Fool's Gold: Carson Lyle's War - Part One (11 page)

Lyle's vision was almost back to normal. He could make out a uniform on the man he was talking to. Stripes on the upperpart of the sleeve indicated a Full Colonel and the man carried himself as such – no slouch in the back, hands clasped behind him, and standing above Lyle, looking down his nose at him.

"You can start by telling me who you really are. And we know you are not some simple freight hauler, let me make that clear."

Lyle thought for a moment. As a Colonel, this man would have had access to the official records, not the public version. Maybe Lyle could come clean? Their mutual hate for the Authority might make it possible for him to get a fair shake for the first time. No. Truth or not, there's still too much bad blood. Maybe the Colonel would understand, but there were too many trigger happy soldiers with guns around here that probably still held a grudge.

He didn't answer.

The Colonel pulled over a nearby chair, spun it around backward in front of Lyle and sat with his arms crossed on the back of the chair.

Lyle finally got his first solid look at the Colonel. He had the grizzled look of a battle-hardened veteran that never turned away from a fight. Scars on his face framed a piercing glare that gave the impression of eyes that had seen more hell than any one man should have to. The scars continued up into his scalp that was only slightly obscured by his crew-cut salt and pepper hair. The creases in his fatigues were perfect. His black boots shined like mirrors. He was a perfect specimen of a soldier and a soldier's discipline, not unlike his own Colonel during the war.
May that bastard rot in hell.

Lyle hated him already.

"You've got some explaining to do, son."

"Such as what...sir?"

The Colonel didn't react to Lyle's disrespect. "I'd like an explanation as to why, after being caught red-handed with that cargo, having your ship formally impounded, and all the evidence in the world to charge you, The Authority…agents, no less…just let you walk back on the street?

Lyle was getting tired of the constant questions and a little honesty here might buy him some time to figure out what his next steps should be.

He took a deep breath.

"I don't know. They wanted me to get on the inside, here, and help them figure out what you're up to. I told them to 'cram it up their ass'." His stomach twisted into nervous knots wondering if telling the Colonel about that was a good idea. Best case scenario; The Colonel makes him take a long walk out a short airlock.

"These agents," the Colonel said, "They played a good cop – bad cop routine with you? Did they call themselves One and Two?"

Lyle's eyes went wide with genuine surprise.
How does he know that?

"It was, wasn't it? You don't have to worry. If that other short dipshit hauler would have been the one to bring the cargo, he wouldn't have made it through the gate."

"You...you knew?"

"Yeah," Kagan said. "It's...uh...all in the preparation." He chuckled.

Lyle was shocked. It's not often anyone stays ahead of Authority Intel. "So what now?"

The Colonel stood up and pushed the chair aside. "Well, like I said, you don't have anything to worry about. I may not know who you really are, but I know Carson Lyle doesn't have any loyalty to The Authority. I doubt I can trust you, but I know you're not going to spy for those two freaks. But there is still the matter of the gate."

Lyle gave him a questioning look.

"The treaty limits the trade that goes on between us, out here, and the inner territories, for essentials and such."

"Now," Kagan said, "There won't be any for a month. There is the hub gate, but this time of year, our trade partners are too far out of position in the planetary orbits for it to be practical. We'll have to rely on the handful of ships that can jump the tramlines without a gate. That's going to put a pinch on the food supply out here, territory-wide."

Lyle took another deep breath. "I'm sorry about that, but it was out of my hands. I-"

The Colonel held up a dismissive hand. "I know, I know." He started to pace in front of Lyle slowly. "It's a cold, hard life here in the asteroids. The civilian population, here, doesn't live high on the hog like the inner worlds. That was kind of the problem in the first place, as you might recall. The philosophy, here, is everything is one for one. You need repairs to your ship, we need repairs to the gate."

Lyle laughed and said sarcastically, "I don't know how to fix a jump gate."

"Agreed. But you
will
have to earn your keep while you're here, and whatever you do, it'll have to be something more than just useful."

Lyle shrugged. "I'm pretty good with a torch. Did a lot of the work on the mods to my ship myself."

The Colonel shook his head. "Look, we know you were military. We know this."

"But—"

"I just about don't care who you used to be, but I need manpower—"

"Whoa! Hold on there," Lyle said, protesting with his hands. "I'm not here to join your war or whatever it is you're going to do!"

"Shut it, son! You owe us some service time for getting you out of there! I'm not saying you're going to fight a war for us, but from what my guys, here, tell me, you seem exceptionally well trained; zero-G combat, piloting skills, etcetera.
That's
what's useful to me right now. What was your job for the Authority Military Corps?"

Lyle sat, thinking about what to do next. They had him in a corner. Would he be helping them get ready to invade the inner territory? Like it or not, it was his home. With everything else that happened in the last war, he couldn't live with himself if it happened again. He just couldn't. On the other hand, working with them would give him time to find the man that attacked Wagner. It's a chance at the closure he needed for almost a decade.

"Now," the Colonel said, "What was your job?"

Lyle took a deep breath.
This is for you, Sarah.
"Mech Driver."

The Colonel's smile was almost devilish. "
That
is outstanding. When was the last time you slept?"

"You mean by choice? I don't even know."

Out of the corner of his eye, Lyle saw a Corporal step inside the door and whisper something to Kagan, who acknowledged with a curt nod. He stepped toward the Colonel.

"Rumlow's waiting in your office with the latest update."

"Got it. Meet me there." Colonel Mann turned back to Lyle. "Corporal, outside, will take you to your quarters. Get some rack time and come see me at my office section D-23."

Lyle sighed. "Fine, thanks."

He watched Kagan and Colonel exit the room and turn left. Dex and Varga went right. He took a minute to replay the last few minutes in his mind and something got his attention. This was a military base, with military regs, and Colonel Mann seemed to be as much 'by the book' as any officer he could remember. Yet the three mountains didn't salute him. Didn't even call him 'Sir'. Not once. It was very strange that Kagan was the point of contact between that Corporal and the Colonel, as well. If they aren't military, then what are they? What were they before the war?

Chapter 20

After being taken to his quarters, which would not be described as 'spacious', Lyle found he wasn't able to follow Colonel Mann's advice and get some rest. He'd pay for it later, he knew, but he had to see his ship. He had to see how bad the damage actually was.

To his surprise, he was able to leave his quarters without an escort. While he did have a visitor's badge clipped to his jacket, that didn't dissuade the questioning looks from those he passed as he went. He was extremely rough, in appearance, compared to everyone else and looked as far out of place as one could. Unshaven, clothes haggard, and walking with a limp, he imagined he looked the stereotypical part most had in their minds about a hauler. Looking like this, he wasn't going change anyone's opinion. But then again, he wasn't there to be an ambassador for his profession either.

That's not to say they didn't take any precautions. While he was out cold, after his fight with Kagan, just about everything useful had been taken from him. His sidearm, his backup, his knife, even his chop, had all been taken. The chop bothered him most of all. It's what kept him legal as a hauler, not that his legal status was what it had been just a few days ago. But he'd make that the first thing that he asked to get back.

From memory, he made his way to the main cargo bay. He hoped he hadn't been too obvious about knowing where to go. He'd even asked for directions twice, for appearance, and got insight as to how haulers were thought of, in the Outer Rim, when those people purposely gave him the wrong directions.

The Majestic
, with the cargo containers, was too large for the internal docking bay. So it had to be moored outside the base in the vacuum. There was a multitude of activity throughout the bay. Forklifts and other power equipment were moving about swiftly and efficiently. The sounds of machinery and hard work echoed throughout the bay. He saw he was getting glances from the dock jockeys that were tending to their duties. He made his way across the bay toward the airlock at the far wall.

There was a large group working with heavy power equipment unloading one of the cargo containers from his ship. He stopped for just a minute, hoping to satisfy his curiosity over what he was actually carrying.

A forklift drove into the container. There were some banging and creaking sounds. He could hear the forklift's engine rev up, then it emerged from the container with a covered pallet on the forks. Lyle could tell it was extremely heavy and possibly very important by the way the driver was taking his time with it. A power core, maybe? That didn't make him feel any better. If a core's containment even cracked during all of the bumping and banging the ship took, they all would have been incinerated in the blink of an eye. Typically, dock jockeys were all about production; unload fast now…unloading right was subjective. But they were definitely being uncharacteristically cautious.

After standing there for a couple of minutes, he could see he was starting to draw attention to himself. They had to know that the ship outside belonged to him. What did they think of that? He wondered.

Lyle finally made it to the viewport, by the airlock. He peered through the port and got and got a sick feeling in his stomach. The damage looked fairly extensive. He had to get out there for a closer look at her.

He remembered where the pressure suits were stored from when he was here last and went to a room adjacent to the airlock. The suits were still there.

Lyle suited up, mounted and attached the air supply, then made his way to the airlock.

This time, there was someone waiting for him. He was olive complected, and shorter than Lyle, but looked physically fit through his grease-stained coveralls.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" He said.

Lyle looked the man over. The gold trim on the third rank strip indicated he was the dock chief. He pointed to the airlock, as if it wasn't obvious.

"I need to see my ship."

"Give me a minute to suit up. I have to go with you."

The Chief suited up quickly. When he emerged from the dressing room, Lyle heard a crackle in his helmet then; "Comm check, testing...one, two, three, Copy?"

"Copy," Lyle replied, out of instinct.

The Chief walked over to the airlock control and shifted a lever to cycle it open. Amber warning lights around the door strobed and loud alert klaxon sounded letting the entire bay know the airlock was cycling. There was a whoosh of rushing air moving to fill the vacuum inside the airlock when the door split open across its vertical center. That door closed behind them, and the next door opened, releasing that air pressure into the void outside.

They stepped out of the airlock and out into the cold vacuum of the asteroid's surface. There was a transition from the artificial gravity of the cargo bay to the natural gravity, outside, that measured one-third of standard. This was rather strong for a planetoid of this size. Astronomers thought it may have been a small planet that didn't complete its development, for one reason or another. There were a number of similar asteroids in the outer territory which was appealing to the military for setting up various operations.

The Chief led Lyle out to the dock where the ship was moored. Walking in point-three G was more like an extended skip. The pressure suits had lead weights in the boots to help its wearer be more stable while moving.

Lyle saw that the unload crew was busy detaching the last two containers. Without a load, the ship looked bare-boned across the gut of the fuselage to the point where one would have thought it was starving, if it were a living thing.

The Chief motioned him to the bow and pointed to a mangled mess of metal and exposed circuitry. "You see, there?"

"Yeah," Lyle said, imagining credits just flowing out of his wallet and into space.

"That whole sensor array is gone."

He continued the tour on toward the rear of the ship. And every point where the Chief stopped and pointing out something that was a problem, Lyle felt the sick feeling in his stomach getting worse and worse.

'Earn my keep'? I'll have to formally reenlist to cover this
, Lyle thought.

"The boosters are also in rough shape," The Chief continued. "The good news is the structural members are still straight and solid."

"Really?" Lyle said, amazed. "Seeing the extent of the rest of the damage, I'd have thought her back would have been broken too."

"It's all fixable, but it'll take time. It all depends on how many people Colonel Mann puts on it. Parts might a problem for some things given the age of the ship, too. We'll have to see what we can do without and go from there."