The Hope Island Chronicles Boxed Set

by PJ Strebor

  “What's going on here?” Cmdr Weiss said from the hatchway.

  Before Orson could spit out a vile reply Bannister stepped to the hatch. “Someone aboard this ship has sabotaged the EDF.”

  Cmdr Weiss smirked. “And you think this pathetic fool is responsible?” His snigger made Orson’s blood boil. “This weedy creature is the captain's steward. He's not capable of sabotaging anything short of the captain's dinner.”

  Bannister locked eyes with the scrawny headhunter and held his terrified gaze for a short count of ten.

  “Let him go.”

  Orson released his grip on the crewman who slumped to the deck.

  “Someone on this scow has been in this compartment without authorization.”

  “The crew was ordered to avoid this area, commander,” Weiss said. “You must be mistaken.”

  “I see.”

  How the Advocate could maintain his control at times like this constantly amazed Orson. Bannister shouldered past Weiss and Orson followed. Bannister examined the congested engineering department. A crowd had gathered to see what the fuss was about. The curious onlookers became the immediate focus of Bannister’s attention. Like an arsonist who lingers after a fire, the culprit might be among these putrid crewmen.

  Some of the crew avoided eye contact. Others stared back, daring him to confront them. After scrutinizing the group for a full minute Bannister’s attention focused on a single crewman. His finger struck like a javelin.

  “You!”

  The headhunter jumped as if the finger had impaled him.

  Bannister strode toward the crewman, a murderous blaze in his eyes. With the crowd packed tightly around him the crewman could not escape. He slid a long-bladed knife from his boot. The surrounding crew frantically tried to distance themselves from their shipmate.

  Bannister calmly stepped sideways as the knife thrust at his chest. Using the crewman’s momentum he snapped the man’s arm across his knee. The crewman shrieked as his elbow shattered. Bannister flung him to the deck and pressed his foot on his neck.

  “Look at me, fucker.” Finally he released some of his pent-up rage. When the crewman failed to respond Bannister stomped onto his shattered elbow. The headhunter’s shriek echoed around the engineering deck. Orson smiled.

  “Look at me,” Bannister repeated, through set teeth.

  The whimpering crewman complied. Bannister held the crewman’s gaze for half a minute.

  “I know you did this. You will tell me why you did this. I promise you.” He turned to Orson. “Lieutenant, take this piece of garbage to the brig then report to the bridge. Contact me when you arrive and we’ll try the EDF test again. I will run a hardware check from the EDF compartment.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Orson was none too gentle with the saboteur en-route to the brig. He hoped Bannister would let him participate in the interrogation.

  Arriving at the bridge Orson opened the channel to the EDF compartment. “Commander Bannister, I am at the EDF console. Ready to proceed.”

  “Very well. Everything here appears to be in order,” Bannister said. “I have reattached the conduit and it’s looking good. Commence the initiation sequence.”

  “Aye sir, commencing initiation sequence.”

  The flow regulators displayed the minimal amount of energy flowing into the transmitter.

  “We are green across the board, commander.”

  “Very well,” Bannister said. “Charge up the capacitors and see how we go.”

  “Aye sir, feeding mains power to capacitors.”

  The flow rates were nominal and the capacitors slowly filled with the power required to initiate the transmitter.

  “Commander, capacitors filling, flow rates nominal. Do you wish to conduct a comprehensive test of the system?”

  “Negative,” Bannister said. “I believe we’ve solved our problem. And we have unfinished business to attend to do we not, lieutenant?”

  Orson smiled at the prospect. “That we do, sir.” Through the speaker he heard a loud clang. “Everything all right, commander?”

  “Hold on.”

  Coldness settled onto Orson’s stomach. The seconds ticked by interminably.

  “We not only have a saboteur onboard but a clown. Someone's locked me in.”

  Orson shook his head. If this were my crew … bile stung his tongue at the thought of what he would do to these dogs.

  “Everything looks good here," Bannister said. "How about at your end?”

  “All green across the …” What was that? A flicker from the number two inlet gauge.

  “Lieutenant?”

  Then the universe went mad. Feedback from the capacitors flowed into the reactor. Alarms wailed throughout the ship.

  “Commander …”

  “I see it. And I see what's causing it. Damn.” Bannister’s voice grunted from the speaker as he grappled with the problem. “We need to eject the power build up from the capacitors. I tried doing it manually but it’s non-responsive. Damn.”

  Orson's gut twisted. If we fail to stop the feedback it will overload the reactor. The ship will disappear into a fiery ball. The only way to stop the reaction is to discharge the excess energy into the EDF compartment.

  “Captain Foss,” Orson yelled. “Get someone in engineering to unlock the door to the EDF compartment.”

  “Weiss, get the hatch open,” Foss barked.

  “Already tried, captain,” Weiss said. “The engineers mate reports the hatch has been jammed solid. He is about to cut through the lock and release Commander Bannister.”

  “Belay that order commander, there is no time.” Not the slightest timbre of regret or fear entered Bannister's voice.

  “Commander Bannister,” Foss cut in, “we need to purge the power from the capacitors. If we don't do it within sixty seconds the ship will explode.”

  “I’m aware of that captain.” The briefest of pauses. “Lieutenant Saxon, I am placing you in command of this mission. Remember who you serve.”

  “Aye-aye, commander.” Orson fed the dangerous power from the overloaded capacitors into the EDF compartment. He struck the ignition switch detonating the explosive bolts. The emergency hatch fitted to the outer hull of the EDF compartment blew out. The potentially fatal power surge discharged safely into the vacuum of space. The power levels fell rapidly below the red line.

  The ship survived. The mission survived.

  All for the loss of only one man.

  CHAPTER 41

  Orson drove his foot into the sleeping man's stomach. Muttering a curse the prisoner curled into a fetal position on the deck of the brig.

  “Sit up.” When the prisoner took too long to respond Orson kicked him in the shattered elbow. The crewman screamed, rolled over and propped his back against the bulkhead. He cradled his broken arm across his chest.

  “Grunberg, that's your name isn't it?”

  The prisoner nodded.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen, Grunberg.” With an extraordinary effort he maintained a low and even tone. “Very soon I am going to start hurting you. I will continue to hurt you until you tell me what I want to know. Do you understand me?”

  “Fuck you,” he snarled. “I'll tell you nothing.”

  Orson smirked at the crewman’s defiance. There is more to Grunberg than meets the eye.

  “Believe me Grunberg, you'll tell me everything I want to know. The only question is, how much suffering you choose to endure?”

  From the sheath on his left forearm he gripped the small hilt of the finely honed knife between his index fingers. The blade, a mere six centimeters long and two wide, was strong enough to cut through bone and sharp enough to slice silk in mid-air. To anyone not versed in the art of death it would look like an inoffensive toy.

  Grunberg stared at the knife but remained stubbornly mute. His obstinate attitude pleased Orson. He would hate to interrogate a coward.

  Orson se
ized Grunberg’s throat with his left hand pressing it against the bulkhead. His knee pinned the prisoner’s legs to the deck. Orson drove the knife under the crewman’s right kneecap and twisted the narrow blade. Grunberg screamed. The saboteur grabbed for Orson’s face. Orson twisted the knife, wrenching another pitiful shriek. Grunberg refused to talk despite writhing in unbelievable agony. The prisoner remained resolutely silent, except for his screams, for longer than Orson expected.

  Less than thirty minutes later Orson left the prisoner in the blood-spattered brig. Grunberg had been a tougher nut to crack than he had believed possible. The saboteur had blacked out several times during the interrogation but the outcome was never in question. He had shown guts but no one withstood Orson’s brand of torment. In a detached way he almost admired the gutsy bastard. Many of the scum on this ship would have pissed their pants as soon as they saw his blade.

  The productive session filled him with a powerful sense of accomplishment. No, more than that. I really enjoyed torturing Grunberg. Orson’s considerable experience in such interrogation techniques convinced him Grunberg had not lied to stop his agony.

  Orson considered washing his bloody hands but impatience drove him on. He would shower later.

  When he marched into the engineering section the guards gave him a wide berth. At the far end of the reactor room Cmdr Weiss oversaw the repairs to the EDF compartment. Crewmen in v-suits had patched the area where the hatch had blown out and were installing new explosive bolts.

  “Find out anything useful?” Weiss asked.

  Orson ignored him and strode through the engineering department.

  “Lieutenant Saxon, I asked you a question,” Weiss yelled.

  Orson glanced around the compartment until his gaze fell on the chief engineer. His eyes tracked to Orson’s bloodied hands.

  “I need to find two of your crew. Shattock and Nehmer.”

  “Lieutenant Saxon.”

  “I'm busy Weiss.”

  “You will report on your interrogation at once. As executive officer it is my responsibility – ”

  Orson struck with the speed of a snake, pinning Weiss against the bulkhead by his throat.

  “It's your responsibility to make certain saboteurs don't get aboard this ship. It's your responsibility to ensure the safety of the crew, including Commander Bannister. Thus far you have fucked up in every way imaginable. So now I will do your job for you and you will keep the fuck away from me.” Orson stared into the dark, terror-filled eyes. “Cross me again, Weiss, and I will bleed you dry.” He released Weiss who crumbled to the deck. Orson set his focus on the engineer.

  “Shattock and Nehmer, where are they?”

  “Ah, I'm not certain.” He turned to the chief petty officer beside him. “Any ideas?”

  Only by remembering the mission, now his mission, did Orson control his rage.

  “They're off duty until sixteen hundred,” the CPO said. “Last time I saw them they were heading to the mess.”

  Orson strode past Weiss who remained cringing on the deck.

  Picaroon was a fairly large ship but driven by a need for vengeance Orson reached the crew's mess in less than five minutes. When he stepped into the mess a mixture of curious stares and total disregard greeted him.

  “Crewmen Shattock and Nehmer, on your feet,” he yelled. Most eyes rose to glare at him. Some remained down and a few wandered to the two crewmen sitting at the rear of the mess. As he strode toward them they exchanged tentative glances.

  “Shattock and Nehmer?”

  “I'm Shattock, so what?” said the larger of the two. The other examined his hands.

  Orson stared into Shattock’s eyes. The crewman neither flinched nor looked away. His defiance sealed his fate.

  From behind him Orson heard armored boots clattering onto the deck. Without glancing behind he sensed the pulsar rifles aimed at his back.

  “Lieutenant Saxon, what are you doing?” Captain Foss demanded.

  “Remember, captain, exactly who is running this operation.”

  “This is still my command, Saxon.”

  So the dog has found some teeth. Orson stared over his shoulder, past the heavily armed guards and into Foss' eyes.

  “Very well, captain, perhaps you can explain to me how three members of the Peoples Liberation Front got aboard your command.”

  Unlike the rest of the crew Foss was a professional. He stared at the two crewmen.

  “You can prove this?”

  “Grunberg gave them up.”

  “Grunberg’s lying,” Nehmer snarled, finally finding his voice.

  “Could Grunberg have been lying?”

  Orson grinned in a way he knew would chill the heart of any headhunter. “No one lies to me for long.”

  Foss glanced at Orson’s bloodstained hands, grimaced and nodded more as a confirmation to himself than anyone else.

  “Very well. We’ll interrogate them.”

  “Death to the empire,” Shattock screamed, as the two saboteurs leapt to their feet. Each produced a mini pulsar from under the table.

  Orson had the knife in his left hand. Not his preferred hand but good enough. His high left kick shattered Shattock's forearm. The mini pulsar dropped from his hand. Orson lunged forward, opening Nehmer’s jugular with his dagger. Shifting his balance he slashed the blade across Shattock's exposed throat. Under twin geysers of spurting blood both saboteurs collapsed to the deck.

  Orson glared at Foss and his dumbfounded guards. A warm glow surged through him.

  “We could have interrogated them for intel, lieutenant,” Foss said.

  “PLF members operate in small cells with no discernible command structure. So what kind of intel do you think they would have given you?”

  “Well yes, but still …”

  “I need to shower.”

  The crew hastily cleared a path as Orson strode from the mess.

  CHAPTER 42

  Date: 11th August, 320 ASC.

  Location: Monitor Truculent, on station: Ibis Nebula.

  Status: Alert stand down.

  Nathan could not escape his boyish delight when he first stepped onto the boat's command deck. Like a kid in a candy shop, the old saying went. Nathan reflected that he had never been into a candy shop but assumed it would feel this good.

  His second watch found him at the Auxiliary Operations Station, running through drills. In the jump seat beside him Leo observed, commenting as required.

  From the Operations Station, Cmdr Demianski ran checks on the overall condition of the boat. As was SOP during alert stand downs most of the crew station were vacant. At the tactical station Lt Hookes concentrated on her readouts. Her bored expression matched the commander’s. Leo stifled a yawn.

  Nathan's body tingled with anticipation. Calm down Telford. He took a deep breath.

  Nathan’s console, slaved to the tactical readouts, focused on the northern approaches into League space. The sensor array, calibrated to maximum long range, performed passive sweeps which remained free of contacts.

  Nathan started to ask Leo a question. His screen flickered momentarily, before stabilizing. Nathan’s heart thundered when five giant warships egressed from hyperspace. They converged on Truculent's position.

  Nathan froze for a full second. “Contact! Multiple contacts bearing …” he began, and glanced at Leo. He reclined in his seat, his hand covering his mouth. Tears glistened and he made small snorting sounds. Cmdr Demianski's head bobbed behind the ops station. Turning his attention back to his readouts Nathan found a single word projecting from the blank screen:

  NERVOUS?

  The officers’ constrained chuckling slowly petered out. Nathan took several deep breaths to slow his pulse rate before seeing the lighter side of the initiation. Back at the academy this sort of good-natured joking was referred to as being fried.

  “Good one, lieutenant.”

  Hookes’ eyes remained diligently on her c
onsole but her thin smile betrayed her. “The classics never fail to please. Anyway, it broke the monotony, don't you think?”

  “I suppose you could say that, ma’am. Unless you think me nearly soiling my flight suit is monotonous.”

  Raucous laughter exploded across the bridge. Leo slapped Nathan’s shoulder. “Welcome to the club, Nathan. All grommits, including me, go through this sort of initiation to bridge operations. Your three cohorts suffered something similar. They handled it well enough. Although Miss Kaspowitz took a little longer than the rest to see the humor of the exercise.”

  “Nice of my friends to warn me in advance.”

  “They were under orders to remain silent. We didn't want to spoil the surprise for you.”

  “How considerate of my friends.” Nathan knew it was the lot of junior officers to suffer this sort of good-natured teasing until they completed their first combat operation. Still, I should have seen this coming.

  On his screen a flashing red icon caught his attention. The ship had egressed from hyper on a course running directly from the Poseidon Shoals. Her helm officer must be a genius or a madman to try such a maneuver. Although an admirable piece of navigation, no sane skipper would permit something so fundamentally dangerous.

  Leo tapped his shoulder. “Step out, Mister Telford.” Nathan took the jump seat.

  “Commander,” Lt Hookes said, “I have a bogey, sir. ETA shortly.”

  “Very well,” Cmdr Demianski said. A moment later the Alert Condition two alarm sounded.

  From the corner of his eye Nathan watched as Waugh marched onto the bridge and took her chair adjacent to the operations station.

  “Report, commander.”

  “We have a bogie, captain. Popped in through the shoals.”

  Waugh grinned, her eyes coming to life. “It's about bloody time. Tactical, what do you make of her?”

  “The range is still long captain but I would bet a week's pay on her being a Line Runner.” Hookes’ grin edged around her green-tinted hood. “If she maintains her current course and speed she’ll be on top of us in seventy-five minutes.”

  “Excellent.” Waugh rubbed her hands.