Dark Space (4 page)

   “Don’t sell yourself
short,” Shawn said, finding himself smiling at the smart-looking woman.
“Besides, I’m sure that’ll come soon enough. So, what’s so all-fired important
that Ramos sent you down to get me?” 

    Bates shook her head. “He
didn’t say. All he said was to find the senior wing leader and bring him up.”

   Shawn fought against
scowling at her. “Just get Commander Saltori to do it. He’s got more seniority
than—”

   “Rylani … didn’t make it
back.”

   He looked at her in
bewilderment. “But we’re still recovering fighters, right?”

   She shook her head. “I’m
sorry, Shawn. We just brought the last of them back on board. Commander
Saltori—”

   The cacophony of noises in
the hangar seemed to die down all around. “And you’re sure there’s been no
mistake? I mean, what if he ejected? What about his emergency transponder?”

   She cast her eyes to the
deck before answering. “His fighter was overwhelmed. He took several direct
hits before we … lost his signal.” 

  
Damn.
Shawn rubbed
his face, absently resting his hand over his mouth to stop the stream of curses
that was about to erupt from it.
Damn!

   “I’m sorry, Shawn. I know
he was a friend.”

   He looked to Jeannie and
her troubled expression. He knew that she and Rylani were also friends,
probably just as close as she was to Shawn and Melissa. He reached out to her,
placing a hand on her shoulder. She cupped it with her own just as the deck
beneath their feet shuddered.

   “Come on,” she said, then
took off at a run toward the nearest express lift that would bring them to CIC.

   Less than five minutes
later, Shawn and Commander Bates were jogging through the security doors and
into the
Duchess
’s highly fortified combat information center. All
around Shawn there was a bustle of activity as personnel—some seated at their
stations, others walking between them—issued orders that got the fleet moving.
On the four large status displays that dominated the forward bulkhead, Shawn
watched as the battle continued to rage on in the space just beyond the
Duchess
.
Meltranian destroyers and cruisers were exchanging fire with similar Unified, Rugorian,
and Kafaran warships. On the far right screen, Shawn watched a particularly
helpless Kafaran warship get pummeled by multiple salvoes from two large,
skull-like Meltranian cruisers.

   “There’s nothing we can do
for them,” came the somber voice of Darian Ramos from behind Shawn. Without the
commander’s knowledge, the older man had somehow slipped close behind him
undetected. Not turning to face the captain, Shawn nodded slowly.

   “We’re in over our heads,”
Shawn said, as much to his experiences out in the battlefield earlier as to
what he was witnessing on the screens.

   “The odds were against us
before we fired the first salvos.”

   Shawn felt the anger that
was welling in him over the loss of his comrades begin to boil to the surface.
“And just how, exactly, did that happen,
Captain
?”

   “I wish to hell I knew,”
Ramos said with equal disdain. “Somehow the Meltranians were able to mask their
true numbers from our sensors. And, as far as I know, this is the first time
that’s happened in this war.”

   Shawn watched as the
Kafaran warship, now fading quickly from the monitor as the
Duchess
and
the rest of the fleet speed away at high speed, exploded in a great ball of
flame and debris. “I’d say it was a pretty successful tactic.”

   Ramos nodded. “And one
they’ll be sure to duplicate, unless we can figure out how to counter it.”

   “We lost a lot of good
people out there over a technological oversight, Captain. I’m not sure their
families will appreciate a day-late response.”

   Ramos sighed heavily, the
weight of the lives of thousands resting on his shoulders. Still, there was
time enough to take a moment for one of his best pilots. “I heard about Saltori,”
Ramos continued, now stepping beside Shawn to share his view of the monitors.
“It’s a damn shame. He was a hell of a pilot.”

  
He was a hell of a man.
“He
wasn’t the only one we lost out there.”

   Shawn watched the scope on
another screen. The Meltranians were not pursuing, and it never failed to
surprise him. At every encounter where they showed superior numbers, they had
yet to pursue a fleeing Unified fleet—and there had been quite a few in the
last months. It seemed they were content with taking their target, the small fire
world on the far left monitor.
What could they possibly want there?

  
“That’s one of the reasons I’ve called you
up here,” Ramos said, his eyes shifting from one battle display to the next.

   “I haven’t had time to
debrief my people yet, Captain. I don’t have all the numbers—”

   “There’ll be time enough
for that later, Commander,” Ramos said, accessing a nearby keypad and
requesting the computer to change one of the displays. On the far right screen,
the image of the lava-covered planet winked out to be replaced by a large gas
giant. Shawn knew it to be Istaro—the third planet in this system—and the
location of the nearest jump gate. “We’re going to destroy the gate here after
we go through,” the captain said as he stared at the new image. “It’s the best
way to ensure those heartless Meltranian bastards don’t follow us.”

   Still, no one had yet
discovered any evidence as to exactly
how
the Meltranians propelled
themselves such great distances in short amounts of time. The jump gate was in
all likelihood unnecessary for them, but Shawn knew full well Ramos’s intent.
“And what … you want me to go back out there and destroy it?”

   Ramos let out a chuckle,
but not one laced with any kind of mirth. “Hardly. In fact, I don’t want you
leaving the ship anytime soon. That’s what I’ve got droids for. Cheap and
disposable,” he said, then turned his gray eyes to Shawn. “Which is completely
the opposite of my most seasoned personnel.”

   “I hadn’t planned on taking
vacation anytime soon,” Shawn said. “So other than my flight duties, I’m pretty
sure I’ll be sticking around for quite some time.”

   Ramos looked at him
silently for a moment before turning to one of his people, a man Shawn knew to
be the
Duchess
’s operations officer. “I’ll be on the bridge. Notify me
as soon as we’re within six miles of the jump gate.”

   “Aye, sir.”

   “About how long until we
can make the jump?” Shawn asked.

   “Just under an hour,
assuming the fleet maintains maximum speed.” After surveying his people for another
minute, Ramos turned back to Shawn and nodded his head toward the door. “Walk
with me, Commander.”

   As soon as the two were in
the corridor, Shawn got in step beside the captain.

   “Shawn,” Darian began as he
dropped his voice, “I need your help.
We
need your help.”

   “Of course, sir. Anything I
can do.”

   Ramos smiled. “I’m glad to
hear it, but it isn’t going to be easy.”

   “What could be so hard?”
Shawn asked. “I mean, what could be any more difficult than what I’ve been
doing?”

   “With Commander Saltori
dead, we’ve lost a valuable asset on the ship. I’m sure you’re aware that he
was about to be offered the position as wing commander.”

   Shawn had had conversations
like this before, and knew full well where it was going. There was no way he
was going to enjoy giving up being out in space for any length of time, nor
would he enjoy being anchored to a desk, wiping the noses of the junior
officers. Wing commander was an executive position, a stepping stone that would
eventually take him to the bridge of his own carrier someday. That was the
last
thing Shawn wanted, and he suspected the last thing Sector Command needed. Now,
more than ever, he wished he were back at the controls of
Sylvia’s Delight
,
plying his way through the trade lanes high above the warm, sandy beaches of
Minos.

   “With all due respect,
Darian, I don’t want the job.”

   “With all due respect, I
don’t give a damn,” Ramos said irritably, stopping near a deserted intersection
in the corridor and pulling Shawn aside. “This isn’t a request, Shawn. You’re
the senior squadron commander. You’re our best pilot. It’s your own fault for
being so good at what you do.”

   “That’s not a reason to
bolt me to a desk in some office. I should be out there with my team.”

   “I’ve read the preliminary
reports. You’ve lost over half your fighters. So have a number of other
squadrons. As such, we’re going to be reorganizing some billets, merging some
teams and disbanding others.”

   Shawn shook his head in
frustration, then looked around despondently for an airlock from which to jump
out. “And the Rippers?”

   “Brunel will be taking
over, a field promotion to full commander.”

   Shawn nodded. He could
think of no finer officer to take over the reins. “And the rest?”

   “The Rippers and the Red
Skulls … or what’s left of them … will be merging with the Jolly Rogers.”

   The Jolly Rogers, a
well-respected squadron with a lineage dating all the way back several hundred
years to the seagoing Navy of First Earth, was one of the squadrons permanently
assigned to the
Duchess of York
. They were commanded by a brash young
upstart named Davidson. Shawn had had more than a few run-ins with him in the
officers’ mess, and to say that the two got along well would not have been fair
by any stretch of the term.

   “And Commander Davidson?
How does he feel about all this?”

   “We lost Davidson out there
today, too,” Ramos said as he leaned his shoulders back against a nearby
doorframe. “And his executive officer was wounded pretty bad,” the captain
said, then smirked. “I got word a few minutes ago that he was raising hell in
sickbay, demanding that he be allowed to get back out there and take another
swing at the Meltranians. However, from what I could glean from the ship’s
medical officer about the nature of his injuries, I’m doubtful he’ll be flying
a fighter again anytime soon—if ever.”

   “There’s no worse feeling
for a pilot than to be grounded,” Shawn said in reference to both to the
wounded officer in sickbay as well as to his own future prospects. The implication
wasn’t lost on Ramos.

   “Think of it this way: you
get to mold the future fighter pilots who will be winning this war for us. We
need you to help get some of these green pilots up to speed.”

  
Oh, brother.
Shawn
didn’t attempt to hide his disdain and rolled his eyes. “This is not what I
signed up for.”

   Ramos smirked, stood
upright, and placed a gentle hand on Shawn’s shoulder. “Yes it is, and you know
it. And if you don’t, you’ll come to realize it soon enough. Remember, I didn’t
get to where I am today without having served in that particular position a
time or two myself. It’s not a bad billet to find yourself in.”

   “Oh really?” Shawn laughed.
“I’ve had more than a few interactions with particularly nasty carrier wing commanders
in my time.”

   Ramos lifted his hand, then
slapped it back down. “There, you see? You’re already agreeing with me that
you’ll make better decisions than your predecessors. Besides, you get a nice
little staff to assist you, not to mention a personal assistant. And your
authority on this ship will be equivalent to my own, so you’ll be under the
direct command of Admiral Hansen.” When he saw that Shawn was unconvinced,
Ramos placed his other hand on the commander’s other shoulder. “It’s a big
responsibility, Shawn.”

   “One best suited to a newly
promoted captain with aspirations of a command of his own,” Shawn quipped.
“That’s not me in either case.” He’d lost his wife during the last war, his
personal freedom when he’d agreed—under protest—to reenlist in the service, her
namesake and his pride and joy on a desolate planet a handful of months ago,
and now he was losing his ability to fly at all. Quite frankly, Shawn Kestrel
was tired of losing things.
Perfect. Just perfect.

   “Don’t sell yourself short,”
Darius said, mirroring Shawn’s words to Jeannie Bates in the hangar. “I
wouldn’t have considered you for this position if I didn’t think you were ready.
Besides, Admiral Graves has the utmost confidence in your abilities in this
arena.”

   The recently promoted Vice
Admiral William Graves was currently on board the flagship carrier
Courageous
along with Fleet Admiral Hansen and a handful of senior commanders coordinating
the 2
^nd
Fleet’s strategies in this area. Shawn missed his old friend
and had entertained hopes of seeing him in the near future. It now looked as if
that, too, was going to be denied him.
Fantastic.
“So Bill knows what’s
going on here?” he joked, trying with difficulty to resign himself to his fate.
“I smell a conspiracy.”

   Ramos smiled. “The best
kind, I’m sure.”