Sands of the Solar Empire (The Belmont Saga)

by Ren Garcia

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Stenstrom replied.

  Lt. Gwendolyn appeared impatient. “Please get on with it, Morgan,” she said.

  Morgan shot her a look. “I wish to ask you a few questions, as, without proper life support, you can quickly become addled with brain asphyxia and not even know it. I want to assess your current medical situation.”

  “Very well, please ask your questions,” Stenstrom said.

  “What year were you born, sir?”

  “03192ax,” Stenstrom quickly replied.

  “What is your birth date?”

  “December 17th.”

  Morgan noted a few things down on a pad. “Are you feeling out of sorts at all?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Are you …”

  Gwendolyn pushed her way back into the screen. “Thank you, Morgan. As you can see, the Paymaster appears, for the moment, to be fine.” She turned to him. “I am relieved to see that you are unharmed. I also see that you managed to get your half-scuttled ship out of its terminal orbit and park at standard altitude for dry-docking, an impressive accomplishment considering the state of your vessel. Please be advised that we shall rendezvous with you in approximately seven hours. At that time, myself and my team shall board the ship and safe-tow it to Dry Dock 186 to begin its repairs.”

  “The repairs that I am paying for, yes?”

  “I am not aware of such things, sir. To continue, at that time we shall rescue you and your people and take you back down to Fleet.”

  Stenstrom smiled. “Good Lt., if I may…”

  “That’s captain, if you please,” she corrected. “I am the commanding officer of this vessel and I insist proper protocol be observed.”

  “Yes, thank you. As you can see, Captain, we here on the Seeker are in weather shape and have no need of rescue. We are a warbird on the wing. I have been recently appointed to the chair of the Seeker and have been tasked to go at speed to Bazz on the orders of Admiral Derlith. I intend to fulfill that mission.”

  Lt. Gwendolyn sighed. She put her hand on the hilt of her sword. “Paymaster, I appreciate your position, and am sorry that my presence aboard the ship shall cause your appointment to be rendered void. However, your safety, and that of those with you, is currently my responsibility, and I intend to deliver you and anybody else present on the Seeker, to the shore immediately. Am I clear, sir? I hate to be blunt and the bearer of bad news, but there it is. If it is any consolation to you, sir, I shall be glad to make a recommendation to the Admiralty regarding your inventiveness and tenacity in this matter. It is certainly to be commended.”

  “Thank you,” Stenstrom said. “The Admiralty certainly has a keen eye for such things, do they not? And, please, allow me to be clear to you as well, Captain. I have a mission to accomplish, for my chair’s sake, and I shall carry it out. You needn’t hurry to our position, as we shall not be here upon your arrival.”

  Gwendolyn approached the Holo-Cone, filling it up. It was hard to judge how big she was, but she looked to be rather tall and solidly built. Stenstrom mused that, if she smiled, she would most probably be very attractive—but her face was set in a stern frown. “According to my logs, you have two unauthorized persons aboard your vessel. She snapped her fingers, and someone handed her a report. She looked at it. “Where is Fleet Adjutant Lt. Josephus, Lord of A-Ram?”

  “Here, ma’am,” A-Ram piped from behind the helm.

  Gwendolyn glanced at him. “I know you, sir, do I not? Yes, yes of course, I’ve seen you in Admiral Derlith’s office. Well met. Sir, you are considered absent from your duties—which is a serious charge. The Admiral is very concerned about you and is willing to forget this matter, but I must have you to his side with all speed.”

  “Lord A-Ram no longer is in the employ of Admiral Derlith, and he is no longer an Adjutant,” Stenstrom said. “I have duly appropriated him, as is my right as ship’s commander. Lord A-Ram is now my Master Helmsman.”

  “What?” Captain Gwendolyn said, shocked.

  “I have appointed Lord A-Ram as my Master Helmsman.”

  “Paymaster, he is an adjutant—an assistant, a helper, and, if my memory is clear, he can barely see two feet in front of his face. Lord A-Ram, I do not mean to belittle you, but …”

  “Then why do so?” Stenstrom said, jumping in. “He had the skill and the raw nerve to fly me in a sub-orbital onto a dead ship in space. You claim he can’t see—perhaps it is you and everybody else at Fleet who cannot see, for there was an unnoticed treasure in your midst the whole time, and I have stolen him away and given him his due at long last.”

  Gwendolyn sighed. “I am not certain what relevance that has in this conversation, Paymaster. Lord A-Ram shall be returned to the Admiral’s office.”

  “Yes, where he may get a badly sore elbow polishing the Admiral’s silver. By hook or by crook, Captain, I shall have a crew,” Stenstrom replied. “Admiral Derlith has made no other choice possible. This man was wasted in that office and routinely humiliated by an arrogant Admiral. Here he is a Master Helmsman and greatly appreciated.”

  Gwendolyn shot him an increasingly dirty look. “I see. And where is Private Taara de la Anderson, of the 110th Marines?”

  Taara stepped forward and nodded. “That’s me.”

  Gwendolyn turned to her. “You, Private, are officially AWOL from your barracks. I am compelled to inform you that I must take you into custody at once. Adjutant Josephus, will you please take Private Taara to the brig and await my arrival. Is that understood?”

  “The brig currently has no gravity, ma’am,” Taara chirped.

  “Then select a suitable quarters and take her there. Once inside, she is not to emerge until I arrive.”

  Shrugging, A-Ram began moving in Taara’s direction.

  Stenstrom got a tad annoyed himself. A-Ram showed every sign of cracking and giving in to Lt. Gwendolyn. A-Ram was used to following orders without much question, and Stenstrom had to intervene. “Stand fast, A-Ram. Let’s show a bit of style here, yes?” He turned back to Gwendolyn. “Perhaps you’ve cotton in your ears, Captain, or that tight bun you’ve imprisoned your hair in has restricted the blood flow to your brain,” he said. “Lord A-Ram is under my command, not yours; therefore, stop issuing him orders.”

  A-Ram resumed his position behind the helm, dwarfed by it. He looked like he wished to be elsewhere.

  Gwendolyn’s eyes flashed.

  “And,” Stenstrom continued, “you will be happy to note that I have appointed Private Taara as my first officer, again as is my right. The Seeker has a long tradition of Marines serving as first officer: Lt. Kilos of the 12th Marines, and Lt. Verlin of the 53rd have served this ship proudly, and I wish to carry on said tradition. I am sorry for the confusion. If Admiral Derlith had left me a ship not in pieces, I would have Commed down the required communication hours ago. Perhaps you could do it for me, since you appear to have command of a nice, working scouting ship.”

  Gwendolyn was shocked. “A … private … as a first officer? Paymaster, such a thing is not done …”

  “It is now, and Private Taara shall serve me and this ship well.”

  She shook her head. “Paymaster, I am sorry, I am overriding your appointment. Adjutant Josephus, please take Private Taara into custody, immediately.”

  Again, A-Ram began moving from behind the helm.

  “A-Ram, stand fast and buckle up! Captain, you are not issuing me or my crew orders, and you’ve naught but the temerity to attempt to do so.”

  Gwendolyn became rather perturbed. “Paymaster, when I board your vessel and take command, you and I are going to have a short but rather vigorous talk in the gym regarding seniority and proper etiquette, and I warn you, sir, I am a champion boxer.”

  “I can tell, the heavyweight division, yes?” Stenstrom said—Gwendolyn’s mouth dropped open in shock at the slap. Taara and Morgan, on the screen, laughed.

  Stenstrom stood and approached the Holo-cone. He was standing nose to nos
e with Lt. Gwendolyn. “Captain, it appears we are both victims of circumstance here—there’s no need for us to work against each other. Please, allow me to complete my mission, and then I shall gladly allow you to board the ship and complete yours.”

  “I have my orders, sir—and you have yours. I order you to remain on station and await my arrival, where I, and my team, shall board the ship post haste. At that time, I shall relieve you of your command, take Private Taara into custody, and return Adjutant Josephus to the Fleet. Then, I shall escort you to the gym where I shall gladly relieve you of your teeth. Take your pick—boxing, wrestling, sambo, or a good old-fashioned, bare-knuckle fight—it’s up to you!”

  “Captain, I will remind you that you are in command of a scouting ship. I am sitting on a Main Fleet warbird, such as it is, and, therefore, your orders are nullified. And, by the by, should you choose to take a swing at me, be it known that I shall swing back with the utmost vigor. Lady or not, girl or not, I shall put you on the floor.”

  “My orders come from Admiral Derlith!”

  “As do mine!”

  Gwendolyn took her hat off, and her dark brown hair spilled out. “You have seven hours, Paymaster. If you are not where you are supposed to be when I come for you, then it’s war between us, sir, and it will be a war that you shall lose in earnest!”

  “Very well—then it is war. You have thrown down the gauntlet, and I am picking it up and slapping your punch-riddled face with it. If only to cause you the maximum level of annoyance, I am going to Bazz. Stenstrom out!”

  Gwendolyn looked like she was about to explode when the screen went off.

  A-Ram shook his head.

  “That was cool, Bel!” Taara cried. “You really know how to tweak a person off. She looked really, really pissed.” Taara gave him a shove. “Am I really your first officer?”

  “If you want it.”

  Taara gave him a grand hug.

  A-Ram was skeptical. “That was a fine show of bravado Bel, but the fact remains we’re stuck here in orbit. We’ve no drive engines and are dead in our tracks. Likewise, you’re going to be finding yourself in quite a fistfight once Captain Gwendolyn boards the ship,” he said.

  “Am I?”

  “Oh, yes. She’s one of Admiral Derlith’s favorites—his niece I think. And yes, she was the Fleet’s boxing champion in her weight class four years running, ladies division—and it wasn’t the heavyweight class either. She’s also really good at wrestling and sambo, for what that’s worth. She has a fast right hook and a mean streak to match, so I’m told.”

  “What else?”

  “That’s about all I know. She was often in attendance in the Admiral’s office. She was always quite nice to me—but then again I never slapped her in the face right in front of her crew, either.”

  “Oh, you’re too kind, A-Ram. I’m certain she’ll get over it.”

  “If you’re going to fight, I want to be there to watch,” Taara said.

  Stenstrom walked to the back of the bridge. “Taara, I’m not going to beat up a helpless woman.”

  “She didn’t look helpless to me. I’ll bet she could take you—heck I’ll bet I could take you too! You never want to fight a girl from Bazz.”

  Stenstrom ignored her. “So, if only to avoid an embarrassing session of fisticuffs in the gym, we have seven hours to not be here. What are our options? How are we going to do this?”

  “We can’t use power from the grav packs, Bel,” Taara said, still all MOLLYed up. “That won’t break us out of orbit—we won’t be able to generate the altitude or the velocity. We have gas compression engines but no coils to run them—and they don’t function in space anyway. We have no motive power, plain and simple.”

  Stenstrom tapped his chin and thought. “I was thinking, with the Seeker abandoned and mostly stripped, she’s carrying much less weight then she normally would, and, therefore, the amount of thrust required to drive her will be greatly reduced.”

  “We would need a 770 coil, at least,” Taara said, impressed by her own knowledge that she shouldn’t have.

  “If memory serves, a 770 coil is pretty big. All I’m talking is enough thrust to get us away from Kana and on our way to Bazz.”

  They sat silent for a moment.

  “A standard T-60 transport has a fair amount of thrust. If you have five or six of those clamped onto the hull, that would limp us out of orbit I should think,” A-Ram added.

  Taara suddenly seemed inspired. She went to the Fore Sensing station and peered into the viewer. “We have a slow tap into Fleetcom’s database. Let me just fiddle about with his here for a sec … and, there we go!”

  “What are you looking up?” Stenstrom asked.

  “I had a thought. Yes, look here—Dry Dock 275. I recall the clerks at the hangar talking about an old tach-Scout ship that’s currently docked there for a refit, so I looked it up. Here it is, the Westminster, an old Belleraphon-class scouting vessel.”

  “Go on, Taara, what are your thoughts?”

  “I’m thinking we up-thrust out of this polar orbit and synch-up with Dry Dock 275. I think, if we reroute enough power, we’ll just be able to reach Dry Dock altitude. And, better yet, the Westminster will just fit into Ripcar Bay 5. We’ll put her in there, clamp her down nice and snug, then we’ll just drop containment and fire her engines. That should get us out of here in a hurry.”

  “RipcarBay 5?” A-Ram said. “That’s a forward-facing bay. We’ll be flying backwards.”

  “So?” Taara replied. “There will be issues, of course. Our Line of Thrust will be well above our center of gravity, so we’ll be a bit unstable and will want to drift. We can course correct as needed.”

  Stenstrom smiled. “And, I would imagine that there is a minimal crew up there on Dry Dock 275, what with the holiday and all.”

  A-Ram shuffled his feet. “I don’t like this, Bel. We’re talking about stealing a Fleet vessel.”

  “Oh, come on, A-Ram—I prefer the term commandeering. We’re talking about commandeering a Fleet vessel.”

  “The Fleet is going to rain all over us,” A-Ram replied.

  “Are they? The Admirals make the rules down there in Armenelos, but let them enforce them up here in space. The Fleet Captaincy, should they get wind of this, is going to be pretty sore—not at us, but at the Admiralty. I can drop names with the best of them—my father, Captain Davage, and more. Captain Davage told me himself—a Fleet captain is expected to be bold and tenacious, and that’s exactly how we’re conducting ourselves in carrying out our mission. Taara, how much altitude do we need?”

  “Dry Dock 275 is in the second shell of Zone B, about another fifteen thousand feet straight up. Good thing too—if she were in the third or fourth shells, we wouldn’t be able to generate the velocity to reach her.”

  A-Ram sulked behind the wheel. “We’re going to get into trouble.”

  “Look, we get into trouble—I’ll buy our way out of it. Money talks, A-Ram, never forget that. I can buy Barr and mouthpieces that’ll have the Fleet’s head spinning. Besides, we’re going to bring the Westminster back nice and neat after we’ve delivered our bloody brandy to Bazz. No harm done, so, with that in mind, let’s make ready to up-thrust and do this.”

  8 The Westminster

  Slowly, the Seeker ascended several thousand feet. If the various sensors and automated equipment on the bridge had been functioning, they would have been hearing all sorts of claxons and buoys complaining about proximity violations and the like. However, the Seeker’s bridge was blissfully quiet.

  Soon, on the jumpy holo-cone, the rib-cage of Dry Dock 275 appeared in the distance. It was mostly empty; the only ship within was the tiny, bullet-shaped hull of the Westminster.

  Carefully, A-Ram slid the Seeker to the aft docking collar, and the three of them made their slow way out of the ship.

  The clean, fresh air of the Dry Dock was a real treat after the stale, smelly air they’d been breathing. They were met by a single Marine and a
n angry yardmaster.

  “Didn’t you get my Com? You’re in the wrong Dry Dock! The Seeker’s scheduled to make berth in Dry Dock 186 a few days hence. You need to get your tub out of here now!”

  “Actually sir—I’m sorry—what is your name?” Stenstrom said.

  “Senior Yardmaster Piro.”

  “I see. Well, Senior Yardmaster Piro, we’re not staying, obviously. We’re just here to pick up the Westminster—her presence is required on Bazz for a few days, then we’ll have her right back just like we found her.”

  Piro was dumbfounded. “You’re taking the Westminster? First I’ve heard of it. The Westminster is scheduled, after her refit, to go to Tantan and serve the Fleet office there. I’m going to get some confirmation. Sgt. Laval, would you mind so much?”

  The Marine drew his SK and pointed it at them.

  “I’d get your hands up in plain sight and keep them there, if I were you, right now,” Piro said walking into his office.

  Stenstrom smiled and raised his hands. “Oh, indeed.” He glanced at A-Ram and Taara. “Come on, you two, get your hands up. Let’s all be friends, shall we?”

  A-Ram and Taara raised their hands. The Marine reached out and took Taara’s SK. He then pulled Stenstrom’s NTH pistols and set them aside. “I’m sorry about this,” he said. “I’m certain it’s just a mix up. Happens all the time.”

  “Yes, just a mix up. Sgt., you forgot something,” Stenstrom said.

  “Sir?” the Marine responded.

  Stenstrom waved his fingers and a pink Holystone appeared in his hand. “Holystone,” he said. “I always carry a bunch.”

  “Thank you, sir,” the Marine replied. He reached up and took the stone. He instantly fell into a rather stupefied state. He toppled over, and Stenstrom caught him and eased him down. “Pink Holystone works every time. You’ll have a nice little dream, Sgt., then you’ll be just fine.”