Delia Blackthorne, the new captain of the Emilia Walker hired on by Goris Hana, sighed heavily, running a hand through her very short-cropped black hair, little more than fuzz on her dark-skinned head. She looked over at him from her position at the sensor station. She picked up her coffee cup but didn’t drink.
“Yana, how many times are we going to have this conversation?” Delia asked. “We’re going to pick up recruits from Bimawae and bring them back here.”
The pilot looked over at his captain. “That’s not what I meant. I mean why are we doing this at all? This is a cargo ship; we should be running goods out there, not going to pick up recruits.”
Delia shrugged. “What does it matter, Yana? We get paid either way.”
“Yeah, but shares might be higher if we weren’t running empty on the way out.”
She chuckled. “Yeah, but this isn’t a regular run, Yana. We’re not on commission this time. Straight pay.”
He rounded on her. “But that’s what I’m saying. We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Yana, we’re not talking about this anymore. This isn’t my ship, it belongs to the government.”
Yana only chuckled at that. “Cap, both you and I know that’s not true. We get to the hyper limit and we jump, but we go somewhere else. We’re free agents.”
“You know, Yana, it’s a wonder the company even hired you on at all,” Delia told him, sipping her coffee. “You’re a navigator and a pilot and you don’t know how this is going to work? They’re going to link our jump and navigation systems together. So that individual ships can’t just go haring off wherever they want.” She eyed him and his surprised look. “You thought that they were just trusting us to follow their orders and go off and do this?”
He looked abashed, turning back to his flight controls. “Well, yeah. I thought they were.”
“Yana, you’ve ran freight before. But convoy duty is different. The company and the bosses want exactly what they sent us out there for. Nothing more. And, I don’t think they’d take too kindly to ships just flying out and leaving. They spent money and resources patching this ship and hiring on a crew, namely us. They’re going to want a return on their investment.”
“But that’s what I’m saying, Cap,” he returned. “Wouldn’t it be better to get some cargo out there and bring back some money?”
Delia sighed. The coffee was barely lukewarm. “I’m not going to keep having this conversation with you, Yana. We were hired to pick up recruits in Bimawae and then bring them back, with another trip chartered for Seylonique after that.” She took a large gulp from her cup. “And that is the last time we’re going to talk about this. You get it, Yana?”
“Yeah, I get it,” he grumped, checking his piloting controls again. The ship was still on course and on target, still holding position with the rest of the convoy.
“Good. This is going to be a long trip, Yana, and I don’t need you griping about the money every five minutes. So please, keep yourself occupied and keep this ship on target. You get me?”
Yana was a skinny man, perhaps in his late twenties, early thirties. He was someone who was used to sitting in the pilot’s couch with his hands on the controls. He wasn’t a brawler or a particularly aggressive man. One look from his boss was enough to shut him up. Delia wasn’t known for her prowess in bar fights either, but she had a look about her, a presence that made others shut up and listen. Probably explained her meteoric rise through the officer ranks at such a young age. She was at least five years younger than Yana, and yet seemed much older.
“Yeah, Cap,” he replied, nodding meekly. “I get you.”
Delia looked over at him and then nodded in satisfaction. She pulled up her datapad and began to read. Yana looked at his controls, glancing up every so often at the nearby ships. There was nothing else in the vicinity that could be seen with the naked eye and the light from the ships’ drives were a bit mesmerizing. He always liked to watch them fly.
Turco sat in his command seat on the cramped bridge of Adroit as the small convoy of ships continued on to the hyper limit. It felt good to be moving, to have a purpose. For years, the system defense ships of Ulla-tran had been boring holes in the space around the planet, the orbital, the fueling station, the dockyards, but serving little purpose. Oh, they kept the pirates at bay and made sure any merchant traffic behaved themselves, but it never seemed like the best use of his ship or his skills. It never seemed fair to his crew, though they all seemed to like the stability that came with picket duty. In fact, to his knowledge, none of the system defense ships had ever used their hyperdrives beyond the initial testing. Adroit had never left the Ulla-tran system in the twenty-two years since her construction. It would be good to bring her to another system.
In fact, it felt good to be doing something away from this system in general. For far too long, he’d been cooped up here, smothered. When the big freighter and her friend from Seylonique arrived it seemed like a breath of fresh air, right up until the point when the systems on the stations and the pinnaces had gone to hell. And then pirate ships showed up. And then a Republic cruiser showed up. And they all started fighting. At least they’d pretty much kept to themselves, fighting only each other before jumping away.
And good riddance to them all. Adroit had been held back during the fighting, to protect first the dockyards and then the orbital. By the time Turco had realized there was serious fighting going on between the various ships and had moved to intervene, it was mostly over. After that, there was only the job of keeping an eye on the Republic forces until they left and that had been a long tedious job of weeks while the crews had made repairs.
Turco shook his head to clear it. None of that matters now. We’re on the way to another system, a place I haven’t been in a decade, a place my ship has never been. Even if this is going to be a milk run just to pick up some new recruits, it’s a bit of an adventure. Who knows? We might even run into a little mischief out there, something I can use to justify clearing Adroit’s guns. I’d like that. I think the crew would too and I know Adroit herself would. She’s a warship, she deserves to fulfill her purpose. And perhaps it’s time, past time, for Ulla-tran to start making a name for itself out in the Cluster. Right now we’re known for the dockyards and such, but no one ever talks about Ulla-tran’s strength, its power. Once we’re out in the Cluster and moving around, showing the flag, as it were, I think that will change. Even with just two warships, we will show them that we are not ones to be messed around with.
With that thought held close, Turco smiled. Yes, this is indeed going to be a very good trip. I’m going to enjoy it very much.
Chapter 4
Tamara lay on her bunk, gasping; the tendrils of the nightmare finally starting to slip away. The Armsman had decided that because of her behavior, the lights in her cell were never to be extinguished. That didn’t bother Tamara too much. At least he wasn’t playing games with the illumination, making it brighter and darker at random intervals to prevent her from sleeping. Strangely, after the lesson performed in the cargo bay, the guards had treated her with contempt (as per usual) but with a diffidence that bordered on neglect. They only came to feed her once per day, no medics were allowed into her cell. Time passed and the only way she could even tell that was by the internal clock that displayed on her HUD, when she could rouse herself out of her depression long enough to be bothered to check it.
Her dreams had changed. No longer was she tormented by the wraith of Oliver Islington, not even so much as a glimpse or a whisper of his voice. No, now she was seeing that cargo bay, that killing field. She saw all of their faces, but especially those poor souls who had been her team. Dead now, not because they deserved it, but because she had stood up to him and had dared to resist. Of course, it was more than just throwing a rock at him during parade march. Tamara had killed a good portion of his men, it was a wonder he hadn’t done the same to her.
If not for the damned replicators and how useful she’d be to the pirates
once they reached their destination, most likely Jax would have fed her to his men for their pleasure about now. Or maybe he would have just put a bullet in her head and been done with her.
Maybe he should have.
The faces came flying at her as she closed her eyes and she didn’t try to fight them. The tears streamed down her cheeks, she leaned against the bulkhead of the cell and just let them come for her.
“So what do now?” Vosteros demanded. The steering company had grown in size since the last meeting. Of course, momentous events had occurred and they’d had to lay low for a while to keep the pirates from watching them too closely. More than a month had passed since the executions in the cargo bay and in that time the crew had begun acting like meek sheep, doing what they were told, not getting in the way of the pirate guards, not doing anything that might draw their ire.
“The plan hasn’t changed,” Cookie put in. “We can’t do anything for now, but once we’re out of hyper, we convince the Armsman to go to Seylonique. It’s really our only hope, unless we trust that once we’re in Amethyst that whatever surprises we find there will be good ones.”
Quesh, the newest member to the party, shook his head. He was much stronger now, back up to light duty and only required a cane for some of the time when he would walk. For now though, he was leaning against the bulkhead in Ka’Xarian’s quarters, which seemed to be the headquarters of this little rebellion. “You can count on those surprises being bad ones. Ones that we can’t possibly like or handle.”
“Which means Amethyst is still out,” Vosteros replied. “We’re still following the plan.”
“Do we dare?” George Miller demanded softly. He too had been released from sickbay. It had been touch and go for a while, by Turan had worked his magic with crisp efficiency, as always. He was up and about again, even was able to take his shifts on the bridge. He was a bit skittish around the pirates now, not that anyone would blame him or be surprised by that. “I mean, Jax has already proven he’s damned serious. He killed twenty-six people! Can we afford to have him pissed off enough to give us another ‘lesson’?”
“No we can’t,” Vosteros said. “But we can’t just sit around either, waiting to die. Or waiting for whatever it is they are going to do to us once they rejoin with their fellows.”
“So how are we going to convince Jax to change our course? To leave behind whatever it is in Amethyst?” Taja asked. “After what’s happened, I certainly doubt he’s just going to take our word for it.”
“Isn’t a record of the Captain’s business transaction in the computer?” the zheen asked. “Didn’t he record the contract, or at least the conversations he had with Administrator Galina?”
Taja nodded slowly, a smile creeping over her lips. “Yes, he did. I have access since I was there for most of them. I think that might help our case. But that also implies that Jax cares about getting the money from the transaction. What if he doesn’t?”
“Then we’re dead,” Quesh told her bluntly. “We’ll have no real other options we can plan for if we don’t have that. Unless we want to try to go head to head with all the pirate guards aboard ship.”
No one seemed thrilled with that idea. Even playing games with the systems on the ship: gravity, life support, hull integrity, might allow the crew to take care of the remainder of the pirates, but could they do so in a way that no more of the crew would suffer for it? If even one pirate died, even in the midst of a complete accident, it was very likely that Jax would take retribution on the crew. Again. No excuses would save them this time. No, this was an all or nothing proposition now and Seylonique provided the best opportunity to strike.
“All right then,” Taja said, standing. “We have to start planning. I have to access that information so that when we do finally go to Jax, we’ll have all the data on Seylonique and the deal that we can.”
After weeks of inactivity, Vincent Eamonn woke up that morning feeling groggy and hung over. That wasn’t a surprise, really, what with the bottle of whiskey lying empty on his table. After that horrible day in the cargo bay, watching crew being slaughtered right before him, it was all just too much. He couldn’t face them, couldn’t bear to see their faces. Jax had thought it amusing to have one of the vid displays in Eamonn’s quarters set up to constantly show the video his techie bug had made, put on a loop. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the display to switch off. Finally, after two hours and several horrific repetitions, he reached in and yanked out the power cable, finally disabling the cursed thing.
But the images wouldn’t leave. They were burned into his brain and he kept seeing them. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. Breaking into his liquor cabinet, he attacked the bottles inside. The time between that horrible day and now was a blur. The bottles strewn about the cabin gave answer to what his activities had been during that time.
He groaned, sitting up on his bunk. His head throbbed, but not nearly as much as it had on previous days. He kicked the sheet off of him and climbed slowly out of bed, making his way into the lavatory. Stumbling to the sink, he turned on the water and splashed some on his face. Cupping his hands, he let the water fill and then sipped some. It didn’t ease his headache, but it did help to clear his mind, strangely enough. He straightened and stretched, hearing his joints pop and crack.
Vincent yawned and then clutched his forehead as his headache pulsed painfully. Moving to the counter, he grabbed the bottle of pain pills. Shaking two out, he gulped them down. Steadfastly ignoring the mirror and his disheveled appearance, he headed back into the main room of his cabin and flopped down on one of the chairs by the small table. He saw the bottle there, but didn’t touch it. His stomach informed him that no more alcohol would be tolerated at this time. Not that there was any in this bottle, but his stomach seemed to be aware that there was more to be found. His brain and kidneys were in completely agreement; no more booze.
He wasn’t about to argue. He stared at the bulkhead for a long few moments, trying to find that blank space, that place where the nightmare wouldn’t find him again. It wasn’t working. Already, only a few minutes after waking he could feel the edges of his dream coming back, nibbling away at the blanket of security he’d erected in his mind. Or rather, the blankness that the drinking had helped him find. But he couldn’t sustain it. The memories, the visions were just too horrible.
The door chime sounded and he groaned. He didn’t need to see anyone right now. In fact, the thought of having to interact with people was making him ill. But the door chime sounded again. And again. And again and again. Whoever it was wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t leave him in peace. Which meant it really could only be one person.
Hauling himself to his feet, the Vincent Eamonn padded over to the closet and pulled out a shipsuit, the chime banging away like a hammer against his skull. Like a multitude of hammers, really, since the person out there kept hitting the button repeatedly. He pulled on the trousers and then the jacket over his sweat-soaked t-shirt, zipping up the jacket. He slid his feet into boots and zipped them on as well, the chime never ceasing its hammering. Going to the hatch, hey keyed the release and pulled it open. Standing outside, just as he’d expected, was Taja, her hand on the panel beside the door.
“Oh, good, you haven’t killed yourself,” she said in greeting. It was clear she wasn’t terribly happy to see him. She dropped her hand from the panel.
“Finally,” he replied. He leaned a hand on the doorjamb. “What do you want, Taja?”
“Stars,” she muttered in disgust. “Did you bathe in whiskey?”
“What… do you want, Taja?” he said more firmly.
The tiny woman glared at him, but hesitated, her face showing uncertainty.
Now it was he that was glaring at her. “Really? You came down here and did this,” he gestured to her hand and to the door panel, “And now you have nothing to say?” He growled and grabbed the hatch, starting to swing it shut.
She put her hand forward, stopping the hatch from closing.
“I need something from you.”
He eyed her, one eyebrow raised. “You need something form me?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice soft. “I do.”
“Well, clearly you’re not here to rekindle any fires,” Eamonn replied, not looking at her. “So I’m only going to ask one last time. What do you want?”
She looked up and her mouth twisted with anger. “I need access to your computer. And I don’t want to talk about it out here in the corridor.”
He grimaced. “Fine,” he said, stepping back. “Come in then, love.” His voice fairly dripped with scorn, but he didn’t prevent her from entering.
Taja brushed past him and wrinkled her nose at the smell from inside the cabin. She didn’t comment, however, on the mess, the empty liquor bottles, or anything else. She walked over to his table and sat down at the console. He closed the hatch and walked over to where she was sitting, looking over her shoulder.
She looked up at him expectantly. “Well?”
He glared back. “Well, what?”
“Can you log on, please so I can get what I came for and leave this shithole you call quarters?”
He grunted. “There was a time not too long ago when you didn’t mind these quarters. In fact, you spent a fair amount of time in here.”
“Look, can you just log on?” she demanded. “I don’t want to make this difficult.”
Hold the Star: Samair in Argos: Book 2 Page 9