Warborg - Star Panther (11 page)

Martin eyed Swain warily. “No, doesn’t ring a bell. Why?”

“Well, according to the rumor mill, she was your lover. All twenty years of her.” Swain gloated. “You dirty old man.”

“Whaa . . .” Martin sputtered. “Well, I sure hope she’s cute. I do have a certain reputation to uphold.” He gave a martyr’s sigh.

Swain made an ugly face. “Make that a disgusting, dirty old man.” He leaned back in his chair. “Anyway she’s the one who found you.”

“Okay. But why does that make us lovers?”

“Ahhh,” Swain waved a finger in the air. “Remember a fight where you took a missile to save a tug a while back?”

“Well, yeah.” Martin shrugged.

“She was the pilot of that tug.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Martin’s voice was filled with wonder. “Unbelievable, circles within circles.” He pondered the irony.

Swain’s smile turned sanguine. “Oh there’s a hell of a lot more to the story than meets the eye. Some vid company is making enquiries about a movie. Martin, the story has everything. The hero who risks his life to save an unknown innocent young pilot. Then later winds up being converted into a warborg, who fights many glorious battles. But in the end winds up with his ship destroyed by an alien secret weapon in a futile battle where his wingman sacrifices himself so the hero could escape with the information the fleet so desperately needs. So he’s drifting alone, lost in the void, with the sole surviving member of his group forlornly searching in his own damaged ship. Then the manned ships go out to search, against the wishes of their Commander, hoping to find their friend and ally. Then the climax, where that unknown pilot the hero saved is the one who finds him, the information is saved along with the warborg and everyone lives happily ever after.”

“Sounds like a really bad space opera, doesn’t it?” Martin chuckled.

Swain smiled. “Yes, it really does.” He grew a little more serious. “And the fact that it really happened is amazing.” Swain seemed to drift in thought. “Something happened out there, Martin, something wonderful, something marvelous.”

Martin sensed Swain needed to follow his thoughts. “What was it, Doc?” He asked quietly, gently prodding his friend to continue.

Swain focused on Martin. “I’m a bio, Martin. I see things on the other side of the mirror from you.” His eyes glazed. “It was amazing . . . incredible. I mean the reaction from the bio pilots. I think if it had been anyone but you and Reese, it never would have happened.”

“Why do you say that, Doc?”

“It came through like a firestorm.” Swain really seemed awed with the memory. “Mister Tinman was out in a damaged ship, alone, trying to find The Dancer.” He refocused momentarily. “That’s what they call you Martin.”

Martin smiled.
I’m The Dancer.
Somehow it fit, it just felt right.

“Oh, some knew Captain Morgan and went out to find a friend, but most went out of respect, Martin. Reese has been around a long time, every combat pilot knows that gravelly voice offers easy promise they will live to see another day. And they all marvel at The Dancer, sowing so much destruction with artistic grace and finesse that it is the epitome of contradiction.”

Martin felt himself blush, even if he knew no one would ever see it.

“That’s why they went, Martin. No orders, no pointed requests, just simple respect for a fellow warrior in trouble . . . a cyborg warrior.” Swain smiled at Martin. “And I think that might have been what bothered Stratton the most.”

Martin sat in silence for a second. “Doc, I don’t even know what to say.”

Swain laughed. “Then don’t say anything, it doesn’t matter beyond the ramblings of an old fool.” He stood up, slightly embarrassed and pointed at the calibration holotank. “You know the routine I’m going to bed, thirty two hours is long enough.”

“Good night Doc. I’ll see you in the morning.” Martin watched him walk toward the door. “And once again thanks, thanks for everything.” His last view of the Doctor was the old familiar one of him walking down the corridor waving over his shoulder.
They might be ramblings Doc, but they sure aren’t from an old fool.
He rolled himself in front of the calibration tank and started the calibration sequence. “Shit.” His bored voice whispered across the empty laboratory.

“Captain Morgan reporting as directed, Sir.” Martin stood at attention in front of Briton’s desk. He snapped a salute.

Briton answered the salute. “At ease Captain. Have a seat.”

“Thank you Sir.” Martin sat in a reasonably comfortable straight chair beside the desk.

Briton smiled. “Quite the adventure you had.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Captain, would you relax. This isn’t an inquisition. In fact I’m damned happy to have you sitting here at all.” Briton sighed. “The only bright spot in a dismal affair.”

Martin relaxed, but was saddened at the losses. “Sorry to hear about C squadron, I hadn’t even gotten to know them. And Major Stith, damn you Brian . . . why?” He finished in a barely audible sigh.

“The Clowns were a good group, they will be missed.” Briton focused on Martin. “As for Major Stith, he did what he thought was necessary. He saved your life Martin.”

“What?” Martin’s eyebrows shot up.

“He managed to get up enough speed so even after they destroyed his ship the remains were ballistic and rammed the Koth, at least that’s what the evidence points to.”

Martin sagged slightly and shook his head. “That son of a bitch, I knew he was up to something. Damn.”

Briton studied the junior officer for a moment. “You couldn’t have stopped him even if you knew what he was up to.” He consoled. “It was his choice Captain. He made a decision that saved his wingman, and probably a whole bunch of others after we fully analyze that data you brought back. Respect him for that, he more than deserves it.”

“Yes Sir, I will.” Martin replied quietly. “He was also a good friend.”

The two men sat in silence lost in their own thoughts for a moment. Briton shook himself out of it first. “Captain, a lot has happened while you were unconscious.”

Martin smiled. “So I heard, congratulations Sir.”

Briton chuckled. “Thanks. But that’s only part of it . . . Major Morgan.” His eyes twinkled as he let it sink in.

Martin looked confused for a second then bounded to his feet snapping to attention. “Captain Martin Morgan accepts the new rank of Major, Sir.”

“Very well, Promotion granted.” They traded salutes. “Now at ease, dammit.” Briton smiled at the beaming face in front of him.

Martin sat back down. “Thank you Sir.” All the insignia on his uniform changed to designate the new rank as he watched, still fascinated by the strange realities in the virtual worlds.

“I also wanted to thank you for making me look good.” Briton paused. “You know that little change in strategy you came up with.”

Martin nodded.

“Well most of the fleet has adapted to it, with great success.” Briton grinned. “Off the record . . . There were a lot of red faces that no one had come up with such a simple idea before. None of the strategist realized just how badly it chaffed the manned ships to bail out of a fight just because warborgs showed up. Now they know they have a job that’s not just window dressing in clearing out the strike fighters, and they like it. And conversely, the warborgs really like knowing there won’t be Koth strikes taking potshots at them, at least not without facing the wrath of the manned fighters. Sometimes the command staff can’t see the forest for the trees.” He shook his head with a smile. “As a side bar, the bios and the warborgs are now talking to each other during and after the battles. We in command never realized how segregated the two groups had become. Oh there’s still some animosity, we’ll always have the Stratton’s among us who don’t like cyborgs because of religious beliefs, or those who are just plain borgaphobes. But it’s hard to hate someone who went head to head against a common enemy with you, then joins in the usual bull session on the way back home, or covers your butt until recovery can get there.” Briton leaned back in his chair. “So I wanted to thank you for that little piece of ingenuity, I’ve spoken with several commanders from both sides of the isle that convey the same gratitude.”

Martin was embarrassed. “But it was really nothing, Sir.” He stuttered slightly.

“Somehow the really good ideas usually are.” Briton smiled then sighed. “The next item is you ship. There aren’t any light fighters available at the moment, but I have a proposition for you.”

Again
, Martin thought before responding. He could sense Briton was having a hard time trying to decide where to begin. He smiled and played a hunch. “Just tell me about the ship, Sir.”

Briton smiled in introspect. “It’s a new class of ship, I guess calling it a combat scout would be the most accurate description. Like normal scout ships, it has the capability to operate effectively inside an atmosphere as well as in deep space. But it has a couple other capabilities that set it a part. First, it is a combat ship, on par with a strike fighter as far as effectiveness. Second, it’s configured for stealth.”

Martin scrunched up his eyebrows. “What’s its mission profile?”
As if I couldn’t guess.

“Hostile space penetration and recon.” Briton sagely eyed Martin. A sheet of paper appeared on the desk in front of Martin. “Here are the basic specs, take a look.”

Martin picked up the paper and skimmed it. He whistled. “Impressive Commander. It’s one fast son of a bitch.” He continued to read. “Damn, am I reading this right? From what I see this thing could even operate in a liquid environment.”

Briton grinned, the fish was nibbling. “Yes, it’s submersible in a wide range of fluids.”

“It carries a single class three missile? That’s a pretty good sized piece of ordinance.” Martin finished reading, impressed in spite of his doubts. He looked Briton in the eye. “Ok Commander, why me? This seems a little contrived, with me not having a ship at the moment.”

A look of guilt passed over Briton’s face. “Well in reality every time they ran a pilot profile your name came up at the top of the list because of your duty history and proficiency. They were going to send the ship out in the hope of convincing you to volunteer to take it.”

“Volunteer?” Martin studied the other officer. “Okay Commander, I’ve seen the bait, now where’s the hook.”

Briton closed his eyes. “It’s a prototype.”

Martin considered his response before continuing. “A prototype, so how has it performed in the past?”

Briton considered a political evasion for a split second before deciding to tell Martin the whole truth. “It has no past, this is the first time out the test area . . . in fact it’s never been mounted before.”

“Oh for Christ sake.” Martin sputtered a little bit. “You mean there’s never even been a cyborg installed in the damn thing and they’re sending it out into a combat zone.”

“Ahhh, yeah. That’s about it.” Briton felt a little foolish even asking.

Martin studied Briton.
He wouldn’t ask if it weren’t damned important. There’s something more going on here.
“I might be interested Commander, but I want to know why, why this has been pushed so far ahead of the normal deployment schedule?”

Briton felt a glimmer of hope. “They were going to send it out in a couple months after some more testing. But with the appearance of this new Koth weapon they pushed the delivery date forward. Major, this ship looks like it might be able to withstand the new weapon, at least long enough to get in a killing blow, anyway.”

“Whoa, now wait a minute.” Martin leaned forward as a picture formed in his mind. “You want me to take this unproven ship into Koth space, or wherever, on a mission to hunt down and destroy this new Koth ship, don’t you?”

It was a direct question and Commander Briton could see no way of not answering it truthfully. “That’s about the size of it.”

Martin had a sinking feeling. “Are there any others?”

“No.” Briton sighed. “The ship is one of a kind, the only other one in existence is the hanger queen they use as a test bed for the ship’s systems, it’s not even space worthy.”

The sinking feeling turned into a grayness. “You’re going to send this thing out with somebody else if I don’t agree to take it aren’t you?”

“Yes.” The answer was almost too quiet to hear.

Martin leaned back and rubbed his forehead.
Reese! He’s the only other warborg left unless they go to another group.
He blew out a huge sigh. “If I do this I want complete autonomy over my mission, and I want some time to learn to fly it.”

Briton felt slightly light headed. “I don’t see any problem with either of those stipulations. In fact as far as the mission goes you’re going to be kind of a ‘Have Gun Will Travel’ just trying to search this thing down. Unless it turns up somewhere, any direction is as good as another. Also, all bases will be alerted to your presence and you will have the highest priority possible for support.”

I must be crazy.
“All right, when can I get the complete package on the ship and when will it be here?”

A memory card popped into existence on the desk in front of Martin. “Here are all the specs, and a virtual simulator.” Briton hesitated. “And the ship was shipped out two days ago, it should be here in a couple weeks.”

Martin studied the memory card for a moment and thought ‘
store
’, the card disappeared from the desktop. “I’ll look it over Sir. Is there anything else I should be aware of?”

“About the ship and the mission? No, not really although I’m sure things will crop up. But there are a few other things you should be aware of. First, we are getting two warborg light fighter squadrons. They’re bringing them up from the rear areas and will arrive later today or tomorrow. Then in the next two weeks we will be getting another squadron of warborg lights and a squadron of warborg strikes. On the manned side we’re getting replacements for all the ships we lost,” He smiled. “Plus an additional tactical base ship with a full compliment of eight mixed squadrons.”

Martin’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s a pile of ships. Where do I fit into this picture?”

“Peripherally. You, Reese and I are Jester squadron. Now that I’m to be mounted in a ship I need a wingman, so Reese is my Adjunct slash wingman. You will be acting as a detached unit directly under my command.” Briton’s smile was a sad one. “Oh one other thing, I’m sorry Martin. I know it’s a hassle, but this new ship uses an entirely different container. You’re going to have to transfer again. I apologize, I should have brought that up earlier.”

Martin laughed. “That’s ok Sir, it’s not like I’m attached to this one yet. Hell, it’s not even completely calibrated.” Martin’s eyes glinted with humor. “Is there a Guinness Book of Records for the most transfers in a three month length of time?”

Briton laughed shaking his head, appreciating this man’s easy going acceptance of the cards that were dealt him. “I don’t know, but I’ll tell you this. If there is one, it’s got Swain written all over it. Did you know he was a pioneer in the field of cyborgs?”

“No. All I know is we’re damn lucky to have him.”

“Too true.” Briton nodded then smiled. “Dismissed Major.”

Martin stood and saluted. “Thank you Sir.”
I think?