by Blaze Ward
“Granted,” Andre said. “One, just so you can put us into a parking orbit not far from Packmule. And can you put the current image of the planet on the main screen, please? Comm, send our compliments to the flagship and tell them we’ll be in place shortly.”
Andre poked around on the buttons on his right hand armrest until he found the one he wanted. Why did the intercom have to be hard-wired? And why didn’t the Director of a ship like this have his own console to call up data? Even Packmule had been that civilized.
Then he remembered the man they had sent to Kyzyl’s surface. Men, and women, including that one long-time prisoner they had taken at Abakn, just to make things crazier. That look of angry disdain for having his own ship stolen by a bunch of pirates.
Yeah, that was a man who never got his own hands dirty.
Briefly, Andre considered asking one of the engineers to run a screen in here. Maybe pull out the damned dais and throne, and replace them with a standard station, like everyone else in here used.
“Doctor Au,” he said into the comm. “Could you join me on the bridge, please?”
He closed the line and located the woman in charge of the flight deck. This beast was only technically a carrier, with that big hospital lander’s dock taking up most of the forward third of the ship. Just aft of it were three admin shuttles. They were smaller than Republic versions, designed mostly as trucks to haul a few people and a dozen cubic meters of supplies between orbit and ground.
“Ross, tell Stunt Dude to have the pilots ready,” Andre ordered.
“Yes, sir,” she barely glanced up and nodded, going back to her screens.
Too risky to ask the locals to fly one of the shuttles here. Too much temptation. But they were designed to be flyable by almost anyone, so parking them just outside and docking to one of the airlocks to free up the decks would only tie up three security folks for an hour or so. And then Saddlebags could arrive with the first supply run.
The hatch opened and the woman doctor entered.
She had relaxed some in the time of her pirate adventure. Andre guessed she was a pretty easy-going person normally, so she had eventually taken all this in stride, rather than becoming a harridan, like the Director Ro would have.
She smiled and took up a spot on his right, facing the screen on the wall.
“So this is Lighthouse Station?” she asked carefully.
She asked everything carefully. Andre wondered if that was a Scholar thing or if she was nervous that someone like Stunt Dude would overreact.
He laughed inside. Nobody knew where this was, because he had personally programmed the jumps each time, from Heather’s notes. Andre Gave, Nurse and bad-ass Astrogator.
And certainly, Granville and Trinidad had worked hard to frighten the crew with deliberate brutality on day one, just so every day after that was a nicer place, and people would hopefully keep their juvenile delinquency tendencies to themselves.
“It is,” Andre said. “We stole a herd of cattle and every chicken we could lay hands on, on one of our raids. Put them all down there and have been collecting milk and eggs.”
“How do you store them?” her face grew confused.
“As pasta and hardtack bread,” he smiled. “It may not be all that exciting, but we captured megatons of wheat on Packmule, and 405’s got the best cook I’ve ever known in the service.”
“At a secret base behind enemy lines?” she asked. There was a tease in her voice now that was an improvement.
Andre was one of only three people who could unlock the JumpDrive controls. If something happened to him, Trinidad, and Nakisha, the ship would be trapped in deep space forever.
“We’ll probably abandon it after this,” he said. “Turn the horses and cattle out to go feral. Keep the chickens, though. We want to go home.”
“So it’s not a colony?” She was still confused.
They hadn’t gone too much into detail, until now. Just sailed.
“We actually considered asking our first pair of prisoners if they knew people in The Holding we could recruit to run the place,” Andre laughed. “But that was just too complicated a swindle to pull off in the time we had.”
“For an enemy fleet supposedly filled with Warriors, Andre, you people seem to be con artists,” Sam Au replied lightly.
She seemed to be back on stable ground. It helped that she understood what they were doing. Never assume the enemy is the enemy, until pushed.
It also helped that three other ships had guns, in case the crew here got restive. Andre had originally figured he had a one in three chance of a Viking funeral when he came aboard Forgotten Mercy.
“Pirates,” he corrected her with a smile. “You have not met the woman who started all this. Centurion Siobhan Skokomish is nominally Second Officer aboard CS-405, but she has earned the nickname Lady Blackbeard, after the ancient pirate.”
“And yet, your squadron is part of Keller’s force,” she said, giving name to the terrible monster coming for their souls.
“Indeed,” Andre said. “But we got separated after a raid when the ship’s Jump engines broke down. By the time we fixed it, Phil Kosnett had decided that piracy was the best way to continue our mission to harry and damage The Holding. At least until they sued for terms and maybe we could have peace.”
“All nations must bow to Buran,” she quoted something, probably a childhood admonition.
It didn’t have any emotion behind it, so he presumed it was just a saying, and not a belief.
“No,” Andre said simply, watching the six heads in front of him trying to surreptitiously listen to the conversation.
“No?” she continued. “It is the destiny of all mankind to be united into a common whole, for the good of all humans.”
“Buran keeps slaves, Sam,” Andre felt his voice grow heavier. Meaner. “Veitengruber was stuck on the same cattle ranch as we stole all the cows from. The place we are going to is a prison world without parole. When the Empire and the Republic warred, prisoners were traded home on a regular and almost formal basis, without restrictions. And our children are free to choose their own lives, rather than being placed into a caste for the rest of their lives. I chose to be a nurse.”
She shook her head. It wasn’t negation, but some internal monolog. He had been pounding on her every chance he got for three weeks, just because he couldn’t imagine anybody as smart and empathic as Sam Au wouldn’t be moved by those arguments.
At least three of the primary bridge crew in front of him had been. Andre suspected several defections and asylum claims when they got to Imperial space.
Assuming they survived that long.
Nurse, astrogator, and revolutionary?
Not bad, if he did say so himself. Kermit would never hear the end of it, once he got back to CS-405 permanently.
A tiny voice emerged from the woman now.
“I would like to see this Lighthouse Station?” she asked.
Andre gave in and listened to the evil conscience on his left shoulder.
“I believe Director Kosnett would probably approve a field trip,” he said, louder than necessary, in case somebody wasn’t eavesdropping. “Perhaps others would like to go down with us to see?”
Four heads popped up and made eye contact at that. Several included the faintest of nods in his direction.
“Po,” Andre turned to the guy on his far right. “Signal to the flagship. Brevet Command Centurion Gave asking permission to take the command crew of RAN Forgotten Mercy on a field trip to the surface. I’m pretty sure we can all fit into one of the shuttles, or maybe two if we throw in some marines to make it look like we’re not stealing anything.”
Snickers echoed back from faces suddenly looking down at screens again. Andre had been enlightening all of them for three weeks. Even if Director Ro came back eventually, he’d be eyeballs deep in comic insubordination as he tried to inflict his authority on people used to Andre being in command.
“You’re serious,” Sam stated,
eyes wide and huge.
“Yes, I am, Doctor,” he replied. “We are not barbarians. Personally, most of us consider you people to be evil, but that’s just because we’re free, and that’s what your immortal OverGod wants to take away from us. He wants to impose his will on the entire galaxy, but this is a creature who chose to bombard an inhabited world without any provocation, killing millions of innocent souls. That same galaxy will never forget that there are some evils too great to accept.”
Great, add ethical philosopher to the curriculum vitae? What the hell are you turning into, Nurse?
Warden (January 29, 403)
Bok tried to keep his face neutral as he watched the two shuttles unload. Tourists were probably necessary, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. Still, Kosnett had given his approval, so Bok had to at least pretend to be civil.
He dismounted and tied the roan mare to the post near some hay. She’d stay put for now, and even if she got frisky, the yard was penned enough that she would just dance around outside of reach until she finally got hungry. Or tired of all the noisy people running around.
Nurse Gave, plus the Dragoon and two others, were escorting seven unarmed civilians down from the new hospital ship. He walked over with a deliberate stride, fixing his eyes on the woman between Andre and Trinidad. She looked like she was in charge.
“Boatswain,” Trinidad nodded as he got close.
“Welcome,” Bok replied, even if they weren’t. “We’re a mite busy today, so we can do a quick tour of some things, and then dinner will start serving in about an hour, and we can join them then.”
“Bok Battenhouse, this is Sam Au, Chief Medical Officer from the new ship, Forgotten Mercy,” Andre introduced the woman first, and then pointed to the group arrayed behind them. “Kav, Po, Gan, Ross, Mer, and Lin.”
The tiny woman shook his hand like equals, while the others all bowed to some extent or other. He hadn’t changed into anything formal for this, staying in the heavy canvas dungarees and matching jacket, both done in fleet green.
She turned and it looked like she was sniffing the air around them. Luckily, they were more or less upwind of the chickens right now, so the primary smell was cow shit, mixed in with a healthy dollop of ozone from the welding happening over on the other end of the field, where Persephone was landed and getting all the new armaments.
“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the six stainless steel tanks sitting next to the barn.
“Milk,” Bok replied simply, still feeling out who this person was. “We load it on the right and process it slowly to the left. Some of it gets powdered for long-term storage. Most of the last few weeks of supply have been turned into butter, and Saddlebags will be hauling it all up to CS-405 and Forgotten Mercy as soon as the first tanker is ready.”
“Real, raw milk?” she sounded concerned. Possibly insulted.
“The gene for processing cow’s milk is extremely common in the Empire, Doctor,” he replied. “Most of the men we rescue will be able to drink milk. It is a very good way to get them hydrated and put fat into their system, on the assumption that they’re probably all relatively undernourished. If your folks don’t want any, that just means more for the rest. Julius will enjoy having more milk solids to make creams, gravies, and alfredos from.”
“Your cook?” she asked.
“CS-405’s Master of the Wardroom, yes,” Bok agreed.
He wondered why the others were staying silent and just watching, but this little woman wasn’t intimidating. She was just a medical doctor.
“And you really intend to just abandon all this when you’re done here?” she asked, gesturing at the barn, the house, the tanks, the fields, and even the dry-dock with one arm.
Bok shrugged.
“We’ll have done what we needed,” he replied. “Unless the war ends tomorrow, we’re too far away from friendly trade, although one of my people has decided that she wants to file a petition with the Imperial Court to be granted the world on Letters Patent.”
“Who?” Trinidad spoke up with a curious scowl.
“Avelina’s got delusions,” Bok chuckled.
The others joined in, if a touch nervously, afraid of not participating, perhaps. Strangers in strange lands.
“Is that possible, sir?” the woman doctor asked.
He shrugged again. This was one of the reasons he never wanted to be an officer. Too much work.
“Worst the Emperor can do is say no,” he offered. “If the war does end, she’s got a reasonable claim and sweat equity, assuming Buran doesn’t just show up like pirates and take over.”
My, that seemed to get a bigger response out of the doctor than it should have. Sensitive spot?
Bok heard a sudden clomp come up behind him, and then someone was slobbering on his arm, sticking her nose around to find the pocket where he kept carrots.
He reached back and grabbed the reins she had pulled loose from the rail before she could escape. He gave the horse a stern look. Not that she cared. There might be carrots.
The others had all stepped back, some of them looking utterly terrified of the big dope.
“She’s harmless,” he said to the group. “Wants a carrot.”
He dug into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled one out. They grew like weeds in this valley once he had planted them. And the horses were in heaven.
The doctor was less frightened than the rest, so he handed the carrot to her.
“She won’t bite, but hold it out with your fingertips or she’ll slobber all over your hand,” he intoned.
The little doctor did, almost like a mouse placating a cat. The roan mare rotated her head in excitement, and reached out with dainty lips to steal the carrot away before anybody could stop her.
She was a dork, sometimes.
A happily-munching dork.
“Tame,” the woman said in surprise.
“Smarter than dogs, generally,” Bok replied. “I have to use a lock to hold her pen closed, because she figured out how to unwind the length of wire I had been using. Came out to find her curled up in the feed hay, snoring. But pretty harmless. Wanted to see the strangers, and maybe steal a carrot. And she won’t be satisfied just watching.”
He turned and mounted back up into the saddle, waiting for the inevitable wiggle as she got her butt settled just right under his weight. Predictable as sunrise.
Bok turned the mare’s head in the direction of the chicken coops and tapped her with a heel. She really didn’t like the birds all that much, too smelly and opinionated, even for a horse, but she wanted to see PEOPLE.
“Shall we?” he called as she walked over with her usual jaunty stride.
He watched the rest follow at a safe distance, so now he was a park ranger giving tours to city folks. At least it would keep her as entertained as it did them. Not like he was going to get any real work done today.
Building the Manticore (January 29, 403)
The group from orbit was a mixed bag, but Bok seemed to have them well in hand, so Siobhan didn’t bother stopping what she was doing.
“What’s all that?” Granville emerged from the innards of Persephone into the afternoon sun, shading his eyes to peer at Stunt Dude’s tour group across the landing field.
“Andre and Stunt Dude,” Siobhan answered. “The Chief Medical Officer off the new ship wanted to see the ranch and Phil agreed. Apparently several more folks joined in.”
“We worried about spies?” he asked.
“That’s why Stunt Dude, Bok, and Nakisha have them in hand,” Siobhan grinned grimly. “Not like they know where they are, and we’ll be gone soon enough.”
He nodded and leaned over to inspect the work she was doing. Not that it required much.
Markus and Galin had been busy with the overhead crane. They would pull a missile tube into place and then spot weld it enough to hold when they let go. Then a second team would come along and take the time to put solid welds everywhere that would hold up against JumpSpace and firing.
Her job was locating the closest control access plug to any tube and unscrewing all the bolts so it could open, after which a wiring team could connect the missile’s controls to a launch panel on the bridge.
Only when all that was done would they take the time to actually load the bulky missiles up and test the electronics. Three days, maybe.
“Is this going to work?” Granville asked in a low voice.
Not that there was anybody around, but he was speaking quietly.
“Which part?” Siobhan asked, letting her own voice drift down.
Seriously, nobody was within ten meters, and the crane overhead beeped when it moved and howled when it coiled, so nobody was listening.
“Can I just sail right up to a station and blast it out of existence?” Granville asked.
She heard the apprehension in his voice. Not outright terror. More like a fear of screwing up when his people were counting on him.
Not that she’d ever been there.
“Lemme tell you about Alber’ d’Maine,” she said with a warming smile. “He’s commanding an Expeditionary Cruiser these days. RAN VI Victrix. But the stories about his craziness go back way before that, to when he was on Shivaji, or even old Rajput. He does this sort of thing as a matter of course. The big guns on VI Victrix are Type-4 beams, rather than Primaries.”
“Wait,” Granville said. “Type-4’s? That’s insane.”
“Long story,” Siobhan replied. “Has to do with space efficiency and long-tail logistics issues. Anyway, he’s come out of Jump at full speed and been on top of a station with those guns before they had time to get their power absorber panels fully charged. Our last raid, just before all this, was at Severnaya Zemlya. II Augusta’s Fast Strike Bombers came out of Jump, fired right into the hull, and then leapt clear. Rest of the squadron came down on them like an avalanche, blasting with everything we had, including the little Type-1-Pulse guns on 405. We only didn’t get away because something broke in JumpSpace and cooked both sets of sails as we got to the edge of the system. But Jessica Keller’s First Expeditionary Fleet is known for this sort of thing. You can do it, too. You’re one of us now.”
