Chapter 11: Calm Before the Storm

Medium Class Freighter - ‘Vespe’

Date of 241.12-01

  Living quarters on a freighter were usually limited due to the need for cargo space and equipment over personnel. However, necessity outweighed standard protocol this time. The crew had converted most of the smaller spare holding rooms into private quarters. Makeshift hammocks and beds from arranged containers lined the sides of the room, with the center resigned to a general dumping pile of everything else. Rustic and illuminated just enough, the state of the freighter’s interior added a feel of home to some.

  Matt deposited his bag and claimed a hammock for himself, one tucked away in the corner.

  “Damn, wouldn’t hurt to turn up the heat a bit.” He mumbled as he looked over the room one last time with one foot already out the door. “Oh well, here we go again.”

  “Coming through!”

Matt stepped aside to allow a fresh body with bag in hand to pass through, another new face to add to the mix. A few others were hanging out either with eyes shut, in deep conversation, or browsing through personal items. He finally stepped out of the converted room, eager to find his own means of distraction.

"The armory is a bit more crowded than usual this time around, as it seems the ship in general.” Freeman sauntered over, stopping him in the doorway. He shyly peeked inside. “Is the smell still there or what?"

"Think it’s actually worse, believe it or not." Matt nodded while stepping aside. “It’s very homely.”

Freeman looked as if he gave it a thought to check it out himself, even if only for a moment, before retracting the idea. A pair near the door caught wind of the conversation and took umbrage at their remarks.

"Yeah, yeah, we’re going." Matt humored back.

“Hmm, leave the natives be. Don’t want them to get restless.” Freeman added.

  Together they moved down the corridor, metal reverberation and processed air of the CLS Atmospheric System sustained an all too familiar environment. Familiarity was what kept him going if Matt was honest, why he put up with the bullshit when it came. A routine gave his mind something to focus on and reduced his free time. Too much free time led to stupidity like the dickheads that dragged Krona to ruin, at least how he viewed it. And too much free time may mean making the decision to run off with Jayne…

…shit.

They continued onward. “Have to ask, what are your plans for passing time?”

“Not sure, going to find…wait a sec. Think I’m going to set the ship on fire or something don’t you?” Freeman pointed an accusing finger in his face. “I told you last time, it wasn’t my fault. Leon must have played with the safety settings or something.”

“Sure, let’s go with that.” Matt rolled his eyes. “In the meantime, I’m going to talk with Hobbes before we all personally meet the grim reaper. I figure you'd rather be elsewhere, right?"

Richard M. Freeman was someone who liked to know only what was needed and nothing more. As far back as Matt knew him and from what he had heard before that, all the same. Sometimes ignorance was worth the bliss.

"As interesting as that particular conversation may be, yeah, I’d rather let you handle the details.”

  “Called it.” Matt smirked, pressing against the bulkhead to let another person pass.

  “Anyway.” Freeman drawled in annoyance. “Tell me who to fry and where to go is good enough for me. As for Hobbes, he's probably brooding in his chair at the fro--."

"-the front, agreed. Knowing him, he'll want to make sure everything will go according to plan.” Matt let a subdued aggravation leak out in his next few words. “It's the Greth part that irritates him and pretty damn sure everyone else to a degree."

"Preaching to the choir.” Freeman bobbed his head in thought. “You think he’s a legit show? From what you’ve mentioned, sounds like he gives off a certain vibe if you know what I mean.”

“Let’s just say it would be good for his health to not turn tail at the last minute.” Matt’s eyes burned with a dark fire. “Like you said, preaching to the choir.”

  A simple grunt was all he got in return as Freeman took a step away. “Alright, off to make rounds then."

"Hold a sec, you got a spot?" Matt’s finger pointed in the general direction from whence they came. “Don’t want to be left out of a good sleep.”

"Not worth it, honestly. Threw everything with my armor in the lockers.” Freeman shrugged. “I'll sleep against the wall if I must. You used to do the same until Greta got on you, don't forget.”

Yeah, and had to exercise a few demons back then as well…

  The wise fire sage known as Freeman took his leave and headed off to bug someone else. Matt then forged his way towards the freighter's bridge as his legs fell into monotone stride, and senses subliminally registered the stresses of a ship in travel.

  Navigating the corridors, passing the armory, a detour through the recreation area, and towards the front end of the ship he went. The idea that these metal chunks could become platforms of devastation was always something of curious wonder. When broken down, a ship was more like a colony than a machine of war. Basic living standards were met, though some would debate the definition of standards. And for those that needed a little extra, all it took was to know where to look and who to ask.

  Hell, attach a synthetic bio-dome to any ship and you could live without a planet for a long while, not counting the occasional need to refuel…But of course, human imagination said put a big fucking cannon on it. Voila! Now humans have the ability to kill hundreds, thousands, even millions with a press of a button from a flying piece of space metal. God bless humanity.

  Matt cursed his own sense of dark humor.

  He left his very rare philosophical mumblings behind once he turned the last corner before the entrance to the bridge. There his target stood, Hobbes, a lit cigar in one hand and back fully supported by the wall. A few technicians passed by and gave him a salute. He returned it with more lackadaisicalness than any adherence to standard, which was no surprise for Hobbes. In doing so, his eyes caught Matt as he approached.

  "Serious note, thought you might quit after that last call. A job like this is quite the step up from transporting simple cargo.” Matt joined Hobbes, letting the wall take most of the weight. “I honestly wouldn’t mind going for Greth right now, as it might save us some pain later on."

  "It did cross my mind. Say fuck it, go and take the money from the man himself. He’s got some generous and interesting benefactors that like to stay silent.” Hobbes growled. “And despite my agreement with you on Greth, I still stick by my word.”

  “Word? Which one?”

  “Letting some other moron become a pointless martyr.” He stated matter of fact before taking a puff of his cigar. “For the record, it won’t hurt my feelings if you back out at some point. Personally, I’ve made up my mind on this one."

  "Feelings? Well, on that note then…” Matt tapped his heel a few times, not denying the thought of it. “Don’t worry, I still don’t blame you for the Kessinger incident.”

  “Kessinger?” Hobbes' eyes widened, caught between surprise and self defense. “I had no control over that, let alone a possibility…or at least a reasonable possibility…technically.”

  “Uh huh.” Matt rolled his eyes. “Well, moving on to the present. I’m glad you’re sticking around. We’re going to need you, and more specifically your older version assuming freight work hasn’t made you soft.” He got a hard grunt in reply as his wandering eyes observed passersby. By either clothing or tools that hung from their hip, he could reliably guess their designation amongst crew duties. “Greth isn't exactly the most popular person right now, the money is the only thing keeping most here."

  “As it usually is, every time."

  Hobbes took a solid breather with his cigar before arching his head back and releasing a solid spout of white fumes. Matt knew they would be in good hands when the battle started.

  “Shot in the dark of sorts, and I doubt I’m going to be surprised.” Matt held out a hand for a cigar, a safe bet there was at least one more hidden away. “Our man Vorosh, he couldn’t be bothered to join in on the fun I assume?”

  “You got a fifty-fifty chance, as far as I'm tracking.” His tone made it one hundred percent. “Also, since when are you a cigar person?”

  “I’m not, but I want to save one for the chance that I live through this gamble.” Hobbes begrudgingly handed over a single cigar to which Matt immediately pocketed, as he continued on. “But back on point, Vorosh seemed like a very eager boy last time. To a point, he was more than eager really, rather notably enthusiastic in his manners and tone.”

  “Not too surprising, but he’s usually a behind the scenes kind of guy so I'm told.” Hobbes devoted his attention to scanning the pipes and cables above them. “I hear he’s a very enjoyable person to work with.”

  “From Greth?”

  “Does it really matter?” Hobbes lowered his eyes to meet his own. “That little excursion was an oddity, maybe to gain our trust or something I don’t know. Bottom line, the intel I got says he’s a mastermind more than a boots on the ground kind of guy.”

  “Interesting.” Matt chuckled. “This sector is full of odds and ends, Hobbes, your fair share more than included in that.”

  “Case well stated.” He grounded the cigar into the wall, ashes fluttering to the floor. “Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to grab a quick nap before any proverbial shit hits the fan, and literal too. I suggest the same to you.”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “That simple?”

  “Yeah, briefing in five hours give or take.” Hobbes nonchalantly waved a hand over his shoulder without looking back. “You know how the rest of this deal goes.”

~~~

‘Vespe’ – Mess Hall

Date of 241.12-02

  Food was food, a rule that was and will always be. It filled the stomach and powered the body throughout the day. It was usually not a point of complaint, but some items on their trays begged to refute that statement. Matt and most of his team had taken to satiating their grumbling stomachs.

  “Hope the next resupply they know what actual food is over this crap.” Leon poked what looked but definitely did not taste like cereal. “How can you not complain?”

  “Simple, I keep my complaints internal unlike others.” Matt shoveled another spoonful into his mouth.

  I’ll let my stomach fight it out later…

  A few snickers and smirks spread across the others but no one offered any further comment. The mess hall was mostly full though conversations were kept to their respective tables, only the occasional outburst that instantly died down.

  “Food issues aside, I want to throw a question into the ring while I’m still able to ask.” Greta laid her fork down and crossed fingers. “I’m assuming you do but obligated to ask. We do have an emergency escape, right?”

  “Suddenly got cold feet?” Matt stated coldly. “You had your chance to decline.”

  “Scared?” Greta at first seemed shocked, then molded her mouth into a devilish grin. “Nah, I’m fine with death. It’s personal preference, knowing if it’s unavoidable.”

  “Good, because I can’t make many promises.” Matt pushed the remainder of his ‘food’ away. “Oh right, did I forget to mention Minov?”

  “Minov?” Her face contorted. “Yeah, that got skipped over.”

  “It got confirmed post briefing. They’re the reinforcements Hobbes mentioned, unofficially of course.” Matt glanced around, eyeing up the various responses. “They’re going to make up a bulk of the supplemental manpower for this.”

  “Alright, who do we have to thank for this backup?” Hines interjected. “I need to know who to give a good kick in the ass when I personally thank them.”

  “Guess as good as mine. Could have been Greth, Hobbes, our mystery man Vorosh, or fuck knows who else.” Matt shrugged as he counted off on his fingers. “Blazing nova if I know how to make heads or tails of this crapshoot. Like you, I’m here to pull a trigger and get paid.”

  “Short term, sure.” Greta kept that aggravating grin as sharp as ever. “I’m sure a certain other would think you’re working towards another end. Food for thought, that’s all.”

  Jayne…out of sight yet never staying out of mind.

  “Food for thought, eh?” Matt grinned. “I’m more curious how long you’ll be able to tolerate the bullshit from higher up. This isn’t like dealing with our usual employers.”

  “I’ll take it over any official outfit, tha-”

  “Wait a sec, you said THE Minov, right?”

  All eyes turned towards Freeman. The man just finished scarfing down the last of his food and downing the rest of his drink. A look of sudden piqued interest covered his face.

  “Yes, Freeman…THAT Minov.”

  He made what could only be described as something between the epiphany of realization, the disgust at what that meant, and a sprinkle of skepticism all mixed into one arrangement of facial muscles.

  “Okay, I’m obviously missing something here.” Leon cut through the awkward silence. “Anyone want to enlighten me or is this an inside joke thing?”

  “It’s a thing, yeah.” Matt recollected his thoughts on the prior job, and the complete idiocy of the security detachment’s captain. “Listen well as I’m only telling this once.”

  Leon pushed his tray aside and leaned closer. “All ears.”

  “It was only a few months before you and Hernandez signed on. We were tasked as extra security for a government corporation on Minov, Arc-Light Research Labs if I remember. The government, so worried about their precious cargo from their state sponsored corporation, provided additional trigger pullers. It was us and the Minov militia. So far so good?”

  “Following.” Leon nodded vigorously and even a few seats down glanced their way to listen in as best they could.

  “The first bit of the journey was no problem, an auspicious beginning. We left Minov’s orbit and hit warp-jump which ran us into our first snag. An inside job, as best as we could tell, had the warp drive down for major repair.” Matt waved his fingers in a no shit meaning. “Of course, that’s when the raiders showed up. Long story short, our captain friend let them board unopposed into the cargo hold. His thought process was to trap them with their prize in the crossfire and we almost lost the ensuing firefight.”

  “Isn’t a dramatization in this case.” Greta reaffirmed his claim.

  “The moral of the tale, if you have a Minov watching your back then don’t trust their judgment.”

  “But you did at least save the cargo right?” Leon glanced back and forth between Greta and Matt.”

  “Define save.”

  “Fuck, that bad?”

  “The Minov militia shot their own prized cargo in the brilliantly planned crossfire meant to pinch the raiders in. This time, I only hope I don’t suffer the cargo’s fate.” Matt warily eyed Greta before turning back to Leon. “That set expectations for you?”

  “Enough, sounds like this is going to be a fun time.”

~~~

Date of 241.12-04

  Matt knew they were close to the shipyards, gut instinct over the years so he told himself. Ramoor had been a nice little distraction and a small reality check on the gravity of events about to happen. While he himself did not show it, internally, fear and uncertainty always remained. It was part of the business and reminded him that he was alive.

  However, there was an unshakable sixth sense and a particular person was at the center of it all.

  Matt followed the colored lines along the walls that led to the various sections of the ship. Eventually, he ended up in front of a reinforced door with an embedded name above. The door opened to reveal a cramped compartment meant for maybe half the people that currently occupied it.

  Hobbes sat in the captain’s chair, slightly offset with head propped up by his right hand. Its armrests curled outwards while the entire chair was covered in tight leather. The consoles were alive with a show of lights, most of which were ignored by Matt. In his line of work he only cared if a light was green or red.

  The Helmsman and Assistant Navigator sat at the foremost positions while the rest of the technicians were assorted in a crowded semi-circle around the captain’s chair. Large reinforced viewports provided an almost one hundred and eighty degree vision.

  Matt squeezed past one technician and leaned against the back of the Captain's chair. If Hobbes noticed, he did not show it as his head remained flush against open palm. Matt took a moment to look out the front viewport and enjoy the scenery available to him. Said scenery was what looked like the center of a massive electrical storm against an obsidian backdrop. It gave the illusion of concurrently moving forward yet being stuck hip deep in a tar pit.

  “So, you ready to do this? Greth or not?” Matt kept eyes forward into the sporadic light show.

  “I got confirmation not that long ago, he’ll be there.” Hobbes picked his head up and dropped his arm limply onto the rest. “Witch hunts are a bit of a hassle anyway.””

  “I have to agree.” Matt said, eyes still observing the beautiful light display outside.

  His scenic and peaceful view was interrupted by one of the bridge crew. Hobbes got up and stretched as the words were said.

  “Contact on target!" The radar technician shouted to all present. "Sensors picking up Rheinholt Shipyards, low traffic."

  “Dropping on mark outside of engagement distance.” The lead navigator confirmed. “Three, two, and mark.”

  The light show dissipated and space around them returned to normalcy. Off in the distance and almost missed against the black veil lay Rheinholt, repair and refit station of many ships in the surrounding area. To their immediate right, the ‘Caldera’ came out of warp and aligned itself alongside the ‘Vespe’.

  Hobbes barked his commands.

  “Let’s do this by the book. Deploy the fighters, all other ships form a vanguard behind the ‘Caldera’ and ‘Vespe’. Warrant Officer Collins, bring us to code red.” He looked like he never left Krona. “Captain Payotz, we read your comms. Stay close and overlap fire. Finally to all, try not to die.”

  The two cargo ships served as the tip of the spear in this engagement. It went without saying that the fighting group was doomed should they be lost, if you could even call their assortment such. Despite this, putting them in harm's way was their best chance of survival. At least in one department they were on a more equal footing. Their modified Vipers, while older models, were tinkered with enough to hold their own in combat against newer and more professional models.

  “We're getting pinged, weak, but it's only a matter of time.” The assistant navigator informed them.

  “Of course, but we still have an open window as of now.” Hobbes turned to sit down in his chair if only to notice Matt for the first time, causing a double take. “What the fuck are you still doing here?”

  That was all he needed.

  Matt nodded and left Hobbes to his business. From the bridge, he made a beeline to the armory to grab the rest of his equipment. Everyone one else he passed was in a hustle to some place on the ship. Hitting the next section, he ran into the familiar faces of Hines and Lydria.

  “Well shit, you're normally one of those ahead of schedule kind of people.” Hines slowed his pace to let Matt catch up. “You aren't slipping as of late, are ya?”

  “Maybe, but not as bad as you think.” Matt grinned. “Where's the rest?”

  “Freeman is already there, others shouldn't be far behind.” Lydria led the way onward. "We were on the way as well. I gotta grab my special baby."

  “I swear, you and Freeman are twins in that regard.” Hines muttered.

  “Yeah, probably right.”

  As soon as she finished, they turned the last corner leading to an opened armory door. Sitting on top of a crate inside the room and running a fiber cloth over his weapon, a person looked up to see them approaching.

  'Speak of the fucking devil…'

  “You know you’re late, right?” Freeman’s eyes illuminated from the burning cigar, and fully suited up. “I’m about to be on my second one if you don’t speed your asses up.”

  “Shouldn’t be surprised.” Lydria sighed as she walked past and hurriedly opened her locker.

  The room was almost a perfect square with wall lockers shoved along every open space. There was a center pulled with a few more specialized storage bins, as well as a few steel benches halfway in the middle.

  “Don’t accidentally torch us all before the mission starts.” Hines jabbed at him. He then spotted a new face in the corner looking through a selection of rifles and veered off towards him. “You there! A new recruit? I could tell a mile away, so shut up and listen to this life saving advice.”

  “Hines, for bla...whatever.” Matt walked through the doorway last and headed straight for his own specialized equipment. “Careful with those fingers around the ignition switch, not to beat the broken drum.”

  “Ha ha! Make fun as you will. You’re going to be praising me when I save your ass on that platform.” As if in defiance, Freeman flipped the igniter switch which caused a small flame to appear next to the barrel. “I just need to know how you like them cooked, well done or crispy?”

  Freeman had been a bit of a pyro in earlier years and burdened a few scars as a result. Needless to say, when a career finally came through that allowed him to indulge in his guilty pleasure, he took it in a heartbeat. He would most likely live and die by the flames regardless of the danger that came with it.

  “Prefer dead, but thanks for asking.” Matt called back over his shoulder. He grabbed hold of his ever faithful LRS-88 Mk.V Extended Rifle. Solid black with jagged white and maroon lines at different vectors for aesthetic, it stood up to his ribcage at length. He then took stock of those present. “Where’s the rest, Freeman?”

  “Greta’s already in the hangar ready to go.” Freeman answered matter of factly as he put out his cigar. “I saw her leave right as I was walking in. I tell ya, her sense of timing is ridiculous, way better than yours.”

  “Hmm, tell me about it at a later time.” Matt rested his weapon against a bench as he grabbed his armor. “But that’s why she's second in command, in case I fuck up.”

  “You know, I think you may need to see a psychiatrist about your obsession, Freeman.” Lydria already stripped down and was fitting into her own suit with an occasional glance at Freeman’s creative touches to his. He had a glance or two back at her. “I mean some of those decals you got only further the case.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He cautiously gave the yellow flame markings on his helmet a good rub. “If anything it adds some nice personality. Even better, it might strike fear into the enemy.”

  Lydria pulled her helmet over and snapped it in place around the padded neckline to complete the seal. She shuffled over to Matt and leaned close. “I think you might want to have a talk with him at some point.” After a stink eye from Freeman, she hustled out of the room but not before getting one last word in. “Don’t keep me waiting like the Firosa job.”

  As her frame disappeared down the hallway, there was a certain sway of her hips that stated she was in complete control and she knew it. Some things were impossible to escape the human eye, even under a suit of armor. Freeman waited until she was safely out of range before letting loose a whistle.

  “That is one kind of woman I tell ya, bet it would be fun.” He glanced over at Matt only to be slightly disappointed. “No comment or reprimand?”

  “Why should I?” The rest of the suit snapped in place and all that remained was his helmet. Matt offered no sign of opinion or curiosity. “You are grown boys and girls. Get the job done and I could care less, mostly.”