The Hope Island Chronicles Boxed Set

by PJ Strebor

  His shoulders were squared and his back ramrod straight. The captain pointed to the chair to his left. Telford had filled out well in the last nine years, but his facial features, although obviously older, were still oddly boyish. He brushed a strand of wavy hair back from his forehead. The high cheekbones remained the same except for a few fine lines at the corners of his grey eyes. He assumed that the bump above Telford’s right eyebrow might have been corrected by now, but he had chosen to leave it.

  Donny Waugh had been quite detailed in her opinion of the then-young midshipman. By the way she raved about him, Bradman had imagined Telford would be taller.

  Lieutenant Reiffel made another of a growing number of mistakes when she moved to sit in on the conversation. She was right where she should be, at her captain’s right hand. Her proper sense of duty only fueled Bradman’s growing irritation.

  “Lieutenant, your participation in this meeting is not required. Continue to supervise embarkation protocols and ensure everything is on schedule for our departure.”

  Reiffel froze in place, a grimace tightening her lips.

  “Aye, Captain.” This time she did not try to disguise her exasperation.

  Bradman set his gaze on the ensign, who adopted a relaxed pose and did not waver from returning his captain’s appraising stare. Donny had mentioned that, even as a midshipman, he had insisted on maintaining eye contact with her.

  “It’s good to see you again, Skipper.”

  Bradman keyed his LM. “SMC – captain.”

  “SMC,” replied the shipboard management computer.

  “SMC, until further notice you will deactivate all briefing room internal pickups. Authorization Bradman, Omicron Zeta.”

  “Order confirmed, Captain.”

  Bradman counted to five, slowly, to calm his irrational, yet growing, antipathy. The tiny red light on the wall-mounted pickup blinked out.

  “We have history, Ensign Telford. The record shows that the monitor Impudent, while under my command, rescued you from an escape pod, following the destruction of your ship. We both know the story is a blatant lie but you are not to discuss that lie with anyone. Am I being clear?”

  “As you say, it’s part of the public record, Captain.” He held his hands out to his sides as if to say the obvious.

  “If someone raises the subject, then of course stick to the story, but do not attempt to elaborate. That is how lies are uncovered.”

  Telford’s relaxed façade hardened moderately. “I have never discussed the matter unless the subject has been raised. And then I stuck to the cover story even though it made me sick to my stomach to do so.” Telford broke eye contact, giving the rotating hologram a thousand-meter stare. “I am bound not only by my oath as a serving officer in Monitor Corps, but as a signatory of the Official Secrets Act.” He faced his captain, his face hardening. “I have lived with this foul lie for half my life and have a lot more to lose than you if word of what happened on Delos gets out. I’ve stuck to my story of suffering amnesia during my time as a slave. I have told no one of my past, not even my wife.” He shrugged. “Perhaps I’ll tell her everything, on the day the Pruessen Empire falls. Until then I shall keep my peace, Captain. ”

  “Good. We understand one another.”

  The tragic story of Bellinda’s crew, his entire extended family, firstly being enslaved by the Pruessen Empire for four years and then dying on Delos after their escape, had been hushed up. In its place the story of Impudent’s discovery of a lone escape pod with a single survivor onboard had been substituted. A fiction of epic proportions.

  The alternative would be to tell the truth. Such a disclosure would put every bounty hunter in Tunguska onto Telford’s trail. Furthermore, Pruessen regular navy vessels had hijacked an Athenian-registered vessel operating in free space and imprisoned, tortured and killed members of her crew. If word of such an atrocity got out, the backlash of public opinion would demand a bloody response. A lack of political backbone and an abundance of military rationalization had prevailed, and the cover-up was made to order. The Republic would not go to war with Pruessen for the sake of Nathan Telford and his lost family.

  “Your presence resurrects a lot of bad memories. However, Admiral Waugh has seen fit to assign you to this boat, so I shall have to make the best of things. Your arrival is one of the many burdens I have been handed. Along with the Telford curse to contend with, I’ve lost my D-O and have been saddled with a kid to replace her.” With his words echoing in his ears, Bradman wondered why he was sharing his thoughts with this young officer.

  “I’ve had the opportunity to talk with Toni Reiffel over the past few days. She seems competent enough.”

  “Is that your professional opinion as a seasoned officer?”

  “I can spot a dick-head in a crowded room from fifty meters away.” Nathan forced a smile, obviously determined not to give ground to this disgruntled captain. “It’s a gift. Toni Reiffel doesn’t fit the mold.”

  “A gift, eh?” Bradman stifled a smile. “From what the admiral tells me, that’s not the only gift you possess.”

  Nathan pulled an innocent face.

  “She also told me,” Bradman said, “you had more balls than brains, something I have no difficulty in believing. In any event, she suggested you may be of some use to me if I need someone to find contraband.”

  “The admiral is very generous. I spent the first eleven years of my life on a freighter. I guess I had to pick up a few tricks, having spent my formative years as a slave, hiding contraband under the noses of Pruessen guards.” The slightest of shadows passed over his eyes, then disappeared in the next instant.

  “Now to our mission,” Bradford said. “We will begin by patrolling the western sectors outside of the colony worlds. Then we will rendezvous with a Nihonese freighter, and escort her to Cimmeria.”

  Nathan nodded.

  “Cimmeria supplies trephine crystals to every member world in the League. A large military presence is on picket around the planet.”

  “Protecting the most corrupt regime within League space,” Telford said.

  “Such are the realities of the world,” Bradman said. “We need trephine to maintain the integrity of our reactors. The Cimmerians know it and so do the Brets.” He drew his hands wide as if to say little could be done when politics and big business hopped into the same bed. “The upshot is her space is filled with vessels from all over the League of Allied Worlds. Including those from Francorum.”

  Nathan’s wry smile finally made an appearance. “I have no great love for Francorum. You, better than most, know why, but I’m aware of my duty, Captain.” His smile turned lethal. “To do otherwise would be highly unprofessional of me, wouldn’t it? Besides, I can wait. It’s only a matter of time before Bretain and Francorum go to war, and unless history proves me wrong, Athens will be caught right in the middle of it.”

  “I cannot tell you how relieved I am,” Bradman said sardonically. “That’s all for now. You had better report to the” —he cleared his throat— “D-O, and get squared away. Then you can get back to that pretty wife and daughter of yours.”

  “Aye-aye, Captain.” He turned to the hatch, then Bradman recalled the protocol.

  “Oh, by the way, Mister Telford?”

  “Sir?”

  Bradman held out his hand. “Welcome aboard.”

  They exchanged a firm handshake before Telford left.

  Bradman remained standing for a minute, thinking about the brief meeting with his newest officer. The young man had the guts to stand up to his captain, but did he have the brains to know when to back off? His recklessly stubborn streak was something else Donny Waugh had mentioned. Bradman reengaged the briefing room pickups and thought about his next order of business.

  The corridor hatch chime sounded.

  “Ad-mit.”

  The boat’s fighter operations officer stepped into the briefing room, the threat of a snarl forming on her face. “
We need to talk.” From her manner, this would not be a social visit.

  Bradman slumped into his chair with a bone-weary groan.

  CHAPTER 16

  Date: 6th February, 322 ASC.

  Position: Junior officers’ quarters (married), Sentinel Hector.

  Status: Farewells.

  Nathan, Livy and Ellen had arrived at Sentinel Hector two days earlier, and since then Livy had done wonders with the place. Junior officer married quarters were always basic, but here on the dead world of Thebes, with living space at an absolute premium, the challenges grew.

  The planet carried a minus-four T-class rating, making it officially incapable of sustaining human life. An airless rock useless for anything except its strategic location.

  Following an investment of billions of dollars and many years of painstaking excavation, life had once again returned to the dead world. Buried deep within a solid mountain range, Sentinel Hector represented an artificial environment within the planet, replacing the lost ecosystem that had once flourished on the surface.

  The base mirrored the tight constrictions of a monitor attack boat. Though it was even smaller than their quarters on Minos, Nathan and Livy still loved their little nook in the ground, because the three of them were together. While Nathan went out on patrol, Livy would take up her position at the base school. Trained teachers were always in demand on monitor bases.

  Zero-five-hundred hours, and Nathan had been awake for an hour. Sleep had eluded him and restlessness drove him from their bed. He took a shower and partly changed into Class As, had a light breakfast and began to pack. His foot locker had been sent aboard yesterday. Nathan crammed an extra pair of socks into his duffel and glanced at the cylinder resting in the corner of the living room.

  How many lives had he taken with the bow? Ten? Twenty? It didn’t matter. They were only Pruessens, after all, and headhunters to boot. He placed the bow case beside his duffel, then glanced at the time. Still too early to report aboard.

  Nathan dropped onto the modest lounge. His mind wandered for moments before the demons returned to taunt him. They had not beset him in over a year, but chose now to burden him. Why now, after so long? The forthcoming deployment, perhaps? Nathan snapped awake, rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock. He had nodded off for an hour.

  Beside him, Livy sat with Ellen cradled in her arms. “You seemed troubled, so I thought I better wake you,” she said. “Are you all right?”

  He detested himself for making her worry. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He snuggled into her. “I should stop drinking service coffee. It always upsets my stomach.”

  She mercifully said nothing.

  A little face poked out from the swaddle, hooked into Livy’s arm. Such a sweet little face.

  “Are you sure you won’t change your mind?” Livy asked.

  Nathan paused for a long moment. “I would prefer if you didn’t,” he said.

  He hated farewells and had avoided them in the past. Welcome homecomings were great, but farewells left him feeling hollow. Nathan had witnessed his share of farewells over the years: buckets of tears from loved ones, fully complemented by an accompanying chorus of whining children and screaming babies. He did not want to see tears from either of his ladies.

  Nathan remained within her gentle embrace, the wounded man and his two ladies, until the hour struck that would tear them apart. He kissed Ellen’s sleeping face, so gently it would not awaken her, and hugged Livy to him. One last, lingering kiss. Then he left his beautiful ladies sitting on the lounge. With a heavy heart, he left and did not look back. Never look back.

  He walked briskly through Hector’s myriad of catacombs, forcing his family to the back of his mind. For now he had to concentrate on the job ahead. He would be of no use to his family if he got himself killed because his mind wasn’t focused on his duty.

  A spring returned to his step when he marched into the hangar.

  Insolent sat on her skids surrounded by maintenance gantries sticking into her open hatchways like spears impaling a huge black tortoise. One of the smallest warships in the League, Monitor Corps “Black Boats” had a reputation far exceeding their diminutive size. Although twice the size of a standard attack boat, the monitor escort boat still ranked as a relatively small vessel when compared to the massive capital ships employed by the Athenian Naval Service and most other navies.

  After receiving his billet, he passed through the marine guard post and set course for his quarters. As with everything else on a MEB, the officers’ quarters were roomier than an attack boat’s, and the extra headroom came as a bonus. A lowly ensign did not rate his own room, so he would have to share with another officer. An hour after reporting aboard he had donned his one-piece black flight suit and soft-soled footwear and had just finished unpacking his belongings when the hatch chime sounded.

  He keyed his LM. “Ad-mit.”

  The hatch slid aside and a lean, robust young woman stepped inside. She had thick, dark hair, large, brown eyes and two more silver stars on her epaulet than he.

  Stepping forward, she offered her hand. “Rowena Valetta, 2IC, 26th fighter squadron. Call sign, Dash.”

  “Nathan Telford, grommit. Awaiting call sign.”

  Rowena returned his smile warmly. “Are you settled in all right?”

  “You bet.”

  She checked the top bunk. “Have you seen your roomie today?”

  He shook his head.

  The hatch slid aside. On a vessel as small as a monitor, it was considered poor form to enter anyone’s quarters without first buzzing.

  An enormous young man somehow managed to squeeze his broad frame through the hatch. Within the confines of the small room, he reminded Nathan of a cartoon gorilla jammed into a bird cage. Still clad in his Class A uniform, he eyed the two officers with apprehension before a wicked smile spread across his broad mouth.

  “Oops, sorry. I guess I should have buzzed first. Would you like me to leave while you two…” —another idiotic grin— “finish up?”

  “You would be Ensign Whitney, then?” Rowena’s tone hardened.

  “Yes, that’s right. I’m the new hotshot from Southern Quadrant.” From his fondness at grinning at his own remarks, he apparently considered himself to be quite the wit. Nathan sighed inwardly. He would be sharing quarters with this … fellow for the next three months.

  “You’re late.” Rowena did not appear to put a dent in his self-appreciation.

  A huge bear of a lad, Whitney had thick blond hair, blue eyes and an irrepressible fondness for himself. Although he was about the same age as Nathan, something about him caused the hairs on Nathan’s neck stand to attention.

  “The FOO has called a pilots’ briefing,” Rowena said. “You don’t have time to square your rig away or change, so you had better come as you are.”

  He stood in place without moving either his large body or the idiot grin. Nathan saw the back of Rowena’s neck prickle.

  “Ensign,” she began in a measured tone, “we cannot leave until you shift your great lump of a body out of the hatch.”

  Finally he got the point and used the manual override to open the hatch. While he squeezed through the hatch, Rowena rolled her eyes.

  “So what’s the briefing with the FOO about?” Whitney asked.

  “I’m sure she’ll be happy to explain it to you,” she said.

  Whitney grinned as if her words were a joke. “Aye-aye, Ma’am.”

  She beckoned Whitney to lead the way.

  Oh, shit.

  CHAPTER 17

  Date: 6th February, 322 ASC.

  Position: Approaching orbit. Planet Thebes.

  Lieutenant Commander Esther Chappell, call sign “Boss”, glanced out the port view plate of her combat sphere and sighed. The grommit had strayed out of formation again. “Outrider Four, tuck it in,” she growled. “You aren’t on picket duty now, Whitney, this is an operational squadron.”

  “Yes, Ma
’am.” Whitney promptly edged his fighter into the tight formation.

  Glancing to starboard, she confirmed Outrider Five’s position, glued to “Dash” Valetta’s dorsal wing. At least one of her grommits could fly formation.

  In a very short time she had discovered that Ensign Garrison Whitney did not possess a gram of outward self-doubt. Within the community of flyers, such blessedly rare individuals were known as a NAFOD. A pilot with No Apparent Fear of Death. The moment he stepped into the pilot briefing room, clad in his dress uniform, the Alert Condition One alarm sounded in Chappell’s mind. Another snotty-nosed kid who thought he was God’s gift to Monitor Corps, simply because he had passed through fighter training school with a reasonable rating. Although he had two years of colonial picket work behind him, that experience would in no way prepare him for a patrol out to the edge of League space.

  During the pilot briefing, her experienced pilots had contemplated the overhead as Whitney expounded his great expertise.

  “Twenty-sixth in my graduating year, Commander,” he said, with his enormous chest puffed out with self-pride. “Pretty good going for a man from the backwoods of Nea Kalkidon.”

  Dash’s expression said she recognized blarney when she heard it. A damn good pilot, Dash. Pity she was a tourist. Once she qualified for command pilot status, she would not see the inside of a fighter’s combat sphere again. Yes, one day she would get herself a monitor of her own. Lucky girl.

  Lieutenant (JG) Jay Chai, call sign “Bird”, did not have the sort of attitude that lent itself well to sorting out Whitney’s type of problem child. Put him in a fighter and aim him at an enemy, and the usually placid young man turned into a killing machine.

  Throughout Whitney’s discourse, Telford had sat without moving or speaking. Only his eyes roamed the room. A hunter surveying new terrain. A slight tic at the corner of his mouth indicated he had smelled a whiff of Whitney’s bullshit.