The artemis trilogy, p.8
The Artemis Trilogy, page 8
“I don’t understand. Didn’t the ORC guy the skipper put you in contact with tell you he’d look into your records? Surely once they can pull the file up on you, they’ll be able to inform you of everything you need to know, including who your family is.”
“And what if my loved ones are just like the people out there?” Logan waved at the exit and beyond it to the impoverished peoples of the station. “If I have a family, they’re no doubt the reason I joined the ORC. If I return home, I will have failed them.”
“You want to get back in the cockpit? I get that. I’ve been a pilot all my life, too. Truth be told, while the Ringwood is one ugly lady, I do love steering her.” Speer knocked back his shot of tequila and slammed it down on the table. “I’m more of a lover than a fighter, but I can understand wanting to get out there and kick some Arcadian ass. Especially after they shot you down.”
“It’s going to be difficult if I’m not wanted.”
“I don’t think it’s that you’re not wanted. They just need time to ensure you’re in the right headspace. The ORC is a complicated machine, and there is a war on, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“I noticed.” Logan glared at him. “All the more reason they could use another skilled pilot.”
“With all due respect, they don’t even know that you’re a skilled pilot. There’s a reason they’re wary.” He pointed at Logan’s head. “Up there’s been all scrambled. Being a pilot isn’t just about going out there and blowing the enemy away, it’s about being one with those you’re fighting with. Trust me, I know how it all works.”
Logan nursed his shot of tequila, taking in Speer’s words. The man made a lot of sense. Not bad considering he was half eviscerated.
Novikova rejoined them and sat back down, staring at the quiet pair. “Did I miss something?”
Logan slid his tequila to the middle of the table with the empty glasses. “No.”
“Are you okay?”
He nodded and stood from his seat. “Fine. I just think the noise is getting to me. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Novikova went to stand and say something, but Speer took hold of her arm and shook his head. Logan continued out of the establishment and past the ghastly dressed hookers, hoping to find somewhere to clear his mind. Maybe, just maybe, something from his past might come back to him.
THIRTEEN
Logan walked out of the habitat area and into one of the docking arms, where Telstar Station’s night shift staff plied their trade, and maintenance men and women went about their business frantically doing repairs to the dilapidated facility.
He turned a corner and made his way between the shanties he’d passed earlier in the day. Even though it was later, most of the inhabitants were still wide awake. He couldn’t blame them. How could someone sleep when they were so worried about their survival? Not only would they agonize over where their next meal was coming from, but they’d also have to be on constant guard in a community where people would be so desperate.
Beggars put out their hands for spare change and food, while children played amongst themselves as if they didn’t have a care in the world. A hollowness filled Logan, looking at their tiny faces. He rested a leg against a nearby viewport and peered deep into the stars beyond the station. It was as if he were at square one again. While he’d never wish to go back to Brindara, there was a simplicity about the desert moon that was lacking with his homecoming to civilization.
He sighed and returned to the habitat section, making his way to the small apartment which had been organized for him. He couldn’t thank the crew of the Ringwood enough for doing a collection for him so he could spend a few days in an abode of his own.
In the distance, a clank of boots on the deck echoed through the long corridor. Four figures hurried in his direction. Three were younger men than he, while trailing behind them was a familiar but much older individual.
“Vernon?” Logan said.
Captain Estrada’s ORC contact stopped, while the trio brushed by him.
“What’s going on?” Logan asked.
“We have a problem.” Vernon resumed toward the docking arm, and Logan followed.
“What kind of problem?”
“I’ve received word from the operations deck that the scopes have detected an Arcadian spy drone in the area. They got close to the station and did a series of scans.”
“So? This is a civilian facility. What are they going to find here?”
“You have to understand there’s no such thing as a civilian facility out in the Rim.” Vernon led him around a corner. “While not everyone’s a member of the ORC, most are supportive of the rebellion. So, for example, if the civilian administration were asked to hide a weapon bin aboard their trading station for the ORC, the answer would usually be yes.”
Logan raised his eyebrows. “The ORC has a weapon bin on Telstar?”
“A few, actually. And fairly sizeable ones. If that drone proceeds to its ship of operations, we’re up the crap. The Arcadians will come in here and shut the facility down. Those found to have been involved will be tried for crimes against the Empire.”
Logan considered all those who called Telstar home. He hadn’t thought their lives could get any more difficult, but if what Vernon was saying was true, they were in for a hell of a surprise.
They continued on until they went through an enormous set of doors onto a flight deck. On it were five ORC fighters, with exactly the same configuration to the one he’d crashed on Brindara. The three men who’d been with Vernon suited up and prepared to climb up the ladders to their cockpits.
Vernon went over to them and gave them their instructions, slapping each on the helmet for good luck, before sending them up into their fighters.
Logan looked at the two spare fighters at the other end of the deck. “You have two more. I could—”
“Not a chance, hotshot.” Vernon walked toward him. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“But—”
“This is not a discussion. I don’t need someone who barely knows his own name out there with my pilots, and besides—”
“Surely you can use me.” Logan stared into the old man’s eyes, swearing there was some kind of compassion in there.
“No. Get out of here!” Vernon left through the large doors, no doubt on his way to the operations deck to coordinate the mission.
Behind Logan, the fighters lifted off and flew across the flight deck to the launch doors. They fired their thrusters and bounded off into the depths of space. He crossed his arms, and his gaze made its way toward the two lonely fighters in the corner. He checked to see if there was anyone else around and strolled over to the closest of the crafts.
With his hands on his hips, he stared up at the fighter and then at the orange ORC flight suit hanging on the extended forward landing strut. He remembered the discussion he’d had with Speer. The man might have come across as a bit of an ass, and Logan couldn’t doubt what he said was for his own good. But something in the back of his mind kept drawing him to the flight suit. It could’ve been the alcohol talking, too. But he hadn’t had nearly as much as the others. And besides, he was sure it was something else. He just wasn’t sure what.
To hell with it!
Logan pulled the flight suit from the landing strut and suited up, popping on his helmet and clicking it into place. He ascended the ladder and climbed into the cockpit. With a nudge, he pushed the ladder away and tugged the canopy down over his head.
Everything about the inside of the cockpit was identical to the one that’d nearly become his tomb on Brindara. His hands ran over the console as if it were second nature, and he got the fighter’s engine started. A rough vibration rumbled through this body, and all the controls lit up.
Logan strapped himself in and put his right hand on the maneuvering lever. With his left, he fired the ventral thrusters and retracted the landing struts. His fighter hovered above the deck, and he gently nudged the lever to get a feel for its maneuverability. Satisfied, he punched the rear thrusters and powered his way through the launch doors, out into space.
He activated the scopes, and three blips appeared beyond his port quarter, streaming away from Telstar Station in a typical V-formation. It didn’t take him long to figure out it was the three fighters Vernon had sent off after the Arcadian spy drone. He pointed the nose of his craft over the top of the docking arm, doing a barrel roll for good measure to see if his fighter could do what it advertised. With ease it performed the maneuver, and he set off after the other fighters. Logan could only wonder what Vernon would be thinking back on Telstar. He counted his lucky stars he wouldn’t be there to find out.
FOURTEEN
“Green One to Green Two and Three, are you detecting the drone on your scopes?”
Lieutenant Crawford stared at his own scopes in his cockpit and adjusted the spectrum, picking up the minute blip right at the edge of his instruments’ range.
“Green Two to Green One. That’s an affirmative over here,” came the first reply over the comm.
“Green Three to Green One. I’ve got the same reading on my scopes,” came the other.
“Adjust your headings and plot a course for the drone,” Crawford instructed them. “Go to maximum speed. Let’s chase this bastard down.”
“Roger that,” the two pilots said in unison.
The three fighters set off, remaining in formation, and steadily began to rein in the small unmanned craft. Crawford didn’t know where its mother ship was, but it was likely an Arcadian vessel hiding in an adjacent star system. Regardless, they had to destroy it before it reached home, to ensure the secrets aboard Telstar Station remained out of the Empire’s hands. With its destruction, the Arcadians would probably attempt more reconnaissance, but by that stage the ORC would have time to move the weapons bins off the station.
Another blip appeared astern of the three fighters, and Crawford narrowed his eyes at the readings. “What the hell? Green One and Two, are you picking up the new bogey?”
They both replied to the affirmative, and Crawford did his best to adjust the scopes to the stern to get a closer look. “What’s another fighter doing out here?” he said to himself.
Vernon had made it abundantly clear to him that there was to be no communications between his squadron and Telstar Station for security purposes, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t communicate with their incoming pursuer. “Lieutenant Crawford to unidentified fighter craft, please identify yourself.
Silence lingered for a moment, and then a wave of static crackled over the comm. “This is Nathan Logan.”
“Nathan Logan?” Crawford remembered bumping into him before they’d left Telstar. “What the hell are you doing out here!” he asked the amnesia-affected man.
“I thought I’d come and give you a hand,” the wayward pilot replied.
“Has this been authorized?”
“Uh, not exactly.”
Crawford couldn’t afford to babysit some headcase while on such an important mission. “I’m ordering you to immediately return to base.”
He was met with silence.
“Logan?”
“I can’t do that,” the reply finally came.
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
The static disappeared, and the comm went dead. Crawford bit on his bottom lip and tried to reopen the channel. But he had no luck. If he were in any other situation, he’d have sent one of the other fighters to take care of the rogue and tow his ass back to base, but he couldn’t afford to lose one of them on such an important mission.
You better stay out of the way, you lunatic…
Logan powered toward the fighters but took pause when a series of new blips emerged on his scopes. “What the hell are they?”
At first there were only two, then three, but as he continued closing, hundreds upon thousands of them appeared dead ahead. He wondered if instead of the spy drone being launched by a single vessel, a fleet of Arcadian ships deployed it. He shook his head. There were far too many contacts for that.
When he neared, a visual became possible. Thousands of interstellar boulders in the form of an asteroid field appeared, and the Arcadian drone plotted a course straight into the heart of it. Either its mother ship was within it, or the advanced AI controlling it figured it was a good area to fool its pursuers. Vernon’s three pilots shadowed it in with caution.
Logan produced thrust in the opposite direction and slowed to the edge of the field. With the naked eye, he picked up the three fighters breaking formation. Their plan of attack was likely to coral the drone and surround it from all sides. And while it was the correct course of action, there was one problem. If their target was as maneuverable as it appeared, three fighters in such a large area would have difficulty containing it, let alone destroying it.
On the scopes, an opening became apparent, and he took his chance, making his way through and flying toward their position. The trio ahead of him weaved in, out, and around the asteroids as if they were dancing amongst the stars. With all the interference from the surroundings rocks, the drone had quickly disappeared.
“Nathan Logan. What are you doing?” the question from Lieutenant Crawford reverberated through the speakers in his helmet.
“I told you I was coming to help.” Logan broke to port, dodging an incoming asteroid. “Do the math, Lieutenant. Four fighters are better than three.”
“I want you to break off from the area immediately.”
Logan cut the channel and checked his scopes hoping to find the drone, but it was using the blind spots created by the asteroids with precision. He set a course for one of the larger space boulders and raked across its surface, using not only his scopes but his eyes, too. He lamented it would be akin to searching for a needle in a haystack.
Then, as if the gods were looking down on him, a black speck in the form of the Arcadian drone raced from starboard and flew so close to his canopy that it almost crashed into him. He pulled up immediately and used his maneuvering thrusters to turn and pursue.
Out of nowhere an ORC fighter brushed past him, nearly slamming into the starboard side. Logan dodged it just in the nick of time and continued the pursuit, while the other fighters converged on the drone from the other side of the enormous asteroid. Logan smiled, imagining the issue the AI matrix would be experiencing. He slowed and sat back, blocking its only avenue of escape, on the chance it would double back on itself.
He activated his weapons system, and the eight-missile arsenal came to life, along with a full battery of railgun rounds. The targeting system lit up, and it homed in on the drone.
The drone made a dash for it through one of the other fighters, diving over an asteroid and by the port side of the other pilot’s craft. Whoever was behind the controls of Green Three maneuvered backward to gain their bearings and fired a missile from their port and starboard wings.
The drone remained on course until the last second, pulling up sharply and evading the two projectiles by mere meters. When it completed its maneuver, it rolled and turned in Logan’s direction.
He widened his eyes at the incoming target and reached for the weapon controls. He placed himself into its path and, avoiding any surrounding asteroids, prepared to obtain a firing lock. The image of the drone moved around frantically. So much so his targeting computer couldn’t get it in its crosshairs.
As it got closer, Logan let his naked eye do the work instead. With it directly in his sights, he prepared to squeeze the trigger. Then he flinched from a rumble around his craft, and a loud boom went off behind his ear. His fighter lurched off course and spun out of control.
His weapon systems shut down, and his console flashed red, warning of damage to his port thruster. With a glance behind him, he spotted the problem. The entire thruster housing had been blown to smithereens. He couldn’t understand it. He’d made sure he was nowhere near an asteroid.
The three other fighters passed by him as if he weren’t even there and pursued the drone. In almost perfect unison, they fired their missiles. The unmanned Arcadian craft darted left, right, up, and down, but the AI was confused from its enemy’s fire. It dodged one and then two. But it was too slow for the third. The missile struck at its heart, and its destruction lit up the darkness of space.
Logan breathed a sigh of relief, and he used his remaining thrusters to bring himself under control. The other ORC fighters flew over their target’s position to confirm the kill and then rounded back in his direction. Lieutenant Crawford’s fighter fired a grapple cable, latching on to the nose of his craft. Logan took his hands off the controls and powered down.
All he could do was enjoy the ride to the station, because when he touched back down, his welcome would likely be an unpleasant one.
FIFTEEN
With his engines powered down and nothing but the grapple pulling him along, Logan felt like he was sitting on top of a sailing ship somewhere, staring into the night sky. With the occasional sideways jolt, it was as if he were riding the gentle waves of a faraway ocean. However, his fantasy came to a halt when a speck of light appeared in the distance, and it became clear he was approaching the familiar form of Telstar Station.
His console lit up, alerting him to an incoming transmission. “Crawford to Logan. I’m preparing to release the grapple. Power up your engines and use your available thrusters to follow us onto the flight deck.”
“Roger that,” Logan replied, reactivating the fighter’s systems and readying himself to be cut free.
“No funny business, Logan. If you try to run—”
“Where would I go, anyway?” He closed the channel before Crawford responded, and a moment later the ORC pilot retracted his grapple.
The momentum kept Logan’s fighter on a relatively straight course, but the yanking of the cable sent him slightly to port. He fired his maneuvering thrusters and followed the other pilots in. They extended their landing struts and touched down with ease, while Logan had a more difficult time of it, compensating with his lack of port thruster.
