by Blaze Ward
“That looks positively pornographic,” Andre observed as he walked into the dining space and watched her. “Nobody should enjoy eating that much.”
Heather smiled at her First Officer. CS-405 had a fantastic head cook in Julius Gephardt, but Andre was way too much a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy.
She savored her last bite of the dish. There was nowhere else to store all the food they had stolen besides this ship, so she had the most amazing larder to pick from. And Galin Tuason had built her an ice cream maker, once they got to talking about all the fresh eggs and milk they had accumulated over the last four days.
Miniscule, on the scale of CS-405, with over two hundred crew, but Packmule had exactly eleven right now: her regular seven, plus four cowpokes. And all that food would go bad if she didn’t eat it, right?
Veggie omelets for breakfast. Milk and cream and drop biscuits with every meal. She hadn’t eaten this good in years.
Andre took the seat across from her table and scowled mightily. Heather considered licking the bowl clean, like a cat.
“What’s up?” she asked instead.
“I am not a veterinarian,” he observed drily. “However, it appears that several of our cattle are gravid.”
Wow.
“How soon?” she asked, feeling a moment of panic nip at her heels.
Cows having calves on her deck was not something Heather was prepared to handle, but they were only three days out from Lighthouse Station.
“It was dead of winter back on Abakn,” Andre said. “So hopefully not immediately, but I don’t know diddly squat about cows, and the cowboys are hemming and hawing about stressed animals.”
“Okay,” she said. “So what brings you down here?”
“I would greatly appreciate it if you could stay up late and plot the next course or two,” Andre said. “I know enough astrogation to agree with the nav computer when it spits out a wild-ass guess as to where it should go. You’ve got a way better touch, and I’d like to get there as soon as we can, so Bok and Avelina have to deal with any calves instead of me.”
Heather nodded, trying to look glum. One last, forlorn glance at her plate of now-departed ice cream. The sooner they could get home, the better. And then she’d have to go back to just raiding the two-hundred-plus food containers for dinner.
Oh, the sacrifices we make in service.
Truck Driver (September 14, 402)
It had been seven years since he sat in a cockpit to fly a ship. Granville told his hands to stop shaking as he walked around the shuttle, even the nearly-invisible amount they were, and focused on completing the pre-flight checklist, letting the steps calm him.
The items here were different from his old Starfighter, but he was also flying a cargo shuttle and not an armed mosquito. But the physics and technology weren’t that different. He had spent the last week on a crash course to recertify as a pilot, even on the stolen freighter known as Packmule.
It would give him options.
Going home was always an option. If he wanted to face possible arrest and guaranteed humiliation as a sexual deviant. There was a new Emperor, the youngest daughter of the Emperor Granville remembered, and members of this crew had even met her when she served with this squadron as an officer. He wasn’t sure it would help.
Granville still could not fathom a future where an Emperor of Fribourg had worn the uniform of the Republic of Aquitaine Navy. And yet, he was perilously close to doing the same thing.
Granville shook his head and popped open a panel on the port, rear quarter of the second insertion shuttle, the one named Caravan. Power at nominal levels. Fuel nearly full. Stability readings green. He closed the panel and moved around to the rear of the craft, ducking under the massive cargo container he only imagined was mooing at him.
“All good?” a voice intruded. Female.
It was still disconcerting, hearing a woman’s voice on a warship deck, but he wasn’t in Fribourg any more. Might never be, again.
He could be free. If he wanted it hard enough.
Granville turned and pulled his shoulders back just a touch. It was unconscious reflex when dealing with a superior officer. Even a woman like Captain Lau, the breveted Senior Centurion First Officer under Phil Kosnett.
He found his voice after a moment. Too much introspection.
When he was a younger son, Granville had learned to listen well before speaking. As a junior officer, the lesson had been reinforced. As a slave, pounded ruthlessly home.
Want to run away into the wilderness? Don’t take a horse, or we will hunt you down and kill you. Otherwise, enjoy starving. Or being eaten by wild animals.
“All is well, Captain,” Granville finally managed to bring his attention out of the past.
There was an entire future possible, right in front of him, for he and Deni.
If he had the courage to grasp it.
“You don’t seem convinced,” she noted dryly.
Granville suppressed a sigh. Ground his teeth a little. Chewed on the words.
“Seven years seems like yesterday, sir,” he let the words escape their confinement in his soul. “And a lifetime ago, for someone I don’t remember ever being.”
“Understood, Veitengruber,” she replied. “A week ago, you were a slave. Now, you’re a pirate. I will continue to ask you what it is you want from your future. Nothing is cast in bronze right now. For you and Deni, it might never be. You have already paid us back for the effort, just by being there to rescue. If you wish to remain behind on Lighthouse Station and work as a hand, that is also an acceptable answer.”
Granville shook his head hard. Fierce.
No, that was not it.
“I wish to pay The Eldest back, sir,” he growled, suddenly finding the fire that had eluded him for so long. Was revenge the thing he sought most? Interesting, for such a cerebral child. “I want to join your war effort. Today, that means flying a cargo shuttle filled with cattle. Hopefully, tomorrow something more useful to the war effort.”
She fixed him with a stare that apparently all command officers learned at some point. Penetrating. Almost scary, which was doubly-so coming from a woman officer, another thing his brain kept having trouble processing.
“Driving a cattle truck is at least as important as carrying a gun, Veitengruber,” she snapped. “One man with a gun is dangerous. The man responsible for the cattle feeds the entire crew, and makes our war possible. Plus, you’ve shown us how to find more prisoners, so eventually we’ll have enough crew to take something by force. The Eldest will learn to fear us.”
Granville felt his heels snap together unconsciously. Head back. Spine ramrod straight.
For a woman officer.
But it also liberated him. He had served as a slave to the woman in charge of the cattle station. Served with men and women equally for years, overcoming his own chauvinism to become a good ranch hand. He could do this.
“Yes, sir,” he replied, tight with fierce emotion.
And he had found Deni on Abakn. Found his other half.
Found his future under a foreign flag. Now he just had to grab hold and never let go.
“All good, Sailor?” she asked a moment later.
“Yes, sir,” Granville smiled.
“Good,” she smiled at him. “Don’t tarry long on the surface. Just drop your boxes and pop back to orbit. Phil’s called a war council for tomorrow, and I need you and Yamaguchi there with me.”
“On it,” he said.
She turned and strode off. Granville watched her go with something like pride growing in him. Understanding finally struck him as he moved to the rear landing skids and continued back down his checklist.
He had come home.
Ghost (September 15, 402)
The room was crowded today, as Heather looked around. Barely enough seats in CS-405’s conference room for everyone to fit. If they hadn’t needed the projector, it might have been more fun to do this down on the surface of the planet around a campfire.
Evan rose at Phil’s nod and moved around to the end where everyone could see him.
“The hardest part,” he began suddenly, in a voice that sounded angry at himself more than anything else, “was finding a planet that doesn’t exist.”
That got a round of confused murmurs. Heather was already expecting something grand as an opening gambit from the Science Officer. He was like that.
“Based on interviews with Lan and Kiel, I was able to estimate a fairly small volume into which the Mansi system most likely existed,” he continued as the voices died down. “Plus, Phil had me looking for stellar graveyards, cemeteries where old ships would be put in orbit and left, for whatever reason. There are surprisingly few of them.”
Heather glanced over at Siobhan and got a nod in return. It was going to be another caper kind of operation, they both suspected.
Good thing there were a bunch of crazy pirates around here.
“However,” Evan continued. “One of my target stars also had a navigation hazard listed. A “No Go” zone, if you will. The system itself is marked uninhabited, so it makes absolutely no sense to have that sort of marking. Except that planet is on my charts, CS-405’s databanks, as one that was terraformed in the ancient times.”
“Mansi?” Heather spoke up.
“Circumstantially, but yes, sir,” he nodded. “The first place we should sneak in and look around. There are no military forces listed for the system, which doesn’t mean anything, since the records we stole were civilian, but even those listed stations, armed and otherwise. This is blank.”
“How would you build a prison world?” Phil asked the group. “That’s the question we must face. According to Lan, there is a kremlin on the surface. That’s a very old, Russian word that means fortress. Prisoners are marched out the front gate and told to work the soil or starve. Armed stations sit in orbit, as do supposedly several captured Imperial warships. Evan?”
“Yes, sir,” the Science Officer continued. “However, the records show nothing of the planet I think might be our target. There are two navigation hazards listed: one in orbit of the second planet and the second hazard being on the surface of a moon, one of fourteen orbiting a gas giant farther out. Something roughly like Jupiter was, back in the Home System.”
“The surface of a moon?” Siobhan spoke up.
She had the only ship capable of landing on a moon. Well, Heather had three insertion shuttles, any of which could carry nearly as much cargo as Anna could, plus having the big containers to stow things, and the slider cranes to pick up the massive boxes.
Could they sneak Packmule into orbit of a messy local system like that? Without being seen? And do it on the first try?
Let’s find out.
“Correct, Siobhan,” Evan was saying. “The surface and not in orbit. I’m guessing that the ships in orbit of Mansi would be corvettes or destroyers. Maybe up to light cruisers. A Megaladon or Nightmaster could carry something like that, similar to how Saddlebags carries her two containers, or our cargo tug back at base hauls pods.”
“So what would you put on the surface of a moon?” Heather asked.
Beside her, Granville Veitengruber tensed suddenly, as the implications struck him. Something small enough to land and take off again afterwards?
She glanced over at his quietly-nervous face and smiled encouragingly, but he kept his thoughts to himself for now.
“We’ll find out when we sneak in,” Phil said.
He fixed both her and Siobhan with a mean smile before he continued.
“And CS-405 gets to do this mission,” he grinned. “Neither of you have the guns or sensors to pull it off.”
“Permission to come along?” Heather asked in a light-yet-formal voice.
“You and both your pilots,” Phil replied. “Plus Galin Tuason. Siobhan, you’ll park Anna out where Packmule hides, shut her down, and bring your entire crew over. If this works, you’ll be Heather’s ground team, but Packmule will be in orbit with us later, so we can steal as much equipment as we can get into boxes.”
Phil turned to the man seated next to Heather and fixed him with a serious face.
“Lieutenant Veitengruber,” he called out.
“Sir?”
“You’re our resident expert on Imperial equipment,” Phil said. “If we can steal it, I’ll expect you to fly it out. Are you comfortable with that mission?”
Heather watched the emotions play over the younger man’s face. Someone farther away than her would have probably missed it, but it was there in the way the eyes changed, the jaw clenched, the skin shifted.
“Sir, may I make one request?” Veitengruber answered after a few moments.
“You may,” Phil sounded like he had been expecting something. The tone was neutral but not hostile.
“I would like to do this as a Flight Centurion, sir,” Veitengruber said after a quick, deep breath.
“That’s an Aquitaine rank, Veitengruber,” Phil noted carefully.
Heather held her breath for both of them.
“I’m aware of that, sir,” Granville plowed forward. “As Captain Lau pointed out to me, this is an Aquitaine effort, under the thin legalism of an Imperial flag. I wish to join properly, and become one of you. I understand that there is precedent.”
Heather listened to a few nervous chuckles around her. Centurion Wiegand had indeed established a precedent, before she went on to become Karl VIII, Emperor of Fribourg by Grace of God.
“You might not be welcomed back home, if you did,” Phil offered.
Granville surprised Heather, maybe as much as he did Phil, by smiling.
“My love for Deni already makes me unwelcome and suspect, Captain,” Granville replied. “I cannot go back. But there is an entire future in front of me. Of us.”
“I see,” Phil nodded. “Have you spoken with Sri Abarantakratar about this?”
“I have not, Captain,” the Imperial replied. “But it would bring me joy, so I hope it will do the same for him. He may even choose to join us, but I would not care to speak for his heart on the matter.”
“So noted,” Kosnett turned to Heather and nodded to her.
There were entire chapters of dialog in that simple nod. While Phil was in command of the squadron, Heather Lau had breveted to Command Centurion when she took over Packmule. The task of enlisting Granville Veitengruber, all the oaths, everything, was her responsibility as the man’s commanding officer.
She turned to look at the man, noting that the apprehension had returned to his face. She smiled and nodded silently to put him at ease.
“You’re sure?” Heather asked.
“I am,” his voice suddenly got emotional.
“Welcome aboard, then,” Heather smiled.
One more hand would make the job easier. Two would be even better, but she would need to approach Deni privately.
He had kept mostly to himself since the rescue, sharing a room with Granville and joining them for meals, or when strong backs were needed, but he largely stayed in the cabin and studied histories of the Empire and the Republic.
Another one, like Granville, that might never go home.
“Any other questions?” Phil looked around the group. “We don’t know much yet, but everyone should plan for a mission to sneak into a system, like we did Laptev, followed by planetary insertion, then a case of grand theft starship. Nothing? Dismissed.”
Heather made her way aft with many of the rest. The flight deck on CS-405 was just barely big enough for the one admin shuttle, Cherokee, so she would catch a ride back to bring Andre up to speed. After that, a promotion ceremony to plan.
And then, who knew what craziness would come?
Cowboy (September 20, 402)
Bok pulled the reins on the roan mare and pointed her head back up the slope, instead of down towards the lake like she wanted to go. They were still coming to an understanding about things, but he was more stubborn than the horse.
Than any horse.
Th
ree small herds of cattle stretched out around him as he rode. Heather had brought just over one hundred and fifty head, and he had four big pastures fenced off for them to graze.
They were mostly settling in. Better than the horses, anyway. Helped that cattle weren’t as smart, and really didn’t care, as long as they had grass to feed on and the weather wasn’t too ugly. And as near as Bok could tell, his half of the valley was never going to get all that cold, at least compared to where they had just come from.
Sounds of another horse brought his head around. Able Spacer Epifania Gaufusi, Effie, riding the young, black stallion like she had been born in the saddle. She might have. Bok hadn’t pressed too closely into the background of his volunteers for this bizarre colony called Lighthouse Station.
And it was just the four of them now: him, Avelina, Epifania, and Shelby, at least until someone came back for them. Or Buran discovered the place. Just one ranch in the middle of nowhere. Kinda like he had once dreamed of retiring to.
“What’s the word?” Bok asked as she reined in next to him. The big black she had named Avalanche, on account of how he ran. The roan hadn’t rated a name yet. She was still too fussy.
“Sensors have been picking up a creature at night,” Effie said. “Close to the fence, but hasn’t worked up the gumption to cross, with the lights suddenly flashing in its eyes. Rode over and found some signs.”
“What is it?” Bok asked, reaching back on his saddle to touch the pulse rifle and confirm he had packed it this morning.
Jessica Keller had once invaded an Imperial planet with a legion of crazy rednecks on horses, but Bok was just a cowboy at heart. Grew up with the lariat and the rifle. Not much had changed in fifty years.
“Medium sized cat,” Effie replied. “Closest system match I could find was something called a Jaguarondi.”
“Huh,” Bok observed. “Show me.”
Effie kneed Avalanche into motion and Bok let the roan follow, only touching the reins when the horse wanted to skitter along and start racing the black. Bok figured the roan was about five years old, but Avalanche was just past being a colt, so he would be a pretty good stud when time came.