The Hope Island Chronicles Boxed Set

by PJ Strebor

  This relatively straightforward mission was his first as a solo operative. The insidious product he smuggled into Francorum space would have a decidedly negative, long-term influence on their society. Still, he longed for the primary missions the Advocates undertook. For the time being he employed his talents into playing the role of Biers.

  The most junior officer aboard Maluku, Lt David Biers had earned the reputation of being ‘mister enthusiasm’. By deliberate intent, Biers made for the perfect disguise for someone of Orson’s true calling.

  The real David Biers had been a minor obstacle on Orson’s path. Minimal computer alteration to Biers credentials and disposal of his body presented little difficulty.

  For the last five months Orson had played the role of the eager young officer with sufficient dedication to impress a drama critic. He considered his performance deserving of an acting award, if one existed for those of his profession.

  Orson inspected the cargo container’s customs seals one last time. The seals were expensive but well worth the cost.

  Francorum customs officials had the most lackadaisical reputation in Tunguska. Getting a consignment through the entry port was easy, as long as the customs tags were sealed. In a worst-case scenario, bribery of Franc officials was possible.

  Orson snapped from his thoughts as he rounded the corner to container Sierra seventeen. The seal had been broken then hastily stuck back in place. Repairing the damage presented little difficulty. He had a duplicate seal. He opened the container and checked the contents. All of the cylinders remained undisturbed, except for one on the lowest tier, which rested at an odd angle. After prying off the cap he checked the contents. Someone had tampered with the merchandise. A problem but not an insoluble one. After returning the cylinder he secured the container and tagged it with the spare seal.

  Orson had a better than fair idea who had been sticking their nose into his business. Planetary insertion was minutes away and connection to the Orbital Space Dock within the hour. He needed to deal with this predicament quickly.

  Orson sensed the presence of the other man well before he spoke.

  “Everything all right, lieutenant?” The mocking tone of Demarti's voice confirmed Orson’s suspicions.

  He was a typical example of a Dryadian crewmember. Overweight, unshaven and possessing a crude animal cunning. Demarti was too dense to fully comprehend how dangerous his game was. However, degenerates like Demarti usually responded to money.

  “Do you know anything about this?” Orson held the torn seal before him.

  “Maybe I do, maybe I don't.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, I don't mind turning my back for the right price, but what you’ve got in that container deserves a second look at our deal.”

  Orson nodded thoughtfully. If money would buy his cooperation then money it would be. He had prepared for such contingencies.

  “How much did you have in mind?”

  “Well now, let's see.” Demarti leaned casually against a container. “Considering the Francs have an open death penalty on the books for anyone smuggling drugs across their borders, I think double is fair.” He smirked and held his hands out to his sides. “Let's face it, lieutenant, with what you’ll make on this shipment of Kesium you can afford to be generous.”

  The cretin had a point. However, Orson worked for a much higher authority to whom money was nothing but a means to an end. A fool like Demarti was incapable of fathoming such lofty aspirations.

  Again, Orson nodded thoughtfully. “Very well, Demarti.” Orson employed his weakest, most reasonable tone. “I would appreciate it if next time we make a deal you stick to it.”

  The idiot grinned like a triumphant dog that retrieved a thrown ball and stubbornly refused to relinquish it. “Aye-aye, lieutenant.” His self-assured smile hardened, as did his tone. “But I want my money before I go ashore. Remember, I can get a sizeable reward from the Francs for identifying a drug trafficker. I make the same money and you get a speedy trial and a firing squad. So I get paid up-front.”

  “I appear to have little choice in the matter.”

  The Dryadian fool smirked again. As with numerous fools before him, Demarti had never seen Orson’s true face, his real intent. He saw what Orson wanted him to see. A young man from the outer colonies, naïve, fidgety and harmless. A novice with a ridiculously boyish face who simply wanted to make some quick money.

  “Let's go to my quarters and take care of business.”

  Demarti relaxed and made the mistake of turning his back. Orson struck a piercing blow to the base of the brain stem, snapping the vertebra connection to the brain. He dragged Demarti’s limp, lifeless body across the hold and dropped it headfirst down an access shaft. He hit the bottom of the five-meter drop with a satisfying crunch. Orson sucked in a deep, shuddering breath and forced the smile from his lips.

  “Help,” Orson cried. “Somebody please help. Poor Demarti.”

  CHAPTER 20

  What we have to learn to do, we learn by doing. Aristotle (384-322 BC) Greek philosopher. Nicomachean Ethics (4th cent. BC).

  Time: 5th April, 320 ASC

  Position: Athenian Republic Extraterrestrial Naval Academy, Mount Kratos, Attican moon Peloponnesia, Athenian core system.

  Status: Fourth year.

  Nathan strode from the mess and reached Amelia Hall a few minutes later. Unlike the plebes he had access to the lift, but chose to use the stairs, taking them two at a time. Turning left at the fourth-floor landing he walked along the corridor, stopping when he reached room 4/219. Nathan touched the call button. When the hatch slid open a midshipwoman snapped to attention.

  “Room inspection plebe. Step aside.”

  The seventeen-year-old 4/C straightened her back against the wall. When the hatch slid shut he scanned the room briefly before directing a cold stare at the middy.

  “Well plebe, what do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Sir, I do not understand. Sir.”

  “Oh, you don't eh?” Nathan unclipped his left epaulet to signify the suspension of rank, grinned and spread his arms wide.

  Lucilla Penkovsky hurled herself at him with enough force to stagger Nathan. After a few seconds they broke from their fierce embrace. He pecked her on the cheek and sat beside her.

  “How are you coping, Lucy?”

  “Piece of cake, Nathan,” she said. “And my hair has grown back.”

  “So I see.” Nathan gave the trimmed, curly mass a good ruffle. “Your one-time visit to the hair stylist serves tradition.”

  “Yeah, it was fun.” Lucy rolled her eyes. “And the last four months have been really great.” She giggled at her own foolishness.

  “Plebe year is tough, but I knew you could handle it.”

  “Yeah, I … hey, did you catch Aletheia's Friend today?”

  Nathan scowled. “Yes. Thoroughly disgraceful.” He smiled despite his best effort not to.

  “He’s been getting away with posting on the academy web for years,” Lucy said.

  Most people considered the regular column posted by the serial prankster known as Aletheia’s Friend to be harmless fun. The comments ranged across topics as diverse as the weight gain of the commandant's bulldog Princess, to the upperclassmen who were most unpopular amongst plebes, to what bit of mischief may have taken place, when, how much and to whom.

  “Yeah, the cheeky bugger has been posting his version of the truth despite the concerted efforts of everyone from the commandant, to the head of the computer sciences department, right up to the master chief petty officer of the academy.”

  “How could he have known about Lieutenant Duffy's condition?” Lucy asked.

  Nathan snorted. “How AF discovered that Duffy had fallen pregnant has baffled everyone. Some of the more conservative readers thought it to be in poor taste when the net humorist described the situation as: Duffy up the duff. The majority of readers found it hilarious, even though most
publicly frowned at the article.”

  Their smiles froze as the hatch opened behind them.

  A midshipwoman bolted to attention. “Give us the room, middy,” Nathan ordered.

  The startled plebe quickly backed away and the hatch snapped shut.

  “Your roomie?”

  “Yeah,” Lucy said. “I wonder if Aletheia's Friend will report this?”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it.” He smiled. “You’re really starting to grow up Lucy. I can’t believe you’re the same scrawny kid I first met when I came to live on Kastoria.”

  She returned his smile fondly. “I’m not, Nathan. I’m a big girl now. And I can’t believe you’re the same screwed up kid who kept venturing into the rain forests even though father told you not to.”

  Nathan chuckled at the recollection. “Yeah, Caleb and Bernie got a bit upset about that. But I proved I can take care of myself.”

  Lucy stroked the side of his face. “Yeah, you’ve never needed anyone's help, have you? Always the lone wolf.” Her wry smile looked awfully familiar to Nathan. “Anything you want to share with me?”

  Nathan cleared his throat. “I was in a different place then. Thanks to your family, and especially you, I got past it.”

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “You reminded me of what it was like to be a kid. To laugh and play as if nothing could ever touch your perfect world.” Nathan cleared his throat again. “You helped me just by being who you were. But you’re not a kid anymore, are you?”

  “No sir.”

  “I should be going,” Nathan said, rising from his chair. “Judy Parnell is a damn good company commander so if you have any major problems take them straight to her. All right?”

  “Sure Nathan, but I don't think it will be necessary.”

  Nathan felt the back of his neck grow warm. “Lucy, I’m sorry I took so long catching up with you but it's been pretty hectic since I got back from summer cruise.” He cleared a small lump from his throat. “Lucy, you're as good as my kid sister, but …” he squirmed.

  “I know, I know.” Lucy rested her hands on his shoulders. “You have nothing to worry about. I might be new but dad told me how things work here. I won't embarrass you in public or attempt to contact you. I'm a plebe and you are a regimental commander. Even though you’re my brother, in every real sense, we don't share the same surname and that could be the cause of tongue wagging. I get it, Nathan.”

  Relieved, he hugged her. Lucy would be fine. “I'll touch bases with you as often as I can. And I expect you to drop in and visit Livy on Athens when you’re on leave.” He reset his epaulet and Lucy copied him. “But for now you'd better snap to, plebe.”

  Lucy drew herself to rigid attention. Nathan winked and stepped through the hatch.

  CHAPTER 21

  Date: 28th May, 320 ASC.

  Position: Mount Kratos.

  Status: Awaiting mid-term results.

  Nathan's opponent struck at his exposed throat. He quickly raised his sword to block the killing blow. Harada countered by shouldering Nathan off balance then sweeping his feet from under him. Nathan crashed to the mat and rolled away. As he tried to regain his footing a sharp agonizing pain flared from his thighs when Harada’s sword struck. Fighting the pain through clenched teeth Nathan again tried to stand. He groaned as Harada’s blade smashed across his armored shoulders, dropping him to the deck. On his knees Nathan swung his blade at Harada’s ankles and missed. Pain stabbed through his arm when his opponent's parry struck his sword from his hand. Harada’s sword thundered onto the back of his helmet stunning him. Unarmed, his body and mind roiled as blows rained onto his writhing body.

  In a display of leniency rarely seen from Master Sokoi Harada, the beating ceased before the medics were required. Nathan was thankful the master swordsman used a dull practice sword. If Nathan were an enemy combatant Harada would find the gaps in his armor and cut him to pieces. Today's beating had not been the first time the dangerous old swordmaster had taught him a harsh lesson.

  Nathan struggled to his feet, feeling as though a plains buffalo had trampled him. He joined Harada in the center of the training square and sat before him, his legs folded under his buttocks. Nathan bowed slowly until his head touched the training square. Ignoring the piercing pain that throbbed through his body he sat without moving, awaiting the inevitable rebuke.

  When Harada removed his helmet Nathan followed suit. Sweat rolled down Nathan’s back and flowed from his sodden hair stinging his eyes. He resisted the urge to wipe his face. The Nihonese swordmaster sat impassively, unmoving, disconnected and totally dry. Harada brought his soulful black eyes to bear.

  “Where are you, Telford?”

  Nathan's obvious confusion prompted Harada to continue.

  “You are not here in this moment, not focused. Not one with body and mind. Your technique remains but you are not here. So Telford, where are you?”

  As if to answer the question Nathan heard the comm blare across the academy training ground.

  “Midshipwoman Commander Okuma, report to Commander Zoehrer's office at 1400 hours. Class A's. That is all.”

  An odd mixture of emotions struck Nathan. Moe had qualified for the special cruise. Fantastic. Nathan knew Moe would make the cut and was overjoyed for her. However, only ten middies won their way into the exacting mid-year cruise. Moe’s name was the tenth and final name called.

  “I apologize, Master Harada.” Nathan’s low tone reflected his sincerity. For a swordmaster of Harada's repute to give personalized time to a student was unheard of. Nathan had squandered his gift by allowing his mind to wander to an undeserved hope.

  “Perhaps you should place mud in your ears?” The severe lines on Harada’s face softened fractionally, removing twenty years from his age.

  Of course he was right, mud in the ears. The old man missed nothing.

  “Yes, Master Harada.”

  “Do you believe I have treated you harshly, Telford?”

  “No sir, of course not.”

  “The universe will provide all that you need, Nathan.”

  “Yes, Master Harada.” The old man’s going Zen on me again.

  “And what you need right now is a shower.”

  Nathan, more through surprise than good judgment, stared at Harada. An expression dancing on the edge of lethal amiability greeted him. For the first time Nathan smiled in the swordmaster’s presence.

  “You are my best student, Nathan, but such lapses in concentration will get you killed where you are going.” His finger pointed lazily to the sky. “You know this to be true, do you not?”

  “Yes, Master Harada. Again I apologize for my disgraceful behavior. It will never happen again. I give you my pledge.” Harada had referred to him by his given name twice during his time at the mount, both within the last ten seconds. Does he know something I don’t?

  “As you should,” he said, with contrived gruffness. “Go and hit the showers.”

  “Yes, Master Harada.” Nathan bowed to the deck. He jumped to his feet ignoring the darting pain in his leg.

  “And Telford …” Nathan glanced over his shoulder. “If you ever again waste my time I shall not be so lenient.”

  Nathan nodded once and left, knowing from painful experience how much Harada meant what he said.

  ***

  As mid-afternoon approached, time dragged for Nathan. His index finger massaged the bump at the corner of his right eyebrow. The mass of numbers scrolling across his comp pad could not distract him from his unease.

  His entire naval career did not depend on the results of his upcoming assessment. However, he would feel justifiably irritated if all the hard work counted for nothing. Nathan had become accustomed to meeting challenges and attaining his goals. His failure to qualify for the special cruise hit hard.

  “Go for a run before you implode,” Roger suggested.

  “I'm fine.” Nathan replied while trying to make sense
of the navigation problem mocking him from the screen.

  “You're ready to jump out of your skin.”

  Nathan looked up. Roger’s boyish grin had not changed since they first became roomies. Nathan snorted and shook his head.

  “So you missed out on the special cruise,” Roger said. “So what? There are hundreds of middies trying for ten slots. We both know what you've been doing instead of hitting the books. You’ve put too much time into your regiment. Listening to every kid with a problem. You can’t be the big bother to all of them, you know. So you dipped out. Get over it. As for your mid-terms, don't worry. If you get a good passing grade, great. If you don't, bad luck. Either way, having kittens over it is a blatant waste of energy. Yes?”

  “Once again my friend, you are the voice of reason in a world of noisy disarray.” Roger did not precisely represent the steadfast yin to Nathan’s passionate yang but at times Nathan admired his friend's logical mindset.

  “Then listen to your friend. Get off your orifice and go for a run for an hour or so. If any breaking news arrives I will run as fast as my chubby legs can carry me to the training field to tell you.”

  Nathan nodded and stood. As he opened his locker the wall-mounted comm buzzed. Nathan’s hand reached for it, his finger poised over the button. This would be his mid-term results.

  He stabbed the answer button. “Room eight dash four five. Midshipman Commander Telford.”

  “Ah, Mister Telford, just the middy I was after,” Cmdr Zoehrer said.

  Aletheia's Friend had done a series of articles on how much the commander’s silkily resonant voice sexually aroused most male middies, together with a small contingent of females. Apparently 'Zenith' Zoehrer had not responded favorably to Aletheia's jest.

  Today her throaty tones carried in the background buzz of the comm speaker, an additional spoonful of honey.

  “Report to my office at fourteen-thirty hours. Class A's.”

  “Aye-aye, commander, fourteen-thirty in your orifice. Class A's. Telford out.” Nathan froze in place, staring at the silent comm.