THIRD CONTACT:
GALACTIC PIRATE
CHRONICLE ON THE
SEEDS OF ORION
(Excerpt)
Copyright © 2012 by Kenneth E. Ingle,
all rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. All
characters, events, and locations are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual events or people is coincidental.
BooksForABuck.com
January
2012
ISBN: 978-1-60215-165-9
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THIRD
CONTACT, Galactic Pirate: Hang Me If You Can is the third book of a series that
sets out the spread of Orion’s descendants and mankind into the galaxy. It
takes the reader on a journey of the transformation for the human race. From
populating one world to expanding into the universe and as it has for thousands
of years, doing what it had always done—survive.
Special
thanks to Del Cain for permission to use his poem, Leaning Toward Home.
Terra, now affectionately called Old
Earth, had become the place to go. Any deep space luxury liner worth its name
included it on their tour.
Myslac, home world of the alien Kalazecis
and Pagmok, remained well off the beaten path to
Terra and in fact, that part of space, remained off limits, as had the friendly
Homew world. There had been no contact between the
species since the Pagmok destroyed New Earth. Terra
explorers and others, as new worlds were populated, had found ample planets
capable of sustaining human life. To avoid the Kalazecis
and their meat eating Pagmok warriors required little
encouragement. Humans spread across the galaxy. True to their nature, trade
became common between the human worlds along with the attendant problems, wars,
and dealing with pirates.
*
* * *
Joshua
Penrose, descendant of Maria Presk, and Raybolt Presk Penrose, regained
conscious. Disoriented, he climbed from the bunker. Having suffered through the
devastating Cullen onslaught from orbit, he expected the worst. Smoldering
ruins surrounded him and the silence added to the eerie scene. All around him,
he saw nothing but remains: bits and pieces of what had been New Hope and home.
He’d
taken refuge in a bunker when the Cullen began raking the surface with
devastating energy cannons and his own weapon had lost power. Nothing could
withstand such an attack.
Buried
over thirty meters below the surface, Joshua worked to free himself. The dead
lay where they had fallen. Somehow, he had survived. Using whatever he could as
a tool to free himself, he stumbled over rubble to the planet surface. Off in
the distance, he saw the shuttle and the crew boarding.
Fearing
they were closing the ship to leave, he ran toward the spacedrome
and the still open loading ramp. A few meters from the ship, he stumbled and
hit a protruding girder knocking him unconscious. When he awoke, Joshua was
aboard the transport and in space.
“You’re
it son,” said the man attending him. “We looked for almost a T-week and
couldn’t find another soul alive. Whoever killed them did a thorough job.”
Joshua
Penrose was the sole survivor of New Hope—one hundred fifty thousand people
slaughtered. Cullen would burn in his mind.
Six
months from New Hope, the transport fell prey to
pirates. Taken aboard the pirate ship, his friends cast adrift without food or
water, Joshua could only watch. Joining up with two other renegade ships, the
pirates fought off an attack by a Braeden corvette.
Fearing loss of containment on the fusion bottle, the corvette crew abandoned
the ship in their shuttle. Knowing that Braeden would
relentlessly hunt them, the pirates left the corvette, Braeden
being a traditionally anti-pirate planet.
Holed
up in a cluster of asteroids the pirates repaired their damaged ship. Joshua
stole their shuttle and made his way to the Braeden
corvette. The safe still contained the credits each ship carried while in deep
space to buy supplies and pay for repairs. The money was more than enough to
make the ship space worthy and hire crewmen to space her. Joshua quickly
learned he could not port without risk of capture. Braeden
had made it known they wanted their ship and would hang whoever took it,
Bucking the powerful Braeden navy wasn’t to his
liking as their navy had sacrificed men and ships defending New Hope but he had
the ship and more importantly, needed it.
He
did as he always had, found a way to survive—he took what he needed—Joshua
Penrose became a pirate but with a different stripe. He was no wanton killer
and always left any ship he boarded with the means to survive.
Renamed
Marauder, Joshua and his lusty crew plied their trade.
“What’s going on? Tell me,” Captain
Abraham Wooster’s voice almost a panicked screech hammered the bridge crew.
Startled, he jumped, spilling the brew, when the Klaxon blared and raced to the
plot table.
Standing
next to his number one, he worried a third cup of coffee like a sinner fingered
his beads and scanned the consoles. Dressed in a plaid shirt, and dungarees,
with captain’s hat pushed back on his balding head, he looked the part of a
seasoned skipper. In reality, this was his first command.
“There’s
a ship astern closing on us, sir. They should overtake us in twenty T-minutes.”
Noah’s Ark’s astrogator who also served as first
mate, turned his chair so he faced the captain, panic stressed his voice. “I
believe we’re going to be boarded, sir.”
“How
do you know? Who would want to? Our cargo isn’t worth much.” Wooster fired the
questions making no effort to hide his angst. “No one’s going to get rich off
our load.” Unless someone had seen their manifest, few knew what the freighter
carried.
“Pirates,
captain. Anyone else would have declared themselves by now.” The first mate’s
matter of fact attitude belied the concern etched on his weathered face. And
that wasn’t all: he’d heard too many stories of how pirates left no witnesses.
He’d survived one boarding only because a Braeden
ship was in the area and came to their rescue. Standard approach courtesy
required a ship overtaking another to identify itself at one million
kilometers. Lacking that civility, you could expect the worst.
The
neophyte captain was beside himself pacing the bridge, the diminutive man’s
stride pinched and quick.
Rarely
was an old freighter like Noah’s Ark boarded as they seldom carried anything
worth the risk. Taking a ship that old in tow meant slow running and made both
easy targets for raiders. Any boarding had risks. The other side of that
argument was virtually the same. It was just what any navy wanted trying to
protect commercial spaceships—a pirate shepherding an old freighter. That made
pirates an easy target—something relished by every warship on the hunt. Most older ships were more concerned with government inspectors.
“Captain,
if I’m right, we’ll get a hail in a few minutes ordering us to cut power for
boarding.” Fear in the First Mate’s voice came from experience on another space
freighter.
“I’ll
not surrender my ship,” Wooster’s lip trembled as he spit the words his resolve
hardened. Just the thought of pirates conjured up images he’d rather not have.
Years as an orbit master assigning incoming spaceships a parking slot or
vectoring outgoing spacers into their best launch position had ill prepared him
for facing pirates. Perspiration beaded the man’s forehead as he reached for
the comm button.
“Sir,
the few choices we have are not the best,” the first
mate said. His words seemed edged with caution, apparently concerned over what
the captain might do.
“Choices?” Wooster said after a pause his voice hardened.
“We either fight them off or just surrender.” An outsider might have thought
the man cavalier but the truth: he was scared.
“Yes, sir. That’s about it.”
The
first mate’s agreement wasn’t what the captain wanted to hear.
Gripping
the plot console, Wooster glared at his number one. “You want to give up the
ship. Just let them board us and take what’s ours.”
“Yes, sir.” Finality in the man’s comment made the captain’s
face redden.
“No.
Send a distress signal that pirates are going to board us.” Inexperienced
captains often broadcast when they feared being boarded,
hoping a warship in the area might change the pirate’s mind. Trying to scare
off a raider with this obvious ploy didn’t rank as a smart move. It only
aggravated an already aggressive situation.
Before
the captain could go any further, the first mate raised his voice. “Sir, I’ve
been on a ship hit by pirates. I know what happens when—”
“No, by god. I won’t permit it.” Wooster cut him off with the
wave of his hand. He palmed the intercom button, “Listen up people, there’s a
ship approaching and we suspect it’s a pirate. Every crew member report to the
arms locker and draw a weapon then assemble in the
forward bay in five minutes.” He released the button and faced his executive
officer. He’d tried to keep his command voice steady but even he knew the
bridge crew would pick up on the quiver he couldn’t choke back. His expression
changed from fear to embarrassment and back to fear, but he was a man determined
to do his job as he saw it.
“Captain,
with all due respect, if we do as you’ve ordered, we’ll all be killed.” The
first mate’s experience wasn’t enviable but he had survived a boarding when few
spacers taken by pirates had. “It’s too late to send that signal. No ship is
close enough to help us and all it’ll do is piss off the pirates off—and they
are an unforgiving lot.” His voice no longer held a plea, just fact backed up
by obvious fear of what would happen to the ship’s crew if the captain sent the
useless plea further angering the pirates.
The
captain started to speak but the mate interrupted him, his voice hard and not
to be ignored. “Sir, we don’t have much for these guys to take. They’ll be
crazy enough when they find that all we carry is fertilizer. So, let’s not give
them any reason to shoot us or worse; sending that message will do just that.”
The two hadn’t worked together long enough for the first mate to know how the
captain handled himself in a tough situation. Like it or not he’d know damned
quickly in the next few minutes.
“We
can’t match the weapons they’ll have, not to mention, most of our people have
never fired a blaster or laser rifle. These pirates are skilled at what they
do, take what they want, and could care less who gets hurt. Some of these
bastards are psychos and kill for the sheer joy of it.”
“Sir,
we’re being hailed,” the comm operator said.
“Put
it on the speaker.” Captain Wooster grimaced at his own words.
“Freighter
cut your engines. We’re coming aboard. This is your only warning.”
All
arguments ended as the hard voice sent chills through the captain.
Wooster’s
fist clinched and he jerked upright as the comm
blared across the bridge. A deep breath whistled through thin pressed lips.
Reality set in. His face drawn like a man who could lose what he’d always
strived for, he grudgingly said, “Maybe you’re right.”
After
a considered moment, he hit the intercom, ordered the crew to stand down and
return all weapons to the arms locker. He removed his hand from the comm and told the first mate to idle down the main drives.
*
* * *
Waiting
in the boarding bay, face ashen, Captain Wooster flinched yet drew himself up
to his fullest height, all of one hundred fifty two centimeters at the loud
clanging as the unknown ship fastened onto the Noah’s hull.
Following
the first mate’s instructions, fifteen of the seventeen crewmembers formed two
lines, leaving as much space as possible between them and the boarders. As was
expected when two ships joined, Wooster ordered the gravity generators shut
down. Noah’s crewmembers, all with grav-boots,
waited—to a person smothered with apprehension.
Releasing
the hatch-locking lever to permit entry, the first mate stepped back, his hands
visible leaving no doubt in the pirate’s mind he was unarmed.
A
slight hissing sound echoed around the bay as the opening increased.
Wearing
black full body armor, a grav-boot giant of a man
dropped onto Noah’s deck, pointing his flechette
rifle at the assembled crew. “Who’s runnin’ this
tub?” Without a doubt, the voice was that of someone accustomed to obedience.
“I
am the captain.” Wooster stepped forward, his voice conciliatory. By now he was
reconciled to the idea it was best not to antagonize these men yet he tried to
remain firm.
The
pirate’s grav-boots clanged against the deck plate,
as the armed intruder made room for a second, much smaller man, who dropped
through the hatch, likewise clad.
A
third followed wearing no armor, in grav-boots. In a
voice that seemed less intimidating, the third man asked, “Is this your entire
crew?” He pulled a black beret from a pocket placing it over flaming red hair
that stood on end thanks to the barge’s docking bay's lack of artificial
gravity. His ruddy complexion showed a man who’d spent a lot of time outdoors,
something of a novelty with spacers. The last pirate, apparently the leader,
flicked eyes around the bay looking for any threat.
“Two men in engineering. These are old engines.” Wooster
tried to mask his worry but his voice wavered, betraying him.
“I
know what you mean,” Joshua Penrose laughed. “You sir, and your ship are mine.
What’s in your cargo hold?”
“Fertilizer.”
“What?
Ya’ mean shit? Gauddamned
shit,” yelled the second armed boarder.
“Fertilizer. Processed manure,” the reluctant captain
repeated.
“What’s
the difference? Don’t answer,” said the one apparently in charge as he glared
at his counterpart and waved his hand to stop. “I really don’t want to know.”
He
brushed an imaginary speck from his khaki fatigues, rolled his eyes and with a tinge of disgust said, “Ding, bring some people aboard, six
ought to do it and search the ship. Hands off their perishables, food, water,
transceivers, and life support.”
The
giant spoke the orders into a shoulder mike.
“Captain,
your crew may return to their posts. Make sure they understand my men will
shoot if something goes wrong—maybe if they suspect anything’s amiss,” Joshua
said his voice casual and added an admonishment that no distress signal from
Noah’s Ark. “So, remind them to behave and everyone may live to tell a tale to
their grandchildren.”
“You
and I can talk while my men complete the search. Got a cabin or do we use the
mess hall?” Grabbing the captain’s arm, the pirate, broader of shoulder and a
good head taller, in a robust but unthreatening manner guided Wooster along the
passageway.
“Mess
hall,” the nervous freighter captain said in a quavering voice, “Coffee’s fresh
in there.” He tried to put humor into the remark but his voice failed
miserably.
The
two continued up the stark corridor, the pirate’s grav-boots
pounding the deck plates. With no gravity engaged in the ship and even with grav-boots, Wooster had to use the overhead handholds to
keep pace.
“We
have grav-plates on the bridge and mess hall—well the
heads too,” Wooster said somewhat apologetically and commed
the helmsman to restore gravity. They stepped into a mess hall barely large
enough for a dozen people.
Both
stopped at the coffee hatch, grabbed a cup and filled it.
“I
know about you. You’re Joshua Penrose and wanted by every jurisdiction.” Seated
at a mess table, the freighter captain said with an air of familiarity. He then
offered a meek apology.
“Yep,
you got it right. The last time I saw you, you were Saragosa
Prime’s orbital docking master. Finally got a ship, huh?”
Wooster
seemed surprised that anyone remembered him, but the man didn’t hesitate to
show his pride as he answered. “Yes. My
first command and what happens? You show up. I’ll never get to drive another
ship. Even if I do, what corporation would trust a cargo to me?”
Then
his manner abruptly changed. “Last I heard Queen Rochelle’s Navy was looking
for you. Well, so is Saragosa Prime; you stole
something and they want it back.”
Joshua
took a long hard look at the man. “You speak your mind. You’ve got balls.” It
wasn’t a reproach but one man sizing up another. “Yeah, things change. One day
we’re pals with the queen, measured for a crown, next day she’s offering a
noose and we stay on the run. Works both ways but at least she’s predictable.
“Captain,
I suspect you have little of interest to me,” Joshua continued. “So, all I want
is a favor.” He straddled a bolted down chair and waited, as Wooster seemed to
consider his options, which were non-existent.
“Captain
Penrose, I am totally at your mercy. I have no choice but to say yes. And I do
as long as it doesn’t place my crew and ship in further jeopardy.” Watching
Joshua’s response, Wooster apparently realized his answer had antagonized his
captor and started an apology, which the pirate cut short with the wave of his
hand.
“Further jeopardy? Captain,” Joshua laughed, “all I have to
do is snap my fingers and everyone dies.” Sometimes Joshua’s casual approach
ran the risk of captives trying something stupid, but the pirates knew their
skipper, how he handled these things and stayed alert in case his style was
misinterpreted. Fully capable of shooting anyone if it meant their life or that
of another crewmember, Joshua never tolerated wanton killing, but he’d do what
he had to for his ship and crew.
“Skipper, they ain’t got nothin’ but a boat load of shit,” Ding said as his
head stuck through the hatch. “Crew says it’s shit,
the bag labels say it’s shit and I ain’t openin’ none to see for myself.
“Nothing here worth our time. You’re going to get off easy,
captain.” Joshua set his coffee cup onto the table heavily. He leaned as far
forward as the locked down chair would permit and almost in a whisper said, “I
know you’re going to report this boarding but,” he stared hard at his prisoner,
“don’t mention my name.”
For
a moment, the captain appeared more confused than inquisitive by the statement.
While most pirates wanted their boarding’s unreported—they made sure since they
left few if any crewmembers alive. Governments often put up bounties as the
word spread after a pirate took a vessel.
“I
don’t want anyone to know I boarded a tub full of manure. Bad
for the reputation.” With that Joshua stood and gave Wooster a knowing
look.
Not
waiting for a response, the brigand headed for the exit hatch and motioned his men
to follow. Weapons remained trained on the few freighter crewmembers still in
the docking bay, as the pirates obeyed their leader.
*
* * *
Joshua
floated into the corvette’s docking hold, ordered gravity restored, kicked off
the heavy grav-boots, and headed forward up the
passageway.
Spacious
like the rest of the ship, the captain’s chair sat at the rear and slightly
elevated. Control panels formed a semi-circle reaching port and starboard
bulkheads giving the captain unrestricted access to all bridge stations. A
large view screen centered the front, as did the astrogator’s
station. To the left were the weapons and on the far right the comm.
“Mr.
Kochee, let’s leave the Vega System before we attract
unwanted attention.” Standing orders for the capture of Marauder and its
captain had existed for two T-years. Saragosa Prime
had issued a felony grand theft warrant for Penrose’s arrest, not a hanging
offense, but it was an emotional issue with them and important enough not test
their resolve. Joshua had never made known what he’d taken and no crewmember
would have dared to ask. In a light tone that belied his real concerns, he
issued coordinates to the astrogator and took his
chair.
First
commissioned as Braeden’s HMS Interdictor, one of the
original enhanced designs intended to serve as a command ship overseeing
pickets, Joshua had found the corvette abandoned a few light months from Braeden. Information aboard the vessel indicated a mutiny
during an armed engagement but there was little evidence of the crews’ fate
beyond the missing shuttle. Claiming salvage rights, he registered his find in
accordance with established space law and renamed it Marauder. Pride stung at
losing a prized corvette to a man that routinely outwitted them, Braeden's Queen Rochelle’s Navy wanted their ship back and
would take it by force if necessary. A generous bounty on the pirate’s head and
an added reward for return of the ship tempted every armed spacer.
Interdictor’s
design was for long duration station keeping and came equipped with crew
recreation facilities matched only on cruisers and larger spaceships. To picket
ship crews, liberty meant a few days aboard the corvette—not as good as dirtside but a welcome change to break the month on month
boredom. Marauder’s crew of forty plus three officers lounged in luxury.
*
* * *
Joshua
flipped the comm switch and responded. “Yes, master
cook what can I do for you?” Underway for two weeks, boredom was a constant
companion.
“Captain,”
Jerboas Finney broke the silence, “we’re running low on almost everything. Need
to stock-up before traipsing too far off the beaten path.” Second
to sign on Marauder following first mate Kochee,
Finney, usually known as Cookie, handled all medical needs. His nasal speech, the result of a nose
displaced during a boarding that turned dirty, made his voice easy to
recognize.
“Mr.
Kochee, what’s the nearest friendly port?” Knowing
they could encounter trouble at any moment Joshua was ready for some safe time
and the crew for liberty.
“With
how you feel toward this part of space, not here in the Vega System,” said the
cook. “Looks like Soffett is
our best bet. It’s close to a T-month off our present course but the only safe
open port close enough to do us any good. If we don’t restock, we won’t last
much more than a month.” Finney’s voice brooked no nonsense.
“Certainly
gets my attention.” Joshua motioned to Michelle Barstow, helmsman, to make the
course corrections.
“Okay,
master cook, your logic is overwhelming. We’ll do as you suggest.” Finney had a
checkered past as did most of the crew. A dropout from med school, he had a
penchant for cooking that led him to answer two calls Joshua had made: one for
a cook and a second for a med tech. A perfect fit as far as both men were
concerned.
Joshua
Penrose was a rare pirate in two respects: first, he owned his ship, most
others belonged to corporations or governments, secretly of course; and second
he had the respect of his crew. Some say it was more fear—well placed if true.
Joshua Penrose had proven several times a capable fighter. None that served
aboard Marauder had ever seen him lose a fight, with or without weapons, in
space or dirtside.
He
flipped the intercom switch off just as the communications operator, his voice
casual, said, “Cap, there’s a broad band deep space comm coming in.”
“Put
it on the speakers, ship-wide.” Little anticipation showed in Joshua’s voice.
Seldom did he exclude information from his crew. As in the days of the infamous
Blackbeard, most pirate ships were true democracies and this one was only a
little different. Joshua owned Marauder instead of being elected captain. True
to custom, he included the crew in most every decision, always where a boarding
was concerned.
“This
is Lord Jordan, Naval High Admiral of The Kingdom of Braeden.
The pirate ship, Winsome Bogarddy, acting on behalf
of rebel Braeden officers, boarded the liner Raven en
route to Saragosa Prime and took Princess Sophie,
daughter of Her Highness Queen Rochelle, hostage. The kingdom offers a reward
of one million credits to anyone who returns the princess unharmed. Included at
the end of the message is their last known vector." The comm went dead.
Joshua
pursed his lips and stared at the floor. Before he could say a word, Michelle
said again with intensity, “Captain, an encoded tight beam incoming.”
“Put
it on ship-wide,” Joshua again ordered assuming it was the High Admiral wanting
to add some forgotten information.
“Captain
Penrose.” His attitude changed at once as a familiar voice broke the silence.
It was Queen Rochelle. “Lord Jordan broadcast the message of Sophie’s
kidnapping to every spacer. Some junior officers seem to dislike me and have
rebelled against the throne. They shall not prevail. I know we’ve had our
differences but I’m ready to put them aside. You have access to the other side
of humanity and that may be our most valuable asset. I am prepared to issue a
warrant making you a Privateer of the Realm. Will you accept the commission to
help find and save my daughter?”
His
first reaction was to wonder how she’d found them. She’d have to know their
location with precision to send that message tight beam. His second question
was whether the warrant had a time limit.
“What’s
the comm time to Braeden?”
he asked.
“Braeden has signal boosters in this sector, so a little
over two weeks,” Michelle answered.
“Have
all off-duty personnel assemble in the shuttle bay at fourteen hundred.” He
said to Bolster Kochee, putting his concerns aside.
Bolster Kochee, a former officer in the Federation of
Aligned Planets Navy had earned Joshua’s trust beyond any man he’d known.
This
was a decision only made by the entire crew. Majority rule would decide if
Marauder and her crew would help Queen Rochelle. For the last two years,
Marauder had raided a number of ships that tested every man and woman in the
crew. Each boarding gave Joshua a chance to spot any psychotics, identify those
who had what he wanted in a crew, and rid himself of the worst of the worst.
Those who’d survived were the best of the lot.
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