A Greater Interest: Samair in Argos: Book 4

by Michael Kotcher

  Tamara looked to them for a few moments longer, noticing that out of the corner of her eye, the other wolf had straightened to attention as well, but the Severite had not. In fact, the cat was blinking in amusement and his posture was completely relaxed. Tamara ignored him for the moment and turned to the third lupusan in line, the male. “Forgive me, gentlemen. Chief, who are the others?”

  Corajen looked at Tamara with a stern expression for a long moment, her tail thrashing unconsciously. But then she shook her head as though clearing it and looked back to the bodyguards. “This is Beau Rostov, who handles the medical duties.”

  “Combat medic?” Tamar asked, looking to the cat.

  The Severite blinked and then grinned. “No way, not me. You get shot around me, I can hack the limb off, Ma’am, or I can slap a bandage on ya. But that’s not my skill set.”

  She turned to the male wolf, a huge specimen of male lupusan. Whereas Marat had been tall and lean, Beau was tall and thickly muscled. Tamara did not want to insult him, but he looked as though he had some bear mixed in with the wolf. His fur was mostly gray-blue, with white-furred hands and neck, and like the others, he too wore a kilt. But his vest was festooned with pockets which were stuffed with packets of… Tamara wasn’t sure what. He also carried a knapsack over one shoulder, a gun on one hip and knives along a brace across his chest.

  “But it is mine, Ma’am,” the big wolf said, his voice impassive. He had an impressive deep baritone that rivaled Magnus’. “I will want to update my gear with Doctor Kassix but I have spoken with Chief Tyannikov and picked up a few tips. In fact, I met the good Stargazer several years ago when he first came to this system.” The wolf considered his next words. “He’s an odd one, but it’s clear he knows his stuff.”

  Tamara kept her face impassive at the stargazer crack, wanting to leap to her friend’s defense. But it seemed as though Rostov was only making the one comment and even that was a title Konstantin had endured back in the old Navy days. She herself had called him that. He was a big boy, the old wolf, and didn’t need Tamara to defend his honor.

  “Well, I’ll speak with the doctor. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting the supplies you need.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am,” Beau replied. “I’m sure we’ll all appreciate it.”

  Kayla snorted. “I think I’ll appreciate it more if we don’t need the use of your services at all, Beau.”

  “I’ll be sure to make the stitches large, just for you, Kayla,” Beau replied with an ear flick.

  Corajen gave a low growl and the banter ceased. The Severite blinked in amusement, his ears angling down. “And the last here is Mister Katsopolis.”

  He gave a deep, sweeping bow, the fingers of his right hand touching the floor. “Combat Engineer and Explosive Ordnance Disposal Specialist, Ma’am. Calvin Katsopolis, at your service.”

  “Disposal?” Tamara asked, an eyebrow raising. “Or employment of?”

  He smiled, a wide mouthed feline smile. “Whatever is needed, Ma’am. Nothing moves people and objects and a room like things that go pop and go boom.”

  At that statement, Tamara blinked then her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Bringing up her HUD, she activated the optical scanners in her implants, running a scan on the petite Severite. She tried very hard not to wince at what she found. “Mister Katsopolis, exactly how much high explosive have you brought onto my ship?”

  The cat actually had the grace to look embarrassed. “Only about ten kilos, ma’am. I’ve got six devices.”

  She sighed, turning to Corajen. “What sort of motley crew have you brought me here, Corajen?” she demanded.

  Corajen nodded. “They are a bit motley, Samair, I’ll admit. But they have a good reputation and I’ve seen them in action. So long as the cat here can keep the boom under control, and that one,” she pointed to Kiki, “Can stop goggling at herself in the mirror to keep her mind on business, I think they’ll do well.” The female lupusan flattened her ears against her head; her sister barked a laugh.

  Tamara gave a long-suffering sigh. “I have your word on that?” She wasn’t looking at the group of guards, but she did see them all (even the cat) straighten just a touch at that comment. She wondered if they understood the significance of what she was asking.

  Corajen nodded. “You do, Samair.”

  “That’s all I need.” The others exchanged looks, but didn’t speak. “All right then. As Serzhant Eristov here will tell you, I’m usually pretty good at keeping out of trouble. I don’t particularly like the idea of needing personal protection, but I am glad to have you all along. Hopefully, this will just be a boring assignment for you all, one that fills your bank accounts. I don’t go into war zones. They tend to come to me, however, if you’ve kept up on my history,” Tamara said sourly. Corajen chuckled and Viktoriya gave a small growl, but none of the others reacted. “You can stand at ease,” she told them and they relaxed into a sort of parade rest. Calvin returned to his much more relaxed pose, looking as though he might drop to the deck and sprawl out, but he refrained for the moment.

  “As far as gear is concerned,” Tamara went on. “I have access to a very large amount. If you need something, ask. I don’t need any of you doing illegal things or trading to get some piece of gear because you’re afraid that it’s going to attract attention.”

  “Nukes?” the cat asked, hopefully.

  “I can get them and no, you won’t be getting any,” she told him. They all chuckled; Calvin blinked in laughter. “As far as anything else: commo, weapons, armor, ammunition and other more esoteric items, like I said before; if you need something, ask. Ask either myself or Serzhant Eristov here,” she said, gesturing to Viktoriya, who nodded. “If I’m going to be forced to need your services then I want you to be outfitted with whatever you need.”

  Calvin tried again. “Heavy weapons?”

  Tamara sighed. “I’m wary about employing too much in the way of high explosives. Grenades and mines and things of that nature. I don’t spend that much time planetside and explosives are much more dangerous aboard a ship or station. That said, make me a list.”

  The new guards all looked first to Viktoriya, who simply scowled at them, giving them all a critical eye, then to Corajen, who just nodded calmly. They returned their gazes to their new principle, not entirely believing this claim about just asking for whatever they wanted.

  “Two points before we get started with an intial brief,” Tamara told them, her voice becoming like iron. “You’re going to be around a lot of civilian workers both here in the outer system and if we head in system to the shipyard. I know you’re all badass fighters and scary wolves and cats.” They all smiled in amusement. “Do not disrupt the workers just to flex your muscles and show how dangerous you are. Surrounding myself with such obvious guards is meant to be a deterrent but I don’t want you all antagonizing or frankly terrifying my workers. You have your job to do and they have theirs. Get me?” There was a ragged chorus of understanding. She eyed them all, making eye contact with each, deliberately making sure they all understood that she wasn’t intimidated. It was a lie, of course, and most of them could detect the nervousness she was exuding over the little show of provoking these predators. But they also understood the guts it took to do that. “Second,” Tamara went on, “and probably more important. The various facilities we’ll be on will have industrial replicators on them. I guarantee that most of them will be in near constant use. First Principles is doing a lot of building as we have numerous construction projects going at all times. Do not mess with my replicators. You don’t have the codes to access them properly and if you try and hack the security software they will self-destruct. If you break my replicators, you will be gone. Not going to be any paperwork, no appeal. You will be gone. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” they all replied. All of them were very serious in that acknowledgement.

  “Good. Now that that’s over with, we can get down to it.”

  “Never thought we’d be
back here again,” Vincent Eamonn muttered to himself.

  “Can’t argue with that, Captain,” Stella replied, looking out at him from the display at his command chair.

  The Ulla-tran system was busy, which wasn’t really a surprise, based on what the various tradeships had reported as they came to and from this system to First Principles’ base in Seylonique. But, with the Seylonique trade missioin having done their business here, Vincent hoped that the atmosphere here might be a little more welcoming.

  “Things appear to be looking up a bit, Captain,” George Miller reported from the Operations station.

  “What does that mean, George?” Vincent asked, turning to face him.

  “There’s a picket force right here at the hyper limit,” the man replied. “Well, I say force, I actually mean ship. One ship.”

  Vincent blinked in surprise. “Only one? When First Horizon was here several months ago there were three. With three more not that much further in system.”

  “Right,” George said. “Stella? Check me. I’m not showing any ships within… what? Fifteen light minutes?”

  “You’re correct, George,” the AI said, appearing on the bridge holo projector in the forward section of the bridge. “Only one ship, a frigate-class vessel, but I don’t have any data on the ID.”

  The raven haired beauty Serinda, sitting at the communications console suddenly blinked and shook her head. “Well, Captain, I think you’re about to get your answer. That frigate is hailing. Audio only.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Vincent said turning back to the front of the bridge.

  “This is Marklan Salvatore Grant of the Navy frigate Torrent to Seylonique vessel. We welcome you to Ulla-tran. Please identify and state your intentions.”

  Vincent pressed a key on his chair. “This is Vincent Eamonn, Captain of the Grania Estelle. We’re here with a load of fuel to sell.”

  There was a pause. “Oh, you’re here already? That was fast. Your ships only left here three weeks ago.”

  Vincent exchanged looks with his other bridge officers but was then glad he wasn’t transmitting visually. “I see. Well, we were on our way anyway. Do you have flight instructions for us, or should I just head in system to the orbital?”

  He could hear the smirk in the captain’s voice. “I think that should be fine, Captain. Make a straight line vector to the planet and the orbital station. Be sure to follow orders from orbital traffic control. And please do not deviate from the vector toward the planet. Navy ships are operating all over the system and you do not want to interfere with their business.”

  Vincent shook his head, smiling wryly. “No, sir, I don’t suppose I do. Thank you.”

  Serinda looked up. “Torrent has signed off, Captain.”

  “All right, Isis,” Vincent said, waving a hand toward the bow of the bulk freighter. “Take us in system.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” the middle aged woman seated at the helm replied.

  President Montenegro sat in his office, but he wasn’t at his desk. His small office on the orbital station also had a leather couch and that was where he currently was sitting, well, more lounging, really. It had been nearly a month since the Seylonique task force had departed Ulla-tran space and the President was honestly glad of it. So much in the way of dirty laundry and other less popular acts had been done here and of course, all while the neighbors were watching.

  But the fuel situation had stabilized. The fueling platforms were all under government control, but not before a total of eight of them had been destroyed by that toad on the fueling station. Eight out of twenty-one fueling platforms, fuel production down by more than a third and the whole area just saturated with debris. It had taken nearly a month to get the dangerous bits of shrapnel cleared out, removing the hazard to navigation. And with a third of the fuel supply gone, the government was forced to dip into the reserves to make sure that the fleet stayed topped up. Of course, things were starting to get desperate and the contracts and plans for building new fuel collectors were being held up.

  What the hell is the matter with them? He wondered to himself. The Senate has the whole thing bogged down in procedures and I can’t figure it out. The public is watching as fuel prices are starting to soar as supply is certainly not meeting with demand. We’re looking at having brownouts in two of the major cities down on the planet and there’s a power restriction here on the orbital. I’ve already drawn down power usage at the shipyard as much as I can get away with and thank the stars their fuel tanks were completely full when this shit storm went down.

  It would be at least another month before the first scheduled delivery of fuel arrived from Seylonique, assuming that the big whigs from that company, what was it? First Principles, yes that was it. Assuming that they went for it, it would be another month. The President sighed, rubbing a hand on his forehead. And fuel prices were just going to rise, as the demand far outstripped the surplus. Sadly, either they would have to continue to reduce the allotment of He3 to the civilian side, or, they’d have to reduce the amount to the Navy. No one was happy with either plan. Commodore Saroyan had already sent messages to the orbital stating that reducing the standing forces was the worst of bad ideas possible, couched in polite phrasing, of course, but his meaning was clear. And Nikolas could hardly argue, after having seen pirate cruisers in his own system only months before.

  “Mister President?” a soft voice came from the other side of the room.

  He looked over to see one of his aides. “What is is, Nia?” he asked the young woman.

  “A ship has just entered the system from Seylonique, Mister President,” she replied. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but I thought you’d want to know that.”

  Nikolas sighed heavily and pushed himself up, sitting on the edge of the couch, putting his elbows on his knees. “A ship? What, another one of the small freighters that we’ve seen over the last few months?”

  The aide shook her head. “No, Mister President. Well, from what the reports say, it wasn’t one of their medium freighters; it’s the big bulk freighter that we saw a while ago.”

  He blinked in confusion. “What are you talking about, Nia? The delegation didn’t bring any bulk freighters with them.”

  She shook her head again. “No, sir. I meant several months before. When there was all that fighting.”

  He glowered. That had been an embarrassment to his authority, when foreign vessels had been within Ulla-tran sovereign space, pirates and Republic ships alike, and his own defense ships had been no where near the action. About the best that could be said was that no Ulla-tran citizens had been killed in the engagement, though there had been several in Hana’s defense pinnaces that had died when their systems had unexpectedly failed. Thankfully, the toad had decided to suppress any information about the whole thing and managed to keep the media away from it. Out in his little fiefdom, he had that power.

  Or rather, he’d had that power. Once the Commodore’s troops had stormed the fueling station, they’d arrested Goris Hana who had been screaming about his basic human rights. A stunner blast later and he was in custody, cooling his heels in the brig on the Commodore’s flagship.

  Of course, that still raised the question of what to do with him. Having him executed sounded like a perfectly good option, but Nikolas knew that wouldn’t fly. He sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes with one hand. A problem for later. He could keep in the brig for a while longer.

  Then his mind cleared. “Wait, a bulk freighter? From First Principles?”

  She blinked, nodding. “Yes, Mister President. They indicated that they have fuel to sell.”

  “Fuel…” he trailed off. Then he shook his head, trying to get his mind to focus. “What the hell is wrong with me? Good. How much would they be carrying?”

  “I have the projected numbers here from Torrent, sir, assuming a full load out of fuel in their cargo holds.” She handed him a datapad. He took it and then nodded, feeling a weight coming off his shoulders. “That would certain
ly be a push in the right direction.”

  “About four to eight percent above projections to bring us back up to capacity for three months,” the young woman replied confidently.

  “You ran those numbers in your head, Nia?” the President asked, smiling slightly, getting to his feet.

  She shrugged. “Of course, not sir. The guys on the Torrent ran those numbers.” Nia pointed to the datapad in his hand. “They uploaded the information and I brought it here to you.”

  “One of these days I will be ahead of you, Nia,” he promised.

  She smiled and crossed her arms over her chest. “Never going to happen, Mister President.”

  “Moving into standard orbit, now, Captain,” Isis said, smoothly bringing the big ship into her track above the planet. “Holding position five kilometers from the orbital station, but we’re within the traffic lanes provided by control.”

  “Thank you, Isis.” Vincent stood from his chair. “George, you have the bridge. I’ll be in the wardroom and I’ll be in touch with the people on the orbital. No one leaves the ship and not one bit of that fuel goes before I get a contract.”

  “Understood, Captain,” the man replied.

  Vincent left the bridge and was in the wardroom less than a minute later. He was just taking a seat at the table, when Serinda’s image appeared on the monitor. “Captain, we’ve got an incoming transmission for you from the orbital. It’s a Senior Proconsul Laurent for you. She says she wants to speak with you about the fuel load.”

  “Well, that didn’t take long. Put her through.”

  “Yes, Captain.” Her image disappeared and an instant later, the face of a stern-faced woman appeared.

  “This is Captain Eamonn. Senior Proconsul Laurent?”

  She nodded. “Captain, so very good to meet you. I must say, I’m surprised that you were able to come so soon. We only just sent your ship back to Seylonique with the contract for the fueling shipments a few weeks ago.”

  “Well, I had a feeling that getting you set up with a steady supply of fuel might be a good investment, now that things back home have settled down a bit,” he said. He was stealing Tamara’s thunder a bit here, but this was his company after all. “Now, I understand that you have need of some processed helium 3.”