,
on the other hand, is because it’s nice to have someone who cares. You’re a
good man, Hank, and a good Colonel. Even more importantly, you’ve trained a
good crew. You’ve got to stop
worrying, because, you, me, and those hell-bitches in there who make up your
loyal crew? We’ve got this.” She winked at him, then gestured over her
shoulder. “Okay, I gotta poop. I’ll see you up front in a little bit.” With
that, she turned and walked into the bathroom behind her. Shaking his head,
Henry turned around and did the same.
Once everyone
was settled back into their positions and ready for action, Henry marched to
the command chair, plopped down into it, then started reviewing all the data
that he could. Glancing at the screen, he saw that the counter was just passing
the ten minute mark, then chuckled to himself.
Lucy, sitting
next to him, pulled her gaze away from her console and looked over curiously,
leaning in and dropping her voice. “Something amusing, Colonel?”
He pointed at
the main screen with his chin. “You ever notice how much of our time is spent
watching and waiting on countdown clocks, Lucy? I mean, it seems like we spend
night after night, week after week, tucked away in our little corner, gazing at
digital clocks whose numbers are drizzling down to zero, the end result usually
being the possibility of the destruction of our ship, or the probability of the
destruction of someone else. Doesn’t that just seem kind of…” he shrugged
helplessly, “patently absurd?”
Lucy stared at
him for a long, long moment. “Henry, have you been smoking Gabe’s weed again?
I’ve warned you about this, it’s medical grade stuff and it will fuck you up.”
He gave her a
dirty look. “You know I don’t do that, Lucy.”
She returned his
gaze levelly. “Anymore, Hank. You
don’t do that anymore.” The barest hint of a smile played at the corners of her
mouth. “Stop trying to get all deep and philosophical on us, Colonel. Just
watch the clock and then make your move.” With a shake of her head, she
returned her focus to the screen in front of her.
Suddenly, across
the room, Maddie perked up as if she had been goosed. “Oh, my!” She turned to
look over at Henry. “Conn, Communications!”
“Communications,
go for Conn.”
“Colonel, I just
got a priority transmission from command. They just let us know who our big
fish target is, sir. It’s BCF-0109, Rorkes
Drift.”
The whole bridge
went silent for a moment. “Rorkes Drift?” Henry echoed incredulously, eyes
blinking slowly in total surprise. “I thought they were tied up in that thing
closer to Saturn. What are they doing this far sunward?”
“I don’t know
any of that, Colonel,” Maddie said, eyes wide. “All I know is that we’ve been
told there is a ninety-nine perfect chance we can expect her in this sector in
the next twenty minutes.”
Jill and Lucy,
sitting on either side of him, both turned toward him eagerly. “Holy balls,
both Tombstone and Rorkes Drift?!?” Jill got out first, excitedly.
“This shit is about to turn into a good-old-fashioned blanket party!”
Lucy spoke half
a second later. “We’re going to turn them all into space-going tomato paste!”
“Maintain
discipline, please,” Henry stated, holding up a hand to quiet them, then turned
to Grace. “COB, Conn; Gears, give me some numbers and stats on Rorkes Drift. Does she normally travel alone?”
“Just a moment,
Colonel.” Gears typed rapidly into her keyboard. “No, sir. She normally travels
with a complement of at least five other vessels, and normally closer to nine.
She’s the command vessel of fleet 0087, Henry, and one of those other ships is
almost always a Schrodinger-Class.”
This was the USEC version of a Fusion Stealth Ship, with practically identical
stats as the Heisenberg-Class. She
gave him a look full of concern, smile completely gone, now. “Wait, they want
us to take her out? With no backup, in a deserted sector, while she has at
least six other friendly vessels
within attack distance? Is it just me, or does this have ‘suicide mission’
written all over it?”
Henry was about
to dismiss her question as being remarkably stupid when he had a sudden
insight, and with total clarity of the situation blossoming in his mind,
realized that she was absolutely right.
“Okay, protocol
break for a moment, let’s all speak freely.” The women all relaxed. “That’s the
only thing that makes sense, huh? Except….that makes no sense. Why would Pluto Command want to sacrifice one of their
best crews?” Henry asked no one in particular.
“Not ‘one of’,
Henry. ‘The best.’ Period.” Lucy’s
eyes had taken on a dangerous cast.
“Well, is there
anyone we can call in for backup on this?” Taja asked from her station. “There
must be someone within a sector or two of here that we can ask for help.”
It was Maddie’s
turn to shake her head. “No such luck, hun. If the sector were deserted, we
could maybe send out a query. With the nanoscreen engaged and Tombstone closing in on us, any
transmissions from this vessel will light up their threat board like a
touchdown at the Palmetto Bowl.”
Katherine nodded.
“She’s right. Not only that, but the…” her voice trailed off and she stared
intently at her screen. “Colonel, I think….” She tapped a few buttons. “Is it
just me, or are they…?” She pointed at her screen.
“What my sister
is trying to say,” Tiffany broke in quickly, “is that it appears as if Tombstone has been running a series of scans of varying frequencies
and classifications directed almost exactly at our location.”
Henry looked at
the twins, then shifted his glance to Jill. “Lieutenant MacDonald, what are the
chances that they could detect our signature, even hidden against the comet?”
Before Jill
could speak, it was Taja who answered him. “Actually, if I recall correctly
from that report, there was something about the ionic makeup of a comet that
creates a weird trace effect on any nearby vessels, ‘screened or otherwise,”
she said calmly. “If they suspect we’re here, and they run the right reductions
through their system…” her eyes widened. “They could probably get a missile
lock on us.”
At that moment,
as if Taja had, in fact, predicted the future, a steady, high-pitched beeping
emerged from Katherine’s console.
“Conn, PRAXIS,
we have a missile lock, repeat, we have a missile lock,” she said urgently,
returning to the standard military protocol they used when they were in a
potentially hostile sector.
Henry wasted no
time. “Helm, Conn, initiate evasive maneuvers immediately. Bring us around
behind the comet. I repeat, put the comet between us and Tombstone.”
“Roger that,
Colonel,” Renée said calmly, executing a series of quick, deft motions that
took Retribution out of the line of
sight of Tombstone within seconds and
before the enemy vessel had a chance to fire. Henry leaned back in his seat,
thinking, rubbing his chin with his left hand before he waved it first at
Tiffany, then at the main screen. “Navigation, Conn; please put the sector map
on screen, with the position of the comet, us relative to it, and the last
known position and heading of Tombstone,
please.”
After a moment,
the requested information appeared at the front of the room. Henry studied it
for a few seconds, mumbling to himself, making weird gestures with his hands,
like he was skimming them through water. He looked up after a second at
Georgia, who was staring at him evenly. “Weapons Conn; prepare to fire forward
tubes one, three, and five. Navigation, Conn; I want you to plot a course that
will slingshot us around the front of the comet and right onto the flight path
of Tombstone. Tactics, Conn; be
prepared for any counter-attacks they may throw our way and take the Conn
yourself if you need to and you think
they will work. Go, do it now. Go!” At the urgency with which he spoke the last
word, the crewmembers sprang into action.
Within seconds,
the course had been plotted. Henry ordered Taja to direct all of the reserve
power they’d been marshalling into the engines, then sat back and steepled his
fingers as he waited for them to finish their turn. As Retribution swung into position and leveled out, they could see Tombstone ahead and slightly to port,
showing that someone knew what they were doing – having anticipated Retribution’s tactic, Tombstone had already started evasive
action. It didn’t really matter, though, because Henry knew they had a pretty
clean shot.
“Weapons, Conn,
ready to fire on my mark.”
“Conn, weapons,
bays are loaded and ready to fire.”
Henry took a
breath, held it, then nodded at her. “Weapons, Conn; fire bays one, three,
five,” Henry said quietly.
“Conn, Weapons,
roger that, firing weapon bay one, weapon bay three, weapon bay five.” With
deliberate, almost slow movements, Georgia pressed three buttons in succession,
and on the main screen, three matching white blips started augering in toward
the enemy frigate. “Fish in the
water, sir; range to target, five klicks.” With a practiced motion, she brought
the rangefinder up onto the main screen, the rapidly decreasing distance
between the target and the missiles displayed as yet another countdown number
in the corner.
Henry gave a
slightly silly grin and pointed up at the clock even as he looked over at Lucy.
“See what I mean? It’s like a…”
Lucy just stared at him and then slowly shook her head. He rolled his
eyes, then turned back to the main screen. “Okay, sharks, you smell the blood,
now get the prey,” he muttered to himself. Moments later, he had to suppress
the urge to moan when all three missiles were destroyed by counter-measures. A
moment after that, he was too busy with other things to think about how their
attack had missed, because Tombstone
had turned the tide right back on him. The steady high-pitched beeping from
Katherine’s console had started up again, only to become a solid tone seconds
later.
“Conn, PRAXIS,
enemy missiles have been launched! I repeat, enemy missiles have been
launched,” Katherine yelped, her voice cracking slightly as she did. “Impact in
ten seconds.”
Henry responded
without pause. “Helm, Conn, execute immediate turn, heading three-four-three by
zero-one-five, mark! Engineering, all reserve power to engines, NOW!”
“Aye aye,
Colonel,” Renée answered even as she was doing the maneuver, Taja’s
acknowledgment of the order echoing a half-second behind the helmswoman. On the
main-screen, the image was suddenly filled with comet Lucas-421, growing
steadily larger. There was tense silence on the bridge for a long moment, as
everyone waited for the impact.
After something
closer to twenty seconds had passed since Katherine’s warning, Henry looked
over at her. “PRAXIS, Conn; time to impact from missiles?”
“Conn, PRAXIS, holding
steady at about four seconds, sir,” she replied tersely.
“Okay, and time
to impact with Lucas-421?” He sounded remarkably calm for the current
situation.
“We will impact
the comet in nineteen seconds, Colonel,” Katherine said, her tone of voice
clearly conveying an additional so why
don’t you have Renée move the ship someplace else, dickhead? He nodded
once, pulling out his pocket watch and opening it. After what seemed like an
eternity – but was, in reality, only about ten seconds – he snapped out, “Helm, Conn, rotate ninety degrees and
hard to starboard, now now now!”
Again, Renée
acted as she acknowledged the order, and once more the screen shifted crazily
as she carried it out. After a few moments, Katherine uttered a surprised sigh
of relief. “Conn, PRAXIS; Colonel, the missiles have struck the comet. I say
again, the missiles have bypassed us and impacted against comet Lucas-421.”
Henry sighed in
relief. “Good job, y’all.” He smiled tightly. “I got to hand it to them;
they’re good. Now, while we could do
this all night,” and here his smile shifted slightly, his voice getting the
same southern twang Taja had shown earlier and taking on a menacing aspect, “I
think it’s time to shut the door on this engagement. Tiffany, if we were
traveling at flank speed, how far are we time-wise from the two SlingShots in
the sector?”
“We could reach
the nearest portal – we’ll call that gate one, the same that Tombstone would have arrived through –
in about six minutes. For gate two, it would be closer to twelve.” She looked
up at him. “Should I plot courses for both, Henry?”
“Yes, although I
have a feeling we’re going to probably want the farther one.” He took a deep
breath, then looked first at Lucy, then Jill, then Gears. “I don’t think we’re
going to be able to get the regular drop on Tombstone,
y’all. Therefore, I’m authorizing a triumvirate decision, ladies. I would like
to activate Starfish Prime.”
Utter silence
fell on the room like a shrouded wet blanket. Everyone stopped what they were
doing to gape at Henry in a mixture of amazement and horror.
It was Lucy who
spoke first, her voice unconsciously pitched to a stage whisper. “Holy fuck,
Colonel, are you sure about that? If we do, we won’t be able to use it again
for seven weeks!”
Henry nodded. “I
know, but it’s our best chance to end this engagement decisively. They are
alone in this sector, without backup. So far, they’ve done better than alright
against us. Without using the Starfish, we run the risk of Tombstone maybe getting a shot of a better advantage. I think this
is the only way, but y’all know the rules – it can only be activated if three
out of the four of us – the Chief Of the Boat, The Tactical Officer, the
Executive Officer, and the Commanding Officer – agree to it. Hence, why I bring
it up.” He glanced at his pocket watch yet again. “Not to be an asshole, but
we’re running out of time, here. What will it be? Lucy?”
The XO looked
pained, then nodded. “I say aye.”
Henry looked at the
COB. “What say you, Gears?”
Gears hesitated,
then shook her head. “We might need it for something more important that this
particular white whale, Ahab,” she said with her customary wry grin, though it slipped away after a moment.
“Sorry, sir. No.”
Henry’s face
remained expressionless as he turned to his tactical officer. “You’re the
make-or-break, Jill. What’s your call?”
Jill gave a grin
that was an echo of the slightly malevolent one Henry had exhibited earlier.
“Like I said earlier, Hank, let’s gang-rape these jackholes. I say yes!”
“Jill, there’s
that gang-rape thing again, not cool,” Henry complained. He sighed, somewhere
between satisfaction and resignation. “Anyway, the vote is passed, the order is
given.” He got up and walked over to a panel on the right side of the bridge,
flipping open a covered red button, even as Lucy turned to her console and did
the same. “XO, Conn; Executive
Officer Foster, on my mark, activate Starfish Prime. PRAXIS, Conn; do we still
have line of sight on Tombstone?”
Katherine
responded immediately, her tone of voice showing that she was still slightly
shocked at this latest turn of events. “Conn, PRAXIS; Yes sir, distance is just
over fifteen kilometers.”
“Acknowledged.
Engineering, Conn; institute emergency shutdown of all systems aboard Retribution on my mark.”
Taja’s response
was couched in a passive-aggressive form of hostility, showing that she seemed
to be siding with Grace on this decision. “Conn, Engineering; Roger that,
Colonel.”
Henry chose to
ignore her tone for the moment. “And, Instituting emergency shutdown….mark.” All at once, every screen and
light on the bridge went dim.
“Emergency
shutdown complete, Colonel,” Taja’s voice echoed from the near-total darkness.
“XO, Conn; activate
Starfish Prime on my mark.”
“Conn, XO; roger
that.”
“Three, two, one, mark.” Simultaneously, Henry and Lucy pressed their respective red
buttons. There was a sound like a thousand sheets of paper being ripped in half
all at once, causing several members of the crew to wince. Henry, however,
didn’t even skip a beat. “Engineering, institute emergency power-up sequence,
on my mark, and, mark.” As quickly as
they had gone out, the lights and consoles came back on. He turned to
Katherine. “PRAXIS, Conn; situation report on Tombstone asap, please.” He shifted to look at Lucy. “XO, time to
reactivate the nanoscreen?”
“Colonel, the
nanoscreen will be operational again in nine minutes,” Lucy reported.
Katherine spoke
as soon as Lucy was done. “Conn, PRAXIS!”
“PRAXIS, Conn,
go ahead.”
“Colonel, Tombstone is dead in the water, sir. The
Starfish managed a one hundred percent shutdown of the enemy vessel; all
systems are offline. Estimated time to restoration of their power is
approximately one hundred and ten seconds.”
Jill gave a fist
pump at that news. “Fuck yeah, it worked!”
Everyone stared at her for a moment. Sheepishly, she lowered her hand. “I mean,
not that we didn’t think it would, just that...” she shrugged, embarrassed to
be the center of attention suddenly. “…hey, this is the first time I’ve
actually been here when you guys used
the EMP weapon. I got excited.”
Henry rolled his
eyes and shook his head, although secretly he too was pleased. This was only
the fifth time in his OPMA career he had activated the Starfish Prime – a
weapon named after the first atmospheric nuclear test specifically
investigating the effects of an Electro-Magnetic Pulse – and it had only
definitively worked once before. He pointed at Renée. “Helm, Conn; bring us
around to bear amidships of Tombstone.”
He turned his attention to Georgia. “Weapons, Conn; spool up and load all eight
missile tubes, because we’re going to open fire with everything we have.” Georgia
started activating all of the weapon systems.
As Renée
reoriented Retribution, Henry looked
at Jill. “Tactics, Conn,” he said, and as she looked at him, he gave her a
smile. “Why don’t you take command on this? I’ll take a backseat and let you
get the kill, since you’re so scarily focused on the gang-rape thing.”
“Oh, shit yes!”
Jill exulted. “I mean, yes, Colonel, gladly.”
“Very well. You
have the Conn.” He stood up and circled around to stand behind Jill, who
plopped down into the command chair.
“Conn, Engineering,” Taja called to Jill
from her station, “how do you want the power distribution, Lieutenant?”
Jill looked over
at her, slightly annoyed. “The standard for an engagement, Taj. One third for
propulsion, one third for weapons, one third for the nanoscreen.”
The look she
gave him was slightly provocative. “You mean, the nanoscreen that won’t be
operational for another eight and a half minutes, ma’am?”
With an effort,
Henry swallowed his amusement at Jill’s obvious displeasure with the
Engineering officer. She mustered an apologetic smile. “Right, Taj, sorry.
Okay, make it fifty for propulsion, forty percent for weapons, and keep the
other ten in reserve for when the stupid screen comes back online.”
Rather than give
a verbal response, Taja nodded, turning her attention to the keyboard in front
of her. The main screen showed a star field wheeling about as Renée reoriented
the ship, and then Tombstone slid
into view, sitting quietly in space like an inert lump of metal. Henry admired
the view for a moment.
Jill then smiled
suddenly. “Oh, haha! Weapons, Conn; set the torpedoes to magnetic lock. With no
counter-measures, the fish should swim right into her.”
“Aye aye, Lieutenant;
switching missiles to magnetic homing.” Georgia’s drawl was smooth and relaxed,
her posture that of a lazy teenager sitting through a boring math class. As Renée
straightened up the boat and Tombstone
began to grow larger on the screen, the bridge echoed with the sound of the
targeting computer trying to find a lock. After a few seconds, the warble
became a steady tone. Unable to help herself, Georgia grinned. “Lieutenant, we
have a lock for all eight tubes.”
Henry nodded,
pleased; in front of him, Jill’s eyes bored into the screen as she watched the
enemy ship’s size steadily increase. She took a deep breath, held it, let it
out. “Fire on my mark.” She brought a hand up to her face, made a fist, slowly
lowered it back down again. Once it reached the armrest, she closed her eyes,
then opened them, seemingly dizzy with power. “Mark.”
The sound of
eight torpedoes leaving their tubes rattled through the room. “Fish are in the
water, Lieutenant,” Georgia said.
Silently, the
crew watched as eight twinkling lights converged from all sides of the screen
and hove in toward the vessel they were silently approaching. Henry frowned at
Jill, who was enraptured with the departing rockets. He waited a few seconds,
then stepped around the command chair and up to the weapons console. “Georgia, why
don’t you go ahead and ready another spread, and bring up the time-to-target
counter onscreen, please,” Henry murmured gently. A second later, a countdown
appeared in the corner, showing that the missiles were forty-five seconds from
impacting against Tombstone.
“Yeah, we got
this,” Jill whispered under her breath, and, as he stepped back behind Jill,
Henry was aware that they were about to add another kill to the list. Even if
the enemy ship restored power in the next half minute, he was sure at least
half the projectiles would detonate against the frigate.
“Conn, weapons;
Lieutenant, weapons are ready to fire again,” Georgia announced.
Jill was still
mesmerized. Henry smiled and looked wryly at Georgia. “Roger that. Standby to
fire again….assuming we need to, that is.”
“Are you
kidding, Hank? We totally got this! Fuck YES!!” Jill exclaimed from her chair.
At that point,
almost as if they were one entity, the other nine people on the bridge whirled
to stare at her.
It was Lucy who
recovered her wits enough to speak first; even Henry was stunned into silence.
“What the fuck are you doing?!?!” She practically screamed, half rising from
her chair like she was going to lean over to where Jill sat and punch her in
the face.
Jill’s elation
was replaced with a look of total confusion. “Whoah, now, what the hell is
wrong with you? All I said was – ”
“NO!!!!”
everyone screamed in unison, but not before Jill finished her sentence.
“ – we totally
got this.”
Almost as if it
were pre-ordained by a higher power, a noise started emanating from Katherine’s
console. She looked at it, and then fixed Jill with a dismayed stare as she
spoke. “Conn, PRAXIS, we’ve just picked up one, two, three, four contacts at
SlingShot gate one.” She looked away from Jill to read the screen. “I have two
destroyers, fusion and guided missile-fusion, a nuclear cruiser, and…” she gave
an angry sigh, “A fusion BattleCarrier. It’s Rorkes Drift, Lieutenant.”
Gears now turned
her own disgusted stare at Jill. “For fuck’s sake…” she leaned down to rub her
face in her hands. “You’re a goddamned jinx, McDonald.”
“Hey, now,”
Henry said, though he was also feeling dismayed. “No need for name calling.” He
looked at Jill. “You still got this, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir, I can
handle it. I just…”
“Jill!” Lucy was
pointing at the screen. “Tombstone
has power again! She’s attempting to evade the missiles!” Looking up, Henry saw
that his XO was telling the truth; Tombstone
had restored power and was trying to twist out of the incoming barrage. He held
his breath as he watched and saw almost immediately that her effort were in
vain. Moments later, he watched with grim satisfaction as she managed to avoid
two missiles, only to get plastered by the other six.
“Colonel,
multiple hits on Tombstone!” Georgia
called out unnecessarily. One of the missiles had impacted against the engines,
and they saw debris fly out in a random spray, gases spewing from the hull.
Even as they watched this, Retribution
passed Tombstone, the enemy ship
disappearing from view on the port side.
“Oh, I think
she’s hurt,” Gears pointed out, watching with eyes sparkling like diamonds.
Henry nodded
agreement. “She’s down, but not out.”
Jill held up a
hand to silence him. “Hush! Renée, bring us around. Georgia, prepare to fire
again.”
Again, the
screen showed the stars spinning about. “Conn, communications, we’re detecting
emergency traffic between Tombstone
and Rorkes Drift,” Maddie sang out. “Rorke’s
Drift is attempting to open a radio
channel with us. Should I respond?” Everyone looked at Henry.
“Negative, Maddie.
Maintain radio silence,” Jill ordered as the star field straightened out and
the frigate was in their sights again. “PRAXIS, range to new contacts?”
“They’re about
four minutes away and heading toward us at flank speed, Lieutenant,” Katherine
said calmly. “They’ll be within range in about ninety seconds.”
Jill was
bouncing up and down in her seat like a kid on a sugar-high. “Sweet! Georgia,
fire on my mark, girl! And, mark!” Again, eight missiles flew in toward the
enemy ship. This time, all eight of them hit their target.
“Conn, Weapons,
we have gained a full monty,” Georgia said, giving the code for one hundred
percent accuracy with a missile strike. “Ship is critically damaged…” her voice
trailed off. “…shit, but still operational, barely.”
“Very well,”
Jill said imperiously, waving her hand. “Georgia, ready another strike. Renée,
bring us around one more time. Oh, and Tiffany? Plot a course from our current
location to slingshot two at top speed.”
The three women
all muttered acknowledgement as they bent to the task at hand. Lucy considered
for a moment, then leaned over toward Jill. “Hey, L.T.?” Jill looked at her
quizzically. “They’re pretty much done, Jill. Do we really need to administer a
coup-de-grace?”
Jill’s eyes
narrowed and her voice went ice-cold. “Do I need to remind you, Lucy, that this
is war? We do not show mercy to our opponent. We do not show weakness. We do
not offer a free pass. In case you have forgotten, Lieutenant Colonel Foster, the name of our ship is Retribution. It is not the White Dove, the Peace Pipe, or the Good
Ship fucking Lollipop. They are our enemy.
They have engaged us in combat. Therefore, they are about to be blown into fucking space dust.” Her
voice had risen steadily during this, until it was ringing through the room. On
the screen, the heavily damaged Tombstone
was spinning through space, completely out of control. She wheeled suddenly,
fixing Georgia with a savage glare. “Major Starr, do you have a firing solution
locked in yet?”
Her response was
oddly subdued, like a puppy afraid it would get kicked for no real reason.
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
Jill snapped her
fingers. “Then fire. Now.” Dutifully, Georgia sent the third wave of missiles
at the stricken vessel. The crew watched in silence as they augured in at Tombstone, all of them finding their
mark.
“Yeah, okay,
Jill, back to tactics, please,” Henry said evenly, tapping her on the shoulder.
Eyes locked on the screen, she acknowledged his request with the barest nod. He
sat. “I have the Conn.”
“Conn, Weapons; Colonel,
we have another full monty,” she reported, the elation in her voice absent from
when she had given the same answer a few moments before. Even before she
finished speaking, Tombstone gave a
final shudder and then exploded brilliantly, bits of her leaving in various
directions at extremely high rates of speed. “That’s a kill,” she said quietly,
then got up and started to walk to the back of the room. Henry stopped her and
very deliberately shook her hand, and the tension that had entered her posture
before eased somewhat.
“Good job, Major
Starr,” he said, and she smiled at him, then continued to the back hallway,
where she leaned down and adding another hash mark on the back wall, creating
another group of five.
She looked at
Henry, nodding. “That makes five hundred twenty five confirmed kills, Colonel
LaFours.” Without another word, she turned and walked back to her station,
sitting down again, consciously avoiding looking at Jill.
Henry looked at
Jill and sighed, suddenly tired. He nodded slowly, suddenly deciding to break
protocol. “Good job, everyone. Okay, Tiffany, is that course locked in?”
“Yes, Colonel,”
she replied. She, along with everyone else, kept glancing at Jill like she was
about to grab a chainsaw and start carving everyone up with it.
“Very well. Send
it to the helm. Renée, follow that course – flank speed, please. Taj, divert
the power from weapons into the engines.” He grimaced. “Looks like we won’t get
a chance at Rorke’s Drift tonight;
our tasty target will have to wait for another day. I guess we’ll just have
to…” he trailed off, a radical plan forming in his mind. He looked at Tiffany.
“This SlingShot gate is also offset, right? There’s space behind it?”
“You know there
is, Hank,” Jill chimed in, looking annoyed.
“I asked the
Navigation officer, Jill. Please allow her to respond.” Henry’s voice was
level.
“Yes, Colonel,
it is,” Tiffany said.
“Okay, thanks.” It
was risky, to be sure, but the rewards… Deep in thought, he barely noticed that
the ensuing silence grew heavy, oppressive, and stretched out over the course
of several minutes.
It was Lucy who
finally broke it, a soft chime from her console giving her cue. “Colonel, the nanoscreen
is back online and ready to be engaged. Shall I do so?”
Henry shook his
head. “Negative. Tiffany, distance to the gate?”
“We’ll be
arriving in ninety seconds, Colonel. Should I prepare for a slingshot?”
He shook his
head again. “Not just yet. Do you still have the course to gate one plotted
in?”
She turned to
look at him questioningly, her curiosity outweighing whatever emotions Jill yelling
at Lucy had created. “Yes sir, but why do you…?”
He held up a
hand. “Not just yet. Katherine, how far away are Rorke’s Drift and the
others?”
“Rorke’s Drift is staying near the wreckage of Tombstone, sir. The other three have given pursuit, but they’re out
of range and losing ground – we’re faster than they are, Colonel.” Katherine
kept glaring at Jill, and her voice was tinged with something that Henry
belatedly realized was anger.
“Thank you,
Captain,” he said evenly. “Okay, all stations, button us up for a slingshot,
standard operational procedure. Taj, divert that ten percent into the
nanoscreen, but Lucy, do not activate
it yet.” He looked over at Renée. “Helm, bring us around to line up with the
gate. When I give the order, slow us down to one third speed.” He gestured at
the front of the room. “Countdown clock to the gate onscreen, please.” In the
corner, another clock appeared, showing they were less than thirty seconds
away. He watched it silently, then, just as they reached the five second mark,
he turned to Lucy again. “XO, activate the nanoscreen….” The counter reached
zero, “…NOW”.
The ship
speakers buzzed once to indicate the nanoscreen was now active, and then they
were through the gate, but since they hadn’t engaged the slingshot software,
they were in and out without having transited. Henry waited a moment, then
looked at Tiffany, a smile on his face. “Tiffany, darling, please send the
course to gate one to the helm. Renée, make your way there at one quarter
speed, if you would.”
Lucy turned to
look at him, respect evident in her eyes. “Oh, you cagey son-of-a-bitch!,” she
breathed.
With a growing sense
of satisfaction, Henry watched as the three ships that had been in pursuit
reached the second gate and quickly disappeared through it, chasing after where
they thought Retribution had gone.
“Weapons, how many fish do we have left?” Henry asked, rubbing his hands
together in glee. “Looks like ‘another day’ is actually going to be ‘about ten
minutes from now,’ I think.”
Georgia called
up the information, then shook her head and reluctantly turned to face him.
“Or, it will actually be another day, Colonel. We’ve only got enough left for
two full spreads, and a Battle Carrier is a much tougher nut to crack than a
frigate. I recommend…” her voice trailed off, not wanting to say the next part.
She sighed and got it out. “I recommend that we avoid Rorkes Drift and return
to base for resupply, Colonel. Engaging them now would be…” She shrugged.
“Suicide.”
Henry looked at
her for a long moment, then nodded. “I agree, Major. Helm,Conn; make for portal
one. We’re going home.”
A few moments
later, they were through and in transit. “Conn, Helm; we’re away, Colonel.”
Around the
bridge, the rest of the crew all gave sighs of relief. Henry leaned back in his
chair, then looked over at Lucy, who gave him a half-smile. “Looks like only
one confirmed kill this trip for the Great and Powerful LaFours,” she said
wryly.
Henry rolled his
eyes at her and laughed. “Please don’t ever call me that again, Lucy.”
“Okay, okay,
sorry.” She looked over at Jill. “Okay, and the
Power-Mad-Dictator-Of-The-Evening Award goes to Lieutenant Jill MacDonald, for
proving that not everyone is suited to command.”
“What? I did
fine!” Jill said defensively, a comment that was immediately met with boos and
catcalls. “It’s not my fault you
bitches are ill-suited to the idiosyncrasies of my command style!”
“Whatever, Lady
Of The Flies,” Gears retorted. “You yelled at Georgia! You can’t do that! She’s
delicate!”
“Oh, for
heaven’s sake, Gears, I’m sitting right
here,” Georgia replied in annoyance.
“Well, I mean,
she’s not wrong, Georgia; you are pretty delicate.” Georgia was now eyeing
Maddie angrily. “Not that we don’t love you for that.”
“I’m not
delicate, I’m pious. There’s a difference,” she said haughtily. “Just because
y’all are too busy out catting around and….”
Now everyone was
booing and catcalling her. “Please, Georgia, no sermons tonight,” Renée told
her, wearily. “I don’t need to be reminded I’m going to hell for enjoying anal
sex with one of my boyfriends.”
“Oh, God, here
we go with the anal sex again,” Taja muttered.
“Hey, it feels
awesome! The twins know what I’m talking about, don’t you?” Renée looked at
Katherine and Tiffany, who were both turning very deep shades of red.
“Well, I most
certainly wouldn’t know,” Gears said, sharing a significant look with Taja. “I
prefer a different kind of….”
“Okay, enough
about any kind of sex with anyone,” Henry said loudly, holding up his hands.
“Why don’t we just….”
Suddenly, from
behind the screen, there was a loud thump, followed by a series of steady
clunking noises that grew louder with each repetition. A moment later, a bright
beam of light shone from behind the screen, nearly blinding everyone on the
bridge, a surprise reminder of how dim it they had become used to it being on
the bridge. The door set in the wall behind the left side of the screen opened,
and a black woman in late middle-age appeared, heavy ironwood cane in one hand,
a large china plate in the other, piled high with chocolate chip cookies. She
smiled into the room.
“Good lord
Henry, it is darker than Hades in here!” She looked around for a place to
deposit the cookies, even as she was looking for a light switch on the wall.
“Here, let me
get that, Mrs. LaFours,” Maddie said, standing up and crossing quickly to take
the plate from her. As she did so, Lucy flipped a switch, and the red combat
lighting was replaced by the brighter blue and white of before.
“Thank you, Maddie,”
Mrs. LaFours said kindly, then turned and smiled at Henry. “How are you, baby?
Did you and your friends have fun down here with your little game again?”
The rest of the
crew watched in unconcealed amusement as Henry blushed a deep, red crimson,
something they never would have thought possible for a black man to do. “Yes,
momma, we did,” he mumbled, fumbling to put on his glasses. “What are you doing
down here? Are you okay?” He pointed at the cane in her hand.
“Oh, I’m fine.”
Her accent was thick and southern, her and she waggled the stick in her hand. “With
my busted hip, usually I’m alright, but sometimes, the humidity starts gettin’
into my bones, makes it so I cain’t hardly move around in the summertime! I’ll
sure be glad when fall gets here in a little while.” She smiled and shook her
head. “Anyways, I finished watchin’ that Saturday Night Live, and then I wasn’t
real sleepy, so I thought you might like some cookies. They’re mint-chocolate
chip, baby – your favorite!”
“Thanks, momma,”
Henry said, getting up and crossing the room to where she stood. “I told you,
though, you need to be careful, coming down the basement steps when your joints
are flared up.” He took his mothers arm tenderly and started to steer her back
to the staircase. “Here, let me get you back upstairs. Do you need me to do
anything to help you before you go to bed?”
“Henry David
LaFours,” his mother said sternly, pulling away from his grip. “I am a grown
woman. I do not need your assistance climbin’ a piddly set o’ stairs. How many
times have I told you, I once climbed to the top of the Eiffel Tower all by
myself!” There was a tone of prideful anger in her voice, but a teasing, gentle
one, too.
Henry’s response
was kind, yet insistent. “I know, momma. That was before your hip got
shattered, though. That was before I was born, before Alexandra was born,
before you even met Daddy. You can’t do everything on your own.”
“Oh, yes I can,”
she replied tartly, turning and marching back up the stairs, one step at a
time. “There ain’t nothin’ and no one inside or outside the town of Riggins
Landin’ that can or will ever hold me back. Never has been, never will be.” Her
words echoed down the stairwell and through the room as she continued to ascend
the steps. “I will see you in the mornin’, young man. I’m remindin’ you now so
you cain’t tell me you ‘forgot’ later, we have church at eleven.” Without
another word, she slammed the door at the top of the stairs and an
all-pervading, echoing silence filled the room once more.
Henry stared up at the door at the top landing, his back to
the crew, somewhere between shock and amusement. Finally, he sighed. “Well, at
least she didn’t walk down in the middle of y’all’s anal exposé,” he began
as he turned to look at the rest of his crew. They all froze,
deer-in-the-headlights style, as he caught them in the act of eating all the
cookies but one. “Oh, come on, y’all, really?”
“What? These
are, uhm, really good,” Lucy said around a mouthful of chocolate. “Your mom
sure can bake.”
“Goddamn, I
really hate you guys, sometimes,” Henry mumbled, taking the last cookie and
shoving it in his mouth. His eyes lit up and he smiled. “But, yeah, you’re
right, Lucy, she really can.”
[1] PRAXIS being
an extremely abbreviated acronym for "Proximity/Distance, Range, and Heading/Bearing Detection of
Electro-Magnetic Signatures on a Three Dimensional Axis." Basically, space
RADAR.
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