The Kestral Voyages: My Life, After Berserker

by Steven Lyle Jordan

  “I am the sensory drone of this Quicksilver-class freighter,” the oval stated. “This ship is registered to Carolyn Kestral.”

  “I am Carolyn Kestral,” she stated.

  “Please allow me to confirm your identity for ship’s systems.”

  “Go ahead,” Kestral nodded.

  The oval swung in front of Kestral and hovered there for a few moments, scanning her. “I have confirmed your identity with Oan databases, and have added an identity scan to the ship’s database. What are your orders?”

  “Full sensory sweep of the ship, running a comparison against construction specifications,” Kestral replied briskly. The drone abruptly flashed away, and Fefgren regarded Kestral amusedly.

  “Don’t trust my work?”

  Kestral smiled and shook her head. “Just giving it something to do. I’m sure your work is impeccable. You come highly recommended.”

  “On that dubiously positive note,” Fefgren smiled wryly, “shall we go inside?”

  The platform stopped at the top of the gantry, and a solid-feeling flooring led to the crew hatch of the ship. Kestral and Fefgren crossed the space between the platform and the ship, and Kestral took the time to run a hand appreciatively along the hull alongside the crew hatch. Then she stepped up the ramp of the hatch and into the ship’s foyer.

  The design of the interior was as clean as the outside, with numerous storage compartments, and the ship’s plumbing, concealed behind panels that covered the walls, floor and ceiling. An open alcove at the hatch provided storage space for environmental suits and gear, and included a lockable compartment just large enough for a small complement of hand tools or weapons.

  “The Elite interior package you asked for,” Fefgren smiled. “Looks good?”

  “Looks good,” Kestral agreed. “Same in all rooms?”

  “You bet.” Fefgren led her to the crew corridor, and tapped the announcer outside of the first door. The door popped partially open, and Fefgren pushed it open the rest of the way. Kestral stepped inside and admired the well-appointed crew quarters, nodding as she gave the bunk, workspace and partitioned bath facilities the once-over. When she was satisfied, she turned to Fefgren.

  “Let’s see the bridge.”

  Fefgren led Kestral to the bridge, paused at the closed hatch and looked pointedly at her. Kestral took her cue, stepped up and triggered the hatch herself.

  The bridge she walked onto was a model of efficiency. A Captain’s station, placed at the center of the room, took in the helm and operations stations before it, and provided a view of the monitoring systems throughout the room. Unlike a typical military setup, where consoles were limited in design to very specific single functions, the Captain’s station had a full control console before it, allowing the Captain to closely monitor and control most of the ship’s systems from there if necessary. There were more automated systems than Kestral was used to seeing, but then, a freighter wasn’t a military ship, and she hadn’t been planning on hiring two-dozen people just to monitor every on-board circuit throughout the day.

  Fefgren motioned to the chair at the center desk. “The Captain’s station awaits you.”

  Kestral smiled and took the seat. She examined the controls and dual displays embedded into the console’s surface. She tapped at the controls, and one by one, the surrounding stations came online, monitors came to life, and the bridge slowly filled with the muted sounds of ship activity.

  “Is the ships systems check ready?” she asked no one in particular.

  “Yes, Captain,” came a voice from seemingly everywhere in the bridge... the voice of the ship. And appropriately feminine, Kestral noted. “The ship corresponds to all standards for a newly-minted Quicksilver-class vessel. Close examination reveals no substandard parts or construction techniques, and manufacturing methods accomplished to an average of one hundred ten percent of specified tolerances.”

  “Very good. Thank you.” Kestral turned to look at Fefgren, who had an expectant look on his face.

  She smiled widely and said, “I’ll take it.”

  Fefgren puffed up and beamed at Kestral. “It’s yours! Congratulations... Captain Kestral.”

  Kestral’s smile faded for a moment, as she considered his words. Then her smile returned, together with an expression that Fefgren hadn’t seen before.

  “Captain Kestral,” she repeated. “I like the sound of that.”

  ~

  “Wow.”

  Kestral stood in the main cargo bay of the ship—her ship—and stared about. “You know,” she said to Fefgren, “I’ve been inside a loaded Quicksilver... and I’ve seen holograms of them... but now that I’m inside a real one, completely empty... this thing is big.”

  “It’ll carry a hell of a lot,” Fefgren agreed. “40,000 metric tons is a lot of cargo. The outer nacelles are great for bulk compounds in solid, liquid, gas and even transitional states. And if you want, you’ve got the space to put in encapsulated environments, to carry more sensitive cargo... livestock, rare plants, that kind of thing. Or additional rooms for passengers. And don’t forget, Quicksilvers can tow trailer rigs. Good money in trailers.”

  “Trailers,” Kestral nodded absently. “Maybe so.”

  Fefgren regarded her for a moment. “Do you have a crew yet?”

  Kestral shook her head. “No... I haven’t had the chance yet.” After a moment, she turned to him. “Why do you ask?”

  Fefgren smiled slyly. “You see right through me, don’t you? Yes, as a matter of fact, there’ve been two people loitering about here for most of the past month, ever since they found out I was commissioned to build a Quicksilver. They want to talk to you about signing on. I think one of them is certified to boss on a Quicksilver.”

  “Really?” Kestral considered. “Sounds like someone I should meet.”

  “I’ll call ‘em up for you, then,” Fefgren nodded. “Do you have a place to berth yet?”

  “Do I need one?”

  “Well, you will in about ten days,” he replied. “That’s when my next commission comes up. In the meantime, you can keep her here.” He snapped his fingers. “By the way... have you got a name for her?”

  “Oh, yes,” Kestral replied without hesitation. “Her name is Mary.”

  2: The Mary

  The more Carolyn Kestral wandered about her new ship, the more she noted the differences in the way civilian and military ships did things.

  The engine room in which she now stood was a perfect example. To begin with, the engine itself: A UnitPlant 880 tristream fusion plant, complete with preheaters. A beautiful engine, powerful, short response curve, well-made and reliable. But not as flexible as a military-grade engine, with its triple-redundant systems and quick-access everything, designed to allow personnel to make repairs and reconfigurations in the heat of battle if necessary. There were more automatic control systems evident, which meant fewer options to bypass the automation and do things manually. She’d have to get used to the idea of potentially lengthy down-time when the engines were out or under repair. Not that that was expected to be a regular occurrence, with a brand new top-of-the-line engine.

  And the Tesser field system, essential for faster-than-light flight... it was practically sealed! There was no way to manually reprogram the spacetime field emitters on the fly. Then again, that skill was rarely needed outside of combat situations. Still, just knowing you had the option...

  Kestral’s reverie was interrupted by a chime, followed by the voice of the Mary. “Captain, you have two visitors requesting permission to come aboard. They say they were sent by Mr. Fefgren.”

  “Very good,” Kestral said. “I’ll see them in the foyer.”

  The two visitors... a human male and an Avian female... were speaking to each other as Kestral reached the foyer. They made an interesting pair: He was taller than Kestral and on the burly side, and she was of the typically slight build of all Avians, shorter than Kestral, with a mane of feathery hair on her head that tended to dance in even
the slightest breeze, thick feathery lashes, and eyebrows that touched the temples of her hair. They stopped speaking and turned as she came around the corner, but Kestral had already seen how close together they stood, and how friendly their conversation had been. Clearly they were already well acquainted.

  “I’m Carolyn Kestral,” she announced as she came into the foyer. “What can I do for you?”

  “Actually,” the human replied, “we were hoping to be able to do something for you, Ma’am. This,” he indicated the Avian, “is Tirri Riza, and my name is Sarander Fi.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Ma’am,” Tirri Riza smiled and bowed slightly. “We understand you need a crew for this new ship of yours. We’re here to offer our services.”

  “So, you’re Fefgren’s loiterers, eh?” Kestral smiled. “I understand one of you is certified to boss a Quicksilver.”

  “That would be me, Ma’am,” Sarander admitted.

  “As a matter of fact, I was just up in the engine room.”

  “And probably wondering what you’re going to do with all that sealed plumbing when something springs a leak,” Sarander grinned. Kestral inclined an eyebrow in his direction, which he took as a sign to continue. “Fact is, Ma’am, the Quicksilver is a damned fine ship, built to take a lot, and even when it’s straining, it can get you where you need to go. The design isn’t easy access, no. But there are ways into most of that hardware, and through the most closed software, if you know where the entry points are. I’ve served as pilot on one Quicksilver, and boss on another, and I assure you, I’ll get that ship through any hoops you point it at.”

  “I see,” Kestral nodded soberly. “Could you reconfigure the tesser to sideslip an impact object?”

  “Sure,” Sarander quickly replied, “but why bother, when you can simply throw a field extension out and alter the object’s angular momentum?”

  Kestral smiled. “Good answer.” She turned to Tirri. “And have you served aboard a Quicksilver?”

  “No, Ma’am,” Tirri replied. “I served on the Blue Pacific for the past three standard years, captained by Barry Walsh. I was his cargo officer.”

  “The Blue Pacific?” Kestral’s smile faded. “During the Sett campaign?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Tirri nodded. “My team rebuilt the medical modules after pulling the Bok Six Firebird out of the firefight. I also received field training as a medic there.”

  “I’d call that good experience,” Kestral admitted. “Tell me, do you two come as a package deal?”

  Tirri smiled meekly and ran a hand over her feathered head. “If at all possible, Ma’am. See, we’ve been married for five years, but spend most of our time on separate runs.”

  Sarander added, “We were hoping to get a gig together for a change.”

  “I see,” Kestral said. “Well, I’m still working on lining up my first load. But if you can help me get this ship prepped for her maiden voyage...” She stepped forward and extended her hands to both of them. “You’ve got yourselves jobs.”

  “Thank you!” the both of them said in unison, taking Kestral’s hands warmly.

  “You’re welcome,” Kestral replied. “You’ll both start at standard rates plus commission, until we get our first run. Then we’ll evaluate your work.”

  “Fair deal,” Tirri nodded.

  “Where should we start?” Sarander asked.

  Kestral considered. “Tell you what: The Mary hasn’t left this berth yet. I want to touch space the morning after tomorrow, and do a dry run. Go pick out some quarters... oh... I guess you only need one room. Rooms three and four are good-sized for two people. Then meet me on the bridge.”

  “Yes, Ma’am!” “Thank you, Ma’am!”

  “Oh... one other thing. This is a freighter, not a star destroyer. You can call me Carolyn. Or Captain, if you need to be formal.”

  Tirri and Sarander exchanged understanding glances. “Okay, we got it,” Sarander said. “We’ll go get our gear.”

  “All right. I’ll see you later.” Kestral then turned and strode away, back into the Mary. Tirri and Sarander stood respectfully and waited until she was out of sight around the corridor. Then they turned and jumped into each other’s arms, hugging and kissing delightedly.

  “That’s what I assigned you quarters for!” came Kestral’s shout from up the corridor.

  Sarander and Tirri immediately broke apart, sheepishly, and backed out of the ship. “Yes, Ma’am... uh, right, Carolyn—Captain!” “We’ll just go get our gear!” “Thanks again, Captain!” “Be right back!”

  Around the corner, Kestral listened to the couple bounding out of the foyer, and grinned to herself. Then she said, “Mary, check employment data for those two. Do their stories confirm?”

  “Checking.” It took just a few seconds for the ship to access and query Oan databases and confirm Tirri and Sarander’s employment records. “Yes, they do.”

  “Good. Thank you. Are there any other responses from my advertisements?”

  “This came in while you were interviewing the others: a candidate for pilot, named Doshu May.”

  “Qualified?”

  “I’ve confirmed his qualifications.”

  “All right, let’s talk to him.”

  As it happened to be fairly close to local noon, Kestral decided to meet her prospective pilot over lunch. After identifying a nearby restaurant that served standard human fare (or a reasonably close approximation of it), she had Mary contact Doshu May and arrange a meeting there.

  When she arrived, she was pointed to a table, where a man sat quietly. He saw Kestral approaching the table, and stood before she reached it.

  “Afternoon, Captain,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m Doshu May.”

  “Afternoon,” Kestral greeted him. “Thanks for meeting me here.”

  “That’s okay, I was about ready for lunch,” May replied, and they both sat back down. “I’ve been working on a Stinger rebuild this morning.”

  “You’re a mechanic, too?”

  “Every pilot ought to be a good mechanic,” May stated. “You should know why your ship flies the way it does, and if it doesn’t fly the way you want it to, you ought to be able to make it.”

  They took a moment to order from the menu, before Kestral carried on the conversation.

  “What else have you piloted?”

  “Well... JP 40s and 50s... Zips... a K’LiDo freighter... a couple of Cano freighters... And, of course, the Quicksilver. That was for Captain Jon Lang, out of Terra73.”

  “Don’t know him,” Kestral responded to his unspoken question.

  “Good Captain, nice guy, all business. We mostly did contracted runs between Terra73 and Maille’s Outpost, but we also ran luxury cargo around that sector. What are you looking to run, Captain?”

  Kestral shrugged. “I’m open to suggestions... I just bought the ship.”

  “Oh, really?” May’s attitude shifted just a bit. “If you don’t mind my asking, what kind of background do you have for this?”

  “I’m a retired Ranger,” Kestral told him. “Served as Commander for the last four years on a Ranger cruiser.”

  “Saw action?”

  “Oh, yes. I was on the line.”

  “That why you retired?”

  It was a blunt question. Kestral responded just as bluntly: “No.”

  After a second, May nodded, and his attitude softened. “Fair enough. Begging your pardon, but I have no interest in working for some clerk who doesn’t know how to use an airlock.”

  “I understand,” Kestral nodded back. “The Mary is tasting space the morning after tomorrow. I’m offering standard wage plus commission, then a re-evaluation after our first run. Still interested in piloting?”

  “Yes, I am,” May said, just as a small bot arrived with their orders. “Ah... a good omen, I like that.”

  “Looks like good food, too,” Kestral noted. “Have you eaten here before?”

  “Only when I’m accepting new piloting jobs,” May grinned
, taking a sip of his cider. “Mmm. Good year.”

  ~

  As the platform ascended to the gantry berthing the Mary, Kestral became aware of a man standing by the crew hatch, and Mary’s drone hovering next to him. The man seemed to be holding his hand, palm-up, to the drone, and the drone floated just inches away from his hand like a curious puppy.

  “Can I help you?” Kestral called out when the platform reached the gantry flooring. The man turned at the sound of her voice, and his hand dropped a bit, remaining palm-up.

  “Are you the Captain?”

  “Yes, I am,” Kestral replied. “And you are?”

  “Angel Shakra,” the man said, offering his free right hand... he continued to hold his other hand up. “I’m looking for work, Ma’am.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Mate and cook,” he replied simply. “Every ship should have a mate. But I’m a damn good cook, too, which every ship really needs.”

  “Mate...” Kestral considered, dubious.

  “Oh, I know,” Shakra said, “you can buy a few bots to do most mate work. But truth to tell, no bot has the eye of an experienced mate. You want your ship to look good? ...you need a live mate, to do the job right.”

  “Uh-huh,” Kestral replied, still not convinced. “I’ve eaten standard flight fare for the last ten years, and I—”

  “And I’ll bet it’s been just as long since you smelled this.” Shakra slowly moved his hand under Kestral’s nose. She started to protest... then her eyes widened, and she looked down at his hand. She took a deep sniff, and involuntarily, she closed her eyes and smiled.

  When she opened them again, she said, “Terran coffee beans?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Shakra nodded.

  “Where did you get them?” she asked reverently.

  “I can grow them,” he replied. “If you can give me some space in the hold, I can grow authentic Terran coffee, spices, vegetables, beans and fruits. Had any cinnamon lately?”