Tales Of The Rocket Patrol 5

    Commander Benjamin Roderick disliked offices. He merely tolerated them, mostly out of respect for those under his command. Ben did respect the necessity of reports, logistics, strategic briefings, and the endless parade of signatures that came with commanding an entire solar sector. Aware that administrations won wars long before any soldiers ever reached the battlefield. Yet he knew offices was where commanders slowly became strangers, and Ben refused to become one of those.

    His patrol cruiser descended through the thin amber atmosphere of Haven's Reach, a mining colony so remote that supply ships often arrived months behind schedule. The settlement clung to the rocky plateau beneath them, little more than a cluster of steel domes, landing pads, and weather towers fighting against relentless desert winds. It was exactly the sort of place senior officers rarely visited, which was exactly why Ben was there.

    The landing struts settled onto the pad with a muted hiss as the engines wound down. Before the crew could lower the boarding ramp completely, Ben was already fastening the collar of his field coat.

    "Commander Roderick." A voice spoke out to him.

    Ben paused for a moment as he was aware of the ship's AI that was consulting him like it always did on missions.

    "What is it?" he asked.

    "You have that look again."

    "What look?" Ben asked.

    "The one that says you're about to ignore the prepared itinerary."

    Ben laughed, as the machine could read him better than people could these days and he was unsure if that was fascinating or outright scary.

    "Field officers spent three days approving the itinerary."

    "I am aware of that," Ben replied.

    "And now you're going to ignore it."

    Ben shrugged.

    "They already know how to salute." Ben explained, "And I am above such formalities. I'm here to check up on morale, not bust people's balls."

    The colony commander nearly choked on his greeting when Ben walked straight past the assembled honor guard.

    "Commander Roderick!" the colony commander called out.

    Ben waved without stopping.

    "They look sharp," Ben called back. "Tell them I noticed."

    "Well, that was better than your last greeting."

    "Fair point," Ben whispered, so no one could see him possibly speaking to himself.

    Ben headed toward the maintenance hangars where several Rocket Patrol mechanics were knee-deep inside an engine housing. One of them looked up, saw the sector commander approaching, and immediately tried to stand. His head struck the underside of the engine, and a metallic clang echoed through the bay. Ben couldn't help but laugh.

    "Easy there," Ben said as he offered the mechanic a hand and heled him back to his feet.

    The mechanic rubbed his head, mortified.

    "Commander," the mechanic started, "I didn't know you were..."

    "If I'd announced myself," Ben interrupted, "Then I'd never see what this place actually looks like. It defeats the purpose, don't you agree?"

    Ben crouched beside the engine.

    "What've we got here?" Ben casually asked.

    The mechanics exchanged surprised glances before one of them finally managed to spit out an answer.

    "Injector manifold keeps overheating." The mechanic answered.

    "How man replacements does that make?" Ben inquired.

    "Third?" the mechanic answered.

    "Four according to inventory, Commander."

    "Fourth," the other mechanic corrected him.

    Ben reached into the housing, pointed toward a stress fracture hidden beneath a coolant line.

    "There," Ben said, pointing it out to the two mechanics.

    The mechanics leaned closer.

    "You've got vibration fatigue from the new alloy casting." Ben informed them, much to the surprise of both men.

    "How did you spot that?" the head mechanic asked.

    "I spent more than a few years fixing engines," Ben explained, "And then somebody decided I should supervise people instead. You'd be surprised how handy it is to have some patrollers out there who know how to fix something when out in the middle of nowhere."

    The hangar relaxed almost immediately. Within minutes they were discussing modifications, supply shortages, and improvised repairs instead of speaking in stiff military formalities, which was exactly how Ben preferred it.

    The afternoon passed the same way. Commander Roderick ate in the enlisted mess instead of the officers' lounge. He played two hands of cards with security personnel during their break and even helped unload medical supplies simply because there were boxes to carry. More than once, someone remarked that a commander shouldn't be doing manual labor, and Ben always gave them the same answer.

    "If I'm too important to carry a crate," Ben would tell them, "Then I'm probably too important to command the people carrying them."

    The phrase had become something of a legend throughout the Patrol. Not because it sounded impressive, but because Ben meant it.

    As the colony settled into evening, Ben climbed the observation tower overlooking the settlement. Far below, Rocket Patrol personnel moved through their routines with practiced efficiency. They were not perfect, but they never were. His people were capable, and that was what truly mattered.

    A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

    "You know," the voice called out, "Most commanders would've inspected the armory."

    Ben smiled before turning to face who was speaking to him. It was Captain Amelia Cross, the commanding officer of Haven's Reach. She stepped onto the platform carrying two steaming cups.

    "I did inspect the armory." Ben corrected her.

    "For less than ten minutes." Amelia said.

    "It was actually twelve and a half minutes, Commander."

    "It was twelve minutes, and change." Ben corrected her, "I also inspected your mechanic bay for two hours."

    She handed him one of the steaming cups.

    "They appreciated it," she informed him.

    "They're good people," Ben said before taking a sip.

    "They are," Amelia concurred.

    They stood together watching the sunset paint the desert crimson. That silence lasted for about a minute before Captain Cross broke it.

    "So why do you really come out here?" she asked.

    Ben took another slow sip before answering.

    "When I was a lieutenant," Ben explained to her, "My commanding officer visited my station exactly once."

    He stared toward the horizon.

    "He never learned anyone's names," Ben said, "When pirates attacked six months later, half my squadron died."

    Cross remained silent as she had no idea how to respond to that.

    "That day I made a pledge," Ben continued, "that if I ever commanded a sector, I would know the names of every person under my command who I was asking to risk their lives for me."

    The wind carried the distant sound of conversation upward. It was a normal wind, and rather peaceful. The kind of evening commanders hoped would last forever.

    "People matter, Captain," Ben said with a faint smile. "You can't lead anyone if you only know them from personnel files."

    "No," Cross said with a nod, "You can't."

    Neither of them noticed the faint, intermittent flicker on the colony's long-range communications array. A fluctuation so brief, that the automated diagnostics dismissed it as atmospheric interference. Nor did they know that, light-years away, another Rocket Patrol vessel had just begun drifting imperceptibly off its intended course.

    A game had already begun, and no one knew it yet.

The rest of the morning found Commander Ben Roderick exactly where Captain Cross had expected him to be. Not in his guest quarters that she had personally prepared for him and reviewing reports. He was standing in the maintenance hangar, again. With coffee in hand Ben was listening to two engineers argue over whether a refurbished plasma regulator would last another six months or another six days.

“It'll last exactly eight days.” Ben said, as he smiled into his mug.

Both mechanics stopped arguing, and one looked at him hopefully.

“The Commander has spoken.” The man said.

“I didn't say it would fail in eight days,” Ben corrected him, “I am predicting that's when you'll finally get tired of arguing and replace it.”

The mechanics looked at one another before bursting into laughter.

“You've done this before, haven't you?” one of them asked.

“More times than I'd like to admit.” Ben confessed.

Captain Cross found him there nearly twenty minutes later.

“I should've known.” Cross said with a smirk on her face.

“Good afternoon, Captain.” Ben called out as he looked over.

“I've been looking everywhere.” Cross informed her commander.

“You started with headquarters, didn't you?” Ben guessed.

“Yes.” Cross confirmed.

Ben nodded knowingly.

“My first mistake.” Ben said, as he finished the coffee in his hand.

Cross shook her head with an amused smile.

“I've arranged lunch.” She then said.

“I already ate.” Ben said, gesturing his cup.

“So I’ve noticed.” Cross said, as glanced toward the enlisted mechanics sharing a table with him. “You’ve apparently managed to adopt over half my maintenance crew.”

“They're good company.” Ben observed.

“They're impossible.” Cross added.

“So was I.” Ben reminded her.

Cross laughed despite herself.

“You still are, Ben.” She replied.

Later that afternoon after walking back to together, Ben and Cross sat together inside the colony administration office overlooking Haven's Reach. Unlike the warmth of the maintenance bay, this room smelled faintly of paper, polished steel, and bureaucracy. Ben tolerated it. Barely.

Captain Cross activated a regional star chart above the conference table.

“Pirate activity has increased nearly thirty percent this quarter.” Cross said, as several red markers appeared along the outer shipping lanes. “They're becoming bolder.”

“They're becoming organized,” Ben corrected.

Cross looked up.

“You think so?” she asked.

Ben nodded thoughtfully.

“Random pirates don't repeatedly strike medical shipments.” Ben noted, as he pointed toward three highlighted convoy routes. “They known to only hit ore transports, then food, and now medicine.”

Ben folded his arms and kept staring at the charts.

“That's a clear escalation.” He observed.

Cross enlarged the surrounding systems.

“You think someone's coordinating them?” she asked.

“I think someone profits from instability.” Ben replied.

She studied the map.

“You don't think they're after the cargo?” Cross suggested.

“I think the cargo is useful.” Ben corrected her as he leaned closer. “But if someone keeps robbing the same road eventually you stop asking who's holding the gun...” He tapped the route gently. “And start asking why that particular road matters.”

Silence settled over the room.

Finally, Cross nodded.

“I'll have Intelligence look into funding sources.” Cross declared.

“And suppliers.” Ben added.

She raised an eyebrow.

“You think someone's arming them?” Cross asked.

“I think desperate pirates don't suddenly start flying ships with upgraded weapons.” Ben responded, as he gave a faint shrug. “Somebody's paying for those improvements. Let’s find out who.”

Cross smiled.

“I've missed working with you, Ben.” She said softly.

“You only say that because I don't have to write the reports.” Ben said, with a soft chuckle.

“Oh, we still have to write reports.” Cross reminded him.

Ben’s smile faded theatrically.

“Now you've ruined my day, Captain.” He informed her.

The remainder of the afternoon passed much like the morning did right after he had arrived. Ben visited the colony infirmary. He stopped by the communications array to thank the technicians for working in miserable conditions. He even helped a supply crew unload new medical scanners despite repeated protests that a sector commander shouldn't be carrying cargo crates.

“If I'm too important to carry a crate,” Ben replied for what felt like the thousandth time in his career, “Then I'm probably too important to command the people carrying them.”

One young patrol officer laughed.

“I've heard that before.” The young man said.

“So have I.” Ben said with a wink.

“I think it's becoming famous.” The young man added.

Ben winced.

“I was hoping it wouldn't.” he confessed.

By evening the desert air had cooled considerably. Captain Cross personally escorted him to the guest quarters prepared for his visit. When the door opened, Ben stopped. The room was beautiful. There was soft amber lighting reflected from polished hardwood furniture imported from the Core Worlds. A stone fireplace glowed gently despite the colony's modern heating systems, maintained more for atmosphere than necessity. Thick rugs covered the steel floor, while enormous windows overlooked the crimson desert stretching endlessly beneath the stars. There was even a balcony. Ben stared for a long moment.

“This is entirely unnecessary.” Ben said as he walked around.

“It was available.” Captain Cross said with a smile.

“It belongs in a governor's residence.” Ben added.

“It belongs to our guest.” Cross added.

“I would've been perfectly comfortable in the barracks.” Ben confessed.

“I am aware,” Cross replied, “Which is exactly why you're staying here. You may not like it, but this is how it goes now, Commander.”

Ben sighed in surrender.

“I'm not going to win this argument, am I?” He asked.

“Never.” Cross confirmed.

She extended a hand, and Ben shook it.

“Good night, Ben.” Cross said warmly.

“Good night, Amelia.” Ben replied.

Once she departed, the room became wonderfully quiet. The door sealed behind her with a soft pneumatic hiss. Ben loosened the collar of his uniform and exhaled.

“Well, Red?” Ben asked out loud.

A familiar voice answered immediately.

“I believe Captain Cross likes you.”

Ben smiled at the thought.

“I think Captain Cross is trying far too hard.” Ben noted.

“She requested upgraded accommodations before we landed.”

“You knew about this?” Ben asked.

“I assisted with the scheduling.”

Ben chuckled as he removed his jacket.

“And you didn't warn me.” Ben reminded it.

“I suspected you would object.”

“You know I would have.” Ben confirmed, as he hung the jacket neatly before beginning to unfasten the fitted sleeve beneath it. The Artificial skin peeled back from his left shoulder with practiced familiarity. Beneath it, polished titanium and woven synthetic muscle caught the warm light of the room. The bionic arm detached with a soft mechanical click. Ben carefully placed it onto the charging stand beside the bed.

For a moment he simply rolled his remaining shoulder. The scar tissue surrounding the interface had darkened slightly.

Red spoke first.

“Three mechanics attempted to salute you today.”

“They're supposed to.” Ben reminded it.

“One hit his head.”

“I saw it.” Ben recalled.

“You laughed.”

“Yes, I did.” Ben confirmed.

“That improved morale by approximately twelve percent.”

“Well, to be fair,” Ben added, “Everyone was laughing so I think the guy who hit his head did more for morale than I did.”

“Also… you exceeded your recommended rehabilitation limits today.”

“I only carried a few crates.” Ben protested.

“You carried twenty-three.”

“You counted?” Ben asked.

“I always count.”

He flexed his remaining arm experimentally.

“It feels better than last week.” Ben noted.

“There is noticeable improvement.”

A brief pause.

"You also ignored three pain warnings."

Ben smiled to himself.

“I was busy.” Ben reminded it.

“I noticed.”

He reached for a small medical kit and applied a cooling gel around the shoulder interface. The relief was immediate.

“Better?” Ben asked.

“Marginally. You should rest tomorrow."

Ben laughed quietly.

“You know I won't.” He said with a soft chuckle.

“No.” Red replied as its tone remained perfectly level. “I do not.”

Ben finished tending to the interface before lying back on the bed with an appreciative sigh.

“I really don't deserve this room.” He protested.

“I believe Captain Cross would disagree.”

“She always does.” Ben said, which was true.

Outside, the desert wind whispered across the observation towers.

The silence felt... peaceful, which was rare. Ben folded his only arm beneath his head.

“Anything waiting for me?” he requested.

Red responded almost instantly.

“Routine traffic, Commander.”

“Sector reports?” Ben inquired.

“Three maintenance requests, and a supply requisition requiring your authorization.”

Ben closed his eyes.

“Anything important?” he asked.

There was the slightest pause.

“No communication has been received from Captain Rogers today.”

Ben opened one eye.

“Nothing?” he called out.

“Nothing.”

Ben sat up slightly.

“That's odd.” he noted.

“It is statistically unusual.”

Ben considered that. Rogers was one of the most dependable officers he'd ever known. The two of them rarely went a day without checking in.

Sometimes it was official business. More often it wasn't. Most of the time it was a joke, a question, or even his usual complaint about paperwork. Even after Ben's promotion to commander, Rogers stubbornly refused to become formal with him and Ben wouldn’t want it any other way.

“You can outrank me all you like,” Rogers had once joked. “You're still the rookie who nearly crashed into my shuttle on his first patrol.”

Ben had always replied that the shuttle had been parked in a terrible location. Rogers still laughed about it many years later. Red interrupted the memory gently.

“You appear concerned.”

Ben leaned back against the headboard.

“He did the same thing for me.” Ben informed it.

"When?"

“When I was O'Brien's age.” Ben explained. “I thought I knew everything.”

"You did not."

“Not even close.” Ben confirmed. “He spent six months asking me questions, but he never embarrassed me. He just kept asking questions until I realized I'd been wrong all by myself.”

“You respected that method.”

“I still do.” Ben confessed. “How many days?”

Red answered immediately.

“Captain Rogers has communicated with you every day for one hundred eighty-four consecutive days.”

“You've been counting?” Ben asked again.

“You requested communication pattern monitoring after Calder Rift.”

“That’s right.” Ben said with a nod, “I did.”

Another silence. Longer this time. Ben looked toward the window where the stars hung motionless over the desert.

“He's probably helping Lieutenant O'Brien through some impossible landing.” Ben said, as he was convinced it was something like that.

“It is possible.”

“It'd be just like him too.” Ben added.

Red said nothing as Ben switched off the bedside lamp. Darkness settled comfortably across the room. After several moments, he spoke one last time.

“Keep monitoring his transponder.” Ben ordered.

“I already am.”

“If he checks in during the night…” Ben started

“I will not hesitate to wake you, Commander.”

Ben settled deeper into the mattress.

“I know you will.” Ben said, as he closed his eyes.

Outside, Haven's Reach slept beneath an endless field of stars while the desert wind continued its lonely song. Inside the quiet guest quarters, Commander Benjamin Roderick allowed himself, for the first time in several days, to truly rest. Just before sleep finally claimed him, one last thought drifted through his mind.

“That's unlike him.” Ben noted again.

Red offered no reply because it didn't need to.

Somewhere far beyond the stars, Captain Rogers remained silent, and for the first time in one hundred and eighty-five days Commander Ben Roderick went to sleep without hearing from his oldest friend.

 

    The shrill wail of the colony alarm cut through the quiet before dawn, and upon hearing it Commander Benjamin Roderick's eyes snapped open. For a brief moment he stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, his mind still caught somewhere between sleep and memory. Then he heard Read speaking to him.

    “Commander Roderick.”

    Ben was already swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

    “What time is it?” Ben asked.

    “Too early.”

    Despite himself, Ben smiled.

    “I gathered that, Red.” Ben replied.

    “I recommend immediate wakefulness.”

    The alarm rose another octave, as it sounded long, urgent, and relentless. Ben was on his feet before it completed its next cycle. He reached for the uniform neatly folded across the chair, dressing with the efficiency of A man who had answered far too many emergency calls over the course of his unique career. As he was pulling on his jacket, Red's voice returned.

    “Emergency broadcasts indicate an approaching Class Eight sand front.”

    Ben stopped buttoning his collar.

    “Class Eight?” he repeated.

    “Confirmed by my own censors, commander.”

    Ben’s expression hardened, as storms that strong were rare. When they arrived, they didn't simply inconvenience a colony… they erased it.

    “Tell me where I can find Captain Cross.” Ben ordered.

    “She’s in the command center.”

    “Then that’s where I’m going.” Ben said as he walked to the door.

    By the time Ben reached the command center, organized urgency had already replaced the morning calm. Technicians hurried between consoles, and weather specialists called out updated projections. The massive holographic display dominating the room showed an enormous wall of crimson sweeping across the desert. Captain Amelia Cross stood at the center of the activity. The moment she saw Ben she pointed toward the display.

    “We've got twenty-two minutes.” She told him, her voice sounding rather concerned.

    Ben studied the projection as he walked closer. The storm front stretched from horizon to horizon. Even from orbit it would have looked immense.

    “Forecast?” Ben requested.

    “Ninety-kilometer sustained winds.” One of the weather techs called out.

    Cross enlarged another section.

    “Localized electrical activity.” She noted. “Silica density high enough to strip exposed equipment…”

    “And flay anyone caught outside.” Ben finished the sentence for her.

    “Yes, Cross confirmed, “We've already recalled every survey team.”

    “That’s good.” Ben said, as he approved of her acts thus far.

    “Ground crews are accounted for.” Cross added.

    “Excellent.” Ben said, as he relaxed slightly. “So, what's the problem?”

    As though answering the question itself, one of the engineers looked up from his station.

    “Still no response,” The engineer replied, “The shield won't initialize.”

    There was a short but very awkward silence. Cross turned toward the primary console and now she looked very concerned.

    “Try it again!” She barked at the engineer.

    The technician entered the command. Across the display, six relay nodes surrounding Haven's Reach illuminated one after another. The first five responded in turn and everything seemed alright, but the sixth remained dark. A warning tone sounded:

GRID INCOMPLETE: SHIELD DEPLOYMENT FAILURE

    The room suddenly felt much smaller. Cross walked over to where the engineer was sitting and took over the console herself.

    “Manual activation.” She ordered.

    There was no response from node six. She tried a secondary sequence, and still nothing.

    “Status.” She called out.

    “Confirmed,” Another engineer replied, “Relay Six isn't responding."

    Ben looked toward the map. The highlighted relay blinked nearly five kilometers beyond the settlement's outer perimeter. That was too far, much too far.

    “When was its last diagnostic?” Ben asked.

    “Twelve hours ago.” The first engineer answered. “It passed.”

    Captain Cross frowned.

    “It shouldn't have failed.” She said her voice flustered.

    “No,” Ben agreed quietly. “It shouldn't.”

    One of the weather technicians spoke without looking away from his instruments.

    “Storm arrival revised.” He called out to the room. “Nineteen minutes.”

    The room became painfully quiet, as Cross folded her arms.

    “Dispatch a crawler.” Cross ordered.

    The chief engineer shook his head.

    “They won't make it.”

    “How long will it take them to out there?” Ben asked.

    “Thirty-five minutes minimum.” The chief answered.

    “We don't have thirty-five.” Cross replied, “We barely have twenty!”

    Ben's eyes never left the blinking relay.

    “How long to replace the damaged component?” Ben inquired.

    “If someone was already there?” The Chief asked, “I’d say about five minutes, maybe six.”

    There was another short silence as Ben looked back toward the storm. Its leading edge had become visible through the command center windows now. A distant crimson wall consuming the horizon that was beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Ben turned and walked toward the equipment lockers. Cross noticed immediately.

    “Ben.” She called out to him.

    Ben didn't stop.

    “No.” She called out as he opened a locker and removed an environmental suit.

    “No?” Ben repeated, continuing to inspect the seals.

    She quickly caught up to him.

    “You are not walking out into that.” Cross told him.

    Ben calmly checked the pressure gauge.

    “How long until visibility drops below one meter?” The commander asked.

    The weather officer answered automatically.

    “Twelve minutes after first impact” The weather tech answered.

    “Then I better get going.” Ben replied.

    “I'm ordering you to stay here.” Cross ordered as she stepped out in front of him. Ben looked at her for a long moment.

    “Captain,” Ben responded, as he was clearing pulling rank. “You don’t have the authority to tell me how to take my coffee. So, this is me not asking for permission. Are we clear on that?”

    “Yes, Commander.” Cross replied.

    He stepped around her and lifted the helmet from its cradle. Behind him, the room fell silent, and no one tried to stop the commander again. Everyone understood exactly what he intended to do, and they knew there wasn't another person in the colony close enough to reach Relay Six before the storm did. Ben Roderick was the colony’s only hope.

    The outer airlock groaned shut behind Commander Benjamin Roderick with a heavy metallic thud. For a brief moment, there was silence. Then the exterior door cycled open and a blast of dry, scorching wind struck him like a physical wall. Fine grains of sand hissed across the colony's landing platform, stinging the armored visor of his environmental suit. The storm was still several kilometers away, yet its advance could already be felt. The horizon had disappeared behind a towering wall of dark dust that stretched from one end of the desert to the other.

    Ben stepped forward, and behind him the outer door sealed once more. There would be no turning back until the relay was online.

Inside the command center, every conversation stopped. Captain Amelia Cross watched a lone blue indicator begin moving across the colony's tactical display. One signal heading straight toward Relay Six.

    An engineer quietly muttered, “He's actually doing it.”

    Cross never looked away from the display.

    “I know.” Cross whispered, as she was deeply concerned.

    Ben leaned into the growing wind, as each step became an exercise in determination as the desert tried to push him back. Visibility steadily worsened while the storm itself seemed to consume the landscape with impossible speed. Ben’s boots sank into loose sand before the magnetic stabilizers in their soles compensated, anchoring him against another powerful gust. While he was slowly moving ahead, a familiar voice spoke calmly inside his helmet.

    “Wind velocity increasing.”

    “I noticed, Red.” Ben casually replied.

    “I suspected you might.”

    Ben smiled despite himself.

    “Anything else?” he asked.

    There was a brief pause.

    “I have modified my flight plan.”

    “You've what?” Ben asked, hoping for an explanation.

    “Maintaining orbital relay through the colony will soon become unreliable.” Red replied, “So I decided to take a shortcut.”

    “Define shortcut.” Ben ordered.

    Several kilometers above Haven's Reach, the patrol cruiser Red One detached itself from its assigned holding pattern. Without fanfare, the great ship climbed higher into the atmosphere, punching through the upper cloud layers before banking toward the approaching storm. To the colony below, it appeared as though the commander's cruiser was simply repositioning itself against the turbulent weather. Only Ben knew otherwise, as inside his helmet, Red continued.

    “I will remain above the storm front.”

    “You can do that?” Ben asked.

    “Quite comfortably.” Red replied, “I am directly above you.”

    A faint holographic navigation marker appeared inside Ben's visor.

    “By remaining directly overhead, I can reduce signal degradation by eighty-seven percent.”

    The route ahead illuminated in pale blue.

    “Additionally,” Red continued, “Should circumstances deteriorate beyond acceptable parameters…”

    “You'll come get me.” Ben finished for him.

    “Affirmative, Commander.”

    Ben's smile faded into something more thoughtful.

    “Let's hope it doesn't come to that.” He said, stepping forward again.

    “Agreed.”

    The wind intensified, and soon it became impossible to distinguish sky from ground. Sand battered every surface of Ben's suit with a relentless metallic hiss. Even with enhanced optics, the relay beacon was little more than a wavering point inside his visor. Yet Ben pressed on. His prosthetic arm quietly compensated each time another violent gust threatened to throw him off balance. Tiny servomotors buried beneath synthetic skin made thousands of minute corrections every second. No one watching from the command center knew why he remained upright.

    Inside Haven's Reach, tension steadily mounted. Captain Cross stood beside the operations table while engineers monitored Ben's telemetry.

    “Heart rate elevated.” One of the techs called out.

    “That’s expected.” Cross noted. “Suit integrity?”

    “Ninety-nine percent.” The tech replied.

    “Communications?” Cross continued.

    “Still stable.” The tech answered.

    “How?” Cross asked.

    Another looked toward the tactical display.

   “The Red One.” The other tech answered.

    Cross followed his gaze. The patrol cruiser had repositioned itself almost directly over Ben's signal.

    “He moved his ship?” Cross asked, looking at the screen.

    “It appears to be acting as a relay station.” The tech replied.

    “Of course it is.” Cross said, but she wasn't entirely sure how. No one had any idea how, but Commander Roderick had anticipated losing communications long before anyone else in the room had acted to stop it.

Back outside, Ben finally saw the relay emerge from the blowing sand. A massive steel tower anchored into the bedrock and was humming softly as emergency backup systems struggled to maintain minimal power. He let out a long breath.

“I made it.” He said to no one in particular.

“Congratulations.”

Ben laughed.

“Try to sound a little more enthusiastic.” Ben asked.

“I estimate there remains a forty-three percent probability that you perish before returning.”

“Fair enough.” Ben said, as he took the last few steps to the relay access.

The replay’s hatch groaned as he forced it open. Immediately, Ben something felt wrong. He knelt beside the primary junction housing.

“No,” Ben said as he examined the damage.

It wasn't random, as natural failures left predictable signatures such as heat fatigue, corrosion, or electrical arcing. The damage was too precise. Ben ran a gloved hand across the fractured components, and he noticed that the insulation had been peeled away cleanly. Power conduits had been severed with specialized cutting tools. Control circuits had been deliberately bypassed before the final overload destroyed the synchronization matrix. Ben sat back slowly and deeply sighed.

“Red.” He called out.

“Yes, Commander?”

“This relay didn't fail.” Ben informed it.

“I concur.”

Ben continued examining the interior. He examines every cut, missing fastener, and disconnected safety interlock. It was all methodical, and clearly intentional. Whoever had done this knew exactly how the shield network functioned. Not enough to destroy the colony, but just enough to ensure the relay would fail at precisely the wrong moment. Ben's expression hardened.

“Captain Cross was right.” He said to himself.

“Regarding what exactly?”

“There are no accidents here.” Ben replied, as he reached deeper into the damaged housing and carefully lifted a scorched coupling from the relay assembly.

Someone had even removed the manufacturer's inspection seals before making the alterations. The work done here was professional and quite deliberate. He looked back toward the crimson wall of sand racing across the desert, as the storm had merely been the weapon. Someone else had pulled the trigger Ben thought as he opened his repair kit.

“Let's save the colony first.” Ben said, as he slid the damaged coupling aside. “Then we'll find out who tried to kill it.”

“Estimated storm arrival: four minutes, thirty-two seconds.”

Ben didn’t respond as he was already working. The destroyed synchronization matrix came free with a twist of his prosthetic hand. Its precision grip held the shattered component perfectly steady while his remaining hand reached deep into the relay housing, reconnecting severed power conduits one by one. Outside, the wind screamed against the tower. Inside, there was only concentration. Years ago, Ben had learned that repairing machinery wasn't all that different from leading people. Panic only made the problem harder while methodical thinking solved both.

“Primary conduit connected.” Ben called out.

“Confirmed.”

“Secondary bus?” Ben asked.

“Power flow restored.”

Ben replaced the final regulator, locking it into place with a satisfying metallic click. The relay shuddered beneath him, and the indicator lights flickered uncertainly.

“Synchronization incomplete.”

“No,” Ben said with a frown, as a warning flashed across the relay console: PHASE ERROR

Ben stared at the readout for only a heartbeat before understanding. Whoever had sabotaged the relay hadn't merely broken it. They had recalibrated the phase regulators. Even repaired, the relay would remain permanently out of synchronization with the rest of the shield grid.

“It has to be aligned manually.” Ben said as he reached for the manual override wheel.

“Estimated arrival of storm front: three minutes.”

“Thanks for the update,” Ben said, as he struggled to turn the wheel. It resisted him as years of exposure and deliberate damage had nearly fused the mechanism in place. Ben braced both feet against the floor, and his prosthetic arm whined softly as hidden servos engaged. Then the wheel broke free, which allowed Ben to rotated it carefully. The humming inside the tower changed pitch as he moved it closer to where he had to go. Ben watched the synchronization gauge climb as he eased the wheel until the indicator flashed green. The moment the light changed, Ben slammed his hand against the activation switch. For one agonizing second nothing happened, and then the relay finally came alive as power surged through the tower with a deep, resonating hum.

Inside Haven's Reach, every console lit simultaneously.

“Relay Six is online!” one of the engineers called out.

Captain Cross didn't celebrate.

“Deploy the shield!” She shouted out as loud as she could.

The chief engineer struck the command. Across the tactical display, six relay nodes connected into a single brilliant ring. Outside the colony, immense emitters awakened one after another. A shimmering dome of blue-white energy erupted skyward, expanding over Haven's Reach just as the leading edge of the storm arrived. The wall of sand struck the shield with the force of an ocean wave. The entire colony trembled. Windows rattled and power fluctuated, but the barrier held.

Cheers erupted throughout the command center, as engineers were pumping fists and high fiving one another. Someone actually laughed. Captain Cross simply closed her eyes for the briefest moment before looking back at the tactical display.

“Ben?” She called into the communications mic.

The communications officer swallowed.

“His beacon's still moving.” He told her.

Outside the shield, Ben had begun to stagger. The storm had become something almost alive. Sand hammered against his suit like shotgun pellets, and visibility had vanished completely. Even standing upright required every ounce of concentration.

“You did it, Commander.”

“We did it.” Ben corrected it, as he struggled to make another step. Then another, but the effort suddenly felt... heavier. His breathing had become noticeably labored.

“Commander?”

“I'm alright.” Ben tried to reassure it.

“Your core temperature is dropping.”

“I'll make it.” Ben said, as he was too stubborn to give in.

A violent gust struck him broadside, and Ben dropped to one knee. The desert disappeared entirely beneath a swirling sea of red. He pushed himself upright again and took one more step. Then another. His prosthetic arm compensated perfectly, but his body did not.

Inside the command center, an engineer frowned.

“His pace is slowing.” He informed Captain Cross.

“We need options!” Cross called out.

One of the officers looked at her in disbelief.

“Ma'am,” he replied, “The storm…”

“The shield is up.” Captain Cross reminded him, “We’re not leaving him out there!”

No one argued.

“Captain,” Another tech called out, “The bay doors are opening!”

“Who is doing that?” Cross demanded.

Far below them, a heavy rescue crawler burst through the colony gates, protected beneath its own localized field projector. The three mechanics riding inside it were the same Ben had spent hours laughing with only yesterday. The youngest gripped the dashboard nervously.

“I told you he shouldn't have carried all those crates.” He called out.

“Drive!” the head mechanic snorted.

Ben barely noticed the vehicle rolling towards him until powerful searchlights cut through the storm. He raised an arm to shield his visor as the crawler skidded to a stop beside him. Its side hatch burst open.

“There he is!” The driver pointed out.

Two other mechanics jumped into the sand without hesitation.

“Commander!” one of them called out.

“I can walk.” Ben called out as he tried to wave them off.

“Sure, you can.” The younger one said, as he grabbed his shoulder.

“We're just going to help you walk faster.” The other said as he took Ben’s remaining arm.

Despite everything, Ben managed a tired smile.

“I outrank both of you.” He reminded them.

“That You do.” The younger one replied, “But right now you're outnumbered.”

Together they guided him into the crawler. As the hatch slammed shut, the sound of the storm vanished almost instantly. Warm air filled the compartment, as Ben leaned back against the bulkhead, finally allowing himself to breathe. One of the mechanics handed him a canteen.

“You saved all our hides today, Commander.” He called out, “This was the least we could do to return the favor.”

Ben accepted the drink before shaking his head.

“No.” Ben said as he looked toward the storm raging outside the reinforced windows. “We all did.”

The crawler turned toward Haven's Reach. Behind them, Relay Six continued humming steadily beneath the shield it had helped restore. Ahead, the lights of the colony glowed safely beneath the shimmering dome.

Captain Cross watched from the command center windows as the rescue vehicle rolled through the gates. Only then did she allow herself a long, relieved breath. Moments later, the infirmary staff met the crawler as its rear ramp lowered. Ben slowly stepped down under his own power. Barely. Before he could protest, a medic guided him onto a waiting gurney.

“This is unnecessary.” Ben protested.

“So was walking into a Class Eight sandstorm,” the medic replied.

The mechanics exchanged amused smiles as the gurney began rolling toward the infirmary.

Ben looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

“I suppose I've lost this argument.” He concluded.

“You never had a chance,” one of the mechanics called after him.

For the first time since the alarm had sounded that morning, Ben laughed. Outside, the storm continued to rage harmlessly against the colony shield. While inside Haven's Reach, every man, woman, and child slept safely unaware of just how close they had come to losing everything.

Commander Ben Roderick slowly woke to the steady beep of a medical monitor. For several seconds he didn't want to open his eyes, as the room was warm, quiet, and very comfortable. Almost too comfortable. Ben had learned over the years that hospital beds were never quite as comfortable as they appeared. There was always something that hurt or itched. There was also some annoying machine that insisted to remind you that you were still alive. As if the breathing and the aches were not proof enough. Despite all that, Ben slowly opened one eye. He notices the white ceiling, the obvious medical lights, and that familiar smell of antiseptic.

“Wonderful,” Ben muttered to no one in particular.

“Good morning, Commander.” A voice answered from somewhere nearby.

Ben turned his head to notice that a physician was standing beside his bed, and he was studying a tablet that revealed his medical charts.

“Morning doctor,” Ben casually replied, “How long have I been here?”

“Not that long,” the doctor answered, “Close to ten hours.”

“That long?” Ben said, as he looked slightly annoyed.

“You walked several kilometers through a Class Eight sandstorm.” The doctor reminded him. “I’m surprised you were not out for days.”

“I've done worse.” Ben casually responded.

The doctor looked at him over the top of the tablet.

“I believe that.” He said without a single hint of sarcasm.

Ben smiled faintly as the physician checked several readings before glancing toward the covered portion of Ben's left arm.

“I hope you don't mind me asking something.” The doctor requested.

“Depends on the question.” Ben replied.

The doctor hesitated.

“Your injuries were considerably less severe than I expected.” He continued.

“That's good.” Ben said, as he considering that good news.

“That's not what I mean.” The doctor replied, as he pulled a chair closer. “When we examined you, we discovered some rather unusual things.”

Ben's expression remained neutral.

“Such as?” he asked.

“Your arm, for one.” The doctor said.

The medical staff had removed his jacket but left the rest of his clothing in place. The sleeve concealed most of the artificial limb, but the doctor's examination had clearly revealed enough.

“I've seen prosthetics before,” the doctor informed him. “I’ve had experience with military-grade replacements, industrial models, and neural-assisted limbs… but I’ve seen nothing like yours.”

Ben said nothing and chose to let the doctor ramble on.

“The integration is extraordinary.” The doctor carried on. “Your nervous system appears to communicate with the prosthetic almost as naturally as it would with an organic limb.”

“That's the idea.” Ben said, aware of how advance his arm was.

“Who manufactured it?” The doctor asked.

“I’m afraid that’s classified.” Ben replied with a grin.

“Of course it is.” The doctor said, as he looked back at the chart.

“There are other enhancements.” Ben informed the Doctor.

“I noticed.” The doctor responded.

Ben raised an eyebrow as the physician leaned back.

“It’s quite remarkable,” The doctor added, “I've never seen technology like this attached to a living human being.”

Ben considered the statement.

“Neither have most people.” He replied.

“Is it experimental?” The doctor inquired.

“Yes.” Ben confirmed. “Quite.”  

“Still being tested?” The doctor asked.

“Constantly.” Ben answered.

The doctor looked concerned.

“Commander,” The doctor said, looking a little concerned. “Some of these systems are decades ahead of anything available to civilian medicine.”

“Which is why they're classified.” Ben reminded him.

“Are they safe?” the doctor asked.

Ben thought about the storm, the bruising, and the exhaustion he experienced over his years of recovery.

“Safe enough.” Ben assured him.

“Okay,” The doctor said, as he clearly wanted to argue. Instead, he sighed. “I'll put that in my report.”

“Please do.” Ben insisted.

“And for what it's worth,” the doctor said as he stood to leave, “Whatever those enhancements are doing, they probably saved your life today.”

“That's what they're supposed to do.” Ben replied, smiling back.

The doctor was about to say something else but was interrupted when Captain Amelia Cross came walking into the room carrying two cups of coffee.

“I’m sorry,” Cross said, noticing the doctor was there. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“No,” Ben answered.

“I was just leaving.” The doctor added.

Cross watched as the doctor returned the tablet to where it came from and vacated the room. Ben looked at Cross and the coffee she was holding.

“You're becoming predictable.” He said to her with a smile.

Cross handed one of the coffees over to him.

“You look terrible.” She said, taking the seat the doctor was just in.

“Really?” Ben said, taking his first sip. “I feel wonderful.”

“You were unconscious for over ten hours.” She reminded him.

“Then apparently I was very good at sleeping.” Ben corrected himself.

She didn’t respond, sat back in her chair, and simply drank their coffee. A few moments later Cross's expression became serious.

“How bad was it?” She asked him.

“The relay?” Ben asked.

Cross nodded.

“I want your assessment.” She added.

“It wasn't a mechanical failure.” Ben informed her. “It was sabotage.”

Cross nodded slowly.

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” She replied.

“I found deliberate alterations to the synchronization controls.” Ben continued, “Someone bypassed the safety interlocks and then damaged the phase regulators.”

“Could the storm have caused any of that?” Cross asked.

“Nope.” Ben answered.

“You’re absolutely sure?” she asked again.

“Absolutely sure.” Ben confirmed, “The relay was sabotaged.”

Cross looked down at her coffee.

“The pirates?” she suggested.

“Possible.” Ben said, as he was considering it as well, but his answer was deliberately cautious. He wouldn’t consider it further without evidence.

“This could be considered progression.” Cross added. “First the attacks on the convoys and now a relay failure.”

“But?” Ben asked.

Cross paused for a moment and then nodded.

“But we don't know that they're connected.” she responded.

“That’s correct,” Ben concurred, “We can't accuse any group of sabotage without evidence.”

“You’re right,” Cross replied, “I’m sorry.”

Ben leaned back against the pillow.

“That doesn’t change what happened.” Ben continued, “Someone out there wanted that shield to fail.”

“That’s right,” Cross agreed, “And if you hadn't reached the relay...”

Cross stopped talking as she didn't want to finish that sentence. She didn’t really have to as Ben knew what was going through her head as he looked toward the window. Haven's Reach stretched beneath a pale morning sky, and many workers were already moving through the settlement. Repair crews were examining damage from the storm. There was nothing catastrophic as there were just a few damaged buildings, several ruined vehicles, and a few broken antenna arrays. Just stuff that could be easily repaired. The important thing was the people were alive, and to Ben and Cross it was all that mattered.

“We got lucky,” Ben reminded her.

“No.” Cross disagreed, as she shook her head. “I remember watching you walk into a sandstorm.”

“That too.” Ben said, giving her a boyish grin.

Cross laughed quietly, as Ben settled back against the pillow.

“The important thing is nobody died.” Ben added.

“You're not counting yourself?” Cross asked.

“I'm sitting here drinking coffee, aren't I?” Ben protested.

“That's not an answer.” Cross pushed.

“Tough.” Ben replied, “Because it's the only one you're getting.”

“You really are impossible.” Cross observed, while still trying to be respectful to the man who did outrank her.

“Rogers always says the same thing.” Ben recalled, as the words slipped out naturally.

“He probably still does.” Cross said with a smile.

“Damn right,” Ben agreed, “But these days he has to salute first.”

Ben paused for a moment and finished off his coffee.

“Speaking of Rogers,” Ben said, as his expression changed slightly. It didn’t change enough for Cross to notice, but Red did.

A quiet tone sounded through the small communications receiver positioned beside Ben's bed. Ben glanced toward it while Cross looked confused.

“What was that?” Cross asked him.

“That was something private,” Ben replied, “And classified.”

Cross took the hint and got out of her chair. As she walked out of the room Ben waited for the door to close before doing anything. Once he was alone, Ben tapped something that was on his bionic arm that only he knew about. It opened a line of communication with his ship.

“Go ahead.” Ben called out.

“Commander.” Red replied instantly. “Captain Rogers and Lieutenant O'Brien have not reached their scheduled destination.”

Ben's smile disappeared.

“How late?” he asked.

“Their transport vessel to New India,” Red answered, “Was expected to arrive over four hours and twelve minutes ago.”

Ben sat up when he heard that update.

“Communications?” Ben asked.

“None, Commander.”

“Transponder?” Ben requested.

There was another short pause.

“No active signal.”

Ben crossed his arms and thought about it. He was thinking about the previous night when Red told him about the unanswered communication, and the one hundred eighty-four consecutive days. Ben voice was quiet when he finally spoke.

“Red?” he called out.

“Yes, Commander?”

“Search for them again.” Ben ordered.

“I already have.”

“Do it again.” Ben commanded.

“Understood, Commander.”

Ben was about to ask red for something else when Cross walked back into the room with something to eat this time. She had heard him speaking but there was no one else in the room.

“Ben,” Cross said as she walked in. “Who are you talking to?”

“That’s classified.” Ben replied, as it was always the easy way out.

“Okay,” Cross said, unsure what to do. “It sounded pretty serious.”

“It is serious,” Ben confirmed. “Rogers and O'Brien are missing.”

The captain's expression hardened, but she knew he would kid around with regards to someone he respected so much.

“When did you last hear from them?” Cross asked.

“A few days ago,” Ben answered, “I was supposed to hear from him yesterday.”

“And they were supposed to arrive where?” Cross asked.

“New India for a pickup.” Ben replied, “Let me find something.”

“Commander,” Red interrupted gently, “I have located their last recorded flight path. I will transfer it to the tablet beside you.”

Ben picked up the tablet beside the bed and watched as the charts and path displayed on the screen. Cross watched over his shoulder.

“There is no evidence they ever reached their destination.”

Ben's grip tightened around the tablet.

“Search the route.” he ordered.

“Already underway, Commander.”

The room became very quiet while outside Haven's Reach continued its ordinary morning. The people worked, machines operated, and the settlement slowly repaired itself from the chaos of the night before. But somewhere beyond the colony, Captain Rogers and Lieutenant O'Brien had simply vanished.

Ben Roderick knew Rogers too well to dismiss it as a simple delay.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.