First Command kb-2

by Rodney L. Smith

  J’Kraul and H’Topa were summoned to the Imperial Hall and provided with an escort of Shadow Warriors. The two were not sure what was happening, but one does not argue with 10 Shadow Warriors. They arrived at the Imperial Hall and the Shadow Warriors formed up on either side and marched them into a large reception hall. All levels of royalty occupied the room. The Elders stood at the front of the hall. The Shadow Warriors marched them up to the three Elders and halted.

  The senior Elder spoke. “Fellow nobles, our ranks have been filled by those who have distinguished themselves in battle, sometimes by those who advance K’Rang science, culture, or economy. Today, for the first time, we recognize two Shadow Warriors that have advanced K’Rang security through the ancient art of espionage. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you our newest members of K’Rang royalty, Baron J’Kraul and Baron H’Topa. Advance Baron J’Kraul.”

  J’Kraul stepped forward to the senior Elder. The senior Elder reached to his right, where a retainer stood with a chain and medallion. He took the medallion and had J’Kraul bend slightly so that he could place it on his neck. At the same time, another retainer placed a white lined cape on J’Kraul and helped him fasten it around his neck. Then he was presented with a ring with three moons on its face.

  “Advance, Baron H’Topa.”

  H’Topa stepped forward and received his chain and medallion, white lined cape, and ring.

  Baron N’Gana came to stand beside the two new barons and whispered, “Now salute and bow.”

  The two snapped off a smart salute to the Elder, bowed, and executed an about face and marched out of the hall to the applause of the assembled nobles.

  Baron N’Gana took them to a small office.

  “Welcome to the nobility. You will be taken to a facility outside the city and you will spend the next six weeks learning the duties, responsibilities, and privileges of the nobility. After that, you will choose your duties and move into noble society. Welcome, barons.”

  J’Kraul and H’Topa grabbed each other and did a mini-celebration nose muzzle as Baron N’Gana looked on and smiled.

  Chapter Seven

  A month later, in another section of Galactic Republic space, a situation was developing that would again require the Vigilant’s service.

  Russell Obwobwo was the youngest crewmember of the SS Andromeda Clipper. A recent graduate of the Merchant Space Academy, the nineteen-year-old was on the engineering detail’s third watch. His duties included making minor repairs and adjustments throughout the ship as needed. At the moment, he was working on a balky waste control pump in the port dorsal cable and piping access tunnel.

  This was the second time he had to crawl along the piping to fix this particular pump. Earlier, he had gotten it to work again by loosening the mounting bolts and retightening them using the correct torque setting. The shipyard had installed it improperly. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with it this time.

  Russell was proud of his ship. The Andromeda Clipper was the newest ship in the Lyman Space Shipping Lines, and he was lucky to be aboard. It was a new fast auto-container ship, designed to carry auto-containers into planetary orbit, where they detached from the ship and automatically landed at the planet’s spaceports. Once unloaded and then loaded with new cargo, the auto-containers automatically joined up with the Clipper or remained dormant to await her arrival. The automation made it a significant improvement on the older cargo lighter carriers. There were several containers to drop off and more to pick up at Rigel, the next stop.

  The Clipper could do FTL Power 4 and, even though there were ships disappearing on the Rigel to Aldebaran run, the company assessed the Clipper could outrun any danger along the way. Russell heard the chief engineer say that nothing could catch the Clipper and he believed him.

  Russell disassembled the pump motor’s outer casing, removed a metal shaving from the electrical connections, reassembled it, and it ran perfectly. He crawled backward out of the access tunnel. It was then that he heard the engines suddenly drop out of FTL drive and stop. The lights went out and everything changed.

  A non-descript, small intergalactic-class cargo ship drifted in open space between the Aldebaran and Rigel systems. The very familiar single human occupant hunched over his command console, monitoring the space around him. A white cat stretched out on the console, occasionally nuzzling the man’s hand to get his attention.

  Alistair had completed his mission of taking down the K’Rang spy network and turned all his data over to the prosecutors. He looked for an easy assignment to wind down from the pressures of that mission, and chose to investigate some ship disappearances. It seemed like an uncomplicated, routine investigation to him.

  The shipping lane between Rigel in the Orion Sector and Aldebaran in the Taurus Sector was one of the most highly-trafficked in Galactic Space. Alistair was looking for why a disproportionate number of ships in this sector were not arriving at their destinations.

  That ships were lost in space was not unusual. Space was a dangerous enough place that approximately twenty ships were lost in all of the Galactic Republic Space every year. However, eighteen ships had been lost on the Rigel-Aldebaran run in the last eleven months alone. Something was not right near Orion’s Belt.

  Officials from Rigel, Aldebaran, and the shipping companies had poked about for months and turned up nothing. It was as if the ships had just dematerialized. No debris was found. No distress calls were received. None of the crew had turned up anywhere in Galactic Republic Space. None of the cargo had turned up. Officials on both worlds were stymied. Cargo ships were starting to run in convoys or hiring armed escort ships to make the passage. A few fast ships made the journey, relying on their speed to get them through. Those too poor made the runs singly, hoping they would slip by whatever was taking the ships.

  He had been scouting around the Orion Sector and environs for weeks, looking for any reason why eighteen perfectly good ships never made it to port. His sensors showed him the entire space from Rigel to Aldebaran. He could monitor every ship moving through the region. He watched and waited for anything out of the ordinary. He waited a long time.

  Weeks later, with his rations running low, Alistair was preparing to make a run to the planet Titov in the Sirius system. He was laying in his course when his sensors showed him that a Lyman Shipping Lines auto container ship on the run from Rigel to Aldebaran just disappeared. One minute it was there, the next it had vanished. Alistair cautiously moved his ship closer to the last known position of the freighter. Hours later when he cruised through the position, he found only a faint ion trail leading off in the direction of the Pleiades Star Cluster.

  Alistair calculated his remaining rations, added in his emergency rations, and figured he could track the ion trail for twelve days before he would have to make a port call in the Rigel system. He turned to his feline companion and said, “I’m sorry, Rojo. I know how much you like the sailorfish fillets from Titov, but you’ll just have to live on packaged rations for a few more days.”

  Alistair turned his ship toward the Pleiades Star Cluster, turned his sensors on full scan, and followed the ion trail to wherever it led.

  Irina Bugarov and her executive assistant, Terri Hawkins, traveled on the SS Galaxy Queen to Rigel Station for her first annual status report. Irina practiced her delivery during the week-long voyage from her home office on Shepard. She wished that the rings were opened to commercial vessels; it would cut days off her journey.

  She practiced her briefing in three formats: formal long, formal short, and deskside. She did not know which he would prefer, but she would be ready, no matter what he wanted. She practiced her presentation on her assistant, who sat patiently time after time.

  Irina felt good about what she had accomplished in a year. Her combine earned more in the last two quarters than all ten had earned the previous year. She had to spend some credits to improve production, which affected her first two quarters, but it had borne fruit by the third quarter and would for all of next year,
too.

  She also felt that hiring a security officer was a good investment. His efforts at improving security got one of her companies a high grade from the local Fleet Intel Security Officer. That rating got them a new multimillion credit contract to produce a classified component of the ring. The other companies, having seen the positive result of having good security, stepped up their security game.

  Alistair Bennett coasted up to the edges of the Pleiades star cluster in Taurus sector. His sensors showed little through the cosmic dust and gas that blanketed this part of space. The minute ion trail he had been following for days was lost in the dust cloud. He dared not proceed further. His gravimetric sensors were off the scale. The gravitational forces and eddies in this packed star cluster could crush or trap his ship. Alistair looked for an out of the way location to sit and watch.

  He turned the sensitivity up and down to see if anything could be resolved out of the charged dust cloud. He drew a blank. He composed a message to Fleet Intel to provide them with his log, his suspicions, and his request for a Scout Force ship with better sensors to explore this region. He had a specific ship in mind. He wondered if they would believe his theory of disappearing pirates.

  Rojo jumped up on the console and nuzzled his hand. It was his way of politely reminding Alistair that he was starving. Alistair left his instruments and went through the feeding ritual. He was sorry he didn’t have any of Rojo’s favorite food left, but what he had would have to do. “Eat up, Rojo. We head to Rigel tomorrow. I’ll see what local fish they have on Rigel Prime. Maybe I can find you a treat.”

  Rojo purred as he ate.

  Thorson stood his sensor watch on the bridge of the pirate ship Undefeated and stared at the blank screen. It wasn’t technically blank; it displayed the nearby planets and celestial bodies all right, but was devoid of any ships that might become prey for the Undefeated. Thorson continued his watch, hoping some rich plunder would come their way.

  Captain Mabry came out of her cabin and up to Thorson. “Have you found me any prizes yet?”

  Thorson looked up from the screen and said, “No, Captain, I think we’ve scared them all away.”

  “Thorson, I pay you for your piloting ability. Pilot us where there might be some choice cargo ships to plunder. We are going to need credits to live on when we finally return to Barataria. Come on. Get lucky.”

  Captain Mabry had inherited the Undefeated from its previous captain, after she slit his throat while making love to him. It went along with her peculiar sense of humor. The Undefeated was a custom-built, fast, medium cargo ship that had been fitted with bigger engines, long-range weapons, and a tractor beam. It was a privateer ship of the Marauder Fleet. It bore no allegiance to any state and existed only on the fringes of galactic society. Some thought it romantic, but Thorson knew the punishment for piracy was spacing. He saw a sudden cold end to his future if he were caught and cast out into the vacuum. He had seen explosive decompression before and it was not something to be dismissed lightly.

  He piloted the ship along the edges of the A-1571 asteroid field, in hopes of finding a hapless freighter or other likely victim. Tim, the sensor/weapon operator, scanned the surrounding space for any approaching ships. It was not unusual for the local military to randomly patrol the empty reaches of space, to forestall exactly what the Undefeated was waiting amongst the rocks to do.

  They waited three days at the edge of the asteroid field, looking for likely targets. They saw large, slow ore carriers, well-escorted express freighters, and pre-fabricated asteroid mining facilities pulled by space tugs. None of those were of any interest.

  The ore carriers carried bulk ores that were of no worth to the Undefeated. The escorted freighters probably carried high value cargo, but their escorts were too strong for the pirates’ weapons and shields. The mining stations were just too big to move if captured; besides, they were mostly just machinery and living quarters for asteroid miners and of no real marketable value.

  They needed a big fast container freighter trying to make the run solo. Freighters sometimes did that, counting on their speed to carry them through the danger. It was only another day before he got an indication of likely prey entering sensor range.

  Thorson called the captain to the bridge and they watched as a faint blip resolved into an Andelian Free State registered mid-sized long-range transport. It was one of the new Galaxy model executive transports, on which corporate executives and tri-vid stars liked to scoot about in space. It was designed more for show than for the realities of space travel. It featured large gaudy fins and winglets totally unsuited for space or atmospheric travel, but it was the latest style.

  The Undefeated was less fashionable, but faster and unlike the transport, was armed. As they passed, the captain ordered a shot across her bow and sent a demand for surrender. The passenger transport quickly slowed to below FTL, yawed in space, faced away from the direction of movement, and fired thrusters to bring her to a halt. Undefeated closed on her and the Captain ordered the boarding squad to stand by.

  The captain of the luxury transport offered his unconditional surrender. Captain Mabry ordered the Undefeated to dock with the ship and sent the boarding party over to secure it. Within minutes, the Ascetic boarding party was signaling all secure and five prisoners to bring aboard.

  The sensor/weapons operator activated the tractor beam and the two ships moved together deep into the asteroid field. Thorson left the S/W operator to keep a watch, and then joined the captain as she inspected the captured ship.

  He followed behind the captain with weapon drawn, as they entered the prize.

  Captain Mabry sneered and said, “Well, Thorson, what do you think of her?”

  He looked around and saw the opulence of the furnishings. The airlock was stainless steel. The passageways were lined with real wood, which was something pretty rare in space due to the prohibitive cost. He looked in one of the cabins and saw gold fixtures and real cloth bedding. There were some credits invested in this ship.

  Thorson chuckled, smiled, and replied, “Captain, this is a good haul. This is a very good haul.”

  They made their way to the bridge and met the captain/pilot and co-pilot. The captain was a typical shuttle pilot. He was all braid and no fortitude — his uniform was highly decorative and wildly impractical. No wonder he had surrendered so quickly. The co-pilot was almost a carbon copy, just shorter and less in shape.

  Captain Mabry asked, “What is your cargo and what was your destination, Captain?”

  Sweat trickled down luxury transport captain’s forehead. The smell of fear permeated the air. He stuttered, answering quickly, obviously nervous, “I have Mrs. Ellen Debran and her two daughters, plus their personal baggage. That’s all. They’re in the main salon with your guards. We were headed to Rigel Station.”

  Captain Mabry motioned for Thorson to follow her. She left an Ascetic to guard the two pilots. Thorson followed her back down the hallway and turned right into the main salon, where two Ascetics guarded the women.

  Mrs. Debran was a statuesque woman in her mid to late forties. She had long brown hair, dark brown eyes and a nice shape. She carried herself in an erect, patrician manner. She was a very attractive woman, wearing a gold silk lounging outfit.

  Her daughters were younger versions of their mother. They carried themselves in a reasonable approximation of their mother’s posture. The captain and Thorson looked on these women with equal interest, for the credits they must be worth.

  The older daughter was approximately 25, with dark brown shoulder length hair. She wore a rainbow-patterned dress that fit tight across the bust and hips. Sandals adorned her feet. The younger daughter was probably 20. She had hazel eyes and the family’s brown hair. She wore a short white shirtdress, which was tight in all the right places.

  Captain Mabry said, “You’re on a vessel in an embargoed area. You’ve been taken prisoner by a vessel of the Marauder Fleet. If you cooperate and offer no resistance, you will be retur
ned to your family as soon as possible. If you cause us problems, you will spend a much more uncomfortable passage. Do you understand me?”

  The older woman said, “I am Julia Debran. These are my daughters, Christine and Sylvia. We’ll give you no trouble. I ask that you not harm my daughters or me. We’re very wealthy and our family will pay a generous ransom to get us back alive and unharmed.”

  The Captain smiled wickedly and said, “You will not be harmed if you cooperate fully with us. Stay here. An officer will be here soon to take charge of you. You will be transported to our nearest base on this ship. Your repatriation will be arranged there.”

  Captain Mabry motioned Thorson to follow her out of the salon. A guard positioned himself in the doorway as they left.

  “Thorson, I want you to take charge of this ship and get it to Barataria unharmed. Our take for this prize will be better than 100,000 credits for the ship, plus whatever the ladies fetch. If their family won’t buy them, we can find lots of useful things for them to do. I’ll take the two pilots with me and leave you with three Ascetics. We’ll follow some distance behind you. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find another ship along the way.”

  Thorson went to his cabin and packed a minimum of gear for the two-week trip. The luxury transport could probably provide him with anything else he’d need. He checked with the Captain, before departing to take command of the prize crew. She had nothing more for him. He held at the airlock as the two pilots and the majority of the boarding party left. The Ascetic Deacon, Third Class met him at the airlock and reported.

  “Sir, we have searched and scanned the ship. There are no weapons on board, except ours. The three women, you, and my team are all that are on board. The ship is provisioned for over a month. With your permission, we will berth in the co-pilot’s cabin. It has two beds. I recommend you take the captain’s cabin. It’s quite spacious and outfitted with a master computer terminal and comms.”