by S. E. Smith
He’d left Talstar the day after graduation, abandoned his plans to test her father’s Mennelsohn prototypes, and promptly joined the Carduwan military.
That had been ten calendars ago. Ten very long calendars. He’d spent the first seven trying to apologize to Drea for the unforgiveable, trying to prove to her he’d changed, trying desperately to win her back.
Until...Sair happened. Drea had fallen in love with an escaped slave. A nobody. Or so he’d thought.
That was when he’d finally grasped the scale of the wedge he’d driven between them by a few acts of foolish, ego-driven folly. He’d done this. He’d destroyed their relationship. Not Drea. And, Gods knew, not even Sair.
That realization had sparked his transformation. He’d reinvented himself, stopped being a ladies’ man, stopped being anything other than a dedicated officer married to his career. He didn’t have love…but at least he had pride. And purpose.
Jagger compartmentalized his lingering heartache and studied the mirror in the officers’ lounge, doing one final inspection of his uniform. Every detail in perfect order. High and tight. Square and shiny. Dark hair cut to military precision. Brown eyes keen and confident. The very picture of a capable officer. He needed to make a big impression on what could turn out to be a monumental day.
Jagger left the lounge for the Fifth Fleet command offices to see Admiral Kareek. He’d been expecting this summons by his superior since he’d received orders to bring his mid-range battleship, Imperative, to berth at Talstar and report in. A new destroyer was about to be commissioned into the Carduwan fleet, and rumor in the ranks was that Meritorious was earmarked for his command. A successful tour with the fleet’s newest and most advanced warship would surely herald a promotion to Senior Captain. It was what he lived for now.
Jagger picked up his step in anticipation. He’d paid his dues, manyfold. Three calendars had passed since he’d been loaned as a young buck captain to the covert Network fleet. He’d served as a kingpin in bringing down the mighty Ithian Alliance—heady days of flying a one-man Stiletto fighter. After Operation Reset, he’d been rewarded with the skipperdom of an aging heavy battlecruiser, Jaden, before the big kick upstairs to Imperative, a Dominion class destroyer with a crew complement of five hundred.
He was primed and ready for this next big challenge, a task that would surely deem him worthy, eventually, to carry the mantle of Fleet Admiral. To step into the very shoes of the man he’d been summoned to meet with today.
He presented himself to the ID scanner outside the admiral’s offices. “Captain Navene Jagger. Appointment with Admiral Kareek.” Several beams plotted his face, matching it to a simultaneous retinal scan, and the security locks clicked open. An automated voice announced his arrival and appointment time to the admiral’s flag lieutenant working at his station in the anteroom.
The lieutenant saluted him. “Good morning, Captain Jagger. Admiral Kareek just received an important comm. He’ll be with you in a moment.”
Jagger returned the salute, nodded his understanding and milled about the room, examining the admiral’s various citations and diplomas. He didn’t want to risk wrinkling his flawless uniform by taking a seat. Better to stand tight and keep the shine on.
Five tempas later, the admiral himself opened his office seal and hailed in his booming voice, “Captain Jagger. Good to see you. Come in.”
“Good morning, Admiral.”
“Sorry about the stutter in the schedule. Had to drop everything to speak to a VIP.” The man moved behind his desk and gave Jagger a shrewd grin. “Congressmen, you know.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Have a seat.”
Jagger settled into one of the plush chairs before the admiral’s desk, back straight, feet planted in front of him—his “seated at attention” mode.
“You were expecting to have a chat about the Meritorius.”
Isn’t that why I’m here? “It had crossed my mind, sir.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard the scuttlebutt. Your peers are saying the ship is already yours.”
“I never put much stock in rumors, sir. But I’d be more than honored to accept the command.”
“Good answer.” The admiral settled back in his chair, studying him. “You have a spotless record, Captain. You served the Network well. Admiral Ry Mennelsohn speaks of you in glowing terms.
Jagger shifted at the mention of Drea’s brother. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Your commands have been highlighted by the defeat and capture of two undocumented Alliance ships, all without loss of life on either side of the skirmish. Remarkable feats. Your superiors are quite impressed with you.”
“I’m proud of my record, sir.”
“There’s just one hitch.” Kareek leaned forward, planting his elbows on the desk. “Your pride, son.”
“Sir?”
“You have an ego the size of the Bradley Rift, my boy. And sooner or later, it’s going to trip you up. Those rogue ships you went after? You broke several rules of engagement in the pursuit. Since the outcome was for the greater glory of the Carduwan Fifth Fleet, you were given kudos instead of a reprimand, but you and I both know how much you risked in the attempt.”
Jagger frowned. Kareek was questioning his suitability? “Admiral, I—”
“Hold your thoughts, Captain. I know you were a first-rate starfighter jock. And I know the academy tends to encourage a bold abandon in its young pilots. But you moved up to battleship command some time ago, and that brash bravado of yours hasn’t mellowed one wit. That could be a dangerous wild card when you’re responsible for a thousand lives. One day that pride is going to become a liability, and the brass doesn’t want to see it jeopardize our latest and greatest battleship. If you want to evolve into the most elite of the elite—and I know you do—you need to acquire a healthy dose of humble.”
It felt like the deck had given way beneath his feet. Kareek was denying him his due? “Are you saying you don’t think I’m ready for the Meritorious?”
“I’m saying I can’t offer you that command today.”
What? Jagger raised his head and threw back his shoulders, firing all guns. “Sir, I’m the most senior of your promotable captains, and my service record is unmatched. No one is better prepared to skipper the Meritorious.”
“Ah.” The admiral wagged a finger at him. “You see. There’s that infamous Jagger pride talking when it ought to be your conscience listening.”
“I was merely—”
“I know what you were doing,” the admiral rumbled, cutting him off with a firm wave of his hand. Kareek picked up his comm and checked the screen. “Truth is, the Meritorious command hasn’t been decided. In the coming weeks, she’ll be put through a series of space trials. Her commanding officer will be named upon completion of those tests.” The admiral laid his comm back on the desk. “In the meantime, I have another assignment for you.”
Jagger cocked his head. What in Hades… “Another, sir?”
“Yes. This morning I received a personal request from an old friend. Ambassador Gant. I believe you know him.”
Jagger’s mouth twisted in a half grin. Hell, the man had nearly been his uncle until he’d destroyed his chances with Drea. “Jaeo Mennelsohn. Yes, sir. I know him quite well.”
“Probably why he requested you for this assignment, then.” The admiral’s black gaze settled on him. “It’s sensitive. Your mission would be to fly a transport through the Bradley Rift. There are dangerous rogues cruising the sector—Refugees, they call themselves. Alliance holdouts who aren’t happy with Gant’s appointment as ambassador to Rathskia. Something to do with that whole business of him serving as commodore of the Network Fleet. At any rate, the ambassador has requested you be the one to provide safe escort to the embassy for his daughter and a companion.”
“His daughter?” Jagger straightened. Jaeo’s daughter—Drea’s cousin—had gone missing four calendars ago—along with Jaeo’s original ship, Phantom. “Daea Mennels
ohn’s been found?”
The admiral again consulted his comm screen. “No, no reference to a Daea. The girl’s name is Ketsia. His recently adopted ward, as I understand it.”
Ketsia? Had he heard that name before?
“She was part of the package when Jaeo recently married a Rathskian woman,” the admiral explained.
“Yes, sir. I was invited to their wedding, but wasn’t able to attend due to ship inspections.” Jagger didn’t add that he’d been grateful for the obligation. It was better to steer clear of Mennelsohn family doings than have to face the reality of Drea’s happy bond with Sair.
“At any rate, this Ketsia is now his responsibility, and it seems her private transport came under fire by a renegade while en route to the ambassador from Purmia. Her pilot managed to shake the bastards loose and hightail it to the nearest safe spaceport—Talstar Station—meaning she has now fallen under the protection of the Carduwan Fleet.”
“And I’m to escort her to Rathskia onboard the Imperative?”
The admiral shook his head. “No, Captain. Imperative will remain at dock. You’ll have a new ship for this mission. The Sheeban.”
“Never heard of her, sir.”
“No one has.” The admiral stood, gathering up the com in one beefy hand. “This is a covert mission we don’t want linked to the Carduwan fleet. The politics are…delicate, so you won’t be in standard uniform.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“Certain sympathizers in the House of Planets just instituted a compact decreeing Bradley Rift a safe zone for these so-called Refugees, so it’s off-limits to military vessels, and commercial transports steer clear due to navigational risks. The renegades believe that in order for Jaeo’s daughter to reach him, a second ship will attempt to skirt the Rift. Intelligence tells us they’re lying in wait for a potential target—a second private luxury transport or military vessel circumnavigating the area. We’re going to fool them. You’re going to take a worthless cargo and a civilian craft straight through the heart of the beast and blend in with the countless other spacefreighter jocks who risk shortcuts through the territory. They won’t expect it.”
“Why wouldn’t the Mennelsohn family just send Specter to retrieve her? The ship’s DEDspace drive capability would make any threat a non-issue.”
“Yes, but there’s a catch. The Refugees have convinced their sympathizers that the Network is still a threat to them. They’ve pressured the House of Planets to restrict DEDspace engagement anywhere within a parsec of the Rift. If it’s violated without due cause, well…trust me, son, it would become a political fireball.”
And political fireballs tended to incinerate military careers. Jagger never backed off from a challenge, but this plan seemed hastily drawn and full of question marks. “What if these Refugees seize my cargo and find Jaeo’s daughter onboard?”
“Highly unlikely. Even if you’re approached, they’ll first scan your cargo for valuables, and you won’t be carrying anything of interest. They’ll be looking for a bigger score. But regardless, we’ll supply you both with a complete set of alternate identities and data histories as a precaution.”
Jagger locked eyes with the admiral. “You’re going to send me into the Rift in a cargo ship with the ambassador’s daughter onboard…and no defenses?”
“Sheeban has defenses, Captain. Paracannons, for one. And…other options.” The admiral got to his feet. “There’s a very short window on this, so you need to get underway before the rogues figure out what we’re up to.”
“Without a full briefing, sir?”
“No time. You’ll receive your detailed mission instructions via a datacell once you’ve left dock. Report to the Quartermasters in the next ten tempas to be outfitted for your civvy uniform. They’ll provide you with new credentials, the transport’s drive card, and any further info you’ll need. The ambassador’s daughter and her companion are being escorted to your transport, but you’ll have time to undergo craft orientation.”
“And the rest of the crew? When will they report?”
The admiral gave him a somber look and steepled his fingers together before him. “You are the crew, son.”
Two
Jagger stood at the docking bay entrance, trying to find any positives in this gigadam boondoggle. He’d be flying solo, he reminded himself, just like the glory days of slicing through space in his Rimcraft Stiletto. It might not be all bad. That thought tumbled and burned the moment he caught sight of the shipwreck at the end of the boarding passage.
He checked the bay number again. Yes. Right bay. He just couldn’t believe what was berthed there.
The Sheeban’s battered two-deck carcass could’ve been a clunky, mid-ranged compost hauler that had seen its best days millennia ago. They wanted him to transport an ambassador’s daughter on this wreck? What was the story here?
And his newly requisitioned uniform? Not a uniform at all. A worn set of coveralls, untailored, drab gray, and lacking any insignias. People were going to take him for a second-rate mechanic in these faded greaseskins instead of a top-flight Carduwan officer.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. The garb came complete with a battered helmet and face shield. What was he supposed to be—a pilot or a test-flight dummy?
Judging by the look of his vessel, it was the latter.
The admiral couldn’t be serious about this. Was this Kareek’s idea of a joke? Or an elaborate hazing meant to take him down a peg or two before he was presented with command of the Meritorious?
He glanced at the small packet the quartermaster had pressed into his hand. “There’s a purser’s safe under the pilot’s console,” the non-com had told him. “Use these lock codes to open it once you’ve cleared station and are on course for the Rift. It contains your classified directive from Command.”
This “directive” had better shed a lot more light on the situation. Like why was he being issued spacejunk to transport a diplomat’s ward safely through a very treacherous region of space.
It was always an option to refuse a mission, but—Jagger heaved a weighty sigh—that had Career Ending Catastrophe stamped all over it.
Though maybe he’d luck out and this Ketsia wouldn’t be the sort to settle for an antiquated monstrosity to ferry her to the ambassador. Maybe she’d refuse to step foot on the derelict, and the mission would be cancelled before it began, with no black mark on his record.
Jagger strode up to the entry and punched in the access code he’d been given. The hatch popped, allowing him into the airlock. He pulled and activated the electropad containing the ship’s orientation, doing a quick walk-through of the main deck of the Sheeban.
The inside of the ship looked nothing like the outside, thank the Gods—clean, pristine and polished to a shine, though clearly vintage. Someone had either meticulously maintained her interior, or she’d had a first-rate restorer lend his talents to her innards. It seemed a strange inequity, but at least the part of the ship he’d have to live in for the two-week flight was passable.
He did a sweep inspection of the galley, forward lounge, and three small cabins on the main deck, placated that everything appeared tidy and spiffed. After taking the lift up to the Flight Deck, he inspected the pilot’s console. His electropad provided flight instructions and instrumentation layout. All very straightforward.
He’d just returned to main deck when he caught sight of three figures approaching the boarding passage on the exterior monitors.
His passengers had arrived.
He returned to the airlock and opened the seal to greet them.
The young girl had paused with her entourage midway up the boarding passage, appraising Sheeban not with a look of utter disdain but pure reverence. Her mouth parted to form a silent word his lip-reading skills couldn’t decipher. The two uniform-clad-but-not-up-to-military-standard males escorting her were most likely flight officers from her private transport.
Jagger popped off the ridiculous helmet and gave Jaeo’s
dependent a quick once-over, puzzling at the expression of rapture that still lingered on her face. How could a wreck like Sheeban get this reaction from anyone?
Jagger made his way down the boarding passage to greet the party, which was when he realized that Ketsia wasn’t the mid-teen girl he’d been expecting. Petite, yes, but a beauty of at least twenty calendars, with flawless deep bronze skin, a generous smile, shimmering black hair, and the most luminous ebony eyes he’d seen in his thirty calendars.
Ketsia Mennelsohn wasn’t just a surprise, she was an EMP exploding through his systems.
She turned as he approached, her poise transforming a simple black suit into a garment of stately elegance. With a graceful bend to her knees, she lowered her case to the ramp beside her feet.
Jagger came to a stop a respectful three strides out from her and her escorts. “Captain Jagger with the Carduwan Fifth Fleet.”
One of the men stepped forward to make proper introductions—possibly her pilot, judging by the fringed shoulder boards and elaborate gold chevrons marching down the sleeves of the uniform. “I’m Captain Farrol of the Trigate transport yacht.” He emphasized the last two words, his gaze making a critical sweep over the battered hull of the Sheeban. “This is Roham, my co-pilot. And may I introduce Ms. Ketsia Tayah, ward of Ambassador Gant.”
“Captain.” Jagger shook the man’s hand mechanically. “Co.” His attention settled on the young woman. “Ms. Tayah. It will be a pleasure serving you on behalf of the Carduwan Fleet.”
“Thank you, Captain Jagger.” She accepted his offered hand and slanted her head in an affirming nod. The unabridged definition of charming. She wasn’t Rathskian, as he’d expected. Based on her features, he guessed she was Tectolian, a subspecies rumored to have originated on a scattering of sun-blessed islands in some forgotten sea.
Jagger addressed her chaperones. “Which of you will be accompanying Ms. Tayah to Rathskia?”
