by Wayne Watson
“That sounded to be a more professional attack than is usual for raiders- they are usually hit & run- grab a few easy captives,” said Hendrik, passing across the brandy and the soda siphon.
“Captain that was a well- armed, trained and disciplined specialist force if ever I saw one. They were not raiders- they were Crow elite infantry. I would say that they had carried out this same type of operation on more than a few occasions- they were total professionals.”
“No doubt naval intelligence is going to want to go over this with you and your colonists later- but I agree with your assessment. We have heard rumors of such a unit. Now to the point of your colony stores- did you have the standard emergency reserve rations?”
Shannon grimaced. “We lived on them for two weeks before we were transferred onto this ship. Bad as krats are, they were better than the crud the Crows ration slaves. I can't be sure how much is left- the main store was destroyed when a couple of my people holed up in there to make a stand.”
“Every little helps- we are a few days short of providing a subsistence ration, but our surgeon says we will cope if we keep the fit and able bodied a little short, to boost the children and sick list's rations up to minimum. For what its worth, all my crew have volunteered to go on the same ration, to keep those children and pregnant women fed.”
For the first time in the ordeal, Shannon broke down and burst into tears, repeating, “Bless you- bless you all.”
Hendrik poured another large brandy- this time being rather sparing with the soda siphon. “At least we have plenty of drink- our supposedly teetotal friends had a sizable cache of contraband on board- I can always count on my marines to locate the booze first.”
His attempt at a joke stopped the tears and he passed her a clean handkerchief. “We found these too,” he said, sliding a humidor of cigars across the table.” They lit cigars and smoked for a few minutes. Hendrik continues with his questioning.
“What do you know of the other captives on board?”
“All I know is what your crew has mentioned- that there are others on board. Your people don't give much away.”
“It may be possible that some of these slaves were involved in the raid on your colony as laborers- I thought it best to segregate your people from them.”
“A sound move, Sir- they would tear them to pieces if they recognized any of them.” Her face darkened, as she recalled the stockade and the taunts of the Crows laborers. They had not realized that they were second or more generation slaves- born menials although they were way higher up the pecking order than taken slaves.
“Quite so, best we let naval intelligence determine if there is a case against any of them.”
***
“That's better,” said Tom, as the hot, stuffy air in the ops room started to cool.
A fitter emerged from underneath the console. “That one was easy, Sir- the fire baffle was fitted the wrong way around. You had zero airflow- we are finding a lot of stuff like this- I hope the Crows build their warships this badly.”
“Specialist, I just wish this inventory problem was that easy to fix,” said Tom, getting up and stretching. He had spent almost all of the last 48 hours at the console trying to locate food amongst the vast cargo bays. Almost all of the cargo was listed by destination, not contents. So far they had located a cube of baklava by luck and another of canned cheese by physically searching.
The young fitter paused, then said, “Sir, if it's not a dumb question- have you tried scanning the cargo with thermals?”
“No,” said Tom. “We just used life detectors but not thermals- why do you ask?”
“Well, Sir, I had the thought that if there were any reffer cubes amongst the cargo, they would probably contain food- they will show up a couple of degrees warmer than ambient from the inbuilt heat pumps. Because of that, they are always top-stow, so should be easy to locate.”
Tom turned away from his screen, slapped his hand against his forehead then picked up a handset. “All search teams- have one person switch to thermal and scan the top-stowed containers- you are looking for cubes above ambient. Open those and report in.”
Several minutes later, one of the teams reported in. “Jackpot, Sir, found one full of frozen lamb, going by the pictures on the boxes inside- tell cookie to heat up his stew pot.”
“Copy- did you get that QM?”
“I did, Lieutenant- that was some inspired thinking for a marine.”
“Can't take the credit, QM- that was one of Sandy's fitters.”
“Who will now have all the troops lining up to buy him a beer- I'm sending a work party down and getting the cooks back in the galley now- QM out.”
Tom turned to the sheepish looking fitter. “Have your crew chief call me- that earns you a bonus.”
“Aye sir,” he said, saluted and gathered up his tools. He had a full shifts work ahead but now had the prospect of a hot meal.
***
After what seemed like an endless procession through sick bay, the medical team was finally finished- for now. They had thankfully received the latest news- that frozen food had been located and there was more than enough for this leg of the journey. While there was little risk of real starvation, the boost to morale was important to all aboard- more so to the newly freed refugees. Lieutenant Lillian Williams, the ships surgeon, finished looking over the Chef's menus and approved them. People kept on a diet of concentrated rations- and a minimum energy one at that- had to be reintroduced to real food. The last task of her watch completed, she handed over to the senior med tech, and then turned her attention to a small figure at a spare terminal. “Young lady, I think you have had enough reading for one day- look at the time- now it's off to bed for you.”
Jenny smiled at the surgeon and hurried off into her cabin- an appropriated room in sick bay.
Lillian smiled- the sight of the diminutive figure bringing back memories of her own children, long grown up now. Her staff had taken it upon themselves to look after this one child- unlike the colonists and the other ex-slaves, this one had nobody. Gentle probing had revealed that her full name was Jennifer DeVries and she was space-born, most probably to one of the independent freighter/transports that plied its trade about the outer colonies. Attempts to find out more just got 'they are all gone now' from her. These freighters operating on the fringes were the usual prey of pirates and surviving crew were often sold to Crow slavers.
“Still here?” said Tom. “If you are finishing soon, the wardroom bar is open, if you fancy a drink?”
“I just need to tuck our guest in- say- you found her, come in and say hello.”
They entered Jenny's room. The plain sick room had emptied of diagnostic equipment, and been decorated with a few personal items from the medical team- a colorful hand-made blanket and a stuffed toy bear- and a locker had been fitted. She was already curled up in her bed. One of the crew had programmed the ships tailor module to produce a miniature set of uniform for her and this was draped over the back of a chair.
“Hello,” said Jenny. “I remember you.”
“Yes,” said Tom. “I wanted to come and see you earlier, but we have been very busy fixing this ship.”
“I know. Everybody says that the cockroaches don't make ships worth a damn.”
Lillian snorted at this remark out of such a small mouth and Tom gave a chuckle. “Well, we make much better ships- good ships like your people's ones.”
“Now that I remember- I brought you some pictures for you wall, like I promised,” Lillian unfolded her tablet and tapped the screen. “These are pictures from my little girl's home on Yalumba- she is the assistant winemaker at the Cockatoo River Mission- she has a daughter about your age, Jennifer.”
The pict wall changed from mirror to window and now displayed an image of a pleasant, sunny river valley, with vineyards, fields and a winding oxbow river. Cattle and sheep grazed and flocks of large birds flew about. All of the better appointed ships had these pict walls that gave the illusion of sp
ace. Despite what many would say about being born to live in space, all well-adjusted people needed space and the more the better on board ship.
“I don't like planets,” said Jenny, “But that looks like a nice one.”
The scene faded to one of a courtyard in a large adobe compound, with children playing.
“Good night dear,” said Lillian, setting the glow panels to auto-dim. The pict wall detected the change in ambient light and set it's scene to dusk, lowering the sounds. “I will be watching you on my comm and the duty medic is just down the corridor- see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight,” said the little girl, yawning, as the two officers left for the wardroom.
***
“What did you pick up?” said Lillian.
“I concur with your findings- accent and speech of the travelers. She is ship-born and that will- is- helping her to adjust.”
“How is that?”
“They have a wider idea of 'family'- the crew is family- not a couple of individuals. We have taken her into our crew, thus our family.”
“This is going to be a problem when we have to let her go.”
“It doesn't need to be,” said Tom. “You have inadvertently- or not- started the process.”
“It would be inadvertently- please elaborate.”
“Cockatoo River Mission is also an orphanage for girls- and a fine one- there are more than a few of our crew that call that place home.”
“Myself included,” said Lillian. “Let’s start getting her ready for that- a much better idea than being lumped in with a lot of colonists, good people though they are. I'm sure my daughter will help and the Wolf has contacts all over that planet- I can't see him objecting.”
“No, the boss will usually go along with a good idea- now whose round is it?”
***
Jenny closed her eyes feigning sleep and reflected on the last couple of days. Playing the part of being a distressed three year old had not been hard. What was difficult was pretending to need the normal amount of sleep of a child her apparent age. Even though the child's body required more than an adult, it had been enhanced and could easily get by on five or six hours sleep. However, this had been planned for and Jenny was able to run an auto-hypnosis sequence that put her to sleep.
While she had spent some time in the empire, to get familiar with speech, common technology and life on a spaceship, there was a vast amount of knowledge she wished to acquire. The data terminal was a good place to start and the busy crew was glad that she could entertain herself quietly at the terminal, without paying much attention to what she was reading. Most crew was involved in furthering their education while passing time in subspace and there was an eclectic range of information in the ship's library. The next step was to acquire a tablet, which should not be difficult- the crew had been trying to find her all sorts of small gifts without any prompting.
While she would have liked to go exploring the ships, that would be out of character and in any case, no matter that Wayne's hardened privateers were a pushover for a small girl, nobody moved freely about a military vessel without good reason- certainly not civilians nor children. She would have to arrange that through an obliging officer- Tom or the surgeon.
On the longer term front, it was apparent that Wayne and Tom had done a lot of preparation for this insertion, getting the right people together at the right time and places. From what she had seen on the pict wall, her new home-to-be looked very pleasant and she would have to do more research tomorrow. She hoped the blue skies were the normal state- she had at the next fourteen years there before reaching her adulthood- and the active phase of her mission...
***
Abilene Provedore
Deadwood Spaceport
Abilene was the last world in this part of space nominally controlled by the Empire. The last port of call before entering the supposedly 'neutral zone'- the buffer between the Empire and the Hegemony. This was one of the first independent colonies- privately funded and outside but not opposing the Empire. The founders of this world were considered eccentrics- they wished to create a world in the image of the ancient 'Wild West' of Earth's American frontier. They certainly managed to recreate the 'Wild' part.
Abilene, like its namesake, was a border world where colonies came to trade and take on supplies- along with those who operated on the fringes- pirates, privateers, smugglers, mercenaries, free companies, travelers, bounty hunters and brigands. It was farming and mining world- as most young colonies were. The cities were like the old cow-towns (which only two people in this age knew from experience.) The law was made by the folks with money and what was good for making money was the law.
Wayne liked Abilene.
Free Company 'Wotan's Fury's spent quite a bit of time in this zone. The hunting was good and the crew could blow off steam here, knowing that almost all problems could be fixed with money. As they provided a significant contribution to the local economy in purchases and loot, they could get away with most things short of rape or murder. A fair fight was never considered murder and rape never came into it with a profusion of willing amateurs and skilled professionals on hand.
On this trip there would be no shore leave, however. Just Wayne and his Quartermaster had traveled down in the ships gig and now they were watching as the last lighter departed with it's cargo.
The heavily laden lighter wobbled on its field as the grav drive took the load. The ship lifted, floating upwards, then its pilot fired the reaction drive to gain steerage and the cargo ship started its 2000km climb to 'Wotan's Fury'.
“That's the last one Captain- and a pleasure doing business with you Sir.” said Pete 'Vittles” Peterson, owner of Abilene Provedore.
“We will be back for a resupply in three to four weeks- I have to escort a slow-mover in, so I can't give you an exact time. I appreciate you giving me priority on that order.” said Wayne, passing over a sizable credit chip. “That's for the prompt service.”
Pete looked at the chip and his eyes widened. Imperial credits were a sought-after currency this far out on the rim. “Don't you worry Cap'n- we will hold those stores for you. With a bit more warning on the resupply, I can get you a bit more variety dehydrated and ready for next time- in the quantities you need, that is.”
“That would be appreciated- they will be hungry when they get this lot. Once they have eaten that, they will start getting fussy again."
“Aw Cap'n- now who could ever get sick of corn bread, beef and beans?”
Wayne laughed at that “I will have a bit more time on my return- we can get together over some of your best steaks and I will bring a few bottles of whiskey and tell you the story you are busting to hear.”
“You got yourself a deal there, Cap'n- and if I read the cards right, your crew is going to have a wad of prize money to blow.”
“Not wrong- but you may have to wait a couple of months before that happens and I don't count my chips 'till I have them safely out of the saloon.”
“True, true- now before you mount up, is there anything else I can get for your return?”
“If you can find a Cat FTLD-4, that would be much appreciated- and I will pay list price for a one in working order.”
“It will be done Cap'n and on the QT- it goes without saying.”
“It does and adios Pete.”
“You too Cap'n J.”
***
“ISO type three docking collar,” said the lighter pilot.
“OK Jess, kill your drive, we have a tractor lock now- warping you in.”
The heavy lighter inched towards the docking collar, drawn in by the Fury's vector-able gravity drive. The metal surfaces kissed, and then the camming dogs latched the ships together. The seal inflated, the instruments indicated a firm seal and once pressures were equalized, the two dock doors slid outwards and upwards. Cargo handlers ran forward and attached their hawsers to the containers. Once clear, the Loadmaster started a winch, hauling the containers out along the roller bed. As s
oon as they were clear of the lighter, the dock doors started to close, while the handlers started to stow and secure the last of their cargo.
“Clear to disengage- have a good drop and see you next furlough, Jess,” said the Loadmaster.
“Make that soon, lover,” said the lighter pilot, disengaging the dogs and firing a short burst of her reaction engines. As soon as she was clear of their microgravity, 'Fury' commenced boosting at full power. In three hours they would be in subspace, where they would remain for about half a light-year. Then, having entered subspace from near Abilene, they would drop back to N-space and re-vector for their true destination.
***
“I'm not surprised,” said Mr. Ramirez. “You treat them as refugees and victims- they are Crow slaves but they have been for generations and like the Crows, they see you as Kaffirs- have the marines treat them as raw recruits- they will understand this.” 'Ensigns!' he thought to himself...
Tom appeared just in time to re-enforce Warrant Officer Ramirez’s lesson on slave management to Ensign Johnson. It wasn't that he was a slow learner- he would never have gained a position on THIS ship if he were- like most people he had assumed that all slaves wished to be free and would be actually grateful to those who had freed them. Wrong.
On this ship, 2000 ex-slaves were very glad to be free and were now working running and repairing the ship. Another 2000 ex-slaves were learning to be free men again and were slowly begining to fend for themselves and help the crew.
The other 1000 deeply resented their change in status. Their liberators were kaffirs, ungodly, evil and unclean.
And about to receive the full attention of Commander Hendrik, who had just heard about this morning's rebellion.
Ensign Johnson stood at rigid attention in front of the Captain's table.
