Corsair Menace (Privateer Tales Book 12)

by Jamie McFarlane

  I’d run all the suits through the suit cleaner three times and set the deodorizer cycle each time. My suit had a slight cinnamon smell, as that was my preference. I caught no whiff of the previously pungent waste smells and sealed myself in.

  “Reinitialize grav-suit with my last backup,” I ordered.

  Someone or something had seriously messed with the suit’s systems and the control code was in shambles. While they were mechanically sound, their software was in bad shape. Fortunately, the smart-clothing I wore kept a backup and it would be an easy matter for my AI to reinitialize and restart the systems.

  My HUD blanked as the suit’s myriad systems rebooted after being asynchronously initialized. A red list of damages appeared on a projected screen to my right. The suit was fully capable of repairing itself and soon items turned from red to yellow and finally to green before disappearing from the list. Other items would take longer to repair and would perhaps require the use of the industrial replicator we’d brought back from Earth.

  From the corner of my eye I caught Tabby bending over as she pulled off her suit liner. She was an amazing sight — long legs ending in a perfect bottom. I was a sucker for the sporty, tight black shorts she wore and the lacy camisole that held her perfectly shaped breasts in place. She startled when I reached out and stroked her bare waist with my ungloved hand, then turned and gave me that smile reserved just for me.

  "Thanks for coming to my rescue out there," I said.

  "I don't like it when things come between us." She pushed me back onto the bed and lightly jumped across to straddle me. "Well, only a very few things." She tugged at my suit's seal and I allowed her to pull it down.

  "Did you lock the door?" I asked.

  "Live a little." Tabby coaxed my grav-suit to the ground and caught my attention in an entirely new way.

  Twenty minutes later, the two of us joined the rest of the crew who were waiting in the shade of Tuuq’s hull.

  "Trouble with the suits, Cap?" Marny asked, winking at Tabby.

  I shook my head, sure my cheeks had reddened. "Anyone still interested in a late lunch?"

  Tabby slapped my butt and gave it a good squeeze. "I'm famished."

  "You kids," Ada said, smiling. It was a funny remark, as she was the youngest aboard.

  "I would have expected the attack to have changed our plans," Flaer said. She sat rigidly next to the much larger Sendrei, who'd changed into a normal vac-suit. He looped his large arm around her protectively.

  "If you would prefer," Ada said, "I'd be happy to take a group back to York. It has been a stressful afternoon."

  Flaer looked at the ground demurely. "I would enjoy seeing Azima, but I want to be sensitive to the wishes of the group."

  "I've been looking forward to lunch at Koosha's," I said. "It's a quick trip back, though, so I could drop folks off too."

  "I wouldn't mind getting back," Nick said. "I'd like to see what can be salvaged between the mini-tank and the Stryker. Can you guys bring back the patrol vehicle and Tuuq?"

  “We’ve got it,” I said, having already verified we had full control of the vehicles.

  “See you at home,” Marny said. “And don’t split up. There are bound to be those who’d like to make their bones on our group.”

  Ada nodded. “We’ll be careful.”

  I felt a twinge of guilt at not following Nick and Marny back, but quickly dismissed it. Today had been a significant win. We’d survived against heavy odds, and gained equipment we could sell for a considerable gain.

  "Bring us some of those spicy wraps," Marny said. "I feel like I could eat ten of them."

  I smiled. Hungry she might be, but I'd only ever successfully finished one. "You want the yellow sauce or the red?"

  "Red," she said. "Make sure Flaer and Sendrei get the red, it's made from selich root."

  "Good to know," I said. Selich root was, of course, the spicy tuber that caused humans and many other species to become poisonous to Kroerak.

  "If we have time, I’ll see about a buyer for the vehicles," I said.

  "Do you believe there's a possibility that if you sell them locally, they might be used to re-arm those who attacked us today?" Sendrei asked.

  "It's possible," I said. "But, they'll rearm one way or another and Azima has a strong market."

  "The man, Bishop, was not incorrect when he suggested you are causing an escalation in tensions," Sendrei continued. "I do not say this to place blame, but simply to recognize the shift in power dynamics in our new home. The York militia was substantially under-armed when they came to your aid. It may be to your long term financial benefit to contribute these captured vehicles to York."

  "Marny?"

  "Mez Rigdon would certainly put them to good use," she said. "Consider this — Goboble significantly underestimated our capabilities today. The Popeyes were an unknown quantity, without which we'd have had a different outcome. We're not sure who will be coming for us next, but it’s reasonable to believe they won't make the same mistake."

  "Well, frak, we're going to have to sell something," I said, a little frustrated. "I live with a bunch of hoarders."

  "We should get going," Ada said, standing. "I don't want to miss the ladies and their fabrics at the bazaar."

  "Can we at least eat first?" I complained, following her aft through the translucent pressure barrier. We'd closed the aft cargo bay so we exited the ship through the starboard hatch.

  It was only a two kilometer walk to Azima's bazaar. In my mind, the marketplace was a sad parody of the one in the Mars city of Puskar Stellar. That said, it was the very definition of a free market. Most items had no price and haggling was both acceptable and expected.

  "Ooh, there it is," Ada said, drawn to a booth we'd stopped at before. An older Pogona woman smiled toothily at her as we approached.

  "You make deal today, Ms. Ada Chen?" The woman's voice was high and screechy.

  "Zabdali thinks Ada Chen has much wealth," Ada replied. "I might have to settle for just admiring your beautiful weavings." Ada pulled a bright blue fabric from beneath a pile of similarly bright materials and ran her hand beneath to show it off.

  "It would make a pretty wrap," Flaer said, stepping up next to Ada. Ada smiled and wrapped it around Flaer's shoulders.

  "A beautiful woman, this short human. Why has Zabdali not see her before?"

  "Flaer," she identified herself, extending her hand as if to shake.

  Zabdali looked at her as if she had grown a second head.

  I recognized her predicament. "Hold your hands with palms up."

  Flaer did as I said. The old woman smiled and rubbed the backs of her fingers across Flaer's open palms. I'd found it interesting how both gestures had their origin in a demonstration of empty hands.

  "Will you be here in a short-span?" Ada asked. A short-span on Zuri was about an hour. "We missed lunch."

  "Has Ms. Ada Chen decided to make proper offer to Zabdali today?"

  "Zabdali knows my price." Ada smiled knowingly at the old woman. "The question is if Zabdali will part with her fine woven cloth for Ada Chen's more than fair offer."

  "Were you to add one stone in ten, I would give you the entire lot," Zabdali countered.

  I liked her style; she was upping both price and volume.

  "I will add one stone in twenty," Ada countered. "And I only need eight meters, Zabdali."

  "What would Zabdali do with only a meter? Take the lot, and I will accept one stone in twenty," she said.

  "You have ten meters, Zabdali," Ada said, raising her eyebrows and trying to shame the old woman. The effort was likely a lost cause on the old haggler, who simply smiled innocently, as if she didn't understand why Ada's statement might cause a problem. "Okay, fine, wrap up the lot."

  The old woman thrust a thick merchant's pad into Ada's hand before any of us could bat an eye. "Eleven point three meters," she said. "Please sign."

  Ada rolled her eyes. She'd wanted eight meters and had finally acquiesced to buy
ten only to discover she'd be purchasing slightly more than ten. She signed and tapped the merchant on her slatted nose. "You are a wily one, Zabdali."

  "You will have enough to make a covering for the small, red haired one." Zabdali reached out and carefully felt Flaer's hair with her gnarled fingers. "Tell me star child, would you sell your wool to Zabdali?"

  Flaer gently reached up and removed Zabdali's hand from her head. "I would not."

  "Zabdali means no offense. Yours is a color not seen on Pogona. It would be highly desirable."

  "Koosha, Koosha," Tabby chanted. Like me, she was quickly bored with shopping and had even less patience for dickering.

  Zabdali quickly wrapped Ada's fabric with a rough, brown covering and handed it to her.

  "Remember my offer," she called after Flaer as we left.

  We covered the hundred meters to the food vendors past booths, many of which were displaying items we could easily replicate with our least sophisticated Class-A replicators.

  "The beautiful Tabitha Masters." We were still ten meters from where Koosha typically set up his cart when a Pogona woman approached. She had alabaster skin and straight white hair that hung to her shoulder blades.

  Tabby turned just as the woman reached out to grab her shoulder. If not for the wrinkled skin beneath their necks and slatted nose, Jala, Koosha's wife, was quite beautiful, almost elegant if you could overlook the differences. To be honest, the neck skin really threw me off.

  "Jala," Tabby turned to greet the woman. Jala pulled her into an uncomfortably close embrace, which I felt was held too long.

  "Liam Hoffen." She acknowledged me by extending her palm and I brushed my fingertips along the surface. "And new friends I have not yet met." She traced the back of her long, reptilian fingers down Sendrei's chest and along Flaer's cheek, then turned to embrace Ada. I wasn’t sure if I was being petty, but Jala didn't hold Ada for anywhere near as long as she had Tabby.

  "Sendrei and Flaer," Ada explained as Jala released her. "They are of York now."

  "And you have brought them to enjoy a meal with Koosha. He will be so honored," she said. "I will go ahead of you so we might prepare."

  With that she turned and sliced her way through the throng of people milling around the bazaar. By the time we made it to where Koosha's tables were set up, Jala had arranged a table with six chairs. It was a forgone conclusion that Koosha would join us — as seemed his custom during our other meals with him.

  "Will our new friends, Sendrei and Flaer, prefer yellow or red today?" Koosha asked. He made only one type of dish from his cart, but for me it never got old.

  "We would try the red," Sendrei answered. "I am concerned that it might be uncomfortable for our untrained palettes."

  It took Koosha's translator a moment to communicate what Sendrei had said and he finally smiled. "Ah, yes. Humans have delicate tongues. With our own young, we provide rich milk which reduces the feeling of fire."

  "Um. I'm not sure that's a good idea," I said, placing my hand on Sendrei's arm.

  "That is right," Flaer said. "We will eat of nothing that is gathered from captive animals."

  "Our proteins come in a selection of vat grown or natural," he said. "It is your choice that we will respect."

  "I will not drink milk from a domesticated animal." Her feelings were understandable. When we'd found humans on the Kroerak controlled world, called The Cradle, it was the humans who were held as animals for slaughter by the Kroerak.

  "Our milks come from only the healthiest Pogona. It is not moral to keep one of our own captive for purpose of her body's produce."

  "Yeah, that," I said. "Sorry. I should have warned you."

  "I do not understand human hesitance in this matter. Our suppliers quite willingly give of themselves and the money they earn is used to raise their young families," he said.

  "That is acceptable," Flaer said, interrupting the conversation.

  This must have struck Sendrei as oddly as it did me, because we both looked at Flaer, mouths agape.

  "Do not be prudes. If it is freely given I find no conflict."

  I looked back to Tabby and we exchanged a scandalized look. I wasn't sure what my hang-up was, but something felt wrong.

  "Koosha, share with me what you know of the planet Fan Zuri and its moon Cenaki," I said.

  Fan Zuri was the only other inhabitable planet in the Santaloo solar system. It had multiple moons, although only Cenaki had any real population on it.

  "Fan Zuri is much warmer than is Zuri. It is primarily populated by my people," he said. "I think you would find it to be very much to your liking. The peoples are friendly and trade is abundant."

  "You should avoid Cenaki at all costs," Jala added. She set square wooden slabs in front of us, each holding a tightly wrapped mix of proteins and local vegetables. Within the slabs, wells had been gouged out and filled with a paste. Personally, I preferred the green, but that didn’t appear to be an option.

  "My sparkling gem speaks with truth," Koosha agreed. "Word of your encounter with Goboble will travel to Cenaki quickly. You must remain vigilant when traveling near Fan Zuri. The Nijjar government will not protect our friends against Genteresk."

  "Goboble is Golenti," I said. "What does that have to do with Fan Zuri?"

  "Goboble was in employ of Genteresk family that control the northern region of Cenaki. Even the Nijjar defensive forces of Fan Zuri will not broach hostility with Genteresk outside of their borders."

  "Didn't Belvakuski identify herself as Genteresk?" Tabby asked.

  "You speak that name so loudly," Koosha warned. "This Pogona is a revered outlaw."

  "Those words don't make sense together," Ada said.

  "Pogona do not define morality in the same way as humans and Felio," Jala said, setting a creamy liquid in front of Flaer. "It is possible to respect the audacity and free spirit of one that has embraced the rogue's lifestyle. This does not detract from a Pogona's own moral sense."

  "I heard rumor that Belvakuski ran afoul of a lone group of humans," Koosha whispered the pirate's name as he said it. "I pray this was not you, Liam Hoffen."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "Such interaction could lead to dire consequences," he said, somberly.

  "You want to see dire, pull a gun on Sendrei,” Tabby said, breaking the tension that had built at the table. "I didn't even see you draw that nano-blade and then frakking Goboble was down. Quick as all that. You know, there’s a saying — don’t bring a knife to a gunfight. And that tank fight? I’m sure protocol suggests ground troops should take cover from mounted turrets, right? Or did you skip that day in tactics at the academy?"

  "The soldiers we faced today were not professional," Sendrei replied. "It was a fatal mistake to leave open the hatch of the vehicle that gave them such an advantage. Bold action was required and as is often true in battle, it was rewarded."

  "You don't think tossing an entire strip of grenade balls was overkill?" I asked. "I'm pretty sure you scrapped the interior."

  "My dear, naive children. I will lift you in evening prayers." Koosha said, placing his hands together and bowing his head.

  Chapter 7

  Bugs

  One look at the armored patrol vehicle and neither Flaer nor Ada wanted anything to do with driving it back to York. Sendrei’s eyes showed the conflict in his emotions. He was torn between traveling with his wife or joining Tabby and me in what was sure to be a liver-jarring race of death through the wilds of Zuri. Chivalry won out.

  Tabby and I waved goodbye as they boarded Tuuq. Ada lifted the ship from the landing pad and headed for home, which was a short eighty kilometers by air and a hundred twenty by ground.

  “Best four out of seven?” Tabby asked after I beat her at rock-paper-scissors three times in a row.

  “Whatever,” I said and we went again. She was too predictable for her own good and chose rock on her opener, once again. It was in her nature to be the hammer and I wasn’t about to let her know why I found it so
easy to guess her actions.

  Each of the four pneumatic wheels of the six-meter-long vehicle stood at a meter and had aggressive knobs of a semi-pliable black material that I was sure gave them excellent grip on all kinds of surfaces. The cab, while too small for any type of habitation, was split into two rows with access doors on either side. The front row had only two seats — the driver on the left and gunner on the right. The back row had room for three more passengers and five cubic meters of storage behind the seats. Except for the wheels, every exterior surface was armored.

  “These panels pop out,” Tabby said, exposing windows next to the passenger seats. I looked on the driver’s side and discovered the same. We hauled the heavy panels to the back of the vehicle and laid them on a tarp, beneath which I hadn’t yet looked. Similarly, we could lay down the front-facing armor to give us a much wider view from the cockpit.

  “This thing better have a lot of power to be pushing around all this weight,” Tabby said as we ran through the vehicle’s simple controls.

  There wasn’t much to it: interior climate controls, fuel levels and a mechanism for turning the lights on and off.

  “How much ammunition do you have?” I asked.

  “It’s a slug thrower,” Tabby said. “Not very heavy, either. It has about a thousand rounds left, which is twenty-five percent. Hang on a sec.”

  She reached up, twisted a manual latch in the roof and pushed. Tabby followed the hatch up, stood on her seat and locked it open against the roof of the vehicle.

  “Manual turret control. I’m in love,” she said as I watched the turret’s barrel swing back and forth.

  “Ready to roll?” I’d always wondered about the saying, but suddenly the idea made a lot more sense.

  “Hit it.”

  Unlike any machine I’d previously navigated, this vehicle had a round wheel for steering. Throttle and direction control was a single t-bar stick that sat between the two seats. “Hang on. I’ve never driven one of these.”

  I pushed the throttle forward and the vehicle leapt to life. Tabby, still standing on the seat, struggled to maintain her balance. Having to worry about objects in my path was something I’d only just started to learn with the carriages back in York. To say I was bad at predicting how quickly we’d run up on obstacles was something of an understatement.