Hi everyone! Here's the next piece, and another bit will follow soon. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy it! :D
Chapter Eighteen
Six Space Corps patrol ships skid smoothly into Jupiter's gravity well, riding the line with the effortless skill of stock footage surfers spliced into a 1960s beach flick.
Gravimetric interference effectively shielded their course from Outer Rim patrol units and satellite scanners as they moved in tandem, the sleek vessels maintaining a dangerously high speed until Io's pock-marked face hoved into view.
The lead ship dipped its wing then pulled out of their close formation, the other five branching off to surround the volcanic moon. Like buffeting gusts of wind, the ships wove in and out of delineated space traffic lanes, zipping past transport and delivery shuttles, taking out automatic traffic buoys and satellite transmitters with their laser cannons; their looping paths finally rejoining to circle over one particular Family Dome…
General Metzeler watched the man in the surveillance video disappear in a flickering flash. She watched it again, then watched it at half speed. At quarter speed.
She saw Howard's laser bolt hit, saw the crackle of energy wrap around the man's torso as he flailed his arms… The man seemed to fade out and in, becoming as translucent as a ghost, before slamming into the elaborate show cake the other intruders had been wheeling toward the main table.
Another crackling flash, and he seemed to vanish completely.
"Impossible," she muttered, and played the video again, pausing the man in mid-flail.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say he was a hologram. Or, some sort of projection," John said, looking over her shoulder. "But, there are no self-projecting holograms. And no hologram could smash a cake, or touch things the way he does."
"Agreed," Metzeler said. "So, what the hell is he?"
"He said his name is Ace," Howard said. "But, look at the tags there, on his uniform."
"'Rimmer'," John read. "'Second Technician.' Yet, we know there is no Second Tech Rimmer currently serving in the Space Corps. It has to be a front, like the general said. Some kind of disguise to get this false Rimmer and his Nehbee friends through our door."
"But, why would a terrorist pose as a mere Second Tech?" Howard asked. "I mean, there are service droids on mining ships that pull more weight."
"Why would a mutant subversive claim to be our brother Frank?" John retorted. "It's all misdirection with these people. It's to their advantage to keep us off balance. Isn't that right, General," he deferred.
"Quite right, Captain," she said, fixing her sharp eyes on Howard. "And I suggest you stop asking questions, Lieutenant Rimmer. We're dealing with classified intelligence, and there's a horde of press outside. So, keep your thoughts to yourself and follow the orders you're given. Understood?"
"Understood, sir," Howard said, snapping to quick attention.
John shot his brother a smug look and Howard turned away, only to catch an odd flash of movement on one of the surveillance screens.
"Um… I…uh…"
"What is it now, Lieutenant?"
"Excuse me, General. My apologies," he said, "but, if I might bring your attention to that outside monitor, there…"
He pointed to a small group of blinking blips circling on the security console screen.
"Those vessels seem to be homing in on our dome," John observed. "It couldn't more guests, could it? Not this late in the day."
"They read as Space Corps patrol ships," Howard said, tapping a few buttons to bring the blips under closer scrutiny. "With your permission, General, should I send a standard hail?"
Metzeler grunted in exasperation, rising from the small room's lone swively chair to glare at the red, green and black display.
"Damn," she muttered. "How the hell did they get here so fast?"
"You recognize them, General?" John asked.
"It has to be those ingrate miners," she said. "Mars Base was supposed to be handling this, but I guess these ships managed to slip past their satellite scanners."
She hefted a laser blaster from the stack by the wall and gestured for John and Howard to do the same.
"All right, lads," she said, checking the charge. "Tell your folks: anniversary's over. It's time to prepare for a different sort of party."
To Be Continued...