Three ships to our one weren’t great odds. But then, the Rebel ships might have fled the area leaving us to canvas empty space. I wasn’t sure which I preferred.
“We dropped probes before we disengaged,” Viljami said, “Once we evolve to Internal drive, the probes will give us warning. We will not be surprised again. Commander Lunes will go over your stations before launch. Lieutenant, Junior Grade, Blomma. You and I have navigation duties.”
Lunes stood and shouted, “Attention on deck.”
The entire compartment jumped to our feet as Captain Viljami and the nervous Blomma left the mess deck. I switched over the communications array and followed them to the Bridge.
Hours later just before launch, I was standing by GunShip 2 waiting for Lunes’ inspection. A fur ball unrolled from a corner of the hanger deck and stretched into a large Space Cat. He sashayed over and sat looking up at me.
‘New cargo, bug hunt’, it sent to me with a purr, ‘Breann’.
‘Good hunt’, I thought back.
While my eyes were locked with the Space Cat, Commander Lunes stepped through the hatch. Breann sighed and seemed to deflate.
“I see you’ve met Gizmo,” Lunes said as she reached down to touch the cat. The feline dodged her hand and strutted out through the hatch.
“He’s funny,” she said, “I usually get along with cats. For some reason, Gizmo doesn’t take to me.”
“Ma’am, if I may, his name is Breann. He’s offended by the name Gizmo,” I said hoping that Commander Lunes wasn’t the touchy type of 1st Officer. I waited for her response. On one hand, she could go with my intent. On the other, she could ignore the name and give me extra duty. I waited.
“Breann? And he prefers Breann? He knows the difference? How?” Lunes asked almost stumbling over the string of questions.
“He told me. Not like he voiced his concerns,” I said hoping to shorten the whole my parents were Druids conversation, “he sort of sent mental images to me. I have a little talent for that kind of thing with Space Cats.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” she said turning to the GunShip, “Is she flight worthy?”
“Yes ma’am. Senior Lieutenant Hana managed to patch the ion wall. We tested it,” I paused, then realized she knew how, so I didn’t have to dance around the test, “when we repositioned the Swanhilde.”
“Fine, I want a full combat load before we launch,” she ordered, “If the attack ships are there, we might not have the luxury of leisurely arming your ship. I want us ready to find, fix, and destroy them.”
“Aye, aye Commander. Full combat load out, I understand,” I said restating the order so there was no misunderstanding. A lot of orders on board ships were repeated for clarity. Especially one where live ammo was loaded into the guns and rocket tubes far in advance of their use.
At the hatch, Commander Lunes turned and looked at me, “Breann? You sure?”
“Yes ma’am. The Space Cat’s name is Breann,” I assured her.
“Gizmo is Breann. I’ll be space junked,” she said as she disappeared down the narrow access tunnel.
‘I hope not’, I thought as I dialed up the ammo bunker for my munitions, ‘I hope no one on this ship becomes space debris’.
Once the ammo drums were installed on the auto duels and the rocket pods filled, I double checked the tie-down straps; first the forward strap than the aft. I didn’t want an armed GunShip sliding around during our evolutions.
Two hours later, Captain Viljami called for all hands to man their battle stations, and the Swanhilde launched.
I sat in the mess deck in a fold out jump seat. Okay, it wasn’t glamorous but the location gave me quick access to the tunnel leading to my GunShip. Across the deck from me, sitting in her jump seat, was the pilot for GunShip 1.
Lieutenant Ayana Tani was also dressed in a pressure suit with her helmet securely fashioned. We couldn’t communicate because we were tied into the Bridge. Like two eavesdroppers, we could listen in but were forbidden from adding to the conversation.
Most of the chatter was between our Patrol Boat and the Heavy Cruiser’s screen elements. The Fighters passed us to the Bricks who in turn handed us off to the outlying GunShips. Finally, we reached open space.
“All hands secure from battle stations,” Commander Lunes announced, “Rig for normal running and turn two for cruising details.”
“When do you have Bridge watch?” Tani asked as she pulled off her helmet.
“I’m fourth watch,” I replied.
“Tough being one of the new guys,” she said. A smile creased the smooth skin around her mouth.
“Especially being the most none essential new guy,” I answered as I placed the helmet in a cage above my head.
While I could reach the cage from my seat, Lieutenant Ayana Tani had to stand up to secure her helmet. I didn’t mind. Even the bulky pressure suit couldn’t hide her shape. Curves well beyond Galactic Council Marine Corps’ issue and, oops, old Corps thinking. I’ve got to watch that, speaking of watching, worse thinking.
“Something I can help you with?” she asked as she reached to her throat and slowly unzipped the suit. It was only about four fingers of exposure but under her suit was a thin layer of black silk.
“No ma’am,” I stammered.
“All righty then. I’ve got Bridge watch in thirty. Be seeing you around,” she said as she disappeared through the hatch.
Of course she’d be seeing me around, we were on a Patrol Boat. It wasn’t that big a ship and…What? Did she mean, she was looking forward to seeing me or just seeing me?
I pondered the smile and her shape as I stepped onto the ladder on my side of the ship. Shaking my head in confusion, I headed for my quarters and a change of clothing.
Chapter 7
Ayana Tani graced me with one of her dazzling smiles.
“Bridge relief,” I said stepping through the gun deck hatch, “Any standing orders?”
“Maintain heading. Captain Viljami is on call for any emergency,” she replied as she stepped down from the pilot platform, “You have the Bridge, Lieutenant Piran,”
“Aye, ma’am, I have the Bridge,” I responded as she unsnapped the top three buttons of her duty blouse. The silky material at her throat was ruby red and contrasted beautifully with her ebony skin.
As I stepped passed her and mounted the pilot platform, I wondered briefly if the undergarment meet Navy regulations. I didn’t say it. I may be a Neanderthal but I have some decorum.
Below me on the weapons and navigation deck, a Marine stepped up and relieved the Marine who had stood watch with Ayana. He turned and looked up at me.
“Lance Corporal Def̱téra” he said, “reporting for duty.”
“Lieutenant Piran,” I replied, “Glad to have you. I’m new on board so that’s why I have fourth watch. Whose cereal did you pee in to get the graveyard shift?”
He choked up for a second before collecting himself and replying, “I’m gunner on quad 1. Fourth watch lets me go right to my gun station after shift.”
He wasn’t kidding. The best gunners spent a lot of time polishing the four-barrel weapon, greasing the pivot mechanics and running diagnostics. Before ‘joining’ the Navy, I was a Marine Sergeant and gun instructor. I recognized his type and heartily approved.
“Let’s get a scan done,” I said turning to my pilot controls.
While our scanners were automatically canvasing the area surrounding the ship, manual scans every hour were recommended. When we went manual, we increased the power. Either of us could go manual, but I’d always liked to have two sets of eyes during command scans.
“Aye, Sir,” he replied, “beginning manual scan.”
Our duties on fourth watch were me babysitting the auto-pilot, our heading and specifically keeping an eye on the forward scan. My Marine would monitor the areas to our flanks and aft of the Patrol Boat. Together we were charged with preventing another ship or piece of space junk from reaching the Swanhilde.
>
“My sector is clear,” he reported.
“Forward is clear,” I said, “Secure from manual scan.”
“Aye Sir, secure from manual,” he stated and was quiet for a moment, “Lieutenant you have a visitor.”
I twisted my neck expecting to see the Captain or our 1st officer. It wouldn’t be unusual for one of the ship’s commanders to pull a surprise visit to the Bridge. I saw a flash just before a ball of fur slammed into the back of my legs. The collision told me all I needed to know about my visitor.
“He was stalking you from the shadows,” Lance Corporal Def̱téra said with a little snicker.
Breann backed up from where he’d rammed my leg. I think he was disappointed at not knocking me off my feet. Space Cats played rough.
‘Follow,’ he sent to me before jumping into the pilot’s seat. After three turns he curled up and buried his head under his tail.
“Follow?” I said out loud.
“Excuse me Sir,” Def̱téra asked, “Are we going somewhere?”
Under confusing communications in the dictionary was a picture of a Space Cat. I looked from the Marine, to the sleeping cat, and lastly the pilot screens. ‘Follow’ or could Breann have meant following? Cats don’t use -ing endings. To them, everything was presence tense and immediate.
“Lance Corporal, I want a narrow aft scan,” I instructed, “Full power.”
“Did I miss something?” he asked while dialing up the specs.
“No, I don’t think we missed anything,” I said as I checked his settings, “Nothing within range of our standard manual scan.”
“Scan set, awaiting your command,” the Marine stated. His hands were steady and hovering over the panel.
“Execute aft scan,” I ordered.
“Aye Sir, executing aft scan, full power,” with that he shoved up the power bar and punched the go button.
Tailing the Patrol Boat, our towed array lit up. If you were out in space watching, you’d witness a flicker of light along the length, before the entire array exploded in a single flash of light.
Inside the Patrol Boat, a deep, brief rumble rolled from the ion wall to the Bridge. The main fiber optic cable’s reaction to the power surge.
Lance Corporal Def̱téra and I ignored the sound as we concentrated on our screens. At first there was nothing. We didn’t expect anything nearby, and as we received the return signals from the fast traveling beams, nothing emerged.
Maybe I messed up. Maybe my translation of Breann’s message was flawed. Maybe my space skills were rusty after being stationed planet side. Maybe…
“Contact Lieutenant,” Def̱téra announced, “She’s directly in our wake but turning off line.”
I expanded that section of space on my screen. The ship was turning, taking on a new heading, directly towards the Galactic Divide. Our flight plan was a closely held secret and no ships were scheduled to leave the Nafaka Zone. Whoever the ship was, it had followed us. Now it was running for empty space. Certainly not the act of an innocent trade ship.
“Did you capture her image?” I asked already sure my Marine had performed his duty.
“Aye Sir,” he replied with a smile, “Her image is in our computer. Our scanners will look for her on every pass for the rest of our voyage.”
“Nicely done,” I said then a hatch slammed open.
“Report Mister Piran?” Captain Viljami asked as she jumped out of the hatch and finished buttoning up her duty blouse while drilling me with her eyes.
“We picked up a shadow, Ma’am,” I replied, “She’s pulled off and is running for the Divide. Should we give chase?”
“Negative on the chase,” she said leaning over to look at the Marine’s screen, “Are you sure it wasn’t just crossing our path?”
“No Ma’am, she broke her tract when we lit her up,” I replied.
“Good catch, both of you,” she said stepping up to the pilot area.
Breann stretched and jumped down from the seat. ‘Done,’ he sent to me before leaping gracefully off the platform and disappearing in the shadows.
“I’ve never seen that cat on the Bridge before,” Viljami said as she sat in the vacant pilot’s seat, “Well I’m up now. Just carry on as if I weren’t here.”
Def̱téra and I had the pleasure and the scrutiny of our Captain, until we were relieved at the start of first watch. I headed to the mess deck to get a bite to eat. On the way, I passed Lance Corporal Def̱téra. With rag in hand, he was polishing the barrels of his quad.
Chapter 8
Ayana Tani, Måndag Blomma and Furawā Hana were sitting at a table and in deep discussion when I arrived. After calling up a plate of food, tray in hand, I slid into an empty chair.
“Good morning,” I said.
“What did you find last night?” Blomma asked.
“We were followed from Nafaka?” Hana asked.
“How did you locate the ship?” Tani asked.
“What no pleasantries or how do you do?” I said, “You folks are demanding, aren’t you?”
“Come on Piran, we just want the scoop,” pleaded Hana.
The engineer looked so keenly interested that I broke down and told them.
“It was Breann who tipped me off,” I admitted then waited for the scorn and disbelief.
“Hold on. There is no logic to a human getting information from a cat,” Blomma stated. Spoken as only a Navigator would to sum up a quandary, “How could a cat know about a ship beyond our normal scanner range?”
As if on cue, Breann waltzed into the mess deck. From his mouth hung a large, barbed leg from some bug. He made straight to Blomma, dropped the scaly tidbit on the deck, turned and walked out. You’ve got to know Space Cats to really enjoy their sense of humor. Blomma didn’t find it funny.
“Oh, what the hell,” the navigator said jumping up from his chair and backing away from Breann’s gift, “That’s disgusting.”
“No. That’s from some dead space vermin,” replied Tani, “It does sour the stomach and is unsightly, but you can’t discount the value of one less creepy crawly on the ship.”
“All dramatics aside,” Hana said shaking his head at the Navigator’s display of emotion, “How about you explain this communication with the feline?”
I looked at the mechanical minded Engineer, the logic based Navigator and the confident in her abilities Pilot of GunShip 1. No one explanation would satisfy all three so I went with the lore.
“Refresh your coffee and tea,” I said getting up to top mine off, “and I’ll tell you.”
Once everyone was back at the table, I took a sip and began, “In the early days of ion based engines, the first commercial ships were staffed with the best available crews.”
“Talented crew members were hard to find. Top people didn’t want to spend long months in space so the trading companies over looked personal foibles. If the person was talented but rough around the edges, they’d hire them.”
“Jökull was a talented Navigator who also happened to be a first class Load Master. After rising to mid-level in the company’s astrophysics research section, the thirty-year-old lab nerd met a girl.”
“Ah, what a woman, her laugh was more fun than a playground full of children, her sigh more moving than a Sunday sermon and her body sculpted between glorious breast and a butt that turned heads everywhere she went. And Jökull loved ever atom of her being. As a new couple, they had expenses. Between the four room condo with a city view and the classic furniture that his new wife demanded, the bills began to pile up.”
“Jökull’s saving soon became depleted. To keep his love glowing and happy, he asked for and received a position on a Clipper ship. Sure it meant time away from his beloved but the Pesetas and bonus would replenish his saving and keep the new couple comfortable.”
“Three months was the flight plan. Just three months Jökull promised. He’d return and they would live happily ever after.”
“Except the Clipper ship was diverted by the Galactic Cou
ncil to deliver supplies for new Mercantile Station then commandeered to carry hardware for the military for a small war. A year and three months later with Pesetas in his account and a smile of anticipation on his lips, Jökull entered his and his loving wife’s condo.”
“The condo was empty. Not just empty of his wife but of the classic furniture, the trinkets he had bought while courting her, and the electronic window treatments that highlighted the view from the wrap around windows.”
“Let me explain a little about Jökull. He was not tall and looked skinny but he had thick bones, large hands and connective tissue like steel cables. There attributes had given him a full ride scholarship to the Engineering University and won him shelves full of wrestling trophies. These too were gone from the condo.”
“He started drinking at the cafes where they had dated. From familiar haunts to grittier bars, he searched for her and drank, search and pounded alcohol to sooth the pain. Then one day, he heard the laughter of a playground and re-experienced the emotional hush of a sermon.”
“The body was a little thicker, most likely the results of living the good life, but the curves were there. His wife turned heads as she walked to a table full of rough men who leered and joked with her in a crude but familiar fashion. Jökull didn’t rush. He savored the burn of the liquor as it washed the choking sensation from his throat. Setting his glass gently on the bar, he paid his bill and turned to face the room.”
“There were four of them. Rough men, accustomed to violence. Men who relished the opportunity to put their masculinity on display. Men who usually dominated. Jökull looked like their preferred choice of meat sack.”
“Consider yourself divorced, slut,” Jökull slurred. This was the perfect excuse for the four men to defend a ‘lady’s’ honor. They stood and each mumbled something about how shocked they were at his reference to their female companion.”
“The first swung from down low with an uppercut designed to end the fight quickly. It missed by a hair and the puncher was clocked in the side of his head by Jökull’s fist. He crumpled to the dirty floor. The second attempted a hay maker. I came from behind his shoulder with the weight of his body behind the punch. Jökull ducked and issued three sharp jabs to the man’s ribs. The man sat down in a chair, held his side, and sneezed while attempting to draw in a breath passed the broken ribs.”
Galactic Council Realm 2: On Duty Page 5