William Fortchen - Action Stations

"All right, agreed."

Hans looked over glumly at Turner.

"The keys are in the ignition," he said bitterly.

"We'll take good care of it and try and get it back to you. If not, I'll make sure you get a check from the government."

"Yeah, right," Hans replied, his voice sounding hollow with defeat.

"We better get going," Turner said.

Taking the wafer and memory cube back he started for the door, Blucher following him. Geoff looked over at Hans and extended his hand.

"Sorry."

"Win some, you lose some, I guess. You're a good shooter, Geoff. Take care of yourself."

The two shook hands. Vance bid his farewell after Geoff and the two sprinted to catch up with Turner.

"He's a damn good kid," Geoff heard Turner say, as they fell in behind him on the stairs leading up. "Nerves of ice, instinctive pilot. I think he'd make a damn good leader. Even though he was green I had no trouble with him in the left-hand seat."

"Did you really trust him when you hired his ship?" Blucher asked.

"Hell, no. I was looking for a green kid. For what I wanted, if I'd hired an experienced crew they would have been more trouble then they were worth, might have had to kill them before I was done. If the kid hadn't worked out, I'd have dumped him someplace or tied him up and taken over. But I didn't need to."

Geoff was shocked to hear Turner discussing the coldblooded elimination of a crew.

"Give him a good ship, some people who will listen to him, and cut him loose out on the flank some place, and he'll raise holy hell with the Cats."

"All right, I'll take care of it."

As they stepped out onto the blazing hot tarmac the two fell to reminiscing about "the old days," talking about some raid on a pirate base.

Geoff, however, let the conversation drift out of focus. "Nerves of ice… a damn good leader," Turner had said of Hans. It was an interesting point to consider. He had respected Hans but had let his own prejudice about Hans not being Academy trained get the better of his judgment. Turner had seen the quality and he had not. What was even more troubling was that he now wondered about what Turner would say if and when a fitness report was ever filed on Ensign Geoffrey Tolwyn. Hans showed the nerves of ice, but did I?

He looked over at Vance, who was walking along with a nonchalant air, listening in as the two old warriors continued to trade stories. Vance was a good pilot, had a razor-sharp mind, but did not necessarily work too well with others. More the loner type, the typical pilot, or intel spook. But what is it that I now want? Geoff wondered.

Prior to this mission all his focus had been on getting wings and flying a Wildcat. But what will that ultimately accomplish? Hans would have his own ship and independent command. The mere thought of that held a certain thrill. The time across the frontier had whetted his appetite for something far different from life on a hangar deck. It was to run the show, to be independent and to make one's own decisions. He knew, as well, that the path to it meant nerves of ice, and above all else, to be ready to take charge when a crisis came, in the same way that Hans did when they jumped out of The Pit and then turned to go straight back in again. Kruger now had command as a result, and Geoff knew that when the time came, he would reach for it as well.

They finally reached Lazarus and Geoff was surprised to see more than a score of ground personnel swarming over the ship. An epoxy spray had been layered onto the damaged starboard wing, holes were patched, and two men were hauling a crate of fresh food up the ladder.

A hunched over man chewing on an unlit cigar, his features like aged leather, came up to Blucher.

"She took a hell of a beating. This is Kelly's old ship isn't it?"

"That's it."

"Good ship. Like the add-ons. Anyhow, I've topped off their hydrogen tanks, and run a check on internals. They've got a cracked main spar on that starboard wing, but it should hold together as long as they don't pull too many g's in atmosphere. She's ready to fly."

Turner and Blucher traded a final round of obscenities, the ground crew laughing and throwing in a few comments of their own. Turner scrambled up the ladder, followed by Geoff and Vance.

"Vance, left seat, Geoff you take right. Two-g max till we're clear of the atmosphere."

"Got it," Vance said with a grin.

Geoff settled into his new position and quickly scanned the controls. They were a pretty standard layout. He plugged his headset in, and since there wasn't any checklist he simply applied the routine he'd learned for a typical atmosphere-to-space transit.

The crew chief stepped out in front of them and raised his right hand, swinging his fist in a tight circle to indicate they had the all clear to power up. Vance fired the engine to life, did a quick throttle up with the brakes on, then eased back. The crew chief was now waving his right arm, then pointing straight towards the taxiway.

Geoff saluted the chief as they started to turn and the old man grinned, giving a universal gesture back while laughing. Geoff could only shake his head and grin.

Ground control clicked on, giving them priority clearance, and as soon as they reached the end of the strip Vance slammed the throttle to the wall. Geoff kept a light hold on the stick and could feel the vibration caused by the uneven lift due to the damaged wing. He called off the speed and when they hit two hundred Vance pulled the nose up while Geoff pulled up the landing gear. They started to climb, adding on speed but holding off going sonic until nearly clear of the atmosphere.

As the sky overhead shifted into an indigo hue, Turner unstrapped and came forward to stand between them.

"Set fastest possible course to McAuliffe. Do you think we can squeeze it down to seven days?"

"Think so, sir," Geoff replied. "We'll really have to shoot our transits into the jump points right on the wire though. There'll be no slowing down."

"I think you can manage that," Turner replied. "I just want to get us back there before Confederation Day."

"Why, sir?" Geoff asked.

"Just a gut feeling. I want the message back before everyone goes running off for the holiday."

"I'll work up the calculations once we're out of orbit sir."

"Fine, Geoff."

"Sir, why don't you get some sleep?" Geoff said calmly. "We'll take first watch."

Turner nodded his thanks and disappeared aft.

"Why Confed Day?" Vance asked.

"Why not?" Geoff replied quietly, and then the realization hit… the Cats are going to hit us on Confed Day, the one holiday observed throughout the entire Confederation. He felt a flash of annoyance with himself for not having caught on to that before Turner did. It was yet another lesson learned; analyze everything, pull the pieces together, expect the unexpected and plan for it.

Confederation Fleet Headquarters.Confederation date 2634.228

"Skip, glad I caught you!"

Banbridge motioned for Speedwell to come in and have a seat, but his chief of intel went straight to Skip's computer, pulled a memory cube out of his pocket and slipped it in,

"We just got this in from Listening Post Epsilon twenty minutes ago," Speedwell announced excitedly. "Damn it, they're coming."

Banbridge leaned forward in his chair as the holo field lit up with the usual classified-info screen. Skip waited for the laser scanner to sweep him, matching cornea patter and various chemical traces to confirm who he was before unlocking the report.

"It's from Lieutenant Ches Penney," Speedwell announced, "one of our better cryptologists out on the frontier. Here's the original burst signal."

First there was a sharp, high-pitched squeal, lasting barely a second, then it was replayed after decompression, a quavering tone nearly a dozen seconds in length.