Relief at seeing Rose unhurt spread through his veins like ice water, calming him. Usually a First Tier soldier like himself went into combat nerveless, but she was a civilian, and his fear tonight was all for her.
Charlie assessed the odds. Couple of dying terrorists, one Kumisarc exec down, one dancer bleeding out. Eight hostages, including Rose. Five bad guys, bunched in the room like the amateurs they were, weapons trained on their prisoners.
“All right, I’ve transmitted the ransom demand as you dictated it, Mr. Cade.” The bigwig sitting with Rose was talking as nonchalantly as if he was discussing the terms of an everyday deal. That had to be Kumisarc, Charlie decided as the man kept mouthing platitudes. “Now we wait.”
“Yeah, we ain’t waiting here,” said the young tough who seemed to be in charge. “I’m thinking we go for a ride in your sweet ship docked in bay twelve. Rogers over there pilots ore freighters for a living, so I’m sure he can figure out how to make nice with your AI, take us somewhere off the grid. Once we get our payoff, we’ll set you on the nearest planet, and you can get home from there.” He rubbed his chin. “We’ll keep the yacht.”
Idiots. Sectors Star Guard would blast them out of the sky as soon as the hostages were set free. Charlie shook his head. This whole plan was shaky, cobbled together. And his Rose was stuck in the middle of it. Time to be done with this foolishness.
But before he could rise, the ringleader grabbed Rose by the wrist, making her cry out with pain, and hauled her roughly away from Kumisarc. “You’re going to pay for screwing me over, getting me thrown out of the Casino because I tried to be nice to you.”
“Tried to assault me in the dressing room, you mean.” She drove her spiked heel into his foot, barely making a dent in his sturdy spaceboot but causing him to jerk sideways. She grabbed a knife from the table and stabbed backwards with all her strength, slicing the blade into Cade’s side. Cursing, he threw her to the deck before pressing his hand to his wound. “Bitch!” Walking toward her as she tried to get to her feet, he aimed his weapon.
Charlie rose in one smooth motion, drilling Cade through the head with a bolt from his blaster before pivoting to take out the other four terrorists. He vaulted the bar and ran to kneel beside Rose. “Are you hurt?”
“I—I’m fine, twisted my ankle. Thank the Lords you came.” She clung to him.
Keeping his blaster loosely pointed at Kumisarc and the others, Charlie said, “I’m Special Forces Sergeant McBrire, retired. If someone could let the Station Security guards in—”
“I’m not trusting them or anyone who works on this Station.” Kumisarc gestured at one of his surviving employees. “Call the ship, get the crew here now. Tell the captain to issue a distress call to the Star Guard. This place is going to pay for allowing those lowlifes to make a kidnap grab on me.” His voice was low and steely.
Charlie picked Rose off the deck and carefully deposited her in the nearest chair.
“You’ll find I’m grateful for your prompt and efficient rescue, sergeant,” Kumisarc said as he poured himself fresh wine. “Name your price.”
Charlie took a moment to stare at him in cold disbelief. “I didn’t rescue you, I rescued her. You’re incidental to me.” Making an ice pack out of some napkins and ice from the serving bowl on the table, he gave Rose the neatly tied sack for her rapidly swelling ankle.
“Well then.” Raising the glass in Charlie’s direction, the billionaire laughed. “I’m getting off cheap.”
“Not so fast.” Still holding his blaster, Charlie moved to stand over the man. “Since you owe Miss Caludi your life, I want you to cancel the remaining three years of her contract and pay her three years’ salary right now, no deductions, no charges for living expenses. And then—” He pointed to the Casino Manager, “I want her transfer clearance because she’s going with me, and I’m leaving on the freighter docking now on Level C. That’s my ride, our ride.”
Kumisarc blinked. He looked at Rose, who was sitting wide eyed. She nodded.
After sipping at the wine, the tycoon set the glass down with precision and laid his hands flat on the table. “Just a moment, soldier. I’m appreciative of your expertise in resolving the hostage situation but that in no way nullifies a legal agreement between me and one of my employees.” Eyes narrowed, he pointed at Rose. “This woman is a valuable corporate asset. I have need of her professional services to fill a vacancy on my own ship.”
Unimpressed, Charlie shrugged. “Get someone else.” He eyed his opponent. “Everyone’s replaceable to a man like you. Rose isn’t just a corporate asset to me.”
The two men stared at each other for a moment, apparently at a standstill until Charlie suddenly threw back his head and laughed. “All right, you know what? Someone like you, generational billionaire, entitled, got it all—how about I add a sweetener to the deal just for you?”
“What do you mean?” Kumisarc leaned back in the chair, swirling the wine in its glass. “What can you possibly offer me that I don’t already have?”
Waving one hand at the sprawled corpses and the scorched casino furnishings, Charlie said, “You can be the hero here, spin it any way you want, and neither Rose nor I’ll ever say differently. Sure, you took on the rabble singlehandedly, saved the situation. Kumisarc—interstellar badass and hero. The Sectors media will fall all over themselves for a story like that, you know they will.” He shot a glance at the managers and hangers-on seated at the table. “This lot’ll never contradict you. They know where their credits come from. Who’s to say what publicity like that is worth to an ambitious man like you?”
Kumisarc blinked. “I like the way you think. Too bad you don’t need a job, soldier.” Spine straight, cheeks flushed, he turned on his subordinates. “The man’s right, that’s what happened here. I singlehandedly put down the revolt. You’re all going to testify to that, aren’t you?”
As if they’d been hypnotized, the men nodded.
“Good. Your year-end bonuses going forward will reflect my continued appreciation of your discretion.” Patting his lips with the napkin, the tycoon seemed content. “We have a deal, sergeant. I assume deposit of the funds you requested on behalf of Miss Caludi to an account based in New Switzerland will be acceptable?” He gestured to his lackey. “Get this done before the soldier forgets who his enemies were.”
Charlie returned to Rose. “You good with this?” he asked, low voiced. “I got a call earlier, that my ship made up the lost time, was arriving here ahead of schedule.”
For answer she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. “Do we have time to stop by my quarters? There are a few things I’d like to keep. And I need to send a forwarding address to my gramma’s nursing home administrator.”
“Yeah, I gotta retrieve my duffle anyway. But we won’t be lingering.”
“Nothing to linger for,” she whispered, stroking his cheek. “Everything I need is right here in front of me.”
Veronica’s Note: Last Thanksgiving I was intrigued by an idea I had for a special dinner aboard the Nebula Zephyr and put this story on my blog. I thought it might be nice to include in this volume as an extra, in case you hadn’t seen it before. I enjoyed having an opportunity for my crew to interact under nonstressful circumstances and to think about how the traditional dinner might change in the far future.
STAR CRUISE: THANKSGIVING
Chef Stephanie leaned back in her desk chair on board the Nebula Zephyr and stretched. Finally a quiet afternoon, now that the last gourmet tour group had departed the ship. Of course there were still thousands of passengers who needed to be fed, but her next group of foodies wouldn’t arrive for a week. Plenty of time to test a few new recipes and plan intricate tasting menus. Today maybe she could finally spare a second to get to the bottom of the inventory mystery— why were they carrying pounds of flour and sugar beyond what was required?
And who had ordered solidified vegetable shortening of all things? “Who cooks with that antiquated substance?” She looked at
the records on her AI but the name of the requisitioner was missing. She raised her eyebrows at the cost of the small quantity of the rare ingredient.
“I have a healthy budget but not generous to this extent,” she said, doing a doubletake.
The com pinged. “Yes?”
The caller was Owen Embersson, the ship’s cargo master and from the look of his stern face in the vid, he was pretty upset about something.
“You and I need to talk,” he said, his voice deep and raspy. “Now.”
“Of course—”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to come to Cargo Deck A. Better bring someone to help you.”
“With what? What is that noise in the background?” She wondered if it was static on the com link, an oddly garbled noise like the call of an animal. “Is it your cat? Is she ok?”
“Moby’s fine. Your cargo may not be if you don’t get here in the next few minutes.” He signed off as the sound grew louder.
I didn’t order any special cargo. Annoyed but intrigued, she went in search of Richard, her Sous Chef de Cuisine. He denied all knowledge of any special deliveries but readily accompanied her through the ship to the cargo bay on deck seven.
As she stepped from the gravlift, her ears were assaulted by the loud animal noise, coming from multiple throats. There were feathers on the deck and a strange smell. Richard yanked her backward by the elbow as a large avian creature with a truly astounding fantail of brown and gray feathers ran by, squawking loudly, chased by both Moby and Midorri, the ship’s pets. Two of Owen’s crew were apparently trying to herd the creature into an empty crate, while the rest of the day shift stood by and laughed.
“Took you long enough,” Owen said. Fists on his hips, jaw clenched, he stared at the chaos on his deck caused by the still-fleeing bird. “You know you’re not allowed to bring livestock on board this ship without advance warning and proper documentation. What the seven hells were you thinking? My guys opened the crate and these things burst out. We’ve managed to chase down three of them but this last one is wily.”
Stephanie stifled a laugh, positive that showing her amusement at the unfolding situation would send the cargo master into a tirade. “I sympathize but I certainly didn’t order them.”
“You certainly did.” He handed her an AI, with the bill of lading displayed. Her name was in the authorizing party and the deliver to boxes.
Tilting the AI to show her sous chef, who raised his eyebrows, she shook her head. “Something is very wrong here.”
Owen moved faster than she’d ever seen him do before and grabbed the huge bird as it circled around the deck again. Caging the creature in his arms, he strode toward the livestock crate while his crew applauded. “Tell me about it,” he said over his shoulder.
There was a ping in her ear and Stephanie heard Maeve, the ship’s AI, using the channel only for senior officers.
“I can explain the situation to you and the Cargo Master,” she said in her usual cool tones.
Stephanie glanced at Owen, who’d handed his captive off to two crew members, and saw he was obviously receiving the same message.
“Not here,” Maeve went on. “In the kitchen. You’re needed there.”
“I have too much to do to take time off for a tour of the moon damned kitchen.” Owen’s voice was a roar as he brushed feathers from his uniform. “Do I look like a health inspector to you? Did someone assign me extra duties and forget to tell me?”
“This is essential or I wouldn’t make the request,” Maeve said, unfazed.
Stephanie held her breath, afraid to utter a sound.
Owen tilted his head and shut his eyes for a moment. “Essential.”
“Yes, Cargo Master.”
He called to his second in command. “You’re in charge. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Stephanie and Richard made their way to the kitchen, with the brooding bulk of the unhappy cargo master right behind. There was a small cluster of crew members waiting at the entrance to the food preparation area. They turned as Stephanie approached and she saw most were carrying odd parcels or items.
Owen sped up and cut around her, stepping to the side of his mate, Tyrelle, the ship’s special hydroponics officer. She was juggling several orange vegetables that looked large enough to be sentient. “What are you doing here?” he asked, taking the two most unwieldy items from her and bending to kiss her cheek.
“I brought the chef her pumpkins,” Tyrelle said. “I’ve been nurturing them especially, so they’d be ripe on this date.”
Has everyone on this ship gone mad today? Stephanie put a hand to her head. “I don’t even know what those are, much less did I request you to grow them.”
Tyrelle frowned. “But yes, you did. You put through a special written order and the packet of seeds—such odd flat seeds—was delivered to me a month ago. It required much energy from me and special nutrients to bring the vines and the flowers and then the pumpkins themselves to maturity so rapidly. I believe they must normally use a hundred or more of your standard days to become ready for consumption.”
“Either I’m losing my mind or someone is playing a practical joke,” Stephanie said, running her fingers through her hair and then rubbing her left temple, where a headache was growing. “Do the rest of you have odd food for me as well?”
There was a chorus of agreement. Meg Thomsill raised her voice. “Actually I have the rare spices you requested. My father had to jump through some serious hoops to get the one called cinnamon. He’ll be billing the ship for the effort and cost, no way around it.”
“No more hoops than I had to go through to persuade the elders on my planet to part with three pints of cranberries. Those are sacred on our world,” said Quint, the shuttle pilot. “They came with the First Ship settlers, when the colony was founded centuries ago. They don’t grow much of anywhere else. It’s a good thing I like you so much, chef. But I’ll be calling in a large favor for this.”
“If you would all please move into the small conference room,” Maeve said, projecting her voice through the AI ganglions located in every corner of the cruise ship. “I can explain.”
“What in the seven hells is going on here?” Chief security officer Jake Dilon arrived on the scene, Dr. Emily Shane right behind him.
“Don’t tell me—you brought me some delicacy too.” Stephanie sighed.
He raised the package clutched in his left hand. “Dried Azrigone venison strips, the finest quality the Varone family supplies, usually to generational billionaires, not cruise ship galleys. Mike Varone and I go way back, were in hell week during Special Forces advanced training together so I was able to sweet talk him into sending me some for quarter price, plus shipping. Even with the discount, the credits mounted up.”
“Conference room!” Maeve’s voice was sharp.
Stephanie took her place at the head of the table since the meeting was occurring in her domain. Richard took the seat to her right and the other crew members settled themselves, setting their bottles, packages and boxes on the highly polished Zulairian mahogany table.
Stephanie knocked on the wood. “Can we have quiet, please? First of all, I did not order any of these rare and expensive foodstuffs.” She raised her hand for silence as there was immediate protest.
The AI ganglion emitted a sharp whistle. “Chef Stephanie is right. I used her name to request everything you’ve brought.”
There was a moment of silence. “Why would you do that?” Stephanie asked.
“I wish to recreate the holiday of Thanksgiving as a surprise for Captain Fleming.”
A little ripple of shrugs and puzzled looks around the table.
“I think I’ve heard of it,” Meg said. “In the ancient history books. Some kind of celebration on old Terra?”
“Why would the captain care about that?” asked Owen.
“Captain Fleming is from an Original Colony,” the AI said. “The colonists brought many traditions and celebrations with them from the terrestrial
home world, which are still celebrated even now, millennia later. I have prepared the menu and supplied recipes for the required dishes. They’ve been downloaded to your AI, Chef.”
She pulled out her personal AI and her sous chef peered over her shoulder as she read. “Turkey, stuffing, rolls, corn, pemmican, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie. The list goes on.” Her voice trailed off and she flicked to the recipes. “How old were the documents you scanned? These instructions and ingredients are obscure, to say the least.”
Richard pointed. “Look, you need shortening for the pie crust. I guess now we know why we have a brick of it in stores.”
“Are those things in my cargo hold turkeys?” Owen asked, brow furrowed.
“Live turkeys?” Meg choked back a laugh. “Those’ll be hard to cook.”
“They are the closest living relatives to the terrestrial turkey, yes. I was unclear on the instructions for cooking but the record I chose began with instructions for handling the live turkeys of a certain size.” Maeve sounded stubborn.
“What’s pemmican?” asked someone.
Jake pushed his sealed packet to the center of the table. “It’s a form of venison.”
“I went to the oldest original source recipes I could find, in order to ensure the thoroughness and rigor of my research was complete,” Maeve said.
“It would be an exciting culinary challenge,” Stephanie said to Richard. “Recreating an ancient meal.”
“I can bless these turkeys for you and give them an honorable and painless death,” Tyrelle offered.
Jake raised a hand and the conversation stopped. “Captain Fleming is one of the most private men I ever met and the least likely to appreciate a surprise of any kind, let alone one relating to his home planet and costing the Nebula Zephyr thousands of credits. Why are we doing this, Maeve?”
Before the AI could answer, Stephanie spoke up. “We could make a trideo of the preparation process, put together a documentary special, if I could have some help from the social media staff person. Depending on whether we had leftovers, we could offer it as a special, one time only event on the next leg of the cruise. We are renowned for our cuisine.” Thanks to my efforts. “Recoup at least some of the costs, charge it to the business. The Purser would approve.”
Star Cruise: Stowaway Plus Rescue and Token Page 15