Proving True

We have been here for about four months now. Among many other things, we’ve changed the name of this ship from Silver Saber to Cutlass. There are enough reminders of Jack around. Anything worth having from Gallagher has been repurposed and installed here. Anything not immediately usable is transferred to the outpost as building material for expansion and position improvement. The outpost is fully functional and the scientists tell me they believe they have sampled and cataloged everything in the northern hemisphere. Of course, just like the alleged Lizard Woman of Lemuria, there’s no way to ever know for sure. It’s a corollary of Freddie’s X+1 rule for booby traps.

I’m off shift and tinkering in the workshop when Athena comms me. “Captain, two ships have entered our sensor range. Our predictions are a scout and a Fast Courier, approximately three hours from orbit. We are being hailed.”

“Answer the hail, patch me in please,” I ask her.

“Unidentified corsair, this is Captain Wilma Jones of Luminario. We have peaceful intentions and hope you do as well. We would like to refuel from your oceans unmolested if that is possible.” I suppose she called us first because we present a greater threat than Oedipus.

“Captain Jones, I am Captain Sonia MacTaggert of Cutlass. Welcome to Dubus III. I promise we will initiate no hostilities. If you’re interested, Captain, our fueler has full tanks and I could probably be persuaded to barter for fuel. Perhaps you’d care to come aboard so we could make arrangements in person?”

“What a refreshing idea, Captain, thank you. As I’m sure you can imagine, I’ve a few fires to put out. Is two hours from now too late?”

“Not at all, Captain,” I say wiping my hands on a rag. “I’ll see you when you get here.”

“Luminario out.”

“Athena,” I say. “We’re having visitors.”

“I surmised as much, ma’am. I have already advised the galley and Sergeant Goodfellow.”

Two hours later, almost to the second, a shuttle from Luminario settles to the deck plates of our landing bay. Goodfellow has provided a four-trooper security element in full battle rattle. As the armor is gleaming almost bright enough to light a dark room, they could be considered an honor guard. But I know their weapons are not just for show, each projectile weapon has a round in the chamber, each energy weapon is charged. The selector switches may be on “safe” but the thumbs are ready to rotate them to “fire” at the earliest provocation. As the door to the shuttle opens, the front two troopers—standing to either side of me—snap to attention and render the armed salute. The other two, to their rear flanks—left and right respectively—maintain the low ready. It’s better to prepare for trouble and be disappointed than plan for peace and be surprised. Freddie would be proud of them. A woman walks down the ramp using a cane. She looks like she’s about Angus’ age, probably older. When she gets to the bottom of the ramp, it becomes obvious to me that she’s using it as more of a theatric prop than a walking aid as she hops from the ramp to the deck plating. All things considered, she looks damn good.

“Welcome aboard Cutlass, I am Captain Sonia MacTaggert, are you Captain Jones?”

“I hope so, dear. I’m wearing her clothes,” she says with an impish grin. “Good day, Captain, please call me Wilma. Pardon any impertinence, but what in blue blazes are you kids doing out here ten light years from anywhere?”

“Wilma it is, I’m Sonia. May I offer you a cup of coffee? Incidentally, somewhere on the planet below, the sun is below the yardarm. So I can also offer a glass of wine, a mug of ale or a shot of whiskey. Or some combination thereof, if you’ll accompany me to our lounge, I’ll share our tale of woe,” I tell her with a smirk.

“If you’ll pour a shot of strong whiskey into a cup of hot, stronger coffee, I’ll consider that a good start.”

“I’m pretty sure I can make that happen.” In the lounge I give her a condensed version of how we got to the situation in which we find ourselves. It takes more than a few rounds of ethanol-enhanced beverages. She nods and supplies “I see”s and “How horrible”s at the appropriate times.

“Ah, Grinning Jack Grangiere. It has been my great displeasure to run afoul of him a few times myself. Quite the character that one. I gather you never laid eyes on him?”

“No one, I had a crewmember on his ship, but she didn’t see him in person. Or if she did, she didn’t recognize him.”

“Oh, she’d have recognized him. Make no mistake about that! There are many things I have forgotten, many more I’d like to forget, but that man’s face will attend me the rest of my days. This is very delicious ale, by the way.”

“Thank you, but it’s your turn. From whence come you and whither are you traveling?”

“Much like you, we are explorers. We seek out worlds that have human-friendly biospheres and communicate their locations for consideration as colonies. We prefer unpopulated ones. If there’s a population we usually make contact and request immigration privileges. Some are amenable, some aren’t, some do, some don’t, so what? There’s always another world waiting around another star. You may have been curious as to what I could possibly be doing that would take up two hours of my time prior to coming here. It was relaying our findings of Dubus III to the rest of the expeditionary fleet. They should be here in less than twenty four hours.”

My yeoman approaches us with a message tablet in her hand. “Forgive the intrusion, Captain. The exec felt like you should be made aware of this.”

Taking the tablet from her, I read…a message from Star Chaser!

Captain MacTaggert, please terminate any sample gathering operations you may be conducting within the next thirty-six hours and store all specimens for a long trip. Make your best speed to Neptune in the Ramaris sector. My associate, Angela Baron, will contact you there and take control of the specimens for further research. I understand that Gallagher has been lost and is considered irretrievable. That is unfortunate, but cannot be changed. I also understand you have acquired a vessel to replace Gallagher to which I can only say ‘Congratulations.’ Upon reaching Neptune station, all personnel under your command are considered to have completed their contract with Star Chaser and are released to pursue any path they desire. Ms. Baron will be prepared to offer further employment to any who desire it.

When we left you at Dubus III, it was with the vision that we would be returning and begin continuous operations at the outpost which you established. Sadly, that doesn’t look like it is going to be possible as our own timetable has been advanced and Star Chaser is no longer Transit capable. I have tasked the crew of Oedipus with manning said outpost, as Oedipus is not Transit capable either, they have been given the option to put anyone in TMOD who may desire such. They may request a pair of troopers from you to assist in protecting themselves. I cannot order you to do so, but I hope you will give the request careful consideration. Of course the contracts of any personnel who transfer to Captain Rankin’s command will be transferred to him as well.

Time does not allow you the option of recovering the outpost. If Captain Rankin determines he is unable to adequately occupy it, he has been empowered to destroy it, but that will be his last resort.

I wish you safe travels, Captain and hopefully we will serve together again.

Very Respectfully,

Horatio R. Pipper

Star Chaser

Commanding

I look up from the tablet. “Good news I hope?” asks Wilma, pouring fresh coffee into each of our cups.

“Indeed, we just got clearance to depart. Please excuse me, Wilma. I have to dash off a few orders.”

“Oh the burden of command. I suppose I’ll entertain myself with some of that divine malbec you think you’re hiding over there.”

I hand her the bottle she points at before advancing to a blank page on the tablet. With the stylus attached to it I write:

Verify that Captain Rankin received a message from Captain Pipper. If they haven’t, send them a copy of the one we got. Ask them to top off all tanks and then replenish their supply. Have the Smart Kids wrap up anything they have going on planetside with the next twenty-four hours. If you haven’t done so already, acknowledge receipt to Star Chaser. Offer TMOD transport to any non-essential personnel, they will draw seventy percent of their salary for the duration of their suspended journey for accepting. Anyone that wants to transfer to Oedipus may do so with the understanding their contract goes with them. Off load anything that will slow our trip to Neptune. Make any and all preparations to get underway. We engage the transit drive in thirty-six hours.

I hand the tablet to the yeoman, “Please take this to the exec.”

“Yes ma’am,” she tucks it under her arm and departs.

I take a sip of my coffee and look at Wilma. “Sorry about that, but our departure window is coming up and there’s a lot to do between now and then.”

“Hey, I get it. If you need me to leave, just say so. It won’t hurt my feelings. You’re not that important to me,” she says with a grin.

“Oh, it isn’t that. I just needed to get things in motion. Now, back to you. Explorers? I envy you. The thought of exploration thrills me, but every time I try to do something that vaguely resembles exploration, some jackass pops up to ruin my day. Actually, I do hope to run into Jack again. I want to bend him in half so he can chew off his own testicles. We have an outpost below, I’d offer to sell it to you, but I don’t know for a fact that I’m empowered to do so.”

“An outpost already assembled? Ask the question of your superiors, I’ll give you half again fair market value for all materiel in place provided you sell it as is. While we’re on the subject of purchases, what about your fueler? I’m just guessing, but by the look of it, it isn’t Transit capable.”

“They have been tasked with manning the outpost until a recovery ship can come get them.”

“When you’re asking about the outpost, ask about them. We can certainly use another fueler in the expeditionary fleet. The commodore is certain to offer contracts if they’re willing to transfer.”

“Hell, it can’t hurt to ask. The worst thing they can do is say ‘no.’”

“That’s true,” Wilma says sipping her wine. “And if they hit you, you get to hit them back. It’s in the rules. I looked it up.”

We both laugh.

The following day, Wilma and I dine together. This time it’s aboard Luminario as we agreed it was her turn to wear the hospitality hat. I can see why she was dragging her feet with the invitation. Cozy is the kindest adjective that comes to mind.

“That was delicious, Wilma,” I say finishing my meal. “And if it wasn’t lamb, I don’t want to know what it was.”

“Let’s say I have a cook who has skills that border on the miraculous and leave it at that. So you’re leaving soon?”

“We are. All of my scientists have volunteered for Transit in TMOD. They want me to believe they’re exhausted. For smart people, they aren’t always very bright. If you go into a TMOD tired, you’ll come out of it tired. I guess they’re afraid they won’t be able to contain their curiosity about what they’ve collected. And you’ll be happy to know that I have been authorized to sell you the outpost as well as Oedipus at fair market value plus fifty percent, just as you said. I took the liberty of adding some numbers up.” I have them written on a piece of paper and slide them across the table.

“Hmm,” she says as she looks at them. “I’ll have to run them in front of the commodore of course, but I feel safe in saying you have yourself a deal. I suppose this is the account into which you want the money ordered?”

“Yes, please.” It’s the number that came with permission to sell the materiel.

“Your health,” she raises her glass.

“Your prosperity,” I clink mine with hers.

“Well, now that the unpleasantness is out of the way—I hate business, that’s why I’m in exploration—we are at the subject of Captain Rankin.”

“Are we now?” I pour more wine into both glasses. “What’s on your mind about Captain McDreamy?” He was invited but declined citing some issue he had which required his personal, immediate attention.

“I really only have one question,” she sips her wine then levels her gaze at me. “You bangin’ him?”

“Like a big bass drum,” I manage to reply with a straight face. Then we both start laughing.