“I need to know what you were doing in engineering, earlier.”
“Studying your ship.”
“Why?”
“So I could better understand the design, why else?”
“So you could steal the design,” grumbled Mutti.
“So I could improve the design,” corrected Jack. He reached over and turned the monitor to face Michel, the Black Widow’s schematics in digital layers displayed in color-coded sections.
Michel leaned forward for a closer look and Steele rolled backward to give him room. “Y’know, Jack, you’re not helping yourself here…”
“How so?”
Michel pointed to a new hull outline where the dimensions and form had been changed, “You’ve changed the shape of the hull… Why?”
“Check the red tab.”
Flipping to a new layer of the plans, a system that didn’t currently exist on the Black Widow had been installed, changing the hull dimensions to make room after shifting the positions of the engines and shield generator. “What the hell is that?”
“A GOD drive. You’re welcome,” replied Jack.
“GOD drive?”
“Gate On Demand…”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” waved Michel. “But how… How do you know what size… the capacity…” He scratched his head, “Or the power needs and…” his voice trailed off. “Damn, I don’t even know where to get them…”
“The size of the drive is relevant to the size of the cubic displacement of the ship,” explained Jack. “I can’t divulge the equation for figuring it out - it’s classified. What I can tell you, is that I can supply you with them - but only for the ships I order.” He pointed to the screen, “On the green tab, I’ve upgraded your power systems and found room to accommodate the power cells for storing the juice needed for the GOD drive…”
Michel straightened up and backed away, his expression changing to suspicion, “The Jack I know could never do this,” he indicated the screen. “You’ve precisely redesigned a ship in hours, after a precursory study without anything more than a MOBIUS at your disposal… it’s not possible. Not even for someone who has the knowledge and expertise…”
“So, you’re on the Synth bandwagon with the Berlin Wall over here…” Steele indicated Mutti.
Michel Thorne rubbed his temples, “Do you have a better explanation, Jack? I mean,” he waved, “did you recently become a ship architect? And a mathematics phenom? Because as I recall, your math skills were rudimentary at best…”
“Hey…” objected Steele.
“C’mon, Jack, it’s not an insult, it’s a reality. The level of math and physics required to do what you did here,” he motioned to the screen full of plans, “is nothing short of miraculous. That work would take my father weeks to do…”
Jack shook his head, “I see things…” He caught Thorne’s shift in expression. “I’m not sure I can thoroughly explain it… I see… numbers, figures… not always,” he explained, “just sometimes. I don’t control it - it just comes to me. I was down in engineering and wandered around looking at everything… then as I was standing there, contemplating everything I’d seen, I wondered if a GOD drive and all the necessary systems would fit. I knew it wouldn’t. But then all these numbers and figures started coming to me and I could see it - how it could, where it would all go. The dimensions, how the hull would look…”
“He’s a Synth,” grumbled the German.
“Hush, Mutti,” waved Thorne. “Go on, Jack.”
“Well it all came so fast, it was confusing at first. But I could see all the systems, the power - like a heartbeat, blood coursing through her veins. It was all so clear. So, I just put everything in how I saw it.,” he indicated the computer screen.
“How do you know you’re right? How do you know it will work?”
“I’m not sure how I know. But it will.”
“You know how this all sounds, don’t you Jack?”
Steele shrugged, “Think how I feel. It’s weird.”
“Do you realize you were frozen in place in engineering?” Jack’s face remained expressionless. “Like you were in a trance. Transfixed. Immoveable…”
“And when he says immoveable,” began Mutti, “he means immoveable. You could not be moved or lifted. We tried.” He flexed his arms, “I should be able to lift you easily... But early Synths were often discovered because of their weight - they weighed considerably more than who they were replacing. New ones are supposed to be lighter, a much closer replacement.” He pointed at Steele, “So when were you made?”
“I’m not a Synth,” countered Steele.
“A Synth would say that.”
Steele rolled his eyes.
“You would not know you were a Synth, Jack,” said Michel. “Most don’t, according to the information we have.”
“But my MOBIUS wouldn’t work if I wasn’t me…”
“A new MOBIUS could be programmed to match a Synth fairly easily,” advised Mutti.
Steele sat back and folded his arms, “Fine. So now what?”
“We need a blood test,” said the German holding up a test kit.
Steele raised an eyebrow and leaned forward eagerly, “That’s all it will take to clear this up? Why didn’t you say so in the first place…”
“Well actually we need a full body scan to be sure,” interrupted Thorne.
Jack sat back, “Then why bother with the blood test at all? Let’s do a scan.”
“Our med bay does not have the equipment…”
Steele swept his hands wide, “What the hell? Then why even bring it up for God’s sake? What are we playing at here? Seriously… you have no answers, you have no solutions, you have no proof, you only have suspicions.”
“We could take bone samples,” offered Mutti. “I just thought of that. I have the equipment for that…”
“Would that be conclusive?” asked Thorne.
“Yes…”
“How many do you need?”
Mutti ticked them off on his fingers, “One from each major limb, two upper ribs and anywhere on the skull. So, seven…”
“How about, no,” countered Jack. “In fact, I’ll go one further than that; fuck no.”
“Something to hide?” prodded the German.
For the first time, Jack rose from his seat, pointing menacingly at Mutti, “How about I stab you through the eye to see if there’s a brain behind it? Maybe you’re the Synth…”
“I wasn’t the one standing in engineering rooted to the deck like a tree,” retorted the German.
Michel intervened, stepping between them, “Alright, that’s enough. Mutti. Out. Leave a sentry at the door. Jack, sit…”
Steele waited until the room was cleared and the door closed, leaving him alone with his fraternal Brother. “What now, Mikie?”
CHAPTER TWO
PERSEUS, ZOSTINAR SYSTEM : INDIAN TERRITORY
“Welcome to Zostinar, Skipper,” announced Ragnaar.
Reegan took a deep even breath as the bright, electric tendrils of the jump gate iris slid off the hull, spilling them out into the system. “Anything on scans?”
“Nothing to report…”
“It looks like Captain Nagol was true to his word,” announced the navigator. “His chart and navigation information appear accurate… So far,” he added as a precautionary measure.
“Good, good… Do we have an update on our damage report?” Reegan asked, flipping through tabs on his right holo-screen. “And did we get all the survey and repair crawlers back inside before the gate?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Good to hear,” mumbled Reegan, not really listening, already scanning through the updated damage report…
::Rearward starboard turret #1 has been damaged beyond our capacity to affect repairs. Having taken heavy damage, it requires a shipyard for replacement or reconstruction.
::Starboard turrets #2 and #3 have received emergency field repairs and are operational, but are not expected to f
unction at one-hundred-percent reliability. External damage is prohibiting a full range of operational travel.
::Benefitting from a total shutdown while in the transition tunnel from, Xian Pi to Zostinar, repair crews have been able to bring the starboard main engine up to sixty-seven-percent of normal power production. Reaching its peak, one-hundred-percent power band, will require a shipyard for external repairs.
::Photo-reactive skin in need of replacement sensors along the starboard side of the hull to restore full function of the ARC - Automatic Reflective Camouflage System. It is expected, our inventory of spare sensors will not be sufficient for the service needed.
::Power has been restored to the GOD drive, it is fully functional.
::A minor electrical fire in a secondary node of the power relay hub was quickly extinguished. All damage has been repaired and all impacted systems are back on line.
::End of damage report.
::Addendum; all torpedo racks have been reloaded from inventory and are ready for action.
Reegan pinched his lower lip in contemplation, having completed the report, staring blankly through the screen at nothing. He blinked away the noise in his mind and keyed the ship’s comm, “Pilots, report to the flight deck. Prepare for launch.” Rising from his seat he turned towards his ready room at the back of the bridge, “All senior officers in my office, five minutes.”
■ ■ ■
Reegan stood, leaning back against the holo-chart table, his legs casually crossed at the ankle, his arms folded across his chest. He glanced around at the faces present in the room, addressing the only senior officers unable to attend; his pilots. “Mr. Braskus, can you and your wingman hear us?”
“Yes, Skipper. Go ahead.”
“Alright, fine.” He paused, looking pensive. “Gentlemen, I am not going to pretend I know how to address this whole situation. Or even where to begin… we are, at a minimum, ten gates from familiar space. We are in very unfamiliar and hostile territory…”
“Why is he here?” interrupted Derrik Brighton, thumbing over to the German Shepherd sitting quietly on the floor next to Ragnaar on the sofa.
Reegan was taken aback, “This is what concerns you? Are you kidding…”
“Because he is smarter than you,” replied Ragnaar slyly, patting Fritz on the head, fixing Brighton with an evil stare. He nodded at Reegan to continue.
“As I was saying,” continued Reegan, “we are in a precarious position which forces us to rely on unproven navigational tools and information. So far, they have proven to be accurate, but we’re a long way from familiar space. Considering our complete cargo dump our resources may be limited…”
“Half dump,” corrected Ragnaar.
Reegan shot him a questioning glance, “What?”
“Half dump, Skipper. We still have half of everything. Including Dust. We told them 25 pounds and that’s what we gave them. We had 50 pounds.”
“How…”
Ragnaar cracked a smile, “I guess the crew really paid attention during the pirating classes Admiral Steele asked me to give.” He ticked off his fingers, “Never tip your hand. Never give up your entire stash. Always cut your hauling claims by at least fifty-percent.” He pointed at Reegan, “You told Nagol what you had, not how much you had. Good thing too.”
“But you told Nagol how much Dust…”
Ragnaar nodded, “I cut it in half, hoping the boys would remember what I taught them.’ He shrugged, “If they didn’t, Nagol would have gotten more, he wouldn’t likely have cared how or why.”
Reegan couldn’t help but grin, “So we out-pirated the pirates…”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” commented Derrik Brighton. “That cruiser that came through the gate at us seemed pretty intent on…”
“Coincidence,” waved Ragnaar, interrupting. “He figured out we had a GOD drive. That’s what he wanted. Sounded like there was a rivalry at Toberus Interstellar as well. I’m guessing we solved that for Captain Nagol. He will likely be appreciative if we ever run into him again.”
“I don’t ever plan on running into him again,” countered Derrik.
“Never say never,” chided Ragnaar.
“I will be looking for everyone’s input and ideas,” said Reegan, steering the conversation back to task. “We have a lot of planning to do; whether we follow the marked trade routes through these sectors, or whether we avoid them. Where or when to exchange the commodities for supplies or services… we can thank Mr. Ragnaar for that option,” he nodded in the big man’s direction. “We will need to decide, if we have the opportunity, whether it is safe or wise to repair the Perseus. We will also need to cover protocols for any encounters. It may be wise to avoid any Toberus ships.”
“What about the FreeRanger escort contract we arranged back at Amanpoor?” asked, Loech Braskus from the cockpit of his P-57. “Aren’t we supposed to be able to call for assistance or use that contract?”
“You won’t see FreeRangers much in Raider territory,” offered Ragnaar. “Privateers mostly. We’re basically, in the worst of neighborhoods… The FreeRangers don’t come to these sectors of space much. In some instances they’re rivals. There’s kind of an uneasy coexistence in areas that overlap. We may see some of that in twenty or so gates. Now, the lines of ownership for some of these sectors change from time to time - sometimes frequently. Many of the Raiders act as clans or tribes - there’s fighting and competition for territory...”
“Just bloody wonderful,” snarked Derrik. “This is a friggin’ nightmare.”
“What’s the best way,” asked the First Mate, ignoring Brighton’s comments, “to deal with encounters, then?”
Ragnaar ran his hand over his smooth-shaven head, his brow furrowed, distorting the tattoo that covered the right side of his face. “If I had to say one thing… I’d have to say boldness. Boldness in the way we conduct ourselves, boldness of action. Ruthlessness. Take no pity, give no quarter…”
Derrik threw up his hands in exasperation, “What the bloody hell does that even...”
In a blink, the big man was on his feet, charging the GIS Agent, Galactic Intelligence Service, like a freight train, massive arms outstretched for a grab, lifting him off his feet by the neck and a handful of clothing, slamming him against the far wall of the office, pinning him a foot off the floor. “Boldness of action” he breathed. “Ruthless without pity or quarter,” he growled through clenched teeth, squeezing his grip ever so slightly.
“Lieutenant!” bellowed Reegan, snapping out of his amazement.
Unmoved, Ragnaar opened his hands, letting Brighton drop to the deck, staring at him with intense, golden, lion’s eyes. “Clear enough?” he whispered, before backing away. Only when it was clear Derrik was stunned into inaction did he turn his back and return silently to his place on the sofa.
Derrik Brighton recovered quickly, attempting to casually wave it off, “A simple explanation would have sufficed, mate…”
Ragnaar’s golden eyes narrowed, “There will be no time for contemplation. Second guessing will get us killed…”
“Then what is your recommendation, Lieutenant?” interrupted Reegan.
“Deploy turrets. Run with them exposed. We gain nothing by hiding our strength. In fact, it will encourage confrontation. There is an old saying where I come from; Beware the old man with the sabre that rattles in its scabbard…”
Brighton made a face of derision, his hands thrown wide, “Because it’s old and rusty?”
Ragnaar’s attitude darkened, “Because it is worn from use,” he said slowly. “I did not realize I would have to translate for an imbecile,” he grumbled.
In his peripheral vision, Reegan caught Brighton formulating a response, “No! Not a word from you,” he pointed. “I’ve had just about all I’m going to take of your disruptive bullshit…” He turned back to Ragnaar, “Continue, Lieutenant.”
“This is not civilized space. This isn’t even the FreeRanger’s twisted version of civilized space.
Think of it as anarchy space. There are no laws other than the ones the clans and groups make up for themselves. If you look like easy pickings, or an outsider, you get ganked…”
“Sounds like you speak from experience,” observed Derrik.
“Someone who hides behind the mask of alternate personalities, Mr. Brithauz,” replied Ragnaar, sarcastically using the spy’s real name, “shouldn’t judge.” He reached over and scratched Fritz behind the ears, “Yes, I’m familiar with sectors like this… Not specifically this sector, but ones like it. When it’s nearly every man for himself, there is no such thing as acceptable losses. Few out here can afford to lose… they will not chance an encounter that could spell their end…”
“What about the clans?” asked Loech Braskus, his voice coming in over the open comm.
“If they are deployed together, confrontation is more likely… but they are very competitive, there can be a lot of infighting. Many clans operate like a royal caste,” replied Ragnaar. “And they can be ruthless. The good ones… or should I say, the more survivable ones, run more like a corporate structure.”
“Like Toberus Interstellar Investments?” asked Loech Braskus.
“Possibly,” acknowledged Ragnaar. “But not having been exposed to their inner workings, we can’t be sure. There are hybrids that combine various facets of the two styles… That’s where I came from.”
Derrik Brighton leaned back against the holo-chart table and folded his arms across his chest, “Do enlighten us…”
Ragnaar shook his head dismissively, “Understand, Mr. Spy, not all pirates are evil, heartless, bloodthirsty, animals. Yes, some of us have gravitated to it for its inherent violence. Some as a matter of survival. And yet, others were born into it… I was born into it.” He saw a change of expression in Derrik’s face. “Yes, I know it’s hard to believe, there are actually children in this twisted version of society. But there it is. And no, I won’t discuss my parental lineage with you. Because the first disparaging comment uttered from your mouth…”
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