Robert "Cag" Carrington
Lt. CMDR - U.S.S.F
August 8, 2064 - May 28, 2104
"He Died So That We Would Live"
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Richard Paolinelli began his writing career as a freelance writer in 1984 and gained his first fiction credit serving as the lead writer for the first two issues of the Elite Comics sci-fi/fantasy series, Seadragon. In 2010, Richard retired as a sportswriter and returned to his fiction writing roots. Since then he has written several novels – including the Dragon Award Finalist (Best Sci-Fi Novel), Escaping Infinity – four Sherlock Holmes pastiches, two non-fiction sports books and several other anthologies. His website is www.scifiscribe.com
EDITOR’S NOTE
Every branch of the service operates at a disadvantage. Often that shortfall is in vitally needed supplies or equipment. How they get around that issue is innovative, and often brilliant. Despite the accolades, they’d prefer just getting the resources they need. But until that unlikely event transpires, they’ll continue to make do. Hats off to the Marine Corps, who has done so from the beginning.
OLIVIA AND THE ASTEROID PIRATES
Jim Robb
"Captain, there's a ship low off the port bow, coming in fast on an intercept course!"
Captain Geoffrey Talbot, a portly, balding man in his late forties, muttered an obscenity at the loudspeaker before turning to his passenger. "I suppose our luck had to run out sometime," he said before returning his attention to his breakfast.
The passenger, Olivia Bransome, was an intelligent young woman with the slender but athletic build of a dancer. "It's the pirates, isn't it?" she asked as she looked up from her scrambled eggs. "You don't seem terribly concerned. What are you planning to do?"
"There's nothing much we can do, lass. We can't outrun them, not when we're powered by solar sails and they have one of those fancy new singularity drives. Even if we were armed we couldn't outfight them because they're faster and more maneuverable. They'd stay in our shadow and engage us from down-sun, and we couldn't even return fire without blasting holes through our own sails. We'd take more damage than our cargo is worth, and risk losing our lives in the bargain. Nay," he said, shaking his head, "it makes more sense for the Outer Territories to accept losing the occasional cargo."
"And the Space Force won't do anything about it?"
"The Space Force hasn't enough singularity-drive ships yet to police the whole solar system. Even if they did, they would be loath to send ships to the Outer Territories lest they somehow be seized by that pack of madmen who seek to overthrow our government and secede from the Union." He paused to devour half a strip of bacon before continuing. "Now they be vile scum indeed, worse than any pirates."
"But how did the pirates get their hands on a ship with a singularity drive?"
"They captured a Space Force frigate last year, the Tharsis. She set off on a training mission in the asteroid belt and never returned. Nobody knows how, not for certain, but I'm thinking that when last she was in port the pirates sabotaged her life-support systems, and then simply boarded her after they failed."
Olivia leaned forward in her chair. "I heard that the Tharsis had been lost, but I didn't know that pirates were behind it."
"I'm surprised you've even heard of the Tharsis. The government hasn't exactly advertised its loss. Few know about it outside the Territories."
"What else can you tell me about these pirates?" Olivia asked.
Talbot leaned back in his chair. "Precious little," he said. They appear out of the asteroid belt, seize a cargo and disappear again. No one has been able to track them, so we don't know where their base is or where they sell their stolen cargoes. All we know is that their leader is a well-dressed, well-spoken rogue who goes by the name of Charles de Bernis."
Olivia thought for a moment. "He's well-read, too, judging by his alias. Charles de Bernis is the hero of an old Rafael Sabatini pirate novel."
"Aye, you're right, lass -- The Black Swan, it was. I remember reading it as a child. It's not the sort of fare I'd have expected someone of your generation to favour, though."
"It was a gift from a friend."
The loudspeaker interrupted the conversation again. "Captain, a message from the pirates: 'Prepare to be boarded.'"
"Now that is strange indeed," Talbot said. "Before this they've always ordered crews to cast their cargoes loose and be on their way."
Olivia ran her hand through her short red hair. "Would you excuse me, Captain?" she said. "I'd like to change into something more suitable if I'm to meet the dread Charles de Bernis."
"Suit yourself, lass," Talbot said, shaking his head as he reached for his cutlery. "Suit yourself."
****
It was a rough but capable-looking group of men that confronted Captain Talbot when he opened the inner door of the airlock. Their leader, though tall and slim, gave an impression of toughness. His swarthy, moustachioed face, along with the slender rapier at his left hip, made him look every inch the pirate king. As he spoke, Talbot was not surprised to note that his words were slightly out of sync with his lip movements. De Bernis was hiding his face behind a holographic image.
"My sources tell me you are carrying a Space Force officer as a passenger," de Bernis said in a pleasant, French-accented voice.
"That would be me."
Talbot turned to see Olivia shoulder her way through the half-dozen members of Talbot's crew standing at the far end of the corridor. To his surprise, she was wearing the uniform of a Space Force officer. In her right hand she held a sword much like the one worn by the pirate captain.
"Perhaps you would be good enough to introduce us, Captain?" de Bernis said, looking at Talbot.
Talbot studied Olivia's rank insignia before speaking. "Captain Charles de Bernis, this is Lieutenant Olivia Bransome."
"I know who you are," Olivia said, glaring at de Bernis. "I'm under orders not to engage you in combat under any circumstances, but I just found out you're responsible for the death of a good man and a good friend, and I intend to square the account."
"And how would you propose to do that?" de Bernis asked as a sardonic smile appeared on his holographic mask.
"My preference would have been a double-tap to the centre of mass, but I was forbidden to bring my pistol aboard."
"That is completely understandable. You might miss, after all, and shoot a hole through the hull. Explosive decompression is a terrible thing, mademoiselle."
"That's quite all right. I'd rather not risk breathing vacuum either. Besides," Olivia said as she gestured with her rapier, "this will be more satisfying, anyway."
"Very well," de Bernis said as he drew his own sword. "Do not interfere, gentlemen. This is between me and the young lieutenant."
"Beware, mon capitaine. Do you not see?" one of de Bernis's crewman said. "Her blade -- it doesn't have a stun tip. She means to run you through!"
"You would expect otherwise, Phillipe?" de Bernis said as he saluted Olivia with his sword.
Olivia answered by spitting on the floor.
De Bernis shook his head. "As you will."
The contest was at once fascinating and exciting as it moved up and down the corridor. Olivia, active and athletic, seemed tireless as she maintained the initiative. De Bernis, deceptively casual, seemed content to operate from the defensive, meeting every attack Olivia hurled at him and responding with lightning-quick ripostes that forced his opponent to parry swiftly or leap back to a safe distance.
"You are highly skilled, mademoiselle," de Bernis said after one such exchange.
"I studied at the Academy under Master Harradine. He taught me everything he knew -- including this!"
Olivia had achieved the situation she had been working toward, and did not hesitate to take advantage. With a swift clockwise motion she captured the blade of de Bernis's sword against her own. With her o
pponent's sword thus controlled by centrifugal force, she executed a full lunge and aimed her point straight for his heart, knowing that any attempt to fight against her prise de fer could not succeed.
But de Bernis did not fight against her attack. Instead he ceded to it, drawing his arm back, turning his hand over as he did so until the back of his hand was closest to his face, and lowering the point of his sword. With the leverage thus gained he was able to regain control of his own blade and take control of Olivia's in turn. He finished in the classical parry of prime -- forearm horizontal at chin level, sword pointing downward, with Olivia's sword safely displaced to his left. Taking a short step forward, he jabbed Olivia's right thigh with the point of his sword. There was a popping sound, and sparks jumped from the tip.
"Alas, mademoiselle," de Bernis said, "it would seem Maître Harradine did not teach you everything I know."
A puzzled look came over Olivia's face. The strength seemed to leave her legs and she sat down with a thump. "You son of a ..." Her voice trailed off as she toppled over sideways.
De Bernis caught Olivia's right arm and lowered her gently to the deck. Then he looked up at the group standing by the airlock. "Philippe, see to Lieutenant Bransome, if you will."
Philippe shouldered his way past Captain Talbot and knelt by Olivia's side. After a moment he spoke. "She does not look well, mon capitaine," he said. "I fear something is amiss."
"Then she had best come with us." De Bernis turned to Captain Talbot. "I can assure you she will receive the proper care. The Centaur has a fully-equipped sick bay, and Philippe here was a physician, once upon a time."
****
Olivia was floating as if on a warm, comfortable cloud, but as she let herself sink into its softness the memory of recent events shocked her back to full consciousness. Frantically looking about, she found herself lying in a hospital bed. Standing beside her was Philippe, now wearing the uniform of a Space Force medical officer. A stethoscope hung from his neck, its business end tucked into the left breast pocket of his tunic.
"Where am I?" Olivia asked.
"You're in the sick bay of the Space Force frigate Persephone."
"What? How did I get here?"
"We brought you here after you lost your little duel. I suggest you just lie back and relax. Until the effects of the stun blade wear off completely your sense of balance will be affected."
"But ..."
"Perhaps I can explain," de Bernis said as he rose into view from a chair beyond the foot of Olivia's bed.
"You!"
De Bernis turned to the medical officer. "If we could have the room?"
"Aye, Captain," Philippe said. "Remember, Lieutenant, lie still and rest," he said over his shoulder as he left the sick bay.
"We have not yet been properly introduced, mademoiselle, for Captain Talbot did not know my true identity," de Bernis said. When he spoke again both the mask and his French accent were gone. "Commander Matthew Morgan, captain of the USSF Persephone, at your service."
"Matt? Oh, Matt!" Olivia sat bolt upright and fought off the sudden dizziness this caused. "I thought you were dead!" Suddenly her face turned white. "I ... I could have killed you!"
"Don't remind me," Matt said. "I'm already more than a little annoyed with you right now. You were specifically ordered not to engage in combat, no matter what. By disobeying that order you put me in a tough situation. I couldn't risk ordering my boarding party to subdue you because it might have provoked resistance from Talbot's crew, so I had to do it myself."
"So you did this to create an excuse for taking me with you?"
"We were going to take you with us in any case, but because you chose to fight I had to accept your challenge and win the encounter without causing you serious harm. Fortunately, I know all your favourite tricks."
"Why was I kept in the dark?"
"We wanted your response to appear genuine, and we didn't dare rely on your acting skills; you're too easy to read. We'll be working on that over the next little while."
"But what is all this about?"
"What I'm about to tell you is classified Top Secret," Matt said. "Do you understand, Lieutenant?"
"Aye, Sir," Olivia responded by reflex.
"This ship was christened the Tharsis but now, like the Persephone of legend, she leads a double life. Usually she's a Space Force frigate, but on occasion she becomes the pirate ship Centaur.
"As you probably know, there is a small but vocal, well-funded and heavily-armed faction in the Outer Territories which sees the federal government as standing in the way of their ambitions. One of their favorite issues is taxation. They say that before they will allow the Outer Territories to be taxed by the federal government, they will seize control by force and secede from the Union -- which is of course their ultimate objective. Then, if anyone tries to stop them, they threaten to shove asteroids out of orbit and throw them down the sun's gravity well. Not specific targets, because they can't achieve that kind of accuracy, just whatever they happen to hit. Still, an asteroid the size they could work with would destroy a small city, and they'd hit one sooner or later.
"Once our entire fleet is upgraded with singularity drives we can deal with the threat, but to do so we need time -- and a great deal of money. To get both, the federal government and that of the Outer Territories agreed to a temporary and unique form of taxation. Quite simply, as the Centaur we seize enough cargoes to make up the tax. Once we're beyond tracking range we park the cargo modules at the edge of the asteroid belt for a conventional freighter to pick up."
"Why was it so important to take me from Talbot's ship?" Olivia asked.
"Ostensibly, to take you hostage. All parties have to suffer losses from time to time to avoid suspicion. The other reason, the real reason, is because our navigation officer is being reassigned and I requested you as his replacement. But now I have a question for you. Why did you want to avenge my death so badly that you disobeyed your orders?"
Olivia leaned forward and ignored the dizziness. "Because I've been in love with you since the day I met you, dammit!"
The sick bay was silent for a long moment.
"I dare you to come over here and say that," Matt said.
Before Matt could move, Olivia was standing by the foot of the bed, clutching the footboard for support.
"I didn't really mean that literally, you know," Matt said. "I'm quite willing to come to you."
"Don't you dare move, Matt MacDonald," Olivia said as she launched herself toward him. "I'll make it the rest of the way if I have to crawl!"
Matt reached out to catch her.
"I do a dreadful, lovely thing," he said, and took her in his arms.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jim Robb is an accountant serving as group controller for a multinational fashion jewelry company. He is a seven-time provincial champion and a Canada Games gold medalist in individual men's epée, the fencing equivalent of the duelling sword, and served for 22 years as an officer in the army reserve. He and his wife Donna live in southern Saskatchewan with their canine and feline associates. Publishing credits include AE, Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine, and the children's anthology C is for Cabbage.
EDITOR’S NOTE
Sometimes the personal cost of accomplishment is too great. Sometimes the battle is too grim, and unnoticed by those around you.
SLIVERS OF HOPE
Rosie Oliver
The doctor beside my bed is grim-faced while an older nurse stays in the corner of my hospital room. It is going to be bad news.
“As you know, we’ve done quite extensive scans on your back.” My hands grip the bed’s sheet tighter.
“The damage is restricted to your spinal cord. Your nerves have been crushed and entangled into a messy knot. I’m afraid any operation would almost certainly extend the paralysis upwards.”
I try to take it in,
while refusing to believe him. This either-future moment lasts forever.
“You mean I’m stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of my life?”
“Maybe. We can try fitting you with leg braces controlled by chest muscles, but in cases like yours, well, we’ve had very little in the way of success.”
I picture myself in a wheelchair: no more walking let alone running; always using the lifts rather than the escalators; and absolutely no chance of finishing my astronaut course for the Space Force.
“No, no, no…” I fling the sheet off and push my legs round to sit up on the side of my bed. My legs hang, limp and pallid, accusing me of betrayal in that one thoughtless moment that led to my car crash. I edge out until I see my feet planted on the floor.
“Please don’t try to stand.” The nurse bolts towards me.
I beat away the doctor’s restraining arms with one hand and push myself up off the bed with the other. I hit the floor hard and blank.
The following days are a blur of flowing tears, angry bitterness and sedation.
Family and friends come and go, and then stay away. Cressida, my girlfriend and fellow trainee astronaut does not put in an appearance. I put it down to her work probably taking her away from Houston. Next excuse is her heavy work schedule and swatting for exams. Finally, I worry something is seriously wrong.
Jasmine, another astronaut from my trainee cohort visits me. She brings some square sheets of paper and teaches me how to fold a jumping frog. I smile when mine leaps further than hers.
“How’s training going?” I ask.
Her eyes go all big and sad. “It’s hard, very hard. I’m not going to make it.”
“Oh.” I pause. “Why?”
Space Force: Building The Legacy Page 8