Natalia smiled back, though hers was filled with sadness. She knelt close to him and took his head in her hands, kissing him on the forehead.
“... in my top pocket is... my id card... please make sure it gets to my wife.”
“I will, I promise.” Natalia took the id card from him - it revealed his name to be David S. Porter - and slipped it into a zipped inner pocket of her jacket. She recalled the man now: he was always telling jokes to lift the spirits of all of those around him. He'd made her smile on a number of occasions.
She double-checked to ensure that all her other important data cards were safe and secure and still with her, before opening the door to one of the escape pods and stepping across the threshold. After everything that she had been through, she could not afford to get away only to leave all the reports behind. She could not remember all of what she had seen and done, and many others' hard work had been entrusted to her. She could not let them down.
From the rear doors, she could see straight through the pod to the cockpit windows at the front, the launch chutes of the main vessel open, revealing the vast emptiness of space beyond. It was then that she noticed the ship was spinning. Every now and again, scenes of the on-going battle would enter into her view, burnt-out debris from other craft tumbling by in the immediate outside space.
“... can you still see... the jumpgate?” she heard Porter ask behind her, his voice weak.
“Yes, yes I can,” Natalia replied. “But it looks like we're moving away from the entry point. I'm sure we were closer to it than that.”
“... it's not getting... further away... it's... getting smaller because it's closing... soon it will be unusable... you'll... have to hurry.”
Natalia hesitated. The thought of piloting a spacecraft, no matter what type, made her sick to her stomach; like attempting to cross a vast ocean, on a small raft using nothing but her own arms for paddles. Looking around the pod an idea struck her and she scampered back to Porter's side.
“... i can't come with you,” he managed again, as she tried to help him up once more.
“I can put you in one of the stasis capsules!” she enthused. “You'll be fine once you're under. And once we get to the other end, we can get you some medical assistance.”
Porter shook his head. “... those ones aren't... military-grade... they don't work like that... they just make you fall asleep... i'll die in there... and then you'll have to put up with a rotting corpse... until you get picked up.”
Natalia looked in anguish from her dying companion to the open pod.
“... the controls are clearly marked,” he assured her. “... the pods are designed to be simple to use... smart girl like you... should have no trouble working it out...” he coughed uncontrollably and there was more blood.
The ship rocked again, the shaking accompanied by a terrible grinding sound.
“Go!” Porter mustered enough strength to put emphasis on the word.
Natalia rushed back into the tiny, cramped pod, past the stasis capsules that lay like small beds opposite one another, and up to the front. She studied the control panel in the cockpit and discovered it was indeed very basic and straightforward. There was even a brass plate with engraved launch instructions on the main console. As Natalia looked out for the jump point a thought occurred to her.
“How can I reach the jump point with the ship spinning?” she asked, returning yet again to the pod's rear doors. David did not answer her; he was dead. The man's eyes were closed and he was slumped forward, quite still.
Natalia felt her heart rate increase, her breath coming quick. She was alone. Wasting no further time she hurried to the front of the pod and began working through the instructions on the plate one by one, pressing buttons and activating systems in the specified order. Behind her the rear doors closed and locked. As she continued various instruments sprang into life, screens and monitors lit up and started to tail system logs, statuses of essential parts and other texts. The final instructions on the engraved plate read,
Press 'Release' to release locking clasps
Press 'Launch' to fire engines
Ensure autopilot is engaged 100m from host vessel
Looking down the launch chute Natalia realised what she had to do and pressed the release button whilst studying the spinning scene outside. The now tiny jump point was coming into her view from bottom to top. The vessel was not spinning very fast, but her inexperience with starships had hit her confidence. She swore as she missed the second spin... and the third. On the fourth pass of the jump point, when it was more or less central in her view, Natalia pressed the launch button. She felt the engines engage and the pod shot forward. The jump point was now smaller than ever and she prayed that by the time she reached it, it would not have closed completely.
Looking behind her to the tiny rear door window, she caught a glimpse of what remained of the ship she had been travelling on. Compulsion overtook her and she moved over to the small viewport.
As David had said, her old ship was coming apart, small pieces breaking off all the time, severing the links between the larger sections. Around the vessel, Natalia could make out Imperial starfighters weaving between other stricken craft, explosions ripping across their hulls.
Her ships, her allies, her friends. She would never see them again. The tears came afresh and through her blurred vision she caught sight of an Imperial frigate reigning over the carnage. As she watched, she saw a starfighter deviate from its current course and move towards her pod. Her tears of sorrow became ones of fear and she gave a loud gasp. The starfighter approached and Natalia found she was unable to tear her eyes away from it.
Two green bolts of plasma issued from beneath its wings. Her pod was bathed in a brilliant light. Moments later, the exploding, stricken vessels, the frigate, and the fighter were gone, to be replaced by the blue haze of jump space.
* * *
“I think the Red Devils must have cheated. You saw the way Andrea was sucking up during that presentation. She was probably doing stuff like that the whole way through the evaluation,” Estelle continued to chew on the bone of the Knights' exit from the ATAF project.
The others said nothing, having since taken to just ignoring her. Enrique was slouched in his chair asleep; Chaz was back to his book; Kelly was taking the time to write in her journal; and Dodds was back to his favourite activity of staring out the window. The view was quite uninspiring, with nothing to see aside from jump space's blue haze.
Estelle's misery was further compounded by the fact that the transport the five now occupied was likely the last luxury they would be afforded before arriving at Spirit. It could comfortably hold twelve passengers, and was often used by high-ranking officials and members of senior command. With no-one having acknowledged her, Estelle slipped back into her own thoughts and went back over everything that they had done in the past few weeks at the research facility.
She could not think where they had gone wrong: her team had been up to scratch on the TAF simulators; even Dodds, following his lengthy absence from the cockpit, had performed well. There was no weak link anywhere as far as she could determine. The ATAF evaluations in the simulators themselves had gone without a hitch. The team had not lost a single member during any of the missions they had flown, an act that would have without doubt been a reason for instant failure. They had not conceded very many allied casualties during the assessments - in some cases, none at all; neither had they wasted very much ammunition. All she could think about was that they had not completed the tasks fast enough. Stepping into Parks' office she had been confident that the White Knights would be charged with piloting the ATAFs for whatever purpose the Confederation had in mind. But she had instead seen her dreams go slipping through her fingers.
“Well, welcome to the rest of our military lives,” Enrique said, shuffling in his seat, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes closed. Estelle half scowled at the back of his chair. The man was just pretending to be asleep, so as to avoid m
aking conversation with her. It seemed that, although he too was disappointed, he had been quick to accept it.
Dodds had spent the time before the transport picked them up talking things over with Estelle and trying to reassure her that, like Parks said, it was not a reflection on her; although his efforts had done little to persuade her either way. Chaz had characteristically said nothing to the others following their meeting with Parks and had instead buried his head back in his book. No-one had since questioned him about it, a heavy cloud of rage still lingering over him.
“This is your captain speaking. We are now leaving jump space,” came a pleasant and cheery voice over the transport's intercom. From the way she had spoken throughout the journey, Estelle got the impression that the transport's captain was used to ferrying VIPs and didn't change the way she addressed her passengers, regardless of their rank or status.
With their impending arrival at their destination, Estelle leaned over to take a peak at Dodds, whose eye were glued to the window he sat beside.
* * *
Dodds watched out the window as the blue haze peeled away and the stars outside came rushing by. A massive, far-off transport vessel, its engines glowing with cyan hues, entered the meagre space afforded by his window and began to slow along with the stars outside. The effect was something of an illusion: the disengagement from jump space giving the impression of a rapid burst of speed.
Dodds was greeted by a view of Spirit not long after, the large blue and green ball looming in his window. As he'd heard a number of times before, the orbital ring that wrapped its way around the planet was far from complete, with sections missing here and there. Construction equipment drifted close by, looking as worn out and neglected as the ring itself. It appeared that work on the ring had been put on the back burner. As the planet slid from his view, the captain changing heading to bring the shuttle in line with their destination, Dodds could not help but feel that it was a fitting preview of things to come. After the initial excitement and great anticipation of his call back to duty, was this really what he had returned to? Maybe his father had been right all along.
As well as the ring, Dodds could make out the wheel-like form of the orbital station hanging high above the planet. It was the first station of its type that Dodds had ever seen, Xalan's own orbital station being more saucer-shaped with rounded tops and bottoms like most others. The design of Spirit's station looked as though it had wormed its way out of the reject pile. Either that or it was just cheap.
Kelly, seated in front of him, turned around with an ominous look on her face, her first impressions of their destination leaving much to be desired.
“Disengagement complete,” the transport's captain said as cheery as ever. “Welcome to the Temper system. We will be entering Spirit's orbit within the next twenty minutes, before landing at Spirit Orbital Station and completing our flight. I trust you will have a pleasant stay.”
Estelle went back to sulking.
VI
— An Admiral's Confession —
Commodore Parks' transport shuttle touched down on its appointed cliff-side landing pad, and the man made his way along a connecting jetty that led towards a number of tall buildings, set up against a small mountain range. The buildings that he walked towards were home to a number of research centres and offices, one of which had been designated to Admiral Turner for the duration of his stay on Xalan. Though the admiral had been present on Xalan during the three week ATAF evaluation program, he had, for various reasons, remained far from the Obex Research Centre, upon a different continent entirely; the ground that Parks now trod.
Despite being home to the Confederation's main research and development facilities, Xalan was also populated by a number of thriving cities. Civilian immigration and migration was rigidly controlled. On a planet such as Xalan, the Confederation were careful not to allow free movement and risk losing value research and findings to enemy, or even allied, hands.
Unlike Spirit, Xalan had no orbital ring, a standard orbital station sufficing. Even so, the planet was one of the most fortified throughout the Confederacy, a huge array of long-range planetary defence platforms circling a vast distance. Many of the platforms were automated and would open fire on any unidentified object that came into range, after issuing only a single warning.
Turner's office was high up, affording him a stunning panorama of the city. It was early evening when Parks arrived and the many lights from buildings and low flying vehicles could be seen twinkling in the fading light. Occasional patrol craft passed by his office window.
“Good evening, Commodore,” Turner said as Parks was shown in by the admiral's security.
“Good evening, Admiral,” Parks responded, saluting.
“Please leave us,” Turner looked to the security personnel who stood either side of the door inside his office. The pair saluted and left.
“Don't concern yourself with any standards of correctness, Commodore, I don't expect this to be a formal meeting,” Turner said once the door had shut. “Let me apologise for having you run around so much these past few days. I appreciate that the constant back and forth can be stressful and I myself find space travel so much more convenient. No need to worry about things like atmospherics.”
“That's quite all right, sir,” Parks said. “Whatever was needed to get the job done.” Parks had indeed been travelling a lot recently. Whilst in the Indigo system he had divided his duties between Xalan's many research centres and the orbital station, spending a fair amount of time being transported between all of them. The constant travel had begun to take its toll, but he was coping.
“Spectacular, isn't it?” Turner changed the subject, nodding to the view out of the window.
“I was about to say so myself,” Parks agreed, looking out at the bright lights of the city in the distance. “How do they manage to get any work done here with a view like that?”
“That's part of the reason we move most of them underground!” Turner chuckled. “Drink?” The admiral walked over to a cabinet and removed two spirit glasses. He picked up a near full decanter of whiskey and gave it a gentle shake, with a smile. “Imperial White Label.”
“How did you get that?” Parks asked, knowing that the contents of the vessel the admiral held were not only very expensive, but also difficult to get hold of.
The admiral smiled, pouring out a modest amount of the amber liquid into each glass. “It was confiscated from one of the local residents returning home. I saw it on the seizures list and decided to help myself. One signature and it was mine.”
Parks raised an eyebrow at just how blasé the admiral was acting. Never in his career had he seen the man behave in such a manner.
“Anything else?” Parks asked as Turner dropped a couple of ice cubes into each glass.
“No,” Turner waved a hand dismissively. “A man of my authority shouldn't abuse his position. So, knowing that, I just took the other two bottles.” The admiral smirked and handed one of the glasses to Parks. He then returned to his desk, sinking down into the comfortable black leather chair with a contented sigh. He then raised his glass. “Congratulations on a job well done, Commodore,” he said, before knocking back some of the liquor.
“Thank you, sir.” Parks took a small sip of the whiskey, never too sure if he would ever acquire a taste for it. The Imperials tended to like their drink strong, vodka being high on their list of exports. The spirit was drunk in vast quantities by asteroid and mineral miners all over the galaxy, the most popular being a brand known as Velda; coincidently made by the same company that produced the White Label whiskey. Parks had tried some on occasion and found it to be, in his own words, “lethal”. At close to one hundred and fifty proof it was not a drink to be taken lightly. It was also quite flammable and, as a consequence, banned in many bars throughout the Confederacy.
“Looks like we got our men then. Or, in this case, women,” Turner said cheerily. He rocked the whiskey glass in his hand, staring at the liquid within a
nd watching the way it washed over and around the ice cubes.
Parks said nothing.
“You don't agree?”
“With all due respect, sir, I feel the Knights would have been a better choice.”
“Don't take it personally, Elliott, this isn't a competition,” Turner said with a small air of impatience. “You have to remember that at the end of the day we may in fact be doing them a favour.”
“There was very little in it,” Parks objected.
“In the test scores, yes. But I have doubts about their psychological profiles, Commodore and that is what will count. We only have nine months or so to convince those five women of the truly monumental task that we will be expecting them to undertake. For now, we may as well take the opportunity to celebrate one thing going right over the last six months. God knows we could use it with the prospect of never seeing Dragon again. I'd sooner have that battleship completely destroyed than in the hands of the Enemy.” The last part became something of an irritated mumble. He took another drink from his glass, leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling.
Parks, tired of standing, sat down in a chair adjacent to the admiral's desk. He recalled going over the results of the ATAF evaluation test scores and seeing the minimal differences between the Red Devils and White Knights. There were various aspects of the evaluation where the two teams had out-performed one another, leading to a very difficult decision. In the end, however, the Red Devils had just edged out the White Knights, leaving Parks with the painful task of reassigning the team to the border. The Silver Panthers had performed to a far lesser degree when compared to the others and Parks had returned them to their previous duties.
“What happens if the Devils refuse to go through with it?” Parks asked.
“That's why we need to be absolutely sure that they won't, Elliott,” Turner said in a gruff voice. “We cannot afford to have them pull another Patrick Dean on us. That little incident set us back well over a month.” He paused, staring into space, then said, “remind me: what was the official line on that incident?”