“She's been grounded so she can have babies,” spoke Ensign Jemma ‘Frost’ Luverian, a Tang Simma who had recently reported aboard the Atlantis.
“Yes,” Circe sighed. “I'm being grounded so I can have kittens. And when my husband gets here, we're going to hold a huge greeting feast to honor his arrival.”
Argathreft smiled, “Well, make sure it's on a night that our squadron doesn't have patrol duties the following day.”
“Yes, sir,” Circe nodded.
Bowen lifted his glass. “To Circe,” he toasted, “she is a damn good pilot who had to hang up her wings in exchange for motherhood. May she be as good a mother as she is a fighter pilot.”
“We'll miss her on the flight line,” Argathreft added, “but that just means we'll have to show her all the more appreciation as our new Port Side LSO. To Circe!”
“To Circe,” the others repeated.
There was a flurry of clinking glasses, and then they all drank to the toast. Bowen finished his with a contented sigh.
“Javix,” Bowen spoke with relish, “always among the smoothest liquors one can buy.”
“If you can afford it,” Argathreft pointed out with a sour grunt.
“True,” Bowen said. “Now if you pilots will excuse me, I've got other duties to perform.”
As Bowen started to leave, Circe caught him by the door. When he turned to her, Circe hugged him. She looked at him appreciatively.
“Thanks for coming, Captain,” Circe sniffled, starting to cry.
“Don't cry, kitten,” Bowen brushed a tear from her face, “you're still serving the Fleet. The most important thing you need to be doing is having offspring. The Alliance is not going to sit on its collective hands and let your people go extinct.”
“I know,” Circe dried her eyes with the fur on the back of her hand, “it means a lot to me that you came.”
“Wouldn't have missed it,” Bowen said earnestly, “enjoy yourself.”
Bowen turned around and left the room. When he was gone, Circe looked at the rest of the squadron, produced a pack of cards from somewhere and smirked evilly. “Now,” She hissed menacingly, “which of you sheep wants to get fleeced?”
“Poker tournament!” someone female screamed triumphantly.
“Get the Screaming Eagles in here!” a male voice cried.
“Great idea,” Argathreft hooted, “an inter-squadron poker tournament.”
“Maybe we could get all the ship's squadrons in on it,” Kadji grinned, “what do ya say, Archmage?”
“No,” Argathreft just shook his head, “just between us and the Screaming Eagles.”
“Archmage, honey,” Circe flirted, “we'll get things set up here, while you go talk to Commander Brent about challenging the Screaming Eagles to a poker tournament.”
“Okay, fine,” Argathreft smiled, “try not to get too drunk while I'm gone.”
“No promises, sweetheart,” Circe giggled, and she blew Argathreft a kiss as he exited the room.
Bowen and his father stepped into the ward room. Doctor Bowen was impressed by the huge compartment.
“So this is where you eat your meals?” Dr. Bowen asked with interest.
“Sometimes,” Bowen said, “the designers included this compartment in the ship's design more for tradition than actual practicality. The ship's big enough that she really doesn't need a formal dining room for the command officers. So the Ward Room kind of works out to be more of a senior officers lounge and dining room.”
Doctor Bowen marched over to the food synthesizers and examined them. “Son, do you remember an old food synthesizer from my days aboard the Agamemnon? It was an older model. We used to call it Old Bucket.”
“It's aboard this ship,” the captain chuckled. “It was installed in the Wizards squadron rec room.”
“I knew they wouldn't throw that dinosaur away,” Dr. Bowen said. “So what's being served for dinner?”
“Whatever you want, Dad.”
Doctor Bowen opened the food synthesizer's menu and looked through it. He skimmed the menu until he stopped at: Pizza, Pepperoni, Individual Size. Smirking over his shoulder at his son, he chose that one. Then they two stood and watched the food synthesizer as it created two pizzas. Two plates appeared with small, pan-sized pizzas. He picked them up and took them over to a nearby table. He then returned to the food synthesizer and synthesized two beers. Bringing the beers back to the table, he sat down with a smile.
“I remember when you were a kid; we used to have pizza every Friday.”
“Yeah,” Bowen spoke fondly. “I remember Mom used to cook the pizzas by hand and wouldn't let you in the kitchen at all because she was so sure you'd mess them up.”
“Agreed,” Dr. Bowen snickered as they dug into their meal.
“Do you ever miss Mom?”
“Every day,” Dr. Bowen said. “It's hard sometimes. She was my life.”
“We sent her to the Grays so they could treat her cancer,” Bowen growled, “but they didn't cure her.”
“Even they can't cure everything, and by the time she realized that she had breast cancer she was too far gone to be saved. Be glad they eased her suffering for the last moments of her life.”
“Yeah, I suppose your right.”
“So what's our mission to the Kordam Formation?” Dr. Bowen decided to change the subject to something they could both agree on.
“Simple,” Bowen nodded, “we figure out why the Hellkin invasion fleet came from the Kordam Formation and what kinds of facilities they have there.”
“And then what?” Dr. Bowen asked persistently.
“We inform Fleet Command and let them decide what we need to do.”
“Why come get me,” Dr. Bowen groused, “surely there are others who the fleet would be more comfortable with sending.”
“Dad, you're the foremost expert on the Kordam Formation,” Bowen praised his father. “Besides, you're the one intent on figuring it out. Your purposes and ours gel quite nicely.”
“I'm glad you included me in this mission,” Dr. Bowen said, “at least I get to see this marvelous new ship you're commanding.”
“She's a beauty.”
“I'm impressed,” Dr. Bowen chuckled, “I even have my own food synthesizer.”
“I usually eat in the mess deck or here in the ward room to socialize with my shipmates. Ambassador Lovandiel is particularly fond of joining me and my officers for meals.”
“I've heard of him,” Dr. Bowen nodded, “he has quite the reputation. Why isn't he here?”
“He is with his daughter right now,” the captain said. “She recently suffered the loss of her husband.”
“I'm sorry to hear that. What happened?”
“He was killed in action,” Bowen shrugged. “Lovandiel's daughter was married to Admiral Trent.”
“You're talking about Simon’s widow!” The captain’s father gasped. “I'd wondered where she went.”
“She resigned from the Elnore Embassy on Earth to apprentice with her father to eventually become a roving ambassador for the Supreme Council. And to be with her daughter.”
“She looked okay considered I'd heard she was shot down in the Naziortol System.”
“How did you learn that?”
“I still have a few friends in Fleet Command,” Dr. Bowen smiled.
“She's recovered remarkably well, Dad,” Bowen said, “considering the shit they did to her...and you don't want to know exactly what.”
“Fleet Command already told me I was better off not knowing,” Dr. Bowen sighed, “something about her experience being the stuff of nightmares.”
“Yeah.”
“It was bad that she got shot down, but at least she was rescued alive and fairly unharmed from what I hear.”
“That's true, Dad,” Bowen nodded. “Did you know Admiral Trent?”
“We served together on the Richmond, but we were in different departments so we didn't associate much. I knew he married a pretty Elnore girl and fathe
red a daughter.”
“He raised Miss Winelle's daughter,” Bowen corrected, “but Miss Winelle was already pregnant when she met Admiral Trent. She didn't get pregnant by Admiral Trent until fairly recently.”
“So she was left still pregnant when her husband died,” Dr. Bowen gasped. “Son, it really means a lot to me that you brought me in on this mission. I'm not sure the Ageron Combine would have approved an expedition to the Kordam Formation.”
“The only thing they would have approved,” Bowen grumbled, “would have been remote observations of the Kordam Formation...with no landings.”
“Meaning we might be landing on the Kordam Formation,” Ed was hopeful.
“Quite possibly,” Bowen said, “depending on what we find with the initial scans. Given the sheer size of the Kordam Formation, scanning it entirely could take days.”
“Well,” Dr. Bowen chuckled ruefully, “you got a pool hall on this tub?”
“The recreation center has pool tables.”
“After dinner, maybe we could get in a game of eight ball.”
“You're on, Dad.”
They whiled away the rest of their meal with small talk. A little later, they walked to the recreation center. The All Hands Club was alive with people. Some were watching sporting events on holo-displays. Others were playing pool. Most, however, were drinking and raucously having a good time. Doctor Bowen smiled at the tableau about him.
“This is better than I thought it would be.”
“Better than the ships you served on?” Bowen asked.
“This is not a starship,” Dr. Bowen shook his head. “It's a space metropolis.”
“So let's get going on our game.”
They stepped into the pool room and chose a vacant pool table. Bowen’s father set up a rack of eight ball, while the captain got a pool stick. Chalking his cue, Bowen got ready to break. Ed got his own pool stick while Bowen made his shot. Bowen's break scattered the billiard balls fairly evenly across the far end of the pool table. As the balls settled, the eight ball rebounded off the six ball, knocking it into a corner pocket.
“Solids,” Bowen called out.
As Bowen moved to take his second shot, Doctor Parker approached them.
“Doctor Bowen,” Parker spoke respectfully.
“Yes,” Dr. Bowen was a bit bewildered.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Doctor Oliver Parker, the ship's Hellkin expert.”
“I'm Doctor Ed Bowen. I've been studying the Kordam Formation for years.”
“How well I know,” Parker smiled earnestly. “I've been following your work.”
“Damn,” Bowen cursed, drawing Parker and Dr. Bowen's attention.
“Problem, son?”
“Missed a shot,” Bowen grumbled, “your turn, Dad.”
“Okay,” Ed nodded.
Doctor Bowen circled the table as he studied the balls.
“Doctor Parker,” Bowen spoke formally. “You will be working with my dad to figure out the Kordam Formation. Your primary purpose is to figure out IF it's a Hellkin facility. If it isn't a Hellkin facility, then figure out what kind of facility it is.”
“Initial scans and surveys will take several days, Captain. Perhaps it would benefit us to seek information behind the Kordam Formation.”
Doctor Bowen made his shot at a particular striped ball near a side pocket. The ball bounced off the edge of the rail and rolled away from the pocket. He stepped away from the table as the captain lined up to shoot at a solid ball aligned with a side pocket.
“That's a good idea, Dr. Parker,” Ed agreed. “What did you have in mind?”
“I don't know,” Parker said, “do you know any occurrences that we could research?”
“I do,” Dr. Bowen said, “there's the infamous Kordam Party Incident.”
“I believe I've heard of that. It was that expedition that vanished.”
Bowen made the shot and sank the ball in the side pocket. He then lined up for another shot.
“Right. Then there was an incident seven hundred fifty years ago. Black Claw, a leader of the Blood Claw pirates who went to the Kordam Formation to turn it into a pirate fortress. He also vanished.”
“Then perhaps one of us could go to the Galactic Science Institute to obtain copies of the records and artifacts brought back by the rescue party that discovered that the Kordam Party had vanished,” Parker pondered. “The other could track down one of Black Claw's living descendants and ask about Black Claw and his fate.”
“What do you think, son?” Dr. Bowen asked.
“Sounds good,” Bowen concentrated, making a shot at a ball lined up with a corner pocket.
The ball went into the pocket. Bowen studied the balls for another shot.
“I'll inform Commander Landry to have flights prepared for you,” Bowen said, checking the alignment of a ball to a different corner pocket.
“Good,” Parker grinned. “We just need to determine which of us will go to Alya Station to talk to the Galactic Science Institute, and who gets to go talk to the pirates.”
“Better let me talk to the pirates,” Ed said. “I'm afraid I've worn out my welcome with the Galactic Science Institute.”
“Very well,” Parker nodded. “I'll go to Alya Station.”
“Care to join us for a game?” Dr. Bowen asked politely.
Bowen took a shot at the ball lined up with the corner pocket and sunk it.
“You take over this game, Doc,” Bowen chuckled, “if you two are going to get flights to Alya and Vandar Station, I've got to go talk to the Air Boss. If you'll both excuse me.”
The captain passed his cue to Parker and left. The two doctors exchanged looks.
“A captain's work is never done,” Dr. Parker remarked candidly. He looked over the table. “Is it my shot?”
“Yes.”
“Stripes or solids?”
“Solids,” Dr. Bowen smiled.
Parker gazed over the balls and saw a solid lined up with a side pocket. He lined up, took a shot and sunk the ball. “This game isn't so hard.”
Ed patted Parker on the shoulder. “Hey, let's ditch this game, and go figure out who we're going to go talk to.”
“I agree.”
Taking the time to put the cues and balls up, Parker and Dr. Bowen started to leave the All Hands Club, when Too Far walked up to them. He stopped them before they took two steps from the pool hall.
“I understand you're interested in Black Claw's descendants,” Too Far gave them his big tooth predator smile.
“Yes,” Parker said. “Do you know any?”
“I am of Black Claw's blood,” Too Far nodded respectfully. “Many generations have come and gone between him and me.”
“Can you tell us anything about Black Claw?” Dr. Bowen asked.
“Nothing of what you wish to know, but there is one whom you might speak to.”
“Who is that?” Ed was intrigued. He was always interested in the Shrive culture.
“A historian. He is one of the Blood Claws, but may speak to you for a price.”
“A historian among pirates,” Parker mused, “what an odd concept.”
“Pirates they may be, but they still value what has gone before. His name is Iron Claw, and he is a direct descendant of Black Claw. He is also the under-boss of the Blood Claws on Vandar Station. Send him a message stating that you seek knowledge of Black Claw, and he will speak to you.”
“How do we contact him?” Dr. Bowen caught the excitement of the moment. Knowledge was intoxicating.
“There he keeps an agent at a bar called The Star Whale's Roost,” Too Far said, “send your message through that agent.”
“How do you know about this?” Parker gasped.
“Iron Claw is my brother,” Too Far cackled flashing his mouthful of reptilian teeth. “He chose to follow the way of the pirates. I chose to dedicate my life in service to the galaxy as part of the Galactic Fleet. We are close, though it does not sit well with me that he is on th
e wrong side of the law.”
“I can imagine,” Dr. Bowen pondered this news with trepidation. A criminal contact. Sounded dangerous.
“Does this help you?” Too Far considered the two men gravely.
“It does, thank you.” Ed did not follow his impulse to shake the Shrive’s hand. He did not want to be insulting as he did not know if it was a proper gesture for his race.
“Good,” Too Far growled faintly, “do not mention my name when you speak to him. Say only that his reputation is what drew you to him.”
“Understood,” Dr. Bowen nodded.
And with that Too Far let them leave.
The next morning, Glitter stormed into Bowen's ready room.
“Captain, you can't send my dad on a mission,” Glitter cried.
Bowen glimpsed up from his morning reports at Glitter and then at his desk terminal's time display.
“Lieutenant, it's 0630,” Bowen growled, “why in the hell are you screaming at me?”
“I checked the flight duty roster this morning for my flight assignment,” Glitter snarled. “You have my dad scheduled to command Red Kite Forty for a special mission.”
“So what?” Bowen countered.
“He just lost his wife. He's emotionally compromised. He's not fit to fly a mission.”
“You don't know that,” Bowen protested.
“The hell I don't,” Glitter sputtered. “I'm fully Elnore. I have a certain talent for telling someone's emotional state.”
“I know the Elnore have limited telepathic abilities, but that doesn't make you an expert of who is fit to fly.”
“At least let me go along as a supernumerary,” Glitter protested.
“What would you do?” Bowen asked.
“I'll fly the goddamned ship,” Glitter growled.
“What will Commander Dockweiler do?”
“He can go pout in his quarters for all I care, but with any luck, he'll take some time to have a nice father-daughter talk with me.”
“Well, he certainly can't have a father-daughter talk with Chief Whipple,” Bowen joked. “Fine, Lieutenant, you can go. I'll square things with the Air Boss.”
The Atlantis Chronicles- The Kordam Party Page 6