Rogue Stars

by C Gockel et al.

  “Crew quarters,” James said glancing at her and then at the time displayed on his wristcomp. “C-Shift doesn’t go on duty until twenty-two hundred.”

  Twenty-two hundred? That uniform was going to his head.

  “And that’s good?”

  James smiled at her. He had a really good smile. “Very. I have a tournament to win.”

  Brenda refrained from asking, but she was wondering when he had made the time to find friends among the crew. Maybe during his sulking period? Janice was obviously wrong about him. If he made friends so easily, he couldn’t be shy. That was a depressing thought. If he wasn’t shy, then he just wasn’t interested in her. She felt like begging off now, but it was too late. James palmed open a hatch and stepped into C-Shift’s quarters.

  “Hey, Jimmy, how you doing?” a crewman said with a grin.

  “Great, Swede, where’s Trish?” James said looking around and taking no notice of the giant man as he pulled his uniform on over naked skin.

  “In the shower. She won’t be long. Can you take her?”

  “No problem,” James drawled with a grin.

  Brenda was staring at the giant. He was huge. He had blonde curly hair and blue eyes, and muscles… muscles everywhere! Her face heated when she realised she was staring at his abs, and imagined what she would have seen if they had arrived a few moments earlier. God!

  “Hey, Jimmy, where are your manners boy?” A battered looking man said, as he walked by and hooked a thumb toward Brenda.

  “Oh, sorry guys.” James’ face flushed. “This is Professor Lane. Brenda, I want you to meet my friends from C-Shift, which,” he said loudly in a parody of conspiracy. “Is rumoured to be the only one that knows what it’s doing.”

  “Damn straight. C-Shift rules the night,” someone yelled loudly.

  James grinned. “Yeah, but not the day!”

  Brenda looked on in confusion.

  “A and B shifts run the ship during the day cycle,” James explained.

  “Ah,” she said finally catching on. These people had just awoken and would be going on duty at ten. They had hours yet, but they were moving as if there wasn’t time.

  “The little one is Whiz, and you know Swede,” James said pointing out his friends. “The hairy one is Pug for obvious reasons and…”

  Brenda smiled at James’ friends, and received nods or an occasional handshake in return. James was completely at ease, but Brenda felt a little uncomfortable with so many sailors close by. The military was an unfortunate fact of life in the Alliance. She had so far managed to keep her distance from those who killed people for a living, but these were James’ friends. She would try to make an extra effort not to upset anyone.

  “Ready to have me wipe the deck with you, Jimmy?” a woman with wet hair and a towel over her shoulder said as she came in.

  She was wearing her uniform, thank goodness, though no one seemed prudish here. Living so close together would eliminate such childish concerns in a flash.

  “Hi, Trish. You have no chance, as you well know.” James ushered Brenda forward and in front of him. With his hands on her shoulders he made introductions again. “I want to introduce you to a good friend of mine. Trish O’Malley, meet Brenda Lane. Trish has delusions regarding her chances of beating me in chess matches.”

  Brenda was finding it hard to stay smiling. This O’Malley woman was staring at her in challenge, but when she looked at James, it was like a cat looking at a fish within reach of her claws. Remembering her promise to try hard at being nice, Brenda kept a smile plastered on her face and shook O’Malley’s hand.

  “Let me finish dressing, and I’ll be with you,” O’Malley said to James and hurried away.

  James sat on a bunk near the chess set, and Brenda hastily claimed a space next to him before one of the others stole it. Whiz looked disappointed, and sat on the other side of the aisle instead. A good many were interested in the contest it seemed. The upper bunks were full of spectators.

  “Are you all right?” James said. “You look a little pale.”

  “Fine,” Brenda said shortly still thinking about O’Malley, and how she would like to snatch her bald for looking at James that way.

  “You sure?”

  She relented a little. “I’m fine, James. Can you beat her?”

  James shrugged. “Oh sure. I usually do win. Well, three out of five anyway.”

  “Great,” she said not caring one way or the other. “How many are we doing today?”

  “Just the one for the title if you like.”

  “Title?”

  “Champion of C-Shift,” James said with an embarrassed chuckle.

  Brenda laughed and bumped him playfully with her shoulder against his. “You’re not part of C-Shift.”

  “Sure he is,” O’Malley said as she sat down opposite James. Her hair was miraculously dry now and styled to accentuate her high cheekbones. It annoyed Brenda immensely. “He’s an honorary member.”

  Everyone agreed.

  Brenda watched the game but was bored very quickly. She didn’t play, and so didn’t understand the differences between the pieces. An hour went by as a move by James was countered by a similar move from O’Malley, and nothing seemed resolved. Both players were taking the game seriously, but the spectators came and went only to come back again to check on who was winning. This was a routine they seemed to have acquired over more than a little while. Brenda imagined James and O’Malley sitting together for hours during the week’s long journey playing chess and chatting.

  She didn’t like it one bit.

  James took more pieces off the board than O’Malley, but he didn’t seem pleased when his opponent took a tall one of his—one of a pair that looked alike.

  “Bishop,” Swede said. “He’s a goner for sure.”

  “Is a Bishop important?” Brenda whispered.

  “Can be. If he can protect his king, he might last a while longer.”

  “Which one is the king?”

  “You serious?” Swede said incredulously. “That one,” he said and pointed.

  “Do you mind?” James said in annoyance at Swede’s finger hovering over the board.

  “Sorry.” Swede grinned at Brenda and rolled his eyes.

  “Jimmy is worried,” O’Malley said with a smirk. “He should be, there’s no way he can take me now.”

  “Oh, I can’t?” James moved a horse that Swede said was called a knight.

  O’Malley smiled. She moved a piece like a castle. “Check—”

  James pounced the instant O’Malley released her castle. “And checkmate.”

  “Wahoo!” Swede yelled. “No one saw that one coming; he suckered her.”

  “Wait,” O’Malley yelled over the congratulations coming from all sides. “I can still take him.”

  “No,” James said confidently and turned away from the board.

  “I can.” O’Malley glared at the offending chess set. “It’s… checkmate,” she sighed.

  Laughter and insults rained on O’Malley, but she yelled a lot worse back at her tormentors. Everyone howled with laughter.

  “Another?” O’Malley asked hoping to get her own back.

  “Not tonight, Trish,” James said with eyes only for Brenda. “I have a dinner date.”

  “Your place or mine?” Brenda asked with a smile.

  “Mine.” James took her arm like a lord with his lady as they left.

  Brenda liked that. A lot!

  “I didn’t know you cooked,” Brenda said pushing her now empty plate aside, and reaching for her coffee.

  James smiled. Plastic plates and plastic cups were hardly romantic. Where was the candlelight he had imagined, or the red roses in their silver vase? If he lit a candle in here, he would have alarms screaming all over the ship, and a very irate captain bearing down on him. Fire in space was not a laughing matter.

  “Oh… you know,” he said with laughter bubbling below the surface. “Living alone you learn how to press a button like a pr
o.”

  Brenda laughed.

  She could laugh, but it was true. Aboard ship, autochefs were the only source of food and drink, but with a little careful button pressing, it was surprising how good a meal one could concoct. He had practiced and learned some good combinations on this journey. Brenda seemed to agree.

  “I’ve known you for years, James, yet I don’t know you at all.”

  James pursed his lips and shrugged. “Not much to know. Boring and dusty professor of history—”

  “And palaeontology,” Brenda cut in with a grin.

  He smiled and inclined his head. “And palaeontology. He has tenure in Oxford, the pre-eminent university of the Alliance.” He leaned forward and in an exaggerated whisper said, “On Earth yet.”

  “Stop clowning,” Brenda said laughing.

  “I’m not clowning.”

  Brenda’s laughter died. “You don’t have to hide from me, James.”

  “I’m not hiding, what makes you think I’m hiding?”

  “Will you stop? You always hide behind jokes and witty remarks. You don’t have to, not with me, and not with the others. It’s you that everyone likes, not the front you put up.”

  He didn’t know what to say. He did seem to have made friends here, but he always joked around. Sarcasm was his middle name. But was it really? Didn’t it start to be this way when he turned thirty-five and still unmarried? He couldn’t remember; it was too far back.

  James took a sip of his coffee and shrugged. “All right. I’m unmarried, no family to speak of, no prospects—”

  “You’re doing it again, James. You should stop putting yourself down. Tenure at Oxford is no small thing. If you think it is, ask those who try without hope for what we have.”

  Brenda was right, but it seemed a small thing way out here. They had navigated through the Border Zone and were into the void of unexplored space now. What mattered out here was the team, and its goals. The Shan had to be warned about the Merki, and hopefully they would then join the Alliance for the betterment of both races.

  Brenda finished her coffee but waved away James’ offer of a refill. “What of your parents? They must be exceptionally patient to put up with you.”

  “They’re dead,” he said flatly.

  Brenda gasped. “I’m so sorry! How did it happen?”

  “They were killed in a meteoroid collision on the way to Mars. A pebble the size of my fist hit the station. It was a freak accident, never happened before or since as far as I know.”

  James had been devastated. He was only twenty-nine when he received the news that he was alone. He had expected his parents to be with him until his hundredth year at least, but they had died instantly in the decompression of a transit tube. Three more steps, and they would have been safe behind an emergency hatch, but they hadn’t known to hurry. No one had. The hatch had slammed shut in their faces within microseconds of the pressure drop being detected thereby saving the station, and sentencing them to death. The hatch saved thousands of lives on the station, but at the same time it killed a dozen people in the tube including his parents. The government hailed the designers of the station as heroes. A dozen dead was a small thing, he thought bitterly.

  Brenda reached across the table and held his hand. “James I…” she squeezed his hand again. “Can I have a tour?”

  “A tour?” James said looking up in confusion.

  “What’s through there?”

  “The…” he flushed. “The bedroom.”

  “Show me,” she said quietly and pulled him to his feet.

  Brenda led him into the room and turned to face him. She slowly removed her shirt and trousers to stand before him clad only in her panties. A moment later, she stood in her bare skin. She was so beautiful.

  “Brenda I…” his voice broke.

  “Shush,” she said and came into his arms.

  The feel of her in his arms was… and her back was so smooth. They kissed, and the world went away for a minute. His uniform fell away as if by magic and they were suddenly on the bed kissing and stroking each other.

  “Lights—” James began but Brenda said no.

  “I want to see you, all of you.”

  He smiled. “Lights full.” He didn’t notice the slight increase in illumination as he lost himself within her.

  Aboard ASN Invincible at jump stations

  “Time?” Captain Cynthia Monroe asked her helmsmen.

  “Two minutes to translation, Skipper. Jump drive in the green, jump stations report ready to jump,” Lieutenant Keith Hadden said without looking away from the chrono on his board. His finger was hovering over the manual override, ready to intervene should the computer fail in its task.

  “Good,” Monroe said. She turned to Commander Hamilton at scan, but Hamilton was already concentrating upon the data her station was displaying. Monroe left her executive officer to her work and nodded to Lieutenant Davin instead. “Sound battle stations, Martin.”

  Martin Davin, a veteran of navy service nodded and the strident wailing of the alarm sent men and women scrambling for their stations. Some buttoned themselves within weapons blisters, and brought laser cannons to life while repeatedly running diagnostics on targeting software; others were careening down corridors and into central damage control, yet more were climbing into hard suits so that, should the unthinkable occur, they could work in vacuum to save the ship when damage made working in sealed uniforms unsafe.

  All over the ship, men and women pulled on their gloves and sealed their uniforms. Helmets went on, and life support hoses were pulled from consols to be connected to ports waiting to receive them in their uniforms. Connected to the ship, those armoured cables and airlines represented life for three-hundred and twelve passengers and crew.

  “Battle stations report manned and ready, Skip,” Davin reported.

  “Good. Time?” Monroe said.

  “Thirty seconds,” the helmsman responded.

  “Tactical on main viewer,” Monroe said looking away from her small repeater displays.

  “Aye, sir,” Commander Hamilton said.

  The endless otherness of fold space was replaced with a blank screen. That would change as soon as the ship translated into normal space. The sensors would then have something they were designed to handle to work with. Sensors in fold space were basically useless for anything beyond visual range.

  “Ten seconds,” Keith Hadden at the helm said into the silence.

  “Point defence online, Skipper. Targeting computers active, autoloaders functioning normally,” Irene Weps Bishop said.

  Monroe nodded, but she didn’t answer; she was bracing herself for the jump disorientation to come.

  “Five seconds, four…”

  “Shields to maximum,” Hamilton ordered.

  “Aye, sir, shields show maximum attained. Power levels equalising. Negative draw on auxiliary generators.”

  “…one. Translating!”

  ASN Invincible jumped…

  Monroe’s head rolled back against the restraint. The bridge was twisting like a screw, and her crew were frozen, unaware of her regard. She felt sick to her stomach as the jump turned her ship inside out, and her with it.

  Falling…

  …Twisting and falling and…

  Monroe’s eyes rolled up, and she sagged in her restraints. She was unaware that she was drooling into her helmet. Her mind shrieked in disorientation as her body became disconnected from her control. She felt nothing now, floating and spinning and falling. It was all in her head, but real for all of that.

  Falling…

  …Twisting and falling…

  …and here!

  “Oh God…” someone said and gulped air in an effort not to vomit.

  “Trans—” Hadden panted. “Translation complete, sir. Point two five seconds elapsed.”

  “The referent,” Monroe gasped. “Have we acquired the referent?”

  “Scanning… scanning… scanning… referent attained!”

  “Pr
ecautionary: charge the jump drive,” Monroe snapped.

  “Aye, sir. Charging the drive from auxiliary.”

  “Contact!” Commander Hamilton sang out. “Multiple contacts… my God! We jumped into the middle of their entire fleet!”

  “Weps, stealth mode active maximum!” Monroe snapped as the shock brought her back to the here and now. It was such a sudden turn of events that her stomach forgot to be sick any longer.

  “Aye, sir. Fields spinning up—fifty percent, seventy-five, one-hundred percent, sir.”

  “Talk to me, XO,” Monroe said intently. They were well inside weapons range of the alien ships. “Were we seen?”

  “I don’t think so. They’re on some kind of manoeuvres. It would be a miracle if they saw us for the few seconds we were visible.”

  “Keep an eye on them. Helm, new course…” Monroe said and glanced down at her displays. “New course, zero-four-five by one-two-eight degrees.”

  “Course plotted and laid in, sir.”

  “Best speed!”

  ASN Invincible swung and leapt onto a new heading roaring across the system toward the outer asteroid belt that her tactical display insisted lay not far away.

  “Time to the belt?”

  “Three-niner minutes, Skipper,” Hadden said.

  Monroe nodded. “Show me those ships, XO.”

  “Aye, sir. Targets designate: Alpha One through Alpha Thirty,” Commander Hamilton said and brought the ships onto the viewer one after another. They were beautiful and deadly looking. “Heavy cruisers, tentative assessment: Excalibur class heavies.”

  “Excaliburs eh?” Monroe said. “That’s a lot of muscle.”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Targets designate: Beta One through Ten. Light cruisers.”

  “Class?”

  “Hard to say, Skipper. They look fast but have limited weapons. We have nothing like them. The Merki would kill them too easily. If I had to, I would class them as weak Sabres.”

  A weak Sabre class light cruiser they could handle with ease, but not the heavies. Still, Invincible was here to avoid conflict, not start it. Monroe began rattling off orders one after another without pause.

  “Continue on course. Point defence to standby, shields to standby, secure from battle stations! Stealth mode remains at maximum while within this system. All clear?”