First Principles: Samair in Argos: Book 3

by KOTCHER, MICHAEL

  Korqath, Hukriss and the last remaining pilot of the Delphon squadron, a human woman named Falynn Stenlake, were sitting in a bar down on the planet in the city of Caridas. FP had done a fair amount of business here and the company was slowly making inroads into contacts. They’d recruited eleven people here in the last month and Korqath, the leader of the FP starfighter squadrons had decided that this was the best place to start looking for new recruits.

  “Why out of all the places you could have picked to find pilots did you have to pick this shithole?” Falynn complained, taking a sip of the golden liquor in her glass. She grimaced and nearly spit it out. “Ugh, this rotgut is awful.” She pushed the glass away.

  Hukriss hissed a chuckle, his antennae waggling. “It iz pretty bad, Korqath.” He, however, had no problem throwing back his shot of Garvani’s Reserve. It was very cheap, probably could be substituted for an engine degreaser.

  “Fine,” the leader said, clacking his mandibles. “The next time we go out, we’ll hit the high end resort hotel bars and you can pick up the tab.”

  The bar was a dump, to put it mildly. It didn’t even have the sloppy charm to be called a dive. The booths upholstery were cracked and split, the floor was filthy, and the tables hadn’t been cleaned in probably a year. The staff was surly, but at least the booze was bad, Korqath thought. There was a mix of patrons, who apparently wanted to risk the ambiance and possible poisoning simply because the drinks were cheap. They all looked as though they were eager for a fight and every so often they would glance over at the three company pilots. Korqath had suggested, prudently, that they not wear their company issued flight gear and had shown up in civilian clothes. Falynn was the only one who actually looked comfortable, as both of the zheen tended to live in either their ship suits or their flight gear. The young woman was dressed in what could be reasonably called “going out” clothing, tight jeans with knee high dark brown leather boots, a black tank top and a brown leather bomber jacket. Her dark brown hair was tied back and her bright eyes continued to scan the room, as though she was looking for target lock.

  “Who exactly are you expecting to find, Leader?” Falynn asked, turning to look over at him.

  “Diamonds, Falynn,” Korqath replied. “Sometimes you have to dig through a lot of dirt and a lot of other crap to find the diamonds you want.” He nodded to a group of men that were watching them from a table across the bar. “And I think those five might be the ones we’re looking for. At least they seem mildly interested in us, unlike the rest of the bar, who have completely ignored us.”

  “This isn’t what we did the last time, Leader,” Hukriss complained. “Last time we posted information on the orbital’s datanet and gave times to come and talk to a recruiter.”

  “Then why the hell aren’t we doing that again?” Falynn demanded. She tried to keep her gaze neutral, but it was clear that she was uncomfortable in this place. “Sure seems a lot safer.”

  “Bah! Where’s your sense of adventure?” Korqath laughed.

  “My sense of adventure is very healthy and happy, thank you,” she retorted. “I went up against a battlecruiser in one of the Lancer fighters, not one of those fancy ass Sepulcres. Pure decadence over there, Leader.”

  Hukriss hissed laughter. “She’s got you there, boss.”

  “Quiet, you!” the lead pilot snapped, though his tone was light. The group of men was starting to chatter more, looking less at each other and their drinks than they were at Korqath and the others. “And I think we’re starting to get some attention.”

  Falynn sighed. “Great.”

  Two of the men rose to their feet and walked over, their drinks still in hand. Upon getting closer, one of them smiled. “Hey, there, little lady. I haven’t seen you around here before. What are you doing here with these bugs?”

  Hukriss bristled, but Korqath laid a steadying hand on his fellow’s arm. Falynn looked the two over appraisingly. Both were tall, much more so than the two zheen and were about a head taller than she was. They were thin, reasonably athletic, though one of them clearly had a bit of a beer belly. Neither looked all that washed, nor did they smell all that good.

  She raised an eyebrow. “I’m here enjoying some of this terrible piss-water with my friends here,” she said, indicating the zheen.

  One of the men, the one with the belly, guffawed. “Haw! She’s got that right.” He held up his glass of beer, two thirds empty. “This crap is terrible.” He put the glass to his lips and gulped it down. “Ahhh!”

  Falynn wrinkled her nose. “Is there something I can help you boys with?”

  The other one nodded. “Yeah, how about you ditch these bugs and come keep some real men company?”

  She shook her head. “No thanks. I’m already sitting with a pair of real men.”

  “What? These two? I could squash that one,” he indicated a seething Hukriss, “under my boot!”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. But I’ve seen him fly a starfighter right to the edge to evade incoming fire from a battlecruiser. Takes a lot more than drinking this shit and bullying people in a bar to impress me.”

  “Wait, what?” the thinner one asked. “A battlecruiser?”

  “Yeah,” Falynn said, leaning forward, putting her elbows on the table in front of her. “We’re fighter pilots.”

  It was clear they didn’t believe her. “Fighter pilots?”

  She nodded. “We fly for FP. Know where we can find people that can fly? We’re looking to hire.”

  He shook his head. “Back up. What’s this about a battlecruiser?”

  She gestured to Korqath? “Leader? You got that holo projector? Show ‘em.”

  The zheen pulled the small palm-sized disc from a pocket and set it on the table. Extracting his datapad, he pressed a few commands and the holo emitter lit up, projecting an image of the Leytonstone about a foot above the table. “Whoa!” the man exclaimed, impressed.

  The slight commotion was drawing interest from the rest of the bar patrons. After a moment, people started coming over to see what everyone was looking at. At that point, Korqath was showing images of the battlecruiser, as well as his Sepulcre fighters and Falynn’s Lancer. Then he showed a replay of some of the battle maneuvers, and the three pilots gave commentary from their own perspective as well as explaining what they had been trying to accomplish, high-risk maneuvers they’d pulled and eventually the outcome of the battle.

  The crowd was mesmerized, hanging on their every word. They would most likely have been far less impressed if not for the holo projector; it certainly gave a good show. By the time the three company pilots staggered out of the bar a few hours later, they had seven candidates for flight training.

  “Maybe you have your uses for a recruiter after all,” Falynn said, throwing an arm around the zheen’s shoulders.

  Korqath flicked his antennae. “Talk like that, Falynn Stenlake, might actually get you promoted to Leader of your own Squadron.”

  “I’m already the leader of my own squadron,” she pointed out.

  “Well since you’re the only one in your squadron, it hardly counts,” Hukriss snickered.

  “I see,” Korqath said. She laughed. “Well, still, if the compliments keep coming in, I might see to it that your ships actually get the fuel and parts they need for operations.”

  “You old softie.”

  Tamara stepped into the station’s sickbay, where she saw Corajen was gathering up her effects. The lupusan security chief was dressed in simple attire, a pleated leather kilt, a white t-shirt with a black leather vest over that, the galactic spiral of FP’s logo emblazoned on the right breast. That was about as much as she ever wore, outside of her battle armor or a skinsuit, as clothing had a tendency to make her furry skin itch.

  She saw that Corajen had a blossom of angry red scars on her neck, a souvenir of the shot she’d taken there by a mercenary bullet. Similar scars were on her right forearm and left bicep. “You’re looking better,” Tamara noted.

  Corajen grunted.
“Bout damn time I get out of this place. Docs in here are worse than Turan and his butchers.”

  Tamara smiled. “Oh, quit whining. Without those butchers, you’d be dead.”

  “Felt like I was in prison in this place,” she retorted. Then she sighed, flicking her hears. “Though I am very glad to be alive. And where’s that flight leader of yours?”

  “Korqath? He’s on the planet looking for new pilots.”

  “I owe him a drink,” the lupusan said. “Some of the good stuff. He saved my life.”

  “I’ll make sure he gets the message,” Tamara promised. “He’s a pilot. I’m sure he’s always up for a round of drinks with a lupusan.”

  “I was pretty far gone when hit me with the vial of Combat Heal, but I’m pretty sure he said something about needing to train up his pilots in their ability to shoot.” She barked a laugh. “Which is pretty funny, if they’re supposed to be these hotshot fighter aces.”

  “We both know that being able to shoot a gun and handle a fighters’ weapons are two completely different things, Corajen.”

  But she shook her head. “Let’s go. And that’s not that true. Requires coordination, skill, patience, and a sharp eye. Should have transferable skills, actually.”

  “I think they’re just a bit… overenthusiastic when it came to trying to repel the mercs that boarded the station. They got all excited when they found out that they could actually help out.”

  Corajen snorted. The two of them walked out of the infirmary; the lupusan signing the requisite paperwork and promising to check in after a week for a follow up. The nurse on duty tried to hide how intimidated she was at the irritated wolf woman. “Oh, and if you’re concerned about the scarring, ma’am, you can stop back in once we get the critical injuries taken care of and we can get those fixed right up,” she tried to sound reassuring.

  Corajen blinked in surprise. “Oh. Um, thank you,” she mumbled and the two left the infirmary. It was clear that she had been shaken by the nurse’s offer to get rid of the scars.

  “What?” Tamara asked. “I had all those horrible scars on my face when we first met. You didn’t think that the docs could get rid of those?”

  “None of the doctors said anything about them,” she replied, her voice low. “I guess I just assumed they couldn’t do anything about them.”

  “More like the doctors were only concerned with getting you healthy and back on your feet,” Tamara countered. “The ones we hired for station medical were competent, and Turan did a good job with vetting and training, but with all the wounded, I think they were simply prioritizing. Besides, maybe they just though that a badass bitch like you would want the nasty scars. Trophies or something.”

  Another grunt. “Saiphirelle is into that shit. Not me.”

  Tamara shrugged. “No problem. Like she said, stop in there once things settle down and they’ll fix you up.”

  The lupusan sighed. They turned a corner, heading for the security office. “Another dip in the regen tank. Great. Do you have any idea how long it takes to get that foul taste out my mouth and nose? Days.”

  Tamara chuckled. “The price we pay for our beauty. And I do remember that awful taste.” She shuddered. “I’ve been trying to forget it.”

  They reached the security office and the doors slid open with a mechanical whine. Stepping inside, Corajen saw one of her deputies, Jenelle Miller, seated at the console behind the desk. She was wearing the standard gray with dark blue piping station security uniform. They couldn’t see her lower half behind the desk, but Tamara assumed the young woman was wearing a stunner pistol and a communicator. “Chief!” she said, bolting to her feet. “It’s so good to see you on your feet!” Yes, in fact she was.

  The chief gave a small smile at the ebullient reaction. “Good to be up and about again. And I’m glad to see you in here. Those damned doctors kept me completely out of the loop. I’m going to need a full briefing and update.”

  The young woman nodded. “It’s been a mess, Chief. I mean the station folk have been pretty good. The techs have gotten systems back online, in fact, they repaired the last of the damage just yesterday, even that busted up airlock.”

  “Yeah, while I’m pleased with your quick thinking, Samair, please try not to shoot up my station,” Corajen said, turning to the other woman.

  She grinned. “Hey, it’s my station too. But I will try really hard to restrain my itchy trigger finger.” They both chuckled.

  But Corajen turned back to her deputy. “How bad is it? How many did we lose?”

  Jenelle sighed, sitting back down, a very hard look on her face. “It’s bad, Chief. We lost nearly everybody. Garank, Bi’yan and I have been working here, out of the office. And then there’s Yusef and Innes in the infirmary, they should be out tomorrow. But that’s it, really. I can’t even say we’re stretched thin. There’s no stretching. We have enough to man the office here and send people out to deal with the really serious stuff, but that’s it. We need more people. Fast.”

  Tamara frowned. She hadn’t realized it had gotten that bad. “I haven’t been informed of any serious problems.”

  Jenelle nodded. “Thankfully there haven’t been any. But with this crew, there are always some dustups. We’ve got fuel techs and welders and other engineers all occupying the same space. For the most part, they get along. But there are always personality conflicts. The recent fighting has kept everyone in very good and cooperative moods. But it’s already getting back to normal. It has been a couple of weeks now,” she pointed out. “Which means that the little squabbles will start up again.”

  “And if we don’t keep on top of them, little squabbles will turn into big problems,” Corajen finished. She turned to Tamara. “So, boss, what can you do to help out?”

  She sighed. “Well, personnel is going to be an issue. Not getting them, it’s getting them here.” She pulled out her datapad. “We’ve got about five hundred hits on the company website for requests for a job, about a hundred and fifty are for security positions. But the problem is, we’re here, they’re on the planet and the orbital. It’s a seventy-hour trip one way. I can get flying over in that direction, but it’ll be two weeks at least before I can get any people here and that assumes an immediate turnaround.”

  Corajen sighed. “I’d need to be there to do interviews anyway. I’m not just rubber stamping people in here. I want to make sure that they can actually do the job to my satisfaction before I let them on my team or my station.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “So, I say again. What can you do for me?”

  Tamara frowned, thinking. “Well, about the only quick solution I can think of would be security drones. I can get a score or so whipped up by this time tomorrow. They won’t be anything really fancy; in fact, I think we can use the design for the cleaner bots as a template. We yank out the cleaner gear and attach comms software to interface with the security computer. Then attach a small power unit and a stunner for crowd control if things get out of hand. The bots can fly and they’re only about the size of a dinner plate, so they can go pretty much anywhere. I can whip up a basic security patrol algorithm but it’ll take someone monitoring here in the office to make sure they are actually working effectively.” She pursed her lips. “Once I get the new security AI on line, it can take over those duties.”

  Corajen gave a wolfish smile. “You’re getting me a security AI?” she asked, surprised.

  “I want to make sure that we keep things running nice and smooth. And it’s meant to assist you,” Tamara said meaningfully. “It reports to you. You are still my Chief of Security on the Kutok mine. I just want to be clear.”

  The lupusan nodded. “Good. I appreciate it.” She nodded again and then walked around the desk to sit down on one of the chairs. “When will the AI be operational?”

  Tamara unconsciously touched the metallic disk that was attached to her neck, a “gift” given to her by a pirate Armsman, the device was permanently bonded to her spine, its tendrils were linked into her
nervous system and into her neuro implants. The device disrupted her wireless implant, preventing her from accessing computer systems remotely using her implants, requiring direct access using the manual jack in her thumb. So far, Tamara and the Guura doctor Turan had been unable to remove the device, and they’d discovered that any attempt to either remove or disable the device would cause it to emit a lethal shock. She’d taken to touching it, most of the time without realizing she’d done it.

  “Well, it’s still in its build phase,” she said after a moment’s thought. “It’ll be up and awake in about two weeks or so. So by the time we get to and back from the orbital station, I can have it up and integrated.”

  “All right. When can you get started on the drones?”

  “I’ll get started right now,” she said. “I’ve got engineering teams on the station here that are sitting around bored now that they’ve got things sorted out. Can you handle things here? I’ll get the replicators churning out parts for the drones and then I’ll get the teams to put them together. After that, I need to talk with Tiyaana Moreetz and get a full status of the fuel situation. We had five of the pumping and refining sectors online just before the boarding, and I think everything’s up, but I need to be sure. It’s a lot of fuel we’re getting, but with the amount we’ve been selling to the orbital and to the planet, the demand is only going to get worse.” She smiled. “Or better, from our perspective.” Tamara sighed. “I’ll have to resume construction, but I think once ten sectors are online, we might slow that a bit. We’re producing enough He3 fuel now to cover operations as well as having a goodly amount for sale. With the new mining station that’s under construction and a few cargo ships we’re going to be building, we’ll need more. But I think we won’t need to have all twenty sectors online right away. It’s isn’t that imperative.”

  Corajen chuckled. “I was on a freighter, too, Samair,” she reminded her. “I know how imperative fuel always is. It has to keep flowing or the lights go out.”