Abadon
Keenan sat on the Abadon’s bridge watching the split viewscreen in front of him, his attention divided by the two items displayed.
At the moment, the five surviving members of the crew were at their stations here, dressed in full uniform and wearing their small but distinguished VALOR IN DEATH medal on their chests. Keenan wasn’t so sure he should be wearing his. The rare medal was awarded posthumously to any volunteer who, knowing he or she would not survive the mission, agreed to fulfill mission objectives nonetheless. Keenan and his crewmembers, both those still alive on the bridge and the dead ones resting in Sanctuary in the front of the ship had all been awarded that medal while still alive, something that had never happened before. And here was the reason staring him in the face.
On the left side of the holographic viewscreen was the alien homeworld they were targeted to destroy. It was surrounded by hundreds of thousands of dismantled, shredded or exploded pieces of space junk that had either been launched into space and discarded or towed to near planet orbit from some sucker planet, stripped and abandoned.
‘What to do…’ he said to himself as he stared at this nightmare. He turned to the bridge crew and repeated his question out loud this time.
“I think we should take our chances with the cloak. The ants have nothing like this, and even if they see our lasers clearing a path, they’ll be confused. It will buy us time,” Jane said.
“It´ll be a hell of a lot of laser firing once we get near Low Planetary Orbit,” Mike countered.
“Yeah. Once they get wind of us, we’ll have to chuck the cloak and use the shields.” John, Mike’s brother added.
“Do that, and the shiny mirror surface will be seen clear back to Earth. It’ll be suicide with those planetary lasers.”
“Well, this is a suicide ship, you know.”
Keenan listened to the back and forth argument between the three. Ivanov was the only quiet one, watching the second side of the viewscreen. They hadn’t yet gotten to the issue of the 142 ounces of antimatter in the containment bay.
“What of the antimatter?” Keenan finally asked. “If a piece of space junk slams into the containment bay, we’re toast.”
“All the more reason to use the shields,” John said. Keenan hated both ideas.
And there was that second object displayed on the split screen.
He studied the image closely. The medical supply ship St. Helena sat in the center-right with all running lights off, rotating slowly on the 3D screen. According to his most recent records, she had a crew of one hundred fifty plus injured and medical supplies. It slowly sailed by, disabled by the two alien Disabler mines on its hull and being towed by an unmanned alien tug to the same planet orbit that contained all the other space junk.
‘If the aliens haven’t killed the crew already, they’ll soon be dead anyway,’ he thought, not realizing he had mumbled the words out loud.
“It’s possible they’re still alive Captain,” Jane said. She had recently been promoted to Targeting with the death of Alexie, and Keenan laughed as he thought about it. Promoted. They’d be dead in six hours, one way or the other. His aptly named ship - Abadon, an old Hebrew word that meant ‘annihilation’, would end up doing the very same to them.
“Being a medical ship, life support would be set up separately from all other systems and insulated against power failure, including DB’s.”
Keenan thought about her past – orphan, abandoned on Nigel Prime, living off the streets but somehow making it as a service fighter and ultimately getting here. As if this was some reward.
“Sir?”
His mind wandered to Ivanov, the ship’s magician, now sitting painfully erect at the engineering console but watching the display of the St. Helena. He was a master at machinery, making even the most hopeless piece of junk work, but he was dying a slow death from body rot and had only been able to drink simulated chocolate milk for the last two months. How he kept up his strength was a mystery to everyone.
He watched John and Mike listening in to Jane’s comments. They were quietly scanning the freighter for life signs. Keenan was about to say something but noticed it was only a level one scan, and he was enjoying their sneaky attempt and the cat and mouse game they were playing with him.
“Find anything?” he finally said.
“Find what?” Mike replied, embarrassed that he was caught.
“We was doin notin, boss,” John added, doing his mobster impression.
Having served with both of them on Helo Prime, he was amazed they hadn’t been killed yet. He was sure they had used up all nine lives and then some. Of the twenty two that had started out on this mission, he felt only a little guilty at the happy thought that these two had made it this far. He knew the façade of a happy spirit was only that, and Mike and John helped relieve the heavy stress resting on all their shoulders right now.
“We can’t just let them die…”
He didn’t bother replying. Nobody here wanted anyone to die. Still, their only mission was to destroy the homeworld, and he couldn’t allow anything to put that mission at risk. The silence became awkward as Keenan sat there, the cloaked Abadon one hundred meters off of St. Helena’s starboard side while he calculated his next move.
“Sir, I have an idea,” Ivanov said after clearing his throat. Keenan watched as he turned in the Captain’s direction, wincing in pain.
“We can use that alien tug. Three of us can drop down to the freighter, disarm the DB’s and prepare to spool up the generators…”
Keenan was going to interrupt, but his respect for Ivanov kept him quiet.
“A fourth would drop onto the tug, get inside and reprogram it to continue without the freighter to planet orbit. I stay on board, and our cloaked ship trails behind in the tug’s shadow, allowing the tug to open the way for us through the debris. Once the tug reaches Low Planetary Orbit, I pop out from behind it and drive the Abadon home.
The freighter stays inactive until mission is completed, and then it escapes, to the wonder and amazement of the idiot ants. Just think, it’ll be like Santa sneaking down the chimney to deliver the gift!”
Keenan, who had been only half listening was now paying rapt attention to what Ivanov had just finished saying. “I’ll be damned”, he mumbled to himself as a rare smile showed on his face. The plan wasn’t perfect, but it was close.
“Input!”
“I like it,” Jane said. “Except the part where you stay behind.”
‘Yeah, you would,’ Keenan thought to himself.
“Well, it’s all good, but I can see what you have up your sleeve, Ivan. It’s a little greedy, I would have to say,” John replied.
“Yeah,” Mike added, “You’re just a glory pig. You know, ‘Ivan the Terrible, single-handedly bringing down an enemy empire yada yada yada’. Don’t think we didn’t see that. And anyway, it’s been done. By Ivan the Terrible. People would just get confused if there were two of you. Give someone else a chance.”
John interrupted, “Yeah. Mike’s right, for once. So Captain, plan is perfect except it should be Mike and I staying.”
Keenan waited for Jane to say something and wasn’t disappointed.
“Nope. Should be me,” Jane said. “You two pussies don’t know your right from your left. I’ve watched you trying to tie your shoelaces. I can multitask, and I can do it better.” Jane became serious as she said the next words. “Captain, all kidding aside, it should be me and you know it.” Mike and John didn’t know how to reply, not having seen shoelaces since they entered the elite Combat Command Team.
“Jane, no. But thank you.” Ivanov and Keenan looked at each other with knowing eyes. There were only two people here who could do this alone. “Thank you to all, I appreciate your…sacrifice. But…”
Keenan wasn’t going to let him finish. “Ivanov, you continue to surprise me. Your plan is perfect. Get suited up, the four of you, and prepare to drop. I’m staying behind. Don’t worry Ivanov, you’ll get credit for the idea.”
Although everyone protested, Ivanov protested the loudest but Keenan wasn’t budging.
The Captain got up and rested his hand lightly on Ivanov’s shoulder. “Ivanov, that’s a medical ship. M-E-D-I-C-A-L. They have medicine and equipment that can cure you. If you think there’s any way I was getting off this ship in your place, you’re very mistaken.”
“But sir, it’s my plan. And at this stage it’s too late anyway…” but it was no use. Keenan made up his mind and gave them a direct order, which they reluctantly obeyed. They all loved Ivanov, but everyone was fully aware that he likely wouldn’t make it.
Keenan looked at the alien planet once again with a renewed hope that they could pull this off after all. Payback would be late in coming, he thought. 743 years late, to be exact. But it would definitely be a bitch…