Loyalty to the Cause (TCOTU, Book 4) (This Corner of the Universe) (11 page)

Vernay
swung around the table while Heskan took the second seat.  He noted that her mug 
had a considerable amount of sweat on the outside but its contents appeared completely
untouched.  He leaned close to Vernay and shouted, “You made it back.”

The
enthusiasm of the petite blonde’s effervescent smile did not diminish despite the
tone of her voice.  “Try not to sound so surprised, Captain.”  She slid her
datapad over the table toward him.

Heskan
saw the profile of a Loggerhead-class freighter.  He tapped the image and
Hussy’s
schematics appeared.  After several moments of inspection, Heskan looked up. 
“Great work, Stacy.  We’re a go for tomorrow then.”

Vernay
shook her head.  “Today!” she barked over the music.  “We have to go today!”

“What?” 
Heskan could feel the music vibrating in his chest.

Vernay
looked up in frustration and grabbed Heskan’s hand.  She pulled him out of his
chair.  As they passed by the former guardians of the table, the woman smiled
widely at Vernay and shouted, “You two make a great couple.”  Vernay towed
Heskan toward the exit as the other couple seized the vacated table.  The
couple exchanged knowing glances and smiles and the man uttered in admiration
to his girlfriend, “That woman doesn’t waste any time.”

Outside
of the chaotic bar, Vernay guided Heskan to the front of a closed restaurant
across the promenade.  “We have to move today, Captain,” she repeated.

“Why?”

“I
got Ensign May shot when we took Hussy,” Vernay explained with brutal honesty. 
“Ensign Gables was able to stabilize her but it was a long trip and she needs a
doctor badly.”

“What’s
her status?” Heskan asked.

“Critical. 
She’s been unconscious for the last three days.  Gables can barely keep her
hydrated and we have no way of feeding her intravenously.”  The depth of
genuine emotion washing over Vernay’s face made Heskan realize just how much he
missed being around people who did not tell lies for a living.  “Captain, I
don’t think she’ll make it another day without a doctor.”

Heskan
raised his hands questioningly.  “I’m not a doctor.  How’s moving up our
schedule going to help?”  No sooner had he finished his sentence than the light
switch turned on.

“The
Hollarans,” they said in unison as Vernay nodded emphatically.

“Stacy,
what if none of the doctors made it off Phoenix?”

“Some
of them had to,” Vernay responded.  “We have to try, Captain.  Vivian’s fought so
hard and we owe her the chance.”

Heskan
surveyed Vernay’s pleading eyes. 
Does she honestly think
I could say
no?
  “Okay, but I need to get on board Kite first.”  A thought occurred to
him.  “What’s our supply status?”

Vernay
looked up at Heskan pitifully.  “Really bad.  We didn’t dare stop.”

Heskan
checked his datapad; it was 02:26. 
I need to talk with a provisioner…  An
hour to get on Kite, an hour back…
  Heskan did the final math and said, “Go
back to the freighter and wait for me.  Make sure that no one goes off the
ship.  I.S. has every security camera on the orbital running facial recognition
routines to find our fugitives.  They’d be spotted in a heartbeat.”

Vernay
began to pirouette in place but Heskan reach out to stop her.  “And, Stacy, I’m
glad you’re back.”  One devastating smile later and Vernay was lost in the
crowd.

When
she vanished, Heskan started moving in the opposite direction.  Curiously, despite
the impending action, his stomach was completely as ease.  The comfort found in
trusted companionship achieved what no drug could accomplish.  Fortified, he
picked up the pace as he made his way back to his suite.

“Good
morning, Commander Heskan,”
Kite’s
sentry greeted pleasantly.  “Welcome
back, sir.”

Heskan
smiled at a man whose name he could not recall and remarked good-naturedly, “I
see they have you working graveyards.”

It
was 05:54 and the graveyard shift would soon come off rotation, replaced by the
daytime crew.  Heskan knew the patchwork, skeleton crew on
Kite
was
responsible for little more than ensuring the majority of her systems remained
safely inert.  Only her engineering staff resembled something close to the
minimum allotted personnel, all the other sections had been stripped beyond the
bone.  In the next hour,
Kite’s
occupancy would swell from a meager sixty-four
personnel on board to nearly one hundred fifty when civilian contractors returned
to continue repairs.  Most of those repairmen would be performing tasks outside
of the destroyer in EMU-capable pressure suits.  The once fearsome warship lay in
a recuperative torpor now, anchored to the Anthe construction yard that orbited
ten kilometers from the primary space station.

“Yes,
sir,” the man grinned at his former captain’s banter.  “But it’s almost
quitting time.”

Heskan
nodded in understanding while shifting his briefcase to his left hand and stifling
a faked yawn with his right.  He passed through the airlock and walked into the
bowels of
Kite
.  Typically, personnel not assigned to the ship were
forbidden to board without special consent but the ongoing I.S. investigation
of Truesworth’s breakout landed Heskan’s name on the short list permitted entry. 
With the arrest of Lieutenant Anthony Spencer for his “gross incompetence as
captain in allowing the escape of the Eagle pilots,” Lieutenant Welch had
nearly tripped over himself offering Heskan unquestioned support and every
convenience and courtesy on
Kite
.  Heskan had lamented the news of
Spencer’s arrest and risked putting in strong words of support for the junior
officer, hoping Brewer would look for an alternate scapegoat.

Heskan
planned two stops on his final visit inside the largely vacant destroyer.  The
entire ship felt like a mausoleum.  When Heskan had first boarded
Kite
,
as her new captain, the ship was full of fresh, if nervous, energy.  The pride
he once felt walking inside her easily matched that aboard
Anelace
and
he had grown quite fond of the ship quickly.  When
Kite
returned to
Anthe after the run through Parasite space, her feel had become sinister. 
Heskan recalled the unnerving feelings of constant surveillance while planning
the escape of the pilots.  None of that oppressiveness was present today.  This
morning,
Kite
felt dead.

He
traveled empty elevators and silent corridors to arrive at Truesworth’s
quarters.  Lockout tape was fixed across the door in an “X.”  The panel next to
the portal glowed dark red and an actual sheet of paper attached near the panel
citied I.S. regulations prohibiting entrance to all.  Heskan swiped his datapad
over the panel and the portal hissed open.  He ducked under the tape and
entered the room.

As
expected, the compartment remained undisturbed since his last visit weeks ago. 
After the portal closed, Heskan walked to the closet and set his briefcase on
the floor.  He opened the case and began to set the countdowns on two Doomex
“REAL” two-stage hobby rockets he had purchased on Pallene.  Heskan had
selected the Doomex brand because the timers held an extra numeral, permitting
a countdown up to 99 minutes, 99 seconds.  He maxed out the timers and stared
at the “Launch” buttons. 
This is it, Garrett.

The
countdowns commenced and Heskan hurriedly buried the rockets under a pile of
clothes.  He left the closet door open and exited the living quarters without a
glance back.  Briefcase in hand, Heskan walked quickly down the hall and, several
minutes later, arrived at
Kite’s
primary communications control room.  “Greetings,
everyone,” he said amiably.

“Everyone”
consisted of a petty officer second class and a spaceman apprentice.  “Commander,”
the surprised PO replied, “it’s good to see you again, sir.”

Heskan
moved to a console and lifted his briefcase to the top, grunting with effort as
if its contents were heavy.  “It’s always great to see Kite’s crew,” he
answered.  “How have things been?”

The
PO sighed.  “Painfully quiet, sir.  I sure do wish I could be reassigned to an
operational ship.  Sitting out this war is frustrating.”  The spaceman nodded eagerly
in agreement.

“Didn’t
both of you see plenty of action while Kite was on the front line?”

The
sensorman bobbed his head reluctantly but added, “Yeah, I suppose.  I just feel
kind of like we got banished after we returned.  Do you know what I mean,
Commander?”

What,
being ostracized after finishing a mission the government would rather not talk
about?  Yeah, I might know how that feels.
  “Don’t think of it like that.  Think of it as
well-deserved rest.  Besides, I’m sure BPC has already got you two slotted for
the next warship to pass through Anthe,” Heskan appeased.

“Yeah…
well, thank you, sir.”  The PO looked curiously at Heskan’s briefcase.  “What
can we do for you this morning?”

Heskan
looked over to the portal to ensure it had closed and lowered his voice. 
“Internal Security is concerned that Truesworth may have embedded a virus into
Kite.  I’ve already checked Cerberus but they want a full sweep of the sensor
and communications systems.”

The
petty officer quibbled, “But, sir, we run security sweeps each day and we did a
full security purge after the, uh, incident.”

Heskan
nodded.  “I know, but I.S. wants me to run a sweep with this,” he gestured
toward the briefcase, “just to be sure.  It apparently checks for tampering in
ways the normal security protocol doesn’t.”  He shrugged.  “Whatever, right?”

The
sensorman waved at the console.  “Fire away, Commander.  Happy to have you here
for a bit.”

Heskan
winced.  “Sorry, but you and Spaceman Peters will have to leave the room.  This
equipment is SCI-level stuff and I.S. doesn’t want folks around when I use it. 
I’m going to be at least two hours and I’ll flash you on your datapads when you
can come back.  Let the bridge know that they may see some default warnings
since I have to disable some security features to run this program.”

The
petty officer frowned but said, “Well, this station is supposed to be manned
twenty-four hours a day but I guess you count for that, sir.  Me and Peters
will notify the bridge and then grab some early breakfast.”  Despite his sentiment,
the man remained seated with a pensive look.  “Um, I was hoping to ask you
about this while you were running your search but I’ll just ask now…”  The
man’s obvious anxiety tripped Heskan’s own.  “Commander, is there any way… if
it’s possible, that you could, well, maybe, talk to BPC and push my next
assignment forward?  I’d really like off this ship.”  As he finished, the man
became very attentive to the tops of his own shoes.

I
don’t blame him,
Heskan thought. 
I felt it as soon as I boarded.  This whole ship feels like
a tomb.
 “Tell you what,” Heskan replied, “I’ll forward a message to BPC mentioning
your combat service aboard Kite and your desire to see further action.”

The
man grinned with relief as he got up to exit the room.  “Thank you, sir!  I
really appreciate it.”

The spaceman
trailed in pursuit of the petty officer and Heskan heard the young man grumble,
“You should have asked that for me too,” as the portal slid closed behind them.

Alone
in the compartment, Heskan set to work disabling the watchdog program over
Kite’s
encryption communications equipment.  He muted the alert when the program went
offline but the flashing lights on the panel would continue until the program
was reactivated.  Heskan withdrew a spanner from his briefcase and began opening
the secondary communications console.  He pulled the panel cover off and disconnected
the redundant identification, friend-or-foe processing unit.  It would be a
tight fit, but the briefcase had enough girth to conceal the detached unit.  In
reality, Heskan was unsure if possession of the back-up IFF unit was worth the
risk.  He only stumbled upon the idea of absconding with it after Truesworth
had left with Vernay to Erriapius.  Rudimentary research on the topic had not
given Heskan a definitive answer if it would work on a different ship, but he
had decided that since he would have to return to
Kite
a final time
anyway, he might as well abuse his privileged status on the destroyer to the
hilt.

After ten minutes of
work, Heskan closed his briefcase and left the compartment.  Sixteen minutes
had elapsed on the countdowns in Truesworth’s quarters.

*  *  *

The
shuttle ride to the Anthe orbital cost Heskan an additional twenty-three
minutes.  Walking to
Hussy
consumed a further eleven precious minutes. 
Heskan turned the corner to the freighter’s assigned docking bay, expecting the
small room to be uninhabited.  Everyone on board
Hussy
except Vernay was
wanted by Brevic authorities and the compartment’s security cameras would
identify them in seconds.

Heskan
stumbled to a halt when he saw a man in his mid-fifties with tightly cropped
light brown hair and blue eyes sitting at the watchman’s station.  Panic struck
Heskan as he scrutinized the man’s face. 
No, that’s not an agent I
recognize.
  “Hello?” Heskan greeted questioningly.