Nice post again Tim, of those who add to your post viewed list you may rest assured that I read all your posts as soon as I am able.
Introducing the other characters turns this post from a rambling list of I did this ,I did that, I killed this I captured that to an enjoyable read that adds depth.
Well done looking forward to more.
Shaun.
Building a better mousetrap [not a DiD]
Moderators: TheElf, Moderators for English X Forum
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Timsup2nothin
- Posts: 4690
- Joined: Thu, 22. Jan 09, 17:49
Thanks Shaun, appreciate the support.
By the way, I did this and I did that...
Sometimes ya just gotta ramble!
By the way, I did this and I did that...
Sometimes ya just gotta ramble!
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
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Timsup2nothin
- Posts: 4690
- Joined: Thu, 22. Jan 09, 17:49
Chapter 5 part 1
Kleo Keppel docked his battered Discoverer at the trading station. The little scout craft had been abandoned during a battle and written off by the military, and he had salvaged it for himself in the aftermath. It was a serviceable runabout. He could have flown directly to his destination, but there was very limited docking at the cahoona bakery, so he caught a civilian shuttle. A crowded civilian shuttle; so much the better.
As he stepped off the shuttle he hoped he blended in with the crowd, but knew he wouldn't. His haircut and posture fairly screamed 'military'. Most of the passengers were headed for the Revolution, a dinner and dance club which had become one of the hot spots of Omicron Lyrae; generally considered too expensive by military personnel but frequented by some officers. Too public for his purposes. He boarded a lift to level seven and headed for the Level Seven Lounge, a quiet pub frequented almost exclusively by the locals.
When he entered the dimly lit bar he saw that Patrick had no trouble with blending in. With his hair grown out over his collar and his beard he was clearly not military. Kleo recognized that the goatee was neatly trimmed to not interfere with an emergency rebreather mask, marking Patrick as a pilot, but doubted that most people would realize that. He slid into the opposite side of the booth, noting that Patrick had chosen a seat with his back to a wall and a view of the door.
"Thanks for coming Kleo," he said.
"Wouldn't miss it, but thanks for being discreet."
"I take it that associating with me wouldn't be a good career move?"
"Something like that, though I haven't exactly been making good career moves anyway. But I don't get it. You get run out of the service, there's this huge scandal about the lost Elite which you didn't help by promptly getting rich, rumor has it you've been working for the Terrans and there's even official word you might be a Terran spy so talking to you would get me on a watch list if I were noted. Then you saunter into the shipyard and deliver a state of the art Hades bomber to military analysis. Something doesn't add up."
"They paid me for the bomber."
"Anyone would have paid you for the bomber. Hell, if you were a Terran spy why wouldn't you take it to them? They'd have paid you just as well."
"You didn't think I was a Terran spy?"
"Of course not. I knew you weren't a Terran spy. Too much the patriot. All dirtborn are a bit on the loudly loyal side, but you were always beyond most of them even."
Patrick shook his head. "Dirtborn? Y'know, if I socked you in the head when the cops came you'd have more explaining to do than I would." Then he laughed.
Kleo laughed too. "Okay. Let's say those of planetside heritage are generally more patriotic than us spaceheads and leave it at that." It was a fact of life in the military that everyone wanted to fight, all the time. If there was no immediate enemy to fight thay would squabble amongst themselves, with the clear division between the 'dirtborn' and the 'spaceheads' providing one of many opportunities.
"Is that what got you flying a desk? Someone doubting your spacehead loyalty?"
"No." Kleo's mirth evaporated. "Not loyalty, just reliability."
"Uh oh. Let me take a wild guess. Failure to follow an order with only the flimsy excuse that the order was glaringly stupid."
"Nah. I followed plenty of glaringly stupid orders. Unfortunately I decided that the fleet has a glaringly stupid SSP and I tried to get it changed."
Patrick shook his head. "Standards of strategic policy come from flag level, hell they come from huge office blocks full of military analysts with ten times our education. You thought that just because you actually shoot at people who shoot back they would listen to you?" At that they both had to laugh, though Kleo perhaps slightly more on the bitter side.
"Yeah I know. Dumb. They did listen though. Bomber SSP is under review. Since you're a civilian and I'm flying a desk we might both live long enough to see it change."
"I take it that whatever you did to get busted to a desk worked too well to get you kicked straight out of the service. What did you do?"
"The Xenon started building...something...not too far from the Black Hole Sun gate. A task force went in to destroy it. Couple destroyers, a carrier with a fighter wing, bomber group escort... You know the drill."
"Sure. SSP says the destroyers close and burn the target, carrier provides damage relief and rearming for the fighter wing which provides cover against enemy fighters and missiles, bomber group takes out enemy capital ships at range if possible or at least does enough damage that our capitals are at heavy advantage when they engage."
"Right. Well, for months I'd been telling anyone who would listen..."
"Which was nobody."
"Well, yeah. I'd been trying to tell them that a bomber group could take out a stationary target quicker, from range, than the destroyers could, and save everyone the trouble."
"That makes way too much sense. How did they brush that off?"
"Missile cost and availability. Tomahawks aren't cheap. What they refuse to take into account is that the tomahawks get shot off anyway when the enemy capitals show up."
"Let me guess...they are citing the one time out of the blue when no enemy capitals show up and the whole business gets done with a flash of the big lasers at no cost."
"Well, that and I think Admirals actually love flying around in big carrier task groups making things go boom."
"I hesitate to ask, but what did you do?"
"The task group went through the gate out of BHS. We were reforming; standard formation on the carrier. The place was crawling with the machines. I think the construction was just bait. I couldn't even count the hostiles."
"Capitals?"
"Just fighters, a few corvettes. Our fighters were going to take a beating."
"And?"
"So I blew up the target."
Patrick raised an eyebrow. "You did. By yourself?"
"Yeah. Shot half the load as fast as I could. A hundred tomahawks. I figure the enemy fighters intercepted between half and three quarters."
Patrick whistled. "That leaves somewhere between twenty-five and fifty on the target."
"Construction wasn't complete. I don't know what it had for shield generators. Somewhere around twelve hits and it went up. They were coming too close together for a really accurate count. Then the 'hawks started locking on big chunks of the wreckage and pulverized that. Remember that mission briefing, where Sid bumped into the table..."
"And that target model they were going to use for the brief fell and shattered into a million pieces?"
"Yeah. It was a lot like that."
"Holy shit."
"Yeah."
"So then what?"
"Nothing else for it. Mission objective complete. Destroyers never fired a shot. Fighters never got close enough to engage. We were still right in front of the gate. We left."
"Wow. So I take it the Admiral didn't have enough sense to claim credit for this strategic breakthrough."
"Of course not. He was in an absolute rage. It was all my squadron commander could do to keep him from having me up for court martial."
"Hilarious. I can see that court session. 'Captain Keppel, is it true that in an insubordinate fashion you single-handedly completed the task force mission without loss of life, leaving the Admiral's destroyers with nothing to do?' Probably would have spent the rest of your life in the brig."
"Yeah."
"I gotta tell ya Kleo, civilian life is pretty darn good."
"If you steal a ship to supplement your mustering out pay." Kleo glared a challenge at his old shipmate.
Patrick glared back, then shrugged. "Yeah, that certainly helps."
"You really did steal that Elite!"
"Well, not exactly. I put it in a position of risk. The guy who actually stole it has been...generous. He gave me a very good job."
"Terrans?"
"Don't be insulting. It never left the sector. Hell, it's probably still in the fleet. It went into the refurbish and recycle queue at the shipyard."
"But you have been working for the Terrans."
"Yeah. Boldly going where no other Argon has been allowed to go."
Kleo's eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. "You are a spy, but you're spying on the Terrans, not for them."
"I never said that."
"Roger that. So why are we talking?"
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I funneled the money from selling the Hades into Waste Lands Power Crystals. Kleo submitted his resignation, mustered out, then took a job with them. I gave him a lift to the shipyard in Cloud Base SE, where he bought a shiny new Gladiator bomber. WLPC can afford to keep him in tomahawks, even if he gets creative with them..
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The stop in OmLy had been required when the Hades had autopiloted itself into the shipyard. Even blaring a 'captured vessel do not fire' message on all frequencies may not have kept Argon security from blasting my prize, so I had to be there. Turning over the state of the art Paranid bomber to Argon engineers had got me thinking about bombers, which had led me to stop at bomber command where I ran into Kleo. Having my own bomber, with a crackerjack pilot, would solve a lot of problems. What it wasn't going to solve was my problem with Ninu Keswen. That I hoped would be solved by hopping in the Discoverer and flying hell bent for leather for Treasure Chest.
I was relieved to see the battered Demeter pulling into a docking clamp as I approached the station. I had said I would be here when it arrived, and here I was. Ninu standing in the docking pod tapping her foot was a less encouraging sight, although the leg attached to the tapping foot was an attraction. Suddenly I had a flash of an idea about what it might be like to be married; having a beautiful woman waiting for me, and being half afraid to get off the ship and hear what she had to say.
So I popped the cockpit hatch and hopped out, half hopeful and half wishing I was somewhere else. I cheerfully said, "I saw the Demeter pulling in. That's our fuel tank. Looks like I'm just in time."
She looked at me with those eyes, and said, "I decided to move it to a different set of clamps. Since it won't be moving I wanted it as far out of the way as possible. It's been here more than long enough to see the first place we docked it wasn't ideal."
I really wanted to say something clever that might get me off the bulls-eye that I had clearly landed on. Instead I said, "Oh."
"The second place wasn't great either, but I'm pretty sure we've got it now."
I said, "Oh," again. I was considering how cowardly I would look if I broke for the Disco and just signed the whole mining business over to her. But I couldn't turn away from her eyes, except maybe to look down at her body, and I didn't even want to think about the consequences of that.
"I left a good job to come here, and I wasn't making any money. You had two big ships charging e-cells to our account and going nowhere. I know you wanted to be here for interviews, but I put everyone you sent here to work. I had Marika hire some new guys for a couple of the simpler tasks. Then I found out you had half a dozen ships with pilots just hanging around at WLPC, so I hired some of them. Two of them are going to need jump drives. They are at the trading station, running a tab and waiting for you." She tossed a memory chip. "Here's all the routing assignments as I worked them out, partner." She spun on a heel and stalked out of the docking pod. I'm sure I was supposed to be ashamed of how badly I was holding up my end of our partnership...and I was...but I was too busy watching her to really think much about it.
I thought about saying 'wait'. I thought about saying 'thanks'. The hatch slammed behind her, and I said "Oh." I crawled into the Disco and set course for the trading station, and commed the Magnetar to meet me there. I popped the memory chip in and reviewed the assignments she had made. Probably couldn't have done it any better myself. I might be in love, which will surely do me no good at all.
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Despite having implied to Kleo Keppel that I am spying on the Terrans, I'm not. Argon intelligence has moved on, leaving my operation so far back on the burners that my services are no longer required. As far as we are concerned the crisis over the 'new terraformer menace' has passed. The Terrans have traced them back to the Split, so the shadow of suspicion is removed from Argon-Terran relations. The captured Split scientist leads to some other Terran colony that they have lost contact with, which will reduce Terran concerns about our space even further.
Which left me with the question of what to do. The Admiral said that he could arrange for me to be returned to active duty, with a suitably good performance evaluation to cover the period I served in intel, but I opted to just get my discharge upgraded to honorable and go my way. And for the moment my way leads back to the Terrans. They aren't a problem, at least for now, but I have come too far to turn away.
So I set off into Terran space to check in with Pearle, leaving my businesses to run themselves for a while.
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I found Pearle at the shipyard in Mars orbit, and learned that the Terrans had finally broken the Split scientist's resistance. I didn't comment on how long it had taken compared to Argon intelligence draining the captive dry during one brief flight. Having been a guest of Argon intel himself I doubt that Pearle would appreciate their efficiency. Certainly no point in revealing that Argon intel knew everything Pearle knew either.
This was part of the reason Argon intel had ended the Terran operation so abruptly. The Terrans just aren't a realistic threat. Their technology is first rate, but they have no experience or will. Old Earth's response to the Xenon threat, which they were responsible for in the first place, was to destroy the gate between their home system and the threat. The fact that this left the rest of the universe, including their own colonists, to deal with the problem did not bother them then and doesn't seem to even occur to them now. There's a quote; some ancient Earth philosopher from around the time when space flight began. He said "The Earth is the cradle of the mind, but man cannot grow up in a cradle." The descendents of Old Earth diverged at Brennan's destroyed gate. The Argon grew up hard and fast in a hostile universe. The Terrans went back to the cradle and hid.
The question Argon intel had not thought to ask occurred to me now though. What about this Aldrin colony; previously lost and now apparently found? They are too far removed to be a concern themselves, but what will contact with them do to the Terrans?
To see for myself I offered to join the Terran fleet for another operation. They had a target, Martin Winters, a cryo preserved vestige of old Earth. They had a location, their lost Aldrin colony. They had recently developed the means by inserting a jump beacon into the Aldrin sector. And of course, being Terrans, they had a massive battle fleet. Apparently having learned nothing from being reconnected with the Argon they were about to make a spectacularly bad first impression on the Aldrin civilization, however it has evolved in their absence.
We made the jump, and I immediately guessed the Terrans would again be outmatched. The Argon branch of humanity had been cut off in the crucible of a vast and dangerous universe, but with a terraformed planet to start from had tamed that universe. The Aldrin branch of humanity had been cut off as well, but their crucible was not a universe, it was a lifeless rock. Their only enemy had been the endless cold of space, which could never be tamed, only survived. These people, if any remained, were going to be very hard.
They had enemies now though. Martin Winters had introduced them to the Xenon.
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As soon as my Discoverer was settled into normal space I hit my comlink and my Magnetar and my Centaur emerged from non-space to join me. The Terran commander was glad of it, as a small squadron of Xenon and the strange terraformer ships was headed our way. His response and the brief skirmish reenforced my point. This opposition was nothing more than a recon squad and we had a major battle fleet...more like three major battle fleets...and the Terrans were relieved to see any sort of support!
In my military service I was an interceptor pilot. I had an adequate if unspectacular record, but make no claims to being highly skilled. Kleo Keppel would offer the excuse that being dirtborn gave me a late start, and point out that he destroyed a Xenon scout ship when he was twelve with a missile he had made for a school science project. In this 'major engagement', as I'm sure the Terrans thought of it, I was the only pilot with multiple confirmed kills despite the fact that it never even occurred to me to transport out of the Discoverer. Had I gotten into my Nova or brought in the Centaur I would have had to ask the Terrans to stay out of it to even make it interesting. Their pilots might develop some skills if they ever had to, but they never participate in any real battles, where the opposition actually has a chance.
I'm glad I surrounded Beryl Hopkins with hardened Nova pilots when I put him in charge of security at GoE.
A short time later we met our first Aldrinite...Aldrinian...well, his name was too long to figure out and I have no idea what to call him, but he identified himself as head of the Aldrin Security Forces. He reacted quite smoothly in the face of the overwhelming numbers of the Terran fleet. I suspect 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' had stood the test of time in Aldrin just as well as it did everywhere else.
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After a surprisingly short meeting between the fleet admiral and the Aldrin security chief, the fleet set course for a distant speck identified as the main CPU ship of Aldrin. Never breaking from its original programming, the CPU ship had served the Aldrin civilization since its founding. I suddenly realized just how distant that distant speck was, and how immense it had to be. This great servant and shepherd had been hijacked by Martin Winters, and the magnanimous Terrans had agreed to get it back.
The Admiral showed up on my comlink. His thinking was that with my experience with the Xenon I was an ideal candidate to lead an assault team onto the CPU ship. I transferred to a troop transport, took one look at the squad of Terran marines, and my experience with the Xenon told me this was a suicide mission. Something in my response offended the team leader and I had to disarm him. My experience in any number of barracks brawls and bar fights told me I would be best served if I disarmed the rest of them, and with a curt 'ship command, zero gravity, lock ship command to my voice' that had them flailing as they floated off the deck I proceeded to do so. They had completed endless training protocols, but had never faced any opposition that wasn't following those protocols. I half expected one of them to say 'you cheated' and start blubbering like a child. Clearly, a suicide mission.
We were still at least twenty minutes flight time short of the CPU ship, and I had to come up with something. I would have been fine with just blowing it to bits despite the Terran admiral's promise to return it, but I guessed that sort of rampant insubordination would have to be a last resort, and I did have an ace up my sleeve. The Magnetar blinked out in a flash of energy, and reappeared moments later belching a Discoverer from her hangers. As soon as she was within range Mahi Ma was beamed onto my transport and the Discoverer dutifully turned back for the Magnetar.
"The Boron was very busy!" sputtered the little squid. "And you have been very slow with those microchips!"
"I know, I know, but I didn't think you would want to miss this chance."
"What chance is that?"
I stepped aside so he could see out the main bridge ports, where the giant CPU ship floated against an asteroid field backdrop. "I need you to hack that."
The Terran marines were still cutting through the hull when a broadband comm from the CPU ship politely asked "How may this unit be of service?" I don't know if ancient terraformers always referred to themselves in third person, or if that was a calling card from Mahi Ma.
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I think it has to become the new normal that days get broken into parts.
Kleo Keppel docked his battered Discoverer at the trading station. The little scout craft had been abandoned during a battle and written off by the military, and he had salvaged it for himself in the aftermath. It was a serviceable runabout. He could have flown directly to his destination, but there was very limited docking at the cahoona bakery, so he caught a civilian shuttle. A crowded civilian shuttle; so much the better.
As he stepped off the shuttle he hoped he blended in with the crowd, but knew he wouldn't. His haircut and posture fairly screamed 'military'. Most of the passengers were headed for the Revolution, a dinner and dance club which had become one of the hot spots of Omicron Lyrae; generally considered too expensive by military personnel but frequented by some officers. Too public for his purposes. He boarded a lift to level seven and headed for the Level Seven Lounge, a quiet pub frequented almost exclusively by the locals.
When he entered the dimly lit bar he saw that Patrick had no trouble with blending in. With his hair grown out over his collar and his beard he was clearly not military. Kleo recognized that the goatee was neatly trimmed to not interfere with an emergency rebreather mask, marking Patrick as a pilot, but doubted that most people would realize that. He slid into the opposite side of the booth, noting that Patrick had chosen a seat with his back to a wall and a view of the door.
"Thanks for coming Kleo," he said.
"Wouldn't miss it, but thanks for being discreet."
"I take it that associating with me wouldn't be a good career move?"
"Something like that, though I haven't exactly been making good career moves anyway. But I don't get it. You get run out of the service, there's this huge scandal about the lost Elite which you didn't help by promptly getting rich, rumor has it you've been working for the Terrans and there's even official word you might be a Terran spy so talking to you would get me on a watch list if I were noted. Then you saunter into the shipyard and deliver a state of the art Hades bomber to military analysis. Something doesn't add up."
"They paid me for the bomber."
"Anyone would have paid you for the bomber. Hell, if you were a Terran spy why wouldn't you take it to them? They'd have paid you just as well."
"You didn't think I was a Terran spy?"
"Of course not. I knew you weren't a Terran spy. Too much the patriot. All dirtborn are a bit on the loudly loyal side, but you were always beyond most of them even."
Patrick shook his head. "Dirtborn? Y'know, if I socked you in the head when the cops came you'd have more explaining to do than I would." Then he laughed.
Kleo laughed too. "Okay. Let's say those of planetside heritage are generally more patriotic than us spaceheads and leave it at that." It was a fact of life in the military that everyone wanted to fight, all the time. If there was no immediate enemy to fight thay would squabble amongst themselves, with the clear division between the 'dirtborn' and the 'spaceheads' providing one of many opportunities.
"Is that what got you flying a desk? Someone doubting your spacehead loyalty?"
"No." Kleo's mirth evaporated. "Not loyalty, just reliability."
"Uh oh. Let me take a wild guess. Failure to follow an order with only the flimsy excuse that the order was glaringly stupid."
"Nah. I followed plenty of glaringly stupid orders. Unfortunately I decided that the fleet has a glaringly stupid SSP and I tried to get it changed."
Patrick shook his head. "Standards of strategic policy come from flag level, hell they come from huge office blocks full of military analysts with ten times our education. You thought that just because you actually shoot at people who shoot back they would listen to you?" At that they both had to laugh, though Kleo perhaps slightly more on the bitter side.
"Yeah I know. Dumb. They did listen though. Bomber SSP is under review. Since you're a civilian and I'm flying a desk we might both live long enough to see it change."
"I take it that whatever you did to get busted to a desk worked too well to get you kicked straight out of the service. What did you do?"
"The Xenon started building...something...not too far from the Black Hole Sun gate. A task force went in to destroy it. Couple destroyers, a carrier with a fighter wing, bomber group escort... You know the drill."
"Sure. SSP says the destroyers close and burn the target, carrier provides damage relief and rearming for the fighter wing which provides cover against enemy fighters and missiles, bomber group takes out enemy capital ships at range if possible or at least does enough damage that our capitals are at heavy advantage when they engage."
"Right. Well, for months I'd been telling anyone who would listen..."
"Which was nobody."
"Well, yeah. I'd been trying to tell them that a bomber group could take out a stationary target quicker, from range, than the destroyers could, and save everyone the trouble."
"That makes way too much sense. How did they brush that off?"
"Missile cost and availability. Tomahawks aren't cheap. What they refuse to take into account is that the tomahawks get shot off anyway when the enemy capitals show up."
"Let me guess...they are citing the one time out of the blue when no enemy capitals show up and the whole business gets done with a flash of the big lasers at no cost."
"Well, that and I think Admirals actually love flying around in big carrier task groups making things go boom."
"I hesitate to ask, but what did you do?"
"The task group went through the gate out of BHS. We were reforming; standard formation on the carrier. The place was crawling with the machines. I think the construction was just bait. I couldn't even count the hostiles."
"Capitals?"
"Just fighters, a few corvettes. Our fighters were going to take a beating."
"And?"
"So I blew up the target."
Patrick raised an eyebrow. "You did. By yourself?"
"Yeah. Shot half the load as fast as I could. A hundred tomahawks. I figure the enemy fighters intercepted between half and three quarters."
Patrick whistled. "That leaves somewhere between twenty-five and fifty on the target."
"Construction wasn't complete. I don't know what it had for shield generators. Somewhere around twelve hits and it went up. They were coming too close together for a really accurate count. Then the 'hawks started locking on big chunks of the wreckage and pulverized that. Remember that mission briefing, where Sid bumped into the table..."
"And that target model they were going to use for the brief fell and shattered into a million pieces?"
"Yeah. It was a lot like that."
"Holy shit."
"Yeah."
"So then what?"
"Nothing else for it. Mission objective complete. Destroyers never fired a shot. Fighters never got close enough to engage. We were still right in front of the gate. We left."
"Wow. So I take it the Admiral didn't have enough sense to claim credit for this strategic breakthrough."
"Of course not. He was in an absolute rage. It was all my squadron commander could do to keep him from having me up for court martial."
"Hilarious. I can see that court session. 'Captain Keppel, is it true that in an insubordinate fashion you single-handedly completed the task force mission without loss of life, leaving the Admiral's destroyers with nothing to do?' Probably would have spent the rest of your life in the brig."
"Yeah."
"I gotta tell ya Kleo, civilian life is pretty darn good."
"If you steal a ship to supplement your mustering out pay." Kleo glared a challenge at his old shipmate.
Patrick glared back, then shrugged. "Yeah, that certainly helps."
"You really did steal that Elite!"
"Well, not exactly. I put it in a position of risk. The guy who actually stole it has been...generous. He gave me a very good job."
"Terrans?"
"Don't be insulting. It never left the sector. Hell, it's probably still in the fleet. It went into the refurbish and recycle queue at the shipyard."
"But you have been working for the Terrans."
"Yeah. Boldly going where no other Argon has been allowed to go."
Kleo's eyes widened as the pieces fell into place. "You are a spy, but you're spying on the Terrans, not for them."
"I never said that."
"Roger that. So why are we talking?"
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I funneled the money from selling the Hades into Waste Lands Power Crystals. Kleo submitted his resignation, mustered out, then took a job with them. I gave him a lift to the shipyard in Cloud Base SE, where he bought a shiny new Gladiator bomber. WLPC can afford to keep him in tomahawks, even if he gets creative with them..
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The stop in OmLy had been required when the Hades had autopiloted itself into the shipyard. Even blaring a 'captured vessel do not fire' message on all frequencies may not have kept Argon security from blasting my prize, so I had to be there. Turning over the state of the art Paranid bomber to Argon engineers had got me thinking about bombers, which had led me to stop at bomber command where I ran into Kleo. Having my own bomber, with a crackerjack pilot, would solve a lot of problems. What it wasn't going to solve was my problem with Ninu Keswen. That I hoped would be solved by hopping in the Discoverer and flying hell bent for leather for Treasure Chest.
I was relieved to see the battered Demeter pulling into a docking clamp as I approached the station. I had said I would be here when it arrived, and here I was. Ninu standing in the docking pod tapping her foot was a less encouraging sight, although the leg attached to the tapping foot was an attraction. Suddenly I had a flash of an idea about what it might be like to be married; having a beautiful woman waiting for me, and being half afraid to get off the ship and hear what she had to say.
So I popped the cockpit hatch and hopped out, half hopeful and half wishing I was somewhere else. I cheerfully said, "I saw the Demeter pulling in. That's our fuel tank. Looks like I'm just in time."
She looked at me with those eyes, and said, "I decided to move it to a different set of clamps. Since it won't be moving I wanted it as far out of the way as possible. It's been here more than long enough to see the first place we docked it wasn't ideal."
I really wanted to say something clever that might get me off the bulls-eye that I had clearly landed on. Instead I said, "Oh."
"The second place wasn't great either, but I'm pretty sure we've got it now."
I said, "Oh," again. I was considering how cowardly I would look if I broke for the Disco and just signed the whole mining business over to her. But I couldn't turn away from her eyes, except maybe to look down at her body, and I didn't even want to think about the consequences of that.
"I left a good job to come here, and I wasn't making any money. You had two big ships charging e-cells to our account and going nowhere. I know you wanted to be here for interviews, but I put everyone you sent here to work. I had Marika hire some new guys for a couple of the simpler tasks. Then I found out you had half a dozen ships with pilots just hanging around at WLPC, so I hired some of them. Two of them are going to need jump drives. They are at the trading station, running a tab and waiting for you." She tossed a memory chip. "Here's all the routing assignments as I worked them out, partner." She spun on a heel and stalked out of the docking pod. I'm sure I was supposed to be ashamed of how badly I was holding up my end of our partnership...and I was...but I was too busy watching her to really think much about it.
I thought about saying 'wait'. I thought about saying 'thanks'. The hatch slammed behind her, and I said "Oh." I crawled into the Disco and set course for the trading station, and commed the Magnetar to meet me there. I popped the memory chip in and reviewed the assignments she had made. Probably couldn't have done it any better myself. I might be in love, which will surely do me no good at all.
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Despite having implied to Kleo Keppel that I am spying on the Terrans, I'm not. Argon intelligence has moved on, leaving my operation so far back on the burners that my services are no longer required. As far as we are concerned the crisis over the 'new terraformer menace' has passed. The Terrans have traced them back to the Split, so the shadow of suspicion is removed from Argon-Terran relations. The captured Split scientist leads to some other Terran colony that they have lost contact with, which will reduce Terran concerns about our space even further.
Which left me with the question of what to do. The Admiral said that he could arrange for me to be returned to active duty, with a suitably good performance evaluation to cover the period I served in intel, but I opted to just get my discharge upgraded to honorable and go my way. And for the moment my way leads back to the Terrans. They aren't a problem, at least for now, but I have come too far to turn away.
So I set off into Terran space to check in with Pearle, leaving my businesses to run themselves for a while.
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I found Pearle at the shipyard in Mars orbit, and learned that the Terrans had finally broken the Split scientist's resistance. I didn't comment on how long it had taken compared to Argon intelligence draining the captive dry during one brief flight. Having been a guest of Argon intel himself I doubt that Pearle would appreciate their efficiency. Certainly no point in revealing that Argon intel knew everything Pearle knew either.
This was part of the reason Argon intel had ended the Terran operation so abruptly. The Terrans just aren't a realistic threat. Their technology is first rate, but they have no experience or will. Old Earth's response to the Xenon threat, which they were responsible for in the first place, was to destroy the gate between their home system and the threat. The fact that this left the rest of the universe, including their own colonists, to deal with the problem did not bother them then and doesn't seem to even occur to them now. There's a quote; some ancient Earth philosopher from around the time when space flight began. He said "The Earth is the cradle of the mind, but man cannot grow up in a cradle." The descendents of Old Earth diverged at Brennan's destroyed gate. The Argon grew up hard and fast in a hostile universe. The Terrans went back to the cradle and hid.
The question Argon intel had not thought to ask occurred to me now though. What about this Aldrin colony; previously lost and now apparently found? They are too far removed to be a concern themselves, but what will contact with them do to the Terrans?
To see for myself I offered to join the Terran fleet for another operation. They had a target, Martin Winters, a cryo preserved vestige of old Earth. They had a location, their lost Aldrin colony. They had recently developed the means by inserting a jump beacon into the Aldrin sector. And of course, being Terrans, they had a massive battle fleet. Apparently having learned nothing from being reconnected with the Argon they were about to make a spectacularly bad first impression on the Aldrin civilization, however it has evolved in their absence.
We made the jump, and I immediately guessed the Terrans would again be outmatched. The Argon branch of humanity had been cut off in the crucible of a vast and dangerous universe, but with a terraformed planet to start from had tamed that universe. The Aldrin branch of humanity had been cut off as well, but their crucible was not a universe, it was a lifeless rock. Their only enemy had been the endless cold of space, which could never be tamed, only survived. These people, if any remained, were going to be very hard.
They had enemies now though. Martin Winters had introduced them to the Xenon.
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As soon as my Discoverer was settled into normal space I hit my comlink and my Magnetar and my Centaur emerged from non-space to join me. The Terran commander was glad of it, as a small squadron of Xenon and the strange terraformer ships was headed our way. His response and the brief skirmish reenforced my point. This opposition was nothing more than a recon squad and we had a major battle fleet...more like three major battle fleets...and the Terrans were relieved to see any sort of support!
In my military service I was an interceptor pilot. I had an adequate if unspectacular record, but make no claims to being highly skilled. Kleo Keppel would offer the excuse that being dirtborn gave me a late start, and point out that he destroyed a Xenon scout ship when he was twelve with a missile he had made for a school science project. In this 'major engagement', as I'm sure the Terrans thought of it, I was the only pilot with multiple confirmed kills despite the fact that it never even occurred to me to transport out of the Discoverer. Had I gotten into my Nova or brought in the Centaur I would have had to ask the Terrans to stay out of it to even make it interesting. Their pilots might develop some skills if they ever had to, but they never participate in any real battles, where the opposition actually has a chance.
I'm glad I surrounded Beryl Hopkins with hardened Nova pilots when I put him in charge of security at GoE.
A short time later we met our first Aldrinite...Aldrinian...well, his name was too long to figure out and I have no idea what to call him, but he identified himself as head of the Aldrin Security Forces. He reacted quite smoothly in the face of the overwhelming numbers of the Terran fleet. I suspect 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' had stood the test of time in Aldrin just as well as it did everywhere else.
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After a surprisingly short meeting between the fleet admiral and the Aldrin security chief, the fleet set course for a distant speck identified as the main CPU ship of Aldrin. Never breaking from its original programming, the CPU ship had served the Aldrin civilization since its founding. I suddenly realized just how distant that distant speck was, and how immense it had to be. This great servant and shepherd had been hijacked by Martin Winters, and the magnanimous Terrans had agreed to get it back.
The Admiral showed up on my comlink. His thinking was that with my experience with the Xenon I was an ideal candidate to lead an assault team onto the CPU ship. I transferred to a troop transport, took one look at the squad of Terran marines, and my experience with the Xenon told me this was a suicide mission. Something in my response offended the team leader and I had to disarm him. My experience in any number of barracks brawls and bar fights told me I would be best served if I disarmed the rest of them, and with a curt 'ship command, zero gravity, lock ship command to my voice' that had them flailing as they floated off the deck I proceeded to do so. They had completed endless training protocols, but had never faced any opposition that wasn't following those protocols. I half expected one of them to say 'you cheated' and start blubbering like a child. Clearly, a suicide mission.
We were still at least twenty minutes flight time short of the CPU ship, and I had to come up with something. I would have been fine with just blowing it to bits despite the Terran admiral's promise to return it, but I guessed that sort of rampant insubordination would have to be a last resort, and I did have an ace up my sleeve. The Magnetar blinked out in a flash of energy, and reappeared moments later belching a Discoverer from her hangers. As soon as she was within range Mahi Ma was beamed onto my transport and the Discoverer dutifully turned back for the Magnetar.
"The Boron was very busy!" sputtered the little squid. "And you have been very slow with those microchips!"
"I know, I know, but I didn't think you would want to miss this chance."
"What chance is that?"
I stepped aside so he could see out the main bridge ports, where the giant CPU ship floated against an asteroid field backdrop. "I need you to hack that."
The Terran marines were still cutting through the hull when a broadband comm from the CPU ship politely asked "How may this unit be of service?" I don't know if ancient terraformers always referred to themselves in third person, or if that was a calling card from Mahi Ma.
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I think it has to become the new normal that days get broken into parts.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
-
Timsup2nothin
- Posts: 4690
- Joined: Thu, 22. Jan 09, 17:49
Chapter 5, part 2
After gathering up the so called marines we joined the parade back towards the cluster of stations we had discovered. I was thinking of them as the central area of the Aldrin colony, but have since learned otherwise.
It turns out the colony is scattered around the huge barren planetoid pretty much uniformly. I found that my viewpoint has shifted. I used to look at a sector and see problems in setting up patrols and defenses. Now I see the opportunities and difficulties of trade. Maybe this has less to do with me than it has to do with Aldrin itself. The sector is so far off the track that defense presents no problem, and even if it did their stations are predominantly built with archaic technology that leaves them burrowed into asteroids. Shielding is great, but solid rock is hard to beat. On the other hand, the distance between producers and their markets is such a problem that I might have seen it even when I was just a fighter pilot in the fleet. As a trader it almost made me dizzy.
The Admiral was closeted in seemingly endless meetings with the Aldrin authorities. The fleet was patrolling and hoping for his return, but Winters was long gone. I was enjoying my new command for as long as it lasts. The Scabbard is a fine troop transport, but in keeping with the Terran state of mind it has a level of luxury more in keeping with a passenger cruiser. It even came with entertainment, as I could watch the squad of marines going through their drills in their training facilities. They had taken to having the gravity generators, lighting, and atmosphere pressure cycling randomly during their training periods, and the results were often hilarious.
I occasionally accepted their requests to join in and show them some 'down south tricks' as they called them. They're eager enough, and it occurs to me that a squad of Terran marines with no loyalties in the commonwealth one way or the other might be useful. The questions are whether they would be willing to leave Terran space and service, whether I can afford the investment to get them properly trained, and whether they would survive that training.
Before that issue came to a head though the talks were completed, at least as much as the Admiral could complete them on behalf of the Terran government. The Scabbard was called upon to transport the Aldrin delegation to Earth. I relished the opportunity, not only because it got me to Earth, but it gave me a chance to explore the Aldrin position for the upcoming talks. While I ended up with the same conclusions about the Terrans as Argon intel has, I have serious doubts for the future. The influence of the hardy colonists of Aldrin are going to make the Terrans far more formidable than they are now. Not in a day, and not in a year or even a decade, but a hundred years from now the balance across Heretic's End will be much different than it is today.
Earth, as one would expect, is a fine looking planet. It has a planet girdling space station that they call The Torus that is certainly an impressive sight. Overall though I would just as soon visit Argon Prime.
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The Terrans were grateful for my contribution to reuniting them with their lost colony. They let me keep my honorary rank in their armed forces, which entitled me to the Scabbard and associated security detail, which I figured could protect me against any group of Split hatchlings we ran across as long as there weren't too many. They also gave me command of a Terran bomber which I deemed even more useless. Kleo Keppel was having enough trouble finding tomahawk missiles. The Terran equivalent, the Phantom missile, I couldn't even guess where to look for but I was sure it would involve Terran space so I sold the bomber at the first shipyard we came to.
On the long flight out of Terran space I had time to take a hard look at my assets.
Marika Jerrigan had served me well at ISC. Perhaps too well. No matter what oddball ship I salvaged or bought from passing strangers whose own claim might be a bit shady, she managed all the paperwork to get me clear title. By the time the ship docked at the nearest station its ownership was completely settled so that it would present no problems, and I could just forget about it. Which I routinely did. So I found myself with a bewildering array of combat ships, mostly with no guns or shields; plus another list of battered freighters of all sizes and shapes, many with odd bits of cargo that would have to be purged for them to actually be used.
I also had three fully equipped Mercury Tankers with highly trained pilots that I had pulled off the energy trade when I built the mining company. I had no idea what to apply them to next, and I had five brand new tankers at the shipyard in OmLy that I had even less of a clue what to do with. My various companies controlled distribution of all major resources in the region except cloth. ISC would have to trade in cloth or finished tech products, all small and expensive markets, or else it was time to move them out of the region entirely.
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Ninu had the mineral business moving well. Credits were accumulating. Energy cells were flowing through the western sectors of the region, and building up in our storage holds. We were also building an inventory of ore, which was being bought as cheaply as we could have mined it ourselves. Oddly, the only flaw in the system seemed to be in silicon distribution. We had no stock. Scanning the region I saw numerous potential buyers, but could not believe that we would need to start producing. The local mines should be enough. Then I realized that Ninu had not completely put aside her previous commitment to making WLPC her first priority. They had more than enough inventory, but were still pulling in the bulk of the regional supply.
I punched her code into the coms while looking at the figures, not getting completely clear in my head what I needed to say to correct the situation. I usually manage to have these meetings pretty much off the cuff and get things sorted out, but didn't count on the effect it would have when her face came up on the screen. Before I could gather my limited wits she was apologizing. I was running about ten words behind and had a hard time getting what exactly she was apologizing for, but I recognized that whatever it was it was was going better for me than our last meeting had been.
Eventually she wound down and I caught up. The gist of it apparently was that once the credits had started rolling in she had concluded that even though I wasn't exactly an active partner in running things I had put up the money and it was my idea, so she was grateful...and sorry she had been so tough on me. I was thinking I could spin this conversation into a really positive direction when she lowered the boom on everything I had in mind.
"Besides, you're the first boss I ever had that didn't think being my boss meant trying to sleep with me, and I really appreciate that," she said.
So I suggested that she work out a priority scale for WLPC that would allow more silicon to enter the market rather than filling their warehouse quite so fast and cut the link.
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One good thing about having ships scattered the length of the region was being able to tap into the market data in every sector. I scanned through, and saw places where cahoonas had run low enough that they should be getting deliveries. I also saw that WLPC had their cavernous cahoona storage very nearly full. This meant one of three things. Possibly my two partners needed another cahoona delivery ship, or even more than one. Possibly my two partners, who actually had taken the delivery of cahoonas as their own jobs, were goofing off. Or possibly I just found someone to take out my frustrations on since either or both of them could have been considered Ninu's boss when she worked at WLPC.
As I stewed on this I saw the cahoona spot price drop at the Satellite Factory in Interworlds. I accessed a ship I had docked there, pausing briefly to wonder what that was costing me in docking fees, and found that the other ship in the docking bay was a Paranid Food Hauler which had apparently beaten my guys to the sale. Looking at the sector map I noted that Endy Sahkarna's ship was in the sector, and in fact showed as inbound for the satellite factory. I punched his code into the com unit, nearly breaking my fingers.
"Hey Patrick!" chirped from the com unit. "I suppose you saw that we passed the seven million credit mark."
"I did see that. I also saw a three credit price drop at the station you are headed for that cost us twenty two fifty, and we're lucky we still have a sale. If the dealer that beat you to them hadn't been flying a Hermes you'd be stuck with your load." The entire payload on the Hermes had only dropped the price three credits. Had that been a full size freighter it would have cratered the market.
"If he hadn't been flying a Hermes he wouldn't have been fast enough to get there ahead of me. I've been staying one step ahead of him all the way from Wastelands. Probably beat him to four different buyers even though I've had to jump back and forth for loads while he just flew around the sector. Eventually he was going to make a deal."
I sat back with a sigh. Clearly I needed to get a grip before I screwed up a good business over a girl, which would certainly be stupid, especially since she didn't even know I was thinking about her.
"Okay," I said. "The problem is that now there's an empty Paranid food hauler in our territory and he is going to look for a load. The prices we are paying are dirt low, which is great, but I could name twelve cahoona bakeries who would happily sell to this three-eyed competitor." In fact there were twelve cahoona bakeries in the region, and we both knew it. "How do we make sure that if he does buy a load he has to either haul it out of the area or eat it himself?"
He didn't blink, or pause. "Drop our sell price to seventy. Jarren and I put together a proposal on that and sent it to your com. We've been waiting to hear back."
Damn. I remembered something coming in during the skirmish in Aldrin, or maybe during the attack on the CPU ship. Either way I had routed it to my pending file and forgotten all about it. Feeling well over the border into stupid territory I told him to put that change in, and if it turned out to not be enough they should add another distribution freighter...and to just let me know they were doing it rather than waiting for my approval.
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Feeling mostly defeated I took a look at the cattle business. Over five million in the account there as well, finally. I shrugged to myself and commed Endy Jerrigan at the wheat farm in Elysium of Light.
"Tell me some good news," I said to my old friend.
"We have seven million credits in the bank, could probably add another production unit and still not build up any inventory to speak of, and a lot of people in the shipping business are wondering why a fighter pilot thought of this system before they did. How's that?"
"Good start. If my system is so good how come the only place it's really working smoothly is there?"
"Well, because I'm your best friend and I'm a genius, and you put me in charge."
"So I need more genius best friends? Or do I put you in charge of everything?"
Endy visibly recoiled from the com link. "Me in charge of everything? No way old friend. We hit this wheat thing out of the park because your system does work...and because we are dealing in wheat which is chronically short. Me being a genius or not has nothing to do with it."
"Ah, so maybe that 'genius' bit was a bit of a reach? And my system may not have all that much to do with it either."
"Patrick, you are making a killing dealing Argnu beef. Not as much as we're making here, but great Gunne man, Argnu beef! Do you have any idea how many traders have lost their ass...ets trading in Argnu beef? And you've got a ton of profit piled up at the crystal plant despite the fact that those clowns also stocked up ten million in inventory, at least. As far as being your best friend, the only advantage that gives me is that I have a pretty good idea what I can do myself and what you would have to have a say in. I've been trying to help the other guys out on that front as best I could, because they don't know you like I do."
I considered the apology from Ninu and her self assured decision making in this new light. "I wish you had told Jarren and Endy to just make the price change they wanted to make," I said.
"Yeah, I thought you might. I just don't know enough about the cahoona market, and I have a pretty full plate here..."
I knew that look. Endy had something to suggest. "Out with it Endy," I said.
"Look. I know this guy..."
Of course he does.
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Dateline - Omicron Lyrae.
Erine Selek reporting for Inside Biz.
Patrick Henry, credited by many economists as the force behind the recent surge in space industries across the Omicron Lyrae region, made a rare public appearance this evening. And as he has done throughout his meteoric business career, he shot straight to the top of the celebrity charts.
Henry joined business partner Endy Jerrigen for a lavish dinner at Revolution, OmLy's trendiest club. They were accompanied by Jerrigen's wife Jennit, and Marika Jerrigen; Endy's sister as well as Patrick Henry's partner in another of his businesses. Both ladies wore Tata Su gowns estimated to tip the register in the hundred thousand credit range. Rumors about Marika Jerrigen and the sector's most eligible bachelor began immediately and peaked at number three on the Argon social net's hot topics list, scoring over nine million hits per hour.
The party was transported to the club aboard owner Mikal Poler's private transport yacht, spurring speculation that some sort of meeting between industrialist and restauranteur may have taken place. When he opened the club, built inside an unused grain silo at a struggling cahoona bakery, experts scoffed openly, citing the same hard economic times that had made the silo available as reason to believe 'Poler's Folly' would be bankrupt overnight. How wrong they were.
Industry watchers who track the hospitality and leisure sectors attribute the rapid rise of Revolution as much to timing as Poler's, pardon the expression, revolutionary establishment. The economic boom, spearheaded by Patrick Henry's investments, turned the suffering bakery into a thriving concern that has brought almost 4,000 additional workers spaceside in the interval since the club opened. Property values on the station have climbed rapidly as the periodic layoffs that had previously plagued the industry have become almost non-existent.
Negotiations are said to be underway between Poler and Omicron Cahoonas, the station owners, regarding the lease on the grain silo. "In today's market they could make more using that space than they get from the lease," Poler has said. Experts agree, some saying the company could buy out the lease at up to five times its value and still be ahead.
Poler could perhaps use the windfall to move his club to a more appropriate location. Dining and entertainment facilities aboard industrial stations traditionally are oriented towards the local population. Drawing the rich and famous from across the sector, and in fact the region, Revolution has been plagued by issues with parking nearly from its inception. Of course more conventional space aboard a trading station would be hard to come by for an establishment of that size, and such a move would be strongly opposed by existing businesses.
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Dinner was magnificent. Revolution is a remarkable place. The entire club is contained in a drum shaped compartment that fits inside the unused silo. Spurning gravgen units, the structure revolves inside the silo on huge rollers built into the outer skin of the compartment that drive against the inner surface of the silo. Centripetal force, the classic substitute for artificial gravity, holds diners and dancers on the vast and elaborate club floor.
The rich and famous always want to see and be seen, and from any point in Revolution you could see everyone else. The most distant patrons, directly overhead, dangled a scant hundred and fifty meters away. With the 'floor' rising rapidly in both directions no one was hidden in the crowds. Bartenders poured drinks with elaborate flourishes; sparkling arcs deflected by coriolis forces into carefully placed crystal goblets.
Poler says the entire structure of the club can be removed from the silo and installed in any other suitably sized space. While cutting a large piece of hull plating out of the silo to remove the club,and then welding it back into place is a significant task, it is nowhere near the cost people assume would be involved in rebuilding his club elsewhere, and that cost is a key point in his negotiations with Omicron Cahoonas. They will no doubt eventually buy back his lease, and pay for his moving costs at some grossly inflated rate. Clever man, this Poler.
It turns out that the good fortune of his timing in building this edifice was also not luck, but cleverness and connections. He does indeed know Endy, and Endy convinced him that I was going to put the regional economy on the fast track. He was suitably grateful that I had come through. He was also totally open regarding the aspects of his dealings with Omicron Cahoonas that some might say approach the hazy lines that separate shrewd business from outright fraud.
There was no attempt to mislead me about what I was getting into. His presentation was not the presentation of a potential partnership founded on trust. He presented a partnership founded on need. And I accepted. Poler is the only possible partner I could have for the enterprise we are launching, just as I am the only possible partner for him. We will be challenging the Omicron Trading Group, the most powerful corporation on Omicron Lyrae, directly at the source of their power.
OTG holds exclusive planetary import rights. Their trading stations are so completely their trading stations that most people are only vaguely aware OTG exists. They refer to the trading station as if it were the one and only, because in fact it is the one and only...at least they have been. They collect products from orbital industries and drop them down the gravity well to planetary markets; a government granted monopoly. Unbreakable and unbeatable...at least they have been.
We aren't going to break their monopoly. We are going to create our own, in reverse.
After gathering up the so called marines we joined the parade back towards the cluster of stations we had discovered. I was thinking of them as the central area of the Aldrin colony, but have since learned otherwise.
It turns out the colony is scattered around the huge barren planetoid pretty much uniformly. I found that my viewpoint has shifted. I used to look at a sector and see problems in setting up patrols and defenses. Now I see the opportunities and difficulties of trade. Maybe this has less to do with me than it has to do with Aldrin itself. The sector is so far off the track that defense presents no problem, and even if it did their stations are predominantly built with archaic technology that leaves them burrowed into asteroids. Shielding is great, but solid rock is hard to beat. On the other hand, the distance between producers and their markets is such a problem that I might have seen it even when I was just a fighter pilot in the fleet. As a trader it almost made me dizzy.
The Admiral was closeted in seemingly endless meetings with the Aldrin authorities. The fleet was patrolling and hoping for his return, but Winters was long gone. I was enjoying my new command for as long as it lasts. The Scabbard is a fine troop transport, but in keeping with the Terran state of mind it has a level of luxury more in keeping with a passenger cruiser. It even came with entertainment, as I could watch the squad of marines going through their drills in their training facilities. They had taken to having the gravity generators, lighting, and atmosphere pressure cycling randomly during their training periods, and the results were often hilarious.
I occasionally accepted their requests to join in and show them some 'down south tricks' as they called them. They're eager enough, and it occurs to me that a squad of Terran marines with no loyalties in the commonwealth one way or the other might be useful. The questions are whether they would be willing to leave Terran space and service, whether I can afford the investment to get them properly trained, and whether they would survive that training.
Before that issue came to a head though the talks were completed, at least as much as the Admiral could complete them on behalf of the Terran government. The Scabbard was called upon to transport the Aldrin delegation to Earth. I relished the opportunity, not only because it got me to Earth, but it gave me a chance to explore the Aldrin position for the upcoming talks. While I ended up with the same conclusions about the Terrans as Argon intel has, I have serious doubts for the future. The influence of the hardy colonists of Aldrin are going to make the Terrans far more formidable than they are now. Not in a day, and not in a year or even a decade, but a hundred years from now the balance across Heretic's End will be much different than it is today.
Earth, as one would expect, is a fine looking planet. It has a planet girdling space station that they call The Torus that is certainly an impressive sight. Overall though I would just as soon visit Argon Prime.
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The Terrans were grateful for my contribution to reuniting them with their lost colony. They let me keep my honorary rank in their armed forces, which entitled me to the Scabbard and associated security detail, which I figured could protect me against any group of Split hatchlings we ran across as long as there weren't too many. They also gave me command of a Terran bomber which I deemed even more useless. Kleo Keppel was having enough trouble finding tomahawk missiles. The Terran equivalent, the Phantom missile, I couldn't even guess where to look for but I was sure it would involve Terran space so I sold the bomber at the first shipyard we came to.
On the long flight out of Terran space I had time to take a hard look at my assets.
Marika Jerrigan had served me well at ISC. Perhaps too well. No matter what oddball ship I salvaged or bought from passing strangers whose own claim might be a bit shady, she managed all the paperwork to get me clear title. By the time the ship docked at the nearest station its ownership was completely settled so that it would present no problems, and I could just forget about it. Which I routinely did. So I found myself with a bewildering array of combat ships, mostly with no guns or shields; plus another list of battered freighters of all sizes and shapes, many with odd bits of cargo that would have to be purged for them to actually be used.
I also had three fully equipped Mercury Tankers with highly trained pilots that I had pulled off the energy trade when I built the mining company. I had no idea what to apply them to next, and I had five brand new tankers at the shipyard in OmLy that I had even less of a clue what to do with. My various companies controlled distribution of all major resources in the region except cloth. ISC would have to trade in cloth or finished tech products, all small and expensive markets, or else it was time to move them out of the region entirely.
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Ninu had the mineral business moving well. Credits were accumulating. Energy cells were flowing through the western sectors of the region, and building up in our storage holds. We were also building an inventory of ore, which was being bought as cheaply as we could have mined it ourselves. Oddly, the only flaw in the system seemed to be in silicon distribution. We had no stock. Scanning the region I saw numerous potential buyers, but could not believe that we would need to start producing. The local mines should be enough. Then I realized that Ninu had not completely put aside her previous commitment to making WLPC her first priority. They had more than enough inventory, but were still pulling in the bulk of the regional supply.
I punched her code into the coms while looking at the figures, not getting completely clear in my head what I needed to say to correct the situation. I usually manage to have these meetings pretty much off the cuff and get things sorted out, but didn't count on the effect it would have when her face came up on the screen. Before I could gather my limited wits she was apologizing. I was running about ten words behind and had a hard time getting what exactly she was apologizing for, but I recognized that whatever it was it was was going better for me than our last meeting had been.
Eventually she wound down and I caught up. The gist of it apparently was that once the credits had started rolling in she had concluded that even though I wasn't exactly an active partner in running things I had put up the money and it was my idea, so she was grateful...and sorry she had been so tough on me. I was thinking I could spin this conversation into a really positive direction when she lowered the boom on everything I had in mind.
"Besides, you're the first boss I ever had that didn't think being my boss meant trying to sleep with me, and I really appreciate that," she said.
So I suggested that she work out a priority scale for WLPC that would allow more silicon to enter the market rather than filling their warehouse quite so fast and cut the link.
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One good thing about having ships scattered the length of the region was being able to tap into the market data in every sector. I scanned through, and saw places where cahoonas had run low enough that they should be getting deliveries. I also saw that WLPC had their cavernous cahoona storage very nearly full. This meant one of three things. Possibly my two partners needed another cahoona delivery ship, or even more than one. Possibly my two partners, who actually had taken the delivery of cahoonas as their own jobs, were goofing off. Or possibly I just found someone to take out my frustrations on since either or both of them could have been considered Ninu's boss when she worked at WLPC.
As I stewed on this I saw the cahoona spot price drop at the Satellite Factory in Interworlds. I accessed a ship I had docked there, pausing briefly to wonder what that was costing me in docking fees, and found that the other ship in the docking bay was a Paranid Food Hauler which had apparently beaten my guys to the sale. Looking at the sector map I noted that Endy Sahkarna's ship was in the sector, and in fact showed as inbound for the satellite factory. I punched his code into the com unit, nearly breaking my fingers.
"Hey Patrick!" chirped from the com unit. "I suppose you saw that we passed the seven million credit mark."
"I did see that. I also saw a three credit price drop at the station you are headed for that cost us twenty two fifty, and we're lucky we still have a sale. If the dealer that beat you to them hadn't been flying a Hermes you'd be stuck with your load." The entire payload on the Hermes had only dropped the price three credits. Had that been a full size freighter it would have cratered the market.
"If he hadn't been flying a Hermes he wouldn't have been fast enough to get there ahead of me. I've been staying one step ahead of him all the way from Wastelands. Probably beat him to four different buyers even though I've had to jump back and forth for loads while he just flew around the sector. Eventually he was going to make a deal."
I sat back with a sigh. Clearly I needed to get a grip before I screwed up a good business over a girl, which would certainly be stupid, especially since she didn't even know I was thinking about her.
"Okay," I said. "The problem is that now there's an empty Paranid food hauler in our territory and he is going to look for a load. The prices we are paying are dirt low, which is great, but I could name twelve cahoona bakeries who would happily sell to this three-eyed competitor." In fact there were twelve cahoona bakeries in the region, and we both knew it. "How do we make sure that if he does buy a load he has to either haul it out of the area or eat it himself?"
He didn't blink, or pause. "Drop our sell price to seventy. Jarren and I put together a proposal on that and sent it to your com. We've been waiting to hear back."
Damn. I remembered something coming in during the skirmish in Aldrin, or maybe during the attack on the CPU ship. Either way I had routed it to my pending file and forgotten all about it. Feeling well over the border into stupid territory I told him to put that change in, and if it turned out to not be enough they should add another distribution freighter...and to just let me know they were doing it rather than waiting for my approval.
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Feeling mostly defeated I took a look at the cattle business. Over five million in the account there as well, finally. I shrugged to myself and commed Endy Jerrigan at the wheat farm in Elysium of Light.
"Tell me some good news," I said to my old friend.
"We have seven million credits in the bank, could probably add another production unit and still not build up any inventory to speak of, and a lot of people in the shipping business are wondering why a fighter pilot thought of this system before they did. How's that?"
"Good start. If my system is so good how come the only place it's really working smoothly is there?"
"Well, because I'm your best friend and I'm a genius, and you put me in charge."
"So I need more genius best friends? Or do I put you in charge of everything?"
Endy visibly recoiled from the com link. "Me in charge of everything? No way old friend. We hit this wheat thing out of the park because your system does work...and because we are dealing in wheat which is chronically short. Me being a genius or not has nothing to do with it."
"Ah, so maybe that 'genius' bit was a bit of a reach? And my system may not have all that much to do with it either."
"Patrick, you are making a killing dealing Argnu beef. Not as much as we're making here, but great Gunne man, Argnu beef! Do you have any idea how many traders have lost their ass...ets trading in Argnu beef? And you've got a ton of profit piled up at the crystal plant despite the fact that those clowns also stocked up ten million in inventory, at least. As far as being your best friend, the only advantage that gives me is that I have a pretty good idea what I can do myself and what you would have to have a say in. I've been trying to help the other guys out on that front as best I could, because they don't know you like I do."
I considered the apology from Ninu and her self assured decision making in this new light. "I wish you had told Jarren and Endy to just make the price change they wanted to make," I said.
"Yeah, I thought you might. I just don't know enough about the cahoona market, and I have a pretty full plate here..."
I knew that look. Endy had something to suggest. "Out with it Endy," I said.
"Look. I know this guy..."
Of course he does.
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Dateline - Omicron Lyrae.
Erine Selek reporting for Inside Biz.
Patrick Henry, credited by many economists as the force behind the recent surge in space industries across the Omicron Lyrae region, made a rare public appearance this evening. And as he has done throughout his meteoric business career, he shot straight to the top of the celebrity charts.
Henry joined business partner Endy Jerrigen for a lavish dinner at Revolution, OmLy's trendiest club. They were accompanied by Jerrigen's wife Jennit, and Marika Jerrigen; Endy's sister as well as Patrick Henry's partner in another of his businesses. Both ladies wore Tata Su gowns estimated to tip the register in the hundred thousand credit range. Rumors about Marika Jerrigen and the sector's most eligible bachelor began immediately and peaked at number three on the Argon social net's hot topics list, scoring over nine million hits per hour.
The party was transported to the club aboard owner Mikal Poler's private transport yacht, spurring speculation that some sort of meeting between industrialist and restauranteur may have taken place. When he opened the club, built inside an unused grain silo at a struggling cahoona bakery, experts scoffed openly, citing the same hard economic times that had made the silo available as reason to believe 'Poler's Folly' would be bankrupt overnight. How wrong they were.
Industry watchers who track the hospitality and leisure sectors attribute the rapid rise of Revolution as much to timing as Poler's, pardon the expression, revolutionary establishment. The economic boom, spearheaded by Patrick Henry's investments, turned the suffering bakery into a thriving concern that has brought almost 4,000 additional workers spaceside in the interval since the club opened. Property values on the station have climbed rapidly as the periodic layoffs that had previously plagued the industry have become almost non-existent.
Negotiations are said to be underway between Poler and Omicron Cahoonas, the station owners, regarding the lease on the grain silo. "In today's market they could make more using that space than they get from the lease," Poler has said. Experts agree, some saying the company could buy out the lease at up to five times its value and still be ahead.
Poler could perhaps use the windfall to move his club to a more appropriate location. Dining and entertainment facilities aboard industrial stations traditionally are oriented towards the local population. Drawing the rich and famous from across the sector, and in fact the region, Revolution has been plagued by issues with parking nearly from its inception. Of course more conventional space aboard a trading station would be hard to come by for an establishment of that size, and such a move would be strongly opposed by existing businesses.
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Dinner was magnificent. Revolution is a remarkable place. The entire club is contained in a drum shaped compartment that fits inside the unused silo. Spurning gravgen units, the structure revolves inside the silo on huge rollers built into the outer skin of the compartment that drive against the inner surface of the silo. Centripetal force, the classic substitute for artificial gravity, holds diners and dancers on the vast and elaborate club floor.
The rich and famous always want to see and be seen, and from any point in Revolution you could see everyone else. The most distant patrons, directly overhead, dangled a scant hundred and fifty meters away. With the 'floor' rising rapidly in both directions no one was hidden in the crowds. Bartenders poured drinks with elaborate flourishes; sparkling arcs deflected by coriolis forces into carefully placed crystal goblets.
Poler says the entire structure of the club can be removed from the silo and installed in any other suitably sized space. While cutting a large piece of hull plating out of the silo to remove the club,and then welding it back into place is a significant task, it is nowhere near the cost people assume would be involved in rebuilding his club elsewhere, and that cost is a key point in his negotiations with Omicron Cahoonas. They will no doubt eventually buy back his lease, and pay for his moving costs at some grossly inflated rate. Clever man, this Poler.
It turns out that the good fortune of his timing in building this edifice was also not luck, but cleverness and connections. He does indeed know Endy, and Endy convinced him that I was going to put the regional economy on the fast track. He was suitably grateful that I had come through. He was also totally open regarding the aspects of his dealings with Omicron Cahoonas that some might say approach the hazy lines that separate shrewd business from outright fraud.
There was no attempt to mislead me about what I was getting into. His presentation was not the presentation of a potential partnership founded on trust. He presented a partnership founded on need. And I accepted. Poler is the only possible partner I could have for the enterprise we are launching, just as I am the only possible partner for him. We will be challenging the Omicron Trading Group, the most powerful corporation on Omicron Lyrae, directly at the source of their power.
OTG holds exclusive planetary import rights. Their trading stations are so completely their trading stations that most people are only vaguely aware OTG exists. They refer to the trading station as if it were the one and only, because in fact it is the one and only...at least they have been. They collect products from orbital industries and drop them down the gravity well to planetary markets; a government granted monopoly. Unbreakable and unbeatable...at least they have been.
We aren't going to break their monopoly. We are going to create our own, in reverse.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
-
Song Of Obsidian
- Posts: 305
- Joined: Wed, 19. Jun 13, 19:46
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Timsup2nothin
- Posts: 4690
- Joined: Thu, 22. Jan 09, 17:49
As you wish, so shall it be.Song Of Obsidian wrote:Decided to come back for a reread, and that conversation with Ninu still has me chuckling. Not to mention the Inside Biz report. Or the inconsequential genius best friend pep talk prelude to a business proposal. Or the proposal itself. Or...
Ah, hell. Just keep it going. I'm hooked.
Thanks for feedback. It's good to know the humor is coming across. Making people laugh when I can see them is a whole lot easier for me than writing into the void. I knew that I thought it was funny, but sometimes that doesn't mean a whole lot.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
-
Timsup2nothin
- Posts: 4690
- Joined: Thu, 22. Jan 09, 17:49
My bad. At least one more part to chapter five. Glad you are enjoying the read.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
-
Timsup2nothin
- Posts: 4690
- Joined: Thu, 22. Jan 09, 17:49
Chapter 5 part 3
Kleo Keppel and I stood looking out the main viewport on the bridge of the Centaur. His Gladiator floated about half a click off the starboard stern quarter, her autopilot keeping station. An easy enough task for the autopilot, since the Centaur had just enough speed on to maintain steerage. Mak Branna stood with us. He is captain of the Centaur in my absence and when I'm aboard usually acts as chief pilot, but he had one of his younger crew manning the helm since we weren't going anywhere.
The three of us burst into fresh laughter as a frigate erupted from the gate, and the young helmsman glanced away from the screen to busy himself with a minor helm adjustment. It wasn't needed by the ship, but he probably needed it to avoid getting caught laughing with us.
"That's a frigate," Kleo said. "Cerberus class. Those pirates have had it for sure now." Mak and I took in quick gasps to fuel another gale of laughter. There were already three corvettes taking defensive stations around the gate, standard protection for the emerging capital ship, and the pirates in question had exactly two ships, a scout and an interceptor.
"Wait!" I said, getting their attention back on the screen. "I think the frigate is turning to...yeah, he's dropping below the gate and the corvettes are sliding to the three other quadrants. That's not their flagship."
"You might be right," Kleo agreed. Then right on cue a Colossus carrier erupted into real space. We laughed so hard tears made my vision watery, but I could still see the frigate tuck in to protect the carrier's aft while the three corvettes weaved in a protective pattern ahead of her. Fighters, scouts, and interceptors belched from her hanger decks in steady streams.
"That's a full division, thirty-eight ships," I manged to get out through clenched teeth that were holding back my mirth for the moment.
Then the scanner watch sang out "Pirate flight on long range scanners," and Mak added quietly, "Scanners aren't sensitive enough to tell if the pilots have wet their pants yet so we don't know what range scanners the pirates have," and we doubled over again.
The missile detection unit started stuttering alarms. The operator calmly announced missiles away from the Argon armada. Wasps. About thirty launched.
"Well, we know their scanners have the range," Kleo said. We all sobered somewhat. We had all been on the wrong end of a cloud of missiles in small craft at times, and even though we had no real sympathy for the pirates it still cast a pall.
No doubt we had been setting a bad example for some of the youngsters in the crew anyway, so probably just as well. But I think even the rawest crewman should be allowed to enjoy a moment after a battle, even though our battle had not been particularly hard fought. At least we had had more on our hands than this Argon fleet did.
The Argon armada wasn't in Nyana's Hideout just to annihilate a couple of low end smugglers, although that was what they were doing, in spades. They were here to respond to a Xenon incursion. Probably called in by half a dozen stations across the far flung sector. My cattle ranch hadn't bothered calling the fleet, they had called me.
Kleo and his missile crews had gotten off ten tomahawks about as fast as I could count to ten, and the Q frigate exploded about thirty seconds before the Centaur came into range of her guns. We closed with the escorts, three L class fighters, and eliminated them. We were considering the pirates when the communications office at Hidden Ranch reported the Argon defense forces were inbound at the gate, so we opted to just watch.
I waited until the fleet had moved well out into the sector on their fruitless search, then submitted vids of the Q and three Ls exploding, with my civilian defense force license number attached. The admiral in charge glowered from the screen, knowing he had wasted his time, along with a few thousand pilots' and crewmembers' time...but he endorsed my claim.
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Pol Craddock turned to his second in command. Both men stood in front of a large viewport on what had once been the bridge of a Mammoth station transporter. They had boarded the Mammoth together, had fought side by side most of their lives. "Get the laser crews relieved and get them over here," Craddock growled. "We are deep in the shit here." He turned back to the port, staring at the Centaur picking its way through the growing cloud of debris that moments before had been a Split Elephant.
Craddock considered himself more a mercenary than a pirate, though most governments didn't see things exactly his way. He had led his group through the lean times when all they had was a handful of small combat ships. Now they had about as stable a situation as an outlaw band could hope for. Their base was made of a patchwork of transport hulls, but it was solid. They had a pretty good understanding with the Teladi government and the Nividium Mining and Manufacturing Company, which had their headquarters in the adjacent sector. Craddock's crew passed through the Teladi sectors unchallenged and their sector was isolated from a universe of problems since that was the only access. Then one of his contacts at the Teladi shipyard had put him in contact with the most lucrative contract he had ever had; better than he had ever heard of, or even imagined.
From the outset Patrick Henry had been a generous sponsor for Craddock's crew, and he had asked very little in return. For the first time Henry's Scabbard transports had loaded up with mercenaries for an operation, and it had ended like this before they even left the docks. Craddock checked his phase pistol; fully charged, and made sure his knives were all in place. He doubted that Henry would try to kill him outright, but assumed the man would be mad enough.
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I had scorched the Elephant with ion disruptors, dodging fire from its considerable array of weapons until they nearly all burned out in the storm of charged particles. I had managed throughout to avoid colliding with the ship, which would have destroyed it since its shields were down. I had been called every foul thing I had heard in a lifetime in military service and learned some new ones that I will have to get someone to translate for me from the original Split.
Eventually I had worn out the target, and called for my transports to deliver the boarding parties that would give me control of a station transporter, a vital piece in my plans. Keeping their shields down with intermittent fire, I moved the Centaur into a position I thought was needed, covering the transports just in case the Split managed to get some of their weapons working. They apparently had one gun left. A pulse beam emitter which they fired on me with. And the laser towers around Craddock's base opened fire on her and destroyed my Elephant before the transports had even cleared the docks.
Apparently my Centaur is listed as a friendly in their standing orders and they fired to protect me, which I suppose I should take as a compliment. If it weren't for the fact that I need a station transporter, and basically I need it right now, it would be a lot easier. Craddock offered to cut earlobes off the guys who were on duty in the laser towers and have them dried on a string for me, but I didn't see much point in it.
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I was in my office at Grains, pretending to work but mostly looking out the viewport. Elysium of Light is a beautiful sector, and I never get tired of the view. Seeing the orderly progression of wheat shipments coming and going was also soothing. My other businesses are doing better than they were, but none run as smoothly as this one. Endy walked in with a bottle of Argon Whiskey.
"You look like you could use a shot of this. What's biting you?" I raised one eyebrow. "Marika says you've got ships and pilots just idling, which we all know isn't like you. Your mysterious friend Mahi Ma leaves messages for you every time the communications department turns around, but you aren't answering them, which we all know isn't like you. Heck, Jerren Rana says he's thinking about letting some factory starve just to see if you yell at him about missing deals, but he's afraid you won't notice."
I groaned. "You, Marika, Jerren; who else is in this 'we all' that's worrying about me?"
"Well, Botany Bob probably would be worrying, but all he ever worries about is the wheat."
We both laughed. 'Botany' Bob Braks was a biologist that we hired to improve growth rates. We gave him an office that he apparently never uses, and had wondered about his apartment, speculating that he actually slept out in the grow pods somewhere. "He has a job to do and doesn't have time to worry about me. Speaking of having a job to do..." I gave him my best stern look.
"Everything is running smoothly. I have experts of every needed sort to keep it that way. I'm the boss and being the boss entitles me to waste my time worrying about you. On the other hand, you're my boss, so if you have something that isn't running smoothly you could just tell me to fix it and then you could worry about your friends, or whatever."
"Got a station transporter in your back pocket?" I asked.
"Uh, no. Is that the problem? Why not just hire one? That guy in OmLy loves working for you."
"Yeah he does, but not enough to fly to Legend's Home for me. He might try, come to that, but he'd never make it without going the long way around and I don't have time for that."
"What's in Legend's Home?"
"A trading station shell. They don't make them in OmLy any more. OTG has one in every sector in the region and the shipyard determined there was no more market."
"What are you going to do with a trading station?"
"Trade in all the wares I'm not already trading; tech goods, cloth, ship fittings. Plus Mikal Poler is going to move Revolution into it and open a broad spectrum of other restaurants and clubs, make it the recreation destination for the region. The plan is to create such a destination resort that we draw from planetside. The plan was. Poler has a deadline and I'm not going to make it. I had a line on a station transporter, but it fell through." I didn't add, spectacularly, but I thought it.
"You could just buy one."
"Yeah, with the cred I was going to use to buy the station."
Endy sat with his hands clasped, two fingers sticking up, which he tapped against his teeth. After a few minutes he said "I don't have a station transporter in my back pocket, but I might have a trading station." I looked at him with the 'you have lost your mind' look. He looked back and grinned. "We need about a million credits for operating capital, and we have over nine million in the account. MTMS is about the same last I heard from Ninu. Jarren and Endy probably have around seven at WLPC and they don't need much operating capital since they have way too much inventory anyway. Even the cattle ranch probably has a lot more than they really need."
"It's not like that's all my money. I have partners, remember? One of them looks a lot like you, matter of fact."
"Grains could disburse eight million, four for you and four for me. Do that at every business you own and you collect about twelve million."
"I dunno if you've priced trading stations lately, but I can't buy one for twelve million."
"Well, I'd have four million in cash. I'd buy in if you wanted a partner. After all, your idea made me the four million in the first place, so it seems like a good risk."
Which is how we ended up merging all my businesses into Omicron Lyrae Regional Trading Corporation, with all my partners on the board of directors and Endy Jerrigen as chief executive.
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In true 'not a DiD' spirit I tried more than once to capture the dratted elephant...then picked the failure I thought made the best plot element. Watching the Elephant explode under laser tower fire after an hour of scorching it with ion d fire I just had to laugh, so I hope everyone else does too.
Truthfully I wasn't really ready but had written myself into a corner and didn't think I could leave the irritable Split idling out in the unknown any longer. So no hammers, no flails, less than a full compliment of marines and not much skill with boarding combined for having to buy a Mammoth. Fortunes of war.
The rest of the day has been consumed with restructuring all my businesses in the region and sorting through my mountain of captured, bought used, and otherwise cluttering the landscape ships. Probably one of those technical interludes coming if anyone is interested in the details of controlling all trade across the region.
Kleo Keppel and I stood looking out the main viewport on the bridge of the Centaur. His Gladiator floated about half a click off the starboard stern quarter, her autopilot keeping station. An easy enough task for the autopilot, since the Centaur had just enough speed on to maintain steerage. Mak Branna stood with us. He is captain of the Centaur in my absence and when I'm aboard usually acts as chief pilot, but he had one of his younger crew manning the helm since we weren't going anywhere.
The three of us burst into fresh laughter as a frigate erupted from the gate, and the young helmsman glanced away from the screen to busy himself with a minor helm adjustment. It wasn't needed by the ship, but he probably needed it to avoid getting caught laughing with us.
"That's a frigate," Kleo said. "Cerberus class. Those pirates have had it for sure now." Mak and I took in quick gasps to fuel another gale of laughter. There were already three corvettes taking defensive stations around the gate, standard protection for the emerging capital ship, and the pirates in question had exactly two ships, a scout and an interceptor.
"Wait!" I said, getting their attention back on the screen. "I think the frigate is turning to...yeah, he's dropping below the gate and the corvettes are sliding to the three other quadrants. That's not their flagship."
"You might be right," Kleo agreed. Then right on cue a Colossus carrier erupted into real space. We laughed so hard tears made my vision watery, but I could still see the frigate tuck in to protect the carrier's aft while the three corvettes weaved in a protective pattern ahead of her. Fighters, scouts, and interceptors belched from her hanger decks in steady streams.
"That's a full division, thirty-eight ships," I manged to get out through clenched teeth that were holding back my mirth for the moment.
Then the scanner watch sang out "Pirate flight on long range scanners," and Mak added quietly, "Scanners aren't sensitive enough to tell if the pilots have wet their pants yet so we don't know what range scanners the pirates have," and we doubled over again.
The missile detection unit started stuttering alarms. The operator calmly announced missiles away from the Argon armada. Wasps. About thirty launched.
"Well, we know their scanners have the range," Kleo said. We all sobered somewhat. We had all been on the wrong end of a cloud of missiles in small craft at times, and even though we had no real sympathy for the pirates it still cast a pall.
No doubt we had been setting a bad example for some of the youngsters in the crew anyway, so probably just as well. But I think even the rawest crewman should be allowed to enjoy a moment after a battle, even though our battle had not been particularly hard fought. At least we had had more on our hands than this Argon fleet did.
The Argon armada wasn't in Nyana's Hideout just to annihilate a couple of low end smugglers, although that was what they were doing, in spades. They were here to respond to a Xenon incursion. Probably called in by half a dozen stations across the far flung sector. My cattle ranch hadn't bothered calling the fleet, they had called me.
Kleo and his missile crews had gotten off ten tomahawks about as fast as I could count to ten, and the Q frigate exploded about thirty seconds before the Centaur came into range of her guns. We closed with the escorts, three L class fighters, and eliminated them. We were considering the pirates when the communications office at Hidden Ranch reported the Argon defense forces were inbound at the gate, so we opted to just watch.
I waited until the fleet had moved well out into the sector on their fruitless search, then submitted vids of the Q and three Ls exploding, with my civilian defense force license number attached. The admiral in charge glowered from the screen, knowing he had wasted his time, along with a few thousand pilots' and crewmembers' time...but he endorsed my claim.
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Pol Craddock turned to his second in command. Both men stood in front of a large viewport on what had once been the bridge of a Mammoth station transporter. They had boarded the Mammoth together, had fought side by side most of their lives. "Get the laser crews relieved and get them over here," Craddock growled. "We are deep in the shit here." He turned back to the port, staring at the Centaur picking its way through the growing cloud of debris that moments before had been a Split Elephant.
Craddock considered himself more a mercenary than a pirate, though most governments didn't see things exactly his way. He had led his group through the lean times when all they had was a handful of small combat ships. Now they had about as stable a situation as an outlaw band could hope for. Their base was made of a patchwork of transport hulls, but it was solid. They had a pretty good understanding with the Teladi government and the Nividium Mining and Manufacturing Company, which had their headquarters in the adjacent sector. Craddock's crew passed through the Teladi sectors unchallenged and their sector was isolated from a universe of problems since that was the only access. Then one of his contacts at the Teladi shipyard had put him in contact with the most lucrative contract he had ever had; better than he had ever heard of, or even imagined.
From the outset Patrick Henry had been a generous sponsor for Craddock's crew, and he had asked very little in return. For the first time Henry's Scabbard transports had loaded up with mercenaries for an operation, and it had ended like this before they even left the docks. Craddock checked his phase pistol; fully charged, and made sure his knives were all in place. He doubted that Henry would try to kill him outright, but assumed the man would be mad enough.
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I had scorched the Elephant with ion disruptors, dodging fire from its considerable array of weapons until they nearly all burned out in the storm of charged particles. I had managed throughout to avoid colliding with the ship, which would have destroyed it since its shields were down. I had been called every foul thing I had heard in a lifetime in military service and learned some new ones that I will have to get someone to translate for me from the original Split.
Eventually I had worn out the target, and called for my transports to deliver the boarding parties that would give me control of a station transporter, a vital piece in my plans. Keeping their shields down with intermittent fire, I moved the Centaur into a position I thought was needed, covering the transports just in case the Split managed to get some of their weapons working. They apparently had one gun left. A pulse beam emitter which they fired on me with. And the laser towers around Craddock's base opened fire on her and destroyed my Elephant before the transports had even cleared the docks.
Apparently my Centaur is listed as a friendly in their standing orders and they fired to protect me, which I suppose I should take as a compliment. If it weren't for the fact that I need a station transporter, and basically I need it right now, it would be a lot easier. Craddock offered to cut earlobes off the guys who were on duty in the laser towers and have them dried on a string for me, but I didn't see much point in it.
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I was in my office at Grains, pretending to work but mostly looking out the viewport. Elysium of Light is a beautiful sector, and I never get tired of the view. Seeing the orderly progression of wheat shipments coming and going was also soothing. My other businesses are doing better than they were, but none run as smoothly as this one. Endy walked in with a bottle of Argon Whiskey.
"You look like you could use a shot of this. What's biting you?" I raised one eyebrow. "Marika says you've got ships and pilots just idling, which we all know isn't like you. Your mysterious friend Mahi Ma leaves messages for you every time the communications department turns around, but you aren't answering them, which we all know isn't like you. Heck, Jerren Rana says he's thinking about letting some factory starve just to see if you yell at him about missing deals, but he's afraid you won't notice."
I groaned. "You, Marika, Jerren; who else is in this 'we all' that's worrying about me?"
"Well, Botany Bob probably would be worrying, but all he ever worries about is the wheat."
We both laughed. 'Botany' Bob Braks was a biologist that we hired to improve growth rates. We gave him an office that he apparently never uses, and had wondered about his apartment, speculating that he actually slept out in the grow pods somewhere. "He has a job to do and doesn't have time to worry about me. Speaking of having a job to do..." I gave him my best stern look.
"Everything is running smoothly. I have experts of every needed sort to keep it that way. I'm the boss and being the boss entitles me to waste my time worrying about you. On the other hand, you're my boss, so if you have something that isn't running smoothly you could just tell me to fix it and then you could worry about your friends, or whatever."
"Got a station transporter in your back pocket?" I asked.
"Uh, no. Is that the problem? Why not just hire one? That guy in OmLy loves working for you."
"Yeah he does, but not enough to fly to Legend's Home for me. He might try, come to that, but he'd never make it without going the long way around and I don't have time for that."
"What's in Legend's Home?"
"A trading station shell. They don't make them in OmLy any more. OTG has one in every sector in the region and the shipyard determined there was no more market."
"What are you going to do with a trading station?"
"Trade in all the wares I'm not already trading; tech goods, cloth, ship fittings. Plus Mikal Poler is going to move Revolution into it and open a broad spectrum of other restaurants and clubs, make it the recreation destination for the region. The plan is to create such a destination resort that we draw from planetside. The plan was. Poler has a deadline and I'm not going to make it. I had a line on a station transporter, but it fell through." I didn't add, spectacularly, but I thought it.
"You could just buy one."
"Yeah, with the cred I was going to use to buy the station."
Endy sat with his hands clasped, two fingers sticking up, which he tapped against his teeth. After a few minutes he said "I don't have a station transporter in my back pocket, but I might have a trading station." I looked at him with the 'you have lost your mind' look. He looked back and grinned. "We need about a million credits for operating capital, and we have over nine million in the account. MTMS is about the same last I heard from Ninu. Jarren and Endy probably have around seven at WLPC and they don't need much operating capital since they have way too much inventory anyway. Even the cattle ranch probably has a lot more than they really need."
"It's not like that's all my money. I have partners, remember? One of them looks a lot like you, matter of fact."
"Grains could disburse eight million, four for you and four for me. Do that at every business you own and you collect about twelve million."
"I dunno if you've priced trading stations lately, but I can't buy one for twelve million."
"Well, I'd have four million in cash. I'd buy in if you wanted a partner. After all, your idea made me the four million in the first place, so it seems like a good risk."
Which is how we ended up merging all my businesses into Omicron Lyrae Regional Trading Corporation, with all my partners on the board of directors and Endy Jerrigen as chief executive.
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In true 'not a DiD' spirit I tried more than once to capture the dratted elephant...then picked the failure I thought made the best plot element. Watching the Elephant explode under laser tower fire after an hour of scorching it with ion d fire I just had to laugh, so I hope everyone else does too.
Truthfully I wasn't really ready but had written myself into a corner and didn't think I could leave the irritable Split idling out in the unknown any longer. So no hammers, no flails, less than a full compliment of marines and not much skill with boarding combined for having to buy a Mammoth. Fortunes of war.
The rest of the day has been consumed with restructuring all my businesses in the region and sorting through my mountain of captured, bought used, and otherwise cluttering the landscape ships. Probably one of those technical interludes coming if anyone is interested in the details of controlling all trade across the region.
Last edited by Timsup2nothin on Fri, 27. Sep 13, 04:01, edited 1 time in total.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
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Timsup2nothin
- Posts: 4690
- Joined: Thu, 22. Jan 09, 17:49
Fixed...the Q thing...the writing faster thing comes and goes. Gotta remember a 'chapter' is a game day...which since I never SETA is 24 hours of actual time playing, plus however much writing. That's why I took to breaking the chapters into parts...too long between posts that would be too big.delstars wrote:My only complaint is that you can't write them fast enough. Oh and you called the Q a corvette, not a Frigate.
For anyone who didn't catch it earlier, I'm writing a 'game day' as something like a quarter, or maybe a year...so if someone eats dinner that doesn't mean they won't do it again in the same 'game day/chapter'.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
-
Song Of Obsidian
- Posts: 305
- Joined: Wed, 19. Jun 13, 19:46
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Timsup2nothin
- Posts: 4690
- Joined: Thu, 22. Jan 09, 17:49
I hesitate to admit it, but probably the biggest thing that cuts into my X playing time is other games. Retirement is good!
Knowing there are readers helps keep me going forward though, so thanks guys!
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
-
Timsup2nothin
- Posts: 4690
- Joined: Thu, 22. Jan 09, 17:49
Interlude
Captain Aron Danna stood rigidly at attention. He silently vowed that he would not whither under the glares of the review board. As the five flag officers filed into the room his knees started to weaken and he was afraid they were visibly shaking. But the creases in his trousers were stock still, holding a perfect line.
Admiral Ban Dorin cleared his throat. "We have reviewed all the tapes, as well as testimony from your surviving crew...the survivors who were not involved in the hijacking that is. It is the finding of this review board that you were correct in ordering the ship abandoned. There was no reason to question the reported reactor breach when it came from your engineering officer of the watch, and the evacuation was the correct response.
"However, your failure to initiate the self destruct sequence prior to leaving the bridge is a severe breach of procedure, and has led to a Cerberus frigate being captured by forces unknown. While the reported core failure would have been expected to destroy the ship, this case has demonstrated the necessity for that procedure and the consequences of failing to follow that procedure.
"It is the judgement of this board that you be disqualified from command assignment, effective immediately, and reduced to the rank of commander with commensurate reduction in pay and benefits. You are to report to Liaison Logistics Command, Kingdom End, for reassignment."
Aron Danna stood mute. Stripped of command. Looking at the rest of his career spent in a cramped office on some Boron military base, needing a pressure suit to get to his quarters at the end of the day. He would have to give it a year. One year of good performance so this disaster wouldn't be the last thing in his service record, then he could resign with some hope of getting a decent job.
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After the disgraced captain left the room Admiral Ban Dorin turned to another member of the panel. "Any word on the ship?"
"The hijackers apparently had some sort of transport staged. There was a rendez-vous, where they stripped the ship of all useable equipment. We know this because Teladi security got scans of the ship when it appeared in their space."
"Teladi space? Were they involved?"
"We have no indication of that, sir. The ship appeared in Grand Exchange, transiting from west to north. No indication that it was ever in Belt of Aguilar, so it apparently jumped in there."
"Headed north. Xenon space."
"Yes, sir. We can't assume anything, but it appears they were using the Xenon to dispose of any evidence they may have left on the ship. Our security forces arrived in sector just before the Cerberus breached the gate into Xenon space."
"They followed?"
"Yes. There was a large Xenon force on the other side of the gate, multiple capital ships. The security force was headed by a corvette. No sign of the Cerberus and the pursuit was discontinued."
"Any wreckage?"
"They didn't get any recorded, sir, but they didn't have much time in sector. Their scans are far from complete."
"Freight scans from Teladi security. Did they show any jump fuel aboard? I want to know that ship didn't pop through the gate and just jump off somewhere."
"Residual fuel, sir. Two sectors, at most. We have assets in Split space. They didn't come out there. No indication they returned to Teladi space. If they jumped the only jump they could have made would be deeper into Xenon space."
The Admiral sighed. "Could have met a refueler, but that would take precision timing with a Xenon fleet defending their gate. List her as lost, presumed destroyed."
The members of the review board filed solemnly out of the room.
Captain Aron Danna stood rigidly at attention. He silently vowed that he would not whither under the glares of the review board. As the five flag officers filed into the room his knees started to weaken and he was afraid they were visibly shaking. But the creases in his trousers were stock still, holding a perfect line.
Admiral Ban Dorin cleared his throat. "We have reviewed all the tapes, as well as testimony from your surviving crew...the survivors who were not involved in the hijacking that is. It is the finding of this review board that you were correct in ordering the ship abandoned. There was no reason to question the reported reactor breach when it came from your engineering officer of the watch, and the evacuation was the correct response.
"However, your failure to initiate the self destruct sequence prior to leaving the bridge is a severe breach of procedure, and has led to a Cerberus frigate being captured by forces unknown. While the reported core failure would have been expected to destroy the ship, this case has demonstrated the necessity for that procedure and the consequences of failing to follow that procedure.
"It is the judgement of this board that you be disqualified from command assignment, effective immediately, and reduced to the rank of commander with commensurate reduction in pay and benefits. You are to report to Liaison Logistics Command, Kingdom End, for reassignment."
Aron Danna stood mute. Stripped of command. Looking at the rest of his career spent in a cramped office on some Boron military base, needing a pressure suit to get to his quarters at the end of the day. He would have to give it a year. One year of good performance so this disaster wouldn't be the last thing in his service record, then he could resign with some hope of getting a decent job.
----------------------------------------------------------
After the disgraced captain left the room Admiral Ban Dorin turned to another member of the panel. "Any word on the ship?"
"The hijackers apparently had some sort of transport staged. There was a rendez-vous, where they stripped the ship of all useable equipment. We know this because Teladi security got scans of the ship when it appeared in their space."
"Teladi space? Were they involved?"
"We have no indication of that, sir. The ship appeared in Grand Exchange, transiting from west to north. No indication that it was ever in Belt of Aguilar, so it apparently jumped in there."
"Headed north. Xenon space."
"Yes, sir. We can't assume anything, but it appears they were using the Xenon to dispose of any evidence they may have left on the ship. Our security forces arrived in sector just before the Cerberus breached the gate into Xenon space."
"They followed?"
"Yes. There was a large Xenon force on the other side of the gate, multiple capital ships. The security force was headed by a corvette. No sign of the Cerberus and the pursuit was discontinued."
"Any wreckage?"
"They didn't get any recorded, sir, but they didn't have much time in sector. Their scans are far from complete."
"Freight scans from Teladi security. Did they show any jump fuel aboard? I want to know that ship didn't pop through the gate and just jump off somewhere."
"Residual fuel, sir. Two sectors, at most. We have assets in Split space. They didn't come out there. No indication they returned to Teladi space. If they jumped the only jump they could have made would be deeper into Xenon space."
The Admiral sighed. "Could have met a refueler, but that would take precision timing with a Xenon fleet defending their gate. List her as lost, presumed destroyed."
The members of the review board filed solemnly out of the room.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
-
Song Of Obsidian
- Posts: 305
- Joined: Wed, 19. Jun 13, 19:46
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Timsup2nothin
- Posts: 4690
- Joined: Thu, 22. Jan 09, 17:49
Song Of Obsidian wrote:Looks like another unique take on a common and therefore bland game event. An abandoned ship recovery mission, most likely. Yay for artistic license.
Glad it turned out more interesting than 'claimed the ship and hung out in grand exchange til the cops came then jumped to the hub', which would be pretty bland.
Trapper Tim's Guide to CLS 2
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
On Her Majesty's Secret Service-Dead is Dead, and he is DEAD
Not a DiD, so I guess it's a DiDn't, the story of my first try at AP
Part One, in progress
HEY! AP!! That's new!!!
-
Song Of Obsidian
- Posts: 305
- Joined: Wed, 19. Jun 13, 19:46
