First Command

by Rodney Smith

  Captain Mabry motioned for Thorson to follow her. She left an Ascetic to guard the two pilots. Thorson followed her back down the hallway and turned right into the main salon, where two Ascetics guarded the women.

  Mrs. Debran was a statuesque woman in her mid to late forties. She had long brown hair, dark brown eyes and a nice shape. She carried herself in an erect, patrician manner. She was a very attractive woman, wearing a gold silk lounging outfit.

  Her daughters were younger versions of their mother. They carried themselves in a reasonable approximation of their mother’s posture. The captain and Thorson looked on these women with equal interest, for the credits they must be worth.

  The older daughter was approximately 25, with dark brown shoulder length hair. She wore a rainbow-patterned dress that fit tight across the bust and hips. Sandals adorned her feet. The younger daughter was probably 20. She had hazel eyes and the family’s brown hair. She wore a short white shirtdress, which was tight in all the right places.

  Captain Mabry said, “You’re on a vessel in an embargoed area. You’ve been taken prisoner by a vessel of the Marauder Fleet. If you cooperate and offer no resistance, you will be returned to your family as soon as possible. If you cause us problems, you will spend a much more uncomfortable passage. Do you understand me?”

  The older woman said, “I am Julia Debran. These are my daughters, Christine and Sylvia. We’ll give you no trouble. I ask that you not harm my daughters or me. We’re very wealthy and our family will pay a generous ransom to get us back alive and unharmed.”

  The Captain smiled wickedly and said, “You will not be harmed if you cooperate fully with us. Stay here. An officer will be here soon to take charge of you. You will be transported to our nearest base on this ship. Your repatriation will be arranged there.”

  Captain Mabry motioned Thorson to follow her out of the salon. A guard positioned himself in the doorway as they left.

  “Thorson, I want you to take charge of this ship and get it to Barataria unharmed. Our take for this prize will be better than 100,000 credits for the ship, plus whatever the ladies fetch. If their family won’t buy them, we can find lots of useful things for them to do. I’ll take the two pilots with me and leave you with three Ascetics. We’ll follow some distance behind you. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find another ship along the way.”

  Thorson went to his cabin and packed a minimum of gear for the two-week trip. The luxury transport could probably provide him with anything else he’d need. He checked with the Captain, before departing to take command of the prize crew. She had nothing more for him. He held at the airlock as the two pilots and the majority of the boarding party left. The Ascetic Deacon, Third Class met him at the airlock and reported.

  “Sir, we have searched and scanned the ship. There are no weapons on board, except ours. The three women, you, and my team are all that are on board. The ship is provisioned for over a month. With your permission, we will berth in the co-pilot’s cabin. It has two beds. I recommend you take the captain’s cabin. It’s quite spacious and outfitted with a master computer terminal and comms.”

  “The three women are in cabins off the main salon. One of us will guard the entrance to the salon at all times. There is no other entrance. We will keep them in the salon and their rooms unless you authorize otherwise.”

  Thorson was impressed with the young deacon’s professionalism. He approved his recommendations and moved his gear into the captain’s cabin. He looked around for a few minutes, and then moved to the bridge.

  Thorson fired up the main command console and called the Undefeated to check comms. He got a good comms check and continued to familiarize himself with the controls. Everything was automated, so he would have no trouble piloting the ship to Barataria.

  He spent a few minutes locking out all ship’s controls, external view, and comms from every ship’s terminal except the one on the bridge and one in his cabin, and set a voice imprint pass code into the system for the deacon and himself. He cued up the ship’s internal monitor system and verified all heat sources on the ship. The deacon was correct. All life signs were accounted for on the ship. No weapons were on board, with the exception of some knives in the galley.

  He received a message from the Undefeated, to head for Barataria. He moved the ship clear of the asteroid field, plugged in the course, and engaged the FTL engines.

  Thorson activated the sensors to warn of any approaching ships and walked to the main salon. The Ascetic Acolyte, First Class moved out of his way as he entered. The two daughters were talking on a couch, but the mother was nowhere in sight. The daughters looked up with apprehension in their eyes.

  Their mother came back into the room, saw him, and said, “So, you are the one that has charge of us?”

  “Yes, my name is Thorson. I will be your captain for the trip to our base. If you cooperate fully, no harm will come to you or your daughters.”

  Mrs. Debran assured him they would be no trouble and invited him to dine with them that evening. He knew he would get no better offer and accepted.

  * * * * *

  James Norman was uncharacteristically nervous. He was normally always prepared, always calm. He was the perfect man described in the old saying, one who could keep his head while all around him lost theirs. He was pretty sure he was about to lose his head.

  Norman was the head of security for Friedrich Debran, of Debran Industries, and he had bad news to relay to his boss. Friedrich Debran was not known for suffering fools lightly and James felt like a fool. He had arranged for four escort ships to accompany Mrs. Debran and her two daughters from Aldebaran to Rigel Station for the Haute Couture Fashion Week. Evidently, the Debran women were informed one of the fashion house’s shows had been moved up on the schedule, and left without their escorts.

  Somewhere between there and here their ship disappeared. As soon as he heard of their departure, he dispatched the escorts to follow their flight path and catch up with them. They cruised all the way to Rigel Station and could find no evidence of the Debran luxury transport. Enquiries at all space stations and spaceports along their flight path were checked, to no avail.

  Norman now had to inform his boss. He had ”handled” people that had displeased this man so he knew full well what he could expect. He wondered which of his operatives would be assigned to “handle” him.

  James Norman paced in Friedrich Debran’s anteroom, until the door opened and Debran’s secretary waved him in. Mr. Debran sat behind his enormous walnut desk. His Chief of Staff, Roger Delphant, sat in one of the side chairs. Norman walked forward until he was three feet away and centered on the desk, the customary position when briefing the boss.

  Norman started as soon as Mr. Debran looked up, “Mr. Debran, I’m afraid I have some bad news to tell you.”

  Debran’s expression didn’t change. “What is it, James?”

  Thankfully, his voice didn’t waiver as he laid out the initial details. “Sir, your wife and daughters’ ship left Aldebaran’s Roper Executive Spaceport at 1137, our time, yesterday, on course for Rigel Station. Although they were aware I had arranged for a four-ship escort, they left without it. Upon learning of their departure without the escort, I dispatched the escorts to pursue and overtake. Although the escorts departed only 30 minutes behind their ship, the escorts were unable to make contact with them. The escorts arrived at Rigel Station, informed me of the situation, and I ordered them back along the flight path to conduct a sector search. The escorts have searched all the way to Aldebaran and have found no trace of the ship.”

  “We have queried every spaceport and station from Aldebaran to beyond Rigel and their ship has not put in. No distress calls have been received. No wreckage has been found. I currently have the escorts making an additional series of wide sweeps along their projected path.”

  “Sir, I have contacted law enforcement and military authorities at Aldebaran, Rigel, and the Fleet. They are coordinating with our escorts so more territory is being search
ed. Approximately 25 ships are currently involved in the search.”

  “I have to conclude, sir, from the total disappearance of the ship and the lack of a distress beacon or debris, that your wife and daughters have been captured by the Marauder Fleet. If so, the chances are good to excellent that you will receive a ransom demand within ten days and have them returned unharmed within ten days of a ransom payment.”

  Throughout the presentation, Mr. Debran sat stoically, calmly hearing all Norman had to present. He was so calm that Norman was made more and more nervous. At the end of his briefing, Norman’s voice was wavering slightly. He stood and waited for Mr. Debran’s reaction.

  “So, my wife and those two slattern daughters of hers chose to leave without their escort. That is so typical of them, so irresponsible. Of course, you should have anticipated that, James.”

  Mr. Debran looked briefly at a pocket terminal on the desk, typed in a short message, and looked back up at Norman.

  “James, you’re fired. I’ll give you eight hours to clear out your things and be off Rigel Prime. If you are found on Rigel Prime after eight hours…Let’s just say you’d best not be here.”

  The outer door opened and Norman’s deputy was shown in.

  “Ah, Kurt, is it?” The man nodded. “Kurt, Mr. Norman no longer works here. You will escort him to his office to let him gather his personal things. He is to take nothing else. He is to use no terminals or communicators while on the premises. See that he is off the premises in thirty minutes. Recover and secure all company property, security badges, computer files, communicators, what have you. Come back here to see me once you have completed this task.”

  “Yes, Mr. Debran.”

  A devastated James Norman was led out. After the door closed, Mr. Debran turned to his chief of staff.

  “Roger, get in touch with those people we used when we had that trouble with the asteroid miners. I have some work for them. I also want the word put out that Mr. Norman’s work has displeased me. I don’t think he is suited for work in the security field. He should find some other line of work. One other thing; the Fleet has to be doing something about these ship disappearances. Find out what they are doing. I want to meet with whoever is in charge of their activities here in sector. Call in any favors. Apply any pressure necessary.”

  “Yes, Mr. Debran.”

  * * * * *

  Kelly returned to the Vigilant late, after dinner with Tammy and Candy. A message was waiting from Commander Timmons, to report first thing next morning. He assumed this had occurred to Timmons after he left the dinner party. Kelly checked for other messages, and seeing none of any importance, went to bed. He noted that Wanda had done an excellent job of sorting through the messages, separating the important from the trivial. Using her as his personal secretary would work just fine. He thought about recommending it for all Scout Force captains.

  The next morning Kelly woke early, went to the dining facility, and ran into Commander Timmons in the mess line.

  “Kelly, come on, let’s sit over here.”

  He picked a table away from the others and Kelly followed him over. They sat down and reviewed again what needed to be done to repair the Vigilant.

  Kelly presented the list of completed repairs. CDR Timmons read through the list as they finished their breakfast, then the two went to the Squadron offices, and into the briefing room.

  “Kelly, I’ve got a mission for you when you come out of the yards.”

  Kelly perked up and paid close attention to his boss.

  “I don’t know if you’ve seen the reports, but we’ve been losing a lot of commercial ships on the Rigel to Aldebaran run. The local authorities and the shipping companies have been sniffing about, but haven’t found anything. Fleet Intel put a Reporting Officer into there a few weeks back. You may know him.”

  “As you know, they have pretty specialized ships with an expansive sensor suite. Alistair saw a fast auto container ship just disappear from his scope.”

  Kelly looked up with a surprised expression. Ships just did not disappear.

  “He followed an ion trail into the Pleiades Star Cluster perimeter, but he lost it when he decided his little ship couldn’t handle the gravimetric stresses in the star field. He asked for a scout ship to pick up where he left off.”

  Kelly did not expect another mission this soon. Chief Miller had estimated two weeks to repair the tail gun nacelle, repair the rear view camera, and replace the rail gun. It had been four weeks and they were still repairing hidden damage. “Boss, when do you want to send me out? I haven’t completed repairs yet.”

  “You’ve got two weeks. We’ve turned up the heat on the yard as of today. The yard boss will be waiting for you when you get back.”

  Kelly whistled. “Two weeks – can I wait for the paint to dry? I’ll do it, Boss, but it’s pushing it. They still have to repair any remaining damage to the hull, replace the damaged rear view camera, and put it all back together – not to mention test it.”

  “I have faith in you, Kelly. If it were easy, I’d have given it to someone else to do. I’ll line up some Intel briefs for you this week.”

  “Thanks, sir, I’ll let you know what I need.”

  Kelly returned to his ship, called in the chiefs, assigned specific tasks and duties he wanted accomplished, and gave them all the information he had. Chief Blankenship reinforced his orders by directing the chiefs to coordinate amongst themselves and assigning specific dates and times to have the tasks completed. They would be very busy for the next two weeks.

  * * * * *

  Thorson and Mrs. Debran became quite close during the weeklong trip to Barataria. He found her to be charming and she found him to be quite gallant for a pirate. He noticed the daughters always found something else to do that required them to retire early to their cabins, leaving him and Julia alone together. Her charms won him over and he resolved to see that they were not harmed or inconvenienced more than they already had been. He was certain, from the way she described her husband’s possessiveness towards her and her daughters, that he would surely pay whatever ransom was demanded.

  Julia had explained earlier that Thorson and his captain had best make sure no harm came to them. Her husband would buy any force needed to find them, hunt them down, and ensure they met a painful, lingering death. He would do this, not because he loved them, but because they were his and what was his was inviolate. Thorson could expect the same response if he had stolen a favored horse or ground car. Julia and her daughters represented something that her husband considered to be a symbol of his success and stature in society.

  Thorson told her that as long as he was alive, nothing bad would happen to her or her daughters. If she was wrong and her husband decided the symbol they represented was not worth the ransom, he would sell everything he owned to purchase the three of them, to keep them out of coarser hands. Mrs. Debran took his drink, placed it on the table, sat in his lap and kissed him.

  * * * * *

  Irina Bugarov gave her deskside annual report briefing to Friedrich Debran. He was somewhat distracted, but was impressed with her spending credits to make credits. Her production improvements were impressive and innovative. He was also impressed with her security officer incentive that resulted in additional work for one of her firms. Debran congratulated himself at choosing such a good chief for his defense subsidiary. He distributed a significant portion of his bonus funds to her account. This was credit she could use for any purpose, including increasing her own salary, if she chose.

  * * * * *

  Russell Obwobwo cautiously crawled through the port dorsal cable and piping access tunnel. He had heard muted explosions and plasma rifle blasts several days earlier. The chief engineer had sent him a coded message to hide and stay hidden, but it had been several days, he’d eaten the last snack bar he’d kept in his tool kit, and hunger was overcoming his caution.

  He crept through the access tunnel as quietly as he could. He figured that whoever had taken over
his ship would be smart enough to read the crew manifest and realize one member was missing. He listened to hear if anyone was moving around the ship near his position and had heard nothing for over a day. He needed to get somewhere he could access a data terminal and find out what was going on. It also wouldn’t hurt if he could find a food replicator.

  * * * * *

  Alistair Bennett read the reply to his request. He was getting the captain he wanted, but not for four weeks. At least Kelly was a known quantity. He wondered how many ships would disappear in that time.

  It would be nice to see Connie again. The two of them had hit it off on their last combined mission. Connie made it abundantly clear that she was interested in him. They both realized that their careers would not let them carry it farther than just enjoying each other’s company when they could be together. That was good enough for now.

  He looked over at Rojo, happily chomping away on some flaked Rigelian moonfish, and prepared his ship for lift off. He plotted a course to where he lost the ion trail and looked for hiding places. There was a large dust and rubble cloud near the path the ion trail had gone. He could sit there until the scout ship arrived. Maybe he’d get lucky.

  “Finish up your fish, Rojo. We’re about to go back to work.”

  In a few hours he received clearance, powered up his ship, and left the Rigel System. Rojo curled up on the command console beside him and went to sleep.

  * * * * *

  The steam from power cleaning the ventilators blew through the kitchen like a white fog. Sally Halstead looked up from her cleaning as her boss, One-Eyed Pete, came into the kitchen of the Ruin View Restaurant, carefully stepping around the roller racks of plates. Pete, true to his name and true to his pirate persona, had an eye patch over his left eye socket. The eye had been burnt out in a welding accident years before, when a piece of molten metal slipped behind his welding goggles. Modern prosthetics existed that could replace his lost eye, but he preferred the patch. He thought it gave him gravitas.