"Thank you, Sir." The sergeant and his six men turned in unison and marched over to and through the door. Harris followed them out. Kresge smiled and shook his head in appreciation as he watched them go. The smile morphed into a frown with the realization that the small contingent of Marines and their meager assortment of hand ordinance, battle armor and two moderately powerful, portable assault cannons currently represented the most powerful weapons at his disposal for the defense of the entire planetary system. The concept was coldly sobering.
We gotta do something about that, if we can, he thought.
Chapter 12.
Yacht Carpathia, somewhere in the Catskill-Soroyan System, December 1, 2598
Contacting Ezra Brimstone required conversations with several intermediaries, a great deal of waiting in between each contact and ultimately took the Sheik of Barsoom and his crew a little over a day and half to accomplish. On the run from Federation authorities for a laundry list of serious crimes, including piracy, kidnapping, terrorism, murder and absolutely convinced that he was also under a death sentence issued by the Sheik of Barsoom for the lack of success in his recent attempt to kidnap the Meridian Ambassador to the Federation, Brimstone, whose real name was Lester Dobbins, was understandably reluctant to be found. After being reassured several times that there was the possibility of a reprieve if the Sheik got the information and the services he wanted, Brimstone finally contacted them.
The call came through sometime in the mid-afternoon. Ezra Hellfire Brimstone appeared on the main viewscreen of the stage II communications console on the Carpathia. His distinctive blonde Veritian Brotherhood Mohawk was gone, having been replaced by a much less conspicuous conventional hairstyle dyed to a much darker hair color. He was dressed in a conservative business coverall.
"Ezra Brimstone, here," he said, gazing boldly at the video monitor, "I understand that you've been looking for me?"
"For several days now, my Christian friend," the Sheik exaggerated, with a smile that wasn't reflected in his eyes. "You are a difficult man to find, Mr. Brimstone!"
"I am currently having some 'difficulties' with the Federation Authorities," replied Brimstone. "During the affair with the Ambassador, I destroyed some of their facilities and dispatched a number of their personnel." He shrugged. "Unfortunately, the damage and the loss of life could not be avoided."
"And yet you failed to accomplish the task I paid you to do?"
"Circumstances beyond my control, I'm afraid," replied Brimstone. "You will recall that I also lost most of my own men before myself and a small handful of them were able to escape with our lives. The New Ceylon Station defenses were far more formidable than we were led to believe!"
"It is good to know that you have an excuse," said the Sheik.
Brimstone's ice-blue eyes narrowed. "What's done is done. Rehashing my perceived shortcomings isn't why you called me, Barsoom, what is it that you really want?"
"Very astute of you, Mr. Brimstone. We are given to understand that you found an individual who has some expertise with Naval weapons and that you also know where such weapons can be found. Is this not so?"
"Oh, so you wish to arm a cargo ship or two yourself?" asked Brimstone.
"Ah...Something like that," replied the Sheik.
"You will pardon me if I ask what's in this transaction for me and the Veritian Brotherhood of Christ Resurgent?"
At this point the Sheik let a little of his frustration show.
"How about I lift the death sentence I have put out on you and all of the members of your precious Brotherhood?" said the Sheik, the false smile morphing into a feral grimace.
"Ah... now that would certainly seem to be a good start," replied Brimstone, apparently unaffected by the Sheik's blustering. He considered the Sheik's suggestion for a long moment before replying. "Let me be absolutely certain that there is no misunderstanding. Did you just say that if I help you find this man, you'll lift the death sentence on me and my men?"
The Sheik stared at him angrily for a long moment, "Yes, Mr. Brimstone," he replied grudgingly, "I will lift the death sentence on you and your men."
"Very well, then," said Brimstone, "Whatever else you might be, I know you to be a man of your word. The individual you're looking for is named Caleb Jordan."
"And where might we find this Caleb Jordan?"
"He farms near the village of Nazareth on Heard's World. He is a Veritian, but not a member of the Brotherhood. You'll probably have to land on the planet to contact him; communications in that system are deliberately kept primitive."
"If I may be so bold, Mr. Brimstone, how does one go about enlisting this individual for his services?"
"That's a very good question, Barsoom. He didn't charge me anything, though I must admit that he and I did not part on the best of terms. He may require some convincing."
The last was a bit of an understatement. Brimstone had not only lied to Caleb Jordan about the mission that the Brotherhood needed him for, he had almost gotten Jordan and his wife, Hanna, killed. In fact both of the Jordans had wound up escaping from Brimstone's group and their support had been vital for the success of the Federation Naval counterattack during the "Scrapyard Incident" in the New Ceylon system.
"And what about the location of the weapons?" asked the Sheik.
Brimstone paused for another long moment before replying. "There is also the matter of the ten thousand credits that you claim must be repaid," he said.
The Sheik took a long moment to make sure he had control of his anger before replying. "I am prepared to forgive the debt as well," he said through clenched teeth, "as long as you provide the information I need."
"Very good!" said Brimstone. "The answer is simple, there is a wrecked Succession War cruiser on one of the moons in the Heard's World system. Caleb Jordan knows where to find it. He helped us dismount and install weapons from that ship onto our cargo vessels."
"Ah yes," said the Sheik. "We have heard rumors of a wrecked ship."
"The rumors are true," said Brimstone. "There is one more thing, something you may find useful."
"And that would be...?"
"Jordan seldom goes anywhere without his wife, Hanna," said Brimstone, "and she is actually a very competent medic."
"A medic you say?" said the Sheik. "Perhaps that could be useful."
"Was there anything else?" asked Brimstone.
"Not for the moment," said the Sheik. "Consider yourself very fortunate, Mr. Brimstone. I am not one who forgives easily. If we find this Jordan and get access to the weapons we need, then you and I are even. Perhaps we shall meet again?"
"I look forward to it," said Brimstone with a slight bow. "Until then, Brimstone out."
The Sheik of Barsoom, along with his yacht and his disabled destroyer, set course for the Heard's World Star System. They anticipated little difficulty in finding the planet and the village where their quarry lived. The hard part would be figuring out a way to get Caleb Jordan to help them.
Perhaps a little leverage of some kind would provide the necessary incentive?
***
Somewhere on the Santana Nexus Station, December 1, 2598.
Ezra Hellfire Brimstone, aka Lester Dobbins, came away from his conversation with the Sheik of Barsoom feeling a great deal better than he had for several weeks. Contact with Brimstone, initiated by the Sheik himself, meant that maybe, just maybe, the Sheik was no longer actively hunting him down. That still left the United Terran Federation Navy looking for him but even a modest easement of the pressure on him was most welcome.
Brimstone and his remaining cadre of cronies had been lying low, easily blending in with the huge population of the Santana Nexus, but that didn't mean that they hadn't been keeping up with current events. Hell was breaking loose all over the Quadrant as pent up angers and frustrations boiled over and just about every malcontent with an axe to grind decided the time was ripe to make some kind of a move. What Brimstone hadn't figured out yet was whether he should ally himself
and his remaining men with some other faction or just look for someone who would give him the most credits for the valuable and unique merchandise he had on hand.
During his nearly successful attempt to take the Meridian Ambassador hostage, Brimstone and his group had managed to get their hands on two stolen cargo ships, arm these same ships with extremely powerful beam weapons salvaged from the wreck of the old Succession War cruiser in the Heard's World system, and use these ships in a bold plan that had almost succeeded in capturing the Meridian Ambassador. Brimstone and his group had actually occupied the New Ceylon Orbital Station for several days before they were driven off by Oskar Kresge's ragtag group of "resistance" fighters.
Brimstone and company had several sets of very old but still very serviceable battle armor as well as an assortment of powerful hand weapons. These items ought to be worth something though Brimstone was pretty sure he would keep them for himself and his closest associates. What was more problematic was what do with his most powerful asset. Keep it or sell it? No doubt a buyer could be found and an exorbitant price negotiated but who do you sell a cruiser self-destruct device and the codes to activate it to?
In other words, how does one go about finding and selecting a buyer for a thermonuclear bomb?
***
"...Tunisian Imperial Navy Dagger Class Destroyer.
Length: 200 meters.
Mass: 5,600 metric tons.
Crew: 10 officers and 40 crew fully manned, 5 officers and 25 crew minimum.
Propulsion systems:
Reaction Drive: Foucault Cesium Ion Drive, Nominal thrust capability 1.5g, Maximum 5g, Emergency 8.5g.
Hyperdrive: Fourth Generation Pullman-Whitney Overdrive.
Armament:
Main: Two 2000 gigajoule Parkinson capacitor discharge pulse beam projectors (3rd generation) in fore and aft single-mount, centerline turrets. Secondary: Eight 5.5 gigajoule Parkinson-Mitsubishi rapid-fire pulse beam projectors in 4 twin mount turrets. External hardpoints to accommodate four Keppler-Salaiz Vengence or Harrison Hellhound guided missiles (these mounts are also often used for transport of external cargo modules containing additional provisions for extended voyages).
This ship type was declared obsolete by the Meridian Imperial Navy after the Dagger class was superseded by the El-Nashar class in 2578. However, the durable and serviceable design was widely sought after by the navies of many secondary powers, particularly those of the Islamic Alliance...
...Mostly taken out of service by 2594, it is not uncommon to see these sturdy ships still providing service, even today, in some of the smaller navies. Built in the giant shipyards orbiting the industrial planet of Toledo near the center of the Santana Quadrant, destroyers of the Dagger class were manufactured in very large numbers with nearly ten thousand of them having left the yards before manufacturing finally ceased..."
Hartwell Wrist Comp reference note highlighted for further review by Tamara Carlisle. Excerpt is from "Janes Fighting Ships" (2598 version).
On board the renegade destroyer formerly known as "NTW Mahdia," recently rechristened "Skorpios" by her new owners, somewhere in the Heard's World Star System, December 1, 2598.
The stolen destroyer that approached Heard's World was far from a new design. Originally built for and commissioned by the Meridian Imperial Navy over forty years ago, this particular ship had been decommissioned by them, after long and faithful service, a little over ten years earlier. The Meridian Emporium had called her the MIS Kalib and her new owners, the Imperial government of New Tunisia, had renamed her NTW Mahdia. Her current, illegitimate owners did not have an official affiliation with any government as yet and they had seen fit to dub her Skorpios or "Scorpion" which was also the Sheik of Barsoom's family symbol.
"I know this is a change in plan," explained the Sheik, "but we must inform the other ship Captains to rendezvous with us here in this system."
"I will send a coded message through our Stage II communicator, Sire."
"See that you do so, Utbah."
While the communications tech was carrying out his orders, the Sheik went over to the Astrogator's station to see the layout of the planetary system they had just jumped into.
"Which planet is Heard's World?"
"It is the fourth planet out from the star, Sire."
Acting on the tip from Ezra Brimstone, they had come to this remote planet to find Caleb Jordan, a man who reportedly could restore the disabled pulse cannons of their ship back to proper function. There was no doubt that this Jordan was up to the task; with only a handful of untrained men, he had been able to mount pulse beam projectors from a Succession War heavy cruiser on two run-of-the-mill cargo ships, converting them into formidable weapons. While there was no doubt that this Jordan fellow could do the job, what remained very much up in the air was whether or not he would perform the duties willingly.
The new crew of the Skorpios wasn't about to take no for an answer.
Chapter 13.
One Week Earlier...
UTFN Planetside Launch Facility, North American Continent, Old Earth, November 24, 2598.
Tamara Carlisle made it to the Naval Spaceport near Homestead in the legacy Florida region of Old Earth with only a half hour to spare. As she headed through the facility towards her gate, the knot of fear in her stomach beginning to dissipate as she realized she wasn't going to miss her connection, she thought how happy Lieutenant Ryan Harris would be for her when he found out about her new assignment.
"Ryan! Omigod!" she blurted out as she stopped so abruptly that the two sailors directly behind her almost ran her over. It suddenly hit her with a sickening flash that during the whirlwind of activities associated with finishing her Doctorate and taking on her new assignment, she hadn't written to the Lieutenant for two email cycles. She decided right then that she would write to him as soon as she got settled on the Asimov and send the email off as soon as she could. She was immediately subjected to another flash, as she remembered that she had been ordered not to communicate with anyone.
She continued to the gate for transport up to the Asimov, a little more subdued then she had been. As she boarded the shuttle that would take her into space and to the orbital facility where the destroyer Asimov waited, she pondered if there was any way possible to get some kind of message to him. After chewing the problem over in her mind for more than an hour she came to the disheartening conclusion that she wasn't going to be able contact him anytime soon.
Orders were orders.
She made it onto the Asimov with several hours to spare and was in her assigned quarters and squared away for transport when the destroyer broke orbit and headed out for the Sol System Whitney hyperlink point before translating out. Carlisle didn't have any official duties on board the Asimov for the next week as the ship and crew made their way between and through several additional Whitney jump points that marked the route between Old Earth and the Santana Nexus and she was able to set her own schedule.
Fortunately, the data chip that the Academy intelligence people had provided her with contained a wealth of information about the home planets of all the religious and political leaders she was likely to meet in the days after she arrived at the Nexus as well as biographical information on them and their families, if they had any. She also read up on the Meridian Ambassador. Carlisle had known that the father of the Ambassador's wife, Sondia, was the Meridian Prime Minister but she hadn't known that the Ambassador's father was a former general in the Meridian Army.
She also found out that the Ambassador himself had been a military leader of some note, having led a successful combined space naval and land-based attack on Fundamentalist forces holed up on a moon in the Meridian System. He had proved to be a capable leader but that particular action hadn't made him any friends in the very conservative branches of his government or his faith. An uneasy peace had been maintained for the last five years but the Fundamentalists remained a potent and growing force in the Meridian system.
She was to b
e the Federation liaison for the Ambassador and knew how important this mission was to the Federation and to her future in the Navy, so she spent the bulk of her time memorizing the sections on the chip concerning diplomatic protocols such as the proper form of address for dignitaries of various official, religious and social rankings. Many of the rigid behavioral practices and other arcane rituals associated with proper diplomatic deportment had evolved over centuries of interaction and, as a result, the material was dauntingly complex. Since much of the protocol dealt with members of royalty and other self-important people, common sense was not a reliable guideline either. To her surprise, getting up to speed on all the proper societal interactions proved to be at least as difficult as anything she had ever studied at the academy!
Carlisle spent most of each day onboard ship in her small but adequate quarters studying. She took her meals in the officer's mess along with whoever else happened to be off duty at the time. Scuttlebutt on board the Asimov was that tensions were building among several of the minor but very militant factions within the Islamic Alliance and the odds were about even that one of them was going to start trouble within the Alliance itself before involving any Federation planets. There were also a growing number of disturbing rumors that remote outposts were being attacked and communications ceasing afterward. To Carlisle, the Asimov's crewmembers all seemed a little edgy.
All anyone knew about the Ensign was that she was in transit to a special assignment out in the Santana Quadrant. Several of the more junior officers even addressed her as "Doctor" rather than "Ensign." Hearing the unfamiliar title while she was being addressed was a bit awkward at first but she discovered that she rather liked it and didn't think it would take too long for her to get used to it.
A week after leaving the Sol System, the Asimov arrived at the sprawling collection of inhabited freestanding constructs that made up the Santana Nexus.
The Veritian Derelict (Junkyard Dogs) Page 8