No sooner did Grady step onto the flight deck than he paused, sniffing the air as he inhaled the earthy aroma of freshly brewing, dark roast synth-coffee. A gurgling noise drew his attention to the far corner of the cockpit, and he arched his eyebrow. “I see, and smell, that someone’s been busy while I was sleeping.”
Tara glanced over her shoulder, her face cracking into a broad grin. “I told you we needed a beverage maker up here. Squirt managed to scrounge one for us while we were docked at the research station and fitted it when you were grabbing some rack time.” She bent low and scratched Gizmo under the chin, all the while keeping one hand on the joystick. The creature cocked its head, pink tongue darting out to rasp across her fingers. “See. He agrees it’s a fantastic addition to the gunship’s capabilities. Now the cockpit crew won’t have to go far for a caffeine hit. Perfect way to keep us alert and close at hand during stressful situations.”
“Likes his java, does he?” Grady asked, pointing to the furry creature. He spotted the small shelving unit Squirt had somehow wedged into the corner, topped with an integrated, multi-use beverage machine.
“Don’t know, haven’t tried giving him any,” Tara said. A mischievous gleam lit her features. “But there’s only one way to find out.”
“Please don’t, Miss Tara,” said Mal from the speakers, in his best butleresque tones, “I beg you. As it is, my maintenance bots are having enough trouble cleaning up the endless strands of cat, or whatever, hair he extrudes everywhere. Were your…er…feline companion to become highly caffeinated, my digital relays shudder to imagine the mounds of fur, and other excretions, he might deposit. Not to mention possible chewing on cables and other essential components.”
Tara tut-tutted. “Gizmo’d never do that, would you, my cutie?” As if sensing that he was the subject of the conversation, the creature stood, turned twice in a circle, chirruped, and flopped back down.
“Seems I can’t enjoy a rest break without mischief and mayhem unfolding on my ship,” Grady said. “What’ll you get up to next, Sis? Paint a fire-spitting dragon on the hull?”
“I had no say in the matter, Captain,” came a baritone voice from the weapons station. Mbeki had taken Zoe’s place while she was off duty. With his extensive combat experience and familiarity with multiple weapons systems, it had required little training for him to qualify as a proficient stand-in for her. Grady hoped the rest would do Zoe some good, and help ease the anguish she must be feeling as they extended their stay in this dimension, preparing to put themselves in harm’s way.
Grady noticed a travel mug sitting in a recess near the sergeant’s arm. “Didn’t stop you from enjoying the fruits of my sister’s mischief making, did it, Sergeant?”
Mbeki gave a sheepish grin. “It would have been churlish of me to refuse Tara’s offer of fresh synth-coffee. And besides, the deed, as they say, is done. Why not reap the rewards? It will be good for morale in the cockpit.”
“Speaking of which,” Tara said, gesturing with her hand. “How about a pick-me-up yourself, big brother? You look like you could use one.”
Grady snorted and walked toward the black and silver beverage machine, breathing in the rich odor as he neared. “Just don’t go installing a hot tub in the hangar bay while I’m not here. The extra weight would play havoc with our stability during rapid maneuvers.”
Tara glanced at the ceiling. “You hear that, Mal? Another potential upgrade to add to the list.” She sent Grady a syrupy smile. “I’ll have this vessel feeling like a second home in no time at all. Now, what’s your view on stringing fairy lights around the flight deck?”
“One of the freighters is overdue,” declared the AI, his tone edged with worry.
Grady glanced up from the pilot’s holo. “Which one?”
“Bright Moon,” Mal said. “Her first officer reported more problems with their fusion drive the last time the convoy exited FTL.”
“Right, I remember.” Grady said. He scrutinized the sensor holo. “Maybe they were forced to drop out sooner this time, if their primary propulsion gave up the ghost. Route additional power to the long-range sensors and sweep back along our course as far as you can.”
“An excellent idea, Captain,” Mal said. “Executing now.”
“Huh,” Zoe said, her head cocked, squinting at the ceiling. “Looks like he’s dropped his pirate persona now we’re no longer in the Badlands. I kinda miss his zany craziness. Kept expecting to find globs of stinky parrot goop soaking my shoulders.”
Grady peered over at her. The pair had the cockpit to themselves. Tara was off duty and in her quarters, along with Gizmo, while when Zoe arrived to relieve him, Mbeki had grunted that he was going to work out. “Ugh. Not a look I’d recommend for my first officer,” Grady said with a chuckle. “I guess Mal feels he can drop the buccaneer act since we’ve left bandit territory far in our wake.”
He was relieved that Zoe seemed to have shrugged off the air of despondency that descended on her when it became clear they weren’t immediately attempting to return to their proper reality. He’d missed her normally energetic, gung-ho manner, despite the occasional drift into pessimism. Grady had seen enough action—and mourned the death of too many comrades—not to realize that war engendered a gloomy outlook in the same way it peppered remote battlefields, terrestrial and cosmic, with the corpses of friends and foes alike.
No matter what happened when they reached New Heb station—regardless of what he decided about attempting to contact the alternate version of his mother—their time in this dimension was finite. He wasn’t prepared to abandon their primary mission, and nor would he deny the rights of Zoe and the others who had voted against staying.
He faced forward again, his attention straying to the wraparound screen. Somewhere out there was his mother, unexpectedly alive. Could he turn his back on a chance—unbelievable as it seemed—to see her again, no matter how brief the reunion? Would he ever forgive himself if he steered for home, never even reaching out to her? She would be older, of course, and not quite the same woman who had helped raise him—her experiences in this reality had been different. Yet, at the core, she was still his mother, however much this version might differ from his own. He only hoped she would see him as her son, and not some sort of interdimensional aberration, a celestial freak.
His thoughts drifted to his father. Their relationship had seemed to splinter after his mother’s death. They grew more and more apart as Grady morphed through adolescence into young adulthood. His decision to join the armed forces—forsaking the family business and his position as heir to all his father had built—was the final nail in the coffin of their former closeness. Had something similar happened in this reality? That presupposes Dad is still alive here, Grady thought. What if fate reversed the roles, and it was he who succumbed to the alien virus in this dimension, and not Mum?
Marshaling his rambling thoughts, Grady studied the sensor display, mentally counting the vessels clustered around them at the waypoint. One missing, just as Mal had stated. “I have something, Captain,” the AI said. “A contact of interest, at the extreme edge of sensor range.”
“Is it the missing freighter?” Grady asked.
“Unclear. It is too far away to obtain a precise fix on the vessel’s identity, and it is beyond comm range. However, the craft is located farther back on the exact course we followed to reach here.”
“Could it be another ship following us?” Zoe said, twisting in her seat to eyeball the sensor readout. “Might be an Earth Galactic scout or pursuit craft, if they got wind of our retreat.”
“I do not believe so, my awesome Amazonian,” Mal said. “The vessel appears to be almost stationary, holding position near a large, unnamed nebula.”
“Hmm, that would fit with the freighter being obliged to drop out of FTL to make hurried repairs, if its fusion drive broke down during transit,” Grady said. He drummed his fingers on the chair arm while gazing at the main display, which depicted an endless starfield as a shimmering backdrop, populated with a cluster of rebel ships ranged around Adventurer.
Reaching a decision, he keyed the external comm and notified the commander of the rebel bomber that Adventurer was going to break formation to investigate the distant contact, on the assumption that it was most likely the absent freighter. He ordered the remaining vessels to hold their position and wait for the gunship’s return—hopefully with the Bright Moon alongside or in tow—unless they were discovered by the enemy. If that occurred, the standing order was to jump to FTL without delay and rally at the next waypoint.
After making a brief all-hands announcement about searching for the straggler, Grady set course for the contact at max sublight. He flicked his wrist and gestured, causing the sensor holo to enlarge. A flashing dot at the edge of the display depicted the unidentified vessel. His fingers rasped across his stubbled chin—he hadn’t shaved since they found themselves in this parallel universe—as his demeanor grew pensive. He swiveled the chair to face Zoe. “Much as I want to hope we’re headed toward the tardy freighter, let’s not forget we’re in the middle of a war zone, not to mention another dimension.” She quirked her eyebrow, anticipating his next words, and said, “Bring shields and weapons online?”
With a nod, Grady settled back in the pilot’s seat, swiveling around to his console. “Let’s be ready for anything. We’re in hostile territory now, with a starcarrier and its vengeful captain out there gunning for us.”
“Shall I sound battle stations?” asked the AI. “And lock down the ship?”
“Not yet, Mal,” Grady said. “Not until we know what we’re dealing with. If luck is on our side, and it is the Bright Moon, she might simply be in need of assistance from our engineering team. At the worst, our tractor beam will get a workout. But keep the sensors set to extended range regardless of the power requirement, in case unwelcome guests decide to butt in unannounced.”
“Will do, Captain,” Mal said. “I, for one, am not keen on hostiles arriving to spoil our day.”
Zoe’s fingers flew across the weapons holo. “Oh, I don’t know about that, Mighty M. It’s been days since we blew up anything. I’ve got an itch in my trigger finger that tells me it won’t be long now.”
16
No sooner had the words left Zoe’s mouth than the AI declared: “Incoming fusion tunnel. New contact spotted. An unidentified ship just dropped out of FTL and is closing on what I can now confirm is the missing freighter, Bright Moon.” A heartbeat later, he added, “I am detecting laser cannon fire.”
