Outcasts of Gideon

The Counterpane : Part 1

Lieutenant Ulkos expected a long wait. Fugitives from a distant colony might have fled to his corner of the universe. They also might land in some other godforsaken colony. In either case, he would have to endure delay. It wasn't something he was good at, but it became increasingly common for him. This time was no exception.

He finally received authorization to travel into the Saturn Terminus. The communication indicated that the FBXL5 had would serve for the mission. It was one of several aging ships the Patrol maintained for this purpose.

By the time he jumped up from behind his desk, the office had filled with agents and officers. He didn't bother to acknowledge any of them on his way out. His focus was singular. He was bound for the dock at the Huygens Space Port. He moved rapidly through the Metro, a familiar feeling rising in him again. Here was something to chase. The pursuit never got old, even if he had.

He rushed along the docks, noting the call letters on each vessel as he passed. The FB series were usually docked in the furthest berths. More of an afterthought to the Patrol, they were the ships he preferred. Fast and light, they could cover the large expanse of the Terminus within a few days. Their size also made it more likely that he'd be sent alone.

As he sped along, he noted all the repairs and maintenance underway. The recent lack of activity for him and the Patrol didn't stop deterioration of the fleet. Dock crews always had purpose. If the Damasos did take over, very little would change for them. Maybe I picked the wrong profession, he thought. Of course, he knew better than that. He would have been miserable turning wrenches.

The FBXL5 was in the second to last berth. When he arrived, he checked his comm again. An update told him that he'd been assigned a pilot. He cursed to himself. They selected someone capable, but that meant company and small talk.

Boarding the small vessel, he made his way to the cockpit. The ship had two seats up top, with stacked bunks below. At best, they could carry two passengers. Under other circumstances, he might have asked for a larger ship. Knowing they would have to retrieve the hijacked ship meant the space wasn't as important.

He selected the copilot's seat and strapped himself in. This gave him an opportunity to familiarize himself with the case. Of course, he would have hours of travel to do that. He would take advantage of that time as well, doing this over and over again along the way.

He passed his finger over the images projecting from his comm, pushing the text forward as he read. Within minutes, he came to the end of the brief report. "That can't be right." He propelled the data back up with his finger.

He activated the comm, connecting with headquarters.

"Montri here," came the voice at the other end. A man's face appeared before him, projected from his comm.

"Sergeant Montri, I just went through the data I received about the Odyssey Omega case. Is this all we have?"

Sergeant Montri looked down in front of him, scanning. He looked up out of the hologram. "I sent you all I had, sir."

"And there's nothing more?" He couldn't help making it sound like an accusation.

"No sir."

"I am to believe that the Damasos, with all of its resources, can offer no more than these few details. Tentative passengers and a shuttle schematic?"

"Yes sir."

Lieutenant Ulkos dropped the connection without further acknowledgment. The Patrol was a small outfit but it had begun to lumber. Was it the nature of agencies to become encumbered by bureaucracy? Was there a critical mass that triggered it? Surely someone smarter than him had already calculated a formula for it. Multiply the number of participants at each level of the hierarchy. Divide by the complexity of purpose. Some expert in logarithms could discover the point of divergence. There had to be a place where purpose slipped into bureaucratic obsolescence. Finding it was just a formula away.

He considered pushing the vessel away from the dock and making the trip alone. There was a time when he would have done just that. Those days were gone. He'd had enough reprimands for piloting his own shuttle. He challenged them until they threatened his badge, then he succumbed.

He heard a rustling below deck. It was the pilot, Lieutenant Aenea Royintan. She sat down heavy in the pilot's seat. "Hey Cap, what kind of hunt are we on today?"

He knew the "Cap" was her subtle way of bringing up his reputation as Ahab. He chose to ignore it. "Lieutenant Royintan, it's good to see you too. Can we get this bucket moving?"

"The Terminus, right? That's all I was told."

"We're looking for a short range shuttle. It came from a system called Odyssey Omega. Some backwater."

"Short range?"

"Yes, as in floating slowly our way."

"Any reason to expect trouble?"

"It was a hijacking. Wish I knew more."

"They always give you the fun ones, don't they?"

"I suppose so. Should be a quick run."

"No white whales today then." Lieutenant Royintan engaged the anti-grav drive.

The Lieutenant acknowledged the slight with a wry smile. The pilot didn't appear to notice. Instead, she focused on piloting the FBXL5 away from the station. He liked that about her. She was all business when the pursuit was on.