Meddlers In Time- The Cockatoo River Incident
Wayne Watson
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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All characters appearing in this work are
fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or otherwise able
to take legal action against me, is purely coincidental.
All
the names were pulled out of my memory and applied more or less at
random. You ain't that character just because you share a first name
and a trade.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
The Cockatoo River Incident
Prelude
Throughout the Empire of Man there are many great memorials to the fallen. On the planet of Yalumba there is one of the smallest, yet the events leading to its creation, history has shown to be the most pivotal in the course of the empire.
In the Ikuntji province, exactly 847 meters from the Cockatoo River Mission bell tower, there is a small knoll. The grape vines now have been cleared for 200 meters around. Circling the top is a simple tall hedge of Acacia. Within the hedge is a circular grass lawn. Around the border of this lawn are 47 simple crosses- half a meter high and iridium plated. At the center of the Lawn are sixteen similar but smaller crosses, grouped together in four rows of four. The single gateway of wrought iron has no decoration but a single word.
'DUTY'
This is the story of the events leading to what is now known as 'The Cockatoo River Incident'.
The day the Empire realized that 'Live and let live' was no longer an option...
Cockatoo River Incident Memorial
Jenny and Wayne quietly walked out of the inner circle of the memorial- a place where few were ever permitted to stand upon the lovingly cared for lawns. They took up position in front of the Imperial flag and saluted as it was lowered to the strains of the Last Post. As the guard party marched off towards the mission, they stood for a while in silent contemplation.
"Never forget how much worse it would have been without you," said Wayne.
"I tell myself that every time I think about it. Not that it helps much..."
***
Transit Station
21 years previous (Empire time line)
“I've done some weird shit, but this beats it all,” said Jenny- now inhabiting a four-year old child's version of her body.
“This is just like having the baby sister I always wanted,” said Sonja laughingly, picking Jenny up and spinning her around.
“You need to find a man and make babies,” said Jenny. “Now put me the hell down before I get in character and pee all over you.”
***
Transit Station Ready Room
"Good luck- things are going to be a bit hairy until the Marines take control," said Wayne.
Jenny waited next to the portal area dressed in flimsy silk and makeup- this prostitute's garb looking disturbingly incongruous on her young body. “I plan to act like my apparent age and hide under the bed- I hope those marines aren't too trigger-happy.”
“No worries there- those boys like to take slavers alive- all the better for tossing out the airlock.”
“Gate in ten seconds” said Sonja. “Time to get in character.”
Jenny stepped through to the (empty) captain's cabin of the 'Golden Caravan'.
***
Heavy Destroyer 'Wotan's Fury'
'Four Hour Warning- Normal space in four hours' sounded the intercom.
Captain Jamieson scanned his messages, then took a quick shower and put on a fresh uniform- along with the now traditional splash of Old Spice. Time for a quick tour about the ship before taking the helm for the battle. Outside his cabin, the duty officer was waiting.
“What's on the trouble sheet?” said Captain Jamieson.
“Two marines on the sick list- I gather they got carried away with close quarters training, Sir,” said Ensign Johnson.
“Eichmann’s’?”
“Aye Sir.”
No doubt Lieutenant Eichmann has already dealt with them, thought Wayne.
“Engineering?”
“Nothing operational Sir,” said Johnson, handing over a tablet.
Wayne scrolled down a list of minor faults- all under action. Just the usual house-keeping repairs.
He handed the tablet back- “OK- Commanders brief at minus three hours- dismissed.”
“Aye Sir,” said the ensign, saluting.
Forty minutes for a bit of breakfast before the final brief.
*
Heavy Destroyer 'Wotan's Fury'
CIC
'One hour warning- all hands secure for N-space running' announced the intercom.
"Call it," said Jamieson.
"Nav- all ships on-station."
"Tac- prox shows one megatonne plus, a capital ship, four frigates and multiple minor traces."
"Guns- all systems on-line and charged.”
"Drive- grav on stand-by, tractors nominal.”
"Damage- standing by.”
"Security- standing by.”
"Last comfort call," said the Captain. "Tac- call on status change.”
"Tac aye- Trace firming- confirm 'Scimitar' class cruiser and eight contacts at minus 10,000 tonnes.”
Their sub-space proximity array was one of the major factors in Free Company Wotan's Fury's success. The best anyone else possessed was a detector that would only work a few seconds before exiting sub-space- and that was more than most had. As they edged closer to the exit point, the information built up- tonnage, vector and numbers.
'All hands- minutes one to N-space.'
Then it was time and they crossed the threshold in to normal space. The collision alert klaxon sounded- they had exited exactly on course- dead astern of the escort cruiser and closing fast.
"Guns- I have a firing solution.”
"Engage 90," said Jamieson, directing the gunnery officer to fire as soon as the hit probability reached 90 percent. Additional detail was streaming onto his Tac screen- battles were won by sensors more than guns and the 'Fury' had the very best.
"Aspect change- targets capacitors ramping."
"Guns hold," said Jamieson, taking a calculated gamble- he wanted to let the enemy capacitors charge up, as they would produce considerable secondary damage if hit. In any case he was still well out of their range and it took time to swing a cruiser about to use its main spinal mount.
Fifteen seconds later he said "Weapons free," and the quick-firing batteries flashed out their rods of UV laser energy.
"Tac- I have secondary’s on the target- low-level EMP and out-gassing."
A good first strike and as with most fights in the real world- the one that got the first solid blow in won.
"Continue until destroyed with two turrets- all other turrets target those frigates," said Jamieson. "Cutters- you are clear to engage.”
The six ships cutters went to full speed and rapidly closed on the now seriously damaged cruiser. With the cutters away, they began to decelerate heavily, not wanting to overshoot. Now only several hundred kilometers out, 'Fury's' secondary mounts added their fire to battle, targeting individual guns and sensor arrays. The two main turrets also shifted to suppressive fire, trading intensity for rate of fire. Each time the cruiser got a shot away, the gun firing was pinpointed and raked with fire. Two cutters sped directly in, traveling along the same axis and slightly below the 'Fury's' outgoing fire. At 20 kilometers range they both released a salvo of torpedoes and broke off at maximum power. Obscured from the cruisers few remaining sensors by the laser energy and debris, the six torpedoes closed the gap in 30 seconds, decelerating hard just before striking the hull, where their armored nose cones tore through the relatively thin hull plating like needles. Five of the six five-kilotonne warheads survived the impact and detonated six seconds after impact, tearing the cruiser to pieces.
"OK, settle down- we are still in the fight- all batteries- engage those frigates. When they are dead, target the small craft at will. Tac- what have we got coming?" said Jamieson.
"Hostiles inbound- battle group in effective range in six point five hours. Two cruisers, Scimitar class, five unidentified destroyers, seven frigates and twenty minor contacts.”
"Call the cutters back. Sailing Master- once those frigates are slagged or gone put us in a blocking position to hold off that task force." Leaving his officers to continue the battle, Jamieson turned his attention to the data feed from his frigate 'Jolly Roger'.
***
Control Room
Frigate 'Jolly Roger'- Free Company Wotan's Fury
The ship's intercom sounded 'One hour warning- all hands secure for N-space running.'
Commander Hendrik glanced at his readouts, in particular the subspace mass detectors which were now starting to register the presence of his prey- a huge 'Caravan' class bulk freighter. Also on his screen were other vessels- a cruiser and four frigates- but these were for 'Wotan's Fury' and the other frigate 'Blackbeard' to deal with.
This was always the worst time- the waiting just before exiting sub-space. But at least he had the advantage of a sub-space detector far in advance of anything else found in this time. The minutes counted down seemingly getting faster as the time approached. Then there was no time left for a last check of all stations and the 'Jolly Roger' was in normal space- now the work really started.
Space battles are won and lost by intelligence. Whose ship had the best sensor arrays, signal processors and fire control- and more importantly- the advantage of surprise. The small flotilla had used the advantage of their sub-space instruments to come into normal space behind the freighter and her escorts- where their sensors were at their least effective. Before the cruiser had even gotten close to a firing solution, Captain Jamieson's gunners were pouring fire into the cruiser, while the 'Blackbeard' held off two of the escorting frigates with equally devastating fire.
Hendrik directed his gunners to support the other two vessels as he closed on the freighter and gave the order for his cutters to start their runs. At 50 kilometers out, he directed the secondary weapons operators to start burning out the freighters sensors and communications. As he did so, a violent flare of incandescent light caused the camera screen to momentarily flare out, telling him a torpedo had taken out the cruiser with a nuke- something they seldom used, being in the business of taking prizes. Glancing to the XO's screen, he saw tracery indicating that the 'Fury' had already redirected its quick-firing lasers to the remaining escorts.
Now they were clear to grapple with the freighter and board.
As the Sailing Master took the frigate in, Commander Hendrik watched the teams from the cutters burning through the hull, forcing an entry for the heavy infantry in their active armor. They would be creating a diversion for the main thrust, consisting of Hendrik's light infantry who enter through a soft-seal.
As the frigate approached the hull, the Remora docking pod locked into position on their ventral aspect. The Sailing Master would close the last few meters at low speed, driving this hardened cylinder, which looked like the end of a hypodermic needle, through the hull plating. A crushable collar filled with expanding sealant would caulk the breach.
A faint shudder told them that the hull had made contact.
"Mag-grav locks engaged Sir,” said the Remora operator. "We have soft-seal.” He activated the hydraulic rams that would clear the penetrator and deployed the cutter arms. Where needed, cutting lasers would slice through plates, wreckage and bulkheads. While it is true that most thing on-board ship do not react well to gunfire or cutter beams, it is also true that wherever possible, such items are kept away from the outer hull wall.
"Scutters away," said the operator, as he released an array of small camera robots to scout the ship. These would race along the corridors mapping the way, dropping remote sensors and repeater stations- generally providing intelligence for the assault force.
With the way clear, Lieutenant Tom Phillips led his marines into the 'Golden Caravan'. They wanted to kill a few slavers before heavy infantry got them first. They had barely started moving towards the ships bridge when the hull shivered.
The heavy infantry commander called over the comm- "Explosion in engineering- looks like they had the tractors wired to blow- damned fools went up with the engines.”
Hendrik glanced to the Tac officer, who anticipated his query- "Sir- Grav drive still running- tractor field died when that explosion went off."
Without hesitation Hendrik said "Combat engineers topside- get us bonded to their hull, we will take the freighter under our power. As soon as we have control, slave their grav drive to our control- move it people, we have a hostile task force just hours out and I'm not letting this prize get away."
While the freighter was huge, the tractors in Hendrik's frigate were larger than those used by the freighter, being rated to do exactly this task- or to move the frigate faster than most naval shipping in this time.
Before the marines had finished beating their way to the C&C, the ship's engineers had attached bonding and anchor cables to the hull, securing their ship and were running cable to engineering in order to take control of the freighter's grav drives.
"Bridge secure Sir." said Lt. Phillips. "Two walking wounded being evac'd back now, seventeen prisoners secured. We are ready to receive the prize crew now."
"Good work Lieutenant- sondes show activity in cargo bay 18- video and detectors indicates a guard room and a huge life reading. You will send a section and investigate further."
"Aye Sir- Phillips out."
Tom's section arrived moments before the heavy infantry and a sensor team. The guard room was locked, so Tom ordered the section sergeant to have a mech open it up. The mechanized marine soon had the door destroyed with his power axe, to reveal three cowering guards.
"I can smell slaver scum even through this suit," said the marine corporal.
"OUT- NOW," shouted the sergeant. "On the fucking deck- you crapheads know the drill. Out or he drags you and that exoskeleton is known to pull arms and legs off."
The three guards scurried out of the room and lay prone on the deck, while Tom's men shackled them and dragged them off to join the other prisoners. Tom waved the specialists over to start sweeping. Immediately the team leader confirmed the scutter's life reading.
"Sir, you got THOUSANDS behind that bulkhead- I think we got a slave cargo here."
"Why do you say slaves specialist?"
"Sir, if they was troops, our asses would have been kicked of this ship- and you can only pack troops or slaves in that tight."
"Good point," said Tom with a grin, "Why don't you take a look on that monitor in the guard room?"
The specialist gave to room a last sweep and moved in to look at the pickup. The horrified look on his face told Tom all he needed to know. "All of you- go in one by one and take a look at that monitor- move."
"Sir- we have to get them out of there now," said a shocked looking young marine who wasn't quite as worldly as he had previously thought.
"Negative," said Tom. "This is a specialist job- turn them loose now and we will never get this ship ready to jump. They have lasted this long- they can hold on a little longer. Best you all can do is get this ship swept, secured and out of here so we can do something for these folks. Now proceed with your sweeps- Sergeant Jorgenson- you are in command- I have to brief the skipper- get to it."
Tom wanted to be nearby when the detector teams swept the officers quarters. The REAL reason for this mission, known only to Jamieson and himself was there.
***
"Got a ping- low level, though- could be some attenuation through these soundproofed partitions."
"OK- in you go- I got your back."
"They ain't paying me enough for this shit."
"Just get your wide ass in there private."
"Under the bed corporal- reading looks like it’s a kid."
"Hey it IS a kid- come on out little girl- we are here to help you- AH CRAP- She goddamn bit me!"
"Well don't try grab her- lift the bed off...oh sweet Mary and Jesus...Sir- Sir- you gotta see this."
Tom strode into the room "What's all the fuss... Oh my…"
This part Tom didn't know about. Before him was Jenny dressed up in transparent silk, makeup and perfume- not that he hadn't seen that before but not when she was in a four-year olds body. His face hardened. He tapped at his wrist comm. "Sir- are you receiving my helmcam? - You may want this as evidence. Yes Sir, in the Captain's quarters. Very well Sir, Phillips out." He turned to the two marines. "You two hold your position here. Guard this girl until an evac team relieves you, and then continue with your sweeps."
"Aye sir," said the two marines, snapping to attention.
Jenny sat on the edge of the bed. "Can I go home now?"
*
Wayne had gotten a coded message regarding Jenny's successful insertion and feeling a lot happier now, although he would not relax until they were in subspace on-route to the rendezvous point. Five still-glowing hulks drifted in near space and the smaller craft were mostly debris clouds. His flotilla had only sustained superficial sensor damage and no hull breaches.
"Guns, Sir- I have a solution on the final hostile. He will in range for another twelve minutes at current course and vector."
"You will fire 17 volleys with the X turret, aiming to narrowly miss- the 18th volley will be aimed to destroy him."
"Aye sir," said the Weapons officer, trying not to sound puzzled at this strange request.
"We have a task force headed our way we may have to fight" said Jamieson. "Let's not give them an indication of how good our gunnery really is- Carry on."
Jamieson's message screen flashed. He glanced at it, and then took a few seconds to read it more thoroughly. Hendrik's techs had gotten the freighter's computer back on line and brought up the manifest. 'Golden Caravan' had over five thousand slaves on board and was carrying rations for 20 days. With the rendezvous point 21 days out at their estimated speed and the next friendly planet another ten days from there, they would have a serious shortfall. Even the emergency rations carried by 'Fury' wouldn't go far amongst those numbers. He knew from experience that slave rations were, at best, minimal and couldn't be stretched very far.
Wayne called the Sailing Master over and pointed at the message. Lt. Commander Jessie Burling didn't need to use a tablet to do the numbers. She thought for a few seconds and said, "Transfer as much mass as you can to the freighter- including all the cutters loaded with our reserve stores and we can do a speed run to Abilene, pick up stores and make the rendezvous point in 28 days, allowing two days to load."
"Set the course Commander," said Jamieson.
He started keying codes into his panel- "QM- load all reserve foodstuffs for transfer to the prize."
"Engineering- Get a reclamation team and stores onto the prize- have them take our synthesizer kit."
"Transport- Stand by for cross-loading- all cutters to remain on that freighter for the jump."
He then called the XO over. "Have the Chief of the Boat organize a contact team and prepare to receive casualties. Wayne knew that many of the slaves would be in poor condition. The Crows like to condition their new captives by having a few die in transit- it let them know how low their lives were regarded.
These detail attended to, he turned his attention to the approaching task force. Time to arrange a little surprise for them.
***
"Grav drive is synched sir, but those tractors are beyond repair. They used a shaped charge on the field generator casing- we are going to have to drag this bucket all the way back," reported the damage control chief.
"Very well Master Chief- we are under way now- attend to the auxiliaries- you have five thousand refugees on that ship and they will need all the facilities that you can rig and repair to survive- Hendrik out."
"OK you idlers, you heard the skipper- lets get the reclamation on this piece of junk working like it never has before- which shouldn't be too hard.”
***
Tom Phillips stalked through the assembled ranks of the captives. Unsurprisingly, none would admit to being captain of this freighter with it's cargo of misery.
Amongst the slave trustees who did the scut work on the ship, he saw what he was looking for and gave a slight nod of his head. Two marine guards pounced on the man indicated and dragged him aside. Slaves, no matter how favored, did not have well-manicured nails, a lack of calluses or the marks of rings on their fingers. Tom turned to the nearest prisoner “Who is he?”
When the prisoner remained silent, Tom said, “Throw him out the nearest airlock.” The marines had been hoping for this and their sergeant pointed to two troopers who dragged the stunned slaver away. Tom grabbed another captive and simply glared at him.
“Noble sire- he is our captain.”
“I can see that your captain does not want to want to be identified- my men found a young slave girl in his stateroom- a VERY young girl.”
Tom watched the assembled captives as they looked away from the doomed captain- it looked like they were not surprised to hear this. He let them consider what there fate would be for a minute longer, and then made an announcement that shocked them all. “My orders are to put you on a shuttle and return you to your fleet which is approaching now.”
This was the last thing they were expecting- Imperials were reputed to show no mercy towards slavers- indeed, this is what would have happened if the direct order of Captain Jamieson had not said otherwise.
“Except your captain,” said Tom. “He goes out the airlock- fit him with a suit and throw him out.”
The marines herded those spared to the hanger bay where they were loaded onto a shuttle and sent on their way, the younger marines shaking their heads at this decision. The senior ranks were not bothered. They had a fair idea what Captain Jamieson was up to.
***
“Sir- We will be at tractor velocity in two minutes,” said the Sailing Master.
“Engage tractors at start velocity,” said Hendrik. He knew without checking that the enemy fleet was 90 minutes away and that the tractors would now give them plus vector with an estimated fifteen minutes lead until they were safe in subspace. 'Fury' had already fallen back to prepare to give covering fire, although they were reluctant to give away their targeting abilities, so were holding fire. The flotilla's lighters and cutters had transferred all of the reserve store to the freighter and the logistics people were trying to sort out exactly what stores were on-board- a huge task on a ship of this size. They had already discovered that the manifest was far from accurate or complete. It looked like a lot of loot gained when the slaves were taken had been undeclared.
The shuttle full of captives was now standing off the point cruiser. No doubt the Crows were trying to decide if the persons on-board had loaded with viruses and were scanning for radiological or explosive contents. Crow paranoia had worked for the Free Company yet again, as somebody made the decision to destroy the shuttle. A laser flareed briefly, then disappeared into a white flash as it hit Jamieson's package and sent the D-T mix hidden in the shuttle's water tanks into fusion.
“Aspect change Sir- we have three hostiles drifting unpowered- the point cruiser and two frigates- the rest of the formation is starting to disperse.”
“Signal 'Wotan's Fury' and synch our confirmed jump time- also congratulate Captain Jamieson on his trap.”
“Aye Sir, message sent.”
“Advise engineering of our jump time and that they have my permission to continue working on the hull.”
The fitters, welders and techs would like that- 'outside' work in subspace rated maximum hazard pay.
“All away, Sir and hostiles still 55 minutes out of range.”
“Their range,” said Jamieson, resisting the strong temptation to send a few parting volleys. “All hands prepare for subspace running- Sailing Master- the helm is yours.”
Safely transitioned, he gave the order to stand down from general quarters. Commander Hendrik's troubles would now be beginning.
***
Prize ship 'Golden Caravan'
Subspace.
While the rest of the Free Company would be easing into a relatively relaxed drag through subspace, the prize crew would be preparing for a far less pleasant journey to the rendezvous point. Hendrik and his officers knew from experience that they just couldn't let the slaves out- their release would have to be carefully managed- those who had been recently taken into slavery- most of them would be relatively easy, but those who had been slaves for generations would be far more difficult to manage. There is an ancient saying: 'you can take the farm boy off the farm, but can't take the farm out of the farm boy.' This ran true with slaves too.
With all the ship's officers tied up directing repairs and organizing the prize, the task of liaising with the slaves fell to Lt Tom Phillips, aided by a warrant officer, contact specialist Guiardio Rameraiz.
“Records- such as they are- show this hold to contain 2000 persons captured in a colony raid, Sir. This is why they are in such filthy conditions- this trip is part of their slave conditioning. They will be stressed, half-starved and kept cold and dirty to break down their spirits, the Crows like to let the older and weaker ones die and leave the bodies in there, as part of the process. Sir, we let them out and they will tear the ship apart looking for Crows and trustees- so here is the best way to proceed...”
Tom switched on the audio and video feed to the hold's announcement system. “This is Lieutenant Tom Phillips, Free Company 'Wotan's Fury'. Acting under an Imperial warrant, we have seized this vessel from the Hegemony and claim her as a prize of battle. We are currently in subspace and are in the process of refitting this vessel in order to get you into some decent living conditions. Please bear with us as we complete this work and repair battle damage and we will get you all out of there as soon as practical. Please get your sick or injured ready to move out- we have a surgeon on board and pick representatives to assist us with helping you.
Times are going to still be tough and we will ALL be getting a little hungry before long, but YOU ARE NO LONGER SLAVES. Welcome back, citizens.”
“That was good Sir, now we give them ten minutes and go in with a squad and meet them face-to-face.”
If the view on the monitor looked bad, inside the slaves hold was several orders of magnitude worse- the stench of excrement and death was appalling- especially to career spacers who are renowned for being meticulous in their hygiene. This was all deliberate- keeping new captives naked, degraded and in filth- all designed to break down their spirit.
These were recent captives and had not yet been broken. A group of three approached Tom and his men, while the crowd looked on; they walked tall, carrying themselves with dignity despite their nakedness and dirt. “I am colony leader Shannon Antares, ICS grade six- Lieutenant, you and your troops have our profound thanks for your rescue. What may we do to assist you?”
“Firstly, we will see to your immediate medical needs. I need you to keep order in here- you are, unfortunately, going to have to remain in here for a while longer although we can move the sick out now. Can you have any engineers, or those with maintenance experience assist us with getting some sanitation in here?” The colony leader nodded to one of her assistants who went off to gather a work party.
By now, Tom had sized up the mood of the freed slaves. “I will open the compartment doors, but please have your people remain in here unless involved in a work detail. Our marines are searching the ship for any crew we may have missed and I don't want any of you getting mistaken for them- and getting tossed out the nearest airlock.” Tom's comm buzzed, signaling work details wanting clearance to enter. “Lt. Phillips to Ops- open the main hatchway to bay five and turn all services on.”
“Colony Leader, we need to remove your dead. They will be frozen for the meantime and we can hold a service for the dead when we get to our destination- if your people could assist with identification, that would be helpful.”
“Of course, Sir.” She lowered her voice: “The former crew of this ship?”
“All dead- we don't take slavers prisoner,” replied Tom.
“Good- I will pass that on to my people.”
“You might pass on that we spaced the captain- in a fully operational suit.”
“Thank you sir!”
The constant drone of the ventilation fans changed pitch, as one of the operations team found the control and boosted the airflow to vent the foul air and the lighting intensity started to increase. Ops and the fitters had already unlocked potable water cocks and turned on the showers and toilets, while logistics were tracking down a long list of supplies, such as soap, toiletries, cups, bowls and clothing. At least they would have water and sanitation now. When the area was cleaned up, they could start assembling the bunks stowed in a now unlocked adjacent storeroom.
A runner arrived and saluted Tom. “Sir, quartermasters compliments and can you please report to Ops and help them out with the manifest? Sir, they can't make heads or tails of half of it.”
“Colony Leader, I will leave Warrant Officer Guiardio Rameraiz here with you to liaise- I have to go help find some of these stores your people need. When we get them sorted, I want to do a full debrief with you,” said Tom.
“Thank you and all your people again Lieutenant and I hope to pass on my compliments to your commanding officer in person soon.”
“You will get to meet Captain Jamieson in about 28 days at our rendezvous- Colony leader, from what I have seen you have done an outstanding job of leading your people though the worst of times.” Tom saluted her and left, following the runner to the operations control room.
Guiardio's nose wrinkled and he walked over to the sanitation area- a collection of plastic pails and a waste hopper to empty them into. He took his belt knife and put the point of the blade on a nearby pipe, then put his ear to the tang. Sheathing the knife, he called the tech working in the guard room. “Johnny- turn the damn waste vents on.” The Crows, in their perversity, had shut down the waste vent fans, in order to cause more of a stench- as if not supplying water for cleaning their filthy hole in the deck excuses for toilets was not enough. Now to find a cleaning stores locker. There would be one near here, as the slaves’ last task on board ship would be to clean this fetid hold.
***
“Baklava- 1200 kg- what that means is one day's more food,” said Tom. “Now, let's see what else we can find in this manifest. When the locusts raided that colony, they would have taken all their stores as well. We are still seven days subsistence rations short.”
***
“Sir, the drive generator is beyond repair, all the ancillaries are OK. Good news is that we can replace it with a Caterpillar FTLD-4 and those are easy to pick up- even out at the frontier. Power grid is in good shape and life support is in fair shape too, but could use some work to get it running at capacity- looks like this is a fairly new ship and the Crows haven't screwed it up too badly yet.”
“QM is still trying to sort the stores, Sir- techs are having some trouble interfacing a translator with their GUI. The OS is written in something called 'French', then translated into Crow scribbles...”
“Yes, spare me the technicalities,” said Commander Hendrik. “What is your progress locating foodstuffs?”
“Sorry Sir, Lt Phillips is the only one who can really read that manifest and so far he has identified additional three days rations, at subsistence levels.”
“Sir, given the condition of our refugees, we can expect a two to five percent mortality rate at those levels,” said the ship's surgeon.
“If they seized that colony's stores, then there is a high probability that their emergency rations are somewhere on board- find them,” said Hendrik.
“Sir, I believe that we have the hardware to rig an algeprote processor. That stuff tastes like shit, but it will sustain life,” said the surgeon.
“Then get a team on it- in fact- start looking for one on-board. I recall the Crows use such things to feed their slaves. If that is all, back to your posts.”
“One small bit of good news Sir- we located a consignment of coffee. The head chef has tested it and pronounced it good.”
Hendrik gave a small smile. “Splendid- have some sent up to control ASAP. You will be needing it.”
As the section heads left, Hendrik stretched out in his chair. It had been a full-on 27 hours since taking this freighter and there was still a lot of work to be done. While the ship was in a fair state of repair now and steadily improving, the human cargo was proving troublesome. Not the first refugees released- they were now almost self-sufficient. All they really needed was their freedom and dignity returned. The other 3,000 were more problematic. About 2000 of them had been broken to slavery and were, to say the least, dysfunctional. They were behaving like battery hens released from their cages- huddling in the corners, refusing to believe they were free. They would have to be transported to one of the empires rehabilitation centers where they could be returned to functioning.
Even worse were the remaining thousand. They were born into slavery and knew no other existence. Nor could they comprehend one. They were on lock-down and would remain so until the crew's specialists could determine what to do with them. Right now, they were as dangerous to the crew and the other slaves as their masters.
Then there was one who was outside of these groups. The young girl found in the late captain's cabin.
She was definitely unbroken and unharmed, but none of the other captives knew of her. Careful questioning by the surgeon had determined that she was the sole survivor of a pirate raid on an outie transport. Other than that all they knew was that she was about three-four years old and named Jennifer DeVries. The surgeon’s team had taken a shine to here and had her quartered in sick bay. By all accounts she kept quiet, stayed out of the way and was happy to entertain herself on one of the ships information terminals. Hendrik saw no reason to change these arrangements.
She could stay there until they off-loaded the former colonists at the Yalumba system in ten weeks.
***
“A drink?” said Captain Hendrik.
“Brandy and soda, thank you,” said Colony Leader Antares.
“My apologies for taking this long to have this meeting,” said Hendrik, handing her a tall glass. “Before I start asking questions, I'm sure you have a few you would like answered.”
“I do, Sir- firstly, what are your intentions with my people?- we would like to know where we are going.”
“Firstly, we are getting far away for the system where we took this ship- 21 days out to an uninhabited system. At this point we rendezvous with our other two ships which have gone on ahead for supplies- real food, not krats. From there, to the frontier for more provisions and on to the Yalumba system, where we plan to land your colonists. If you want to establish a colony there, this is a place with plenty of room- they have only been inhabited about 120 years.”
“Not what we really wanted when we set out, but considering the circumstances- I think my people will be glad to take the second chance- although we have no capital now.”
“You still have most of your colony stores- we have no salvage claim on the property of Imperial citizens and the empire is quite helpful with distressed colonists. Of course they don't tell you that when you set out- I'm sure you understand why.”
“Yes, quite," she acknowledged. “Although I wish we were in a position to repay you- debts must be paid.”
Hendrik gave dismissive gesture with his raised glass. “The empire will also compensate us for our efforts- consider the account settled in full.”
“Well then- this ICS G6 is learning a bit about the empire today.”
“Yes, now I would like to know more about how you came to be in this most unfortunate situation.”
***
“We started out four years ago, to set up an independent colony deep in what was meant to be the neutral zone. Following typical procedures, the destination planet had been seeded with Terran flora and fauna, the LZ had been leveled and utility structures built in advance by autonomous robotics. We set down with no great dramas and for three years carried on setting up a colony, in textbook manner. Our only contact with the outside being an annual visit from an Imperial scout ship.
About a month ago- I can't be sure of time, as we have had no way of measuring it- we were in the middle of harvest. During the mid-afternoon, we lost our satellite and comms. Shortly after that, four drop ships landed on the outskirts of the settlement and we were attacked by two companies of light infantry with armor and gunship support. We were systematically split up and were unable to mount a meaningful defense. They set up a stockade and processed us prior to loading everyone onto a lighter. While this was going on- and for several days after- the colony was systematically stripped of anything of value,” She paused and took a deep drink.
“That sounded to be a more professional attack than is usual for raiders- they are usually hit & run- grab a few easy captives,” said Hendrik, passing across the brandy and the soda siphon.
“Captain that was a well- armed, trained and disciplined specialist force if ever I saw one. They were not raiders- they were Crow elite infantry. I would say that they had carried out this same type of operation on more than a few occasions- they were total professionals.”
“No doubt naval intelligence is going to want to go over this with you and your colonists later- but I agree with your assessment. We have heard rumors of such a unit. Now to the point of your colony stores- did you have the standard emergency reserve rations?”
Shannon grimaced. “We lived on them for two weeks before we were transferred onto this ship. Bad as krats are, they were better than the crud the Crows ration slaves. I can't be sure how much is left- the main store was destroyed when a couple of my people holed up in there to make a stand.”
“Every little helps- we are a few days short of providing a subsistence ration, but our surgeon says we will cope if we keep the fit and able bodied a little short, to boost the children and sick list's rations up to minimum. For what its worth, all my crew have volunteered to go on the same ration, to keep those children and pregnant women fed.”
For the first time in the ordeal, Shannon broke down and burst into tears, repeating, “Bless you- bless you all.”
Hendrik poured another large brandy- this time being rather sparing with the soda siphon. “At least we have plenty of drink- our supposedly teetotal friends had a sizable cache of contraband on board- I can always count on my marines to locate the booze first.”
His attempt at a joke stopped the tears and he passed her a clean handkerchief. “We found these too,” he said, sliding a humidor of cigars across the table.” They lit cigars and smoked for a few minutes. Hendrik continues with his questioning.
“What do you know of the other captives on board?”
“All I know is what your crew has mentioned- that there are others on board. Your people don't give much away.”
“It may be possible that some of these slaves were involved in the raid on your colony as laborers- I thought it best to segregate your people from them.”
“A sound move, Sir- they would tear them to pieces if they recognized any of them.” Her face darkened, as she recalled the stockade and the taunts of the Crows laborers. They had not realized that they were second or more generation slaves- born menials although they were way higher up the pecking order than taken slaves.
“Quite so, best we let naval intelligence determine if there is a case against any of them.”
***
“That's better,” said Tom, as the hot, stuffy air in the ops room started to cool.
A fitter emerged from underneath the console. “That one was easy, Sir- the fire baffle was fitted the wrong way around. You had zero airflow- we are finding a lot of stuff like this- I hope the Crows build their warships this badly.”
“Specialist, I just wish this inventory problem was that easy to fix,” said Tom, getting up and stretching. He had spent almost all of the last 48 hours at the console trying to locate food amongst the vast cargo bays. Almost all of the cargo was listed by destination, not contents. So far they had located a cube of baklava by luck and another of canned cheese by physically searching.
The young fitter paused, then said, “Sir, if it's not a dumb question- have you tried scanning the cargo with thermals?”
“No,” said Tom. “We just used life detectors but not thermals- why do you ask?”
“Well, Sir, I had the thought that if there were any reffer cubes amongst the cargo, they would probably contain food- they will show up a couple of degrees warmer than ambient from the inbuilt heat pumps. Because of that, they are always top-stow, so should be easy to locate.”
Tom turned away from his screen, slapped his hand against his forehead then picked up a handset. “All search teams- have one person switch to thermal and scan the top-stowed containers- you are looking for cubes above ambient. Open those and report in.”
Several minutes later, one of the teams reported in. “Jackpot, Sir, found one full of frozen lamb, going by the pictures on the boxes inside- tell cookie to heat up his stew pot.”
“Copy- did you get that QM?”
“I did, Lieutenant- that was some inspired thinking for a marine.”
“Can't take the credit, QM- that was one of Sandy's fitters.”
“Who will now have all the troops lining up to buy him a beer- I'm sending a work party down and getting the cooks back in the galley now- QM out.”
Tom turned to the sheepish looking fitter. “Have your crew chief call me- that earns you a bonus.”
“Aye sir,” he said, saluted and gathered up his tools. He had a full shifts work ahead but now had the prospect of a hot meal.
***
After what seemed like an endless procession through sick bay, the medical team was finally finished- for now. They had thankfully received the latest news- that frozen food had been located and there was more than enough for this leg of the journey. While there was little risk of real starvation, the boost to morale was important to all aboard- more so to the newly freed refugees. Lieutenant Lillian Williams, the ships surgeon, finished looking over the Chef's menus and approved them. People kept on a diet of concentrated rations- and a minimum energy one at that- had to be reintroduced to real food. The last task of her watch completed, she handed over to the senior med tech, and then turned her attention to a small figure at a spare terminal. “Young lady, I think you have had enough reading for one day- look at the time- now it's off to bed for you.”
Jenny smiled at the surgeon and hurried off into her cabin- an appropriated room in sick bay.
Lillian smiled- the sight of the diminutive figure bringing back memories of her own children, long grown up now. Her staff had taken it upon themselves to look after this one child- unlike the colonists and the other ex-slaves, this one had nobody. Gentle probing had revealed that her full name was Jennifer DeVries and she was space-born, most probably to one of the independent freighter/transports that plied its trade about the outer colonies. Attempts to find out more just got 'they are all gone now' from her. These freighters operating on the fringes were the usual prey of pirates and surviving crew were often sold to Crow slavers.
“Still here?” said Tom. “If you are finishing soon, the wardroom bar is open, if you fancy a drink?”
“I just need to tuck our guest in- say- you found her, come in and say hello.”
They entered Jenny's room. The plain sick room had emptied of diagnostic equipment, and been decorated with a few personal items from the medical team- a colorful hand-made blanket and a stuffed toy bear- and a locker had been fitted. She was already curled up in her bed. One of the crew had programmed the ships tailor module to produce a miniature set of uniform for her and this was draped over the back of a chair.
“Hello,” said Jenny. “I remember you.”
“Yes,” said Tom. “I wanted to come and see you earlier, but we have been very busy fixing this ship.”
“I know. Everybody says that the cockroaches don't make ships worth a damn.”
Lillian snorted at this remark out of such a small mouth and Tom gave a chuckle. “Well, we make much better ships- good ships like your people's ones.”
“Now that I remember- I brought you some pictures for you wall, like I promised,” Lillian unfolded her tablet and tapped the screen. “These are pictures from my little girl's home on Yalumba- she is the assistant winemaker at the Cockatoo River Mission- she has a daughter about your age, Jennifer.”
The pict wall changed from mirror to window and now displayed an image of a pleasant, sunny river valley, with vineyards, fields and a winding oxbow river. Cattle and sheep grazed and flocks of large birds flew about. All of the better appointed ships had these pict walls that gave the illusion of space. Despite what many would say about being born to live in space, all well-adjusted people needed space and the more the better on board ship.
“I don't like planets,” said Jenny, “But that looks like a nice one.”
The scene faded to one of a courtyard in a large adobe compound, with children playing.
“Good night dear,” said Lillian, setting the glow panels to auto-dim. The pict wall detected the change in ambient light and set it's scene to dusk, lowering the sounds. “I will be watching you on my comm and the duty medic is just down the corridor- see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight,” said the little girl, yawning, as the two officers left for the wardroom.
***
“What did you pick up?” said Lillian.
“I concur with your findings- accent and speech of the travelers. She is ship-born and that will- is- helping her to adjust.”
“How is that?”
“They have a wider idea of 'family'- the crew is family- not a couple of individuals. We have taken her into our crew, thus our family.”
“This is going to be a problem when we have to let her go.”
“It doesn't need to be,” said Tom. “You have inadvertently- or not- started the process.”
“It would be inadvertently- please elaborate.”
“Cockatoo River Mission is also an orphanage for girls- and a fine one- there are more than a few of our crew that call that place home.”
“Myself included,” said Lillian. “Let’s start getting her ready for that- a much better idea than being lumped in with a lot of colonists, good people though they are. I'm sure my daughter will help and the Wolf has contacts all over that planet- I can't see him objecting.”
“No, the boss will usually go along with a good idea- now whose round is it?”
***
Jenny closed her eyes feigning sleep and reflected on the last couple of days. Playing the part of being a distressed three year old had not been hard. What was difficult was pretending to need the normal amount of sleep of a child her apparent age. Even though the child's body required more than an adult, it had been enhanced and could easily get by on five or six hours sleep. However, this had been planned for and Jenny was able to run an auto-hypnosis sequence that put her to sleep.
While she had spent some time in the empire, to get familiar with speech, common technology and life on a spaceship, there was a vast amount of knowledge she wished to acquire. The data terminal was a good place to start and the busy crew was glad that she could entertain herself quietly at the terminal, without paying much attention to what she was reading. Most crew was involved in furthering their education while passing time in subspace and there was an eclectic range of information in the ship's library. The next step was to acquire a tablet, which should not be difficult- the crew had been trying to find her all sorts of small gifts without any prompting.
While she would have liked to go exploring the ships, that would be out of character and in any case, no matter that Wayne's hardened privateers were a pushover for a small girl, nobody moved freely about a military vessel without good reason- certainly not civilians nor children. She would have to arrange that through an obliging officer- Tom or the surgeon.
On the longer term front, it was apparent that Wayne and Tom had done a lot of preparation for this insertion, getting the right people together at the right time and places. From what she had seen on the pict wall, her new home-to-be looked very pleasant and she would have to do more research tomorrow. She hoped the blue skies were the normal state- she had at the next fourteen years there before reaching her adulthood- and the active phase of her mission...
***
Abilene Provedore
Deadwood Spaceport
Abilene was the last world in this part of space nominally controlled by the Empire. The last port of call before entering the supposedly 'neutral zone'- the buffer between the Empire and the Hegemony. This was one of the first independent colonies- privately funded and outside but not opposing the Empire. The founders of this world were considered eccentrics- they wished to create a world in the image of the ancient 'Wild West' of Earth's American frontier. They certainly managed to recreate the 'Wild' part.
Abilene, like its namesake, was a border world where colonies came to trade and take on supplies- along with those who operated on the fringes- pirates, privateers, smugglers, mercenaries, free companies, travelers, bounty hunters and brigands. It was farming and mining world- as most young colonies were. The cities were like the old cow-towns (which only two people in this age knew from experience.) The law was made by the folks with money and what was good for making money was the law.
Wayne liked Abilene.
Free Company 'Wotan's Fury's spent quite a bit of time in this zone. The hunting was good and the crew could blow off steam here, knowing that almost all problems could be fixed with money. As they provided a significant contribution to the local economy in purchases and loot, they could get away with most things short of rape or murder. A fair fight was never considered murder and rape never came into it with a profusion of willing amateurs and skilled professionals on hand.
On this trip there would be no shore leave, however. Just Wayne and his Quartermaster had traveled down in the ships gig and now they were watching as the last lighter departed with it's cargo.
The heavily laden lighter wobbled on its field as the grav drive took the load. The ship lifted, floating upwards, then its pilot fired the reaction drive to gain steerage and the cargo ship started its 2000km climb to 'Wotan's Fury'.
“That's the last one Captain- and a pleasure doing business with you Sir.” said Pete 'Vittles” Peterson, owner of Abilene Provedore.
“We will be back for a resupply in three to four weeks- I have to escort a slow-mover in, so I can't give you an exact time. I appreciate you giving me priority on that order.” said Wayne, passing over a sizable credit chip. “That's for the prompt service.”
Pete looked at the chip and his eyes widened. Imperial credits were a sought-after currency this far out on the rim. “Don't you worry Cap'n- we will hold those stores for you. With a bit more warning on the resupply, I can get you a bit more variety dehydrated and ready for next time- in the quantities you need, that is.”
“That would be appreciated- they will be hungry when they get this lot. Once they have eaten that, they will start getting fussy again."
“Aw Cap'n- now who could ever get sick of corn bread, beef and beans?”
Wayne laughed at that “I will have a bit more time on my return- we can get together over some of your best steaks and I will bring a few bottles of whiskey and tell you the story you are busting to hear.”
“You got yourself a deal there, Cap'n- and if I read the cards right, your crew is going to have a wad of prize money to blow.”
“Not wrong- but you may have to wait a couple of months before that happens and I don't count my chips 'till I have them safely out of the saloon.”
“True, true- now before you mount up, is there anything else I can get for your return?”
“If you can find a Cat FTLD-4, that would be much appreciated- and I will pay list price for a one in working order.”
“It will be done Cap'n and on the QT- it goes without saying.”
“It does and adios Pete.”
“You too Cap'n J.”
***
“ISO type three docking collar,” said the lighter pilot.
“OK Jess, kill your drive, we have a tractor lock now- warping you in.”
The heavy lighter inched towards the docking collar, drawn in by the Fury's vector-able gravity drive. The metal surfaces kissed, and then the camming dogs latched the ships together. The seal inflated, the instruments indicated a firm seal and once pressures were equalized, the two dock doors slid outwards and upwards. Cargo handlers ran forward and attached their hawsers to the containers. Once clear, the Loadmaster started a winch, hauling the containers out along the roller bed. As soon as they were clear of the lighter, the dock doors started to close, while the handlers started to stow and secure the last of their cargo.
“Clear to disengage- have a good drop and see you next furlough, Jess,” said the Loadmaster.
“Make that soon, lover,” said the lighter pilot, disengaging the dogs and firing a short burst of her reaction engines. As soon as she was clear of their microgravity, 'Fury' commenced boosting at full power. In three hours they would be in subspace, where they would remain for about half a light-year. Then, having entered subspace from near Abilene, they would drop back to N-space and re-vector for their true destination.
***
“I'm not surprised,” said Mr. Ramirez. “You treat them as refugees and victims- they are Crow slaves but they have been for generations and like the Crows, they see you as Kaffirs- have the marines treat them as raw recruits- they will understand this.” 'Ensigns!' he thought to himself...
Tom appeared just in time to re-enforce Warrant Officer Ramirez’s lesson on slave management to Ensign Johnson. It wasn't that he was a slow learner- he would never have gained a position on THIS ship if he were- like most people he had assumed that all slaves wished to be free and would be actually grateful to those who had freed them. Wrong.
On this ship, 2000 ex-slaves were very glad to be free and were now working running and repairing the ship. Another 2000 ex-slaves were learning to be free men again and were slowly begining to fend for themselves and help the crew.
The other 1000 deeply resented their change in status. Their liberators were kaffirs, ungodly, evil and unclean.
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