Give No Quarter (Privateer Tales Book 10) Page 3

  "Where did they get it?" I asked.

  "Norigans are what Belirand refers to them as, internally," Jonathan replied. "As we have had no reason to assign this species a human name, it seems reasonable."

  "Are they dangerous?" I asked. Jonathan had the attention of everyone on the bridge.

  "Not in the sense that you ask the question. Norigans are social bipeds, not dissimilar to humans." He gestured, lobbing the image of a short, bright-green, big-mouthed, frog-skinned, tri-fingered humanoid. The display showed the Norigan was not quite a meter tall and had an average mass of around thirty kilograms.

  "You think we look like that?" Moonie asked, scandalized.

  "Within the scope of sentient beings we've come in contact with, humans and Norigans are quite compatible. Your reproductive systems are similar, although we have no reason to believe compatible. You'd find their ordinary habitat to be oxygen poor, but survivable, and they communicate sonically using analogous language constructs," Jonathan continued.

  "Ewww," Moonie said. Somehow it was funny when he said it. I wasn't sure why.

  "What do you mean, ‘not dangerous in the way I mean it?’" I asked.

  "They are intelligent and technologically advanced, compared to humans. They have little guile and are easily manipulated."

  "And a corporation like Belirand has no qualms about using them to gain technological advances. Those ass hats." I spat.

  "Ass hat?" Jonathan asked. "We assume you are denigrating Belirand for amoral behavior. Would you please explain? Some of us believe you feel that Belirand is gaining a tactical advantage and you are opposed to this, while others believe there is some other reason for your indignation."

  "I'm not completely sure what pisses me off so badly, but I guess I just don't like that they're a peaceful race and our first interaction with them is to put them to work. It feels that we should do something else, like show them paintings or music or dancing or something," I said.

  "Nice," Tabby said, shaking her head at my inability to express myself. "I think what you're saying is Belirand hardly represents the human race well and you're concerned they're taking advantage of the Norigans."

  "Right," Nick said. "Belirand doesn't want to keep humanity from the stars in order to protect us. They just don't want any competition. What I don't understand is what keeps other species from preying on the Norigans?"

  "Humankind is the first species we've encountered that has developed cost effective interstellar travel. For others, the time and material cost is too great," Jonathan explained.

  "If we share TransLoc with everyone, it wouldn't be that long before other species would learn of it. Humans really aren't capable of not sharing information," I said.

  "A truth we often discussed with Thomas Anino," Jonathan replied. "The problem is not as simple as you describe, however, as with increased communication and contact, species like Norigans would learn to defend themselves."

  "Or become enslaved if they didn't," Tabby added glumly.

  I didn’t want to think about all of the implications. What I had to deal with in front of me was enough for right now. "Ugh. Well, it won't matter at all if we sit here all day. I'm guessing Belirand is fixing to jump a fleet in our general direction and we’d better not be here. Even with all their resources, they won't like us swiping a fifty million credit ship."

  "I think the actual number is closer to six hundred million," Nick said.

  I whistled.

  "Right. Belirand is so not letting this go anytime soon," Ada added.

  While we weren't exactly sitting ducks while underway, sailing around in New Pradesh wasn't the safest thing we could be doing. No doubt Belirand would mount a response to our brazen raid. With Peace Bringer in our stable, however, I doubted they had enough firepower within several days of hard burn to push us out. That said, I didn't like sitting around.

  I scanned my queue. We'd been in-system long enough for messages to have been relayed and picked up. My eyes lit on one I was looking for from Jake Berandor. I hoped he had good news. We'd made a deal to pack up the three stationary cannons taken from the Red Houzi compound. Unknown to me, these cannons had a manufacturer's kill switch that Belirand had taken advantage of when they attacked the Descartes Mining Co-Op. Berandor’s message was simple: packages delivered, Nuage isn't safe.

  I could have guessed the latter. Belirand had strong-armed the small Nuage nation to detain us when we were there last and we'd been forced to make a messy exit. Jonathan assured me he had a legal team working on clearing our names, but these things took time and held no guarantees. It was sad. I loved the Nuage people and the very nation itself. Big Pete had always told me, however, that sacrifice was giving up something of value for something you believed in. My crew had saved over eight hundred colonists on Ophir and forty-five crew members on Cape of Good Hope. We'd traded our ability to live amongst the civilized nations of humanity and if we had it to do all over again, we certainly would.

  Using all available storage in Loose Nuts fleet, do we have sufficient room for Co-op cannons that were packed by Jake Berandor? It was a fairly complex problem I was throwing at my AI, but I knew it was up to the task.

  "Sufficient storage is not available," the AI responded to my narrow question.

  Are there alternatives? It was a first question you learned to ask an AI. They were very good at answering direct questions, but were even better at problem solving.

  "If strapping were manufactured, the long barrels of the cannons could be strapped to cargo hooks along the keel of Strumpet."

  I didn't need to ask if we had the capacity to manufacture the strapping as the AI would have stipulated that difficulty.

  If we jump directly to Descartes location, how much time in hard-burn is required once we exit fold-space?

  "Four hours nineteen minutes."

  "That should work," Nick said over the comm. He'd obviously been listening in. "I'll start manufacturing those straps."

  "Copy that. Ada, would you create a nav-plan? I'm sending the coordinates now." My AI presented a small, virtual package on my HUD which I flicked in her general direction.

  "Can do, Liam. What are we going to do with those guns?" she asked.

  "Feels like we've endangered the good people of Ophir and I'd like to give Captain LeGrande some real punch if Tullas shows up," I said. I was of course referring to Katherine LeGrande, the previous captain of Cape of Good Hope who, with her crew, had been left in the deep dark to die by Lorraine Tullas, an Admiral in Belirand's Central Security division.

  "Transit time thirty-two hours," Ada replied. A notification appeared on my screen, requesting my approval for a fleet directive. My AI reviewed the contents and acknowledged its agreement to the effectiveness of Ada's plan.

  "On your mark, Captain Chen," I said and lobbed the honors back to her.

  The holographic display of Peace Bringer and Strumpet appeared to my right, showing the ships turning in unison, accompanied by the now familiar sound of TransLoc engines spooling up. I wasn't excited about the next part, which was a gut-wrenching moment when the universe felt like it was sliding backwards. Every color in the immediate vicinity smeared like a wet impressionist painting being wiped by a giant invisible hand. It was always the same experience as we entered fold-space, which fortunately dissipated quickly.

  "I never thought I'd be grateful for a completely armored bridge with no view of space," Tabby said. She'd changed her workstation's translucent wraparound screens to show the stars as they would look near our old home, Colony-40. If we had armor-glass, the stars would have been jittering around us as we wound our way through fold-space. That was an unnerving view I wouldn't miss.

  "We have thirty-two hours before we drop out of fold-space," I said, raising my voice slightly so everyone knew I was addressing the room. "There are five of us and I want two people on duty at all times. Tabby and I will take first shift and I'll send assignments out after that. Feel free to find a bunk and make yourse
lf at home, generally."

  "Sweet! Dibs on the captain's quarters," Moonie said, springing to his feet and dashing out the bridge door.

  A PIRATE’S LIFE

  A familiar whistle sounded. I turned my chair and looked up from my studies. Tabby and I had spent the better part of our six-hour shift taking overview coursework on the General Astral Frigate Mark VI. As warships went, we were small; one hundred twenty meters LOA and four point five kilo tonnes. While we were able to sail her with just two people, the ship was capable of hosting as many as eighty souls. A more reasonable minimum crew would be closer to twelve. Fewer crew put us in danger of not being able to man the guns or tend to any number of other emergencies in a true combat situation, not to mention the simple grind of bridge watches. Where we would come up with an additional seven people we could trust, I had no idea. It was enough to make my head hurt, but we could only truly respond to one issue at a time.

  The whistle sounded. I'd become distracted. Once again, I turned my attention to the door. An incredibly high-resolution vid-screen on the bridge door showed Jonathan standing patiently outside; fifteen minutes early for his shift.

  "Permission to enter bridge," he asked, once I acknowledged his presence.

  "Permission granted." The AI opened the door upon hearing my reply.

  "Greetings, Tabitha and Liam. I trust your watch was satisfactorily quiet."

  "Roger that, Jonny Boy," Tabby said. Her response told me she was getting antsy. Six hours of sitting was about as much as she could take. Fortunately, the ship appeared to have a first-class exercise facility in the bow and we'd burn off some of her angst in a few minutes.

  "How hard is it to change the ship's transponder signal? We'd like to rename her." My query caused Jonathan to turn before he sat at one of the available workstations.

  "Transponders are simple mechanisms and easily reprogrammed. It won't help with your registration at any reputable port in human space as Peace Bringer will have been reported stolen," he said.

  I knew what he was saying to be true. If our registration wasn't recognized, the station authority would attempt to seize our ship, at least until we could clear up provenance, something we had no real hope of accomplishing.

  His comment, however, got me to thinking. "How many non-reputable ports are you aware of?"

  "The list is ever-changing, as are their locations, but currently we're aware of twenty-three stations that do not recognize the Ordwall Conventions," he answered.

  "Where?" That there were twenty-three of these stations, I found remarkable. I’d previously only heard rumors about them.

  "Scattered around the four settled solar systems. There are fewer in Sol than in Bethe Peierls, New Pradesh and Tipperary." His tone grew grave. "I feel I must warn you, Liam. These stations are to be avoided. Most are run by locally powerful entities who manufacture their own laws."

  "Thugs, pirates, outlaws and miscreants?" Tabby asked. "I'm already starting to feel all warm and tingly. You know, we're outlaws now. Thugs even." She loved needling Jonathan with half-truths and innuendo. For their part, they seemed to enjoy the puzzle of decoding what she said.

  "We feel that yours is possibly too strong of a characterization to be spread so liberally across such a large number of groups, but there are those of us who agree with your general analysis." Jonathan's speech became more formal when replying to Tabby.

  "Jonathan, how difficult would you find it to change the transponder's signal to a new ship's designation?" I asked.

  "There are a number of issues in showing up as an unregistered ship in most ports. Given the origins of this particular ship, we believe this to be a reasonable alternative. Instead of modifying the current transponder, we have already taken the liberty of manufacturing a new transponder. It awaits a final name to be burned into the permanent circuitry. To do otherwise is detectable," he replied.

  "Intrepid," I replied.

  "A brilliant choice," he said.

  "Oh?" I hadn't expected him to have much of an opinion on the subject.

  "We had a lottery and Intrepid was my individual choice," he said. "Intrepid was only chosen by six percent of us. Most thought you would choose Atropos; a logical choice if you were familiar with the fictional representation of Horatio Hornblower; his first ship being HMS Hotspur and second being Atropos. My voting bloc's choice was for a more contextual name; a description of purpose, that is, to be fearless or adventurous."

  It was one of the risks of talking with Jonathan; ask a relatively simple question and receive a lengthy answer. Most of the time, I was up for it, especially on long trips. "You do lotteries?" I'd extracted the one point he'd made that I found interesting.

  "Constantly. It is a game mechanic Thomas Anino taught us. We've found that betting on human behaviors provides considerable entertainment."

  "What do you win?"

  "Your closest analog is esteem," he said.

  "Let me guess. Tabby is the source of a lot of lotteries."

  "It would seem an answer to that question would put us at a disadvantage. We are willing to admit we find your young life-mate to be fascinating."

  "Damn skippy you do," Tabby said.

  A second whistle alerted us to another request for bridge access. It was Mom carrying a tray with three cups of coffee. I recognized the cups as the ones we'd discovered on Mastodon. They had mini grav-generators built into the base and, as a result, were virtually spill proof. It wasn't like Tabby or me to go six hours without a stim-drink like coffee, but we'd both been so absorbed in the new ship literature that our shift had passed quickly.

  "Thank you!" I said, meeting Mom at the bridge door.

  "There are two galleys," she said. "Ward room and general. Neither have anything fresh and I'm sorry about the crappy coffee."

  I took a sip. It was bitter, as synth-coffee always was, but having gone so long with nothing made up for the bad flavor. "Works for me. Tabby and I are going to explore. Have you seen Moonie?"

  "He’s holed up in the captain's quarters," Mom said, smiling.

  "Seriously?" Tabby asked.

  "The officer bunks are very comfortable." Mom replied, looking to minimize drama. "You have to hand it to Belirand; they know how to fit a ship."

  "I'm gonna fit it with something," Tabby said, still focused on the problem named Moonie.

  We handed the watch over to Mom and Jonathan, exited the bridge and found ourselves in a starboard passage that ran the length of the ship. For as long as we'd been onboard, we'd only been in the hold, this passageway and the bridge.

  "Where to first?" I asked.

  "I want to oust Moonie from the captain's quarters," she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

  "No. That'll work itself out. I want to see the ship. Let's go forward." I pulled her along behind me. She could have stopped me, but she let me lead. I stopped at the first door on the port side of the hallway. 'Fire-Control' was the label above the security panel. I palmed the door open and stepped through the hatch. From the bridge-side door, we'd been able to see into the room, but I wanted a closer look at the four smaller weapons control stations as well as the pass-through station where the gunnery officer could communicate with the bridge as well as the gunners.

  "Makes me feel like we're short-handed," Tabby acknowledged as we stepped out.

  "I've got some ideas about staffing, but I'd like to talk with everyone about it," I said. "We started out as a company, but I just don't feel like that's what we are now." We headed forward again, my HUD displaying each room's function as we passed by. I couldn't help but stick my head into each for a quick look.

  "How aren't we a company anymore?" Tabby asked.

  "Loose Nuts is still a thing, but what's a company if it doesn't have a profit motive?"

  "Hard to say. Stealing a hundred fifty thousand credits in supplies, not to mention a ship worth six hundred million, is quite a profit," she retorted. "We crossed a line back there. Every major government will consider us pi
rates from this point forward. No one will care about our motives."

  "Trying to cheer me up?"

  "Turn here," she said. The passageway had come to a fork. If we stayed on the starboard side of the hull, we’d be forced down to Deck-3. Tabby herded me to the left and then right and we were once again headed forward. "I get it and I'm in - for whatever. What's next though? Turn here."

  I misunderstood which direction she was indicating and attempted to turn back to the starboard where a passageway ended in an air-lock. We'd made it to the ship's main air-lock. "I don't want to go outside," I laughed. Tabby, however, had already palmed open the hatch opposite, grabbed my shoulder and was pulling me backwards into what I knew to be the crew's mess. "Where are you dragging me?" I had no choice but to follow as she worked her way around the long, polished mess tables and through another hatch.

  "Here!" she exclaimed. We'd entered a long, curved room dedicated to exercise. There were numerous stationary running tracks, a half-court pod-ball arena, weight lifting equipment and a boxing ring. It didn't take a genius to guess what she had in mind, as she tossed me a protective sparring mask and gloves.

  Thirty minutes later, exhausted and battered, I refused to stand up one more time. For a few minutes, I'd felt like I was keeping up, but she just kept relentlessly hammering me. I'd backed her down a couple of times and had my share of lucky hits, but I was no match for her. At least she didn't feel compelled to point it out.

  She held a glove out to me in a friendly gesture meant to help me up and I grabbed it. I've always had a penchant for doing the wrong thing at the right time - and this proved to be another one of those times. As I grabbed her gloved hand in my own, I rolled back, pulling her with me, using my leg to throw her. With just about anyone else, it would have been a brilliant maneuver. With Tabby, it was suicide. She lithely used her momentum and spun around, lifting my body from the mat just enough to snake her leg around my arm and neck. When she levered her foot beneath her knee, I found myself on the wrong side of a choke hold. For a moment, I didn't have enough wits about me to tap the mat with my free arm and her legs tightened, cutting off the flow of air to my beleaguered lungs. Fortunately, Tabby was waiting and loosened immediately once I signaled.