Star Runners: Dark Space

Chapter 5-2

He blinked. "Oh, right. I had to come out here anyway for a seminar and thought I’d see you off. Wanted to give you something.”

Stetson thrust his hands into his backpack and produced a circular device about the size of a cellphone. Passing it to Josh, he said, “Think of this as a panic button.”

“A what?”

“You’re about to venture into deep space all by your lonesome. If something happened to you, I thought of Austin and how he’d feel if I didn’t give you some kind of lifeline.”

Taking the device, Josh twirled it between his fingers. “It’s a communicator of some kind?”

Stetson nodded. “All Legion Intelligence Agents usually have one on operations. I know you’re just dropping off a ship, but you never know. Just press the button, and an emergency signal will transmit your location back to us.”

He laughed. “I really doubt I’ll need it.”

“Humor me and take it just as a precaution.”

“All right.” He put the device in his pants’ pocket. “Thanks for caring.”

“You want to help Austin and so do I. You know he's the best of all of us, and I'm not talking about his piloting skills.”

Josh pursed his lips. "You're right about that."

The elevator doors dilated, revealing a hangar with little activity. A maintenance crew worked on a nearby medium-sized freighter, their welding torches sending sparks to the deck.

“Your ship’s in docking slot four-oh-nine,” Stetson said. “Safe travels.”

Taking a step forward, Josh said, "Thank you."

As the doors closed behind him, one member of the working group glanced at Josh but said nothing.

He continued down the row of various star vessels, all locked in the deep storage of Atlantis. Flickering tube lights lined the ceiling, casting a ray of light through the dust. Given the state of the storage hangar the farther he walked from the elevator, it was apparent most Legion staff rarely had cause to come down here.

As his boots echoed with each step, he passed a freighter in space three-one-four, noticed the scorch marks on the hull. An older Trident III came next with its wings above the fuselage in park, and the Lobera insignia emblazoned under where the stenciled name of a Star Runner would be placed. He lingered for a heartbeat in front of the old fighter, wondering how it ended up in such a place. In fact, how did any of these ships end up forgotten in the dimly lit hangar? All were once a labor of love for the manufacturer and, presumably, the owner, only to be left here to await use or, more likely, the scrap heap. He marveled at the untold stories of these old ships and the crews who worked to keep them operational.

Pulling away from the vintage Trident, Josh marched onward until the parking slots reached the four hundreds. Two newer Tridents sat in four-zero-two and four-zero-three, both from the Excalibur Squadron. Following this pair, he saw a modified Trident with three black streaks painted in sloppy fashion onto the rear stabilizer. He clenched his jaw.

Tyral Pirates.

Back when Rodon was the scourge of Quadrant Eight, his minions would capture any Legion craft they could get their hands on, modify it, and use the vessel to continue scavenging. The Trident in front of him had suffered the same fate, somehow being reacquired by the Legion and landing here in Atlantis.

Had it been captured during the battle? He'd heard about the overwhelming odds the Star Runners had faced, talked a little about it with Austin.

He frowned, reaching up and sliding his fingers under the fighter's nose.

I should have been here to defend Atlantis that day, he thought. Instead, I was a prisoner of Dax Rodon.

He moved on.

Up ahead, dwarfed by the size of the modified Trident, sat the tiny triangular vessel once piloted by Matta. He touched his chin as he shuffled forward, amazed at the craft’s minuscule size. He studied the two compact laser cannons protruding from the dull red hull and shook his head. Somehow, this insignificant craft had brought him from the Zine System to Earth in one curve.

Stopping in front of it, he reached down to touch the canopy. "Hi there," he whispered. "Remember me?"

He keyed for the canopy release. With a pop hiss of hydraulics, it opened, and the control board buzzed to life. As the smell lifted from the cockpit, he closed his eyes.

Jet fuel and Lutimite dust.

The distinctive odor brought him back to the asteroid where he’d been forced into labor alongside his friend, Delmar. It was the same place he'd met Waylon, where they’d exacted their revenge on Cyclops and the other pirate guards at the price of losing several Barracudas.

Amazing the little craft still smelled of that asteroid.

Tossing his satchel behind the seat, he hopped inside and placed the headset over his ear as he brought the primary systems online. Flipping switches across the dashboard, the controls came to life, pulsing a growing whine of electronics. The curvature drive display activated and calibrated, revealing a star chart of Quadrant Eight that promptly zoomed onto the Solar System. Leaning forward, he typed a search for the Tormada System, secret home of the Barracudas. After a brief calculation, the curvature drive came back with a positive result.

Holding his breath, he fired up the twin engines. They coughed once and roared to life on the second attempt, rumbling his seat. He closed the canopy, morphing the outside sound to a high-pitched whistle. Resting his fingers on the stick, he gently pulled into a hover.

A twinge of excitement surged through his bloodstream, the familiar feeling he always felt at liftoff. He was flying again.

Easing forward on the throttle, he maneuvered the small craft through the storage hangar and passed the old ships toward the exit.

"Ah, this is Atlantis Control," the female voice cooed in his headset, "we have you on our screen now. Proceed to exit hatch three B for clearance."

"Roger.”

He set the fighter down in the exit hatch and braced himself. The inner door rumbled shut, and he was locked inside. Right now, he figured the controller was cycling through the list of approved departures. Seconds turned into minutes.

“Lieutenant Morris?”

He closed his eyes and keyed to transmit. "That's right, Control."

A pause. "We have you scheduled as Condor six-four-zero with an open return date. Is that correct?"

"Affirmative."

"No surface contacts in visible range. You’re cleared for takeoff, Condor six-four-zero. Proceed with powering shields as the exit hatch equalizes. Protocol requires shrouds before one-hundred feet, but you have no shroud."

"That’s correct."

"Follow flight pattern Bravo three-four for clear departure path. Clear skies until high orbit."

He exhaled and activated his shields. “Roger, Control.”

Water filled the exit, surrounding the energy bubble created by his shields. In sixty seconds, the crimson lights transitioned to green. The outer door rumbled open. Landing lights stretched into the darkness on the ocean floor.

"Here we go," he said without transmitting, easing more power into the engines.

The force pressed him into his seat as the fighter shot from the hatch, bubbles swirling around the canopy.

Glancing over his shoulder, he watched Atlantis disappear. He pulled back on the stick, increasing his angle of ascent as he gave the engines more power. The water quickly transitioned to a dull blue.

The fighter burst through the surface and into the clear sky. Giving the engine a bit more thrust, he accelerated over the Pacific Ocean, increasing his incline to nearly ninety degrees. The Gs pressed on him, but he could only smile as the sky soon darkened, and stars appeared as he entered deep orbit.

Josh didn't know what to expect as the curvature drive wound down, casting dissipating colors around the ship as space normalized and he entered the Tormada System. Off his left wing, gleaming like two pearls on black velvet, were the twin stars he remembered from his first visit to the system. Despite the visual confirmation, he verified his location with the curvature drive computer. It pinged.

He’d made it.

Sliding his hand over his mouth, he couldn't wait to see Waylon and his friends in Sanctum. They’d be thrilled to see he'd honored his word, and they’d regale him with tales of their adventures in the time since they'd escaped the Zine System and the Tyral Pirates. Waylon was the only person in the galaxy who truly knew what Josh had endured.

Four planetary bodies appeared on his scope as the rudimentary systems swept the area. Smiling, he adjusted course and made for the fourth world of the twin stars. He tapped the fighter's control board in appreciation of the tiny ship taking him this far.

The seemingly lifeless world came into view, orbited by four equally dead moons. He pulled the headset’s microphone to his lips and keyed for transmission. Somehow, he remembered the code phrase Waylon had used when they were crammed into the cockpit of the stolen pirate fighter. He grinned, shaking his head at the memory.

"I have dinner cooking tonight," he said through his translator, the wave sizzling like an iron skillet. "It's going to be larba stew with too much salt."

Nothing.

He frowned and repeated the message with the same response.

Settling into the moon's orbit, he banked toward the surface and watched the slate-gray landscape pass beneath him. Only static buzzed on the wave as he leaned against the canopy, feeling the cold surface. Ignoring the mounting concern nagging at him, he sighed and ran an extensive sensor sweep, trying to locate the approximate position of Sanctum. Racking his memory, he tried to remember the approach Waylon had instructed him to take so long ago.

They had descended into a crevice and entered into the underground base somewhere along a rocky ridge. It looked like …

He smacked the side of the cockpit. This was impossible. An entire moon below him looked like ridges and crevices—how was he supposed to find Sanctum?

Running a systems check, he saw the fighter had enough power in the curvature drive for the return trip back to Earth and about thirty hours of life support. He’d never considered a return trip, figured Waylon would help out in that department. But what if Waylon wasn’t here?

He used gravity and his inertia to drift in orbit for a long while, placing his engines on standby and searching the moon’s surface for anything familiar. Waylon wouldn't have chosen the location for Sanctum if it were easy to find, and Josh knew his friend wouldn't leave him in orbit unless something were wrong.

Taking a deep breath, he recorded the code phrase and created a loop. The transmission would continue until he shut it off.

Stretching his legs in the cramped cockpit, he leaned back and tried to sleep. With any luck, a response would come back soon.

It wasn't a long wait.

"We are hungry," a timid woman's voice said over the popping wave. "Boss, is that you?"

Josh closed his eyes. "It's a friend."

"My friends are gone." She paused. "Tell me who this is, or I blast you from the sky."

"Whoa," he said, holding up his hands as if she could see him. "Matta? Is that you?"

She hesitated, and Josh could picture the petite woman biting her nails as she stared at the receiver. "Last chance, big boy. Who is this?”

Yep, he thought, definitely Matta.

"It's Josh." He smiled. "I have your ship."

She inhaled sharply, creating more static to the wave. "My ship? Oh, Josh, I thought you must be dead, honey."

"Very nearly." He activated his engines. "Tell me how to get to you."

She paused. “Follow this frequency,” she said, her voice rising, “and you’ll be home.”