Treasure of the Silver Star

by Michael Angel

  The big woman considered. “Slim to none. It’s well shielded, too.”

  “Then I’m afraid we’re left with a new question. Smashing our main power coupling wouldn’t destroy us, nor would it knock out life support or weapons. Those systems have multiple backups. Whoever it was just wanted to throw us out of the fight long enough to get to their target.”

  “It does appear that someone knew exactly where to hit us,” Kincaid allowed. “But what about the salvage sloops that treasure hunting team was using?”

  Now it was Ferra’s turn to look grim. “Atocha’s gone. We’ve got the Margarita in tow. They don’t have much beyond life support left on that can. But once we get back to Earth orbit, Tally’s crew should be able to get it running again.”

  “Where she’ll be greeted as a hero, no doubt.”

  Drake shrugged. The movement sent a twinge down the length of his arm. “That woman has guts. Not everyone could have acted as swiftly or as decisively in such a situation.”

  “Being brave is one thing. But recklessness…”

  “What are you grumbling about?” Ferra remarked, amused. “It increases the likelihood that you’ll get the chance to operate on a celebrity.”

  “Not that one,” said Kincaid. “I bet that she’s the type where if you drop her, she’ll bounce.”

  Chapter Four

  The surf beat out a gentle rhythm against a shoreline composed of ground-up seashells. It gave the beach a faintly pinkish appearance, and under the hot midday sun, a faint scent of the sea wafted up from it. Seaweed, salt, and a hint of long-ago petroleum spills. Ogala City had never amounted to much. Prior to the rise of the oceans across the planet two centuries ago, it had been the eastern edge of the Gulf Coast’s oil drilling territory. Now, after two-thirds of the state it had been attached to had sunk beneath the waves, it played host to the planetside headquarters of the Terran Home Guard.

  Benjamin Drake looked out over the beach and considered the irony of it all. A day and a half before, he’d faced the very real risk of being lost in deep space. And yet it was here – in front of the white marble steps that led up to the Guard headquarters – that his stomach felt tied up into knots.

  He set his jaw, marched up the steps, and entered the building. His feet followed a well-known path to a specific office on the top floor, almost against his will.

  A chime as he came to a stop before a door. A wide, imposing wooden door carved with the insignia of the Corps.

  “Enter,” came a man’s gravelly voice. The door swung open on well-oiled mechanical hinges.

  Again, Drake’s feet moved on their own accord into the office proper.

  Fleet Commander Vernon Ruger did not look up as Captain Drake came in, saluted, and stood at attention in front of his the desk.

  “You’re late,” he growled.

  Drake cleared his throat. He’d anticipated this kind of greeting. “My apologies, Commander. Damage to my ship was worse than expected. We had to make emergency repairs to bring her down from Earth orbit and back to base.”

  “Your ship?” Ruger looked up and eyed Drake speculatively. It was not a pleasant stare. Ruger had a chiseled, bony face topping the body of a lumberjack. His coffee-brown hair was thinning, but it hardly mattered; Ruger always kept it trimmed back in a severe crew cut.

  Ruger leaned forward and tapped a beefy finger on the desktop. “Let’s get one thing clear, Drake. That ship is mine. Your crew and your officer’s commission are mine.”

  Drake’s reply was cool and correct. “As the ranking officer in the Terran Home Guard, that is technically correct, sir.”

  “Now, shall we discuss your latest screw-up? Are you ready to talk about how you managed to let some small-time pirate raid smash up one of my ships?”

  “Yes sir, I am,” Drake said calmly. He had long learned to retreat from the discomfort of these interviews. Each meeting was a confrontation where his commanding officer treated him with less respect than an ensign in basic training.

  The man is slowly going insane, Drake thought. You should know. He thinks you’re the person who gave him the push down the long slide into obscurity.

  “Let’s get this straight the first time around, so we don’t waste the afternoon,” said Ruger, “At 0800 hours yesterday, while performing the ‘dangerous’ job of riding shotgun to an archeological expedition, you allowed an enemy vessel to sneak up within twenty thousand meters of your patrol ship. You let them deploy a drone, and then somehow sneak a missile through your sensor grid and smack dab into your main power cable.”

  “Sir, my sensor array was working fine. I don’t understand how any of this could happen,” admitted Drake. “We’re looking into it right now.”

  “Full of excuses,” Ruger snorted. “You always are. Perhaps your navtech was asleep at his post.”

  “Lieutenant Reston is a competent man, and he was paying attention, sir. There is no logical way a simple raider could have done any of these things, and I can have him testify to that.”

  “Except for the fact that he’s in a medically-induced coma right now. How very convenient.”

  “Two other members of my crew are also in the hospital, sir,” Drake added, stung. Let Ruger say what he wanted to about ‘his’ ships, but Drake cared about and looked after his own people like family.

  “They are unimportant,” Ruger said, dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand. “Losing your navigation technician is not.” With a little smile, he nudged a piece of paper across the desk. He still had not asked Drake to sit down. “Here’s your replacement. I want him briefed by 1900. If I were you, I’d use the mess hall.”

  “Sir? That’s awfully quick—”

  “Your ship’s going to be heading back into space in forty-eight hours. I need that berth for my flagship’s refurbishment.”

  For the first time, Drake was alarmed. “We’re pretty shot up, commander. Even if the repair crews work around the clock, I don’t know if we’ll be fully spaceworthy.”

  “Then you’d better get your paperwork in order, hadn’t you?” Ruger leaned back in his leather chair. “That’s why I suggested the mess hall. You can save time by eating dinner while you read over your new mission.”

  Drake flipped the folder open. The mission dossier was very thin.

  Ruger gave him an oily smile. “You seemed to do so well in the Kuiper Belt that you’re going right back out there. Deep space rim patrol. Three-month tour of duty. There should be plenty of opportunities for you to distinguish yourself out there.”

  Drake winced. A crew could go stir crazy out there from staring at the billions of cubic miles of vacuum. Deep space patrol was a crap assignment, and both he and Ruger knew it.

  He set his jaw and saluted. “You’re too kind, sir.”

  “I know, captain, I know. Do us both a favor. See if you can launch early.”

  Captain Drake kept silent and left the commander’s office. He was very good at reading eyes, and Ruger had very expressive ones. Drake had seen exactly what had been in Ruger’s at that very moment.

  There had been nothing at all.

  * * *

  Drake rented a bungalow on the outskirts of the city for his time planetside. The place was seedy looking, with peeling stucco and a grove of ratty palm trees in the front yard. But he liked it for two reasons. First, it was cheap. Second, it was high on one of the few hills in town.

  It allowed him to see all the way down to the bay, where his ship sat at dock. The Ranger floated unsteadily in the calm, shallow waters of the Ogala Bay as repair crews worked over the hull, ignoring the heat to weld twisted sheets of metal together.

  The Captain continued to fill out his mission reports, interspersing this activity with quick checks on the fuel and food procurement schedule. His makeshift office was at a small desk in his study. Like most military men, his home was outfitted in a Spartan manner. He had a creaky bed in one room that hadn’t seen much sleep time, while the rest of his furniture looked as if it h
ad been passed down through a half-dozen generations of rowdy kids. On the wall across from his desk hung a picture of his family, a painting of a nineteenth century sailing ship, and an antique brass clock set to military time.

  A knock at the house’s front door. Drake glanced at the clock, confirming the time.

  “Well, at least one of us isn’t late for appointments,” he said to himself. He cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Come in. It’s unlocked.”

  A tall young man dressed in the dark blue uniform of the Terran Guard entered the room. His build was muscular, and he sported a healthy looking tan. A blazing white forelock in his ebony hair matched the gleam of his smile. It occurred to Drake that this was the face of someone who knew that he could show up at a party and score without much effort.

  “Lieutenant Armano Sebastián,” the officer announced. “I am hereby reporting for duty.”

  “At ease, Lieutenant,” Drake replied.

  He stood and offered his hand. Sebastián shook it firmly. That troubled Drake, who had been taught that a good handshake was delivered only by an honest man.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re now part of the Fourth Division of the Terran Home Guard, patrol vessel Ranger.” He indicated a chair, which Sebastián took.

  Drake took a breath and sat down again. “Welcome to the ‘Fighting Fourth’, Lieutenant. I don’t normally invite junior officers to my house. But given the circumstances, we don’t have a lot of say in the matter.”

  “Yes sir, I suppose not.”

  “Technically, we’re off duty, son. You can dispense with the ‘sirs’ for the moment.”

  “Thank you, sir. I mean, uh, thanks.” Sebastián said, a little flustered.

  Drake considered. He trusted his people instincts without question, and he liked what he saw in this junior officer. But Ruger had had something in mind when Sebastián had been assigned to the Ranger. That didn’t set well at all. It was better that this be brought out now, before they were in the confined quarters of the ship. Before it poisoned the crew’s morale. He leaned back in his chair, crossed him arms, and studied the young man.

  “Something is bothering you, Lieutenant.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Now that you put it that way, yes. This isn’t what I expected at all.”

  Drake raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What did you expect?”

  A blush colored the young man’s dusky cheeks. “I didn’t expect you to be…perdón, Captain, this shall sound rude…”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I didn’t expect you to be…well thought of as a commander. But I’ve talked to some of the enlisted crewmen. They all speak highly of you.”

  Drake nodded. Whatever else his faults, Armano Sebastián spoke his mind, a refreshing thing in the Terran Home Guard.

  “I was assigned here by Commander Ruger,” Sebastiàn added. The wry, angry tone in the young man’s speech said volumes.

  “I take it that he doesn’t like you. That’s good.”

  “He hates me, if that’s a recommendation,” said Sebastián. “Again, I ask your pardon. But he told me he’d put me with ‘the worst goddamned crew he had’.”

  “Well, I wish I could tell you otherwise,” Drake sighed. “But it’s true. We are the worst crew to be stuck with because we get the worst of everything, which is saying something in the Guard. For example, have you heard the scuttlebutt on our next mission?”

  “Deep space run. About as exciting as watching grass grow.”

  “Ruger’s also the reason I’m briefing you here, past normal duty hours, in my own home. He arranged it so I can’t use my ship without delaying the repair work. Another of his petty insults.”

  “What does he have against you?”

  “I should be the one asking that,” Drake pointed out. “Shouldn’t I, Lieutenant?”

  Sebastián stiffened, breaking the easy mood in the room. “I don’t understand, sir.”

  “Oh, I think you do,” Drake countered. “I’m not a sadistic bastard like Ruger. I try to be a fair commander. But if there’s one thing I like, it’s to be told the truth, and to hell with the consequences.”

  Drake hadn’t intended to raise his voice, but now it came out of him, words dropping like clumps of hot coals from a furnace.

  “We’re castoffs of castoffs, and I want to know why you’re here,” he continued. “Your Officer Candidacy contains some interesting information about you. It tells me that you graduated second out of a class of three hundred. So I want to know why you’ve been assigned to the ‘worst of the worst’.”

  “I’m…very young for my assignment, sir. I’m only a junior grade lieutenant, and I’m being given a navtech position.”

  “True, you are young. Being a navtech is the most important position on the ship, after my own. You’re combination navigator, sensor technician, and weapons officer. But the first time I looked at your weapon calibration speed, I thought it was a computer glitch.” Drake gave him a challenging look. “Are you really that good?”

  “That’s no ‘glitch’. The secret is that my reflexes are that fast.” Sebastián said proudly.

  Drake rose from his chair. He motioned for Sebastián to stand as well. He fingered his sidearm. “How fast?”

  “Try me, sir,” he answered, with a feral grin.

  Not taking his eyes off the younger man, Drake flicked his hand to his holster and began to draw.

  Sebastián’s movement was a whip-like blur. One moment his hand was empty, the next, it held the blast gun. The barrel pointed at Drake’s chest unwaveringly. The captain’s own weapon was barely out of the holster. Satisfied with the exercise, Drake slid his sidearm back into place. Sebastián followed suit.

  Drake smiled at that. “Now I know that your scores were no fluke.”

  “And now I know what kind of commander you are,” replied Sebastián. “I think I’m going to like it here.”

  “You just might.”

  Sebastián heard the polite dismissal in the statement. He got up to leave, but stopped and turned around before he pushed through the door.

  “Captain Drake,” Sebastián said, “I understand something else now. I’m not what you thought I was. I’m not working for Ruger.”

  “I know that.”

  “The reason he put me here was because he dislikes me, and he had the clout to do what he wanted.” Sebastián took a deep breath. “The reason he doesn’t like me…it’s personal, sir. Maybe I could tell you another time?”

  “That’ll be fine, Lieutenant,” Drake agreed. “At your discretion.”

  Chapter Five

  Drake strolled through the downtown district of Ogala City, taking in the heady scents of grilled food from the side street vendors mixed with the pungent sea air. Pounding music from a café mixed in with the calls from the pedicab vendors. The swish of rubber tires on ceramic macadam. A swirl of people doing their business into the late hours.

  He spotted the cantina that Tally frequented, waited for a stream of pedicabs to pass, and then slipped across the busy street. Apocalypse Now was most frequently patronized by expatriate offworlders and off duty Terran military. Drake had been to this establishment before, and he liked the setting. Apocalypse had an authentic wooden bar top and beer taps. The subdued lighting was just bright enough cast sinister shadows on the olive green tables and grainy photographs. The lamps were shaped like old bomb casings and the jukebox, which pumped out a psychedelic tune from the 1960’s, had been made from a disassembled tactical thermonuclear warhead. A life size holo-mural of an upside-down Huey helicopter was projected onto the ceiling. The blades of the copter were real, and they twirled slowly, fanning fresh air into the room.

  Tally sat at the bar, hunched over her drink. She stared into space, softly singing along with the tune from the jukebox. Drake was no stranger to heavy drinking, but his eyebrows rose as he drew closer to the woman. A stack of glasses piled up in the shape of a pyramid sat on the bartop next to her.

 
; It’s a miracle she can still sit up, Drake thought. He went up and took the seat at her side. The barkeep looked up at him, a question on his lips, but Drake shook his head in the negative.

  “Tally,” Drake said, “I need to talk to you.”

  He didn’t get a response. Tally simply stared into the empty space behind the bar.

  Drake placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder and tried again. “Tally, it’s Captain Drake. I need to talk to you.”

  This time her head swiveled slowly to face him. “Leemelone.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Leeve-me-lone.”

  “I didn’t catch—”

  Tally swung around. Her voice rose and she came close to shouting each word. “LEAVE! ME! ALONE!” Her outburst completed, she muttered, “Let a woman drink in peace. I deserve it. Never lost anything or anyone, until now. Damn it all. My best salvage chief, my best friend killed…staff resigning left and right. Goddamn rats from a goddamn sinking ship.”

  “I’m sorry about Gamble. We had a bunch of people badly hurt, too.”

  “Yeah, I know. Greatest treasure hun...hunter in the system, ain’t I? Even your shares are worthless now, Cap’n Drake.”

  He blinked. “My shares? What are you talking about?”

  “The guv-ment fully approved my treasure-hunting expedition. But they wouldn’t provide protection. Had to cross some palms with silver, promise some shares of the treasure.” Tally hiccupped, and added, “He didn’t tell you? Figures. Goddamn double-crossing son of a bitch. You oughta make him eat his gold bars.”

  Drake felt his face flush with anger. “That’s bribery, and it’s damn well illegal! I’ve got people in the hospital because of you, and if you weren’t completely wasted, I’d—”

  Tally slid off her bar stool, her eyes ablaze with drunken wrath. She rolled up her sleeves, pausing every now and then to hold onto the bar for balance.

  “Don’t let that stop you,” she said, and she put her fists up.