Chapter I: Graduation

The ship glided through the dark night of space, its black hull absorbing the stray light of a million stars, cutting a black silhouette across the multicolored veil of stars. It slid passed the moon and came to a halt next to a small satellite orbiting 32,000 miles above the Earth. Slim black tentacles emerged from the body of the craft and engulfed the helpless satellite, and pulled it into the belly of the craft. Then, the image of the dark ship blurred and vanished, leaving an unbroken view to the stars beyond.

"Cadet Raygunn. Report to the commandant's office at once," blared the loudspeaker. Rick snapped to attention, causing his lunch tray to fly off the table and into the lap of his classmate. As Rick stepped over the bench, Wilma Denton plucked the tray out of her lap, and handed it to Rick.

"Wilma, I'm sorry." Rick grabbed a handful of napkins and started to mop up the spilled food from her lap. Wilma grabbed the napkins away from him.

"I'll take care of it. You go see what the Leather Lady wants." She grabbed the tray back from Rick and began to shove the ambiguous mass of food that passed for lunch at the Space Academy cafeteria back onto the tray.

"I wish you wouldn't call her that," complained Rick.

"Why not? Even if she's you're mother, she's still a bitch." Most of the food was off her lap now, leaving huge, wet, greasy streaks all over her tailored red and white uniform.

Rick sighed. Wilma was right. It hadn't been easy going through the academy with everyone knowing that the Commandant was his mother. He had tried to hide that fact when he first started the school, which was spoiled in the first ten minutes when she appeared at his first class with the books he had forgotten at home, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

However, a few people like Wilma didn't seem to care about his relationship with the head of the academy, and that had helped him isolate his mother, the Mom, from his mother, the Leather Lady of Luna. She gained that title when she took over the Lunar Space Academy. He gazed at Wilma, watching her vainly attempting to sop up the remainder of the greasy swill still in puddles on her lap. Even covered with mashed . . .whatever, she was beautiful, from the top of her green hair, to her pointed ears, her four breasts, and all the way down her athletic body to her dainty cloven feet. Rick reached over and wiped a speck of mashed stuff from the tip of her nose.

She swatted his hand away. "Get going before she sends the SP's for you."

Rick sighed again and headed for the exit. In the four years that they had been classmates, and the last two years as roommates, Wilma had never shown any sexual interest in himself, other guys, or even the female cadets. There were even other Dercows at the academy. Somehow, though, she seemed to prefer his company to others.

Rick caught a travel tube to the admin dome, and in a few minutes, stood at the portal to the most feared place in space. His mother's office. He knocked, as customary, and the door slid open. His mother, Andrea Gunn, stood up as he entered, and came around her desk to greet him. He saluted, then bent down to give her a hug, as her 5' 3" frame only came up to his chest. She was wearing her tailored black leather Space Rangers uniform that earned her the nickname, and as Rick hugged her, he could smell the fresh polish.

"Have a seat Rick." He sat, nervously watching her to see if he was in trouble. He hadn't meant to be involved with the mural that appeared a couple of days ago in the South dome. It just sorta happened.

However, Commandant Gunn seemed relaxed as she sat back down at her desk. She slid an envelope over to Rick, and he glanced at the addresses. It was to his mom, from his father, Harold Ray. Inside the envelope were two sets of prepared Tax forms. One for Rick and the other for Andrea.

"Oh, Dad sent up the tax forms. Great." Rick pulled out his form and gave the envelope back to his mother.

"He sent a letter with it." Andrea opened a folded piece of paper that was lying on her desk and glanced at it. "He just wishes you well, and is sorry that he's going to miss your graduation, but it's tax time, and you know what that means."

Rick nodded. His father was a dedicated CPA, and took his responsibilities seriously. Plus, the new tax structure took effect this year, and dad was one of the few tax preparers that understood it.

"Well, he'll get to see the tape, anyway." Rick rolled up the forms and stood up.

"Sit down, cadet," snapped his mother in her sharpest whip voice. "I'm not through with you yet." Rick collapsed back into the chair. She knew. This was it. He was going to the brig the night before the graduation. His heart fell to his feet in disappointment, and he tried to think up excuses for his actions.

Then in a softer tone, the commandant continued. "Something's come up, and it's right in your specialization."

Rick's heart lifted a little. Maybe she didn't know after all. Commandant Gunn stood up and went over to a communication array built into the wall. It could have been built into the desk, but the desk was a wooden antique from the rebellion years, used by the infamous Admiral Benson. She activated the grid, and waved Rick to come over. "What do you think?"

Rick stared at the comscreen, displaying the standard Academy logo, without a clue. He glanced at his mother for permission, and she nodded. He activated the terminal, and looked over the indicators. Everything appeared fine at first, then he noticed that the noise-to-signal ratio on the datalink to Earth was higher than normal by .0024 percent. He ran his fingers over the keyboard, calling up the subroutine monitors that controlled the steady flow of data that kept the computerized bureaucracy of the moon in sync with Earth. He studied the graphs carefully, occasionally changing aspects of setups and resyncing the relay satellites. The noise ratio still remained high over all the satellites, however, Rick noticed a slight increase on Relays 5 and 6 of the GateCom Communications net.

After ten minutes, he looked back at his mother. "It looks like either a couple of satellites are malfunctioning, or someone's tapping into the beam."

His mother nodded. "It took the Comm team two days to reach the same conclusion. Do you want to check it out?"

"Sure I would." Rick paused a moment as his mother scowled at him. "Uh, Yes, sir, I sure would, Ma'am."

"I may be your mother, but I'm still your superior officer. Don't forget that."

"Yes, sir." Rick snapped to attention. "When do I leave, Sir?"

"Right now. The interference has been going on for two weeks, and it must be stopped right away." Andrea reached into a drawer, then threw the small box she pulled out over to Rick. "You're officially graduated, now. Here are your stars, lieutenant."

He gingerly opened the small box, and saw two silver stars with the four points of a lieutenant, resting on black velvet. His mother walked over, and taking the box from his hand, told him to kneel. He did, and she removed the golden meteors of a Cadet and replaced them with the stars. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, then stepped back and saluted him.

"Congratulations, Lieutenant Raygunn. Report to Hanger Alpha Gamma. You'll find your new uniform in the ship. Good luck."

Rick gasped. Hanger Alpha Gamma was the hanger where the new interceptor was under development. The Stingrays incorporated all the latest technological improvements over the past decade. The entire project was shrouded in secrecy, so all he knew about it was rumors. Now he would be the first to use them. Rick snapped to attention and returned the salute, then turned and headed for the door. As the door opened, she called to him. "Supper is at 7:00 tonight. Don't be late."

Rick saluted her again, too proud to speak, and headed for the travel tube.

Rick passed through the tight security into Hanger Alpha Gamma after the guard scrutinized his ID. He felt a sense of awe as he entered the main hanger bay. Below, on the main deck of the bay, were the two Stingrays. Sleek and stylish, they represented the best of Earth technology. The interceptors were slim and aerodynamic. The airlock to the one on the right was open, and a technician was waiting beside it. Too excited to use the stairs or elevator, Rick grabbed a cable, and slid down to the main deck.

The tech saluted as Rick approached, and Rick returned it. "How is it to fly?" asked Rick.

"It's very similar to the old simulators, sir." replied the tech. "You shouldn't have any problems. She's fueled and prepped. As soon as you're ready, we'll launch. There is one thing I should ment. . ."

"Thanks," interrupted Rick. "I'll find everything okay." He saluted again and jumped into the ship, slamming his hand against the airlock control. The technician stared at the closing hatch for a second, then shrugged and left the hanger.

The interior was full of equipment, leaving a narrow path to the cockpit. Rick climbed into the pilot's seat, and buckled in. The ship rocked a little as the hanger grapples moved the interceptor onto the launch cataput. The illuminated panel in front of him displayed the ship's status. Rick smiled to himself as he examined the ships controls. It did look familier to the new simulators. Oh, there were a few new buttons and indicators, but nothing that had anything to do with the flight of the ship. As he heard the latches securing the ship to the catapult lock, the few remaining red indicators on the panel turned green. Everything was set, so Rick hit the launch button.

The ship jumped forward on the catapult, and shot through the launch tube to the lunar surface, passing through the air retention screens on its way through. Even with the grav compensators on, he sank into his seat with the force of five gravities. The landscape passed in a blur, then dropped under him as he ascended into orbit.

Once in orbit, Rick locked onto the satellite's position, and accelerated away from the moon. He set the autopilot, as he wouldn't get to the Clarke Belt for 10 minutes. He unbuckled and crawled through the ship's midsection to the small crew cabin. It was one and a half meters wide by two meters long, and contained all the comforts of home, except for space. His new uniform was in the narrow wardrobe, and with reverence, he removed it and laid it on the bunk. He quickly removed his red and white cadet uniform, and after transferring the lieutenant stars, he donned the black and silver uniform of the Stellar Patrol.

Rick proudly checked the fit in the mirror, then strapped on the belt. It contained a holster for his Mark IV Multi-Phase Blaster, and an emergency plastic helmet that folded up into a small pouch with a reserve air supply good for thirty minutes. Feeling very official, he decided that he should brush up on the manual for the Stingray, when the destination alarm sounded, announcing arrival in the Clarke belt, near GateCom Relay 5.

He dashed to the cockpit, and slid into the pilot's seat. He began scanning for the satellite. The ship's systems located it promptly, and Rick whistled in admiration. The old scout craft that he had trained on would have taken three times longer to locate the small object this far away. He disengaged the autopilot, and made the corrections that would bring him along side of the satellite. A few minutes later GateCom 5 was visible, stationary outside his port viewport.

He went to the airlock, and donned the EVA suit. He put a M4MP blaster into the suit holster (as a good SP officer must always have his sidearm with him), and grabbed a diagnostic computer with toolkit. He tested the suit systems, then entered and cycled the airlock. Rick always felt like he was stepping into heaven every time he spacewalked. The depth of multi-colored stars unhindered by atmosphere never failed to impress him. However, he remembered that he wasn't here to enjoy the view, and turned to the task at hand. He removed a thruster pod from the airlock wall, and flew across the intervening distance to the satellite.

He came to a stop within touching distance of the meter-wide satellite, and hung the thruster pod off a hook built into the suit. He placed the diagnostic computer just under the access panel, and made sure that the thin elastic cord was secure on both the computer and his suit. He opened the case and removed the bolt driver from its slot, and proceeded to open the panel on the communications satellite. He had done maintainance runs on sattelites for years, and while never had worked on a Gatecom, the whole procedure was very routine. He turned the latching bolts until the hatch popped open a centimeter, then he raised and locked the hatch open.

He removed one end of a small cable from the computer case and attached it to the connections in the satellite. He turned on the computer and waited for the diagnostic software to examine the satellite's systems. Meanwhile, the brilliant colors from the multi- colored stars shone around him. Behind Rick, just above the apparent horizon of the interceptor, the stars began to twinkle and fade, replaced by a mysterious black ship.

Slowly the ship coasted towards the unsuspecting Rick, intent on his computer screen. As it began to float over him, the diagnostic computer began to report. As Rick began to examine the data, black tentacles wrapped around him. He yelled in surprise and reached for his M4MP blaster. The tentacles wrapped tighter, trapping Rick's arms against his sides. Then he felt himself being pulled into the strange black ship hovering above him.

To Be Continued...