“Your costume seems pretty silly to me, Stan. Do pirates really wear stuff like that?”
“Flamboyant, garish?”
She turned to face him and shook her head in dismay. “Outlandishly over-the-top?”
“I’d like to think of myself as ostentatious, woman. You betcha pirates dress like this, yes they do. Most pirates want folks to remember them as daring. And there’s a certain intimidating air surrounding loud—”
“Clothing?”
“I was going to say . . . people.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Lilia entered the galley and requested eggs, bacon, and toast for each of them. Then she turned to Stan. “Do you think gruel is all we should serve our guests?”
Stan went to the fluid dispenser to order coffee for Lilia and himself. “Only Billy Taft. The boy seems to have his heart set on returning to the Confederacy.”
“And Carlton?”
Stan took a seat at the breakfast counter. “Nah, he seems pretty docile. When I told him he’d be working a farm, the kid almost lit up. I believe he’s glad to be shed of the Confederacy and life as an Enforcer. Kid seems to have his heart set on a fresh start.”
“You think downing the cruise liner took the fight out of him?” Lilia slid a hot breakfast plate to Stan.
“Carlton is a good kid, but there’s still a chance he’s just playing us, waiting for a good time to strike. DarkStar, any opinion on Carl?”
“I’ve been monitoring his vital signs, Captain, and I believe he’s genuine.”
“We can trust him, huh?” Lilia said. “Enough to give him access to you, DarkStar?”
“Capt. Slone, you and Capt. Archer can decide that for yourselves, but I would give it much consideration before going that far.”
Stan and Lilia finished their breakfast in silence, each debating the prospect within themselves. Stan stood, gathered the plates, and took them to the sink.
Lilia’s bemused expression cradled disbelief. “Going to do them by hand?”
As Stan ran water over them, he gave her a quick look. “Helps me think. I’m not sure what to do with Carl just yet. We should take him on to Providence, but whether we fake his escape or just let him go, I haven’t decided.”
“We could add him to our crew.”
Stan didn’t like the idea of adding Carl to their troubles, but held his tongue. Carl would only complicate the tenuous state of affairs already on board. A plan was formulating in Stan’s mind that involved neither Carl nor Lilia, a plan that would impact everyone but would have consequences deadly only to himself.
He turned off the water, dripped in DarkStar’s homemade dish-soap, and slowly ran the scrub brush over a plate.
“Stan?” Lilia said. “We could add Carl to our crew.”
“I heard you . . .” He looked up but hesitated. “. . . but I don’t know what to tell you, Lilia. Things are happening so fast I haven’t had time to screw my head on straight. Can I think about it?”
Chapter Twelve
After getting “the animals” fed, and breakfast dealt with, Stan spent a few hours tackling navigation and other issues before heading to the cargo bay. The soreness, though not totally gone, had been reduced to tolerable levels. Before a jog around the bay, he took time to flex and stretch raw nerves and tender muscles, stooping to start with those his legs, then moved on to those in his back, neck, and arms.
Lilia entered the bay wearing a tank top, runner’s shorts, track shoes, and a satisfied expression. Suspiciously, her disposition had changed since breakfast.
She carried something—a bundle of . . .
“Before we change DarkStar’s outward appearance, Stan,” she said. “I’d like to change yours. That flight suit has got to go.” She handed him the bundle, track shoes wrapped in a man’s jogging shirt and shorts.
“Thank you, Lilia. This is great. I’ll be right back.”
“No, no. You can change right here.”
“What?”
“DarkStar?” A bench appeared behind her. As if to watch Stan change, Lilia took a seat. “Well, don’t be shy, go ahead.”
Dumbfounded, he looked at the outfit, and then back at her. “I really don’t think—”
“No, really. Go ahead.”
He looked at her in dismay, then said, “Fine. Enjoy.” Tossing the shoes and shirt to the bench beside Lilia, he stripped from his suit and pulled the shorts over his briefs.
Wearing a coy smile, Lilia didn’t turn away.
When he grabbed the shirt from the bench, he realized something was up. Lilia didn’t seem to see him. He glanced back only to see a holographic him standing there wearing a stupid grin.
“Oh, cute,” he said as he tugged the shirt over his head. “Real peachy, girlfriend.”
As he took a seat next to Lilia to pull on his socks and shoes, the holographic him disappeared.
Lilia turned to him. “Nervous were you?”
“Decided to let me twist, huh? No, no. I get it. You and DarkStar were just having fun.”
“Not really. DarkStar veiled you in invisibility, and created a Shadow you to entertain me while you changed. What was funny was the goofy expressions the Holo-you made behind your back. DarkStar did her best to make me laugh, but I held it together. I did a good job, don’t you think?”
“Yeah . . . wonderful.” Stan jumped to his feet and started around the bay’s perimeter.
In another moment Lilia passed him, giggling like a schoolgirl as she went.
Try as he might, he just couldn’t catch up to her, eventually having to stop to catch his breath. Lilia ran three more circuits before stopping by his side—not breathing hard at all.
“Are you trying to make a point, Miss?”
“I jogged every day before work, flyboy. Hit the showers, and I’ll make lunch.”
Stan showered and found new clothes laid out on his bed.
After lunch, Lilia nodded toward the living area. “Care to relax while we discuss DarkStar’s new look?”
They were surprised to find there, suspended in the middle of the room, a ten-foot holographic replica of DarkStar. It was, just as Lilia had said, pitch black, but at both its bow and stern was the name, Reliant.
Lilia settled into a well-cushioned chair. Seeing the hologram and the immeasurable possibilities to play seemed to give her energy.
Stan felt his every muscle relax as he nestled into the other cushy, leather-like sofa.
“All right, DarkStar,” Lilia said, “I’m ready. Let’s see you in a checkerboard motif.”
Instantly, the black ship sported black and red squares from nose to tail.
Lilia’s eyebrows rose nearly to her hairline. “Impressive,” she breathed, and then she got down to serious playtime. “How about a Currilian racing sloop.”
The red and black squares vanished to be replaced with an overall forest green, stripes of red and gold intersected at right angles at the ship’s prow. Garish was the only word for that pattern. For the next half hour Lilia changed DarkStar’s appearance with what Stan thought was every variation of color, pattern, and style possible. Making no comment, he let her work, knowing instinctively that this was more than play. It was necessary training.
Without effort his thoughts drifted away from the task to the woman herself. Although her focus was intense, her delicate features captivated his attention. The gleam in her eyes that spelled a playful mischievous nature hid well her ornery streak. Oh, yeah, he’d already experienced that! But still, she was a mystery nonetheless.
The way she looked at designing this ship’s cover was almost childlike in its purity, yet deep inside those dark eyes sat a compelling wisdom comfortably enthroned in good cheer. As she played, she seemed young but also very mature. Perhaps there was more to her than Stan had first suspected, perhaps not; . . . maybe it was only a full belly and the attention of a pretty girl getting the better of him.
When Lilia glanced his way, Stan suddenly realized he’d been staring. Snapped back to reality
, he turned quickly to the hologram, but not fast enough. Mesmerized by her smile, he was slow to keep his fascination secret. He grimaced, and from the corner of his eye saw her cock her head to study him—but, instead, she spoke to the ship.
“Okay, time to get serious. Let’s see how you look dark gray.” Instantly the holographic ship changed color. “Now give us a yellow band from bow to stern,” Lilia added, and instantly the yellow band appeared.
“Underscore that with a thinner bright red band,” Stan said, and it, too, appeared.
“Looking good, Stan. But still . . .”
He nodded. “It looks a little too sharp, wouldn’t you say?”
“Uh huh. You’re pretty perceptive.”
His attention was drawn more toward her than to the ship. To hold his interest at bay, Stan gulped loudly . . . too blasted loud, he thought.
“DarkStar,” he said to draw attention away from his embarrassment, “age this model, say . . . fifteen years, maybe.”
The ship’s finish dulled a bit, but not enough to suit either person.
“Uh uh,” Lilia said, “Not enough. I want Reliant to look as though it were ill kept and poorly piloted. You know, DarkStar? Like you’ve had paint scraped off here and there, from moorings and the like.”
“Perhaps like this?” DarkStar said. The hologram changed, and the ship now looked well weathered. Its name, Reliant, could scarcely be made out.
Lilia beamed. “Now we’re getting somewhere, but we haven’t arrived yet. What are those engines, Stan . . . that scorch areas of the hull?”
“Ion converters? The exhaust ports do leave a pretty nasty black buildup. They’re an antiquated propulsion system, though.”
“Yes, that’s what I want.”
“You’re good at this, Lilia. That would be the right look for this ship.” He got to his feet and pointed to the areas on both sides behind amidships, just above the Slip-Band drive. “DarkStar, create an Ion engine bulge here, and here, and put believable exhaust ports behind each. And then scorch the ship from the ports on back, like exhaust has built up over the last 15 years.”
Lilia walked around the hologram of Reliant. From every angle, it looked like an old freighter that had seen better days. It neither looked like a threat, nor a prize, nor would it draw attention to itself as it crossed the Providence border.
“I think it’s good,” Lilia finally said.
Stan searched the hologram for any indicator that would alert the border patrol. He had made that run all too often and could spot a smuggler from a good distance. This ship looked like nothing of the sort. “Yes, it does look innocent enough.”
“And Reliant fits as a name.”
“I believe you’re right. Reliant sounds good to me.”
“It’s decided then?”
Content, Stan shrugged and nodded in approval.
“DarkStar,” Lilia said. “We’ll name this persona Reliant.”
“In this guise, Capt. Slone, I will respond to Reliant as so ordered.”
“And when you’re out of costume, you will respond to ‘DS’ for expedience’ sake as well,” Stan added.
“Yes, Capt. Archer. As so ordered.”
“One more thing, DarkStar. When you’re in this disguise, you’ll address Lilia and I as Captain and Mrs. Star. That will be our guise.”
“Excuse me?” said a rather perturbed Lilia. “That will be Captain and Mr. Star, if you please.”
“Perhaps,” said DarkStar. “I should call each of you Captain Star.”
Lilia glared at Stan daring him to argue the point.
“Very good, DarkStar. When you wear this disguise, we’ll be Captains Star.” As if to seal their agreement, Lilia reached out to shake Stan’s hand and, though the contact was brief and innocent, all his troubles seemed to evaporate at her touch.
Man, he thought, do we make a good team or what? His thoughts stuttered to a stop. What am I thinking? She and I? Yeah, right. Like that could ever happen. We might make good partners for the ship . . . for the time being . . . but how long can that last?
When they reached their destination things would change, probably forever. That seemed the fate cut out for them anyway. As long as Atheron . . . as long as the Emperor’s Princess stood between them, Stan would never get the girl . . . not that he wanted this particular girl anyway. She’s opinionated, has no understanding of authority, and never shuts up. To top all that, she talks with someone she can’t even see. How nutty is that?
But then again, she had a really sweet smile . . . when she wasn’t frowning at him.
Enough Stan, he said to himself, put it away and get back to business. He turned from the hologram to her. “Okay, if we’re ready, let’s get on to Providence then.”
Lilia nodded, then turned to him. “Race you to the bridge.”
“Sure.”
“Winner captains from here on out.” Before he could move, Lilia bolted out the door.
“Uh, huh.” Stan smirked. Disadvantaged, he called for a holograph duplicate of himself.
One day, he promised himself, he’d play fair.
The holographic him, now sitting in the captain’s chair, swiveled toward the stairs just as Lilia trundled onto the landing.
Stopping at the door, she raised her hands to her hips, and scowled. “What the . . .?”
The real Stan had followed quietly. Sidestepping around her, he was first to step onto the bridge proper.
“You cheated,” she said after lifting her jaw from the floor.
He replaced the holo-him in the command chair, and raised an eyebrow as if her accusation was silly. “Haven’t you heard? ‘Disadvantage brings to light the more clever captain.’ It looks like you’ll have to settle for the office of first mate. I understand there’s an opening.”
She scowled even more. “I demand a rematch, Mister.”
Chapter Thirteen
With the core planets left far behind, Stan and Lilia skirted the Dalvus Nebula, a major obstacle to get around.
This morning Stan sat at the helm studying the scanner, or trying to, anyway. He wanted to get Lilia off his mind by focusing on other things, but when she joined him, she ignored the co-pilot’s seat, insisting on seeing his scanner by leaning over his shoulder. This made his ability to focus . . .
. . . unattainable.
Didn’t she realize that her long, soft curls caressed his cheek, or that her fresh, just bathed scent drew his attention closer?
Or maybe she was well aware.
He inhaled deeply to enjoy the moment, then mentally shook himself and spoke to break the spell that was rapidly overcoming him.
He tapped the screen. “If we cut through here, through the Straits of Andus we could shave weeks of travel time from our schedule.”
Lilia eased back. “Dangerous move isn’t it, um, Swift? Don’t pirates control the Straits?”
His call sign certainly sounded sweet on her lips, and brought a smile to his. He refocused. “Taking the long way around will extend our trip, but it’s safer by far.”
“Okay, then—”
“Wait a minute.” Stan leaned forward and zoomed in on an area directly ahead. “Long-range scanners are picking up something.”
Lilia slid into the other chair.
“Looks like a Brigantine and Corsair are chasing a small yacht, Lilia.” Stan turned to face her. “The pursuers are closing to gun range and will catch the yacht soon.”
“No time to lose, Stan. Guns or helm?”
“Take the helm,” he said, transferring control to her. “DarkStar, we need to get a message to that yacht and not alert the pirates chasing him. How do we do that?”
“I suggest a narrow communication beam directed at the yacht’s scanner.”
“Yes, do it. Get his attention; tell him to come to heading 29-16, and we’ll help.”
“And tell them,” Lilia added, “Do not reply to this message.”
With that, the small ship altered course toward DarkStar.
<
br /> “I’m loading the rack with class 1 rockets,” Stan said, “and targeting the Brigantine.”
“Sir,” responded DarkStar, “class 1’s will not penetrate the Brigantine’s shields.”
“That’s the idea, DarkStar. Watch and learn.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Apply ‘Prize’ color scheme,” Lilia said.
“Aye, Captain Slone, Prize it is.”
Stan’s favorite color scheme, that of a large, luxurious yacht, was the perfect pirate lure.
As DarkStar came at the other three ships head-on, Stan armed three rockets. Launching them in succession, the rockets shot ahead of DarkStar, veered up and over the yacht, passed the Corsair, and one after the other lit up the bow shields of the Brigantine.
“Sir, we are being hailed.”
Stan cocked his head. “By whom?”
“The Brigantine Val Hilliard, sir.”
He glanced up as though the ceiling were the source of his ship’s voice, but caught himself. That annoying habit would take effort to break.
“DarkStar,” he said, “create internal overlay persona ‘Stan-Lilia 3,’ please.”
“Aye, sir.”
He glanced at Lilia. “Remember, we want to appear incredibly arrogant, right?”
Sober and focused, she nodded her approval.
He launched three more rockets. “Okay DarkStar, open communications.”
On the big screen, the Brigantine Captain appeared. He was a tall, well-tanned man in a uniform of a sort. “Prize, I am Capt. Andrews of Val Hilliard. This is not your affair. Please stand down.” Right then the three rockets connected with Val Hilliard, rattling it a bit. Andrews grimaced and set his jaw.
If the holo-image ‘Stan-Lilia 3’ worked correctly, from Val Hilliard’s bridge Andrews would see Stan and Lilia relaxing in a posh living area. Lilia wore a beautiful Etherian-silk evening dress while Stan was dressed in a fine Sharminia suit. In this guise, they looked well heeled.
With his nose held just a little higher, Stan acted as though he and she were above it all. Arrogance personified, he spoke as if his every word was glaringly important. “I am Headley Farnsworth, sir, of the Parandine Farnsworths. Capt. Andrews, I must tell you that I will not have you harassing fellow yachtsmen; I simply will not have it. Now heave to immediately or suffer another volley of my best.”
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