Wings of Steele- The Series, page 206
part #1 of Wings of Steele Series
Back in rightful ownership, the prototype, Black Widow, would be used to build interest and sales for Antwerp Shipworks' first release - and what better way to prove her viability, than to actually put her into service making money.
Standing between the command seats, the monitors and keyboard of the Captain's station tilted in his direction, Michel Thorne turned to his First Officer. “Anything show on recordings during our sleep cycle, Tom?”
“Two passes about three hours apart, Skipper,” answered his First Mate. “Nothing to indicate they detected either of us.”
“Good,” he turned to his keyboard and called up several new camera views. “All gunners scan your sectors...”
“Aye, all gunners standing by.”
Thorne leaned in and checked his First Mate's screens, “Is the Palladium ready?”
“Awaiting your command, Skipper.”
Thorne sent a view of her to an inset on the big screen, “Tell her to cut loose.”
“Aye.”
The cargo hauler lifted off a neighboring asteroid, rising well above it, her gear retracting, before turning and moving off, away from the Black Widow, the blue glow of her main engines brightening. “Full scans, all spectrums,” ordered Thorne. “Helm, pull our anchors.”
The anchor spikes, forcefully fired into the asteroid's surface, were hydraulically ripped out, a metal against concrete squeal reverberating up into the deck as they were withdrawn into the landing gear before the gear retracted into the hull. The Black Widow floated free and Jack Steele, semi-reclined in the Captain's seat, opened his eyes, realizing he was no longer alone on the bridge. “Uh-oh...” he brought the seat upright, angling to slide out and relinquish his position.
Thorne patted his shoulder, “You're fine, Bro, stay put.” He watched the diminishing Palladium on the big screen, “Anything on those scans?”
“Nothing yet, Skipper.”
Michel Thorne straightened up and folded his arm across his chest, calm and collected. Watching. Waiting. “C'mon out and play, boys,” he breathed.
It suddenly occurred to Jack... the Palladium was bait.
“The Palladium is turning away from the field toward the gate...”
Thorne checked the command screen facing him, “Right on time. If they're out here it'll be any minute now.”
Jack's curiosity was piqued, “Who are...”
Thorne stalled his friend's inquiry with a raised index finger, his attention split between his command screens and the big screen, scan data scrolling on one side.
“Contact...” announced the Radar Officer. “One ship. A light Cutter, hanging on the edge of the field. No specs with the passive scans...”
“Wait it out,” cautioned Thorne. “She's not alone.” He nudged Jack with his elbow, “You're going to want to pay attention to this, because you're going to want one of these baby's after you see this...”
“Two more contacts, smaller, possibly heavy fighters, hanging on the edge of the field, Skipper.”
“What are they waiting for?” mused Michel, skewing his mouth in thought. “Helm, move in, slowly, keep us on the dark side of these rocks.”
“Aye.” The nose of the Black Widow swung towards the contacts and she skirted around the asteroid, weaving methodically through the edge of the field, asteroids passing on alternate sides of the ship like a skier on a slalom course.
“Skipper, we've got a total of three fighters now, leaving the field to pursue the Palladium. The Cutter is staying put.”
“Close on the Cutter,” commanded Thorne, “stay concealed.” He reached over and turned the monitors and keyboard to face Jack, “Keep an eye on these,” he clapped his shoulder, “you're going to like what you see...” With an ear-to-ear grin he stepped up behind the helmsman and slapped the back of his command chair, “I got this.” Michel slid in as the helmsman slid out, the controls never without a hand on them, a practiced swap that required precise timing to avoid a collision with any one of the thousands of city-block or larger, rocks around them. “Watch your right-hand screen, Jack.”
Steele's right-hand screen displayed live; overhead, profile and stern schematics, the systems in use, and deployed equipment, their stats and condition.
“EWO, you with me?”
“Aye Skipper.”
Michel Thorne was a talented pilot, sliding the Black Widow back and forth, up and down, asteroids flashing past on all sides in a blur. “Prepare to jam all frequencies. As soon as I hit her, link up and rip her data.” His hands danced across the controls in front of him between the stick and throttle, the systems coming to life on Jack's screen. “Main weapons systems live. Shields up and gunners weapons-free on engagement...”
Thorne swung the Black Widow clear of the edge of the asteroid field, surprised the Cutter had yet to recognize the threat as his gun pipper came to rest on her stern. With his thumb he flipped the cover up on his launch button, a deployed pod of Stryker rockets waiting.
“Her shields are coming up, Skipper, main engines engaged...”
Having selected all guns, Thorne squeezed his weapons trigger, “Too little, too late.” The amount of noise surprised Jack; twin seventy-five-millimeter auto-cannons roaring away, reverberating through the hull, accompanied by a set of pulse lasers screaming. And that didn't even account for the turrets that added to the cacophony, wacking away at the Cutter as they screamed past. The big screen switched to a rear view as the darkened hull of the Cutter shrunk behind them, her shredded stern glowing, one engine floating free, the other just debris and microdust strung out behind her as she coasted along, powerless. “Damn,” Michel retracted the rocket pods, I didn't even get a chance to use them...” He rolled the ship, pulling her in a tight arc to pursue the fighters that were set to intercept the Palladium. “Did we get our data?”
“Aye, Skipper, a full rip.”
“Good. She still jammed?”
“Permanently.”
“Nice job.” Let the Palladium know we're coming... on an open channel. These doorknobs can decide if they want to stay or go.”
■ ■ ■
Thorne dropped himself into the seat across the table from Jack, setting his food down, “Food's not too bad,” he smirked, “but we could probably do with a better chef,” he said a little too loudly.
“Hey, I heard that,” came a voice from behind them.
“I knew they would run,” continued Thorne. We essentially popped their base...”
“Base? That was a pretty small ship to be a base. That thing could never take in those fighters.”
“Doesn't have to,” countered Thorne, sipping his drink. “They do the same thing we did; set down on an asteroid. They can EVA back and forth between the fighters and mama. Pretty easy - they probably have permanent anchors sunk into the rock, a supply stash, maybe even a small pod building or two. They set up for two or three weeks and pick off a load or two and they head home to unload.” He took a bite of his sandwich, “They dogged us last time we went through here, so I decided to see if we could set them up.”
“Kind of a gamble...”
Michel shrugged, “Life is a gamble. You gotta play to win. I like my odds though.” He tapped on the table, “She's pretty sweet, isn't she? I can set you up with one, we could run together. I'm sure I could get dad to arrange a lease option to buy or something if you're strapped.”
“Before I do anything, I need to get home, Mike...”
“Your head clearer?”
“Steele nodded, “Yep. Remember most everything. Most. Still some gaps though.”
Michel put both elbows on the table, leaning closer, “I'm sure we could arrange something, but I'm not headed back to Earth anytime soon...”
“Not Earth,” countered Jack, “Veloria, it's in Velora Prime.”
“Velora Prime...” Michel slid back in his chair, “Hey isn't that where the UFW had a huge fight last year with the FreeRangers?”
“That's the one...”
“I remember seeing that on the GalNet News. Weren't there like 30 ships or something destroyed in that fight?”
“If you included fighters,” offered Jack. “Not capital ships.”
Michel leaned in again, speaking in hushed tones, “I heard that whole thing was over a ship the FreeRangers had offered a bounty on... I can't remember the name of the ship though...”
“Yeah, well,” Jacked waved it off, unsure how much to reveal. “How much do you know about when I disappeared?”
“I remember it scared the crap out of Rosa when two guys in black suits came to the house to ask me about you. She freaked because I was away on business. Out here.”
“Mmm, sorry about that. How long have you been coming out here?”
“About two years before you disappeared,” replied Michel.
Steele shook his head, “So all those times, you were gone for business for like a month or two...”
“Yeah. Out here.”
Steele folded his arms and leaned back, “You prick, you lied to me. On-site work for a client... ass.”
Thorne laughed, “What the hell was I going to tell you? Like you would have believed me?” It was silent for a moment, “So how did you get out here?”
“If I told you I'd have to kill you,” joked Steele. Michel rolled his eyes and Jack leaned in, “Are you now, or have you ever, worked for the FreeRangers?”
Thorne recoiled like he'd been slapped, “What? Hell no! You know me better than that. I may not always play by the rules but I have ethics for God's sake. Whatever we say doesn't leave this table...”
“Fair enough,” nodded Jack approvingly. “I disappeared because I was accidentally abducted. Long story,” he waved. “The ship the FreeRangers had the bounty on, was the Freedom...”
“That's it!” snapped Michel, “The Freedom - yeah I...”
“That was my ship,” continued Jack, thumbing his chest. “We lost her in that fight. Along with some very good people...” his expression darkened, “That still bothers me...”
“Ass, you're full of shit,” argued Thorne with a dismissive gesture. When Steele remained stone-faced, he knew it was the truth. “Your ship? Like, as in, Captain? Wasn't that a cruiser?”
“Converted into a Jump Carrier,” countered Jack. “I had some remarkable people working on her - we were very blessed to have found them. Since we were freelancing for the UFW at the time, I was offered a choice; a replacement ship or a full commission...”
Michel tilted his head, waving a come on gesture, “Aaand?”
“Rear Admiral, Task Force Lancer; an Oijin, Squadron-Class Carrier, a Chimera-Class Battleship, two Freedom-Class Carriers, a Halceón Class Jump Frigate, a Missile Destroyer and some assorted support vessels.”
“Whaat?!” Michel stared questioningly, but Jack's expression never wavered, “Dear God, you're not kidding...”
Steele absentmindedly tapped his index finger on his lips in thought, “Still not sure if it was the right choice or not. I don't think life was any easier before...” He sighed, “But it sure was less complicated.”
Michel Thorne was not often at a loss for words, but his wheels were spinning, a million questions, and where to start? “So how... when...” He wiped his hand through the air like he was erasing an invisible chalkboard, “OK, you've got an entire task force, but you were out here, alone, in an emergency pod...” His hands went wide in a grand gesture, “What's up with that? How did that even happen?”
“That's where the blank is... I was on a special assignment. We were on G'Naroth Sarat in Bengaloo...”
“The whole task force?”
“No-no, single ship. We stopped in Amanpoor to pick up some... supplies.”
“I know Amanpoor,” confirmed Michel, “and I know you can pick up a lot more than... supplies. What did you get yourself into?”
Steele waved it off, “It wasn't supplies, it was just supplies. Forget the supplies, it had nothing to do with the supplies, it was just our excuse for going there.”
“OK,” said Michel, not totally convinced.
“Several of us went to a place called the Black Star... or something...”
“Black Hole Bar & Grill,” corrected Michel, “yeah I know it.”
Sighing heavily, Steele continued, “Anyway, the name I remembered earlier; Pattiwillow, she was the bartender. But that's where the blank starts.”
“Think she drugged you?”
Jack pondered that for a moment, “I hadn't considered that. But I am now.”
“Wait, so your last memory is from Amanpoor, on G'Naroth Sarat? Is that what you're telling me?”
Steele rubbed his forehead in consternation, “Yeah.”
“Jack, we're in Madrassas; two systems and a temperamental star from Bengaloo. The corridor just opened back up two weeks ago... How long is your memory gap?”
Steele pulled up his sleeve, indicating his MOBIUS, “I don't know, she had no connection earlier.”
“We go completely dark when we're in sleep cycle.” He pointed at Jack's wrist, “Try her now, she should be fine.”
Steele pulled up a holoscreen, MOBI connecting him instantly to the Black Widow's network, reaching GalNet, the news logo appearing in the upper corner next to the date. He stared at the date, willing it to be something else... sixty-three days? “Sixty-three days,” he said slowly, his voice deadpan.
Michel's eyes widened, “Two months? Man, this is bad...”
“I have almost two-hundred missed contacts and personal messages...” His eyes burned and a lump grew in his throat, “Oh, my God... They must all think I'm dead.” He rubbed his face with both hands, “Mike, I need to call my wife...”
Mike pointed to the crew's showers, “Go get cleaned up and pull yourself together, we'll set up a call from my office.
■ ■ ■
Space was at a premium in a ship like the Black Widow, so the Captain's office was small in comparison to what Jack had become used to. Off the main passageway instead of the bridge, Steele stepped over the knee-knocker into the office, the door closing quietly behind him. “You look better,” commented Thorne, sitting with his feet up on his desk.
“I feel better.” Jack sat across from him, “Any idea how long I was in the rescue pod?”
Thorne slid an e-Pad across the desk at his friend, “The guys ran through the computer before we dumped the pod, there was nothing but climate and life support settings. No manufacturer, origin, dates, recorded files... no anything. Like a generic unit. Never seen anything like that.”
Butterflies in his stomach, Jack sighed, not bothering to look at the report. “Hmm. OK, let's make this call...”
“I'm proud of you, Brother,” smirked Michel, “getting all married like an adult and stuff.”
“Oh, shut up...”
“Whaat,” gestured Michel, cracking a sarcastic smirk, “you've been single forever, it was time. I'm thinking if you waited this long, she's got to be something special, right?” He pulled his feet down and leaned forward, his elbows on the edge of the desk. “She's hot, isn't she... I know you, Jack, she's probably a looker... Is she sane though?”
“Mikie,” grunted Steele in an admonishment, rolling his eyes. His MOBIUS forwarded to the big screen on the wall, an animated holding image of a waving purple flag emblazoned with the Velorian Royal Crest in white, the same winged horse that was on Jack's ring, greeted them.
Michel Thorne caught the parallel instantly, “Is that a Royal Crest?” He pointed at the screen.
“Mmm, hmm.”
“Isn't that the same thing that's on your ring?” he indicated Jack's hand with a flip of his thumb.
“Mmm, hmm.”
“What did you do,” laughed, Thorne, “marry a Princess or something?”
“Something like that.” Out of the corner of Jack's eye, he caught Thorne's expression mix surprise and disbelief.
An unfamiliar woman's face appeared on the screen; she was middle-aged, not unattractive, but matronly, and again, out of the corner of his eye, Thorne's expression changed to disappointment. “I am sorry,” apologized the woman, “the Royal Family is not accepting any communications in this time of mourning. We appreciate your...”
“Excuse me,” interrupted Steele, “who are you? And why are you answering Alité's personal device?”
Her demeanor switched from pleasant and condescending to indignant in a flash. “And who are you...” she snapped. “I will thank you to keep a respectful tongue in your head, and address Her Majes...”
“Admiral Jack Steele,” he cut in, leaning closer to the screen, his voice measured. “And I'd really like to speak with my wife, Alité Galaýa Steele.” The woman's expression went momentarily slack, color draining from her face, frozen in place, her mouth open mid-sentence. “Now would be good,” he added.
There was a moment where Steele could swear she vibrated like a child doing the pee-pee dance. “I, I, I... my apologies,” she stammered, looking panicked, “please wait... please.” There was a high-pitched wail, cut off as the video feed dropped back to the holding screen, the flag waving at them again.
“What the hell was that?” blurted Thorne.
The seconds ticked away feeling like minutes, the screen winking back to a live picture, Alité Galaýa Steele, Queen of Veloria, staring back at her husband. Her eyes quickly changed from near black to brown to a vivid purple, her expression of irritation melting away, her eyes moist, her hands covering her mouth in surprise. “You're alive!” she gasped, tears running down her cheeks. “My King,” she breathed, her hands lowering.
“My Queen,” smiled Jack, fighting back his emotions lest they overtake him.
He heard a whisper to his left, “Please tell me those are pet names...” Steele reached across the desk and rapped his friend in the hand as discreetly as possible.
