by Reiter
“Damn if he doesn’t always one-up me!” Jocasta observed.
“When I allow my engineering to catch up to your piloting skill… then we will have something to talk about!” Jocasta’s body locked in place as her mind went over what she had just been told. “Until then, what we have will have to serve.”
“Uh, Z?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Are you telling me you’ve been holding back?”
“Frequently, Captain.” Jocasta took hold of the railing inside the lift car as her eyes started to well up with tears.
“Call me a floater before you flush!” she thought. “That grav-field was not his best?! What the hell?!”
“I would rather not discuss the particular reasons why,” Dungias continued. “Not at this moment. Suffice to say I have had a change of heart, and I believe it is time that we started showing who and what we are.”
“And uhm… what… just what are we, there, Z?”
“We are pirates, Captain!” Dungias replied. Jocasta could hear the doors of the lab opening as she regained her composure. “To that end, I have two points I would like to discuss with you.”
“Same here, big guy, but you go first.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Dungias said. “While bringing down Kallbren was somewhat satisfying, it would have been much better for us had we been able to actually pick up that shipment of Imperial track-scan units.”
“Dear Gods, we’re starting to think alike!” Jocasta thought. “Something in the universe is about to get pounded. I can just feel it!”
“I have been monitoring some of the trader channels and I found an interesting pattern.”
“Wow, you only have to show the blue man a trick one time!” Jocasta thought, remembering when she had told her engineer about how some of the more unscrupulous operators used trader channels to ferry messages back and forth to their colleagues.
“Vilov Dakkrun will be at the Shrafus Yan in three days,” Dungias continued.
“What’s a well-known, high-end fence man doing in the middle of Bralky-land?” Jocasta asked.
“I was thinking the same,” Dungias added.
“Not that we would want to cross swords with him… again,” Jocasta said in consideration of a point of self-preservation. “Screwing around with any of the Guilds is just asking for trouble!”
“We would only be ‘screwing with the Guilds’ if; a) we prevent the delivery of the item or items in question, or b) take possession of said items after he has purchased them. I doubt seriously he cares who delivers the goods to him so long as they are indeed delivered.”
“That’s true, but how the hell do you know it’s really Dakkrun?”
“I was reviewing the Magistrate files on the man,” Dungias answered.
“When did you jack an IA mainframe?!”
“Were we not just in a Magistrate Guardhouse at Tovask?”
“Yes, but–”
“Whenever my Identicard is scanned into a system, Satithe has the opportunity to access said system, performing a number of endeavors, including accessing the associated mainframe.”
“You mean every time you slid your card to pick up a bounty, you were jacking into the system paying out to us?!” Jocasta asked as the lift car stopped again and she started for her cabin.
“Affirmative, Captain. At this point, however, Satithe is only able to gather files that have not been secured or classified. She still has yet to hone the art of information-systems manipulation.”
“Wow, he really was holding back,” she muttered.
“Captain?”
“Nothing, Z. Apparently that still makes for quite a database.”
“Approximately thirteen thousand, six hundred and nine files,” Satithe informed.
“That sounds… adequate,” Jocasta said as she walked into her room. “What’s point number two?”
“With your permission, I would like to make some adjustments to your gun,” Dungias stated.
“Sure, no problem.”
“No, Captain… your gun!”
“My Rouge gun?” she asked. “Why would you want to mess with that?”
“To improve it.”
“Improve a digitally-balanced laser pistol?”
There was a slight pause and Jocasta could just imagine her Chief Engineer pressing his lips together as he always took a moment to weigh his words before speaking whenever the subject matter dropped beneath a certain intelligence quotient. “I still have no idea what that means,” he said. “… but yes, the laser pistol given to you by your former Captain. It is in need of renovation.”
Jocasta stood quite still for a moment, pondering how to best phrase her denial. She gave voice, however, to another perspective; one that had just struck her as she caught sight of herself in a mirror on her wall. “No holding back, right, Z?”
“No holding back, Captain.”
Jocasta blew out a long slow breath and squinted her eyes before wincing in pain. “Okay,” she said with clear reservations in her voice. “Do what you can.”
“Thank you, Captain. What are your two points?”
“Well, the first one falls right in line with your first point, Z,” Jocasta stated. “… but you took yours a step or two beyond what I could have suggested. The only thing I would add is that you and Satithe get together and cook up a false front. We need to do some fishing.”
“Might I then inquire as to what sort of angler we’re looking for?” Dungias asked.
Jocasta took another moment to look at herself in the mirror. While she was not displeased, there were several matters that required serious attention. She flexed the muscles in her arms and frowned.
“I could have sworn I had better guns than these,” she thought. “I’ll have to add some time with the weights after the simulator.
“We’ll be looking for someone who’s not afraid of dealing with Imperial merchandise.” Jocasta said as she stretched her abdominal area.
“Meaning that this face you wish for us to generate… she is not one who …”
“Z, I’m female and blonde. Sometimes you let people make their own assumptions; other times you give ‘em a little nudge!”
“I see,” Dungias answered. “That means you will be wearing your shoulder holster. Might I also then suggest the shotgun?”
“Hey, nice touch,” Jocasta smiled. “Make sure you put one of those stupid extra shell packs on the side too.”
“Which would mean your alias has a background in law enforcement,” Dungias added.
“Whoa, nicely done, Z! It shouldn’t be too hard to find a file on a corrupt Maggot.”
“They practically grow them on trees, Captain,” Dungias quipped. “And what is your second point?”
“We need a crew on this tub… if only to serve as muscle when we pull a job,” Jocasta stated.
“While I find myself whole-heartedly agreeing, taking on new personnel can be–”
“You took me on, Z,” Jocasta reminded him.
“I am afraid I am going to make a condition between us,” Dungias replied, “one that is not negotiable. Whenever we find someone willing to die for us, there will be no argument to adding them to the crew. Otherwise, distrust of strangers will remain one of the traits we share in equal measure.”
“I can abide by that.”
“Very well. There should be plenty of hopefuls on or about the Bralkian homeworld.”
Jocasta snorted a laugh in response.
“Am I missing something, Captain?”
“Does the spelling for the day end in ‘Y’?” Jocasta fired back. “We’re about to go to a place where clean and pristine humans won’t voluntarily tread. There’s a smell factor with the Bralky and the do-gooders stay away from that sort of thing.”
“And a serious pirate can withstand the foul smell?” Dungias asked.
“Z, aside from the snake-folk, a serious pirate is that foul smell!”
“I see. Shall we make our way toward Dakkrun’
s destination then?” Dungias asked.
“Zhok-Tarr is less than two days away from where we are,” Jocasta stated. “… but you’re going to tell me–”
“Forty percent drives would have us in orbit of the Bralkian planet just inside fourteen point two six hours, Captain,” Dungias advised.
“Damn if this ball doesn’t roll,” Jocasta commented. “Make preparations to run at fifty percent and engage when ready. I’m going to get in some simulator time.”
“The fighter that you have yet to name?”
“No. Going to do some sky-bike runs… and yes, I got the hint!” Jocasta deactivated the communications link before she huffed in frustration.
Naming things was not something that came easily to Jocasta, having a fairly steady problem with ‘Elise’ and absolutely no success in tracking down ‘Endigun’. It had always taken her a long time to name anything. But that was because she insisted on waiting for a feeling; something coming from whatever needed to be named. The fighter just was not ready to have a name… not yet, and that scared her. Jocasta was not lying when she said she had never flown a finer spacecraft. Even when she was a squad leader for Rouge, she hadn’t flown anything that compared to what was currently parked in her hangar aboard the Xara-Mansura.
“And he’s been holding back?!” she said, removing her flight suit. “Talk about ‘check, please’! And he wants to improve the gun next?! What have I done here?” Jocasta slipped on the bodysuit that Z always insisted she wear underneath her clothes. She had never been given a reason why, but with what she had just learned of her engineer, there was less need to question it. “Come to think of it, I’ve never known what digitally-balanced means, either!”
Dungias turned off the monitor showing him Jocasta’s room. He reminded himself there were places where he needed to assert himself and places where he needed to let go. The renovations for the gun had been planned out and loaded into Satithe months ago. All he needed to do was to get the weapon to the Main Fabrications Lab and let the drones do their work.
“Satithe, we will need to block off the lower third of the ship,” Dungias stated. “Deny access to all parties save for myself.”
“And the Captain, yes?”
“No, Satithe, just me. Label the doors coming from the lift as Project: No Holding Back, and simply use the initials NHB on retaining walls and the like. Make defenses sufficient enough to prevent my skill set.”
“As you wish, Master. But to disavow the Cap–”
“You have your orders,” Dungias insisted while keying in the command for CK to monitor the locks and security for the designated area. “And let us now take a look at possible crewmen for the ship. Give me the files we have gained from the IA on those persons in the region of the planet Zhok-Tarr, please. I want you to generate the façade the Captain requested, and use anything but the trader channels to post inquiries. Inform all interested parties she will be on Zhok-Tarr in two days and plans to leave the planet on the same day.”
“But I have no experience with this sort of thing, Master,” Satithe pointed out.
“Neither does this non-existent person, Satithe. Your mistakes will only make this false front more genuine.” Dungias keyed in another command for CK and started for the door. “Send those requested files to the computer in Fabrications Lab Three, if you would please. I will be there for a few hours, working on a personal project… after I have visited the arboretum.”
“As you wish, Master.”
“Thank you, Satithe.” Dungias left the room and made his way to the lift. The arboretum was only a few decks above him, but like the other three times when the notion had struck him to go, Dungias found himself unwilling to visit the botanical garden. It had nothing to do with the parcel Borsidia had given him. Dungias doubted seriously if Smitty had left any coarse passing words. The Traveler was sure the Meacruhn engineer had them, but they were meant for Nes and the like. His issue was with the Stars. It had been years since he had spoken to them; since the day he had had to bury three children who had been put into matured cloned bodies. Borsidia might have been right about the fatherly perspective Dungias had taken with the rescued souls… but that was before three of them had suffered a very slow and agonizing death!
“I asked the Stars to guide me when I acted to save them,” he thought. “Could they not have made me miss?!
“And she begged me to help her,” Dungias recalled the face of one of the girls – one who had taken hold of his hand before she died. She had been on the third row of the units, preceding Jocasta and Persephone, and her passing had been by far the most gruesome. She had possessed a nearly infallible drive to live and after each wave of cellular degradation, her body would come fighting back. Dungias had wanted to show her mercy and put the child out of her misery, but could not bring himself to commit the act. Every time she fell, part of the Traveler died with her.
“Master, forgive me, but I believe I have found something quite unexpected,” Satithe reported. Dungias said nothing, but turned on his heels and jogged back to Engineering. The door was already opening and he ran into the room.
“What is it?”
“I think the matter of the missing track-scans is simply a case of collateral damage,” Satithe stated. Dungias folded his arms and waited for her to continue. A three-dimensional holographic projection was erected in front of him. It seemed to be a picture of the inside of a large vault. “This is the holding room where the track-scans were being stored. It is the only maximum security facility on Tovask, so the Magistrates are allowed to charge astronomical–”
“Satithe, please!” Dungias snapped.
“Indeed, Master. According to the logs at the station where you were paid, there was only one other item stored in the facility.”
“An item that apparently is also missing,” Dungias added.
“Exactly!” Satithe said, sounding excited. “All the documentation regarding the second item is classified and I was about to dismiss the matter until I found this!” The corner of the room was highlighted before it was magnified in a quick zoom-in.
“Is that some sort of lock?” Dungias asked.
“It is a magnetic locking plate,” Satithe explained. “The key to the plate and the locking mechanism are made from the same radioactive metal.”
“Which means they are degrading at the same rate, making it the only key that should have been able to unlock that plate,” Dungias said as he stepped closer to the image. His eyes squinted as the palm-side of his index finger softly tapped his upper lip. “Hmmm. Satithe, can you run this image through the visual spectrum and tell me if all the scratches were made at the same time?”
“My Master has a very keen eye,” Satithe cheered. “The radiation coming off the locking mechanism actually helps in this regard, making the scratches easier to read.” Some of the scratches faded and a set of them brightened.
“That is… Fazerian script,” Dungias declared. “The Arachnidian Community, I believe. Something about being clean?!”
“No longer clean is the direct translation, Master, and similar markings were found on the locking plate where the track-scans were stored. It is one of the calling cards for a thief called the Black Scarab. I am sure that if we could gain access to the secured files, we would read in the report that a black shuriken with gold trim was recovered at the scene of the crime.”
“So we have a slightly confused thief who has a fixation for clean things?” Dungias asked.
“No, he has a fixation for things that are meant not to be touched,” Satithe replied. “Why do you say he is confused?”
“Scarabs are of the Coleopteran Order,” Dungias pointed out. “Beetles, not spiders, as the script would suggest.”
“Perhaps he is simply taking a racial-inclusive perspective,” Satithe suggested, getting back to her report. “And I know where your mind is going, but there is one other thing I need to mention. I found a very unique transmission pulse linked to the IA Master Code. It reaches
the satellite systems where I think it finds its own broadcast path. Satellite records, however, are not as secure, nor are they as regulated as Magistrate logs.”
“You did not,” Dungias said in shock.
“I did, Master,” Satithe reported. “In the past thirty-two months a similar or matching type of communication has occurred thirteen times. I have been able to cross-reference five locations as reporting a theft of a very valuable, and a very clean, item!”
“Were you able to track who received those transmissions?” Dungias asked, leaning forward.
“In each case the communications went to a public utilities board of a major urban complex,” Satithe answered and Dungias punched his left hand into his right palm as he sighed in frustration. He started to turn away from the image of the vault, but stopped.
“Wait a moment. Five to thirteen. If we were to add an unreported robbery to that list, much like the one at the sky mining facility, that would mean the thief made contact twice per theft; one to say the job is done…”
“And the fourteenth would be to set a meeting place for delivery?!” Satithe guessed.
“A hypothesis,” Dungias said, pondering. “… and a flimsy one at that.”
“But?” Satithe asked.
“A feeling,” Dungias admitted. “It could be nothing more than an impulse, but for the moment, I will simply say that it feels more like intuition.”
“A welcome sight to see once again, Traveler,” Satithe replied. “But, in this case, what does it mean?”
“It might turn out that our business may not be with Vilov Dakkrun after all. Satithe, if you can track the transmissions, are you also able to read the file and tell me what was said?”
“That information is still logged physically at the site,” Satithe answered. “The database is serviced every sixteen months, but without a Magistrate authorization, we would need to actually go to–”
“Ready the Kulri-Kraythe and send three drones to the satellite,” Dungias ordered. “With any good light, they should be reaching the satellite about the time we’re ready to make landfall. Since we are sending drones, use the remaining space to store extra power reserves.”