The Pirates of Sufiro (Book 1) (Old Star New Earth)

by David Lee Summers

  The colonel was asked to take his present command by the new governor of Tejo, a small man few people on either continent knew except by name. He was Rocky Hill, son of the former Governor, Mary Hill. Though she was an old woman, she ran the mining operations in Tejo after the death of Stone. McClintlock was the military person the Hills knew and trusted most. Rocky and Clyde had been friends since childhood. McClintlock, sitting in his bunker under Mt. Mathews, wondered whether or not that trust was well founded. No matter how long the colonel stared at the hologram, he could not fathom what the Rd'dyggians were doing.

  He turned at the sound of a clearing throat. Major Ellwood, the colonel's adjutant stood respectful, waiting. "Major," said McClintlock looking back at the display, "what do you make of the Rd'dyggian ship?"

  The major shifted from one foot to another. "I think it's possible that they're there as a distraction."

  "A distraction from what?" McClintlock raised his thin eyebrows.

  "I don't know but I just received a dispatch," said the major. "The sign that leads to the entrance of the Tejo National Forest has been burned down."

  The colonel stood, straightening his gray uniform. "What the devil does a Forest Service sign have to do with a Rd'dyggian star cruiser?"

  The major fancied herself an intelligent woman and she knew that McClintlock had come to his position through being a friend of the new Governor. She sighed and clasped her hands tightly behind her back. "I think it was a protest action, sir."

  The colonel shook his head. "Damn." His voice was barely a whisper. He sat down again and looked at the ground, shuffling his feet. "Sounds like the work of sympathizers."

  The major nodded. She had to concede the possibility. "The problem is that actions like that demoralize the people."

  "So, do we set up guards around Forest Service signs?" McClintlock ran his fingers through prematurely gray hair, his youthful features contorted in annoyance.

  The major rocked back and forth on her feet, deep in thought. After a moment, she stopped and blinked a couple of times. "Perhaps we should consider the old adage, the best defense is a strong offense."

  He nodded. "Perhaps you're right. Get me a teleholo connection with Governor Hill."

  Major Ellwood nodded. Her brilliant blues eyes sparkled under the glow of the overhead lamp and the hint of a grin crossed her face. She turned sharply on her heel and left. * * * *

  Edmund Swan was scouring the forest a few miles from Manuel Raton's home. He was searching the forest bottom for a wild fungus Manuel told him about. "It's edible and tastes almost exactly like truffles," Manuel had said. In point of fact, Edmund had been looking for an excuse to get out the house. Trying to organize a fighting force made his head hurt. In addition, thoughts of a major battle were making him vaguely nauseous. The lightly scented air of the forest helped, but not as much as he'd hoped. Edmund shook his head, wondering what Firebrandt had been thinking when he put him in charge of the military. Edmund heard a rustling in the trees behind him. He reached desperately for his hepler. "Damn," he cursed as he realized he didn't have it. Manuel had warned him about the griffins in the woods.

  A tall woman with long black hair stepped forward. "Are you okay?"

  Swan blinked a number of times then examined the woman with his computer eye. By the nature of the pollens on her clothing, he could tell she was from Succor. "I'm fine," he stammered. His mismatched eyes narrowed. "I know you, don't I?"

  "You used to have such a pretty pair of brown eyes," she said.

  "It comes with the law enforcement game," said Swan, trying to place where he'd seen the woman before. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage."

  "Suki Firebrandt," she said, walking toward him, her hand extended. "We had coffee in Tucson, some years ago."

  Swan shook her hand, surprised at the strength of her grip. "Now I remember!" Swan slapped his forehead. "My God! You're Ellison Firebrandt's daughter, aren't you?"

  "The same," said Fire. "Manuel told me you'd be out here."

  "It's good to see you again," said Swan. "How the hell are you?"

  "I've been better," admitted Fire. "My husband just died a few weeks ago."

  "Oh ... I'm sorry," said Swan looking away.

  "Manuel has been telling me a little about the challenges of organizing a defense against the Tejans." She scanned the forest with brown eyes. "The mushrooms are that way," she said confidently.

  Swan looked in the direction she indicated. His computer eye could not confirm her assertion, but he followed as she strode off between the trees. "'Challenging' is an

  understatement. I've never even thought of organizing a force this size before. I'm really not sure if I'm up to the task."

  "You were part of the Tucson Sheriff's Department weren't you?" Fire ducked under a low hanging tree branch.

  "Southern Arizona Sheriff's Department," Swan corrected. "But I don't see what that has to do..."

  "You mean to say you never once organized a force of people?" She stopped and looked him in the eye.

  "Well," he said, slightly out of breath from the hike. "I was in charge of organizing police investigations. I was also Sheriff Wilmot's liaison officer with the planetary police."

  She pointed a finger at him. "See? You are used to organizing groups of people."

  "But I get sick at the sight of blood. What kind of military commander would I make?" Swan thrust his hands deep in his pockets.

  "A compassionate one," said Fire. "One that could earn the trust of my father." She grinned lopsidedly. "That's not easy to do."

  "He really thinks I can do it?" Swan grinned selfconsciously. "You think I can do it?"

  "You got to know where to look, Ed," she pointed to the forest floor. Gray balls on tripod stems covered the ground. "What counts is whether or not Ed Swan believes he can do it."

  Swan knelt down and picked one of the mushrooms. He stared at the fungi covering the ground and thought of the captives in Tejo. "Maybe I can."

  "You know," she said, "they sing folksongs about you in Tejo."

  "How would you know that?" Swan's brow knitted.

  "Call it intuition." She smiled warmly and helped Swan pick mushrooms for dinner.

  * * * *

  Word of the migrant workers being rescued from the Stone Mines outside Tejo City began to spread among miners in other parts of the continent. In order to maximize profit, Mary Hill and Sam Stone had ensured that all the Erdonium miners were "migrants." The migrants began to sing songs commemorating the heroic efforts of Edmund Swan. Soon the songs were outlawed.

  In the Hill Mines outside Camp Jones, a group of miners put down their tools to sing a ballad about Edmund Swan. None of the miners knew what he looked like. They imagined him to be a strong, heroic figure. They sang of his great courage and foresight.

  A group of armed soldiers stepped into the group with disciplinarians. They used the weapons on as many of the group as they could touch. The buzz and crackle of the disciplinarians could be heard long after the singing stopped.

  Word of the incident spread to other mines around Tejo. Some of the slaves worked harder than they had before, but most stopped working altogether.

  More guards were being employed to "encourage" the slaves to return to work. More of the slaves rallied around the image of Edmund Swan and vowed to die rather than work for the Tejans.

  A fist slammed on a desk. The fist raised high and slammed again. "Damn it! How?" Governor Hill shouted. His fist came down again. "How the hell is word spreading from one mine to another?" He pointed at Colonel McClintlock. "Among other things, your forces are supposed to prevent that!"

  "They're doing their best, sir," shrugged the colonel. Governor Hill sat down in a padded chair that was too large for his small frame. It had belonged to his predecessor, Sam Stone as had many of the other gaudy relics. He had to admit that he admired much of Stone's taste in art if not his taste in furniture. "If this work slowdown continues much longer, we'll have to start drawing
on reserves to supply the Confederation in its efforts against the Cluster. If we go that far, our profits will drop. Now, what do you suggest we do about this situation?"

  McClintlock sat up. "What about an all-out offensive against New Granada?"

  "Are you crazy?" Hill stood up again. "The Confederation would never allow that!"

  "What if we made legal claim on the land of New Granada?" The colonel grinned. He had rehearsed this speech a number of times with Major Ellwood. "After all, New Granada has never been recognized by either the

  Confederation or the Gaean Alliance."

  Hill leaned over the desk, his large ears twitching with interest. "They've never been recognized?"

  "Tejo and Little Sonora are the only legal governments on Sufiro," cooed the colonel.

  "That may be, but I'm not willing to take the risk," said Hill. "It's just too dangerous. Besides, it appears that they've allied themselves with the Rd'dyggians."

  Colonel McClintlock shrugged. "We've only seen one ship. For all we know, it's a rogue pirate."

  "I don't want to take the chance." The short man adjusted his suit and sat down. "Not yet, anyway."

  The colonel stood. "But you'll keep this plan in mind?"

  Hill nodded. "As an option."

  Two days after Hill and McClintlock met, an Erdonium warehouse exploded in Tejo City. No one saw who planted the explosives.

  * * * *

  Edmund Swan and Manuel Raton spread the word through New Granada that the Tejans might attack. Fifteen thousand men and women gathered at an encampment outside Nuevo Santa Fe. People brought food from all over and pitched large tents. The Nuevo Rio Grande supplied water.

  All of the people who came knew how to use a weapon of some sort. However, they were far from an organized fighting force. Swan and Raton considered the formidable challenge of turning them into one. After his afternoon in the forest talking to Fire, Swan's confidence was strong. He realized the biggest advantage they had was the fact that all of the New Granadans present wanted to save their land and restore their families.

  Manuel assigned his brother Juan the difficult task of finding good leaders among the people gathered. The leaders were then distributed among the large tents. Each of the large tents was sectioned off as a platoon. Some were smaller than others, but that hardly mattered.

  The platoon leaders soon had their people marching up and down the soft meadows outside Nuevo Santa Fe. The children from the city came out to the hillsides to watch the great parades made up of their parents walking up and down the fields. Soon the wildflowers and the grass were thoroughly trampled.

  While many of the people who came to Nuevo Santa Fe knew how to use weapons, most of them had never had to use them against other people. The platoon leaders were shown how to use their weapons successfully against an invading force. The leaders, in turn, showed their troops what needed to be done.

  Before long Manuel Raton and Edmund Swan began to think the defense force might succeed. However, a new problem soon emerged. They realized that most of the troops only had ancient projectile weapons and had used up much of their ammunition practicing for the real invasion. They called a meeting with Arepno.

  They met in Raton's house. The two humans each drank a beer while the Rd'dyggian captain drank a moldy-green concoction with steam rising in waves from the surface.

  "That is one unique force you two have organized," said the Rd'dyggian. His purple moustache wriggled around the words.

  "Each and every one of them will fight to the death," said Swan. He scratched the stubble that was beginning to grow. "That may be so," intoned Arepno's translator, "but they are no match for the army of Tejo. That army is professional." The Rd'dyggian inhaled some of the vapor coming from the glass. He seemed to smile a bit. Manuel thought that if the being was human, the smile would be wistful.

  "I'm afraid I have to agree," said Manuel. "In any conventional military action, they would be wiped out. It certainly doesn't help that we don't have any modern armaments."

  Arepno imitated a shrug. "That is no problem. That is being taken care of." He took a tentative sip from his glass.

  "It's what?" asked Swan, eyeing Arepno skeptically. "How can that be?"

  "We have connections, Firebrandt and me," said the captain.

  The three sat in silence for some time and Swan wondered what he did and did not know. Firebrandt had put him in charge of the defense forces, but the old privateer captain still seemed to be running the show. Manuel Raton did not seem terribly concerned. In fact he wondered how their force was going to do any good, but he knew Ellison Firebrandt well enough to not question his motives. Arepno sniffed and sipped his drink.

  Raton downed his first beer and opened another. "How go the operations in Tejo?"

  Arepno made another one of his shrugging gestures. "We have managed to sneak transmitters into every mine in Tejo. All of the miners can communicate with one another as well as with my ship. Most of the miners have stopped working, but some are afraid and continue."

  "It's hard to blame them," said Swan. He shook his head and downed the beer. He folded his arms on the table and put his head down. "Once you're face to face with a disciplinarian, it's hard to say no to anyone."

  "Indeed," said Manuel. He sighed and sat back, stroking his thick moustache.

  "We also blew up an Erdonium warehouse," said Arepno.

  This caused both men to sit bolt upright. "You did what?" asked Swan.

  "They won't take that for long," said Raton. "They may not tolerate it at all."

  "We'll see what happens," said the large, orange being. He sat back with his drink. "Should be fun." Raton and Swan exchanged glances and downed their second beers simultaneously.

  * * * *

  John Mark Ellis walked along the familiar cobblestone streets of Nantucket. As he looked at the old gray houses, he remembered the long walks he would take with his father. Somehow, Ellis didn't feel alone. Whole generations of Ellises had walked these streets. As he walked, sucking on a cigar, he seemed to feel their presence; their ethereal spirits virtually manifest in the curling smoke.

  Lieutenant Ellis found himself standing in front of the old family house. Its outside had not changed appearance in over a thousand years. Its gray shingles and white-rimmed windows called to him. He was sorry his mother was not at home. He walked inside and looked at the curious mix of antiques and modern furnishings. He looked at his Navy wrist chronometer and compared it to the chronometer one of his ancestors had used on a sailing ship twelve hundred years before. The two clocks were two seconds apart. He shook his head with amazement.

  Ellis put his finger on a touch pad next to the recliner in the living room. "Music," he said. The odd harmonics of twenty-eighth century jazz filled the room. He closed his eyes, listening to the subtle tones of his father's favorite music.

  He thought about his encounter with the Cluster and pondered the irony of his chance remark turning into the name for an unknown alien race. He thought of his father, dying at the hands of that race. An irrational sense of guilt welled up inside him. He had named his father's killers. Somehow, thought Ellis, the Cluster must be stopped. The lieutenant winced in pain as he realized he had clenched his fist too tightly.

  The strains of twenty-eighth century jazz soon faded into rhythms of twentieth century blues. Ellis' eyes filled with tears and he fell asleep on the antique recliner.

  * * * * Colonel McClintlock stared at the holographic viewer in his bunker. A new ship had entered orbit and docked with the Rd'dyggian ship. They stayed that way for about three hours.

  "Enhance image of ship docking with Rd'dyggian warship," said the colonel to the computer. The ship looked to be of human design, but it was sleek and silver in contrast to the black tube-shaped ships of the Navy. The holo-image was about the size of the colonel's hand. "Increase magnification ten-fold," he ordered.

  The image of the two ships expanded in front of him. The colonel nodded. He put his hand under th
e image of the new ship and made a lifting motion. The image followed his hand and was above his head. He studied the image. There was a registry number on the new ship.

  "Run registry," he ordered. "State number," replied the softly electric voice of the computer.

  "P 505835," said McClintlock. "Holo projection, off." The image of the two ships vanished. McClintlock paced the room while the computer traced down the number he had given.

  "P 505835 is an independent trading vessel from base settlement at G.S.C. 101243," reported the computer.

  McClintlock sat down at his desk and tapped his fingers. He didn't like mysteries. He especially didn't like mysteries that were happening above his head.

  * * * *

  Three days later, John Mark Ellis made the trip to Titan and reported to Admiralty Headquarters in the Human pressure dome. Ellis stepped into a clerk's office and noted the luxuriant feel of the carpet. Expensive paintings adorned the walls. Even wearing his full dress uniform, he felt

  underdressed.

  The clerk wore a speaker in his ear. His hair was greased down tight against his scalp. He stared perpetually at a comp screen. Ellis reasoned that he, like ship communicators must have a chip implant and could communicate throughout the base without leaving his desk. It was cheaper and quicker than using translators for routine work. Finally, the clerk looked up to Ellis. "Admiral Strauss will see you now," he said.

  Ellis nodded, his lips pursed. The clerk was a civilian, so there was no necessity to address him as "sir," but the omission still bothered him. The lieutenant followed the clerk's directions to the admiral's office. Ellis paused at the door. He read the sign: "Admiral Marlou Strauss." He reached down and tapped the buzzer.

  The door slid away. The admiral sat behind her desk. Her eyes were glued to a comp screen much as the clerk's had been. The primary difference was she was using her keypad. Ellis often wondered why more people didn't use the voice interface. He wondered if people were reminded,

  uncomfortably, of the days when a computer's voice belonged to a human. Of course, voice interface was not as confidential as typing. Finally, the admiral's head turned toward Ellis, eyes still lingering on the screen. She faced him at last. "Please come in, Mr. Ellis," she said. Ellis stepped in and saluted. She nodded and gestured to a chair in front of the desk. Ellis sat.