2954-08-05 – Tales from the Service: The Homecoming Front
As of this posting, most of you have probably already seen that Fifth Fleet has announced operations on Håkøya have progressed to the mopping-up stage, and that organized enemy resistance at anything above a small-unit level there has ended.
No further fleet actions in that system have interfered with the ground operations, and initial reports suggest that damage to the ecosystem and infrastructure on the contested world are a bit lighter than expected. Incarnation defenders seem to have preferred to try to hold out in remote fortifications built by the F.V.D.A. prior to the occupation, which their own personnel expanded and reinforced.
If it is true that only those areas have seen extensive damage, the evacuated civilians of Håkøya can probably expect to be returning to their world soon. Unfortunately, there is still no permanent civilian datasphere connectivity to the system; Incarnation forces destroyed the HyperCast relay there, and the limited bandwidth of the Navy's portable relays is still being prioritized for military data transfers.
Lydia Fernandez flipped the arming switches on the right-hand control panel. Behind her, the steady idle-hum of the Consolidated Industries KR-99 phased-matter reactor built into an insistent whine. When two indicators above those switches changed to yellow, and then green, she gently pulled back the main control yoke.
There was a jerking sensation as her Carpathian Systems Minotaur lifted off. The dusty gray-green landscape in front of her disappeared, leaving only a featureless mauve sky.
After a few seconds of free flight to gain altitude, Lydia switched on the autopilot and sat back. Homecoming hadn't been precisely what she'd expected, but then, she hadn't spent much time over the last five years picturing what it would be like to finally put her boots back on the parched dirt of Terre Weigand.
Certainly, the return hadn't been under anything like the sort of circumstances she might have imagined. Lydia could hardly claim to have "made it" as a spacer, not yet, for one; she was still flying an old Minotaur gunship she'd bought from a junker and retrofitted into something like a proper all-purpose rig. The machine was more than it appeared, but that was mainly because at first glance the ship resembled a jumbled collection of scrap metal that had decided to fly in roughly the same direction for a while.
She'd had to come unannounced, mostly for the safety of her relatives on that world, and to leave just as unexpectedly. Her sister, who she'd hoped to see, had been off-planet on a business trip, so she had spent an afternoon catching up with Cousin Trent and meeting his two young children. They'd offered her the use of the guesthouse on their property for as long as she was staying, but she had declined; she couldn't tell Trent and his wife Nadia that she was going to be gone in less than forty-eight hours.
For his part, Trent had listened with interest to some of her stories of light adventure on the border between Memoire de Paix and the Silver Strand. Her life probably seemed so fast-paced to someone who'd only left the world of his birth three or four times in his thirty-three years. Still, he'd shown no sign of envy; perhaps that was because he'd seen her ship before he heard her stories.
The Minotaur wasn't quite the pile of rusting scrap she appeared, of course. Lydia had found the ship's rather homely appearance an advantage more than once in her travels, and so had passed up the opportunity to make any real cosmetic improvements. She wasn't the most maneuverable ship, but she had a big, modern reactor feeding a totally rebuilt main drive. The cabin, which would have been a cramped abode for the intended crew of four, was spacious enough for one, while still affording space and privacy to host a couple of passengers for short-hop ferry runs. Seeing the skepticism on her cousin's face as she'd bid his family goodbye and boarded it had hurt a little.
She'd gone on with the job, of course, as soon as she'd dispensed with the cover story that her visit had been a spur-of-the-moment social call. The dead drop had been just where her employer had said, out in the high scrublands. According to her flight plan registered with the spaceport authorities, she was spending the night leisure-camping on the world of her birth, and then departing directly from her campsite. Evidently, the story was mundane enough that nobody had asked any follow-up questions.
Now, the cargo was on board, and Lydia was approaching orbit once more, her home-world disappearing behind her again. She'd left her sister a message and a souvenir, in care of Trent, but that was all – she didn't dare leave a datasphere message. Margaret would find a way to be offended by even the most polite recorded message, and somehow, as usual, would go from this irrational response to divining the real reason for Lydia's visit.
Trent would get a message to Margaret, of course, but he would mention the gift, and how nice it had been to see Lydia after so many years, and if Margaret got offended it would be at Trent first. This would, hopefully, put her uncanny association skills off the scent, at least until it was too late to cause any problems.
As soon as the pale sky darkened to black, Lydia turned to her comms console and dashed off a quick message to her employer's local contact. Though it was innocuous, appearing to any snoopers to be a query regarding an equipment sale posting, it was the prearranged code indicating her success and departure.
A few minutes later, the prearranged acknowledge code came back – a polite apology stating that the equipment which she was asking about had already been sold. Had there been any reason to abort the operation, Lydia would have gotten a request to set up a time and place to meet and complete the apparent requested sale.
With a shrug, Lydia put her family out of her mind, at least for the moment, and headed back into the cabin for an acoustic shower and a meal.