Exotic Contraband: The Road Past Home

By M.A. Harris

The universe is infinite in extent and the Compact large beyond simple measurement. But the Starship Bostonian has found a road home for the few humans stolen from their home world. But the Compact has strict non interference rules and while returning the humans is allowed, contact beyond that is forbidden. The crew of an Air Force recon jet, kidnapped and sold as creature show exhibits want to go home though their commander, Major Sandra Sebastianii, might have made another decision if she had been alone.
The ancient human commander of the Compact Cartographic Cruiser Bostonian is less sure of his road home, because his birth world is an utterly unrecognizable and all he had once known is dust. Now his place and his friends all reside in the vastness of the Compact, all except for the one person he can’t live without.
Everyone starts out following the rules. But rules are meant to be bent especially when a civilization is on the edge of a war it does not understand the reason for. And while the Qang Smugglers might look cute and cuddly their ruthless arrogance is about to get them into deadly danger, and their stupidity may be the trigger needed to start an interstellar war of unthinkable destructiveness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: M.A. Harris
• Release date: Oct 19, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301494316

M.A. Harris

Born in England in the mid years of the socialist experiment I moved to the US with my parents (economic refugees of a sort with three boys in a country where 1+ was more the norm) I have lived in the US ever since. I am a third generation engineer, a mechanical engineer who has worked for the government, myself, a tech start up and a foreign owned defense middle weight. I have experience in manufacturing, detail design, concept design, product development, and research in both government and corporate environments (in other words I've lived in Dilbert’s world). I usually love my job, (when its not driving me nuts) and have had the luck to work on a broad range of programs, developing concepts and proposals for systems from electromagnetic guns to nuclear electric space probes and remote monitoring systems for long term hospitalized children.Reading came late for a child who had some issues with a form of Dyslexia, but when I got the hang of it I went from having a hard time with Dick and Jane to reading Zane Grey, G.Heyer, Heinlein and Clark with the book hidden in my desk during class in less than six months. As soon as I learnt the wonders of reading and the wonders of the inner mind I wanted to write.In high school and college Arthur C. Clark was my muse (I still re read Rendezvous with Rama every few years) along with L.L’amour, J.Pournelle and L.Niven plus dozens of authors writing on the history of weapons and warfare like Ian Hogg and Keegan. Favorite contemporary authors are, Clancy, Weber, Francis, Ringo, Flint, Correia, etc.I started writing in high school, I was one of the few guys to take typing, convinced that it was a skill I would need for both computers and writing (though my early computer projects were on punch cards or tape.) In several advanced English courses in High School I wrote short stories that got me through on pure bravado if not technical skill.Then life and a career got in the way, I continued to see computers as the wave of the future for writing, and was almost always tinkering with something but time passed and all I did was tinker. Then a bit more than a decade ago I decided that I wanted to write professionally and took the advice of J.Pournelle and S.King on writing, both advising that in the end its about work and some luck, but mostly its about writing lots of words getting lots of critiques and doing more edits. But timing has never been my best skill and I got to the point of actually trying to sell my work just as the old publishing model began to implode.After more than five years of frustration (and having several full length novels at the point of at least being ready for a professional scrub) I discovered Smashwords. I bought my wife a Nook and then we began to acquire and read free and low cost eBooks, many of which were published by this strangely named company, Smashwords.And that’s how we come to meet....I hope you like the stuff I write, I actually enjoy writing it though like all jobs it has its down side (edits and critques) and it bad days (I really need to grow up and stop dreaming.) As I get into this I hope to be able to get to know more of you and get your opinions on the job I’m doing.

Book preview

Exotic Contraband:

The Road Past Home

By M.A. Harris

Copyright 2012 M.A. Harris

Smashwords Edition

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Acknowledgments

This book was started more than ten years ago, my wife, parents, brother and sister in law have all read and commented on versions, especially my father who is also my editor, critic and booster. We all hope you enjoy this story as much as we did working on it.

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Chapter 1

The cool wind whipped over the vast tracts of sea without let until it came up against the cliffs of the island. Waves that had built up over hundreds and thousands of miles roared against the base of those cliffs. Sea birds wheeled and screamed over the cliffs and the scrub that inhabited the cliff tops. The cliff rose sheer out of the sea though a vast underwater talus shield buffered the base from the full battering power of the ocean.

Behind the cliff two razor-backed ridges ran parallel for almost five miles before fading into the sea. Between the two ridges a small, rugged but protected valley nurtured a hardy pine forest. At the sea end of the valley was a tiny, shallow and sheer walled bay.

A few miles away another similar, though smaller, island thrust up out of the sea, and beyond that another, smaller yet. The three islands were the peaks of drowned mountains, the three highest of a range that would have been spectacular if they had been on land.

There was life on the islands but only on the big island was there anything beyond scrub, insects and roosting birds. The pine forest nurtured a simple ecology of insects, birds and rats. The sea birds had nested here for untold millennia, and their guano helped fertilize the valley. The rats had come aboard ships and in their first hundred years had all but destroyed the rookery and other life on the island. Over the last half millennia nature had reasserted balance and now a few hunting birds kept the rats in check and the surviving sea birds were much more cautious about nesting sites.

The rain was regular and the weather relatively cool so fresh water was not a problem. A small stream ran down the middle of the valley, passing through a small pond that emptied over a cliff into the bay. It was difficult to tell now but the pond and final few yards of streambed were manmade, built hundreds of years before by Dutch merchants making sure that there was a source of fresh water if they got swept out into the great ocean by a storm while rounding the Cape of Good Hope.

The island had never been permanently inhabited - and rarely visited - since there was nothing of value, especially considering the thousand miles of sea between it and any really inhabitable piece of real estate. At least it hadn’t been purposely inhabited, twice before castaways had inhabited it. Once, a thousand years earlier, by Polynesians who had left after using local materials to repair their storm wrecked catamaran. The second and longer inhabitation had not ended so well. The crew of a foundered Chinese merchant junk had perished here one by one. The last one dying insane and alone a hundred years before the first European ever set eyes on the lonely pinnacle.

Now a third group of castaways lived here, surviving on fish, birds and eggs as well as some salvaged survival rations. Smoke rose from a campfire down in the valley, but that dissipated long before reaching the top of the surrounding ridge. The watch keeper on the high point of the cliff kept a small fire going at all times, along with a supply of quick burning fuel and material to create a smoke signal if a ship or aircraft happened to pass. A polished piece of curved aluminum was at hand as a signaling mirror for attracting attention as well.

The modern castaways knew that they simply had to hold on here, there were ample signs that people stopped here occasionally. Among other things they had found trash, among that hoard of mostly useless material they had found containers with package dates less than two years old.

Major Sandra Sebastianii fed a stick to the fire and stood up shading her eyes she scanned the sea horizon for smuts that might indicate a ship and the heavens for a glint or a contrail that would point to an aircraft. Nothing, she did another scan and sat down again wishing for her watch, and for that matter for a pair of binoculars.

But the watch and the binoculars were gone. Nothing like that had been found in the wreckage of her EC – 38 reconnaissance aircraft when she and the other survivors had finally gotten to see it again. The pair that should have been in the single remaining survival pack had apparently been pilfered years before. The two pair big stabilized spotting binoculars that had been in the cockpit with her when this all began were gone as well.

The binoculars along with a large number of other personal objects were now scattered across the universe, sold to curio seekers by the alien drug smugglers who’d carved up her command and most of its crew almost a year before.

Who would have known that Earth had not only been visited by aliens but was a source of illegal drugs used in a vast intergalactic Confederation of alien species, and had been for centuries. Her EC – 38 recon jet had caught the smugglers boosting for space from an African coastal island that should have had nothing more sophisticated than a fishing boat leaving it.

These drug smugglers, apparently no different from cocaine or heroine smugglers on Earth had seen violence as a very reasonable solution. And then they’d sold the scraps, like the watch, binoculars, Sandy and her surviving crew, to the semi legal curio trader, that operated in parallel to the drug trade, on worlds across the universe as exotic contraband. Often in the oddly medieval open air markets that could spread for miles and where just about anything imaginable and much that was not, could be found.

The species they had been taken by, the Qang, were disturbingly cute, fuzzy blue humanoids, with the morals of feral six year old children. Fortunately the Qang were not the only species of universe fairing aliens, and while some of the others were worse, she and eventually the rest of the survivors, had been rescued by the ‘good guys’ who looked like velocoraptors with fur, giant feathered serpents with lion like heads and far too many arm-legs, or upright semi humanoid otters. There were other species in the Compact but like the Federation of Star Trek fame, the other races were much rarer.

The strangest twist of the tale, was the fact that her rescuers were lead by another human. A man, who had once been a captive in an exotic traveling zoo, a bestiary, as well, but while he to had been rescued, he’d never found his way home. Richard Talant had been an officer in the Confederate Army when he was captured. He still looked like the slightly malnourished but handsome boy-man he had been over a hundred and forty six years ago.

This time the smugglers had been too greedy and arrogantly slipshod and Rich and his crew had tracked down the survivors, the remaining wreckage of the EC – 38, and finally the way home. By the time Earth had been identifiable on the screens of the huge telescopes Rich Talant’s Bostonian carried Sandy had made up her mind to return home, as much as she yearned to explore the stars with Richard, who’s home was no more than dusty memories now.

After careful surveillance from the Bostonian, they had selected these islands for their return to Earth. It was hundreds of miles from their last reported location, but the storm and lightning triggered problems aboard could, just about, explain the location. They had some wreckage and other pieces had been salted around but the lack of a wreck was covered by the depth of water here, they had gone down in the sea and the average depth in this area was several miles, the islands were simply the peaks of drowned mountains. They had tried to make sure that the residual signs of their residence on the island were consistent with the length of time that they had supposedly been castaway.

Here the four survivors waited for some passing ship or plane to come close enough for them to signal. Somewhere near, probably in orbit or nearly in orbit, a Compact space boat watched over them, this was a dangerous area, human smugglers and pirates were still active in these seas.

Sandy stood up again and scanned the horizon once more. She had scanned past the faint darkness on the horizon before its meaning reached her consciousness. Squeezing her eyes closed she counted to ten, then looked again. There on the edge of the horizon was a smudge and perhaps a faintly darker something below it.

Turning to the cache of special fuel, Sandy started tossing it on the fire. The flames leapt high and sweat was quickly trickling into her smoke stung eyes. An armful of moss went onto the fire and sent her coughing for clean air as a great dark smudge poured upwards into the breeze.

She moved to a position out of the smoke and shaded her eyes again. The shape on the horizon was still there, probably getting closer. Minutes passed, Sandy fed the fire again. When she went back to her watch point it was obvious the ship was approaching.

Eventually it was close enough that she could see that it was a smallish motor ship, a small freighter, something one might expect to see tramping between ports on the African coast, a thousand miles away.

The sun was in a good position; using the homemade sighting tool Sandy hefted the aluminum mirror and flashed it towards the oncoming ship. The old Morse code, SOS, SOS, SOS, she didn’t expect a reply, only military ships regularly carried signal lamps any longer. The ship continued its approach, swinging out and around the island as it got closer; obviously the captain had a chart with the bay marked, though it was too shallow and small for even this relatively tiny ship.

There were people on the ship, someone waved up to the cliff top. Sandy returned the wave then turned to head down the faint trail to the camp below. The others would have seen the smoke but they had long ago agreed on a sighting procedure. Piracy was a problem across the oceans of the world and the castaways had reason to be careful. The others would have hidden most of their carefully hoarded supplies and taken up hidden positions carrying their few weapons.

An hour later the semi-inflatable with its powerful outboard slid to a stop on the shallow pebble beach. The two large Africans in the boat were armed with age-darkened AK47 assault rifles. They looked at the slim figure in a battered and crudely repaired blue flight suit with surprise and rising interest.

After a quick exchange in their native tongue the bigger of the two stepped out of the boat. His weapon was hanging in his hand all but forgotten, an extension of his body he was uncomfortable without. A wide, gold and gap toothed smile was hardly reassuring, if it was meant to be, You alone here girl? Been alone for long? He asked in English, white women in his experience almost always spoke English.

Level brown eyes under a midnight black fall of hair surveyed him with some amusement. I’m not alone, and I have been here for a while. I am very glad to see you, are you the captain of the ship?

His eyes flicked up and around, his expression suddenly a lot less sure, his friend who had hopped out of the boat heard as well and stopped to survey the surroundings. The two were suddenly very aware of the high cliffs with many ledges and rifts, and the treed slope rising away from the gravel beach.

After a moment his smile returned, You lie girl; your friends would be out here. How did you get here girl? Your toy boat sink on the rocks? He waved behind him, though he could see that there was no wreck in the shallow, clear water of the bay.

A smile, No, my aircraft crashed out to sea to the east, we were lucky enough to be able to paddle here on an escape slide.

The Captain uncomfortably fingered the gun he had unconsciously brought up to the ready. He hadn’t known what to expect but this wasn’t going the way he would have expected, he was not a pirate, not most of the time anyway, but he had been a pirate once - and a sea raider. He had come ashore assuming that there was money to be made here somehow, and perhaps sex to be had. That last dream had seemed to be assured at the sight of the shapely figure on the beach, now he was less sure.

Movement made the Captain jerk around, his gun at the ready. His henchman had the new person covered as well. The second figure moved down the beach, the Captain realized the other figure was dressed identically to the first and he recognized that it was a uniform of some kind. The big dark haired man strolled towards them with a calm insolence similar to the girl’s.

Drop your weapon Captain, the accompanying and rather nasty sounding snick froze his blood. He turned his head slowly and found himself looking into the muzzle of a pistol leveled at his head. The black weapon was very dangerous looking and he could see the gleaming rifling on the inside of the barrel.

He wanted to protest but found himself unable. There was amused understanding in the calm brown eyes, but utter certainty as well. He had seen those eyes before; though that time they had been in the head of his sergeant when he had briefly served in his country’s Army, a poor but efficient and ruthless instrument of state power.

Nadra I think she has us. He said to his sometime second officer quietly, in English.

Aye Captain. Nadra carefully put his AK down and stepped back.

The big black haired man angled down the beach and scooped the weapon up, giving Nadra and the inside of the boat a quick once over. He looked at the girl, Looks clean Major. After receiving a bob of the head he relieved the Captain of his weapon.

The Captain spoke again, looking at the girl. Who are you, what do you want?

A smile, We need a lift home Captain. As to who I am, my name’s Sandra Sebastianii, Major, US Air Force. This is Master Sergeant Ken Stapleton. There are a few others here as well. We’ve been stuck on this rock for a while and we appreciate your kind offer of assistance. We’ll make sure you get an appropriate reward.

Two other people appeared on the beach, a blond woman and a slim, dusky skinned man. The second man carried a short survival rifle with easy familiarity.

In less than fifteen minutes they were in the boat and heading back out to sea, leaving the island empty again, almost. Five hours later, the ship was out of sight and the sun just under the horizon as well. In the half-light a massive and alien shape eased quietly out of its covering position and onto the beach. After looking out to sea for a lingering moment it turned and trotted into the forest. Thirty minutes later a dart shape lifted out of its hiding place in the rocks high above the valley and accelerated for the horizon, leaving the island abandoned to the birds and rats once more.

Chapter 2

Sandy leant on the rusty railing of the ancient freighter, watching the shadow of the island emerge from the horizon. Diego Garcia was a tiny spit of land, owned by the British but occupied by American armed forces as a huge and unsinkable aircraft carrier in the middle of the Indian Ocean. It was almost five months to the day since she had flown the EC-38 off this island.

Ken Stapleton was leaning on the railing a few feet away. They were both dressed in civilian clothing now, their flight suits washed to the best of their poor ability, folded and put away in cheap zippered carryalls stashed in the cabin the four of them shared

It was the twelfth day since they had gotten off the drowned mountain peak. Sandy had made sure to keep a keen watch on the Captain and crew of the semi piratical motor vessel that had picked them up. Someone had always been awake and armed and she had slept with her pistol under her thin pillow. The Captain had taken them to a tiny port on an island off the coast of Madagascar where they had found an incredibly ancient looking freighter whose equally ancient looking turbaned pirate of a captain had agreed to take them to Diego Garcia, since he was heading towards a port in the Persian Gulf anyway. For all his fierce appearance and the piratical appearance of his crew they had treated their American passengers with every respect, apparently ignoring the fact that two of them were women.

The only tension had come when she had shown that she was at least as good a navigator as he was and that she was keeping an eye on their course. After venting some steam in Arabic he had stomped up and down the deck a few times and then come back, given her a gap toothed grin and shrug, waved his hand at the dirty map table in the back of the bridge, giving her visitors rights.

Ken pointed, Looks like someone’s coming out to meet us Captain.

Sandy saw the bouncing speck he was pointing to and stood up, Time to get the flight suits back on Ken

-o-

Lieutenant Frank Fortier, US Navy, rode the hammer of the waves as his little command streaked across the sea. The big semi-rigid was leaping across the waters of the Indian Ocean, relatively calm today. The placid ocean meant that the security squadron could use the Interceptors for more than just inner bay security. Two of the bigger patrol boats were taking a day off, letting the little sisters do some of the work.

Frank watched the rust bucket up ahead carefully. It flew the UAE flag, but that didn’t mean a lot. The ship had been on the watch list for the last day as it headed out of the main shipping lanes on a course that brought it towards this spit of land in the middle of the ocean. It wasn’t that unusual a course, even for ships that weren’t coming here, but anything that came close to this island was watched closely.

Island Watch had expected the freighter to pass but instead it had started to swing around towards the port entrance. No ship got in without prior documentation and inspection, so now it was up to Frank and his crew to find out what was going on. A recon drone had kept the ship under observation for some hours now and there appeared to be westerners aboard the ship as well as the local crew. That might mean anything, probably particularly stupid journalists trying to get some kind of scoop on the island that many in the various Green parties seemed to think of as the heart of evil in this part of the world.

Frank hoped it was something that banal, it could be something more dangerous, and that worried him, though not because of the island’s security. The ship would be flaming splinters a few seconds after proving itself any kind of threat. He was worried about his people and about himself. His crew of mostly young sailors was very vulnerable in this overpowered fiberglass and rubber shell. Some of his people had wives and kids to go home to, Frank had a wife and a two-month-old son he had never held waiting for him stateside.

Boatswain Smith gave Frank a reassuring grin from her position at the wheel. She was his oldest crewman and advisor. Somehow she always seemed to be able to read a situation. She was looking relaxed right now and that helped the lieutenant relax as he glanced around. The twin fifties at the stern were manned and at the ready. He glanced forward; the short-barreled grenade launcher forward was ready as well. The four man Marine boarding group was at the ready behind the bow gun tub, their weapons at hand. Everyone had helmets, flak jackets and life preservers on.

Frank noted that the freighter was losing way; the churn of her screw was gone. The rusty ship was tiny in terms of most ocean going vessels, but from the Interceptor it was a wall of rusty metal, though the mid deck area was probably only eight or nine feet above the waterline. He glanced over and was startled to see three, no four, people in what looked like Air Force flight suits standing at the railing looking down, three were waving gently. He lifted his loud hailer, Ahoy the ship. This is the US Navy. Identify yourself and your intentions, this area is a posted no go zone without the paperwork from the US Government.

A woman in the light blue suit cupped her hands and yelled, Ahoy US Navy, good to see you, I’m Major Sebastianii, US Air Force. I and the other survivors from my plane need a lift back to the base, the ship’s Captain doesn’t particularly want to go into port here.

Frank realized he recognized that name, and the term survivor was appropriate. He remembered the big stink a few months before. The loss of one of the Air Force snoops off the coast of Africa. The pilot of that aircraft had been a woman, a Major Sebastianii.

Holy shit Lieutenant, I think she’s who she says she is! I remember seeing a picture of her in the post newspaper. Boatswain Smith’s Chicago accent emphasized the swear word.

Frank raised the ship to shore radio’s handset to his head, Hey Captain, I have a situation…

-o-

There is nothing as permanent as a temporary military facility. The office of the intelligence and reconnaissance group on Diego Garcia had been built in the fifties and maintained at great expense ever since, since no one could find the money in the capital budget to build a structure that was both easier to maintain and cheaper to cool, even though the return on investment calculations always said that it would take well under five years to pay back the upfront cost. That didn’t take into account the fact that the old wooden building was a horridly fragile target, it was amazing that it hadn’t been destroyed by a typhoon in all the years it had stood here.

Sandy sat at the table in loose fitting khaki’s. Her personal belongings had already been sent home and so she had had to pick clothes out of the base commissary. The Colonel and two Majors who had been interrogating her for the last four hours were reviewing the information in a folder an airman clerk had brought in a few minutes before.

The Colonel, a Negro man Sandy had never met before glanced up, Major this appears to fully confirm who you and your three crewmen are. Sorry for the delay but we needed to do a double cross-check.

Sandy nodded, Understood sir, now would it be possible for me to call my parents and let them know that I’m alive? Sandy had asked for this at every opportunity since getting ashore, among other things it would help ensure that she and the others didn’t conveniently ‘vanish’ at some point. Sandy was no conspiracy theorist and trusted the government and Air Force, up to a certain point. But all organizations are made up of people who sometimes did regrettable things that were later covered up.

One of the Majors, a pinch faced woman Sandy instinctively distrusted opened her mouth and started to shake her head but the Colonel smiled, Certainly Major, it seems only right. He grimaced then, But you also need to think about calling a lawyer Major Sebastianii, you know this is going to lead to a court martial to investigate the loss of your aircraft and most of the crew.

Sandy nodded, I understand that sir, thank you for letting me call my parents. She stood as she said that, slowly, unthreateningly, but trying to push the decision towards action before something could happen to reverse it.

Colonel Davis, I think we need to talk that over first. The woman’s narrow face and untrusting, unfriendly eyes continued to watch Sandy as she spoke to her superior.

The Colonel waved his subordinate down, No, no it’s only right the Major call her parents Nancy.

Ten minutes later Sandy sat in the room next door and listened to the phone, she prayed her parents were home. She could see the big sprawling ranch style house with the thick stand of trees to the north and the pastures and wheat fields rolling away in every direction, the stands of trees in the distance that marked other farmsteads. In her mind another memory flashed, a low slung bungalow, a long lawn that appeared to end in blue gray.

Click, Hello, Tom here? Her father’s laconic drawl. In her mind’s eye she saw him, dark hair over leathery brown skin and dark brown eyes. A faint hint of a smile on his lips, he always seemed to expect good news over the telephone.

Sandy felt her throat clog up; she couldn’t speak for a second.

Hello, anyone there? A hint of amusement in his voice.

At last she forced words past the painful blockage, Daddy, Daddy it’s me, Sandy, I….I’m back on Diego Garcia.

A long pause, a whisper, Who is this??? Pain in that voice, pain that almost throttled her voice again

Then it all came in a rush, trying to get it out before he hung up on her, Dad, Dad, it’s me, Sandy…it’s not a cruel joke. I’m sorry I couldn’t call before, we crashed way off course and we lost almost all the survival gear. We ended up marooned on an island for almost four months.

Silence, but no click and dial tone, then a whisper, Sandra, oh Sandra, it is you?

Tears were trickling down her cheeks, the smile was stretching her cheeks painfully, Yes Dad, it really is, I am so, so sorry….

A little louder, Oh God, I thought I was just fooling myself when I dreamed you might be…might be alive. A near sob, Your mother’s in bed I’ll go get her. Sandy, we…we both missed you so... Emotion clogged silence, Wait…wait I’ll get your mother on the line.

Chapter 3

Almost two weeks later, a week into the loss investigation, Sandy sat on a hard chair, her back straight, looking at the row of inquisitors. She had seen only brief glimpses of her co-survivors since the first few minutes of their arrival here. Sandy was almost happy to have had that separation, she had grown to like, in some ways love the other three like family, and she didn’t need the stress of dealing with them.

Colonel Davis was seated along with two other Colonels, two majors, two captains and two civilian scientists. On her side was the Major from the Judge Advocate General’s office who had been assigned as her advocate and advisor. For all that he was much older than most Majors, and an experienced civilian lawyer, he seemed completely out of his depth. The board had just finished asking a series of detailed navigational and meteorological questions that she had had to answer either vaguely or poorly, mainly because she had no good answers.

The board was trying to discover what had led to the loss of the EC-38 and why the survivors had been ‘found’ so far from the track the aircraft should have been on. This was really only an initial ‘board’, among other things it had to decide what to do with her and the others and what to do about trying to find the aircraft wreckage.

Colonel Davis looked at her enigmatically, he had started out as a strong supporter but over the last few days she was sure he was having second thoughts about that. The civilian and military experts had been hounding her on the details of the story and she had had to claim lapses in memory and simple lack of knowledge many times. Never having been through this sort of thing before, Sandy had no way of knowing if she sounded believable, or not. She also didn’t know what the other three were saying during their time with the board. Hopefully they were sticking to the story they’d developed on The Bostonian and later, a story that was consistent but also a bit incoherent, so the investigators wouldn’t get suspicious.

The tall gray bearded civilian next to Colonel Davis looked up from the laptop he had been busily typing notes into, Major Sebastianii, let me recap, around local midnight on the night of the ill fated flight you were flying between the thunderheads of a major storm system when your aircraft was hit by some kind of electrical discharge. Every electrical system on the aircraft was knocked out and the engines flamed out. You were able to get the engines and basic backup instruments back on line but all of the electronics were gone and you had lost pressurization. There were some deaths among the crew including the mission commander and several people badly injured. You kept the aircraft at relatively low altitude and flew by compass heading through the storm cells for several hours, thinking that you were making for home base. However the compass had been damaged as well and when you finally got into the clear and could get a star sighting you had flown more than a thousand nautical miles out into the Indian Ocean. About that time you ran out of fuel and in making a forced landing on the sea in the dark with no lights the aircraft broke up. You and three others were thrown clear or able to swim to the surface and survived and found your way to one of the aircraft’s emergency slides that had been triggered by the wreck. You and the others drifted for a day and then saw some islands and were able to get ashore with limited survival gear and no rescue radios. He glanced around with a grimace, Apparently not deployed on non-combatant aircraft! He’d made some nasty comments about that oversight before. He glanced down, You kept your people alive and healthy on the island until you were able to attract the attention of a passing freighter, and then found your way back here.

The pale green eyes had been scanning around the others on the board, now they pinned Sandy, Would you agree with my synopsis Captain?

Sandy nodded quietly, Yes Doctor Thalbret, I think it covers the main points.

The Colonel near the end of the table took his turn to grimace, Major, I have never heard such a pack of crap in my life, I have sat here for a week and listened to you and your crew spin a tale. You know as well as I do that there is no phenomenon known to modern science that would knock out the electronics on a modern aircraft in such a complete and thorough manner. Unless you’d have us believe that someone set off a tactical nuke close to you? Sandy’s heart thumped in shock at this surprise attack. The Colonel, Romme by name, had asked less than a half dozen questions and had volunteered not one word in her hearing before this tirade.

The Colonel stormed on, You also appear to think we are stupid enough to believe that a dozen other things could go wrong, the pressurization system could fail and the compass could fail, all at the same time. I have looked at the records from that day, as far as I can tell there are no major anomalies, in fact at the time you claim to have run into a major storm cell there are no reliable records of any major storm activity at all!

There was a rustle of movement but no one jumped to her defense, they were all looking down at their papers or computer screens. There was a pregnant pause, Sandy’s heart thumped in her chest but she looked Colonel Romme squarely in the eye as calmly as she could, Sir you are obviously welcome to your opinion, and while I have to admit that my story is remarkable, I stand by it… Her stomach was sour as she said the words but she had no option. She had made her bed, made the decisions she had made, now she had to ride out the consequences. The others deserved something like a normal life and that was what she had to focus on.

There was a long silence, Colonel Romme’s glare faded, past neutral to what might pass for grudging respect, she could see questions in his eyes but he nodded, Fine Major, that is about all one can expect. I apologize for my outburst and must admit that at least a few bits were stretching the facts a little. I’m afraid I wanted to see if you rattled any, your story is remarkable, all but impossible in some ways…it’s going to make a lot of people tear their hair out.

Sandy’s supposed watchdog bridled at this but she put her hand on his coat sleeve gently, silently telling him to settle down. She bowed her head, Fair enough Colonel, and understood.

-o-

Almost six months later General Rodney ‘No Respect’ Danger, leaned back in his chair and contemplated the straight backed, ridiculously young looking Major sitting in the chair opposite the Courts Martial panel. He glanced at the Colonels on each side of him, and at the panel of experts. Everyone was silent, Very well then; Major Sebastianii if you would please accompany the Sergeant at Arms to the waiting area, I need to consult with the rest of the Court.

He saw the tired cast in her dark brown eyes, the shadows under them. The black hair, pulled back from her face emphasized the clarity of her skin, and the fine bone structure. She didn’t cut her hair short like most female pilots, instead she kept it severely pulled back and bound in a braid she wrapped into a bun. The style fit her, it was both feminine and professional while giving her a rather old-fashioned, almost ageless, look that helped offset her small stature and fine boned rather youthful looks. Still, he could image what she would look like with the hair down and dressed in going out clothes, it made him wonder about his maturity and stability when he daydreamed about what she looked like dressed in that, and other, ways.

She stood and bowed to the board, turned and walked calmly out of the room. Major Sebastianii had never once shown the faintest trace of doubt about the proceedings or her fate. She had once or twice fiercely defended the other three survivors and even once the decisions of the EC-38 mission commander, but she had never defended herself, at least not in a ‘defensive’ way, she had always simply told her story and let it stand for itself.

The door closed softly and the general leaned back, Damnit he whispered under his breath. The Sergeant at Arms was ushering the expert witnesses out now. They had all had their say before this, they had opinions as varied as their expertise and personalities, and in this case that had helped not one little bit.

Colonel Charles Roberts to his right spoke quietly, The girl’s protecting Colonel Bird, you almost have to bet on it.

Ronald Pauls, the Colonel to Danger’s left shook his head, Who cares dammit, this whole mess is just a throwback to prehistory, if we had had the money to make that aircraft a drone we’d all be back doing our real jobs, not worrying if that little girl is protecting herself, or her daddy or what, for crying out loud!

Major Janet Coombs, on Colonel Pauls left looked pained, The Major is not a little girl Colonel, she is an officer of the US Air Force and deserves our respect. She performed admirably under trying circumstances and at least kept some people alive, seems to me that she at least shows us that there may be some phenomena out there that need investigating.

Colonel Pauls’ muscular jaw flexed and his nostrils flared, We are officers of the US Air Force Major, not NASA or NOAA. I don’t give a damn about some one-in-a-million atmospheric anomaly. If the EC-38 had been a drone we would have held the technical board on its loss and be done. Manned aircraft for this sort of mission are an anachronism. The Major did fine for a truck driver, saved some lives…great! Why were there any lives at risk at all?

Janet Coombs glared at the back of the Colonels head with lethal intensity. General Danger figured that his brains should be frying to crisps right about now, except that they had apparently done so a couple of decades in the past. Colonel Pauls’ had about as inflexible a worldview as anyone the General had ever met. Pauls had been a brilliant fighter pilot in the Gulf War but had been a rabid advocate of drones for most of the years since. He had doctorates in aeronautical science, electronics and mechanical engineering, which was why he was on this board. He was brilliant but he seemed to despise people in general and he seemed to have a special contempt for pilots of any aircraft other than fighters.

The General pulled his thoughts off the frustrating Colonel Pauls and to his duty, his unpalatable duty. He looked around, As far as I can tell our technical experts can come to no conclusion about what happened to the EC-38. The stories the survivors tell are fairly consistent, consistently incredible but also they fit the facts as known. We have found the island they were castaway on and we have found some signs of debris from the EC-38 in the area. Since they have no idea where, in relation to the island, they crashed, any search would be extremely expensive and be unlikely to tell us anything even if we were lucky enough to find the wreck.

Nods all around, the general steepled his fingers, From what I can tell, the behavior of the crew and pilot was exemplary. They dealt with a nasty situation as well as could be expected, the only real question one has is how they could have gotten so far off course?

The major at the end of the table, a bespectacled man who’s life revolved around maps and navigation spoke up, At low altitude, and with no way of seeing the sky, the crew had to trust the on board instruments, in this case the extremely crude mechanical backup instruments. If those instruments drifted - or had taken a set - then they had no way of knowing that they were off course. Once in the clear apparently they fairly quickly discovered that they were far out to sea and in dire trouble. The Major’s only option was to head, largely by dead reckoning, for the closest large landmass, Madagascar, but they ran out of fuel long before they could make landfall there.

Colonel Roberts spoke up, The only thing they might have done differently was to try and find a ship at sea, buzzed it and landed alongside, before the fuel ran out. She might have been able to pull off a better landing with thrust and full control authority; though it’s possible she was better off the way she did it.

It surprised the General when Colonel Pauls spoke up, The best thing she could have done would have been to avoid that storm system altogether by running further out to sea to begin with. But Colonel Bird cut her off at the knees for trying that with the anomalies on those islands so she never even tried on the storm. Bird would have done better to put the patrol off for a day or so until that storm system had passed altogether.

The General felt depression setting in, Janet Coombs expressed the reason, But whatever we think of Bird’s decision, in the end it was the Command Pilot who was supposed to make the flight safety decision. She should have taken the aircraft out to sea on her own responsibility and damn the consequences. She came to a stop, her voice thick with frustration.

Roberts finished for her, She said as much several times herself. We all know that the thing that killed all those people was the damnably stupid practice of splitting command responsibilities, but she is going to take the fall for the aircraft’s loss.

The owlish navigator blinked behind his glasses, So someone who did everything right, who saved more lives than could have been expected, is going to be blamed for a disaster she would have avoided if given half a chance? He sounded shocked, but he had to have known for days, as just about everyone else had, that that was going to be the final decision of the court, little as anyone on the board liked it.

The General spoke quietly, I plan on making my disgust with the command setup on the EC-38 very plain. I also plan on making some nasty comments about the way the emergency equipment is packaged on those aircraft. They may not be supposed to be combat aircraft, but they do take risks beyond those of a commercial airliner and there’s no reason they shouldn’t have the best equipment possible.

The discussion went on for a few more minutes as they tried to put off the end but there was no possible way out of the trap the fates had set for Major Sebastianii.

-o-

Sandy sat quietly behind the wheel of her old Jeep with her hands gripping the wheel. The engine was silent and the interior of the vehicle was cold. The ELINT squadron’s base was near the Canadian border and the winter came early here. A bitter pre-winter storm was battering the base today; pointedly indicating that while this might be a politically convenient location, weather-wise it was a stupid one.

The Jeep was sitting on the tarmac outside the ugly office building where she had been handed her future. The bitter wind rocking the car on its springs was a match to her soul right now. She wasn’t angry, couldn’t be, she had forced the Court Martial into its decision. It had almost been a relief to stand there and be praised for her bravery and skills then damned for not doing what she had known was the right thing and overriding Colonel Bird’s directions. She had changed the circumstances a bit in her testimony but the basic facts had been correct and she had been guilty of what she had been convicted of.

Ken, Felipe and Bernie had all gotten commendations and would be going back to their interrupted tours, after some well earned leave. A certain Major Sebastianii had been stripped of flying status for six months and put on a restricted assignment list. That would be the end of her two years with the EC-38 squadron. She had two more years left of her six-year hitch. She would probably be allowed to resign quietly at four years if she wanted to, though she knew herself well enough to know she wasn’t going to take that out, however painful the next thirty months were. When she left the Air Force she would be thirty-four and at the end of one career. She would still have her pilot’s license and she would be able to look for work in the aviation community but she was pretty sure it would be impossible to find a job as a pilot. Her old dreams of NASA were so much dust.

At the thought of NASA, of her old dreams of space, laughter bubbled up inside her, as she remembered the past months. Tears and laughter intertwined as she sat there in her freezing car trying to imagine what the future might look like after the past, and the possibilities she had turned her back on.

Chapter 4

Tom Sebastianii stood in the doorway of his house and looked out towards the horizon. The weather was cold and clear, a fairly normal late October day, all his tractors were out preparing the fields. In one of the nearer fields one of his big John Deeres was dragging the discs through the rich black dirt of his farm. His heart went out to that big green machine and the lonely figure behind its wheel. Sandra was making her leave a working vacation; she had come home from the court martial if not broken, then heartbroken. She had loved flying and the fact that the court martial, while praising her flying ability and reactions in an emergency, had penalized her for poor judgment had destroyed any real chance of her ever flying for anyone again. She had dreamed of space once, but that was deader than any little girl’s dream.

Sandy had spent the last two weeks at the farm, living in her old room. Working on the farm in a way that her mother had never let her do before she had left for finishing school and then, shockingly, for the Air Force Academy. Sandy worked sunup to sundown on the farm, harder than any of his hands, who were beginning to mutter a little about it.

The stressed relationship between mother and daughter was almost more painful than anything else. Clarice Sebastianii was a Scientist, with a capital S, and the daughter of a millionaire. She had fallen in love with and married the son of a well off farmer while at college and they had made a satisfying if odd life for themselves. Sandra had been an experiment, one that had made them both happy but had illuminated a cultural rift, their daughter had gone to private schools and been pushed hard all through her school career. Clarice had never been satisfied with anything less than excellence and her daughter had tried to perform to expectations. Tom had tried to provide a moderating influence but had found that on this one topic he could never move his wife one inch from her planned course.

The Air Force academy had been a shock to Clarice, who had wanted her daughter to become a scientist and intellectual in the best of the eastern establishment schools. Instead Tom and Sandy had conspired to get her a slot in the Academy. Now that choice had exploded in Sandy’s face and Clarice, in the pain of her memorized grief didn’t let an opportunity pass without throwing it her daughter and husbands faces. Tom knew it would pass but he could see the building pain in Sandy’s face.

The radiophone burbled, he punched the button, Yes Sandy?

Her voice was calm, almost happy, Last pass on this field, I’m coming in for lunch.

He couldn’t help smiling, I’ll have sandwiches ready.

A DC would be good as well; I’m getting tired of water.

A diet coke it’ll be Sandy.

A little while later he heard the buzz of the ATV and through the kitchen window he saw her come racing around the curve with a rooster tail of gravel. She was wearing a helmet and facemask but he wished she’d be a little less reckless. He worried that she had a bit of a death wish right now. Watching her approach he wondered what to do with her. She was a pretty, nearly beautiful woman, smart and bright, with an engineering degree and the background that many would kill for but she seemed at a loss as to what to do with her life after this shattering of her dreams.

He knew that if the shattering had been for other reasons she might have accepted them better. But doing everything right and still getting hammered was so unfair and seemed so discouraging when you looked to the future and tried decide what to do with it.

The kitchen had a wonderful view of a huge swath of ground and the big dining area was built out with floor to ceiling quad insulated windows that took full advantage of that view. He heard the front door open and close and the quick light tread of his daughter as he carried a platter of sandwiches to the table along with a pitcher of diet coke.

He sat down, looking out over the rolling grounds,