Escapade

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  Escapade

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  A Novel

  Book 2

  By Caleb Fast

  Chapter One

  Gladious Storm, Deep Space

  Clive stands at the helm of the Once Lucky, the flagship of Eagle Fleet—a fleet which had seen better days. He leads the procession of the hundred or so dated starships escaping Antrix. Only a select few had remained in Antrix in order to keep a Resistance presence, the rest of the Resistance fighters fled with Clive and his growing band of followers. Clive had informed the undermanned militants in the Strehim System that they were to be joined by the huge fighting force that had gone by Eagle Fleet, whom had been exiled for the last four years. Unfortunately, they hadn’t responded to his countless messages, which left Clive feeling uneasy.

  The last fray between the galaxy renown Eagle Fleet and the Coalition had been a stalemate. Both sides had taken heavy losses, and under the cover of a magnetic storm, both sides had withdrawn. Rumors however, claimed that either the Coalition had the resistance forces surrounded, and they had begged for their lives, others claimed that Eagle Fleet was chasing down the final few Coalition ships which then hid in the storm. Both rumors were largely propaganda, but they were great stories. Clive had grown up with those stories, and after the Coalition took his home, he came to prefer the stories that heralded the Resistance as the victors.

  “We are coming in on our checkpoint, Eagle Lead,” Vince Perkins, the First Officer aboard the Once Lucky informs Clive.

  “I told you,” Clive says flatly, “It’s just Clive. Please just Clive.”

  “No can do, Eagle,” Perkins replies maintaining his official tone, “Besides, Eagle, it’s been years since we’ve been flying, I miss it.”

  With a sigh, Clive decides to inform the rest of the fleet of their status, “This is Eagle Lead, we are coming up on our rendezvous point. Prepare to ease out of lightspeed,”

  “He said Eagle Lead,” Perkins beams at the sound of Clive saying ‘Eagle Lead.’

  Clive starts the countdown, “Four, three, two, one…” He reaches for the lightspeed control and slowly pulls back on the throttle, slowing to a near stop. Ships of all sizes fall in all around him as they also pull out of lightspeed, all cutting in like knives through the thick clouds of the Gladious Storm.

  The Gladious Storm was known throughout Coalition space as a smuggler route. A highway of illegal immigration, and a hotspot for hijacking and abductions. Such activities flourish because of the storm’s thick clouds, which block scanners, and its electrical storms wreak havoc on Coalition ships. Eagle Fleet however, was immune to the storm's interference because it had been specifically designed to operate in and around the storm.

  “Jump successful,” One of the technicians on the bridge informs Clive.

  Clive acknowledges the technician's report with a nod as he stands from his captain's chair. Stepping around a Holo-Port displaying various maps, Clive proceeds to the commander's observation deck, just ahead of and one floor below the bridge. There he scans the fleet, an assortment of warships which are a mix of retired, commandeered, repurposed, and reclaimed ships. He knew the fleet, in its current condition, could no longer live up to the legacy it once boasted. The fleet needed some serious rebuilding and modern retrofits, changes Clive had hoped would be made on Allur, where they actually had the means to do so.

  For Clive, arriving at Strehim meant two things, the first was that he could plot his next step and no longer have to run from the Coalition. From Strehim he would have a nice base of operations outside of the Coalition's reach where he could continue his fight. The second thing Strehim meant, was that Clive would finally be able to rest. After all his restless nights in Paradise, and because he hadn't slept this entire time since he had fled the prison, Clive was beyond exhausted. He didn't have the energy to be kind, he just had enough to get to Strehim as soon as possible.

  Strehim was just an old colonial outpost, Clive doubted it could even support a fleet a quarter the size of Eagle Fleet, much less be able to supply the resources for its retrofits. He had heard of Strehim before their flight, but only the occasional whisper of it. From everything he had learned through the years, he knew that the Coalition wasn't interested in the system. He knew that various shady organizations had a strong foothold there, and that Strehim was so far out of the way that no one paid it any heed.

  Clive paces the length of the observation deck, playing scenarios through his head, a pastime of his. He looks at each ship in the fleet and imagines their utility in a real battle, every warship and support ship, no matter how small, could alter the outcome of a fight. As his eyes drift to the port side of the Once Lucky, he gazes intently at the Audacity, it was by far the largest ship in the fleet. Larger than his flagship, larger than the battleships. Bloody ship is so big it has to be useless on the front lines, Clive thinks. His eyes wander to the stern of the Audacity and then to its escort the Peril, he finds himself thinking about Trix.

  Clive felt like a schoolboy again, knowing he had developed quite the crush on Trix after their first encounter on Paradise. She was cute, he knew that. If he wasn't in the midst of a war, he knew he'd at least take her on a date. I wonder what she thinks about me, she seems to like me, Clive thinks. He had given up on relationships after a Coalition attack on the safe house he had kept his fiancé, was destroyed. Never again would I allow myself to be so vulnerable, he had told himself that day.

  “Eagle Lead,” Clive hears Perkins urgently beckon him from the bridge.

  “What is it?” Clive asks, only paying partial attention to the first officer as he continues thinking about Trix. I'll track her down on Strehim, have a dinner with her. Just her. Get a feel for everything. He tells himself, allowing one exception to his old pledge of solitude.

  “First off, scanners show we are not being tracked,” Perkins starts, “And secondly, Major Richardson and his men aboard the med barge, Foster, are doing well. The surgeons report that he, and the rest caught in the firefight, have recovered.”

  “Great,” Clive says, smiling. Turning, he continues, “And what of our diversion?”

  “The Coalition went for it, Eagle Lead. Your dummy ship was seen and destroyed. Coalition comm channels are broadcasting that you, Richardson, and everyone else was killed in the fight, as we had hoped.”

  “Thank you. And keep me informed on the investigation of Antrix. I don't want the Coalition to find anything incriminating.”

  “Of course, Eagle. Anything else?”

  “Notify the fleet that we will stay here and continue scanning for pursuers. Also request every ship to relay their current system capabilities, since this is the first time these ships have been out like this in years.”

  “Will do, Eagle,” Perkins says as he returns to his station on the bridge.

  •••••••••••••••

  “How about that?” Clive yells from the narrow hatch he is stuck in, to an engineer at his feet. On his stomach, Clive has his arms elbow deep in grease and is doused in sweat, the engine room was heating up quickly with the heating and cooling systems out of action. As soon as the systems went offline, Clive had rushed down to the engine bay to see how he could help, he wasn’t one to just sit around and wait for someone else to fix a problem.

  “Just a sec, Cap,” The engineer flips a few switches and is rewarded with a loud metallic grind. Swearing, he quickly turns everything off again, “Not quite, Cap.”

  “What do you think it is?” Clive shouts back, awkwardly wiping sweat from his face with his shoulder as best he can in his cramped compartment.

  “Try hitting the air compressor on your right with your hammer, that works sometimes.”

  “And what if it doesn't?”

  “Get a bigger hammer,” the engineer says with a laugh, “That tends to be the solve all down here if swapping parts doesn't work.”

  Clive swings on the piece of machinery with all the strength he can muster at the strange angle he is in and the loud ring of metal on metal makes he and the engineer cringe.

  “Be sure to cover your ears!” The engineer yells all too loudly, momentarily deafened by the loud crash.

  “No really,” Clive mutters sarcastically, turning to a position where he can swing and at least partially cover his ears. He takes a few more whacks, getting even with the hardware for all his hard work and lack of results. Winded after a few minutes of pounding, he calls back to the engineer, “How about that?”

  “That should work!” He hears called back. In a moment the system warms up and returns to its usual hum, “Perfect! Thank you, Cap”

  Clive worms himself back out of the narrow passageway and gives the engineer a greasy handshake, “My pleasure” He says, wiping off all the grease he can on the engineer. He claps the man on the back, leaving a greasy black hand print, and strolls out to find the nearest wash station.

  “Eagle, we are waiting for you in the briefing hall,” Perkins’ voice sounds over Clive's comm link as Clive steps into the engine bay’s head to wash up.

  “Stall for me, I'll be up in a bit,” Clive instructs, viciously scrubbing his arms to get all the grime he can off.

  “Yes, Eagle. How long, might I ask?” Perkins presses.

  “I'm coming now,” Clive replies irritably, wiping the still thick grease off on a towel, and on his pants as he quickly makes his way back to the Once Lucky's briefing hall.

  “Copy,” Perkins responds.

  Clive cuts the
link, hopping into the nearest lift, and is greeted by the ship’s AI.

  “Where would you like to go, Admiral Clive Ranger?” The AI’s unnervingly soothing voice sounds. Clive wasn't a fan of putting computers in charge of every aspect of people's lives. He, like many others, fear doing so make society more vulnerable to cyber-attack, and there was the ever-present fear of an AI takeover too.

  “Briefing hall, please,” Clive requests, he always chose to be friendly to AI’s in the off chance they took over. He reasoned that, if he was nice, they would spare him.

  “Briefing hall it is,” The AI responds, and the lift begins to move. Large ships, like the Once Lucky have lifts that are able to travel in the traditional vertical motion, but also horizontally within the lift channels which span the entirety of the flagship.

  I hope Trix doesn't mind my being filthy, Clive thinks as he looks down at his blackened hands, Maybe she likes a working man? He finds himself getting nervous, hoping Trix wouldn't be put off.

  The lift stops and the ship's AI asks, “Admiral, your heart is racing, are you well?”

  Clive snaps out of his trance, “What? Oh, yes, I'm fine. It's nothing.”

  “I can take you to the infirmary, Admiral.”

  “It's really nothing, thank you,” Clive begs as he tries to calm his nerves enough for the AI to leave him alone. He hated when computers knew too much about what was going on. After a beat, he continues, “And please, just Clive. None of this 'Admiral’ stuff please.”

  “Very well, Clive,” The AI's voice puts emphasis on his name as it recomputes its way of addressing him. In a moment, they are moving toward the briefing hall again.

  “That reminds me,” Clive says after thinking about how he hadn't heard anyone address the AI by name yet, “What should I call you?”

  “Call me?” The AI asks, likely confused.

  “Yes, your name, what is it?”

  “I am Tactical Artificial Intelligence Model 375-I. Some of the crew call me TAIMI for short.”

  “No one has named you?”

  “Not in the manner living creatures are named, no.”

  “Would you like a name?”

  “What purpose would it serve, Clive?”

  “Familiarly with the crew? It would humanize you too,” Clive reasons, doing his best to put the reason for giving things names to words. After several beats, Clive continues, “Just think about it …or whatever you do. Get back to me when you think of a name.”

  “Affirmative, Clive,” The AI answers as the lift arrives at the briefing hall.

  Clive steps out and the doors behind him prompt shut. In front of him are hundreds of beings, all part of each ship's command structure in the fleet, inside of a massive room which spans much of the length of the Once Lucky's uppermost decks. The captains are all congregated around an immensely long table, each with their own microphone so they may be heard at the other end of the table. Behind each captain are their corresponding first officers, lead engineers, lead armament officers, navigators, and other lead officers which make up the backbone of the fleet. Everyone is silent, save a few whisperings between crews and their neighbors.

  “Admiral, you're here,” One captain announces, taking notice of Clive, “We've been waiting for you.”

  Several others chime in with their greetings as Clive makes his way to the head of the table. He looks at every captain, memorizing faces and trying to put names to them. Most of the captains are human, most look battle hardened as well. Near the head of the table is Trix, who is avoiding eye contact, and Richardson and his group, who clearly can't stay down, even after a fierce firefight. Richardson is by far the most banged up, several fresh bandages cover the better portion of half of his face. Sitting, Clive addresses the assembly with his table-mounted microphone, “I'm sorry I'm late, I was fixing the ship's atmosphere regulating systems, I'm sure you all noticed it was growing uncomfortable.”

  “Not to worry, Eagle Lead, we kept ourselves busy.” Perkins reassures Clive from behind. Several others also assure Clive that he needn't worry.

  “Why have you gathered us here, Admiral?” Asks a Toaz captain, dressed in a traditional Toaz combat suit, made of a material much like obsidian, which provides a striking contrast to his whitened scales.

  “Yes, why don't we continue to Strehim?” Another Toaz captain asks, this one in a white and gold resistance flight suit, and with deep blue scales.

  “We will, I just want to error on the side of caution,” Clive informs the gathering, he continues, knowing many would disagree with what he would say, “And I want to be cautious because Eagle Fleet is not what it once was. We can't take on a Coalition fleet anymore—" Clive stops as heated arguments break out in every corner of the briefing hall, he would wait for everyone to settle down.

  “He's right, we have grown weak in our hiding!” One voice calls.

  “Nothing like a trial by fire to temper the fleet back to where it was, and to cut the weak links!” A menacing Frazian voice returns.

  “We haven't grown weak,” comes a fragile protest.

  Slowly, the arguments die out and all eyes return to Clive. Everyone knew that he was right in saying the fleet wasn't everything it had been, despite their best intentions. When everyone had grown silent, the staunch voice of Jackson Ryder breaks the silence from the far side of the table, “What would you have us do, Admiral?”

  “First off, I would like to know if anyone's ship is in need of assistance,” Clive starts, trying to sound as official as possible, “Be it a serious malfunction, or even a small bug. I know if the Once Lucky has problems, others must too. And we need to help get each other in working order. Now, who is in need of help?”

  “I-I uh,” A shy voice stutters along halfway down the table, “M-my ship’s re-rebreather system is sh-shot. We are on a-auxiliary tanks for air.”

  “Who here has someone aboard that can help?” Clive asks the assembly.

  “We've got a few technicians aboard who should be able to patch things back together,” A woman next to the shy captain offers.

  “We've got an extra rebreather system in our hold,” another declares happily.

  “There, now we've got everyone talking,” Clive says smiling. Standing, he continues, “Keep at it, I want every ship to be at its best for Strehim. When we arrive, we will send a few landers to scout out and secure the area. When they send the all clear, we will land. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get going.”

  As Clive ducks out of the briefing hall, the atmosphere in the room has grown from cold and hostile to friendly and familial. Captain's offer their services to less fortunate crews, and everyone pledges their help to one another. Clive brushes by several of his crew members as he hastily makes his way back to the lift. He hadn't slept since he had left Galatia, and he is exhausted.

  “Hello, Clive,” The AI sounds as he enters the lift, “Where would you like to go?”

  “Captain's chamber, please,” Clive pleads, groggily leaning against the lift’s wall.

  “I see your lack of rest is catching up to you,” The AI notes, “Would you like to be left undisturbed?”

  “Please,” Clive says as he briefly nods off.

  “Very well, Clive. I will see to it.”

  Soon after, Clive is awakened with a face full of cool air. His eyes slowly open as he looks in at a softly lit, lavishly furnished room.

  “Here you are, Clive,” The AI quietly informs him, “Rest up, I can brief you when you awaken on what occurs while you sleep.”

  “Thank you,” Clive says, stumbling out. As the doors to the lift begin to slide shut, he turns and asks, “Have you thought of a name for yourself yet?”

  After a long pause, the AI answers, “I was thinking Lydia, what do you think?”

  “I like it,” Clive nods, fondling remembering his caretaker, who was also named Lydia. That name alone reminded him of safety, of love… of home. It had been so long since he had felt at home anywhere. Everywhere he had been lacked the fullness of a home, and he knew why, it was because he had no one to share it with. He could never set down roots in any city, not on any planet. Nowhere was safe for him, or those around him. All Clive had wanted since he and Lydia had been evicted by the Coalition was somewhere he could finally feel at home again. Somewhere he could start over in peace.