The Kestral Voyages: My Life, After Berserker

by Steven Lyle Jordan

  On the ninth day there was a lot of activity outside the ship, mostly in the form of small but serious asteroid fields that required Mark’s attention at helm. Fortunately, the fields did not end up crossing Mary’s path, and Mark was not required to do any fancy flying to avoid anything. The day indeed passed quietly for Mark, and he was so engrossed with his novel that when the bridge hatch opened behind him, it took him by surprise. He craned his neck around to see Sarander entering the bridge, and waving to him.

  “Wow… is it eight already?” Mark asked.

  “Sure is,” Sarander confirmed. “Time flies, huh?”

  “I’ll say,” Mark grinned, turning back to the helm. “Okay, give me a minute, then. I was planning to do a full nav check before I turned in.” Sarander nodded, and sat down at the ops station while Mark worked. A “full nav check” meant briefly dropping out of C, so the Mary’s external monitors and sensors could take a complete reading around them. The ship could then continue on at sub-light speeds or re-enter trans-light speeds, while Mary’s processors studied the readings and confirmed that there were no anomalies that might mean a course change. Although the ship’s sensors could cover the regions ahead of them during trans-light speeds, it was always a good practice to check on things behind the ship on occasion.

  Mark went through the procedure, bringing the Mary down to sub-light, then systematically taking readings from all sensory systems. Almost immediately, a triple-beep sounded from his station. Mark stopped his other checks and turned his attention to the external monitors. Abruptly his expression changed from a relaxed calm to one of concern.

  Sarander had also noted the beep, and he clearly saw Mark’s reaction, even under the black gloss of his skin. “What is it?”

  In response, Mark looked at Sarander. “Better call Carolyn up here. We’ve got company.”

  10: Spiders

  When Kestral stepped aboard the bridge, she saw Mark and Sarander at helm and ops. Sarander looked up when she walked in, and he did not look happy. Mark did not take his eyes off his monitors. “Mark, what is it?”

  Mark said simply, “I’ve confirmed it’s a Raian ship.”

  Kestral was sure her blood cooled a few degrees upon hearing Mark’s declaration. She sat down at the Captain’s station, where Mark had transferred the view from his external monitors to her screen, and had to concentrate on outwardly remaining calm.

  She recognized the class of ship displayed on her screen. The Rangers called it a Sprint class… of course, no one knew what the Raians called it. The ship did not display a name or any outward identification, which was also standard for Raian ships.

  “As soon as I dropped out of C to do nav checks, it dropped out of C right behind us,” Mark stated flatly. “We’re both just coasting now, and they’ve matched our course and speed.”

  “Well… we knew the Spiders might check us out,” Sarander muttered sourly. “Should we charge our particle cannons or something?”

  “Hell, no,” Mark replied quickly. “Heating up the pecans will make us look aggressive. They’ll hull us for sure.”

  “It’s all right,” Kestral said. “We’re prepared for this.” She triggered the ship’s intercom. “Everybody man your stations. We have a Raian visitor. Be calm. They haven’t made any threatening moves.” She immediately regretted saying the last… they weren’t a military vessel, and the Raians were not known for attacking civilian vessels out in the middle of nowhere. On the other hand, they weren’t known to shadow civilian vessels, either.

  The collected worlds of the Raians were far from this portion of the Galarchy, but Raian ships often traveled throughout the Galarchy when the Raians and Oans were not actively engaged in fighting each other. In fact, most battles between the Raians and the Galarchy took place on the outer edges nearer the Raian worlds, where Galarchic expansion was considered by the Raians to be a direct threat. Strictly speaking, Raians would not likely risk war by destroying an Oan civilian ship. However, they were here… there were no Ranger ships nearby with the power to challenge them… and sometimes, it was just easier (and infinitely safer) for a civilian to simply let them do what they wanted, and avoid ticking them off.

  Kestral then switched to the ship-to-ship frequencies known to be used by Raian ships. “This is the Captain of the Mary, to Raian ship. Do you have business for us?” It was a standard merchant’s greeting to an unexpected encounter, a verbal version of a friendly wave or a polite handshake. She had no real idea if the Raians were cognizant of Oan conventions, but she had decided it was the safest way to go.

  She waited patiently… as far as she knew, Raians needed translators for the Oan language, the same as humans needed them to understand the Raian language. A few moments later, a strange series of sounds emanated from the ship’s speaker. Mary’s systems quickly translated, and overlaid standard Oan over the Raian speech.

  “Captain of the Mary. We are here on behalf of our First Leader. What is your business?”

  Mark finally glanced back at Kestral, who returned his look noncommittally. The first Raian statement had clearly indicated that the ship was not commercial, which they had already surmised. Giving them fair warning, however, was unexpected.

  She toggled her microphone switch. “We’re on a cargo run, carrying purchased atronics merchandise to New Paropolis.”

  After another pause, the speaker responded, and Mary translated: “Prepare to be boarded and examined.”

  Kestral sighed. “We’re opening an airlock on the side of the ship facing you.”

  “We are docking. Stand by.”

  Mark finally turned fully to Kestral. His ebony face was difficult to read in the light of the bridge. Her face, however, was not. There was a strange light in her eyes, an expectant twist to her mouth, and an alertness that was not borne of fear, or even concern. Mark saw it, and his brow furrowed in anger and disbelief.

  “We’re not Rangers,” he said through gritted teeth.

  Kestral turned to Mark, and the look in her eyes abruptly changed. “Of course we’re not Rangers,” she said quickly. “That’s why we’ll get through this. Stay at helm. Sarander, come on and let’s meet them. Mary: Send the drone to the port airlock, please.”

  Sarander locked down his console and started up to follow Kestral. “Never seen a Spider up close,” he muttered.

  Kestral glanced back at him. “Then today’s your lucky day. And if I were you… I wouldn’t call them Spiders to their face.”

  Kestral left the bridge. Sarander’s expression suggested that he wished he were heading in the opposite direction.

  ~

  When the hatch cycled open, Kestral noted out of the corner of her eye that Sarander seemed to be holding his breath. She said nothing, however, and waited for the Raians to step aboard.

  The first Raian to pass through the hatch was big, even for a Raian. He had passed through the hatch with his body pivoted forward, and when he straightened up, he was a head taller than Sarander, the largest of Mary’s crew. Although he did not look exactly like a species of Terran spider, it was easy to see why the mostly derogatory nickname had stuck with Oans: His two incredibly long legs and single thin arm all ended in four long, spiky, jointed appendages; his reddish body was similar in proportion to humans, but stubbier, and the legs joined the lower body not at the bottom, but higher up, almost at the waist; and the head, most striking of all, was the featureless black sphere that was their main sensory organ, slightly smaller in proportion to a human head. It was hard and shiny, looking much like a helmet of opaque glass whose surface caught and reflected the light from the foyer, but let no light out from inside.

  Overall, there were a number of individual features that could remind a human about spiders. However, the notable differences… such as the apparent lack of a mouth, mandibles, or multiple eyes… probably accounted for the usual lack of human repulsion to the aliens. Still, their larger size made them intimidating enough.

  The Raian wore a harness covere
d with pouches and gear, fairly standard Raian garb from what Kestral remembered. He also carried a device in his hand, which he held out in the direction of Kestral and Sarander… she had seen the weapon before, and she knew it was a lesser weapon, roughly analogous to an Oan hand pistol, and not likely a weapon to be brought to a planned slaughter. This Raian was a soldier, but he was apparently there to provide security. So that, actually, was a good sign.

  “Relax,” she whispered to Sarander. “Breathe.”

  Sarander responded by emitting a light cough, and, looking slightly embarrassed, gathered himself back together and tried to look outwardly calm, and strong. In reality, he was having a hard time: Sarander now realized, upon his first meeting with a Raian, that he was one of the apparently few humans who were repulsed by the distinctly alien aspects of the race. He hadn’t expected it himself, the sudden desire to bolt and hide from this hideous creature. But he made a supreme effort to stand his ground and not look shaken by the Raian. He wasn’t sure whether his body language was wasted on the Raian or not.

  Then another Raian stepped through the hatch. This one was close to the size of the soldier, but slightly shorter… like humans, Raians were not all alike in size and shape, or even coloring… this one was noticeably darker in hue than the first. He wore the same harness of gear, but with fewer items attached to it, and some noticeably different from the items in the soldier’s harness. Kestral recognized this one as an officer, the darker coloring marking him as older than the soldier. She also noted one device near its sensory “head,” which she recognized as a Raian translator.

  Kestral glanced at the Mary’s sensory orb, which floated alongside her, and which would act as her translator. Then she took one step forward, facing the officer. The Raian registered her action, stepped up to her, and stopped. He spoke, and his translated speech was broadcast from Mary’s drone.

  “I am First Officer K’silk of the Raian leadership, commander of the L’t’meriad.” The drone had not bothered to translate the proper names he used, but rebroadcast them as heard. “Are you the First Officer of this ship?”

  “I am,” Kestral responded, and she heard her speech translated by the device at the Raian’s head. “I am Captain Carolyn Kestral.”

  Sarander looked to Kestral, trying not to appear confused. Raians commonly referred to the captain of a ship as a “First Officer,” unlike the Oan practice of referring to the second-in-command as the “First Officer.” Sarander wasn’t familiar with this fact, however, leaving him unclear as to what had just been exchanged. Was she trying out a ruse of some sort on the Raian? Was she about to introduce him as the Captain?

  Kestral then indicated Sarander to the Raian. “This is my ship’s Boss, Sarander Fi.” She turned slightly to him and said in a low voice, “First Officer means Captain.” Sarander understood instantly, inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, and straightened perceptively. Then she turned back to the Raian. “First Officer, why have you boarded my ship?”

  There seemed to be some movement from the inside of K’silk’s head, but Kestral could not be sure. “We are investigating reports of a biological weapon being developed by the Oan Leadership. This biological weapon is reportedly designed to be used against Raians, with no other use.”

  “I run a commercial freighter,” Kestral told him simply. “We do not carry military cargo.”

  K’silk turned and moved perceptively closer to her. “You are an officer in the Oan Leadership. We have data on you.”

  Sarander frowned, clearly not liking the tone of the Raian, and he considered the likelihood of getting his hand onto the homemade stunner in his pants pocket before they were all shot. Kestral, however, looked unconcerned. “Your data needs to be updated,” Kestral told him. “I was discharged from the Rangers. I am a civilian citizen now. So is all of my crew. This ship is privately owned by me. All of this is available in Oan public databases, you only have to access them.”

  “All Oans are expansionists and opportunists. Left to your own devices, you would restyle the galaxy in your image,” K’silk said. “And Oan public databases can be… misleading. That is why we will conduct a search of your ship. If we find the biological weapon in question, it will be destroyed. All of you will be killed as spies.”

  “Fine,” Kestral nodded. “If that’s what it will take to satisfy you, do your search. We have nothing to hide.”

  “You will bring all of your crew to us to undergo examination on our ship.”

  Kestral paused, but she knew it was useless to protest… besides, she also knew it was not a request. “Mary, open ship’s intercom,” she said to the drone. “All hands, put all ship’s systems on automatic, and report to the port airlock immediately. This is a formality. There is no reason to be concerned.”

  They waited silently. Tirri was first to arrive. Her large eyes stared unblinking at the Raians, and the feathers at the back of her neck rose slightly. She took up a position next to her husband, clasping his hand nervously. Sarander, perhaps taking strength from her, and perhaps as a protective instinct, managed to screw his courage up a notch in the proximity of his wife.

  “This is Tirri Riza,” Kestral announced, “my cargo officer.”

  K’silk turned to Tirri. “Tell me about your cargo.”

  “Um… Coelian atronics,” she replied. She looked to Kestral, unsure what else to say. “I can show you a manifest.”

  “We will examine the cargo.”

  Moamet Jones arrived next. He regarded the Raians calmly, and looked to Kestral.

  “This,” Kestral said, “is Moamet Jones. He is an atronics technical expert. He travels to New Paropolis… with the cargo...”

  Kestral’s voice trailed off, as she noted a change in the demeanor of the Raians once Jones arrived. K’silk and the soldier both seemed to react to his presence with some slight agitation. Or was it surprise? Her heart skipped a beat as she suddenly feared they were aware of his identity somehow, or that something else had given him away.

  But she forced herself to stay outwardly calm, and asked, “Is something wrong?”

  K’silk replied, “No.”

  Mark was the next to arrive. He seemed to size up the situation quickly, and stood silently next to Jones. Angel was just a few steps behind Mark, and he looked about in concern, but said nothing. “This is my pilot, Mark O’Bannon,” Kestral announced. “And this is Angel Shakra, ship’s mate.”

  K’silk and the soldier had both resumed their earlier stance, and there was no sign of the agitation they showed a moment ago. K’silk stated, “You will all be taken aboard our ship for questioning, while we examine your ship.”

  Everyone looked to Kestral, who nodded her acquiescence and tried not to look concerned. K’silk turned and started through the hatch, and Kestral motioned for all of them to follow her. The drone started to follow as well, but Kestral turned to it and said, “Stay aboard the Mary. Monitor our… visitors. Do not restrict access to any part of the ship.” The drone stopped, and hovered by the hatch as the crew marched through. The Raian soldier was the last to leave.

  A few moments later, sixteen Raians flowed through the hatch, each of them carrying various hissing and beeping devices, which they waved about the room methodically. They passed through the foyer and split into two groups, one group heading forward, the rest heading aft. After a moment, the drone trailed after the group moving towards the bridge.

  ~

  The Raians took Kestral and her crew to a room filled with knee-high gray objects… they were oddly shaped, but after a moment’s examination, Kestral realized they were the Raian version of a chair or stool. None of them sat. Then a Raian stepped into the room and motioned for Kestral to follow him. After a calming backward glance to her crew, she allowed herself to be led to another, smaller room, where a Raian waited on a chair, and an empty chair obviously intended for her faced him. Pausing only a moment, Kestral took a seat on the chair and allowed herself to be interrogated by the Raian.

  E
ach of them was questioned in turn on the Raian vessel. Kestral’s order for Mary’s drone to remain on the ship turned out to be more trouble for the Raians, as their translators were not as adept at translating from Raian to Oan as they were from Oan to Raian. This made questions directed at Kestral and her crew difficult to understand, and the interrogations dragged on as questions were repeatedly restated for their benefit.

  When they did answer, they kept to the agreed-upon story, which was mostly true, anyway… that they were carrying atronics cargo for delivery to New Paropolis. They were all able to truthfully answer that they knew little about how atronics systems worked… with the notable exception of Moamet Jones. Apparently, he had a vast knowledge of atronics—possibly due to his being native of the planet that produced them for so many other planets—and he regaled his interrogators with copious details about atronics systems, what minerals they were made of and why, how they blended photronic, electronic and fluidic systems together, why Coel made the most superior atronics components, et cetera, et cetera. And all the while, his interrogators seemed to exhibit agitation at being in the same room with him. After only a few intense minutes, Jones was practically thrown out of the interrogation room.

  In contrast to the agitation the Raians felt towards Jones, Sarander had the most trouble maintaining his composure around the Raians. As he was being interrogated by one, with another standing by in the room, Sarander stuttered and stumbled over words, and visibly shrunk from proximity to the Raians. The Raians did not press the matter, and fortunately, Sarander said nothing that gave away anything about the true nature of their mission.

  Once the interrogation was done, each of them was brought back to the same small holding room, presumably to wait for the disposition of their ship’s search. The crew all sat or stood around, conversing quietly and waiting to be let out. Sarander remained the most agitated of the group, pacing about, occasionally running a nervous hand into his pants pocket, pulling it out again, and resuming his pacing.