by Jim Rudnick
“Mel, you’re gonna love being rich, just you wait and see. Now let’s go over the game plan one more time, okay? We pulled him then outta the Amateur class and got a bye into the Pro Class as that’s the rules … never mind no one ever had claimed for same before. We get grandfathered in! And Junior will win,” Billy said, his voice now as low as could be. No sense letting any of these other Navy losers in on this, he thought. He almost smiled, as Mel ran through the details of Junior’s pickup on Neria itself and how the plan was to work
CHAPTER FOUR
Four days later, after negotiating with the Port Authority on their departure and using InertialDrive to move out to past high-orbit and into the position to turn on their TachyonDrive and move toward the planet Conclusion, the Marwick was now space-worthy. At least, she’d been okayed by the contractors and signed off by both Tanner and the admiral eventually, he knew. The fact that their force-field generators were still not up to 100 percent nor it seemed was the turbo-lift operating at full efficiency, he still took her out only a day late, which in the larger scope of things wasn’t bad, he knew from experience.
He had used the time, from early morning to late at night, to look over the installation and implementation of each and every piece of equipment supplied. He asked pointed questions and made demands that would have made any mother-in-law proud and had generally been a royal pain to the contractor and their project management people. But they had responded by upgrading some of the electronics and moving not-the-latest-model equipment out and installing the best in port. He’d blithely signed for the equipment knowing that the admiral would be presented with the bill for same but also knowing they’d be underway before the paperwork ever caught up with him.
After work had stopped for the day, he poured over the personnel files of each and every crew member on board, enlisted all the way up to officers. Each file was read, and in some cases, he checked with previous command as to items that worried him or in his opinion might cause him future concerns.
Can't work dry, he thought, as he sipped at his Scotch. His stewards had been instructed to keep his cupboard stock always at a two bottle minimum, and while he detected no sign of a raised eyebrow at all, the cupboard would never be bare. He sipped again and thought about the four crew members and only one officer replaced out of a total complement of 355 men he'd just okayed. He might have made some other choices had he had the time, and still might in the future, but for now he was ready. He sipped again, and again, savoring the smoky taste, the fired oak and the smoothness of the age.
Cruisers in the Rim Navy also carried one extra officer on the Bridge crew, an Issian Adept from Eons, who answered only to the captain and sat to his left side, between him and the Ansible officer. On the frigate Kerry, he’d not wanted the opportunity of getting to know one of these “mind readers” and the scuttlebutt around the yards had always been that these officers were along for the ride and occasionally had a comment to make but generally aided the ship little.
He’d been assigned a new one to the Navy, who’d never served, named Lieutenant Bram Sander, a too young twenty-two-year-old. Not right, he thought, but he quickly learned that like himself, this man had been dropped into this position as there didn’t seem to be anyone else available. He had interviewed the young man and had chatted with him and yes, had tested him too. He, like most Adepts, could certainly read emotions and even could somewhat more than luckily guess on thoughts sent to him, but like all of them, their work required close distance to be of much value.
As he had thought, Tanner realized that having such an officer on the Bridge would mean little in any space confrontation, but would perhaps be of value when meeting with others on away teams. He would reserve judgment on the Adept’s true value and see how the youngster made out in the field. He moved on to other pressing matters like upgrading the turbo-lift’s controls or insisting the redundancy motors for the landing gear be fully diagnosed again. Being a captain in space was quite different than being one in dry-dock he soon learned and went after the tasks presented to him with a fanatic desire to outfit the Marwick as best as he was able.
Tanner left his cabin and bounded up the stairs directly onto the bridge.
"Captain on the bridge," his XO barked, and the on-duty crew threw him a quick salute.
"At ease, men … back to your duties," Tanner said and eyed the coffee station.
As they reached high-orbit, he looked over at the Helm officer, Lieutenant Commander Bates, and inquired, “Ready in engineering, Helm?”
The Helm officer checked and then double-checked his display at his console. As he used his throat mic to speak to someone else on board, his fingers flew over the large rows of buttons and his hand then grasped the helm controls again.
“Aye, Sir. Engineering reports the candle is up and lit and ready to go,” he said as he turned slightly to look at his new captain.
Tanner nodded and said quite simply, “Fine, Helm. Set course for Conclusion and engage …” He leaned back into his chair. As he watched the forward display, he looked around at his officers on the Bridge and nodded to each of them in turn. The Marwick was underway for the first time.
As he again watched the main front display, he saw the few stars that shone begin to flutter as the TachyonDrive suddenly surged them ahead, and they went up to and past the speed of light in an instant. Still accelerating, well below them in engineering, the Tachyon candle stretched as the magnetos were dissipating the energy within the candle which pushed the Drive as it surrounded the ship and carried all up to the normal cruising speed of the Perseus engine that drove her. As the forward display now showed, the Marwick was Conclusion-bound at roughly the speed of one light-year per day and would reach their destination in another twenty-eight days.
“Helm, I want to know if anything, and I mean, anything, unexpected comes along with regards to the TachyonDrive, and you and your shift-mates are to contact me no matter what time it is or where I am on board. Make that our first standing order and post same. Tactical, for you, please have any and all CPOs or Master CPOs again contact you directly should anything else suddenly rear its ugly head. We’re new, gentlemen, and this is our shakedown cruise, and I want to know about every loose screw and odd fellow that comes along. Everyone understand that too?”
They all nodded and added their “ayes,” and Tanner left the bridge giving his XO, the Tactical officer, his Conn. He popped down the stairs to his cabin and sat at his console. He had been instructed to not open his orders until they were underway, and this was the first chance at that opportunity. He quickly tore open the envelope that only listed his destination on the outside and opened up the single sheet of paper to read what the admiral had ordered him and his ship to do.
He read it quickly and realized that he’d just been charged with the duty of finding the Pirates’ home world and reporting that back to the admiral. Not to attack them or to confront them in any way, but only to find them and report their whereabouts unless attacked, in which case they could defend themselves. That was somewhat unexpected, he thought, whoever was given those orders should also be charged with the duty to destroy them. This puzzled him, but the admiral seemed to have another strategy in mind, and he was just a captain.
Bigger fish to fry, he thought for a moment and then changed to go down to the gym as the officers-only time had just started. Work a sweat up and then a long shower and some food, he thought. For an instant, the desire for Scotch welled up in him, and he realized he would perhaps have to see if he could smuggle in a cup of his favorite into the gym. But he shrugged to himself and went to get his gym clothes out of the locker on the outer bulkhead, noting the slow movement and flutter of stars on their outward-bound trip to Conclusion.
Weeks later, as they came out of TachyonDrive and slid into high-orbit, Tanner suddenly remembered being here the last time, when he’d been so sotted that he hadn’t even known they’d landed when he awoke.
As he dressed in fresh khaki
s, he remembered he had awoken and staggered around the end of his quarters noting that he had full gravity and wondered why the shipboard level was so high all of a sudden. It did take him almost an hour while he showered and slowly got dressed to realize they had already put down in the port, and the gravity that was making him feel so bad was due to that fact and not his hangover. He had taken three of those anti-hangover pills and swallowed them dry hoping they’d kick in before long and checked the console to see any standing orders and what Captain Richards might have asked from him, but there was nothing.
He had three days here for shore leave and that meant three days of Scotch anywhere on planet. He remembered he hadn’t gone far and had taken a room as well at one of the port’s gaudiest gambling clubs; he drank and he slept and then he drank again. Simple existence, he knew, but it worked for him. If you sat at one of those slot machines too, he knew, the girls would come around and offer free drinks. That way, he could wait until he needed a fresh one and then pump in a credit while the next girl took his order then not bother gambling again till the plas-glass was empty again. And because of whom he was, or rather what rank he was, they let him just sit there and drink the days away. Free Scotch … could there be anything better, he wondered, knowing that was truly a redundant question.
He grinned to himself and shook his head. He wouldn’t be visiting the planet like that in any way in the future. He slid back the doorway and went up to the Bridge.
“Helm, we heard from port authority as of yet?” he asked as he slid into the captain’s chair.
“Aye, Sir, they’re awaiting us at the bottom of the boarding ramp. Health, Customs, and our local Navy commander is also there ... and Sir, he’s added a bit of a postscript. Seems that someone’s doing a ‘survey’ of landing facilities and such and that surveyor and her ‘entourage’ is also there, but as an Observer, he says. No real data on that person though,” Lieutenant Elliot responded and turned to face the captain.
“Fine, Helm. Send down word we’ll be right down, and Tactical, button us up from the trip. Elliot, Sander, and Greeley, you’re with me.
As his away team made its way off the bridge and into the turbo-lift, Tanner wondered about things like Conclusion's weather and whether or not he’d be able to scan from a low orbit should it be necessary. He carried the authorizations for same for the local Navy commander, but did worry a bit about the possibility that the scans he might be able to take would be of any merit and if they’d help him find a lead to the Pirates.
Moving off the lift, they moved down the corridor to the boarding escalator ramp and rode down to the waiting figures below.
As captain, Tanner led the way and saw that right at the bottom of the ramp was Commander Lewis, the naval base commander, who stepped forward with the Conclusion natives standing to the side. He knew they were natives, of course, due to the large tufts of snow-white hair on each head and the furry backs of their hands too.
“Ah, Captain Scott, nice to meet you, Sir,” the commander said as he saluted.
“Same, Commander,” Tanner replied as he saluted back.
“Sir, if I might, this is Inspector Masson of Health and Superintendent Matthews of Customs. They await your pleasure, Sir and—oh yes, not to forgot,” he said, “This is the Right Honorable Lady St. August, who is charged with the duty of surveying all of the Rim’s landing functions for the Council … and um, her Adept officer—er—counselor, perhaps …” he said with a degree of uncertainty as he half-turned and gestured for the young woman to join them. The Adept in black did not come forward but remained in the rear of the group facing Tanner and his away team.
The Royal walked up with a couple of short strides in her yellow jumpsuit, and with a very polite smile, she held out her hand to Tanner.
“Nice to meet you, Captain,” she said, “but please disregard the Lady honors. I am simply Ms. August to all.” She was obviously Royalty, Tanner knew from the title, but he wondered where she fit out here on the Rim. She was also pretty, though a bit thin with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose. Almost a full six feet or so in height, she filled out her suit nicely and looked for all intents and purposes efficient and interested in the goings on.
As he took her hand, he shook it with a bit of authority and was surprised at her firm grip back.
“Nice to meet you, my Lady,” he replied using the title as was needed. “And if we can assist you in any way ...” he said almost dismissively as he half-turned back to the commander. Her survey was obviously a “make-work” project for a council sycophant, and he had no time for that on this mission. As he turned away to again face the commander, she added the following with an ironic tone in her voice.
“Yes, thank you so much, Captain, I may take you up on that kind offer.” As she backed up and out of the circle, he noted that her cheeks were flushed and that her jaw was set. Too bad, so sad, he thought as he began to again chat with the commander and let his lieutenants take care of checking in with the port authorities and the necessary items to log them into Conclusion.
Her Adept companion, dressed as usual for all Adepts, who were not in a uniform, in their black robe, was a middle-aged woman of about forty or so, Tanner judged, whose eyes were locked on Tanner’s. She gave no outward indication that anyone else was even present as she continued to stare at him while the Lady St. August marched back to stand at her side.
# # # # #
Later that afternoon, with all the paperwork taken care of and a courtesy visit over to the naval base with the commander, Tanner found himself alone and eager to begin looking for the Pirates. Holding back planetary scans as a collateral thrust, he remembered a favorite club that was not too far from the port and took a robo-cab over there. Sliding his card in and then out of the cab at his destination, he strode up the walkway and into the gaudy looking building. In the lobby, he was scanned for weapons, but he had come down unarmed though as a Navy officer he was allowed to wear a sidearm if he preferred. He moved through the lobby quickly and into the main floor of the club and looked around as he ambled to the bar. Sitting on a very comfortable stool as he remembered, he twisted and looked out on the floor at gambling table after table. Closest were the craps tables with the whoopers and hollerers, and they ringed the roulette, blackjack, and keno players that generally were a little more reserved. Of course, a big win on any table meant that someone surely shouted out their glee, and he realized that only the losers were truly quiet. But they’re all losers, he remembered, which brought him a smile.
As the robo-bartender asked what he preferred to drink, he did have a momentary bit of confusion. The planet was known to have the best of the best when it came to recreational drugs and liquors, yet for him there was one drink that he ordered time and time again, Scotch.
Scotch made on any planet with any water and peat and smoke and oak … they all tasted the same—wonderful! Soft with hints of smoke from the peat and sea-spray from the ocean and the grains that were picked it seemed by hand to make a blend that was the same. No matter neither the year nor the age, if you fell in love with a brand of Scotch, it was the same on any planet on any of the arms of the galaxy. His own favorite was Black made inward and imported by the Leudies; it was a blend that was always at least twelve years old from heavily charred oak barrels, and whenever possible, that was what he ordered.
So he ordered a double Black, water on the side, and was served quickly and without flourish. Just Scotch … yes, the bartender had done fine, and he sipped as he watched the action out on the floor.
Over on one of the closest crap tables, a Ttseen was throwing the dice and winning it appeared. He howled up at the high ceiling each time the box man cried, "We have a winner!" As always, Tanner was reminded of a breed of dog long extinct, the boxer. Ttseens looked just like a boxer standing on its hind feet, about five feet tall with the same whiskers jutting out from its muzzle. Around the Ttseen were a dozen or so other bettors, all raking in chips as they won too. One of the loudest w
as a Leudi that was blue in color as they all were but flushed and panting as he threw his arm up high and called for more “sevens!” Around his neck, his coiled neck snake raised its head and arched up over top of its connected host. Wonder what'd happen when the boxer no longer is winning, Tanner thought, sucking the dregs of the Scotch out of his glass. Good gosh, there's a group of weirdos out here on the RIM for sure, and he turned back to the bar.
As he called and swiped for a refill, he was a bit surprised at how part of the solution to his problem was presented to him, as well as furthering the problem itself.
From his left side, and further into the club itself, an obvious loser, another Leudi, was struggling within the arms of the robo-bouncer who had him firmly clasped and was dragging him out of the club. No snake to see, Tanner saw. Figures.
“Stupid,” the male Leudi cried, “the dealer was stupid and should have never listened to me. I didn’t want a card, I really didn’t. Look at me,” he said as his shoes left furrows in the carpet as he was dragged inexorably toward the door. “I don’t look like someone any dealer should listen to—” He continued to struggle and shout as he left the area on his way to the door and outside.
The thought that came to Tanner was the man’s last comment that he didn’t look like someone who should be listened to, and he applied that to his mission and drew a breath.
Anyone on Conclusion who knew about Pirates, where they were or how to contact them—anything at all, would take one look at him, a Navy captain, or any of his men and clam up. The Navy was the opponent and as such would be privy to no data on the Pirates—not one iota.
He pondered on that for a moment and realized that basically this was true. He’d get not even a notion of any hint about them as long as he was Navy. He pondered that for a full half-hour before the answer to that presented itself, in person.