Emerald Flight: “Covert Operations”

“You can give either give me access to the shuttle. Or you can put me in the brig. But you’d better do one of those things now.”

Rusty stared at the Tactical Officer. Not hard, with a firmness of conviction that he rarely. Everything in his gut screamed that his Captain was in danger and he would be damned if he would stand by while futile diplomatic gestures were offered in place of real action.

Hawkes met his gaze. The Tactical Officer’s expression was, as usual, almost unreadable. Rusty could tell, though, that the man fought some internal conflict as well.

I’ll be damned, he considered wryly. The ol’ Fossil might have some kind of feelings too.

Nothing, however, was betrayed by the man’s silver-blue eyes. They broke contact with Rusty, but never strayed entirely from him. Rusty knew that Hawkes was studying his body language, watching for some indication that he might flee.

Not a chance.

Hawkes reached for this console and tapped a single control.

“Security,” he said, his tone flat and uninflected, lacking all but the barest trace of his Bavarian accent. “Send a Level One Tactical team to the main shuttle airlock.”

His eyes met Rusty’s again. It took Rusty a moment to realize that those guards had not been sent there to prevent his unauthorized use of the shuttle. A Level One team would be overkill for that.

A grin blossomed across his face. He felt it spread throughout his body. Hawkes, however, did not react. Instead, he tapped several additional controls before taking a single step back from the Tactical console.

“Lieutenant Banks,” he said, fixing his gaze on the young officer. “You have the bridge.”

“And if anything happens to us,” Rusty amended quickly. “You come after us.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened, as did Rusty’s grin. Her mouth opened and, for a moment, she looked like an aquarium specimen gathering oxygen from the water. She must have realized it, Rusty thought, for she snapped it suddenly closed.

And then realizing that she had not responded to the Tactical Officer, she answered Hawkes with a sharp, “Yes, sir!”.

Rusty chuckled, earning himself a barely disguised annoyed look from Elizabeth.

“No joyriding while we’re gone, Lizzie,” he told her, moving to follow Hawkes toward the bridge’s main hatch. “You what’ll happen if you scratch the paint.”

Elizabeth was more successful, that time, in masking her expression, although her eyes did not roll upward slightly.

Rusty followed Hawkes through the hatchway and out into the corridor. He expected the Tactical Officer to turn and chastise him for his behavior on the bridge, but Hawkes just kept walking, his quick measure strides moving them quickly toward the airlock. Rusty opened his mouth several times, preparing to offer some kind of witty observation, but something in the Tactical Officer’s otherwise unreadable expression caused him to hold back.

It’s a trick, Rusty considered. He’s going to have them arrest me at the airlock, out of sight.

It took him only a moment to dismiss the idea. Given the opportunity, he knew, Hawkes would have been more than happy to embarrass him in front of the entire bridge staff.

. . . if not the entire crew, if given the chance—which he won’t get.

Rounding the curve of the corridor, he spied two Security officers clad in dark tactical gear. Each stood armed with very lethal-looking multi-function rifles. Three small cases were stacked on the deck at their feet.

Ammunitions and munitions, Rusty knew. We’d better not hit any turbulence.

He realized then that Hawkes had not requested a pilot. As if sensing his question, Hawkes approached the airlock and entered his access code.

“I will be pilot the shuttle,” he told Rusty, standing aside as the airlock locking mechanism disengaged. “You will co-pilot.”

That took Rusty by surprise. Certainly, he was qualified to pilot the shuttle, nearly every member of the crew was—and he could easily list at least a half a dozen of them who were far more competent at it than he was.

He opened his mouth to protest.