Icarus: A beta sector light novel
In the intervening moments it took Shawn run out into the passageway, Lieutenant Santorum had mysteriously disappeared. Shawn surmised that he must have ducked into one of the dozen 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. “That’s no help. Don’t people have names anymore?” In typical shipboard fashion, all the compartments were organized by their physical address only. He retreated into his quarters, grabbed the secured metal file folder from his bedside and tossed 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 spilled 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 2,000 credits. That almost covers my costs so far, he thought wistfully. Finally, there was a single silver 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 in the lower corner of the video. 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 to be 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 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. 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 need some answers … and I need them now.” Jerry saw that Shawn was definitely not kidding on this matter. “I thought—I mean—didn’t Captain Krif explain everything to you?” he stammered. “The captain and I don’t exactly see eye to eye, Lieutenant. I admit, I have a hard time reading between the lines with him, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t mention anything regarding flying a fighter.” Jerry’s tone was laced with caution. “Then I should assume he didn’t say anything to you about taking over for Lieutenant Commander Brunel?” Shawn chuckled, trying to decide if he’d heard the young man correctly or not. “Take over for what?” “Umm … the squadron, sir?” “I’m sorry?” Shawn replied in shock, wondering if he’d heard the young man correctly. “Yes, sir. Raven informed most of the pilots less than an hour ago. You wouldn’t know it to see it, but I think she was pretty upset about the whole thing.” Shawn nodded slowly as shock set in. “I know how that feels.” He removed his hands from Jerry’s shoulders and paced back a step before licking his lips and coming to a resolute answer. “You and I—and Commander Brunel—are going to have a nice little chat with Captain Krif and get this all straightened out right now.” Jerry gave Shawn a desperate look, as if he were a puppy being scolded. “But … what about chow?” “Now, Lieutenant.” Nova’s shoulders slumped. “Whatever you say, Skip—” Before he could finish, Shawn pressed a finger firmly to Jerry’s mouth. “Let’s not say that again, okay? ‘Sir’ is just fine, all right?” With the commander’s finger held against his lip, the lieutenant managed to utter, “Yes, sir,” from the side of his mouth. “Good boy. Now, let’s go find Raven, then we’ll go to Oz and find out what the Wizard knows.” “The who?” “Never mind. Let’s go.”
At his request, the ship’s computer notified Shawn that Roslyn Brunel was eating in the officers’ main galley. While his stomach told him that he should be doing the same, the questions raised by Lieutenant Santorum’s earlier statements needed answering. With Jerry in the lead, the two men traversed the seemingly endless maze of corridors, making more left and right turns than Shawn could keep track of. Every corridor looked identical to the one before it, and Shawn briefly entertained the idea that Jerry was stalling for time by leading them around in circles. After one final turn they came to a stop in front of two metal doors, each inlaid with a square window emblazoned with Sector Command logos. Beyond the doors, Shawn could see roughly thirty officers sitting down to their meals. Some were conversing with crewmates, others were eating, and some seemed to be lost in their own thoughts as they sat at small tables. As the two entered, Shawn and Jerry noticed Roslyn at the same instant, sitting alone in the far corner of the dining compartment. As Shawn stepped closer to Raven he noticed that she seemed to be idly playing with the food on her plate, neither eating it nor totally ignoring it. She shifted her eyes from one man to the other, nodding wordlessly to Nova, and then went back to reorganizing the food on her tray into a more palatable position. “Is there something I can help you gentlemen with?” Her words were directed at her plate. “I’ve been told that I’m relieving you as commander of the Rippers. Please tell me there’s been a mistake,” Shawn said in disbelief. Roslyn scooped up a small pile of mashed potatoes and regarded it briefly. “Afraid I don’t know much more about it than you do, sir.” She then hefted the fork into her mouth. “Then what—” She swallowed slowly. “The order came directly from Captain Krif within minutes of you reactivating your commission.” Shawn took the opportunity to sit in a chair next to her and lowered his voice. “But I’m not qualified. Hell, I haven’t even logged a single star hour in a fighter in years.” Not bothering to look at him, Roslyn swallowed more food and then reached for a purple, fizzing drink. “You’re preaching to the choir.” “So you agree?” “Oh, yeah,” she replied emphatically. “At least someone has some sense around here.” “Unfortunately it’s not contagious. The upper chain of command seems immune,” she replied dryly. “And you told Krif as much, I assume?” She slowly placed her glass back on the table, but Shawn had the impression Raven was fighting back the urge to hurl the glass across the room. “Of course I did, Lieutenant Commander,” she growled, then immediately lowered her voice when she realized all eyes in the galley were now on her. “Giving you this assignment is not only foolish, it’s exceedingly dangerous. You have no idea what you’re doing. Besides, these new fighters are more advanced than anything you’ve ever flown. Hell, they’re more advanced than anything anyone has ever seen before. It took me seven months of simulator training just to get into the cockpit of one of these things, and now I’m supposed to simply step aside, let you have one with little or no warning, and give you my command to boot?” “I can see you’re upset—” “Upset?” she spat back. “Oh, no. This isn’t upset. This is just mildly pissed off. You don’t want to see me upset.” “That’s for sure,” Nova whispered. Roslyn could have turned Santorum to stone with the glare she gave him. “And you couldn’t get Krif to see things differently?” Shawn asked. “Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, I’m sorry, sir. Begging your pardon, but did you wake up with your head stuck up your ass again?’ I’m sure that wouldn’t have had the desired effect.” “It’s worked for me.” She shook her head, turning her attention despondently back to her food. “Yeah, well … I’m not you, apparently.” “Meaning what?” “You’ll have to talk to the captain about it. All I know is that I was asked to step aside and hand the squadron over to you, and to give you a full briefing and tour of inspection tomorrow morning at 0900 hours.” “That’s it?” “That’s it.” She grabbed a forkful of deviled ham and stuffed it into her face.
“Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I have a meal to finish.” Lieutenant Santorum placed a hand lightly on Shawn’s shoulder, indicating that it was time to go. When Shawn made an attempt at an apology, Roslyn discharged his words with a nonchalant wave of her hand. “You’re dismissed, Lieutenant Santorum. And take your friend with you.” When the two men had exited the galley, they stepped to one of the wall-mounted computer terminals. Shawn withdrew his IDC and held it to the screen, then requested the location of Captain Krif. The computer’s sultry feminine voice responded, “Captain Krif is in his cabin, Lieutenant Commander Kestrel.” Half expecting the sentence to end with a lip-smacking kissing sound, Shawn gave the computer a questioning glare before turning to Jerry. “Is that the way it always sounds?” “Bad maintenance overhaul a few weeks ago. I’ll tell you about it another time. Do you want the computer to notify the captain that we’re on our way, sir?” “No. I’m sure he’s expecting me. And if he’s not, I really don’t care.”Fender, Stephen A. Icarus: A Beta Sector Novel (Kestrel Saga Book 2) (p. 27). Jolly Rogers Productions. Kindle Edition.
