“Nah. I’ve been with him for going on a year, now. He’s a pussy cat. Sorry. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Why do you always apologize when you mention a cat?”
“Well, kind sir, it’s like this.” Mack pulled out his personal data pad.
“Now, don’t go getting offended. Ok?”
“I won’t get offended. What’s with cats?”
“Ok. Here it goes.” Mack keyed in a search sequence and multiple images of Earthly cats displayed.
“This is a species of animal on our mother planet. The species is ‘feline’. As you can see there are very many types. And, they aren’t very smart. I guess Vidhee would say that they haven’t reached a high enough intelligent quotient to attain full reasoning intelligence. They’ve got some intelligence. Just not much.”
“And these are cats.”
“Aye. Now this is the one that I keep seeing.” Mack filled the screen with a snow leopard. When I first saw you all, that was my first thought. Now it’s stuck in my head.”
“It does look like us, in an animal sort of way.”
“Ya, well. Now you know. Don’t tell Cap I told ya. He’ll skin me alive.”
“Really?”
“No, not really. Figure of speech. Now here are domesticated cats.” So saying, Mack brought up a range of house cat images.
“Much smaller. Families love having them around.”
“You keep cats as pets.”
“Now don’t go and get all hot and bothered, Mr. Muknai. We didn’t know about you. And these little fellows are dumber than fence posts. Not smart.”
“Do you eat these cats?”
“Never! They’re creatures of beauty. We even have laws protecting them.”
“Just don’t call me a ‘cat’. I’m not a pet.”
“On my honor. If I do, you get a free swipe. One claw. Not deep.”
“That will do. So you say that Buster is as harmless as a domesticated cat.”
“Yup. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. A small flying bug that can be annoying.”
“Well, Buster stays on the ship. Away from the work crew.”
“Got it. Let me have Buster bring the ship in.”
Mack, using his personal communicator, called Buster. He and Muknai watched as Buster brought Griffin in for a perfect landing.
“Oh. And I have some ideas about arming Griffin, making it safe for the Princess, and all.”
“That is between you and Lieutenant Varrini. I am just the manager.”
“Ya, right. Like my Da. He runs a shipyard. For the Gregor Clan.” Mack easily dropped into the Elonian way of thinking. “Like my Da, you’re the one that makes everything run like a watch.”
“A timepiece. Something that needs to run with precision.”
“You’re catching on, Chief.”
Ballison
Using his entangled communicator absorbed into Griffin, Igaklay followed the human ship as it exited the alien ship and landed on the alien world. Using the ship’s sensors, the Ballisonian communicator viewed its surroundings. Open space.
The moon-sized entity watched Mack and the other type of alien talk, work an electronic device and point at Griffin. From its listening over the recent period of time, Igaklay learned that these new aliens called themselves ‘Elonians’. And having heard that these Elonians had taken Griffin to Elonia, it knew that they planned to repair the ship, the one containing its mass negator and entangled communicator.
This time it took less than a second of processing time to arrive at a satisfactory conclusion..
“A little longer. Wait for the ship to be repaired.”
Igaklay showed great patience for a lonely, singular being.
“However, I must prepare for my new master’s arrival.”
To that end, Igaklay began reactivating and utilizing the long-dormant machines to clean the wild forests and animals from the once-vibrant cities of its home planet. It restarted the massive terraforming machines which began slowly adjusting the atmosphere to fit the needs of his new humans.
Onboard Heimdallr
“Well, Toast. What have we got?”
“You’re not going to like it, Cap.”
“Yeah, I know. What’s the news?”
“The good news is that there are only seven super dreadnaughts.”
“And the bad?”
“Three carriers and the flag ship. Those alone will wipe out Cencore.
“Yeah. Bad news.”
“And there’s more. That projection? Nuts on. Eighteen cruisers, forty-five destroyers, one hundred, eighty frigates and six hundred patrol ships.”
“More coming through?”
“Nope.”
“What are they doing?”
“Just squatting.”
“What do we do, Cap?”
“Our jobs, Brooksy. Sneak and peek.”
“Yeah, but. We don’t stand a chance!”
“The Old Man will figure something out. Let him worry about the big stuff. We stay focused. Stay on point.”
“You’re the boss, Cap.
“Toast. Send the buoy. Make sure they get the final count. Make sure they know the aliens are just squatting. Ask for orders.”
“Sent, Cap.”
“Brooksy, get us back under our rock.
Onboard Thor
“Get Number Two on the horn.”
“Aye, Aye, Captain. Ready room?”
“If you please, Mr. Morgan.”
A very concerned Captain Russell headed towards delivering some very scary news. Upon arrival, he poured himself a dollop of bourbon, downed it in a swig and took his chair. Admiral Weiskoff flashed onto the screen.
“Admiral.”
“Captain?”
“I just received the latest Intel from Heimdallr. Not good.”
“Explain.”
“We now know their standard fleet size. Two super dreadnaughts, six cruisers, fifteen destroyers, sixty frigates.”
“That’s quite a fleet. Coming here?”
“One holding steady. Unfortunately, there’s more. A second fleet, same configuration has arrived in Bridgelen. A third, according to the latest Intel, is currently coming through.”
“So, we’ve got an armada of three alien fleets, all stationing in Bridgelen. Any idea of their plans?”
“Not yet, Admiral. As I stated, the first fleet is holding steady. Still pointed at Cencore. The other two are forming up at the Dorogon gate. No indication of their intent.”
“There’s nothing we can do about what they are doing. We can only do what we can do. I’ve checked with production. We’ll have approximately twenty-five percent of our home fleet updated with the X-cannons within the week. By month’s end, seventy percent. Come on home and get yours.”
“Aye, aye, Admiral.”
“We don’t need our last dreadnaught getting shot to hell without any fight-back. Make it quick. I need you back out there.”
“What about the X-mines?”
“Hundreds coming. First freighter is on its way. Convert your frigates to mine layers. You decide on the configuration. Just make it dense and dangerous.”
“Roger that, Admiral. I’ll come in immediately and arm up.”
“Come by my office. Let’s kick around some ideas.
“Will do, Admiral. Looking forward to it.”
Onboard Odin
“Letters of Marquees. Those thugs and thieves think they can tell me what to do? Some backwater planet is going to dictate how I run my ship? The Federacy?”
Vice-Admiral Weiskoff stomped around his ready room. Ended at the bar. Poured a slug and gulped it down. Refilled.
“Vice-Admiral. Theodore. The war. We’re losing.”
“I damn well know we’re losing, Jerry.”
Weiskoff’s XO knew that he had his work cut out for him, calming down the Vice-Admiral. Getting him focused, back on track.
“You may not like them. But they are helping the war effort. We’ll get our ship refitted
. Our larders filled. Re-armed.”
“Well, when I get Odin back, we’ll see about these Letters.”
“They’re legal, Theo. Binding.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“I checked with our AI. It combed the data base. Its analysis is that the Letters are legal and binding.”
“War changes things.”
“I understand, sir. But without the rule of law, Federacy is lost.”
“It’s lost, anyway.”
“No it’s not, Vice-Admiral. As long as Odin lives, the Federacy lives.”
“Yeah. And the Federacy is going to do something about Gregor and his thugs.”
“I know you’re angry. Want to hit back, Theo. But, we can’t. There’s too much at stake.”
By this time, Weiskoff had downed two more stiff drinks and began to feel their punch.
“I know, Jerry. I absolutely hate being manipulated, used.”
“They may be legal now, Theo. But Gregor’s a crook. Tolimar has flaunted Federacy laws for decades. They’ll return to their old ways. We’ll get them then.”
“Yeah. We’ll get them hard.”
The Vice-Admiral flopped on his couch, propped his feet, leaned back and took one more gulp. Jerry took his glass, refilled it and handed it back, secure in knowing that this latest tirade had passed.
Arium Ship Yard
Hank broke off his inspection when he heard that Gregor’s personal transport had arrived. Wiping the grease from his hands and pocketing the rag, he nodded to Dean, signalling time to leave Mariella. Being a smallish ship, single decked and smaller than Griffin, they easily reached the shipyard’s lock just as Halcyon connected to the outer door.
Hank and Dean watched as Halcyon’s external hatch opened and Mr. Gregor, with his personal assistant following, bounded down the short tunnel, the weak gravity of the asteroid causing the two to fall towards the entrance.
Watching the gauges, Hanks saw that tunnels’ atmosphere reach equilibrium. Keying in the safety code and pushing the button, he and Dean waited for the lock to swing open.
“Mr. Gregor. Mr. Chandler.”
“Hank. Good to see you. I see you still have your shadow.”
Hank smiled at Dean. “Ya. Can’t get rid of him. Think I’ll trade him in for a good dog. Won’t ask so many questions.”
Dean just beamed back, knowing he had found his place in the universe. The four began walking, with Hank leading.
“How’s Anna?”
“You know mothers. Worried. With the war and all. Not hearing from Mack.”
“I’m sure he’s alright. If not, we’d have heard. He’s with Krag. Those two, they know how to survive this mess.”
“Ya. That’s what she’s holding on to.”
“How are you holding up?”
“Won’t lie to ya, Boss. I worry. But, Mack’s a man now. I raised him best I could. And, like you said, he’s with Krag. Besides, I got my work. Anna, she’s just got the home. Course, our friends, they keep an eye on her. Keep her cheered up.”
“Why don’t you send her to Sanctuary? Gloria’s running the place. She could use all the help she could get. Look. I’m heading over there after checking things out here. I’ll take her. Do her some good.”
“You and Jeff. Coming for dinner. No arguments. We can talk about it then.”
“I wouldn’t miss Anna’s cooking for anything. We’ll be there.”
“Good. I’ll com Anna.” So saying, Hank placed his hand to his ear, went quiet for a moment then mumbled into his throat mic.”
“Done. She’s looking forward to it.”
“That’s settled. How are we doing on the X-cannons and platforms?”
“Do you want to rest? Take a break?”
“Nope. Been resting on Halcyon all the way in. show me what you’ve got.”
“This way, Boss.”
Hank led his boss from the receiving bay into the heart of the workings of Gregor’s shipyard. As they entered, the raucous cacophony of hundreds of workers, machines and movers bombarded their senses. Hank began handing out open-faced helmets. Placing them on their heads and covering their ears, everyone relaxed, now protected from the auditory onslaught.
Hank reached up to each wearer and clicked a switch. Once done, he spoke.
“Hear me now?’
“Loud and clear, Hank.”
“This way to the x-cannon assembly line.”
Hank led the three through the bustling work area to a section of the floor, almost a third, cordoned off.
“Mr. Gregor, you know Ian Ferguson. I put him in charge of producing the X-cannon. In his spare time, he ramrods the platform construction.”
Gregor looked over the stocky, grease-stained mechanic.
Holding out his hand, “Good going, Mr. Ferguson.”
“Fergy, Mr. Gregor. Just Fergy. Can’t shake. Greasy hands.”
“No problem,” Gregor responded as he withdrew his hand. “Tell me. How is it going?”
Fergy pointed to two large machines holding court in the center of the cordoned off area. “After Weiskoff downloaded the specs for his X-cannon, we saw that we’d need our top printers to stamp out the components. The yard has three. We took those two. That slowed down our repair schedule, but not too much. The actual materials, except for the fission generators, were pretty easy to come by. So here we are. We crank out about three of the big guns daily. The mid-sized, about five. The small ones, seven to ten. We should have a pretty good supply be the time the bugs come knocking.”
“Good to know, Fergy. Platforms?”
“Those are built outside.” Ferguson waved an arm at the ceiling. “With so many miners coming from Novius and Corrinar, it was easier to get them up to speed and move the assembly to space.”
“Hank, could we use the miners for plate work on Odin?”
“Don’t see why not, Boss. Those old boys have been kicking around space a long time. Welding plates shouldn’t be too much different from drilling rocks. Besides, they’ve all constructed buildings on the bigger asteroids. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“That’s another problem off of the table. How are the propulsion packages going for our asteroids?”
“One of the easier jobs Hank dumped on me.” Ferguson gave his boss a wry grin. “In another section, Mr. Gregor. They’re just engines, fuel and controllers. We’re pumping them out by the hundreds. We should have a couple of thousand rocks to throw at them within a month.”
“Sounds like you’ve got things on track, Hank. Good job.”
“Not me, Mr. Gregor.” Hank waved an arm, taking in the entire shipyard. “They’re the ones working double shifts, busting their butts to make it all come together. I just crack the whip.”
“Sure, Hank. That’s all you do. You ready for the prestigious Vice-Admiral Weiskoff and his dreadnaught?”
“I suppose. But I don’t like him knowing about our little operation here.”
“Can’t be avoided, Hank. Aliens are coming. And he did sign the Letters of Marquee.”
“I don’t trust him, Lawrence.”
“Me neither. But we’re stuck. We need his ship on the line.”
“Ya, well. Bring him on. But I’m setting up an evacuation protocol, just in case he doesn’t stick to his word.”
“I hear you, Hank. Jeff, would you contact communications? I think it is time to let the good Vice-Admiral know where we stashed our shipyard.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Turning back to his chief engineer, “So, Hank. Where’s our little gun ship?”
“In the repair bay. Where we upgraded Griffin, Boss. Mariella’s small enough to fit. So we dry-docked her. Easier to work on. She’s about ready to launch. Want to watch?”
“Nope. Want to ride.”
“Not a good idea, Boss. This is a test flight.”
“You just mounted the cannon, right?”
“And the fission reactor.”
“Could the reactor blow?”
“Nah. Got her locked down tight.”
“You go up, fire the gun at an active satellite and check the results. That’s it?”
“Pretty much.” Hank began to mope, knowing he lost.
“You going?”
“Of course!”
“Then I’m going. When do we sail?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Good. One last meal of Anna’s cooking,” Gregor joked.
“You’re gonna jinx it, Boss. Don’t say stuff like that.”
“No more, Hank. Show me what else you’ve got.”
For the rest of the afternoon, like a proud father, Hank walked his boss through the yard. Dean, trailing, hung on to every word, stored every concept. Jeff also followed, tablet in hand, taking notes, preserving his boss’s ideas and recommendations while also recording Hank’s circuit of the yard.
At the tour’s end, Gregor commented, “Good show, Hank. You’ve run the yard well.”
“Thank you, Mr. Gregor.”
They ended looking at Mariella.
“She’s a beauty. Who’s the Captain?”
“Angela Hughes. Tough old bird. She jumped at the chance at shooting some aliens. Has a real burn on about getting run out of her stomping grounds.”
“She around?”
“Inside Mariella. Watching every nut turned and bolt screwed into her ship.”
“She’s the owner, I take it.”
“Yeah. Inherited it from her father. Been flying it since she could climb into the pod.”
“Good. She sounds exactly like the people we are going to need.”
“Now, Jeff and I need to get ready for that sumptuous meal your wife is going to prepare for us.”
“Don’t know about that. I will guarantee that it will be good, though.”
“That I know. Eight bells?”
“Eight it is. See you then, Boss, Jeff. Dean, Get cleaned up. We might as well feed you as well.”
Everyone looked at Sue’s son and laughed while he blushed.
* * * * *
As planned, the next morning found Mariella crammed with more people than it was designed to hold.
“Captain Hughes.”
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Gregor, Doctor McCauley. I don’t know the other one.”
Meeting in the Stars (Marston Chronicles Book 3) Page 8
