by Reiter
“What the hell did I do, Z?” Dungias read her and he knew what she was referring to.
“In short, exactly what you said: you took Goldie from Dal. I doubt he can even assume that form again. As you have demonstrated, you are even more agile, despite your distaste for acrobatics.”
“Not every monkey flips, Z,” Jocasta argued. “Blue ape!”
“Very well, Ms. Orangutan,” he shot back. “You need not flip.”
“Oh, is this where I get to sing I wanna be like you-oo-oo?”
“You will notice that your senses are getting sharper. Your hand-eye coordination…” Dungias stopped himself, shuddering at the possibility he was about to describe.
“What about my coordination?” she asked, quickly getting up from the floor. She did not like the impression she received at his sudden stopping.
“It should improve, Captain,” he estimated, “though I cannot say to what degree. And of course, there was Goldie’s skill with the blade and combat.” Dungias did not have to look at her to know her reaction. Her nostrils were flaring and her grip on the bottle tightened. Handing her the towel, Dungias used his brace-com to secure the training area for an hour.
“Tell me what happened,” he requested, offering his hand. “You’re not afraid of close places, even those without a stick, yet you are against power-suits more than you are against my offering of reparations. You need to tell me.”
Taking hold of Dungias’ hand, she was lifted from the floor. “Do you promise not–”
“No!” Dungias said defiantly. “Given what we are, I need not give you any further promises.”
“Does anyone ever win an argument with you?”
“I took crew with me to bury your treasure, did I not?”
“Oh yeah,” she smiled, recalling the exchange. “I did win that one. It wasn’t much of an argument though.”
“Because I can admit when I am being shortsighted,” Dungias returned. “… if not altogether incorrect.”
“Show off,” Jocasta remarked. “And you’ve got an even better point; you made me a pretty big promise. I’ve never said anything positive about it.”
“Yes you did, Captain,” Dungias argued. “When you said no holding back. You gave me a trust that I have not seen you give another. It is my intention to make that gesture a fitting one.”
“Okay, every good story starts with a good base of facts,” Jocasta said as she brushed back her hair with her hand. “You familiar with a Celestine Bickersham?”
Dungias thought for a moment before nodding. “A self-appointed shipping mogul. With the emergence of the Super-Corporations, and the increasing numbers of pirates, she was widely considered the last of her kind. Secretly, she was a madam in control of a very extensive stable of mercenaries specializing in strong-arm tactics in the outskirts of the Middle Rim.” Jocasta sat very still, blinking as she stared at her First Mate for a moment before deciding to continue her story.
“Close enough. I took a job as a wannabe gun-hand for her personal office. I was Kot as a shooter back then, and no one took me seriously when I drew my gun, not even my gun! Celestine gets into a jam between a client and pack of Maggots looking to make a rep. Before anyone can say anything, I pull and shoot the Maggot Team Lead in the head. BAM! Right over the right eyebrow. I’m stupid enough to think that I’m about to get a pat on the back, right? That cow put me on the first ship moving. I find myself on a Mercenary Team on a collections run. They took my gun and gave me some Kot-spitter.”
“Interesting how she omits the rather enduring beating she received,” Dungias thought, “… and that the fact she endured it was the reason why Celestine kept her on at all. Still, the testimony has opened the necessary doors.”
“So, I’m in the hangar, right? Cleaning. And wouldn’t you know it, I see powered armour. Mind you, at this point of things, I’ve never even been in a half-frame, let alone a five-meter rig. That’s not enough to keep me from climbing up into it though. Took me four minutes to figure out how to open the damn thing. I strap myself in and the next thing you know, that bad bitch is fired up and walking… and she’s walking because I’m walking her!”
“Oh no,” Dungias said in the tone most engineers take when they know the worst is about to befall a good piece of equipment.
“You better believe it,” Jocasta replied, pointing at Dungias. “And you guessed it: walking’s not enough for me! I get the hydraulics to gear up and I make her run. Where’s my focus, you ask?”
“I did not, but I will if you need me to.”
“I’m gawking at the console reading out my speed! You know, the one you have to look down to see, because no, I wasn’t bright enough to put on a helmet with the heads-up display.
“Just when I am about to say, ‘holy Kot, this thing can do thirty KPH’, I get a proximity alarm… only I don’t know it’s a proximity alarm, do I? No, you bet your ass I don’t! So, in order to solve the mystery of the flashing lights and the buzz-horn, I look even further down! The rig must’ve been doing around fifty-five KPH when I hit the wall … which happened to be the wall just inside the hull.” Dungias put the side of his fist to his lips and looked down. He had always pondered the specifics of the particular event, though he was quite familiar with the aftermath as he had arranged the lucky break she was about to mention.
“It might not have been so bad if I hadn’t been in that monster of a suit,” Jocasta reflected. “Thank the Fates for automated systems. She locked up tight and pressurized before my flailing managed to nick the refueling feed line of the ship. Yeah, I snagged that just a few seconds before the rig’s arm hit exposed metal. Spark! Bam! Next thing I knew I’m tumbling in the middle of outer space. If it hadn’t been for momentum and I guess trajectory, I wouldn’t have floated into the trade routes. They picked me up with about six hours of air left to me. I ripped my clothes a bit, bashed my head against the console, and said a pirate tried to have his way with me during a raid. Turns out the registration of the bot was legitimate, and they traced it back to Celestine, finding her at a very inopportune moment. That was the first alias I burned.”
“What was the name of that one?” Dungias asked, working to keep from laughing.
“Regina,” Jocasta sighed. “Regina Stellarum.” A snicker escaped from Dungias and Jocasta looked up. “What?!”
“Is that not very bad Latin for ‘queen of the stars’?!” Dungias translated.
“So?! What if it is?” Looking at her angry face, Dungias could not contain himself and he fell over to his side laughing. Jocasta put her fists on her hips angrily, but she was already beginning to grin. It was too rare a thing to see her best friend genuinely laugh; she would not deny him that moment. Besides, she too was beginning to laugh. When she heard Tuitonn giggle, she could not contain herself.
“What can I say, Z,” she snorted as the laughter died down. “I’ve always aimed high.”
“That you have, my friend,” Dungias said and he composed himself. He walked over to Jocasta, taking a firm hold of her shoulders. He knew what she was thinking; that it had not been her worst crash, but it was by far the worst she had caused due to a lack of capability. It was time to get back to that path and trek it one more time. “And you shall continue to aim high. Keep running, Jocasta. Leave the proximity alarms to me!” Dungias walked to the door of the room and it opened; he looked back at Jocasta. “That will not happen again. You have me, and we do not hold back. Come, Captain, we have fears to conquer!”
Jocasta smiled before grabbing her cane and coat. “Right behind you, Z!”
** b *** t *** o *** r **
Uhnveer Plarzo walked into the room, knowing it was not good news he had been summoned to receive. Too many of the uniforms were being straightened, as if a pressed jacket could truncate his rage should he see fit to release it. Uhnveer walked toward his seat, but stopped when the large monitor was activated. The feed was coming from a deck view port on one of his warships as it moved away from the Haggenshi
re, which was burning in space. Several of his ships were still docked at the massive station as section after section erupted in fire and smoke.
“Why is this showing?” Uhnveer asked.
“I don’t know, sir,” a Colonel answered, looking at his communicator. “Ops reports that the computer just opened a channel and made a direct feed to us.”
“Don’t we have Jockeys to handle this sort of thing?”
“Yes sir,” the Colonel quickly replied as he read more incoming information. “We have four.”
“Four?!” Uhnveer repeated, looking at the officer. “We have two at headquarters and one aboard my flagship. Adding the one aboard the Claymore, I come to four. Are you telling me that none of my ships could depart from the Haggenshire before it started to explode?!”
The Colonel looked down, swallowed hard, and steadied himself. The report was not yet fully delivered and the news was only going to get worse. “Actually, sir, all but one of the docked ships reported they were cleared for departure. The mains and the moorings failed to release.”
“Failed to release,” Uhnveer muttered as he sat down in his chair. His hands landed hard on the arm rests as his back sank back into the chair. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Turn off the monitor, Colonel.” The officer quickly lifted his control pad to carry out the order. “Since you must be told to do it, turn off the damn monitor!”
The Colonel activated his communicator and turned his back to the Field Marshal. “Turn off the monitor in the War Room,” he commanded.
“We’re trying sir,” a young voice replied. “We’ve restored main control, but the computer is still showing signs of breach and malfunction.”
“Oh, for the love of tits and twat!” Uhnveer exclaimed, reaching for his pistol.
Two shots rang out in the War Room before Uhnveer’s gun could clear its holster, and most of the other officers jumped in surprise. Uhnveer Plarzo took a very quick inventory of two things: the officers who did not jump, and the man who had taken the initiative to shoot the monitor. It was not surprising to him that the aide of one of the three non-jumping officers was twirling a smoking blaster before he holstered his weapon. Uhnveer’s eyes lowered from the standing aide to the seated General whose eyes were glued on his Field Marshal, and without a spoken cue, the decorated Commando spoke.
“Lieutenant Marthunn Jeerbram,” General Korborik announced. “They call him the Mongoose.”
“The Mongoose,” Uhnveer said, rubbing his chin. “You were at the heart of the Garnet Barony business. The moon of Durook, if memory serves.”
“My Field Marshal honors me,” Jeerbram said, giving a slight bow. “That could not have been a major issue, given all of your endeavors, sir.”
“It was a report filed by your commanding officer, Lieutenant,” Uhnveer explained. “I might overlook one of Colonel Quinique’s reports about her so-called field operatives. Spies and slashers at best, the lot of them. No offense my dear.”
“None taken, Field Marshal,” the slender woman quickly replied wearing her constant grin. She was another that had not jumped. Later he would ask her how fast the Lieutenant appeared from her perspective. “We are what we are. But you will not want to overlook my next report… though it is in the same vein as Colonel Tennon’s.”
“Rosina!” he whined. “Not you too!”
“I think we need to change the listed profile,” Rosina Quinique stated. “They aren’t lucky. Well, they aren’t just lucky, sir. They’re good! Coordinated and very well-trained by someone who has to be more than ‘an academic at best’,” she said repeating a previously filed report written by one of her rivals.
“Yes, that was obviously a flawed view,” Uhnveer agreed as he looked back at the Mongoose. “But getting back to my point, Lieutenant Jeerbram, I never overlook a report filed by this man because, simply put, he doesn’t file many! If there is something to be said, he says it! But while you were on Durook, he was at Black Gate, with his hands quite full I might add.” Both men chuckled as Uhnveer looked around the room. Only Korborik, Quinique, and Preethe were seated. Plarzo waved for everyone to take a chair.
“That vid came from one of my ships,” he stated. “That means we did not lose all of them. How many fell with the Haggenshire?”
“The platform was unable to service all of our ships, sir,” the Colonel said.
“Why would–” Uhnveer started before stopping himself. He pressed his hand to his hair and pushed it back, sighing in disgust. “Of course. Why not? We’re at the Haggenshire after all. Good liquor and better women. Might as well make the most of it! Please tell me that fire did my work for me.
“We’ve already confirmed that General Shirn perished in the very first explosion,” Colonel Tennon reported.
“The very first?!” Plarzo asked, squinting his eyes. “You’re right, Quinique. Not only are they trained, but they’re being led by someone who knows what they’re doing. Damn!
“The Relief Fleet was just as large as the Point Fleet now stationed outside the Pearl Barony,” Uhnveer noted. “They are the same size: fifteen ships. We lost thirteen ships?”
“Aye sir. Thirteen.”
Field Marshal Plarzo sat in his chair, silent for a moment, trying his best not to let his anger control his actions. He wanted to hit something… he wanted to hurt something, but he had learned it was best to hold on to that anger and save it for the one most responsible for his disposition. Of course, that only added to his frustration because he had reason to believe that person was beyond his reach in the Pearl Barony.
“What other bad news do you have for me, Colonel Tennon?”
“Actually this is where my bad news comes into play, sir,” Colonel Quinique spoke up. “It concerns one of my spiders and one of theirs.”
“They have spiders?”
“We have reason to believe that this attack was initiated by two people our operatives picked up at a function being thrown by the Onyx Baron,” Rosina explained. “They were secured, searched, relieved of their property, and taken to the Haggenshire for questioning. It was fifteen minutes after they were secured in the brig when things started going poorly. We don’t have all the pieces yet, because all transmissions were taken offline. We do know, however, the platform somehow lost main power and when reserve power started up, it triggered several explosions. The first was Haggenshire’s office. General Shirn was in the office at that time... along with Haggenshire himself.”
“Well, that takes him off the list of suspects,” Uhnveer commented, looking intently at his Intelligence Officer. “You’re not sure how to say it, but you want to tell me this was a coordinated attack, yes?”
“One of the best I’ve seen in quite some time,” she replied.
“This from a woman who does not give compliments,” Uhnveer muttered. “Were you able to get your man into the Pearl Barony Headquarters?”
“She was intercepted,” Rosina reported. “But I do not believe the incidents are related. The new Intelligence Officer is an Ardrian recruit. Michael Ress was recently discharged for questionable reasons. His file shows he logged a complaint against a General that cost the man a star.”
“That will get you discharged in some places,” Uhnveer commented.
“Damn! Damn! And damn again!” he yelled. “They’re a smaller force, which means they’re faster. They’re also one step ahead of us. And you say these two prisoners were picked up at a function?”
“A celebratory feast,” Rosalina clarified. “The Baron’s come into the possession of the Prism Passion.”
“Ships are just being lost all the way around!” the Field Marshal barked. “It would be too much to call this mere coincidence, right?”
“I’ve got a file that answers that question, sir,” Rosalina said, taking out a small projector. She placed it down on the table and slid it towards the center. “This is a message we received while the Haggenshire was blowing up.
An image of Jocasta, seated with her legs cross
ed and smiling, formed from the projector. “Hey, Sabre-Sweetie,” she said and the Colonel looked down at his data pad.
“Sir, this isn’t a data file. This is a transmission!”
“Wow, lookee at all the eyes getting bigger!” Jocasta said in a child-like tone. “I feel all kinds of important!”
“Enjoy it while it lasts, child!” Uhnveer hissed.
“Ooooo, Field Marshal, you send shivers down my… no, let’s keep it clean, for the moment. I thought you should have a face to go with the name.”
“You know we already have both, so get along to what you want!”
“I could ask you the same thing, relic!” Jocasta snapped. “You move on my people, you move on me!”
“Senseless banter!” Uhnveer yelled as he stood up, punching his fists down on the table. “What was the meaning behind your attack on my base?!”
“Truth be told, didn’t know it was yours, not that it would’ve mattered. I was running some legitimately foul business with the Baron. Your people cut in without so much as a tap on my shoulder. So very rude!” Rosina snickered and quickly covered her mouth. She knew if she had looked the Field Marshal just then, she would have been gambling her very life. “Oh, a fan!” Jocasta said with a smile. “Hey, I’m here all season. Don’t forget to tip your aides.”
“And my yacht?”
“Duh! I got recalled to your place. I needed a ride home. The unexpected bonus was the Tween-Space charts. They are nice, but not as accurate as you think. Still, beggars can’t be choosey. Do all the seats recline all the way back, or just the ones in the Romp Room?”
“Woman, I am going to enjoy–”
“Trying!” Jocasta interrupted as she uncrossed her legs. “You’re going to enjoy trying to do something. Each and every try’s gonna wind up making you look even more inept… and at this point, that’s saying something. I’ve squashed Imperial flies with more moxie, Plarzo!
“And why do you hate me, child?” Uhnveer asked as his eyes squinted. He had survived the initial wave of rage. He was curious as to why this woman had been added to his list of enemies. “Have I wronged you in some way?”
