Wings of Steele- The Series, page 127
part #1 of Wings of Steele Series
He handed the soap back toward her, “I thought you'd already showered...”
“I did...” she purred, running her fingers across the muscles of his back.
■ ■ ■
Chase leaned back on the bed with his laptop on his legs. “Let's see if we can find a wireless signal...” he yawned.
Karen curled up next to him on the bed, “Where do we go from here?”
“We'll get some sleep, chill tomorrow and see if we can find a car tomorrow night...” Chase typed as he spoke. “Nice. Got a signal...”
“Find or steal?”
“I prefer to think of it as borrow...”
“You're just a one man crime spree aren't ya?”
“I remind you it is one man, one woman...”
“Yeah, thanks for that by the way...” she smacked his arm, “Until I met you I was a good girl who never got in trouble...”
He smirked crookedly, never taking his eyes off the screen, “So you're forgetting that little drunken fiasco at the prom?”
“I never said I was innocent, I just said I never got in trouble.” She shrugged, “We never got caught...”
“Oooh,” he laughed, “huge difference between good girl and never got caught.”
“You're an ass,” she laughed. It was something she hadn't done freely since Pam's death. It felt good to forget for a little while. Chase sat up quickly, typing, the keys clattering under his fingers. Karen leaned in, “What's going on?”
“Murphy's alive. Holy shit he's alive!” Chase pointed at the nickname on screen, “That's him right there...”
“Where is he?”
“I don't know yet, hold on...”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
UFW CONQUEST, OSSOMON SYSTEM: MOVE ALONG, NOTHING TO SEE HERE
Lieutenant Commander Mike Warren settled into the deep leather seat of the Cyclone sitting in the launch rack, accepting his helmet from the rigger standing on the boarding ladder. The rigger assisted Mike with his flight harness, umbilical cord connections and safety checks. As his final task, he pulled the safety pin on the ejection seat and showed it to the pilot, getting a nod before dropping it into a gear pouch around his waist. He'd be reinserting it when the craft returned from its patrol.
Giving the rigger a thumbs up, Mike watched him disappear as he slid down the ladder to the deck. Pulling the lever that retracted the ladder into the Cyclone's fuselage, the light winked out on the console telling him it was complete. Master power, air system, communications, fuel delivery system, electronics... he progressed through his standard pre-launch checklist.
“Conquest Control to Black Leader...”
The Commander keyed his mic, “Black Leader, go ahead.”
“Two minutes to launch.”
Mike checked left and right exchanging a thumbs up with the other members of his flight as he pulled the canopy handle, the frame and perspex motoring forward on its track. “Good to go Control, we're saddled up and ready to ride...” Mike listened to the comm traffic as the flight tower checked in with White Flight, launching out from the other side of the Conquest's hull. Two flights of six to launch the moment they cleared the gate into Ossomon. As a precaution, two more flights of six were manned and ready to launch and probably another twelve were suited up on standby.
The Novellis System was such a major snoozefest, Mike wondered what they'd find in Ossomon. He knew the official story; that there had been considerable Pirate activity here but this felt like they were prepping for more than just a little resistance. In retrospect, that was OK with him, he hadn't pulled the trigger on anything since Velora Prime and he was jonesing for a serious hit of adrenalin. It wasn't that he wanted or longed to kill someone, it was more of a competition, a jousting match of sorts. It was only personal to the point of his machine against his opponent's, his nerves and talent in contrast to theirs. A challenge. It was irrelevant whether the enemy ship was destroyed or simply disabled... it was the winning that counted. A few drinks with Commander Dar Sloane and Mike was convinced he'd probably enjoy the thrill of canyon racing in Drifters.
He relaxed, leaning back against the headrest, staring straight ahead. The interlocking steel door in front of him was suddenly partially obscured by the translucent blue stasis field winking to life. Looking like an intense blue version of a television between stations, the electronic curtain moved and swirled and he pulled his helmet's sun visor down to preserve his night vision.
“This is Conquest Control; Black and White flights launching in; 5, 4, 3, 2…”
■ ■ ■
Captain Paul Smiley hovered over the situation table in the control tower, watching the movement, the positioning and make-ready of everything on the deck below them, the Conquest's experienced Mini-Boss watching the launch racks from his position at the tower's observation windows, “...3, 2, 1, Launch!” The tower's windows bowed as alarm klaxons screamed, red lights flashing throughout the flight deck, crates flying across the bay. “Blowout! We have a blowout!”
In the second or two it took Pappy to cross the gap between the table and the glass, the door on the rack where Black Three had launched was already closed, piled with debris the open maw had tried to suck out into space. “Cut the alarm. Did we lose anybody?”
“Not sure yet, Boss,” replied his second in command. “We need to get a count. I'm working on it now.”
“Any problems with the launch? Everybody out in one piece?”
“Black Flight is clear and operational,” reported the crewman at the sensor station.
Jack Steele trotted down the steps from the main bridge, “What the hell's going on, Pappy?”
“Blowout, Admiral.”
“Everybody OK?”
Pappy glanced at the Mini Boss and got a non-confirmation signal as he spoke on the comm to the deck crew. “We're still working on that, Jack.”
Steele clenched his jaw, “Hmm. Was it one of the new units?”
“No, we haven't gotten to all of them yet...”
“Can we close off the ones that haven't been converted yet?”
Paul Smiley sucked air though his teeth in a sign of apprehension, “Man, Jack,” he said quietly, “that would seriously hamper our launch abilities. We've only got about fifty percent of them installed.”
“We need to step it up Paul...”
“I realize that Jack, but we can't sacrifice the launch readiness of this ship. We're a carrier; we live and die on our ability to field and recover fighters. Without them, were a big fat pigeon...”
“I get that, but...”
“No buts Jack, you know as well as I do, battleship escort or not, we'd be somebody's lunch. Look what you did to that Pirate carrier...” He waved, anticipating Steele's rebuttal, “Look, let me speak with the Captain Ryan, see if we can add some more men to the work crews. Maybe we can speed up the process.”
“Please do,” nodded Jack.
Paul pulled Jack to one side, “We still don't have enough of the field emitter sets though, do we?”
“We're golden,” replied Steele. “The Chief was able to remove the modules. They're clean and ready to go... so we'll actually have some spares.”
“Outstanding...” nodded Paul.
■ ■ ■
Admiral Steele and the Captain Ryan stood nearly shoulder to shoulder in the center of the Conquest's bridge, looking at the expanse of Ossomon, Black Flight and White Flight patrolling ahead, noted by markers on the big screen.
“Welcome to Ossomon, Admiral,” commented Ryan. “Over there” he pointed to a blue and green planet on the right, “is Rega, capital of the system. She's a pretty large Class 014. Over on our left we have Ozira, a Class 09, not terribly habitable - fairly desolate really. Mostly desert. But there are several mining colonies there. There are also two stations in the system,” he pointed at the markers on the screen, “one owned by Rega as a trade hub and another that is owned by a private franchise.”
“Busy system...”
“Yes, sir,” agreed the Captain, “it certainly is. And on a regular basis, we have to visit and chase out some undesirables.”
“Pirates?”
Ryan pursed his lips for a moment, “Sometimes a little of everything. Minor skirmishes mostly. Peacekeeping.”
“Does Rega have a military? Can't they handle it?”
“To some extent, yes. But in many respects they are like Veloria, a little light on population and technology. They are making strides in the right direction though. As a steady provider of agricultural goods, they have expanded their wealth and upgraded much of their equipment and technology. We just need to lend them a hand from time to time to make sure their growth remains unfettered.” He glanced at Steele momentarily, “Something that should have been done with Veloria.” He shook his head briefly, thinking about recent history. “It pains me greatly that Velora Prime was... overlooked. That we were not there when they needed us...”
“Your sentiments are appreciated, Mr. Ryan. Now they...” Steele caught himself, “we, must look to the future.”
Anthony Ryan nodded solemnly, “Sometimes I forget, not only are you an Admiral, you are a King...”
“Mmm,” nodded Steele, “I have to remind myself sometimes. Not something I am totally comfortable with yet.”
“The Admiral or the King part?” mused the Captain.
“Take your pick...”
■ ■ ■
This was something new for Mike Warren, he had never seen this many civilian ships in a system at one time, his scope dotted with idents of all sizes. He keyed his mic on an open broadcast, “Unidentified freighter, one-five-seven-three-three-six, why aren't you broadcasting an ident? Identify yourself, please.”
It took a moment before the response crackled in, a distinctly female voice, “Who the hellion is asking?”
“UFW Conquest, Black Flight Leader, Lieutenant Commander Warren. Now please activate your ident beacon...”
“Oh...” crackled the stunned reply. “Sorry, Commander... Our communications mast was damaged salvaging some mining equipment. Our ident beacon is not functioning; we're operating on a secondary array... We're with Omni Salvage and Transport.”
“Where are you headed?”
“The only place with the parts and an interior bay where we can make the mast repairs; Rikovik's Reef...”
■ ■ ■
As Captain Ryan explained it, the Imperator of Rega was like the President of the planet. Immediately, with the Imperator's flamboyant mannerisms, wild hair and garish clothing, Steele got the impression he was meeting a circus barker. It was almost uncomfortable to watch.
“Greetings, Captain! Ooh, I see Admiral Pottsdorn is no longer with you... Whom do we have here?”
“Imperator, this is Admiral Steele...”
“Welcome, Admiral Steele!” exclaimed the man on screen, his arms spread wide. “Welcome to Ossomon and welcome to Rega! We hope you get a chance to stop at Rega Pinnacle Station, we're sure you will enjoy yourselves.”
“Thank you, Imperator...”
“Oh, you are quite welcome, of course. Will you be staying with us long?”
And there it is... nervous concern. He wants me to say no, we're just passing through... “Maybe a couple of days, Imperator.” Steele caught the Captain's shocked sideways glance out of the corner of his eye, but he was more interested in the Imperator's reaction. It was subtle but it was there. He did not want them there. Or maybe someone else didn't want them there. In either case he was worried. Truthfully, a UFW Task Force sitting in a system with mixed company might make a lot of people nervous. Screw it, let them be nervous.
“Well,” smiled the Imperator, nervously rambling on, “you are of course welcome to stay as long as you want... If there anything you require, please do not hesitate to ask. Maybe we can get together...”
■ ■ ■
With the communication concluded, Steele and Ryan walked toward the holographic chart table near the rear of the bridge.
The Captain glanced in his mug, “Well that was... interesting...”
“That was disturbing...”
“Probably a better word...” nodded Ryan. “I've never seen that behavior from him before.”
Leaning with his back against the chart table, his arms casually folded across his chest, Steele cocked his head to one side, “Mr. Ryan, that was probably the longest five minutes I've ever had the displeasure of enduring...”
The Captain sipped the remnants of his coffee, “He was nervous, very nervous. Almost frenetic. He's always been a bit... effervescent... ”
The word struck him as funny and Steele laughed out loud. “The guy reminded me of a Muppet...”
“Muppet?”
Steele nodded, “A special type of puppet. They're famous back home.”
Ryan raised one eyebrow, his expression dubious, “Famous puppets?”
Steele stroked his mustache in thought, “Yeah, I'm not sure I can explain it, but they're pretty funny.”
“Hmm.” The Captain looked unconvinced, motioning toward the screen with his empty mug, “So what do you want to do about our friend here?”
Steele was silent for a moment, formulating his thoughts. “Nothing.” He turned around and pulled up the system map on the holo-chart; planets, moons, stations, sun and gates floating above the table. “What's your SOP in this system?”
Anthony Ryan set his mug on the console and called up the navigational history, the holographic image of their last visit displayed on the chart, colored lines snaking around the system, illustrating all ship movements and patrols. “This is pretty typical. The blue lines show the patrols we had out here, here and here,” he pointed. “This blue line was our route through the system, and here is where one of our patrols engaged a pirate freighter smuggling contraband.”
“First thing I'm noticing,” began Steele, rotating the chart image around, examining it closely, “is there was a lot more ship traffic in this system on your last visit than we're seeing now...”
“Yes, sir. Considerably different...”
“What do you make of that?”
Captain Ryan pursed his lips in contemplation, “I honestly don't know, Admiral. I've been through this system about a dozen times, this is probably the quietest I've ever seen it.”
“Could someone have tipped off the locals we were coming?”
“Anything's possible, sir. The transporter that Black Flight encountered was deadheading to Rikovik's Reef for repairs on a comm mast they claim they damaged while salvaging mining equipment. The closest mining operation would be the one back in the Gedhepp System...”
“The fifth planet... Or what was left of it,” said Jack, correcting himself.
“Exactly. They came here to deposit their load and will likely head back to Gedhepp after their repairs.”
“So we may not have been alone in that planetary debris field.” Steele rubbed his chin contemplating their next move. He couldn't see anything happening at this juncture. It was a cat and mouse game; the task force was the cat and they had come late to the party. The mice had already scored their prize and successfully made away with it. Whether they had cleared the system or gone to ground to hide didn't matter, they had the time to wait the cat out. The Imperator, aka; the Big Cheese was nervous because a bunch of hidden mice could do a lot of damage if they got bored or resentful if their host wasn't graciously keeping them occupied. Whether he was a willing participant or simply tolerant of their presence was the question of the day. Steele suspected it was symbiotic relationship, a trade off of good and bad; their presence was bad, their money and trade products were good. It seemed clear the only result of remaining in the system would be to exacerbate the problem for the Imperator.
“Run the standard operations, Mr. Ryan. Let's head the task force to the nearest gate that puts us back on course for the Terran System. We've lost the element of surprise, we're not going to gain anything by hanging around or searching. We'll be back through here; maybe we'll have better luck next time.”
“Aye, Admiral.” The Captain left the chart table and headed for his command chair, holding up his empty mug, “Somebody bring me some coffee, please...?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
FREERANGER – DD217, OSSOMON SYSTEM: MOUSE CHASE CAT
“Rega Pinnacle Control; FreeRanger DD217, you are number three in line for docking, the carousel is currently full. Please maintain your traffic pattern.”
Commander T. B. Yafusco paced the middle of the bridge in-between the stations, “Rega Pinnacle Control, we need supplies and we need to make this quick, we're in the middle of a military mission.”
“We sympathize with you 217, but we're a whole day behind in operations. I've bumped you up in priority three spots, I'm sorry we can't do any better than that, but...”
Commander Yafusco turned to his communications officer, making a slashing motion across his throat and she abruptly cut the comm connection. The square with Rega Pinnacle Station's traffic officer winked out, replaced by the view of a very busy space station and a line of ships snaking around the planet of Rega.
“Find us a comm to the Imperator.” He strolled back to his command chair and unceremoniously dropped into it, barely containing his ire. There wasn't a single FreeRanger ship in the waiting roster, they were all commercial ships. The Imperator was forgetting his place, neglecting the debt he owed to the FreeRanger Council. Military ships were supposed to come first. But then again that ridiculous buffoon had never served, he was a greedy politician, a charlatan.
“Comm up...”
“On Screen,” barked Tibby, sliding out of his chair, standing in the center of the bridge, hands on his hips.
The Imperator of Rega sat behind his desk, hands folded calmly, looking fairly presidential despite his brightly colored clothes and wild hair. “Hello, Commander, how can I be of service to our FreeRanger friends?”
