“So you have no idea where he could be?” Chief Rutledge asked.
“Impossible to tell, but there are two quarantine cells in case a crewmember is exposed to radiation or a foreign virus of some sort, although this is very rare within the Expansion.”
“Where are they located?”
Jym used his pointer to highlight an area to the port side of the medical center. “These rooms would be secure, and with locking devices.”
Lt. Tobias stood up and moved to the monitor. The medical center was located about a third of the way up the ship from the generator rooms and two levels higher. That was a lot of territory to cover aboard a hostile ship. “Where is the main crew berthing areas, Jym?”
Jym seemed delighted that the Humans were now turning to him for expert advice. He stepped up to the monitor and pointed with his hairy hand. “Here and here, toward the rear of the vessel, on the same level as the main generator access. The generator rooms are four levels high, yet access is from the lowest levels.”
Tobias studied the diagram for several moments. The rescue team would have to navigate one of two long corridors, moving right past the main berthing compartments, and then access the medical center level by moving up two flights of stairways — and that was even assuming Adam was in one of the quarantine cells. The team would have to move fully one-third of the length of the starship, and then return the same way. He had hoped for a clandestine operation, spiriting Adam away before being noticed. But that wasn’t going to happen now.
Lt. Tobias turned to the others seated in the landing bay. “Our mission is not only to rescue Mr. Cain, but to also escape without gettin’ ourselves killed in the process. The only way to accomplish both objectives will be to take over control of the whole fucking ship.”
Tobias heard the inhale of breath from the two aliens in the room; the Humans showed no emotion, appearing to be a step ahead of him in their own assessment of the situation.
“The entire battleship!” Kaylor said, jumping to his feet. “That’s impossible. There are only five of you against over ninety Juireans and crew.”
“I know,” Tobias said, grinning at the excited alien. “Hardly seems like a fair fight — for us that is.” He looked in the faces of Rutledge and Tindal. “Be sure to pack a lot of ammunition, boys. We’re goin’ huntin’.”
Chapter 33
Rutledge and Tindal headed out later that afternoon to scout the ships at the Orbital Assignment Staging Grounds, the spaceport where the recharge shuttles were parked. It was a smaller section of the main spaceport running along the northern side of the landing field. From a street running outside the tall security fence, the two SEALs could clearly make out the rows of nearly identical space shuttles, all with the prominent docking tubes sticking out of their forward sections, just under the pilothouse viewports. All the shuttles were painted in distinctive colors and patterns, many with logos of the various companies which owned them.
The distinctive orange and green of the Travess ships was clearly visible on nearly half the ships; Rutledge counted twelve of them just from what he could see through the fence. All the shuttles, however, appeared to be smaller than the one Jym had displayed in his presentation. The SEALs continued walking.
A little further along, Tindal surreptitiously pulled out a powerful monocular and aimed it at the far end of the OASG. Off in the distance sat four shuttles, larger than the others, surrounded by a secondary security fence and guarded by two very bored looking creatures. One Travess shuttle was sitting in plain sight of the street. The guards sat on a pair of chairs at the entrance to the secure area, protected from the hot, late-morning sun by a rusty, corrugated tin-roof awning, their flash rifles laid casually across their laps. One of the beings was eating something, while the other was leaning back in the chair, his eyes closed.
The two men looked at each other and smiled. “Pretty laxed,” Tindal said.
“Seems to be the norm around here,” the Chief said. He looked up at the five meter high chain link fence. “Shouldn’t be a problem getting inside the perimeter. But we still don’t know how many hostiles we’ll be dealing with. A recharge team could consist of five men or twenty, we don’t know.”
“They might.” Rutledge followed the younger man’s gaze, focusing in on a group of blue-uniformed aliens, all with their hoods dangling down their backs, and entering a building across the street. As the door opened, the SEALs could see the darkened interior and hear the sounds of loud conversation punctuated by the clinking of glasses. It was a bar.
The men looked at each other again and grinned, their eyes lighting up. SEALs had a reputation for seriousness and dedication; they were also hard-charging party animals, familiar with every dive bar along the coasts of San Diego and southern Virginia — and it had been months since the two of them had last enjoyed a good brew.
Kaylor had divvied out a fair number of Juirean credits to each of the SEALs before they left on their recon mission, so the men were ready. They headed for the door with renewed purpose.
It only took a couple of seconds for their eyes to adjust to the dim light inside. As was expected, the odor was pungent, but in a moment Tindal and Rutledge had dismissed it as simply an occupational hazard. They spotted the group of recharge techs crowding around three tables off to their left. There were nine of them, and from the casually-unzipped uniform fronts, it looked as though they had just got off work.
The SEALs moved to an empty table next to the aliens and sat down. At the center of the table was the blood sampling device they were intimately familiar with; they slipped their fingers inside without hesitation. Once their drinks arrived, the two men sipped on the potent alcoholic beverages and waited for the techs to loosen up from their first round of drinks. When the second round was nearly consumed, Tindal made his move.
He sent another round of drinks over to the aliens, who looked over at him almost in unison when the waiter brought over the glasses. Tindal wasn’t sure if this was kosher or not, but the near-instant compliments cast his way by the mildly-inebriated aliens put his mind at ease.
“We admire so much what you do,” he told the aliens, feigning an advanced state of inebriation. Rutledge played along as well. “We’ve come to Zinnol seeking work. Who do you work for?”
The nearest alien, a creature with some of the blackest skin he’d ever seen, yet with yellow eyes that seemed to glow against the contrast, leaned closer to him. “We’re a Junfen ground crew. Just come off a triple charging today. That’s good credits, with the bonus.”
The others at the table all bobbed or nodded their various styles of heads in agreement. Out of the nine aliens seated at the tables, there were four different species of Primes represented.
Tindal looked over at Rutledge. “We’re more orbital ’chargers ourselves; came over from the Fringe. Anyone hiring for orbital crews?”
“The Fringe!” the gregarious, yellow-eyed alien exclaimed. “I hear it’s been overrun by the invaders.” He looked back at his companions at the tables. “What are they called, Hubeens?”
“No, Humans,” corrected a furry creature seated at the middle table. “Supposed to be vicious flesh-eaters who don’t even bother to cook their kills first. They prefer the flesh of newborns, from what the reports say.”
“We’ve heard of this war,” Rutledge said, entering the conversation. “We left just before they arrived. That is why we’re here. Do you think the — the Humans — are coming this way?” The Chief was quick on his feet when it came to fabricating a story.
The furry creature — pretending to be the most-informed at the table — continued, “They’re coming this way all right, but the Juireans will stop them. There have been a lot of ’charging’s done on solo warships for a while now, most heading for the Fringe. They’ll stop the invaders. No one can stand against the Juireans.”