by Chris Hechtl
“I'll give you one. It's a payphone in the boonies,” Knedson stated.
“Okay,” Mister Black said with a nod his way. They were back on track. “We've been told you are going to college as an engineer?” Jock nodded. “For space, right?”
“Yeah, but I couldn't get a slot up in Antigua Prime. Bastards have a quota for aliens and Neos but not humans. Humans are on their own,” Jock said with a grimace. It wasn't quite feigned but enough to make Mister Black relax even more.
“Yeah, that's just wrong. But we'll fix it; we'll show them a thing or two. Now. Your part in this little adventure starts.”
<===@^{:::}{<
Captain J'ck'zR'll wasn't thrilled about his new assignment. Becoming a ship's captain had been a dream of his for a while, and he'd even achieved it briefly three times before. Once before the Xeno war when he'd been a jig and had taken on a gunship, then again as a first lieutenant taking on a corvette. Last year after he'd been awakened from stasis on Lemnos, he'd been a very junior lieutenant commander out of his own time and floundering about. He'd found a new niche to call home in UFSN Captain V'r'll'x'rr, his Arboth class destroyer. He'd loved the job, and when she'd gotten laid up for the usual one-year refit, he'd enjoyed a brief respite on leave. Antigua was a nice place, and he'd enjoyed some of the resorts. But he was a spacer; he'd cut his leave short to return to space.
And that was where the headaches had begun. He'd found to his amusement and surprise that BUPERS had promoted him to Commander while he'd been on liberty. That he'd expected; it'd been in the works for a while. What he hadn't expected was a transfer. He'd dreaded the header when he'd read it, expecting a stint at the academy. Instead it had been worse. A transfer to an unlucky, some said cursed ship.
UFSN Admiral Bismark was a rebuild. Over fifteen hundred standard years ago, she'd been a Tauren battleship lost in the First Terran Interstellar War. A derelict ship that had been salvaged and had been undergoing a complete rebuild and even an upgrade to dreadnaught status for the past twelve years. That was, when they had the parts, and when she wasn't down due to one problem or another.
But now it was his new home. One he had to get straight and into space. He was determined to do so. The ancient axiom that there were no bad ships only bad officers and noncoms played in his mind. His new crew were going to learn he wasn't accepting apologies or excuses, only results. He had a feeling Bismark had been a dumping ground for officers and enlisted the navy couldn't quite get a handle on for too long. He knew he wasn't such an officer, so it was well past time to clean the ship up.
Especially since she was a capital ship, the acting flagship of the Federation, and should be seen as a shining example of its power and prestige.
He'd researched the ship, everything from her lineage to her current blueprints, to her crew and abilities. Take for instance her name, the captain thought as he made his way to the “gang plank,” the tube that led to the main personal lock of the ship. The ship was named after a patron of Admiral Irons, Admiral Bismark, not the ancient and feared World War II German ship Bismarck. The human admiral had apparently shepherded Admiral Irons career and made something of an impact on the man, enough for Admiral Irons to want to name a ship after him.
Even if that ship had turned out to be something of a lemon. Well, that was going to end, the captain vowed.
Unlike humans the Veraxin didn't wear clothes. They had a sash when rank insignia or medals during formal occasions were necessary. They also wore a skin suit when required, though his species tended to hate the things. They much preferred to do EVA work remotely through a drone or other device.
He was looking forward to getting out of the sash; it blocked his truehands and felt unnatural to wear. But, he had to do it, at least for the moment.
“Pass, sir?” the marine sentry asked as he stepped up to her. He sent his IFF and then held out his tablet.
She accepted both and checked the tablet, then examined him before handing the tablet back. “You may board, sir,” she said.
“Good,” the commander stated, stepping through the hatch. He walked down the gang plank tube to the red line and then paused. A whistle sounded, a real whistle as a side party stood at attention to greet him. It was led by a junior officer, but there was a human commander standing nearby to watch over things.
He went through another security check, this one remotely as he saluted the colors and the crest of the Federation, then exchanged salutes with the Officer on the Deck. “Commander J'ck'zR'll reporting on board,” the Veraxin said formally.
“Honored to have you, sir,” the Neodog ensign stated, wiggling his ear appendages briefly before he stepped aside.
“As the ensign said, sir, a pleasure to have you on board, sir,” the commander stated. “If you'll follow me to the bridge?”
“Very well,” the commander stated. “Lead the way.”
Once the commander had finished the boarding ceremony, he was escorted to the bridge by Commander Young. Along the way he didn't look left or right, but he kept a running tab of activities on the ship. Wherever they went some people stopped what they were doing to gawk or comment. Those in their way sometimes made a whole as tradition and protocol dictated. A few had to be reminded by a grunt by the commander.
As he stepped onto the bridge, the captain stepped to his left to avoid blocking the others as they filed past. He surveyed the bridge, eyestalks swiveling and antenna quivering as he drank it in. It was still under refit that much was obvious from the dark panels on the weapons station and the open circuitry control runs. But it was his bridge.
“Sir, all officers assembled or accounted for,” the XO said. They hadn't yet been formally introduced, but he didn't bother jumping into that just yet.
He walked over to the captain's chair and reached down and hit the button signaling all stations on the PA. A whistle sounded over the speakers, making those with high pitched hearing wince slightly.
“Attention to orders,” the captain said when the A.I. didn't say anything. He watched the bridge crew snap to attention. “From, Fleet Admiral Irons to Commander J'ck'zR'll. Subject, Assumption of Command. You are on this date to proceed and report to the UFNS Admiral Bismark to assume command as her captain. Signed, Fleet Admiral John Henry Irons,” he stated simply.
As he read those words, his orders were electronically submitted to the ship's computers and A.I. Ensign Leopold hesitated for a perceptible half second but then accepted the change of command and sent back the encrypted code keys.
“Orders received, Captain J'ck'zR'll,” the A.I. stated.
“I know all of you are eager to finally get our mission underway. I am as well. I expect nothing but the best from each and every one of you, and I intend to get it. Attend to your duties. Captain J'ck'zR'll out,” the captain said, severing the circuit.
“Welcome aboard, sir. Captain, it is a pleasure to meet you, sir. I am your XO, Lieutenant Commander Alicia Montoya,” the female ape said softly. She reached out and shook his upper left appendage in a human gesture he knew was a handshake.
The XO was a Neoape chimera. Somewhere in her pedigree, her ancestors had mixed some of the species. She had a chimp's size but the physic of a gorilla. Somewhere along the way her ancestors had changed their fur and skin to a snow white. The crew had nicknamed her Snow White initially due to her soft voice, but had changed it to Yeti when they'd realized how quiet she could be when she was sneaking up to someone who was slacking off.
She did look good in her formal uniform. She'd chosen the navy blue dress uniform over the white the others wore. Apparently there hadn't been the proper coordination there. It was a simple fix in some cases; a touch on the smart fabric would change the color. No one had considered that option it seemed.
Considered it or cared. Technically, the commander should have been the master of ceremonies, but it seemed the A.I. had taken charge or had been given the duty.
“On my right is Lieutenant Commander Yoshi Sato, our navigator.
You have already met our Chief Engineer, Lieutenant Commander Roger Young, sir,” the XO continued, indicating each man in turn. Roger nodded briefly, standing at parade rest.
“Our ship A.I. is Ensign Leopold,” the XO stated, indicating his holographic avatar near the captain's station.
“As you can see, we're still running light, Captain. We've been promised by BUPERS that they'll fill in the gaps before we sail. Personally I have my doubts about that or the quality we'll receive,” the Ensign stated.
The XO winced and then shot the A.I. avatar a warning look.
“We'll talk alone in my wardroom, Mister Leopold. XO, you have the bridge,” the captain said.
“Aye, sir. The XO has the bridge,” the Neoape said formally for the log.
When they were alone, the Veraxin captain took Leopold to task for not following protocol. He paced in his wardroom. “I don't like to make judgment calls like this. But your comments were uncalled for.”
“Sir …”
“I didn't give you permission to speak,” the Veraxin barked, making the A.I. stop.
“There is a time and place for slack. This isn't it. I expect better of you, after all, you have the protocol embedded in your programming. Organics tend to forget, but we too can call up the procedures with our implants should we need to do so. Obviously you haven't had sufficient training. We can rectify that.”
The A.I. ran a brief flash of simulations, then hazarded a chance to get a word in his defense. “I've been through quite a few of these ceremonies, Captain.”
“Some would say too many. But that is life in the navy; it is about change. No one is in one place forever, even those like you. Eventually you too will move on, Ensign, if you lose the attitude problem. I expect you to review the proper procedures as well as others that need attending too. Stow the attitude, the pranks, and the insubordination or I will bring you up on charges. I don't run a sloppy ship. Get it right.”
The A.I.'s avatar stiffened. “Aye aye, Captain.”
“Good. I'm glad we have the beginning of an understanding. Now, let's see about getting this ship buttoned up and properly crewed so we can get her out into space to finally do some working-up exercises and prove she's worth every credit.”
“Aye aye, Captain.”
“Good. You can call the senior staff in. We need to make plans,” the Veraxin stated.
“Aye aye, sir. The XO is on the bridge as is Commander Sato. Commander Young was en route to Main Engineering; he has now changed course.”
“Good.”
<===@^{:::}{<
Sharon's information led Knedson's snatch teams to catch a couple of her fellow sanitation engineers at their favorite local bars near the space port. A C note in credits slipped to the waitress allowed them to drug their drinks then quietly haul them out.
Once they were at the warehouse Knedson had set up for their use, Miss White and Mister Gray went to work on them. They had little intelligence value in their minds; what they needed was in their implants and their faces. Their bodies were 3D scanned, and then a small portable 3D printer churned out prosthetics to allow them to pass as the subjects.
Once they had what they needed for the makeup teams, Miss Green got down to the gory task of extracting their implants. Mister Gray took charge of each of them as they were extracted. He plugged them into an emulator to simulate the vital signs of the subjects to prevent their self-destructs from going off. After the first one was carefully dissected, they realized the civilian workers didn't have such precautions so they could move more freely.
Their four subjects were then quickly and expertly executed and then handed over to one of Knedson's contacts. “Burk knows what to do. He's got a couple contacts in the medical research area.”
“We don't want these bodies turning up,” Miss Green warned, cleaning her scalpel.
“They won't.”
“Dispose of them. Don't try to profit off them.”
“They know what they are doing. They'll sit on the bodies until after the mission launches,” Knedson stated.
“Whatever floats your boat,” Miss Green said, dismissing the problem.
“That's only four of them though. With the girl it makes five. How are we going to get enough for what, seventy-eight people?” Knedson asked curiously.
“Let me and Queen worry about that,” Mister Gray said.
“And me,” Miss White said indignantly. “What am I, chop liver?” she demanded. Her eyes cut to Miss Green who was slowly stropping her scalpel. “Never mind. Don't answer that,” she mumbled, falling back into her seat to continue her work.
“How long until they’re missed?” Mister Black demanded.
“They just started their liberties. All four got a week off,” Knedson said. “That is, according to Sharon.”
“She's almost right. One of them is supposed to be back on duty on Monday,” Mister Gray stated. “Found it in his implant calendar.”
“Okay,” Mister Black stated with a nod. “We're good then.”
“What about the fact that they'll be where they aren't supposed to be? They are on liberty, remember?” Knedson persisted.
“We'll handle that,” Mister Black said. “Is the cargo shuttle ready?”
“Cargo shuttles plural. Ten flights, to be exact,” Knedson replied. “And yes, they are. We've got a couple pilots who spent a bit too much at the tables and another that parties hard and is addicted. They'll look the other way as long as we're quick and quiet.”
“Good to know. So everything's set.”
“Not quite, but close,” Mister Brown said from where he was at, studying blueprints of the dock. Another study group was working on blueprints of the ship. Mister Blue was busy going over the engineering with his team.
“We've got a lot of holes in the maps,” Miss Red warned. “She never did get to main engineering for instance and that's a primary target. The route to the bridge is sketchy. She's only been there once.”
“Keep working on it,” Mister Black ordered.
“Oh, most definitely,” the woman vowed, going back to quizzing the various team members about their job and how to respond to different things. She was drilling it into them so it would become like muscle memory, Mister Black observed with a nod of approval.
4
Getting past spaceport security in small groups was relatively easy. They came in through the loading docks where cargo was being brought in despite the upcoming holiday. Most of the attention around the spaceport entrances and exits was traffic control to direct personnel and vehicles out. Making certain no one slipped some stolen goods out was also a problem, but Knedson arranged to have a nice vehicle accident tangle up one of the main entrances and a fist fight between the drivers to help draw security in.
“I can't believe you did that,” Bishop One sighed, waving a hand in front of her face.
“It worked, didn't it?” Rook One demanded.
“What …,” Mister Black sniffed and then gagged. He placed a hand over his mouth. “I see,” he said in a strangled voice. Used the skunk routine?”
“Something like that. I didn't want to get frisked by the damn Neodog at the door. One good flatulence episode and they fall all over themselves getting us out of the area as quickly as possible.”
“His eyes were watering. My eyes were watering,” Miss White said, shaking her head. “Team names?”
Mister Black scowled. “No. Keep in character, which means the masks stay packed. You live with the stench until we get to the station. Then you can get a shower.”
“Not soon enough,” Miss White sighed, rolling her eyes. “I think the stink will make me pass out.”
“Not good, you snore,” Mister Blue teased. She gave him a playful push away, and he grinned at her.
Mister Black judged the byplay with a careful ear. It was good, they were nervous, they all were. But tension was good; it kept them on their toes. Too much would let others know something was going on, so they had to be careful. But bypl
ay was expected. He hoped the Pawns wouldn't give the show away by showing their game faces too soon.
This was quite the gamble; he knew it. The biggest of his career, quite possibly the last one. He knew he was getting opening night jitters but kept firm. Their course was clear; they wouldn't get a second shot at it. They were committed.
Besides, there were very few other options for them. They couldn't get through to Horath; no shipping made it beyond Protodon or Pyrax. Both star systems were military reservations, though there was a lot of traffic in Pyrax or so he'd heard.
Senka would have been an option had he thought that they could have hijacked a ship that could make the run along the northern border of the sector and then down to B95a3. They would have been forced to divert to Nuevo Madrid, which might have been a good thing. But then again …
He shook himself. No matter. They were going to get the job done. There was no other option, not anymore. He had a few contingency plans in case things went south. Pulling everyone out wasn't possible once they were on the docks. The do or die aspect of the mission planning kept everyone aware of the stakes and aware that if they failed they were going to be caught.
In small groups of four or five, the teams rode up in the cargo shuttles with their gear. Everything was disguised, which was easy from the hijacker's point of view, they'd had long enough practice doing so. It was a nervous time for the Pawns though, but Mister Black and Knedson had sprinkled the veterans in their ranks to keep the young and nervous under control.
The smartest like Jock feigned boredom or sleep. They wore the proper uniforms, and each had passed through security with flying colors so the initial hard part was over.
Mister Gray wasn't happy about leaving his 3D printer and makeup kit behind. He'd had them in his possession for decades, but Mister Black had been adamant.
The two things that bothered the team leader were the lack of proper intelligence and planning and the lack of practice with their plastic weapons. Mister Brown and Miss Red had set up a primitive shoot house and they'd created a virtual recreation of the docks but there simply hadn't been enough time for everyone to get more than an hour of training time in.