Battlespace Nomad, page 28
"Roger that, Hammer," Jimmy replied. He picked up the pace, breaking out into a jog.
Moments later, Jimmy arrived in a low-lying area just out of the visual range of the ambush site. The grass was tall except for a few patches. Hammer marked each of them on the HUD, and Jimmy walked over to the closest point to him.
"Hammer, this is Nomad. I confirm indentations from landing pads."
"Whoa, wait a damn minute," Professor said over the net. "I've got the air traffic picture from the moment of the ambush, and nothing flew in or out. Either it's a stealth craft or the track has been manually deleted from the air picture."
"What are you saying, Professor?" Hawthorne asked.
"Boss, inside people in the local air controller network are working for the resistance. They're altering the digital record to cover their movements."
"This means, however, they're getting the captives off the world, that’s being altered too. Rally on me, people. We're going on a field trip over to the Sanctuary Aerospace Traffic Control Center," Hawthorne ordered.
Seymore toggled the IDENT icon for the drop ship, but no flight plan was filed. It merely had a maintenance code. But oddly enough, it hovered momentarily over the site of the ambush before flying into a figure-eight orbit. It then dropped from the sensor picture on the ambush site before popping back up.
Ordinarily, he would just send a quick message to his handler and let the resistance decide what to do, but this track was different. The track was heading straight for the ATC HQ, where he sat.
He urgently thumbed his comms device, his fingers flying over the keys as he typed a message to his handler, the urgency palpable in his actions.
Suspicious dropship searched the ambush site on Bracken Road and then diverted. They're heading straight for me.
He hit send, slipped the device into his pocket, and craned his neck to ensure nobody saw him. Confident he was in the clear, Seymore turned his attention to the screen and the approaching dropship.
That's when the device vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, checked his surroundings, and glanced at the message.
You are compromised. Scrub your station's data and leave immediately. Head to the safehouse and wait for me there.
Seymore's eyes widened in shock. He quickly stuffed the device in his pocket and frantically purged his workstation's data history. But when he turned around to ask to go on break, he was met with a pair of armed military police soldiers, a sight that left him stunned.
"C-can I-I help you, gentlemen?" Seymore asked sheepishly.
"Turn around and put your hands together. You're coming with us," one of the MPs said.
Running was not even a consideration. Seymore, portly and unfit, knew he had nowhere to go. His world seemed to close in on him, and his vision shifted to shades of red as his blood pressure increased, a physical manifestation of his helplessness.
"Wh-what is the problem, gentlemen?" Seymore asked.
He didn't get a response. He found himself forcibly facedown on his console with his hands being bound behind him unceremoniously.
One of the MPs keyed a radio. "Bossman, this is Sergeant Doherty. We've got him in custody."
51
"We have to get off this rock," Ramus said nervously to Ellie. "Our insiders at the ATC are compromised, and it's only a matter of time before they find the flight data."
Ellie's eyes went wide. "What does that mean for us?"
Ramus sighed. "It means this planet is too hot, and our operation is completely in tatters. We need to go to Chartea and regroup."
"Chartea?" Ellie exclaimed angrily. "A planet full of hostile arachnoids and human perverts? That doesn't sound like regrouping to me."
Ramus stood in his M-96 armor, surrounded by his team of former spec ops commandos. Ellie glared at each one of them in turn before she spoke.
"So, what happened to staying here and finishing off the 29th?" Ellie pleaded, not wanting any reason to leave her home planet.
"We tried, and we failed. My operation is in shambles, and our contacts are blown. I must take our movement into the stars to rebuild, Ellie. We have no choice. Once on Chartea, the SNA can't touch us. They have your DNA and know who you really are. That means I can't leave you behind under any circumstances," Ramus explained, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.
"So, what's the play?" Ellie asked accusingly. "The moment we break for orbit, they'll have eyes on us."
"Not if we can reach the rendezvous point and link up with the transport ship. We can blaze out of here in FTL before we get intercepted," Ramus explained.
"Seems like a shaky plan to me. Can't I just stay here with my friends? I'll keep my head down, I promise!" Ellie pleaded.
"I've been trying to convince you to leave this place for weeks. But now I'm not giving you the option.”
"Enough!" Ellie snarled. "Ugh, I will never forgive you for this."
Ramus frowned. "Someday, you'll understand. When you have kids of your own, you'll understand what it's like to be responsible for someone else and put their needs ahead of your own."
"If that was the case, then you wouldn't have engaged in all this mess and pulled me into it," Ellie retorted.
"That's enough, Ellie," Ramus growled. "Get in the truck. We're taking our last shipment to Chartea. The ship will be in low orbit by the time we get into the sky."
Ellie walked to the exit, her posture slouched in defeat. It couldn't be helped. First, the SNA took her mother and then her brother. Now, she was losing her home world through her father's actions and SNA pressure. The weight of these losses was heavy on her shoulders, making her feel more alone than ever.
She shuffled her feet to the cargo truck, grabbed the door handle, and climbed inside. The moment she was settled in her seat, she buried her face in her palm and sobbed. Her tears were a testament to her overwhelming sense of loss and fear.
52
"We've got this, Boss," Mama said, standing beside Professor. It was Jimmy's first time inside a control tower, and he was mesmerized by the number of screens and workstations within. The tech experts, Professor and Mama, were digging through the database from the station the resistance member had been using.
"Copy that, Mama," Hawthorne replied. "I guess I'll go have a chat with our captive and see what he has to say."
"Sir, I'd advise waiting until the interrogation team arrives. We must follow protocol," Sergeant Simmons, the lead MP on the case, said diplomatically.
Hawthorne grimaced. "So, no one has been plugging him for information while we've just been spinning our wheels?" Hawthorne scoffed.
Sergeant Simmons shook his head. "No, sir. Not yet."
Hawthorne glared at the sergeant with his eyes flaring. "We've got seven female soldiers in the breeze, and time is of the essence. Have you considered that your blind obedience to protocol might just be the one thing that seals their fate?"
"Um, uh, I-I didn't consider that. I see what you're saying, sir. There's no reason why I can't take down a statement from him while we wait. You're welcome to join us if you have specific questions, you feel need to be answered."
Hawthorne cracked a smile and winked. "Now that's more like it, sergeant. C'mon, Jimmy. You might as well come with me and take notes."
Jimmy blinked in confusion momentarily, but stepped toward Hawthorne and walked with him as the sergeant led the way out of the tower.
Jimmy couldn't help but notice the IDENT tracker in his HUD showed a group of teammates following him. He spun around and saw Havoc and Ghost, followed by Wraith and Hammer.
Jimmy cracked a smile behind his visor. He was tickled by how tight the team was. They did absolutely nothing alone and stuck together like glue. Never in his time in the army had Jimmy been in a group so tight.
Not since selection, in any case. He briefly remembered being a part of the Dream Team that beat the odds and almost made it to the end. But this was different. This team had been forged in fire, and Jimmy was finally feeling like he had added value to the mission. He then realized Hawthorne didn't need a notetaker. He wanted to be with his teammates, and the notetaking was merely a pretext.
They approached a set of double doors leading into the Spaceport's Police HQ. The MPs led the way back toward the interrogation room and gestured for Hawthorne to enter.
"The rest of you can go into the observation room next door," Sergeant Simmons said.
Jimmy and the others obliged, entering the adjacent room, which had a set of chairs and a view of the interior of the interrogation room. None of the team chose to sit, fearing the added weight of their armor would ruin the seats.
They watched as a pair of MPs escorted a man in shackles into the room. The man appeared to be middle-aged and in poor physical shape. Beads of sweat dripped down his terrified face as he was ordered to sit at the table. Hawthorne stood in the corner with his visor covering his face for an intimidating effect.
The man didn't take his eyes off Hawthorne and the M-7 heavy rifle dangling from the hardpoint on his back. Sergeant Simmons entered the room with a data pad and a stern expression.
"State your name for the record," Simmons said flatly.
"Um, S-Seymore Josephs."
"Mr. Josephs, how long have you been with the resistance?" Simmons asked.
"D-don't I get legal representation?" Seymore asked nervously.
"Of course. We'll have legal counsel assigned to you in short order. But first, we have some questions to ask you," Simmons said, stone-faced.
"I'm not saying anything without council present," Seymore declared.
Sergeant Simmons slid the data pad across the table, ignoring the man's concerns. "We've found a myriad of deleted entries we were able to recover from the mainframe, and they're all linked to your login credentials."
"Lawyer!" Seymore said defiantly.
"Where will the captives be transported from, and when?" Simmons asked sternly.
"I-I won't say anything without due process," the man growled.
"What about the due process of the women being taken off the world?" Hawthorne said, the exterior speakers of his helmet making his voice menacingly robotic-sounding.
"I'm not saying a word until—" Seymore was cut short as Hawthorne closed the gap between them and slammed the man's face into the table, pinning it there.
"I-I don't know anything about all that, I swear. I just keep an eye on things!"
Hawthorne kept one hand on the man's face while the other pulled out his nano module. He thumbed the device, and a needle popped out. He slammed the module against the man's neck while Seymore screamed in pain.
"Once the truth serum sinks in, I think you'll be much more receptive to helping us," Hawthorne snapped, releasing the man's head and walking back to the corner.
"What did you just do to me?" Seymore demanded. "This renders my testimony inadmissible, you understand?"
"Perhaps you're confused, Mr. Josephs," Sergeant Simmons said coolly. "You are not under the jurisdiction of your local government. And I find it interesting you're so well-read on legal matters."
"Well, when you work for the resistance, it helps to be informed," Seymore said, before covering his mouth, his eyes wide.
"You see? He's singing like a bird already," Hawthorne said.
"Where are the women?" Simmons asked.
"I honestly don't know. That's not in my wheelhouse," Seymore said, straining to fight the urge to answer.
"Then tell us where they're going?"
"I told you, I don't know anything about Paragon," Seymore said, before his face stretched into terror. He'd involuntarily given up a clue and was in a panic.
Hawthorne crossed the gap again, grabbing the back of the man's shirt and tossing him to the floor. Hawthorne balled his fist and reared back.
"This is M-96 powered armor. I can put my fist through your face and then out the back of your skull before you can blink. Who is Paragon?"
The man shook with fear and tried to resist the urge to speak, but the chemicals in his bloodstream begged to differ.
"It's not a person," Seymore said, with his eyes slammed shut and tears dripping down his face.
Hawthorne called over the TACNET. "Mama, Professor, I have new information about Paragon."
The reply came back faster than expected. "I know. Paragon isn't a person. It's a ship," Professor replied. "We just found the deleted flight logs."
"Do you have a location?" Hawthorne asked.
"Negative. We've already shut down their usual launch points. Even if we find their launch location, they'll be off-world and cross-decked before we make it there."
"We need to ground all non-military aerospace traffic immediately," Hawthorne scoffed.
"I'll check with the Air Force liaison here in the tower and see what we can do."
"Good copy, Professor," Hawthorne said before turning his attention to Seymore. "Tell me about Paragon."
"It's a Chartean-registered, human-built freighter. It's outfitted with grain and produce storage and makes routine runs between Sanctuary and Chartea," Seymore said, no longer fighting the effects of the drug.
"Let me guess, it has a secret hold for human cargo?" Hawthorne asked.
"I don't know anything beyond the ship's description, I swear," Seymore said nervously.
"I believe you, Seymore," Hawthorne said. "Thank you for your cooperation."
"I can't fly into orbit without a pre-approved flight plan, Bossman," Dino said. "It's the one rule I can't break."
Hathorne had suspected as much, but wasn't willing to let it go.
"So, you can't declare a maintenance emergency or something?" Hawthorne said, knowing it was a stretch.
Dino shook his head. "Nope. The Army isn't too keen on sending its birds into orbit under a declared maintenance emergency."
"Hold tight here," Hawthorne said, his determination palpable. "I've got to figure this out before it's too late."
Hawthorne emerged from the dropship, where the team was waiting on the tarmac. "Looks like the Army is bound and determined to let their regulations seal the fate of seven women."
"Fuck the Army, boss," Kievskaya said. "What naval assets are in orbit? Surely, we can call for an assist."
Hawthorne smiled. "I like it. But does anybody have a bead on a channel to make the call?"
"I can run back into the control room and talk to the air boss," Professor offered.
Hawthorne shook his head. "We don't have time to run around like chickens with our heads cut off. Let's check the tarmac for a navy boat and see if they can relay the message for us."
"Over there, boss," Hammer pointed to a group of dropships nearby. "That one has Navy written all over it."
"Let's move," Hawthorne nodded. The team, united in their mission, broke out into a sprint, and rushed over to the naval dropship. The back ramp was down, and the repulsor drives hummed at a low idle as they approached.
Jimmy glanced at the dropship's markings and saw the name Nemesis painted on the side in block letters. His eyes went wide.
"Yo! This ship is assigned to Nemesis," Jimmy called out.
"Then that's definitely the right ship to ask for help from." Hawthorne rushed inside the cabin.
Nemesis was the former flagship of the invasion force that brought the planet under SNA control. It was a legendary vessel.
Hawthorne momentarily popped his head out of the ship and beckoned the team to board, their anticipation for the upcoming adventure evident.
"Has anyone ever been on a battleship before?" Hawthorne asked, with a sly grin on his face.
Without another word, the team rushed aboard the naval vessel and took their usual places on the bench seats. Hawthorne waited for everyone to sit before banging on the cockpit door with his fist, signaling the pilot to raise the ramp. But the cockpit door opened, and one of the pilots stuck his head through the door.
"Can I help you, Captain?" the pilot asked.
"Sorry, man," Hawthorne said. "Army pilots like us to bang on the cockpit door when it's time to close the ramp."
"Oh, okay, sir," the pilot smiled. "Here in the Navy, we generally just ask."
"Would you please close the back ramp?" Hawthorne said playfully.
"Yes, sir!" the pilot said, sliding the cockpit door closed again.
The ramp lifted until it latched closed, and the cabin began hissing as pressure rose. The overhead speaker crackled to life.
"Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Dagger, and I'll be your naval aviator for this flight. Please keep your weapons secured and mind-falling objects. Things will be getting bumpy until we break out of the atmosphere."
"Something tells me we won't be doing PCIs this time," Havoc scoffed.
"Nope. We'll be too busy holding our own asses in place to worry about checking weapons," Master Sergeant Best replied.
The craft dusted off as the repulsor drives spun up. The dropship kept rising in altitude, and Jimmy tracked it with his altimeter.
By the time they reached the stratosphere, the main thrusters roared to life, pinning Jimmy to his seat from the sudden shift in inertia. He'd been on many dropships before, but this was his first time traveling into orbit on one, and he didn't know what to expect.
The craft buffeted and shook wildly but kept steadily rising. Eventually, the sounds dissipated, and the vacuum of space embraced the ship's hull like a warm blanket.
The overhead speakers crackled to life. "All right folks, we're in orbit and entering our final approach for my beloved mothership."
Now that the worst of the violent trip was over, a round of applause broke out. The next few minutes were uneventful, but Jimmy could feel the ship shift directions and begin to hover. Moments later, the landing pads contacted the flight deck, and the hissing sound of equalizing atmosphere filled the space with sound.
The latch clicked, and the ramp fell open. Jimmy was first to exit and walked to a scene he'd only seen in videos.
The flight deck was massive and had a cavernous ceiling. Dropships and space fighters were arranged in orderly rows, and the deck crew scurried about. Jimmy turned and flinched as his view was blocked by an impossibly tall individual.
Moments later, Jimmy arrived in a low-lying area just out of the visual range of the ambush site. The grass was tall except for a few patches. Hammer marked each of them on the HUD, and Jimmy walked over to the closest point to him.
"Hammer, this is Nomad. I confirm indentations from landing pads."
"Whoa, wait a damn minute," Professor said over the net. "I've got the air traffic picture from the moment of the ambush, and nothing flew in or out. Either it's a stealth craft or the track has been manually deleted from the air picture."
"What are you saying, Professor?" Hawthorne asked.
"Boss, inside people in the local air controller network are working for the resistance. They're altering the digital record to cover their movements."
"This means, however, they're getting the captives off the world, that’s being altered too. Rally on me, people. We're going on a field trip over to the Sanctuary Aerospace Traffic Control Center," Hawthorne ordered.
Seymore toggled the IDENT icon for the drop ship, but no flight plan was filed. It merely had a maintenance code. But oddly enough, it hovered momentarily over the site of the ambush before flying into a figure-eight orbit. It then dropped from the sensor picture on the ambush site before popping back up.
Ordinarily, he would just send a quick message to his handler and let the resistance decide what to do, but this track was different. The track was heading straight for the ATC HQ, where he sat.
He urgently thumbed his comms device, his fingers flying over the keys as he typed a message to his handler, the urgency palpable in his actions.
Suspicious dropship searched the ambush site on Bracken Road and then diverted. They're heading straight for me.
He hit send, slipped the device into his pocket, and craned his neck to ensure nobody saw him. Confident he was in the clear, Seymore turned his attention to the screen and the approaching dropship.
That's when the device vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, checked his surroundings, and glanced at the message.
You are compromised. Scrub your station's data and leave immediately. Head to the safehouse and wait for me there.
Seymore's eyes widened in shock. He quickly stuffed the device in his pocket and frantically purged his workstation's data history. But when he turned around to ask to go on break, he was met with a pair of armed military police soldiers, a sight that left him stunned.
"C-can I-I help you, gentlemen?" Seymore asked sheepishly.
"Turn around and put your hands together. You're coming with us," one of the MPs said.
Running was not even a consideration. Seymore, portly and unfit, knew he had nowhere to go. His world seemed to close in on him, and his vision shifted to shades of red as his blood pressure increased, a physical manifestation of his helplessness.
"Wh-what is the problem, gentlemen?" Seymore asked.
He didn't get a response. He found himself forcibly facedown on his console with his hands being bound behind him unceremoniously.
One of the MPs keyed a radio. "Bossman, this is Sergeant Doherty. We've got him in custody."
51
"We have to get off this rock," Ramus said nervously to Ellie. "Our insiders at the ATC are compromised, and it's only a matter of time before they find the flight data."
Ellie's eyes went wide. "What does that mean for us?"
Ramus sighed. "It means this planet is too hot, and our operation is completely in tatters. We need to go to Chartea and regroup."
"Chartea?" Ellie exclaimed angrily. "A planet full of hostile arachnoids and human perverts? That doesn't sound like regrouping to me."
Ramus stood in his M-96 armor, surrounded by his team of former spec ops commandos. Ellie glared at each one of them in turn before she spoke.
"So, what happened to staying here and finishing off the 29th?" Ellie pleaded, not wanting any reason to leave her home planet.
"We tried, and we failed. My operation is in shambles, and our contacts are blown. I must take our movement into the stars to rebuild, Ellie. We have no choice. Once on Chartea, the SNA can't touch us. They have your DNA and know who you really are. That means I can't leave you behind under any circumstances," Ramus explained, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.
"So, what's the play?" Ellie asked accusingly. "The moment we break for orbit, they'll have eyes on us."
"Not if we can reach the rendezvous point and link up with the transport ship. We can blaze out of here in FTL before we get intercepted," Ramus explained.
"Seems like a shaky plan to me. Can't I just stay here with my friends? I'll keep my head down, I promise!" Ellie pleaded.
"I've been trying to convince you to leave this place for weeks. But now I'm not giving you the option.”
"Enough!" Ellie snarled. "Ugh, I will never forgive you for this."
Ramus frowned. "Someday, you'll understand. When you have kids of your own, you'll understand what it's like to be responsible for someone else and put their needs ahead of your own."
"If that was the case, then you wouldn't have engaged in all this mess and pulled me into it," Ellie retorted.
"That's enough, Ellie," Ramus growled. "Get in the truck. We're taking our last shipment to Chartea. The ship will be in low orbit by the time we get into the sky."
Ellie walked to the exit, her posture slouched in defeat. It couldn't be helped. First, the SNA took her mother and then her brother. Now, she was losing her home world through her father's actions and SNA pressure. The weight of these losses was heavy on her shoulders, making her feel more alone than ever.
She shuffled her feet to the cargo truck, grabbed the door handle, and climbed inside. The moment she was settled in her seat, she buried her face in her palm and sobbed. Her tears were a testament to her overwhelming sense of loss and fear.
52
"We've got this, Boss," Mama said, standing beside Professor. It was Jimmy's first time inside a control tower, and he was mesmerized by the number of screens and workstations within. The tech experts, Professor and Mama, were digging through the database from the station the resistance member had been using.
"Copy that, Mama," Hawthorne replied. "I guess I'll go have a chat with our captive and see what he has to say."
"Sir, I'd advise waiting until the interrogation team arrives. We must follow protocol," Sergeant Simmons, the lead MP on the case, said diplomatically.
Hawthorne grimaced. "So, no one has been plugging him for information while we've just been spinning our wheels?" Hawthorne scoffed.
Sergeant Simmons shook his head. "No, sir. Not yet."
Hawthorne glared at the sergeant with his eyes flaring. "We've got seven female soldiers in the breeze, and time is of the essence. Have you considered that your blind obedience to protocol might just be the one thing that seals their fate?"
"Um, uh, I-I didn't consider that. I see what you're saying, sir. There's no reason why I can't take down a statement from him while we wait. You're welcome to join us if you have specific questions, you feel need to be answered."
Hawthorne cracked a smile and winked. "Now that's more like it, sergeant. C'mon, Jimmy. You might as well come with me and take notes."
Jimmy blinked in confusion momentarily, but stepped toward Hawthorne and walked with him as the sergeant led the way out of the tower.
Jimmy couldn't help but notice the IDENT tracker in his HUD showed a group of teammates following him. He spun around and saw Havoc and Ghost, followed by Wraith and Hammer.
Jimmy cracked a smile behind his visor. He was tickled by how tight the team was. They did absolutely nothing alone and stuck together like glue. Never in his time in the army had Jimmy been in a group so tight.
Not since selection, in any case. He briefly remembered being a part of the Dream Team that beat the odds and almost made it to the end. But this was different. This team had been forged in fire, and Jimmy was finally feeling like he had added value to the mission. He then realized Hawthorne didn't need a notetaker. He wanted to be with his teammates, and the notetaking was merely a pretext.
They approached a set of double doors leading into the Spaceport's Police HQ. The MPs led the way back toward the interrogation room and gestured for Hawthorne to enter.
"The rest of you can go into the observation room next door," Sergeant Simmons said.
Jimmy and the others obliged, entering the adjacent room, which had a set of chairs and a view of the interior of the interrogation room. None of the team chose to sit, fearing the added weight of their armor would ruin the seats.
They watched as a pair of MPs escorted a man in shackles into the room. The man appeared to be middle-aged and in poor physical shape. Beads of sweat dripped down his terrified face as he was ordered to sit at the table. Hawthorne stood in the corner with his visor covering his face for an intimidating effect.
The man didn't take his eyes off Hawthorne and the M-7 heavy rifle dangling from the hardpoint on his back. Sergeant Simmons entered the room with a data pad and a stern expression.
"State your name for the record," Simmons said flatly.
"Um, S-Seymore Josephs."
"Mr. Josephs, how long have you been with the resistance?" Simmons asked.
"D-don't I get legal representation?" Seymore asked nervously.
"Of course. We'll have legal counsel assigned to you in short order. But first, we have some questions to ask you," Simmons said, stone-faced.
"I'm not saying anything without council present," Seymore declared.
Sergeant Simmons slid the data pad across the table, ignoring the man's concerns. "We've found a myriad of deleted entries we were able to recover from the mainframe, and they're all linked to your login credentials."
"Lawyer!" Seymore said defiantly.
"Where will the captives be transported from, and when?" Simmons asked sternly.
"I-I won't say anything without due process," the man growled.
"What about the due process of the women being taken off the world?" Hawthorne said, the exterior speakers of his helmet making his voice menacingly robotic-sounding.
"I'm not saying a word until—" Seymore was cut short as Hawthorne closed the gap between them and slammed the man's face into the table, pinning it there.
"I-I don't know anything about all that, I swear. I just keep an eye on things!"
Hawthorne kept one hand on the man's face while the other pulled out his nano module. He thumbed the device, and a needle popped out. He slammed the module against the man's neck while Seymore screamed in pain.
"Once the truth serum sinks in, I think you'll be much more receptive to helping us," Hawthorne snapped, releasing the man's head and walking back to the corner.
"What did you just do to me?" Seymore demanded. "This renders my testimony inadmissible, you understand?"
"Perhaps you're confused, Mr. Josephs," Sergeant Simmons said coolly. "You are not under the jurisdiction of your local government. And I find it interesting you're so well-read on legal matters."
"Well, when you work for the resistance, it helps to be informed," Seymore said, before covering his mouth, his eyes wide.
"You see? He's singing like a bird already," Hawthorne said.
"Where are the women?" Simmons asked.
"I honestly don't know. That's not in my wheelhouse," Seymore said, straining to fight the urge to answer.
"Then tell us where they're going?"
"I told you, I don't know anything about Paragon," Seymore said, before his face stretched into terror. He'd involuntarily given up a clue and was in a panic.
Hawthorne crossed the gap again, grabbing the back of the man's shirt and tossing him to the floor. Hawthorne balled his fist and reared back.
"This is M-96 powered armor. I can put my fist through your face and then out the back of your skull before you can blink. Who is Paragon?"
The man shook with fear and tried to resist the urge to speak, but the chemicals in his bloodstream begged to differ.
"It's not a person," Seymore said, with his eyes slammed shut and tears dripping down his face.
Hawthorne called over the TACNET. "Mama, Professor, I have new information about Paragon."
The reply came back faster than expected. "I know. Paragon isn't a person. It's a ship," Professor replied. "We just found the deleted flight logs."
"Do you have a location?" Hawthorne asked.
"Negative. We've already shut down their usual launch points. Even if we find their launch location, they'll be off-world and cross-decked before we make it there."
"We need to ground all non-military aerospace traffic immediately," Hawthorne scoffed.
"I'll check with the Air Force liaison here in the tower and see what we can do."
"Good copy, Professor," Hawthorne said before turning his attention to Seymore. "Tell me about Paragon."
"It's a Chartean-registered, human-built freighter. It's outfitted with grain and produce storage and makes routine runs between Sanctuary and Chartea," Seymore said, no longer fighting the effects of the drug.
"Let me guess, it has a secret hold for human cargo?" Hawthorne asked.
"I don't know anything beyond the ship's description, I swear," Seymore said nervously.
"I believe you, Seymore," Hawthorne said. "Thank you for your cooperation."
"I can't fly into orbit without a pre-approved flight plan, Bossman," Dino said. "It's the one rule I can't break."
Hathorne had suspected as much, but wasn't willing to let it go.
"So, you can't declare a maintenance emergency or something?" Hawthorne said, knowing it was a stretch.
Dino shook his head. "Nope. The Army isn't too keen on sending its birds into orbit under a declared maintenance emergency."
"Hold tight here," Hawthorne said, his determination palpable. "I've got to figure this out before it's too late."
Hawthorne emerged from the dropship, where the team was waiting on the tarmac. "Looks like the Army is bound and determined to let their regulations seal the fate of seven women."
"Fuck the Army, boss," Kievskaya said. "What naval assets are in orbit? Surely, we can call for an assist."
Hawthorne smiled. "I like it. But does anybody have a bead on a channel to make the call?"
"I can run back into the control room and talk to the air boss," Professor offered.
Hawthorne shook his head. "We don't have time to run around like chickens with our heads cut off. Let's check the tarmac for a navy boat and see if they can relay the message for us."
"Over there, boss," Hammer pointed to a group of dropships nearby. "That one has Navy written all over it."
"Let's move," Hawthorne nodded. The team, united in their mission, broke out into a sprint, and rushed over to the naval dropship. The back ramp was down, and the repulsor drives hummed at a low idle as they approached.
Jimmy glanced at the dropship's markings and saw the name Nemesis painted on the side in block letters. His eyes went wide.
"Yo! This ship is assigned to Nemesis," Jimmy called out.
"Then that's definitely the right ship to ask for help from." Hawthorne rushed inside the cabin.
Nemesis was the former flagship of the invasion force that brought the planet under SNA control. It was a legendary vessel.
Hawthorne momentarily popped his head out of the ship and beckoned the team to board, their anticipation for the upcoming adventure evident.
"Has anyone ever been on a battleship before?" Hawthorne asked, with a sly grin on his face.
Without another word, the team rushed aboard the naval vessel and took their usual places on the bench seats. Hawthorne waited for everyone to sit before banging on the cockpit door with his fist, signaling the pilot to raise the ramp. But the cockpit door opened, and one of the pilots stuck his head through the door.
"Can I help you, Captain?" the pilot asked.
"Sorry, man," Hawthorne said. "Army pilots like us to bang on the cockpit door when it's time to close the ramp."
"Oh, okay, sir," the pilot smiled. "Here in the Navy, we generally just ask."
"Would you please close the back ramp?" Hawthorne said playfully.
"Yes, sir!" the pilot said, sliding the cockpit door closed again.
The ramp lifted until it latched closed, and the cabin began hissing as pressure rose. The overhead speaker crackled to life.
"Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Dagger, and I'll be your naval aviator for this flight. Please keep your weapons secured and mind-falling objects. Things will be getting bumpy until we break out of the atmosphere."
"Something tells me we won't be doing PCIs this time," Havoc scoffed.
"Nope. We'll be too busy holding our own asses in place to worry about checking weapons," Master Sergeant Best replied.
The craft dusted off as the repulsor drives spun up. The dropship kept rising in altitude, and Jimmy tracked it with his altimeter.
By the time they reached the stratosphere, the main thrusters roared to life, pinning Jimmy to his seat from the sudden shift in inertia. He'd been on many dropships before, but this was his first time traveling into orbit on one, and he didn't know what to expect.
The craft buffeted and shook wildly but kept steadily rising. Eventually, the sounds dissipated, and the vacuum of space embraced the ship's hull like a warm blanket.
The overhead speakers crackled to life. "All right folks, we're in orbit and entering our final approach for my beloved mothership."
Now that the worst of the violent trip was over, a round of applause broke out. The next few minutes were uneventful, but Jimmy could feel the ship shift directions and begin to hover. Moments later, the landing pads contacted the flight deck, and the hissing sound of equalizing atmosphere filled the space with sound.
The latch clicked, and the ramp fell open. Jimmy was first to exit and walked to a scene he'd only seen in videos.
The flight deck was massive and had a cavernous ceiling. Dropships and space fighters were arranged in orderly rows, and the deck crew scurried about. Jimmy turned and flinched as his view was blocked by an impossibly tall individual.
