by Britt Ringel
“We’re so pleased to hear that, Stacy,” Scott said through a magnificent smile. “In fact, Captain Juradashi has instructed me to inform you that the Jewel would be willing to stay in port up to two weeks if your group wanted to charter passage back to Anthe.” Scott gingerly stepped closer to Vernay and confided, “This is highly unusual for a Lux Liner but we’re thrilled to contract with your, um, outfit.” Her brilliant smile became even more luminescent as she added, “It would also help us offset the local fee the orbital charged us to obtain priority docking.” The fee had come to the Jewel’s captain as a rude shock. Upon approach to the orbital, the station had notified him of an additional tax to avoid “stand-by” docking status. With limited traffic around the station, the fee seemed little more than a shakedown by the local officials. Scott continued, “Jewel is always willing to serve the Republic.”
I’m sure you are, Vernay thought wryly. With how much Captain Heskan paid, I bet I could convince you to stay here for a month if I dangled additional, lucrative Republic contracts in front of you. Vernay’s smile matched the intensity of Scott’s, the combined display threatening to produce a supernova in the narrow docking bay. “That is lovely, Joanne, but I’m afraid my team has already booked passage to our next destination.” Scott’s smile diminished to mere bright-giant status making Vernay feel obligated to add, “But I will be sure to make special mention of how Lux has treated us. You, in particular, Joanne.”
The pair shook hands and Vernay walked a hastened pace to catch up with her group. They were splitting up, with Lieutenant Truesworth exiting the docking bay toward the orbital’s meager commercial deck in an attempt to secure hotel rooms. Lodging would be cramped in the small, outdated orbital but Vernay knew they would only have to endure the austere accommodations for one or two nights. A second group, consisting of the sixteen pilots and the two gunners who aided their escape were led by Ensign Gables and moving toward orbital receiving to retrieve their baggage. Vernay looked upon the large group with pride. During the final night on the Jewel, each person in The Star Lounge had committed to returning to Anthe to rescue the Hollarans. Vernay was unsure whether they had made their decisions based on loyalty to Commander Heskan, a sense of comradery with the Hollarans, or a personal calculation on best chances for survival and true freedom. She was not sure she cared at this point. Mostly, she was just incredibly relieved to be returning to Commander Heskan with the full crew that he had provided her. I would have felt like I let him down if someone had wanted to abandon us, she thought as her attention turned to the third and final group, waiting patiently for her.
Lieutenant Selvaggio and Chief Brown greeted Vernay as she joined them. All three wore their duty uniforms. Brown appraised Vernay’s apprehensive look as he shifted the weight of the single bag he held. Vernay asked, “Ready for the moment of truth, Chief?”
During Jewel’s in-system transit from the Narvi tunnel point to the orbital around Baradis, Vernay had been unable to determine the identities of the freighters docked to the space station. The information was simply not normally available to a passenger on a private charter. As Vernay led the group out of the docking bay to find the commerce deck, she felt her stomach tighten considerably.
The trio walked down narrow corridors until chancing upon a small elevator. The directory inside the lift confirmed that the commerce section of the station was its lowest deck, maximizing the number of docking bays the orbital could offer. Vernay nervously shifted her weight from foot to foot. The hum of the machinery in the elevator dominated the silence. If there isn’t a freighter we think is owned by those Skathi pirates, we’re really out of luck. We’ll either have to book a ride back to Anthe and show up without a ship or we’ll be forced to steal an innocent ship. The elevator doors opened to the smell of oil and sweat. Vernay gauged where the most noise was coming from and turned to walk in its direction.
“We just need general departures, L-T,” Brown reminded her. “That’ll have ship names an’ their departure clearance windows.”
“Right, Chief,” Vernay uttered. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw wall screens ahead. Dread began to wash over her. My God, what if there isn’t a ship? What am I going to do then? Reaching the panels, she scanned the screens intently, her eyes skipping over ship after ship, vainly searching for any of the names she had memorized over the last four days. “Tovas Proud” jumped out at her. There, she thought excitedly. It’s not a great choice but at least we have an option. She continued to search but the remaining list held unfamiliar names that sank her spirits. Tovas is a small Handy-sized reefer, she thought dejectedly. She’s also a liner so she’ll be out of place as soon as we sail her off her established route. She requires a lot more crew than we have available which will make it difficult for us to sail back to Anthe, but maybe we can convert the refrigerated holds into something that the Hollarans can live in. Vernay had begrudgingly accepted the fact that Tovas Proud would be their bounty when the name “Hussy” drew her attention. It was second to last on the list. She recognized the name but was having difficulty recalling the ship’s details.
“That one,” Brown said as he pointed to Hussy. “Old, but better than the other.”
Hussy, Hussy… Vernay strained to recollect as she stabbed at her datapad. That’s right, she’s a tramp, general cargo container freighter. Cargo capacity is up to twenty-four standard containers… Oh, that means she’ll be geared. It says she has a crew complement of thirty-five. We’re still short on crew but we ought to have enough to sail her. Vernay continued to scan the vitals of the ship.
CSV Hussy was a Loggerhead-class sailing vessel. An old design originating nearly one hundred twenty years ago, Hussy appeared to be near the end of her lifespan at eighty-two years of service. She was small for a freighter, just one hundred thousand tonnes displacement. The ship consisted of a deck and a half, with her total livable space comprising a little less than one hundred meters by thirty meters. Her three internal holds were located down her centerline, at the bow, middle and aft of the ship. Each hold had the capacity to fit eight standard storage containers.
The containers were, essentially, hollow boxes with optional equipment that could accommodate different types of cargo. Some containers had refrigeration units; others had bona fide stasis capability. The majority were simply empty receptacles. Because the Loggerhead design was envisioned to serve as a tramp freighter and would travel to remote space stations that may not have their own loading and unloading equipment, each ship was “geared.” Two loading cranes sat atop the ship’s superstructure to give her a profile that harkened back to the days of ocean-going freighters.
Her propulsion was split between twin, antique Allison CT-B20 drives and a Hutchins Phot0-Sail. Her sensors were minimalist, as would be expected on a ship never intended to stray from controlled, navigable space. Her crew requirement, thirty-five, was a bit larger than the more modern ships of her size.
“She departs in less than six hours,” Selvaggio noted. “That doesn’t give us much time.”
“There aren’t exactly a lot of sights to see on this station anyway,” Vernay said. “Chief, I’m pinging your datapad and telling Jack not to book us rooms. Diane, can you rush down to receiving and tell Gables to skip storage and find a grav-pallet for our bags?”
“Why bother?” Selvaggio asked.
Brown smiled. “Cuz we’ll need the clothes, L-T, especially when we’re runnin’ fer the Commonwealth. Gonna be terrible with so many people aboard.” He shook his head. “Life support an’ hygiene’s gonna be a real concern if we’re not careful. I just hope that somewhere down the line, the owners of Hussy retrofitted her with some sonic showers.”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that,” Selvaggio replied humbly. “Guess I’m not used to thinking about that kind of thing.”
Brown nodded in support and offered, “It was never your job, ma’am. We just need to make sure you know how to use her Phot0-Sail.” A concerned look swept over Brown. “Yo
u have actually sailed before, right, ma’am?”
Selvaggio bit her lip before answering. “Just virtual sails.” She pointed down at Vernay’s datapad. “That type doesn’t ring a bell.”
“It’s a light sail, Diane,” Vernay informed. “Can you operate it?”
“Um, sure,” Selvaggio said as she shrugged. “How hard can it be? Plus, we’ll be using the Allison drives in the beginning.”
Worried expressions passed between Vernay and Brown before Selvaggio added, “Don’t worry, guys. I can do it.” She nodded to herself before saying with a smile, “Besides, this thing will come with an owner’s manual, right?”
“Diane,” Vernay said, “go meet up with Denise and Jack. The chief and I will press forward and meet you all outside the station’s observation lounge.”
Selvaggio gave Vernay a quick “thumbs up” and bounded down the hall toward the lift.
“It’ll be fine,” Brown told himself.
“She’s a natural navigator,” Vernay added. After several moments, she finally said, “Let’s go make some friends.”
* * *
The door to Orbital Administration slid open and a confident Lieutenant Vernay strode through the room like she owned it. She deftly pointed toward the gaping petty officer third class sitting behind a desk and ordered, “I need your section commander and a connection with the planet-side commander now, mister.” Chief Brown, armed with the multi-rifle from Kite, marched stoically behind his lieutenant.
Vernay’s stern expression launched the petty officer into action. He called his office manager and then began to create a communications connection with the main naval base on Baradis. Moments later, a confused ensign stumbled into the office from a side door.
“M-may I help you?” the ensign stuttered as he looked between the diminutive officer and the large, armed enlisted man.
Vernay ignored the ensign and commanded, “Send that connection through to the ensign’s office, Petty Officer—,” she glanced at the man’s nametag, “—Monroe.” Vernay’s eyes darted to the dumbfounded ensign. “You. Meeting in your office. Now.” Without waiting, Vernay marched toward the door the ensign had used.
Inside the office, Vernay, Brown and Ensign Franks faced the wall screen holding the image of a full lieutenant. “You are the planet-side commander, I assume,” Vernay began without preamble while seating herself comfortably in a chair behind the ensign’s desk.
“Yes,” answered the image on the wall screen, “I’m Lieutenant Owens. What is the meaning of this? Who are you?”
“Lieutenant Owens,” Vernay said arrogantly, “you may address me as Lieutenant Vernay. What I am about to say will not be repeated. Official records will show Stacy Vernay as the first officer of the command cruiser, Crusader. The reality is that I am a very pissed off deep cover internal security agent who has been pulled off her assignment to run down this goat-rope of a mission.” Vernay tapped her datapad. “I’m flashing my orders to you now. You’ll forgive the redactions; consider yourself lucky that I’m sending you anything at all.”
Vernay watched the man look down at his datapad. Her stomach tightened as she saw twists of confusion manifest over his face. She watched his hands move over his datapad as he entered commands. The “orders” she had sent him were the orders sent by Brewer to Heskan, assigning him to the Parasite think tank. They had been carefully edited and redacted to make them nearly unreadable. The only “official” parts of the forged orders were some command codes and assignment entries used by Internal Security when transferring personnel to different jobs.
The planet-side commander began to shake his head. “I can’t make heads or tails of this, ma’am.” He entered more commands into his datapad and finally looked up to his wall screen. “So much of the orders have been edited out that I can’t understand them. The change of station and status codes follow I.S. protocol, although I don’t have access to actually see what those codes mean.”
Vernay nodded impatiently. “That’s kind of the purpose, Lieutenant.” The tone of her voice was pure annoyance. “Tell you what, you go through I.S. indoc training, then through tech school and the prelims and then get your clearance and I’ll give you the entire orders unencoded.” She bit down hard and finished her thoughts through clenched teeth. “But until then, you either support my mission or place yourself under arrest for failing to properly support the Republic.”
Hands of surrender shot up from Lieutenant Owens. “Ma’am, I’m just saying I can’t confirm your orders. Nobody is saying we won’t support you.” When Vernay softened her expression, the lieutenant continued. “What exactly do you need from us anyway?”
Vernay still bit down, not out of false frustration but to prevent her nearly overwhelming feelings of relief from giving up the game. “You have a pirate vessel docked on your orbital, Owens.”
Confusion once again cast over Owens, followed by quick glances exchanged between the lieutenant and ensign. Uh-oh, Vernay thought. What’s going on?
“Um, ma’am,” Owens started hesitantly, “that’s not exactly a secret. The Roberts Clan pays us each month. How would Internal Security not know this?”
Vernay’s stomach plummeted at the lieutenant’s implications. Pay us each month? The local government knows about this? Rage filled Vernay and she struggled to keep tight control over her expression. “Of course this is common knowledge, Owens. You think I’d reveal classified material to two junior officers I’d just met?” She shook her head and swallowed hard. “What I am telling you is that this particular pirate ship is no longer under the Republic’s umbrella of protection.”
Lieutenant Owens nodded in understanding. “Oh, I see now. Which ship are we talking about, ma’am?”
“CSV Hussy.”
The man brought a nervous finger up to his mouth before pulling it away. “Not to question I.S., ma’am, but are you sure? I know they paid when they docked. Could your information be wrong?”
Inspiration struck Vernay and her voice took on a dark edge. “This isn’t about payment, Owens. My orders are to commandeer that freighter and take her back to Skathi. There are gentlemen in a facility there that would very much enjoy a conversation with one of her crew.”
Owens swallowed hard at the insinuation. “Understood. How can I assist you?”
“We’re I.S.,” Vernay stated unpleasantly. “We don’t need your help. All we need is for you, your personnel and your system defense ships to stay out of our way no matter what messages of distress may come from that freighter. Hussy was never in-system and we never had this conversation.”
More nods ushered forth from the lieutenant. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll send private instructions to all my ship captains. Ensign Franks, whatever Lieutenant… um, Vernay, wants, she gets. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the ensign croaked.
“Well done,” Vernay complimented weakly. “We won’t speak to each other again, Lieutenant. Vernay out.” She disconnected the communications signal before turning to the very pale ensign now standing a meter from her. “Ensign, I want four base security personnel to stand watch in the docking bay to Hussy.” She paused and then added, “How many multi-rifles does the station armory have?”
* * *
Diane Selvaggio shifted her attention away from the Phot0-Sail operating instructions on her datapad to the rapidly approaching pair. “Did they buy it?”
Vernay smiled. “I think so.”
“She did great,” Brown proclaimed. He then smiled deviously and added, “L-T, I think you could go really far as an overbearin’, egotistical I.S. agent.”
Vernay laughed but then sobered quickly. “Yeah, I can’t believe how quickly people are to cow-tow to Internal Security.” She thought about her own submissiveness during her brief encounters with Agent Jennings and Secretary Brewer and felt heat rising in her cheeks. “Guess I can’t blame them.”
Oblivious to her internal musings, Truesworth stated, “I can. If people had the guts to speak truth to pow
er, maybe we wouldn’t be in the position we are now.”
“It’s not always that easy, Jack,” Vernay commented feebly, “but I can’t say I disagree. Where are the rest of us?”
Truesworth pointed down the narrow corridor to a restaurant and started leading Vernay in that direction. “The pilots are eating at the Moon Crater Café. I gave the chief’s datapad to Gables and have her watching the departure boards, just in case.”
“Smart thinking, Jack. We’re set to storm the target in a little over an hour. We’ll have four orbital security-police with us. We can turn Hussy’s crew over to them, although we have to keep the captain on board to maintain the charade. I told the station commander to hold the crew until a second team of I.S. agents picks them up.”
“What will we do with the freighter captain, Stacy?” Selvaggio asked.
“I’m not sure. Lock him in a cabin, I suppose. Our story falls apart if we let him go in a lifeboat at the tunnel point so we have to take him with us.”
“It’ll be fine, L-T,” Brown assured. “Let’s just concentrate on takin’ the ship without mishap.”
Vernay nodded wholeheartedly. “We went over the plan during our trip here but let’s get over to that café and talk through it one last time now that we know which ship.” A thought struck her. “Where’s the grav-pallet, Jack?”
“It’s with Denise. She’s probably using it to sit on. Everyone’s changed into duty uniforms like you asked. We’re as ready as we can be, Stacy. Relax.”
Selvaggio’s datapad chirped, followed by the excited voice of Denise Gables. “Diane! Have Lieutenant Vernay and the chief come back yet? Hussy is casting off!”
Vernay’s party stopped in unison. “What?” she yelled as she tore at Selvaggio’s datapad. Vernay watched relief flood over Gables when the young ensign saw her.
“Ma’am, the departure board just changed. It says she’s leaving.”
