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The Mordicai Incident

By: martincain



Ajax found Cutter and Ronald waiting for him in the spaceport hanger the next morning. TIL Bonventure had been pulled out into the sunlight and sat apart from the more common designs. She was bigger than the passenger shuttles and prettier than cargo-haulers. As he admired it, he became aware that someplace, someone from an enemy zaibatsu was snapping holo-forms of the sleek, black form waiting on the pad.

“So this is what you didn’t need a test pilot for,” He said and let his face split into a wide grin as Ronald and Cutter approached. “Very impressive, Chief Engineer.”

Ronald patted the black hull. “She’s all ours and we’re gonna do things that’ve never been done before. We could do Avalon in two hops.”

“What’s that?” Cutter said with an irritated, perplexed look. Technicians still scurried around the landing gear making last-minute adjustments.

“Jumps, stops, it’s all the same,” Ajax said and waved a loading team toward the few pieces of gear left in his Banshee. He could frequently guess where people were from by what they called the event. “Everyone has to stop at refueling points along the way or risk a T-O… that’s a terminal overshoot. It’s what happens when you don’t have enough fuel to slow down once you come out of transit. You drift past your aim-point into deep space. Unless there’s a rescue ship around, you could be lost for good.”

Bonventure was tricked out with stealth shrouds over the four engines, stacked two per side, built to absorb IR and reduce her signature. The fuselage, seen from the side, resembled an aerodynamic wedge that tapered to a nose, the command cabin bulging from the upper surface. Between the cargo bays, the undersurface was slightly concave to provide lift.

I wonder how fast I can get her into orbit? Ajax thought as he looked skyward. If the lift-engines were as powerful as had been assured, they would get him up quickly. 

“Take care of her,” Cutter said and offered him a hand. “We sent word to Alpha Centauri out a month ago. They should be expecting you.”

Leda smiled contently and embraced him.

"Don’t be gone long,” She said in his ear and gave him an extra squeeze. They walked him to the crew-ladder leading up into belly of the ship. Leaving had always been easy for all of them- a necessary skill in the underworld. Ajax had never known when a cargo would come up, or when Interpol would get a hot tip from an informer. It was not good business to plant roots, but things felt changed, this time seemed different, Leda had thrown him off his balance and suddenly he regretted having to go.

"I'll see you when I get back." Ajax said and he would try to. “I guess whether it’s twelve months or twelve years depends on the company.”

“I’ll still be your liason, if you want me,” Leda said and moved to stand next to Cutter. The engineering crew, led by Devolte, started up the ladder, disappearing through the ventral hatch. “We’ll have a lot to catch up on.”

“Mr. Cutter, you won’t regret this,” Ajax said as the last man was in. He gestured toward the sky. “I guess someone’s still looking out for me.”

“The company believes in you, Ajax. Remember that. It’s all that matters,” Cutter said and took several steps back, away from the exhaust port of the nearest lift engine. “You’ll receive your instructions on your way out of the system. We’ll be speaking again soon, I promise you.”

His command cabin lit automatically up when motion sensors arranged around the compartment detected his presence. He slid over the center console into the pilot’s seat, pulling the 4-point harness down over his head. The snap of it locking into place sent a chill up his spine. The ORACLE prompt flashed from the primary display in the instrument panel, demanding –LOGIN-.

The cordless commo-headset was where he left it, hanging from the headrest on the navigator’s acceleration couch. He stretched out to grab it and lowered it over his crown. Once in place he could hear the chatter of the rest of the small crew, five techno-weenies spouting rude gibberish to each other back in engineering as they completed their checks and buckled in. They would learn to be more civil once a few months had passed in what he called the great “out there.”

“Login Ajax, four-three-zero-five.” He said. The ORACLE traced his voiceprint and compared it to the sample on file. Login accepted… appeared on the PR/DPL and words in a pleasant feminine tone came out of the bridge speakers. "Ronnie, I think I’m ready up here.”

"Engineering is go. All systems in the green." Devolte called back. “No faults detected.”

“Initiate primary startup.” Ajax said and the instrument console began to glow. Switches flashed as systems activated in sequence. TIL Bonventure slowly came to life

-Primary Startup Running- Oracle reported. Red and green anti-collision lights started pulsing on the outer surface. The eight lift-engines began spooling up, reactor driven turbines spinning on super-conducting bearings, powerful enough to lift all five hundred tons of the ship to a hover. The sound of them winding up increased in pitch and volume as more power was applied and they turned faster. The engine temperature LCD emitted a mild signal as the refrigerant pumps cooling the bearings registered an increase. In minutes, all eight engines were humming in synchronicity, the needle on the RPM gauge was climbing into the tens of thousands of rotations per minute.

-Warning. Temperature Spike- Oracle reported as a debris cloud billowed out from around the tripod gear. The engines had reached operational speed. Ajax caught a glance out of the side window at Cutter and Leda, now retreating from the dust thrown up by the engine wash with their hands over her ears. The control cabin was be shielded against sound as well as radiation.

“TOC control, this is TIL Bonventure, requesting departure clearance.” Ajax said. The voice of the spaceport traffic controller came back through his headset almost immediately.

“Clearance granted, Bonventure, your flight plan is on file,” The controller said rapidly. “Wind is out of the southwest at fourteen kilometers per hour, visibility unlimited to orbital transition. NOAA has issued a solar activity warning that should remain in effect for the next two days. All out-system lanes are clear. You are number three in line for transorbital departure.”

"Roger, tower," Ajax replied. Test number one would be if they got off the ground. He settled his hands into the ergonomic flight controls and stretched his fingers out. “Controls set to auto-launch.”

-Launch Cycle Engaged- Oracle replied.

“Ronnie, so tell me,” He called back as the spike on lift-engine RPM’s grew wider and the Bonventure started moving. Part of the automated launch cycle was a hover sideslip into the loading platform hiding the streamlined mag-lev caddy. “Have you ever been thrown away before?”

“Nope… never,” Ronald called back over the intercom. The catapult drew 200 Gigawatts to move each 500-ton shot and several dozen miles of heavy guideway to get it close to Mach 1. Support towers carrying the guideway over the water to dry land were massive and deeply anchored into bedrock. “I’ve always heard it was somewhat distressing.”

Locking bars rocked the spacecraft as they closed down over the landing gear. Ajax realized that his heart was pounding as he looked southwest. The caddy-return clover at the end of the guideway terminated the line outside of Lakehurst, New Jersey. From there TOC McGuire would control of the last part of the launch.

Autonomous systems commands scrolled down his data-monocle as the ship’s computers performed checks in 30 seconds that would take a human team hours. “Enjoy it, Ronnie… it’ll be like the first time you ever had sex,” Ajax said and glance-clicked on the selection, “SCRAM preheat” when it appeared in the feed. “You have had sex, right? Are you aware of the act? Well, if you aren’t, this is what it’s like.”

“This is a poor time for jokes.” Ronald said and closed the connection. Intakes had opened in the hull and raised scoops into dorsal and ventral positions. The twin SCRAM-FLO engines in the back burned a liquid Hydrogen/ liquid Oxygen mix and were efficient enough to get Bonventure out of the atmosphere with only a half-load of fuel, but the SCRAM-FLO only worked above 400 M.P.H. The catapult provided that for only a few credits per pound.

"Man departure stations." Ajax said and he tugged on his restraints to ensure that they were secure. He poked his head forward and watched the previous launch curving out over the ocean. The display on the navigation console changed as his search radar began sweeping the sky. Eight contacts were logged; two civilian dropping on JFK, and besides the outbound track of the previous launch, military flights were lifting out of the government track that ran from Redstone Arsenal to TOC McGuire. A large display rose in front of the ship’s nose a large square flashing green as a countdown appeared in orange numbers beneath it.

“Catapult is charging,” Ajax said. The square flashed faster as the numbers dropped toward 00:00. When it went solid green the display would drop and the caddy would start it’s trip down the guideway. “Don’t hold your breath for this… just try to breathe normally, you’re going to feel a gigantic hand on your chest.”

“Bonventure, this is tower, transferring to TOC control.”

“Roger, tower,” Ajax said as the countdown passed 30 seconds. “I’m connected with TOC remote host. Launch command guidance synched and locked.”

“Happy high-roads, Bonventure. It’s been a pleasure.” Tower signed off with the traditional JBMS farewell as the display dropped out of sight and the launch caddy started forward. During night launches, the lights from surrounding neighborhoods dimmed as each shot passed, the lights in the tower never did.

At Mach .551 the engines started rumbling, offering just a hint of what would erupt with sufficient speed, the computer matching engine power to each increasing kilometer-per-hour. The hazard boards posted along the guideway remained green at Mach .512 and .601.

"Bonventure is up." Ajax said as his felt the tow bars break beneath him. Once free, the landing gear folded into the belly of the ship, which curved neatly outward over the Atlantic doing Mach .771 as the SCRAM-FLO’s took over, vibrating the whole ship as they pushed him back into his pads, intoxicated by acceleration. He took a deep breath and pressed the timer switch on his Krono-Tek. 

He grunted as gravity pushed him into his seat, the SCRAM-FLO’s roaring, fire-breathing dragons that lifted him on a column of smoke that could be seen from Massachussetts to DC. At 150 kilometers downrange, the hybrid SCRAMs lacked sufficent air to breathe. The air-intakes retracted into the hull and the hybrid engines converted to rockets, pushing the ship out of the atmosphere. At three hundred miles high and moving at 3 kilometers per second, Bonventure made her maiden escape from gravity. Ajax squeezed the timer button on his Krono-Tek to mark his time. He’d gotten into orbit in just shy of six minutes.

“Not bad at all.”

Ajax felt his arms lift off the armrests of his acceleration couch as the engines cut off. Against the starfield, military ships around Alpha Station moved like slugs, crawling slowly toward the Kupier jump points while Bonventure glided past.

“Welcome to orbit, gentlemen,” Ajax said and retrieved the few items that had become unsecured during launch, several pens and his small datapad which floated about the cabin. “How are you guys doing down there?”

"Gah! I'm going to be sick!" Ronald called back, followed by the sound of retching. Ajax had experienced Space Adaptation Syndrome before and knew that Devolte would be uncomfortable for days until he adjusted, but there was a large supply of anti-emetic tablets stocked onboard.

***

Cutter and Leda watched the Bonventure until it was too far away to see… a speck lost amid the altocumulus clouds.

“Did you get some genetic samples?” Cutter said. Leda nodded and opened her purse, taking out a vial of viscous white fluid out of a cooling jacket. 

“About a quarter of a fluid ounce,” Leda said and handed the vial over to Cutter. “I must’ve been a milkmaid in a past life. It came straight from the source so there shouldn’t be any cross-contamination from me.”

“The lab boys will screen it before it goes into the genetic library,” Cutter said and yawned as he dug his car keys out of his coat. “You two seem compatible. The company might sanction some offspring.”

“If he makes it back,” Leda said. “And if I’m not too old by then. They could be gone for a while.”

“If the company wants your offspring we don’t need him or you,” Cutter said and removed a small disc from his pocket. “Here. Heads up.”

He tossed the box to Leda, who was surprised but still managed to make the catch. It was a microdisk, the type used for high-grade video recording.

“What’s this?” Leda said as she examined it. The adhesive plastic seal on the case had been broken.

“It’s the video record taken from your house last night. I got it from the psych department once they were done with their evaluation. Keep it, lase it, do what you want with it.”

Leda was stunned but tried to cover it with a smile before he noticed. Cutter gave no sign that he did.

“Thanks, maybe I’ll keep it for some night when I get a client who isn’t so talented,” She said and slipped the disc into her purse. Such records were usually retained. “Why?”

Cutter took a seat on the hood of his Avianca and folded his arms.

“I was on Octavia during the crisis with fifth commando. We raised a lot of hell in the Octavian rear areas." He said and hesitated.

"I watch the news," Leda said. “I heard all about it.”

"My team had been inserted a few kilometers behind the line during the high point in the fighting there; almost a year before it really went into the crapper," Cutter said slowly. "We were making our way towards a command bunker when we ran into an ambush. We lost half of our guys the minute they opened up. It was…" He paused to search for an appropriate word.

“How terrible.” Leda said and frowned.

“Our nodie raised two Navy fighters flying backup for an orbital strike on a supply dump. There wasn’t much left for them to hit after the battlewagons got done, so the flight leader got a vector from our nodie and told us to sit tight until they got there.”

“So how does Ajax fit into this?” Leda said cautiously but slowly was beginning to understand.

“Our nodie knew how to direct air strikes, so he brought the fighters in right on target.” Cutter said and used his hands to show her how the fighters had come in. “On the first pass he took out the militia that had blocked off our escape route with cluster bombs. I never saw such carnage in my life. It was right after that the flight-leader got cut up by anti-aircraft lasers. The guy never had a chance to eject.”

“So what happened?” Leda said.

“The wingman could’ve bugged out and saved his own ass but he just kept making attack runs,” Cutter said and folded his arms again. “I got the radio when the radioman’s head disintegrated and every time I called for support we had it. These Octavians, they couldn’t touch him. Missiles, small-arms, nothing, he’d pop flares and disappear like a feking ghost.”

“Utburd,” She said to herself and he nodded. “It sounds like you owed someone a favor.”

“When he’d used up all of his cluster bombs, the guy went to work with his hepacs, keeping the militia away from us while we withdrew and found a dust-off site,” Cutter said, looking out over the spaceport as if it were the battlefield. “He circled us until the skims arrived to take us out. I found out later that the pilot’s name was Melvin Kinkaid. My report helped get him the Nova Cross. In my opinion he deserved more.”

Cutter opened the door to the Avianca and got behind the wheel.

“I owe him his privacy, at least that much.” He said and started the Avianca, she waved at his back as he drove away. 

Leda slipped the disk into her purse and twirled Ajax's keys around a finger as she checked her Krono-Tek.

“Fek!” She swore and let her face briefly contort into an angry grimace. The morning rush hour was just getting into full swing. It would take her forever to get back to the office.



***

All eyes at the NOAA Space Environment Center were watching the feeds collected from observation satellites in high orbit, a constellation of more than a dozen, each one oriented on the Sun. The star was nearing the end of an 11-year cycle of activity, marked by increased sunspots and solar flares around magnetically dynamic regions.

The senior controller had a degree in astronomy from CalTech and had been with NOAA for 20 years. In that time he’d developed an instinctual sensitivity for what he called the “moods” of his pet star. It was angry; he could feel it. They’d registered several M-class flares from the Sun’s northern hemisphere and a gigantic X-class, each one larger than a hundred Earth’s, the most powerful flares the office had recorded in 200 years of watching. Like a Vulcanist watching a smoldering volcano, the senior controller felt something massive gathering its strength.

“How’s the geomagnetic field holding up?” He asked the NOAA technician manning the satellite downlink console. The X-class flare had been pointing away from the Earth when it erupted, a fortunate thing, for the EMP released from it would have fried every unshielded satellite and spacecraft all the way out to Jupiter.

“Still unsettled,” The tech replied as he watched a pair of sunspots that had been forming for weeks in solar region 6659, matched by a duo emerging along the same latitude, a classic N and S group  forming + and – charged poles. “There were some pretty strong magnetic aberrations on the last spectrum we took. I don’t know, we might have to shut trans-atmospheric traffic down until things quiet down a little.”

“We can’t do that,” The senior controller said and rubbed his tired eyes. He’d been up for 22 hours straight, kept awake by insta-caff and contraband stim. “Orders from the top. It costs billions of credits a day to keep a major spaceport out of service. We can’t shut down anything unless we detect a big one heading our way.”

“It’s their funeral,” The tech said and shrugged. “Our job is to watch and report, not tell them what to do. They’ve made that clear often enough.”

“Yep,” The senior controller said and paused as he felt a chill pass through his spine. He experienced the same feeling just before the last X-class flare had erupted years before. “Zoom in on six-six-five-nine.”

Just as the technician complied, the sunspots in region 6659 disappeared, hidden by a bright flash that dazzled the electronic eyes of watching satellites. A solar flare much larger than an X-class. A gigantic magnetic “bubble” of ionized gas on the surface of the Sun had burst. Around 20 billion tons of plasma was expanding into space at 2000 km/second, racing toward the Earth.

“Christ and Allah.” 

“We’re starting to get some preliminary data coming in,” The technician said as he tore his eyes away from the spot outshining the Sun. “This one was big. Peak output was ninety ergs per centimeter squared per second. ”

“Classify this flare as Mega-ninety then.” The senior controller said and watched the flare gradually fade, disappearing as it lost brilliance and was overwhelmed by the light streaming from the Sun’s photosphere. “Issue an immediate solar storm warning to all power generation facilities, spaceports and spacecraft in orbit. We’re going to get some effects coming in.”

“We just got secondary confirmation from NorCom-Holloman,” The tech said and complied by pushing an icon on his soft touch screen that sent an automated message to computer terminals worldwide. “I’ll bet the Northern Lights are going to be pretty tonight.”


The Mordicai Incident



“And you’ll be able to see ‘em in Arkansas,” The senior controller added and crossed his arms, watching the region where Mega-90 had emerged. “How much time until the shock gets here?”

“Six minutes.” The tech replied. In orbit, they knew, crews were racing toward safe areas, compartments with extra shielding to protect them from the incoming wave of high-energy plasma. The tele-vid built into the console chirped, demanding attention. The senior controller put the feed through. The caller wore a military uniform with large rank sewn onto the sleeves, appropriate for the commander of the Trans-Orbital Command.

“You weather-boys better not be wrong with this one,” CINC-TOC said and pounded his fist on an unseen desk in irritation. “I’ve got an entire fleet headed outsystem and if some bogus flare report causes them to miss their jump window there’ll be hell to pay.”

“The report’s authentic,” The senior controller said. “We just set a record for big flares. This one’s nothing like we’ve seen before. It’s five times the size of the biggest X-class we’ve ever recorded. If I were you I’d get your people into their storm shelters. You got about five minutes.”

North America was greeting the dawn as the plasma wave from the Coronal Mass Ejection hit. Earth’s magnetic field pulled at the radiation, spiraling it down toward the poles, but the first casualties of the solar storm were in orbit, in the constellations of automated factories and commercial vessels waiting to dock with the Moon or at Liberty Station.

Military spacecraft and facilities were well shielded and suffered only minor circuitry damage, but dozens of passengers on commercial vessels failed to reach shelter in time. The surge overloaded the electrical systems of Liberty Station and through dim, emergency lighting, victims could see the bones under the skin of those around them as they were massively exposed to radiation- the effect of 200 simultaneous chest X-rays. This was mild compared to the high-energy Gamma rays they could not detect, which sizzled through unprotected flesh, smashed Chromosomes, and caused lasting mutations in those that radiation didn’t kill, but there were other consequences.

The Atlas 12 factory was fully automated and occupied a geosynchronous orbit over the Mediterranean Sea. Built to process Iron ore into girders for the giant shipyards in Lunar and Jovian orbit, Atlas 12 had operated flawlessly over a dozen years.

When the surge arrived, it raced into the factory electrical system through improperly shielded wiring. Robot arms froze and the assembly process stopped as circuit breakers tripped, but not before a rogue signal got through the main computer and was routed to the RCS control. Thrusters intended to keep the factory in position randomly misfired, first along one axis, then another, until Atlas 12 began tumbling through space, its orbit rapidly decaying. The 20,000 ton facility, unable to resist gravity, fell toward Earth.

Planet-side, the electrical networks closest to the poles went down first, starting with the Quebec Fusion Authority. A primary transformer station near the city of Pembroke caught fire as it collected 100 extra amps from the ground and through transmission lines, starting a chain reaction. Winnipeg Power Collective went down next, its own transformer stations cooking as they tried to divert electricity to the Quebec grid that had just suffered its third major solar-related collapse. A quick-thinking supervisor shut down the Vancouver Public Fusion Works before the western side of the Northern Interconnect could be brought down, saving much of his equipment, but leaving 200 million Canadians without power.

Further south, in Colorado, a Mexican Air Force lieutenant watching a tracking console at NORAD was the first one to notice that Atlas 12 was out of position, low in its orbit, and dropping fast. NORAD’s planetary defenses could have blasted the errant factory to pieces, but there were three problems. The solar flare disrupted all satellite communications with the defensive stations. It took time to charge and calibrate the defensive systems in any case, and Atlas 12 was passing over the horizon, falling toward the EuroCon zone on the night-side of the planet. After confirming that the factory would reenter before it reached NorCom space again, the lieutenant reported the event to his superior, a Canadian major preoccupied with reestablishing lost connections to her blacked-out homeland. Atlas 12 was no longer his problem.

***

TIL Bonventure

“What the hell just happened?” Ajax said to the image of Artemis Cutter flickering on the comm-display, as the Bonventure’s primary dish tracked the signal bounced up from the TIL building. The reception was poor, filled with grainy static, the picture overwhelmed at times by the radiation spewing from the angry sun. Bonventure had gotten the warning in time. Once Oracle had sounded the “all clear” the crew emerged and immediately started a thorough systems check.

“There was a thruster malfunction on an orbital facility and it came down hard. It missed Liberty Station by four meters, close enough for the stationers to read the lettering on its propellant tanks,” Cutter said, the picture fuzzing out twice before he finished speaking. “The EuroCon planetary defenses got a piece of it before it hit. Initial area of impact was supposed to be outside of Presov, Slovakia, but it came down on the Polish-Russian border instead.”

“Dear God.” Ajax whispered.

“Reports coming out of the EuroCon zone indicate that it was still mostly intact when it hit,” Cutter said. Ajax watched him pick up a hand-annotated sheet of hardcopy. “It made a crater a mile wide and a hundred feet deep. There’ve been no casualty reports released yet but they’re expected to be moderate to high… tens of thousands at least.”

Ajax, stunned, could only shake his head as Cutter continued.

“The worst part is that it had an old fission powerplant on board. The crash spread radiation all over the place. We’ve got parts of Poland, Ukraine, and Russia that are hot.”

“What’s this going to do to the mission plan?” Ajax wondered and grabbed at the datapad floated beside his shoulder. With engines off, the ship was in zero-g.

“How’s your operational status?”

“We had enough shielding to withstand it,” Ajax said and read down the damage control report that Devolte had provided. “All we got were a few burned out circuit-boards. They’re being replaced right now. No engine or computer damage.”

“What’s your position?”

“We’ve passed Lunar orbit set for the Proxima jump point,” Ajax said and released the datapad. “It’ll be smooth cruising as far as the asteroid belt, but it might get a little dicey after that. It seems like every time I go through there I find another one of the damned things out of position.”

“Refuel around Jupiter and make final preparations for your out-system departure,” Cutter said and rubbed his eyes as an unseen aide offered him another report. “Render assistance to any spacecraft in need and report back once you’ve reached Jupiter orbit.”

“Negative,” Ajax said and did a quick calculation in his head. “We have zero chance of a Jupiter capture unless you want us to turn back and wait at Mars for six months. It’s on the other side of the Sun. The only refueling points in range are Mars and Neptune.”

“Your objective is Neptune,” Cutter said. Ajax plugged the destination into the navigation computer with four, swift keystrokes. “Report in once you reach orbit.”

“Roger,” Ajax said as the computer calculated the travel time. “It’s gonna take us a week to get there. We can’t use the transit drive if there’re gravity wells anywhere close by. Especially not with asteroids in front of us.”

“Understood,” Cutter said. “We’ll try and keep you posted on anything else that happens down here.”

***

SOL-4/Mars



The plasma wave lost none of its potency in the extra six minutes it took to reach the Martian surface, bombarding the planet with radiation that the thin atmosphere could not absorb.

“How much longer do you think we’ll have to stay in here?” Jena said as she shifted to a slightly less uncomfortably position in the radiation shelter she and Hurricane shared. It was too small for both of them and she could feel her muscles beginning to cramp. They’d been inside it for fifteen minutes. She swallowed her rising panic. 

“Solar storms are usually over pretty quick,” Hurricane said, gently stroking her back, one part of her body he’d discovered was the most sensitive. It was all he could reach. The shelter was the size of a large file cabinet. “But don’t worry, we won’t be in here much longer. Once they sound the all-clear they’ll come and pry us out of here.”

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Jena said and choked back tears. “If I don’t stretch out soon I’ll lose my mind.”

“Shhh,” Hurricane said and tried to flatten himself again the wall of the shelter, trying to give her any extra space he could create. “Don’t think about it. If this is the tightest spot you’re ever in, I’d say it’ll be a lucky thing.”

“How can you be so cavalier?” Jena said and gasped for another breath. “I’m in here freaking and you’re so relaxed.”

“The cockpit of an F-twenty eight isn’t much bigger than this,” Hurricane said and chuckled softly to comfort her. “My helmet barely clears the inside, but the view is incredible. All that’s between me and the universe is two inches of armor glass. Everything is so crisp and sharp. Sometimes I think I can see into eternity. The only way I can remember where I am is to see my wingman beside.”

“It wouldn’t take much to crack the canopy,” Jena said and pushed her hips into him harder. “A fighter is a small, fragile thing compared to a cruiser. I couldn’t imagine going into battle without the bulk of it to protect me.”

“Cruisers are big and powerful, but very slow,” Hurricane said. “Fighters are faster and quicker. If one can avoid being hit long enough to lay in a torpedo, your big cruiser might be in trouble.”

“Maybe in your dreams.” Jena laughed, relaxing. Relief flooded her muscles.

“Ok, so it might take two squadrons,” Hurricane said, feeling her easing somewhat. “How many credits did Constellation set the government back?”

“Billions,” Jena said smugly. “And if the E-cons were stupid enough to start a war, we’d have some very unpleasant surprises for them. We’d be hitting them before they even knew we were there.”

“That would buy two whole fighter groups,” Hurricane said and smiled. “Eight squadrons and all the torpedoes they could carry. What do you think of that?”

“I think that two of yours might be equivalent to one of mine,” Jena said. “But one of mine can take five of anyone elses and survive the battle. That means I get to come back another day and take five more, and so on and so forth.”

Hurricane laughed and said, “So then why does command need both of us?”

Jena listened to his heart thump and thought for a moment.

“Because they have to balance our rigid strength with your flexibility and ability to respond quickly.”

“I wish I were more flexible right about now.” Hurricane said, provoking another laugh from Jena.

“Me too,” She said and realized that she was relishing every moment they spent together, comfortable or uncomfortable. “Too bad the fleet doesn’t offer Yoga training.”

“It could happen.”

There was a knock and the shelter door opened. A man in shielded rescue gear framed the small doorway.

“Storms over, folks,” He said and offered a hand to help Jena up out of the shelter. “There’s been a general recall for all planetside military personnel. All passes have been cancelled, but the power grid is down and none of the trains to the starport are running. The depot is the designated assembly area.”

Jena nodded and began light stretching exercises to loosen her muscles.

“It was fun while it lasted.” He said.

Jena smiled and said, “I forgot to take any holo-pics. I guess I can get a few of us in the rail terminal before we leave.”

“I’ll give you some to keep in your sleep pod.”

“Is that all?” Jena said and lifted her Kronos, motioning for Hurricane to do the same. “I think command owes us ten minutes. Don’t you?”

Hurricane stripped off his Kronos to set the countdown timer. Jena was on him, lips pressed against his, before he could start it. 

“I’m sorry if I seem apathetically distant. I’m running on the last shreds of my consciousness,” Hurricane said after he broke the kiss she gave him. His comforting demeanor had become frightened, and as he turned away from Jena she noticed rigidity in his back that she hadn’t felt when they were contained. 

Concern overcame her annoyance at his rejection.

“What’s wrong?” And as soon as she heard herself question him in this most generic of manners she knew he wasn’t going to open up. She had missed her chance this time. When they had been contained she had asked the wrong questions to which he had given the wrong answers. It was time for the direct approach. She picked up his Krono and gave it a toss. “We have some jelly rolling to do. Now get your ass over here and give me the rest of these ten minutes.” 

***

USS Constellation

They were running with all anti-collision lights flashing, speeding to the aid of a stricken merchantman. Task Force Sierra had been the last to collect its compliment from the surface of Mars and get underway. The damage to interplanetary shipping done by the solar storm had been severe, exacerbated by improperly shielded systems used on older spacecraft.

“Contact- maximum range,” Dreedle called up from the sensor pit. “Along the same heading as the distress signal.”

“At present course and speed, we’ll rendezvous in ten minutes,” Jena said after some quick calculations. “No change in target profile.”

The “target” was identified already as the Outworld Alliance frieghter Mordicai inbound from Alpha Centauri, 20 days past Tau Beacon when the plasma wave struck.

“Try to reach them on the guard channel.” Crites ordered, more tersely than usual. Scuttlebutt had it that the captain was upset at being left behind to conduct SAR while the rest of 2nd Fleet continued on toward the frontier, including the USS Ranger- a loss Jena felt acutely. Hurricane was now lifetimes away. He’d promised to keep the timer on his Kronos set until their next meeting.

“Conn, commo, aye,” The communications officer acknowledged. “Freighter Mordicai, this is Constellation, please reply on this channel.”

He repeated the message twice more before reporting back that there had been no response from the stricken vessel.

“We should have them on long range video.” Jena said and configured the video camera in the port sensor array to zoom in on the sensor contact.

“Put it on.” Crites said and pulled a flat-screen monitor closer on its swing arm. Commander Ellison moved to look over her shoulder. The ships video camera was set to auto-focus.

The frieghter Mordicai outmassed the Constellation by several hundred tons, most of that made up of goods carried in two cavernous cargo bays, but it was old. The yellow lettering of the vessel name and the registration numbers stenciled on the gray hull had faded, eroded by solar wind and interstellar dust.

“I don’t see any EVA going on,” Crites said as he leaned forward and squinted at the picture. “No repair-bots on the outer hull- nothing. What sort of distress were they in?”

“They reported a nav com failure,” Ellison answered, sparing Jena from having to produce information she did not know. “Old tubs like that are still running on mainframes that should’ve been replaced ages ago. The mercantile codes say they need class-4 or better.”

“Smleck, they stopped making those fifty years ago,” Chief Dreedle snorted from where he was eavesdropping. “Talk about following the letter of the law.”

“As you were, Chief,” Crites corrected absently as his brow furrowed with concentration. "They’ve got lights on so they must have power- no engines though.”

“Wouldn’t do them much good without a nav computer to keep them on course,” Ellison said and pushed away from the tactical station. “No, they did the right thing to shut down their engines and wait for help.”

“We’ve arrived,” Crites said and cast a glance downward. “Recommendations, XO?”

“We could send over a boarding party,” Ellison said and shot Jena a thoughtful look. “Once we’ve established what their needs are we can respond appropriately.”

“Agreed,” Crites said and fixed Jena with his small eyes. “Lieutenant Mitchell, form a boarding party. I want you all suited up and ready before we rendezvous.”

“Aye, sir.” Jena said calmly as her heart leapt. She unbuckled her restraint harness and fairly vaulted out of her acceleration couch, climbing down from the command island and floating toward the hatch.

“Mitchell,” The captain called, stopping her short of the exit. “Go over their cargo manifest while the engineering team is doing their thing. If they’re coming from Alpha Centauri they might have contraband on board. Draw a sidearm from the weapons locker.” 

“Aye-aye, sir.” Jena said and then was gone.

***

The Vaccutech Mark-3 pressure suit was not designed for extended use in space, but would protect the wearer from hard vaccuum in an emergency, at least for a time. Made of multiple thin layers of Spandex and Kevlar, it mounted a semi-rigid carapice over the chest to protect against micrometeoroids, and articulated joints for the greatest range of motion.

“Our mission is to accurately catalogue the damage to the frieghter and report our findings to the ship,” Jena said to her boarding party as she slipped a hand into a heated glove and snapped it into the seal around the cuff of her suit. “We know for sure that their navigation computer is damaged and might need to be replaced.”

“We can bypass it with a portable unit if the thing is shot,” Kerry, a young engineer’s mate, said as he completed his own suiting up ritual. “They won’t be making any jumps out of the system but it’ll get them to the nearest shipyard.”

“Good. We’ll need to run checks on the electrical system as well, and anything else you all can think of. That’s what you’re here for.”

“Hooyah.” The three members of the team said in unison, the Fleets all-purpose statement of enthusiasm. Jena got to her feet and slowly made her way to the interlink console on the wall. She entered in the routing for the bridge and pushed the transmit key.

“We’re all ready to go down here.” Jena said and the hatch into the small ship’s boat slid open.

“Launch when ready.” Came the reply from the bridge.

The boat dispatched from Constellation could carry a dozen people and easily accomidated Jena and her boarding team. Computer guided, the boat was moving toward the Mordicai at 6 meters per second, aiming for the main hatch on the near side of the freighter hull. Kelly watched the distance close from the observation dome in the nose of the vehicle.

“Three hundred meters,” He called as they felt the retrothrusters fire, slowing them even further. “Target looks normal, no signs of activity.”

“Stow that equipment,” Jena said as the manuevering burn ended and several pieces of untethered gear floated free. Batty, an off-duty medical tech, unbuckled her restraints and pushed off to gather the loose things. “Who’s got the portable spectrometer?”

“I do,” The third member of the team piped up. Ensign Moralez from engineering sent the contents of the bag spinning as he dug through it. “I made sure I put it in here, just give me a second.”

“Moralez, you klutz!” Batty cried and tried to snag the instruments passing within arms-length. Moralez looked up, shocked, and began flailing at the objects orbiting his head. Jena grabbed the portable spectrometer as it floated by and secured it to her load-bearing harness.




The Mordicai Incident



“Two hundred meters.” Kelly reported as the thrusters fired again. 

“Everyone look sharp.” Jena said and performed another equipment check to familiarize herself with the locations of the instruments strapped to her body. The first aid kit was in the small of her back, her flashlight tethered to her wrist, and her hand came to rest on the 10mm automatic pistol secured to her leg.

“I’m good to go,” Batty said as she collected the last of the free-floating objects and replaced them in the bag Moralez carried. She fluidly slipped back under her restraint harness and buckled it down. Her aid bag was stuffed with portable bio-scanners and auto-injectors filled with medicines to treat maladies ranging from pain to radiation sickness. “Let’s just get this over with. I’m supposed to be back on regular duty in six hours. I’m going to need some sleep.”

The shuttle lurched as the docking collar mated with the frieghter Mordicai. When the computer that had guided them to contact was satisfied that the two vehicles were locked together, it sent a signal that turned the light over the exit hatch from red to green. Like parachute aircraft flying over ancient Terran battlefields, the green light meant it was time to jump.

Jena lifted her helmet over her head and slowly lowered it, giving it a half-twist to the right when it made contact with the pressure suit, locking it down. The suit went on internal Oxygen automatically with the helmet in place. She turned and saw the rest of her team standing in line behind her, helmets on, gear in hand.

“Constellation, this is boarding team,” Jena said once she’d gotten a thumbs up from all three. The comm-unit in her suit routed her transmissions accordingly. “We’re all set and we have a green light.”

“This is Constellation. You’re a go for entry,” A voice replied instantly. Jena recognized it as Commander Ellison. “We’ve still had no response from the crew. Proceed with caution.”

“Affirmative. Entering now.” Jena said and motioned Kelly forward. He removed a large socket wrench from his tool bag and pushed the large button below the green light. When the hatch slid open, the entrance to the Mordicai was revealed to be sealed tight, a problem they’d accounted for. Kelly used the wrench to bang on the Mordicai’s hatch.

“Man, someone better answer,” Kelly groused as he knocked again. The comm-unit routed his transmission to the team but not to the mother-ship. “If I gotta crank this hatch manually I’m gonna be pissed.”

“Try to look at the bright side,” Jena said as Kelly hammered the wrench down a third time. “The navy promised you an adventure. You can’t accuse them of not delivering.”

She put a hand to Kelly’s shoulder to stop as he was lifting the wrench again and they all paused to listen for a reply of any sort from inside.

“Crack it.” Jena said and moved back.

“This isn’t what I had in mind.” Kelly said and worked his boots into the straps on the deck, then slipped the socket of the wrench over the bolt at the side of the Mordicai hatch- standard equipment on all spacecraft for just such emergencies.

Kelly grunted and put his shoulder against the long handle, moving it forward, then racheting it back to the starting position. After several minutes, Jena could hear the hiss of atmosphere through a crack sized opening that appeared as the thick hatch was slowly rolled back. After another minute the opening was large enough to see through.

“Take a break.” Jena said. She took Kelly’s place as soon as he’d moved out of the way and pressed her faceplate up against the opening. The lights inside the Mordicai were on, showing her that the inside of the frieghter was dirty. Clusters of loose garbage floated in zero gravity.

“Ma’am, what’s it look like in there?” Moralez transmitted.

Jena took in as much as she could, looking for activity, and said, “It looks like the Outworld Alliance doesn’t place a whole lot of emphasis on good housekeeping, Moralez. There’s no welcome wagon, if that’s what you’re wondering.” She pushed away from the hatch. “Open it up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Kelly said and repositioned himself. He gave a heavy sigh and began wrenching on the hatch again. In ten minutes it was open.

“Everyone stick together,” Jena said as she pushed through into the mess that was the frieghter Mordicai. A maintenance hatch next to the airlock had come open and had discharged a tangle of multi-colored wires. “At least until we find someone who can point us toward the damage control expert onboard. I guess the bridge is as good a place to start as any.”

“How big was the ship’s compliment?” Batty transmitted.

“Thirty,” Jena said and guided along the access corridor toward the larger centerline main which ran the length of the ship. “It’s probably less. These space-dogs are always trying to cut corners. Nobody wants to pay for crew they don’t think they need.”

“What about passengers?” Batty transmitted. “My father used to work on a scow like this. He said that sometimes they used to make more with people than they did moving cargo.”

“Ask the captain when we find him,” Jena said and used her hands to stop her forward momentum when she recognized an intercom on the bulkhead beside her. She pressed the transmit switch. “This is the rescue team from USS Constellation, responding to your mayday. Can anyone hear me?”

“This is too weird,” Kelly transmitted. “Even if there were only ten people on board, we should’ve run into one of them by now.”

“Maybe,” Jena said and let her finger fall of the intercom switch. “Just stay alert. We have to go up three decks to find the bridge.”

The corridor let them over the massive cargo bays. Jena looked down over the railing as she floated above them and noted that they were full of containers, cargo crates she would have to go over for contraband.

“You’re right about all the smleck in the air,” Batty transmitted, giving the bio/chem scanner she held a wack on its plastic casing. “This damn thing is going ape-shit with false positives . I have to reset it after each reading. I’m dropping this off at with the tech weenies when we get back.”

“What do you think are in those boxes?” Moralez transmitted from the last position in the group. Jena gave them another look and pulled on the railing to keep moving.

“Electronics and manufactured goods according to the data they sent to Tau beacon,” Jena said, aiming for the open hatchway directly ahead of them. “Every merchant is required to transmit a flight plan and cargo manifest when they come out of transit.”

“You think maybe they could all be back in engineering trying to get the electrical system unborked?” Kelly transmitted as he looked toward in that direction.

“Maybe they didn’t have time to get to their shelters before they got hit by all that radiation.” Batty offered her own hypothesis to the solution of Mordicai’s missing crew. 

“Constellation, we’re coming up on the centerline passage,” Jena said as the team moved up to the hatchway. “Still no sign of the crew. Over.”

“This is Constellation,” Ellison radioed back. “They should be there somewhere. All lifepods are secure and in place. Last contact with the crew was reported thirty hours ago, over.”

“No contacts yet,” Jena said and eased her way into the main passage. She looked toward the nose and to the tail of the ship but saw only empty passageway. “We’re heading for the bridge. We’ll check back then, out.”

The old lights added an eerie sort of of glow to the pads along the surface of the transfer conduits. Fifty meters toward the nose of the ship they encountered another hatch. Just inside it they found the first body, floating in zero gravity, surrounded by globules of urine, vomitus, and blood.

***