Wings of steele 4 dark c.., p.28
Wings of Steele 4: Dark Cover, page 28
Jack's heart sank, the pit of his stomach doing a somersault at the visual of Aleese Portwin slumped back in her chair, covered in blood, mouth open, eyes staring in different directions. “Is... Aww, what the hell...” he groaned, turning back to Derrik and Mercedes still standing in the corridor. “She's a bloody mess! What the hell did you do to her?”
“Her head exploded,” blurted Mercedes.
Jack heard the words but the comprehension was slow in coming, “Her head did what?”
Derrik rubbed his forehead with is fingertips, “She was chipped. Some of the agencies out here do it to prevent their officers from divulging their secrets. It has an explosive charge...”
“Oh my God, who agrees to something like that? How did it get triggered..?”
“Remote control or range limit. Get too far from the transceiver and it automatically detonates. Like if they're kidnapped...”
“When...”
“When we were pulling out of the station,” interrupted Derrik. “No way to really tell for sure how it was triggered...”
“Doesn't really matter at this point, does it...” grumbled Steele, his jaw clenched. It wasn't really a question that begged an answer. “Please tell me you got something out of her first?” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes hoping for a positive answer.
“Some,” replied Derrik. “Probably about twenty percent of what she was capable of giving us.”
Jack rolled his head trying to release the sudden tension in his neck, “I guess it's something,” he lamented. He took a deep breath, letting it out slow, his jaw clenched. “Both of you; my office, half an hour.” He walked away, his hands flexing.
■ ■ ■
Carrying the bandaged Shepherd carefully, Jack dropped to a knee, lowering the cradled dog to the sofa, gently setting him down. “Now, no picking on your bandages...” he admonished.
“Hello,” mumbled Fritz, looking drunkenly around at the office full of people.
“The Doc gave him something for the pain,” admitted Jack, 'he's a little loopy.”
“Allie too,” added Chase, “I left her in my quarters, she's out cold.”
Steele dropped into the chair behind his desk with a weary grunt, “So... anybody want to explain to me how we blew up a ship with something little more than an EMP grenade?” Everyone started talking all at once and he was forced to whistle to bring the cacophony to an end, “Enough...”
“To be fair it didn't exactly blow up...” offered Chase after the cross-talk stopped.
Jack pointed at him, “It no longer exists, therefore the difference is merely semantics...”
“Actually,” interrupted the Chief Engineer, “an in-place jump, which is what is most likely, transported that section of the ship, intact, somewhere...”
“Where?”
He shrugged, his hands wide, his expression uncertain, “Possibly wherever the last jump was logged - if it was still in the control system's cache memory. Or if something had been accidentally entered... in either case, if it was too far to reach it could drop out of jump almost anywhere... known or null space.”
“That,” pointed Jack, “does not answer the question; how something so minor could trigger something so major.”
“Placement,” replied the engineer. “Perhaps if we review the digital playback from Fritz's CABL system we will find answers there.”
Jacks' eyes widened, “We can do that?”
“Certainly.” He turned to the holo-chart table behind him and called up an administrative panel only an engineer would know how to access, his fingers dancing across the pop-up holographic controls. An empty video frame appeared, hovering above the table, numbers in the lower right hand corner running backwards. The engineer slowed the backward roll, finally stopping about fifteen minutes before the event, a still frame appearing; Fritz's eye-view somewhere in a corridor aboard the Red Moon.
Steele looked over at the Shepherd sleeping peacefully on the couch. “Can he tell...”
“No,” replied the Engineer, taping the play button on the controls. “He is totally unaware.”
The group watched the events unfold in crystal-clear holographic detail with high definition audio as Fritz and Allie made their way through the ship; hiding, sneaking and running.
■ ■ ■
The Engineer began narrating technical highlights as the two Shepherds entered engineering, the group oohing and aahing as events unfolded, leaning back and forth with the motion of the playback, as the dogs, working as a team, aided and protected one another. He rattled off some statistics about the engine size and energy to power ratio; good but not comparable to the Perseus. The unique configuration had two smaller GOD drives, each running in alignment with one of the two main engines – as opposed to one larger, independent unit like the Perseus. He estimated it was to conserve space on the ship. “Oh!” he exclaimed, pausing the video and putting his hand on top of his head.
“What?”
“Look where he dropped the device!” he pointed, pausing the video, Fritz's view looking down into an access opening from the catwalk. “That's the alignment crawlspace for the starboard GOD drive and main engine!”
“That's bad?”
“It couldn't get much worse...” replied the Engineer, un-pausing the playback. Fritz's eye-view looked up at an approaching crewman, glanced over his shoulder at Allie and back at the crewman. They could hear the shouts from the crew as Fritz lunged at him, his teeth clacking, the man retreating. With encouraging shouts from below the catwalk, the man advanced on Fritz a second time, swinging a heavy metal tool at him, a swish of air as the dog deftly ducked under the swing, lunging at the man's face, driving him stumbling back in fear. Fritz ordered Allie to jump and his gaze followed her down as she dropped to the consoles below, running across them. “Oh, I think it just got worse...” he paused the video. “She just jumped down on an engineering console and ran across several more. She may have inadvertently activated something...” He un-paused the video again, Fritz taking one last glance at the man staggering to his feet before ducking under the catwalk railing and dropping himself, to the surface below; making everyone watching, sympathetically feel the fall. The Engineer paused the video just before the moment of impact, Fritz's feet and the surface in focus. “The console is cracked, a GOD drive spool-up has been initiated...” he pointed at the program on the screen.
He un-paused the video yet again and the glass surface spidered under the Shepherd's feet, the eye-view changing, focusing on the exit as he ran across the consoles, musical notes matching his foot-falls before he dove to the floor and accelerated. “And there it is,” he waved, closing the video frame. “A jump was initiated. The console was rendered inoperable, preventing them from regaining control. The close proximity of the EMP probably negated the system safeties and triggered an early event...”
“Couldn't they have used another console?” asked Jack.
“Possibly. It's on the other side of the bay... maybe with all the confusion it happened too fast. Or the broken console locked them out.”
“Why would the EMP trigger without the remote?”
The Engineer looked at Chase, “You didn't?”
Chase Holt shook his head, “Nope. It started counting down all on its own.”
The Engineer pursed his lips in dissatisfaction, “I didn't think that - what did you call it? Tennis ball? Would offer enough protection glued around the device. That fall into the inspection shaft from the catwalk is a good ten feet or more. It probably destabilized the mechanism.”
“Best laid plans of mice and men...” remarked Jack sarcastically.
“No plan survives the first shot,” added Chase.
“So what now?” asked Lieutenant Commander Reegan, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest.
“You want to take that, Mr. Brighton?”
“Certainly Mr. Mercury.” Derrik initialized the holo-chart table, “The Skipper of the Red Moon gave us some useful information; including all the names of the operatives they picked up off Earth. The hit the Red Moon took, destabilized their atmospheric control and cut their operation short by about half of their assignment. It required them to deviate to Nelson's Point for repairs. Realizing she couldn't fully fulfill her contract, two FreeRanger destroyers rendezvoused with her at the station to pick up the operatives and transport them home; they agreed to split the rescue bonuses. Each ship took a number of individuals and went their separate ways. She was not informed which operatives were on which ship - a security measure.” He reached in and cycled through several star systems, “The only lead we have is, that one of the destroyers is headed here,” he pointed, “Wyandek in the Ardollis System.”
Lieutenant Commander Reegan took the nod from Jack Steele and left the room, walking out onto the bridge, the door to the ready room hissing closed behind him. “Mr. Ragnaar, plot a course to the Ardollis System, we're going to Wyandek.”
“Ardollis, aye. You are aware Skipper, that is well inside FreeRanger...”
“Dark territory,” Reegan interrupted. “I am aware, Mr. Ragnaar.”
“We'd better not be entering dark territory empty-handed, Skipper.”
“I agree. We'll have to pick up something along the way, then...”
CHAPTER TWENTY
EARTH - CHICAGO, ILLINOIS : THE COLLAPSE
It wasn't that the North American power grid was the only damaged electrical system on the planet. In fact, there were large swatches of the globe without power; but it was the only one that directly affected Bobby Fortuno's life. Chicago had power even through the riots, until the grid's cascade failure put it in the dark along with a good portion of the country's Midwest. Chicago was a huge drain on an already damaged and overtaxed system, but no one seemed to care about, or follow, the new power usage guidelines set forth by Department of Energy, or the pleadings of the Mayor to reduce the strain. So now they were paying the price. Blackout. No food or clean water, business or communications. Banks were shut down, credit cards didn't work, and people were desperate. In some areas, neighbors worked together, in others it was complete anarchy.
That's when Bobby called it quits. He almost called it quits that night on the south side, before the SWAT truck rolled through the neighborhood and rescued him, Nick Omanski and the good Samaritan, Denny Wilson. But he held on to the hope that things could turn around; that the police department would somehow be able to regain and maintain control of the city. But he had to face facts; the police department couldn't hope to do the job without proper communications, fuel, food or pay. Surprisingly enough, some guys were sticking with it. But the city had become a war zone and anyone in uniform was a target. Bobby had long since lost his adrenalin addiction, he wanted to get to his daughters and find a quiet, safe place to ride things out.
“Ready, Ski?” Bobby slammed the tailgate of the plain, unmarked, police SUV, packed tight. Sans cage, the detective's unit he liberated from the motor pool with the help of a friend who worked there, should be roomy enough and rugged enough to get him and his family to that safe place. Wherever it might be.
Without family or ties, Nick Omanski had no reason to stay any more than Bobby Fortuno. “Ready Sarge.” Nick slid carefully into the back seat next to Bobby's ex-wife, Sharon, being careful not to disturb his two broken ribs. “Whoof,” he grunted, settling in. “We stopping by to see Pop-Pop and Nanna before we head out?”
Bobby glanced over at Denny Wilson in the passenger seat as he stuck the key in the ignition, “Owners of Romano's Sub Shop,” he explained. “Almost like family...”
Denny nodded, hanging his baseball cap on the muzzle of one of the M-4 carbines in the vertical weapon rack mounted to the dash, “Jus along fo da ride, boss. I be good wherever we go; so long's as it's outta' here.” Despite his gentle giant demeanor, Bobby saw Denny's true character when things went sideways. When the big man expressed a desire to be included, Bobby Fortuno did not hesitate to adopt him into the extended family.
Casting a final glance in the mirror at the house behind him, Bobby eased the SUV out of the driveway. Bye, house. He sighed mentally, And the mortgage was almost paid off...
■ ■ ■
Surface streets were the best bet with the most options. The expressways, with their limited access on and off, creating a gauntlet of sorts with few exits, were littered with wrecks and intentional roadblocks of destroyed and burned out cars. Riding an overpass crossing the expressway below, Denny indicated an area on his side of the vehicle, “Damn, looks like Beiruit. Never thought I'd see dat kind of mess here... Makes me sad,” he lamented. “I don't pretend to know anythin' about politics, but it pains me to no end knowin' our government sold us out to the aliens.”
“I don't think it's all that simple Denny,” replied Bobby. “There's a lot more here than meets the eye, and we don't know the whole story...”
“I don't think we know much at all,” interrupted Nick. “I don't know that we ever will... Like your friend Steele, Bobby. What's that all about? Whose side is he really on? Maybe you shouldn't have let him go...”
Bobby twerked his mouth sideways in contemplation. “Jack? I rode with him for a couple years before he went to the Canine Unit; knew him for several years before that. Graduated the academy together, went on double dates; hell, we were at each other's weddings... Nah, Jack was always a straight shooter, always a stand-up guy. I can't ever remember him doing something that wasn't on the up-and-up.”
“People change,” offered Denny.
“Maybe some,” agreed Bobby, shaking his head, “but not Jack. I refuse to believe it. I gotta believe this planet still stands because he did all he could.”
■ ■ ■
There was a fire somewhere, the smell hanging in the air, hitting the back of the throat and making it itch. Bobby Fortuno rolled up the windows of the SUV and flipped on the A/C. The streets were uncommonly quiet, devoid of sirens or traffic; either vehicular or human. It was beyond unnaturally still, it was downright creepy. The North Side neighborhood was traditionally a quieter section of the city, but then again it didn't take much to trigger events of desperation or mayhem. “This is just eerie,” Sharon mumbled, looking down a passing side street. “It looks like two in the morning instead of two in the afternoon... Where do you think everyone is?”
“Personally, I'd rather it stay like this,” replied Nick.
The street was blocked ahead with abandoned cars extending several blocks, a traffic jam of silence. Bobby steered the SUV up over the curb, across the grass and idled down the sidewalk.
“You gots a crowd of people midway down the next block, boss,” pointed Denny.
Bobby nodded, “I see 'em. We'll take the next right, cut around them through the neighborhood...”
“What if they need help?” asked Sharon.
“Not my job anymore,” replied Bobby.
“So we're just going to ignore people who need help?” Sharon replied incredulously, annoyed at her ex-husband's callousness.
“We don't know they need help, Sharon...”
“You think everybody's gone bad, Bobby? Why don't you just see if...”
“Dey've spotted us, boss...” interrupted Denny.
“Maybe it's just me Sarge, but they don't look friendly,” commented Nick from the back seat.
“No. No, they don't...” Bobby was already on the gas, giving it a goose to beat them to the corner, the V8 launching the SUV, the tires ripping up the grass, fences along the sidewalk whipping past, the vehicle barely fitting past the oak trees that lined the street on the curb side. “We got this...” He hit the brakes to make the corner, having to mash them hard, a blockade of cars scattered like a Tetris puzzle, blocking the street from sidewalk to sidewalk. “Dammit,” he hissed. He glanced in the rear view mirror contemplating a retreat, only to see two motorcycles racing up the sidewalk a half block behind him. Small rocks and bottles started raining down around the SUV and he felt a familiar pang of distress, the group in front closing quickly. The crosswalk was open to the sidewalk on the other side of the blocked intersection and it only took a microsecond for him to make the decision. “Not this time,” he growled through clenched teeth, dropping his foot off the brake pedal and stomping the accelerator. “Never play chicken with a two-ton truck,” he muttered, steering straight through the center of the melee.
“Good God, Bobby, don't kill them!” shouted Sharon from the back seat.
“Sharon...” thump. “Honey...” thump, thump. “Please...” thump. “For once in your life...” thump, thump, thump. “Shut the hell up...” thump. And they were through, most of the group splitting like the Red Sea to get out of the way of the rampaging SUV. There were a few unlucky souls who paid the price for their attempt; bouncing off the vehicle like rag dolls, the wrap-around push bar protecting the front of the truck as it plowed through them like the armored tank that it was.
“Motorcycles are right behind us,” announced Nick looking over the back seat out the back window.
“Got it. Everybody hold on...” Bobby let the SUV slow, drawing them in before slamming on the brakes, the ass-end of the SUV rising momentarily as he stomped on the gas again.
One brake check was enough. The motorcycles split; the left one glancing off an oak tree near the curb and careening into the traffic jam of abandoned cars, the bike imbedding itself in the side of a minivan, the rider catapulted over the top, disappearing from view. The motorcycle on the right ran through a picket fence, up the stairs of a house, off the porch and flattened itself into the side of a neighboring house, the rider bouncing off like a crash test dummy.
Bobby didn't slow. A couple blocks down, he crossed the grass and dropped the SUV off the curb, back onto the street beyond the stranded cars in a peacefully empty street.
