Wrecker's Moon

by Patrick McClafferty

  “How far off our course would it take us to swing by the Wrecker’s Moon?” Kelsoe mused.

  “At this point we would only loose a day or two. Why?” Mia asked.

  “I thought it might be worth our time to let the folks in the destroyer and the troop transport know that help is on the way.”

  “You might even let them know about the second Den.” G’Fleuf murmured from behind her.

  “What?” Kelsoe snapped, spinning in her seat to look at the small tentacled alien. “I didn’t know about a second Den, and I was all over the moon.”

  “To the southwest of our Den by a hundred and fifty miles is a mile deep crater. In the bottom of the crater rests the wreck of a huge non-human transport. Three miles long, it virtually fills the base of the crater. The original Wreckers transformed much of the inside of the wreck into living quarters, and from what I read life was good there, but maintenance on the alien ship was difficult, and in order for the Lure to have the optimum effect, it had to be moved. The new Den was founded, and the old one abandoned, but kept as a backup in case of emergencies. Using a tame singularity for a power source, like this saucer, power was simply turned down and will never run out in our lifetimes. In the twenty years since the old Den was abandoned much has been learned about this type of ship design. Current Fleet engineers will have no difficulty turning the power back on and performing whatever maintenance is necessary. After that they only have to wait for the air to regenerate. They will, of course, have to provide their own food.”

  Kelsoe gave him a sour look. “How did you find out that little tidbit?”

  The golden eyes looked at the deck. “I asked Mia to check the Fleet Database in the flagship.” His tentacles trembled in a shrug.

  Kelsoe sighed, knowing it was useless to take the discussion further. “You forget that there was a food replicator in the crashed cargo ship, and in the crashed liner that we hadn’t stripped yet.”

  “Ohhh.” G’Fleuf muttered softly, his tentacles twitching in agitation. “I seem to have missed that.” The golden eyes regarded Kelsoe for several moments. “Did the Admiral tell you where to meet her when we return?”

  “She told us.” The young woman returned with a crooked grin. “If I don’t remember I’m sure that Mia will. She never forgets anything.”

  “I often envy humans the ability to forget certain…painful memories.” The AI murmured.

  “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t work like that, Mia. Humans usually forget small important tidbits, and recall painful memories in startling clarity.” A small sad smile crept across her face as she recalled her dying father, and then she sighed. “Mia, how long to the Wrecker’s Moon?”

  “Now that we don’t have to drag out heels, four days at flank speed.”

  “Good, and from there to Wecarro?” Kelsoe asked softly, her attention on the stars in the view screen.

  “Adding the two days we spent going out of our way to get to there, it will take us two weeks in jump space, and another week or so making a slow cautious approach.” The ship’s AI responded. There was a long, thoughtful pause. “Now that we have some time to spare, you should begin your courses on the recent history of the world Wecarro, and the Smith monarchy.” Kelsoe groaned. “Don’t complain. This knowledge could save your life very soon. Your correct deportment when working with royalty will be very necessary.”

  “Deportment?” Kelsoe asked, frowning. “Like how to bow and grovel?” Her voice was dangerous.

  “Exactly, and you will practice until you get it right. If you don’t get it right I won’t let you out of the ship.”

  Somewhere in her mind Kelsoe snorted a laugh. As if THAT is bloody likely. She thought to herself.

  “It really is important.” G’Fleuf injected hesitantly. “Much of a maid’s life or a kitchen helper’s life is spent bowing to one person or the other. You’ll be lucky if someone doesn’t try to abuse you along the way. You are an attractive young woman, after all.”

  “They won’t last long if they try to abuse ME!” Kelsoe warned in an ominous voice, and then gave G’Fleuf an odd look. “That’s one reason you taught me to fight, isn’t it? You always wanted me to be able to defend myself.”

  The small Drugud held up a thumb thick tentacle and studied it for a moment. “I couldn’t do much to defend you with these.” He finally admitted.

  “You’ve done well enough.” Kelsoe mumbled as she gave the small creature a warm hug. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she looked up. “So, where do I start?”

  Something pink sparkled as it appeared on the back of her command chair. “According to what I could steal from the Task Force database, this is the latest fashion among the hired help.” Kelsoe picked up an item of clothing that was all heavy metal stays and padded material. It appeared to need to be laced in place, and Kelsoe eyed it dubiously. “The item you’re holding is called a corset,” Mia announced calmly, “and is meant to be worn under your clothing. It is supposed to reduce your waist and push up your…other assets.” The AI finished lamely.

  Kelsoe’s grey eyes went very wide. “You have got to be shitting me!!”

  “It is the current fashion among the hired help.” G’Fleuf added helpfully.

  The young woman threw the offending item of torture across the bridge, where it bounced off the wall and landed on the deck with a clunk. “You want it, you wear it. Think of something else for me.”

  There was silence for several long moments, and Kelsoe could hear a low, rapid-fire discussion going on between G’Fleuf and Mia. Finally it was Mia who broke the impasse. “There is another garment I can think of.” A small hologram appeared in the air in front of Kelsoe of a woman standing in her underclothes. “The upper garment isn’t too restrictive, but will still provide support. If you were to wear a low cut dress with that…” Mia’s voice faded away. Kelsoe frowned, glanced down at her own less than impressive chest and signed.

  “It’ll work, I suppose.” She admitted reluctantly, and then her eyes widened. “Could the medical pods in the wardroom do something to give me bigger… ahhhh.” Her cheeks reddened.

  “They could, but it would do unpredictable things to your own hormonal balance.” Mia chided gently. “You are still a young woman, after all. Stick with the undergarment I suggested.”

  Kelsoe rolled her eyes. “Ohhh, the things I do for Wecarro.”

  “There will come a time when you won’t want to look like a tomboy, and you will want to look and act and be seen as an attractive young woman.”

  Kelsoe raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” There was an angry snap to her voice. “And when will that be, pray tell?”

  “About the time you first meet a tall handsome young man, I’d say.” Mia returned, a hint of laughter in her voice.

  “I met one of them back in the Den.” Kelsoe said without inflection. “I castrated him, and then somewhat later I killed him.” The computer’s silence revealed her shock. “He tried to attack me. You warned me through my targeting AI—remember?”

  “I’m sorry, but that wasn’t me.” Mia paused as the young woman frowned.

  “But who…”

  “Perhaps we should just begin by practicing the curtsy.” Mia offered, interrupting Kelsoe’s question. “The hired help are required to show proper deference to their betters, and women do that by the curtsy.” Kelsoe glared at the ceiling, and Mia sighed. “Firstly, you do not begin the curtsy from the Kran-Chak ready-stance.” Kelsoe slowly unclenched her fists. “Good. Now, slowly bring your right foot behind your left…just keep the weight on the toe, bend your knees a little as you pull your skirt out slightly from your torso and bow your head in respect.” Kelsoe growled. “You are supposed to be subservient, Kelsoe. You look like you’re about to spring and tear your victim’s throat out.” The young woman let a feral smile creep across her face. There was soft laughter from G’Fleuf’s speaker. “Laugh it up squid-boy.” Mia snapped. “Would you like to try and teach manners to this wildcat?”


  The Drugud raised his tentacles and backed away. “You are doing just fine, Mia. You seem to have forgotten that I’ve been teaching her for the past fifteen years.”

  There was silence in the command deck for several long moment before Mia spoke. “Let’s try that again, shall we? Try not to be so aggressive and remember, this has to appear to come natural to you. If you meet someone you curtsy…that’s all there is to it.”

  “Once you finish the lessons in decorum,” G’Fleuf commented dryly, “we should probably have some simple cooking lessons. A cook’s helper would be expected to know something about the food she is serving.” Kelsoe groaned again.

  “Now!” Mia’s voice held the sharp crack of a schoolmarm on the first day of classes. “Try the curtsy again. Tomorrow I’ll have you in a dress and you will be able to practice that part too.”

  “Can’t I just wear pants?” Kelsoe complained.

  “Serving girls do NOT wear pants. Now…curtsy.” Kelsoe curtsied. “Sloppy! Again!”

  When Kelsoe wasn’t busy practicing her deportment, her time was spent trapped in the educator while the geo-political realities of the modern monarchy were poured into her head. She reminded herself that at one time she’d thought the politics in the Den were convoluted and complex. That naïve view now made her laugh.

  G’Fleuf began her lessons the very next day. “The Staarkand Empire has been in existence as a political entity for two thousand years.” He began just as soon as Kelsoe had settled into the couch. “The Smith family has been the ruling family for the past three hundred and eighty two years. John Smith, at the official beginning of the Smith reign, was the Supreme Commander of the Staarkand Grand Fleet and was declared the “Defender of the Empire” by universal acclimation when he defeated an incursion by the Pudum Oligarchy, and put down an attempt to overthrow the monarchy the following year, getting gravely wounded in the process. Shortly thereafter, and while John Smith was still in the hospital recovering from his wounds, King Sharaf Wahab and his entire family were murdered, it was quite natural for the Empire to turn to their trusted Defender to step in as interim leader.” A picture flashed into Kelsoe’s mind of her distant ancestor; a tall black haired man with a dominant aquiline nose over thin pinched lips. Wearing a black patch on one eye as a result of his wounding, his face was lean and the remaining eye dark and cruel. The short clip showed John Smith, leaning on a cane whilst humbly accepting the throne, all the while vowing to restore the rightful monarchy—just as soon as he could find the legitimate survivors of the Wahab family. When no surviving members of the Wahab family could be found, and in order to ensure a strong and effective central government, it was suggested a year later that John Smith assume the monarchy as King John the First. When no survivors of the Wahab family were ever found, it was rumored in the more cynical circles that Smith’s assumption of the throne had been just a little too perfect. Some went as far as to wonder, very quietly, whether John Smith had even been the man’s real name.”

  “That was the founder of the Smith line?” Kelsoe felt and sounded shocked.

  “It was.” G’Fleuf continued. “Three hundred and eighty two years later cracks are beginning to develop in the Smith reign. This is typical of most monarchies after the first generation or two. Before the reign of Aarlan, the Council of Admirals of the Fleet were doing everything possible to impede the Smith reign. The current Primus, Aarlan Theodosius Smith is, or was, a strong and popular king, and his queen beautiful and respected by the general people. Hopes were high that the two would be able to mend many of the rifts that had grown in the monarchy. Aarlan had in fact resolved the issues with the Council of Admirals of the Fleet just before Aarlan’s wife and daughter were declared missing and then dead. The king seemed to fall apart after that, and would disappear…for years at a time, turning control of the Empire over to his able Steward Pataki Szervác. According to Fleet records, it was only in the past two years that intelligence sources discovered that Szervác may have had a hand in the disappearance of the Primus’s pregnant wife, but by then the Primus was nowhere to be found. The Council of Admirals of the Fleet were desperate to find a legitimate and able Smith to sit the throne because their own intelligence services were informing them that the Empire was coming apart at the seams. In three hundred years the Smith family in general had degenerated to become a small minded group of spoiled back-stabbers, unfit to rule the family, let alone the Empire.” She could almost see the small Drugud in her mind, his tentacles all a-twitch in his agitation.

  ‘Where do I fit in, in all this vast scheme?” She asked slowly, more to give G’Fleuf the time to regain his composure than anything else.

  The small Drugud actually let out a low chuckle. “Admiral Bacheva is probably doing handstands right about now, having found a direct heir to the throne who is bright and as yet uncorrupted by royal life. It is a bonus that you have some loyalty remaining to the Empire.”

  Kelsoe could feel a sour smile tugging at her lips. “How can I be loyal to something I’ve never known?”

  “At least you aren’t overtly hostile to it.” Her instructor filled in helpfully.

  “That’s like saying if I’m not against it, then I’m for it.” She grumbled.

  “Exactly!” G’Fleuf retorted brightly. “Now you’re getting the idea.

  Kelsoe took a deep breath and changed the subject. “How big is this estate we’re going to?” She ventured.

  “The Smith Estate is a modest sized island set in warmer equatorial waters of Wecarro. One thousand miles long by two hundred and fifty wide, it houses all twenty five hundred Smith’s in direct lineage to the reigning monarch. At last count there were another two thousand Smiths not in direct line to the throne. Supporting these are five thousand servants. With that number you should be able to blend in quite easily.”

  “Why don’t you just send me in masquerading as a long lost cousin?”

  “All the Smiths, no matter how distant a relationship are well known. Serving girls come and go and the faces are always changing.”

  She sighed again. “When am I scheduled for martial arts?” She asked at last, desperately needing to work off some of her aggression. She could almost see G’Fleuf rolling his great golden eyes.

  “You can go to the training hall in an hour.”

  “I suppose that will have to do.” Kelsoe grimaced, returning her attention to her instruction.

  Kelsoe stood in the training simulation in her white gi, her hands on her hips as she looked down on the body of her instructor. The body slowly disappeared. “That’s the third instructor you’ve killed this session, Kelsoe.” G’Fleuf murmured in disappointment.

  “They’re only simulations.” She pointed out sharply. “I can’t kill a simulation, and I really do feel much better now.”

  “I’m so glad.” G’Fleuf replied dryly. “If you’re feeling that energetic today, I have a different sparring partner for you to work with.” There was a peculiar note in the small Drugud’s voice.

  “I think I’ll just have a nice cup of tea and go…” Kelsoe stopped talking, and her eyes widened. “Holy shit!!! What the hell is that?” She took several steps backward. The creature stood seven feet tall and must have weighed three hundred and fifty pounds, all of which appeared to be either bone or rock-hard muscle. Its brown skinned arms were long, with the fingertips, six on each hand, dangling around its knee level. In its right hand it held a four foot long knotted tree limb the size of Kelsoe’s leg. She took another step backward. “I repeat the question…what the hell is that?” Her voice shook.

  “That is a troll.” G’Fleuf murmured from the air of the simulation. “It is a creature out of your own mythology.” The thing rumbled, squinted its small piggy eyes and took a threatening step forward, its sloped forehead pulled down into a deep frown. Kelsoe noticed that it dragged the club as it walked, and it wore a long rusty knife on its belt. The edge of the knife glittered brightly, indicating a recent sharpening.

  “Ah
hh, it has a club and it has a knife. Do I get a weapon?”

  “You have your two hands. Be creative.” G’Fleuf replied primly.

  Kelsoe mumbled something obscene under her breath and lunged forward, trying a fast snap kick to the creature’s knee. The club whistled past her face quicker than she thought possible, barely missing her nose. Swallowing, she rolled out of its reach and began to circle it slowly, at a safer distance. She darted in again, her kick striking where the kidneys would be in a human. Limping, she moved away as quickly as she was able. Kicking the creature had been like kicking a tree, and as effective. A third foray closer to the troll rewarded her with a heavy strike to her shoulder from the club, sending her rolling to safety as fast as she could go, the troll hot on her heels. Luckily, she was faster on her feet than the creature. Faster?? She thought about the word for a moment before she reversed the direction of her run, darting in again; striking the right elbow of the troll with her fist in a stunning blow. As she spun past the troll, her left hand flicked out…and then she was rolling to safety. The troll was rubbing its right elbow, growling at her as it glared with small dark eyes. Without waiting for it to recover, Kelsoe rolled in, slashed with her right hand and rolled away as the club brushed her gi. The beast took a threatening step toward her and collapsed, only then realizing that Kelsoe had cut the tendons in the back of its knee with its own knife.

  The figure of the troll wavered and vanished. “Well done.” G’Fleuf admitted in an impressed voice. “Consider that your final exam. I am awarding you a Black Belt. You know all that is within my ability to teach. I would recommend that you spend the same amount of time each week practicing, and going over your forms, or you will forget what you’ve learned. When we get to Wecarro, I will have Mia obtain more training data from the archives.”

  “How many levels of Black Belt are there in Kran-Chak?” She asked, wiping the blood from her torn knuckles. The troll’s skin had been like tree bark.