The Sunfire (18 page)

As she listed each one, Jon flushed a brighter shade of
pink, so much so that by the time Miranda had finished his face was bright red.
“Some of that might be a little exaggerated,” Jon muttered looking down to hide
his embarrassment.

“I don't know,” Paul chuckled. “I remember in the Epsilon
Indi system once when a band of pirates, who had established themselves in the
system, fled at your very name.”

“It might have been more to do with the Imperial task force
I was commanding at the time,” Jon replied sarcastically.

“Anyway, I think you missed off a few Miranda,” Paul
prompted.

Miranda shot Paul a warning look, as she knew
exactly
which rumour Paul was referring to. “How could I forget?” Miranda slapped her
forehead theatrically. “You can also breathe in a vacuum. As I remember after
the energy shield in your office failed, you walked out as if you were taking
an afternoon stroll.”

Jon waved his hands defensively. “Hey don't look at me. That
has nothing to do with me, ask Paul. He was the one who insisted on the
modification.”

Miranda looked at Paul inquiringly, who replied with a grin,
“The energy field was not the only barrier protecting Jon’s office.”

Miranda frowned. “But I have been in that office, I could
touch the shield, there was no other barrier there.”

“Not one that you could see,” Paul replied. “Have you heard
of a nano-lattice before?”

Miranda nodded her head. “I have heard of them, but never
seen one. Ultra-thin lattices, barely a few atoms thick, incredibly strong, but
brittle. They are usually found in casings to increase the tensile strength of
the container.”

“Correct,” beamed Paul. “However, in this case there is a
nano-lattice embedded inside the energy shield and this is constructed at the
exact wave-length of visible light, making it practically invisible to the
naked eye. Embedded inside the field, this helps protect the lattice, which as
you said is extremely brittle, otherwise simply touching it would tear the
lattice.”

“So when the energy shield failed, the lattice stopped the
office explosively decompressing?” Miranda guessed.

Jon nodded his head and added. “Got damn cold though, as the
lattice was enough to maintain the air-pressure, but did nothing to reflect
back the thermal radiation from the room. Temperature must have dropped by
almost twenty degrees in a few minutes.”

“So is your entire reputation the same?” Miranda asked
sharply. “Just a pack of lies, wrapped in misunderstandings and padded with
unsubstantiated rumours?”

“Not all of them,” Paul replied with another smirk,
purposefully not elaborating on which of them were true. Glancing at the clock
Paul was surprised to note how much time had passed. “Well, I need to leave as
I need to check in with the shift commanders before I hit the rack. We still
have a lot to do if the
Sunfire
is to be combat-ready in time to pull
you off Tartarus.”

Jon stood, offering Paul his hand, which he took in a firm
grasp. “I know you’ll be there, ready and waiting at the agreed time,” Jon
replied earnestly.

It was Paul’s turn to nod, looking between the two of them.
“You look after yourself on Tartarus. We don’t know anything about this Tyrell
Corporation or Sejanus, so watch your backs.”

“And you look after my ship,” Jon replied seriously. “After
all she’s practically brand new with only one former owner. Just try and not
scratch the paint. You look after her and they will look after you.”

Paul shot Jon a strange look and replied, “You mean that
she
will look after you.”

“That's what I said.”

“No you said that
they
would look after you.”

“Didn’t.”

“Did.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Ok let’s agree to disagree. Anyway, you look after yourself
Paul, I promised Carol and the kids they would see you back alive and in one
piece.”

Paul nodded and enfolded Jon in a firm embrace. “You look
after him, and yourself, okay?” Paul addressed the question to Miranda. Who
nodded in response. “You staying longer?” Paul inquired, motioning towards
Jon’s half-finished scotch.

“Yeah,” Jon replied. “I am expecting some more visitors
later.”

“Miranda?”

“I’m calling it a night, I want to get some rest before
tomorrow. First time that I ever step on a planet,” she replied, nervously.

“I’ll walk you back to your quarters,” Paul replied. “’Night
Jon.”

Jon made a shooing motion with his hands, until the pair
left the small dining room with a wave. Retaking his seat, Jon refilled his
scotch glass from the bottle, before reclining in his seat to await his other
visitors.

*****

It was many hours later and the scotch glass in front of Jon
was now almost empty and his eyelids heavy with sleep, when the doors slid
quietly open without any announcement.

Without having to look up, Jon motioned towards the empty
seat on the other side of the table. “Take a seat Steve, I have been expecting
you.”

As the ghost of Captain Stephen Ferguson, former Commanding
Officer of the
Sunfire
glided into the room, before settling across the
table from Jon.

“Pour yourself a drink,” he added tiredly knowing that there
would be many more guests before the night was through.

*****

It was late in the night when Miranda passed the private
dining room, on her way back from getting some warm milk from the galley.
Miranda’s nerves were shot to hell, with the excitement of finally being able
to step onto a planet warring with the terror of what the next couple of days
could bring.

Surprised to see a light still on in the room, she stopped,
considering ringing the announcer, but if Jon was still there and asleep she
did not want to wake him. Therefore she carefully activated the door control
and it slid open quietly.

As she had thought, Jon was snoring quietly, still seated
where he had been last sitting when she had left him a couple of hours before.
A half-finished scotch glass on the table.

Taking one of the blankets she had commandeered from a
supply closet on the way back, as there seemed to be a cold breeze on the ship,
she draped it over Jon’s sleeping body and switched the lights off as she left.

Sluis Van Shipyards, Sluis System

A few days later Jon, Miranda, Gunny and his team of Special
Forces were nervously assembled outside the docking bay of the
Phoenix
,
waiting for the go ahead from Jason.

Jon had already paid off the Dock Master to ensure that,
apart from the crew of the
Phoenix,
the rest of the docking bay would be
deserted at this late hour. However, they were still waiting for Jason to re-route
all the security cameras inside the bay. Station security would probably take
exception to an armed hijacking of a freighter right under their noses.

“What the hell’s taking so long?” Gunny cursed, trying to
hide his massive bulk, ineffectively, against the bay door.

“Jason knows what he is doing,” Jon replied, eyes
continually flicking down both lengths of the corridor. While it was very early
in the morning on the station and the number of people walking the corridors
was extremely light, it was only going to take one person to approach this bay
and the entire operation would be blown. There was just no way to hide Gunny
and a dozen of his team, all decked out in black tactical armour. As they were
not expecting major resistance from the crew, as all were civilians and likely
to be armed with personal side arms only, it was decided that speed would be of
the essence for this operation. The plan being for Gunny and his team to
overpower the crew of the freighter before anybody could raise the alarm.

It was for this reason that all the assault team were armed
with stun weapons only, as it was extremely unlikely that the civilian crew
would have been involved in the kidnap and imprisonment of the Emperor.

Gunny nervously fiddled with the stun pistol in his hands.
The stun pistol was a natural progression from the electroshock or Taser
weapons widely introduced by civilian law-enforcement agencies at the beginning
of the 21
^st
Century. Those early weapons used an electrical current
to disrupt control of muscles, which caused temporary paralysis. They were the
first non-lethal weapons to be widely deployed and could be used in situations
that would otherwise have been unsuited to a more lethal weapon, such as a
firearm.

However, while these weapons were widely deployed, they had
a number of limitations, mostly linked to short range. The law enforcement
officer had to be within a few meters of the target
—
not a
preferred option when he or she could be armed with a more lethal firearm.
Similarly, most of the early models were limited to a maximum of two or three
shots, before they needed to be reloaded. Hence you were screwed when faced by
four or more antagonists at one time.

Consequently there was a need for a more effective stun
weapon, with a longer range, larger clip capacity and the ability to adjust the
stun effect from temporary paralysis to rendering the target unconscious for a
lengthy period of time. The project was put out to tender and eventually won by
a joint bid from Heckler & Koch and Taser International. The resultant
weapon was the electro-laser, directed energy weapon. It used a low power laser
to form an electrically conductive laser-induced plasma channel (LIPC) to
transmit a powerful electric current, immobilising the target. The weapon had a
range of up to thirty meters and the current could be adjusted to modify the
effect as necessary. The weapon was an outstanding success and within a period
of twenty years had replaced almost all other firearms used by civilian
law-enforcement agencies.

During this time Heckler, Koch & Taser (HKT), as the
combined company became known, superseded and practically replaced all other
small arms manufactures on the planet. The LIPC pistol as it became known, was
the weapon of choice for almost a century, until it was replaced with the pulse
energy pistol. This was because portable energy storage via the use of
nano-technology finally reached a level to deploy direct energy fire, multiple
times, with an output level sufficient to kill.

“Commander,” Jason’s voice came over their tactical
communication-net. “I have disabled all surveillance systems and internal
sensors in the docking bay. You now have a thirty minute window before the
security system automatically resets.”

“Acknowledged,” Jon replied, relieved. Turning to Gunny he
said. “Wait for my signal until I have checked that they do not have any
sentries guarding the ship.” At a sharp nod from Gunny, Jon activated the door
control and slipped into the docking bay.

Working on the assumption that if there was a sentry, and he
observed Jon creeping around, he was certain to raise the alarm, Jon instead
strode towards the entrance ramp of the freighter. With a datapad in hand and a
stern frown on his face, he looked to all on the station like another
self-important bureaucrat. Jon’s assumption turned out to be correct, when
still several meters from the freighter one of the crew stepped out from the
shadow of the ship, pulse pistol in hand, the barrel pointing directly at him.

“Where the hell, do you think you are going?” He demanded.

“I’m from docking facilities,” Jon replied, not breaking his
stride. Offering the datapad stretched out in front of him like a peace
offering. “Your Captain is overdue in paying your docking fees. If he does not
pay in the next twenty-four hours your ship will be impounded, pending payment
of the late fees fine, plus a three hundred per cent release fee.”

“Three hundred per cent?” The crewman exclaimed in
disbelief. “And you dare accuse us of being criminals? Here give me that,” he
insisted, reaching out for the datapad in Jon’s hand. Taking his eye off Jon
for just an instant, he glanced down at the device. “What the hell is this?” He
demanded. “This is the menu for the station’s canteen.”

The instant he had taken his eye off Jon, he was already
moving, pinning the wrist that held the pulse pistol. With a sharp twist of his
hand, the pistol went flying from the crewman’s grasp, spinning away underneath
the freighter.

“What the hell?” The crewman cried in pain, watching the
pistol spin away from him. He tried to bring up his other hand to protect
himself, but lost precious seconds discarding the datapad in his hand.

By then it was too late, as Jon’s fist came spinning towards
him, impacting on the side of his jaw with a sharp
crack.
The crewman
dropped unconscious to the floor. Grabbing both his arms, Jon pulled the
crewman over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, before depositing him
unceremoniously back in the shadow of the freighter from where he had
originally appeared. Glancing around to ensure nobody had observed what had
taken place, Jon jogged up the boarding ramp, disappearing into the dark,
gaping mouth of the freighter.

*****

Gunny, counted to sixty in his head, twice, before motioning
to the rest of his squad to prepare to move out.

“I thought Jon said to wait for his signal?” Miranda hissed
at him.

“You don’t know the Commander as well as I do,” Gunny
replied. “Jon’s idea of a signal is when he saunters back out here in thirty
minute’s time to report he has secured the ship.”

Miranda could only stare at the now closed doors in
disbelief.

“Anyway,” Gunny continued. “The Captain gave me firm
instructions before we departed that I am not to allow the Commander to go off
and pull a
John Rambo
.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Miranda demanded, confused.

“No idea. The Captain didn’t explain it to me either,” Gunny
scratched his chin. “I guess it must be a term from one of those period
documentaries that he and Carol always seem to be watching after the kids have
gone to sleep.”

Turning back to his squad, he motioned them towards the door
with his head. The squad immediately divided into two teams, each taking one
side of the door, one hand resting on the shoulder of the squad mate in front
of him.

“On three,” Gunny mouthed.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three,” Gunny said. Hitting the door release, the assault
team streamed into the now deserted docking bay.

*****

Meanwhile Jon was doggedly making his way towards the ship’s
bridge, hoping that either the Captain or the required authorisation codes
would be there. Hopefully, with luck, both.

Suddenly a hatch swung open in front of him. The woman stared
at him, mouth agape.

“What the
—
,” she exclaimed, but was
abruptly cut-off by Jon’s fist hitting her under the chin. Her head snapped
back, bouncing off the bulkhead with a resounding
crunch
.

Wincing, Jon carefully lowered the unconscious woman to the
ground, relieved to find a pulse, as he hated hitting women. Stepping around
the prostrate body on the floor, Jon continued onwards, towards what he hoped
was the bridge.

Glancing around the next corner, Jon cursed upon noticing
two crewmen in a heated discussion. It seemed that this corridor was the main
thoroughfare connecting the length of the ship to the bridge at the front. Jon
was acutely aware time was working against him, as very soon somebody was going
to discover one of the unconscious bodies and raise the alarm. Making a snap
decision that there was no time to backtrack; he stuck out his chest and
marched forward. Looking to all who might see him as if he owned the ship.

The two crew members spotted him almost immediately, with a
similar reaction to the previous crew he had encountered,
which
was
stunned disbelief.

“What the hell are you doing here?” The first demanded
angrily, while the second observed him suspiciously.

Deciding to stick with the original cover story, he put on
an expression of self-imposed importance, marching towards the crew and
demanded. “I am looking for your captain. Your docking fees are days overdue.
Unless they are paid immediately I will be forced to impound this ship.”

“Where the hell did Fredrickson go? He was meant to be on
watch.” The first hissed angrily. “So help him god if he sneaked off for a
smoke.”

Jon had absolutely no idea who Fredrickson was, but took a
guess that he was currently lying unconscious outside the ship. However, what
concerned Jon more was one of the crew was obviously moving towards an
intercom. If possible, Jon urgently had to stop him from calling the bridge.
Hence lengthening his stride, he put himself between the crewman and the
intercom. Jabbing the crewman in the chest with his finger, he insisted. “Who
are you? Where is the captain? I insist that you take me to him immediately,
otherwise I will triple the fine.”

With a large barrel chest and massive biceps, it was obvious
this man spent a good deal of time in the gym and was less than happy about
being poked in the chest by some station lackey. “Why you little shit,” he
growled, pulling his hand back, obviously preparing to let loose a massive blow.

The instant he let fly the punch, Jon simply stepped aside,
the massive fist slammed into the bulkhead behind him. If Jon thought that must
have hurt, this was confirmed by a scream of pain from the assailant. Jon
meanwhile calmly stepped back into his field of vision and struck out with a
fast sucker punch to the stomach. However, hitting the crewman there felt like
hitting a brick wall and the blow had about the same effect
—
namely
none at all.

“You bastard.” The crewman yelled, spreading his arms wide
and charging forward.

With so little room to manoeuvre in the corridor, Jon had
nowhere else to go and hence was caught in his arms, which instantly closed
like a vice, squeezing him hard. The next thing he knew he was being lifted up
off the floor and slammed into the wall, the breath escaping rapidly from his
lungs, while stars danced in front of him from the impact of his head bouncing
off the wall.

However, what concerned Jon more was that over the shoulder
of the giant who was intent on squeezing him to death, he saw the other crewman
further down the corridor dashing for a large red button. Jon would be willing
to bet good credits that it was the ship’s alarm.

With very little time to spare, he did exactly what he
taught Sofia many years ago to do, when immobilised by a much larger, stronger
opponent. Jon hammered his forehead into the bridge of his assailant’s nose,
stunning him. He then used the corridor behind him for leverage, kicking the
crewman between the legs. With a muffled cry of pain, the crewman crashed to
the deck, hands on his groin, whimpering painfully. However, Jon did not have
time to stop and wait, instead sprinted down the corridor after the other
fleeing crewman.

Unfortunately he was about three meters, and two seconds too
late.

The crewman smashed his fist down on the large, red button,
and almost immediately a deafening siren sounded throughout the ship.

“Shit,” cursed Jon, reaching the crewman who was just
turning round to check on his colleague. Running full pelt, Jon swung with his
fist and caught the crewman under the jaw. With Jon’s full momentum behind the
blow, the crewman lifted off the ground, slamming into the bulkhead behind him and
slid down the wall and never moved. Jon had no time to check on the two crewmen
as he continued sprinting down the corridor, towards the large open hatch
ahead. A hatch that Jon hoped would lead to the bridge.

Diving through the portal on the off chance that it could
suddenly slam shut; he was relieved to find himself on the cramped bridge of
the freighter. Sprawled out on the floor, resting on his chest, he quickly
looked around the bridge, but all the panels were powered off, the lights
dimmed. The bridge seemed to be deserted.

“Don’t move an inch, otherwise I will blow your head-off.” A
voice suddenly growled from behind him.