Renegade

by Joel Shepherd

  “We’re hell short of crew as it is,” Shahaim muttered. “Another fifteen percent will put us down to a skeleton crew.”

  “Can you survive out here?” Lisbeth asked quietly.

  “Sure,” said Erik. “Piece of cake.”

  “Sard will try and kill us,” said Trace.

  “Tavalai remnants still hiding out here will try and kill us,” Kaspowitz added.

  “Pirates and privateers after the price Fleet will put on our heads will try and kill us,” Shahaim added.

  “And Fleet themselves will try and kill us,” Geish said dourly.

  “Like I said,” said Erik. “Piece of cake. Besides, we’re not out here to just survive. Humanity needs a safe zone where those who don’t like the growing polarisation can come to talk it out. This is as good a spot as any.”

  “I think you’re thinking too big,” Trace said calmly. “That may follow eventually, but for now, let’s set small, achievable goals. Like put Supreme Commander Chankow’s nuts in a vice, and squeeze. It may be that in gathering all the people who don’t like him together, you’ll achieve some kind of peace process as well. Hating Chankow, Anjo and company might be the only big thing that Spacers and Worlders all have in common.”

  “Mother will help,” said Lisbeth. “I know she will. I know she doesn’t like Chankow.”

  “Mother is a businesswoman,” Erik disagreed. “First and foremost. She employs several million people. She takes their welfare very seriously. Don’t expect too much from her Lis, and don’t push too hard when you get back.

  “She’ll help,” Lisbeth repeated confidently. “You’ll see.”

  Erik found that train of thought opened up whole new avenues of fear. Family Debogande was powerful, but that power was nothing compared to Fleet. If push came to shove, Debogande Inc needed Fleet a lot more than Fleet needed Debogande Inc. Ultimately Fleet had all the guns, and could make its own rules.

  “Is Leechi very pretty?” Lisbeth asked, gazing at the forward scan.

  “I doubt it,” said Erik. “Barabo mining station, they’re not the tidiest people.”

  “Sell you some good weed though,” Kaspowitz volunteered. Erik gave him a stern look.

  “I’d like to buy a few things,” Lisbeth said wistfully. “Before I go home.”

  “A new spaceship wouldn’t count?” Trace suggested.

  “Oh shush,” Lisbeth retorted. “I’m not that rich, it’s the family.”

  “I’m sure I don’t see the distinction.”

  “Envy,” Erik cautioned his marine commander, holding up a warning finger in her face. Amused, Trace swatted it.

  “Besides, I’m sure they don’t take human currency out here,” said Lisbeth. And blinked. “Gosh, how are you going to pay for anything?”

  “Charge the aliens money to come and stare at Kaspo,” said Shahaim. Nav made a rude gesture at her.

  “We’ll think of something,” said Erik. “You can go shopping Lis. It’ll be a nice vacation stop for you, strolling down a barabo mining station market, just you and Delta Platoon and a thousand weed-chewing barabo miners.”

  Lisbeth smiled at him. “That actually sounds like fun. You forget, I wanted to join Fleet, but Mother wouldn’t let me. I’m finally here.”

  “No I remember,” Erik said tiredly, examining a new incoming jump track that appeared on scan. “You’re living the dream, Lis.”

  “We’re all living the dream,” Kaspowitz echoed. It had been the kind of thing they’d said in the war, echoing the corny Fleet recruitment ads, full of cheerful, brave and patriotic young people off to do their duty in the great adventure. “The Major especially. She’s not cut out for peacetime.”

  “I dunno,” Trace said quietly. “I hear there’s money to be made making apple cider. I might have opened a brewery.”

  “You might still!” Lisbeth said cheerfully.

  Trace smiled at her sadly. “Yes,” she said. “Sure I might.” Erik gazed at the scan, thinking of Private ’T-Bone’ Van, whose plans for post-war cider were known even to him. And thinking of the Kulina hunting party that would even now be gathering to join the hunt for the UFS Phoenix, centring upon one of its officers in particular. Luckily Kulina didn’t produce warship pilots, just marines and the occasional special forces soldier. If Fleet could not catch them, the Kulina wouldn’t either. He hoped.

  “LC,” said Shilu. “Leechi’s calling. The English is bad, but fluent enough — sounds like a person, not a machine. He sounds nervous.”

  Erik sighed. “I’ll take it.” He glanced at Kaspowitz. “Any ideas how to sound reassuring to a frightened barabo? It’s my first experience with them.”

  “Just don’t mention the Shuhai campaign, where we destroyed about thirty of their ships for minimal loss, killed ten thousand of them and single-handedly set back their civilisational confidence by a hundred years,” said Kaspowitz. “You know — we come in peace, please ignore the bloodstains, that kind of thing.”

  “Was Phoenix there for that?” Karle wondered.

  “Fraid so kid,” said Shahaim. “And so was I.”

  “Me too,” said Kaspowitz.

  “Great,” said Erik. “Thank you Kaspo, helpful as always.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  ‘We come in peace, please ignore the bloodstains’. That might become Phoenix’s catch cry out here, Erik thought. After so many hundreds, and previous thousands of years of war, he wondered if it was possible to ignore this much blood. He gazed at the forward scan for a moment longer. Station broadcast was showing a lane-buoy visual, a small mining station, only a single wheel with sixty berths, more than half of them empty. Positively catatonic compared to most human systems. It looked old and battered, and from what little he could see of the ships nestled along the rim, they were nothing impressive, mostly old freighters with barely a defensive weapon amongst them. No wonder they were nervous, seeing this alo-powered killing machine looming on the scan-horizon.

  It would be nice to make friends here, he thought. To not have to terrify anyone, let alone kill anyone. Perhaps it would be possible. Perhaps. But given what was following, and what would soon be hunting from numerous directions, it didn’t seem likely to last.

  He took a deep breath, and opened a channel. “Hello Leechi Station. This is UFS Phoenix, requesting lane placement and berth assignment. We are displacing 120K, hauling standard military cargo, and will be requiring block accommodation in the vicinity of our berth. Our intentions are entirely peaceful, and I look forward to greeting the Stationmaster in person, UFS Phoenix out.”

  He glanced askance at Kaspowitz. Kaspowitz shrugged. “Not bad LC. You may get the knack of this job yet.”

  About the Author

  Joel Shepherd is the Australian author of eleven SF and Fantasy novels, including ‘The Cassandra Kresnov Series’ and ‘A Trial of Blood and Steel’.

  For more information;

  @ShepJoel

  joelshepherdauthor

  www.joelshepherd.com