The Catherine Kimbridge Chronicles #6, Insurrection

by Andrew Beery

  Captain McCarthy looked at each of the Yorktown officers.

  “My family lost their farm to corporate consolidation after they refused to participate in a mandatory guest worker program.”

  Ken leaned forward and spoke. “What is a ‘guest worker program’?”

  “General Hull Dynamics needed additional workers to help run their mines. In exchange for providing health care benefits and food transportation technologies, they petitioned the government for special considerations. New laws enacted by our planetary government at the behest of the pro-GHD lobbyists, required one percent of the general public to volunteer for up to thirty days of public ‘guest worker’ service at a GHD facility. Actual volunteers were accepted but any shortages were chosen by lottery.

  “Within a few years the period of service was extended to sixty… then ninety days. If that wasn’t bad enough, five years ago a new law required workers to pay for their room and board while ‘volunteering’. If they couldn’t pay, they were required to work an extra day per day. Between this and the various penalties that the company could impose at will, becoming a volunteer ‘guest worker’ effectively condemned a person to permanent corporate enslavement.

  “Appeals to the Grand Senate where rarely heard and the legal fees incurred by GHD were applied directly to a guest worker’s accrued debt.”

  The older man looked at Cat. His eyes pleaded for understanding. “Families, including my own, were forced to sell their entire holdings to General Hull in order to buy their loved ones out of debt. Once those holdings were gone there was nothing left to buy freedom for our sons and daughters. Eventually GHD owned everything. We were forced to work for their wages and buy their food and services. We got poorer and General Hull got richer selling and exporting our produce to other worlds.”

  “So you took to stealing back what your farms produced,” Cat said, more as a statement of fact rather than a question.

  “The Bureau calls us pirates. We think of ourselves as insurgents protesting an unfair and unjust system.”

  Ben, who was watching the clock turned toward his Captain and the Admiral. “Begging the Admiral’s pardon but per your instructions I was to warn you when we were close to running out of time. We have two minutes until the cease-fire expires.”

  “So,” Cat said leaning forward, “What escalated the situation. Why did things progress to all-out-conflict?”

  Captain McCarthy sighed. “General Hull got tired of their losses so they brought in a fleet of ships with bigger guns than we had. We thought if we could do something to catch the attention of the Grand Senate, the Coalition might take a look at what was going on and actually help us.”

  “So that is why the pirates – or rather insurgents,” Ken interjected, “destroyed the FTL relay?”

  “It got the GCP’s attention all right,” McCarthy said, “but the result was not what we were hoping for. They sent the BCI with instructions to destroy us. They are attempting to suppress us by destroying entire cities. Any place the goons from GHD reported were hot beds of resistance, the BCI is wiping out. Thousands, tens of thousands are already dead… killed for nothing more than wanting to live free.”

  Cat stood up causing the others to join her. “Captain, one final question before we head up to the bridge. Where is your family’s farm?”

  A tear filled the older man’s eye. “It was in Qua’tee province.”

  Chapter 14: When in the course…

  Commodore Slone watched the chronometer count down. When it reached zero she barked a command at her communications officer. “Hail the Yorktown.”

  Within seconds the bridge of the other ship shimmered into existence on her viewscreen. Admiral Kimbridge was seated in her Admiral’s chair. Captain Kirkland and another man, a civilian she did not recognize, stood next to her.

  “Admiral,” Slone began, “I’ve been in direct contact with the Grand Senate in the last hour. I trust you are ready to carry out your orders?”

  Admiral Kimbridge leaned forward and seemed to stare directly into Slone’s eyes. Her gaze was intense and decidedly uncomfortable. Her words did little to dispel the feeling.

  “Commodore, when I put on this uniform I swore an oath… I’ve checked the archive… that oath has not changed in over three hundred years. Perhaps you remember it? It goes like this:

  ‘I do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the Galactic Coalition of Planets against all enemies, foreign and domestic and that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same’”

  Commodore Slone stood and walked a couple of steps closer to the view screen. “Can I assume by your acknowledgment of your oath that you intend to carry out your duty?”

  “You can,” Admiral Kimbridge said with an air of resoluteness that brooked no debate. “You see there is another document that was written hundreds of years before humanity first visited the stars that informs my actions. Were it to be written today I believe it would read like this:

  ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all people are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. — That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among people, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, — That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to affect their Safety and Happiness.’”

  Cat stood and walked closer to her view screen as well. “It has become abundantly clear to me that the Galactic Coalition has abdicated its responsibilities to the people it is sworn to protect. Therefore, in adherence to my oath, I am hereby declaring the Mardarian sector under my personal protection; until such a time as the Galactic Coalition is shown to be willing and able to resume its proper role as a protector of the people.”

  “You realize what you are saying is treason,” Commodore Slone said coldly.

  “No Commodore, what I am saying is patriotism.”

  “Very well Admiral Kimbridge. I assume your crew stands with you?”

  The man she recognized as Ken Kirkland joined the Admiral nearer the view screen. “We do Commodore. Our collective conscience cannot do otherwise.”

  “Well Captain, I hope your conscience provides you comfort when you are trying to suck air from a vacuum. As of this moment, under the authority granted me by the Grand Senate of the Galactic Coalition of Planets, I am declaring the GCP Yorktown to be a rogue ship and her entire crew to include both enlisted and officers to be traitors. You will be offered one and only one opportunity to surrender or I will destroy you.”

  The image of Catherine Kimbridge smiled. “We will not surrender. Ziggy, kindly ask the other ships to de-cloak.”

  On the bridge of the GCP Levy numerous proximity alarms began to blare as four Yorktown-class ships shimmered into existence.

  “As I indicated Commodore, this sector is now under my protection. Please make your way under best speed to the nearest jump point,” Cat said just before she cut the video link.

  ***

  Cat yawned. It had been a long day. She was standing in the Yorktown’s CIC monitoring the withdrawal of the BCI and General Hull ships. The last of the vessels had just reached the jump point. The door to the CIC swished open and her friend, Commander Ben, entered. He carried a thermos and several coffee cups.

  “You are a saint Ben! How did you know I needed a cup of coffee?” Cat purred in genuine appreciation.

  Ken, who was also in the room snorted. “Tell me honestly, Admiral, when you don’t want to have a cup of coffee in your hands?”

  Ben looked at the holographic display as the last of the GHD ships hyper-jumped. “I can’t believe that worked. Our decoy probes completely fooled them into thinking there were more of us in system then just the Yorkto
wn. I would have expected in three hundred years they would have found a way to spot that little trick.”

  Ken shoot his head. “Apparently not. Remember the GCP has not had a major conflict in over forty years. Between the three of us in this room, we have more combat experience than the entire fleet combined.”

  “Unfortunately,” Cat said, “Our little ruse will not last long.”

  Ken grabbed one of the offered coffee cups from Ben. “You can bet that even now, Admiral Imera is briefing the Grand Senate and making plans to bring a fleet to our happy little neighborhood.”

  Cat’s mind raced as she added some creamer to her coffee. This caused both Ken and his First Officer to raise their eyebrows. Cat almost always drank her coffee jet black. Never one to miss an opportunity, Ben offered to share his mocha. For the D’rlalu cyborg the mixture of nature’s two most perfect foods, coffee and chocolate, was an unparalleled marriage.

  Cat did not respond to his offer. Ben looked at Ken and then both men turned back to Cat. Usually when she was this self-absorbed in thought something profound was about to happen. They were not disappointed.

  Cat blinked her eyes and realized the Captain and his First Officer were staring at her. “I’m sorry gentlemen. Did I miss something?”

  “Ben here was suggesting we set up shop at Talus IV and take over the pirate syndicate,” Ken said dryly.

  “Hey, if we’re going to be ‘wanted men’, gender-non-specific use of the word of course, we at least ought to do it right,” Ben added. “You nodded in agreement several times.”

  Cat asked her AI to replay the last several seconds into her active memory. The men were kidding. She sipped her coffee and then promptly coughed. “Who put creamer in my coffee?”

  Ken and his First Officer pointed at each other in unison.

  Cat laughed and continued to drink her coffee. “I have a plan,” she said. “It all depends on the willingness of an old friend to help.”

  ***

  Harry Bedmore scanned the debris field. The Recluse had jumped through T3 into the Terminator system seventeen hours ago. It should have taken them four hours to reach Harry’s treasure cache which was a small cloaked cargo ship hovering in a large stable Lagrange point between the black hole and the white dwarf that defined this system. There were thousands of dead ships floating in this region of space. It had been the site of a major battle between the Modos Syndicate and a nascent Galactic Coalition of Planets some three hundred years in the past. Harry, then using the name Ricky Valen along with his wife Honey, had been a part of that battle.

  Pirates had been using this space graveyard as a place to stash valuables too hot to move on the open market for hundreds of years. With so many massive ships to choose from a random explorer finding a specific hidey-hole was statistically unlikely in the extreme. Add a few camouflage elements to the mix and accidental discovery would become nearly impossible.

  That’s what made the current situation so infuriating. Harry had cloaked a small cargo ship and hid Admiral Bud Faragon’s body, encased in its own self-powered stasis chamber, in it. The cargo ship itself had two redundant power systems that should have maintained the cloak for sixty more years.

  Sadly, when they found the cargo ship some thirteen hours ago, the cloak was down and the power systems were fried. One system had failed after a freak collision with a piece of debris. Harry still shook his head at that. Despite there being thousands of ships floating in this Lagrange point, the volume of space was so great that the chances of two bodies colliding was extremely remote.

  It was the second power system that had garnered Harry’s attention. That system had been shut down. Since the only occupant of the ship was in a stasis chamber and technically dead; the only reasonable answer was that somebody external to the ship had somehow gained access to the ship and shut the cloak down. Onboard systems recorded the incursion occurred eleven months ago. The bottom line was, Bud Faragon’s body was gone and Harry had no idea where to find it. For thirteen hours the Recluse had been scouring the area around the cargo ship, looking for clues.

  “Captain, I’ve got something.”

  Harry looked over at the young ensign. “Go ahead Mister Mendez. What do you have?”

  “Sir, I’m picking up an ion trail. It doesn’t seem to be more than a day or so old. The ship that made it may well still be in Terminator space.”

  Harry turned to his First Officer, the newly promoted Lieutenant Commander Arris –a.k.a- Honey. “Commander, cloak the Recluse and set a course… best possible sublight to follow.”

  Admiral Melbourne was sitting at an unused sensor station. She had been using it to help scan the surrounding space. “What are you thinking, Harry? Surely you don’t think this is the ship that has Bud?”

  Harry turned to face his commanding officer. “Doubtful Admiral. Ships that come here are typically here for one of two reasons. First, like us they want to drop off or pick up something they stored. Second, and much more often they are here to scavenge parts. Every now and then a salvage operation comes across an illicit stash. I’m hoping that whoever is on that other ship has a history of doing this and can lead us to the Garden.”

  Sherry looked confused.

  “Geez Admiral,” Harry said with a grin. “You really need to get out more. The Garden… the private world owned by Sharn Dragos.”

  “Sharn Dragos as in the head of the Pirate guild on Talus IV, Sharn Dragos?”

  “One and the same,” Harry acknowledged.

  “And we would want this information why?” Sherry asked.

  “Because Sharn Dragos is a collector of the rare and unusual. The Garden is where he puts his collection on display.”

  “Isn’t he worried about others trying to steal his collection?”

  “First,” Harry said matter-of-factly, “he has a small and very well paid army on Garden. Second you have to be invited to Garden in order to even get the jump coordinates. And third, no one with an ounce of wit wants to get on the wrong side of Sharn Dragos.”

  Chapter 15: Garden Party…

  Cat pounded the table to get everyone’s attention. She missed the military discipline that was expected on a naval ship. The table she was pounding was in the main conference room of the mayor’s office in Ciru city on the moon of the same name. The table could comfortably sit twenty but nearly double that were in the room. Engineers, ship captains, supply personal and what passed for logistics experts.

  “EVERYONE SHUT UP… NOW!” Staff Sergeant Stone yelled in a voice that could peel the paint off walls a full block away.

  It had the desired effect. Within moments Cat had their attention.

  “Look people, I know this looks hopeless. It’s going to be tough but trust me… ‘Tough’ is not the same as ‘hopeless’. I need everybody to focus on the one area they have been assigned. If you have a specific question raise…”

  Several hands went up at once. Cat sighed. She pointed to the first hand to go up. It belonged to an older woman that owned and operated one of the sixteen shuttles Cat was hoping to modify.

  “Miss Winters, you have a question?”

  The woman spit some chew into a cup she was holding. Cat really missed naval discipline. “Yer asking several of us to work with logistics. I fer one have a lot more experience fix’n guidance computers. Won’t it make more sense fer me to be involved with dat?”

  “The reality is we need both jobs done. Not one and then perhaps the other. We need both. There is not a logistics specialist among you. Therefore I need several of you to step up and work outside of your comfort zone.

  “The GCP is coming with a fleet of ships under commanders that have years of experience working as a coordinated team. The only advantage we have is that they can probably be coaxed into underestimating us… but only if we can get everything done before the GCP Armada gets here.”

  Several more hands went up. Cat worked her way through them. Finally there was one last hand raised. It belonged to her recent
acquaintance, Captain McCarthy.

  “What’s got you concerned, Jason?” Cat asked gently.

  “Admiral, as far as I can tell your plan to defend us is to deploy a large number of decoys. Ultimately, no matter how good the decoys are functioning, they will counter them and come gunning for us. Shouldn’t we be focusing on making bullets or guns or something?”

  Several people around the table began to nod and agree with the grizzled Captain.

  Cat smiled again. “You raise a fair point,” she said. “There are several problems however. First, we could never hope to produce enough fire power to begin to act as a deterrent. Second, what firepower we do have will not be used as efficiently because your people have not spent years learning to fight as a coordinated team. Your opponents have. You cannot discount the difference that will make. Third and perhaps most importantly, our opponents will be entering this system laboring under the false assumption that we will be fighting to win.”

  “Aren’t we?”

  “Negative. We are fighting for a stalemate. If we can keep them confused, we can delay their advance. If they delay their advance then we will have a big surprise ready for them when they do arrive.”

  ***

  Harry Bedmore sat in the familiar co-pilot seat of the Honey-Dipper. His wife and First Officer sat next to him in the pilot’s chair. Lieutenant Commander Heather Arris-Bedmore had insisted the Admiral marry the two of them so that their alter egos were as legally wed as Ricky and Honey were in real life. This, despite the fact that the entire crew of the AM Brown Recluse was now part of Admiral Melbourne’s black ops organization, Melbourne’s Maniacs, and thus knew the two were already a couple. Sherry, for her part, explained to Harry that woman liked weddings and Harry/Ricky should probably expect to do this several more times in the following centuries.

  The AM Brown Recluse was several jump points away waiting for orders to come running should the team on the Honey-Dipper need help. The Recluse had tracked down a scavenger in the Terminator system and learned the route to the Garden system. They had spent the next several days trying to figure out the best way to use the information. Access to the Garden system was restricted and closely monitored. They settled on a plan to fly the much smaller Honey-Dipper –fully cloaked – in behind a ship known to be en-route to the elusive system.