“Let me guess,” Molon replied. “Some mystical voice has told you all these things, but if I ask you any questions, you will tell me it is a mystery that you can’t reveal. I’ve played enough of those games with Angel here. I have no desire to go round two with you, your grace. I’m done with everybody seeming to know more about what is going on with my ship and my crew than I do.”
Enoch gave Molon a sad smile, and his voice took on a soothing tone.
“Captain Hawkins, I assure you I know little more than has already been revealed. I have no desire to withhold any information or to play any games. We are on the same side.”
“Are we, your grace?” Molon snapped with far more fire than he had intended. “Then why are you all keeping secrets, and why does everyone seem to know that this human dilettante we rescued from a Dawnstar prison world will so assuredly become a long-term part of my crew? What stops me from dropping him off on Tede on our way out of this sector?”
“All I know,” Enoch replied, “is that I heard from my top Angelicum advisors that a Dr. John Salzmann was going to be instrumental in affecting a turning point in the war. That might be challenging to do sitting on Tede. It was only after I got to Furi that I came to find out he had joined the crew of a mercenary ship, Star Wolf. As soon as I learned that, the Spirit within me stirred with a feeling that this was a momentous occurrence.”
“And what makes you so sure these warm fuzzy feelings aren’t just indigestion?” Molon said, with more disrespect than was warranted given the Prince’s graciousness thus far.
Enoch was clearly a patient man, given that all of Molon’s hot-headed baiting had not changed the prince’s gentle tone.
“Abbot Nichols’s words just now strongly confirmed what I already felt, that somehow you and your crew have a major role to play in the Creator’s plans. Sometimes guidance from the Creator is not a single shout but a series of whispers.”
Molon was conflicted. There was just something likeable about the prince, but all this spiritual talk unsettled Molon. It was like there was an exclusive club that everyone in the room except Molon was a member of. He didn’t know the secret handshake. He didn’t know the password. And they were all sharing secrets amongst themselves that he wasn’t privy to.
“So what else have these whispers clued you in to that I ought to know?” Molon asked.
“Beyond what I have already shared, captain,” Enoch replied, “I don’t have any greater knowledge than you do. But I do have an offer, if you are interested.”
Molon’s brow furrowed and his ears twitched forward.
“What kind of offer?”
“Well, Angel shared with us that you have lost your freelance merchant contract with the Provisional Imperium.”
Molon felt his blood began to boil. His lip pulled back over his canines and his body tensed. This set the admiral to reach toward his sidearm, but the prince motioned for him to stand down. Enoch remained unperturbed at Molon’s escalated tension.
“Now wait one minute. I’ve been with Miss Shinybright here,” Molon snarled, pointing a finger at Angel, “since we dropped out of voidspace, save for whatever time she and John had when they ran to fetch your elderly abbot friend. When exactly did she have time to report about my contract status with the PI?”
Enoch’s cheeks flushed red and he cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry, captain,” he said, opening his hands apologetically in front of him. “I forgot that Angel is probably the first Malak Angelicum you have encountered.”
“She’s the first any-kind of Angelicum I’ve ever seen apart from holovids and story-books. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Yes,” Enoch continued. “Well, you see the Malak caste of Angelicum have rather advanced psionic abilities. I’m afraid she has been communicating with James and myself since we arrived in the room. I realize, now, that was rude to do without first informing you. It is just something I have grown accustomed to with my Angelicum advisors. My apologies.”
“Great,” Molon snarled, shaking his head but releasing his tensed posture. “So you three have been carrying on a sidebar this whole time. No wonder everyone seems to know more than I do about what is going on.”
“Captain,” Angel interjected, “I was merely bringing James and Enoch up to speed regarding the events on board Revenge. I also apologize for not doing it openly, but I know you are in a hurry to conclude this meeting and get back to helping your executive officer, so I thought only to save time.”
Molon spun on Angel.
“So you are snooping around in my noggin too?” Molon growled, pointing his finger and taking a step toward Angel. “Nobody invited you into my head, sister, so keep your mind games out of my skull.”
Angel frowned.
“I’m sorry, Molon. It is a natural reflex for me. I automatically pick up the most basic surface thoughts unless I deliberately focus on going deeper, but I can no sooner turn that off than you can will your eyes to stop seeing or your ears to stop hearing. I only got your sense of urgency about Commander Richardson’s condition because it has been so strongly on your mind since we arrived. I intended no offense.”
Molon’s ears relaxed as he gazed at the deck and shuffled his feet. There was a lot for him to get used to here. Other than whatever Mel was capable of, Molon had never, at least to his knowledge, been around psionic individuals before. It was unsettling, but he knew these people weren’t enemies.
“Look, maybe I’m more on edge than I need to be,” he admitted, relaxing his posture and removing the snarl from his muzzle. “I am worried about Twitch but it’s unsettling when people you have never met already know everything about you. I play things pretty close to the vest, and being this wide open makes me feel like someone shaved all my fur. Anyway, I’d like to hear your offer, your grace.”
Enoch nodded and the others seemed to relax as well. An exuberance filled Enoch as he began to explain his proposal.
“As I was saying, captain, with your PI independent operator’s license suspended, or soon to be, you are only going to be legally allowed to take Theocracy merchant contracts. Given what has happened to you at the hands of Dawnstar and the Provisional Imperium, and given that many of the worlds near where you are heading are in and around the Occupied Worlds currently held by Alpha Pack on behalf of the New Halberan Empire, I thought you might like a little more freedom to operate.”
“What do you mean by that, your grace?” Molon asked.
“That’s simple,” Enoch explained. “I am prepared to offer you a Letter of Marque on behalf of the Theocracy of the Faithful, making you a sanctioned privateer vessel. This would allow you to carry out both commercial and military actions with full protections under the Humaniti Articles of Warfare, the same as afforded any military vessel. I realize this doesn’t quite replace your diminished financial opportunities with the Provisional Imperium, but it may give you a little more latitude in going where you need to, as you seek the best help for your executive officer. We are on the right side of this conflict, captain. I think you know that or you wouldn’t be here. I’m only offering the chance to be as involved in this war as you choose to be.”
Molon was speechless. This was the very thing he had hoped after he had headed spinward and realized the corruption in the Provisional Imperium and the ruthlessness of the New Halberan Empire allies, Alpha Pack. He hadn’t really thought through how he planned to join forces to serve Enoch Halberan, but now the opportunity he needed was being handed to him. There had to be a catch.
“And what exactly do you want from Star Wolf in return, your grace? I admit this sounds tempting, but life has taught me that when things come too easily there is always a hidden cost.”
“Not this time, captain,” Enoch said. “As I said, this Letter of Marque will give you what protections I can, but you may continue to come and go, do or not do whatever you please. If I get any clearer direction from the Spirit or from my Angelicum advisors, I will let you know, but you will be under n
o compunction to do anything other than what you will.”
Freedom to pursue his goals, to choose his targets and missions, to operate by his conscience rather than blindly following orders as a military vessel would have to; was this possible? Prince Halberan seemed sincere. If there was a hidden hook somewhere, Molon couldn’t see it.
“Fine, then,” Molon replied. “You have a reputation as a man of your word, Prince Halberan, so I will take you at that. I gratefully accept your Letter of Marque.”
Enoch beamed a robust smile and clapped Molon on the shoulder. The admiral lost his last hint of tension at Molon’s earlier outburst and was also grinning broadly.
“Excellent,” Prince Enoch answered as he turned toward the admiral. “James, will you see to it that the Letter of Marque gets transmitted before they leave Furi?”
“Yes, your grace,” answered Admiral Wetzler.
There was a knock at the door.
“Enter,” Enoch called out.
A man in an expensive and well-tailored business suit entered. His neatly groomed salt-and-pepper hair, clean shaven appearance, and upright demeanor indicated this visitor was someone of importance.
“Ah, Dr. Merriam,” Enoch greeted the new arrival. “I’m glad you could make it.”
The doctor flashed a mild frown.
“I wasn’t given the impression there was a choice, your grace. May I understand what is so urgent that I drop everything to fly to the highport at a moment’s notice? I had a number of critical meetings set for this afternoon.”
“Yes, well, your calendar has been cleared,” Enoch replied, apparently unconcerned by the doctor’s irritation at the sudden summons. “I already have my staff working with yours to reschedule your meetings. Allow me to introduce Captain Molon Hawkins, our newest privateer captain, and his chief medical officer Dr. John Salzmann.”
“Any relation to Salzmann Pharma?” Merriam inquired, his irritation fading as he raised an eyebrow.
“One and the same,” John answered, his face flushing slightly. This elicited a full smile from Dr. Merriam.
“You guys have a revolutionary anti-radiation medication, but your stock has been stagnant for a while. Was thinking of dumping it, unless you might clue me that you are prepping for another breakthrough sometime soon?”
“Well, insider trading info and all that, you know,” John answered, “but I have an idea for a few things going into the works. No promises when the results may come, though. Might be worth sticking around for the ride.”
“Hmm, interesting,” Merriam rubbed his chin. “But I doubt the Prince of the Theocracy introduced us to swap stock tips, doctor. I have a suspicion my urgent summons has to do with you?”
“Yes,” John replied, nodding. “I have a serious C5-C6 injury to our executive officer, and I need to know the best mechanical assistance tech you have at your disposal. I will need to get her fitted and set up as soon as possible.”
Dr. Merriam’s eyes narrowed.
“You looking to do a reattach-regen? We have a few surgeons who have done that, but it depends on a lot of factors.”
“No,” John replied, with shake of his head and a frown on his face. “Unfortunately the injuries are far too serious. The spinal cord has been severed in multiple places.”
“Ah, I see,” Dr. Merriam replied, his own grim visage matching John’s. “A TL15 world might be able to do something, but even then it’s a long shot.”
“We are headed for Sarren to see what they think,” John said. “I did my residency there. For now I just need to get her as much basic functionality and mobility as possible.”
Merriam flashed another brief frown at Prince Enoch.
“Well, it doesn’t take the Surgeon General of the Furi system to handle your request, but if you will come with me I will put you with my top cybernetic assistance people, who will grease the wheels to get your crewmate sorted right away. I assume you are docked at the highport?”
“Yes, our ship isn’t fitted for ground landing.”
“No problem. I have a fully equipped medical shuttle on standby at the highport at all times. If you will come with me, we can get moving on that right away.”
John looked to Molon with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, John, go with Dr. Merriam and do what you can with Twitch. I’ll wrap things up here and see about crew replacements. I imagine we will be two or three days at least before we’re ready to get underway. Will that be enough time?”
“Yes, it should,” replied Dr. Merriam. “If we can go now to the docking bay and move your patient to the medical shuttle, I will call ahead to have the cyber-prosthesis lab prepare to see us right away.”
“Thank you, Dr. Merriam,” John replied. “Molon, I will go straight to a terminal and release the payment voucher in Theocreds for the return mission to Ratuen as promised. I am also extending a letter of credit to Star Wolf for an additional two million Theocreds for any repair, outfitting, upgrading, or rearming expenses you need.”
Molon took a deep breath. John was a generous soul, but Molon didn’t like owing anyone. As much as he could use the advance to see to proper repairs, refitting, and hiring new crew, he couldn’t accept this.
“John, I appreciate it, but I told you, what went down was part of the risk of being a merc. Pay off the contract amount, we’re owed that, but I can’t take an advance. We have no work on the horizon and I have no idea when I could pay that back.”
John smiled and winked at Molon.
“Don’t worry about it, captain. We will settle anything against the LOC over time, since the decision on whether or not I am staying aboard has apparently already been made.”
Molon laughed. His medics were great, but he had to admit having a genuine trained surgeon on board, especially one with John’s compassion, would be a welcome addition. That was doubly true now with what lay in Twitch’s future.
“I appreciate that, John.”
“It is the least I can do. If I am going to be flying about in this crate for the foreseeable future, I want to make sure you don’t have to hold it together with glue and prayers.”
Molon laughed and patted John on the arm. He liked Doc, even with all the baggage that came from toting a religious hermit-worlder around with the crew. Drs. Merriam and Salzmann said their goodbyes to Prince Halberan and exited.
“As for crewing up and refitting,” Admiral Wentzler said to Molon, “there is a Spacers’ Club in the highport. Quite a few experienced spacers and marines in between billets hang out there looking to pick up a berth on a passing ship. However, if you are looking for a broader choice among less eager-beaver possibilities, I’d look elsewhere.”
Molon was intrigued. Sometimes the spacer bars featured mostly people who had been involuntarily cut from other billets. One could find a diamond or two in the rough there, but filling out all the holes in Star Wolf’s roster would take more than the pick of the litter at the local Spacers’ Club.
“Where would you suggest I look, admiral?”
A wily grin crept across the face of the seasoned commander. He cocked his head slightly to the side as he answered Molon’s inquiry.
“You might take an STS down to the moon colony of Zaros, third moon of Furi’s only gas giant. There’s a dive bar there called the Last Call where seedier mercs and other undesirables with a wide range of skills hang out…no offense intended.”
“None taken,” Molon replied.
Molon had never known a military commander to be overly impressed with merc hangouts such as the one the admiral had just described. Those places were usually filled with the dregs of society; social misfits with authority issues. The better ones had trouble following authority. The worse ones had the authorities following them.
“Let me ask you, Admiral,” Molon said with a grin, “If you were outfitting your ship and plugging holes for about twenty-five percent of your crew spots, spacers and marines, would you head for the Last Call?”
Wentzler laughed out l
oud and shook his head.
“Not on your life. I run a military ship, and I need the spit-and-shine, order-following, rule-book-quoters that make a military vessel run like it was jacked into my brain.”
“But—
“But,” the admiral continued, interrupting Molon before he could complete his objection. “If you and I swapped captain’s chairs, and I was headed for the trouble you are, I wouldn’t stop long enough to sniff the air in the Spacers’ Club on my way to the Last Call.”
Molon nodded. The admiral was giving sound advice. Scratching the whiskers on his chin, Molon pondered the admiral’s recommendation.
“Interesting advice.”
“Look, captain,” Wentzler explained. “I saw from your service record you were a Scout. Some of the best military personnel around serve on my ship, but half wouldn’t know to wipe their behind without an officer to tell them when and how. Independent thinking and insubordination are court martialing offenses aboard a space navy vessel.”
“So I’ve heard,” Molon replied.
“But you know as well as I do,” the admiral continued, “in the Scouts, and even more so on merc ships, independent thinking and sometimes even insubordination are survival skills.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Molon said with a laugh.
This salty old admiral had a rare blend of intelligence and wisdom. Molon couldn’t count the number of times he and Twitch had bent orders way out of shape, if not broken them entirely, to get the job done. Many were the times they threw the book out the window and followed their gut. That instinct had saved their lives and made whatever trouble or administrative reprimand they got in return no deterrent at all.
“If you are going anywhere near the Occupied Worlds,” Wentzler continued, “you are going to need people who can think on their feet.”
“People like I will find at the Last Call on Zaros?”
“Exactly! That’s my two credits’ worth of advice, captain, for whatever it is worth.”
“I appreciate it, admiral. I believe I will look at getting our hardware replenished here at the highport, but will indeed head to Zaros for our personnel replacements.”
Star Wolf (Shattered Galaxy) Page 47