Icarus (2 page)

   Wondering at first if it was Trent, then hoping it was Melissa Graves,
then praying it wasn’t Krif, he called out hesitantly. “Come in.”

   To his surprise, the door slid open with a whisper to reveal a
fresh-faced young man, probably in his mid-twenties. His brown hair, cut short
but fashionably so, capped his nearly-six-foot frame. His eyes, the same deep
chocolate color as his hair, starkly contrasted the pale skin of his face. His
coloring reminded Shawn that, in space, no one seemed to carry a natural tan
for very long. The young man was wearing a dark gray flight suit and, judging
by the fact that he still had half his oxygen and waste tubes still connected,
Shawn surmised the unknown pilot had just come in from a flight.

   The man smiled, giving the nearly empty room a cursory glance, and
leaned in as he placed a hand on the doorframe. “Mind if I come in, sir?”

   “Sure,” Shawn replied uneasily, choosing to remain seated on the bed
until the officer was in the room.  

   The officer placed his helmet onto the nearby empty desktop. The
silver helmet, with its transparent black face shield pulled down, had a series
of stylized yellow chevrons painted on either side: three parallel lines
running from back to front, a single white one flanked by light blue ones.
Along the leading edge of the helmet, where the silver surface met with the
face shield, was the word ‘NOVA’ in bold, black letters—no doubt the young
man’s call sign. Nova extended a gloved hand to Shawn.

   “Lieutenant Jerry Santorum.” The young man’s West Texas drawl was both
unmistakable and slightly ridiculous.

   Shawn stood up and grasped the pilot’s hand. “Shawn Kestrel.”

   “Commander,” Jerry offered with a curt nod, honoring the age-old naval
tradition of shortening ‘Lieutenant Commander’ to simply ‘Commander’ for
brevity.

   “Whoa there, Lieutenant,” Shawn offered with raised palms. “I don’t
think I’m ready for that yet.”

   “I understand, sir. Word is you’ve been out of the Sector Command
scene for a few years.”

   “Word gets around pretty quick here.”

   “Well, it depends on the weight of the word,” Santorum replied with a
smirk. “The size of the carrier is in no way proportional to the speed of
gossip, sir. Sometimes you might go months before hearing about one thing,
whereas others come to your ears in the blink of an eye.”

   Aside from the usual pleasantries afforded by one officer to another,
Shawn wondered what the young man was doing there. Truth be told, Shawn wasn’t
sure if he wanted to be alone right then or not, so in the end he decided to
make the introductions quick and see where professionalism got him. “What can I
do for you, Lieutenant?”

   “Raven—that is, Lieutenant Commander Brunel—asked me to come in and
check on you when I was done with my debriefing to see if you needed anything.”

   Shawn hadn’t seen Commander Brunel since his meeting with Krif when
he’d first come on board. The image of the attractive, dark-haired woman popped
effortlessly into his brain. “You fly with the Rippers?” Shawn asked in
reference to Raven’s command.

   “Yes, sir. In fact, I was out there with her earlier today when those
Temkorians were harassing you.”

   “Ah,” Shawn replied in a moment of revelation. “So you were the other
pilot out there? I was wondering when you’d make yourself known.”

   “Yes, sir,” the young man smiled broadly.

   “Pretty nice flying out there, Lieutenant.”

   “Well, thank you, sir,” the young man beamed with obvious pride. “If I
may say so, sir, you didn’t do too badly yourself. I was a little surprised by
some of those moves I saw that old Mark-IV of yours do.”

   Shawn’s thoughts instantly went back to Krif, and the captain’s
revulsion for Shawn’s well-worn but faithful cargo ship. However, something in
Nova’s eyes told Shawn that the lieutenant had a different opinion of
Sylvia’s
Delight
to offer, and he wanted to give Jerry Santorum a chance to speak
it—before he decided whether or not to punch his lights out. “Well, my mechanic
and I
have
made a few modifications.”

   Nova’s eyes lit up with the brilliance of twin suns. “Really? Maybe
you can show them to me sometime. See, my old man used to haul mining equipment
between Drakkus and the Outer Rim in a Mark-IV before the war. He even took me
on a few runs with him before I joined up. Until today, I hadn’t seen one in ages.
I bet it’d bring back some really great memories to sit inside one again.” He
seemed to realize that, in his excitement, he’d lost his military bearings.
Recouping from the misstep, he ended with a deliberate “sir.”

   Shawn realized instantly that he could grow to like this young man.
“Sure, Jerry. I’ll give you the grand tour sometime, assuming Krif doesn’t try
to dump it out an airlock.”

   “No way that’ll ever happen.”

   Shawn knew that was the case, but decided to press Santorum anyway.
“What do you mean?”

   “Well, it’s more rumors, sir, but I hear the order came from the OSI
Director himself that the Mark-IV was to remain on board as long as you’re
attached to the
Rhea
. That’s what got me all excited about going aboard
her to begin with.”

   “Interesting,” Shawn replied, as much to himself as to Nova. He was
still having a hard time wrapping his head around why Sector Command wanted him
there in the first place. Now, to hear that the Director of the OSI had ordered
that
Sylvia’s Delight
be untouched, his curiosity was doubly piqued. 

   Jerry seemed to sense that Shawn was deep in thought, and tried to
make a discreet exit. “Say, I gotta go, sir. Is there anything I can get you
before I take off? Commander Brunel would raise hell and stick a chunk under it
if I didn’t follow her orders to the letter.”

   Shawn chuckled at the remark. “No, I think I’m good for now.”

   “Great. I’m gonna go grab a shower. I feel like I’ve been out running
with the bird dogs. Say, maybe we can head down to the mess hall in a bit and
grab a little chow? If you need anything in the meantime, just access the
ship’s library core from your terminal. It’ll tell you everything you need to
know, where to find it, and the fastest way to get there. Hell, it’ll even tell
you how to unzip your—”

   “Thanks,” Shawn said, cutting off anything else the talkative
lieutenant could have said. “I’ll do that.”

   The young man grabbed his helmet and strode to the exit, then out into
the passageway once the door was fully opened. “I’ll head back here on my way
down to the lower decks. See you in a little bit, Skipper.”

   “Thanks. See you then,” Shawn said, then realized after a long moment
how Jerry had addressed him just as the cabin doors had closed. “What…what did
you call me?”

   In the intervening seconds it took Shawn to get out into the
passageway, Lieutenant Santorum had mysteriously disappeared. Shawn surmised
that he must have ducked into one of the dozen or so identical doors lining the
corridor. Shawn looked at the placard beside the door opposite his, checking
for the identity of its occupants. “04-05-16S-197?” he read aloud. “Well,
that’s no help. Don’t people have names anymore?” He noted with disdain that
all the compartments were organized by their physical address only, and that
their occupants’ names were strangely absent. He retreated into his quarters,
grabbing the secured file folder from his bedside and tossing it onto the desk
near the foot of his bed.

   When the file landed, the flap that had secured the contents inside
flipped open and papers began spilling out onto the tabletop. Resigning himself
to the mess, he dumped the remainder of the container out and inspected the
materials. Aside from the small stack of loose papers, there were two reports,
one encased in a yellow folder labeled CONFIDENTIAL and the other bound in red
and labeled SECRET. There were two small holographic storage cubes, and two
stacks of Unified currency totaling two-thousand credits.
That almost covers
my costs so far
, he thought wistfully. Finally, there was a single gold key
with the number 0218 etched on both sides of its surface. He walked to the
wall-mounted safe above his bed, a standard feature for command officers to
have in their quarters. Tossing in both the credits and the key, he quickly
programmed the safe with a new combination and locked it. Moving back to the
desk, he grabbed the first holocube and placed it in the access tray on the
side of his computer terminal, giving the terminal time to load the data as he
began to organize the small pile of papers before him.

   On the screen, after an image of the Sector Command logo had faded
from view, William Graves, dressed in an admiral’s uniform, appeared. William’s
neck was a little thicker, and his angular face was slightly more rounded. His
long mustache, once a deep black in his youth, was now a salt-and-pepper gray
with white. It instantly occurred to Shawn that this video had probably been
produced recently; this thought was confirmed when a date of approximately nine
months ago appeared briefly in the lower right corner of the video. The
presentation was in the typical style of an intelligence report, much like
Shawn had seen during his wartime tenure. Graves was seated behind a large desk
in an otherwise nondescript office. Behind him was a large display screen that
came to life as he spoke. Bill talked about the alarming reports of Kafaran
attempts to rearm themselves, and of the planets and solar systems that might
align themselves with ‘the enemy’ at some point in the future. The video served
to confirm what Toyotomi Katashi had already told both Shawn and Melissa while
they were on Persephone. The only new information Shawn gleaned was that the
Unified council appeared aware of the unrest in Kafaran space and was doing something
about it: a fleet had been dispatched to ascertain the facts about the
Kafarans’ current state, and to dispel any rumors in the process. It was the
Fifth Space Flotilla, with the carrier
Valley Forge
in the lead. “The
Valley
Forge
,” Shawn whispered, remembering that this was the carrier squadron
which had gone missing at the same time Admiral Graves had. “Katashi, you old
space dog. You were definitely on to something, weren’t you?”

   Before Shawn could scan through the remaining files, there was a quick
rap at his door before it slid open of its own accord. It was Lieutenant
Santorum, freshly bathed and ready for chow. “You coming, Commander?”

   Shawn pulled the cube off the tray, cutting off the remainder of the
feed.  He quickly stuffed it into his pocket with the remaining cube. “Yeah,
Jerry,” he said, knowing that he probably looked like he’d just pulled his hand
from the proverbial cookie jar. “But you’ll have to lead the way, though. I’m
afraid I don’t know my way around here yet. Say, I didn’t tell the door to
open.”

   “Oh, that? We’ve been having minor computer glitches lately. Nothing
to be alarmed about, just a few trivial inconveniences and oddities.”

   “But nothing serious?”

   Nova smiled and shrugged noncommittally. “Not yet. Anyway, if you ever
get lost, all you have to do is query the ship’s computer. It’ll tell you
anything you need to know and give you maps to anything your IDC has on file.”

   “My IDC?”

   “Oh, right. I almost forgot.” Nova reached into his pocket and
withdrew a small metallic card and handed it to Shawn. “There have been some
new procedures implemented since you left the service. Two years ago, Sector
Command began issuing IDCs to all active space units. It’s basically an
encrypted identification card that contains all the holders’ access privileges
on it. Whenever you come to a door or a compartment that has a card reader on
it, you just swipe your IDC. If you have the proper access then you’re in; if
not, you get a red light and a warning chime.”

   Shawn noticed that the back of the card had his name and serial number
etched into its golden surface. “What happens when you get a warning chime?”

   “Nothing, at first. After three consecutive chimes your card is locked
out of the system. When that happens, you won’t get access to anything, and
you’ll have to call the NAMS to unlock the card.”

   “NAMS?” Shawn repeated, having never heard the acronym before.

   “Sorry, the
Networking and Applied Mainframe
Security
specialists. They’re the undisputed technology masters on the
ship. Anyway, if the compartment you’d tried to enter has highly classified
material inside, you may have to speak to the old man before your card will
work again.”

   “Krif?”

   “Yes, sir. And he doesn’t like to deal with that sort of stuff. In fact,
I’ve seen him get hotter than the hinges of hell for less. It’s better to know
your access level ahead of time—that way you don’t get locked out
unnecessarily. And without your IDC you’re up a creek without a paddle around
here. Not only will you need it to get from deck to deck, you’ll also use it to
get into and start your fighter.”

   “My what?”

   Jerry looked as if Shawn had asked him if there was a third arm
growing from his head. “Your fighter, Skipper.”

   “Okay, first off, no one said anything about a fighter or, for that
matter, about me flying anything but my own ship. Secondly, why do you keep
calling me ‘Skipper’?”

   “Oh, I get it,” Jerry offered with a grin and a chuckle. “This is a
test, right? I heard from some of the other pilots that you might do something
like this.”

   “What pilots? What are you talking about, Jerry?”

   Santorum only laughed. “You think you can catch old Nova on the sly,
but I’m onto you, sir. You won’t lure me in with one of those famous practical
jokes.”

    Shawn brought his hands up and placed them gently on Jerry’s
shoulders. He looked deeply into the lieutenant’s eyes, speaking as calmly as
he could muster. “Look, Nova, I think you’re a pretty fair guy, but I don’t
want to have to throttle the truth out of you. Now, I need some answers…and I
need them now.”