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91. Shark in the Water
Gin gazed at the hand in front of her face. It was feminine, shapely and long fingered. It was also dirty, bruised and bloody from abuse in the forest. Only the most sophisticated scans would be able to ascertain that she was not, in fact, a real woman.
The ship rocked around her. She blinked and looked up from her hand. She was stood on the aft wall of the ship's tiny hold. Her left hand clutched the chromed frame of the cargo rack and her back and right flank screamed in outraged agony. She needed another bath in an amnio-tube. The thought instantly stunned her back into numbness.
The ship trembled and rocked around her again. She heard small things moving inside plastic containers within the stowage closet to her left and other items shifting within the cabinets, lockers and crates secured within the hold. She heard the clink of the safety harnesses dangling from the pilot's chair and from Anderson's now lifeless body.
She met the dead man's lifeless gaze for a moment and then blinked. In the momentary darkness she saw another woman in her mind's eye, a woman with her face and features...
'... but are they?'
... with her voice...
'... but is it?'
... and that woman was asking the exact same questions that Gin herself was horrified by.
~ "Are you my clone?! Did that asshole frakking CLONE me?!"~
It was literally the same thought she'd been thinking. The other just spoke it aloud. Less than an eyeblink later both women saw their own, personal horror reflected in the other's face. The other one saw it as surely as Gin did. That question. That sudden, terrible question that blotted out all other rational thought. It collapsed upon itself between them, uprooting both of their psyches simultaneously. Gin understood. Psychology was a necessary component of what she did...
~ '...used to do?' ~
'...BUT DID I?!'
She trembled and looked past Anderson into the void beyond the cockpit canopy. Lances of high energy weapon discharges passed into view from behind the ship but it was the deepening black she was interested in. As the atmosphere thinned she stared into that darkness while awe and horror loomed huge and dark within her reeling mind.
********
Bloody hell. You know, it is a royal frakkin' pain in the ass keepin' all of my ships supplied. It really is. I'm not talkin' about acquirin' the guns or missiles or e-cells, mind you. At this point my factories build just about everything I need and what they don't build is pretty easy to acquire. No. I'm talkin' about actually gettin' all that stuff to the ships what actually need it. It really is a pain in my balls. I spent nearly an hour today just lookin' through this rat's-nest of overlappin' CLS manifests with multiple points of pickup and drop offs that are, quite literally, all over the place. It's insane... and it's what's keepin' all of my ships in ammo and missiles and e-cells.
Which prolly explains the hiccups I've been runnin' into lately. Twice today Ea't's wolf pack wasn't able to make the jumps I needed 'em to make cos the TL just didn't fill their tanks, forcin' me to get on the comms and yell at people til they figured out what their job was. Yeah. So I'm still tryin' to work that crap out.
*sigh*
Anyway. In the grand scheme of things I'm actually doin'... well, really REALLY good.
Right. So. The last few days have been pretty much all about kissin' leathery Paranid backside and gettin' the kinks ironed out of my operation. Right now my reach is pretty impressive. My three-frigate attack fleet can jump from Weaver's Tempest to damn near anywhere I've already mapped... but then they need to be resupplied before they can get home. Now I thought it would be a simple matter of usin' a big ship as a tender but, err, I missed a step somewhere. I think it's cos the Osan'gar isn't a carrier. So... well, Ea't may be gettin' an upgrade pretty soon. Cos I'd really like that to just work without much attention from me.
Now, with regard to the ships under my direct command:
The Brimstone is
partially operational. On the mechanical end she's in grand shape. Thane's people have completely repaired and renovated her, cleaned out the filth, hung air fresheners everywhere... hell, she's even got Thane's personal guarantee. It's not a money-back guarantee, mind you, and effectively amounts to a good volume of hot air, but he did say it with a straight and sober face so I'm inclined to believe he meant it. Which, err, also doesn't mean much more than whatever Thane feels like it does if I need to cash it in. But you take what you can get, right?
Yeeeah.
Right. Thing is: she's still missin' a crew. I also need more pilots to man the three hundred million credits I just spent in fighters. Yeah, there's a reason Thane is nice to me. I'm single-handedly makin' the big bastard obscenely rich. Anyway, I've tasked H'nt with hirin' people for her. Since Chinomu's out of action he's pretty much pullin' triple duty. He scowls a lot when we talk and doesn't
quite say anything directly but there's been a bit of-uhm
surliness recently.
Hey. He can sleep when he's dead, right?
Right.
Anyway, he looooves it. He's been cruisin' the Split and Argon military outposts, with an emphasis on the Split, so I suspect there won't be much of a Teladi presence on the Brimstone's roster... unless he decides to invest in his own entertainment, anyway. But I do expect that he'll find qualified people.
As far as being armed, well, I bought a LOT of tenjins and have been playin' musical ships to get the Brimstone the way I want her. What can I say? Thane had the L variants in stock and I had an empty carrier to park 'em on soooo... yeah. I suspect he had the fully equipped versions in large part due to tradin' with my complex. Which means I actually made a profit on shields that I then got for a price lower than the one he paid for 'em.
Heh heh heh.
Right. So anyway, since they were there I went and bought twenty of 'em. Then I bought twenty more the very next day... which is when it started to feel like overkill. I mean that's a LOT of tenjins which I actually really like for carrier defense interceptors. So I kept twenty seven of them on the Brimstone but dispersed the others to the carrier frigates and TL's that might need to be able to punch some errant pirate in the face when picking up or dropping off a station. For the attack wing I collected twenty susanowas that I had stashed all around the fleet and moved them to the Brimstone. Which just about takes care of the CODEA carrier functions.
Now I've
also decided to create several mission-oriented wings that would take their orders directly from me. One would be a squadron of eight or nine attached directly to the Predator. The other would be attached to the Brimstone for additional support or specific targets. For both I've decided to use those Venti's I picked up last month. 100mj of shielding coupled with a 195m/s top speed and a formidable selection of missiles means I can do things like stuff 'em to the gills with tornado missiles and send 'em out to kill corvettes and even back me up against other frigates.
What can I say? I've got war on the brain.
Which reminds me... one bomber? Or d'ya think I should bring a wing? We've got one right now and I'm keepin' a few cradles open for a small wing of kestrels to swat mosquitoes. I'll also need a few slots open for the various support ships or personnel transports. But I think, for the most part, I've got the planes worked out at least. Which means that, at long last, I am now in command of an actual fleet of warships again. I've got Ea't and the frigates for fast strikes and, with the Brimstone's ability to dock medium ships, I can use her for everything from salvage to lockin' down an entire sector. I've got a flagship again.
Right. So, meanwhile, my peacemakin' efforts with the Paranid have been... interestin'. Now
why, you might ask, am I botherin' to do somethin' as heinous and thoroughly distasteful as make nice with those arrogant, self righteous, holier'n-thou, stuck-up, three-eyed religious douchebags? Well, the short answer is: I'm tired of worryin' about my flanks. I've got
a LOT of money in Savage Spur and the Paranid like to send patrols through there. I'm guessin' to make a point? I don't know. Either way I don't want those assholes takin' a notion to start shootin' at my stuff. Not to mention: there are a great many business opportunities to be had by playin' nice with those overinflated windbags. They make and sell stuff that nobody else does... stuff that I wouldn't mind buyin' from 'em. And, you know, keepin' 'em happy and... err...
at ease means they'll let their guard down. Which, you know, means more opportunities to play pirate and make off with their shiny things... which is now a pointless guilty pleasure since I don't need to steal for the money any more, now do I?
Heh heh heh.
Yeah. Even so, playin' nice with the Paranid is not something that comes naturally to me and I will confess to some... ahem... backslidin'? Yeah. 'Backslidin' is the right word. What can I say? It really
was just sooo damn
shiny! Needless to say I had to have it. Fortunately nobody ... that I actually give a damn about... died while takin' it so I don't have to hate myself anymore'n I already do.
But-ah, yeah.
For the most part I actually have been successful. I took those names Abmanckusset gave me and started makin' in-roads. And, truthfully it-ah... it actually feels pretty good to get back to work. Well, at least it feels pretty good if you overlook the complete idiots that I have to deal with.
Seriously!
This shit was so much easier when I kept my operation small. I mean
really? How difficult is it to
not get shot? I mean it's not somethin' that you have to wake up and think about in the mornin'. Right? 'How do I not get killed today?'
Well maybe
you do and these idiots sure as hell should have.
********
"WHY ARE YOU IN X347?!"
It was her employer.
He sounded irate.
"Nooo really! I want an answer! You have
cloth rimes in your hold. You have a
jump drive! You have e-cells! And I know for a
fact that you've been educated on how to use it cos
I PAID for the trainin'! So... please,
PLEASE explain to me why. Why?
WHY? Did you fly my ship into
A BLOOODY XENON SECTOR?!
Are they
BUYING?!"
Major Dealer Kleo Sillarne wore a grim expression. She reached out and cut the comm just as the kid started winding himself up again. "Asshole," she snarled and sighed. An empty bottle of antidepressants bounced and rolled across the deck plates. The mistral's shield was now thoroughly in the red. N's, M's and L's hurtled past her ship, pummelling her with IRE, PAC and HEPT fire. The shield took another hit and was on the verge of failing. There was a PX bearing down on her position and... she couldn't quite bring herself to care.
********
I tell yah. Some people. You know, I wouldn't mind so much if they weren't flyin' one of MY ships into a
sector full of Xenon or... oh yeah! Here's one: into the guns of a Paranid
orbital weapons platform! I mean... what the hell?! Those things don't
move! They don't
fly around! They don't
come after you! They're bloody satellites with
MISSILES! Just... stay the frak away from 'em!
Right?
Idiots.
Idiots!
I tell yah.
...
Right. So despite the headaches I've actually done quite well in the peacemakin' department. Unfortunately some folks let go of their grievances more grudgingly than others... and some folks don't let go of 'em at all. Seriously! What is up with the guy that programmed these lasertowers?! Once those things decide they don't like you they never EVER forget. Which has made this whole playin' nice and makin' friends with the... arrogant, condescendin', self-righteous, three-eyed egg-humpers... ahem!.. a bit-uhmm... bumpy. I mean it's not hard to earn some rep with 'em. That's easy. Build a station here, shove an enemy's head in a toilet there, blow up a few pirates on the way... you know, the usual. The problem is that
some people... both theirs and mine... figured that once the official rep was squared away that everything was then-ah, you know? Hunkey-dorey?
Even though it's not.
Right. So it goes like this.
Some people got the message that we're all pals now. Chummy and square, right?
Others, though, did not... or at least
pretended they did not. So I'd be busy tryin' to sort through all the mats I picked up from one of those salvage ops that I got runnin' in Senator's badlands... and storage is becomin' an issue, lemme tell ya... or, you know, get one of the idiots what works for me sorted out with regard to what he's gotta pick up and drop off and where and when he's gotta do it and when he CAN'T do it... seriously what is so hard to understand about 'wait until they're back in sector?!' Yeah. These morons like to run off and jump into war zones... or fly across xenon sectors. So I'm takin' care of crap, right, when all of a sudden I get a message that one of my UTs is gettin' shot at by an orbital weapons platform or lasertower or police pegasus in one Paranid sector or another. I'd check the telemetry... cos I've been droppin' satellites... and I'd see that, sure enough, there is a Paranid ship or piece of point defense that isn't willin' to accept that I'm one of the good guys now and that my UT's are, in fact, there to help... me. But, you know, by doin' stuff that helps the 'nids too cos that's the way commerce works. But it's okay, right? The UT bounces out of sector and takes up tradin' elsewhere. You know: AFTER droppin' a dozen fighter drones by way of sayin' see you later or 'frak-you-very-much' dependin' on your preference and point of view.
*sigh*
Which is when the 'nids go and take it personally.
Cos they're
superior life forms.
Uh-huh.
But what can you do, right? I shrug and figure it'll sort itself out. Then I go back to whatever I was doin'. And then I get
another message. From the
same bloody UT... who is bein' shot at... by
SAME bloody lasertower... or police pegasus... or bloody orbital bloody
WEAPONS PLATFORM! Which I then have to go and nuke cos... well, it's shootin' my ships and doesn't
believe me when I tell him... it... whatever!.. that we're friends!
Right?!
...
Breathing.
Takin' a breath.
Lettin' it out slow.
Remindin' myself that shootin' people means I gotta pay their death benefits, hire a replacement, and then TRAIN that replacement... who will then likely turn out to be
just as BLOODY STUPID ANYWAY!
...
Right.
Yep.
Idiots. The lot of 'em. Just.
Bloody.
Idiots.
...
I need a vacation.
********
Lieutenant Commander Daron Nedley quietly shook his head. The kid was in rare form today. He'd come back from his vacation renewed, revitalized and
focused in a way that the Predator's XO hadn't seen in a while. It was hell on the crew cos Drake expected them to anticipate his needs and, when he got like
this, those needs were hard to predict. For his own part, though, Nedley enjoyed it. The kid just had this way about him. He was able to make things happen, to get his way, to pull contacts and money and lucrative opportunities practically out of thin air. So far that day Nedley had watched the kid hustle his way into nearly a dozen building contracts that were often worth over twenty million credits each, many times more than what other contractors could ask for, simply because of who he was. One of them was for a dragonfly missile fab that their employer was willing to pay nearly thirty million credits for. The man's reputation... and swagger... were all it took. At one point Drake had four of his TL's collecting stations from five different shipyards throughout the gate network, not one of which made him less than fifteen million credits in profit.
At the same time Drake was happy to take execution gigs... on pirates, anyway... often for lucrative payouts. He liked executions, he said. They were fast, simple, and rarely involved unexpected complications. "You never know what you're gonna get with a defense mission. Patrols? Station rescues? You never know what's gonna show up with those and, since they pay piecemeal, you never know what kinda payout you can expect. Executions, though? Hell, with my satellite network I can plan my attack before I even get in sector. I can decide if I'm gonna take just the one ship or all of 'em. I can jump in behind 'em and surgically remove the target ship from the pack or, hell, maybe I wanna give the entire fighter escort a high-explosive enema and then steal the ship they were guardin'. Although I'm not likin' carracks for that. I mean I can reliably pull a move like that off but those things have really good turret coverage and when you compare the risk with the reward it's just a bit too high stress for me. A galleon, though? Now that's a different story. Similar turret coverage but dramatically weaker weapon generator. So weather the storm until it's outta juice and you've got yourself a fat payout... you know, provided the thing's own fighters don't launch and slag it."
They'd lost a handful of marines that morning but all of them were formerly captured enemies that had been "re-educated" by Drake's mad scientist. As such they were easily replaced without any additional costs or problems. The ship that had killed most of those expendable marines was actually not a pirate execution. It was just one of those moments. If the kid had a weakness it was that he had a blackbird's eye for shiny things. They'd been in Duke's Vision, a Paranid Border sector, dealing with another of the pirate guild outposts that were trying to crop up everywhere. They'd been building stations for the 'nids when they started receiving emergency signals from several of the man's freighters. Drakhar tended to have a very direct response to such activities.
"
Yeah!" The man shouted. "That's what I'm talkin' about! That is what we call a nuclear deterrent, bitch!" At which point he looked a little sheepish. "I mean... not that it exactly
deterred them... but it will in the future! Cos, you know. They're
dead."
The bridge crew were, as usual, trying to get their work done while suppressing the giggles the kid was capable of inspiring.
"Oh-kay!" Drakhar carried on. "So. Who's up for tacos? I'm thinkin' tacos. Anybody know what's for lunch?" Before anybody could answer him he changed topics. "You know I bet Gil's startin' to get
really annoyed with me smashin' all his stations. What do you think?" He was looking right at Nedley.
Nedley shrugged.
"Really?" The kid's expression was utterly neutral. It was a surprisingly intimidating expression that Nedley, fortunately, was used to. "That's all I get?" Drakhar shook his head and looked away. "Sheesh! I miss Seldon. She, at least, has the guts to actually have an opinion!"
"Quite a few of them, I suspect," Nedley replied.
"Oh don't get your panties in a bunch, Nedley!"
Most of the bridge crew gave the kid sideways looks at that.
"Hey! Now now. Stiff upper lip. You're an excellent first officer, Nedley. You are. But Seldon? Seldon just gets me... and, you know, she is muuuuch easier on the eyes... What?!"
"I didn't say anything, sir," Nedley insisted, knowing it didn't matter. "Although I do happen to agree."
"Oh hey now," Drakhar tutted. "She's been spendin' time with my crew chief and I don't think Cornell is as secure in that relationship as he wants to be." Drakhar sent a glance over his shoulder. "I mean: he's a big guy, Nedley. Might want to keep your admiration for our resident hottie on the down-low. Know what I'm sayin'?"
Most of the bridge were stifling grins and shaking their heads at this point.
"What?!" Drakhar looked around. "Nedley! No. Not you. The other one. No! The
other other one. Yes you. You laughin' at my XO?"
The Science officer's eyes went wide. "I wouldn't dream of it, sir!" Science officer
Dal Nedley replied shakily.
"Well that's smart," Drake told the kid. "Cos, you know, gettin' on the XO's bad side is a bit like teasin' wild dogs while wearin'..."
"Pork chop underwear?" Helmsman Aron Hang interjected.
"Well shit." Drakhar spread his hands. "Am I really
that predictable?" No one met his eye. The kid snorted in disgust. "I gotta get some new material."
"Paranid high command just deposited two point five million credits into your account, sir," Dal Nedley told his boss.
"They did? For that pirate base?"
"Yes sir."
"Well kewl. I'll buy you all lunch... so long as it's tacos, anyway. Hey, how much do you think one of those bases goes f... what the
hell is
that? Can somebody get me the specs on that bad-boy? Thanks, Nedley... what?! No. Him. Seriously havin' three of you on the same bridge is somethin' I may just need to remedy here pretty soon.
Shee-it. That's a nice ship. I want it. Let's scoot in for a
look under her skirt shall we?"
"Uh... sir?" Daron felt obligated to speak up.
"XO?"
"I thought we were working to
gain favor with the Paranid. Won't stealing one of their frigates ah... ahem... annoy them?"
"Oh don't getcher panties in a bunch, Nedley. They'll get over it. Juuust you
watch."
So, just like that, on the kid's
whim, they stole a prototype carrier frigate from the Paranid military. And when Master Guns Gisler radioed in to let them know the ship was theirs the Captain laughed evilly and rubbed his hands together. "Ooooh!" he said, sounding positively lustful. "Shiny!"
They'd lost six marines taking the thing but, as the kid pointed out, they were all designated meatshields anyway. Gisler and the other members of the
real boarding crew made it through without a scratch.
*********
It feels
weird not havin' Max around but there's really no way to accommodate him on the Predator. He's so big and this is such a small ship that bringin' him aboard... it just sounds a whole lot like a mess. Like: LOTS'a messes. All at once. On a warship...
Yeeeeah.
So I left him with Seldon and my Ma for a few days. Thane went out of his way to include some nifty facilities aboard the Brimstone and I suspect we will all benefit from his love of my dog. Apparently he's provided both a small patch of garden off what will be my quarters
and one of the rings is gonna be a big park-like settin' for the whole ship. Both of 'em will have nice spots for the dog to do what he needs to do cos.... you know, trainin' him to use a toilet is-ah, well, let's call it
unlikely.
You know I'm actually not sure how this is all gonna work. I mean I feel attached to the mutt now. I don't like not havin' him around. It's frakkin' weird, right? He's a pain in the ass. I didn't want him when Thane first gave him to me. He's high maintenance, destructive, willful, hard to control, slobbers all over me, sheds everywhere... and yet... when he's not around I constantly have to remind my eyes to stop lookin' for him. I find myself feelin' anxious about whether he's okay or not and... bloody hell... I... I can't help it. I have to keep callin' Seldon just so she can tell me he's okay.
What the hell is happenin' to me?
Yeah. I... I don't know what to make of it. I mean... what the hell?! Right?! I don't even check on my Ma that often.
Yeah-yeah, I know. I'm a terrible son.
Shit.
You know, I spend a lot of time on this ship and I'd really like to have him with me but I just don't see that workin'. So I guess we'll see. I guess I'll live on the Brimstone and let Nedley manage the Predator while I'm away. Most of the time I don't need her abilities so being stationed on the flagship actually makes sense. I'll just have to find a dog-sitter that the mutt won't just
eat the first time he gets annoyed. Big frakker is just too damn smart and waaaaay too belligerent to entrust to just anyone. I mean the frakker pushes my
marines around. Literally!
Right. So anyway. It's been a fun day. And by 'fun' I mean... well some of it was fun. A lot of it was truly and completely aggravating. Blew up three more of Gil's stations.
That was fun. Ea't thought so too... although I still don't understand what the hell is wrong with the TL that's supposed to resupply 'em. I set it up, gave all the necessary instructions. It's being supplied by freighters that supposedly know how to do their jobs. It just won't actually distribute the goods for some reason and I end up havin' to get directly involved, mostly by yellin' at the ship's captain and, you know, makin' him feel stupid. Which Ea't, at least, finds entertainin'. Apparently the sight of me turnin' beat red and tryin' not to murder people amuses him cos, you know, he's an asshole.
Oh, on that note, I got a message from Doc Compton, my chief surgeon and medical specialist aboard the Necromancer? Yeah. He wasn't complainin'. He was more, uh... givin' me the heads up? Which actually worries me even more than him screamin' and makin' threats... err, which he's never done. You know I don't think I've ever seen that old guy flustered. He just lights a cigarette, looks at you like you're dimwitted and blows smoke in your face. But yeah. Apparently
somebody has been leavin' bits and pieces of dismembered Boron tucked away in cabinets and closets and drawers in the medical facilities over there, which not only makes it unsanitary but also stinks to high heaven. The prankster has also been coverin' the doc's chair with glue, replacin' his tobacco with spaceweed and spikin' his coffee with ex-lax. Compton thought I should know and I-ah... yeeeah. I mean he didn't point fingers or make threats or even sound that out of sorts about it but I get the impression that things are on the verge of goin' nuclear between him and Ea't and-ah... I don't want even want to be in the same system when it-ah... when it does.
Yeah.
Oh and for some reason that reminds me of Sol Jared. The old man is doin' better and is askin'... no. Scratch that. He's
demandin' that I get the frak over there and give him access to 'the Split-Xenon hybrid AI'. I mean not in those words. He uses better language than I do and doesn't bother with the profanity. But yeah, I may just give Legion permission to go ahead and actually introduce himself. I dunno why but I just can
not seem to actually meet with the guy. Nearly every time I try somethin' comes up.
I did hear somethin' interestin', though. Somehow Sol Jared and ah... what the hell was the kid's name? There was this guy on the Brimstone who was workin' to counter Legion's moves when my friends and I were takin' the ship. Somehow this guy, who is actually younger'n I am, he ends up not only aboard the Endless but sharin' a room with Sol Jared. And-ah apparently they hit it off. Doc's apparently found someone both smart enough to keep up with him
and interested in what he has to say.
Which has me thinkin', right? I mean how the hell does that kid make it from the Brimstone to the Endless without gettin' spaced by any of the great many angry ships in the sector and then find his way into the very same hospital room as an old Professor who might actually enjoy havin' someone around that he can teach?
Uh-huh.
You know every once in a while I find myself wonderin' if Legion is makin' moves, you know? Doin' things for reasons of his own. It doesn't bother me. I mean I tend to trust my gut on things like this and it really doesn't bother me. But I notice, you know? If anything I think what I'm feelin' is...
intrigued.
Right. So all in all it was a good day. My nividium minin' outfit up in Spires of Elusion is nearly, but not quite, done with that 'roid. Which means I've actually filled up my mammoth
nine times with just that one asteroid. Or, said another way, I've made roughly a
billion credits on that one bloody rock. Yeah. I can't help it. I say that and find myself grinnin' ear to ear. I mean there have been certain landmarks in my career, right? Breakin' a hundred grand. Breakin' a million. Breakin' ten million. A hundred million. Five hundred million. Well... they've been
callin' me a billionaire for a while but that was mostly cos of the worth of my factories.
Now?
Well, it's a hell of a feelin' lookin' at my bank account right now. I mean it happened while I was lyin' on a beach... which I suppose is not uncommon for the ultra rich, right? But I hit a billion credits a few days ago.
Now?
I don't even know how to describe what I feel right now. I mean I'm not just a
billionaire. I'm a
MULTI-billionaire. And that doesn't even include the several hundred million credits that I haven't even bothered to empty out of my factories recently. I mean, to a
multi-billionaire like myself that's a bit like cleanin' out the couch cushions, right?
No. No it's not like that at all. But it is cool to think about. I now have several hundred million credits just
sittin' around. I don't
need it. So it's not something that takes a very high priority. You know?
I tell yah. The world looks very different now than it did a few months ago. I mean, shit, I made roughly two hundred million credits today just doin' jobs to appease the 'nids. That doesn't include the factories, the nividium operation or my fleet of teamsters movin' freight all over the gate network. Abmanckusset steered me right and put me in touch with some real movers and shakers. As a result I'm now on fairly good terms with the Paranid Empire... err... give or take a few lasertowers, a couple'a orbital defence platforms, a few police pegasii, oh, and one fancy-schmancy carrier frigate that mysteriously went missin' up in Duke's Vision. Not sure what I'm gonna do with that yet. It's a little big to mount on my wall.
Heh heh heh.
Yeah.
You know, I haven't heard back from Halter yet but I'm guessin' the Argon Military will have work for me right around the time I get my carrier up and runnin' or, I guess to be more precise, that's when I'll be willin' to actually go and do anythin' for 'em. Eh... hold on. The Necromancer wants me to pay attention to the sitch up near the Emporium.
...
...
Bloody hell. Remember what I was sayin' about those patrols the 'nids like to send into Savage Spur?
Umm-yeah. I'm afraid to even look. I've got this sneakin' suspicion it might give me a heart attack. Instead I'll just wait and see if I start gettin' emergency signals from my stations about stray weapons fire.
Sheesh. I just took a look at that Ariadne and it's a bit of a mixed bag. On the one hand it'll carry twenty four fighters. On the other it has less shielding than one of my TL's and a cargo hold smaller than one of my panthers. Which means it's actually little more than a glorified fighter bus. So as pretty as it is I think I'm just gonna sell it. Honestly? I'm a little disappointed. It really is a pretty ship.
Right. So late afternoon ANOTHER
salvage op finished and, well, I actually have too much of some of that stuff. I mean I can always make use of the energy cells, and the computer components, microchips, quantum tubes and crystals all sell really well. It's hard to keep some of those in stock, actually. But I'm full up on things like ore, rastar oil and teladianium. I just don't have any more room for that stuff in any of my stations. At the same time I'm loathe to leave any of it behind. It just feels so...
wasteful, you know? Especially in those numbers. So, after some time spent sendin' my run-about freighters all over to offload what I couldn't fit in the Emporium or Alpha Complex I've decided
not to start another salvage op for a while.
Now while I was dealin' with that particular headache I found myself experiencin' an odd problem. Several of my fellow Yaki seem to be havin' problems with damage to their ships. Now how, you may ask, is that even remotely
my concern? Well, cos
they're in the damn way. The Black Hole and the Exodus... both of which have Teladi captains in case you're interested... keep returnin' to Thane with fairly dramatic damage to their hulls. At which point they block the docking slips necessary for me to offload the nividium to Thane. There was roughly a three hour hold up this afternoon. Then, the weird bit, was that both ships cleared their slips only to return about twenty mizura later.
I finally got so annoyed that I called Thane and bitched about it. He didn't say much, just that he'd handle it, but I could tell he was annoyed. In any case we came to a temporary arrangement in which he cleared a slip and the TL's I purchased to offload my freight flew out to meet the Sisyphus. The nividium was then offloaded via transporter beam and the transport ships would then dock one at a time for inspection before Thane sent 'em off to wherever he's been sendin' the nividium he buys off me. Needless to say I was annoyed and am now thinkin' about how to make the Teladi clans miserable without actually startin' a war.
Sheesh.
********
Ea't s'Quid, Captain of the Osan'gar, Scion of Family Goto, Imperator of Family Rhonkar, Scourge of the Boron Colonies, High Priest of the Hidden Temple, Grand Master of the Jatra and Stone Fist... not to mention Pirate extraordinaire... was now also
Rear Admiral of the Drakhar Enterprises fast attack fleet, designation Wolf Pack. He stepped off the dragon's transporter pad while pondering his new title. With command of what was now a fleet of attack ships Drake had also seen fit to bestow upon his friend a new rank and title. So Ea't s'Quid was now the one and only Admiral in the Drakhar Enterprises Navy. Which begged the question:
'Why
Rear Admiral?'
Ea't scowled as he contemplated the possibilities.
'Split commands Vanguard!' Was he not the 'Forward' Admiral? Was he not, in point of fact, the 'First' Admiral? So why
Rear Admiral? His personal preference, had anyone bothered to ask him, would have been Admiral
Prime but no one had. He'd investigated the title, of course, and was already familiar enough with Earth history (one should always know one's enemy) to know that it was both a historically and currently used title in many Earth navies. Ea't just couldn't quite shake the sense that his new title might actually be the Huruk'tar's idea of a jest.
It did seem just a little bit...
suggestive.
As he made his way to the command deck Ea't's scowl made the crew of his dragon, the Deceptor, uncomfortable. Ea't noticed this, of course, the same way a predator might notice the sudden tension in its prey that meant it was alert and ready to bolt. For a nervous crew could provide a myriad of opportunities for an attentive Captain. Fear produced all sorts of subtle little tells in all but the most self-aware and self-disciplined. Subtle, often unconscious ticks and quirks could tell a story to the observant Captain that knew his ship and crew. Ea't was such a Captain and knew many of his crew's secrets. As he stepped on to the dragon's command deck, for instance, Ea't noticed Ho t'St, the Deceptor's quartermaster. When Ea't passed by, most of his crew became tense as if holding their breaths. By contrast Ho t'St was so relaxed that Ea't instantly recognized it as feigned and, considering what the Split had been up to recently, found it decidedly
insolent.
"Hhmmph!" he snorted and was satisfied with the tension in all of his nearby crew. The Deceptor's captain, for instance, immediately performed an exaggerated ser'kavi. The quartermaster, however, continued sitting in the helmsman's chair, competently running diagnostics on the navigation computer seemingly without a care in the world. Ea't smoothly stepped past Captain Shi and, with just two long, silent strides moved up behind the helmsman's chair and its delusional occupant. Without so much as disturbing one of the foolish Split's whiskers Ea't slid his jatra under Ho t'St's chin. It came out of the blind spot behind Ho t'St's right shoulder and the blade was both close and sharp enough to split the tiny hairs on the quartermaster's throat. Then, just as Ho t'St gasped and went rigid, Ea't eased his face into Ho t'St's peripheral vision from out of the blindspot behind his
left shoulder.
"Was waiting, Ho," Ea't informed the other Split softly and then bared his teeth. "Say what for."
Ho t'St was barely breathing. His mouth was open but no sound escaped. Ea't knew the fool was trying to decide whether or not to lie to him and quickly made his mind up for him. Killing the idiot, as entertaining as it might be, gained him nothing. Whereas keeping the Split alive would likely prove lucrative. The fool had created quite the revenue stream after all. And, had Ho t'St lied to him there, on the Deceptor's bridge in front of the crew, Ea't would have been forced to gruesomely and very memorably end him. So he casually turned the blade to press the flat of the jatra's blade up into the underside of the fool's jaw.
"For foolish smuggler to cut
Admiral in," Ea't explained, pressing the blade into the quartermaster's flesh to emphasize his point.
Ho t'St let his breath out in a small gasp. His fingers twitched. He was going into survival mode and considering the need to fight for his life. Ea't tilted the jatra ever so slightly to let Ho t'St feel the edge of the blade itself.
"Split say foolish smuggler owes Admiral
twenty million credits... mostly for insult. Owe Captain and crew ten more. And from now on fifty percent of smuggling profits to be paid to captain for dispersal to Admiral and
crew."
Throughout the command deck all eyes were now upon the unruly quartermaster and none of them were friendly. Ea't
had just pointed out Ho t'St had been cheating
all of them.
"Captain may make own demands of wayward quartermaster," Ea't stated. "See debt paid, remain useful, and Admiral won't feed you to plasma core." He pressed the edge of the blade upward. Even the slightest movement would open the other Split's throat. "Good?"
"Good," Ho t'St replied without hesitation.
Ea't removed the jatra and stood up straight. He was gratified to see that Ho t'St was no longer insolent. In fact, the Split's coloring was now so pale that the fellow appeared jaundiced. Ea't snorted and turned away. Behind him Ho t'St was delicately massaging his throat. "Him owe debt," he announced. "None may kill until debt paid." He was glaring at Captain Shi as he made this pronouncement. He was answered by an even deeper ser'kavi than before. Which meant Ho t'St's life was not in immediate danger. The look in the Captain's eye when he straightened back up, however, said that Ho t'St would be hating life for the foreseeable future.
Ea't walked back to the command chair, turned to face the forward view screen... and loomed. To say that "all eyes were upon him" would have been dreadfully inadequate. He had the attention of the ship and crew so intrinsically that it would be fair to say that, in that moment, he commanded the very pulse of each and every Split aboard the ship. They all waited upon him like the breath held in anticipation of a sudden shock. Ea't was aware of this for the duration of a single breath. Then he chuffed impatiently, sat upon the chair behind him and gave a single, curt oh-get-on-with-it-already' wave of his hand.
The ship immediately surged into action. In less than a sezura [1.7 sec] the Deceptor was speeding out from under the bulk of the Osan'gar. Three kilometers ahead and to port lay the sleeping hulk of the Asena, one of his new panther attack frigates. Her twin, the Fenris, loomed an equal distance above, behind and to starboard of the Osan'gar. As the Asena slowly drifted out of view Ea't pressed his lips together in approval. She was little more than a deeper darkness in the blue-black depths of Siezewell but it was a sleek, black darkness filled with death and destruction that but awaited his command. The thought immediately brought his new title back to mind. His immediate scowl promptly confused and terrified all the command officers on the Deceptor's bridge.
Ea't understood that the title was a statement. It declared to all that Lord Drake had bestowed a tremendous honor upon him. During the ceremony Drake had declared it a recognition of new and terrible responsibilities now resting upon his friend's shoulders. What was not mentioned, however, was the implications of this new and terrible responsibility. Ea't was now the Huruk'tar's
fist.
For the past several weeks Ea't and his new fleet had been making the Huruk'tar's presence known and his will felt. In addition to smashing foolish pirates Ea't and his frigates had several times been ordered to simply jump to certain sectors and do nothing more than look terrifying. These sectors were, of course, where certain stubborn Yaki warlords or, more recently, difficult Paranid businessmen just happened to own expensive stations and businesses; stations and businesses that could benefit greatly from a good working relationship with a man who owned such a fast, heavily armed squadron of frigates and the accompanying fleet of fighters, not to mention the
armada of teamster assets; freighters and heavy transport ships dedicated to nothing more than moving cargo, be it valuable goods or ships or station kits themselves. A man with such a fleet could make a tremendous ally for someone with tens or perhaps even hundreds of millions of credits invested in stations and businesses and the goods they produced.
Such a man could also be a terrible enemy.
To emphasize those points cargo ships carrying both the station's resources and product would
'disappear' from nearby systems. It was amusing, to Ea't anyway, how quickly the Paranid entrepreneur or Yaki Warlord would suddenly begin to share Drake's way of thinking, whatever it happened to be at the time. So over the past few weeks Drake had been steadily finding himself offered more and more lucrative trading opportunities with members of both the Yaki Syndicate as well as the Paranid Empire, which seemed to be both surprised and confused by their sudden relationship with this strange and terrifying young human. What Ea't believed they found most confusing was how well it ended up working out for them. No. They didn't have a choice. Yes, they were paying Drake enormous sums of money for tasks others could do for drastically less and, yes, they resented it.
Then they'd realize that they were making more money than ever and, with Drake's ships transporting their goods, they were losing less shipments. In other words they'd realize that, as expensive as he was and as much as they hated him, he was actually very good for business. At which point they'd refer all of their friends and associates.
Continued...