The Kestral Voyages: My Life, After Berserker

by Steven Lyle Jordan

  Sarander waited until he had closed the hatch before he spoke. “I had to round up some tools.”

  “Tools?”

  Sarander reached into his pocket then, and held up a small gadget that fit in the palm of his hand. Tirri could see that it was something Sarander must have cobbled together, but she could not divine its purpose.

  “I give up. What is it, and what’s it for?”

  “It delivers a hefty jolt of electricity,” Sarander said.

  “What for?”

  “Hopefully, to drop a berserker in its tracks.”

  Tirri stared at it, then at her husband. “You’re not—?”

  “Only if she turns on us,” Sarander replied. “I’ll make one for you, if you want.”

  Tirri looked at it again, then shook her head. “No.”

  “Do you want me to—”

  “No, it’s fine. Keep it.”

  Sarander eyed his wife. “You’ve thought about this, too, haven’t you?”

  “Well,” Tirri shrugged. “Not about that, exactly.”

  “But?”

  “I know what I want to do,” Tirri explained in a low voice. “I think I like Carolyn, and I’m okay working for her. And if she really is okay... fine. But if she does go berserk...” She paused for emphasis. “If something happens to her, we may be able to keep this ship for ourselves.” She looked pointedly at the gadget in Sarander’s hand. “But only if she goes berserk. Okay?”

  Sarander nodded. “That’s fine by me. Hell, we’ve both had worse gigs.” He slowly put the device back in his pocket. “Do you think she won’t, then?”

  In response, Tirri looked at the cabin wall as if she could look through the bulkheads and see Kestral in her cabin. “I hope she doesn’t.”

  Then she turned back to her husband, pressing close to him and running her hand along the arm that had held the makeshift weapon. Sarander’s body quickly reacted to her proximity, and she saw his eyes flash with heat. “I can’t tell you how much it means that you’re here with me,” she said softly, and she stood on tiptoe as she reached her other arm up and around his neck. “Ready to protect me from dangerous captains,” she added with a coy smile.

  “You could always just show me,” Sarander smiled.

  “You’re on,” Tirri replied, and with one arm around his neck, she lifted herself off the ground and brought her lips to his. Sarander enveloped her in his arms and supported her effortlessly, her feet dangling just below his knees, her ankles entwining themselves in joy.

  It didn’t take long before Tirri was aware of Sarander’s right hand freeing itself from supporting her weight—not an effort on Sarander’s part, given his strength and her light weight—and beginning to roam and explore her between her legs. Sarander was an aggressive lover, and once he was going, he was almost impossible to stop… or to resist. And he couldn’t resist her: Her body, lithe, tight, but shapely in the right places, was like a drug to his senses, an addiction that he could not fight. Tirri moaned as his fingers pressed urgently into her private spaces, and Sarander reacted to her response by starting toward the bed. Tirri quickly wrapped her legs around him, to make it easier for him to walk, and to give him better access to her as he simultaneously supported her by the ass and teased her crotch.

  He reached the bed and knelt on it, keeping Tirri upright and tightly against him as he reached for the front of her blouse. She dropped her arms, so that he could part the front of the blouse and peel it down from her shoulders. She gasped at the sudden freeing of her breasts, the cool air that brushed her nipples and brought them erect, and she arched her back slightly in the pleasure of the moment.

  Sarander quickly lifted her up against him, pinning her arms to her sides, and wrapped his mouth around one of her nipples. It had happened so fast that Tirri squeaked in surprise, writhing in a combination of physical sensation and nervous excitement as he squeezed her against him and mouth-fondled at her breast. His other hand was already working at the clasp of her pants, popping it open without help from her pinned arms, and reaching hungrily for the warm skin beyond the downy pubic feathers. His large hands worked energetically, pressing urgently against the soft, hot flesh as his middle finger slid deep inside her. His ministrations drove Tirri into frenzy, and her moans quickly graduated into gasps, then cries, of helpless sexual pleasure.

  Somehow, she managed to free her arms long enough to open Sarander’s shirt. Sarander finished pulling the shirt off, somehow without actually releasing Tirri… then he pushed against her, the hairs of his chest tickling her breasts. The sensation forced her to suck in another breath of pleasure, before she forcibly grabbed his head and locked her mouth against his, the first act she’d been able to initiate since kissing him at the beginning. Her tongue darted back and forth in his mouth, and his tongue quickly met hers and gave as good as it got.

  Her equilibrium shifted before she knew what was happening... with a cry of combined surprise and delight, she realized Sarander was lowering her onto the bed. Her pants were still bunched around her thighs, so she scissored her legs closed long enough to allow him to pull her pants off and drop them to the floor. Then he pushed her knees back apart, and lowered himself onto her. His trousers were still on, and Tirri reached futilely to get at them, but in the end, Sarander managed to work them off on his own, whilst continuing to maul her into breathless excitement on the bed.

  When it seemed her every nerve was ready to fire off at once, Sarander finally entered and buried himself deep into her in one smooth motion. Tirri did what she did every time he entered her after such intense foreplay: She stiffened and tried to cry out, but nothing came. As he began to work back and forth inside her, slowly at first, then more quickly by the moment, she wrapped her arms and legs around him as best she could, acting purely on instinct, intent only on making sure he couldn’t get away from her.

  She needn’t have bothered; Sarander held her down as if afraid she would somehow squirt out from underneath him and disappear. His lovemaking was forceful, adamant, and almost frighteningly powerful... he always seemed as if he would never, ever let up, no matter what she did... and Tirri couldn’t get enough of it, or of him.

  When, finally, he did pull out of her, neither of them could have recounted how much time had passed, nor how many orgasms they had shared. Sarander eased off of Tirri and settled onto the bed next to her, and she promptly pushed over and folded herself against him. They waited until their breathing had settled back to normal before speaking.

  “Gods,” Tirri said. “I’ve got to get you in a position to protect me more often!”

  “Be careful,” Sarander whispered, “what you wish for.”

  “Hell, no,” Tirri replied. “For more nights like this, I’ll pay people to attack me.”

  Sarander grinned. “Good thing you’ve got a job, then.”

  ~

  When Kestral returned to the bridge later, Mark glanced back and waved a hand. Kestral smiled. “You look like that seat suits you.”

  “Quicksilvers are easy to fly,” Mark told her. “I’m very comfortable.” He had on the external viewing goggles, but he had switched off one lens, and his left eye was clearly visible when he turned her way. “So... You waited until now to say anything to them.”

  Kestral sat down at the ops station. “I did.”

  “Do you think you’ve salvaged the situation?”

  “Truthfully, I wish I knew,” she replied. “When I left the Rangers, I was confident in the knowledge that I was clean. I didn’t think I’d have to explain or justify anything to anyone.” She dropped her head slightly. “I thought it was ancient history.”

  “It should have been,” Mark agreed, and sighed. “It seems to have been just dumb luck you had to tell anyone. I guess some ghosts take time to be rid of.”

  “I guess.” Kestral settled back in her seat. “What about you? Any ghosts still following you?”

  “Actually, you saw two of my best on High Amarillo. There seem to be quite a f
ew Rangers who have something against my resigning.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Probably,” Mark replied evenly, “it has to do with my resigning after refusing to take my scout into a battle.”

  Kestral inclined her head towards him quizzically. “This sounds like a story I’d like to hear.”

  “It’s a short story,” Mark advised her. “I was in my scout on my way back to my ship, when I received a distress call from a civilian ship caught too close to an impending battle. I was ordered to leave them, return to my ship, and prepare for battle. I ignored the order, picked them up in the scout, and removed them from the battle area.”

  “However,” Kestral asked, “did you avoid going to the brig for desertion?”

  “The fact that my ship was so badly beaten in that battle, that it was determined that my leaving the area probably saved the civilians’ lives. Bad for my ship, but good for the civilians. And oh, yes... The battle, which our side initiated, turned out to be a mistake. They thought they were attacking an arms depot, and it turned out to be food stores. Very embarrassing for the brass. I knew that… and they knew I’d go public with it if they imprisoned me. So they ‘let’ me resign.”

  Mark turned to see Kestral’s response. After a moment, she simply said, “Interesting.”

  “Every so often, I run into a Ranger who knows about my history.” Mark shrugged.

  “Ghosts,” Kestral said.

  “Ghosts.”

  “At least my ghosts aren’t as big as yours.”

  “Fortunately for me,” Mark grinned, “my ghosts tend to be stupid.”

  “And speaking of which: How often have you had to put down Lokians in bars?”

  “That was the second time I was approached in a bar like that,” Mark admitted. “The first time, the Lokians forced me to go outside. They were standing behind me. I simply ran away. Lokians are tough, but they’re also notoriously slow runners.”

  “Which was why, this time, they were ahead of you on the way out of the bar,” Kestral observed.

  “Yes,” Mark nodded. “But I’d done some reading since then… I didn’t expect the same trick to work twice, either. And I came across that drinks trick.” He shrugged. “I don’t like to fight. But, when pushed into a corner, I don’t prefer to roll over and get my ass kicked, either.”

  “What does ‘Kella’ mean?”

  “The name of an infamous Lokian, apparently,” Mark replied. “Kella was renowned amongst Lokians as being a coward, from a family of cowards, and willing to sell his children to save his own neck. I’m not sure if he’s an actual or mythical figure.”

  “Now I know what not to call you, if I want to stay on your good side.”

  “A good thing to know,” Mark agreed wryly. “Especially when you’re not sure how many friends you have on board.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  They sat in silence for a minute, until Kestral sighed lightly. When she turned to Mark, there was a sadness in her eyes. “This was supposed to be easy. Freighter captain. Kestral’s new life, A-B.”

  “A-B?”

  “After berserker,” Kestral explained lightly.

  Mark grinned at that. “Don’t feel too bad. After all, you’re a member of a singularly small fraternity. It’s not as if you’ve had anyone to give you guidance on how to do these things. Besides, you’re talking to a kindred spirit here.”

  “Because you’re an ex-Ranger?”

  “No,” Mark replied, “because I’m Martian. And Martians, more than most, can appreciate anyone who deserves a second chance.”

  7: Terra212

  Terra212 was, as its name implied, one of hundreds of planets that humans had co-opted for their own use. To date, 609 planets throughout the Oan Galarchy had been partially or fully terraformed and settled by humans.

  Terra212, known by its inhabitants as Coel, was one of the planets that had been pre-settled and partially terraformed. But although the humans who settled there had had themselves genetically altered to survive, the alteration was very mild, a slight adjustment to the chemical filtering processes carried out in the kidneys that allowed their bodies to more easily process some of the complex chemicals found in the Coelian biosphere. So there were no outwardly noticeable characteristics that distinguished the Coelians from any other humans.

  This became evident to Kestral when she called Terra212 to arrange to deliver the Mary’s cargo. The Coelians she spoke to looked and sounded human, and if it weren’t for the uniquely-styled clothing they wore, there would have been nothing to indicate that she was speaking to anyone other than another human.

  As Mark brought the Mary slowly down through Terra212’s atmosphere, they could see that the city looked, too, like any other human city in a sub-tropical environ. It was bright and open, with countless plazas, open courtyards, balconies and occupied rooftops, from the smallest house to the tallest building. The entire crew was on the bridge, everyone watching the approaching city through the viewscreens, with the exception of Mark, who took it all in through the external viewing goggles.

  “Pretty place,” Tirri commented. “Looks like a nice vacation spot.” Kestral glanced her way, but said nothing. She still did not know what her crew were likely to do, once they had delivered their first cargo and were all paid, and she did not want to risk saying anything that might swing a decision away from her. So she swallowed the joking remark she had been tempted to make, and concentrated on Mark’s landing.

  Not that Mark needed anyone spotting him. If his skills as pilot had not been established by his deft handling of the Mary in transit from High Amarillo, they were now clearly demonstrated by his smooth descent into Terra212’s atmosphere, his easy approach into the city, and now his gentle arc about the spaceport fields, angling the ship for their landing space. Sarander had come down to the bridge, also to watch Mark land the ship, but based on Mark’s progress so far, Sarander didn’t seem inclined to bother him. Mark’s right hand danced over the control console, while his left hand held steady on the attitude controls, and the ship swung gracefully into position over the designated space, near a storage warehouse, and slowed. Then, almost as forward motion had stopped altogether, the Mary touched down on the tarmac with a barely-perceptible bump.

  “I bow to an impresario,” Sarander complimented Mark, who smiled back as he cycled the engines down.

  “I concur,” Kestral added. “Great job, Mark… and everyone else. Okay, let’s see about unloading.”

  They all went down to the main cargo bay, where the ore crates waited. Tirri triggered the starboard bay hatch, and it eased open with a hiss of pressure seals and a hum of machinery. Kestral stood at the edge of the hatch, and was first to alight when it touched the ground, looking around for someone to speak to. Mark wasn’t far behind her, and Sarander stepped out to take a quick look around the outside of the ship.

  Motion from the nearby warehouse alerted Mark to an approaching figure, and he signaled Kestral by nodding in that direction. Kestral turned to see a woman, dressed in a teal robe that extended from a straight collar at her neck, down to her ankles, and cut so straight that it betrayed no sign of her figure underneath it. The effect was that of a column of fabric, with a head mounted atop it and tiny feet shifting it along. She walked with a minimum of body movement that could be detected under the robe, yet she still crossed the space between the warehouse and the Mary in a reasonable time. As she neared, Kestral and Mark could see that she had a young and lean face, alert eyes, and a soft smile.

  “Welcome to Coel,” the woman greeted them when she was within a few steps. She held out hands to Kestral. “Captain Kestral, I presume?”

  “Yes, that’s me,” Kestral replied, taking both of the woman’s hands in hers.

  “My name is Ferrin Elliot. I’m an administrator here at the spaceport.”

  “Oh?” Kestral cocked an eyebrow. “I thought this was just a simple cargo delivery. Is there something I should know?”

  Sara
nder, under a nearby engine pod, whispered to himself, “Has anything about this trip been simple?”

  “Not at all,” Ferrin was explaining to Kestral. “It’s just that the cargo you are delivering has some special delivery requirements that demand I be here to supervise.”

  “I see,” Kestral said, as she noted four cargo haulers rolling out to the Mary from the nearby warehouse. “Do you want us to just offload them right here, then?”

  “Yes, that will be fine,” Ferrin replied. “Our people will haul the crates away from here.”

  “So, if I may ask, where are these ores going that requires such supervision?”

  “Directly into the Coelian treasury vaults.”

  “Treasury?” As Kestral repeated the word, Mark and Sarander turned to look at them.

  “Yes,” Ferrin replied. “These ores will be mixed with local metals here, at which point they will become part of our financial depository. Oh, they’re not worth much as they are. But once combined with the metals on this planet, they form a compound that is invaluable to atronics control processes. The introduction of these ores will raise our planet’s net worth by almost fifteen percent.”

  “Wow,” Kestral breathed. Mark and Sarander exchanged surprised glances. “We had no idea we were transporting a king’s ransom for you.”

  “Nor were you meant to, of course,” Ferrin smiled. “For the sake of security. You understand.”

  “Certainly… no harm done,” Kestral assured her. “We plan to be here for… a few days. Where should I arrange to park my ship, once it’s offloaded?”

  “You can leave it parked here, if you wish,” Ferrin told her. “The spaceport is secure, and this is a government section of the facility. Your crew is free to travel anywhere on Coel that is not restricted to authorized personnel only. Oh, yes… and the balance of your payment is being deposited in your specified account, as we speak.”

  “Thank you very much,” Kestral smiled. “It turned out to be a very successful first run for us.”

  “Your first run? Really? Then congratulations to you!” Ferrin took Kestral’s hands again. “Captain, I know it’s a long way from Kyxha. We are having a small reception connected to this transaction, in the main building. You and your crew are welcome to join us for refreshments there.”