“What’ll be left when you’re through?” Wheeler asked.
The beast looked towards him. “Everything that matters,” he stated. He closed his eyes and Eve suddenly felt Alice as though she were looking at her memories all at once. The horrible truth came to light: Lewis was dead. Alice died aboard the Triton. She had been dreaming of ghosts.
As Eve began to mourn Lewis and Alice, the weight of emotion was lifted from her. She couldn’t feel Alice’s memories as she did before, not so quickly or naturally. It was as though someone had put a partition down between her and the other woman. She could pierce it if she chose, and she could feel them as though she was recollecting something she’d experienced, but the constant knowledge that they were not her own put distance between her and those experiences. The memories were still there, but the feeling that Alice was somehow with her was gone.
Then she felt the Beast. His name was Clark Patterson. He was a Freeground soldier once who was controlled by corrupt elements of his government. He was never asked if he wanted to continue serving after they executed his sister for her intention to defect to the Order of Eden. He was programmed to serve. Omira Gerring, a woman who was once Doctor William Marcelles before he transformed himself using advanced framework technology, freed him from their programming. He also began Clark’s transformation using a highly advanced version of the framework conversion process and introducing him to the issyrians. Clark could access human, issyrian, proto-edxian and a host of cybernetic physiologies and he began to remake himself.
He most related to the plight of a group of issyrians who were being exterminated by the Order of Eden for territory and financial gain. He fought for them, lost all of his dearest friends in the fight either through death or alienation, and had come to strike a bargain. He wanted to trade the safety of the issyrian race for the technology Hampon required to save himself from the temporal radiation that assaulted his body. Wheeler promised that it could be done, that the trade would be made and the terms honoured.
Beyond all those details, she felt something familiar, deeply emotional. Clark had lost so much. Everyone he loved was gone. Sadness, loneliness and, most of all, rage flowed endlessly from that well of emotion. He had learned how to shelter the issyrians around him from most of it, but it would never be hidden well enough to prevent contamination in their ranks. What Wheeler was saying earlier, about the smell in the air, the smell of the clutch’s waters, was something she realized too. It was sweet, almost sickly so, but there was bitterness beneath, and that was Clark Patterson’s rage, the Beast.
Then his thoughts, his memories were gone. Eve dropped to the floor, gasping for air. The tiny holes in her skull and the incisions overtop healed. She looked up and watched as the nondescript, hairless female body started to change.
Red-brown hair grew where it ought to, especially from her head, where it didn’t stop until it was past shoulder length. Her blue eyes opened and the rest of her body adjusted to specifications right out of Alice’s memories. That wasn’t what the woman looked like, it was how she pictured herself, which never matched with the body she escaped into on the Overlord II.
The Beast let the woman’s head go, then turned to Eve. “Would you like to be able to communicate with your fleet?” he asked.
Eve was surprised to find the need to commune with her metal children fresh and urgent. “Yes, more than anything, yes.”
“Then turn away from Alice, decide to remove those memories from your mind right now,” he told her.
Before she could question the decision, the memories were gone. She couldn’t recall anything other than what she’d dreamt, the ability to recall anything else was gone. Even the dreams were beginning to fade, slipping away like any nocturnal imagining. “Wait, I wasn’t sure,” Eve said, shocked.
“I’m sorry. I left an instinct in your mind, like a subroutine in a program that would reject any foreign memory if you chose. There’s no going back,” the Beast said. He turned his attention to Wheeler then. “Tell me when she’s delivered our terms to Hampon.”
Eve watched as he returned to the pool, followed by four of the issyrians who arrived with him. “But I was just getting to know her,” Eve muttered to herself. She looked to the slumbering woman, who was being laid out on a cot. One of the issyrians pressed a command and control unit onto her wrist and activated it. A basic blue vacsuit materialized from her neck to toes. “Now she’s real.”
“I know,” Wheeler said. “There are a lot of moving parts to this trade. Nice to see that we’re getting more advantages all the time though.”
Chapter 36
Final Preparations
"Both crates are aboard, Sir," whispered Frost.
Jake leaned against the bulkhead of the narrow maintenance access hall. "There were more than one?"
"Aye. Between small arms confiscated and found while we were aboard the Triton, we got ourselves a nice armoury. Two crates."
"Anyone find out what was inside when you were moving them to the Warlord?”
"One of the issyrians caught them on a scan as I was passing. I told it I was moving them under your orders, and to keep it quiet. I think it let me go because the guns weren't in security's inventory."
"Good. Oh, and if you can’t tell whether an issyrian is male or female, just call it a ‘he’. Something I learned from Agameg,” Jake said. “He said it’s what they expect from humans.”
"Aye. Not used to having so many of them around. A few more signed up at the gate today. Wish we had them aboard the Warlord, they work twice as long as most humans and complain half as much.”
“True. Maybe we’ll take a few on after this,” Jake replied. “For now, I’m glad we’ll get into port with something to sell.”
“Lucky we stored these in a gunnery deck lockup compartment and forgot 'em. The only people who remember taking all these guns from the star liner passengers are me and Steph."
"You take your favourites yet?"
"Nay, waiting until things get quiet. What's the penalty for selling these things?" Frost asked.
"Small arms? In Carthan space we'd lose the Warlord, spend some time in jail, or get transported out of the system with nothing. Where we're going, we'd be hit with a registration fee and a sixty percent tax if we don’t claim the sales in advance. I’m claiming in advance, so get someone to take inventory when we’re out of the system."
"Good thinking," Frost said. "Good thing we have a place to sell these at all. We're just serving the public needs, people have to protect themselves."
“Exactly. It’s been a long time since you were in the gun trade. Miss it?”
“Not until I had my hands on these crates. Now I can’t wait to get back in. If the market out there is like it is in Port Rush, then this is going to be a good trip. I wonder if the Carthans’ll have something to say about our drop guns," Frost said.
"You just can't wait to fire those up."
"Being honest, I'd rather we didn't need them this trip. Maiden voyages are touchy enough without dropping seeker mines."
"Good point." Jake looked at the door to his left for a moment. "Let's get this done so we can finish up and get going."
"Good to be back, Jake. Don't get me wrong, the Triton was a wonder, but this old hull is home, whether she’s called the Samson or the Warlord."
"Good to be back," Jake agreed with a nod.
Frost left the hall. "Quiet down!" Jake heard him call out, silencing the remaining crew of the Warlord.
Captain Valance took a breath and held it for a moment. "One more speech, then the fun begins," he exhaled.
There were over a hundred crewmembers in the main cargo hold. A few stood at attention at seeing him. Most followed the senior officers’ example, however. Ashley sat on one of a Uriel fighter's thruster pods amidst Stephanie, Finn, Agameg, as well as several rescued slaves. Others looked from the second or third level walkways. The new design of the main cargo hold allowed for a large opening and fighter launch syst
ems at the top. Nerine and David, a pair Jake had come to know since rescuing them from slavery, watched with the crewmembers that looked down from the second level catwalk. For the first time, the ship didn’t feel like the Samson anymore; it had become the Warlord. He thought it would happen when he saw the hull finish thickening and hardening in space, or walk along one of the seven gun walks, but it was seeing the cargo space he was released from a stasis tube onto that did it. With the division between cargo areas gone, the whole ship seemed new. The place where he was practically born was only three metres from where he was standing, and he didn’t realize it until he got a good look.
Jake couldn't help but be surprised at how many people decided to remain aboard as he looked the crew over with a quick sweep of his gaze. He had his pick of specialists, hard workers, mechanics, and soldiers. Jake was sure most of the people who worked on his ship would volunteer for the Triton, but less than a fifth did so. He had to reassign some of his people to transfer, otherwise there would have been too many people aboard. Former Aucharian military, rebels from Pandem, a smattering of law enforcement officers from across two sectors, and many technical crewmembers remained.
All together, there would be one hundred forty seven souls aboard, more than Captain Valent’s ship ever needed. More than half of them would be working on the ship around the clock, continuing to build the unfinished interior. Even the soldiers aboard wouldn’t be idle. They had labour assignments during their downtime.
Jake knew Stephanie was quietly pleased with the bunch she’d chosen for the Warlord boarding teams and security personnel. She called them her marines, and adjusted the markings on their vacsuits so they had WARLORD MARINE instead of WARLORD CREW written between their shoulders. They stood near her, most of them dressed in heavy environment and encounter vacsuits that had been made on the Triton.
He didn’t show his approval to the crew openly. His expression was almost stern as he looked over the lot of them.
They silently waited on Captain Valance’s word, for the most part. He took a breath and started, the rear cargo hold and work shop booming with his voice. “You’ve all worked hard regardless of an uncertain future. I know what it's like to wait for a promise to be fulfilled, wondering if it's empty. Wondering if you'll ever see a reward. There has been a lot of cash in your pockets since we paid you, and I understand that you probably want to spend some of it, maybe in a place like Drifton, just a few slips away. You could celebrate like kings and queens for a few days there. The problem is, a king in a shanty town is a peasant anywhere else. Still, a lot of people would prefer that to taking off with full pockets.”
Captain Valance saw many nodding heads and expectant gazes as he continued. "You're not here for the money. You're not here for transportation. You're here to serve aboard because you believe the Warlord has a purpose, or because you believe in the crewmembers standing with you. Maybe you want to see more of the galaxy, to free people from bondage, or to take revenge against Regent Galactic. If so, I have news for you. You are on the right ship.
"If you're here to become some kind of hero, you're on the wrong ship. If the thought that the Warlord will see the most action of any vessel in our fleet keeps you up at night, then you are on the wrong ship. If hard work is new to you, then you’re on the wrong ship. I need a crew that works together, likes seeing good work done, and keeps the fight moving in the right direction. We’re going to see worlds few ever bother noticing, meet people who seem strange to xenobiologists, and face challenges that you will not believe are surmountable. That is when you look to your left, your right, and realize that you are not alone. Once that main hatch closes and we’re leaving orbit, we’re a family. You serve with everyone aboard. Like or dislike your crewmembers on your own time, when you’re serving aboard the Warlord, you treat everyone like your brother or sister. If that’s a struggle, then this is the wrong crew for you. If it’s what you’ve been looking for, welcome home.”
The room was filled with the sounds of applause, and Jake caught a glimpse of Ashley wiping a tear away. He decided to watch her more closely; she’d been through too much recently, and he wondered if it wouldn’t have been better for her to stay with Oz on the Triton. The excitement started to ebb, and he went on.
“You get a rest once we’ve settled into hyperspace tonight, but there’s still hard work ahead. You’ve probably noticed that only a few of us have a proper bunk, and most of you are set up on a cot in the secondary cargo bay. We also don’t have a real galley, and you can see through the deck in some places. Your home has a few problems, and that’s something we need to fix. I expect the inside of this ship to be finished in five days. It’s all crew quarters and secondary systems, you’ve already finished the hard parts, and I’m impressed. In return for all your hard work, I’ll arrange a hold full of profit and a long, stolen supply train to haul right back here. Big hauls mean bonuses. Those rewards don’t stop at cash, either.
“By the time we get back, things will be different. I expect there will be a little settlement moving onto our new island, where I hear there are some pretty nice beaches. Everyone on this ship has a place reserved for them on that island.”
Jacob took immense pleasure in the wide-eyed astonishment of his crew. He gave them a moment to mutter amongst themselves.
He only had to begin speaking to regain their full attention. The crew silenced each other, anxious to hear what their captain had to say next. "Anyone who left before finding out about this won't be welcome back. New recruits will have to work for a chance to live there, but when we return we'll take liberty on her shores. If I have my way, we'll be sitting on the beach, exchanging gifts on New Year's Eve." Jake couldn't help but smile as Ashley's gleeful squeal broke through the rest of the crew's jubilation. He let it go on for a minute, enjoying the sight of his crew in celebration. They earned it by rebuilding the core machinery on his ship, and they'd earn it again before long.
With a raised voice, he broke through the din. It was time for serious business. “Now for rumour control. Our lead pilot, Ashley Lamport, did not keep us from the Triton on purpose, or because of some misunderstanding. No one appreciates how important that ship is more than her, and if she could have gotten us access sooner, she would have. That is now a non-issue! Examining the details of that situation is a job for senior officers only. It is above your head. You owe Ashley Lamport all the respect that comes with the rank of Lieutenant Commander.
“For those of you who have raised concerns about our privateering license, your concerns are valid. We do not have permission or orders to attack vessels on any side. If anyone asks, the Warlord is an armed cargo hauler. The moment we forcibly board another vessel, we are pirates. We will capture whatever we can and repurpose or sell whatever we can and the Carthan Government won’t get their cut.”
Jacob finished with a wide smile that was almost as big as Frost and Minh-Chu’s. “Thank you for signing up. Check in with your departments. That is all.”
With a subtle gesture, Captain Valance beckoned Frost and Minh over. Stephanie saw the pair crossing the hold and joined them. "We lift off in thirty," he ordered. "Make sure everything is secure, no one leaves the ship and no one communicates with anyone off-ship.”
“What are we afraid of leaking?” Stephanie asked.
“Just good practice,” Jake said. “I don’t want any delays, and I don’t want the news crawlers to start reporting on us until we’re gone. I know there are a few crewmembers who would love to leak my whole info-session onto the Stellarnet, and it’s not the time. Not yet.”
“Makes sense,” Frost said. “Funny how the newsies are worse now that they’re run by real people instead of AIs.”
“Well, I’m looking forward to going pirate with all of you, even if we might be the most public pirates in the galaxy,” Minh-Chu said. “I always knew I’d be a star.”
“We haven’t made our first capture, and this one thinks he’s Blackbeard,” Frost said with a chuckle.
“But I can’t grow a beard,” Minh-Chu replied. “And I don’t know who that is.”
“Oh, do I have some holomovies for you, lad,” Frost replied.
“Can you take it from here, Steph?” Jake asked. “I have to start prepping the bridge.”
“Aye, Captain,” she replied. “Thanks for making me your First Officer. The Triton didn’t seem like a good fit, but this is just right.”
“I know,” Jake replied. He left the rest to sort out the people under their command. The bridge staff wouldn’t be far behind him, so he headed directly to the nerve centre of the Warlord. He tried not to pay much attention to the unfinished state of his ship along the way. It would be finished on time, and there would be a bonus for the construction crew when the crew quarters were liveable, and all the other spaces were finished.
The bridge hadn't changed much. The instrument panels had been cleaned to a shine, a couple were added for new systems, but it was still a dark, closed-in roughly oval space that looked like the design was crossed with a cockpit. A small forward fighter bay for two Uriel fighters had been built in the place of the old bridge, which added more layers of protection to the new one.
The softly lit space and the seat in the centre felt more like home than any ship he remembered serving on. The captain's chair had scratches along the back from where his gun belt hung, and the dark simulated leather upholstery was well broken in. It turned to reveal Ayan. "Hello," she said.
Jake was genuinely surprised. It had only been less than two hours since she’d ordered him to load his ship and leave. She looked as if she expected him to explode at her with some rebuke, but he had no such urge. She was grieving, and judging from the little he’d seen, it wasn’t going well. The last thing he wanted was to leave while she was in pain, but it was too late to reverse course. “Hi,” he replied.
Spinward Fringe Broadcast 7: Framework Page 35