TITLE:
Bogey
SERIES: Imperfection Deviation
AUTHOR: Macx
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me, sadly. They are owned
by
people with a lot more money :)
Author’s Voice of Warning (aka Author’s Note):
English is not my first language; it’s German. This is the best I can
do. Any
mistakes you find in here, collect them and you might win a prize
FEEDBACK: Loved
BETA: okami_myrrhibis
Bogey (bogy, bogie): Military. an unidentified aircraft or missile,
esp. one
detected as a blip on a radar screen
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When he was born on the first of January, 1970, his father had already
been
declared dead. Lost in space. Of course, none of the officials ever
lost a word
about it to anyone of the family members. The official statement given
to the
family of Samuel Walker, commander of the Ghost-1, top secret
space
vessel, was that he had been killed in a test flight, along with four
other
crew members. Those other four families had been lied to as well.
Kyle Samuel Walker had never known his father, had only seen pictures.
He had
been told by others what a great man he had been. He had believed him
to be
nothing but a normal astronaut who had never made it into space on an
Apollo
mission. Apollo 11 had been launched the year his father had died; the
first
men on the moon. Kyle had watched Apollo 17, the last Apollo mission to
the
moon, and he had watched avidly every time something about space flight
had
come on the news. He had dreamed about space, about seeing and going
where his
father had never made it. He had had space ship model kits, had been an
avid
fan of Star Trek in every incarnation, and he had wanted to be on the
shuttle
missions.
His mother had never remarried. His brother, three at the time their
father had
died, had gone into aeronautics himself. Today Thomas was working for a
private
company and bringing in the big bucks. Married, two children, a dog,
and his
house near the border of
Kyle himself had wanted to become an astronaut. Space had fascinated
him; his
father’s career had been his guide. His bachelor's degree in
engineering was a
first step, his graduate degree the next. He joined NASA and trained
hard. He
wanted to be in space; he wanted to be where he believed his father had
never
made it. Kyle had seen the commemorative plaque of the astronauts who
had died
that day in 1969. He would honor his father by making it into space.
He received the silver lapel pin when he completed astronaut candidate
training. Once he had flown in space, he had received a gold pin. His
active-duty military status got him a special qualification badge after
participation on a spaceflight.
He had reached it all. He had been away from Earth.
Kyle had never married. He had had a steady girl-friend for ten years,
but it
had broken up over his refusal to marry Trisha. He had liked the more
open way
of living together. She had wanted his name, a ring and children. Their
ways
had parted just before their tenth anniversary.
The day he was called to meet a man named Tom Banachek, Kyle Walker’s
life
changed forever.
It was early spring and Kyle had just completed a round of refreshment
training
on the shuttle simulator. He had been selected as a possible commander
for a
new mission, transporting two satellites into space. The call from
Banachek had
surprised him, but he had been interested.
Banachek came to meet him just twenty-four hours later, in his home
outside
Broken Springs, a small town with an even smaller airport, but a place
Kyle
loved a lot. Tom Banachek was a tall man, with a receding hairline, a
mustache,
and dressed in a smart looking gray suit. He had carried a briefcase,
nothing
else. Had Kyle met him on the street, he would have said middle-aged
business
man.
Today he knew Banachek was anything but.
That day in spring was the day he heard the truth about his father,
about the
mission in 1969, about the cover-up of something incredible, and about
the Ghost-2
mission to retrieve an alien vessel.
Kyle knew he had to fly this ship, the sister ship to his father’s.
Thirty-eight years had passed since that day and a million things had
changed.
He would be on that flight, be it as commander or simply as a
communications
officer; he didn’t care.
He said ‘yes’ to it all, to the top secrecy, to keeping his mouth shut,
to the
danger of ending up lost in space, to the possibility of death.
This was it for him.
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The Ghost-2 mission had been under Banachek’s command from the
get-go.
The moment things had come together he had been in charge. The ship
hadn’t even
been built yet.
Now, two years later, two months after bringing in Kyle Walker as the
commander, it was getting close to the point where the launch was just
a matter
of the right time.
Banachek leaned back in his chair and looked out over the rugged
landscape outside
his window. Choosing the high
Well, more or less.
Banachek smiled as he remembered coming to a place where his
predecessors had
worked on the first manned space flight into the solar system. This had
been
the place where people who had known so many more secrets than other
top secret
holders could ever guess had pushed humanity forward. A lot of
technology had
been based on the alien creature kept eternally in ice. Backward
engineering
had been the top game back then.
The place had looked like an old and hollow sore underneath the
deceivingly
innocent surface of the
The base as such appeared like a large animal hunkered down to wait out
the
never-ending bad weather – bad compared to any place Banachek had ever
been –
and the old launching site had been partially reclaimed by the local
fauna and
flora.
Their priority had been the installation of the new systems and
Banachek knew
they couldn’t have done it alone. The Autobots had been a tremendous
help,
working out systems that interfaced their technology with the humans’.
Quarters
had been restored, heat, electricity and water had been reconnected,
and new
systems now recycled water inside the plant. The launching site as such
had
only been redone after a year, when the launch had come closer. Cracks
in the
tarmac had been closed, a new and much more resilient tarmac applied,
and deep
space telemetry had been powered up.
Banachek flew back and forth between Washington and the secret outpost.
Officially this was still a science station. The visible, above-ground
structure didn’t give much away. A squatting building, with a few
extras left
and right, a landing strip for transport planes to unload cargo, and
nothing
around them.
Underneath the innocent building was a massive cave, large enough to
accommodate a Cybertronian the size of the Ice Man. Megatron, Banachek
reminded
himself. Even the Allspark cube would have room in here.
Their cover was kept by a group of diligently working agents who played
the
parts of the scientists. They went out, took readings, set up meters,
studied
the weather patterns, flocking birds, small mammals and whatnot. The
rest was
all done underground. For two years the Ghost-2 had been flown here in
small
parts and put together. Sometimes an Autobot accompanied the freight,
usually
Ratchet.
Banachek had started to live here after a while. He had his place, his
stuff,
his connections. He wanted to keep a close eye on things, delegating
some of
his work with the Autobots to other people. Sector Seven was dead,
though not
forgotten, and a nameless agency had taken its place. It had been
called
‘Project’, nothing else, and by now, years later, it was official.
Project had
agents and operatives, it worked with the same efficiency of Sector
Seven, but
without the subtle threat the old department had represented. Project
worked
just as undercover, did just about the same things, protected a group
of alien
visitors – and a young engineer named Sam Witwicky who had been changed
by the
Allspark. Lately former Army Ranger Will Lennox had fallen under that
protection act, too. Banachek had seen him a few times and was
fascinated and
shocked anew every time. You just didn’t get used to a human being who
looked
like he had been spray-painted with alien runes, sigils and glyphs –
which
moved.
There was a soft ping and he turned to his computer where the e-mail
icon had
lit up. He had received yet another mail, probably a progress report.
To his surprise he found it was a brief message from Optimus Prime. The
Autobot
leader, a being he respected greatly and found immensely fascinating,
was
requesting permission to fly Sam Witwicky to the base to start working
on the
Ghost-2.
Banachek sent the confirmation and immediately called the base
commander
responsible for the cargo flight to inform him of their next delivery.
Having
Sam here at the base would be interesting. Seeing the technopath work
was
fascinating to say the least.
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Thunder
roared through the underground test chamber. It was deafening, even
with the
ear protection, and it could be felt in every bone of the body. Human
engineers
clustered around read-out monitors and control panels, all tense and
hopeful.
"Adjust the fuel flow!" Sam ordered firmly, eyes on the test engine.
He didn’t need a monitor to tell him the input or output ratio, the
strain of
metal and plastic and rubber, or the pressure on the fuel lines. He
didn’t need
fine-tuned sensors to keep him informed of how fast the engine was
burning the
fuel, how molecules rushed through the combustion chambers and burned
at an
intense temperature.
His mind was scanning along every line of programming, getting a feel
for it.
Sam was the engine, could feel every little bolt and screw and tiny
wire.
It looked good so far.
He watched the power conductor light up more. It hummed softly;
channeling the
raw energy kept in the storage tanks, and converted it smoothly into
useable
energon.
"Just a little more and now..."
"Output is almost at optimum level," Laura Maitland reported and
stepped closer to the conductor, reading off the figures displayed on
the
control panel's screen. "Everything is holding."
"Hm, looks like we finally found a conductor that handles this raw
energy," the lead engineer, a man called Finch Tomczyk, remarked and he
sounded very satisfied.
He should be. He had had his part in discovering how to make the
machine work
without melting half of it into scrap because of the alien power
source, and it
had been a real challenge for the human.
Sam’s mind was still on the engine that would catapult the Ghost-2 into
space.
The design of the Ghost-1 had been radically changed. With the input
and
knowledge from Ratchet and Ironhide, the human engineering team had
come up
with a way to get Ghost-2 space-born without relying on a carrier
rocket. They
just had to get the new engine tested and approved.
Suddenly the machine started to shake and rattle in its cage inside the
test
chamber. It crackled dangerously and smoke came out of several slits.
"What the...??" Laura stared at the machine which had started to
bulge outward as if it was a balloon. "Get down!" she screamed as she
realized what was going to happen, hitting the ground.
Sam didn't lose a second's thought about the why. He simply followed
the order.
The converter gave a final screech and exploded. The explosion shook
the
ground. Sharp metal shrapnel cannoned through the room. Sam felt a
violent pain
in his thigh and he gave a yell, which was drowned in the chaos. Smoke
billowed
around them and when Sam looked up he saw nothing at all.
Silence descended abruptly, only interrupted by the soft pinging of
overheated
metal.
Coughing, he waited for the dust to settle down.
Alarms suddenly went off with a screech.
"Laura? Finch?"
Laura blinked dazedly and tried to focus on the voice. There was a cut
on her
cheek, but it didn't bleed much. Something must have just grazed her.
"Sam?" she asked.
"Yes, it's me. How are you?"
She rubbed her forehead. "My head... I think I need an aspirin.
Otherwise
I feel fine. What happened?"
"I think the conductor exploded."
How? Part of him demanded to know.
For the most part he was too rattled to think much else.
"Exploded? It shouldn't have done that!"
Suddenly the door was flung open and people ran inside. Paramedics,
soldiers,
Bumblebee…
::SAM!::
Sam winced as the link flared to life with such force, it almost
floored him
mentally. He felt Bumblebee’s presence, felt him check him over, then
gentle
hands picked him up.
“You’re hurt!”
Sam blinked stupidly at the blood on his pants. “Oh. Yeah. Something
grazed
me…”
More people swarmed everywhere. Someone was forcing the malformed door
to the
test chamber open.
“Man, what a force,” Sam murmured in disbelief.
No one had foreseen this. Something had happened inside the engine,
something
really wrong…
::Sam?::
::I’m fine, Bee. Just rattled::
::You’re injured::
::I’ll live::
A paramedic was demanding that Bumblebee set down the young human and
he did,
though he didn’t move away.
::See?:: Sam sent when the woman was done treating his wound. ::Just a
cut::
::You still need to see the doctor. This was just first aid::
That got Bumblebee a sigh, but he was adamant. So Sam let his friend
carry him
to the medical area where Laura was already getting a complete check.
She
smiled at Sam, nodding once.
"I checked the conductor," Sam muttered as the doctor cut away his
pants and stitched his leg. "The circuits were functioning
perfectly."
"Maybe you overlooked something," Laura volunteered.
The look in the brown eyes made her wish she hadn't said that. "I did
not
overlook something, Laura."
Finch walked slowly over to them, holding his arm. There was no cast on
it, but
the wrist was bandaged.
“Sprained,” he only said. “You guys okay?”
Both nodded.
“Banachek has ordered a full investigation into the matter. I heard
Ratchet is
coming in with the next flight. He thinks it might be the conversion
rate of
the raw energon. I know the engine programming was perfectly okay, as
was the
conductor, Sam,” the lead engineer told their technopathic advisor. “It
must be
the stuff we put inside.”
Sam nodded. “We spent hours checking the engine as such. It was
perfect.”
“Get some rest,” Finch advised. “We won’t be back at the engine until
we know
what happened.”
Sam met the blue optics of his guardian and Bumblebee’s thoughts were
clear: get
some rest. Good idea. Sam carefully slipped off the examination
table and
found himself caught by the Autobot again.
“I can walk,” he muttered.
“Yes, you can.”
And he was lifted up. Laura waved at them as they left and Sam sighed
to
himself.
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Kyle’s first contact with the alien life forms called Autobots had been
the
silver colored one called Jazz. No preparation could have readied
himself for
first contact. He and the crew had spent a week at Nellis Airforce Base
where
Captain Michael Bowman had been their primary contact and something of
a
liaison.
Their private affairs had been put into order. Somber affairs, really,
because
it was nothing more than the possibility they might not return, like
the first
Ghost. Kyle had no family to speak of, only good friends. The others,
Barbara
Tanner, his second-in-command and pilot, Freddy Hamilton,
communications, and
Gabe Craig, the systems engineer, had family of various degrees. Two
were
married, two children each, one was engaged.
All the dark thoughts of failure were blown away when they were
introduced to
Jazz, the second-in-command and mission specialist, whatever that meant
in
Autobot terms. When Kyle’s team had been told about aliens among them
they had
been as stunned as the next man, but meeting the Cybertronian had been
amazing.
Jazz was an easy-going guy, if that could be said about a mechanical
life form.
He had adapted to Earth in a stunning way, seemed in love with any kind
of
music, and he was curious about the planet as such. Kyle found it easy
to work
with him and he was the perfect first contact mech. Maybe that was why
he had
been chosen.
It was the size of the aliens that astounded them all. The ability to
transform, to look like a human-made car. They were a lot more than
simply
automatons, robots, machines. They were truly alive, had emotions,
laughed,
made jokes and in Jazz’s case had a wicked sense of humor.
Ratchet, the chief medical officer, had been even more stunning in
size. He
noticeably dwarfed Jazz and he was a lot more massive. Their different
personalities had surprised
When they had been flown to the former Airforce base in the
The base alone was, despite its run-down and rickety look from the
outside, an
impressive sight to behold on the inside. The human military unit moved
with
such natural understanding between the much larger Autobots, it spoke
of years
of working together.
“Commander Walker?”
Kyle gazed up at the Autobot leader, who had knelt down to meet their
eyes.
Still, he was huge.
“Optimus Prime,” he replied, sounding calm and collected.
“Welcome to our base, Commander. You and your crew have been awaited.”
“Ah, thank you.” Kyle tried not to fidget. He had been briefed, he had
been
shown film material, but it was nothing, nothing at all, to the real
thing.
Prime smiled, apparently very much aware of the impact he had on the
humans.
“I’m looking forward to getting to you know you and your men. Your
mission is
very important to us, more than you might understand. Feel free to ask
whatever
you need to know. Captain Epps and his men are here to help you.
Captain?”
A dark-skinned man stepped forward, all toothy grin and amused eyes.
“I’m
Captain Epps, the leader of the human contingent on the base. I’ll show
you
where you’ll be bunking for the next few days, as well as give you an
intro
into base essentials. Follow me. And don’t get stepped on!”
Kyle laughed nervously, looking at his equally stunned and nervous
crew. Then
they followed Epps. Their first stop was a large office, no windows,
filled
with computer stations, printers and filing cabinets. There was a huge
table in
the middle.
“Our logistics nerve center,” Epps announced. “Lieutenant DeMarco is
the guy
who keeps us running.”
DeMarco was a tall, muscular blond guy who could have been the
All-American
football player if he hadn’t worn an Army uniform. He had a ready smile
and
shook hands with everyone of the team.
“Nice to meet you,” the lieutenant said, nodding at them.
“Likewise.”
“Lieutenant DeMarco is also booking your seats to the Arctic station,
so be
nice,” Epps joked. “Or you only get the aisles seats near the toilets.”
Chuckling, they continued on their tour. The labs were next, then the
bunk
rooms, sanitary units, storage and so on. Epps told them which areas
were off
limits if not for emergencies, and most of those included the recharge
units of
the mechanoids and special storage.
“Any questions, ask one of us guys. We’re a small unit here. Find me in
case of
problems.”
“Will do. Thanks, Captain.”
“Your training schedules are in my office, so that’s our last stop.
Then you’re
free to explore.”
So they filed into Epps’s office for the last order of the day.
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Sam had spent a good two hours after the explosion trying to sleep, but
then
had given up. His rather hyper-active mind was going over and over the
possible
faults in their calculations, into what he had felt throughout the
test, what
might have triggered the overload. The dull throb in his leg wasn’t
enough to
dampen that effect in any way; if anything, it was just a minor bother
and Sam
overlooked it as he lay in bed, thinking.
Finally he left his room and limped back into the lab. His head was
okay and
the small graze was nothing to worry about. The pain medication helped
with
both the headache and the leg, and the leg wasn’t really a big deal. He
had
convinced Bumblebee of that, though the mech was rather overprotective.
His
never-ending supply of chocolate was everywhere he worked and it had
helped him
over the part of the headache not caused by being thrown clear across
the room.
By now his system was rather balanced again and he felt ready to tackle
whatever came.
“I survived
He had been thrown around, picked up, dumped, man-handled, cuffed,
thrown
around some more, run faster than he had ever thought possible, fallen
off a
building, shot at, and and and… Sam had been black and blue afterwards
and the
pain of bruises, scrapes and pulled muscles had settled in a lot later.
But he
had survived.
Still, back then their connection had been different. Sam understood
the
changes and he knew the mech worried more now, but this was his job; he
was an
engineer now and he was involved in the tests of the Ghost-2.
Bumblebee
was his guardian and would always feel that way, something Sam couldn’t
get him
to drop.
He wasn’t really all that much surprised to find Laura in the lab,
frowning at
what looked like the security tapes.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked casually as he joined her looking at the
screen.
“Didn’t even try it,” she replied. “How’s the head?”
“Still attached. Looking for the reason of it all?”
She nodded.
“Need help?”
“You know I’d never say no to you,” she teased.
Sam chuckled and pushed a button, rewinding the feed, then plugged in
the
second one; this one being the sensor readings.
And they started their work.
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"How are you doing?" Laura asked several hours later as she looked
over the dismantled proton accelerator main board.
"I can't say right now. I have to check the circuits and chips and all
the
connections. The cables, too. It'll take some time," Sam replied,
stretching.
His back ached, his leg was throbbing more, and he wondered what time
it was. A
quick look at the lab clock told him that he and Laura had been here
for the
better part of twelve hours straight. He remembered Finch coming in,
saying
something about taking a break, but he had tuned that out again.
"Then you might take a little break before launching into this new
challenge and eat."
Sam grimaced. "I don't have the time. We don’t have the time, Laura."
"You do," she told him firmly. "You look like hell.”
“So do you and I’m not rubbing your nose in it.”
“At least I took a lunch break.”
She had?
"You either go voluntarily and fill up on more than caffeine or I’ll
page
Bumblebee.”
Now there was a cheap shot if Sam had ever known one. It wasn’t like he
could
keep Bumblebee out of his mind for very long without good reason. He
had put up
more than basic shields and only dropped them when he scanned a piece
of
circuitry, but so far his partner hadn’t caught up on his overtaxed
state-of-mind. The almost limitless amount of chocolate in the lab had
helped,
too.
“You wouldn’t,” he muttered.
“You know I would. Go. Shoo. I’ll take care of what you started. And
Finch said
to take five. And he meant hours.”
“You didn’t sleep either,” Sam argued.
“But I’m about to follow my boss’ recommendation before he grounds me,”
Laura
replied. “Now go!”
Sam glared at her, but he went. Just getting up from the chair told him
she was
right. It was as if a wave of exhaustion suddenly flooded him. The
shields
wavered and it was no great surprise that Bumblebee was at his quarters
when he
arrived there.
::Not a word:: Sam muttered.
Blue optics reflected amused acceptance of the human’s state.
Sam took a quick shower, which revived him enough to give him the
coordination
to get dressed in his pajamas, then he crawled into bed. Bumblebee
watched him,
still silent, but when he moved closer through the link, Sam didn’t
push him
away.
Wrapped inside the mech’s familiar mind, Sam dropped off to sleep
almost
immediately.
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Optimus
Prime had never openly requested to be kept in the loop of every step
of the
way when it came to the construction of the Ghost-2, as well as
the
selection of the crew that would fly the human vessel into position. He
had
offered the help of his team and it had been gratefully accepted,
though. The Ghost-1
had been a purely human construct, derived from reverse-engineering
Megatron’s
technology. It had reeked of Decepticon influence. Ironhide had been
the first
to protest against using the specs of the primary interplanetary vessel
to
build its sister ship. Ratchet had agreed.
So both began to work closely with the human engineering crew. It was a
top
secret project located in the
Sam was brought into the picture a year into the project. He provided
valuable
help with the interface of human and Cybertronian technology. Three
months
later, Optimus Prime was presented with the crew of the new ship in
person for
the very first time. The two men and two women had been trained at
different
sites ever since they had been chosen, but they hadn’t yet laid eyes on
their
future ship. That would change within the next months. While they knew
about
the Autobots and had met Jazz and Ratchet, Optimus Prime knew he was
still an
impressive and awe-inspiring sight.
Blue optics looked at the future captain of the space vessel.
Recognition had
come when he had first read the name of the man, had seen the father’s
name and
occupation.
Kyle Walker, son of Samuel Walker, the captain of the Ghost-1, the man
who had
sacrificed himself, his crew and the ship to keep his own planet safe.
They had
provided an invaluable distraction for the Autobots. Because of them,
Prime and
the others had made it out alive. At the time Optimus hadn’t known much
about
humans, but with the time on Earth he had come to respect the self-less
act of
the crew of the Ghost-1 even more.
Now he was looking at the very man’s offspring. He wondered whether
Kyle had
ever been told what his father had done, what he had prevented.
Probably not.
Until Prime had debriefed Keller on the events in a different galaxy
involving
the
It was up to Prime to find out and rectify any open questions.
* * *
Three days had gone by since the explosion of the power conductor and
nothing
had happened since. Work in the labs continued as usual, though Tomczyk
had
insisted on double checks and sometimes triple checking even those. Sam
was in
the middle of it all, rechecking what machinery sensors had already
cleared
with his own abilities. Test sequence upon test sequence was run until
the
engine was no longer as much as creaking the wrong way.
They had a schedule to match.
Laura wiped sweat off her brow, then switched on the new model. She
eyed the
power conductor warily, expecting it to explode, but nothing happened.
Ratchet
was on stand-by, his optics fixed on the read-outs, his audio receptors
open
for the slightest wrong hum. Sam stood with his eyes closed behind a
security
wall made up out of transparent material that should theoretically be
able to
take a blow from a malfunctioning engine. His mind was open for every
little
blip.
Nothing.
Smooth running.
When nothing happened throughout all phases of the final test, Sam
nodded and
gave Ratchet a thumbs-up.
They were back in business!
* * *
Life at the Autobot base was so very different than NASA, a normal Army
base or
any kind of military installation Kyle Walker had ever been. There was
the
night-day-schedule, which meant lights were dimmed in some areas with
nightfall. Shifts were always six hours and rotation was hardly
visible. The
Autobots moved freely among the humans, clearly aware of the much
smaller life
forms and taking care of not stepping on them. They didn’t really have
night-day
changes, aside from recharge periods, and apparently didn’t need full
lighting.
The training of the Ghost-2’s crew was mostly theory for now.
It meant
getting to know about the ship they would fly and the ship they were
supposed
to maneuver closer to Earth. None of them were expected to fly the
Kyle knew he was staring. The man smiling faintly at him was probably
used to
being stared at, but it was rude nevertheless. He was about Kyle’s
size, with
dark blond hair, brown eyes, a healthy tanned look, and the build of a
runner. Slender,
not too bulky. He was dressed in faded blue jeans and an old,
washed-out Army
t-shirt. He held himself with a confident air, the smile friendly and
open, and
“I’m sorry,” the future commander of the Ghost-2 finally managed. “You
surprised me.”
The man smiled more. “I bet. Sorry, Commander. Wasn’t my intent. I’m
Will
Lennox.”
“Kyle Walker, but I guess you know that already.”
They shook hands.
“Word gets around. You looking for something?”
Kyle chuckled. “Yeah, actually I am. Coffee.”
Walker and his men had been shown around the base by Epps, but so much
had
happened, so many shocks had still needed to be digested, he had simply
gotten
lost in thought while looking for a source of coffee.
So Kyle followed, still a little shell-shocked as to how
The kitchen was moderately sized and currently there was no one there.
The
adjoining, quite large and comfy looking common room, equipped with
sofas and a
large screen TV, was empty.
“Black?”
“Yes, please.”
He took the mug from the other man, eyes straying to the runes again.
They were
alien but quite beautiful, he mused briefly. A dark golden color, some
a burnt
orange, some bronzed. There were letter-like ones, squiggly lines,
straight
ones, dots and squares and spirals. They moved slowly, lazily, sinking
into the
skin and reappearing.
“You can ask,”
Kyle smiled dimly. “I was trying to be polite.”
That got him a laugh. “Don’t try. Here you either ask or you learn to
live with
not knowing.”
“All right. Still learning. And since this might be a private matter…”
Another laugh. “As private as it gets with runes all over your skin,
visible to
all.”
“I can see your point. So, what happened to you?”
* * *
The almost space-ready ship was impressive for a human vessel,
Barricade mused.
Not the rickety, patched-up look of its sister ship. Ghost-1
had been
single-stage, sleek and winged, with noticeable bulges and technology
protruding in various places. And technologically it had been of
Decepticon
descent.
Ghost-2 was clearly influenced by the Autobots. The basic design
had
been kept, sleek and winged. Humans liked their repetition.
Aerodynamically it
was a nightmare too, but in space aerodynamics were secondary. The hull
was
better shielded, it had basic weaponry to fend off an attack should an
enemy
approach, and it was able to masquerade its origin quite well.
Her launch procedure would be unlike anything the humans had ever shot
into
space. The ship would be launched on top of a specially reconstructed
cargo
plane, flown as high as the plane was able to go after its
modifications --
sub-orbital space -- and then dropped off. With the engines firing up,
the Ghost-2
would leave Earth’s gravity completely.
The ship wasn’t large enough to allow a Cybertronian entry. Frenzy
would have
fit, but that was about it. Jazz and Bumblebee might be able to peer
inside,
but there was no crawl space. Human engineers were all over the new
space ship,
testing and retesting, making sure everything was in order.
Barricade had accessed the human history of space flight and found that
the Ghost-1
had been a revolutionary design and idea. Back at that time it had been
more
than anyone had ever dreamed off outside Sector Seven and their
secrets. Even
today the space shuttles looked like children toys compared to the Ghost-2,
which was still nothing like the Cybertronian ships.
As former pilot of the Nemesis he had given some input into the
construction of the Ghost-2. Not that he would confess to any
kind of
interest in the project. The Autobots wanted their ship back, so they
had to
work on it alone. Barricade still believed that the Nemesis was
long
gone and Starscream was busy finding new troops. Still, having the
He hadn’t brought that up directly, but his partner had noticed.
“The humans have people working on the best possible day to move the
“They’ll notice eventually,” Barricade replied levelly.
“Maybe. But we gotta take that chance.”
“Why?”
“Because we might need the
Red optics narrowed. “I still doubt it. Your ship is no war cruiser.
The best
you can hope for is a new base.”
And this one was sufficient in Barricade’s eyes.
“We also get access to our technology on a far broader scale.”
So much was true.
“Do you have better ideas?” Jazz asked. “Where to hide her? How to get
her
down?”
“Like I said, it’s difficult. The humans are too far advanced to ignore
such a
huge ship.”
Their own arrival had been explained as meteor impacts. The craters had
been
there to prove it. But the
“If you want the technology, salvage what you can from where she is.
Take the
computer core and the materials you need, disable the weapons and
secure her,”
Barricade went on. “Should the Decepticons return, booby trap her.”
Jazz looked thoughtful.
“Go tell Prime,” Barricade rumbled.
It got him soft laughter. “You’re in on all of it, too. You can tell
him just
the same.”
“I know,” he grated out. “I’m reminded of it every single day.”
Jazz only smiled. “It’s not that bad, Cade. You’re still alive.”
It was said lightly, but a lot of meaning carried in these few words.
Barricade
refused to answer, just looked at the schematics of the guidance
controls on
the screen. The humans selected to fly this ship would need training in
handling the unfamiliar controls. He had told Optimus Prime as much and
his
advice had been heard.
Jazz gave him a friendly pat, and then walked away, probably to talk to
the
Autobot leader. Barricade knew he could approach Prime just like any
other
mech, but he didn’t. It would be like a confession as to his new status
among
the Autobots. He was a fringe ally, nothing more. He would give his
opinion if
asked, but he wouldn’t bring in any more input than what was really
necessary.
Looking up the name of the human pilot, Barricade called up the service
records
and training schedule of the second-in-command and pilot of the
Ghost-2.
*
Lieutenant Commander Barbara Tanner gazed into the red optics of the
mech known
as Barricade and she had to hold onto herself not to visibly shiver.
Barricade
wasn’t at all like the other aliens. He looked meaner, more dangerous,
like
something inherently lethal and evil. It wasn’t just the color of his
armor.
Ironhide was black, too. It was everything, the whole design. He hadn’t
done
anything bad to her, hadn’t spoken more than a few words – which hadn’t
been
mean either, but the voice… she still shivered – and still she had
pegged him
for ‘evil alien robot’.
But he worked with the Autobots. He was an ally. Allies were friendly,
right?
As friendly as mean looking robots could be.
And Barricade was the one to teach her about controlling a semi-alien
space
ship.
Lucky me, she thought morosely.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
A lone figure was jogging along the well-trodden path, chest heaving in
regular
intervals, his body moving like a machine, always the same speed,
always the
same motions. The man was dressed in a khaki tee-shirt, black sweat
pants and
wearing running shoes. He looked like any other jogger, though out
here, in the
desert, there were usually no joggers at all. If someone should take a
closer
look would he see the tattoos on his body, swirling gently, some almost
resting
in place where they were.
Ironhide had found Will outside the base, jogging across the airstrip.
His
human friend claimed it cleared his head. He watched him for a while,
the
followed the lone figure, engine humming softly, almost purring.
Finally he stopped, shooting the black Topkick an almost annoyed look.
“You want something?” the human wanted to know.
Ironhide refrained from scanning his friend, though it was an almost
instinctive move. Will could block him if he wanted to when he felt
scans, so
it would probably annoy him even more. Whatever the source for the
already
present mood was, Ironhide could only make it worse with caring too
much.
“You disappeared,” he remarked. “It had me wondering.”
“You didn’t mind talking to Commander Walker.”
“He’s an okay guy.”
“So was his father.”
Will was by now walking, heading further out instead of back, and
Ironhide
followed on almost silent wheels.
“You knew him,” the hybrid human simply stated.
“Yes. He gave his life to save his planet and, in turn, us. I didn’t
understand
humans back then. Now I know what it took to do what he – they – did.”
Will was silent, one hand resting on a black fender as they walked.
“What are you thinking about?” Ironhide asked quietly when the silence
stretched on.
Will stopped and his hand dropped away. Brown eyes briefly strayed over
the
black Topkick, then Will shrugged, eyes on the desert again. “The
mission.”
“Why?”
“Why not? It’s something big for everyone.”
Ironhide was silent, trying to think ahead of his friend, discover what
was
disturbing him so much. Because Will Lennox was disturbed. He might not
be
flashing runes like wild fire all over his skin, but his whole body
spoke of it
nevertheless. He was tense, coiled, ready to bolt for no apparent
reason. At
least none that was apparent to Ironhide.
“If this is a success,”
“In a way.”
Will laughed humorlessly. It sounded like a bark. “I doubt you’ll have
any
trouble getting from here to the Moon somehow. Or to find a good enough
cover
to land the
Ironhide felt confusion rise. He transformed and went down on one knee,
trying
to peer into the averted eyes. “Will? What’s going on?”
The human scrubbed a hand over his face, then through his already so
very
tousled hair.
“The
“Back to Cybertron?”
“Yes. You can go home.”
Ironhide still couldn’t really make out Will’s expression, but he
recognized
the tone of voice. Loss. Desperation. Frustration. Fear.
“There is no home to go back to,” the mech said softly. “Cybertron has
most
likely died by now.”
“You don’t know that. No one does.”
Ironhide reached out and gently tilted Will’s face up with one finger.
There
was a faint pin point of blue light in the brown depths. Ironhide
almost
sighed.
“I know, Will. I know it in my spark. When we left Cybertron, the war
had
already destroyed so much. We searched for the Allspark for millennia
and even
before we came here, so much time has passed on our homeworld. Without
the
Allspark there is nothing to return to. We have chosen to remain here.”
“Would you go if there was a chance?”
“Yes. I would.”
“You’re not the Allspark, Will. You never were and you never will be.
You can’t
create life,” the weapons specialist contradicted. “You are Will
Lennox, my
friend, my partner. I would be honored should you want to come with me,
return
to a Cybertron that is alive and able to support more life. But there
is no
such Cybertron left. It would be a dead metal husk.”
“You would want me along?”
“Yes. Why do you doubt that?”
“Because what we have and share… is limited. Being among your own kind
would be
more liberating for you, Ironhide.”
“Who I share with is my decision, Will. Mine alone. We have adjusted to
this,
to our situation and limitations. We made compromises. I don’t feel
like I miss
anything. Do you?” Ironhide wanted to know, almost dreading the answer.
“No,” was the soft reply. “As strange as it is, it’s… enough. Your way
of sex
is rather addictive,” he added with a grin.
“We don’t have sex,” Ironhide rumbled.
“I know, I know, big guy.”
Ironhide followed the look and wondered what Will thought about it.
They had
never talked about that particular tattoo.
“Will?” he queried.
“Nothing. Just me thinking human thoughts.”
Ironhide chuckled. “I’d be afraid of your thoughts were anything but.”
“Hey, Allspark hybrid here,”
“So what weirdness is it right now?”
“Your name.”
Ironhide’s optics narrowed a little, waiting.
“It’s been here for a while. Not moving. Sometimes I want to know why I
bear
it. I keep thinking up explanations. Then again I wonder if I want to
know. Really
know.”
“What are your explanations?” Ironhide queried neutrally.
“That it signals the others that you and I are compatible,” Will said
carefully. “But that would be foolish because the enemy might see it.
It’s
exposed.”
“It is.”
“It’s the explanation?” Will asked, looking a bit shell-shocked.
“No. It’s exposed. It would make no sense to show everyone just who
your
partner is. Jazz would have been in grave danger in all the time I’ve
known him
had he shown Barricade’s name on his skin anywhere.”
“Makes sense. So why?”
“The Allspark was never understood by my people,” the mech replied.
“I’ve seen
you display all kinds of texts, signs and words, Will. Part of you
responds to
triggers and the runes show it.”
“You triggered me,” the human said softly. “You taught me. You helped
me.
You’re my friend. You’re always there. So I show my allegiance?”
Ironhide was silent for a moment, the nodded once. “A fitting
interpretation.”
“But I don’t have the Autobot symbol anywhere on me.”
“Neither do you have a Decepticon one,” came the wry reply. “For which
I’m
grateful.”
“I hear you.” Will shook his head, sighting. “I think I’ll never
understand
what I am.”
“But you know who you are. That’s a lot more important.”
“Deep, Ironhide. Very deep.”
That had the weapons specialist chuckle. He rose to his feet and
transformed.
* * *
Matters sped up with the near completion of all tests. Barricade spent
most of
his time teaching the pilot and co-pilot, showing a lot more patience
than
anyone, aside from Jazz, would ever have given him credit for.
Simulations were
run continuously and Barricade noted that the performance of both
humans was
getting a lot better.
It wasn’t just a matter of handling human and Cybertronian technology
in the Ghost-2,
it was also important to understand the
The humans weren’t untalented. They had been chosen for a reason and
that was
their background, their experience, and their talent. They adapted
fast, even
if they walked warily around him.
Good for them, he thought darkly. He would have had to wonder
about
their sanity and logic if they trusted him like they did Jazz, for
instance.
“You’re a pretty good teacher,” Jazz remarked at the end of another
simulator
lesson.
Barricade’s optics narrowed a little.
“Never figured you’d be this patient,” his partner teased, optics
alight with
amusement. “Then again, you taught Sam before this. You have experience
with
humans, huh?”
“Shut it,” he growled.
Jazz chuckled. “Your image is crumbling, Cade.”
The glare intensified.
Jazz’s smile only widened and he elbowed him lightly. “I won’t tell
anyone.”
And with that he was gone. Barricade kept glaring daggers at the
retreating
mech.
Barricade insisted that all the crew had to learn about the systems and
be able
to fly the Ghost-2 and, if necessary, maneuver the
The former Decepticon just stared at them hard. “Should your pilot and
co-pilot
be killed, survival depends on your abilities,” he said cold, chilling
the
humans.
“It’s just a brief mission,” Gabe Craig, the systems engineer, muttered.
“So was that of Ghost-1.”
“That was an accident.”
Barricade’s optics ridge moved in a rather good impression of ‘raising
an
eyebrow’.
“They tried a slingshot maneuver,” Freddy Hamilton, the communications
officer,
added. “We’re just heading for Mars.”
“Your people ‘just went to the Moon’,” Barricade rumbled. “And they had
more
than enough accidents.”
“Not the same. Different technology,”
“Reverse-engineered from Megatron.”
They looked exasperated. Barricade just waited them out.
Finally, “Okay, okay, we can’t get around it, right?” Craig muttered.
“Hardly.”
So training for all four it was.
“They learn really fast,” Jazz remarked after the end of another long
and
intense simulation session. “Humans are so incredibly adaptable. It
shows us
our limits, huh?”
Red optics narrowed, but Barricade didn’t really object to that
statement.
“It’s risky to leave them alone aboard and give them control of your
ship,” the
former Decepticon finally answered.
“We discussed it already, Cade.”
Barricade’s optics flared, showing his misgivings.
“They are our allies,” Jazz added.
“Allies can betray you, too.”
“I know.”
“Still you’re too much Autobot.”
“Not necessarily a bad thing.”
“Not necessarily good either. Humans would call you naïve.”
“They call you scary as hell and chilly.”
Barricade smirked. “I know.”
Jazz chuckled. “And you enjoy it.”
There was no answer, but the smile grew.
“Ironhide and Ratchet came up with a fail-safe.”
Barricade shrugged.
“Hey, it’ll be okay, okay?”
His partner didn’t deign it with an answer either, but Jazz knew him
too well
anyway. Barricade never trusted anyone without having very good
reasons. He had
fought alongside many Decepticons and never trusted a single one, not
even
Megatron, though he had put more trust in the Decepticon leader than
anyone
else.
“Sam suggested he fly along to help should matters go downhill.”
Another flare, this time for a different reason. “He wouldn’t be able
to last
against the
And you feel responsible for his training, Jazz thought,
suppressing a
smile. Barricade would rather cease to function than confess that he
had taken
an interest in the young human’s development.
“It’s why Optimus and Banachek vetoed that idea. The plan is to give
Sam the
chance to get to know the main system from a safe distance when the
Barricade didn’t comment, but there was a misgiving expression on his
dark
face.
*
Ironhide and Ratchet kept track of the test results of the Ghost-2
and
when she was declared ready, they agreed.
It was late summer and
There was a lot of talk what would follow the shuttle program, but all
of it
was speculation and NASA wouldn’t let anyone know of their plans. There
were
several possibilities known to the media, and one not known to anyone,
and that
was a model based on the Ghost-2. It would be years until
something with
Cybertronian technology would be launched, and if it was, the
technology would
be camouflaged beyond recognition.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
She was a
beauty.
Sleek and fast and a metallic silver that glistened in the artificial
light of
the hangar bay. No other rocket or plane could reach her speed.
She was
highly maneuverable, able to perform like nothing else anyone had ever
built or
flown, and she was his. His ship to command.
Commander Kyle Walker stood on the catwalk that led to the main hatch
of the Ghost-2,
looking at his machine, his plane, though calling her a plane or a jet
was
actually close to a sacrilege. She was a space ship. A wonder, a
miracle,
something out of a science fiction movie. No one had ever flown
something like
this.
He and his team would be the first.
Running a loving hand over the smooth finish, Kyle let his eyes travel
over the
unblemished exterior.
His father had flown the prototype, had made contact with these amazing
alien
life forms, had defended their whole world against the Decepticons,
even if it
was far, far from home, and he had died a hero. No one but a few knew
about
Commander Samuel Walker’s true fate, his true greatness, but Kyle now
did.
“She’s amazing,” a soft voice said behind him.
Kyle turned and smiled at Barbara, his pilot and second-in-command.
“Never dreamed of flying anything like that,” she continued, joining
him.
It was quiet in the hangar bay. Of course there were engineers and
technicians
walking around, but the noise of welding and forging had stopped long
before
the crew of the Ghost-2 had arrived.
“I had set my sights on maybe the last shuttle flight,” Tanner
continued. “Or
one of the new Orbiters. But this… no way.”
Kyle laughed softly. “Yeah. Know the feeling.”
“The others whipped up a maiden voyage party,” Barbara told him. “Wanna
join
them, Commander?”
He chuckled. “And get hopelessly drunk?”
“If you feel like it. Me, I’m going to get myself a huge piece of cake,
a quiet
corner, and later the biggest steak they can come up with.”
“You sound like it’s your last meal on death row,” he remarked,
frowning
slightly.
Barbara shook her head. “Nah. My last real meal. It’s food out of cans
and
plastic bags for the next days.”
He grinned. “Aren’t you the one praising MRE’s?”
“I never said it’s bad food, just… not like a good steak and some home
fries.”
They walked back toward the crew quarters and the mess hall. Kyle had
to agree
that astronauts’ food was good but could never replace the real thing.
But who
thought about food when they were about to launch an alien-human hybrid
ship to
retrieve an alien vessel?
If he was still dreaming, he didn’t want to wake up.
* * *
The day of the launch of the Ghost-2 was marked by nothing
exceptional
happening weather-wise, though several thousand miles further south the
media
was flocking around Cape Canaveral where the last space shuttle ever
would lift
off to its historic last mission. The forced retirement of the shuttle
program
had been discussed at length in the past several months and there were
documentaries running around the clock.
Nothing was of interest to the people who had worked on the Ghost-2
in the
past years.
The Project station was crowded with humans and Autobots alike, as well
as one
former Decepticon. The military transport plane had been flying back
and forth
for days now, bringing in Optimus Prime, Jazz and Barricade, who had
come along
with a low rumble and a flare in the red optics when Jazz had more or
less
pushed him aboard. The Autobot base was abandoned, aside from the human
crew
under Robert Epps.
Sam had spent the last few weeks in Antarctica, going over every nook
and
cranny of the Ghost-2 with his technopathic senses. His intake
of sweets
had grown exponentially and some days he went to bed with a headache or
cramps
in his neck. Bumblebee had followed his friend and charge a week after
Sam’s
departure, mainly at Ratchet’s request. Sam needed an anchor to even
out his
mind, to achieve a balance after solely concentrating on the Ghost-2,
and Bumblebee was the best candidate.
Thankfully the base had a huge underground cavern it used for building
and
servicing the Ghost-2, and it easily fit the Cybertronians as
well. At
least to a degree. With Prime and Ironhide present as well, it was
cramped.
Jazz and Barricade had taken up posts outside.
The United States government had planned the launch of a Space Shuttle
to
coincide with the launch of the Ghost-2, diverting all media
attention
to Cape Canaveral. Should something go wrong, an Ariane rocket would be
launched a week later and the Ghost-2 would use that event to
take off,
too. Hopefully weather and whatnot would be favorable at Cape Canaveral.
The crew of the Ghost-2 had been trained hard and thoroughly.
Their
mission was clear: fly toward Mars, contact the Ark,
remote-start her
engines and guide her towards Earth to hide behind the Moon. If all
went well,
the Ghost-2 would land in two weeks in the Arctic once again.
Afterwards, Prime would talk to Banachek and whoever else was concerned
to see
what to do next. The primary idea had been to just salvage what was
possible
and leave the Ark in space. Especially since the government
still wanted
to keep the Autobots a secret. The other had been to set the Ark up as
a kind
of primary defense station in case of the Decepticons coming back to
Earth
again.
That idea required more work, more planning, and it depended on the
condition
the ship was in. They hardly had a service yard at their disposal and
Optimus
knew just how work-intensive such an idea was. Ironhide and Barricade
found
themselves agreeing on the concept, that it was the best idea, that
they had to
protect this world with everything they had, and it had amused Prime to
no end
to see the two former enemies agree.
For now they had to retrieve the ship first, then deal with the next
step.
*
“Good luck,” Optimus said, kneeling before Kyle, smiling at him.
“Thank you,” the human commander said sincerely. “I appreciate what you
told
me,” he added.
“Your father was the first of his kind to come in contact with our
race. He was
a pioneer in many ways. He laid the ground work for our first contact.”
Kyle smiled sadly. “I never knew much about and now that I do, I can’t
even
share it with my brother or mother.”
“It’s a small price to pay.”
The human nodded in agreement. “I’ll ensure that we will do everything
to make
this mission a success.”
“I know you will.”
Prime rose with a final nod, watching the human walk toward the shuttle
bus
that would get him to his ship where the rest of the crew awaited.
* * *
"Ghost-2 zero one, this is flight control," a slightly
metallic voice sounded over the intercom. "We’re ready when you are.
Prepare for pre-flight check."
Barbara Tanner, strapped into the pilot's chair, acknowledged, then
looked at
her commander. Kyle smiled. All of them, the whole crew, had
volunteered for
this job. It was dangerous, but they had known risks and were- willing
to take
them.
Today was it. The big day.
Ghost-2 had been strapped on the back of their modified cargo
plane,
which had been given the nick-name ‘Ghostbuster’ by everyone at
Project.
"Okay, then here we go," Kyle announced. "Control, this is Ghost-2
zero one, request clearance for take-off."
"Roger zero one. Hold steady for lift-off. Control, Ghostbuster-1,
fire engines and taxi over to lift off position."
Underneath them, the huge cargo plane fired the engines. A low, steady
hum
could be heard as the thrusters warmed up, and she eased toward lift
off
coordinates.
"Ghost-2 zero one, you are clear for lift off," Control's
voice then crackled through the intercom."
"Roger."
The low hum slowly increased into a full, deep roar. The frame of the Ghost-2
shuddered as she was lifted off, a natural behavior for the ship as it
worked
off the stress it was put under through the lift off procedure.
"Clearing ground area, adjusting course to preset coordinate,"
Barbara reported.
She was not yet in control, but Ghostbuster and Ghost-2
were
interconnected. Both pilots could see what the other ship was doing.
“Control, Ghostbuster-1. Lift-off went without a hitch.”
"Roger that, Ghostbuster-1. Chase planes have taken off and
will
join you in a moment."
Kyle looked at one of the monitors giving him a look of the outside and
he
discovered two F-22’s closing in. The F-22’s flew by left and right of
him,
waggling their wings as a greeting. Then they turned and took their
observation
positions as the pilot of the cargo plane started to ascend them.
Sub-orbital space ride, Kyle thought with a faint smile.
“Ghost-2, this is Ghostbuster. We are reaching
separation point.
Get ready, guys.”
“Roger that, Ghostbuster. Thanks for the smooth ride,” Barbara
replied,
smiling herself.
“Our pleasure, Ghost-2.”
"Chase flight, this is Ghostbuster, we are now about to
initiate
launch program one."
"Roger, Ghostbuster," the lead pilot answered. "We have
you. Will move back to safety positions. Initiate on your mark."
"Control, this is </i>Ghostbuster-1</i>. Monitor check."
"Check confirmed. All working within parameters," was the answer.
"Okay, here we go!" Kyle called. "Mark!"
There was a little tremor as the Ghostbuster separate from the Ghost-2.
The space vessel dipped for half a second, then the ship lunged
forward. Kyle
felt it buck slightly once more, then Barbara initiated the last stage
of their
flight into space. The engines began to scream as she forced the nose
further
up, going into a steep, straight up flight.
*
On the ground, Optimus Prime watched the monitors which relayed every
single
move the ship made. Tons of data were fed into the recording units and
the
engineers and technicians would have a lot of work on their hands after
this.
"She is handling like a dream," Sam muttered almost to himself. His
eyes were solely fixed on the read-outs, his body showing the tension
he was
under.
Prime had to agree, but he kept his silence. The ship was a dream, no
argument
from him.
"Control, this is zero one. Ready passing orbit," Kyle's voice
announced.
"Roger," Control answered. “We have you on our monitors. Looking very
good, Ghost-2.”
Prime’s optics were fixed on the monitor as he witnessed the Ghost-2
fly
off into space, heading for the rendezvous point with the Ark.
He felt useless. He felt superfluous. He felt like he should do
something, but
there was nothing. All they could do was wait and see, and hope.