She immediately saluted Alistair and he returned the salute in kind. He'd never been in the military, but was nervous and had no idea what to do. Her charm washed over him and he suddenly felt like a befuddled teenager.
“Marshal, I want to express my gratitude for showing up at the perfect moment. I've heard horror stories of colonists being kidnapped out on the rim, but I had no idea that they were true.”
“I – uh – yeah. Yes. You are welcome, Captain –?”
“Ito. Liliana Ito. Please, have a seat!” She gestured toward a ragged old chair sitting opposite her desk.
“I'm afraid I will have to decline, Captain Ito. We're pressed for time. My ship and I are on a clandestine mission to the rim. I must insist that you forget our ever having met.” He'd finally found his nerve again and was internally chastising himself for being so overwhelmed.
“Oh. I see. So you don't need us to give statements? I'd like to see the rest of these scumbags locked up or hung.”
“Rest of them? There are no pirates left. I had their ship destroyed before docking. My main objective was the wounded Republic ship. Liberating yours was more of an added bonus.” He felt like a fool as soon as he'd said it.
“Typical Republic,” she said under her breath. “Well, again, on behalf of my crew and passengers, thank you. We won't distract you any longer.”
“No, I meant – you see, I -”
“It's fine, marshal. Safe travels.”
Captain Ito was clearly upset and Alistair could tell there was no love lost between this woman and the Republic. She also had no fear in her eyes as she so curtly suggested that a high-ranking federal agent depart her ship. He was honest when he said they were pressed for time, however, and decided that he had better leave before making an even bigger fool of himself.
“You as well, Captain Ito,” he said with a sigh, turned, and left.
Chapter 16
Once back aboard The Ubik, Alistair headed for the cockpit to check their flight plan and resume their trip to Burmea.
“She was cute, eh?” said Rachel as he walked in.
His only response was monotone grunt.
“It's alright. You got a little flustered, it was fun to watch. I'm surprised you have such a common chink in your armor, though. I figured the mighty Mr. Crowe was above such temptations of the flesh!”
He gently blushed, puffed his cigar, and refused to take his eyes off the navigation screen.
“We should get going,” he said, and he disengaged the clamps connecting The Ubik to The Omarra Kahn. He stared at the freighter as it rapidly grew smaller on his screen, then turned to see not just Rachel, but also Laura in a seat beside her.
“I'm showing her the basics. Back at the shelter, Laura could fix anything. I'm hoping she can learn the systems of your ship. She would make a spectacular technician.”
Again, he grunted in response, still embarrassed.
“I need a drink,” he said and abruptly made his way out of the cockpit toward his quarters. “Achilles, keep me updated on the status of our guests. And if you can, try to repair their armor. I left it in the workshop.”
“Already on it, Mr. Crowe.”
Chapter 17
Sitting in his quarters, alone with his thoughts, Alistair couldn't get his mind off the woman he'd met aboard The Kahn. Captain Liliana Ito. He stared down at his PCD, which he'd previously tossed down onto the table next to his decanter and steuben glasses. On it, he saw an unread message. From Achilles.
The message was the service record of both men he'd rescued and of captain Liliana Ito. He clenched his jaw.
“Fucking Achilles. Can you read minds now?”
“It's obvious you were smitten, sir. There is no shame in feeling a normal range of emotions for a change.”
Alistair laughed. “I wish I could share a drink with you, just once. We'll have to solve that problem some day.”
“Sir, the service records of both men that you rescued from the URS - Kris are intriguing to say the least.”
“The marines, right?”
“Incorrect, sir. Only one marine. The other is a special agent under the Special Tactics Corps. His record is awash with insubordination and acts of 'rebellious nature', as his commanding officers noted.”
Alistair was shocked. “An STC enforcer involved in a mutiny? Where was that ship heading?”
“Its records had been wiped before power was lost and I was able to retrieve no information outside of its SVIN and name.”
He pondered the implications. Things were getting worse in the Republic – this he knew. But when STC agents started refusing orders, he knew the orders had to be bad.
He left his PCD on the table and gingerly flipped through the files of the soldiers, whom he still colloquially referred to as 'the marines', until Captain Ito's was the last folder left unread.
“I don't have time for this,” he said. “Although I'm glad you're starting to take the initiative when it comes to messing with people.”
He poured himself a few fingers of bourbon and downed the glass.
“Wake me if anything changes. I need some sleep.”
Chapter 18
With two days left until they arrived at the Burmea system, the cellular regeneration chambers aboard The Ubik came to life. Their patients were regaining consciousness and Achilles played his parts as surgeon, doctor, and caregiver expertly. Both men had suffered from internal bleeding and oxygen deprivation, as well as cerebral hemorrhaging. The wounds were relatively minor, but the cerebral damage caused their suits to initiate emergency protocols, hence their medically induced comas.
“Mr. Crowe, our patients are regaining consciousness.”
“Your patients, Achilles. You worked your magic solo, don't shy away from the credit.”
“Acknowledged.”
“I'll head down in a few. I'd like to hear what they have to say first.”
Alistair paged Rachel and asked her to meet him in the bridge.
Be right there, she messaged back.
Alistair used the terms bridge, cockpit, and command center interchangeably. The Ubik didn't have a traditional pilot's cockpit with windows, but instead had a large room nestled at the heart of the ship. All visual piloting was done via a system of cameras that dotted the ship, but the majority of piloting using instruments and screens. Within the bridge were stations for various crew members, including for the captain, engineering, navigation, weapons systems and, of course, a pilot's seat.
He sat in the captain's chair and reflected on how eager he was to get to know the two men. His mind raced between the possible outcomes of their awakening and decided that he would do his best to approach from a position of authority. If the men weren't mutineers, he'd know almost immediately. More importantly, however, was the possibility of them having turned on the Republic – and if so, why.
“Are the marines up?” Rachel asked as she entered and made herself comfortable in front of the navigation console.
“Yeah. I'm going to let them talk a bit, see what they're thinking. My gut says they aren't a threat, though.”
“Well, your gut isn't exactly in a position of authority, now is it? Let's use rational thought to figure out how to deal with them and not just your instincts.”
Alistair was taken aback slightly, but brushed it off. “Yes, ma'am!” he said, while standing at attention and offering a half-assed salute.
Rachel just sighed and switched on the comm link from the medical tanks.
“Is this... a naval ship?” asked specialist Stewart. He had awoken feeling mostly fine, but still had a bit of a headache. He'd equated it to being hungover if anybody asked.
“Yeah. A smaller ship if I had to guess, maybe a frigate or a small destroyer,” replied Garcia. “Not many tanks, only three total. You know we're going to be executed, right? They only kept us alive for questioning. As soon as they hear what they want we're dead.”
“All that trouble for them to toss us out an airlock.” S
tewart shook his head, then winced in pain. “Ah, bitch!”
The headache was worse than he thought, especially when he moved. It went from a mild irritant to a shooting pain through the core of his head.
“You've both suffered blunt trauma to the head and were placed into a protective medically induced coma by your suits. Don't make any sudden movements, it'll only undo what our doctor worked so hard to fix.”
Alistair came into view wearing his marshal garb, including sleek black pants, a silver and black long sleeved shirt, and a dark gray duster. Marshal outfits were designed to be very drab and intimidating and his large stature only added to that effect.
“Do you gentlemen know why you're aboard my ship?”
“I assume it's because we refused an order to fire upon innocent civilians. It's unconstitutional, asshole. I won't gun down civvies in the street just because they don't like your taxes.”
“Shut. Your fucking. Mouth. Stewart,” said Garcia. His eyes may as well have been shooting daggers between their two upright glass chambers. Even while they floated in a special nanite-infused saline solution, Garcia was an intimidating man. He wasn't short by any means, but he more than made up for his lack of bulk with an aura of intimidation and command.
“Oh can it, Garcia. They know what we did. Like you said, they only fixed us up for the pleasure of an interrogation, right? May as well get it out of the way.”
“I applaud your bravado, Specialist Stewart. But I wouldn't be so eager for an interrogation if I were you,” Alistair interjected. Garcia wasn't the only man with an aura of command.
Garcia sighed. “He's right. Look, they told us to we were going to 'pacify' a colony on the rim. They didn't say which one, but when we pushed for more information, it turns out a small group of 'rebellious' citizens warranted a death sentence for the entire colony. And by 'rebellious', they meant that they had spoken out a little too much against the new tithes and were 'in danger of becoming an armed group of extremists'. When we voiced our concern, we were told that we would follow orders or hang as traitors by the naval officer. Sir, we're Marines. We exist solely to protect the citizens of the Republic. It's in the fucking charter.”
“Go on, Specialist.” Alistair was enjoying the tale but still wasn't entirely certain of their motivations. As of now, the men were helpless in their tanks.
“After our display of disloyalty, we met up with the rest of our guys and talked it over. We all agreed that we couldn't fire on civvies and the captain must have had the room bugged. He sent a handful of navy pukes to arrest us by force and it escalated pretty rapidly. Stewart and I were able to get into our armor and one of the security guards set his magrifle on full power to punch through. Instead, he missed and hit the reactor. Whoever didn't die in the fighting died when the ship started collapsing in on itself.”
“So instead of following your orders, as you had sworn to do, you fired on your own people and ended up scuttling a Republic Navy vessel. Am I correct so far?”
“With all due respect, sir, we swore to uphold the values of the Marine Corps Charter. First among those values is to protect the citizens of the Republic. Sir.”
Alistair nodded. He was well aware of the various military branches' founding charters, comprehensive documents that outline the overall conduct and 'mission statements' of their respecting organizations.
“Come to think of it, gentlemen, I don't remember reading anywhere in your charter to execute civilians who haven't done anything wrong. Even traitors deserve a trial, no?” Alistair felt odd saying this, as he'd spend the last several years of his life acting as judge, jury, and executioner. And occasionally as an autopsy specialist.
“At least we'll get a trial..” Stewart said under his breath.
“May I ask – how do you feel about the Republic as a whole? Not the corrupt aspects, but the entity we all grew up with.”
“I would die for the Republic and its citizens, sir.”
“Same here.”
Alistair approached the tanks and read the men's faces, first Stewart then Garcia. They weren't afraid to die, weren't afraid of him. They were only afraid of letting down the people they'd sworn to protect.
“Achilles, are they ready to be discharged?”
“Affirmative, Mr. Crowe.”
“Then go ahead, let them go. I don't see any need to hold them prisoner any longer.”
“Acknowledged.”
The tanks began draining rapidly and the men hurriedly removed their nasal breathers and the various medical sensors attached to their bodies. Once the saline solution had been returned to its filters and tanks the doors opened. Alistair handed each man a towel.
“There are some clothes for both of you in the lockers to your right, as well as limited use PCDs. Let me know when you're dressed and we can get a bite to eat and have a real chat. And maybe a drink.”
Alistair left without another word, leaving both men a bit stunned. They awoke expecting execution, but were now facing a free meal and a drink.
Chapter 19
After cleaning themselves and getting dressed, Specialists Stewart and Garcia headed to the mess hall to meet with the man they thought was a federal marshal. The halls were surprisingly empty and they didn't see a single soul until entering the mess.
“Ah, glad you could finally join me. Please, have a seat.” He was still wearing his duster, beret, and sidearm. He wasn't afraid of the men overpowering them. He wasn't sure why, but they didn't worry him in the least.
“You've both been honest with me and now it's my turn. But first, would either of you care for a drink?” He slid a steuben toward each man and set several cigar tubes on the table, along with his cutter and lighter. His cigar was already half burnt and he lightly chewed on it while taking his read of the marines.
They both obliged, took drinks, and watched him carefully.
“First off, my name is Alistair Crowe. I'm not a marshal, not anymore. But the way you described your situations has shown me that our current feelings toward the Republic align. So let me offer you a position among my crew. If you decline, I'll be happy to launch you in an escape pod on a heavily traveled lane to be picked up by a naval patrol and summarily executed. If you try to hurt myself, anyone, or anything on this ship, I will personally remove your organs one at a time with my bare hands. Now, care to hear my proposal?”
The threat of violence made both men tense up and mentally fortify. Marines were used to standing up to violence with violence, and neither would go down without a fight. Alistair could sense this, smiled, and explained his predicament. These men were tough as nails, and he was looking forward to working with them.
Chapter 20
Stewart and Garcia made great assets to the crew. They were both marines through and through, and even though Alistair could tell they were suffering crises of conscience, they did what they could to contribute. Garcia was at home in the galley and could work wonders with the ship's meager assortment of ingredients. Stewart had grown close to Rachel in his short time aboard The Ubik. Alistair kept a close eye on the two, but knew that they weren't going to make trouble for themselves.
They had essentially no bargaining space when he'd offered them spots on the ship, but still made one very stern demand.
“We will never fire on our brothers and sisters in arms unless absolutely necessary.”
It was an honorable demand that both men agreed on, and although they presented themselves with confidence and without fear, he could tell they were both internally pleading that he'd agree.
“I'd never dream of it,” he replied. Both men visually relaxed. In truth, Alistair was plagued with this issue on a regular basis – he knew that the more nefarious elements of society wouldn't be missed, but a situation where he would have to attack service members wasn't far fetched at all. And he still wasn't sure what he'd do in that predicament.
We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, he told himself, but didn't offer much reassurance.
&nb
sp; After their initial talks and a few drinks, the marines were invited to meet the rest of the crew, namely Rachel, Melanie, Laura, and Achilles, with whom they'd already been acquainted. They were surprised to see that such a large warship had essentially been turned into a women's shelter and both looked at Alistair with a fresh dose of respect afterward. The man had some issues, clearly, but his threats of violence now made total sense. He wasn't showing off or trying to be the alpha male, he was protecting people who needed it – exactly what the corps was designed to do.
Rachel and Stewart were sitting in the galley as they approached the Burmea system, while Alistair and Garcia were debating the finer points of bourbon consumption.
Garcia was older than Stewart, closing in on 40 years old. Stewart had been enlisted for ten years and was closer to 30. Alistair still wasn't certain as to Rachel's age, but he assumed her being in her mid 20's made it all the easier for Stewart to immediately show interest. He was happy to see her open up a bit, but made a mental note to inquire with Achilles about her age. Guessing would only get him so far.
“Now approaching the Burmea system. Standby to exit warp.”
The noticeable effects of entering or exiting a warp bubble varied depending on the ship but The Ubik was a state of the art covert war machine. Nobody could tell if they were still shifting through space in the warp or if they were simply flying with standard thrusters.
“We will be within orbital descent range in 14 hours. Standard thrust engaged.” Achilles was all business, and it fascinated Garcia.
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