by
Steve Jordan
When the deck heaved the second time, there had been no collision alert sounded. That was not good. It meant that the bridge was either too busy fighting off attacking Spider ships, or dealing with damage control, to have time to issue alerts.
It also meant that when the deck dropped away, it sent dozens of crewmen, many of them in full run from one place to another, pitching into the air unexpectedly. They came down everywhere, many of them tumbling into each other in alarmed, painful knots. One such group of three crewmen sailed across the corridor, collided with the deck, and slid in a tumble across the floor, to impact against the wall and pin a fourth body that had already fallen there.
The crewmen cursed and shoved as they tried to untangle themselves. They seemed to be having limited success, until a voice emanated from the body they had pinned against the wall.
"Get it together, Rangers!"
This seemed to do the trick, giving the crewmen the impetus to straighten themselves out and regain their feet. The last one up looked back down at the person who had been pinned to the wall, and his eyes winced in apology. "Sorry, Commander." He offered a hand, and the woman on the deck used it to lever herself back to her feet.
"S'okay. Get those power packs to your stations. Go!"
The crewmen gathered up their packs and bounded off down the corridor, leaving the Commander there with the other three-dozen crewmen strewn about the deck. Most of them were on damage control, made necessary by a barrage of particle fire from the Spiders that had caused a power surge and blown out the conduits throughout the section. The Commander had been closest to the section, and she knew how close the damage was to some vital shield cooling systems they could not afford to lose. So she had immediately taken over damage control organization.
Unfortunately, it already looked like the systems were too far gone... and if the coolant lines blew out, they would release a toxic cloud that would fill the corridor in seconds. While the Commander gave orders, she expected at any second to have to evacuate the section.
"We're back up, Commander!"
She turned to see one of the maintenance teams slapping the access plates back down on an access box they had just finished patching.
"All right, lock that down and get out of this section! I want minimum personnel in here until—"
Her orders were cut off when the deck jumped out from underneath them again. And something different: A force that struck her from behind, accompanied by a deafening noise. She was pitched into more flailing crewmen, and landed in a heap with them.
Being on top of this heap, she was up quickly this time, and swiveling her head about to assess the damage. The far end of the corridor was filled with a peculiar colored smoke, obscuring the space beyond. That wasn't the color of the coolant, she knew.
Then she became aware of a noise... a keening, high-pitched wail that grew louder and more insistent. Her heart jumped.
"Hull breach!" She cried out, and pitched forward. There had been crewmen just a few meters into that cloud, and she couldn't see them now. She had to see if anyone needed help. "Everyone out except damage control! Prepare to seal off this deck!"
She advanced into the cloud, waving her arms in an attempt to see. She could feel a slight breeze, but it did not seem to be too insistent yet... and it wasn't dissipating the odd cloud... so she continued on. She almost tripped over the first crewman she found, slumped against the wall. She moved close to him, checked his pulse, and breathed a sigh of relief to realize he was still alive. As quickly as she could, she pulled the unconscious crewman's arm over her shoulder and used it to lever him onto her back. He was much larger than she was, but she managed to position him so that she could half-carry, half-drag him away.
As she turned to leave, she saw something on the opposite wall, a vague shape in the fog. She took only one step towards it, straining to make out the shape. Then she recognized the telltale nosecone, the shattered glass ports on each side, and the cryptic markings ringing the ports.
"Oh, shit..."
She spun about fast as she could, struggling with her unconscious burden. "Somebody help me with this m—"
An incredible blow to the small of her back cut her off. The Commander went flying in one direction, her burden in another, and both of them ended up on the deck. She almost lost consciousness herself, so hard did she hit the floor... until a wail emanated from within the cloud, a noise that turned her blood cold. Pure adrenalin forced her to struggle upright, and she spun around to face a nightmare.
The shape came out of the cloud, bellowing, swinging massive arms and clenched fists. No sooner had the Commander regained her feet, she doubled back down, and its first swing missed... following through, the Commander instinctively swung about to land a foot in her attacker's midsection. But her attacker was fast, too: Before she knew what had happened, her foot was caught in a viselike grip, and she was yanked off the ground. The Commander felt herself swinging through the air, her head almost striking the opposite walls of the corridor. Her breath was gone, her captive leg burned as if about to tear free of her hip, and she was completely disoriented. She was absolutely sure that her life was now over.
Then her foot was released, and she sailed wildly through the air. She hit the wall, and this time, consciousness did leave her. The Commander slumped to the floor, limp as a rag doll.
Her attacker, meanwhile, had jumped on the poor unconscious crewman she had tried to drag out, and in three swift barehanded strokes, had managed to rip off both of his arms and his head. Then it bellowed again, the noise booming through the corridor, and it charged out of the cloud, right at the unconscious Commander.
Suddenly the corridor was filled with a flash of light. A finger-thin beam of reddish energy lanced across the corridor, catching the attacker full in the chest. There was a scream, and the smell of burning flesh, and suddenly the attacker was in several pieces. Most of those pieces continued their forward momentum, falling to the deck and skidding several meters, before coming to a stop.
"Got him!" "Watch for more!" Instantly the corridor was filled with people, most of them heavily armored, and carrying particle rifles and handguns. They swarmed into the corridor, brandishing their weapons and watching every unmoving body closely.
One of the soldiers stepped close enough to nudge the severed torso of the wild attacker they had just cut down. "Oh, damn... that's Drew Franks, he's in my section... look, he dismembered that guy..."
"Try not to think about it," another soldier advised him.
They moved into the corridor only as far as the edge of the cloud. The lead soldier peered into the cloud for a moment, then backed off, fumbling at the mask dangling from his neck. "Berserker! Everybody out! Masks on! Seal off this deck!"
The soldiers began to back out of the corridor, wasting no time. All were silent now, and many of them held their breath as they struggled with their masks. Near the leader, another bent down to grab the unconscious Commander slumped against the wall.
"What are you doing?" the leader batted his hand away. "Leave 'er!"
"Lieutenant—"
"Leave her, I said!" the Lieutenant snapped. "She can't be helped... she's infected!"
"We can't leave her!" the soldier protested. "That's Commander Kestral!"
"I know," the Lieutenant said, looking down at her. "And she's as good as dead."
The cloudless, cobalt-blue sky was not the amazing thing about Kyxha Spacedock. After all, the best spacedocks in the Oan Galarchy all seemed to have cloudless skies, many filled with stars even during the day, and the sky over the planet Kyxha was always cloud-free.
The incredible number of Oans was not the amazing thing about Kyxha Spacedock. After all, more and more Oan planets were being terraformed to accommodate more and more people every day, and the human race was on another one of its famous population surges.
The amazing thing about Kyxha Spacedock was the columns.
On Kyxha, spaceships were berthed on the tops of columns. Due to Kyxhian environmental regulations, ships' exhaust emissions were highly controlled on the ground. When the Oan Galarchy specified the need to put a spaceport on the planet Kyxha, the Kyxhians refused to accept the compromising of their atmosphere with ships' emissions. And considering how much work and expense had been put into creating a viable atmosphere on Kyxha, they had every right to complain. Although the Galarchy had the power of ultimate law on all of its planets, it strove to avoid dictating local policy whenever possible, and deferred to Kyxhian desires in the matter.
So Galarchy engineers created a system of columned berths designed to limit the amount of emissions that would reach the ground. With literally thousands of berths, some almost half a kilometer high, arranged in a perfect geometric pattern and filling a plateau that stretched to the horizon, Kyxha spaceport was inarguably the most unique and fascinating spacedock in all the Galarchy. In fact, it drew tourists from all over the Galarchy just to see it.
The woman striding down the main avenue was clearly not interested in the forest of columns she passed through. That set her apart from the gawking tourists. So did the white business suit she wore, an outright anomaly among the working class personnel from old transports and cargo loaders that passed all around her.
But what separated her from the crowd most was the woman herself. Her looks were striking, by any human standards. She was tall, taller than the average man. The well-tailored suit she wore served to highlight her lean, strong figure. And she walked with an air of authority, pride, and assurance.
As she marched down the avenue, many men turned to watch her go past, and many of those smiled in appreciation. A few women turned as well, but to most of them, she may have been looked upon as competition, not attraction. Even a few native Kyxhians, who generally exhibited a complete lack of appreciation for the unaltered human figure (probably due to the height difference), took note of her passing.
The attentions of her fellow Oan citizens were lost on her, however. She was giving all of her attention to where she was going, occasionally looking at the plaques mounted on the columns that indicated berth numbers and avenue names.
Eventually, she noted a plaque and veered left... the only turn she had made since entering the spacedock. She continued on, past six more columns, then approached a column to her right. A standard door was open in front of her. She pressed a hand on the announcer plate by the door, and waited.
"Come on in!"
The greeting had been in standard Oan, not local Kyxhian. The woman stepped slowly through the doorway.
Like most of the columns in the spacedock, this one contained a full fabrication and servicing facility at its base and extending upward to its apex, designed to allow the occupant to repair most ships, or to build one from scratch. Most of the heaviest equipment was anchored to the walls of the column, leaving the floor largely empty except for control consoles, and the gantries that gave access to the upper areas of the column.
A solitary man stood at a console roughly in the center of the column. Despite the greeting in Oan, he was Kyxhian... a bit shorter than the standard human norm, with a barrel-shaped chest and arms clearly shaped for heavy labor. He waved at the woman to come in, did a final few manipulations at the console, then stepped around it to approach the woman.
"Good morning, Commander! You're right on time... didn't have any trouble finding the place, I see."
"Not Commander," the woman stated, her voice echoing through the column. "I'm not with the Rangers any more. I told you that before, Mr. Fefgren."
"Ah, so you did, so you did." Fefgren met her halfway across the column, and offered a hand. "Ms. Kestral, then."
"You can call me Carolyn," she said, and took his hand. "Especially if you're finished."
"Of course I'm finished! It's the 15th of Gena, isn't it? My name is Tar Fefgren, isn't it? I never finish a commission late!" Fefgren smiled widely and glanced up over their heads. "I just finished charging the batteries and calibrating the restart systems, and everything tests perfect. Ready to go up and see it?"
"Oh, yes," Carolyn Kestral nodded and smiled.
"Then let's go."
Fefgren led her over to a platform mounted to a rail that ran straight up along the column wall. They stepped in, and he tapped at the small control panel on the railing. The platform started upward at a brisk pace. As they rapidly left the ground behind, Fefgren glanced over at Kestral to see how she was handling the ascent. She seemed perfectly at ease, leaning casually against the rail and watching their ascent as they continued up.
"No problem with heights, eh?" he ventured. "Must be all that Ranger training."
"Not everything I am comes from the Rangers," Kestral commented, not looking at him.
Fefgren's friendly smile faded a bit. "You never said that was a sore subject."
Kestral looked at him then. Her eyes softened. "Sorry. I'm just looking forward to starting the next chapter of my life, that's all."
"Ah... understandable," Fefgren nodded soberly. "In that case, welcome to your next chapter."
He gestured towards the open gantry, where banks of spotlights flooded the center of the Column interior, and the craft anchored there.
"Nothing more beautiful than a brand new star ship, ready to take off for the first time," Fefgren commented.
For the first time since she'd arrived, Kestral grinned widely. "Except maybe when it's yours."
Fefgren returned the grin and nodded knowingly, and joined her in examining the ship above them.
Even for a small freighter, the ship looked handsome. The hull was aerodynamically tuned to allow it to function in atmospheric conditions... it was no bird, but it would not be too ungainly in the air. The twin thrusters mounted to the massive wing and backbone that extended across the top center of the ship, looked powerful, efficient, and fast, even without power. The alabaster hull was largely free of open ports or outside mechanisms, and it fairly glowed under the glare of the spotlights. Its lines were clean and efficient, but not entirely inelegant.
"One Quicksilver-class star freighter," Fefgren stated proudly. "Rated 20-40, top speed 3.5C, standard crew quarters for ten. Comes standard with one remote sensory drone and one backup, a self-updating Oan map database, two standard defensive particle cannons, and four tractor field emitters. The additional two cannons are already installed..." Fefgren gestured... "there, and on the opposite side."
"Very good," Kestral nodded. "Is the drone active?"
"Yes," Fefgren replied, "and already keyed to you."
"Let's see it."
"Right here, Ma'am."
Kestral swung her head to the left, away from Fefgren. Less than a meter away, a featureless dark oval slightly smaller than a human head floated in the air, keeping pace with the rising platform. A play of lights flashed underneath its glassy, nearly-opaque surface, but otherwise, no moving parts could be seen.
"I am the sensory drone of this Quicksilver-class freighter," the oval stated. "This ship is registered to Carolyn Kestral."
"I am Carolyn Kestral," she replied.
"Please allow me to confirm your identity for ship's systems."
"Go ahead," Kestral nodded.
The oval swung in front of Kestral and hovered there for a few moments. "I have confirmed your identity with Oan databases, and have added an identity scan to the ship's database. What are your orders?"
"Full sensory sweep of the ship, running a comparison against construction specifications," Kestral replied briskly. The drone abruptly flashed away, and Fefgren regarded Kestral amusedly.
"Don't trust my work?"
Kestral smiled and shook her head. "Just giving it something to do. I'm sure your work is impeccable. You come highly recommended."
"On that dubiously positive note," Fefgren smiled wryly, "shall we go inside?"
The platform stopped at the top of the gantry, and a solid-feeling flooring led to the crew hatch of the ship. Kestral and Fefgren crossed the space between the platform and the ship, and Kestral took the time to run a hand appreciatively along the hull alongside the crew hatch. Then she stepped up the ramp of the hatch and into the ship's foyer.
The design of the interior was as clean as the outside, with numerous storage compartments, and the ship's plumbing, concealed behind panels that covered the walls, floor and ceiling. An open alcove at the hatch provided storage space for environmental suits and gear, and included a lockable compartment just large enough for a small complement of hand tools or weapons.
"The Elite interior package you asked for," Fefgren smiled. "Looks good?"
"Looks good," Kestral agreed. "Same in all rooms?"
"You bet." Fefgren led her to the crew corridor, and tapped the announcer outside of the first door. The door popped partially open, and Fefgren pushed it open the rest of the way. Kestral stepped inside and admired the well-appointed crew quarters, nodding as she gave the bunk, workspace and partitioned bath facilities the once-over. When she was satisfied, she turned to Fefgren.
"Let's see the bridge."
Fefgren led Kestral to the bridge, paused at the closed hatch and looked pointedly at her. Kestral took her cue, stepped up and triggered the hatch herself.
The bridge she walked onto was a model of efficiency. A Captain's station, placed at the center of the room, took in the helm and operations stations before it, and provided a view of the monitoring systems throughout the room. Unlike a typical military setup, where consoles were limited in design to very specific single functions, the Captain's station had a full control console before it, allowing the Captain to closely monitor and control most of the ship's systems from there if necessary. There were more automated systems than Kestral was used to seeing, but then, a freighter wasn't a military ship, and she hadn't been planning on hiring two-dozen people just to monitor every on-board circuit throughout the day.
Fefgren motioned to the chair at the center desk. "The Captain's station awaits you."
Kestral smiled and took the seat. She examined the controls and dual displays embedded into the console's surface. She tapped at the controls, and one by one, the surrounding stations came online, monitors came to life, and the bridge slowly filled with the muted sounds of ship activity.
"Is the ships systems check ready?" she asked no one in particular.
"Yes, Captain," came a voice from seemingly everywhere in the bridge... the voice of the ship. And appropriately feminine, Kestral noted. "The ship corresponds to all standards for a newly-minted Quicksilver-class vessel. Close examination reveals no substandard parts or construction techniques, and manufacturing methods accomplished to an average of one hundred ten percent of specified tolerances."
"Very good. Thank you." Kestral turned to look at Fefgren, who had an expectant look on his face.
She smiled widely and said, "I'll take it."
Fefgren puffed up and beamed at Kestral. "It's yours! Congratulations... Captain Kestral."
Kestral's smile faded for a moment, as she considered his words. Then her smile returned, together with an expression that Fefgren hadn't seen before.
"Captain Kestral," she repeated. "I like the sound of that."
"Wow."
Kestral stood in the main cargo bay of the ship—her ship—and stared about. "You know," she said to Fefgren, "I've been inside a loaded Quicksilver... and I've seen holograms of them... but now that I'm inside a real one, completely empty... this thing is big."
"It'll carry a hell of a lot," Fefgren agreed. "40,000 metric tons is a lot of cargo. The outer nacelles are great for bulk compounds in solid, liquid, gas and even transitional states. And if you want, you've got the space to put in encapsulated environmentals, to carry more sensitive cargo... livestock, rare plants, that kind of thing. Or additional rooms for passengers. And don't forget, Quicksilvers can tow trailer rigs. Good money in trailers."
"Trailers," Kestral nodded absently. "Maybe so."
Fefgren regarded her for a moment. "Do you have a crew yet?"
Kestral shook her head. "No... I haven't had the chance yet." After a moment, she turned to him. "Why do you ask?"
Fefgren smiled slyly. "You see right through me, don't you? Yes, as a matter of fact, there've been two people loitering about here for most of the past month, ever since they found out I was commissioned to build a Quicksilver. They want to talk to you about signing on. I think one of them is certified to boss on a Quicksilver."
"Really?" Kestral considered. "Sounds like someone I should meet."
"I'll call 'em up for you, then," Fefgren nodded. "Do you have a place to berth yet?"
"Do I need one?"
"Well, you will in about ten days," he replied. "That's when my next commission comes up. In the meantime, you can keep her here." He snapped his fingers. "By the way... have you got a name for her?"
"Oh, yes," Kestral replied without hesitation. "Her name is Mary."
The more Carolyn Kestral wandered about her new ship, the more she noted differences in the way civilian and military ships did things.
The engine room she now stood in was a perfect example. To begin with, the engine itself... a UnitPlant 880 tristream fusion plant, complete with preheaters. A beautiful engine, powerful, short response curve, well-made and reliable. But not as flexible as a military-grade engine, with its triple-redundant systems and quick-access everything. More automatic control systems evident, which meant fewer options to bypass the automation and do things manually. She'd have to get used to the idea of potentially lengthy down-time when the engines were out or under repair. Not that that was expected to be a regular occurrence, with a top-of-the-line engine.
And the Tesser field system, essential for faster-than-light flight... it was practically sealed! There was no way to manually reprogram the spacetime field emitters on the fly. Then again, that skill was rarely needed outside of combat situations. Still, just knowing you had the option...
Kestral's reverie was interrupted by a chime, followed by the voice of the Mary. "Captain, you have two visitors requesting permission to come aboard. They say they were sent by Mr. Fefgren."
"Very good," Kestral said. "I'll see them in the foyer."
The two visitors... a human male and an Avian female... were speaking to each other as Kestral reached the foyer. They made an interesting pair: He was taller than Kestral and a bit on the burly side, and she was of the typically slight build of all Avians, shorter than Kestral, with a mane of feathery hair on her head that tended to dance in even the slightest breeze, thick feathery lashes, and eyebrows that touched the temples of her hair. They stopped speaking and turned as she came around the corner, but Kestral had already seen how close together they stood, and how friendly their conversation had been. Clearly they were already well acquainted.
"I'm Carolyn Kestral," she announced as she came into the foyer. "What can I do for you?"
"Actually," the human replied, "we were hoping to be able to do something for you, Ma'am. This," he indicated the Avian, "is Tirri Riza, and my name is Sarander Fi."
"Pleased to meet you, Ma'am," Tirri Riza smiled and bowed slightly. "We understand you need a crew for this new ship of yours. We're here to offer our services."
"So, you're Fefgren's loiterers, eh?" Kestral smiled. "I understand one of you is certified to boss a Quicksilver."
"That would be me, Ma'am," Sarander admitted.
"As a matter of fact, I was just up in the engine room."
"And probably wondering what you're going to do with all that sealed plumbing when something springs a leak," Sarander grinned. Kestral inclined an eyebrow in his direction, which he took as a sign to continue. "Fact is, Ma'am, the Quicksilver is a damned fine ship, built to take a lot, and even when it's straining, it can get you where you need to go. The design isn't easy access, no. But there are ways into most of that hardware, and through the most closed software, if you know where the entry points are. I've served as pilot on one Quicksilver, and boss on another, and I assure you, I'll get that ship through any hoops you point it at."
"I see," Kestral nodded soberly. "Could you reconfigure the tesser to sideslip an impact object?"
"Sure," Sarander quickly replied, "but why bother, when you can simply throw a field extension out and alter the speed of the object?"
Kestral smiled. "Good answer." She turned to Tirri. "And have you served aboard a Quicksilver?"
"No, Ma'am," Tirri replied. "I served on the Blue Pacific for the past three standard years, captained by Barry Walsh. I was his cargo officer."
"The Blue Pacific?" Kestral's smile faded. "During the Sett campaign?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Tirri nodded. "My team rebuilt the medical modules after pulling the Bok Six Firebird out of the firefight. I also received field training as a medic there."
"I'd call that good experience," Kestral admitted. "Tell me, do you two come as a package deal?"
Tirri smiled meekly and ran a hand over her feathered head. "If at all possible, Ma'am. See, we've been married for five years, but spend most of our time on separate runs."
Sarander added, "We were hoping to get a gig together for a change."
"I see," Kestral said. "Well, I'm still working on lining up my first load. But if you can help me get this ship prepped for her maiden voyage..." She stepped forward and extended her hands to both of them. "You've got yourselves jobs."
"Thank you!" the both of them said in unison, taking Kestral's hands warmly.
"You're welcome," Kestral replied. "You'll both start at standard rates plus commission, until we get our first run. Then we'll evaluate your work."
"Fair deal," Tirri nodded.
"Where should we start?" Sarander asked.
Kestral considered. "Tell you what: The Mary hasn't left this berth yet. I want to touch space the morning after tomorrow, and do a dry run. Go pick out some quarters... oh... I guess you only need one room. Rooms three and four are good-sized for two people. Then meet me on the bridge."
"Yes, Ma'am!" "Thank you, Ma'am!"
"Oh... one other thing. This is a freighter, not a star destroyer. You can call me Carolyn. Or Captain, if you need to be formal."
Tirri and Sarander exchanged understanding glances. "Okay, we got it," Sarander said. "We'll go get our gear."
"All right. I'll see you later." Kestral then turned and strode away, back into the Mary. Tirri and Sarander stood respectfully and waited until she was out of sight around the corridor. Then they turned and jumped into each other's arms, hugging and kissing delightedly.
"That's what I assigned you quarters for!" came Kestral's shout from up the corridor.
Sarander and Tirri immediately broke apart, sheepishly, and backed out of the ship. "Yes, Ma'am... uh, right, Carolyn—Captain!" "We'll just go get our gear!" "Thanks again, Captain!" "Be right back!"
Around the corner, Kestral listened to the couple bounding out of the foyer, and grinned to herself. Then she said, "Mary, check employment data for those two. Do their stories confirm?"
"Checking." It took just a few seconds for the ship to access and query Oan databases and confirm Tirri and Sarander's employment records. "Yes, they do."
"Good. Thank you. Are there any other responses from my advertisements?"
"This came in while you were interviewing the others: a candidate for pilot, named Doshu May."
"Qualified?"
"I've confirmed his qualifications."
"All right, let's talk to him."
As it happened to be fairly close to local noon, Kestral decided to meet her prospective pilot over lunch. After identifying a nearby restaurant that served standard human fare (or a reasonably close approximation of it), she had Mary contact Doshu May and arrange a meeting there.
When she arrived, she was pointed to a table, where a man sat quietly. He saw Kestral approaching the table, and stood before she reached it.
"Afternoon, Captain," he said, offering his hand. "I'm Doshu May."
"Afternoon," Kestral greeted him. "Thanks for meeting me here."
"That's okay, I was about ready for lunch," May replied, and they both sat back down. "I've been working on a Stinger rebuild this morning."
"You're a mechanic, too?"
"Every pilot ought to be a good mechanic," May stated. "You should know why your ship flies the way it does, and if it doesn't fly the way you want it to, you ought to be able to make it."
They took a moment to order from the menu, before Kestral carried on the conversation.
"What else have you piloted?"
"Well... JP 40s and 50s... Zips... a K'LiDo freighter... a couple of Cano freighters... And, of course, the Quicksilver. That was for Captain Jon Lang, out of Terra73."
"Don't know him," Kestral responded to his unspoken question.
"Good Captain, nice guy, all business. We mostly did contracted runs between Terra73 and Maille's Outpost, but we also ran luxury cargo around that sector. What are you looking to run, Captain?"
Kestral shrugged. "I'm open to suggestions... I just bought the ship."
"Oh, really?" May's attitude shifted just a bit. "If you don't mind my asking, what kind of background do you have for this?"
"I'm a retired Ranger," Kestral told him. "Served as Commander for the last four years on a Ranger cruiser."
"Saw action?"
"Oh, yes. I was on the line."
"That why you retired?"
It was a blunt question. Kestral responded just as bluntly: "No."
After a second, May nodded, and his attitude softened. "Fair enough. Begging your pardon, but I have no interest in working for some clerk who doesn't know how to use an airlock."
"I understand," Kestral nodded back. "The Mary is tasting space the morning after tomorrow. I'm offering standard wage plus commission, then a re-evaluation after our first run. Still interested in piloting?"
"Yes, I am," May said, just as a small bot arrived with their orders. "Ah... a good omen, I like that."
"Looks like good food, too," Kestral noted. "Have you eaten here before?"
"Only when I'm accepting new piloting jobs," May grinned, taking a sip of his cider. "Mmm. Good year."
As the platform ascended to the gantry berthing the Mary, Kestral became aware of a man standing by the crew hatch, and Mary's drone hovering next to him. The man seemed to be holding his hand, palm-up, to the drone, and the drone floated just inches away from his hand like a curious puppy.
"Can I help you?" Kestral called out when the platform reached the gantry flooring. The man turned at the sound of her voice, and his hand dropped a bit, remaining palm-up.
"Are you the Captain?"
"Yes, I am," Kestral replied. "And you are?"
"Angel Shakra," the man said, offering his free right hand... he continued to hold his other hand up. "I'm looking for work, Ma'am."
"Doing what?"
"Mate and cook," he replied simply. "Every ship should have a mate. But I'm a damn good cook, too, which every ship really needs."
"Mate..." Kestral considered, dubious.
"Oh, I know," Shakra said, "you can buy a few bots to do most mate work. But truth to tell, no bot has the eye of an experienced mate. You want your ship to look good?... you need a live mate, to do the job right."
"Uh-huh," Kestral replied, still not convinced. "I've eaten standard flight fare for the last ten years, and I—"
"And I'll bet it's been just as long since you smelled this." Shakra slowly moved his hand under Kestral's nose. She started to protest... then her eyes widened, and she looked down at his hand. She took a deep sniff, and involuntarily, she closed her eyes and smiled.
When she opened them again, she said, "Real coffee beans?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Shakra nodded.
"Where did you get them?" she asked reverently.
"I can grow them," he replied. "If you can give me some space in the hold, I can grow authentic terran coffee, spices, vegetables, beans and fruits. Had any cinnamon lately?"
"Good lord, no!" Kestral fairly goggled at him. "Um... how much space do you need?"
"One of the upper flank holds in there will do it," Shakra stated. "I can maintain it, cook, and do my other mate duties, as long as it's understood that the food comes first, with me."
Kestral considered only briefly, glancing again at the aromatic beans in his hand. "Pick out some quarters. We'll discuss wages after I try your first meal."
"Breakfast, tomorrow morning at local nine," Shakra smiled, and shook her hand. "Thanks, Captain! You won't regret it, Ma'am! I'll go get my gear right now!"
Shakra headed quickly for the platform, waving once more at Kestral as he started to descend. Kestral waved amiably back, and started into the Mary. She glanced at the drone, still hovering nearby. "Those were real coffee beans, right?"
"Authentic terran coffee beans, grown aeroponically."
"If he can brew them as good as he can grow them, I may never sleep again," she mused aloud.
Kestral found Tirri on the bridge, standing over the ops console. She was about to ask where Sarander was, when she heard his disembodied voice ring out. Tirri started to respond to Sarander's voice, when she noticed Kestral. The feathered hairs on the nape of her neck stood up slightly, a sure sign to Kestral that she had surprised her.
Kestral took a few steps forward, silently craning her neck about the bridge. When she was around the Captain's station, she saw a pair of legs protruding from underneath the ops station. She smiled at Tirri, and leaned forward. "Everything ship-shape down there, Sarander?"
"Captain?" Sarander shoved himself out from under the console, saw Tirri first, then Kestral standing next to her. "Oh, hi. I was just doing a bit of... rewiring."
"To a brand new ops console?" Kestral cocked an eyebrow, and looked at Tirri, who seemed disinclined to respond to the question. "May I ask why you would do that to my ship... without asking me about it first?"
Sarander pursed his lips and averted his eyes a moment, looking like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar. "We... wanted to surprise you?"
"Mission accomplished," Kestral said sarcastically. "Now give me a good reason not to tell you to undo whatever it is you just did."
"Ops locks."
"Excuse me?"
"Ops locks," Sarander repeated, standing up slowly. "See... the Quicksilver uses a customized telemetry system designed to allow the drones to function outside of the ship during C travel, and which allows the drones to control ship's systems remotely. It's tied into the Tesser system to compensate for field variations outside of the ship, which—"
"Ops locks," Tirri cut him off.
"Ops locks," Kestral emphasized.
"Sorry," Sarander said. "Uh, Quicksilver systems can be tapped into from outside, through the drones and... all of that... and the ops system can be hacked into and controlled remotely. It's a design flaw. I'm installing a lock that will prevent an outside signal sent through the drone from hacking into ops. The drone will still be able to remotely control ship's systems, but only on orders from recognized controllers... us."
"I see," Kestral said, after a moment. "And exactly how did you get past the Mary's security systems to apply those locks?"
Sarander responded by holding up a small device, about the size of his closed fist.
Kestral stared at the device, then at Tirri, and back to Sarander. "Let me guess: An omni broadcaster?"
Sarander replied quickly, "You only need it to start the process—"
"You hacked into my brand new ship!" Kestral snapped.
"Yes!" he blurted back. "But now no one else can!"
Tirri finally chimed in, trying to support Sarander. "It really does work, Captain, I've seen it done on—" She stopped speaking when Kestral held up a finger in admonishment.
The bridge was silent for long moments. Sarander slowly lowered the hand that held the hacking device. Tirri regarded Kestral hopefully, but did not move otherwise.
Kestral lightly cleared her throat. "You know how much trouble I could get into, if anyone finds out that thing is aboard? If I get asked, I'm going to deny that I even know you two. And two seconds after that, you're both walking home. Is that clear?"
"As a vacuum," Sarander replied.
"Good." Kestral glared mock-seriously at each of them once more, before her eyes softened. "Carry on. Set aside an upper flank hatch for Angel Shakra, our new cook. Prep it according to his needs for life support systems. I'll be in my quarters." With that, she turned and strode off the bridge.
Tirri and Sarander continued to stand as she left. When she was out of sight, and well out of hearing, Tirri whispered, "'Don't worry, hon... this'll get us in good with the Captain. Just you watch.'" She glared at Sarander.
Sarander winced. "I guess this means I'm sleeping on the wet spot tonight."
"What makes you think there'll be one?" Tirri countered.
Berserker e-Book edition is copyright ©Steve Jordan. All rights reserved.
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