Solomon Family Warriors II

by Robert H. Cherny

  As they spoke, the animals moved around Greg and formed a solid shield protecting him from Myra’s weapons. It would be difficult to hit him without hitting one of the animals. He could not fire at her either. The loud report from the one weapon he held would panic and stampede the animals. They were as likely to run toward him as toward her since the cargo container they came in blocked their other escape routes.

  Myra assessed the situation for a moment and then said, “We have a Mexican standoff. I want something from you and you want to go away. We can both get what we want. Toss me your satchel with the carrots. Some of the horses will come to me and provide a shield for me. You take your horses and they will be a shield for you until you are safely in your cargo tug. The message module is in the food rations pouch on the right side of the cockpit. Leave the cargo tug in orbit here. You’ll need the cargo capacity on the way back.”

  She smiled as if she knew something he didn’t, which Greg guessed she did since she had known exactly when and where to find him.

  He nodded. He unhooked the satchel and tossed it. She deftly snatched it out of the air and held up the carrots for the horses to eat. The little brown filly stood and pawed the ground. When Greg moved away, the filly stayed with him, carefully keeping her back to him and her face toward the intruder. When Greg climbed into the cargo tug, she whimpered and whinnied. If a horse could cry, the little brown filly looked like she would cry.

  Greg closed the hatch and started the engine. He made sure the animals had backed a safe distance away before he lifted off and headed back to the ship.

  He had known Myra only by reputation. Myra’s past was cloaked in legend. Her dwarfism was not common knowledge. With the relentless advances in genotype research over the last few centuries, dwarfism and gigantism had been virtually eliminated. For her to be a dwarf in itself spoke of horrors. Greg had heard her parents had been the son and daughter of one of the Federation’s best survey teams. Myra’s grandparents had been killed in a pirate raid. The pirates had made the brother and sister perform sex acts on each other for their amusement. The pirates took perverse pleasure in forcing the brother and sister to hurt each other. Myra and her parents had been rescued by a Federation Pirate Interdiction team not long after Myra had been born. Stranded on a Space Force outpost for two years before they were able to afford transport, they booked passage on a tramp freighter bound for Earth. At one of the stops along the way the freighter was attacked by pirates and Myra’s parents were killed. She was captured. Little was known of her childhood, or what was left of it. The few rumors that survived were horrific tales of abuse. Her vow of revenge was widely known for certain.

  She never spoke of those years. She was recovered in a Federation raid on a pirate hideout. She spent the remainder of her teenage years with relatives on Earth before joining the Space Force. At the Space Flight Academy pilot school, Myra stood out for her ship handling capabilities, for tactical knowledge, for daring, for her ruthlessness and in some cases for sheer audacity. Myra had a reputation for being able to withstand G forces well in excess of what her fellow pilots could endure.

  The pirates had taught her the basics of space navigation in the hopes of inducing her to become one of them. Once she returned to Federation space, it became apparent that the Space Force had a place for people like her. The Force assigned her to a place where her stature was not an obstacle, the same place it had for Greg for many of the same reasons. Solo pirate patrol with individual heavily armed fast maneuverable craft specifically designed for pirate interdiction was the place. This small elite group protected the shipping lines against pirates. A proud, tight knit group with a fearsome reputation, they engaged and destroyed superior forces by themselves.

  People assigned to pirate interdiction tended to have problems with social interaction. They gravitated toward a duty involving extended periods alone on patrol. Myra and Greg had both been combative with their instructors and classmates. In the Army or Marines, their attitudes and actions in class would have been a quick ticket to the brig, but the Space Force recognized the potential in this particular type of troublemaker for their ability to succeed in one of the Force’s most dangerous assignments. The Space Force essentially gave a band of people with recognized psychopathic homicidal tendencies a license to kill and the weapons with which to do it. The Force did not have high expectations of the pilots’ survival rate. Greg had known Pirate Interdiction was where he wanted to be assigned even before he applied to the Academy. He had mellowed in his years of battling loose bands of brigands, but Myra had not.

  Space pirates flourished for the same reasons maritime pirates once terrorized the shipping lanes. In spite of the Federation’s best efforts, pirates plagued even some of the more populous areas of space. Myra’s reputation for catching and killing pirates extended to the ends of human habitation. She had no sympathy for pirates. She saw them, she engaged them and she killed them. There was no quarter asked and no quarter given. A pirate encountering her in space knew he had two choices. He could either flee or try to fight her in which case he would die. She took no prisoners.

  The mission he had asked about was legendary. Pirates had mounted an unusually well planned, for them, action against Myra involving two dozen ships staffed by a hundred pirates. They combed through the shipping lanes she normally patrolled. They found her and laid a trap, but not before she figured out what was going on and called in reinforcements. A Space Force battle group had been nearby. She needed “merely” to lure the pirates within the battle group’s range and have the battle group engage the pirates. Even with the significant tactical advantages her training and her ship’s weaponry gave her, she would not have survived if she had engaged the pirates alone. Her only other option would have been to flee.

  What happened after ambush is the stuff of sometimes contradictory legends. She evaded the pirates long enough to escape their initial trap. There was debate over how she escaped which in itself would have been no small feat. She led the pirates to the battle group. The battle group engaged the pirates. A few got away, but most of the pirates were killed or taken prisoner. The Force’s official version of the engagement listed Myra as missing in action. But there was another, more popular, version which contended she survived and somehow in the midst of the impending battle she had hyper jumped away from the confrontation a second before it would have been too late. The Force discounted the popular version because, rumor had it, they did not want anyone knowing a jump into hyper drive with so much mass nearby was survivable. If pirates could jump to hyper drive anytime a Federation vessel approached, they could never be caught. Keeping the myth alive worked to the Force’s advantage. Greg, however, had pulled the same stunt himself and he knew the truth. A P I ship could hyper jump in close quarters and survive.

  Greg had been out of the Force for a couple of years when he read the reports about Myra’s alleged demise. He listened to the commentators on both sides speculate about what had actually happened in this battle in which so many pirates and so few Space Force personnel had died. He wondered what had happened to Myra. He wasn’t as ruthless as she was. He was as effective but his techniques were different. He had relied more on cunning and stealth where she had relied on brute force and fire power. He would set a trap and wait for the pirates to take the bait. She would wade into the middle of a pirate fleet and blast away until there was nothing left.

  Greg parked his cargo tug in orbit as Myra had instructed. Normally he would take it with him not wanting to leave such a valuable piece of hardware where a pirate might be induced to pick it up. But those had been his instructions, and so that is what he did. Besides, Myra was quite capable of defending a planet from pirates all by herself if she had her P I ship. The only reason he was getting away from Myra with all his body parts intact was because she wanted him to go and do what he had been asked to do. He knew owed his life to her mission, but he did not understand why.

  HOMESTEAD - CHAPTER TWO

  �
��AFTER WE GET THE COURIER missile off, set course for Earth at two G on the most direct route,” Greg instructed the cargo ship’s computer.

  “Aye, Captain,” the computer responded.

  “Disengage the tug.”

  “Are you really leaving it here?”

  “Yes, did you look at the energy source under the water we ignored when we came in?”

  “Yes, it is a PI. It did not respond to my hails, but I suspect it is Lt. Myrakova’s ship,” the computer responded.

  “Well, she is more than capable of defending the planet all by herself.”

  “Do you really think she will hang out here for the five months it will take us to go back to Earth and return?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “She really got the drop on you.”

  “Yes, she did,” Greg admitted.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “No one has gotten the drop on you since your mother died.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “There is no incident in my records showing anyone putting you in a position of disadvantage at the commencement of an engagement,” the computer replied.

  “Even at the Academy?”

  “There were exercises where you were deliberately placed at a disadvantage by the instructor, but those do not count,” the computer affirmed

  “So, I’ve gotten fat and lazy. Surprised?”

  “Greg, your reflexes have not decreased since you left the Academy. I think it’s the women.”

  Greg put the data modules in the courier and slid the courier into its launch tube. “The courier is ready to go. Launch it when you are ready.”

  “Courier away.”

  “Initiate departure procedures.”

  “Initiating departure procedures.”

  “Third star to the right and on till morning.”

  “Greg, you are ducking the question. How did Lt. Myra Myrakova get the drop on you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I may have an answer. Let me play back a video of a conversation with your playmates while you waited for the hurricane to clear. Blondie was the tall one. Brownie was the short one. This was over dinner after the first time you demonstrated one of your combat simulations.”

  Brownie asked, “Why did you wait so long to take action against the pirate ship? If they had been any closer you would have been a sitting duck against their missiles.”

  Greg put down his fork before answering. His eyes were downcast and his expression somber. “Because one time I didn’t.” Greg paused as if debating whether to continue. The background music which had been soft and light suddenly became heavy and mournful.

  Greg continued, “Generally, anytime a ship came in my direction accelerating rapidly, it was a pirate, and I attacked it. I was good at it. Pirates usually travel solo, but occasionally they can be found in pairs or small groups. The most dangerous pirates travel with their own fleets. I was on patrol in a system where increased pirate activity had recently been reported. I was monitoring the progress of an intra-system freighter. Two ships were headed toward it at maximum acceleration. One was squealing an automated distress signal on the designated distress frequency. The other was using its targeting radar to get a missile solution. From where I was I could not tell whether the target was the freighter or the other small ship, and I had precious little time to make my decision.”

  “Don’t pirates send out false distress signals to lure ships into missile range?” Brownie asked.

  “Yes. It’s one of their favorite deceptions. Except sometimes it’s real. The ship the pirates are chasing could be sending the legitimate distress signal. I thought it was a diversion. I thought both ships were after the nearby freighter, and the distress signal was bogus. I was half wrong. One ship was a pirate. The other was filled with refugees who had escaped an earlier attack and had overcome the pirates to escape. I killed both ships. They were so focused on each other and the freighter that neither noticed me. They came within easy missile range, and I fired on both ships. I hit both. The pursuing ship immediately exploded leaving no survivors. The fleeing ship managed to get an escape capsule off with a single survivor who told the story. The refugee ship was full of women and small children. I killed them.” He hung his head and looked down.

  “Was that why you got out of the Force?” Blondie asked.

  “Yes.”

  Brownie asked, “Have you told anyone else this story?”

  “There are a few friends who know the truth. The official Force report has me taking out two pirate vessels. The freighter’s crew rescued the little girl and reported the truth to the local fleet commander, but agreed to support the Force’s official version. I could not live the lie. When they offered me command of a small task force in a peaceful sector, I realized they no longer had faith in me to do my old job, and I quit.”

  “We understand how painful that must have been,” Blondie said. “I think we know what to do to take your mind off your hurt.” She smiled an evil grin, and it was not hard to imagine what she had on her mind.

  Greg smiled back and said, “First I need to use the facilities.” He drifted off in the direction of the Personal Hygiene Unit. As he left he heard whispered conversation behind him.

  “Do you realize who he is?”

  “Yes! Shhhh!”

  “He’s a legend! We’ve been having sex with a legend! Who knew?”

  “Well, now we know.”

  “What’s he doing way out here?”

  “Hiding.”

  “Hiding? From what?”

  “From people like us.”

  “Oh, then it’s important we show him a good time. He must be lonely.”

  “I think so.”

  “You know, he could be the answer we’ve been looking for.”

  “Really?”

  “Maybe. We should think about it.”

  “We should tell Myra.”

  The computer stopped the playback. “She referred to you as the answer they have been looking for. You may have been set up.”

  “It’s possible,” Greg mused. “But what do we do about it?”

  “I suggest we be prepared to repel boarders when we return to Earth orbit.”

  “And here I was thinking all they wanted was my body,” Greg said sarcastically.

  “They got plenty of that,” the computer shot back. “Your body may have been what they wanted when they arrived, but they found more than they expected. It will be battle stations when we get back to earth. I know you miss them more than you miss anyone since Avi and certainly more than you miss your ex-wife, but you need to focus on the mission at hand or we will both get killed.”

  “Roger that,” Greg sighed. For the first time he understood why the team of designers who had crafted the operating software for the P I warship had insisted on a psyche module. He needed it. Maybe if he had listened to it when he killed the wrong ship, he would still be hunting pirates. Or maybe not.

  HOMESTEAD - CHAPTER THREE

  AFTER SIX WEEKS of two G travel, Greg returned to the Central System. Greg’s “docking port” was merely a set of coordinates in orbit around Earth. There was nothing physical to say this particular corner of the cosmos was the right place other than a voice from Mission Control on the ground telling him he was properly docked and his orbit was stable.

  Greg was surprised to find a cargo shuttle at his docking location waiting for him. Even more surprising, his entire load was parked nearby held together by monstrous polymer hawsers. There must have been several kilometers of these bright yellow plastic ropes. He had barely shut down his engines when a personal jet pack tug approached to attach the first container.

  He hailed the two EVA suit clad people hurriedly attaching the cargo containers to his ship. They responded politely, but the grunts and groans punctuating their brief conversation showed how intensely they were working to get him loaded and ready to ship out again. It was all he could do to keep
up with them as they tossed containers for his grappling arms to catch.

  A second shuttle arrived. There were now two teams of space suited personnel snatching cargo pods from space and attaching them to his ship. Whoever was out there certainly was in a hurry. Extra water tanks and dry goods pods he had not ordered were secured to their attachment points. While Greg appreciated how quickly he would be turning around, any time something out of the ordinary occurred, it made him nervous.

  Greg lived in fear of some minor government official boarding his ship and charging him with some insignificant crime landing him in the brig. Once there he would be forgotten to languish without trial until he died of old age. He knew it was an irrational fear, born of cultural paranoia, but it was real to him. Having cargo and materiel he did not order transferred to his ship without a manifest was illegal.

  While Greg frenetically snatched cargo pods and secured them to the ship, Canaveral Mission Control called. They reported his cargo shuttle pilots had been called away on another mission and would be delayed a few days getting him loaded. The disembodied voice apologized for the delay citing increasing Space Force activity in the area. This transmission contradicted what he knew to be happening and did not explain why the shuttle that had been there when he arrived was attaching itself to his docking port. Greg knew better than to say anything beyond how much he appreciated the controller letting him know the situation and to assure them he would wait patiently for further instructions. His agitation had increased exponentially as the conversation had progressed.

  There were two docking ports built into his ship where the cargo shuttles could attach and link airlocks. These ports also served as attachment points when transporting smaller non-hyper capable craft. The second pair of EVA suited people disappeared back into their shuttle immediately upon finishing the cargo transfer. Soon thereafter, the second shuttle maneuvered to connect with the docking port where the cargo tug he left behind would normally have been. The shuttle appeared to be fully loaded, but he already had a full load. In spite of what Mission Control had said, he seemed to be getting high priority treatment. He was surprised when the shuttle made no attempt to unload cargo, but secured itself fully loaded to the docking port. As soon as it was locked, two space suited figures re-emerged and affixed hawsers from his ship to theirs securing it in place.