Commander HARTMAN, Jane Liberty Logistics Corps Ames Research Station
Thirteen years was a long time to keep a secret. Jane Hartman's hands skittered across the Rhino's control panel, guiding the battered freighter into the welcoming darkness of Ames station's waiting docking bay. The station was much as she remembered it, generation-old solar panels hanging off hull panels still gleaming from the factory. The care the Zoners took to maintain the sub-par docking wing seemed borderline obsessive when she compared to the excesses of core space. They were excesses, though. Years between landings hadn't been long enough to forget that.
She stole a glance at the man buckled in beside her. A veteran pilot, and plenty else besides, Reginald Lewis was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Today, he sat at the Rhino's secondary controls, guiding the freighter into the bay as she responded to the station's hails. It was an old ship by core standards, a remnant from her days as a Midshipman that she had never quite found the time to replace. Compared to some of the junk heaps crouching in Ames though, the ship may as well have been brand new. Fifty year old mining ships, micro-meteor dents dotting their hulls, sat alongside the newest Renzu fighters.
"You know, my grandfather always said you could spot a Zoner base." Hartman fiddled with the control panel, locking awkward landing struts in place. Sound hit the ship like a wave as the bays clanked closed, atmosphere pouring back into the waiting hangar. For the first time in the hour-long hop, external noise drowned out the droning engine. "Only damn consistent thing was the inconsistency."
No customs workers greeted the pair as they stepped off the Rhino's loading ramp. A solitary docking work tapped their arrival into a datapad and gave them a cursory weapons scan before moving down the row to where the next ship, a battered Eagle that looked to be made up of various bits of other ships, was already touching down. Hartman regarded the lax security with a mixture of bemusement and despair. Military bases would have scanned her half a dozen times with at least as many different instruments before she so much as stepped off the ship. Here, they got one exhausted worker and a tick in a box. Surely it hadn't always been that bad. She thanked God that she wasn't staying on-station that night. Granting docking clearance to everyone had the unfortunate side effect of dragging people who were out to kill one another into the same room, neutral station or no. At least she didn't have her uniform on.
"Hold down the fort for a moment. There's something I need to collect." She caught the question in Lewis' gaze. "Old transponder ID. I stored it here a long time ago, before I re-enlisted. We'll need it later." She raised a hand, fully preparing for a storm of queries. "I'll tell you once we're back aboard. I ain't planning on taking a holiday out here if I can help it, so if you want to stretch your legs this'd be the time to do it." She waved over a docking attendant and, after a quick exchange of credits, a fuel hose found its way to the itinerant Rhino's underside.
Lewis had to admit that he was a little concerned by Hartman's sudden bout of secrecy. The short journey to Ames had passed in silence, and his feelings about what Hartman might reveal was equal parts concern and curiosity. As they docked at Ames, Lewis grimaced inwardly. He was used to clean and efficiently maintained hangar bays and Ames was anything but.
"Alright Jane...I will wait. "
Mentally, he hoped that all the secrecy would be worth it.
Temporary Storage Depot - Bay Four Ames Research Station
Despite a move halfway across the docking bay, the long-term storeroom was much as she remembered it. Fist-sized boxes dotted the walls in alternating splashes of black and white like the work of an obsessive tiler. A scattering of people moved among the shelves, pausing before their allocated spaces before opening a box with a swipe of a key. Some of them were legitimate pilots, she guessed. Stay-overs, taking a night's rest in the journey from Kusari back through to Liberty. Most of them would be minor criminals without proper sanctuary taking advantage of Zoner hospitality to refuel, repair, or relax. Parasites and bottom-feeders that were no longer welcome in the society they thought they preyed on. Hartman smiled faintly at the contradiction. She had never heard of a predator that needed to hide from its prey.
A cheerful beep from her safe informed her that the old access card still worked, supplemented by a gentle hum as the station's pumps returned oxygen to the little container. Hartman's foot tapped an impatient beat on the rubber floor, as she waited for the safe to open. This was a moronic idea. She had no idea if the transponder was still functional, much less that it hadn't been moved in the intervening years. Even if it hadn't been, the risk in powering it up again...
Was worth it. She stilled her twitching shoe. She was here now. The decision had already been made. Perhaps it had been when she'd opened the safe fourteen years ago. Even then, she'd known that one day she would come back for it. Never could let sleeping dogs lie, could you? The box swung open.
Docking Bay Four Ames Research Station
"Let's go." Hartman pushed her way past the lone docking officer, what looked like a rough bundle of off-white cloth cradled awkwardly in her arms and a gray pouch clutched in her hand. Eyes fixed on the waiting Rhino, Hartman did not so much as pause to return the man's impudent glare. She moved in a daze, barely nodding to Lewis as she passed. The Lieutenant Commander was as she'd left him, patiently waiting by the ship. He never lounged but it was strange to see him just standing by the old ship. Some part of her still expected to round the Rhino's nose to find Lewis in full uniform, ready for a sparring match.
Hartman carefully placed the bundle in the cockpit's single locker before crouching at the ship's control panel. The cockpit's wiring was a jumble of mismatched cables and converters and it took Hartman three finger wrenching attempts to pull away the panel covering the communications system. Hartman stared at the resultant snake's nest of cables in dismay. It was a mess, no two ways about it, and miles separated from the carefully bundled wires that dotted her Bisons or the simplistic systems that had adorned her Eagle. Transponders were not devices intended to be replaced painlessly. Of course, she had engineers to take care of the large transports. Poking around in a ship's innards was not a profession she'd ever intended to make a career of. Nonetheless, a few minutes worth of prodding and a handful of scratches rewarded her with the IFF terminal and she made the swap, pocketing the previously fitted transponder. It was a make-do job that would have had any electrical engineer crying into his degree, but the green light that flickered into existence when she hit 'test' was as solid a confirmation as she needed.
"Right. A long way from a pretty, but it'll do. I'll fire up the engines if you hail control, let them know we're hauling off." With the wiring in place, some of the tension had faded from Hartman's features. She was still on edge, but now there was something else there. Impatience.
On closer inspection, he realized it was two space flight suits, discolored with age...whatever it was, it was something that had not been used in a while. We all have pasts that we don't like to share, and rushing her into this will probably be a bad idea.
Lewis bottled up his curiosity and let Hartman work, nodding and giving a thumbs up when she asked him to hail control. Thinking of past lives made Lewis uncomfortable, bringing memories back to the fore that were best left untouched. But so it would be.
"Let's not waste time then" was all that he voiced aloud though.
Stars hung impartially beyond the Rhino's windows, stationary against the black sky. Gazing out at them, it was easy to forget just how quickly the freighter was moving. What meaning did human measurements, even thousands of kilometers, hold in comparison to the light-years that separated systems? Even the might of battleships seemed insignificant in comparison to the sheer scale of the universe.
"You ever hear of Thresher, Lewis?" Hartman flicked the autopilot on and twisted in her seat, pivoting to face Lewis. "There was an Ensign back at West Point I knew once, real ancient history buff. Spent every spare minute reading accounts from before settlement." A ghost of a smile darted across her face at the memory. It faded just as quickly as she continued. "Thresher was an attack submarine, back when navies still sailed on oceans. Lead ship of its class, with a crew of one hundred and twenty nine.
It went down a few years after launch. Dove too deep during a test and the systems that were meant to haul it back to the surface failed. When they finally found it on the ocean floor what was left of the sub was in pieces. Too much pressure, the boat crumpled like a tin can. Never did find the crew." She kept her voice terse, words filing out like the pages of a report. Those people, and the world they had inhabited, were long dead or forgotten. Still, imagining their fate, trapped in a slowly failing coffin with no line home, sent shivers running down her spine. "The boat was listed as 'on eternal patrol.' It's still there, in the registry. Not much of an end, but it was all the people then could've done. They tried to bring them home and failed.
I think we owe our people that much, don't you? Maybe we can't bring them all home, but I'll be damned if I'll give up trying." Hartman tapped the Rhino's display, calling up a registry entry. The Rhino was old and cheap enough to predate holographic displays so the image simply fuzzed into existence on the ship's screens, an old overlord class dreadnought entering a trade lane, fighter screen powering on just ahead, Alabama proudly emblazoned on the warship's hull. "You're looking at the last recorded image of Alabama, leaving to patrol Kepler. She stopped radioing in a week later. Officially, she's on eternal patrol, same as Thresher." She didn't need to add 'unofficially.' Lewis knew her better then that.
"Don't go getting your hopes up. The ship was lost. Just ain't too many people who know where to find it. Far as I know, I'm the only one who isn't likely to shoot someone before I tell them." She swiped the screen, closing the registry entry and calling up a nav map. "Thing is, there's another jump point in-system, out past the Matsuo cloud." She tapped the appropriate point on the map for emphasis. "Far as I can guess, Alabama and her escorts stumbled on that jump point and were attacked and destroyed when they reached the other side.
The other side of that hole's a Xeno strongpoint. I don't know how or when they built it, but it's been there for as long as I've known about the jump point. Same with Alabama's wreck." Boots hit the ground with a clunk as Hartman stepped out of her chair, eyeing the growing black cloud approaching the ship. Dark matter. The cloud had seemed welcoming, once. Now it just made her feel like a thief in a cemetery. "That's where I want to go. There's still sailors aboard Alabama, and I'd like-" She paused, seemingly surprised at her own momentary loss of composure. She gave a minuscule shake of her head and pushed on. "I mean to say, it would be good if someone else knew where to find them. I meant to bring them home, one day, when all this was done. I still do. But doing it now would' raise questions I just don't have answers for, and with Gallia at the door, well... We'll win. I know we will, but it's hard to know who'll be coming home. If I don't, Lewis, someone else needs to be there for that crew. I'd ask that it's you, and I'd ask that you see them first."
"I can't say that I knew about Thresher...but I do know about the Patrol. The Nomad War sent a lot of ships and their crew on Eternal Patrol...."Lewis said, grimacing slightly at the memory. He'd lost friends in that fashion, and the memory of an old scar long healed was still painful.
He nodded carefully as Hartman worked, pulling up records of the Alabama and it's last known vector. As Hartman continued to elaborate, Lewis leaned forward in his chair, the soft shine of interest unmistakable in his eyes. It was quickly followed by questions. How did Hartman know?
"Xenos..."Lewis said softly, his voice sounding tired. Coming from Denver, he knew exactly what had spurred that particular movement, and he couldn't help but feel a faint twinge of acceptance and sympathy towards those Rebels. They were misguided fools, however...and had no chance in hell to achieve what they'd set out to do. A part of him wished to fix that situation, he was obligated to. Mostly he scorned them, for if the Lewis family could ride away from the slump relatively unscathed and make a life for themselves...Liberty wasn't all bad.
"I understand, Jane" Lewis said quietly. He had never been one given to much expression, preferring to keep his feelings bottled up because they were not likely to do much good. This was an exception to the rule. He leaned forward and patted her shoulder gently.
"We'll get them back" He said, his voice carrying the same quiet conviction that had served him through all these years in the Liberty Navy.
"I know we will." Hartman shrugged off Lewis' hand, returning her attention to the ship, content to lose herself for a time in the mess of vectors and readouts. After dragging Thresher's story up, the mind-numbing complexities of flying a ship felt like a pleasant distraction.
The Alabama jump point loomed just beyond the edge of the dark matter cloud, blinded sensors flashing back online just in time to flag the point on the Rhino's map. They'd been lucky so far, the contacts list remaining almost eerily empty. Hartman should have felt relief at that. An encounter with a Xeno patrol was not something she was prepared for, even with their transponder flashing on her control panel. Somehow, the dark-matter enforced silence only set her further on edge.
She spared Lewis a glance. Resolute as ever, if the Lieutenant Commander felt an discomfort at flying into a terrorist stronghold he did nothing to display it. He would have made an excellent marine, she brooded, if the Navy hadn't grabbed him first.
A faint shudder ran through the Rhino, old plasteel panels groaning like reluctant farmhands, as a spherical probe detached from the ship's nose. Dotted with sensors and minuscule maneuvering jets around a central reactor, it looked like someone had driven a pin through a golf ball. The probe hung in space for a moment before a fire blossomed in its engines, propelling the tiny ship towards the jump hole. Jane watched the sensors until the ship vanished, accelerating over the event horizon.
More then a decade had passed since she had last traveled this way, and the probe was the only means she had of checking if the jump hole here was still linked. Low-mass holes could change destination almost on a whim, branching off to some distant point in the system. She deliberately forced the alternative from her mind. Flying into an unstable jump hole was something no-one had ever come back to talk about, though her flight manual offered various delightful theories on what happened to those who made the mistake of taking the journey. Hartman had no desire to get killed solving the mystery.
The probe's report flashed back on her screen in washed-out grey letters. Jump point, stable. Location... What followed was a stream of numbers identifying the system the probe had found itself in relative to the center of Sirius, or at least humanity's best guess at the Sector's center. Hartman checked the figures against the transponder's record and gave a satisfied nod.
"Looks like the key still fits." She said, half-musing. Here's hoping no-one's home.
Unknown Alabama System
Contact reports flooded Hartman's display as the Rhino emerged from jump space, a sea of dots with 'unknown' hovering above them like a cluster of electrical thunderclouds. Hartman's curse froze in her throat. Had the Xenos beefed up their defenses since her last visit? It was possible, and if the IFF hadn't taken the unarmored Rhino would be easy prey, even for the quality of pilot the Xenos attracted.
With agonizing slowness, the white dots marking contacts coalesced to a faint black background. Asteroid field, though a handful of blue circles identified Xeno ships and defense platforms, either patrolling further in the field or reading the freighter's transponder code, respectively.
No hail greeted them. There was nothing particularly strange on that count. This was the Xeno's home turf, after all. What need was there with the turrets set to dust anything that didn't quack like a Xeno?
Alabama herself was waiting for them just beyond the jump hole, a fallen giant still standing watch. Powerless weapons almost twice the length of Hartman's ship protruded from the hull like blisters, muzzles still tracking long-departed assailants. Where the ship's engine was meant to be there was only a jagged hole, the tattered results of Xeno incendiaries ripping into the fuel stores, exposing ship and crew to hard vacuum. Hartman had managed to retrieve that much from what was left of the ship's records, though she had long since disposed of the device it had been stored on. Another mistake of a misspent youth, no doubt. Bow crumpling against a large asteroid, the hulking mass of the dreadnought was intimidating, even in death.
Xeno slogans and rallying calls dotted the hull, some traced by weapons fire, others through more artistic, though far from tasteful, means. Someone had traced a rattlesnake coiling around the star on the warship's bow, tongue flicking out to taste the ship's name. Hartman eyed the scene with quiet fury. Destroying the ship had been one thing. Defacing what had become the grave of more then six hundred people was altogether worse. Hartman stifled her distaste, powering the Rhino closer to the dreadnought's warped engine bay with almost reverent care until Alabama blocked the system's star from view.
"Welcome to Alabama." Hartman said, reaching behind the seat for the vacuum suits. There was no warmth in her voice.
The journey had passed in relative silence, a pervasive shadow of depression having settled on the two-man expedition. Lewis did not trouble Hartman anymore, sensing that this was an issue she felt deeply about. He had plenty of questions, but waited for the right time to raise them.
A small part of him wondered why he was doing this. Taking a dangerous ship right in the heart of a Xeno Stronghold, for no good purpose apart from sentiment. The strategist in him was screaming, telling him to abort and bring Hartman back to her senses. As much as it was cruel to think so, the dead did not benefit from their actions. It was something he'd reconciled himself towards a long time ago.
She hadn't though. And Lewis backed up the few friends he'd made in the world.
As the damaged hull of Alabama floated into view, Lewis grimaced inwardly. He'd seen what criminals would do to Navy personnel and Warships if they captured them...but it pained him still. His fists clenched for a brief moment while he concentrated on his anger, willing to control it.
After a few moments, he took a deep breath.
"Let's go," He said curtly, reaching for a space suit that'd help them make the short trip over.
"Three." The automated countdown was unnaturally calm, clear through the faint crackle of the helmet radio. She forced herself to count her breaths, slowing the heart that was threatening to beat its way out of her chest, and tried not to let her nerves show. She'd never liked this part. "Two." The magnetic locks on her boots engaged as the ship's gravity vanished, leaving her floating in her boots, alongside a similarly buoyant Lewis. Something in her inner ear protested the sudden lack of up and down, the faint familiar nausea that came with moving in zero-g making an unwelcome reappearance. Doing her best to ignore it, she gave Lewis' oxygen supply a final check, him doing the same for her. These suits were older then the Rhino, and relied on mechanical gauges rather then the digital displays of military-issue equipment. The first warning she'd get if she ran out of air would be her choking in her helmet.
"One. Depressurization complete." The red airlock light hovering in front of her flickered to green then vanished as the door vanished into the steel floor beneath them, leaving the pair staring into the dark void of Alabama's engine bay, silhouetted by the brighter halo of open space. Lit from behind, jagged edges marking the scars of explosives, it was eerily reminiscent of the maw of some gigantic predator. And we're going right into it. She quickly derailed that particular train of thought before it could take hold. She flicked her suit lights on, careful to keep one gloved hand on the railing, lest she spiral off into the gap between the two ships. The suits had small stabilizing jets of their own and fuel enough to outlast their owner's oxygen supply, if it came to that. Somehow, the thought didn't make her feel any better.
"Ready?" Lewis' voice was tinny in the suit's speaker. Hartman gave a thumbs-up, not quite trusting her voice. With the deliberate awkwardness that came with working in vacuum, Lewis rotated, feet to the interior airlock door. Hartman copied the motion, her arms protesting the awkward position, grasping the rail behind her like a diver at the blocks, and flicked a switch on her wrist, disabling the magnetic locks that tethered her to the ship. She took a breath, checked Alabama still floated ahead of her, and pushed. Empty space swallowed them for a moment, the dizzying darkness of eternity spiraling away beneath their feet as Lewis and Hartman fell away from the Rhino, the little freighter's maneuvering jets firing to keep it steady against the energy of their movement. Hartman focused on the yawning cavern that had been Alabama's engine bay and hoped the floors were still intact.
Engine Bay LNS Alabama
It was with a profound sense of relief that Hartman returned magnetism to her boots, settling to the engine bay's buckled floor in a gentle puff of dust. Strips of steel lay about around her like the messy remnants of some animal's meal. Faded and torn labels still adorned the shattered engines, shining bright in her suit's lights, the ancient yellow text still warning of radiation and advising the crew to exercise appropriate caution.
"Nothing but a whole lot of mess here." Hartman said, more to break the silence then out of any need to convey information. "Any crew in here would've caught vacuum when the engines went up."
The signs of damage faded as they moved further into the ship, torn walls slowly reforming to bulkheads, albeit dotted with bullet holes. Viewed without the distorting filter of atmosphere the ship's scars were almost perfectly sharp, more like a museum piece then the real thing. Something brushed against her arm, and Hartman spun, hand dropping to her side, seeking a pistol that wasn't there. Lewis retracted his arm, the faint amusement in his eyes quickly dying, and raised a hand to point off into the darkness.
"We've got a body." He said it as though he was reporting a particularly odd weather pattern. Something strange, certainly, but not worthy of particular concern. In a way, he was right to. Both of them had seen enough bodies in their lives to ignore the little voice that screamed and mourned and fought against the objectification. Hartman ignored the sensation, slightly uncomfortable at how easy it had become.
The body in question was spreadeagled against the bulkhead at the end of the hallway, dead eyes staring out at Hartman's Rhino through the opaque visor of his marine-issue combat armor. A series of pencil-thin holes dotted his chest, blood speckling the wall and floor around. She wiped a veneer of blood from the man's chestplate, exposing a name."Lance Corporal Holden, poor bastard. Whatever the Xenos were using, it punched straight through the armor." Not all of Alabama's Marines had died in their bunks, it seemed. If she closed her eyes, she could almost see the slate-gray armored figures moving in the gloom of the depressurized engine bay, recoilless rifles barking their defiance at the invaders that poured into their crippled ship. The thought filled her with a morbid sort of pride.
Lewis nodded faintly, in appreciation and respect for the departed soul. "He went down fighting....and it''s probably what he expected and wanted."
He looked around. There was no movement, and no artificial lighting. Sound wasn''t to be expected in a vacuum, but Lewis still felt uneasy. Something in his gut told him to expect the worst.
He nearly tapped Hartman on the shoulder to get her attention before realizing he didn''t need to. Speaking through the suit's voice commmunicator distorted his voice, but he needed to get used to it. "What're we looking for?"
"Probably did, at that." She tore her gaze from the fallen marine, turning to Lewis. "The CiC's the best bet for the crew manifest. Last time I was here, I only really saw the bridge. Wasn't much to speak of there. Dreadnaught design hasn't changed in the past few decades, so CiC should be amidships."
"Lead the way," Lewis said curtly.
Hartman nodded, stepping around the body. There was something quietly unnerving about the dead ship. Every warship she'd ever served on had had a life to it, the soft hum of reactors, the clattering of the crew. No ship under power was ever completely silent. It leant the engineering bay's tattered corridors the still reverence of a tomb.
"This ain't right." Hartman paused, just ahead of Lewis in the cramped corridor, Rhino a faint speck behind them. Ahead of her, a sealed hatch loomed, devoid of the bullet holes that dotted the rest of the ship. Hartman swore under her breath. "Lewis, this wasn't here before. See those welds? Someone's been playing patch-up."
Lewis walked up to the door, observing the welds carefully. After a few moments, he nodded. "Someone's been trying to fix things around here, seems." He walked back to Hartman, brown eyes focusing on her with resolve. As much as it mattered to Hartman, this could potentially be a death trap. "Do we want to go on? We're not prepared for any confrontation at all."
She turned, gray eyes meeting brown. Thirteen years, she'd waited to come back. What difference did another year make? "We'll go back. It's not worth pushing on, not until we know what's going on." She glanced back down the corridor. "The dead can wait a little long-"
A shudder ran through the ship, static screaming in her ear as the suit's radio flared and died.
Her companion immediately switched his mind into battle mode, it was a subconscious shfit made as easily as wearing an old pair of boots. Lewis looked around sharply, hands clenched and his body loosened into a fighting stance.
"The hell was that?" He barked.
It was a sensation Hartman recognised from long, dreary, months spent on carrier duty. Rumble, the Marines had called it, the controlled convulsing of a ship's dampners as missiles left their tubes.
The realisation hit like an orbital drop. Alabama wasn't some long-term project by a bunch of loons. She was already operational. The hissing of her radio faded as the suit's systems reassumed control.
"Torpedoes." She turned, watching the Rhino through Alabama's tattered hull. The transponder. She'd been through, and yet... "One guess where they're going." She forced the calm into her voice. There was only one ship in-system that could have given those weapons reason to fire, and she'd bought it there. There was no point running. There wasn't a human being in Sirius that could outrun a missile in flight.
Behind her, Lewis was already grimacing and thinking of alternate ways out. The Rhino was about to be FUBAR within seconds, and they had to find another way out. It would be death for both of them otherwise. He didn't panic, though...long years of exprience did help as they infused Lewis with calm enough to deal with this ***** up situation.
"Any idea where the armory is on this, Jane?" He asked sharply.
Hartman didn't answer, eyes fixed on the freighter and the twin white contrails that streaked towards it like the accusing fingers of a God. A moment later, they impacted, and Alabama's hangar bay flashed with a brilliant white light that forced her eyes closed as the Rhino vanished in a fireball of explosives.