The Hope Island Chronicles Boxed Set

by PJ Strebor

  Within a minute the hatch snapped open and family members from the Telfords and their crew rushed into one another’s arms. Some sobbed uncontrollably while others attempted to soothe their distress with platitudes. The clock ticked down toward the end.

  It took only minutes for the imperial landing boat to cover the distance from the E516 to the enormous number one freight boat bay. The crafty E boat skippers were taking no chances and kept well out of blast range.

  "Rebecca, prepare to go to maximum thrust. E516 is nearest so we will try ramming her. If you can get us close enough I will hit the self-destruct. "

  "I'll do my best nana," Rebecca said as she began making calculations.

  "Captain to family and crew. Stand by. The time is near. John, are you ready?" Lucas felt his skin prickle as the seconds ticked over. "Chief Engineer, respond."

  "I can't let you do this." The voice quavered with such fear that for a moment no one recognized it.

  "Jasper? Is that you?" Celia asked.

  "I don't want to die Granma."

  "Jasper put the chief engineer on."

  "I won't let you kill me." Jasper Telford's pathetic whining ended as the channel went dead. Seconds later the chief engineer's voice came on the line.

  "Celia, that gutless piece of shit has sabotaged the self-destruct. He's locked himself in the core room, I can't get to it. We can’t self-destruct."

  An odd feeling swept over Lucas. His relief collided with a tragic sense of loss. He suspected that the rest of the crew battled with such contradictory emotions. Would they ever see Beachport again?

  A cold chill settled on his skin as the sound of armored feet vibrated through the deck plates.

  ***

  With a full company of Imperial Marines stationed onboard Bellinda, the crew had little choice but to accept their fate in the stoic tradition of their forebears. Imperial Naval engineers oversaw their every action thereby closing off any attempt to sabotage the vessel.

  The same engineers had done a remarkably good job in replacing Bellinda's destroyed shield blisters. With haste and typical Pruessen efficiency the entire repair process had taken less than half a day. Attempting to ingress into hyperspace without shields would be inadvisable. The destructive forces within hyperspace were a death warrant for unshielded ships. Without waiting for a test run, the Pruessens led Bellinda to the local ingress point and escorted her into hyperspace.

  Hope lingered within the minds and hearts of the crew during that all too brief journey. As long as they remained within League space they could hope for a miracle. If the Francorum navy could find their backsides with both hands a possibility of rescue lingered.

  As Bellinda crossed into hyperspace that fleeting hope evaporated, along with the spirit of all onboard. No one would be coming to their rescue. Not into hyperspace and certainly not across the northern frontier and into the Quarantine Zone. Lucas saw the despair on the faces of every crewmember on the bridge. He was not immune to the intense sense of loss.

  It had been fourteen years since the disastrous end of the second Franco-Pruessen war. Fourteen years since the Coalition League Navy had driven the invaders back across the Northern Frontier.

  The Pruessens, beleaguered, outgunned and facing certain defeat fought bravely as the time to surrender counted down. President Schmidt, leader of the Pruessen Republic, had earned a reputation for ruthlessness and unpredictability, but no one, on either side of the border, could have imagined that he would release a pathogen as a last resort to avoid the total annexation of Pruessen. Germ warfare had long since been abolished by every civilized society and so the very thought of someone using such an insidious weapon did not occur to the brightest of leaders. Until the day it appeared on the planet Derwent.

  The plague that was supposed to be Pruessen’s salvation got loose from its cage and turned on its masters. For in a turn of ironic justice President Schmidt had released the plague without first developing an antidote. With a dormant incubation period of forty-two days, the plague stampeded through Pruessen space with staggering speed.

  The populations of entire star systems perished as the infrastructure of Pruessen imploded. President Schmidt fell to a, more or less, bloodless coup and the reign of Emperor Thaddeus began. Amidst the horror of an out-of-control plague and with the arrogance that Athens had come to expect from her northern cousins, the Pruessen Empire came into being.

  The League's decision to quarantine the area north of the frontier came as an inevitable conclusion to this tragic tale. With half a million casualties from the brief war, the Coalition League Navy had accomplished their mission. Pruessen's ability to wage war ended.

  So, an uneasy peace became the norm for many years. Then the headhunters began to venture into league space, raiding soft targets for whatever booty they could plunder. Although no better than pirates, Pruessen tolerated them as a means to an end. Each year their forces grew and the technical sophistication of their ships increased. Some CLN admirals were rumored to have bet a year’s wages on them being supplied and maintained by the Pruessen military. Commerce raids like the one that had nabbed Bellinda were far more rare but still no less dangerous.

  For three days, Bellinda journeyed through hyperspace and with each passing day a dark cloud of depression settled over her crew. The feeling of hopelessness deepened as they egressed into normal space and settled into orbit around the planet Kulak. They sat there for a full day before things took a turn for the worse.

  Lucas Telford tried to push aside the ugly images that kept creeping into his thoughts. It only caused his heart to sink and his blood to boil. This situation should not have occurred, but once again the Francorum Navy’s reputation for unreliability held true. Bellinda’s crew would now pay the price for another example of Francorum's complacent attitude to her League responsibilities.

  Captives from Iberia brought onboard had said that the Francorum warships had left three days before the raid. The Pruessens somehow discovered this and struck into the system without serious resistance. They stripped it of everything of value including forty-two hundred of its population. Since the decimation of the North during the Plague war, the thriving slave trade had made the unfortunate detainees one of the most valuable commodities in the North. Especially if in their heads they carried the much sought-after high tech training that the north had lost since the collapse of their civilization.

  With their holds packed with high tech bootie and Iberians, the Pruessens were preparing to depart the system. Following the system hyper beacon, Bellinda had egressed blind from hyperspace and into the waiting arms of the Pruessen squadron. In another hour the enemy squadron would have been gone. The difference between freedom and slavery. An hour.

  For now the question lingered in the air like a sword: what would happen to them? He had a few unpleasant suspicions but pushed them to one side. Captain Hartman had promised them safe passage as long as they cooperated. The Pruessen Marines who had come aboard had been coldly efficient but reasonable. Under the strictest orders from the captain, the Athenians offered no resistance to their presence aboard. Could not if they wanted to. Every station had at least two marines observing. They were large, well armed and encased in unpowered body armor. With the Athenian's weapons confiscated there seemed little chance of overwhelming such a force. A brilliant escape plan would be useful about now.

  The entire crew stood in the enormous number one cargo boat bay with a small contingent of marines guarding them. The gathering represented the Telford bloodline of twenty-two, plus wives, husbands and crewmembers. Although not of the bloodline, the crew had been part of Bellinda’s compliment for so long they were as good as family. It was the way of the Independent traders to carry their entire family aboard. From the day they left family behind on Saint Joan, before fleeing south after the first war, the same mantra had governed their actions. Live as a family or die as a family, but never leave family behind.

  After the f
irst hour of waiting the crew began to shuffle their feet as children whined and the older folk took their rest on the hard deck plates. A nervous anticipation hung in the air, reflected in shifting eyes, brief, urgent discussions and a rising sense of apprehension.

  Lucas walked slowly to where his mother stood speaking with Captain Hartman. A dozen pairs of well-trained eyes tracked him as he did so.

  "Excuse me, captain," Lucas said, "may I have a word?"

  She excused herself from the Pruessen captain and followed her son as he gestured for them to step out of earshot.

  Lucas shot a quick look at Hartman whose hard features remained static. He could not be certain, but the Pruessen’s eyes could have surrendered the slightest hint of regret. What had the old girl been up to? "Captain?"

  Celia smiled as if nothing in particular had happened recently. "Rogert has just given me the heads-up on what to expect."

  "Oh, has Rogert?" Lucas said. "Anything you'd care to share with your first officer?"

  "Certainly son," Celia said. "We are to be turned over to the Human Resources Section."

  Lucas’ brow knitted. “A HR department?”

  She snorted. “You know how the Pruessens are with euphemisms. No, sadly this is a cat of a different color.” She took a deep breath. “The HRS is the most feared entity within the empire. A malignancy with the power to appoint any person, Pruessen or other, into any role they see fit. Break the rules, even slightly; show a trace of disloyalty, commit the tiniest infraction and the HRS will fall on you like a house. According to Rogert their absolute power is feared absolutely by absolutely every human soul within Pruessen.”

  Lucas shuddered at the thought of such indiscriminant power being placed into the hands of mere humans.

  “I warned you about Jasper -”

  "Jasper’s gone,” she snapped. “Probably on the auction block by now, so get over it. This is where things get tricky, so the two of us have to be on our best game. Remember, nothing comes before the interests of the family. Right!"

  "Right."

  Mother and son locked eyes for a long moment.

  “What’s next?”

  “Yeah,” Celia said, “like I said, this gets tricky.” She rubbed her chin, never a good sign. “The gentleman we’re about to meet is the adjutant of the Kulak’s Internee Labor Camps. He put down the last uprising of slaves in the empire eighteen years ago, here on Kulak. Since then his power base has grown, significantly. He was awarded a gold eagle baton in recognition of his service. From the emperor himself.” She shook her head. “According to Rogert he’s an unpredictable psychopath with a God complex.”

  A chill ran down Lucas’ spine.

  “A character with too much power and too much time on his hands.” Quietly she added, “A megalomaniac who kills for the pleasure of it.”

  Lucas shook his head. "So, what do we do? I assume that you have something up your sleeve."

  "We will bide our time, son," the captain whispered. "When they think they have us sufficiently whipped, then and only then, will we strike."

  "That's your master plan?" Lucas couldn't help shaking his head at the old girl.

  "Yes." No humor in that remark. "But for the time being we have to take it on the chin. With any luck they'll keep us together."

  Lucas considered that for a moment. The Pruessen Empire depended on their slave population. Even more so since the end of the war. A slave sat at the bottom of any social ladder. Yet at the same time they were a valuable commodity. However, slave owners could be unpredictable.

  Yesterday the Iberian captives left the ship. The poor devils would be down on Kulak by now, awaiting their turn at the auction block.

  His eyes scanned the eighty-eight crewmembers who filled out a small section of the huge number one boat bay. Their heads still held high, their faces cast with determination.

  Jasper had been removed from the ship, under heavy guard, before the crew could get to him. Lucas hoped he was on the auction block awaiting his turn. He liked to imagine a fat, elderly Pruessen businessman taking a fancy to him. That, and a thousand other horrors would never make up for his cowardly betrayal.

  His eyes came to rest on his family. His wife stood close to their children, Rebecca by her mother's side with Nathan wedged between them.

  The sound of clicking heels on deck plates broke the mood. Lucas straightened his back as a small group of HRS goons marched into the boat bay. They stood out from the Pruessen naval personnel, their brown, high-collared tunics and knee-length black boots sending a strikingly clear message. WE are the masters. The smallest of the men, blond and overweight, stood for some time running his narrow eyes over the family. Lucas noted his pearl-handled sidearm. Not a standard pulsar pistol but something far older. As the Pruessen examined the latest consignment of 'stock' he tapped the gold eagle head baton into his left palm. Having made his assessment of the cargo he tucked the baton under his left arm and held his hand out to his assistant. The large, ugly guard slapped the clipboard into his waiting hand. It took no further investigation to know who this man was. His nametag, pinned with exact precision over his left breast pocket, contained one name: Manson. He ran a cursory eye over the group one more time then read from his clipboard.

  "The following slaves will report to landing boat one for immediate disposition."

  "Excuse me, Major Manson." Celia Telford took one step toward the HRS officer. Six raised Pulsar rifles greeted her. Manson looked up from the clipboard, his eyebrows arched dangerously. The captain held up her hands at the ridiculous show of force. "May I have a word with you, major?"

  Manson glared at her with a combined sense of outrage and amusement. "And you are?"

  "Celia Telford, master of this vessel."

  Manson motioned for his overeager bodyguards to lower their weapons and gestured for the Athenians to approach him. Lucas felt the stone weight in his gut twist. Like all people possessing the ring of absolute power, Manson did not seem like the type to see reason. The Athenians stopped three paces from the HRS officer and stood to attention.

  "What can I do for you, Captain Telford?"

  "Major it’s about the distribution of my crew," Celia began. "I fully understand that our status has taken a significant downturn, but if this vessel is to continue to operate for our new, ah, owners, in an efficient manner, then I will need my crew kept in place. I assume that the HRS plans to use this vessel and her crew."

  "Of course, Captain Telford," Manson said. "We have great need for your ship and its trained crew. However, I have examined your crew manifest and find a large number of personnel who are not essential to the efficient running of this vessel."

  "Might I have an example?"

  Manson smiled. A cruel, dangerous smile. He turned to a smirking henchman who stood at his right shoulder, and shook his head.

  "Why certainly, captain." Manson consulted his clipboard. "Doctor Joan Makowitz Telford. We provide full healthcare facilities for our slaves. An onboard doctor is not required." He looked up as if the conversation were over.

  "Who else major?"

  "All personnel who have been deemed unnecessary to the efficient running of this vessel. That is all that you need to know." His amusement disappeared in an instant.

  "May I show you something, major?"

  His expression showed irritation and curiosity. He replied with a curt nod.

  "This crew is an integrated package. Three generations working together to maintain the vessel. Remove one component and the whole becomes less effective. We have cadet programs to train the next generation of crew members. The crew operates more efficiently than normal crews because we are a complete family unit. The elderly of our family look after the children and as each progressive generation comes to age they are trained to take over from the rest of us." Celia stopped before her immediate family. "Here is a perfect example of what I mean. My daughter-in-law is second officer and will follow my son when my
time comes to retire. My granddaughter will follow her, and my grandson will follow her. And so on."

  "And what is your function aboard this ship, my dear?"

  "Helm officer, major." Rebecca Telford, just out of flight school, stood a half-head taller than the Pruessen. She blanched as Manson ran his eyes over her body.

  “I see,” he said and turned to Celia. “You’ve had your say Captain Telford and for some unfathomable reason I listened. Now join your crew.” He turned a cold glare to her. “And captain, don’t ever interrupt me again.”

  He returned to his position, retrieved his clipboard and continued where he had left off. Forty-five of Bellinda’s family and crew were sent down to Kulak. Only the briefest of farewells was permitted them. Shared tears, an occasional hug, a few fleeting words and they were gone.

  After the wrenching ordeal, the remainder of the crew were ordered back to their stations. For an hour Lucas and Celia considered their options.

  “We must endure,” she said. “Endure the impossible and wait them out.”

  Lucas’ anger burned away any rational reply. He could tell that his mother felt the same stunning loss as he. Forty-five loved ones lost forever.

  The bridge hatch had opened and six of Manson’s guards stomped onto the bridge.

  “All slaves will stand to attention,” the head guard shouted. “You scum will not dare to look at any Pruessen. Eyes to the deck, slaves.”

  They complied. Endure, his mother had said.

  “All clear, major.”

  Manson did a circuit of the bridge his hand resting on the butt of his ancient weapon. He finally stopped, standing behind Rebecca.

  “Turn around.”

  Rebecca, keeping her eyes averted, complied.

  Manson held out his hand. “Come with me.”

  Rebecca shuddered but did not move.

  “I said, come, with, me.”

  Rebecca shook her head.

  Manson’s outstretched hand dropped to his sidearm. He drew it and turned to Celia.