Captains Malicious (The Liberation Series Book 1)

by T. R. Harris

  “The dreadnaught was a target of opportunity, Jacob,” Kincaid replied. “Most of our operations will be against cargo ships. And the more we can disrupt their commerce, the more combat ships the Sludgers will have to commit to escort duty. That takes them off the line in the Midlands and saves a lot of Human lives in the process.”

  “That’s a great and noble cause, Robert,” said Hollis James. He was one of Kincaid’s oldest and dearest friends, and if he could be convinced to join, then others would follow. “But you have to realize the situation here is quite grave. The aliens are in the process of stripping the Reaches of nearly everything of value and shipping it off to their empire. They over-tax us, they enforce stifling and arbitrary laws and they won’t listen to reason when we present our grievances to the Occupying Council. I’m sorry, but a lot of us can’t afford the luxury of fighting for a cause, even if it is the right thing to do. Right now we’re fighting to keep our heads above water.”

  Robert felt deflated and not the least bit hurt. For his friend to be saying such things only showed how bad it was in the Reaches. He also noticed the subtle jab at his personal wealth, something that insulated him from the reality others had to suffer through every day.

  And to make matters worse, he could see the wide grin on Drake’s face, mocking him, and he imagined the thought running through his selfish mind: Spoiled little rich kid can’t get anyone to come play with him.

  Robert sighed. He was nearing the end of his presentation, and with one last card to play.

  “I know times are bad here, and it’s true that the Vixxie are methodically taking everything of value from us, but this is a way for us to get some of it back! I’ve been authorized to offer a very generous split of all the valuables we recover from the Vixx’r ships to anyone who’ll join me. That’s right. And just a couple of cargos from the mining ships heading out from Crinous could make us all rich—or at least go a long way towards lessening our suffering.”

  Robert could see that this aspect of his presentation was receiving a far better reaction than his plea for civic duty. As a former military officer, the concept of space piracy was anathema to him, yet it was obvious that the others in the room didn’t have a problem with it.

  Kincaid never considered himself to be a real pirate—just someone pretending to be one. The secret charter provided by President Victoria Simms of the United Peoples of Earth gave him authority to attack any Vixx’r ship—military or civilian—and to exact whatever damage he could on the alien presence throughout the region, literally giving him permission to pillage and plunder at will. Until now he’d selected his targets strategically, and not for their potential bounty. All that had just changed in a twinkling.

  Kincaid felt his face flush. I’m talking real piracy here; piracy, pure and simple. Is this what I’m becoming, right here, right now?

  Listening to the murmurs circulating throughout the room, it looked as though he wouldn’t have a choice—not if he hoped to gain a crew. Even though he personally felt a high degree of inner conflict over this present assignment—a conflict of which he had not previously been aware—to the civilians in the tavern no such conflict existed. They hated the Vixxies with a passion, and the prospect of making money off their suffering seemed like the best of both worlds.

  So money is my ace in the hole, he thought. A new and strange feeling came over him as he stood surveying the room. So be it. I’ll take what I can get.

  “How much you talkin’ ’bout, Mr. Kincaid?” It was Jimmy Harper asking. Jimmy was a mail carrier in Anchorage, so he had no experience whatsoever with the operations of a starship, let alone a military vessel. But he was young, strong and intelligent, and he could be trained. He was also without any family ties, since like Robert, both his parents had been killed in the early days of the Human-Vixx’r War. Jimmy hated the aliens to the depths of his soul…yet apparently not enough to head out into space without a hefty incentive.

  “Well, Jimmy, we all know the mining ships alone carry several million dollars’ worth of gold and other precious metal, and many even have finished jewelry and other trinkets aboard. Fleet Command doesn’t care about the money as much as they do the problems we can create for the Vixxies. So the bottom line is this: Whatever we find we can keep.”

  Maybe I should have led with that? Kincaid thought as he saw nods of agreement.

  “But you can get yourselves killed!” said Drake, his voice now shrill as he saw his support slipping away.

  “It sure beats sitting around here letting the Sludgers boss us around,” countered an anonymous voice.

  “I hate those slimy bastards,” said another.

  “The important thing to consider here is that we’ll be helping rid the Reaches of the Vixx’r occupation. The more forces pulled from the Midlands means a stronger UPE. Eventually that will lead to the liberation of our homeworlds, which is what all of us really want.”

  “Right now I’ll take the money!” said Lionel Mercer. He was a damn good pilot, yet a very shallow thinker. Robert would take him anyway.

  “So that’s it. All of you know me—we’ve grown up together—and if you join I promise I’ll give it everything I’ve got to make sure we succeed.”

  “All you’ve got?” Drake growled. “If that’s the case why don’t you hand over your millions to us and we won’t have to go anywhere?”

  Robert ignored him. “So what say you? Who’s going and who’s staying? And if you decide not to come I’ll understand. And if you do, it will involve having to live a double life, and you may not be able to spend very much of your shares without the risk of being found out. Yet eventually we’ll be free of the Vixx’r yoke and able to return to how life was before the occupation.”

  As the men began to discuss his offer, Robert Kincaid studied the red face of Bondel Drake. He had always been fascinated with the history of the Human race, and now he thought it ironic that the namesake of his most-vocal opponent tonight Sir Francis Drake had started out this same way, with a charter from the Queen of England to harass Spanish shipping in the Caribbean and western Atlantic. That particular Drake would go on to become the prototype of the dashing pirate, setting the stage of all who came after him, including Blackbeard, Captain Morgan and Jean Lafitte.

  “You’re welcome aboard, too, Drake,” Robert said in little more than a whisper, hoping the words wouldn’t come back to bite him.

  Drake shook his head. “You are one crazy son-of-a-bitch, Kincaid, but I suppose you can count me in.”

  Robert was stunned, yet before he could say another word, Drake scooped up his omnipresent satchel and left the room.

  3

  ROBERT left The Rusty Duck a little after midnight after having secured the enlistment of eight of the thirteen he’d invited—including Bondel Drake! Although Drake’s last minute change of heart was suspect, he did have his own armed marauder, or rather, what passed for a marauder in the Reaches these days, so he wouldn’t be underfoot aboard one of Robert’s ships.

  The Kai Shek began life as a bulk carrier, but now, according to her captain, she carried a five-array missile battery onboard and well-hidden from the Vixxie. He had also beefed up her sails and now spent most of his time hauling either paying customers or contraband—whichever paid the most.

  Of the people in the tavern who hadn’t joined, they all agreed to put the word out to trusted friends, family and workmates. According to them, they each knew of at least one other person who might be a possible candidate, and Robert was grateful for the help. Even though he supplemented his own contingent aboard the Malicious with a dozen of the simple-minded Nozama—the indigenous species of Ione—he still needed an ample supply of intelligent Humans to round out the crews. By his estimates, he needed a total of forty just to run the Malicious and the Revenge—the name they’d given the six-masted dreadnaught. Yet if he was indeed to turn to all-out piracy, then he’d need many more, to form boarding parties and to man the one-person flitters he would use to dis
able—rather than destroy—the alien cargo ships they targeted.

  These thoughts—and others—occupied his mind as he made the slow, lonely, twenty-mile drive to his home.

  The sprawling complex of buildings that made up the Kincaid Estate loomed high atop Vista View Point, the last and lowest peak of the Saw Teeth Range. It had originally belonged to his family, yet with the death of his parents a decade ago and the passing of his iconic grandfather more recently, the property had conveyed to him. Prior to that, the only home he’d known recently had been the various officer staterooms he’d been assigned to during his seven-year military tenure.

  His family’s wealth allowed for constant maintenance of the steep and winding road leading up the mountain, which was fortunate on such an awful night as this. The property sat at an elevation of three thousand feet, overlooking the McKinley Valley and the city of Anchorage. The day’s weather—made worse now by the current sixteen-below wind chill—had cast the access road in a thick layer of ice, until the Nozama crews came down and cleared it in anticipation of his arrival.

  Robert had been away for eighteen days, and once back on Ione, he’d gone directly from the Unitas Spaceport to The Rusty Duck. Now he was weary beyond belief, and yet his mind still raced along at flank speed. There was just so much to do and so little time.

  As he crested the top of the solitary peak, Robert was greeted by the sight of the ancient monument known to the residents of Anchorage as The Fountain. It wasn’t really a fountain at all, but rather a stacked assemblage of six dome structures that had served as the residence of his grandfather, Simon Kincaid, when the eighteen-year-old first arrived on Ione seventy-five years ago to help settle the planet.

  The simple polyurethane foam-covered shelters were the first housing units constructed on the planet, and had been a quick and easy way to protect the early settlers from the elements. Thousands of such domes dotted Ione—as well as the other planets in the Reaches—even though very few still served as residences. Once industrial facilities had been established in the region, more traditional construction replaced the basic dome structures.

  The Fountain was an official historical landmark, and one of the best-preserved examples of how people had lived on Ione at the time of the founding. Continuous lighting—provided even on ration days by solar and wind-powered sources—allowed the monument to be seen from down in the valley. Until three years ago, his family had allowed tours of the landmark, yet when Robert inherited the estate he put an end to the practice. He had grown tired of the constant crowds, as well as the pretentiousness the tours conveyed. With so many suffering throughout the Reaches, he didn’t want the public to see how well he lived. He got enough grief about his personal wealth as it was, and inviting tourists to his mountain-top sanctuary only fed the resentment.

  Beyond The Fountain the road continued on for another quarter-mile until it reached the current residential complex. Kincaid Manor—the main structure in the complex—was, in Robert’s opinion, twelve-thousand square feet of mostly wasted space. And add to that, the home was flanked by four other structures which housed the Human staff and the ninety Nozama who helped maintain the grounds and access roads.

  Even though he had been raised on the property, Robert still felt like a stranger every time he entered the main house. The staff treated him like royalty, which made him uncomfortable and unable to relax, even in his own home. As always, he was polite with them, but afterwards quickly rushed off to the South Wing. He restricted access to this section of the building, allowing in only himself, the cleaning crew and the House Master, an ancient man named Paul Schuler.

  Paul had been his grandfather’s personal assistant for over forty years, up until Simon Kincaid passed away three years before. Now he managed the estate for Robert.

  Schuler was one of the first native-born Humans on Ione, dating back seventy-four years ago. With the passing of Robert’s parents and grandfather, he was now the closest thing Robert had to a family member left alive. He deferred to Paul, and at times called on him to serve as his anchor when he found himself adrift in his own home.

  He was also one of the few people on Ione who knew Robert Kincaid was the infamous pirate Captain Malicious.

  “I hear your latest adventure was a success,” the wrinkled, blue-eyed man said as Robert kicked off his shoes and fell back on the plush, micro-fiber couch in the wing’s modest den. Independent generators on the property provided the estate with heat and light, so he didn’t suffer any of the hardships most of his fellow Ionians were experiencing this night.

  “We got lucky,” Robert said, as Paul handed him a glass of a gold-colored liquid. The old man then surprised him by pouring a drink for himself before sinking into the loveseat opposite Robert.

  “By the time I realized it was a six-master, it was too late. I was sure we were goners. It could have easily gone the other way.”

  Paul smiled. “That I very much doubt. You would have found a way to salvage the situation, even if it had gone differently. I’m sure you realize the Vixxie are fit to be tied over the loss. The ship broadcast a series of reports up until she entered the Drift, and some of them were picked up by the media. It looks like the reputation of the dread-pirate Captain Malicious just got a boost—for good or bad—depending on which side you’re on. Any luck at the meeting tonight?”

  “Some, but still not enough. It’s not going to do me any good having a forty-gun dreadnaught if I don’t have anyone to man her. I had to bring up the subject of sharing the spoils just to get them to listen.”

  “Money is a powerful motivator.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Robert said with a scowl.

  “Let them have their due, Robert. In the end it could serve all our purposes, and Heaven knows we need the help.”

  Robert slugged back his drink and felt the bite of strong Ionian scotch.

  “They’re still really ticked off at Earth. That doesn’t help when I’m trying to generate loyalty to a cause.”

  “The wounds run deep, and the betrayal was most severe. Yet as shallow and pragmatic as they may appear at this time, you will be surprised what honor men will exhibit at the worst of times. Have faith.”

  “I can’t remember, but have you ever been there?”

  “To Earth?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Yes, once with your grandfather.” Paul got up to fix another set of drinks. “It was a glorious place, not so much for the present, but for its past. An incredible sense of history is everywhere there. I’m sure the natives don’t even realize it, but everywhere one looks there is something of significance, something that has made us what we are.”

  “I should have gone when I had a chance.”

  Paul smiled again, yet this time it was more of a smirk. “You’re still young. I’m sure you’ll make it there someday.”

  “Not if the aliens stay here. The damn Vixxie have cut us off from Earth, and now I couldn’t go there even if I wanted to.”

  “That’s not entirely true.”

  It was Robert’s turn to smile. “Yeah, I know: take the six-master and run the security gauntlet at the border? But then I’d pay hell getting back in.”

  “Why come back?”

  Robert shook his head. “You know why, Paul. Ione is my home—not Earth. I may be Human, yet when the species began to be born on other worlds, perspectives changed. You’re a perfect example of that.”

  “True, and yet once you set foot on Earth, you experience something different...something moving. It’s as if there’s a connection—almost electric, maybe—in the soil. It’s different than standing here. Ione is where we were born. The Earth is where we were created.”

  Robert set the empty glass on the coffee table and stood up. “Your musings are too deep for me tonight, Paul,” he said. “I have to go into the office tomorrow, and you know how much I look forward to that! And now I’m going to have to face Smitty on about three hours of sleep. Good night, my friend, rest well.”


  “Good night, sir. It’s good to have you back.”

  4

  THE night wind had blown in a new series of snow clouds from the north, and even though the road down from the estate had been cleared, the next morning traffic in Anchorage was a snarled mess. While his meeting with the CEO of Kincaid Shipping and Transport was originally scheduled for nine, he entered the building a few minutes before eleven.

  The receptionist, Margo, gushed when he entered. She had always had a crush on Robert, almost to the point of harassment, and his recent absence had only exacerbated the situation.

  The young heir to the Kincaid fortune was thirty-three, a little over six-feet-tall, with a narrow waist and jet black, short-cropped hair. His eyes were nearly solid orbs of dark brown and he sported a pair of naturally-occurring peaked eyebrows that gave him a slightly devilish look. He had always been popular with the ladies—especially with one named Annabel Lynch.

  Stepping into the lobby of the executive offices of KST, he was greeted with an overly aggressive body hug from Margo, and he found himself recoiling slightly. The pain was still fresh, and the last thing he needed after the loss of Annabel was to risk his feelings again.

  “Smitty’s pissed,” Margo said as she moved back behind her desk.

  “I called.”

  “He’s still pissed—but that’s just Smitty.” Her demeanor changed suddenly as her eyes clouded. “He’s up there with Gaolic now. Something big is up.”

  Robert grimaced. “I thought I smelled him, and I didn’t bring my nose inserts.”

  Margo pulled open a desk drawer and withdrew a small box. She handed it to Robert. “With more Vixxie hanging around here these days, we have plenty of these to go around.”

  Reluctantly, Robert took the box. He opened it and then placed the thin, clear strips into each of his nostrils. The constant mucus secretions the aliens exuded under their torso scales produced a strong methane-like odor, and when confined to an enclosed space for an extended period—such as an office—the smell could overwhelm an unprotected Human. The strips helped to ameliorate the effect. It brought comfort to Robert knowing that the Vixx’r were insulted by the Humans’ reaction to their natural scent, and even more so from the fact that the Vixx’r experienced no such reciprocal reaction to the smell of Humans—which only added to the aliens’ frustration. These acrid mucus secretions also lent the aliens their derogatory epithet as ‘Sludgers.’