5
“Current status, Ms. McInerny?”
“Freighter holding station at one mile off our port bow,” the scan tech responded without hesitation. “No sign of activity in or out of the system beyond local motion around Outpost Station.”
“How far are we from the station, Mr. Hellespont?”
“Just crossing to within one AU, Captain.”
Sydney nodded once and rose from her command chair. “Very good. Mr. Rieger — ?”
“Station is responding even as we speak,” the comm tech acknowledged.
Sydney repressed a smile of pleasure at how good her crew was getting at anticipating her commands; it usually took crews a lot longer than this group had been together to work quite as efficiently. She hoped that it augured well for the success of her first command. “In my office once you have the manager available, Mr. Rieger,” she said as she rose to head in the direction of that retreat. “Mr. Garvey, you have the conn.”
“Conn, aye, Captain,” Garvey replied, lifting his eyes to give the command center a quick scan before resuming a conference on Morrigan’s damaged hull with Hailey Kristoff.
Confident the bridge was in good hands Sydney quickly covered the remaining distance to her command office, located down a short corridor aft of the bridge. She entered the space with a renewed sense of satisfaction. It wasn’t large, of course — space was always at a premium on a vessel of Morrigan’s size — but it was hers, a symbol of her authority on the ship as well as a retreat where she could close herself off from the crew to research, to contemplate ... to mull decisions which could at times mean life or death. A port hole adorned the far wall of the room, one of the few actual viewports that Morrigan possessed; in front of that, facing the hatchway entrance, was Sydney’s small but efficient desk. Despite the standard, dull TSM gray of the walls she could almost make herself believe that she was where she had always wanted to be.
Which was why she had mounted a small, framed photograph of her previous ship, the TSM Tecumseh, on the bulkhead next to the hatch — a reminder of the true state of her career.
Dismissing thoughts of anything but the present she rounded the desk and punched the button which connected her to bridge communications. “Station to my terminal at your convenience, Mr. Rieger.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” came Rieger’s voice, even as her terminal came alive. “The call is live, but the Station manager will be a few moments, yet.”
“Thank you.”
It was nearly a minute before a balding, middle-aged man appeared on her desktop terminal, glaring dolefully at her. Before she could even draw a breath to introduce herself the man snapped, “About damn time. We noted your weapons fire almost six hours ago. You dawdling on purpose or just taking the scenic route?”
Sydney clamped her mouth shut on the first comment which sprang into her mind, though she did feel her nostrils flare slightly as her temper flashed to easily match the station manager’s display of ire. To gain a moment she limited herself to asking, “Station Manager Rudolph, I presume?”
“Of course,” he snapped. “Who —”
“Manager Rudolph,” Sydney cut him off, “I am Captain Sydney Chambers, in command of the Terran Space Military cruiser Cahan Morrigan. As you noted, we have arrived in the Cygni-C system. That weapons fire you observed was aimed at a group of pirates we happened on as they attempted to ransack a local freighter. We are currently engaged in escorting the freighter to Outpost Station.” She paused for a breath before adding, “I do apologize if our attention to duty has put a crimp in your schedule.”
Rudolph closed his eyes and breathed several times before visibly calming, then re-opening his eyes to regard Sydney through the comm link. “My apologies, Captain. While we’ve been plagued with increasing pirate activity for over three years now, this is only the second time that they’ve actually attacked here at Cyg C.” He drew another breath, then nodded once. “Of course you were only doing what you had to.”
“And we have only now come within one AU and hailing range, Mr. Rudolph. I wish that I could have appraised you of the attack sooner.”
“One AU?” Rudolph chuckled, apparently having calmed enough to find the comment humorous. “The 16 Cygni system may be a bit of a backwater, Captain, but Outpost Station is near state-of-the-art tech wise. Our station-based comm easily handles an AU-and-a-half without light-lag.” He added a smile. “Just for future reference.”
Sydney found herself oddly relieved at the manager’s change of mood. “So noted.”
“So now that you’re here, how many ships have you brought with you? I specified how many we needed, and I do hope that our TSM masters have been generous....” His voice trailed off at the frown that immediately etched itself on Sydney’s face.
“Manager Rudolph, your request was for assistance in dealing with a few pirates.” Morrigan’s captain couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice. “How many ships do you think that should take?”
“I asked for a squadron,” Rudolph replied testily. “Knowing command’s stinginess with hardware, though, I did allow that we could probably get by with one or two for each of our three star systems.”
Sydney found herself suddenly amused at Rudolph’s optimism. “So you’re expecting, what? Three ships? Six?”
“Something like that, yes.”
Sydney found herself staring at the earnest face of the station manager, a brief wave of irritation passing through her before she realized that a civilian such as Rudolph — even as a Confederate bureaucrat — could have no idea how TSM command viewed the 16 Cygni system. Schooling her face to as bland a look as possible she said, “Central Command sees the issue a bit differently, Manager Rudolph. Morrigan is what you get.”
“Wha —” Rudolph was actually sputtering for a moment, unable to speak. “One ship? One? 16 Cygni is a trinary system, Captain Chambers. That’s three complete star systems all wrapped up in one not-so-happy package. Almost three-and-a-half million cubic AU!” Sydney noted that his face had turned an alarming shade of red and was glad when the man paused for a breath. “What can one ship do against that?”
Sydney tried not to sound as offended as she felt. “One ship is capable of a lot more than you might imagine, Manager Rudolph. Admittedly, one ship cannot simultaneously be in all three sub-systems. But a thorough, slow, methodical, approach can, over the course of the next few months, bring the pirate beast to heel. Or so Central Command has assured me.
“Now, sir, that being said — let me be frank with you. To a certain extent I share your sense that Central Command tends to, ah … underestimate problems on occasion.” Sydney watched for a long moment as the face of the man on her desktop screen changed from stunned to outraged to thoughtful. When she estimated that he was again in an emotional state to consider reason she continued, “I would add that, while I may see the logic of your argument, I can only follow the orders that I am given, with the resources that I have. So. Now that I’m here, why don’t you bring me up to speed on your estimation of the scope of the problem?”
Rather than the thoughtful response Sydney had hoped for Rudolph began to laugh, a laugh which grew until he seemed to be almost hysterical. “The scope ... of the problem,” he finally managed to gasp out, then panted for a long moment as he obviously fought to regain his composure. “The scope of the problem? The problem is as big as I said the whole damn system is, Captain! There are pirates at Cyg-A. There are pirates at Cyg-B, and now you tell me that you’ve found them attacking shipping even here at Cyg-C. There are pirates bloody everywhere lately, out-thinking us, out-maneuvering us, out-fighting us —”
“Three ships,” Sydney interrupted the manager’s rant, “one large ship and two small scouts, are hardly indicative of the size of the problem, Director. Which is why I am asking for any and all intelligence you may have acquired regarding the strength of the pirate fleets.” She paused a beat before adding, “Just as an aside, we’d appreciate any help you can give us
on identifying the markings on those ships so we’ll have a better idea which group they belonged to.”
Rudolph’s eyes flashed. “Belonged? As in, you blew them out of the sky?”
Sydney felt a taste of disquiet at the manager’s question. “No we did not ‘blow them out of the sky,’ though we did run them off. Our first priority is stopping pirate activity, of course, but a close second is gathering information — and that means taking prisoners. We did manage to secure captives from the group already on the freighter, but the more we can get the more we will learn.”
“Huh.” Rudolph drew a deep breath, then remained in silent thought for a moment. “I do wish that you’d blasted them, but still — your point about reeling in some creeps to question has merit. Well. Sorry if I sounded a bit nuts here a moment ago. I’ve been up to my neck in dealing with pirates for so long that I sometimes have trouble maintaining perspective. I’ll be happy to look at the ship markings you saw, Captain, and give you a complete briefing on the situation face to face, once you’re docked.”
“Thank you,” Sydney said. “I look forward to it. Morrigan out.”
She had no sooner blanked her terminal than there was a knock at her doorway. “Captain?” When she looked up, she found Marine Sgt. Saans looking at her from just inside the hatch.
“Gunny,” the captain said with a smile. “Again, good work today. So what did the merchants have to say for themselves? You said they holed up in a safe room. That sounds a bit odd to me.”
“To me as well, Captain,” the sergeant began, “until they explained what’s going on. Safe rooms have apparently become SOP across the Cyg systems because it keeps ship personnel insulated from forced recruitment into the pirate ranks. Apparently that was a big problem until some of them developed the scheme a couple of years back — lock everything down so the bastards can’t make off with ship or crew but otherwise let ’em have whatever they want. Their captain says that killings and dragoonings are ’way down since most local merchants took to the tactic.”
“Huh.” Sydney thought it over and decided there was a certain rough logic to the idea. “Sound enough tactic, I suppose, if they’re willing to sacrifice profit for security. It does say a lot about the scope of the piracy problem here.” Suddenly pensive, Sydney stood and turned to gaze out of her porthole at the freighter riding a silent half mile off Morrigan’s bow. “The merchant say anything else that might help us get a handle on just how big our job might be?”
“Only that the pirates have been getting more and more brazen over the past year or so,” Saans told her. “He was pretty emphatic, though, about how rare it is to see attacks here in Cyg-C space.”
“Terrific.” Sydney grimaced as she stared out into the blackness. “It can’t be a coincidence that it happened just as we were scheduled to arrive. Someone has to have a line into TSM postings. Well, we didn’t come here for a vacation, did we? That’s all for now, Sergeant. Make sure your report gets to my desk as soon as your lieutenant signs off on it.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” Sydney continued to stare into space until another polite knock and a cleared throat demanded her attention.
“Ah, Captain?”
Morrigan’s executive officer was just outside her door when she turned from the port. “Ah? Oh, come in, XO.”
Garvey took one step through the hatch. “We’re inside of two hours from docking at Outpost Station, Captain. Should be on final approach in about ninety minutes.”
“Fine.” Sydney grimaced again, then took a moment to sit back at her desk before continuing. “I’m scheduled for a face-to-face with the station manager as soon after we dock as I can get to his office. Going to be just loads of fun. Anyway, that means I’ll be tied up for a good while, and we need to get on top of those repairs that Morrigan needs.”
“Understood. I’ve just spent half an hour with Lieutenant Kristoff working up a full list of what we need.”
“Good,” the captain acknowledged. “Stay on top of it. Use Kristoff and anyone else you need to track down a repair facility, or at least a parts depot. Despite Manager Rudolph’s glowing claim that Outpost Station is on the cutting edge of technology, I tend to doubt that they have a repair dock that can handle our needs.”
“No, Ma’am,” Garvey agreed, “it does not, at least not on the record. I’ll see what the locals can direct us to. From the number of ships registered to one Cygni planet or the other, there’s got to be some sort of dock facility somewhere in the three-system area.”
“I agree.” Sydney flicked on her terminal once more, and took a moment to pull up the same exterior shots of the hull that Garvey had been studying earlier. “Huh. Well, at least the damage isn’t debilitating. We can still do pretty much anything we have to, even if we are a bit low on sheet metal.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
The captain sighed. “Not an auspicious way to start a new posting. Still, it is what it is. Advise me when we’re docked.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Sydney stared at the images of hull damage a while longer before again shutting the terminal off, and shaking her head in disgust. “Not an auspicious start at all,” she muttered.
CHAPTER TWO
1
Cami Frye stood as still as she was able, nervously observing the docking procedures underway at Outpost Station’s largest pier. It wasn’t the first time she’d been present for a berthing; no one resident on Outpost Station for more than a few weeks could avoid witnessing an arrival or a departure at least once. It was, however, the first time that Cami had been the official station delegate for such an event, and barely six weeks after signing her enlistment papers — two weeks after receiving her lieutenant’s commission — it was also her first official act as a member of the Outpost Station Security.
Not that watching a ship dock was, of itself, that much of a thrill. Being assigned to greet that ship’s captain, though — the first Terran Space Military representative to ever be assigned to 16 Cygni and Outpost Station — and then escort said luminary to the office of the station manager … well, that was another matter. Cami felt her armpits dampening despite the cool dockside temperature, and redoubled her effort to remain calm as the booms and crashes of the docking procedure continued.
In front of her, the dock’s main ramp swarmed with dock workers performing final checks on the mechanical aspects of attaching a vessel to Outpost Station: clamps, air and power connections, and integrity checks all had to be accomplished before the oversized, space-tight portal centered on the ramp could be allowed to open. Banks of lights arrayed on panels flanking either side of the portal slowly progressed from red, to amber, to green under the watchful eyes of the dockhands. Only once the final beacon had gone green and been triple-checked by three different sets of observers did one worker, the senior chief of this particular dock crew, step toward the space-tight port itself.
His throw of a single switch seemed almost anticlimactic after all the bustle. With a loud pop the portal’s seal released and the hydraulic arms began to slowly swing open the hatch.
It was another minute after the hatch was fully opened before Cami could see any activity in the ship corridor that was now revealed to station-side watchers. That no one appeared immediately didn’t surprise her; she had vague memories of people aboard a ship performing duties similar to those the dockside workers had performed, from the one time she’s been aboard a space vessel. The fact that she’d been only five at the time rendered aspects of the memories crystalline despite the overall haziness of her younger years.
Presently a second hatch opened at the far end of the shipside corridor and two soldiers — TSM marines, Cami noted from the cut of their uniforms — proceeded to take up guard stations immediately outside the ship’s hatch. They were followed by what had to be a ship’s officer, who had brief words with the docking chief then turned back to the corridor.
“Marine guard to ramp,” he called. Two more soldier types exited the ship and swiftly mov
ed to stations at the foot of the ramp, not more than five yards from where Cami waited. She felt more than saw them note her presence, but neither gave her a glance, nor seemed disturbed at the presence of someone in station security attire. Cami found herself both impressed and slightly intimidated by the pair. She quickly returned her attention to the top of the ramp, though, as the officer there called once again into the corridor behind him.
“Secured for debarkation, Captain.”
No sooner were the words out than an imposing woman appeared from within the ship — clearly the captain, Cami decided, from not only the other officer’s words but the deference he paid her. Besides, the young lieutenant decided, her appearance alone was sufficient to command respect. While of only average height — she stood several inches shorter than the first officer who had appeared — the captain was immaculate in TSM dress whites. A short, though stylish, cut of blonde hair framed a square-cut face, highlighted by eyes of a startling blue ... eyes that crackled with both intelligence and authority, visible even from Cami’s vantage point several yards away. The woman took a moment to cast those eyes around the dock before placing one foot onto the station ramp, seeming to assume ownership of all within her gaze as she nodded once and stepped fully outside of her own domain.
“Very well, XO,” she said, her light alto giving full confirmation of her command status. “You have the ship. No one leaves unless they’re acquiring parts or ship’s stores — no telling yet just how long this port call will last. I have a comm with me if need arises.”
“Of course, Captain,” the XO — Executive Officer, Cami translated to herself — replied in clear deference. “Any suggestion how long your meeting will last?”
“Not a clue.” Cami caught a slight grimace on the woman’s features. “I got the impression that Manager Rudolph is somewhat ... stressed. We’ll just have to see.”
Sydney Chambers Page 3