Metal Boxes - Rusty Hinges (14 page)

Numos grinned. “I agree. I know my officers will be excited to have new toys to play with.”

Shorty waved his team past the chief; their loaders bringing in crate after crate of supplies. He watched for a moment and then said through Jay. “
Boss, I hope you don’t mind, but I borrowed your new suit and we copied a few pieces to modify our suits.”

Stone looked shocked. “You took my combat suit?”

Shorty said,
“Sure, why not? We put it back when we were done.

He had a special new suit sent by his family when he was governor, back when he could wear anything he wanted and not worry about the different odd bits. The special suit Grandpa had built for him would put even a marine suit to shame, but he was trying to fit in and learn, not stand out. He hadn’t mentioned the new suit to anyone except Allie, although he was sure many people around him knew about it.

Shorty said,
“We didn’t figure out everything on your suit yet. I know you haven’t spent much more time in that combat suit than we’ve spent in our new model suits. Still, as different as it is, it does look like a normal navy suit … almost.”

Stone nodded, “Well, I am navy, remember?”

Shorty replied,
“You’re more pirate than squid, Boss. Better get used to being a little different. Oh, by the way, I have approval from that old ass-bag of a brother of mine. We can jump anytime, so you have about three months to get used to your new suit before we jump into enemy controlled space.”

Stone kept his voice low so the sound didn’t carry. “Jumping in isn’t a worry. We need to gather intel. Intelligence doesn’t do us any good unless we can get back home alive with it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Stone sat in his regular seat next to Whizzer at the bridge conference table. He tried to look nonchalant, but was having trouble prying his fingers off the arms of the chair. Whizzer and Emmons didn’t look any less nervous. The tension across the bridge and throughout Rusty Hinges was more than palpable for Stone. For the past few hours the odor of citrus was almost overpowering.

The scent of lime eased slightly when Butcher ordered general quarters. Giving the average spacer something to do, something they were familiar with, common duties, eased their sense of fear and caution about the impending jump into Hyrocanian held space. Stone wished his general quarters duty was where he could be doing something, but Butcher continued to want him on the bridge as an advisor, where he sat with nothing to do.

Butcher didn’t have a red stripe on his trousers, never having commanded a navy ship in combat. Stone believed the captain should have received it for his actions while commanding the Hyrocanian shuttle when they captured Rusty Hinges. The navy disagreed. Their refusal stated that the shuttle was an enemy vessel, not UEN, although it was under human command at the time with Butcher at the controls. They’d also pointed out that the shuttle was actually commandeered by Governor Stone acting in a civilian capacity and no formal or informal change of command ceremony had taken place. There was confusion in the after action reports as to who had really been in command, Stone, Butcher, Major Numos, or as some suggested, no one specific individual was in control, it happened as command by committee.

Stone doubted Butcher was jealous about the red stripe, just as he was sure other officers were. LTSG Missimaya had been vocal about the award more than once, stating that Stone was nothing but a jumped up ensign junior grade and wouldn’t be where he was without his family’s money and influence. Stone hadn’t said so, but he thought it was the fire calling the flame hot, since Missimaya appeared to be under qualified to manage the human waste systems — constantly requiring senior enlisted help to get him out of trouble. The master chief laughed it off, saying that was what senior NCOs were for.

Thomas pointed out that Captain Butcher might want Stone on the bridge because of the stripe, not in spite of it. The man was not foolish enough to disregard any possible advice from a combat certified commander over petty jealousy about a fancy geegaw on a uniform.

The only two people on the bridge who didn’t appear nervous were Major Numos, seated across from Stone, and Ell, lying on the floor behind him. The drasco’s shiny metal armor wasn’t any less perfectly polished than the brass on Numos’s uniform.

No human knew the piglets better than Stone, but he still had difficulty reading their facial expressions. He thought Shorty would be calm as ice, but the little guy kept fiddling with his sunglasses like a nervous twitch.

Seated in his command chair, Butcher’s voice carried across the bridge. “Settle down people. We’ve been practicing this insertion for the three months we’ve been in hyperspace. We know what we’re doing. Just remember to think like you’re a Hyrocanian.”

Shorty snorted.
“I would, but I’m not that hungry.”

The reference to the Hyrocanian’s practice of eating flesh while their victim was still alive, especially piglets, caused a brief spate of nervous laughter across the bridge. It was slightly delayed as Stone relayed the translation of Shorty’s comment from Ell, the current piglet translator.

Butcher said, “Doctor Wyznewski, are you ready?”

Wyznewski looked at Emmons.

She nodded back.

He said, “Yes, Commander Butcher. We have hundreds of optional replies to dozens of possible inquiries ready. Assuming we find the Hyrocanians and they challenge us, we should be able to answer any query.” He patted a small portable console in front of him.

Butcher nodded, “XO, are you ready?” Butcher turned up the sound on his dataport.

Everyone on the bridge heard Gupta’s response. “The shuttle is prepped and the engines hot. You give the command and we’re gone.” There was a tiny pause in the XOs voice. “Sir, I …”

Everyone waited for the XO to complain once again about being the safety valve, but the man didn’t finish. If the excrement hit the fan, his job was to jump back through the piglet’s system and dash for the navigation point to Allie’s World. Someone had to get what intelligence they’d already gathered back to the UEN.

Butcher said, “I know, XO. It’s a crappy job, but —”

Everyone on the bridge finished with him in unison “— someone has to do it.”

Butcher continued, “You have the packet?”

Everyone aboard had recorded a last message home, just in case. “I carried it onto the shuttle myself, Captain.”

“Good. You can give mine back to me at breakfast after the insertion.”

The XO said, “Aye, aye, Captain.”

Butcher said, “Communications, are you sync’d up with Whizzer?”

“Comms, sir. We are in sync. We can broadcast video and sound direct from his console.”

“Tactical, are we a go?”

“Tactical, sir. We are a go. Weapons are online and hot. LT Vera has us steady at fifty-seven percent. That’s not high, sir, but she’s pulled off miracles getting us that ready. I do want to renew my objection to making this jump without shields up or camouflage.”

Butcher looked at Emmons.

She looked back and shook her head vehemently.

He said, “Sorry, Tactical. It feels wrong to me too, but Doctor Emmons insists that a Hyrocanian wouldn’t jump into his own system with shields up and camouflage active. Our chief behaviorist claims it would offend other ship commanders.”

Emmons said, “The Hyrocanian command structure is still unclear, but we have more than one example in our files and from our own observations that offending a senior officer can get you killed without repercussions from the higher commander.”

Stone remembered watching a fat Hyrocanian kill a smaller one without compunction or cause. He doubted a higher ranking officer had to wait to be offended before striking to kill. Still, he agreed with tactical, jumping into an enemy camp without shields made him feel naked. It was a dream he had all too often of showing up as a midshipman cadet for a formation without his trousers.

Butcher made a few more calls around the bridge. Everyone was a go. That wasn’t a surprise as everyone was ready an hour ago. He looked at the conference table. “Major Numos, marines ready?”

Numos nodded, “Yes, sir, always are. LT Vedrian reports we’re good to go whether we need to repel boarders or we need to board another vessel.”

“Shorty, anything you want to add at the last minute?”

Shorty shrugged. Ell didn’t need to interpret the gesture.

Butcher looked at Stone, “Ensign, any final suggestions?”

“No, Captain.” Stone wished he had something to suggest or report. He felt useless just sitting and waiting.

Butcher said, “Navigation, time to jump?”

“Nav, sir. Time to jump is fifteen minutes.”

The fifteen minutes creeped by much slower than hyperspace time distortion or the theory of relativity could explain. It was a quiet fifteen minutes, interrupted only when Ell loudly passed gas and Whizzer pretended to gag on the noxious fumes.

“Nav, sir. Jump pending.”

Butcher nodded, “On your mark, Nav. Everyone on your toes.”

Stone had been on his toes for so long he felt like an overworked ballerina. His fingers gripped the chair arms with white-knuckled intensity. He glared at the little display on the table. All it showed him was gray. He glanced at the main bridge display. It showed gray. His eyeballs snapped back, returning his glare to the table monitor; it was still gray. Gray. Gray. Black with stars strewn across empty darkness.

Butcher asked, “Comms?”

“Comms, sir. Nothing. Not even on standard ship-to-ship bands. Spinning the dial now, sir.”

“Tactical?”

“Tactical, sir. Nothing. No mines. No ships guarding the navigation point. I don’t think they expect anyone but Hyrocanians.”

Butcher sighed. “Okay, people. Let’s start feeding data to my display. Start with planets and moons, then I want the location of all Hyrocanian ships and bases quicker than asap.”

A chorus of “Aye, aye, Captain” rang across the bridge.

Butcher said, “Helm, let’s move up above the elliptic relative to our present position. Nothing is coming through this nav point behind us, but no ship’s master deliberately sits in front of an open door. I think —”

An exceedingly obese and harsh looking Hyrocanian face popped onto the main bridge monitor. Whizzer’s console translated in real time.”

“Admiral Grebnetzell, where have you been? How did you get back through that jump point? Explain yourself now or submit to feasting.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The main bridge monitor split down the middle. The angry looking Hyrocanian officer glared out one side and the other side filled with an equally angry looking Hyrocanian officer, although this one was slightly less rotund.

Wyznewski punched a few quick buttons and the thinner Hyrocanian said, “Sir, Admiral Grebnetzell is dead.”

“I hope the anal retentive cretin didn’t get the pleasure of dying at the hands of his food?”

Wyznewski’s avatar replied, “No. I killed him for getting us lost in hyperspace.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Wyznewski and I promoted myself to Admiral.”

Stone was worried the Hyrocanians were going to be upset at the self-promotion and he’d argued with Wyznewski and Emmons about it. They insisted they didn’t understand Hyrocanian ranks enough to adopt another rank and they believed Hyrocanians advanced through murder and one-upmanship.

The Hyrocanian appeared to be fuming, but said, “What kind of name is Wyznewski?”

Wyznewski’s avatar replied, “Communications are fuzzy, Admiral —”.

Emmons prodded him with an elbow. She pointed at a display next to her. Their systems facial recognition must have found the on-screen Admiral in the Hyrocanian database.

Wyznewski added, “Admiral Kut. We have many damaged systems. Report … sketch … soon … overloading engines, imminent explosion, sir. Report to you soonest.” He shut down his side of the communications. “Outgoing communications are off.”

Butcher said, “Comms off.”

Stone said, “No, sir. Sorry, Captain. Let’s leave the incoming comms open. Grandpa always said eavesdropping isn’t polite, but I do think this might be a fine opportunity to disobey Grandpa.”

“Comms, sir. Ensign Stone has a good point. Recording now. Listen to this.” The communications officer turned up the volume. They could hear more than one conversation going on around the Hyrocanian bridge. “As long as they forget to shut off their outgoing calls, who knows what we might pick up.”

To prove his point, a thinner Hyrocanian plopped into the seat recently vacated by Admiral Kut. It either ignored the open comms in front of it or didn’t care they were open. It looked at a Hyrocanian on its left speaking to a Hyrocanian out of visual range. “Did you see Kut? I swear the old bastard is losing weight.”

The reply was quick, “Yes, but his hearing is still as sharp as his penis. You will be labnet feed if he hears you talking about him behind his back.”

“That’s just the point, you fat crack. His back is shrinking. He looks almost like a teenage girl! Disgusting.”

The voice came back, “What’s with three-six-twenty-seven-twelve?” A stubby hand came into view and tapped the monitor.

The Hyrocanian shrugged. “How in the world of late lunches should I know? They’ve been gone down the asshole of this solar system. Everyone else who’s gone there disappeared like they did. Now they’re back. I’m not a mind reader.”

“You couldn’t read your own mind if someone else wrote it down for you. Did you see that skinny looking leftover loser they got in charge?”

“Made me hungry just to look at him. Speaking of hungry…”

Butcher said, “Keep it running, Comms. Feed it to Whizzer, Emmons and their team for analysis with constant updates fed to the shuttle in case they have to bug out.” He slipped out of his chair and walked over to stand behind Stone. “Nice call, Ensign. You seem to have a right devious mind. Why you might even make a good politician someday if your navy career doesn’t work out.” He chuckled at his own joke. “Okay people. Let’s get every communications tech we’ve got on this ship looking for and recording any signal we can find.”

Numos asked, “Stay on general quarters, Captain?”

Butcher nodded, “Let’s not relax just yet, Major. We still don’t know what’s out there.”