Starship Liberator

by B. V. Larson

  Private Redwolf walked behind Straker at a few paces’ distance. Heiser had insisted he keep a bodyguard nearby at all times in case of spies or assassins. Anyone could be a sleeper agent. Straker thought it unlikely, but he accepted his spear’s judgment for now.

  He lifted his hand to greet or salute people—his people, he reminded himself—as he passed by them. They walked from place to place or worked the fields or drove ground vehicles stacked with goods and parts, working hard. The repairs were still ongoing, of course, as the community transited toward the refuge of the Starfish Nebula.

  Straker was glad his fight, this campaign, was over for the moment, like an R&R break before the next inevitable battle. Freiheit was no Shangri-La, but despite its flaws he found it much more satisfying than the fantasy planet, much more real.

  There was no parade of plastic women throwing themselves at the warriors here, but with vibrant society composed of two thousand souls, he thought most of his troops would eventually join the community rather than just partying between battles. He might not have an instinct for people, but he knew Old Earth history—or as much as the Hundred Worlds had bothered to preserve—and he knew a free society had to be founded on lasting values: integrity, stability, hard work, family.

  Too bad the Unmutuals that had fought alongside them had left. Straker had thought of them as the “good ones.” Captain Gray had done her part—Carson had blocked the one shot that would have destroyed a sidespace engine—and so Straker had honored Engels’ promise to let her go back to DeChang, along with her crew.

  Gray had taken Polzin and his surviving attack ship pilots aboard Carson, but the slim craft themselves were now parked inside Freiheit’s northern dock hangar, for they had no sidespace capability.

  Straker had thanked the Unmutual Fleet crew for their efforts and their sacrifices. In other circumstances, Gray and Polzin would make excellent comrades-in-arms, even friends. He hoped they could force DeChang to purge the Unmutuals of their sickness and corruption. Nobody expected military people to be saints, but what Ramirez had allowed was beyond the pale.

  Speaking of Ramirez… he still wondered about her fate. It had probably been her, masquerading as “Nassimi” on that shuttle, but despite sensor sweeps and open transmissions, the tiny craft hadn’t been located. Maybe she’d hidden, correctly assuming Straker’s justice would fall on her like the stadium had fallen on him and Loco at the battle for Corinth. Maybe she’d try to make it to the ruins of Aynor Base and survive there until pickup.

  “Sir, sir… Captain Straker!” Karst, now wearing a Breakers uniform coverall and corporal’s stripes, ran up and saluted. “May I speak with you?”

  “Sure, Corp. What’s on your mind?” Straker didn’t stop walking, and Karst fell in besides him.

  “My girl, sir. Cynthia Lamancha. She’s gone.”

  Straker raised an eyebrow. “Ran off on you? I’m sorry, but sometimes…”

  “No, no, sir. I mean, she’s vanished. Nobody can find her. Nobody’s seen her since Yates had a knife to her throat. I’ve spent the last two days trying to find her, or maybe her…” He gulped.

  Straker nodded in sympathy. “Her body?”

  “Yes, sir, but there’s nothing. I didn’t want to bother you until I’d checked all the tunnels and hiding places.”

  “And have you?”

  “Lieutenant Paloco says the troops have searched everywhere for stragglers. They found a few Unmutuals hiding out, and a pile of bodies of murder victims, but…”

  “No Cynthia. I’m sorry, Corporal. Is there something more I can do?”

  “Maybe, sir. I heard about that shuttle that Ramirez got away on.”

  Straker raised an eyebrow and looked at Karst sidelong. “That’s not been established.”

  “I listened to the audio. It sounded like Ramirez. She said she had civilians aboard. I bet she has Cynthia.”

  Straker stopped and stepped off the path, getting out of the way of the bustling traffic. “That’s possible, I guess. But we’re already in sidespace. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t send anyone back until we reach our destination. That would be a risky long-shot anyway.”

  Karst’s face became a study in controlled desperation. “I know that, sir, but I ask you: how would you feel if it was Lieutenant Engels? I bet you’d never rest until you found her.”

  Straker looked away. The kid was right. He’d move mountains to find the woman he loved, but there were two thousand people depending on him. That was the problem with being the boss: suddenly you found yourself with less freedom, not more, despite the power and authority.

  “Okay, what do you want to do about it?” Straker said. “Stick to what’s possible.”

  “I don’t know, sir. Some kind of search. It would be good for everyone to get her back, and any other civilians with her. Show the people you care.”

  “You trying to blow smoke up my ass, Corporal?”

  Karst straightened to attention. “No, sir! But wouldn’t you like to put Ramirez on trial too?”

  Straker growled. The kid was right again. There was good reason to give it a try. “I’ll consider it once we get to where we’re going, but no promises. There are a hundred other things to do first.”

  “And I want to go along on the search, sir.”

  “If it happens, you’ll go. Happy?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Get back to your duties then. Dismissed.”

  Karst saluted, grinning, and bolted away double-time.

  Straker continued walking. When he reached the Base Control Center, he found Murdock there as he usually was, sixteen hours a day. He might even spend more time there than that… he probably had a bunk somewhere within the complex. The man was the ultimate techie, never happier than when playing with his machines.

  “How’s the sidespace system?”

  Murdock ran his hand through his stringy hair. “Lucky that once we’re underway, it’s easy to stay in and travel. I’ve got a lot of fluctuations and had to make so many repairs I’m amazed we made it into sidespace at all. When we transit out, we won’t be going anywhere for a while. Not without a complete rebuild.”

  Straker slapped Murdock’s back, rocking the skinny man. “I hope we won’t be going anywhere at all in Freiheit. How’s the power problem coming?”

  “I’ve rigged up all available sources,” Murdock said, “such as our parked ships’ reactors, but we really need something a lot bigger. Preferably two or three somethings, in case one has to be taken off line.”

  “When we arrive, I’ll get the Ruxins to provide reactors. Their population numbers in the missions, and their habitat is a hundred times this size. They’re expanding to other asteroids, building habs. I think you’re going to have a lot of fun.”

  “With Ruxins?” Murdock asked in dismay. “They’re all a pain in the ass.”

  “They’re brainiacs like you,” Straker insisted. “Find a way to get along with them, because you’ll be seeing a lot of them.”

  Murdock looked bleak. “Hoo, boy… I’ll try.”

  Abruptly, an aroma drifted to Straker’s nose. Perfume? Not something he often smelled since leaving the Hundred Worlds.

  “Frankie, aren’t you done working? You like those machines better than you like me!”

  Straker turned to see Tachina, Lazarus’ former concubine, sashay over to Murdock from the doorway. She wrapped herself around him like an anaconda and pressed her plump lips to his cheek.

  Murdock blushed and said, “Later, honey. I’m finishing up with Captain Straker just now.”

  Tachina turned her artfully made-up face toward Straker. “Oh, hello, Captain. I didn’t see you standing there.”

  Straker nodded stiffly. “Good to see you making friends, Miss Tachina.”

  Redwolf chuckled from behind him.

  “Oh, I’m good at making friends.” She blinked slowly at him, her overlong eyelashes seeming to reach for him. “We should get together sometime.”

  Straker
opened his mouth to protest, but Tachina went on before he could speak.

  “You know,” she said, “Frankie and his woman, you and your girl, sharing a meal, some wine, some fun.”

  Straker felt as if Tachina were targeting him with waves of sexual energy. He had no idea how she did it, how she could be molded to the other man’s body yet still manage to act available to Straker. Murdock was such a nerd, he probably had no idea.

  What was her game? If he had to guess, she was intent on attaching herself to the highest-status male she could find, climbing the ladder of power. She’d probably made a play for Captain Gibson, but Straker knew the man was married with a family back on a Mutuality planet, a family he hoped someday to rescue. Now she was making it clear she’d ditch Murdock for Straker if he wished.

  “Maybe sometime Miss,” he said, “but I’m extremely busy for now.”

  Never gonna happen, he told himself. He could only imagine how Engels would react. She hadn’t completely recovered her beauty from before the Hok injections, or the torture scars. The improvement had halted, leaving her skin mottled and rough. Comparing herself to Tachina would make her feel even worse about it.

  That reminded him of the main reason he’d come to talk to Murdock. “Miss Tachina, I have one more thing to discuss with Frank, and then I’ll send him home to you, I promise. Half an hour, no more.”

  Tachina pouted, but left with a flounce clearly designed to keep the men’s eyeballs glued to her posterior until she was out of sight.

  “Gods, what a woman,” said Murdock reverently.

  “That she is.” Straker lifted an eyebrow. “Enjoy her while you can.”

  “What… what’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Forget it,” Straker said, deciding not to dash the man’s happiness before the inevitable ending. “You know, just a saying. Seize the day and all that. But speaking of women, I have a special project for you.”

  “More work?” Murdock complained.

  “Yes, sorry. You can assign a tech if you’re not the right expert, but I need the best work and no mistakes.”

  Murdock straightened and rubbed his hands. “Sure, boss. You can count on me. What’s the job?”

  Straker explained it to him with Murdock growing more concerned with each word he spoke.

  * * *

  Once done with Murdock, Straker found his way to the nearby docking port hangar. There was one at each end of Freiheit. By placing them at the ends, near the habitat’s axis, they minimized the apparent motion of the entrances, making it easier for ships to enter and exit.

  In the big space he saw Lockstep, Liberator, and the seven surviving attack ships. Thick cables snaked from the vessels to plug into a large humming machine, some kind of power distributor, to augment the habitat’s single auxiliary reactor.

  Revenge was nowhere to be seen. She had docked externally, as she had no landing surfaces or struts. The Ruxin ship had never been designed to set down on anything solid. Straker doubted Murdock had run a power tap to her. The systems were almost certainly incompatible without major modification.

  Zaxby had suggested putting Revenge down in the lake, but Straker vetoed that idea. The Ruxins were weird enough without them disturbing the civilians by living in the middle of the hab’s main recreation area. That said, the octopoids did swim in the lake during the day, and the locals were starting to get used to them.

  Engels waved at Straker from Liberator’s open hatch. Technicians welded crysteel patches over some of the worst damage, and others had one of the ship’s six lasers dismantled on the deck. One woman in a suspended harness was finishing up painting over the corvette’s old numerical designation.

  Straker jumped up easily to the hatch in the low gravity and embraced Engels, kissing her soundly. “You happy with ‘Liberator’? Now’s the time to choose a new name for your ship, before the paint dries.”

  “Absolutely,” Engels said as she led him into the cramped wardroom of the compact ship.

  “I like it too. But even if I didn’t, she’s your ship, not mine.”

  “I may be the ship’s captain, but you’re the admiral, Derek.”

  Straker shrugged. “I’m thinking maybe ‘Commodore’ is more appropriate. Calling myself ‘General’ is pretentious, not to mention it would seem like I’m trying to imitate DeChang.”

  “Fine by me.” Engels drew two mugs of caff and sat. “How’s the mechsuit situation?”

  Straker sat across from her and accepted a cup. “No problems. We should be able to put out one unit a month.”

  “So few?”

  “Mechsuits are complex things, and this is a small factory, only ever designed to make replacement parts. The machinery can turn out any piece, but only one thing at a time. Then we need to fit each and test it, and—”

  Engels held up hand. “I get it.”

  A knock came at the wardroom’s open door. It was a tech, one of Murdock’s people. Several more nerds could be seen behind her.

  “Sir, ma’am?” the tech said. “Where’s the autodoc?”

  Engels pointed aft. “This ship’s not big enough to get lost in. Second door on the left. What’s going on?”

  Straker waved the techs onward. “Carry on.” He turned to Engels. “I ordered the autodoc removed and installed in the clinic. It’s the most advanced piece of medical technology we have. We can get a lot more use out of it there.”

  “Okay, I can see that. Hate not to have it aboard in a fight, though. Daniels wouldn’t have survived his laser burns without it.”

  “We’ll try to get you another one. The Ruxins have an industrial base a hundred times bigger than ours. We just need to persuade them to adapt some of their production to our needs.”

  “You really think they’ll welcome us?”

  Straker spread his arms. “Why not? I’m the War Male. I commanded the ship in its first action.”

  “Her, Derek, remember? Ships are her.”

  “Why is that, anyway?”

  She reached for his hand. “Because they need a lot of care, but if you give it to them, they’ll never let you down.”

  Straker smiled. “I thought it was because they could be bitches.”

  “That too.”

  “Okay, I’ll try to remember to call it her. Makes as much sense as calling Zaxby him. Anyway, Zaxby and I trained her crew. If the Ruxins rebuild a fleet to liberate their homeworld, those squids will form the basis of their naval personnel. Plus, we’ll share our technology with them. They’re eighty years out of date, remember? And I don’t see them piloting mechsuits, so we humans will keep a lock on heavy ground combat. They’ll see how working together helps both species.”

  Engels shook her head. “I don’t think it’ll be as easy as you think, but I agree it has to be done.”

  Straker squeezed her hand and stood, finishing his caff. “Hey, it’s been good to spend some time with you, but I have a dozen other things to do.”

  “Remember to delegate,” she reminded him.

  “No problem—especially things I don’t want to do. I wish I could delegate the trials, though.”

  Engels walked him out of the ship. “You need to be there for those. At least the capital cases. They have to be seen as fair, and it’s part of your role to dispense justice.”

  “I know, but it’s such a chore now that the battles are over.”

  “They’re not over,” she said, “just on hold. Unless you want to give up your dream of liberating the galaxy?”

  Straker snorted. “The galaxy? I’ll settle for the Mutuality and the Hundred Worlds.”

  Engels cocked her head. “I’m not sure whether you’re dreaming too large or too small, Derek. It’s a big universe.”

  Straker kissed her one more time. “Don’t go all brainiac on me now. I had enough of them today already. See you at dinner.” He leaped to the deck, waved, and strode off, a bounce in his step.

  That bounce disappeared as his old handtab beeped. It was reminding him of the
beginning of the trials.

  Outside the same makeshift brig, still filled with Unmutual prisoners, he’d parked his mechsuit, a reminder of the hanging of Master Sergeant Yates. A rope with a noose had been thrown over the outstretched arm.

  More than one of the people gathered there stared at that ominous symbol of justice—local citizens, guards, and those with faces pressed to the barred windows awaiting trial.

  And that’s what it needed to be, Straker knew. Not retribution, not revenge, but justice. It had to be seen as fair, even merciful, giving the accused every chance to avoid the grim reaper’s scythe—but it had to be there as the ultimate end of those who committed the most heinous of crimes.

  Straker nodded at Mayor Weinberg and took his seat. This time he would preside as the commander-in-chief, but he’d only intervene if things got out of hand. Those controlling the process were seven judges, chosen from among the whole of the community and Straker’s cohort, those with judiciary experience. Others with skill in the law would act as attorneys for the prosecution and defense.

  The judges would determine guilt or innocence, and decide on sentences ranging from flogging to hard labor to hanging. Straker had insisted there be no long-term incarceration, no “life sentences.” The goal was to rehabilitate and integrate, not create a permanent drain on the resources of the community. If the judges didn’t think an offender stood a chance of rehabilitation, he or she would be executed.

  Fourteen trials had been completed by the time Straker declared the weary day over with. All but two had admitted their crimes and apologized publicly for their disgusting actions. This was a condition of their sentencing.

  Nine had been flogged publicly, brutally whipped until they bled profusely from the cuts of the fiber strands, with everyone looking on. Some broke down and pleaded for mercy, but there was none to be had… not until the requisite number of strokes had been applied.

  Many among the populace turned away, sickened. This, too, was something Straker wanted, something he’d discussed with Engels and Loco and Weinberg and others of his inner circle. The common people had to understand what their representatives did in their name. They needed to see that justice, while necessary, had its ugly side, and couldn’t be shoved behind closed doors for someone else to take care of.