BORN OF HEROES

— by Jeff Karamales

Chapter 22
 

Four days later Cerise was released from the hospital, and while Elias and the rest of the crew still had suites in the hotel, she wanted to return to the ship. Elias tried to dissuade her, but she looked at him somberly. “Elias, you’re there, our friends are there, and for better or worse it’s our home. And after what I’ve just been through, I really want to go home.”

  He couldn’t find it within himself to argue with her and capitulated to his wife’s wishes.

  While looking better, Cerise was still weak from her ordeal, and spent an hour each day with Lemuel getting further treatments to leech the remaining poison from her body, and rehabilitative stem cell therapy that was already helping to reverse the worse ravages of the poison to her body. Between her therapy and sleeping long hours at a stretch she ate almost twice her normal amount.

  To help out with morale after the incident, Elias granted Melise and the others access to their reward funds to restock the galley with anything they wanted and to replace the recreational materials and personal sundries.

  With nothing really holding them back, and Cerise’s continued recovery being handled by the ship’s Doctor, the Guiding Angel lifted and again and set course for the Sol system.

  The spirits of the crew began to climb as the routine of duty shifts, time spent working out, or just socializing were resumed. All of the crew made it a point to visit with the petite vixen, each one realizing just what the little female meant to all of them and how she made each one feel like they were unique and mattered.

  The one that had taken the illness of the ebony fox the worst was Sonja. The spaniel female was also the one that tried to make Cerise’s return as welcome as possible, throwing a welcome back party on the recreation deck, complete with streamers, balloons and a cake that must have put a substantial dent in Sonja’s personal account.

  Music of all different sorts was piped through the ship’s sound system, and Stram, out of them all, was the life of the party, flirting good naturedly with all of the females and getting them to dance, even though many of the steps he demonstrated were almost twenty years out of date. During a particularly slow song, while the badger was leading Odette around in a slow circle, a rather comical sight considering their disparate sizes, Sonja made her way to where Cerise sat. Elias had excused himself to take a shift on the bridge so that Saul could spend some time at the party with Treena, leaving his wife in the care of the rest of the crew.

  “You know that we’re all very happy and relieved to have you back,” Sonja said as she took the chair next to the vixen.

  Cerise smiled. “Yes,” she said and smiled at the canine. “Thank you, Sonja. This really makes me feel better.” Cerise reached out and took the other female’s hand. The physical contact helped to convey the gratitude that she felt.

  After several long moments, Sonja pulled her hand away and dropped her eyes. “I still feel bad about when we first met. The way that I acted was inexcusable. I don’t know if I can ever make it up to you and Elias.” She looked into the other female’s emerald green eyes. “Can you ever forgive me for being such a…well, I’d say bitch, but that would be kind of literal, don’t you think?”

  Cerise chuckled and Sonja gave the other a half smile.

  “It’s in the past,” Cerise told her. “Don’t pay it any mind.”

  “No. I think you should know the reason that I acted that way. Do you mind?”

  Cerise shook her head and gestured for her to continue.

  “It’s no secret that I’m the adopted daughter of the Kantus Ambassador to Nalirra. Enan is my surname now, but before all of that there wasn’t one. That’s because my mother was…well, she was a pleasure girl. I guess courtesan would be a more delicate way of putting it, but it’s not accurate. We came from the southern hemisphere of the planet, and in the specific region my mother and I came from, females are essentially property. I was more of a bother to her than anything else, and a drain on her time and what little income she made.

  “I ran away as soon as I was old enough to know that if I didn’t escape that I would wind up being the same thing as her. I was caught by the Kantus embassy Marines one night after raiding their kitchens, and was brought before Ambassador Dael Enan. I’d never been so scared in my life! When he asked about me through official channels, I wasn’t on record at all. It turns out that the bastard offspring of a prostitute wasn’t a real priority for the Nalirrans to look into, so Poppa, sorry, Dael Enan, used his political clout to get me papers and status on Kantus and took me with him and Momma when they left.

  “I had a hard time adjusting, and to be honest, a lot of my perspectives on life and how I should behave were skewed by my birth mother. She couldn’t afford to have someone watch me while she…worked. I grew up knowing more about that kind of thing than most adults knew. Then later, I found it was wrong, but the whole thing continued to taint my outlook on life and dealing with others. It’s amazing how many doors will open that would otherwise stay closed if a girl will simply say yes.

  “Flash forward a few years, then along comes this assignment. I originally thought that it was punishment for my last posting. One of the officers attached to our field office made a comment that irritated me and I slugged him. Knocked him right out. So when I was interviewed with the Colonel, Elias and you, and found out that Elias was going to be my superior, I thought I could make the experience a little better for me by making myself available for the Captain’s bed. At the time I didn’t really know the two of you were a pairing because I’d never seen the matched earrings before. I’ve seen rings, and collars, but never that. If I had known, I never would have acted like such a slu-“

  “Sonja,” Cerise interrupted, “I told you, it’s in the past. Gone. You have proven to me time and again that you’re better than that, that it’s not who you really are. I’m really glad to have you as a friend,” Cerise admitted to the spaniel.

  “Really? Not many people have ever really called me that,” the dark blond canine admitted.

  “It’s true. You have shown me that you’re a decent individual, and I’m thankful you’re part of the crew.”

  Sonja raised her head and sat a little straighter with the praise, and gave the vixen a sincere smile of gratitude.

  “The one thing I really want to know, though, is what that officer said to make you hit him?”

  Sonja laid her ears back and her hackles rose slightly as she recalled the incident. “My squad and I were sent to arrest a smuggler from Alexandrius. He was trafficking illegal software that was questionable at the least, and harmful at the worst. A lot of the stuff he was moving was virtual reality programs that were falling into the hands of kids and contained gratuitous violence and adult oriented material that even I found revolting, and I’ve seen some pretty exotic stuff. Any way, he slipped past us and we lost him. Well, more like he slipped past me and my partner at the terminal we were watching and the guy caught a shuttle to a passenger liner bound out-system. The officer in charge of our squad blamed me and suggested if I couldn’t do something as simple as arresting a smuggler that maybe I should find a way to make a living with my backside because that’s what I was born for by one that was so proficient at it.”

  Cerise looked horrified. “No! He really said that?” Sonja just nodded. “Then good for you! If it had been me I’d have probably shot him! Please tell me he got nailed for that remark.”

  “His phrasing was a lot more vulgar. He’s now serving out the rest of his tenure with the SPF on the penal world of Darkfall. It’s a vile little rock that orbits a red dwarf star and from what I’ve heard, even the guards have it rough. Most are assigned to one of the four space stations around the planet, but the officers that are real screw-ups are assigned to one of the four corresponding facilities on the planet itself.”

***

  The voyage to the Sol system, with the first stop being the independent colonies on Europa, Io, and Ganymede, saw Cerise training others on the sensors and communications. She was likewise taught other stations like weapons. By far, the most adept at learning nuances that the vixen had come by almost naturally was Odette. However, it was Treena at the sensor station with Cerise sitting next to her when the distress call came over several frequencies.

  “Move,” the ebony fox told her friend, sliding into the seat almost before Treena vacated it. Even before she was settled, Cerise boosted the ship’s communications array gain to get better reception, while sending telemetry data to Saul and Elias at the same time. Without missing a beat, she threw the transmission up on the bridge speaker and piped it to the rest of the ship.

  ”See Cue Dee! See Cue Dee! This is the SS Virtue of Satori. We are under attack and requesting immediate assistance! I say again that we are under attack and request assistance! Three ships are firing on us and we ha -<static>- its. Our Captain has been killed with most of the crew. Requ -<static>- osing atmosphere! Please help!”

  “Verified,” Cerise said. “The Virtue of Satori is a diplomatic vessel out of Fyn.” She was silent for a moment before throwing information up for the others to see via the micro-circuitry embedded in the forward viewport glassteel. “I can’t be sure at this range, but there are definitely two ships. One at 10,000 tonnes and one at 75,000 tonnes with intermittent contacts between them.”

  Elias added thrust to the Guiding Angel. “Saul, how far out are we?”

  The jaguar was already double checking his figures. “Thirty seconds of warp then full power burn will get us there in four minutes, Captain.”

  “Copy that.” Elias triggered the intercom. “All crew to stations. All crew to stations. Lena, get the Cherub ready for flight. We’re going to be popping in hot and weapons ready. Cherub to launch as soon as we’re out of warp. Bridge out.”

  As soon as Saul signaled he was ready and the coordinates locked, Elias triggered the LC drive. The Siilv enhanced faster-than-light motor engaged smoothly, and as soon as the time mark was achieved, the converted Okami freighter dropped back into real space. A little more than two hundred miles ahead a battle was raging between the smaller Fynian diplomatic ship and another vessel.

  “Scan and identify the attacker,” the fox said even as he lined the larger ship up in the targeting reticule.

  “No IFF,” Cerise said, looking over her console intently, feeling her stomach tighten in apprehension with the thought of going into combat, but secure in the knowledge that this was a common feeling in the rest of the crew after her talks with the other females onboard. “Gazetteer lists it as a Star Burner class light frigate of Ganisian manufacture, AstorCraft shipyards built.”

  “Those things are pretty tough, Boss,” Saul said after emitting a low whistle.

  Before anyone else could speak, Cerise called out. “Two more contacts confirmed! Wyvern class strike fighters.”

  “Got it,” Elias said, his voice calm and flat. “Lena, you are clear. Launch and engage the fighters!”

  A chuckle came from the intercom. “Wyverns? My Grammy can move better than those things. Great in a straight line, but no agility.”

  “Nothing fancy!” Elias ordered even as the Raptor class interceptor shot out from underneath the forward viewports. “Neutralize and assist with the frigate when you can.”

  Even as the rabbit kicked in the engines of her wedge shaped fighter, Cerise was broadcasting orders for the aggressing frigate to stand down. The other ship’s response was to fire a volley of pulse cannon blasts at the approaching freighter even as it continued to fire on the Fynian ship. The bolts of energy were enough to cause some surface arcing on the hull of the Guiding Angel and Elias saw from the readout on his console that forward shields had just dropped by twenty three percent. The deck plates vibrated slightly.

  “Odette, weapons free!” the fox shouted, even as he cut thrust and spun the ship on its lateral axis, the vector he executed placing the Guiding Angel between the warship and Fynian vessel. As he guided the ship so that the bow was pointed at the frigate, Elias triggered a continuous stream of energy from his own forward cannon.

  Green-white streams of energy flashed silently through the vacuum of space, detonating with brilliant flashes of light and coruscating discharges of lightening playing over the hull plates of the other vessel. As if to punctuate the initial barrage, Odette slewed the dorsal and ventral laser turrets a fraction of a second behind her Captain’s withering fire, the combination of pulse cannon and mercury lasers overloading the buffers of the frigate’s shields. The protective screens eroded with a flash as the expanding energy wave engulfed both the Fynian vessel and the Guiding Angel. The resulting circuit between the three ships and caused a catastrophic surge of backlash energy.

  Sparks erupted from various points throughout the bridge as the resultant surge overloaded circuits and breaker units, causing components to burn and pop energetically.

  “Captain! We’ve lost all shields!” Stram’s voice said over the intercom, his words muddled as static burst over the speakers. “Engine output is down to fifty percent and life support is fried!”

  Elias signaled that he heard and understood, but his attention was still riveted to the frigate. Tapping the controls, the fox kept their bow pointed at the larger vessel and he triggered another series of blasts from his weapons. “Their shields are down, too! Don’t let up until we get a surrender. Cerise! Order them to stand down or tell them we’ll blast them into atoms!” He snarled his instructions out through bared teeth, his expression one of sheer predatory focus. He had his fangs in the prey and wasn’t about to let go now.

***

  Lena wasn’t paying attention to the battle raging between her home ship and the Ganisian built frigate. Her focus was solely on the two fighters that were harassing the Fynian vessel, Virtue of Satori. With a sense of elation and wild abandon that she always felt in the cockpit, the doe pushed the throttle controls through their gates and grunted as she was pushed back into her seat with the acceleration. The Raptor class interceptor didn’t have the level of inertial dampeners like larger ships were equipped with.

  Flying was a combination of sensors, visual input, and sensation as far as Lena was concerned, and all of it combined to keep the rabbit in touch with what was going on around her. She exulted in the positive and negative gees, the alternating feel of acceleration induced gravity and freefall. With all of this going on, she felt more in control, more connected to her craft. Together they were one entity. A passage from some religious tome that she’d looked through from Earth came to mind and she grinned as she recalled the words.

  “And I saw the one that sat upon the horse. And his name was Death…”

  She wouldn’t kill unless she had no other option, but she could understand the sentiments of that sentence.

  She fell in behind the nearest Wyvern class fighter, its pilot so intent on taking random shots at the diplomatic vessel that he was unaware that Lena was on his tail. Fighters carried shields, but were nominally meant to reduce the heat from entry into planetary atmosphere. While the Wyvern fighter had the tell-tale shimmer close to its fuselage that indicated shielding, Lena knew that it would be ineffectual against the firepower that the Cherub carried. So it was that she lined up her shot with care.

  The glowing aperture of the fighter’s port engine was bright enough to negate the illuminated reticule of her cockpit HUD, but not that of the one that was linked to her helmet’s visor. The faceplate polarized automatically to save Lena’s vision, her own targeting pip showing up in a deep red that was reminiscent of the color of blood, and began blinking before turning bright blue as her weapons locked on to the chosen point of attack.

  The trigger clicked as her finger tightened down, sending a signal through the small craft’s computer, and initiating a reaction of energy that was as hot and bright as the center of star in the bowels of her fighter’s cannon breeches. The green-white fire that erupted from the muzzles of her fighter’s guns streaked out and lanced at the engine pod that she had selected, the rapid burst of high energy pulses splashing on the protective screen of the Wyvern before they punched through. Her own shields flared briefly as she flew through the debris that her weapons had generated. Small globules of molten material erupted from the engine pod, atomized metal and plastics that reformed and coagulated in seconds in the cold, hard vacuum of space.

  The loss of the engine pod, and resulting chaos within the other fighter’s sensitive electronics, caused an imbalance in the small ship’s flight, making to veer slightly to the right in a long arc without the countering thrust from the other unit that was strewing itself across space before the Wyvern’s onboard computer automatically shut the starboard power unit down before a malfunction occurred that could destroy the small ship.

  With that fighter out of action, Lena turned her attention to the other Wyvern heavy fighter. It was almost seven miles away at the end of an arc that would let the small craft’s pilot line up a shot on the slightly smaller Raptor. With a grin of superior confidence, Lena cut thrust and initiated a maneuver that was a combination of a spin and roll, flipping the Cherub around so that her fighter’s nose was pointed at the aggressor. Not even waiting for a lock, she triggered another salvo of pulse cannon fire from her forward weapons. The rabbit grinned as she saw three out of eight rounds discharged strike true and the resulting loss of the heavier ship’s shielding. Even as the pirate craft lost its primary layer of protection, the enemy pilot launched a pair of missiles at the Raptor. Lena saw the flares of the motors ignite before she heard the warning, and ‘Tsked!’ in derision. She did several things seemingly at once. Activating the ventral maneuvering thrusters, Lena moved her fighter ‘up’ before jerking the nose of her craft in the direction of travel, initiated a half-thrust burn from her engines and discharged a series of anti-missile countermeasures. The Wyvern class fighter was fairly tough, but its lack of agility and weapons limited the fairly inexpensive craft. The particular missiles this one carried were very short range, and while only marginally more maneuverable and faster than the craft that carried them, they were thirty years out of date.

  The counter measures did what they were supposed to, and as the missiles approached, the defensive units detonated with subdued winks of light that were dimmer than the background stars. The explosions sent a wave of small pyramid shaped projectiles outward that shredded the missiles into so much random space trash, the action so violent and sudden that the warheads on the missiles didn’t have time to arm and detonate.

  As this was taking place, Lena used her ship’s greater speed to line up her next shot and pushed her throttles to full power, charging at the other fighter with weapons blazing. All of her shots hit true, and she flashed past the other small craft even as the forward fuselage separated from the inert aft and sputtering engine nacelles.

  The entire engagement with the two Wyvern fighters took less than five minutes. As usual, Lena was amazed that so little time had passed. With a shake of her head within her helmet, she brought the Cherub about in time to see the shields of the frigate cascade and engulf the Guiding Angel and Fynian ship.

  The converted freighter that was her home unleashed a torrent of hellfire on the larger vessel, and took several hits itself. Her teeth grinding as she set her jaw in determination, Lena pushed her engine throttles past the gates. Without even waiting for her computer to lock, the rabbit depressed the trigger for her own pulse cannon, walking the shots from stem to stern and adding her own missiles as punctuation a split second before her computer registered a lock on the primary dorsal weapons turret.

  The rounded blister that contained the primary ventral weapons suite on the frigate vanished in a blinding flash as the missiles punched through armor eroded by her pulse cannon, causing solid shot ammunition and the liquid propellants to gang-fire in the loading tubes. Even as the conflagration dissipated, where the turret had been there was only a section that looked as if it had been scooped out of the hull of the frigate by a spoon, the edges of the hull and supporting structure glowed an angry, bright orange that was rapidly fading to red.

  “Fire on my friends? I’ll show you sons of bitches!” Lena snarled as she began to come about for another pass at the frigate’s belly.

***

  Elias saw the ventral turret vanish in a ball of white fire as Lena attacked the frigate and let a smile spread across his face that was more of a bearing of teeth and had no mirth or joy. The fox added power to the lateral maneuvering thrusters and pushed the Guiding Angel further along the length of the frigate, triggering the shock thread emitters as he went. The close-in defense system hit the hull plating of the Ganisian built warship and sent tendrils of blue lightening arcing over the hull. While the frigate was more than half again the size of the Guiding Angel, there was no way that it could withstand the disrupting energy of the shock threads without its shields to help dissipate the energy that coursed through it.

  The electrical surge that shock threads emitted was designed to overload and shut down a starship as a means of non-lethal defense, enabling confiscation of the ship and capture of the crew. Even as he prepared to fire the linked pulse cannon of his ship, Elias saw the frigate’s engines sputter and fail. At nearly the same moment, Cerise received the surrender of the raider.

  “They give up, Elias! They’ve surrendered!” she shouted loudly, relief flooding through her and unaware that she was yelling.

  “All hands, stand-by. They’ve surrendered, but I don’t want them to catch us napping.” He switched from intercom to another channel. “Lena. What’s your status?”

  “Both Wyverns are down and out with the pilots needing rescue. I see the frigate’s out of it as well. What are your orders, Sir?”

  Even though the rabbit’s voice was robbed of most of its texture over the communications equipment of her helmet, Elias detected a hint of elation and satisfaction and the corners of his mouth quirked in a partial smile. “Maintain overwatch. We’re going to render aid to the Fynian ship first, then deal with the frigate. If they look like they’re powering up, shellac ‘em.”

  “Copy that, Sir,” she replied.

  “And good work, Lena. That was great flying.” Elias relaxed his grip on the control yokes and began to move the ship in closer to the Virtue of Satori.

  Lemuel Anders was already prepared for potential medical emergencies and had a trauma cart set up for rapid deployment so that by the time the Guiding Angel made hard dock with the Fynian vessel, he and the combat team were standing near the airlock. Even though the diplomatic vessel was the victim in this engagement, the crew was taking no chances. Randal, Melise, Sonja and Treena were in full battledress and armed with Binfurr sub machineguns and pistols, with stunners holstered as backup armaments.

  The indicator on the airlock control panel glowed green indicating that the seal with the diplomatic cruiser was secure and pressurized. As soon as the heavy armored panels of the airlock opened, flood lights flared to life, intended to temporarily blind and disorient any potential threats. There were no hostiles, though, just a pair of frazzled looking crew members in the livery of the Fynian Diplomatic Corps.

  “SPF! Show me your hands!” Randal shouted, his weapon pointed between the two felines without so much as a quiver.

  The Fynians, a short haired tom with all gray fur save for a small patch of white at his throat and a long haired calico female did as instructed, throwing their hands up while flinching away from the harsh glare from the floodlights.

  “Don’t shoot!” the tom cried out. “We’re unarmed!”

  Motioning to the others, Randal directed the combat team through the airlock and into the reception bay of the other vessel. Sonja and Melise fanned out, one going left and the other taking the right, respectively, covering the opposite wall in crossed firing arcs. Randal followed and went to the two cats. He took their identicards and ran them through a scanner, looking at the results and nodding as he saw the information that came up on the small wrist reader that was tied to one of the Guiding Angel’s three VIP computer units.

  “Sorry. We can’t afford to take chances. I’m Sergeant Mercks of the SPF. We have a medical and engineering team standing by.”

  The tom swallowed and relaxed visibly, though he was still wide-eyed and frazzled looking from the engagement. “The ambassador’s injuries are slight, but we have others that need tending,” he told the wolf even as he moved toward a hatch that led further into the ship. “Our main drives are down, and everything is running off of the secondary power and batteries. We’ve sealed the sections with the hull breach, but I think we’re still losing air pressure.”

  “How many are onboard?” Randal asked as he let his sub machinegun hang from the tactical sling it was attached to.

  It was the long haired calico that spoke up as she hustled to catch up to the others. “There is Ambassador Ballan, his wife and daughter four of us staff members and the four left from the crew, so eleven of us all told, Sergeant.”

  Randal relayed this to the bridge of the Guiding Angel, then followed the tom into the ship’s main corridor. When the calico, following a little too close, bumped into him, he turned suddenly, looming over the smaller female. It was such a sudden and unexpected movement that she hissed in fear and surprise.

  “Sorry,” Randal said. “Today’s been rather tense, don’t you think? We’re all a little on edge. Please don’t follow so close. I don’t want to do something out of reaction.”

  The calico closed her mouth so quickly it made a ‘clopping’ sound, and looked at the armored wolf with wide eyes and nodded mutely.

  Taking a moment for a deep breath, Randal forced himself to relax a little, and put his left hand on the shoulder of the female. “Miya, isn’t it?” he asked, recalling the calico’s name from her identicard. She nodded silently. “It’s all right, now. There is nothing to be afraid of. We aren’t going to let anything happen to you and we’re here to help. You have my promise that you’re safe now. Understand?”

  Miya nodded, but Randal saw that the stress of all that had happened to her was more than she could bear and looked as if she were in the beginning stages of shock. Turning his head, he clicked the radio in his helmet to a private channel and spoke softly. A few minutes later, Treena and Melise appeared and took the calico with them so that Randy could finish his survey of the ship while the others worked.

  Less than half an hour later, he was certain that the Ambassador and family, staff and remaining crew would have to abandon ship.

  “There are stress fractures all through the hull, and there’s no way that we can begin patching up the damage short of hauling her into dry dock, Captain.” Randy was looking at the bulkheads using a portable scanner and could hear whistling air as it escaped through the myriad of cracks in the hull. Even if the Fynians moved to unaffected areas, there wouldn’t be enough air for all of them as the life support unit was in even worse shape than the one on the Guiding Angel. “The entire recycler unit is little more than slag and the carbon filters are ash, and I’m not sure, but I think their might even be a coolant leak from the LC core.”

  “Copy that, Randy,” Elias replied over the communications equipment in the wolf’s helmet. “Rutger has found other problems as well. The worst is that the Micronite shielding around the drive core is shot. The radiation that’s leaking out isn’t dangerous, yet, but I want the survivors on the Angel within the next fifteen minutes. A Terran destroyer and SPF cruiser are on route, but we can have them all on Ganymede before they get here. If anyone gives you any gruff, the Fynian government agrees with me.”

  “Understood, Captain. I’ll pass word for the survivors to pack up necessities and clothing for a few days and get them over ASAP.”

  “Good, Randy. Because we still have to deal with the frigate. Elias out.”

  With the help of the rest of the boarding team, the survivors of the Virtue of Satori were relocated to cabins on the Guiding Angel, and most were surprised at the size of the suites. Crew members had doubled up to make room for the refugees. Despite this some of the staff and crew had to double and triple up in the available accommodations, though no one was complaining.

  The boarding of the frigate, which the crew of the Guiding Angel discovered was named the Dagger of the Patriarch, was far easier. There were only six pirates as most of the vessel was automated. The retrieval of the two Wyvern pilots made eight. Their names were logged and each was incarcerated within the freighter’s holding cells. As per standard operating procedure, the frigate was tagged with a beacon for SPF retrieval and salvage.

  The Captain of the frigate proved to be a surprise for Elias and the rest. Sporting a patch over her right eye and a glossy coating of spray-skin over most of her chest and right arm, the black and rust colored Kastan regarded Elias and company with an unreadable expression before speaking.

  “Who is the Captain of this ship?” she asked imperiously.

  “I am,” Elias replied maintaining the spot where he stood on the cargo deck.

  The female Kastan regarded him coolly. “I am Pala Lon. A rather interesting ship you have, Captain. No ordinary freighter, this.” She looked around the bay before her all black eyes fell again upon the fox. She continued after a moment’s pause and deep breath. “As is customary among my clan, you have bested me in combat, which makes you my Lord. I know that your Planetary Alignment doesn’t allow the owning of slaves, but nonetheless, my life is yours. You fought well against what should have been the superior vessel, and you won. As such, it is you that holds my blood. Do with me as you will.”

  The rest of the crew looked confused or startled. Elias simply regarded the female calmly. “You’re right. The owning of slaves is frowned upon, and the notion, though you might find it strange, is abhorrent to me. I respect you’re tradition, but you will have to serve out whatever sentence is deemed appropriate by a Judge of the Planetary Judicial Council.”

  The Kastan gave a small smile. “Do you really think one of my kind will see a fair trial? I think not, Captain. Most of your Planetary Alignment still thirsts for the blood of my race. More so after the event you call the Siilv War.” She shook her head. “No. I think my…dispensation will be quiet. Quiet and discreet. A shame for one to be disposed of so ignominiously.”

  Pala Lon started to move off with the rest of her crew to the lift for transfer to the holding cell without another word.

  Elias stared after her long after the lift doors closed.

  She was right, of course. There were some sore feelings after the Siilv War, and even the most fair and impartial judge of the PA would most likely condemn the Kastan to death. If she even made it to trial. Elias waited for the lift to return and then made his way back to the bridge. The fox had enough on his plate at the moment, and the future fate of one individual was shunted aside for the moment as he focused on getting the Guiding Angel back on her feet and to the nearest available port.

  Repairs on the life support system took nine hours with Stram and Rutger scrounging necessary parts, mostly conversion filters and control circuitry from the other two ships along with tanks of pure oxygen from the frigate. The two engineers would work on the shield system during the run to Galileo’s Founding on the small Jovian moon of Ganymede.

  “It’s more of a problem with the relays and breakers for the shield network,” the badger was telling his Captain as he chewed furiously at a meat stick and leaned against the edge of the piloting console. “I can use the emitters that weren’t fried to compensate, but if we push them too hard and far, all that’ll be ‘tween us and danger is the hull, and I don’t have to tell you what a few grams of matter moving at high velocity’ll do to us even with our armor.”

  “No,” Elias agreed. “I know full well what that would do to us. Fortunately Galileo Founding is all but vacuum, so that shouldn’t be a problem. How long do you think it will take to replace the damaged emitters?”

  Stram scratched at his ear, closing one eye as he made a rough estimate in his head. “So long’s the docking bay is pressurized, maybe a week. A lot of the power conduits got fried with the emitters. Two weeks if’n Rutger and I gotta do it in suits.”

  Elias rubbed the point between his eyes tiredly and sighed. There was no help for it, and it would take as long as it took. “All right, Stram. We’ll take it easy. Anything else?”

  The badger looked at his Captain and gave an impish grin. “Didn’t you know that two ships that close and pummellin’ away with cannon could cause a backlash cascade when one or the others shields overloaded? It’s called the Koslowski Effect.”

  The fox sighed. “I do now. I’ve never heard of it before, but I can promise you it’s a lesson I’ll not soon forget.”

  “I could explain about sympathetic energy fields, frequency meshing, but that would probably put you to sleep,” the badger said with a lopsided smile. “At least it didn’t melt the hull.”

  “Melt the hull?” Elias asked with a pang of nausea.

  Stram nodded. “That kind of energy output generates a plasma reaction that would burn as hot as a star. Don’t worry, Cap’n. If it’d happened, we wouldn’t have felt a thing.”

  The fox watched as his head engineer exited the bridge through the aft hatch. He had heard stories of ships getting too close during an exchange of fire and the shields ‘rupturing’ catastrophically, but he didn’t know that something like the badger had just described was possible. He made a silent vow to never endanger his ship or crew like that again.

— NEXT CHAPTER —

Unless otherwise noted, all material © Ted R. Blasingame. All rights reserved.