BlachartByChristinaEngela

Copyright2018ChristinaEngela

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Blachart

Imagine,ifyouwill:

SPACE.

Justthinkaboutit.

Asfrontiersgo,thisisprobablythemostfinalofthemall,notbecauseitmaybethelastfrontier,butbecauseaslongaswetrytocrossitandexploreit,wetakeitwithus.Nomatterhowfarwego,thefrontierwillalwaysbejustthatmuchaheadofus,tantalizingourcuriosities.Thus,wecanneverreallycrossitinsofarasjustpushitbackalittle.

Theuniverseissovast,soimmense,wecanneverexpecttoexploreitall.Itisin effect, not so much a final frontier as an ultimate frontier; the ultimatefrontier – as wide as it is deep. Stars shine coldly in the unimaginableblackness.Outofthedarkness,atinyspeckcaughtthedistantlightofstars–atinygrayspeckthat,asitmoved,seemedtogrowlarger,catchingthelightjustsountilitrevealeditselftobeaship.

Mykld’Angelogroanedwherehesatslumpedinhischair.Theirritatingnoisewas unsettling his pet dog lying on his lap. The wickerwork garden chaircreaked pleasantly under him and some native Earth birds made pleasantsoundsabovewhilethecoolwindwaftedoverhimashelazily…

Wait-a-minute!

Reality kicked in aftermarking its spot ‘position vacant’ for the short andpleasant while. He groaned mournfully as he found himself staring at theinsideofhisowneyelids.Thefirstthingthatoccurredtohimwastheterriblebone-wracking pain running up and down his spine. Pain? No, curiouslyenough.Itwas thememoryof it thatseemedtohurtsomuch.Maybe that’s

whatscaredhim.Orperhapsitwasthecreakingoftheship–whichconsistedof tons of normally strong and silent hi-tech duranium, durastress andtitaniummaterials,whichsurroundedhim…

Heopenedhiseyesandlookedaround.Thesmokehadclearedup,exceptforthewispsrisingfromwhatuntilveryrecentlyhadbeenhis ‘mac.Ugh.Thelast thingherememberedwas…was…whatdidheremember? Brightflash.Therewasanoise like…like– someone fryingcrisps, actually.Weaverhadsuddenlygonerigid,screaming,thenglowedabrightyellow,whichalternatedwithaluminousblueandneonpink.Itwasaratherniceblue,heremembered.What thehellwas that? Ohyes.The surgeofpure energy thathadpulsedthroughtheship.Ofcourse,itdidpassthroughWeaverontheway…Hewassurprised there was a body at all, considering the kind of power that itconductedbeforealmostburningoutlikeaspentfuse.

Whatelse?Ohyes–theship-widealarmwasblaring.Stillblaring,tobemoreaccurate. It was an annoying, soulless mechanical sound that reverberateddownthecorridorsoftheship–hisship,andsignifiedanemergency,orasinthis case, total disaster! Steeling himself,Mykl lifted his head off the harddeckhe’dbeen lyingon, turning it carefully fromside to side just tomakesure his neck wasn’t broken. It wasn’t he concluded, and carefully sat up.Then,coughingfromtheelectromagneticdust in theair,heshookhishead,prayingthatthedullthumpingwasn’tanindicationthatitmightfalloff.Herose slowly to his feet, eyeing the smoking remains rather sadly. Mykld’Angelo struggled for a decision. He had to contact the bridge – if, hemused,therewasstillabridge.

The lights were still on. The gravity net was still operating. Thecommunicationspanelinthewallinfrontofhimseemedtobeworking,buttherewasjustnoanswerfromtheotherend.Hetriedagainanyhow.

“d’Angelotothebridge.”

Silencewastheonlyreplyhegot.

“d’Angelotothebridge!Answerme,Jang!”

Hegotthesameresult.Thereseemedtobenoothersolutionbuttogotherehimself.Therewasnothingmorehecoulddohereanyhow.Hecouldn’thopetoassessthedamage,butherealizeditmustbeprettybad.Atleastthingslike

lightsandthedoorsstillworked–andthatdamnedalarm!

Awalkdownthecorridor ledhimtotheelevator–andanotherbody.It laysprawledinanunnaturalpositiononthedeck.Turningitover,herecognizeditasFuller,hiscargomaster.Theman’sneckwasbroken.Hadtobe,lookingthewayhedid.

Swearingunderhisbreath,d’Angelotenselyenteredtheelevator.Fortunately,that was also still in order. When he got to the bridge, everything lookedprettyordinary–exceptforthethirdbodyoftheday,whichwaslyingspread-eagledonthedeckwithanalmostcomicallookofsurpriseonhisface.Jangwas dead, although d’Angelo couldn’t see the cause, but then, he was nodoctor.Hesigheddismally.Nowhehadn’tanavigatoreither–oracrewforthatmatter.

He slumpeddown in theskipper’scommand seat and shut off the irritatingalarmfromthecontrolconsoleinfrontofhim.Hesighedanotherdeepsigh.ItseemedtobeawonderfuldayforMykld’Angelo,captainandownerofthe‘tramp’ loderunnerPegasus.Aswonderfuldayswentonhispersonal scale,heratedthisone‘oneofthebest’.

The lastweekhadn’tbeenanybetter,come to thinkof it.OnMonday theyarrivedatGorda, just to find that thecargoofelectronicshewas to ship toBeowulfhadbeentakenbyanotherfreighterforalowerfee.IttookhimuntilWednesday before he found another cargo – which had to reachBrien bySaturday.Afterabriefcareer in theTerranSpaceFleet,Mykld’Angelo,26,hadleftalltheuniformity,rulesandregulationsbehindhim.Despitethat,asaformerExoaboarda‘Fleetstarship,he’dgrownaccustomedtothingsbeingdone a certain way – and that carried over into his leadership style as thecivilian skipper of a loderunner. This didn’t sit too well with his raggedycivvycrew,and therewasoften frictionbetween themduring the fewshortmonthsofhiscareerasskipperofthePegasus.The laststrawfellwhenhisformercrewmutiniedadayoutof theHermessystemanddemandedapayincrease.Theyalsodemandedmoretimeoffandabettercook–atleastonewhoknewwhichendofa fryingpan tohold.Theunion tended to call thatsortofthing‘collectivebargaining’,notactuallymutiny–buthey,theresultswerethesame.Personally,Myklfavoredtheterm‘piracy’,butthiswasn’tthehigh seas and out here, there were real pirates to worry about. Mykl’s

financesbeingwhat theywere,hewasunable tocomply–andso, PegasusmadeanunscheduledstopatBeowulfanyway,withouthissay-so.There–atthe space port, his former crew disembarked and cheerfully waved theirmiddlefingersathim,beforeheadingtothenearestemploymentofficetoputtheir names down for the next available openings on any loderunner otherthanPegasus.Thatwasthelasttimehesawthem.Fortunatelyforhim, threeofhiscrew–Weaver,FullerandJang,hadoptedtostaywithhim–andthatwas just barely enough to run the ship so he could leave Beowulf again.Whetheritwasoutofloyalty,orperhapsjustconvenience,hedidn’tknow–andnow,neverwould.

“Lookwhereitgotthem,poorbastards!”Hemutteredtotheshipingeneral.TodaywasFriday,andifcurrenteventswereanyindicationofwhatthefutureheldinstoreforhim–thenhecouldexpectaprettyrottenweekend.Underthecurrentsetofcircumstances,hewasunlikelytomeetthedeadlinetogethispayloadtoBrien.

ThePegasuswasagoodoldship–particularlythelatter.Shewasmovingonfortyyearsoldandwasprone tobreakdowns.Theywereminorbreakdownsthathadlittleeffectother thantoslowherdownsome,but theymadeheralittlelessthanreliable–andinthislineofwork,speedandendurance–andkeeping to time tables, was everything. Pegasus wasn’t really efficient atanything anymore, except perhaps at breaking down at awkward times.Newershipsweremoreefficient,buthecouldn’taffordone.Hecouldbarelyaffordthisoneasitwas–andifhadn’tbeenforastrokeofluckintheoordoracesonBrieneightmonthspreviously,Mykld’Angelowouldprobablystillhavebeensittingatthespaceportbarwonderingwhatthehellhewasgoingtodonextwithhislife.

To try to make up lost time, Mykl had to push Pegasus to her limits. Hesighedagain,easinghisweary frameoutof theskipper’schairand into theonebehindthehelmconsole.Cruisingatfullthrottlewasfineforawhile,hemusedwhile runningadiagnosticscanof the ship’s systems– that is, untilWeaver reported aminor problem down in engineering and askedMykl togivehimahand.Mykldidn’thavemuchentechtrainingattheAcademy,norhadhepickedupmuchmoreexpertiseonwarpengineswhileservingontheFleetships–buthecouldhelpWeaverbyholdingthisandpassingthat.ThenWeaverhadtogoandputhisdamnattenuatorinjusttherightplaceatjustthewrongtime,whichcausedashort inamainfeed line–areallybright thing

foranengineertodo.

Brightpink,Mykl thought, running his blackened fingers through his shortsandy brown hairwith considerable effort, accompanied by assorted snaps,cracklesandpopsofresidualstaticelectricity.ThenMyklchangedpositionsandwent tositat thehelm.Thesensorsshowednospace trafficatall.Theviewscreenwas off. Turning it on only revealed thewhirling stars outside,which toldhim thatPegasus, acylindrical shipaboutakilometer long,wasdoingsomersaultsnoseovertail.Hedeftlybroughtthemaneuveringthrustersinto play, slowing the tumble caused by the explosion to a stop. The starsstoppedwhirling.Astableshiphelpedhimtofeelbetter.Itwasatleastastart.Achimefromtheconsoletoldhimthediagnosticscanwasready–itelicitedanotherpainedmoan.Tosay that theengineswerealloff-linewouldbeanunderstatement–theydidn’tevenregisteron thediagnostics inventory.Theexplosionhadessentiallydestroyedtheenginesentirely,andcausedanauto-seal of several stern compartments.More than half the emergency batterieswere also damaged, and had reduced his chances of staying alive formorethanafewhourstolessthanacoupleofdaysatbest.

Truthfully, d’Angelo wasn’t surprised that had happened. Weaver, like hispredecessors,hadbeenakindofstarship‘backyardmechanic’andatthetimeof theexplosion, the stardrivewasallbutheld togetherbybitsofwireandduct tape.Okay, thatwas an exaggeration, but it wasn’t far from the truth.Weavers’mistakehadcosthimthestardrive–andFullerandJangtheirlives.“Blownup”seemedalittleinadequatetodescribewhathadreallyhappened,butwhatremainedoftheengineswasnowspreadover the last light-yearorsobehindhim.Nowthatreallymadehiscalendarcycle!

Pegasushadbeengoinghellforleatherwhentheenginesblew,andrightafterthat, theoldshiphaddropped tosub-warpspeed. Itwasstillmovingprettyfast, thoughgraduallydecelerating–roughly in thedirectionofBrien–butwiththeamountofdriftcausedbytheexplosion,itwaslikelyPegasuswouldpassthroughspacealsoawayfromthemaintraderoutes.Nowhesataloneinspace,onadisabledstarshipaboutfiftyyearsfromanywhereonconversiondrive–assuminghestillhadthat.Hedidnot.WhathedidhavewastheShortShit–theship’sonlyshuttle,whichwasbasicallyaspace-goingjalopythathemightuseasalife-boattotakehimtoBrienasPegasuspassedby.Thatis,ifithadenoughfuelanddidn’tbreakdownintheattempt.Atthecurrentspeedandrateofdeceleration,Pegasuswouldpassby itsclosestpoint toBrien in

aboutthreeyears’time–andMykldoubtedhecouldholdhisbreaththatlong.

He resisted a powerful urge to smash his fist down on the console – thatwouldn’t solve anything. Besides, the last time he did that, he still had amedichandytotreattheresultinginjury.

Yes, he had taken out insurance on the Pegasus – that was pretty muchstandardfare,andthelawdidn’treallyleavehimanychoicethere–butafatlotofgoodinsurancewasgoingtodohimstuckouthere!Hesighedagain,tryingtoburythefrustrationhefelt–andalsotherisingtideofpanic.

Howthehellwashegoingtogetoutofthis?

Thehighlightofhiseveningwas going to be staring at the blinking bridgeinstrumentation – which just happened to be running on the emergencybatteries andactuallyblinking, like for real.Mykl turned on the emergencybeacon– therewas little elsehe coulddo.That at least stillworked– and,seeing as he had to conserve as much energy as possible, he cut allunnecessarypower,andshutoffthelightsandheatingequipmentinmostoftheship.Thenhecutpowertothegravitynetontheothertwolevelsandsatback,towait.

Thestar-scapeontheviewscreendidlittletoinspirehim.Hecouldn’trepairtheengines–evenifhehadtheknow-how,therewasnothingleft torepair.As the hours passed, his mind slowly began to wander, and he started tofantasize about being down in engineering, trying to build a workablestardriveoutof thepartsofa landing thruster,agarbagecompactorand thecheap Swisswatch on hiswrist.Nope–he didn’t see it working.He sankbackintothepaddedseatbytheconsoleresignedly.Therewasnothingmorehecoulddonow,exceptwait–andofferprayerstowhatevergodshappenedtobelistening.

***

Somewhereelseinthedarkvastnessofdeepspace,anotherstarshipwasalsoexperiencing problems, though perhaps not quite as severe as those of the

beleagueredloderunnerPegasus.TheI.S.S.AntareswasamilitaryshipintheTerranSpaceFleet–awarship.Althoughnotanewship,shewasoneofthefrontlineserviceships,prideoftheFleet.She’dbeeninserviceagoodmanyyears already, and since keeping up with the pace at which technologyadvancedwasquiteexpensiveandalsolabor-intensiveinupdatingashipofhersize,therewastheinevitablefactorofcreepingobsolescence.

Many older ships in the imperial Space Fleet nearing retirement age wereoccasionallysidelinedtoberefittedandupgradedwithmodernequipmenttoextendtheirusefullives,andalsotokeepthemasclosetothemostefficientand effective standard possible. Thus, technologically at least, Antareswascurrently one of the most advanced ships of the Imperial Space Fleet.Unfortunately,Antareshadbeen rushedoutofdrydocksohastily – due tocircumstancesthatwillstillbemadeclear–thatshewasnowalsooneofthemosttroubled.

ForCommanderRipley Jones, second in command onboard theAntares, itwasasituationthatwasbecomingrapidlymoreandmoretroublesome.Ithadbeensaid,andfairlyoften,thatnothingisinfallible–theAntaresapparentlybeingtheproof!Mostrefitstookaroundsixmonthsindrydocktocomplete,and Antares’ refit had been almost complete when the call from FleetCommand came through. As Exo, Ripley had been part of the refit

managementandplanningteam,andwasintimatelyfamiliarwiththeprogressonadailybasis.Theywerejusttwoweeksawayfromfinalchecks,withtrialsscheduledfortheweekafterthat.Thestatetheship’scriticalsystemswereinnow was nothing short of chaotic! Some of the crew had been attendingtrainingcoursestofamiliarizethemwiththeupgrades–somehadbeenawayonshoreleave,andwereprobablystillblissfullyunawareofwhatwasgoingon…Antareshadleftwithoutthem.

Afterhastilyrecallingallavailablecrew,AntareshadleftSpacedock7thirtyhoursago.Since then, therehadbeennothingbutproblems!The entechs –engineering staff and technicians were kept busy tracing and solvingbreakdowns in the ship’s sensors and telemetry, system failures of a widevariety, and finally – the Last Straw: a brand new coupling seal in thestardrive engine failed! Fortunately, the cut-out worked – or the whole ofengineeringwould’vedisappearedinaflamingballofanti-matter,andwouldprobably have taken half the ship with it! Five crewmen were seriouslyinjuredasitwas,andwereunderhi-careinthesickbay.Inthemeantime,therestof thecrewwasbeingoccupiedwithrunningtestsof theirequipment–specificallyweaponssystems,shields,survivalgearandsoon.

Right now, as Ripleywas pondering the status quo, CommanderNore, thenewly promoted long-time Chief Entech, had the offending unit strippeddown and under repair. Even so, Antares was still underway – albeit atmaximumsub-light speed– andRipleywas currently in an elevatorwith averypissedCaptainJoel“Joey”Falcone.

Normallyhewasquitepatientandbenevolent,but thesixty-year-oldofficerhadgoodreasonforhisfrustration.Falconehimselfwasduetoretire in justonemonth;hisactivedutywastohaveendedatSpacedock7.He’ddecidedenoughwasenough,andhewantedtospendtheremainderofhisyearswithhiswifeinsteadofgallivantingaroundthegalaxy.Retirementwasnolongermandatory–exceptforreasonsofillhealth,orwhenpeoplereachedthepointwheretheycouldnolongermeetthedemandsoftheirrolesonthejob.Alotof people lived beyond the ‘magical number’ of 100 these days, and stillenjoyed very good quality of life. Some wanted to continue working, forwhateverreason–andretirementbecamevoluntaryafterreachingtheageof60 years, which is where “Joey” Falcone was at. He had two sons and adaughter–allof them indifferentpartsof theService–andhiswife,whowas two years older than him, had already retired from her job and was

waitingforhimathome.

Falcone’s replacement –whoever that was – was due to arrive within theweek, to participate in the final phases of the refit and take commandthereafteratanicelittleceremonyinfrontofthegatheredship’scompany…until Fleet Command saw fit to interrupt completion of the refit, and toabruptlyextendFalcone’sactiveservicebyhandinghimthislastassignment.Therewassomeurgencyinvolved,withall thefranticrushingit tooktogetAntares out of dry dock at such short notice! There had to be, for anincompleteship tobekickedoutofdrydockbefore Final Checks could beperformed!TheleadrefitForemanhadrefusedtosignoffontheship’sspaceworthinesscertificate,andFalconehad just ordered himoff theAntares. Inthe tense atmosphere in the elevator car, she stifled an inappropriate littlegiggleassherecalledhispartingwords to theman:“The transmatteror theairlock–pickone!”

Whattheirmissionwas,RipleyJoneswasobliviousof–butsheknewtheywere on one! In the state Antares was in, Ripley could only imagine thenature of the emergency at hand! It must have been vitally important –whateveritwas.Sheclearedherthroatasquietlyasshecould.

“CommanderNoresaidheshouldhavethestardrivebackonlinewithinfourhours,Captain.”Shemight’vesaid thewrongthing–Falconeglaredathisexecutiveofficer.

“Four more hours?” He railed. “What about the shields? Have they beenrepairedproperlythistime?”

“The–uh–generatorcrystalshavebeenre-cutandrecalibrated.Theyshouldberunningfinaltestsrightnow.”

“Good.Wemayneed‘em.”Henodded,“Idon’twantthemfadingoutonusagain.”

Thenext fewminuteswere filledwith silence as the elevator carried themtowardsthebridge.Ripleyidlyrubbedhercheekforlackofanythingelsetosay.Falcone’s hair shone evenwhiter under the lights in the ceiling of theelevator car, and his usually warm brown eyes seemed a cold faded graytoday, skulking in the map of his tough, wrinkled old face. His featuresseemeddrawn,thewrinklesdeepersomehow.Ripleysensedhistensionintheair.Hegruntedsuddenly.

“Sir?”

“Looks like my retirement holiday on Tarsus is going to have to wait,Ripley.”

Curiositygotthebetterofher.It’dbeenthirtyhoursandstillhehadn’tsaidawordtoherabouttheirmission.

“What’sthisallabout,sir?”

Falconebecamevisiblyuncomfortable.Hehesitated,thensaid:

“We’velostcontactwithaStarbase91.”

“Starbase91?”Ripleyrepeated.“That’sintheOmeganQuadrant,isn’tit?”

“Yes.” The Captain replied slowly. “Command wants to know why – andwe’retheluckysodstodrawtheshortstraw!”

“Doesn’tCoreCommandknowwhatshapewe’rein,sir?In themiddleofarefit?Whyus?”

The oldman grinned, unwittinglymaking himself look evil in the lightinginsidethecar.

“They do, but we’re the only available cruiser close enough to respond –why’sthisdamnthingtakingsolong?”

Theelevatordid seem tobe taking longer thanusual.Anothermalfunction,probably.Ripleywasn’t a newcomer to deep space travel, or even to spacecombat.Evenather25years,she’dseenhershareoftrialsinspace.Antares– the ship she’d beenwith since she left theAcademy as a Lieutenant sixshortyearsbefore,hadseenhermeteoricrisetotherankofCommanderandto the position of Exo.Alongwith the ship, CommanderRipley Jones hadparticipated in the fight against the dreaded Corsair menace. But she alsoknewthatthereweremorethanjustCorsairsindeepspace–andmoreotherdeadlythreatstomentionaswell.

“Perhapstheirtransmittersaredown,Captain.”Shesuggested.

“Hmm?Oh–Idon’tknow,Ripley.Couldbeanything.Betterleaveitforthebriefingthisafternoon–I’malittletiredtogointoittooin-depthrightnow.Doesn’t matter anyway…” His features softened into a grin, and for amoment she recognized the wise, genial old man who had mentored hergrowthintoanoutstandingofficer.“They’vejustfoundawaytolivenupmylast few days in the service.” He grunted. “This is my last show. Ha!Myretirement party!” Then he resumed staring at the gray elevator doors.Grunting,hemadeeyecontactwithheragain.

“Didyou tellNore to checkupon thosepower fluctuations in theweaponscircuits?”

“Yes sir. He said he couldn’t find the problem – said it was fine when helookedatit.Hesaidtheship’sprobablyjustbeingtemperamental.”

“Notgoodenough.Tellhimtocheckagain.Wemayneedourweaponswherewe’regoing!”

“Yes sir.” Ripley nodded, knowing full well how hard it was to tellCommanderNoreanything.Themanwasaboutahundred years her seniorforastart.Okay,well,notreallyahundred–itjustseemedlikeitsometimes.CommanderAdamNore had been until recently, a Lieutenant-Commander,finallypromoted after thirteenyears in thepost ofChiefEntech aboard theAntares.NorewasduetobetransferredoffthecrewatSpacedock7–athisownrequest,tobepostedsomewherequietwherehecouldtinkerwithadeskforhis lastyearof servicebefore retirement.Antareshadalsobeenwaitingfor a replacement Chief Entech there, one that conformed to the normalrequirements–likesaying‘yessir’toherorders,not‘piss-off’or‘getoutofmyengineroom’.Ifhisreplacementhadarrivedbeforethey’dbeengiventhisassignment, things might have been easier. Then again, Ripley realized, itmightnot–Noreatleastwasexperiencedandefficient–andwhoknewwhatsortofmooktheymighthavebeenstuckwith?

Ripleytriedtosighassoftlyaspossible.Everything,itseemed,wasmeanttohavebeenfixedorstraightenedoutatSpacedock7.Thecar-computerspoke,finally.

“MessHall.”Itannouncedinamonotonevoice.“Thank the gods, finally.” Said Falcone. Ripley, although irreligious,gratefullyechoedthesentimentinherthoughts.

Thedoorspartedslowly,andRipleyandFalconesteppedoutontothebridge– which was alive with activity. Crewmen were busy at their respectivestations–thehelm,sensors,weapons,comms.Thecommsdeskwascurrentlyvacant–thecommunicationsofficerhadbeenrelievingFalconeathisstation.Ayouthful lieutenantwho lookedaround21 toRipley (andprobably like ateenager to Falcone) swiveled round in the command chair like a bowl ofhandsome, well-built fruit on a display stand to face them. Ric Nordykesmiled at her briefly, with the knowledge that fraternizing with a seniorofficerwaslikelytocausetroublenomatterwhichwayitwent.

“Getoutta thatchair,Lt!”Falconegrowledat theyoungman,givinghimabig wink as he did so. “You look like you’re enjoying my chair far toomuch!”

“Yes sir!”Nordykebreathedashequicklystood up to vacate theCaptain’schair.

RipleyknewthatnobodygraduatedfromtheAcademyasanofficeryoungerthan22,sohemust’vebeenolder than that,even ifonly just.Nordykewasoneof the verynewcrewdrafted fromSpacedock7when the crisis struckandtheyhadtofillalltheirpersonnelshortagesposthaste.Heseemedeagertoplease,andcertainlyseemedtoprefertheprospectofservinghisfirstyearsaboardastarshipthanonadrearyoldspacedock.

“Captain!”Nordykecalled, face aglowwith the excitement of a reasonablygreencrewman.

“Yes, Lieutenant?” Falcone replied, already halfway towards the commandseat at the center of the bridge. Ripley took her seat at the Exo’s station,which was immediately to the left of Falcone’s, and observed from there.NordyketurnedtofaceFalcone.

“Ijustwantedtoinformyouthatwe’vepickedupadistresscall,sir!”

Falconepausedtolookathimamomentbeforesittingdown.

“What?Onlyone?”Heshrugged.“So?”

“We – uh…” Nordyke faltered, caught off-guard by Falcone’s demeanor,“We’retheclosestvesseltothesource,Captain?”

Falconewasnospringchicken–heknewthecourseofactiontobetaken.It

waslaw.Distresscallshadtobeansweredandinvestigatedwithallpossiblehaste…eveninthelightoftheircurrentassignment.Theonlyproblemwas,Ripleyreflected,withthestardrivestrewnalloverengineering,thesub-lightdrivecouldpropelthematamaximumspeedofonlyaround100000kps–whichmeant,ininterstellarterms,thattheymightaswellstop.

“Who’sindistress?”Falconeasked,makingitplainthatitwasanunwelcomeintrusion to their already daunting workload. Like the Last Straw. Ripleythought for amoment the lieutenant’s hesitationmeant hewas thinking thesameasher–whatallofthemwerethinking:‘Youmeanasidefromus?’“Er…It’safreighter,sir.S.S.Pegasus.Registrysaysprivateowner,nameofd’Angelo.”

Ripleyseemedsuddenlyshakenup,tense.Interestedmighthavebeenamoredescriptive term. It was that name, d’Angelo. She quickly turned towardsNordykeandgavehimaquizzicallook.

“Whatexactlyisthatman’sname,Lt?”Sheaskedhim.

Nordykeglancedathermatter-of-factly.

“SkipperofthePegasus,sir?”

Shenoddedinanswer.

“Uh.d’Angelo,small‘d’,apostrophe,big‘A’–Michael,Ithink–thoughit’sspeltdifferently…M-y-k-l.”

“Mykl!”Shebreathed,almosttoherself.

Falconeeyedhersuspiciously,noticingthathisusuallycrispandaloofExecseemedtobestrokingherlongfawnbrownhairabsentmindedly.

“Youokay,Commander?”Heasked.

“Mm?Oh–yes,sir.”Shereplied,recoveringhercomposure.“IthinkIknowtheownerofthatship,that’sall.”

“Youthink?”SaidFalcone,“Oryouknow?”

Ripleyblushed.

“Well,unlessthere’smorethanoneMykld’Angelo,thenIknowhim,sir.”

“Friendofyours?”

“Uh–well,no,sir.”Sherepliedinamoreleveltone.“IknewhimwhileIwasattheAcademy,sir.”

“Anex-Fleetman?”

“HewasaCommander,lastIheard,sir–whichwasaboutayearago.”

“Interesting.” Falcone commented. “Get me his file. If I have to take himaboardmyship,IwanttoknowallIcanabouthim.”

Sheswallowed.“Yessir.”

FalconereturnedhisattentionbacktoNordyke.

“What’stheirlocation?”

“They’reaboutaweekoutsidetheHermessystem,Captain.”

“Helm,setacourse–bestpossiblespeed!”

“Um – sir, we’re on conversion drive at the moment.” The helmsmanreported.

“Iknow,Linson–d’youthinkI’msenilealready?”

“No,sir–I…”Theyounghelmsmanstammered.

“Ididsay‘bestpossiblespeed’,didn’tI?”“Yes,sir.”

“Thenyoumightaswellpointusintherightdirectionatleast,whilewewaitfor something tohappen inengineering!Lt.Nordyke–answer thecall; tellthisd’Angelofellerwe’reonourway–orwill be soon.Andgetme somemoredetailsaboutthenatureoftheemergency.”

“Yessir!”

“AndgetmeCommanderNoreontheline!”

“Yessir!”

“And then,”Falconecontinued,smilingwryly,“When you’re donewith allthat,youcangetthegalleytosendmeupacupofcoffee.”

JoelFalcone–whowascurrently inhiselement–wasgoing tomiss thesetimes.

***

All Mykl d’Angelo had done in the meantime, was to patch thecommunicationsfunction through to the galley.Hewent down there to fixhimself a reasonablydecentmeal, andhe certainlydidn’twant tomiss anycallswhilehedidso.Consideringthepossibilityofthisbeinghislastmeal–oroneofhislast,hedidn’tlettheuseofalittleextrapowerbotherhim.Whatwashalfanhouronewayortheotherinthegrandschemeofthings?Besides,considering the degree of his culinary skills, he might die from foodpoisoninga littlequicker than fromasphyxiationandhypoxia,whichmightnotbealtogetherabadthing.

A late lunch, early supper over with, and no stomach cramps worth beingconcernedabout,hewasjustplanningongettingsomesleepinhisquarters–that is, if his cabin hadn’t been emptied out into space by the force of theexplosion.Hehadn’tgonetolookyet–hewassavingthebigsurpriseontheother side of his cabin door for later. If he was going to die, then Mykld’Angelowas determined that it should happen on a full stomach. For thetimebeing,hewassatisfiedwithenjoyingtheafter-tasteofscrambledeggsontoastoverasteamingmugofcoffee. Itwasplain– thebastardformercookhadleftwithallthatremainedofthegoodstuff,butitwoulddo.Allinall,itseemed an impossibly short while – only a matter of a few hours befored’Angelo’sdistresscallwasanswered.ItwassomethingthatMyklhadbeensomewhatunpreparedfor.

Foronething,hehadn’tevenstartedtalkingtohimself,orstumbledacrossastowawayandgottonamehimafteradayoftheweekyet.Thewallintercominthegalleyjustsuddenlystartedbeeping to indicatean incomingmessage!Hesprangupfromthetable,andknockedoverabottleoftomatosauceinhishaste to reach itbefore hemissed it!Whenhepressed the key to open thechannel,heheardthevoiceofayoungishsoundingmanspeaking.

“ThisistheI.S.S.Antares…repeat,thisistheI.S.S.Antares…Wehaveyourpositionandareonaninterceptcourse!Pleaseacknowledge!”

d’Angelo grimaced, realizingwith dismay that his rescuerwas an imperialship.Well,heconsoledhimself,at least itwasn’tanother loderunnerwhosecrewmight try to robhimofwhatwas leftofvalueonboard–oraCorsairshipwhowouldlikelydothesame.ButaSpaceFleetship!Thesixyearshe’d

spentintheservicecamebacktohimwithunsettlingclarity.Theywerebusy,event-filled,hecticyears–especiallythepartsthatpersuadedhimtoleavetheservice in the first place! It took a little work, but he finally shrugged thefloodofmemoriesoffwitharelievedsigh.Hell,anyport inastorm,right?Hewasn’tabouttolookanygiftrescuersintheuniform,thatwascertain!

“Antares? This is the commercial loderunner Pegasus. I hear you,acknowledged.” He said, a relieved smile breaking the tension in his facemuscles.Heranahandthroughhisunrulysandybrownhairagain,thistimewithoutanysoundeffects.

“Pleaseidentifyyourself,Pegasus.”Themalevoiceinstructed.

“d’Angelo.Mykld’Angelo…Ownerandskipper.”Therewasalongpause.

“Pegasus,areyouabletoestablishvisualcommunications?”

“Shiptoship?Uh–negative.I’m…er–downinengineering…beenputtingoutfires!”Mykllied.“Ifyougivemeafewminutes,Icangettothebridgeandsortitoutfromthere.”

“Okay,Pegasus–tenminutes.”

WhenMyklarrivedonthebridge,hetookaseatatthecomsdeskandworkedtheappropriate controls toopen thechannel from that side.Ayoung, fairlynondescriptofficerappearedonthesmallscreenintheconsole.Hecouldtellfromthepositionofthecamerapick-up,theofficerwasn’tsittinginthecenterseat, but probably at the comms desk. The background was blurred out offocus,atypicalmilitarysecurityprecaution.

“How’sthat?”Myklasked,givingwhathehopedwasafriendlysmile.

“Fine.I’mLt.Nordyke–comtech,I.S.S.Antares.What’syouremergency?”

“Myship’shada–um,well,breakdown.”

“Couldyoubemorespecific?”

“Well, the stardrive’sout.”Mykl said sheepishly, “Way,wayout.Noway Icanfixit.”

“Ourentechscanprobablyhaveagoatitwhenwegetthere.”SaidNordyke.“Tohaveyouonyourwayagain.”

d’Angelowasaproudmanandtheinconvenienceofhispredicamentwasanembarrassment to him. When he was a fighter pilot – in his ratherextraordinary youth before joining the Space Fleet, he could just put hisaircraft down if he experiencedmechanical problems – and, barringwhichsideoftheLineshe’dlandedon,hecouldjustwalkbackhome.Ifhisplanetookacriticalhit– say,byack-ack,he’dbedead instantly– inwhichcasehe’dhavenothing further toworryabout.There’dbenoneof thisworryingabouthow togethomenonsense,or runningoutof airor freezing todeathwithout power! Hewas used to being able to get himself out of situationswithoutanyone’shelp.

Pegasus was a sore point, especially when she needed repairs. Usually hewouldhave to takeouta loanoremptyouthisbankaccount.Repairsweremade when and if finances could allow and, as a result, Pegasus was nolonger exactly shipyard specification – in fact, she’d been extensivelymodified over the years, since before he even bought her. Civiliancorporationsinsuredtheirshipsagainstdeepspacebreakdowns,butinsurancecompanieswouldonly insureships thatwereat least98%spaceworthy.Sothatlefthimatthegods’goodmerciesandthefirstshiptoansweranS.O.S.Hedoubtedhehadenoughinthebanktocoverrepairs,nevermindtowing.Ifshecouldberepairedatall.He thought thiswasprettymuch theendof theroadforpooroldPegasus– she’dgone for thatGreatBigRefit upyonder.Myklnoticedthathe’dbeguntappinghisfingersontheconsole,andstopped.

“That’sverykind,but–um–there’sactuallynotmuchlefttofix.”

Nordykegavehimablanklook.

“They blew up.” He disclosed with finality. He saw a transient look ofsympathy flash across the kid’s face during the awkward silence thatfollowed.

“Isee…Anybodyhurt?”

“No.Fortunatelynot.Nobodyhurt.Threedead,though.”

Therewasanotherawkwardsilence.

“Uh,right…um.Howmanycrewhaveyouabroad?”

Nowthatwasanothersorepointwithhim.

“Hrrm.None.Hrrmm.”

“Pardon?” Nordyke asked, unable to make out his muffled reply. Inside,

d’Angelofeltlikehewascringing.

“None.”Hesaid.Theotherlookedperplexed.

“Dead?”

“No,gone.”Saidd’Angeloflatly.

“Soyou’realone?”AskedNordyke,inadvertentlyprolongingtheagony.

Rescueornorescue,Mykl’spatienceandvirtuewerebeingstretched to thelimit,andhe’dalreadyhadenoughoftheembarrassment.

“Look,” he said, straining politeness to the limit of theword. “I’ve got nocrew, no engines, and the emergency powerwill hold out for about…”Heglancedathiswatch. “Ninehours. Ifyou’renothereby then, I’mgoing tohaveareallybadday,getit?”

“Allright,”Nordykeparriedinaciviltone.“Holdyourposition,we’reonourway.”

“What’s your E.T.A?” Mykl asked, noting that the Antares was nowherewithin sensor range. Nordyke consulted someone off screen. “Eight hours.I’llkeep thischannel free incaseof furtherdevelopments.Until then, goodluck!”

Thescreenblinkedintothespacefleetcommunicationslogo.

“Thanksalot.”Myklmuttered,“Holdmyposition.Ha-ha.Goodone.”

Eighthours.TheheroicAntareswascuttingthingsfine.‘Approximatelyeighthours’ could mean anything from six to ten. Maybe twenty if they gotdelayed.Myklknewthatwhenhispowerranout,lifesupportwouldfail.Hecould hold on a few hours more without lights or gravity – but not longwithout oxygen. Food and water would freeze, and he’d have no way todefrost them.Nine hours. How long he could hold on after that, he didn’tknow.

***

CommanderAdamNorehadpacified theCaptainandreassuredhimfor theumpteenth time that theAntareswould be ship-shapewithin the remaining

                  

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