Federation chronicles th.., p.68
Federation Chronicles: The Complete Series, page 68
“Fine,” Becker said. “He asked for me, the captain. Come on, let’s go. I won’t take the comlink here or anywhere near the spaceport.”
It was way too easy for someone to intercept the comlink signal near a spaceport.
Oscar drained the rest of his beer, and Guttman sighed.
“Also, I want a lockout code put on our new cargo. And for the case that’s going to be available to the crew. I want limits on consumption for daily intake. If they don’t like it, they can stay here,” Becker said.
Oscar shrugged. “The captain has spoken.”
“All hail the captain,” Guttman said and gulped the remainder of his beer.
Becker grinned, and they left the bar behind.
They left the spaceport shortly after they returned to the ship. Some of the crew was put out because their shore leave had been cut short. Becker promised to make it up to them, and the beer didn’t hurt. When did it ever?
He’d spent his entire life aboard ships, but this was the first one he’d ever owned. There were strings attached—Quinton had made sure of that—but the terms were more than fair. He shared ownership of six ships with Oscar and Guttman. They were transport ships capable of hauling small- to mid-size cargo, but they were quick, and their jump drives had been upgraded from the stock that had been found aboard the Salvation.
Their ship was a retrofitted star master class transport ship built over a hundred years ago. The retrofit had been done by the autofactories aboard the Salvation. They’d more or less rebuilt the ship in its entirety. He walked into his office near the bridge. A few minutes later, Oscar was knocking on the door.
“Guttman is securing the cargo,” Oscar said.
Becker nodded. “How’d the crew react?”
Oscar’s expression went flat. “It’s free beer.”
Becker chuckled. It was a small price to pay to increase morale.
A comlink came from the bridge.
“Captain, we’ve jumped away from the spaceport,” Davidge said.
“We won’t be staying long. Make sure emergency jump coordinates are ready to go in the nav system,” Becker replied.
“Aye, Captain,” Davidge replied, and the comlink closed.
Becker activated the wallscreen and stood in front of it. He knew Lennix Crowe was supporting the UFA, but they hadn’t spoken.
“Think he still holds a grudge?” Oscar asked.
They’d all left Crowe’s Union when a certain PMC had shown up disguised as a beat-up old agricultural bot.
Crowe had a well-earned reputation among spacers. There was a reason the Union had risen amid the salvager groups to be among the most powerful after the Collective. When Becker had left the Union, he’d hoped to get a ship of his own and earn a living in some out-of-the-way fringe location where salvagers didn’t often go. Things had changed, but he’d be an idiot not to be cautious when dealing with Lennix Crowe.
Becker sighed. He’d been an enforcer and team leader when he’d been in the Union, but he’d been stuck with too many spacers ahead of him to really rise among the ranks.
“Becker,” Oscar said.
Becker shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”
He accessed the comms array and initiated a comlink to his old employer. The subspace comlink was almost instantly acknowledged, and the comms officer routed him through to Crowe.
Crowe’s head and shoulders appeared on the wallscreen, and eyes of burnt almond regarded Becker for a few moments. Crowe had a receding hairline, and there were more creases around his eyes and mouth than Becker remembered. He supposed that if the leader of the most powerful salvager operation in the galaxy wanted him dead, he’d have a few extra worry lines as well.
“Commander Crowe,” Becker said by way of greeting.
Crowe’s lips twitched, but his gaze was even. “Captain Becker.” His gaze flicked next to him. “Oscar.”
Oscar came to stand next to Becker. “Commander,” he replied.
“Is Guttman with you?”
Oscar shifted on his feet.
Becker gritted his teeth, feeling annoyed. “What do you want?” he asked. He wasn’t going to be browbeaten on his own ship, and the same went for his crew.
The lines around Crowe’s eyes deepened. “Well played, Becker. I’m impressed. A pity you didn’t show this kind of gumption when you were in the Union.”
“I’ve changed,” he said to his old employer.
Crowe regarded him for a few moments and then nodded.
Becker pressed his lips together for a second, then said, “Quinton Aldren turned out to be more than any of us bargained for.”
Crowe chuckled and his expression softened in acknowledgment. “You’ve got that right. I have to admit that perhaps I would have done the same as you did, given the circumstances. However, I didn’t contact you to bring up the past. I have a job for you.”
Becker frowned. “We’re already on a mission.”
“This isn’t for me. It’s for the Alliance.”
Becker resisted the urge to scratch the back of his neck. “Okay, what do you need us to do?”
“It’s for the recruitment effort. There’s a group of mercenaries operating a few hundred lightyears from your location. I’ll send you the contact information. They also have cargo that is to be retrieved and delivered to the UFA.”
Becker exhaled through his nose. “A cargo run? Why don’t you have your own people take care of this?”
A flicker of annoyance shone from Crowe’s eyes but was quickly gone. “It’s complicated. Will you do this for me? For old time’s sake.”
Becker saw Oscar look at him in his periphery. “What do I get out of it?”
Crowe blinked and then did something Becker didn’t expect. The Union commander laughed. “Becker, I’m impressed with you. You really have changed. All right, I know the rules. No one gets something for nothing.”
Becker stared at him without blinking.
“Eventually, this war will be over, and we’ll all be able to move on. I don’t think we can afford to ignore each other,” Crowe said.
“I’m not coming back to the Union,” Becker replied.
“No, I wouldn’t expect you to, but that doesn’t mean we couldn’t partner up from time to time.”
Becker considered this for a few moments. He didn’t want Crowe as his enemy, so dismissing the offer of potential future dealings was something he wasn’t willing to do. He regarded Crowe and decided that he wasn’t going to leave anything to chance.
“If you’re willing to let the past go, then I’m willing to work with you in the future. Starting with this,” Becker said.
Crowe looked away from the camera for a few seconds. Becker heard someone speaking off-screen.
“I know,” Crowe said to them.
Nate Carradine joined Crowe. “Becker and Oscar, it’s good to see you both.”
“Hello, Nate,” Becker said and then looked at Crowe. “Do we have an understanding?”
Crowe shook his head and showed his teeth. “You’re something else.”
“You came to me, Crowe, not the other way around. You need us to do something for you, which means that the Union can’t be involved.” Becker paused for a moment. “Which means this has something to do with the Collective. That’s it, isn’t it? This has something to do with the Collective.”
Crowe gritted his teeth and walked away from the camera.
Nate nodded. “You’re right, Becker. This has to do with Draven.”
“What is it you’re really asking me to do? You’re asking me to risk my ship and crew for this, and I need to know why.”
Crowe came back on-screen. He clenched a fist and released it. “You know Draven wanted to kill me and destroy the Union. He still does. You’ve been with the Union long enough to know what that means. You’re out, so you can just walk away… Maybe,” he said, and leaned forward. “Maybe. Part of the cargo that you’re to retrieve is also an intelligence drop.”
“What is it?” Becker asked.
“I don’t know exactly, but I know it’s important.”
Becker nodded slowly. “I’ll do it. I’ll retrieve the cargo, but I want your word that there’ll be no revenge from you for what happened in the past. Those are my terms.”
He watched as Nate gave Crowe a pointed look. “It’s fair, Crowe.”
Crowe nodded and didn’t look pleased. “All right. A clean slate from here on out.”
Becker wasn’t sure if he believed him, but he wasn’t going to push the matter. “Transmit the data and we’ll get this done.”
Crowe muttered something and walked away. Nate stayed behind.
“Transmitting the data now,” Nate said. “Thanks for doing this, Becker. He’s been under a lot of pressure, but I’ll make sure he remembers his agreement.”
That was as much assurance as he was going to get. “Understood,” Becker replied and closed the comlink.
Oscar blew out a long breath. “I’m glad you had to deal with him.”
Becker nodded. “You saw him. He’s worried about something.”
“What do you think it is?”
Becker chewed the inside of his lip for a second, considering. “I don’t know. I thought Draven was supporting the Alliance, but that doesn’t mean everyone is playing nice.”
A chime came from his office door, and Guttman came in.
“What’d I miss?” he asked. “Oh, and the cargo is secure.” Guttman glanced at both of them. “Did I miss something?”
“You could say that,” Oscar replied. “We just got off a comlink with Crowe.”
Guttman swallowed hard. “I’m glad I missed that,” he said, quietly.
The conversation with Crowe had left Becker’s mouth dry. At least that’s what he told himself.
“We’ll fill you in, but first, let's go get a drink,” Becker said.
9
Quinton stood on the Fortitude’s bridge. Various sub-windows occupied the outer edge of the main holoscreen with a scrolling list of mission status updates. He found that he needed to divide his time between being fully integrated with the ship's computer systems and being outside of them. He trusted Radek to alert him of new developments that required his attention. His interactions with his personal VI had come a long way since he’d been reactivated.
Simon entered the bridge and walked over to stand next to him. He stifled a yawn.
“How’s the withdrawal going?” Simon asked.
“It’s going. Updates are still coming in.”
Simon nodded and peered at one of the sub-windows. Then he yawned again. “Geez, sorry about that.”
“Didn’t you sleep any?”
“I did, but I’ve been on stims for the past few days, and I’m not cleared to take any more. Not all of us can quicken our rest cycles,” Simon replied.
“We’re the lucky ones.”
“How does it feel?” Simon asked.
“What?”
“The rest cycle that you do.”
“Oh, that. It’s like getting sleep.”
“Really,” Simon said, unconvinced.
“Yes, really. It’s not like they just copy our consciousness into an ESS and let the mind handle the rest.”
“I know that. I was just wondering if you felt refreshed. Like when you get enough sleep.”
Quinton had gotten used to Simon’s inquisitive mind. The young spacer never lacked for questions. He’d been fascinated with PMCs ever since he’d figured out what Quinton was.
“My perception of time is different than yours,” Quinton replied.
“Yeah, and you return to normal time because it’s your baseline.”
“Not just me. It’s how PMCs operate. It’s part of what keeps us sane.”
Simon nodded. “But how does it feel?”
“I’ll tell you what. We can look into uploading your consciousness into an ESS and then you can feel it for yourself.”
Simon snorted and then looked away. “Maybe one day. I was just curious. When was the last time you got some rest?”
Quinton regarded him for a few seconds. “Just now.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious. It happens that fast. At least for me.”
“But that’s only a few seconds.”
“I needed a break from this line of questioning.”
Simon grinned and then looked at the mission status window for the away teams. “Looks like Maelyn—Uh, nothing.”
“Her team completed their objective,” Quinton replied.
“I know. For a second there, I just thought…” Simon’s voice trailed off.
“I kept track of all the teams, Simon.”
“No, I know that.”
“Where do you think we got the idea of ambushing the Sentinels from?”
“Okay, forget I brought it up,” Simon said.
“Forgotten,” Quinton replied. “It’s been about twelve hours for me since you mentioned it.”
Simon grinned. “Now you’re just showing off.”
Captain Martinez came onto the bridge and walked over to them. “I just came from the CIC. Looks like we’re having some issues with the away teams.”
“What happened?” Quinton asked.
He could have queried the ship's computing core and found the report, but there were limits to what one mind was capable of, even if that mind was stored in an ESS.
“Some of the retrieval teams are reporting that the PMC update for the activation signal wasn’t received, sir,” Martinez said.
“How would they be able to locate the PMCs then? I thought the update was part of the activation signal,” Simon asked.
“We’re still piecing it together,” Martinez replied.
“These could be PMCs that were created later during the Federation Wars. They might have had security protocols in place to prevent the updates,” Quinton said.
“How are we supposed to know whether those PMCs have been compromised by the Sentinels?” Simon asked.
Quinton considered it for a few moments. “We won’t know until they can be tested. We’ll need to quarantine them before those teams can return to CENTCOM.”
He couldn’t allow any of them aboard the Salvation until they passed all PMC integrity checks. Not all the away teams had PMCs aboard their ships.
“What are your orders if we find a PMC that’s been compromised?” Martinez asked.
Quinton had encountered a PMC that had been infiltrated by the Sentinels. It hadn’t ended well. Only a commanding officer could order a PMC into standby, but that could only occur after an authentication session had been established.
“We’ll need to establish quarantine sites where they can be properly validated. If the PMC is compromised, then we really don’t have a choice. The threat must be neutralized,” Quinton said.
Simon’s eyes widened.
“Understood, Admiral. I’ll work with CENTCOM to route the teams to quarantine locations,” Martinez said and left them.
“Is killing them the only option?” Simon asked. Quinton heard the exasperation in his voice.
“We can’t afford to bring them back to the Salvation. They could report our location back to the Sentinels. They could sabotage our ships. More lives could be lost.”
“I understand that, but there must be some kind of alternative. There has to be a way to reverse what the Sentinels do as part of the infiltration attacks,” Simon said.
“The risk is too high.”
“No, I get it, Quinton. But maybe we can store them somewhere. Give us time to come up with a way to help them.”
Quinton inhaled deeply and sighed. “I searched the data repositories on the Salvation. Browning had teams working on the exact thing you’re suggesting, but they all failed.”
“Let me try. I’d rather try and fail than just give up on them. Browning was fighting a war. How much resource could he have devoted to it?” Simon asked.
Quinton regarded his friend. Simon still had a spark of hope that was sometimes rare to see these days. It was a belief that he could impact the galaxy and make things better. Quinton wouldn’t be the one to take that away from him, even if he didn’t believe his friend would succeed.
“All right, if the PMCs can be safely quarantined and put back into standby, you’ll be allowed to study them.”
Simon smiled. “Thank you, Quinton. I just don’t want to give up on them. People like you have sacrificed so much, and you all deserve our very best efforts.”
Quinton stared at this friend. “I should be thanking you, not the other way around. I’ll tell you what. If the quarantine teams can assure that the PMCs are secured, I’ll allow them to be brought to the Salvation. You can work on them there, but I need you to do something for me.”
“What do you need?”
“I know you’ll give it your best, but there comes a time when there’s simply nothing that can be done. I don’t want anyone to suffer needlessly. Do you understand?”
Simon pursed his lips in thought and then nodded once, looking determined. “I understand. If I can’t help them, then they will be laid to rest with all the respect they deserve.”
Quinton thought of the hall of the fallen on the Salvation. It was a record of everyone who had died during the Federation Wars, a reminder to anyone going to the main bridge of the sacrifice that was made by the spacers who’d answered the call to arms and had made the ultimate sacrifice.
“You’re a good man, Simon. Now, help me with the quarantine protocols,” Quinton said.
10
Quinton had been part of large-scale naval operations when the ACN had fought the Jordani Federation. He’d led a battlegroup and been told what his objectives were. Being given orders was much easier than being part of the admiralty who decided what the objective was. Severin Brandt was his second-in-command, and Quinton counted on his experience to help, but they both knew that Quinton had to lead. He was a Galactic PMC in command of the Salvation. He looked around the ready room on the Fortitude.
