The Turret: Starclan Foundation Page 9
Jock sat in the cramped confines of the probe, thinking he would never have to do this again. Just over an hour out, and well on my way home. Then what?
For some reason, likely because his training was highly detailed, Jock hit the computer input and checked his initial course and velocity. Not that he could do anything about it, but…
“This is NOT good! Computer, recalculate!” The numbers didn’t change. The course and speed Jock was on would get him to Earth in exactly four years, three months, and two days.
The probe had fourteen days of life support.
“Aw, shit!”
***
S.T. Thistle
Far Ort Cloud
Standard Earth Date December 19 3446
“What was that?” Dennis said out loud. He had just caught a flash of light, almost like a railgun muzzle flash, on the surface of the ADS. Did some one leave?
“Insufficient information for little ole me to give poochie-kims a good answer!” Sally responded.
“Sally, take a nap!”
“Oh, Okay, then. Goodnight!!”
Can a computer pout?
The former marine adjusted some settings on his sensors, and had the computer predict course and speed…Damn peculiar. Way too slow to get anyone home, or any info packet. Could it have been a misfire?
Dennis adjusted the course of the Thistle. If it was a misfire, he was the only hope the occupant had of not ending up a Popsicle.
***
Stealth Probe 4649
Ort-Lunar Transit
Standard Earth Date December 20 3446
Jock went through every tape and file that Shannon had left him, and every video and note he had taken on the alien ship. He had the answers: power generation an order of magnitude higher, the drives and weapons to use it, how to beat the Bug invasion, and the Faster-Than-Light drives.
But, what good would it do him? He’d been able to hack into his guidance computer system, and had turned on his reactor early. All he needed now was something massive to push off of. That was the problem; nothing would be close enough for two years.
“ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! Collision course!” The computer scresmed. He saw it on the limited sensors carried by the probe; it could only be that tug, the Thistle! Jock hit his hacked computer, and flashed a quick IFF, the only transmitter he had. On and off, on and off. Jock hoped the old marine would see and understand the ancient code…
***
S.T. Thistle
Far Ort Cloud
Standard Earth Date December 20 3446
“There it is! A code…S…O…S! Well, I’ll be damned!” The gunnery sergeant slapped his thigh. “Lock onto that IFF broadcast and give me a course alteration for intercept.”
“Sure thing, handsome!”
“Now, all I have to do is figure out what to do once I get there!”
“Heh-he, just slide it right up inside, sugar!” The deep, husky female voice caused the old Sarge to blush. Just a little.
Dennis rolled his eyes and tried to think. Adapt. Improvise. Overcome…
The big Space Tug had a huge amount of thrust, which made it nimble when not towing barges, which had been its status way too often lately. Trap let the computer plot the intercept and control the thrusters while he tried to figure out how to get the occupant aboard.
“Let’s see…it’s fifteen, no, sixteen meters long and two meters wide. My shuttle bay is fourteen-point-five meters by eight-point-three meters. Damn I can’t…wait a minute. Computer, give me the diagonal measurement of the shuttle bay.”
“Diagonal measurement of the shuttle bay is sixteen-point-six meters along the floor, stud.”
And a touch more from top inside corner to bottom outside corner! I can do it.
***
Stealth Probe 4649
Ort-Lunar Transit
Standard Earth Date December 20 3446
“All scanners, on-line now!” Jock’s hacked computer interface filled the tiny vid screen with the image of the Space Tug’s three huge drive pods. What is he going to do? I don’t have a space suit!
Just a moment later Jock felt the docking gravity beam lock onto his probe. Okay, so if this guy could make it to a base in less than two weeks, he’d buy the old marine a beer. No, he’d buy the guy his dad’s favorite single malt Scotch. He could see the green labeled bottle now, fifteen year-old Glenfiddich. Stay focused.
Jock half expected to feel the acceleration begin, for the burn towards Europa, or even Mars. But, as minute after minute went by, he began to wonder. Suddenly he felt the probe move.
***
S.T. Thistle
Docking Position
Standard Earth Date December 20 3446
Dennis Trap hated zero-gee operations. He had extensive training, and more than a little actual experience in zero-gee environments, but he still disliked it intensely. But that didn’t matter when someone’s life was on the line. Someone depended on him pulling this off, and he was going to do it.
The retired Gunny moved out of the airlock. One of the ‘perks’ of having twenty plus years in The Corps was the access to military surplus equipment. Gunny had managed to acquire a low-hour Mark III cargo-handling suit, complete with high-thrust propulsion units and extra-strength tethers. He moved the massive rig out to the stealth probe, or at least out to where the gravity beams said the stealth probe was. He had a tough time finding the probe, until the landing lights lit up.
“Just stay put.” Suddenly, the entire probe shimmered into visibility, a flat black, double-ended needle shape. Good, that will help.
Trap clanged onto the probe, but fortunately the gravity beams kept the momentum from pushing the probe out into space. He managed to clamp a GravTeth onto one end of the probe, near the needlepoint. He considered tethering both ends, but decided against it. It would be too hard for him to control and attach both lines.
The line secure, Dennis hit the control and cut the gravity beams to the probe. If that probe had any momentum away from the Thistle, Dennis could be dragged out into space along with it. Dennis held his breath, braced for the pull that did not come.
After a few seconds he exhaled, turned and hit the thrusters, pulling the probe straight to the left-hand edge of the shuttle bay.
“Sally, give me a clearance reading countdown, quarter meter intervals.”
“Sure thang, Shuggar!”
“Oh, brother.”
“Two meters, Darlin’.”
The retired sergeant moved straight along the sidewall of the bay, building the direction of the momentum of the probe into the bay.
“One an’ three quarters in, Handsome. One an’ a half. Oh!”
At the halfway point on the wall, he stopped, placing both feet on the wall as he watched the tapered probe slide past him.
“Oh, baby, you’re almost all the way in! One meter. Uh, three quarters! Ye-ass!”
When the first quarter of the probe passed, Trap pushed with both feet, both hands impacting the probe. Trap timed it so the hand closest to the front of the probe hit first, just to help begin the rotation.
“Half a meter, OH!”
The plan was working so far. Dennis had transferred his momentum to the nose of the probe, causing it to start rotating in towards the center of the shuttle bay. All he could do now is watch, sweating despite his suit’s cooling system. The probe weighed nothing in the zero-G of open space, it still had several tons of mass. And several tons of momentum.
“Oh, Sweety, you’re almost there! A quarter meter! Oh, Baby! You’re IN!”
As it happened, the old gunnery sergeant with a disdain for math without practical application had figured it out perfectly, and executed that plan nearly so. The probe rotated as it glided into the bay, until the nose hit the high far corner just as the tail hit the floor in the near corner. As soon as that looked likely, Dennis hit the controls for the bay doors, closing the probe into the bay.
Dennis rolled his eyes at the computer’s theatrics,
and it nearly killed him as several tons of probe pinned his suit securely to the shuttle bay wall. He would have to wait until the doors closed and the bay pressurized so he could squeeze out of his Mark III suit.
***
West Lake Road
Skaneateles, NY
Standard Earth Date December 20 3446
“I think he looks just like Jock.” Agnes said as she held the infant in her arms. “I just can’t put him in that car seat!”
“I know better than to argue with you, Hon. He is a good-looking boy. I like the name, too.”
“When will we get to Sandy’s place?” Angie slowly rocked the little boy in her arms, smiling at his face.
“About six, I think. Why did she have to move into Syracuse?”
“Duh, she’s getting her law degree from Syracuse University! Hey, slow down! Baby-on-board!”
“She doesn’t know, does she?” Don reached down and stroked the infant’s hair.
“Eyes on the road, and both hands on the wheel, mister! No, she doesn’t. She’s waited this long for Jock, how will she react to this?”
“You know her, Aggie. Not a selfish bone in her body, and she’s devoted to Jock. She will be thrilled with Jack, and hopeful that Jock will come home. To her.”
“I hope it works out this time. They were so good together. They deserve each other.”
“Aggie, when he found out about his dad, he forgot about everything else. He didn’t even tie up the cat, and he used to treat that sailboat like gold.
“Sandy gave him the space he asked for, but he had to leave before she could give him the support he needed.”
“And she never complained. She went off alone, but always seemed happy. I don’t understand her at all.”
“Sandy always said Jock would come back when the time was right. Something about a dream. In a lot of ways, Sandy reminded me of Jacks mother. Six years she’s waited.
“And Jack’s mother. Shannon. I hope she’ll be okay.”
“Donald Wade, if there was a chance she’d be okay,” Agnes looked up and gazed at her husband through moist eyes, “she wouldn’t have left Jack with us. Those papers she left us about him, have you looked at them at all? She left him with people that love Jock. She’s not coming back from where ever she’s going. Don, I don’t think she existed.”
“Don’t be silly, Aggie. I saw here…oh, I see what you mean. Undercover. What do we tell Sandy? What do we tell Jock?”
“When we get to Sandy’s, we’ll bring the papers in with us, darling. We’ll all read them together. Just listen to her, a lot. It’s got to be… Donnie, why is that truck…DON, LOOK OUT!!”
***
Grand Central Terminal
Manhattan
Standard Earth Date December 20 3446
A frumpy looking dark haired woman bumped into the porter as she exited the train. “Hey, c’mon awready!” her Bronx accent sounded over the buzz of the crowd. She hurried out of the terminal, a small bag slung over her shoulder. She walked a few blocks south and disappeared into the 42nd Street subway.
An elegant, gorgeous blonde wearing a sleeveless black dress exited the subway at Park and 33rd Street. People noticed the conspicuous clan crest tattoo on her right arm near her shoulder as she strode aloofly into Pompodious’ Steakhouse. She walked up to the maître d’, and asked him a question. When he answered, she brushed past him, walking straight into the exclusive private room he had indicated.
Three seconds after she entered the private room, the restaurant exploded. The entire city block was vaporized.
***
S.T. Thistle
Mess
Standard Earth Date December 20 3446
“Welcome to my humble abode!” You have your choice for dinner, peanut butter or ham on whole wheat. Optional processed cheese on either. No mayo, mustard.”
“Anything is better than eating vacuum, Gunny.” Jock was happy to be alive. Food would come later.
“JG, what do you know about a ship coming out here?”
“Not a thing. If there was one coming out, I would have known about it, even if it was due to arrive after I left. Why?”
“Take a look at this.” Trap handed him his datatab, displaying the readout from his sensors.
“Have you received any IFF on this ship?”
“That’s the funny part, Lieutenant. They’re running silent and dark.”
“Gunny, I don’t like that. Not one bit.”
***
Crouse Irving Memorial Hospital
Syracuse
Standard Earth Date December 21 3446
“Here he is, miss. He was thrown clear of the crash, and somehow he survived, barely a scratch. Both of the parents are deceased. I know they were your friends, Miss. I am sorry for your loss.”
The doctor sounded tired, Sandy thought. He’d been up all night, trying to save Aggie. Don died instantly, they told her. Aggie hung on until she saw Sandy. A baby! What do I do now? All my friends, gone! And Jock…does he even think about me anymore?
“Thank you doctor. They told me something about papers?”
“Yes, the guardianship papers were held on the datatab found near the boy. His name is Jack, and the Wades had named you as his guardian if something…if you agree, of course.”
“Yes, of course. He has no other family. Both their parents passed away within the last three years. Poor Jack Wade, I’ll make sure you know how special your parents were! Do I take him now, Doctor? Is there some legal red tape or something?” Sandy Marx looked up at the doctor, her face calm and composed, but her eyes looking like a dam about to burst.
“Well, his name isn’t…”
“Miss Marx?” The doctor’s explanation was cut short by a strong baritone voice from the hallway.
“Yes?” Sandy turned to see a middle-aged Marine Captain in Dress Blue uniform standing in the doorway. Oh, God! Jock! Her mind screamed as her hand came up to cover her mouth. Her face went pale as her eyes widened in fear of what would come next.
The first dream began playing in front of her again. She saw herself holding a baby, and Jock standing next to her, smiling. Then the dream faded as her mind flashed back to the Marines telling Jock, ripping him from her. The empty look on his face, and how he shut her, and everyone else, out of his life after that. Throwing her into four years of hell. How her faith in that dream faded a bit more each of those years. Until she asked. Then she thought she understood, until now. If Jock was dead, the dreams, were they lies? The room started to get darker…
“Hello. My name’s Jock, what’s yours?”
“Oh. Dream! You were in my dream!” He thinks I’m cute!
“Uh, okay… sure.”
“Sorry. You just startled me as I was talking to Aggie here, about, em, a show.”
“So, um, what show was it…”
“Miss Marx, everything is fine, Ma’am. I am Captain Anthony DiBello.” The Captain’s voice and his hand gripping her elbow yanked Sandy back to the present. “I’ve come here to discuss some things with you. Doctor, if there is a room where we may be alone?”
Sandy’s knees wobbled as the two men led her out into the hallway.
***
Lunar Launch Station
Tsiolkovskiy Crater
Standard Earth Date December 21 3446
Jericho Bucktooth looked at the message as the encryption decoded it. It took him three seconds to read it and slam his fist onto the table. The clear text stayed visible for twelve seconds, then all traces of the message vanished from his datatab.
The Lieutenant Commander sat and dropped his head into his hands.
***
SS Python
Mars-Ort transit
Standard Earth Date December 21 3446
“ADS 1437, this is SS Python, over.” Captain Hans Richter called.
“Python, this is ADS 1437, Ensign Bird commanding. You are cleared for docking at Alpha port. Just follow the lights, gentlemen.”
“Will
do, Turret.” Richter motioned to cut the comm link. I wonder if he knows he will not survive this?
“Mr. Bilingsley, can you target the docking port without damaging the alien ship?”
“Not a problem, sir. A two-kiloton missile should do the trick nicely. Just say when.”
“Let’s make sure we get all the data from the ADS computer first. Is it still transmitting Lee?”
“Looks like about another ninety minutes, sir.”
“Very well then, stand by, Mr. Billingsley.”
“Do not wait too long, Captain. There is a Navy ship on its way here. You have a lead of about two days on them.”
“Yes, yes, I am aware of the time and dates, Mr. Hale.”
“You are sure there are no more of the alien ships lurking about?”
“Mr. Hale, the only thing within twenty cubic AUs is an old ore-barge tug that went off in some wild direction yesterday. We are quite alone, I assure you.”
***
S.T. Thistle
Bridge
Standard Earth Date December 21 3446
“You’re sure of the mass of the two ship sections?” Dennis Trap was actually intuitively good at math when he saw a practical use for it, but he still didn’t like doing it.
“Yes, I did the gravimetric measurements myself. Are you sure we can pull this off?”
“As long as you pilot the Thistle, I think I can grab the two ship pieces without slowing us too much. That other ship is likely to be armed.” Trap kept entering data into his datatab. After a few minutes, he sat back and waited.