The Hope Island Chronicles Boxed Set

by PJ Strebor

  Lt Cmdr O'Donnell stepped onto the bridge.

  “She's approaching at flank speed.” Hookes smiled wolfishly. “Captain, she’s maintaining course directly for the Ibis Nebula.”

  Cmdr Demianski chuckled as the captain turned a wry grin on him. With raised eyebrows Nathan shot Leo a question. Leo shrugged.

  The commodore noticed the curious interaction.

  “It would appear, gentlemen,” Waugh said, “that our friend is planning to emulate our actions.” She noted their perplexed reactions. “She is going to utilize this nebula's interference to hide from, well, us.”

  Their grins matched those of the bridge crew.

  “Captain,” Hookes reported, “she is a Bretish, Culver class fast haulage ship.”

  Nathan ran the class through his head. As with a monitor she had a third of her displacement dedicated to her power-plant. If she reversed course quickly enough and matched harmonics for ingression into hyper, she would escape. Pity she’s not Pruessen.

  During the next hour the crew donned v-suits and light armor. The captain never took possible enemy action lightly. Even with a lowly Line Runner.

  “No Culver class vessel has lodged a flight plan for this region,” the Commander said. “I am classifying her undesignated.”

  Nathan continued watching as Waugh nodded and adopted a relaxed semi-slouch. She received regular updates on the bogie as it blithely continued on course for the nebula. If they could prove she had violated quarantine regulations, her captain would lose his masters certificates, his ship and his freedom. After a Line Runner had infected Delos the penalties for incursions into the Quarantine Zone were significantly increased.

  Nathan tensed as the captain’s back straightened. No doubt at a time determined by years of experience Waugh came to life.

  “Tactical, report when the bogie is thirty seconds from nebula insertion.” Hookes acknowledged. “Helm, prepare to go to maximum intercept speed on my mark.”

  “Aye, captain.”

  “Captain,” Hookes reported, “the bogie is thirty seconds from insertion … now.”

  “Very well. D-O, Alert Condition one if you please.”

  “Aye, captain,” Demianski said. The bridge lights died. The iridescent glow from the overheads cast a dim green tint across the command deck. At almost the same moment the dull, pulsing alarm sounded.

  “Helm,” Waugh said, “go get her.”

  “Aye-aye, captain.”

  The main engines engaged with force enough to press Nathan into his chair.

  On his screen a kaleidoscope of brilliant colors rushed by as the monitor breached the outer edge of the nebula. When the stars reappeared Cmdr O'Donnell slewed the boat viciously to starboard, before straightening from the seven gee turn. Pumped on adrenaline, Nathan ignored his harness as it dug into his shoulders. The bogie had detected Truculent as soon as she fired her engines. She had already come about.

  “Ship to ship, commander,” Waugh said.

  Cmdr Demianski, as with any good D-O had anticipated his captain's needs. “Channel open, captain.”

  “To Culver class transport. This is Commodore Waugh of the Athenian warship Truculent. You have been classified undesignated. Cut your engines and prepare to be boarded. Respond to my signal.”

  The Culver responded by raising her shields and increasing speed. Waugh shook her head making sharp tish, tish sounds between her teeth.

  “Commander, I'm going downstairs.”

  “Aye, captain.”

  Waugh unhooked from the command chair, walked the short distance to the centrally located combat chair and strapped in. Nathan watched intently as she tapped the stud under the right armrest. The iris beneath the chair dilated and the combat chair dropped through the opening. When the commodore's head disappeared from view, the iris snapped shut.

  From the combat sphere Waugh said, “Helm, it's my boat.”

  “Aye, captain, it's your boat.” O'Donnell relinquished helm control to the captain.

  The beep of the comm. channel sounded through Nathan’s earpiece. “Culver class transport this is Truculent. Cut your engines or I will fire into you,” the captain said with finality.

  “Commodore Waugh,” a deep rumbling voice replied, “this is Captain Maloof of the Bretish commercial vessel League Trader. Your records must be in error. We filed our flight plan as per League of Allied Worlds provisions. If you dare to fire at this ship I will make the most profound protests to the … ahhh!”

  The squeal from the weapons tracking system targeted the fleeing vessel.

  “Damn, she locked him up.”

  “That's what he gets for trying to stall her,” Leo said.

  “Don't fire, don't fire,” Maloof cried. “I am cutting my engines now.”

  “Good for you, captain.” Waugh said.

  The transport ship applied full power to her forward grav plating. Her speed rapidly diminished.

  “Helm, the boat is yours,” Waugh said.

  O'Donnell replied while the iris dilated and the captain surfaced from the combat sphere. Waugh swiveled her chair to face the Operations Station. "Some people cannot be reasoned with in a civilized manner." Demianski snorted as Waugh unstrapped. “Do you have the LT for me?”

  “Waiting in the briefing room, captain.”

  “Very well.” She disappeared through the hatch.

  The atmosphere on the bridge had transformed from one of dull routine to an electrically charged condition Nathan could feel on his skin. He wondered if Truculent's prize crew still suffered from the same butterfly attacks as him.

  “They are rarely so easy,” the Commander said, his eyes peering over the console. “This character was too lightly armed to dare fighting back and too far in system to escape into hyper. Bear in mind gentlemen, this isn't over yet.”

  Lt Jakovich followed Waugh onto the bridge. The marine wore a camouflaged uniform and a light sidearm. Dealing with a league registered vessel required them to follow a conservative doctrine. League Trader was innocent until proven guilty. Armor and heavy weapons were discarded to avoid possible claims of provocative overreaction.

  Commodore Waugh nodded to the D-O who instantly opened the channel to the suspect vessel. “League Trader this is Truculent.”

  “This is Captain Maloof,” said the gruff voice.

  “Captain, open your boat bay doors and prepare to receive our boarding party.”

  “We are having a small technical problem with the doors commodore,” he said uncertainly. “It might take some time to get them open.”

  Waugh shook her head. “Want me to open it for you, Maloof?”

  After a short delay Captain Maloof replied sullenly. “That will not be necessary commodore. We have managed to correct the problem.”

  “How convenient,” Waugh said. “Truculent out.”

  She eyed the Auxiliary Ops Station. “Care to stretch your legs, Ensign Saunders?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “LT what is your threat assessment for the League Trader?”

  “Minimal, skipper. They know they can't escape.”

  “In that case, Ensign Saunders, you may as well take a middy with you. Got anyone in mind?”

  A spark flickered along Nathan's spine when Leo grinned at him.

  “I believe Midshipman Telford could be coerced into volunteering, ma’am.”

  “Mister Telford?”

  “Aye-aye, captain.”

  “Very well. You two know the drill. Remove your armor and report to the boat bay in four minutes.”

  “Aye-aye, captain.” Nathan dashed to the bridge hatch with Leo on his heels.

  CHAPTER 43

  Through the landing boat's forward view-plates Nathan watched League Trader grow rapidly as they approached. The Chief of the Boat, Senior Chief Petty Officer Scaroni, peered into the cabin. “One minute, LT.”

  “Very well, COB.” Jakovich unbuckled and turned to the ju
nior officers.

  “Mister Telford, you are along on this little jaunt as an observer only. Understood?”

  “Aye-aye, LT,” Nathan said.

  “Very well,” she said. “Sergeant Redpath, prepare for embarkation.”

  Redpath nodded and headed aft.

  “We’re not expecting trouble from these people but we take no chances.” Jakovich set her eyes on both Nathan and Leo. “Keep your eyes open and follow procedures.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Leo answered for them both.

  As the marine stepped to the back of the boat a slight bump marked their landing. The port and starboard hatches slid open. Three 'droids leaped out of each hatchway. They carried standard sidearms still sheathed in their holsters.

  Apart from two shabby landing boats the bay was deserted. Nathan detected movement from behind a clear panel at the end of the bay. Undoubtedly League Trader's Landing Control Center. A tall, narrow woman stepped from the LCC.

  Sergeant Redpath stopped before her and a brief exchange took place. Two 'droids accompanied him while he followed the officer. Suspect Line Runners had been known to kill boarding parties by dropping the boat bay's environmental force field.

  “LT, the boat bay is secured,” Redpath reported.

  The LT stepped through the hatchway. Nathan dutifully followed behind Leo who stayed on her heels. Unlike Truculent, League Trader's overheads were nearly two meters from the deck. The marines, who were a good head taller than Nathan, would undoubtedly appreciate the headroom.

  “Commander O'Brall,” the Bretish officer said. “First Officer of the League Trader.” As protocol demanded she shook hands with the marine.

  “Lieutenant Jakovich of Truculent. I wish to speak with your captain.”

  “Certainly lieutenant. He is awaiting you on the bridge.”

  Sandwiched between the LT and three 'droids in front of them, Redpath and three 'droids behind them, Nathan followed the procession forward. The midships lift took them to the bridge, three decks up.

  The command deck was a large cluttered space showing clear signs of neglect. A tenacious stench made Nathan's nose twitch.

  Captain Maloof was no taller than Nathan but easily three times his weight. A fine coating of sweat glistened on his pasty forehead.

  “Your captain locked her weapons onto my ship,” he complained. “I demand an explanation.”

  “You should be used to it by now, Maloof,” the LT said.

  The Bretish captain's brow creased for a moment before his piggish eyes widened. “Lieutenant … Jakovich? Yes?”

  “Nothing wrong with your memory.”

  “When was your visit? Two years ago?”

  “Yes,” she said, “I was assigned to the Monitor Arrant at the time.”

  “I remember. Another trigger-happy Athenian captain. You found nothing then and you’ll find nothing now. We are a legitimate Bretish registered trading vessel.”

  “Captain Maloof, we can take care of our business in a speedy fashion if you are willing to cooperate.”

  “Of course lieutenant, anything you want.”

  “Thank you,” the marine said pleasantly. “Firstly, I want to see a copy of your flight plan which you claim to have filed before departing Bretish space.”

  Maloof rubbed at a whiskered chin. “Unfortunately we suffered a major technical malfunction to our navigation computer. The copy you request was inadvertently wiped from our records during our attempt to bring the system back online.”

  “Let me take a wild stab in the dark, captain. The same difficulty wiped all navigational information from your computer?” The LT’s mocking tone revealed her opinion of the Bret captain. Nathan suppressed a derisive snort.

  “Regrettably so, lieutenant.” Maloof’s outstretched hands punctuated his obvious lie. “We have only recently solved the problem. We were heading for the safety of the Ibis Nebula to finish repairs when your ship attacked us. We suspected you were a headhunter and took flight.”

  “Are your external sensors operating, captain?”

  Maloof's brow wrinkled. “Yes.”

  “And you mistook a monitor for a headhunter?”

  “We were startled. To be frank, I don’t believe your captain's action in locking her weapons onto my ship is in the best interests of intersystem relations between our two societies. We are, after all, both members of the League of Allied worlds, are we not?”

  Nathan held back a sneer. Maloof could make a snake oil merchant blush.

  “I would like to see your manifests, captain.”

  “And I would like to show them to you, lieutenant. Unfortunately …”

  “Let me guess,” Jakovich said dryly, “computer ate your manifests?”

  “Regrettably so.”

  Now things will get interesting. Without conclusive proof they had crossed over from the Northern Quarantine Zone, League Trader would slip through their fingers. A hefty fine for failing to lodge a flight plan might be the most they could get them for.

  “Very well, captain,” the LT said wearily. “I guess we'll have to do this the old fashioned way.”

  ***

  Leo rubbed at the knot that had grown at back of his neck. What a bloody day. League Trader’s cargo holds had undergone a painstaking inspection. Lt Jakovich brought all twenty-four 'droids aboard together with six supervising CPO’s. They opened and inspected every cargo container on the ship. They checked for the usual false bottoms and found nothing. The LT ordered a check of the crew's quarters, including the officers, for contraband. They found nothing. They sensor swept League Trader from bow to stern and discovered no incriminating evidence. League Trader might well be what she claimed to be. Or these could be the cleverest smugglers in the business.

  Three hours had passed since the inspection began. Leo slumped onto the cold deck next to Nathan.

  Maloof and his first officer stood to one side of the bay observing the proceedings. His oily smile displayed an overly smug confidence.

  Nathan stood and stretched. From his thoughtful expression, and lengthy silence, Leo could almost hear his mind working the problem. Nathan paced for a while, stopped, stared at the overhead, then slapped his forehead with an open hand.

  “Nathan?”

  “Stupid.”

  “What?”

  “Four years of being put into a box at the academy and this occurs to me now?” Nathan spoke to the overhead as if addressing another part of himself. He dropped to his knees and locked eyes with Leo.

  “Ensign, I know I’m only an observer but I think I can contribute more. Because of my background.”

  Leo felt his brow furrow for a moment before the light of understanding came to him.

  “Go on.”

  “As you may know, I was born on a vessel not dissimilar to this one.” Leo kept his expression neutral. “During my time in the north the crew hid contraband from the guards all over the ship. I only vaguely remember it but I think that experience might be of use here. I don't think the marines are ready to take advice from a middy at this stage. So why don't we take a wander and see what we can find?” Leo eyed him warily. “If we find nothing, no harm done. But if we stumble across something germane to this investigation we’ll be able to pique the LT’s interest. Yes?”

  “Where do we begin?”

  “Where indeed?” Nathan's glassy eyes stared into the distance for a few seconds. “Let's start in their engine room.”

  “Very well.” They disengaged from what had turned into a congregation of Monitor Corps personnel and 'droids and made their way aft.

  ***

  Nathan panned his sensor pad around League Trader's huge engine room. After making a thorough scan examination of the area he stepped into the reactor room. Even with heavy shielding to protect the crew, residual energy emissions scrambled his sensor readings. Nathan pocketed his pad and scrutinized the base of the reactor.

  As a child aboard the enslaved
Bellinda he had regularly hidden precious contraband from the Pruessens. Dark visions of his perilous childhood returned. He pushed aside the sadness that accompanied the ghostly imagery and concentrated on the immediate problem.

  The reactor operated in automatic standby mode, producing sufficient power to maintain life support. With the crew insolated, he and Leo were alone in the large compartment.

  “Now if I was illegal contraband where would I hide?” Nathan said to himself. Finding the tools he needed to test his theory he dropped onto his knees and worked his way along the reactor’s base. As he prized the cover plate off, he sensed Leo bristling beside him.

  The cover plate took a concentrated effort to remove. He shone a light into the hollow space finding nothing out of the ordinary. Replacing the cover he moved to the next. Each of the following five cover plates required muscle-straining effort to remove. Behind each he found no cache of illegal contraband. The sixth cover plate was unexpectedly cooperative. That’s more like it.

  As he had done with the others he shone the light into the recess. He examined the cavity in exacting detail. He found nothing. Despite proof to the contrary his best instincts warred against the evidence. Nathan lay on his stomach and continued to stare into the darkness. After a minute he put the light aside and reached inside. Running his fingers around the perimeter of the cavity he detected nothing but a smooth interior lining. His fingers brushed a tiny flange he knew should not be there. Nathan clawed at the thin strip of metal until it slid from its housing.

  “Pay dirt.” Nathan extracted the gray-colored cylinder.

  “I'll be damned.” Leo gasped. Nathan pried at the lid. “Hold on a minute, Nathan. We don't know what's in there, do we?” Nathan shrugged impatiently before reconsidering. Leo was right. Death in large doses could await the reckless investigator. Besides, had they followed correct procedure according to the law? Nathan thought they had, but the LT would be the final arbiter of their unauthorized sortie.

  “I think it's time to call in the marines,” Leo said.

  Nathan nodded with short, rapid motions. “I should return this to where we found it, don't you think?”

  “Good thinking, middy.”

  Leo keyed his LM. “Marine one - Saunders.”