Interstellar Mercenary

by Will Macmillan Jones

  The comms channel opened, as we got closer. “Seren Leader, descent approved to Pad Twelve at maintenance.”

  “Copied,” I replied automatically.

  “Seren Leader, we have reports of disruptive activity by the system outer beacon from a recently arrived freighter. Another pirate incursion, it appears.”

  I watched the rectangles on my vidscreen narrow and home in on the landing pad.

  “Seren Leader, did you hear me?” demanded the Flight Controller.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, what are you going to do about it?” demanded the Flight Controller.

  The approach was at the critical point. I touched a thruster to slow the Speedbird, but it fizzled and failed to respond. The flight console promptly lit up with a wide variety of warning lights, including the one I always considered an engineer’s joke: the warning light that warned me that warning lights were lit on the console.

  “Tell me what was reported?” I asked, as a way of shutting the blasted man up while I thought about my options. First I chopped back the main power to idle, and tried firing the four rotational thrusters on the nose for a short burst. Firing them all together should slow us down.

  “They reported having to evade the attentions of three vessels that demanded that the freighter stop.”

  The rotational thrusters had made the Speedbird weave a little, and I tried to stabilise the course. Unsuccessfully.

  “Seren Leader, the President demands that you take action. And why are you not holding a proper course?”

  “Accident damage to thruster jets. Now, shut up for a moment. Captain Hobbs?”

  “I hear you, Colonel.”

  “Please land on the adjacent pad, and I’ll come aboard your craft.”

  I’m going to have to go in backwards, I decided as the view through the forward vidscreen began to swing about wildly. I spun the Speedbird in its longitudinal axis.

  “What are your intentions?” demanded the Flight Controller as the Speedbird dropped towards the landing pad.

  “To put this down in one piece. Now shut up!”

  The vidscreens showed me Captain Hobbs’ StarDestroyer touching down ahead of me. I gave the main engine a sudden burst of power, and just as quickly shut it back down. The Speedbird, jolted by the thrust, slowed down and dropped onto the landing pad with enough force to throw me out of the pilot’s seat and onto the floor; I narrowly avoided knocking all of my teeth out on the edge of the flight console as I went.

  “Show-off,” complained the Flight Controller. I replied with a brief but abusive explanation of his ancestry, since he was probably ignorant of it.

  “Now call maintenance and have them come and run diagnostics and repair the nose thruster jets,” I ordered him.

  I have no doubt that he was equally abusive back at me, but by then I had closed the comms down, shut off the engines and was heading down the spiral staircase that led to the airlock. It didn’t take me long to suit up. The Centurion Class StarDestroyer was waiting for me on the next landing pad. Trust Captain Hobbs to have one of the least elderly ships. I crossed the pad to the airlock and keyed the entry panel comm system. “Permission to come aboard,” I shouted. The hatch slid open, and I made my way through the airlock.

  Captain Hobbs was waiting for me on the other side. “Colonel, I’m sorry about the missile failure.”

  “No harm done, was there?” I replied, watching her expression carefully. It remained steadfastly neutral. “Let’s go to the bridge.”

  She led me to the StarDestroyer’s bridge. It was obviously larger than the Speedbird’s tiny flight deck, with seating for five, even though a StarDestroyer normally carried three crew members. I chose a seat with an overview of the whole bridge, and Captain Hobbs took the captain’s chair.

  “What about the pirates then, commander?” asked Captain Hobbs.

  I felt like taking some exception to her dismissive tone of voice. However, probably the best way to deal with the issue was to deal with the pirates.

  “Lift ship, Captain. I want Nichols and Smith, White and May to come with us to the outer beacon. Everyone else to meet us in the briefing room when we return.” Those officers flew two of the Spartan scout ships, and the other two Centurion Class StarDestroyers. That should give me enough force to deal with a few pirates, I thought.

  “Right.”

  “Well, Captain?” I demanded. “You are my Flag Officer, get flagging, or whatever it is. Give the orders.”

  I stared around the bridge. Lieutenant Walker, who ran the weapons systems, stared at her control console and pretended she hadn’t heard anything. King, the engineer on board, smirked. I glared at him, but he just lounged in his seat and watched his captain as she stared issuing the orders.

  “Lift ship, please,” I ordered as soon as Captain Hobbs closed the comms systems. I settled back into my chair and smiled. I could get used to just issuing orders, I thought. It was a lot easier than actually doing all the hard work myself.

  The vidscreens lit up and the StarDestroyer lifted easily from the landing pad and moved away from Serenopolis. I felt a sudden burst of nostalgia for my old ship and crew at The Free Union Star Fleet. I had flown and fought a StarDestroyer, and hadn’t realised then how lucky I was. The two Spartan scout ships slid past us, and accelerated towards the edge of the star system. I looked around at the vidscreens: two more StarDestroyers had joined us in formation. There were two shuttles at some distance ahead, flying down through the system towards Serenopolis, but no other visible traffic.

  “Scan the comms channels,” I told the office manning the comms systems. She opened the comms, but other than a carrier wave from the main Serenopolis Flight Control, there was nothing. “Is it usually this quiet?” I asked.

  Lieutenant Walker shrugged. “Varies a lot,” she told me.

  “All ships to prepare defence shields: no firing without my direct order.”

  Captain Hobbs relayed this instruction, and the other ships acknowledged. I was mildly pleased that now there was the prospect of some action, the crews all seemed to be a little more professional than had been the case during the exercise a little earlier. The shuttles flew past without acknowledging our presence, and a few minutes later we heard them contacting Flight Control. The Spartan scout ships reached the outer beacon and slowed down to wait for us to join them.

  “Any contact?” I asked Walker, who was using the defence systems to scan the area.

  “Nothing definite at this time,” she replied.

  “Right. The other ships can hold station here at the beacon. We will head a bit further out, please, Captain.”

  Hobbs didn’t directly acknowledge me, but quietly gave the orders and the StarDestroyer began to accelerate away from the system as though it was a laden freighter striving to reach VH, the speed at which it could transition into hyperspace. We all waited.

  “Contact!” shouted Walker.

  “Activate screens!” I told her.

  The vidscreens suddenly came alive with the sight of four large spaceships, all heading directly towards us. The proximity alert warning sounded, filling the bridge with its sound until King shut it down without comment.

  “Tractor beams detected,” said Walker. “Defensive action taken.”

  “Tractor beams?” With a groan, I realised that I knew who these ships belonged to.

  Centurion Class StarDestroyers had a form of force field that could repel or deflect tractor beams, but it needed a lot of power diverting from the engines, and so the StarDestroyer began to slow down. King fed more power from the engines, but still we lost speed.

  “Anyone recognise them?” I asked, conversationally.

  “I can’t see any markings,” answered Captain Hobbs. She seemed quite calm, but I could see the knuckles on the fingers of her left hand tensed around the arm of her chair.

  “Only four of them,” Walker said. “No attack besides the tractor beams, but they are very strong.”

  “There won’
t be any other form of attack,” I told her.

  Walker looked at me over her shoulder. “How do you know that?”

  “How do you know that SIR,” I corrected her.

  “Sir,” she added.

  “Because these are not pirates. Well, not in the conventional sense. They are as big a menace as any pirate, but they don’t want to damage us.”

  “Well who are they, then?” demanded Captain Hobbs.

  “A scourge. Open the comms channels, Captain, they will be wanting to talk to us.”

  Captain Hobbs opened the comms systems, and the screen immediately filled with the vision of a tall man clad in a white robe, with a golden necklace and a colourfully embroidered band around his head.

  “We invite you to hear the Word of Zog!” he intoned.

  “Have you heard about the Word? Everyone is talking about the Word!” Unseen acolytes chanted the phrase known and feared across the whole galaxy. King groaned and put his hands over his ears. Walker looked confused and Hobbs clearly did not have a clue what was going on. “Zog! Zog! Zog! Zog! Zog is the Word!” continued the chant. Clearly now in the vidscreens, a bearded face could be seen stencilled across the bow of each of the ships. “The Word, the Word, Zog is the Word!”

  “Have you heard about the Word?” asked the man in the vidsceen.

  “Everyone is talking about the Word!” added his acolytes.

  “Yes, I know,” I told him. King ran out of the bridge and I let him go without a word, Zog or otherwise. I suspected that he had run up against these religious nutters before too and wanted nothing to do with them.

  “The Word is Zog, and the Word is of Zog. We invite you to join with us and help us spread the Word! Join with us, the Followers of Zog!”

  “Sorry, this system is off limits to you,” I told him.

  “Zog is everywhere, and everywhen. There is no limit to Zog, for he is the Word and the Word is Zog!”

  “True, there is no limit to Zog,” I replied. The man in the vidscreen preened himself with pride and joy and the taste of imminent success. “But a few regions lie outside his remit. This is one of them.”

  “Who dares to limit the power of Zog?” The Follower of Zog scowled and drew himself closer to the screen. Behind him, the unseen other Followers of Zog continued their mind-numbing chant. “Have you heard about the Word? Everyone is talking about the Word! The Word, the Word, for Zog is the Word. Zog! Zog! Zog! Zog! Zog is the Word!”

  “Colonel Starker,” I told him.

  Zog might well be the Word. I am quite open minded about religion and prepared to accept the proposition. However, Colonel Starker is another sort of word altogether, and one that everyone across the galaxy – even the Followers of the Mad God – accepted and understood. “Colonel Starker, eh?” The Follower of Zog half turned and waved his acolytes down into silence while he thought for a moment.

  “He instructed me on the matter in person.”

  “May we interest you in some of our quite informative pamphlets?”

  “No.”

  “Or would you be prepared to make a small donation? It is tax deductible, you know. We are accredited as a registered charity with all major galactic taxation services.”

  “No.”

  “You are sure about the Colonel?”

  “He directed me personally on the subject. Would you like me to interrupt him and have him repeat himself to you?”

  “That would be a rude intrusion upon the Colonel’s valuable torture… er… time.” The Follower of Zog shouted orders over his shoulder to his crew.

  “Tractor beams all disconnected, sir,” Lieutenant Walker said quietly.

  “We’ll be off then,” remarked the Follower of Zog. “I’ll mark this sector as to be avoided by our people.”

  “Colonel Starker will appreciate the gesture when I tell him,” I replied.

  The comms channel closed with a snap, and all four starships gathered together into a formation and sped away, transitioning to hyperspace as fast as they could. Behind me, a door opened and King came back onto the bridge and resumed his seat without comment.

  “Who were those people?” asked Captain Hobbs, who was clearly confused by the encounter.

  “The Followers of Zog,” I told her.

  “I gathered that!”

  “They travel around, accosting - and if possible kidnapping – anyone they come across and inducing them and their ship to join them in spreading the Word of Zog. I’ve met them before, and the only way to get rid of them is to kill them or threaten them with Colonel Starker.” Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Lieutenant King react to that name too and filed that away for future investigation.

  “I’ve heard that this Starker is not a man to cross – and that he doesn’t like having his name misused.”

  “I’ve got a tab running,” I told her. “Now, take us all back to base please, Captain.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied.

  Finally, was I earning a little respect?

  Chapter four

  I was starting to appreciate why the admiral at The Free Union Star Fleet was always in a bad mood. The reason was paperwork. It seemed that no matter what happened in, around, or to the Defence Force, everything generated a piece of paperwork – except for those things that generated lots and lots of paperwork. And I had to read and initial all of them. It was excruciatingly dull. To train the crews to fly and fight more effectively seemed to require endless permissions, approvals and clearances. It was made quite clear to me by the President that the commercial activity from the space port took priority at every turn despite the declared need for a defence against the pirate appearances that were becoming more frequent. Scarcely a day went past now without some incoming trader reporting a sighting or closer incident. The commercial losses so far were minor, but an annoyance to the Council. When the Council became annoyed, those with some responsibility quickly became aware of their discomfort – and the pile of paperwork floating across my desk grew deeper.

  Initially I was pleased to be interrupted in my contemplation of the latest querulous missive from Councilman Hardin by the opening of my office door. Without the courtesy of a knock first, I might add. In strolled a flunkey or functionary or two, followed by the Councilman himself.

  “Ah, Mr Russell. Hard at work protecting us, I see.”

  “Good morning, Councilman. And it is Colonel Russell, if you don’t mind. Actually, it is still Colonel Russell if you do mind.”

  The Councilman seated himself in the only visitor’s chair and smiled. “What is in a name? Or a title? Mister – oh, I am so sorry, Colonel – Russell. Or should it have been Starker, which is the name I believe you gave originally on your trade manifests?”

  I shrugged and tried to ignore the implied threat.

  “We on the Council are beginning to appreciate from your work just how much is involved in setting up and operating a credible Defence Force for Serenopolis.”

  I picked up his note with his latest collection of grumbles and waved it at him in reply. “This seems less like appreciation and more like a complaint.”

  “On the contrary, it is an expression of our appreciation of the challenges you face. After all, you are in charge of a formidable fleet, Colonel – yet still our shipping remains at risk with pirate activity uncurtailed around our Star System.”

  “You haven’t lost a ship recently, have you?”

  “In the last week perhaps seven incoming trade ships and four outgoing merchantmen have been stopped at the Outer Beacon by your scout ships, which is intolerable.”

  “Councilman, I was given a brief by the President to maintain a watch for incursions. I have set up a random ‘Stop and Search’ programme.”

  “Oh yes, the President. I did some research, and note that none of the ships stopped by your crews belong to the President. Only to his political opponents.”

  “I can assure you Councilman, that is purely a coincidence. The target ships are chosen entirely at random.”
And so they should have been. I added another mental note to the copious quantity I already had. I needed to discover just which officer was either politically active, or in the President’s pocket.

  “Be that as it may. It will be monitored, let me assure you. Now, Colonel, to another matter. It is clear that the administrative burden placed upon you is somewhat onerous.”

  “You what?”

  Hardin coughed into his hand, a somehow offensive mannerism. “Paperwork is not your thing, is it?”

  I slammed one hand down upon the nearest pile. It rocked alarmingly. “I’m doing fine.”

  “I’m sure you are by your standards. However, the Council’s standards are somewhat more rigorous. Therefore, Calderon here has been seconded to help you out.” One of the two flunkies nodded his head in my direction.

  “No.”

  “I’m afraid that it is a ‘yes’, Colonel. The Council have decided upon it and that is an end of the matter.” Councilman Hardin rose, and brushed his trousers free from some quite imaginary dirt. “Give him an office. And he can vet all that paper and pass over to you all the matters that are not purely administrative and require a policy decision from you.”

  I strongly suspected that those matters might be few and far between.

  “Calderon, I shall leave you to your duties.” Councilman Hardin swept out of the office, pausing briefly at the door. “Mister Russell: good day.”

  “That’s Colonel Russell to you!” I shouted after him, through the rapidly closing door. I glared at Calderon, who returned me an inscrutable smile.

  “It appears that we shall be working together, Colonel. I am sure that we will maintain a good working relationship.”