Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2) (59 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

VELORIA :
LOST & FOUND

There was a moment that he saw movement out on the water from the corner of his eye, something gently breaking the surface. But by the time Jack Steele could actually look up and focus, it was gone. If he had even seen it at all. He couldn't seem to shake the feeling he was being watched but he contributed it to the bouts of wooziness that attacked him from time to time, passing quickly when he concentrated, forcing them away. Or at least that's how it seemed. He figured he could add concussion on the list with the broken arm. So each time he made a decision, he contemplated it slowly trying to stabilize his thinking, hoping he was making sane, rational decisions. How long did the effects of hypoxia last? Surely they should be gone by now... Then of course having your mind wander all over was not helpful either, calling into question and introspection every single little interpretation of... S
top it! Shut up!

At some point, like it or not, you just have to flip that mental coin and make the leap of faith that the little voice in your head guiding you is the sane one, not the one with the concussion. As long as the sane one could get the concussed one to shut the hell up.

If pressed for a reason as to why he turned inland and away from the beach at that particular time or place, Jack probably couldn't have clearly articulated why. It was a whim, a hunch, not even as substantial as a gut feeling or intuition. Maybe it was because the shade of the trees looked inviting. He paused and sipped several handfuls of fresh water from the clear, crystal blue ocean; splashing some on his face and neck before heading across the sand toward the tree line.

That was about an hour ago. At least that's what it seemed like, it was hard to gauge with mush for brains and no watch.

The battered, dark gray ejection seat was embedded in the dirt on the forest floor, canted to one side, the shredded olive drab parachute stretching up into the trees, clinging to the limbs and branches, the lines hanging limply like so much spaghetti. The seat had to be from one of the Gogol fighters. Steele had never seen anything quite like it, such an odd configuration. It almost looked like it was meant to be straddled like a motorcycle, facing what would normally be the back, legs bent, indentations on the sides for the knees. But that didn't make a whole lot of sense, there didn't seem to be any way to work the rudder and directional jets like that.
They must have a much different type of control system,
he mused. It would be interesting to see one up close. Then there was the other obvious question, was Gogol the name of the fighter craft itself, or the people who flew them? 

Oh for God's sake, shut up. Who cares?
His vision wavered and he backed himself against a tree to steady himself, sinking into a crouch, his left arm still cradled in his shoulder holster's strap. He was working to mentally block out the aching tingles that throbbed in that side from his elbow to his fingertips.

Steele studied the seat while fishing through his pockets one-handed until he found the last power bar, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth. It was possible some of the effects he was feeling were from a lack of food, not having eaten anything substantial for, what, thirty-six hours? He tried to do the math but his mind refused to cooperate.

The power bar was more nutritious than delicious, but at least it was something to quiet the grumbles in his stomach.
Hmm, advanced technology, space travel, alien cultures, exotic foreign foods, and still, nobody could make a nutrition bar that didn't taste like honey-covered tree bark.

The crunching of the power bar had a stereo accompaniment somewhere on the forest floor and it stopped Jack in mid-chew. The footfalls sounded sizable but slow, and the spike of adrenalin cleared his vision, sharpening his senses. He rose slowly, quietly, to a standing crouch, the empty food wrapper drifting silently to the ground. Deftly, he released the snap on the shoulder holster with a gentle pop, the 1911 charged particle blaster, sliding out into his hand, his heart thudding in his ears. It, whomever or whatever it was, seemed to be coming from the forest beyond the ejection seat. Was it the pilot? Steele carefully picked his way back around the tree, watching his foot placement, being as quiet as possible. Ninja-quiet would have been nice, but it simply wasn't possible in flight boots. The sounds of movement paused and he peeked cautiously around the tree, his left eye zooming in and scanning the shadows and foliage. Nothing. Then a few steps and movement... the sounds separating. There were at least two and they were both being cautious, although stealth was not one of their strong suits. He backed away from the tree, watching his feet, to the next tree, skirting quietly around it, looking around and up. There was nothing climbable,
even with two good arms,
the lowest of branches at least ten feet off the floor of the forest. Even so, what would that get him?
Cornered.

When they moved, he moved, when they stopped, he stopped, a nerve-wracking game of live chess. Were there
three
of them? He had the distinct impression he was being hunted...

■ ■ ■

“Orders coming in from the Archer, Commander. Sending to your console.”

“
Thank you, Lieutenant” replied Brian. The image popped up on his left screen. “Looks like we have a little scouting to do,” he said, reading the outline of star systems. “Send an acknowledgment, please.”

“
Already done, sir.”

Brian sent the list to Ragnaar at navigation. “Recommendations Mr. Ragnaar?”

“Stand by...” He reviewed the star chart on his center screen, rotating the image back and forth, examining the statistics, viewing the reach of the GOD drive system in comparison. “Cariloon is the next system by gate, but Zender's Trek is actually closer. It would be more expedient to GOD jump from here to Zender, then to Cariloon, than it would be to go to Cariloon first...”

“
Good. Let's hit those two first before planning anything else.”

“
Aye, Commander, laying in coordinates for Zender's Trek.”

“
Time to system?”

“
Just under three hours.”

Brian nodded and keyed the ship's address system, “Preparing to initiate GOD jump, everyone be on your toes.” Brian glanced around the bridge, “OK, Mr. Ragnaar, let's do this.”

“Aye. Initiating GOD drive...” replied Ragnaar, narrating the steps. Barely audible, a deep hum started, smoothly increasing in pitch like a turbine as the drive spun up to speed where the sound all but stopped. “Drive at speed, initiating jump bubble... twenty-five percent...” Electric tendrils of shimmering color began to appear over the ship like liquid lightning, visible through view ports and the bridge's view screen. “Fifty percent.” As the tendrils began to multiply, filling in the spaces between themselves, the reflected color filled the bridge. “Seventy-five percent...” It was like looking through a transparent ball of colored plasma, the swirling cocoon of color surrounding the ship completely. “Jumping...” In a moment the color withdrew, disintegrating into random particles, the flecks of light blown away like dust in the wind, the familiar starless, satiny silver lining of a jump tunnel appearing, replacing the jump bubble. “Jump successful,” grinned Ragnaar, “Zender's Trek in two hours and forty-seven minutes.”

A first for all present, it seemed like everyone on the bridge sat back momentarily and took a deep breath before resuming their duties.
“That
was cool,” breathed Brian.

Without turning from their stations, both Ragnaar and Raulya were nodding in agreement.

■ ■ ■

The Army Sergeant had his hands cupped over his ears, trying to hear the Major in his comm piece, over the roar of the bulldozer, jackhammers, generators and air machines. “Yes, sir, the collapse was intentional. It buried the mine's equipment in the mouth of the entrance... Yes, sir, on purpose. Probably to prevent the miners from using it to get out and prevent rescuers from using it to get in.”

He looked back over his shoulder at the work the engineers were doing. “We're making good progress, sir. We've created an opening at the top and we're pumping in fresh air. When it's big enough, we'll send a hover probe in with live video and see what the conditions are inside. Maybe we'll make contact with survivors.” He winced as a boulder rolled off the pile, slamming to the ground, a small landslide following suit. “The Lieutenant took Shuttle Two over to the registered mine on the third continent. No, sir, I haven't heard from them. I expect they will report in to you as soon as they arrive...” He glanced up at the transmission antenna on the cargo shuttle which was using the Freedom as a relay to reach around the curvature of the planet. “They have to set up their gear before they can transmit, Major. As long as that jump carrier stays put, we're golden.” He nodded, “Yes I agree, we need some relay satellites, but where are we going to get them from?” He wanted to slap his forehead. “No, sir, I don't think that's a good idea... because it's
under water.
That station
cannot
be stable. It crashed from
space;
anything on it is going to be worthless junk!”

The Sergeant sighed, trying to maintain his composure. “Get me the materials and we'll build relay towers on a few choice peaks around the globe and we're done.” He raised one eyebrow, “We power them with solar collectors, they're everywhere on this planet... No, once we set them up, they're automated.” He watched the bulldozer muscle the fallen boulder across the ground and out of the way, the turf beneath his feet vibrating. “We don't need that many, they use Atmospheric Bounce Technology... we could probably cover the whole planet with six towers.”

A soldier ran up with a field ruggedized e-Pad and showed him the atmosphere quality report from the electronic probe they'd fired into the mine's opening.
No explosive gasses, Co2 levels falling, oxygen content at acceptable levels, dust levels low.
He nodded and the soldier ran off. “Sir, I really need to get back to my team... Yes, sir, as soon as I have some more information.” His earpiece chirped as the connection ended. “Aaauurggh!” he bellowed.

“
Problem, Sarge?” shouted one of his men over the machinery.

“
I want to know whose brilliant idea it was, to put a neophyte administrator in charge of an engineering company...”

“
Bad?”

The Sergeant snorted, “Next to worthless.” He stopped mid stride, waving his hands, “Y'know he had the audacity to suggest we salvage parts and materials from the space station?”

“The one,
under water?”
laughed the Corporal. “Yeah that's not too bright...”

The Sergeant resumed walking, “There's a reason they call us engineers and not
fish,”
he grumbled. “Stupid people piss me off...” He pointed at the blockage as they neared, “OK!” he shouted, “Let's get some small shaped charges on some of these bigger pieces and see if we can nudge them off...”

■ ■ ■

Steele was about fifty yards from the seat, listening intently, peeking around a sizable tree, the 1911 secured back in its holster so he could use his free hand to help him make his way through the undergrowth. He seemed to have created some distance from who or what, was stalking him. A little breathing room. Something off to the left, motion, caught his eye but he couldn't separate the form from the shadows, even zooming in with his left eye, the streaks of sunlight and dark breaking up any shapes.

Until something moved on the other side of the ejection seat. He flicked his attention, focusing, holding his breath, waiting as the shadow moved around the seat, slowly, cautiously. Light streaming in from the hole in the forest canopy caused by the ejection seat and the parachute, was enough to silhouette him as he completely blocked out the seat. Slivers of sunlight played on his reddish brown fur, his head turning left and right, his nose testing the air. Light played across his face and Steele caught a flash of red from the animal's eyes, creating a sharp spark of adrenalin. The words he remembered seeing on ancient navigational charts drawn by early sailors, popped into his head, “Here there be monsters...” he exhaled, trying to control his breathing. The thing locked eyes with him and he remained motionless, holding his breath again, praying he was invisible in the shadows.

When it looked away, it began to circle the seat, sniffing the ground, and Steele breathed, fighting the panic. It was the biggest wolf he'd ever seen. Or dreamed of. Easily four feet tall at the shoulder. He could confirm one, with probably two more. He started to shake and his vision blurred, forcing him to take a deep breath. As silently as possible. He almost wanted to cry...
For God's sake, not now!
Taking a quick peek he backed away from the tree, retreating yet again, being as silent as possible.

The howl took him by surprise and chilled him to the bone, his hair standing on end, quickening his pulse to a thundering drum solo. He swallowed dryly, his mind racing. The first howl prompted a reply from the left. Then the right. Then two more farther out on the flanks. There were five of them.
Stay calm, they're trying to flush you out and get you to rabbit...
He looked around, there was simply no defensible position.
Defensible, that's a laugh.
“I need a bigger gun,” he breathed.