“So say we get to Seylonique and we get the captain of the battlecruiser to talk to us,” Cookie posed the thought that no one else was bringing up. “What then? If they just compensate us for repairing the Kara that’s all well and good, but it won’t solve our problem. We’d need to get them on board the Grania Estelle.”
“Bring a representative and her bodyguards aboard to inspect our replicator and industrial base,” Taja suggested. “We want to prove to the locals that we can deliver on what we say we can. We get them onboard and then we inform them that we’ve been boarded by pirates and that we desperately need their assistance. In return, we’ll work to help out with any repairs they need on any of their ships or industries.”
“Works for me,” Vosteros replied.
The others nodded their assent.
“But for any of this to work, we’re going to need to get to Seylonique and get locals aboard,” the zheen reminded them all. “Should we bring the Captain in on this?”
“He’s ignoring us,” Taja spat.
“He’s in a funk over Tamara,” Ka’Xarian replied. “I’m angry at him too, but we can deal with that later. I think we might need his help to pull this off. Or at least, his agreement to stay out of it if he won’t agree.”
“I’ll talk with him,” the tiny woman said with a sigh.
“No,” Cookie said, standing up. “I will talk to him. Sorry, Taja, but you’re too close to him. You two will get into a fight and I’m not saying you won’t be justified,” he said, holding up his hands placatingly as she flared, “but that’s something for when the Armsman and his men are gone. Agreed?”
Taja glared at him, but then relented. “Fine. You talk to the bastard. You’re right, I’d probably want to plant my fist in his jaw rather than get his help.” She sat in her chair and seethed.
“Then it sounds like we have a plan,” Vosteros said. “How long are we going to be on this run to Amethyst?”
“A while,” Taja replied. “Ninety-three days now, give or take. A very long time.”
“Anything we can do to speed up?” Cookie asked. The others gave him disparaging looks. “Hey, I’m a chef, not a deck officer or an engineer. I just feed the crew.”
“A very important job, Cookie,” Captain Vosteros replied with a smile. “People often look down on the steward division on a big ship, but you and your people actually are among the most important.”
Cookie beamed at the praise. “You see?” he demanded, rounding on the others. “Someone appreciates me.”
Ka’Xarian buzzed with laughter, Taja only rolled her eyes.
Vosteros chuckled as well. “But to answer your question, Cookie, I think the answer is probably no. There’s only so much that can be done as far as speed. It’s all about the drives as well as the shield strength.”
The zheen nodded, steepling his purple-hued fingers. “Unfortunately, running at Red level six is the best we can get out of her at this point. Once we get to Amethyst, we’ll see what we can do to rectify that, hopefully get back up into the Orange levels at least.”
“I think we might also need to see what we can do about getting Corajen and Saiphirelle out of the brig,” he added after a moment of silence. “Not just because it’s cruel to keep them in there but because they’re among our most potent weapons.”
More nods. “All right, I think this meeting had better break up,” Cookie said suddenly. “We stay in here too long and the good Armsman is going to start wondering what we’re up to.”
“Understood. When are you going to talk to the Captain?” Ka’Xarian asked, ushering everyone to the door.
“Tomorrow,” the chef asked. “I’ll bring him his dinner and we’ll talk.”
Taja gave him a look, which was as cold as frozen helium, but Cookie knew that cold wasn’t directed at him. He shivered anyway. “I’m going to get some answers, Taja. And hopefully bring him back to us.”
She looked away. “If we didn’t need him, I might be tempted to just beat him to death.” With that, she pulled open the hatch and stepped out into the corridor. The others shared a look and then all but Ka’Xarian followed her out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“So, prisoner, how are we doing today?” Gideon Jax’s voice was that same arrogant drawl that Tamara had grown to hate. He was also using some psychological techniques on her, since he never used her name or some derivation, trying to break her down and to treat her a non-person.
Tamara didn’t answer. She just sat on the bunk and looked over at him, her gaze cool, her face an expressionless mask. He pulled the remote from his pocket and she tensed. He didn’t press the control, but a small, ugly smile spread across his face. Tamara sighed. “I’ve had better weeks,” she admitted, her tone somewhat bitter.
He nodded, lowering his hand, but not putting the remote away. “I imagine you have. But we can work to improve your lot in life. But, we’re going to have a discussion about the replicators. Specifically, how they work, what they can do, what you need to do it, and how you can make it so that I or someone else can use them.”
“Well, what I can tell you is that anyone can use the replicators to make things, but in order to make more restricted technologies you need to have the codes.”
He beamed. “Excellent. And I suppose you have them?”
Another sigh. “I have a good number of them, yes, but certainly not all.”
“Then you can give them to me.”
“Actually, I can’t.”
A thundercloud appeared just behind his eyes. “That is a very bad answer, prisoner.”
She shrugged. “It’s the one I have to give you. I can’t just tell them to you, the codes don’t work that way. You have to have neural implants similar to mine and the codes are uploaded to them. From there, you access the replicator and then use the codes to initiate the building cycle. The problem, however, is that the machines need to have your access with the codes and your identity.”
“What problem is that?”
“You can’t just have the codes,” she explained. “Your identity has to have been mated to the codes, which isn’t something that you can just hack together on a computer console. The replicators will verify that your ID and your codes match. Even assuming you had the right implants, I couldn’t just give you my codes. They have embedded data in them that links them back to me, which when the replicators see the discrepancy, it will reject your access.”
“So then I will need you to give me a fresh set of codes, and embed access for me.” He said it as though it was a matter of course.
“It isn’t that simple. In fact, it’s insanely complicated. The codes had to be granted either by Republic military headquarters, or by the civilian government. All the embeds have to match and they have to be official. The encryption is very good and very deep. In fact, as far as I know, it’s never really been broken. I’m sure someone, somewhere has cracked it. But I don’t think that I can.”
His eyes narrowed. “And why is it that I think you’re just blowing smoke at me? Thinking that because you’re some high and mighty Republic Navy officer and I’m just a pirate Armsman that you can lie to me and I won’t notice?”
“I’m not lying to you,” she said, a minor thread of worry starting to work its way into her voice. “You can look it up on the shipnet. It’s in there. And since your device has cut me off from the computer network, I haven’t been able to go in there to mock up the information to try and trick you.”
Jax was nodding slowly. “I will check on this. In the meantime, you get to stay here.” Tamara sighed. “But if what you told me pans out, then I will allow you out for a trip to sickbay and your quarters to get some clothes.”
Tamara nodded. “I’m not lying.”
“We’ll see.” He held up the remote again and she flinched. He chuckled but didn’t activate it. The door to the cell swung shut and latched behind him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
<
br /> The door chime buzzed. Eamonn looked up from where he was sitting over to the hatch, disinterest plain on his dark face. He’d been holed up in his quarters for days now, more than a week without seeing anyone for more than a few moments and then only when the steward would bring his meals. He’d open the door, the messman would hand over the tray, and then he’d leave. An hour or two later, someone would come to bus the dirty dishes, which would be found outside the hatch to the captain’s stateroom.
It wasn’t time for his midday meal, whoever it was had arrived about twenty minutes early. Not that it really mattered, it was only twenty minutes. He hauled himself up out of the chair and walked to the hatch. Grabbing the handle, he keyed the lock and pulled the hatch open.
But it wasn’t one of the stewards on the other side of the hatch. It was Cookie. And he wasn’t holding a tray; his arms were crossed over his chest.
“I don’t want to hear it, Cookie,” the Captain said, starting to close the hatch.
But the chef didn’t listen. He shouldered his way inside, pushing the Captain out of the way. Once inside, he shut the hatch behind him and dogged it closed.
“I’m working to get the ship back,” Cookie said without preamble.
“Are you?” he asked, not really that interested.
“I am,” he told him. “And why don’t you care?”
“What are you going to do, Cookie? There are soldiers all over my ship. The only two people that might be able to stand up to them are in the brig. What can you possibly do?”
The barrel chested cook cocked his fist back and socked the Captain in the jaw, knocking him sprawling. Eamonn hit the edge of the table and bounced off, crashing into the chair, which knocked it clattering to the deck. In an instant, the big man was back on his feet, blood trickling from his mouth, fists clenched. With a roar, he lunged for the rotund chef, but Cookie was surprisingly nimble, dodging to the left and bringing his fist down on the Captain’s back as he flew by.
Eamonn grunted, tripped and hit the deck hard. But he wasn’t done. Lashing out with one foot, he kicked Cookie in the knee. There was an audible crunch and the man collapsed to the deck. The captain got on his knees and moved to strike again, but he stopped when he saw the grimace on Cookie’s face and heard him laughing through the pain.
“Finally! Some emotion!” He gagged against the pain in his leg and Eamonn moved away. “About damned time.”
“Get out of here, Cookie,” Eamonn told him, going to the comm panel on the wall. He pressed a control. “This is the Captain. I need a medical team to my quarters. Cookie hurt himself.” He cut the connection before anyone answered. “I don’t need or want your help. I don’t need or want you in here. Just get out of here before I forget myself and let my control go. Next time I won’t be so restrained.”
The door chime sounded a few seconds later. The Captain strode to the hatch, keyed it open and the two sick berth attendants rushed inside. One of them immediately looked to the Captain, running a scanner up and down in front of the man. Eamonn didn’t even look at him, just let him do his work. His gaze was locked on the chef as the other medico helped him up and onto a hover stretcher. The medic jabbed a hypo into Eamonn’s neck and he winced as the Quick Heal was injected. A soothing coolness flooded through him, the pain from Cookie’s hit immediately eased.
“I’m so sick of everyone saying that because I’m a cook that I’m useless!” Cookie bellowed and the medico tried to calm him down as he was helping him up on the stretcher.
“You should be all right, Captain,” the medico reported after a moment. “It’ll be sore for a few hours, but the bruising will go away soon.”
“Thanks,” he muttered. “Dismissed.”
The man blinked, but nodded and hustled out of the stateroom, helping his comrade rush Cookie out and down the corridor, heading for sickbay. The captain didn’t watch them go. Once they were gone from his stateroom, he closed the hatch again and locked it. Going to his small closet, he pulled out one of the cleaning bots. Flipping a switch on one side, the floating saucer activated and whirred to life. Releasing the bot, it whirred happily and began to work on the blood that had begun to congeal on the deckplate.
The captain rubbed at his jaw, annoyed at the interruption and furious at Cookie’s daring. For a few minutes, the chef had dragged him out from the depressive fog he’d been immersed in, but already Vincent Eamonn could feel that cool blanket settling back over him, dampening his emotions, turning that which was in sharp relief to a soft, fuzzed outline. He stood there, watching the cleaner bot do it work, his mind blank, just simply watching. A very small portion of his mind was whispering to him, saying that he should be feeling more than this, that he should be angry and storming down to sickbay to demand answers. But that voice was being lost in the fog, muffled by that soft blanket.
Soon it was just a very soft hiss at the edge of his consciousness.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When the stretcher arrived in sickbay, Turan came over to where the orderlies were transferring the rotund cook from the stretcher to one of the medical beds. “So, I’m guessing by the look of you that it didn’t go well.”
“What didn’t go well?” Cookie gasped, his face contorted with pain.
“Your little chat with the Captain,” the Guura replied as he checked out the readouts on the bed.
“How did you know about that?” Cookie muttered, gritting his teeth.
Turan tsked, more of a snort through his small trunk. “Please. I know all about it. Ka’Xarian came in here to talk with me about it. I didn’t know how long the meeting was going to go for, and I really couldn’t justify leaving. But he filled me in on the highlights.” He pressed a button and some status indicator changed. He nodded in satisfaction. “We’ll need to do some surgery to fix that,” he pointed to the knee, “But you should be fine in a few days.”
Cookie sighed, laying back. “I really thought that would work.”
“Xar told me that you didn’t want Taja getting in a fight with the man. And then you go in there and punch him?” Turan asked, puzzled. “How does that make sense? I know my understanding of human motives isn’t always perfect, but that doesn’t track.”
Cookie chuckled wryly, but his face was ghostly pale. “I thought it would work. And he insulted me. I decided that a good hit was what he needed. What I needed.”
“You’re usually so level-headed, Cookie,” the doctor chided, injecting him with a painkiller and seeing the man droop with relief as the agony in his knee eased.
“You’ve met the man,” Cookie returned, his voice starting to slur a bit. “You know how hard-headed he is. I figured something drastic needed to be done.”
“Yes, yes,” Turan said, distractedly. “I’m sure it was perfectly dashing. Rest now. When you wake up, you’ll feel better.”
Cookie only nodded and was soon unconscious.
Turan sighed, which came out as more of a light blat than the noises humans made. He started issuing orders to have the man prepped for surgery. Two orderlies came forward to take care of the man. In hindsight, perhaps transferring him from the stretcher to the bed wasn’t the smartest move. They needed to move him over to the surgical theater anyway, this was just another step. Another blat.
“Can’t believe the old fool actually punched the captain,” came a deep voice from behind him.
Turan turned around, giving a small smile to the Chief Engineer, who was laying on his bed, datapad in one of his four hands. “Wish I could have seen it,” the Guura admitted.
“Me too,” the Parkani said, continuing to laugh.
The hatch to the cell unlocked and swung open. Tamara was laying on the bunk, facing the bulkhead. She turned and sat up painfully as she did so. Her legs and the tops of her feet were sore and ached. She was concerned that she was getting an infection since she had started to feel feverish over the last few hours. A quick scan from her implants was confirming it. There was nothing she co
uld do about it, however, being locked in the cell and she knew that shouting for help from the guards would prove fruitless. She would get no medical attention or anything else until Gideon Jax decided that she would.
“You’re looking like hell, Prisoner,” Jax’s voice came from outside the cell. “You can get up. It’s reward time.”
Tamara gingerly pushed herself up and stood. Her legs immediately wobbled and her head swam. Apparently the medical issue was more serious than she’d anticipated. She stumbled forward, leaning heavily on the edge of the doorjamb. Breathing hard, she stepped out.
There he was, the bastard, standing just outside of easy range of her fists or feet, smiling at her. That smile wilted quickly and turned to a frown. “You really do look like hell, Prisoner. I think our first stop is going to be sickbay, rather than your quarters.” Behind him, another of the pirate soldiers stood, holding a lump of cloth in his hands. At some unseen signal, the other man handed the cloth to Jax, who in turn, tossed it to Tamara. Breathing heavily, she leaned over and picked it up. It was a terrycloth robe, which she quickly slipped on. It was about four sizes too big, but she didn’t care. It helped with the chill, but she still shivered.
“Yes, definitely sickbay,” the Armsman said with a nod. He gestured and the other soldier stepped forward to assist the woman. Tamara shook him off. Standing proudly, she began the trek from the brig to sickbay. If her gait was a trifle slower than it normally was, she didn’t mind. She would not be dragged through the ship again. Never again, if she could help it, wincing internally as she remembered that the last time she couldn’t help it.
“I’m glad to see that you didn’t lie to me,” Jax said conversationally. “Though I admit it is a bit annoying, what you told me about the replicator codes.”
Hold the Star: Samair in Argos: Book 2 Page 3
