by Jim Rudnick
This Royal was going to be trouble, he thought. He didn’t know how, but judging by the huge file that had accompanied this ex-leader of Olbia and his minions, he’d best dig into the files completely rather than just reading the summary on the first page. Something had happened on Olbia and the Caliph himself had arrested, charged, and made sure his cousin was found guilty of treason. No bigger crime to a Royal, the admiral knew that was for sure.
He pushed a button or two, and the monitor cleared as he keyed in his credentials, and the Max Island prison camera system came online. Moving via the mapped camera icons, he quickly found the area where the Royals were quartered and noted the suite of cells for this Royal was vacant, as they were all at work now. He performed a quick scan of the living area and found little personalization items like photos, art, holos, or any kind of book, tablet, or even a pad of paper.
Barren. Plain. Empty of everything ... nothing that said anything about the occupants.
#
Hope was ... well, a planet where one could hope that things would become better, it was commonly decided. Saddled with poor landmass, it for the most part was a water world with island sub-continents that held small populations of mostly fishing economies. The usual cities and towns that existed on other planets just didn’t exist on Hope partly because the islands were so small, but mostly because they were distant from each other.
Instead, small villages, each with their harbors and moorings, held sway over their small populations; Hope was a world of small independent groups of very individualized persons each with their own way of doing things. Each village tended to see things “their way,” and for them to try to understand another viewpoint was almost impossible. When it came to planetary concerns, few Hopians cared enough to even get involved. Those that did seemed to find little feedback from the rest of the population on any kind of world issues—trade, customs, healthcare—not even one seemed to matter to the general population.
Yet a few Hopians did think, or at least try to consider, what the best course of action for the planet was. They sat in the seat of the Hopian government in Trannis, located on the largest island of all stretching for almost 300 miles in the northern temperate hemisphere. Trannis was the largest city on the planet, held the seat of government, of course, the landing port for the whole planet, and one more thing. It held the Hopian prison right beside the port, and that was where the Marwick was headed. And it was prisons in general were the current topic of conversation on the bridge.
“Expound, Lieutenant, after all I believe you’re from Thrones, which as far as I know looks at crime and punishment like most of the rest of the RIM does. So I’d like to hear more of that premise,” Captain Tanner Scott said as he sipped his coffee.
“Sir, it’s really pretty simple. On almost all planets as I said, the rationale behind the use of prison time is the three R’s, Sir—retribution, rehabilitation, and recidivism. If we don’t penalize lawbreakers with a penalty, we get no retribution for that crime,” Lieutenant Bates over at the Helm station said.
“And, Sir, without a penalty, what’s to prevent more and more people thinking it’s easier to rob a bank than go out and earn a living. Further,” he said as he looked around the bridge for any nodding heads, “we have the duty to provide rehabilitation—the onus is on the whole penal system at Halberd to provide the means to show convicts how to learn from their mistakes and to make better choices, Sir. And if Halberd doesn’t do that, then recidivism occurs—the relapse of convicts back into their criminal ways.”
Tanner nodded, got up to go over to the coffee station on the bridge to get a refill, and stopped at the edge of the Helm station.
“Any idea what kind of numbers Halberd has with recidivism, Lieutenant?” he said.
“As it happens, yes, Sir. Rates appear to be over sixty-eight percent of convicts of Halberd were re-arrested for new crimes within three years, which as I understand is high. Sir,” he said and nodded to his captain.
As he poured the fresh hot coffee into his thermal plas-mug, Tanner nodded back and then looked at the lieutenant directly.
“Any idea what numbers, say, convicts from Thrones have for recidivism rates, Lieutenant?” he queried.
“Sir, um, no, Sir. No idea. I only know the Halberd numbers as I did some reading on Gallipedia when we were assigned there for the annual duty tour,” he said.
His reminder that the Marwick would be on Halberd for a full year reflected it was still a sore point among the crew. There was a series of mutters from some of the bridge crew at that reminder. The XO smacked his desktop over on the Tactical console, and they all fell silent.
Tanner ignored that and went on, figuring that any notice of their current mission would not be a good thing.
“About the same, give or take a few percentage points, Lieutenant. In fact, as humans and aliens alike have learned, the recidivism rate is always about two-thirds of the total convict population. Except for a few cases of smarter penal systems where they learned that providing free education works as a rehabilitation factor that works way above their weight class, Lieutenant. Few systems use that, but it lowers recidivism down to almost half the normal two-thirds percentage numbers.” Tanner knew his numbers, as he also had done some research as the posting on Halberd meant that he might as well know something about where he’d be living for the next year or so.
From the science desk, Lieutenant Paterson, chief science officer, cleared his throat.
“Ahem ... Sir,” he said. “I wonder if there might be a study or some kind of report on the difference tween human and alien worlds and their respective convicts—what I mean is, is recidivism a constant no matter what the race of the convict?” he asked, his head tilting to one side.
“Not as far as Gallipedia knows—but could be the start of a great new research project, Lieutenant—one perhaps you can look into ...” Tanner said, as he sat back down into the captain’s chair.
“Helm, ETA on Hope is?” he said, thinking he might need to slide down to his quarters to “freshen” up his coffee in a minute or two.
“Dropping out of FTL in about four minutes, Sir, so then it’s less than an hour to Trannis port, Sir.”
“Right, Helm. Ansible, contact the landing port station and let them know we’ll be there in that time frame.
Over at the Ansible station, Lieutenant Greelay nodded to his captain.
“Aye, Sir, wilco,” he said, and his hand slid up to cup his throat mic as he spoke to the Trannis contact down on the planet and then simply said, “Confirmed, Sir,” as he received the verification the Marwick was now expected.
“Right, XO, put together the normal away team for convict pickup, and let’s meet down on the boarding ramp at say 1600 hours,” he said and rose to leave the bridge.
As he left, the XO noted the time and made the necessary notices. Thinking for a moment, he also used his PDA to message Lieutenant Sander, the Marwick Adept officer on the off chance that he might be useful to the away team.
On Deck Twenty-nine in the captain’s quarters, Tanner sat on his bunk and stared out the huge viewport that lay to port and watched the lights that were trails across the window. Moments later, the trails stuttered and then faded as the stars near Hope suddenly came into focus as the Marwick dropped out of FTL, and he could see the huge yellow star just ahead. As the Marwick spun under thrusters to align the ship with the planet ahead, he rose to grab the black bottle of Scotch on his dresser. Slipping the coffee cup lid to one side, he poured in a healthy shot and then took a swig from the bottle too. More than enough time to worry about shaking the booze on Halberd had been put onto his plate by the admiral just a few weeks ago. ‘Til then ... no need, he thought and swigged once more.
After handling much of the bottle, he slightly swayed as he rose from the bed once more, noted the time, and slowly made his way down to Deck One and the landing ramps. No one can tell, he thought, . He took his spot at the lead end of the away team.
Bram’s here too, he realized and thought he spent far too little time with his Adept officer and made a note of trying to rectify that over the next year. Sounds of the thrusters and landing rockets sounded loudly in their ears as the Marwick came down vertically on her tail, blasting all around the ship’s landing spot.
Shortly thereafter, the away team went down the ramp and off the ship to be met by the local station commander and his team.
“Captain Scott, I believe,” the station commander said and came to attention as he saluted the Marwick away team.
“Not necessary, Commander, but yes, that’s me,” Tanner said as he snapped the same salute back to the station chief. No need to even be saluted, Tanner knew, but a military nicety for sure.
“Convict pickups, Commander, all ready to go, are they?” Tanner said, and later he remembered it was at this point that the pickup went south.
“Ah, well, Captain, that’s the problem—one I’m sure no one envisioned,” he said, and Tanner thought there was a hint of apology in his voice. A large hint.
A slight burp suddenly escaped Tanner’s lips, and he quickly cupped his hand around his lips.
“My apologies, Commander, as you were saying?” he said and stifled another burp that smelled as “Scotch-y” as the last one.
“Captain, it appears that while we do have the eight convicts ready for transport as per the manifest, one of them is—well, not here, Captain. Storms off the island chain in the southern hemisphere about 6,700 miles from here have prevented them from delivering same. So ... we have a problem. Not you, I realize, Captain, as you can simply take the seven we have on hand and go—but I do need to ask you if you’d consider helping us out by helping us pick up that last convict. I will, of course, be ‘singing your praises’ to the admiral if you can help, Captain, but I don’t know if that matters much,” he said, and again for no reason, he saluted.
Tanner saluted back and yet stayed silent. A few days here would surely put off the time on Halberd, and by agreeing to help, he’d help Hope’s government and at the same time have that couple of days of extra time to do what he liked best. Get a glow on and captain a starship. What could be better, he thought as he half-turned to his XO beside him.
“XO, we’d be okay on our timeline, correct? The RN Gunnar isn’t due to leave on any specific date, correct?” he said quietly. If anyone knew this kind of stuff, the XO did, Tanner realized and for a moment also realized that he owed much to the man who was his second in command. He made a note to thank him on a personal note later.
Craig nodded to his captain and then held up a finger as he double-checked on his PDA, ran a screen or two, and then nodded again.
“Aye, Captain, we do have some leeway in the ETA time line for the Marwick on Halberd. We could help here, Sir, if you were so inclined ... else it’s pick up today and back to FTL in an hour or so, Sir,” the XO answered but had a feeling he knew which way the captain was going to go.
“Aye then, Commander. We’d be glad to go and pick up this last convict over at—what’s the name of this city?” he said and motioned for the XO to take this down.
“Ah, Captain, cities don’t exist here on Hope. All we have is Trannis, and the rest are all small towns and villages mostly. Where you’ll be going is a village called Newton, on the island of Gravity in our southern hemisphere. A shuttle should make it there in less than an hour unless you go sub-orbital and take less than ten minutes, but if you don’t, you’ll see much, much more of the beauty of Hope.”
”XO, you got that?” Tanner said as he looked at his senior officer.
“Roger, Captain, coordinates received, and yes, the documents also received. Thank you, Commander,” he said and nodded to the man as well.
“Right, then, Commander, we’ll be picking up this—wait, wait a minute, Commander,” Tanner said and took a step forward toward the Station chief.
“Exactly why is that last convict not ‘here?’ Everyone knows we were due here today, and your planetary weather controls should have known these storms were on their way. So why wasn’t the convict shipped earlier ... what I’m feeling now, Commander, is that something is not quite right—either with this convict, or the village of Newton, or worse, here on Trannis, Commander. Something smells,” Tanner said and he shook his head
The commander looked down at his boots and scuffed the floor with the tip of one. He appeared to be at a loss for words, but then found something to say. Tanner watched as the commander squared his shoulders to face him.
“Captain, the storms were so bad, so unexpected, that they took that whole southern hemisphere quadrant by surprise. In fact, the storms hurt not only our fishing economy but also the transports, the fishing factories, the shipbuilding economy too. We got caught, Captain, and heads will roll over in the weather system department. But that is not our concern, Captain. The last convict is being held in Newton awaiting transport, and you and your shuttle will be there, pick up same, and be back before dinner.” The commander stared straight ahead, not meeting Tanner’s eyes but appeared to be honestly stating his case.
“Sir,” Lieutenant Sander said as he gently placed his hand on Tanner’s arm, “could I have a minute?”
As the Marwick Adept officer, an Issian who wore the ringed planet badge on his chest, his job was to be the officer who helped his captain by any means possible. And being a mind reader could often help anyone if the reading was true.
Tanner moved away from the group at the bottom of the landing ramp, and he and his Adept officer moved aside by quite a few feet. Facing each other a moment later, the two lowered their voices.
“So, Bram ... got something for me?” Tanner said and waited.
“Sir, all I can offer—as the commander is pretty talented at hiding what he knows—is that there is something more to this story than weather system failure and storms. And that convict? Something extra there too. I am sorry that I have so little, but as we know, taking you aside for this talk will make the commander think he’s let too much slip, so when we go back, I will try to glean more. Something is not right with this pick up, Sir, that I can confirm,” Bram said and then stepped back to let his captain consider the information.
Tanner strode away a few meters and then stood to watch the landing port action around the Marwick. Over a pad or two lay a couple of Leudi trader ships, their cargo holds being filled with frozen pallets of fish and other seafood too. As well as cargo, there were some tech sleds parked at one of the service panels at the side of one of the starboard wings. On the other far side of the port, distant but still within sight, a Duchy ship, the DS Triumph, a frigate, lay as it was taking on fuel and perishables. Beside it the last ship on the landing port, a Barony Cruiser, the BN Whitney, also was taking on supplies and perishables, and Tanner noted that her Barony logo, the twin crowns in blue and red, shone even this far away.
And life goes on, he thought. All life, and that would include the missing convict down in Newton. “Let’s get going,” he said to Bram, “but let’s also not jet into this unaware either.”
He nodded to Bram and they joined the group at the landing ramp escalator.
“Okay, Commander, we’ll take your word for this. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow at, say, 0900 hours, so please notify the authorities over in Newton that we should be there before their lunch hour to pick up that last convict. We’ll check in once we’re back, though, Commander, just to ensure that all our ducks are in a row. Understood, Commander?” he added and stared directly at the station chief in front of him.
“Roger, Captain, I’ll Ansible myself to the Newton facility to ensure a smooth transaction, and I’ll make it a point to be here when you return with the other convicts for transport then too. Thank you for your kindness on this, Captain, and I’ll be sure to include it in my report back to the admiral too.”
The station chief commander saluted and then spun on his heel to march off and away from the Marwick team, who then also turned to take the escalator back u
p to the ship.
As he moved up the escalator, Tanner watched the retreating commander and his aide and noticed the aide clapped the commander on his back a couple of times. While he couldn’t hear what was said, that in and of itself was a bit of a jolt to Tanner, and he wondered what had just happened. Oh well, he thought, I’ll know tomorrow ...
#
The Barony frigate, the Sterling, moved down from low orbit over Ttseen in that slow vertical landing path glide, powered by her ImpulseDrive, and yet it was not fast enough for the Lady Helena St. August. While the frown on her face made what would normally be considered a pretty face something that not a single bridge crew member wanted to look at, her captain had to do just that.
“Ma’am, yes, I know we’re not moving at what might be considered ‘optimum’ velocity, but we are at the top range of the speed we were assigned by the Ttseen landing control officer. Ma’am. Sorry, Ma’am,” he said as he looked at her, and his bushy eyebrows almost met in the center as he awaited what he knew was coming.
“Captain Flannery—while I appreciate what makes one Navy man try to cover for another—you, Sir, are not to be deferential to any ‘landing officer’ requests. Note please that I said deferential—any landing officer on any planet who requests a Royal ship to comply can simply be told NO! Am I clear?” she shouted at him from the chair that she always took just to port of the captain’s chair. Her left foot was tapping on the floor as her hand held her teacup inches away from her lips, showing what might be called mild irritation, but Flannery knew what would happen if he tried to point out that all ships were under firm orders to comply with any landing officer on any of the RIM planets. No exceptions. No excuses. A landing officer controlled all access to their planet and knew the various ships attempting to lift off, touch down, and jockey for space too. Reminding the daughter of the Baroness under whose two-crown flag the Sterling flew would not be a smart career move.