"This thing is what, ten kilometers long," Maestro sipped his coffee, "and I still feel like a cooped up grandmother after 2 days of no flight time."
"Nah, it's just the new-age econo-small rooms, this bridge for instance," Rollins answered, setting his own mug on the drink holder in his chair. "The old war era bridges, probably the one on the old Behemoth, too, were two floors about three times the size of this, all of it with picture windows lining the whole damn thing. The design philosophy was insanely ridiculous; bridge crews lived in perpetual fear of incoming torpedoes."
Maestro nodded. "Isn't the flight deck the guts of an old Ranger?"
"Yep, the lounge is to, I think."
"And who made this coffee," the pilot added.
"I did," Rollins beamed, "I make the best coffee I ever tasted. Besides, nowadays, I need it."
"Captain, may I speak freely?"
"Of course.
Holding the mug out, Maestro said, "this is the absolute worst… stuff… I've ever drank. Counting the Boom Boom."
"I'm sorry Lieutenant," Rollins answered, without skipping a beat, "when is Xavier clearing you for duty?"
He chugged his coffee, making sure Maestro heard every gulp. The pilot winced. "Hmmph, and after I let you up here to keep tabs on your friends for hours."
"I'll never lay off booze again," Maestro massaged around the medical bandages keeping the gash in his forehead closed.
"You pilots have it made," Rollins commented, taking a data pad from a passing crewman and studying the contents. "All the alcohol you want. Comm. officers were never trusted with that. And here I am on medication, I still can't drink," his eyes lit up as he read the report. "Has HQ sent us ANYTHING yet?"
The last remark was directed toward the comm. officer.
"No sir."
"You'd think they'd be eager to have their shiny new invasion preventing weapon repaired. Ah well, helm, keep us on course for Confederation space, and keep avoiding the traffic routs," he pulled up a nav map. "In about five seconds I'm going to ask the Firekkan Planetary Alliance for dry dock time."
"Are we really that desperate," Maestro asked.
"Are you kidding," Rollins laughed, "half of our weapons are still down, we blew another superconductor just by transferring power from the main cannon the other day, and I've been getting reports from crewmen that have seen Admiral Tolwyn."
Rollins' voice gave away that he thought the crew were going insane.
"What does he do, haunt this thing," a serious Maestro answered. Rollins didn't pick up on it. "What are Maniac and the cat doing, anyway?"
"We just sent the SWACS out to give them a sensor boost, they reported back an intermittent signal and they can't pin it down. Should be getting halfway there any second, close enough for a scan."
"Maniac to Behemoth," the bridge speakers flared, "the SWACS got it, it's a distress signal. Whatcha' want us to do?"
"Respond to it, Maniac. Get your gun camera up and feeding to us. Whatever it is, it's just out of sensor range."
---
"This better not be anything big," Maniac commented. "There's only two of us and an SWACS. Great patrol, eh?"
"Were you not titled 'Maniac' for a love of absurd risks?"
"So sue me, even I get old," the major responded. "Doesn't mean they have any more of a chance then they would've 20 years ago!"
At that, a stray missile passed between the two Panthers.
"It would seem we have arrived," Jeager commented. Not far away was a Kilrathi corvette just getting close enough to see, and scanners read its escort: two Excaliburs and three Dralthi fending off a wing of old Arrows and several Thunderbolts. Several of the Arrows ganged up on one of the Excaliburs and tore it apart before the pilot could eject, flames from the damaged corvette serving as a backdrop.
"Lookout 1, can you jam the enemy fighters' communications," Jeager inquired. It would make things easier if they couldn't coordinate.
"Not this far away, Alpha; we're still heading for you, but I doubt we'll get there before it's over."
"Mayday, mayday, any Confederate or Border World forces please assist," came a heavy Russian accent from the remaining Excalibur, Maniac and Jeager now close enough to receive from the old fighter's damaged comm. system.
The Excalibur rolled around and shot apart one of the Arrows, but two more and a Thunderbolt were bearing down on the fighter. Before they could fire off their guns, a salvo of missiles and Ion fire destroyed the mystery fighters just before Maniac and Jeager zoomed by.
"It is about time," the Corvette's ranking officer yelled over the comm., though he was clearly more relieved then angry. "Assist us, humans!"
"And who are you calling human," Jeager retorted, destroying another Thunderbolt. "Who are they?"
"You're guess is as good as mine," the Excalibur pilot answered, her voice choppy from the damaged comm. array. "They just up and attacked. Watch it!"
The last Thunderbolt braved the corvette's guns and launched a torpedo. The bomber exploded under the laser fire a split second later, but the projectile streaked toward its target and slammed into the Corvette's starboard wing. The small ship's phase shields were no match for the Lancer and the entire section exploded, sending what was left of the ship to careen away and destroying two Dralthi in the shockwave.
"Hah! He goes down anyway," the Corvette officer cheered over a garbled comm. channel, his ship eradiated but still with life support.
"Feel my wrath, ape," the last Dralthi pilot taunted as he destroyed one of the remaining arrows. Maniac destroyed the last two.
"This is an interesting situation," Maniac commented. The Corvette was surprisingly well off, considering the munitions it had been smashed with, and was setting a course for an installation.
"Your assistance is appreciated, human, I shall escort our vessel away," the last Dralthi commed. If he thought he could protect half of a corvette in a decade old fighter, Maniac wasn't going to say otherwise.
"Hey uh, excuse me," the Excalibur pilot commed, "if it isn't too much trouble, could you could spare some room on your ship for me? I'm not in a condition for a long flight, I don't think…"
As if to prove her point, a stabilizer on the trashed Excalibur visibly exploded.
"This is not what we need," Rollins suddenly came over the comm. "We're covert ops, pilot. If you come aboard, you stay aboard. Consider it a transfer of sorts."
"Hey, wait a minute here, I'm not even Confederation…"
"All the more reason you stay, it's your choice."
"…fine," the pilot conceded.
"Alright. Maniac, Jeager, escort her to the Behemoth."
---
The old Excalibur looked out of place on the flight deck. Despite the deck's former role as the guts of a Ranger class carrier, it had all been overhauled and was in pristine condition.
The Excalibur, however, was more then just damaged; it was aged. The paint job was long smeared from laser fire of missions past and some of its gunnery hard points held Reaper cannons instead of Tachyon guns.
The pilot, decked out in a Border Worlds Militia flight suit, didn't seem like she let this fluster as she climbed from the cockpit. She did, however, take a second to glance at her fighter, remembering other tough times it had gotten her through. She had a feeling it wasn't going to fly again; the fight against the unidentified fighters had taken the last of its life.
"Forget help, it needs a 'condemned' sign."
She spun around to find a pair of Confederate officers walking across the hanger, one not in full uniform. The one in front snapped off a salute.
"Captain Ted Rollins, TCS Behemoth. Welcome aboard."
She returned the gesture. "Major Natalie Romana, Border Worlds Militia. Quite a ship you've got here Captain."
"Oh we're all well aware of it, Major Romona," Maestro couldn't help but comment.
"Romana."
"Pardon?"
"Romana. With an a," she tossed Maestro her helmet, prompting confusion to paint his face. In reality, his lack of a full uniform made him look like the ship's grease monkey. Rollins thought it was pretty damn funny.
"Why Captain, I believe that's the first time you've shown a sense of humor," Maestro quipped, turning the worn object over in his hands before tossing it behind his head.
"Yes, isn't it," answered Rollins. "This coming from someone who thinks 'we're gonna miss you, Bug!' is pretty damn hysterical." He turned and started to leave. "I'll leave you to show the Major around, Maestro, while I get Command on the line and slide her name onto the Confed/Border worlds exchange list. After I get some sleep."
"He seems… eccentric," Romana commented.
"Oh, you don't know the half of it. By showing you around I have a feeling he means "situation report," so I think the briefing room should be our first stop." Maestro gave a mock bow and extended his arms in a 'you first' manner.
"And what's your rank again," she raised an eyebrow.
"I think I'll wait until you're actually on the flight roster to tell you that."
"And I thought your fighters were modern," Romana couldn't help but notice that even the briefing room was a decade above what she was used to. "Confed spares no expense."
"Hey, it's cheaper," Maestro answered. "Grab a seat, check out the ICIS, I'll see if I can run this thing."
"I don't have anything against Confed, pilot. You don't need to be defensive."
Maestro sat at the computer station, looked it over, and started typing in commands. "I'm not, it really is cheaper." After a few mishaps and an instance of accidentally calling up Admiral Tolwyn's old entry into the original command roster, despite being nowhere near those files, he set up the needed information.
"Whaddaya want first: Behemoth's specifications, the latest threat to the future of sentient life blah blah blah, or the recent mission logs?"
"Oh any order is fine, considering that you're going to great lengths to educate me in such normally mundane things as a mission log, I'm sure it's all just full of surprises."
"And a few explosions," Maestro tapped enter and stood. "Enjoy your briefing, Major."
---
"So Jeager, mind if I ask ya' a question?"
Hopping over the bar, Maestro dug around for the Boom Boom. Maniac was curiously absent, probably on the bridge or taking a nap or something.
"Considering the source, I probably should, but you would ask anyway. Go ahead."
"What drug killed your brain long enough to inspire you to sign on with Confed, anyway?"
The Kilrathi sighed. "Is this going to be one of those 'don't see many Killie Kats in Confed uniforms' things? I've really had my fill of that."
"Ack, no no no," Maestro waved his arms, determined to a show a lack of Kilrathi hate. Steven Garret had no qualms about it, so naturally little Maxwell had taken the opposite view before he even knew what it meant just to piss him off. "Really, I'm curious."
"I flew for the Empire during the last year of the war. My father didn't know I existed as I was born after his personality overlay, but nevertheless, I found I enjoyed it. Even the killing, no offense. If joining the Confederation space force meant keeping me in the air, I didn't give it a second though."
"You made it this far, must've been a good call," Maestro answered.
Jeager said; "making it is an understatement in some cases. The first carrier I was stationed on, the Sundagger, the Captain couldn't stand me. He retired just before my promotion to major about five years ago."
"That's not funny."
Taken aback the human's sudden serious tone, Jeager responded with "I should hope not, it's not supposed to be. Captain Garret certainly wasn't a ball of laughs."
"Have you actually looked at the flight roster," Maestro asked, the edge in his voice gone as he realized he'd snapped without thinking, but the seriousness was still there.
"Of course."
"What does it say?"
Not yet realizing what Maestro was getting at, Jeager read the list from memory. "Major Todd Marshal, Major Jeager nar Hallas, Lieutenant Maxwell… Garret… oh my…"
"I can't wait to tell the bastard who my real father is… I'd revive the Black Lance just to piss him off if I could, damn duty-preaching hypocrite."
"I would pay to see that. As that couldn't realistically happen, perhaps you would allow me to be present when you inform him your father was Admiral Tolwyn."
"You're welcome to it," Maestro laughed. "Jesus, I feel like I'm eight years old, we're sitting here," he cracked up, "planning revenge on the bully."
"Were we ever that young," Jeager chuckled. "Your turn, Maestro. Why ask me this?"
"Taggart gave me a message from Dad… Tolwyn… whatever… he recorded. He told me he made sure someone like Steven Garret ended up being my father so I'd be forced into the service. It's true… I joined up to please him… but he also said he had so much faith in the family line that sooner or later I'd want to be here myself. Funny thing is, I think he's right."
"I started flying for the Empire because I just had to fight the Heart of the Tiger after hearing the stories," Jeager answered. "If I can do that, anything is possible."
"God, Maniac kicked our collective asses in five seconds on the sim. Imagine how long it would've taken Blair?"
Jeager snorted. "Make sure Maniac doesn't hear you say that. Blair was on my wing this, Blair kept Tolwyn from seeing my talent that."
"Blair stole my woman this," Maestro laughed. "Wonder how the latest pilot is taking in the situation."
He finally poured a shot of the goopy purple drink and downed it, immediately making a face.
"Pardon."
"I set her up on the ICIS with everything. Behemoth, Bugs, Rollins' mental problems, the works."
"I suppose we shall find out. I, however, shall find out tomorrow. Cats need their beauty sleep." Jeager rose and stretched. "Good night, Lieutenant."
It actually hit Maestro as Jeager left that every pilot aboard was a Major except for him. On that random thought, he downed another shot of Boom Boom and grabbed a pad. Behemoth had long since been in Rapleetah and he most likely would have gotten something back from Casey on the Cerberus.
---
"Our shields our down! We can't stop 'em!"
Rollins' console came on the business end of a power surge and popped a shower of sparks at his face shortly after he yelled his comment. Captain Eisen was dashing over, not to check on his comm. officer, Rollins imagined, but what was over here?
The Captain took the helm, right next to him, and franticly punched in a course. There was something in his eyes, something that said "fuck you."
Leaning over, Rollins saw why. He was putting the Victory on a collision course with a Kilrathi dreadnaught. The enemy fleet was looming ahead, rampaging through the battered and weak Confederation capital ships as Earth itself hung in the background.
"Sir, what are you doing? You're heading right into their fleet!"
Though a nagging feeling at the edge of his mind told him something was wrong, Rollins didn't want to die. He was the first to admit that he'd be enough of a coward to live as a Kilrathi slave rather then have his guts torn out by Kilrathi claws.
"They're not taking my ship," Eisen responded, his voice surprisingly calm, until his next words spoke out with every iota of defiance the human race itself held. "We're taking as many of them with as we can. Make your peace, Mr. Rollins!"
The comm. officer's eyes shot back to his display. He didn't want to die.
But when he glanced outside into space, he suddenly didn't care.
The Kilrathi fleet was gone, replaced by a single, solitary planet with sulfur-yellow continents and dark brown bodies of water. Past the terminator were clusters of lights, cities lit up in the night.
"Make your peace," a voice that was most assuredly not Captain Eisen's repeated. Rollins spun in his chair and found Admiral Tolwyn himself sitting beside him, a gleam in his eye. "And just pull the trigger."
When Rollins looked back, the bridge of the legendary TCS Victory was gone, replaced by the smaller control center he commanded the Behemoth from, the planet still shining off in the distance.
"No…"
He stood from his chair, his war era lieutenant's uniform gone in favor of a modern day captain's garb. At first glance it didn't look like anyone else was on the bridge, but Tolwyn was standing at Gunnery, imputing commands, readying the destroyer of worlds to strike.
"Why yes, Captain Rollins," the long dead Admiral smirked. Rollins had had enough.
"NO!"
He leapt over the console from his side, intent on knocking Tolwyn into the wall, but Tolwyn was gone as soon as he was in the air.
When he stood, Tolwyn had switched places with him. Rollins' own hands were playing over the controls while the Admiral watched from in front of his chair.
"Just pull the trigger. I would have. Blaire did it. So can you."
He couldn't stop himself. The beam poured from the main cannon, struck the planet…
…and Rollins shot up in bed, soaked in a cold sweat.
Then he remembered Dr. Xavier hadn't given him more Triclanocine to make sure he wouldn't get addicted. She figured the drugs had gotten his body used to the idea of sleep again to the point where he could do it on his own.
And he'd slept… for what it was worth, without the drug keeping the dreams he knew were coming at bay.
"Least I won't go insane…"
---
Beep beep beep beep...
The incessant ringing saturated the room, prompting the sole occupant to roll over in bed, disturbed, but not woken up. A few seconds passed, and she murmured, "accept incoming call" in her sleep, not fully aware of the situation in the waking world.
Maniac's face immediately twisted when it popped up on the screen.
"Commander? Hey, Commander! Yoo hoo! Commander! Wake up!"
Patricia Drake did no such thing. Maniac looked off to the side. "Could you hand me that, no, no, that… no, the gag horn, yes, that…"
When he pointed the air horn at the screen and blasted it, Drake fell out of bed on the comm. screen's far side.
"Commander?"
A very disheveled Commander-Air-Group stood up in one fluid motion, her face shooting murder at the pilot.
"Point of that. Now."
Her expression didn't change, which was generally a bad sign to people that pissed her off.
"You are gonna love this," Maniac reached off-screen to fiddle with something. The fact that he wasn't bothering with his usual annoying self bothered her. "First chance we get, we hit the Senate again."
She was quite surprised when an official interrogation record came up on her screen to replace Maniac. Stranger still, the footage, taken properly to show everyone involved, was labeled "TCS Behemoth" as the location. Drake wasn't the highest-ranking officer in the Terran Confederation, but she had sources and an almost obligatory knowledge of a couple darker sides to Confed. She knew what the Behemoth was.
But that didn't compare to the actual content of the footage. She recognized Maniac, but there was a red-haired man in a Captain's uniform she didn't recognize and a woman wearing a doctor's lab coat. Drake rubbed her eyes when the final occupant of the room turned out to be a single, solitary bug.
"Okay then. Why don't we go through this Aligned Peoples thing again, and then the whole Harvest idea," Maniac spoke. The bug cocked its head.
Maniac had Drake's full attention.
---
NEXT: As I have it planned now, Impresario will be a trilogy. Might change, but, for the moment, the first part ends with the next chapter, and with the plot I have planned, you ain't seen nothin' yet. Neither has Maestro, for that matter.
Yes, I am a tease. Mwa.