Inside the fighter bay of the Sea Wolf, Mac sat in the pilot’s seat of a lightly armed shuttle with three other occupants in the back: a Martian diplomat, his assistant, and a marine. He tried to ignore their chatter as he waited for his clearance to come through.
“Stogie, the tunnel is yours,” the voice on the conference channel said.
“Stogie?” Mac questioned. “Wolf Squadron doesn’t use call signs. The name is Mac.”
“Get used to it, Stogie,” a different voice came on: Ralph, the chief mechanic. “All Sea Wolf pilots get a call sign. If you bothered to read the charter, you’d already know that.”
“Ahhh, I’ve been too bloody busy,” Mac said. “Trying to earn my fame and fortune—like saving the ship from bombers and all that.” He belched. “Besides, I don’t like reading instructions, laddy. I prefer to learn as I go.”
“Well, laddy,” Ralph said, mocking his accent, “you better bring my steed back alive and healthy. Or you’ll be learning real fast what it’s like to piss off the deck crew.”
“Ahhh, don’t worry der, chum. If I don’t make it back alive with my passengers, you won’t have to fix ships anymore… again… ever.”
“Wait! What do you mean by that?”
“Stoooooggggie out!” Mac shut off the link and applied throttle.
Mac thought it over. The name did fit and he liked it. Maybe he would stick with it. Making the other pilots call him that was certain to annoy them and that made him laugh.
Speaking of annoying people, he almost forgot about the fresh cigar he had procured from one of the crew. Not his favorite brand and he had been robbed on the price, but it was better than nothing. He put it in his mouth and took a puff—the end sparked and it began to smoke.
As he puffed, his thoughts went out to Reece and Eddie. He had checked up on Eddie just before he took off. The Sea Wolf’s doctor was optimistic that he was going to make it, but he would be losing vision in one eye—could be much worse.
One-Eye… or Patch—that would be Eddie’s call sign. Mac laughed at the thought. It gave him something to look forward to when he got back to see him.
As for Reece, no word on what happened him. If their squadron leader did not make it back, it would be up to Mac to lead Wolf Squadron—a responsibility he was not enthused about. With all the empty seats at the table, not much remained to lead anymore anyway. Maybe they would just all share a drink at a table in the Milky Way Farm instead.
Mac aimed the shuttle toward the force field exit—as he banked forward he got dizzy. The effects from some earlier consumed alcohol still flowed in his system—hopefully they would not run into trouble.
Mac had been shocked when the captain asked him to do this mission. Clearly Julius must have seen that Mac was drunker than an exiled Venusian on Sunday. Perhaps the poor captain was too preoccupied to even notice.
Whatever. Mac would carry out the mission merry as can be.
Behind him, he could hear excerpts of conversation between the diplomat and his aide.
“Do you think it’s necessary to grant immunity to the entire crew? Why not just the officers?” the aide said.
“I gave my word we would give immunity to all of them,” the diplomat responded.
“The Ethics and Justice Ministry is not going to like that one bit.”
“I don’t give a damn what they don’t like. The president will push them to make it happen. What about the other conditions …”
Mac tried to tune them out. Whatever details they were going over, perhaps he was best in the dark about it. He did not want to have the burden of worrying about something he had no control over.
His mission was simply to fly them out to a distant, safe spot—far away from their base—and then let them make a connection to the Ocean and return immediately after. Hopefully by that time, he would be sober enough to surf back safely through streams.
At that moment, the marine came forward and sat in the copilot seat.
“I don’t need the company, lad,” Mac said.
“Well,” the marine said, whispering, “I’m sick of their political chitchat. Want to talk with someone more on my level.”
Mac puffed a plume of smoke in the marine’s direction. To his surprise, the marine did not wave it off.
“All right, lad. Just don’t you dare complain about the cigar smoke or you’re hitting the back. Got it?”
The marine grinned. “No complaints. I like the smell.”
“Really? You know, smelling other people’s smoke is akin to smelling other people’s shit. You like smelling shit, too?”
The marine did not flinch.
“I live in the shit—I smell it every day.”
Mac laughed. “I like that answer, laddy. Keep that up and I might just not completely hate you.”
The shuttle cleared the Sea Wolf and Mac began keying in the sequence to make the jump out. The marine gestured toward the debris field.
“Is it just my eyes, or are those rocks moving in different directions?”
Mac nodded, the cigar bouncing up and down, and flicking a clump of ashes to the ground.
“Not your imagination—they’re moving all right.”
“What’s making them move?”
“Fairies, I guess,” Mac said, stomping out the lit ashes on the floor with his boot.
“Must be hard to fly your ships through that. And the capital ship… How do you manage moving that thing in here?”
“The fighters have to be flown in through the streams.” Mac pointed to Stream 3 in the distance. “We follow the junk and let it float us in here. You have to know what you’re doing though or you’ll get smashed. Only great pilots like me have that kind of skill.”
“Impressive. But why can’t you just jump in?”
“You sure are asking a lot of questions.” Mac gave him a suspicious look. For a split second, he could swear he saw three of the marine.
“Just trying to pass the time,” the marine responded. “Would you rather hear those blokes back there talking?”
Mac shrugged. “I guess there’s no harm in it. We’re all on the same side after all, right?”
“Of course, friend.”
Mac puffed on the cigar and savored it before talking. “It’s going to take some getting used to—all those rules of the Confed.” He gestured with the cigar. “I doubt I’ll even be able to smoke this anywhere on Mars.”
The marine shook his head. “I’m afraid not. So you were going to tell me about why you can’t just jump in here?”
“I was, wasn’t I?” Mac smiled. “All right, then. Supposedly, the streams form a natural gravity well. Ships have to surf the streams to get inside.”
“But the Sea Wolf… It’s too big to surf any streams, right?”
“Ahh, very astute of you, Mr. Marine.” Mac blew another plume of smoke. “There is a sweet spot where the Sea Wolf sits. It’s clear of the gravity’s influence, but you have to know the exact coordinates to jump inside, or you get blocked.”
Mac belched.
“You’ll have to excuse me now, lad. I’m trying hard to concentrate on flying and savoring this cigar at the same time. And with you talking and asking all these questions, it’s getting hard to do. So hit the back.”
The marine nodded. “Not a problem, friend.” He then moved back with the others.
Mac grabbed the cigar out of his mouth and touched the controls to make the jump. The sinking feeling hit him, made all the more intense in his current state. He leaned over the side of his seat and puked on the ground—too quickly for the internal gravity field to have a chance to kick in.
“Oh shit!” the aide exclaimed.
Mac peered behind him. Apparently, he had made a bigger splash than expected and wet some of the passengers. The diplomat’s aide gave him a disgusted look. Mac just smiled back at them.
“Your Excellencies,” Mac said. “We have arrived!”