“Sorry, it’s just ... do you know how old he is?”
Tera gave him an appraising look and just in case added. “Well ... maybe sixty.”
The couple laughed again. Tera looked at them, pouting. Sandra wiped the tears from her eyes and gasped. “One hundred and seventy-seven. You will have a very old little son.”
Tera stared, shook her head in disbelief, and laughed along with them. Tonight, she had learned so many incredible things that she was too tired to even wonder what was next. They drank some more, then even more. Tera thoughtfully considered the image of the universe which had suddenly become so huge. Her burning curiosity overpowered her.
“I think in time you will tell me everything in greater detail, but tonight,” she looked at the holocube, “just for fun, tell me which of these states would it be worthwhile to start talks on an alliance with?”
Sandra looked at her quizzically, and Don Krushinka shook his head.
“None of them,” the don said
“What?”
“There have always been fighters who like to fight, and unlike those states, do not need anything but loot,” he slowly explained. He drained his newly filled cup and finished his sentence. “I’m talking about the noble dons.” He held out his arms, then pointed at himself.
2
Don Krushinka arrived on Tahir to an “unpleasant surprise”. It was the same small ship which had blown the battleship at fortress Mae to bits. The former cruiser from Simaron which, after the destruction of Simaron, had been left to rust on a mooring orbiting Tahir, and was once purchased by a young Don Krushinka for the price of scrap metal.
At the beginning of the Conquest, many private individuals and small firms fell into administration and abandoned their ships, getting rid of them, hurrying to avoid the law on confiscation which soon followed.
At that time Don Krushinka almost lost his purchase, when many governments, desperately trying to resist the rapid advance of The Enemy, adopted laws on privateering and free detachments, and that’s how the noble dons came to be.
Soon the ship was renovated in the Tahir shipyards, and it took part in the first corsair raid.
Don Krushinka proved luckier than many others who were also rushing to meet The Enemy. His frigate was faster and better armed; however, its protection was not particularly strong. For privateering the main requirement was the need for speed and weaponry. This was especially so because the ships that The Enemy started the war with did not resemble the scorpion and spider ships that came in the future, so initially it had been possible to capture the ships, even one on one. Even though the ships that the dons captured were full of corpses and badly damaged, they were still priceless.
When Don Krushinka had gathered enough funds, he developed a squadron under his command. Some of the ships were bigger than his, so many people expected that he would replace his flagship. However, Don Krushinka considered his ship to be something of a talisman, even though, after numerous repairs and modernizations, the ship bore little resemblance to the Simaron cruiser that it had started its life as. So, Don Krushinka’s luck held until that fateful day when the “unpleasant surprise” happened and one of his ships came across Admiral Sandra’s fleet. This happened shortly after her appearance outside the Throne of the World.
Both made the mistake of underestimating the enemy.
Don Krushinka, following old maritime habits, did not care to have women on board ship, so he decided that, despite the strength of the squadron, these ladies could offer nothing against him. How was he to know about their ships?
The hulls of Admiral Sandra’s ships bore no resemblance to the contours of warships from any of the well-known states, and the rumors of ‘fleets of females’ in port taverns had long since subsided, so no one took them seriously.
There had only been a few hijackings in the last decades, so he never expected that ships of unknown configuration would turn out to be real warships, and the crowds of women on board were well-trained teams of boarding parties.
In turn, Admiral Sandra did not expect such desperate resistance from a bunch of “hysterical male peasants”. Especially because the dons fought with kelimit-edged swords and axes, simply cutting down more new boarding teams like cabbages, and the ships that approached them too closely were destroyed by fire from multiple weapons batteries. During the fighting, the squadron lost two destroyers, frigates, corvettes, and nearly fifteen-hundred Space Marines.
Sandra learned her lesson and safely returned to the Throne of the World, together with Don Krushinka.
Now, for the first time in ten years, he left the shelter of the gaseous nebulae of the kingdom and returned to outer space.
His appearance on Tahir was no great surprise to the local traders, who were always the first to know the news. The noble dons had the reputation of disappearing for long periods. However, when Don Krushinka disappeared, leaving a derelict squadron of eleven pennants with plenty of treasure on board behind him, then reappeared after ten years just as if nothing had happened, this provoked some interest. But in reality, he was just a new feature across the trading boards, or rather, just an old one returning.
Passing through standard customs procedures, in the box that asked, “purpose of visit” he filled in the standard response “commercial reasons”, and Don Krushinka departed from “Unpleasant Surprise”. The cream of the local Dons traditionally gathered in a tavern known as the The Flying Bottle, so that was where Don Krushinka first set foot. Not recognizing any familiar faces in the cozy room, Don Krushinka sighed loudly, and thumping his boots heavily across the floor, stamped over to a far corner, where he had noticed an empty table. Then the door slammed open and a loud bass voice yelled out, “Hey, Whiskered Mug, what are you doing? Don’t you recognize your old friends?”
Don Krushinka abruptly turned and stared at the newcomer. The face of the man, who was walking toward him with open arms, slightly limping on his left leg, was disfigured by a huge scar. Finally, Don Krushinka recognized him. He grinned and stepped forward, opening out his arms in turn.
“Is it really you, Lame Rhino? It looks like you had a face-lift recently, my old mate. I didn’t recognize you at first!”
Lame Rhino waited until Don Krushinka got very close, pulled back his arms quickly, and punched him in the stomach with all his might. Don Krushinka wheezed and fell to the floor. Lame Rhino drew back his leg, preparing to stick the boot in, but Don Krushinka drew his sword and still sitting on the floor, poked its edge in the man’s belly, between the fourth and fifth buttons. Lame Rhino lowered his foot and muttered, “OK, let bygones be bygones.”
He pulled Don Krushinka’s sword away from his belly, walked to the corner and sat down on the bench which Don Krushinka had already chosen. He unbuttoned the neck on his jerkin jacket, turned to Don Krushinka, who was still sitting on the floor, and threateningly asked, “Well?”
Don Krushinka stared at him for a few seconds, then put away his sword, slowly stood up, and sat down opposite him.
“What do you mean by ‘well’?”
Lame Rhino grinned. “I would like to refresh your memory. Maybe you could deign to explain where you disappeared to ten years ago, leaving the squadron without a penny in its pocket?”
“What do you mean penniless? The treasurer had a guarantee for thirty million credits.”
“The treasurer gave his soul to God during the convoy back to New Simaron. So, there is something you should remember. That was the last contract you signed. So, there is still cash in the account to this day, but nobody else but you can take it out.”
“Yeah, well,” said Don Krushinka. “So, there’s no squadron anymore?”
“What do you think?” replied Lame Rhino grumpily. “Were we supposed to sit here sucking our thumbs and wait for better days just because of our love for the great admiral?”
He sighed and said sadly, “These are hard times, Whiskered Mug, very difficult times. Now there are no independent squadrons unless they
are pirates, but that’s not for me. Protecting presumptuous merchants who think they know better how to protect trade cargo than the noble dons is one thing, but to use my profession for theft?”
He shook his head.
Don Krushinka clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, you old ruffian. You will get more than your share of fights with The Enemy.”
Lame Rhino smiled sadly. “Where have you been wandering around all this time, my old mate? There have been no new contracts for the last six or seven years. The bloody Armistice—”
“What do you mean?”
Lame Rhino shrugged. “Don’t you remember? Around six months before you disappeared, The Enemy withdrew its squadrons after wiping out Zovros, Simaron, Karrash, and the other captured worlds.”
“Well, yes, at the time we were waiting for a massive attack.”
“It didn’t happen. A year passed, then another. There was talk about trying to take on The Enemy closer to their own worlds.”
“Why not?”
Lame Rhino shook his head sadly.
“Nothing happened. Some geniuses decided that these creatures had shown a gesture of goodwill and a willingness to talk. The Group of Eight gathered together in New Washington and could not find anything better to do than to announce the start of the Great Armistice. The rumors say that these assholes were even smart enough to send several diplomatic missions, which, of course, never returned. But the embargo remains in force.”
Don Krushinka snorted. “Since when have the dons paid attention to embargoes?”
Lame Rhino gritted his teeth. “Ferocious Rabbit said exactly the same. He moved to the borderlands, but close to the Golden Eye Nebula his squadron was intercepted by the fleet of the Commonwealth of the American Constitution and smashed to atoms.”
Don Krushinka stared at him for a few seconds then smashed his fist on the table.
“What is happening in the universe, if good Christian people are killing each other, and simply for the fact that they are ready to fight The Enemy?”
Lame Rhino crooked his lips, then turned to the bar and shouted. “Hey, boss, is anyone going to serve the guests in this establishment, or do I have to attend to the education of your careless servants?” Turning back to Don Krushinka, he continued, “Since then we have had nothing to do. No business, no money. Many of us have actually settled down.”
“How can that be?”
Lame Rhino grinned.
“It’s a new word, Whiskered Mug, which didn’t exist in your time.” He hacked up and spat toward, but not in, the spittoon. “They sold their swords and bought farms, small shops, and port taverns. Such a life doesn’t suit everyone who did this when they knew that somewhere in the darkness beyond the Borderlands, The Enemy was lurking, but what to do? After Ferocious Rabbit, nobody else ventured to mess in the direction of the Borderlands, unless you count the Ushkuyniks, because they don’t respect any laws.”
Don Krushinka shook his head.
“So how about you, did you just sit here and take it?”
“What were we supposed to do? Several dozen dons gathered together in Warang, but Mustachioed Boar was sitting on a short leash in the Sultanate of Regulus, after the raid on Karrash. Fat Anselm went seriously religious, you had disappeared, and the rest of us ripped into each other, arguing over who was to lead the combined fleet. In the end, all three fleets quarreled to death, and even began to fight amongst themselves like barroom brawlers, before the Group of Eight gathered together again and threatened to smash the brawlers.”
“Yeah, well, what can I say?” Don Krushinka shook his head. “So, none of the squadrons remain?”
Lame Rhino shrugged thoughtfully.
“Who knows? I have not heard anything. And who cares? There’s no work to be had anyway. Only Mustachioed Bear manages to keep afloat by licking the boots of the Sultan of Regulus.”
“There is work to be had.”
“What are you saying?”
Don Krushinka paused to allow Lame Rhino to realize the significance of what he was going to say, then added gravely. “I have an employer that needs a fleet.”
“An employer?” said Lame Rhino in a low voice.
“Correct.”
“Wait, did you say a fleet?”
Don Krushinka grinned and nodded.
“A FLEET! My God, a whole navy... So, how many pennants?”
“As many as I can get. They are willing to pay a contract for four hundred ships.”
“Four hundred?”
Lame Rhino was already close to tears. Don Krushinka patted him on the shoulder.
“Tonight, I will conduct an inspection, and if your ship is OK, you can assume that you’re hired.”
Lame Rhino looked concerned, then mumbled hesitantly. “Well ... you know ... things have been tight recently, but you know me. Once I have received my initial fee, everything will be good to go!”
Don Krushinka grinned.
“And you know me. If everything isn’t good to go, I won’t hire the ship. Do you need some time? I am willing to wait, but when I arrive on board, even the latrines should shine like a copper bell, and you should be ready to throw crap at the enemy!”
Lame Rhino sighed.
“Give me a week.”
“Agreed.”
The tavern owner appeared at the table with a trayful of food.
“Here you are, noble gentlemen, the best food you’ll find on Tahir. Lately, we have been serving only at certain hours, but for you—”
Don Krushinka squinted slyly.
“Come out with it, what do you want?”
“Noble dons,” replied the owner fawning. “You were talking so loudly that I couldn’t help but hear that the gentleman there,” he gave a courteous nod in the direction of Don Krushinka, “is going to do some hiring. I could offer accommodation—at a significant discount.”
“So, you want to jack up the prices and rob the rest of them down to the last penny?” Don Krushinka asked threateningly, but then he laughed out loud. “OK, you rogue, you can start counting your profits. But I’ll be staying free of charge, understand?”
The owner grimaced, but when, with a menacing look, Don Krushinka turned toward the door and pretended to rise from the table, he immediately waved his hands.
“Of course! Of course! What’s to discuss? I would be honored!”
“That’s settled then.” Don Krushinka nodded and went back to his meal.
***
By the end of the month, Don Krushinka had formed the first squadron. The dons arrived from every direction. Prices in the taverns and inns went through the roof. The people of Tahir never missed an opportunity to empty a passing pocket. Don Krushinka appointed a commander of the squadron and sent it on maneuvers in New Simaron space.
Three days later, he was visited by a special representative of the Department of State of the Commonwealth of the American Constitution, a pretentious well-dressed, middle-aged chap with arrogant fat lips, who looked at him contemptuously. “Are you aware,” he began without presumption, “that at the Group of Eight meeting in New Washington, a decision was made—” Don Krushinka cut him off before he could finish.
“Who do you think you are you, you little brat? I was fighting The Enemy when you were still learning to use a chamber pot, and I’ve been fighting them for all the years that you’ve been sat on your ass at a clerk’s desk!”
He jumped to his feet and pulled his sword halfway from its sheath. The pretentious individual with the fat lips turned pale and muttered. “I am a representative of the Government of the Commonwealth of the American Constitution, and you will be in big trouble—”
“What?” Don Krushinka roared and slashed his sword at the man’s ceremonial belt. “Yes, now watch me...”
The messenger screamed, and trying to hold his pants up, he fled into the street. Later, on reflection, Don Krushinka realized that to send such an individual like him was the thinking of a very clever man, as he obviously expecte
d this kind of reaction.
Officially, they had conducted all their diplomatic duties. The Commonwealth had registered their protest and could now wash their hands of all this.
“Damned hypocrites!” Irritably throwing his sword to one side, so it went an inch deep into the oak table, Don Krushinka yelled to the owner. “Bring me vodka!”
The owner muttered fearfully that in the current hard times, trade with the Russian Empire was experiencing some difficulties, and many goods had disappeared from sale. But Don Krushinka knew that there was a different reason. Like any imported booze, vodka was quite expensive, and the owner was obliged to feed and water him free of charge. He got even angrier and louder.
“Listen, you shit, I do not care where you find the vodka, but if it isn’t on the table in five minutes time...”
“I swear by Saint Nicolaus Copernicus, I recognize you, my old shipmate!” A familiar deep voice came suddenly from the doorway.
Don Krushinka froze, then slowly turned and grinned.
“Beer Keg! Grey Moustache! And Lucky as well, you are all here! You are still alive, so has your luck not run out yet?”
The old friends embraced. Don Krushinka turned to the bar and yelled at the top of his voice. “Bring some Burgundy and be alive about it!”
“Why are you throwing money around like it means nothing to you, just like the State Department?” asked Grey Moustache, squinting at him.
“Don’t remind me about that,” growled Don Krushinka, grimacing. “I just had a conversation with an individual from that department.”
The three newcomers looked at each other and laughed.
“What are you laughing at?” asked Don Krushinka.
“Some civilian just flew out of the tavern, holding his trousers up,” said Grey Moustache.
Beer Keg added without really thinking, “He was running like some diplomat at the sound of gunfire.”
At this point, Don Krushinka began to laugh himself.
“So how fast was he running?”
“You could see the dust flying and little else,” confirmed Grey Moustache good-naturedly.
They clinked wine glasses of Burgundy which had instantly been brought over by their host—because it was way cheaper than vodka—and they drank the first glass to commemorate their first meeting in too many years.
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