Pursue the Past: Samair in Argos: Book 1

by Michael Kotcher

  “What is the story with the ships?” Victor asked. “We have cargo ships coming through the system every few months, but you’ve mentioned an attack on the Grania Estelle here. We’ve never been attacked by anybody.”

  “Never?” Rory said in surprise. “I would think that your settlement would have had its share of visits from pirates.”

  Victor shrugged, leaning against the table, resting his head on one hand. “Not as far as I can remember. Though big ships never landed. It was only the shuttles that ever came down.”

  “No landing parties? Any serious dustups?”

  “No,” Victor repeated, and Paidric shook his head also. “No more so than a bar fight or two. Nothing that really raised anyone’s attentions.”

  Tamara watched them closely. Igraine was sleeping in her seat, face down on the table. And the others didn’t look up or cast furtive glances at one another. Which meant that either they were the best liars in existence, the least observant bunch in existence, or no pirates had ever landed on Instow.

  She blinked in surprise as the AI spoke up, text scrolling across the bottom of her vision. [There are two other options, Tamara. Either the pirates never came to Agron, or when they came down, they did not engage in any suspicious or violent activity.]

  Tamara nodded slowly. “Maybe if the pirates ever did land at Agron, they behaved themselves. Or if they went to another town, like Terminus, they just came down for shore leave and legitimate trading.” She waved her hand. “But that’s not a critical issue right now. The Chief has given us six hours and then we’re back on. So if Cookie is getting us some supper then I suggest we all eat and get back to our quarters and rack out. Then meet up back here in six.”

  A chorus of nods around the table. Mairi grumbled, “Yes, Boss.”

  Four days of toil. In that time, the unknown ships had grown that much closer. The bridge crew were the only ones who were growing more nervous about this, as the rest of the ship was working to get the drives online. The cargo division was either working to get more foodstuffs and supplies from the planet, bartering with whatever could be found, flying the shuttle up and down, ferrying trade goods for food. The replicators were running nonstop, breaking down the junk in the cargo holds, most of which had been doing nothing but taking up space and costing the ship mass. The junk was being used to build parts to fix the drives and the shields, as well as to make a few items for trade goods for Instow. They built practical things like sewage reclamation pipes, air filters, algae matrix systems, even computers to control all those things. In return, barrels of frozen fish, crates of fruits and vegetables and even a few kegs of beer were transferred to the holds of the Grania Estelle. The accounting was close, as both Taja and the Captain went over the numbers.

  Using the Captain’s rough estimate, and Quesh’s new updated numbers, the astrogators had worked out that the trip out of Instow in hyperspace to the next system would take approximately one hundred fifty-six days. They weren’t going back to Hudora and they certainly were not going to try and make an end run around the incoming ships toward Malabar, so the Captain had decided to split the difference and fly in a roughly perpendicular direction toward Folston.

  “We’ll get there about a month before the harvest,” the Captain said with a small smile. “Excellent.”

  Taja nodded her agreement. “We might even get our pick this time, Captain.”

  “You know we will, love,” he said to her, tapping a fist on the wardroom table with a small amount of triumph. “There might be something good to come out of this disaster after all.”

  She frowned at his crass statement, but acknowledged his statement. The crew shares had been down considerably lately, and even with the trading done at Instow the crew had only been paid a pittance. Most of them were happy to receive it, happy to be alive, but there were the beginnings of grumbling throughout the ship. Hopefully once Quesh got the ship back up and running again they’d be able to do better. Almost certainly they would, especially if he and Tamara could patch the holes in the boat bay and in the main cargo holds. If they could hold more goods, they could certainly trade for more on the other end.

  “Looking at all the inventories, if we don’t get all gluttonous with the foods supplies, we should be able to get to Folston with enough left over.” Taja continued, consulting her datapad.

  He nodded. “Hopefully the reclamation systems will get up and running so we can get the food replicator up and running. That would help with the food problem.”

  “Do you really trust that thing?” Taja asked, wrinkling her nose.

  “What? The food replicator?” he asked. She nodded. “Of course. I didn’t at first,” he admitted. “But then Moxie gave me one of the ration bars from it. Actually tasted quite good.”

  Her nose wrinkled again. “Ration bars? Really?”

  “Hey, if it helps keep us all alive long enough to get fresh food, I’m fine with it. After those raiders stole all that food from Cookie’s stores, we might need it. And there is only so much fish that one can take.”

  She sighed. “I can’t argue with that.” Her hand was on the table and the Captain reached out and touched it. Without looking, she reached up and clasped his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze.

  “So, are you going on the last supply run before we break orbit?”

  Taja nodded. “I’d rather stay up here,” she said, shifting a knowing look his way, “But we need to get that last round of seawater for the fuel tanks.”

  “Moxie says that stuff is the worst stuff we could use,” the Captain pointed out. His thumb stroked lazy circled on the back of her hand.

  “Yes, Captain, my Captain, she does say that,” Taja agreed. “But since she wasn’t able to get the collector built and set up in time for us to be able to get the better fuel from the gas giant, we have to suffer with that.”

  “Better than nothing, I suppose.”

  “We’re going to need every drop of fuel, every molecule of hydrogen we can squeeze out of those drops.” He sighed, releasing her hand and stood up. “Nothing for it. All right, go on. Get going so you can get back.”

  She stood as well, stepping over to him. She was not a tall woman and compared to him, she was positively tiny. Raising up on tiptoe, she cupped one hand on the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. It was quick, they didn’t have time to really do the job properly, but it sufficed. Releasing him, Taja flounced out of the wardroom, heading off to the shuttle. He smiled as he watched her go. A moment later, he headed out of the wardroom and back to the bridge. He decided he would stand a bridge watch until the shuttle got back, then the ship would break orbit, heading for the hyper limit.

  “Oh hell,” George muttered from his station, three hours later.

  The Captain looked up from his display at his ops officer. “What is it, George?”

  “The ships, Captain. They’re increasing speed,” he said, a bit louder than was necessary.

  He winced. “I’m sitting right here, George. I know it’s a notable event, but there’s no need to shout.”

  George had the grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry, Captain.”

  “Serinda, get the crew and the shuttle back up here,” he ordered. “We’re breaking orbit as soon as they’re back.” The Captain turned to George. “How much are they accelerating?”

  “They’ve kicked their speed up to point one light, Captain. Looks like they’re holding at that speed.”

  “How much does that change their arrival time?”

  “We need to leave soonest, Captain,” George replied. “They’ll be here in eight hours.”

  “Understood.” He pressed the control on the arm of his chair. “Quesh, give me good news.”

  “I have the answer to your prayers, Captain,” the Parkani said, sounding excited. “The main engines are ready, just waiting for the word.”

  “Good.” He turned to the helm. “Once the shuttle is back, take us to max thrust, headed for the hyper limit. Get with astrogati
on and plot us a course to Folston.” He looked ahead again back forward, addressing the Parkani again. “What’s the status of our hyperdrive?”

  “Still not up,” the chief replied, a bit ruefully. “We’re still working it. Samair is troubleshooting on her end, but we’re still working out some problems. We’re looking at least two days of work, Captain.”

  The astrogator looked up from his console. “Forty-nine hour transit from here to the hyper limit, Captain, best speed.”

  “You’ve got until we reach the hyper limit, Chief,” the Captain told him. “We need to jump as soon as we get there.”

  “Then if you’ll excuse me, Captain,” Quesh replied and cut the connection.

  The Captain looked at his display, watching the two tiny icons indicated as “unknown” inching across toward the large blip labeled “Instow” and the smaller one circling it labeled “Grania Estelle”. There was still no little icon for the shuttle, and he was staring at the planet, hoping that one would show up, but so far, nothing.

  Chapter 9

  “How we doing, Tamara?” the Captain’s voice sounded on the overhead. His tone was also slightly annoyed, worried and carrying a bit of a sing-song lilt to it.

  “Working on it!” she bellowed back. She was stuck in the bulkhead, working through the control lines, thousands of connections. Her team was alongside her, doing the same thing, running and testing everything. It had to work the first time, for they had no time to rip it all out and try again, not with those two ships moving to intercept them.

  “Work faster,” came the response.

  “Get off my back!” she roared, losing her temper.

  Igraine turned to Pip as she worked. In a concerned whisper she asked, “The Captain allows members of the crew to speak to him like that?”

  In a stage whisper that carried down the passage, Pip replied, “No, not usually. I expect once we’re out of this mess and safe in hyperspace, he’ll give her what for, and I don’t mean in a pleasant way.”

  “Pip,” Tamara said, connecting another line. “You’re a half-share Engineman aboard this crate. He’s capable, Igraine, but he isn’t very smart. And if you don’t keep working and get these lines done, I’ll give you what for. And don’t worry, you won’t enjoy it.”

  There was a round of chuckles from the group. But Igraine wasn’t satisfied. “So what is your rank, Tamara? If it’s okay that I ask.” Her tone became contrite.

  She sighed. “Technically, I’m not a member of the crew. I didn’t sign the Articles like all of you. I don’t hold any rank in the ship’s hierarchy. I report to the Captain and to the Chief, but that’s all.”

  “You don’t get paid?”

  She shook her head. “No, though the Captain and I have worked out an arrangement.”

  “She rebuilt the starfighter that’s in cargo bay one. She gets to keep it when the ship gets rebuilt.” Rory’s recitation made the new crewmembers stop and look over at her.

  She stopped and looked over at them. “No, I’m not getting paid in credits or gold bars or anything like that.”

  “Why not?” Victor seemed flabbergasted at this response. “Even down on Instow we had a monetary exchange system.”

  Tamara pointed at the bulkheads meaningfully. “Back to work.” She herself took hold of a bundle of control cables and continued her work. “I’m not that interested in money. Except for what it could do for me.”

  Mairi snickered. “I always am interested in what money can do for me.”

  Now it was Tamara’s time to smile. “I’m not going to say I won’t want to go out and have a beer or two or a nice meal in a good restaurant, but for the most part I’m not big on stuff. I don’t need a lot.”

  The new ones stopped again and glanced at her, looked at each other, and then went back to work. “That’s an interesting attitude for a woman on a freight hauler.”

  “I know I’m fascinating,” Tamara said sardonically, “But we have a lot of work to get done if we want to get out of here.”

  “But how could you stay on a ship like this and not want to get compensated for your time and effort?” Igraine asked, puzzled. The tip of her tongue stuck out of her mouth, as soon as she stopped speaking, working to get another line attached.

  “I’m getting something out of it,” she replied.

  “Yeah a Perdition starfighter. A ship that isn’t good for anything but battle and can’t leave the star system,” Mairi retorted. “It’s a collector’s item.”

  “Are you going to sell it?” Pip asked.

  “Not if I can help it.” She sighed. “It isn’t that I don’t like or need money. I don’t want to stay cooped up on a ship forever if I can help it. And I might want to buy a few things if I go to a station or even planetside if I got for shore leave.” Tamara smiled sadly. “But it isn’t my driving force.”

  The overhead squawked. “Tamara, what is your status?”

  She actually growled this time. “Captain, are the ships pursuing us in weapons’ range?”

  There was a pause. “No, not yet.”

  “Then stop bothering me. We’re working as fast as we can. In another hour we should be finished and then I will report back. Samair out.”

  There was an audible sigh that they all heard over the transmission before the line cut. “You know that the Captain isn’t going to take that kind of attitude from you for too long, Tamara,” Rory pointed out, a bit worried.

  She nodded. “He’s just making me angry. Pestering us is not going to make the job go any quicker. In fact he’s slowing things down every time he calls.” She growled again and then returned to work.

  The Engineering crew was dead on their collective feet. They had all been working as close to nonstop as was physically possible. They were all worn out, irritable, and the snapping at each other had increased exponentially as the hours passed. The control runs were finally completed, the hardware all connected and tested. Quesh and Tamara were running sims to see if the hyperdrive and shields were synched up and capable for hyperspace flight, especially for an extended flight like they intended. Ka’Xarian and his team had gotten the two shield generator nodes hooked in and calibrated. The shields were now covering the entire ship now at eleven percent. It was an increase, though not a dramatic one. At least now, however, there was enough coverage to protect the ship against the massive stresses of faster-than-light travel.

  Their speed would still be dreadfully slow. Red level two meant that the Grania Estelle would be in hyperspace for nearly four and a half months; an eternity. This would be the longest trip any of them had ever taken for one jump. The tension level aboard the ship was high, made worse by the two ships speeding ever closer.

  “At present speed, Captain,” George announced softly to the bridge crew, as well as his boss, “the two ships will catch us about eight minutes before we reach the hyper limit.”

  “Great,” he muttered. “Thank you, George.” He glanced over at the nearby display, showing engine output. The ship’s engines were running at 105%, well into the red. Quesh had informed the Captain in no uncertain terms he would not be able to increase the speed of the ship any more. If he pushed the engines any harder they would burn out and he refused to do it. The Captain did not argue with the Parkani, realizing the futility of it and that the Chief was absolutely right. All too many captains, or other leaders, might demand the impossible of their crew and expect them somehow to come through. Now, this was also true as far as it went, as leaders did push their people to excel beyond expectations, but there was a limit as to what was actually achievable. When Quesh put his foot down, the Captain knew to listen.

  Eight minutes. A lifetime as far as a battle would be concerned. The freighter would get pummeled just like it had upon entering the star system. Her weapons were no better than before, and while her engines had been improved, her shields were a bit worse, and the status of the hull was about even. They’d stand no chance against a pair of corvettes.

  “Captain, En
gineering,” Quesh’s voice sounded over the Captain’s comms.

  “Go ahead, Quesh.”

  “We’ve completed our eleventh sim. The hyperdrive is up and ready to go. We can jump as soon as we make the hyper limit.”

  Eamonn breathed a sigh of relief. One worry down. “That’s excellent news, Quesh. Very good work, to your whole team.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” the Parkani replied. “I’m sorry about the engines, but we just can’t push them any harder. If we weren’t going to be jumping soon, I would recommend we power back anyway.”

  “Again, good work,” the Captain repeated. He cut the connection. “Now we only have to worry about getting away.”

  The bridge crew all exchanged looks, but no one spoke.

  Tamara clambered up to the bridge a few moments later. “Captain, have we tried communicating with the two ships yet?”

  He looked over at her and shook his head. “Not as of yet. Though they haven’t called us, either.” The Captain looked as worried as she’d ever seen him. Not a good sign.

  “How far away?”

  George piped up from the ops station. “Three hundred thousand kilometers. From what I can tell on their power signatures, they’re weapons and shields are powered up. They should be in range soon.”

  “Let me try. Maybe I can bluff them.” Her tone was calm, confident. It was an excellent mask for the roiling turmoil in her gut, though it didn’t appear that anyone noticed.

  “You?” he asked, taken aback. “Why would you be able to?”

  “I am still a Republic officer,” she pointed out. “Maybe I can use that to get them to back off.”

  He considered that, his gaze going back and forth from the display to her face and back again. “Can’t hurt, I suppose. If they intend to attack us anyway, I don’t imagine it matters if they think we have a Republic officer onboard.” He gestured. “But I thought you said you were done with the Republic. That it held nothing for you anymore.”