Ricket (Star Watch Book 2) Read online

  Ricket was keenly aware the atmosphere around him had changed. The other eight Eriokians, wearing similar olive-green overalls, had the same hostile expression on their faces as Burak. The visit was supposed to be an Alliance gesture of good will. It wasn’t like this Mansan Core system planet ranked high on the priority list for Star Watch … there were hundreds of requests for the Alliance’s newly formed Star Watch policing/marshaling service.

  Ricket glanced over to the SpaceRunner, parked three hundred and sixty-two feet to the north. Rising heat waves from the midday sun gave the vessel a shimmery, dream-like quality. For the first time, Ricket hoped Leon Pike, the space ship’s captain, was keeping tabs on the situation below.

  Ricket brought his attention back to Burak. “I am here to assist you. But the amount of power necessary for that type of plasma ray … well, it needs to come from somewhere. The geo-thermal source currently in use has only one-third the capacity of what is required.”

  The Port City engineer stood, his arms crossing over his barrel chest. Ricket looked up at him, then over to his companions. It became obvious that Burak and the others already knew that, as no indication of surprise or indignation lit their faces. Ricket was unsure what, exactly, was going on here. He’d arrived three hours earlier with Leon, Hanna, and the mecher, the seven-foot-tall robot from Trom, for what was intended to be a simple, one-day field trip—to provide both technical know-how, and some customized plasma weaponry, to Port City. Then the SpaceRunner would phase-shift back to the Sol system, to Jefferson Station, later today.

  “Perhaps I should return to my ship. We can take a break … start again in an hour. Would that be acceptable?” Ricket asked.

  Burak said, “Stay where you are, Craing.”

  Ricket didn’t take offense at being sneeringly called Craing by Burak. Born on the planet Craing, he was a Craing, all 4”1’ of him; but he was also so much more: Over two hundred years old, he was infused with countless nanites and Caldurian tech-devices that provided him with incredible sensory capabilities. And right then, he detected sudden, massive amounts of energy, five hundred feet to the west of their little encampment.

  Ricket sent a NanoCom message to the mecher, who was, undoubtedly, still sitting at the controls of the SpaceRunner: “Get away from here!”

  That was the entirety of the message Ricket sent before another vessel suddenly came into view. He had detected the unique energy signature of an impending phase-shift, something that happened very infrequently. Other than select Allied vessels, such as the Minian, the Assailant, and the SpaceRunner, and various fighters and shuttles, this technology—the capability to instantly phase-shift from one place to another, within thousands of miles, could only be coming from one source—the Caldurians, the originators of the technology. The Minian, in fact, was also a Caldurian ship.

  The vessel loomed high and broad. Like the Minian and The Lilly, the vessel was black, with a smooth matte finish. Unmistakably Caldurian in design, she had similar lines to The Lilly but was more egg-shaped. Perhaps this was the latest replacement model for that class of vessel, Ricket thought. The spacecraft had two sets of stubby, angled-back wings on each side and two extremely large observation windows set high and far back on the hull. Perhaps it was the two large eye-like portals or maybe it was the overall design of the ship, but it was definitely an imposing, almost ominous, ship to behold.

  The Port City engineers quickly scattered and only faint traces of Burak’s foul body odor remained behind. Ricket, not moving from his perch, continued to observe the events going on around him. He noticed the Caldurian ship’s nose was pointed toward the SpaceRunner and, in that same instant, detected another familiar energy signature—that of a powerful plasma cannon being energized. In a burst of bright blue light, the Caldurian ship fired its primary weapon. What remained of the SpaceRunner looked more like a dark cloud … she had been atomized.

  Ricket brought a hand to his mouth. He’d just witnessed the death of Leon and Hanna.

  A gangway appeared beneath the Caldurian vessel and three tall beings, one following the next, descended the ramp. Ricket recognized they were of Caldurian heritage; they looked similar to the one Caldurian crewmember on board the Minian: Granger.

  Now standing, frozen in place by what he had just witnessed, Ricket watched them approach. Using every aspect of his advanced internal devices to assess the situation, he still felt scared, unsure what to do next. Ricket was not a warrior, although he significantly appeared more like one than he once did, before meeting Captain Jason Reynolds two years earlier. He was well aware that in order to survive the present situation, only his intellect would save him.

  The three Caldurians walked beneath the tarp and stopped several paces in front of him. The difference in their height became very apparent.

  “There was no need to fire on that vessel—killing those still on board. Our purpose here only had peaceful motivations,” Ricket said, with unbridled indignation.

  Tall, dressed similarly in black spacer’s jumpsuits, they looked akin to the Craing, possessing angular heads and large eyes. An attractive species, Ricket thought. They were now communicating amongst themselves. Their advanced NanoCom devices allowed them to talk through singular mind-based conversations—more akin to telepathy … something his own nano-devices were yet incapable of. But with the most recent advancements to his nano-devices, he could, at least, hear them.

  The closest of the three was saying, “Is this the one? I expected … something … other than him.”

  The other two smiled and appraised Ricket, like they were observing a bug … a science experiment.

  “He is listening to us … he’s partially modified our own technology,” the Caldurian in the middle said.

  The closest one, apparently the leader, talked aloud, using his voice: “Your comrades are not dead, but I suspect you already know that.”

  Ricket did know that. He’d just detected their life-form readings a moment earlier, so they must have phase-shifted away safely. He also detected the mecher was still with them.

  “Then, you are aware they are currently pointing weapons at you?” Ricket lied, unsure if that were true.

  “You are Ricket, yes?”

  “I am.”

  “We have much to discuss … come with us. Your friends are now on board our ship.”

  Ricket verified for himself that what the leader said was, in fact, true. They had been phase-shifted aboard.

  “What do you want with us … with me?” Ricket asked.

  “You will be coming with us. Away from this realm.”

  Ricket was well aware that the Caldurians were, for the most part, travelers of the multiverse. In fact, a whole faction of their society, the progressives, had migrated to some other dimensional realm years ago and rarely returned to their original realm.

  “What do you want with me?” Ricket asked again.

  “Rest assured, nothing that will cause you any physical pain.” The Caldurian leader nodded his head, gesturing toward his ship.

  Although the response didn’t answer his question, Ricket didn’t see another option open. He could, possibly, activate his battle suit and phase-shift elsewhere, but could he get away in the few seconds it took for his suit to initialize? Where could he go that these advanced beings wouldn’t find him? And what about Leon and Hanna? Since they were now on the Caldurian vessel perhaps it was best to go along with their demands—at least for now. There was another consideration too: He was more than a little excited to see the inside of their vessel. No doubt, it contained the absolute latest in Caldurian technology. He briefly wondered if he would be allowed to update his own internal devices. A feeling of excitement came over him as he walked with the threesome toward the vessel.

  As they ascended the ramp, Ricket realized they’d certainly gone to a lot of trouble; the request for assistance by Eriok’s Port City, the meeting with the engineers, was all a ruse. Why not contact me directly?

  At the t
op of the ramp, Ricket experienced a slight electrical charge rove over his entire body. He’d passed through an environmental field similar to that on board the Minian, alleviating the need for airlock chambers. They walked some distance before entering a DeckPort, then exited out its other side into a surprisingly expansive space. In the distance, Ricket heard voices … specifically the mecher’s. “I am designated as Trommy5 … I am a mecher from the planet Trom …”

  Leon and Hanna were being held within separate confinement cells, behind light aqua-colored energy fields.

  Ricket then realized only the pudgy leader was still with him—the other two must have DeckPorted to another section of the ship. Another Caldurian, broad-shouldered and older than the others, was waiting for him.

  “Welcome, Ricket, my name is Hobel.”

  Before Ricket could answer, he heard a familiar voice coming from behind the Caldurian.

  “What the hell have you gotten us into, Ricket?” Leon Pike yelled. “Did you see what they did to my ship?”

  The Caldurian named Hobel wore an all-white, single-piece uniform, with four blue stripes on each of his sleeves. He tapped at a virtual control panel on the bulkhead, next to the confinement cell, and Leon’s voice went silent. Ricket noticed three SuitPac devices were lying on a nearby console. Ricket quickly assessed his surroundings. His excitement grew as he observed what could only be described as awe-inspiring. Very little here had actual physical form: 3D virtual holographic displays surrounded them. He reached out his hand and touched a nearby, quasi-transparent, blue-hued virtual console and was surprised that it felt solid. His internal sensors detected a slight energy fluctuation as his fingers followed the contours of the structure … this is simply amazing!

  The Eriokian, whom Ricket earlier thought was the leader of the Port City engineers, brushed past him and placed a fourth SuitPac on the console. When did he take that away from me? Ricket wondered.

  Hobel waved the other one away with a casual gesture of his hand. He waited for him to leave the compartment while continuing to stare down at Ricket.

  “You can relax, you have no reason to fear me.”

  “Why have you taken us captive? What do you want with us?”

  “All your questions will be answered in due time. For now, rest assured—you and your friends are safe.”

  Ricket’s eyes moved to his comrades standing behind force fields. Leon was silently yelling something, silenced within his cell. Hanna stood at the back of her own enclosure, arms folded beneath her breasts, glaring angrily at Ricket.

  The ship lurched slightly. Apparently, they had departed Eriok.

  Hobel’s expression became contentious. “Unfortunately, Ricket, you will not be leaving the Parcical … not within your lifetime. You should come to terms with that here and now.”

  Chapter 3

  Sol System, Jefferson Station

  The Minian, Captain’s Ready Room

  __________________________

  Jason entered the captain’s ready room, finding half the seats already filled. At the far end of the table sat Admiral Dixon, a middle-aged, silver-haired officer with a strong Southern drawl, which often disarmed even those who opposed him. But he was no country bumpkin. Dixon was as sharp as they came and more than once stood behind Jason’s father when support within the ranks of the Alliance was hard to come by. He respected and liked the man. It was Dixon who’d called the meeting and it was he who’d personally selected those in attendance today.

  Jason knew why he was here. What happened yesterday, in the Mansan Core system, was appalling. He’d been so caught up in the chase that he’d been bushwhacked. Worse, he’d nearly lost his crew—close to twelve hundred men and women—and nearly lost the Alliance’s most prized warship, the Minian. Losing her to an enemy faction would be disastrous.

  Jason nodded toward Admiral Dixon and was rewarded with a friendly smile. A few more late stragglers hurried to their seats, then the room became quiet. It suddenly dawned on Jason that his junior officers were purposely avoiding eye contact. So this is what it’s like to lose the respect of my crew.

  Jason cleared his voice. “Thank you, Admiral Dixon. Welcome—”

  Admiral Dixon cut him off, putting up a hand and gesturing for Jason to hold up. He rose to his feet, walked around the table, and stood at Jason’s side. “Captain Reynolds, if you would indulge me for a moment, I’d like to address your junior officers.”

  “Of course … the floor is yours, sir.”

  Dixon’s friendly demeanor evaporated. His gray-blue eyes turned icy cold. “You all really screwed the pooch yesterday. What a clusterfuck. I’ve reviewed the reports, including the AI bridge feeds. I thought I was watching one of those old Keystone cop movies.”

  The room stayed quiet as the attendees stared down at the table like scolded children.

  “Your captain was given specific orders to apprehend, or kill, Captain Mar Oswaldo. The Alliance does not issue such orders lightly. You want to blame your captain for the shit-pile you found yourselves in … well don’t … at least, not completely. Your captain is effective only to the level of support he’s given and that support was near non-existent. Staff-Sergeant Orion, who was responsible for tactical on the Minian’s bridge during the altercation?”

  Orion looked up and caught Jason’s eye, then looked at the admiral. “I was … am … responsible for the tactical station, sir.”

  “Why wasn’t the trap detected?”

  “Sir, there were no sensor readings of any kind coming from either the space station or the space crane … they were both dead quiet, Admiral.”

  “Were they? Are you sure?”

  Again, Orion’s eyes flashed toward Jason before she answered, “Sir, all I can do is work with the readings—”

  The admiral was shaking his head and Orion stopped talking.

  “You had a wide array of options available to you, Staff-Sergeant Orion … granted, I’m not as tactically current as you are, but according to the AI, there were still sixteen, both long- and short-range, in-depth sensor fields available to you … that information had already been processed, but it wasn’t checked. You relied strictly on what, I understand, are referred to as tactical fast scan screens … low level cursory threat evaluations. Now, I’ve had the opportunity to review those other, missed, readings and with the assistance of a Jefferson Station tactical officer, I was able to verify that there were, in fact, energy spikes coming from both the space station and the space crane. They were very small … but they were there.”

  Jason wasn’t going to let the admiral publicly flog Gunny. “Admiral, when you’re in a battle situation, there’s simply no time—”

  Admiral Dixon waved away Jason’s protest and turned his attention to Ensign McNeil. “Ensign, you were at the helm during the altercation?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Let’s move ahead to the point where the Minian was drawn into the trap; the moment when your captain gave the order for you to get the ship out of there. Then he ordered you to phase-shift away.”

  McNeil looked nervous, like a young boy being scolded by a school principal. “Aye, sir. The phase-shift system was one of the first systems taken out … there was no way—”

  Dixon took a step closer to McNeil and, putting his hands on his hips, his face stern and his eyes unforgiving, said, “Yes, you are one hundred percent correct, Ensign. The phase-shift system was down at that point. But the drives were operational. In fact, you had several seconds before the drives were taken out. Let me ask you this, Ensign … how far can the Minian travel in the span of … say … five seconds?”

  Jason watched McNeil’s face as the young man mentally calculated the question.

  “At that point the only direction open to us was the way we’d come in and backing out.”

  Dixon raised his brow and waited for him to continue.

  “If I had acted immediately, instigated a full reversal of both drives and auxiliary thrusters, we might have been
able to clear the trap,” McNeil said, looking apologetically toward Jason.

  Dixon put a consoling hand on the ensign’s shoulder and moved on to the young man sitting next to McNeil—Seaman Gordon.

  Jason gave McNeil a reassuring nod and brought his full attention to Seaman Gordon. An identical twin, both he and his brother had freckled faces and bright red hair. Like McNeil, Gordon looked as if he were going to pee his pants.

  “Seaman Gordon, you were on the bridge comms, correct?”

  “Um … Yes, I was, sir … Admiral, sir.”

  “At the point Captain Reynolds initiated pursuit of the Carrion, were you monitoring space chatter?”

  “Aye, sir … that’s part of my duties … to listen for other vessels in the area.”

  “That’s very good, Seaman Gordon. You’re also instructed to listen for AI audio prompts, correct?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Jason saw Gordon’s face fall. What the admiral was referring to was the comms channel audio beeps, intended to prompt the comms technician to review sub-channel comms. The spectrum was almost limitless and could be quite a time-consuming process. In high-stress situations it would be difficult to check each and every AI prompt.

  “I had the opportunity to review the AI audio prompts and what I discovered was quite interesting … would you like to know what you missed, Seaman?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “The Carrion sent a sub-channel communication to both the space station and the space crane. It was that same communication which triggered the attack on both the port and starboard sides of the Minian.”

  “That’s enough, Admiral,” Jason said, rising to his feet. “I’m not going to let you interrogate my crew … to second-guess their every action or decision.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a wad, Captain. Sit down!”

  Jason did as he was told and realized all eyes were on him.

  “Can anyone tell me what the point is to this inquiry?” Admiral Dixon asked no one in particular.