Junkyard Dogs series Omnibus Read online

  Omnibus Edition

  Junkyard Dogs.

  Contents

  The Scrapyard Incident

  The Veritian Derelict

  The Santana Nexus

  Notes from the Author

  About the Author

  by Phillip Nolte

  ([email protected])

  Cover images by A. Wirth. ([email protected]

  The Junkyard Dogs Omnibus is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2013-2014 by Phillip Nolte

  Junkyard Dogs Book One

  The Scrapyard Incident.

  by Phillip Nolte

  ([email protected])

  Cover image by A. Wirth. ([email protected]

  Dedication.

  This book is dedicated to my wife Lucinda and my daughter Jill who were always the first to read any of my stories...

  Special thanks to good friend and artist A. Wirth for bringing Ensign Carlisle and the Scrapyard to life.

  Prologue.

  From nearby space, the United Terran Federation Naval Reclamation Center looked like a gargantuan, spherical explosion that had somehow been frozen in place. The "Scrapyard," as it was often called, was essentially a huge cloud of damaged and obsolete warships jumbled together with a wide assortment of other space junk and debris. An inhabited construct dubbed the "Main Facility" was maintained within the cloud to house the personnel that were necessary to keep the whole mess inline. The planet of New Ceylon, orbiting the star Naccobus, (the home star system for the Reclamation Center) was only colonized in the first place because the system had a stable Whitney overdrive point; the planet itself was only marginally inhabitable. As had happened so many times in the past, a remote, nondescript, under populated locale became famous because an entire series of interrelated, chance events conspired to make the locale ground zero for a titanic and pivotal clash between human cultures. Thus was New Ceylon added to the list of names that includes Thermopylae, Waterloo, Gettysburg, Midway, Proxima Signis and Rigel's Gate. In this case, the region near the system's Whitney overdrive point was the scene of the largest and, some say, most important battle between space-faring navies in Mankind's long history of conflict. This same battle had provided much of the material that made up the Scrapyard.

  Rear Admiral Bartholomew Charlemagne "Battlecruiser" Janssen, when asked about New Ceylon, was reported to have said, "Even though I played an important role in the great battle and received a great deal of fame and fortune because of it, I would have been happy never to have set eyes on the Godforsaken place!"

  Hartwell Wrist Comp reference note highlighted for further review by Tamara Carlisle. Excerpt is from "The Scrapyard" by Calvin Desjardins, Official Historian, UTFN Reclamation Center.

  Chapter 1

  Meridian Star System, onboard the Meridian Imperial Diplomatic Ship Istanbul, October 4, 2598.

  Mohammad Saad Saladin keyed up the communications console on the bridge onboard the Meridian Imperial Starship Istanbul and waited for the person he was calling, the prime minister of the Meridian planetary government, to answer. After a short wait, the minister came into view.

  "Allah be praised, Saad," said the prime minister, "thank you for calling me before you departed."

  The Istanbul was poised right near the Whitney Hyperlink point for the Meridian system and would be translating out to her destination in another star system within the next few minutes.

  "You are too kind, Ali. I know it's only been a couple of days, but how are things since I left? Have the protests died down as yet?"

  The screen view on the Istanbul shifted to a live newsfeed with protesters carrying signs and chanting slogans while they marched in front of a line of soldiers in battle armor with the Meridian Imperial Army insignia emblazoned across the front.

  "No, I'm afraid that they haven't. At least they are remaining peaceful and, if you look closely, there don't seem to be as many of them as usual."

  "I hope there is no trouble, but it seems that no matter what we do, someone will find reason to protest."

  "Do not allow this to upset you, Saad. Your mission is far too important to the future of the Islamic Alliance for these simple-minded fools to disrupt."

  "Of that I have no doubt. If we do not hold out our hand in friendship to the Federation, even if it is only on a small scale, only Allah knows what the future will bring. I fear it would not be pleasant."

  "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step..."

  "That is true, Ali, but sometimes that first step is the most difficult of the entire journey!"

  "For what it's worth, the young Emperor has publicly praised your mission."

  "That is good news! Without his approval we would be all but certain to fail."

  "It is good that you understand. Be well, my son. You know that I am not going to live forever. I would like for you to succeed me in this position when I am no longer capable. Perhaps that day is closer than you think. Your vision and your dedication are just what Meridian and the Alliance needs."

  "Again you are too kind," said the younger man, with a slight bow. He looked to his right, as someone off-screen engaged him in conversation. "My apologies, Ali, they are signaling that it is time to go. May Allah be with you!"

  "And with you. Farewell, Saad. Do be careful. There are others who wish us ill. Contact me when your mission is complete. Tell Sondia that I love her."

  The younger man smiled kindly.

  "She knows that, Ali, but I will tell her anyway."

  Chapter 2

  United Terran Federation Naval Reclamation Center, Main Facility, October 4, 2598.

  Ensign Tamara Carlisle fidgeted nervously in her seat as the small United Terran Federation Navy cutter docked with the main facility of the Reclamation Center. After a few minutes, the pilot announced that it was okay to exit. The craft was too large to fit inside the cargo bay of the Center's Main Facility and Carlisle made her way over to the receiving area through a temporary docking tube, along with handful of other travelers. As she left the small ship, several dockworkers in utility suits began unloading the cutter's small load of cargo and transporting the gear of the few passengers, Carlisle's included.

  She had been onboard the small craft for just over twenty-four hours, the time it took for the cutter to make its way out to the Reclamation Center from the planetary facilities orbiting New Ceylon. She had been able to sleep for several hours and was looking forward to the next phase of her project, which involved the close study of some of the wrecks in the Scrapyard. After a few minutes traversing a long corridor, during which she had remained weightless, she finally arrived at the living area of the station, with its simulated gravity. She got into the short line that had formed as the newcomers were processed.

  "...Reclamation center...checkpoint...credentials...take it easy, Tamara...," she mumbled to herself.

  "Pardon?" said the man in directly in front of her, turning slightly to acknowledge the speaker behind.

  "What? Oh, I must've been talking to myself again. Bad habit. My apologies."

  The man looked the petite, muscular young woman over and, upon seeing the Spacer clan tattoo emblazoned across her left cheek, gave her a strange look and moved away from her as quickly as he could, presenting his credentials to the sailor at the checkpoint.

  "Shuster," he said to the sailor with the clipboard. "Carmine Shuster."

  The ensign shook her head.

  "Now you've done it, Tamara," she said, "...must learn to stop thinking out loud..." She
spoke softly, almost a whisper, and then gave a slightly exasperated shake of her head as the irony of her last statement hit her.

  The sailor -- she noticed he was a chief petty officer -- looked up from his electronic clipboard and saluted. He gave the clan markings on her cheek a surreptitious glance before resuming eye contact.

  "Ensign Tamara Carlisle reporting for duty," she said, returning his salute. Still a little off balance from the unintentional interaction with the civilian, she handed him her military issue travel wallet containing a few official papers and her personnel chip.

  "Ah yes, Ensign Carlisle," said the chief as he gave her chip a quick once over with the clipboard scanner. "We've been expecting you. Did you have a good trip?"

  "Yes, I did, thank you, Chief...," she read his name from his coveralls, "...Allen."

  The Chief began to hand back her credentials, but hesitated for a moment, looking at her expectantly.

  "...Standard protocol ...naval etiquette ...," she mumbled to herself before responding to the Chief's unspoken query, "...Um, sorry...Permission to come aboard?" she asked, belatedly remembering the formalities required by the occasion.

  "Permission granted, Ensign." He grinned but looked a little doubtful as he handed back the travel wallet. "Welcome aboard the Reclamation Center Main Facility."

  "Thank you again, Chief Allen."

  "You'll want to get familiar with this facility as soon as you can." He pointed to a tall, gangly, black officer across the room. "That's Lieutenant Perkins over there. He'll show you around."

  She crossed the room and waited for the Lieutenant to dismiss the sailor he was giving instructions to. After returning her salute, and exchanging introductions, he held out his hand. She shook it, gripping firmly.

  "Ensign Carlisle," he said, "pleased to meet you." He looked directly at her facial markings. "Spacer, eh? I'm not familiar with your clan. Where did you say you were from?"

  "...Remote...mining...asteroid belt," she began, haltingly and then, as though she had gotten over some kind of mental hurdle, continued more confidently, "...I'm from Piedmont, it's an asteroid mining colony in the Saroyan-Catskill System. I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it. It's way over near the Geneva Quadrant."

  Perkins nodded in acknowledgement. "No worries," he said, "we get recruits from all over Federation space here at the Scrapyard. Welcome aboard, Ensign." His manner transitioned immediately back to business. "Your gear will be delivered to your quarters. Your space suit will be in the suit prep area which is through that door over there." He pointed to an open door just off from the corridor that led away from the main airlock. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you some more of the station." He headed for the main corridor.

  They proceeded down the curved corridor, Carlisle ticking off the various locations softly, but still out loud, as Perkins pointed them out to her.

  "...Main airlock...suit prep...exercise area...briefing room..."

  "What's that, Ensign?"

  "Sorry, Sir, I was... thinking out loud again. It helps me remember things better."

  "I'd get a handle on that if I were you. The Federation Navy is a tough place for junior officers who speak out of turn. We've got enough confusion around here already!"

  "Sorry, Sir," she replied. "I'll keep that in mind."

  They came to a somewhat larger side door. She could smell hot food and hear the buzz of conversation from the room beyond.

  "This is the mess hall, Ensign."

  They went inside and Perkins led her over to a table full of recruits in their khakis, eating from trays and conversing. The recruits didn't get up but the talk died down as the Lieutenant came to their table."

  "Everyone, this is Ensign Tamara Carlisle." Perkins went around the table performing introductions. "Carlisle, this is Ensign Stewart McConnell, Ensign Andrea Hart, Ensign Yoichiro Suzuka and Ensign Chester Skillings. There are several more new people here but they're on duty right now."

  "...McConnell...Hart...Suzuka...Skillings..." She mumbled their names absently, eyes mildly glazed, as she committed them to memory. There were several frowns from the group at the table at her distinct facial markings and her noticeably odd behavior.

  Snapping back to reality, she smiled nervously and said, "Pleased to meet all of you."

  After a few more introductions, they left the mess hall to resume the orientation tour.

  Nothing was said, but the junior officers exchanged some doubtful glances regarding the newest member of their ranks before resuming their former discussion.

  Perkins gave Carlisle a thorough tour of the station, rattling off a seemingly unending string of information as they went. Finally, they stood at the entry to the corridor where the junior officer's quarters were located. Perkins looked at his wrist chronometer and appeared to be about ready to wrap up the introductory tour.

  "That's pretty much it, there're a few more places you'll need to know about but you'll find out about them over the next few days."

  "Could I ask a question, Lieutenant?"

  "What is it, Ensign?"

  "They say that the commander of this facility runs a tight ship."

  Perkins slowly nodded his head in affirmation, but looked thoughtful.

  "A tight ship...?" He frowned slightly, considering the question for a moment longer before replying, "Let me put it this way. Commander Kresge is the best Commanding Officer this facility has ever had. This is a very remote post and the two previous CO's really let a lot of things slide. Kresge came out here and coaxed it all back into shape within a couple of months. He did it by getting back to basics. Consider what we're supposed to be accomplishing out here. Aside from the more obvious functions of the Reclamation Center, it's also a training facility. Another of our goals is to teach you people how to think on your own." He smirked. "Though I sometimes wonder if such a thing is even possible."

  Turning serious again, he continued. "Kresge can be strict, but he's also fair. If you do your job, you'll have no trouble with him. If you don't...," he let the thought trail off.

  "I'll remember that, Sir."

  Her head was swimming with all the new information as Perkins led her down the residential corridor which was lined with rows of identical doors on either side. Finally, he stopped in front of one of them.

  "Your quarters, Ensign Carlisle." He ran a key card through the slot by the door and pointed to the palm reader next to the slot.

  "Place your hand firmly on the reader pad."

  She held her hand in place for a moment. As soon as a small green light came on, Perkins used the key card again.

  "This door will only respond to your palm print now, Ensign."

  "Thank you, Lieutenant Perkins."

  She went into a tiny room that had a bed, a wardrobe, a small study area, and another door that presumably led to a washroom.

  "Good," said the Lieutenant. "I see that your gear got here before you. There'll be a staff meeting in the briefing room at sixteen hundred hours." He looked at his wrist chronometer. "That's three and a half hours from now. See that you get there on time. Let me know if you need anything else."

  "Actually, Lieutenant, there is something else."

  "Yes?"

  "I'm looking for some Succession War destroyers that might be in the Military Section. Do you know how I could find them?"

  "Probably. I'll tell you what, I'm officer of the watch at fifteen hundred, come up to the command center and I'll see what I can do."

  "Thanks, Lieutenant."

  "My pleasure, Ensign. I hope you find your time here to be worthwhile."

  He left her on her own. She was still keyed up, determined to do well at this assignment but unsure of whether or not she had gotten off to a good start. She thought out loud quietly and almost nonstop, a stream of consciousness string of related and unrelated information about everything and nothing in particular as she unpacked her gear and set up housekeeping in the tiny but adequate quarters. A few minutes before fifteen hundred hour
s, she used the ultrasonic shower and put on a fresh pair of khaki coveralls. Using the mirror of the tiny rest facility, she ran a brush through her short, dark hair. Satisfied with her appearance, she spoke to her image in the mirror.

  "...Bridge...inventory...see about the ships, Tamara...briefing at sixteen hundred...time to get a move on!"

  She then left for the command center. With her perfect memory, she had no trouble remembering exactly how to get there. Perkins saw her come in, spoke quietly to the technician at the communications console, and came over to greet her.

  "Ensign Carlisle, nice to see you again."

  "Thank you, Sir."

  "Actually, you've come at a good time. We're not very busy right at the moment."

  "That's great, Sir, I wouldn't want to cause any trouble."

  "No problem. Let me see... you wanted to try to locate some ships in the Military Section? You can use the tracking computer over here." He led her over to the console. "I assume you have some names?"

  "Yes, I have a list."

  He sat down in front of the computer and tapped in a string of commands. He pushed the chair back, got up and motioned for her to sit.

  "Just enter the names in here," he pointed to the field on the screen, "...and the information will appear below. Let me know if you need more help.

  "Thanks again, Lieutenant." She pulled the chair up close so she could reach the keyboard and began entering ship names -- while saying them out loud.

  "...Osage...Terrier...Fairmont...Albany..."

  "Ensign...," Perkins called from across the command center, she turned to look at him. His stern look might have contained a hint of amusement, "...you're doing it again. Do try to be quiet."

  "Sorry, Sir," she said sheepishly. She scolded herself, bit down on her tongue and managed to keep quiet although the thoughts continued to spiral in her head, as they always did. After about a half hour, she thought she had what she wanted and departed for the briefing room.