the
galley, where she would grab a handful of beef and eat voraciously
while going to her next duty station, reviewing electrical
subsystems that fed into the hook drive. They needed to be 100%
certain that Johnson didn't somehow sabotage the hook apparatus,
stranding them there, light years away from their home
world.
Lt. Commander Vasquez turned and looked
at her commanding officer, displaying a touch of concern on her
face.
"Sir, she really doesn't know… does
she?"
Bagatelle kept staring at the massive
view screen and the smaller, individual flight readout screens that
encircled the primary display.
"No. Not yet… and neither do you, Lt.
Commander." Pausing briefly he gave her less the look of a
commanding officer, and more of a friend – or something else, and
leaning forward onto her control panel, said, "I'm hungry, Ali.
Care to join me for lunch?"
###
Out near the Peruvian coastline, Lt.
Johnson circled over the once-beautiful city of Mira Flores while
looking for any signs of visitation by Gunnarsson. The side space
relay in orbit around the planet had identified Gunnarsson's ship
in that area, but due to the typically heavy cloud cover on the
Peruvian coastline it was unable to track his current whereabouts,
as clouds interfered with lidar. He brought his Draeder down onto a
street, close to some indentions in the heavy, but brittle, ancient
concrete. Getting out, he ran over and verified that the landing
pads on Gunnarsson's craft had created the indentions.
Frikin' piece of crap. He
could have gotten something better, but that bastard Ali is always
looking to make an extra buck.
Johnson knew Ali. In fact, he was the
one who had contracted the dishonest merchant to seek out
Gunnarsson and sell him a transport craft, but it was supposed to
be a much newer model, not an aging piece of garbage that smelled
like cows. Johnson's father had Gunnarsson under surveillance, so
they were well aware of his activities - it was simply a matter of
making Ali available. To make things worse, Ali went and blabbed to
a local military annex, looking to make a quick peso, which he
wasn't supposed to do. The plan almost fell apart from that moment.
The only thing that had saved it was Gunnarsson's own
resourcefulness and ability to get his ragtag hook drive installed
in a timely fashion. Even then, he barely escaped the military -
the military that wasn't even supposed to know what was going on in
that workshop.
Councilman Johnson's original plan was
much more elegant. They were going to let Gunnarsson finish his
craft in secret, then shoot him in the head and take it to their
own laboratory. After having reverse-engineered the craft, they
would retrofit the ancient Exodus barges and go to Earth with no
one the wiser.
Johnson looked at handheld
environmental analysis module and saw what resembled a faint ion
trail - just what a Draeder, or a transport craft, would leave in
its wake. So, wanting to follow the trail before it completely
dissipated, he jumped back into his Draeder and lifted off, at the
same time assuming that his former companions were on their way to
find him. He had to find Gunnarsson, and fast. He was less
concerned with being discovered by Bagatelle's troops, as he had
spent two days removing every single transmitter beacon from his
ship. However, he could still be detected by lidar if above the
cloud cover, so he went fast and low over the flat plains of Lima,
matching elevation as he approached the mighty Andes, which formed
an impressive backdrop to the dead city.
Draagh and Max popped in right from
where they had left, their breakfast plates still sitting on the
ground. The old man grabbed whatever he could put into his hands,
and Max did the same, both walking with long strides to the ship,
which had been left open during their absence.
Quickly throwing everything they could
into the galley, Draagh instructed Max to leave the fire burning.
He was able to hide them from outside view,
galley, where she would grab a handful of beef and eat voraciously
while going to her next duty station, reviewing electrical
subsystems that fed into the hook drive. They needed to be 100%
certain that Johnson didn't somehow sabotage the hook apparatus,
stranding them there, light years away from their home
world.
Lt. Commander Vasquez turned and looked
at her commanding officer, displaying a touch of concern on her
face.
"Sir, she really doesn't know… does
she?"
Bagatelle kept staring at the massive
view screen and the smaller, individual flight readout screens that
encircled the primary display.
"No. Not yet… and neither do you, Lt.
Commander." Pausing briefly he gave her less the look of a
commanding officer, and more of a friend – or something else, and
leaning forward onto her control panel, said, "I'm hungry, Ali.
Care to join me for lunch?"
###
Out near the Peruvian coastline, Lt.
Johnson circled over the once-beautiful city of Mira Flores while
looking for any signs of visitation by Gunnarsson. The side space
relay in orbit around the planet had identified Gunnarsson's ship
in that area, but due to the typically heavy cloud cover on the
Peruvian coastline it was unable to track his current whereabouts,
as clouds interfered with lidar. He brought his Draeder down onto a
street, close to some indentions in the heavy, but brittle, ancient
concrete. Getting out, he ran over and verified that the landing
pads on Gunnarsson's craft had created the indentions.
Frikin' piece of crap. He
could have gotten something better, but that bastard Ali is always
looking to make an extra buck.
Johnson knew Ali. In fact, he was the
one who had contracted the dishonest merchant to seek out
Gunnarsson and sell him a transport craft, but it was supposed to
be a much newer model, not an aging piece of garbage that smelled
like cows. Johnson's father had Gunnarsson under surveillance, so
they were well aware of his activities - it was simply a matter of
making Ali available. To make things worse, Ali went and blabbed to
a local military annex, looking to make a quick peso, which he
wasn't supposed to do. The plan almost fell apart from that moment.
The only thing that had saved it was Gunnarsson's own
resourcefulness and ability to get his ragtag hook drive installed
in a timely fashion. Even then, he barely escaped the military -
the military that wasn't even supposed to know what was going on in
that workshop.
Councilman Johnson's original plan was
much more elegant. They were going to let Gunnarsson finish his
craft in secret, then shoot him in the head and take it to their
own laboratory. After having reverse-engineered the craft, they
would retrofit the ancient Exodus barges and go to Earth with no
one the wiser.
Johnson looked at handheld
environmental analysis module and saw what resembled a faint ion
trail - just what a Draeder, or a transport craft, would leave in
its wake. So, wanting to follow the trail before it completely
dissipated, he jumped back into his Draeder and lifted off, at the
same time assuming that his former companions were on their way to
find him. He had to find Gunnarsson, and fast. He was less
concerned with being discovered by Bagatelle's troops, as he had
spent two days removing every single transmitter beacon from his
ship. However, he could still be detected by lidar if above the
cloud cover, so he went fast and low over the flat plains of Lima,
matching elevation as he approached the mighty Andes, which formed
an impressive backdrop to the dead city.
Draagh and Max popped in right from
where they had left, their breakfast plates still sitting on the
ground. The old man grabbed whatever he could put into his hands,
and Max did the same, both walking with long strides to the ship,
which had been left open during their absence.
Quickly throwing everything they could
into the galley, Draagh instructed Max to leave the fire burning.
He was able to hide them from outside view,
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