Rogues Revenge, Chapter 10: Pt 3 & 4 28/7/03

[SteveMill]

part 3 below the ********************************, part 4 (end of chapter) below the ------


Chapter 10: A New Broom

“Western jumpgate activating,” Kaitrin announced calmly. “On screen,” she continued, anticipating Corrin’s order.

All eyes turned momentarily to the view screen dominating the Enterprise bridge, before returning to their own station instrumentation. All except Kerman of course, the triple eyed Paranid kept one eye permanently on the screen while the others danced methodically over the Helm displays, absorbing readings and confirming the navigation commands his stubby fingers were already stacking in the command buffer in anticipation of the Captain’s orders. His right eye flicked momentarily over the adjacent Tactical station, where Kaitrin was already silently transmitting commands to the Combat Air Patrol fighters, deftly selecting manoeuvre options by code reference from nesting menu options.

Although he would not admit it he had developed a grudging admiration for the Argon woman’s skills. Her almost Paranid ability to digest the complexities of multiple objects moving on multiple vectors in a 3D environment down to inspired tactical orders that struck at the enemy’s heart like a dagger thrust was, in his expert opinion, a woefully under acknowledged factor in the chain of Raider victories.

“Launch Ready One, Two and Three,” Corrin ordered. “And go to Yellow Alert.”

Payter, sitting behind a console at the Security station, just to the left of the main bridge entrance at the rear of the bridge barely sounded acknowledgement when the gentle mustard shimmer of the Status lights mounted throughout the ship turned an urgent, pulsing cardinal.

“Red alert!” he called, the last syllable swallowed by the hooting blare of the Alert klaxon before it muted into the background. “Launch Wings Alpha through Gamma,” Corrin ordered quietly as the big Xenon ship cleared the gate. It was a destroyer, one of the old blade-thin, segmented body designs that had formed the backbone of the Xenon arsenal for as long as there were records. And it too was launching fighters, sunlight glittering from their wings as they formed up on their mothership.

Corrin triggered the seat restraint field, anticipating a rough ride, and swung the small command console across his lap. CAP One, the three Mamba fighters, sitting permanently crewed on standby had already launched. Three more Wing Status Indicators stood yellow, one suddenly flashing to green as the last pilot of Beta Wing signalled his launch-ready status. He made a mental note to send those five pilots something vintage from his personal stock. The other two wings followed in rapid succession.

“Helm, come about to…” he hesitated slightly as he weighed his tactical options. The destroyer was faster than the pumped up TL but the Enterprise had a full 625 MW of shields raised, a quarter greater than the more heavily armed warship. “Zero Eight Zero, mark two-five. All ahead flank!”

Kerman grunted acknowledgement as he executed the command. The view screen remained locked on the destroyer while Kaitrin displayed the forward view in a window superimposed on the bottom left corner as the Enterprise lumbered through a broad arc onto the new heading. Small, red boxes sprang up round the Xenon ships, tactical data concerning speed, bearing and load-out cogently displayed alongside.

The Xenon destroyer might be fast but it’s fighters were not and Corrin’s first instinct was to separate them from the cap ship. Only the squat X shaped Xenon light fighters could keep up with either the destroyer or the Enterprise and Corrin hoped they would prove easy meat for the Sarge’s missiles and the Raider’s own Bayamons and Hawks whose crews would already be racing to their stations.

“Mandalays standing by!” Kaitrin called. She was ice-cool, exuding confidence, her fingers poised to launch the autonomous AI point defence screen.

“Launch CAP Two,” Corrin commanded, Kaitrin called confirmation moments later. The six small fighters buzzed protectively around the Enterprise, the last line of defence against the Xenon equivalent of ship-killing Hornet and Silkworm missiles. They and the drones they contained were controlled by a prototype AI program developed by Xela.

This was its first test.

The destroyer arrowed in pursuit, trailing in the wake of a dozen N-Class light fighters. The M and L-Class medium and heavy fighters, another sixteen in all were ignoring the Orca and streaming towards the Trading Station. Corrin cursed under his breath and ordered the Paranid helmsman to plot an intercept course, the heavy fighters all carried Hornets. The destroyer adjusted it’s heading also, it would intercept the Enterprise before it could intercept them.

“CAP One, splash the N’s, Alpha and Beta get those L’s, designated Attack Two. Gamma, protect CAP Two.”

Kaitrin’s fingers blurred over her panel and she mumbled into a throat mike as she translated the general order into specific instructions.

“Helm, go evasive and then take us head to head with the primary target.”

The Paranid grunted acknowledgement and activated the manual flight over-ride. Despite the optimised rudder upgrades the TL handled like a Chelt and the Xenon destroyer barrelled through the dog-fighting Mamba’s and N’s to skim over the Enterprise before he could complete the manoeuvre. Improvising he decelerated sharply and pulled a tight left loop before hitting the after-burners. As he anticipated the Xenon craft fired hornets and dropped more fighters as it passed, it’s plasma weapons ripping into the Enterprise shields.

It was already curving to make another run.

“Launch Strike One, launch all remaining fighters,” Corrin said. “Twenty Silkworms, now!”

“Missiles away,” Payter confirmed. “Hornets inbound.”

The Prometheus and Mamba strike wing arrowed through the Xenon fighter screen as the Raider Bayamons fought to protect them. The missiles arced towards the destroyer as the Mandalays fought to take out the incoming missiles.

“Ahead flank!” Corrin shouted. “Helm, evasive at your discretion!”

He was sweating now, realising that his fighter pilot training and skills left him ill-equipped to command an improvised carrier in a capital ship engagement. The faster destroyer swept over them again, blotting out the stars on the view screen with it’s bulk. Again it’s primary weapons pummelled the Enterprise shields and again it launched missiles at point blank range. This time the fighters and their drones could not stop them all and the Enterprise juddered and rolled under repeated hammer –blows.

“Shields at 30%, Shield Two destroyed.”

It took Corrin a second to recognise the voice. It was Massoor at the Systems station, a small, olive skinned man in his early forties and a friend of the Sarge. He understood, from a brief skim of his bio that he had once been Chief Systems Engineer, running the Raiders ground-crews but lately he’d been Manager of one of the illegal stations in an unclaimed sector.

“Attack Two destroyed, three fighters down,” Kaitrin announced. “All wings, engage at will!”

Corrin attempted to take in the tactical situation on his console display but there were too many fighters and drones spread out along the arc of their flight for his fighter honed combat instincts to intuit a solution to their precarious position. Seven Raiders heavy fighters were among the fifteen casualties including half the point defence fighters. Thirty Xenon fighters were down but the destroyer’s shields stood at 300MW and recharging fast.

“Helm, head for Alpha and Beta wings, might as well make the best fist we can! Weapons, fire at will and damn the expense!”

Payter began launching silkworms as the destroyer came in for another head-on pass. Again the Enterprise shook under a plasma pounding. Again, hornets breached the increasingly porous defences.

“Shields at ten percent,” Payter intoned funereally.

“How are we doing Captain?”

Corrin started, he hadn’t heard Max enter the bridge.

“Not good,” he answered as Max took the First Officer’s station at his right hand side. “Dammit Max, I’m a fighter jock not a fleet commander. Helm, come about to Three-three-five Mark eight, all ahead flank! See if we can use a gate as a shield!”

The Enterprise hauled itself onto the new heading, forcing the destroyer to abort an attack run and arc around for another pass. In the background he could hear Kaitrin ordering all remaining fighters to intercept. It was a hopeless cause, the destroyer was much faster than even the Mamba’s and it’s shields strong enough to shrug off anything but Hornet missiles and as a civilian vessel the Enterprise had none. As the Xenon ship smashed through the fighter screen Corrin could see they were not going to make it to the gate.

It swept over them, laying down a barrage of plasma and banked firing more missiles. Enough hit to take down all the remaining shields.

On the view-screen flashed the words, GAME OVER.

Corrin found himself shaking.

“That’s four sims and four defeats Max. This tub isn’t a warship, there’s no way we can stand up to one in a fair fight.”

“Then we’ll have to make sure it’s bloody unfair!” Max said with a grin. “Leave it with me, it’ll give me something to do while I’m catching rays!”

“Then you’re going? I had a bet with Anje she’d not be able to talk you into it. How do you feel?”

Max smiled. “I feel really great, really great! She’s got the loan of some super star villa on Three Worlds Beta. Tyre checked out fine and is already there, some rich playground island, suns, sea and sand Corrin, straight after we get this meeting out the way. I can hardly wait, is it all fixed?”

“The sector station managers are already on the Trading Station with live link-ups to the owners. All except that bio-gas place, the manager tried to make a run for it in a Dolphin but he didn’t get very far and the station surrendered without a fight. Our security people are looking into it but I guess the rest of the staff are clean. We’ll have to fly until we pick up a teleporter. Ready or do you need to eat?”

“I’ve eaten thanks.” Max indicated a fading stain on his flight suit and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I think Zee timed the stabiliser impact rolls to deliberately spill my java!”

“Probably true!” Corrin laughed. “Come on Max, I’ll give you a lift. It’ll be good to fly something I know what to do with!”


Corrin introduced Max to the new officer on Systems while they waited for Xela to compile a tactical summary of the simulations and transfer it to a data chip. They took the scenic route to the launch bay, giving Max an opportunity to get better acquainted with his flagship. Although the bridge, control and life support systems had been remodelled for Argon physiology the rest of the ship retained a distinctive Boron character, all soft curves, pale hues and subdued lighting that stood in stark contrast to the utilitarian bleakness of Argon naval vessels.

Another difference, which Max had not expected of such a large ship, was how little usable space there actually was, apart from the pregnant belly of the cargo bay bulging beneath the cetacean hull. With much of the rest of the volume taken up by the one massive flight deck and ancillary services designed to support a fleet of freighters there was little space left over for living quarters or any of the creature comforts found even on military vessels.

“They are designed for extended duty,” Corrin remarked. “TL’s generally make short runs within the borders of their own space, unless they have been modified for interplanetary transport.” Which was why, everywhere they went robots outnumbered the Raiders crew ten to one. They could be held in the massive sub-space holds that swallowed so much of the ship’s power, making it impossible to add energy weapons to the Enterprise. Humans could not. Instead they were forced to live, eat and sleep in cramped open barracks that had already acquired the distinctive ripeness characteristic of men living together. It made Max feel slightly guilty about his billet in Officers Quarters.

But only slightly, RHIP, rank hath its privileges, a truism in any fleet ever, under sail, steam or star drive.

The Enterprise basic systems could function perfectly with a few handfuls of engineers and security staff but the fighters were a different matter. Thirty of the best Raiders ships, the Mamba’s, Prometheus, Falcon and Piranha’s supported by more Bayamons, Hawk, Pegasus and Mandalays, were based on the Enterprise, a mobile strategic reserve capable of being deployed in minutes anywhere the Raiders had a functioning nav-sat. If the Raiders were an equivalent Argon Navy Flight Group with normal shift rotation, training and down-time patterns the Enterprise would carry over one hundred and fifty pilots. It carried just thirty of the best, with the rest providing first line defence of The Force Corporation fixed positions in three sectors.

Like all pilots, Max secretly feared the day would come when machines would replace sentient beings in the cockpit but even so, having to rely so heavily on the Xela designed AI flight program, no matter how sophisticated, made Max uneasy. It was a feeling, Corrin reported, shared by the rest of the squadrons. A worm of doubt gnawing at the brazen self-confidence that sustained it as a fighting unit able to punch massively above its weight. A worm fed by the series of unsuccessful simulations.

New strategies and a successful blooding of the Enterprise were needed quickly. Max had some ideas but they required some nurturing in the fertile soil of his inventive and unorthodox mind before they were suitable for transplant.

Meantime though, another more immediate problem demanded his attention. What to do about the cluster of bio-gas, bofu and plankton production facilities that sustained the Boron colonies in this far adjunct of the Boron New Frontier? Assurances, Corrin briefed him, were being demanded. Assurances concerning security of supply of raw materials at a profit-making price and security of life, limb and property now the protective shield of the Royal Boron Navy had been lowered. If they had to absorb higher costs for raw materials and private security prices would have to rise dramatically.

The Boron colony, like all new colonies, was years away from being self-sustaining. Indeed, like all new colonies, it was a huge drain on the Royal Treasury despite the 5% levy on shipments and Sinas had already been informed that the Chancellor of The Boron Exchequer had no intention of “printing credits to sustain tens of thousands of water-eyed wastrels in an untenable situation no matter what the strategic significance.”

“It’s our problem now apparently.” Corrin concluded his report as the Mamba alighted on a Trading Station landing pad. “As the de-facto occupying power, and our expense. Bloody penny-pinching bureaucrats, wouldn’t know the big picture if they sat on it naked.”

Max took the full-face filter Corrin proffered and put it on. “Budget-shifting, it’s the same game all over.” He grinned behind the clear plastic protecting his eyes and lungs from the trace elements of ammonia of the recreated Boron atmosphere, a grin Corrin recognised, a grin of a man with a plan.

“Spit it out Max, what do you have in mind?”

“I’m not sure, it depends on how things play out. Are the crew buying the “advanced Boron AI” line?”

“Same old Max,” Corrin smiled. “Yes, they’re buying it, half love her and the other half are getting up a petition to have her personality matrix re-initialised!”

They had a short meeting with Sinas to get a few details straight and then went to the conference chamber where the Boron factory managers clustered in a cacophonous gaggle around a small human male in a black thin leather suit while the Boron owners peered from an arc of monitors on the curving rear wall. At the front of the room was a small table, set with three spaces and a single computer interface, linked into the rank of workstations facing it.

“You can remove your mask in this section Max,” Sinas observed, “it’s part of the Factotum administrative section and the atmosphere is practically Argon normal.” They removed their masks and took their seats at the table at the head of the room. It served as a signal for the seven Boron to disperse to the crescent of workstations and the room fell silent. The human took the centre station.

“Argus Stanner, translator, negotiator, legal representative. Sharp as a knife and as mean as a Split with a hangover,” Sinas informed Max with a thin smile, making no attempt to stop his assessment carrying to Stanner’s ears. “I hope you brought a spare shirt.”

“A pleasure as always sir,” he nodded, adjusting a small transceiver behind his left ear. “I have the honour of representing Boron interests in this matter. It was fortunate I happened to be in this sector. Mr Force, it’s going to be a pleasure.”

Max ignored the supercilious reptile smile, aware that the pinch-faced young man was attempting to anger him, get him off balance. “Stanner. Working on commission I trust?”

“Of course. My clients expect a substantial renegotiation of transport fees and administrative levies to compensate for the degraded security situation.”

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road Sinas.”

“He’s got a point,” Corrin whispered ironically as the Boron factotum introduced the new ruling authority. Max silently agreed, if he was in their position he’d probably feel the same.

“The position of my clients is simple,” Stanner got to his feet and began pacing theatrically. “They, and I might add, all the other commercial enterprises along the New Frontier are dependent on the Force Corporation for most of our imports and exports. As you are probably not aware, my clients were obliged to pay a substantial import tax in return for this service, a tax I might add, my clients were happy to pay. A fair price for security and regularity of supply and access to the wider markets of the home worlds, fair but very high.”

He paused dramatically while the assembled Boron burbled agreement.

“My clients insist on a substantive renegotiation of the terms and conditions of this arrangement. If we cannot reach a satisfactory outcome here, we will be forced to appeal up through the Foundation Guild regulatory system and then, if necessary, to higher courts.”

“My people will be supplying the same service on the same terms,” Max observed, “I really don’t see the point of this, nothing’s changed. You’ll get your materials and we’ll transport your products to market. Everyone’s happy.”

“Ah!” Stanner exclaimed angrily and resumed his pacing. “That is precisely the point, everyone is most assuredly not happy.” His voice strayed up the octaves into shrillness. “Not happy at all, for reasons amply illustrated by the stunning complacency of your statement. A statement I might add, that reveals your own complete lack of understanding of the complexities of commerce. Just what I would expect from a man whose sole business venture ended in a fireball. How many of your clients have you killed Force?”

His voice shook and his eyes bulged from a face now suffused with comic rage.

“Now you just watch it laddie,” Corrin growled, rising menacingly to his feet. Max put a restraining hand on his forearm “No, let him have his say,” Max said evenly. “The answer is obviously plenty, go on.”

The diminutive lawyer raised one eyebrow in surprise and then smiled.

“Well, at least you avoid obfuscation, I’m sure we all appreciate your candidness, admirable traits for a warrior.”

He stopped mid-stride and turned his back on Max to directly address the Boron.

“A warrior. And is this not the crux of the problem? Maximilian Force is a man with a colourful past as I’m sure we’re all aware. Mercenary pilot in the employ of whoever offered coin and latterly, well, we all know the story thanks to the assiduous work of his publicity machine. The first person to get a licence to construct commercial stations in the prime real estate of the gate sectors when other businesses are forced to scrabble for and make do with distant orbital slots, very impressive I might add, very impressive indeed.”

He turned to address Max directly. “Perhaps you might tell us in your own words how you think this privilege was earned?”

Sinas leaned across to whisper in Max’s ear.

“You don’t have to answer any of this, he’s grandstanding. This isn’t a trial, it’s just a commercial negotiation.”

“No, that’s okay, let’s get all cards on the table,” Max replied softly. Raising his voice he continued,

“I did the Boron Kingdom a big favour by breaking up a Teladi scheme to effectively bar Boron traders from their space by at minimum turning a blind eye to pirate activity. I was owed, so what?”

“A feud you have stoked with your constant attacks. In this sector our very lives are held in your hands and need I say that without the mighty shield of the glorious Royal Navy, we all feel, how should I put it, somewhat more mortal? Need I elucidate the threats?”

“That won’t be necessary, we are all well aware of..” Sinas began. “No, let’s get it all out into the open,” Max interjected.

Stanner smiled the sort of smile that causes wise beings to check their pockets.

“Shall we start with pirates? We have all just seen it confirmed in the most dramatic fashion that the adjacent sector is occupied by a pirate clan.” He turned to address the bank of monitors. “And we have recently seen that Force was unable to protect even one station, let alone an entire sector. He was not even able to protect one woman, consequent heroics notwithstanding. Does anyone here seriously believe that he can now protect an entire sector of stations as well as his own far holdings?”

Corrin sprang to his feet again, his face contorted with rage.

“You listen to me you...” He restrained himself by a visible effort of will. “The Raiders are the best pilots in space with the best damn ships and now we have the Enterprise as a mobile base. We can be hauling your cargo anywhere in the universe and jump back here in minutes. You’ve all got your own defences, use them for once instead of keeping them cowering under your rocks while a man fights for his life. Damn cowards.”

He sat and glowered plasma beams at the Boron before him. A couple had the decency to squirm with what he hoped was a severe attack of conscience.

“Sorry about that Max,” he whispered. “That slimy little bastard rattles my cage just by breathing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Max smiled. “You carry on Stanner, I’m sure you have a whole lot more.”

“Mr Mirv Corrin,” Stanner applauded ironically. “Bliss Place manager, play boy, and sometime small-time bounty hunter when the cellar runs low. Credentials to inspire confidence, your lives in his hands.” Max shot Corrin a warning look and he remained seated, quivering with the effort.

Stanner continued his pacing, wrists clasped firmly behind his back.

“How many ships do you have Mr Force, makes, models and loud-outs?”

“That is classified information,” Max answered carefully. “Enough.”

“It wasn’t enough to save those hundreds of beings in Scale Plate Green was it?” Stanner observed coolly. Agreement rippled around the room in a chittering wave and on the monitor bank several of the Boron owners were speaking soundlessly into their microphones. Stanner held a finger to his ear pick-up, nodding theatrical agreement.

“My clients are somewhat unhappy with that answer, they are not accustomed to buying sight unseen. Tell me Mr Force, how many hornet missiles do you have in your armoury?”

“None,” Max snapped back instantly. “You know full well that the private ownership of Weapons of Mass Destruction is outlawed under all circumstances.”

“All? Even in this unique situation? Surely the Foundation Guild would not leave entrepreneurs so exposed Sinas?”

“The Foundation Guild regulates Boron and Argon trade, it is not a military supplier or an armed force. It relies on the Argon and Boron Navy for that, as you well know,” Sinas snapped, irritated.

Stanner encompassed the Boron with a grand sweep of an arm.

“Everyone is well aware of the policies of the Foundation and Profit Guilds and no-one wants to see such fearsome weapons in the wrong hands. With the Boron Navy withdrawal from this sector pending further, no doubt long and drawn out negotiations, how do you propose to protect us from the Stoertebeker carriers. There are two of them I believe and Law has graphically demonstrated he possesses these weapons. I repeat the question, without equivalent armament, how can you expect to take down one of these strongly shielded vessels before they can launch a handful of these awesomely destructive missiles?”

“We have the Enterprise,” Max cut in.

Stanner actually laughed. “The Enterprise, please! A rather grandiose name for a cargo hauler no matter how many lesser missiles it holds. Even if it could match the Stoertebeker carriers, how about the Xenon warships that regularly pass through? Only the Boron Naval presence prevented them from rampaging through my clients’ holdings. And now the Navy has gone.”

“From the Boron tactical analyses we’ve read, the Xenon are just passing through and only attack if provoked,” Corrin answered.

“Are you saying the Force security plan for this sector is to just trust the good intention of the Xenon?” Stanner gasped in mock amazement. “That is breathtaking in its complacency!”

Stanner turned to address the owners directly.

“Gentle-beings, in your position I would be tempted to make an immediate representation to the Foundation Guild, demanding your security concerns be addressed. You will receive no funding while still incurring security expenses. However, to avoid a protracted dispute, I recommend both sides accept a 1% levy, so that you can fund your own security arrangements. Clearly we can have no confidence in this new arrangement. I suggest a vote.”

Max leapt to his feet. “Hold it right there Stanner, I’ve been briefed on my powers and responsibilities and that includes considerable leeway on the level of levies I see as necessary to finance the defence of this sector. I was thinking of raising it to the maximum 10%. It’ll take a big bite out of your profits but there will still be plenty of swill in the trough!”

The room burst into uproar, every Boron in the room on their feet, gesticulating angrily and loudly, each owner talking urgently into their mikes. Stanner listened intently, fighting to keep a smile of victory off his face. Only when he raised his arms did the Boron lapse back into silence.

“That is completely unacceptable Commander Force, my clients are completely unable to consider such a ridiculous proposal in the absence of bankable security guarantees? Are you prepared to indemnify every station against destruction, loss of life and loss of profits?”

“Of course not!” Max spat back angrily. “That’s an open-ended commitment that could cost tens of millions, I’m not a damn charity!”

He smiled coldly, Corrin recognised that smile and hid his own behind his hand. Max had a card up his sleeve, he always did, and it was about to drop. He didn’t know what it was, but he was sure it would be a doozie.

“Besides, none of you have seen our defence plans.”

Max produced a data chip and inserted it into the computer interface.

“This is an edited compilation of the tactical exercises we’ve been running, focusing particularly on the Xenon threat, with the end results extrapolated from the exercise termination. I’ll be damned if I concede 1% but I might just settle for eight. If we reach no settlement and it goes to court then, as the old saying goes, you get what you pay for. I’m not a government, I’ve got no electors to keep happy and I don’t give a flying **** what bad press I get from letting unprotected stations fry. Now enjoy the show. It’s being relayed to your on-screen friends, Stanner.”

Corrin’s jaw dropped.

The Boron and Stanner watched the report in a silence that glowered. Corrin, Max and Sinas followed it on their interface. Four times the Enterprise exploded in a firestorm, four times the Xenon left the sector a desert of burnt out hulks.

When the report terminated the room was completely still, the Boron rigid with baffled shock. It took even Stanner a few seconds to pull himself together and turn to Max, unable to mask his bafflement.

“I, I have to say I am shocked Commander. Do you actually believe this supports your counter-offer when it demonstrates you are completely unable to effectively defend us. It’s only a matter of time before we are all slaughtered!”

“You haven’t heard my real offer,” Max said coolly. He addressed the owners directly. “If you aren’t willing to pay what it takes to protect your investment then the chances are that if the Xenon are provoked they are now worthless. I’m willing to buy the stations, contents and the associated contracts over at 10% of construction cost. This offer will remain on the table for precisely ten seconds, after that you’re on your own. Just stand up to agree. Ten.”

“This is outrageous!” Stanner shrieked, his voice squeaking off the scale.

“Nine.”

“I protest, I protest in the strongest possible terms!”

“Seven?”

“What happened to eight?”

“Five,” Max said coldly.

“Xenon provoked? This is blackmail, blackmail I say!”

“Three, two,” Max said quickly.

Every Boron in the room and every Boron on screen leapt to their feet, gesticulating furiously.

“How’s your commission looking now Stanner?” Max asked evenly.

Corrin laughed uproariously as Stanner’s mouth gulped soundlessly for words.

*************************************************

He was still chuckling when he finished recounting the story for the benefit of the celebratory gathering in the Enterprise recreation room, now filled to intimacy with the bridge crew and the senior Raiders pilots. “A whole business empire at ten per cent with contracts and stock thrown in, I’m in the wrong damn business!” Jackson grinned boyishly. “It’s good to have you back Max, life was beginning to get a little staid and predictable. And that calls for a drink.” He topped up Max, Payter’s and Corrin’s glasses from the beauchamp magnum he’d commandeered on arrival. How’s Tyre?”

“Tyre? Not ‘the chick’, ‘squeeze’ or ‘bird?’ Max asked. “Bird? I’ve never called a flooze that in my life,” Jack protested. “It lacks respect. Besides, she’s paid her dues now, she’s part of the team not just some casino babe.”

“Class is just something you can’t teach,” Max smiled. “Or irony. We just spoke, she’s okay physically, still pretty shocked up though. The medics say with rest and time she’ll be fine. What’s his story?”

Max nodded towards a corner of the room where the new Systems officer stood, somehow managing to be isolated and alone amidst the tightly packed celebration. He was a small, olive skinned man with hair pulled tightly back into a small pony tail. Max guessed he was about fifty and like a lot of men his age his hair was cosmetically coloured. The youthful black sheen contrasted sharply with his sagging features, accentuating rather than concealing his advancing years.

“Massoor?” Payter answered. “You must remember Massoor, you booted him out of the Raiders yourself. The drink, the incident with his wife? I’ve been expecting you to rip off my stripes for bringing him back without your say so.”

“That’s what I meant,” Max said covering hastily, “why is that man on my bridge?”

“I’d like to know the full story, being new to this outfit!” Corrin interjected.

“We go back a long way,” Sarge began, “before the commander here took over. Justin T Massoor, Justin Time as he was nicknamed then. He was our chief engineer and quarter-master and worked miracles with our finances, keeping us in space without tying up what funds we had in excessive stock levels. We weren’t as flush as we are now, always scrimping for the next batch of missiles or drive parts but whatever we needed he could get it-“

“Just in time,” Corrin said. “Got it. Why did Max can him?”

Payter looked uncomfortably at Max, who nodded for him to continue. “The space fuel, and he was one mean drunk for a small guy and like they say, you never know what goes on behind closed doors. Until his wife came out one day sporting a couple of black eyes, then the whole bloody mess came into the open. The commander here kicked him from one end of the hanger bay to the other and then threw him out. We sort of kept in touch and a few days ago he floated this idea.”

He glanced quickly at the solitary figure nursing a glass. “That’s mineral water Sir, he swears he hasn’t touched a drop or raised a fist to anyone since that day. Been running one of the illegal stations in the unclaimed sectors, the Weapons Component Factory in Farnham’s Legend for the last year and doing a fine job according to my sources. With all due respect commander, we need a full time Trade Master, particularly now you’ve picked up all those bio-gas, bofu and plankton stations. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

“How do the men feel, he doesn’t look like he’s winning any popularity contests?” Corrin asked. “A lot of them weren’t around then,” Payter said, “but those that were..,” he shrugged, “well, some don’t give a damn and some do. Katie was a popular lass. There’s been some pushing but he’s kept his cool. And he is one fine engineer. We need someone like that onboard, someone we can trust.”

Max thought for a moment, he didn’t know the man at all of course, that was the real Max Force, but he was no great fan of wife beaters and bullies. On the other hand Payter was right, with a whole sector to run both he and Corrin were going to have their hands full organising defences. That would require plenty of credits. Someone who could organise a trade network to support the mission would be invaluable.

“What about his wife?”

“He’s never seen her or the kids since,” Payter answered sorrowfully. “That’s a knife twisting in his guts every day. He’s not a bad man Commander, just,” he shrugged, “just weak I suppose, but if you can go straight, why not him?”

“You call this going straight?” Jackson muttered.

“Okay Sarge,” Max conceded, “but you better keep him out of trouble or I’ll do more than kick his ass next time is that clear?”

Payter smiled, looking relieved. “Count on it sir.”

“I suppose I’d better have a word, hold this Jack.” Max handed Jackson his glass and threaded his way through the crowded room to the forlorn Massoor, the man stiffened, his rounded chin held high as if steeling himself for a blow as Max approached.

“The Sarge says you’re off the sauce and keep your fists down nowadays,” Max said curtly. “Why’d you want to come back? You aren’t going to be the most popular man around by the looks of your elbow room here.”

Massoor took a small sip of water as he thought. “I don’t have a family commander, not any more and well,” he took another sip. “Water, haven’t drunk anything stronger than java since..” his voice trailed of in shame. “The Raiders were the only other family I knew and I saw you running the gates on the net and mixing it with the Stoertebeker Clan and I just wanted to be a part of it all again. The universe would be a lot better place without his sort.”

Max nodded. “The Sarge says you’ve been running a station in the old Xenon sectors.”

“Managing for some Teladi consortium, a Weapons Component Factory in Farnham’s Legend, illegal as hell of course, we did a lot of business with the Skull Clan,” he confirmed. “It suited my talents and there’s a lot of credits to be made selling that technology if you don’t ask too many questions. Considering the bonuses I’m probably taking a pay cut being here!” he joked weakly.

“We have dealings with Skull, any bad blood I should know about?”

“None my end commander, I doubt she even knows who I am.”

He seemed sincere; Max was picking up no vibes that made him think the man was some sort of plant and despite their long association he was confident Payter would have run all the normal security checks.

“The Sarge vouches for you and that’s good enough for me.” Max stuck his hand out. “Welcome back.” Massoor shook his hand tentatively.

“Thank you Commander, I won’t let you down again Sir, not ever.”

“You’d better not,” Max warned. “I own all the factories in this sector and will be adding an LT Factory. Can you handle something that big and hold down the systems slot on the Enterprise bridge?”

“Will the product be for your use or for trade?”

“Both,” Max answered, “I need an income stream to finance more fighters.”

“Then you’ll need a vertically integrated supply chain so that the profits are kept in-house at every level. What sort of budget do I have for stations?”

“Five million for the time being but I might be able to scare up some more once I’ve had a break.”

Massoor peered calculatedly into the middle distance. “That’s a good start but what about the other Boron sectors? Are we responsible for keeping them stocked? It’s my understanding that another Boron transport company has been appointed the sole contractor; I’d bet they’ll be making monopoly profits. We could undercut and still be ahead.”

His face shone with genuine enthusiasm. “And if we integrate their products into high value production chains we could remove transport costs from their budgets entirely. They could make more profits selling us what we need at lower costs and we could use the savings to under-cut other suppliers.”

He grinned. “Having your own TL is one major competitive advantage, not to mention your nav-sat network! They’re usually too expensive for companies to maintain and protect as pirates see them as a lumbering pay-days and target practice. I can have a business plan on your desk in two hours.”

“I’m not sure I have a desk,” Max grinned, warming to the eagerness of the little man. “But you know the situation here, we’re going to need as many credits as we can get. We’re going after Law.”

“After what he did, I didn’t doubt it Commander. You just tell me what you need and leave the rest to me.”

He handed Max his glass and left the party with a spring in his step. Max took a tentative sip.

“Water,” he confirmed, rejoining Corrin, Jackson and Payter. “I’m putting him in charge of our commercial stuff, he seems to know what he’s talking about. I told him to run everything by you Corrin, but give him his head, within reason. The LT factory is the priority but he wants us to muscle in on the supply contracts in the other Boron Frontier sectors.”

“Another contractor?” Jackson queried. “I thought you took that over for this whole area?”

Max shrugged. “I guess the Boron don’t want to put all their eggs in one basket. Not one with a permanent target painted on it at least.”

Jackson smiled.

-----------------------------------------------------

The man stood harnessed and trembling before him, a dark stain spreading down his thigh. Law could smell the fear, a sour counterpoint to the acrid hint of ammonia permeating the small chamber. It was bare, except for what Force had mockingly referred to as his throne, atop the dais that concealed the portable energy source that powered the defence and mobility systems. Robbed of victims by the inexcusable ease with which Force had escaped and the careless execution of the incompetent woman controlling communications by Hagman, he had magnanimously deferred the installation of his equipment while the Clan technicians struggled to repair the prodigious damage he had inflicted.

Now, as the cook whimpered like a stuck child behind the gag, he realised he might have been premature.

“You are certain this is the man Force referred to?”

“Positive,” Hagman answered, pushing the bound man to his knees. “Roscoe admitted pulling a wounded man to safety before the rest of his team were caught in a booby trap. He claims he was then hit from behind and doesn’t remember anything until medics revived him.”

He hesitated slightly.

“He might be telling the truth, he lacks any of the skills needed to comprehensively sabotage our internal systems the way Force’s putative accomplice did.”

“Is that true?” Law inquired evenly. “An innocent mistake?”

The man nodded vigorously, his eyes wide and wild with terror.

“Yet Force let you live out of all the others he slaughtered,” he mused, fingering the ebony hilt of the Split blade on his belt, “while boasting of his magnanimity and his spies in my organisation before all the universe. It may be petty but your life tasks me with his impudence and with traitors abounding, well I’m sure you understand.”

The sudden stench showed he understood only too well. Law drew the knife with slow deliberation, relishing the act. The weapon was Split and very old, from a time when their gods demanded more than prayer and blind obedience to authority and the serrated edges were blunt and notched with use, not all of it ancient.

At a nod from Law Hagman hauled the manacled cook to his feet as Law stood, holding him erect by his hair and his crossed wrists as his legs gave way. Hagman he couldn’t read, he had granite eyes that windowed nothing and a face that betrayed no thought. The cook though, every approaching step of his death was reflected and the smell of fear became overwhelming. Law savoured every spasm, every convulsion, every choked, keening scream as he forced the use-dulled blade into his stomach, holding the man’s face to watch the drama in his fading eyes as he wrenched the knife up through his intestines until it hit the sternum.

Gore, blood-sweet and bowel slick gushed hot on his bare hands as he methodically twisted the blade until the last lights flickered and went out. The man died with an almost sensual moan that echoed his own exultation as he caught the moment when life toppled away into the void, leaving stinking, fish-eyed flesh.

“Dispose of this and attend me,” Law ordered. He returned to his seat and rode it to his outer sanctum through a heavy door that opened at it’s approach, the thrill of the kill shrinking to a gnawing worm of hunger. He thought again of Force’s woman and the pleasures she would have supplied. Or the woman Hagman killed. The hunger burned as he watched Hagman drag the leaking corpse away and was barely controlled when he returned.

“Status?” Law asked, keeping the tremor of unslaked lust from his voice.

“No contact with our agents in Menelaus Paradise since the Force broadcast and our access to the Boron navigation satellite has been terminated. There is no trace of any Force fifth columnists on the station.”

The report was succinct to the point of sounding rehearsed.

“Brevity in underlings is something to value but we are old comrades. Speak freely.”

Law watched him carefully as he measured his words.

“Any attempt to deploy a nav-sat in that sector would just be a waste of technology, we should plan on remaining blind and concentrate on building up our forces here. Njy and the Teladi intermediaries have their supply lines in place, however the independent sectors continue to be patrolled by Skull forces. Even with a jump-drive the Orca will be vulnerable and the increased freighter traffic is bound to be noticed by their allies. We should consider dealing a lesson, a strike at their base, or failing that, enlisting the Blue Tooth Gang in Chin’s Clouds and using their base as a collection point if Njy can guarantee the local security forces co-operation. I understand that since Force put the frighteners on in that sector there has been little cream to skim off, the ruling family may be hungry enough to take the risk.”

Law weighed the words, it was an ostensibly reasonable suggestion but in reality flawed.

“No, Split Navy ships are too close at hand and given our new notoriety hands may well be forced. However, craven as they are, that Clan could be used to our advantage. I will think on an offer. Plan for a demonstration of force against Skull facilities, do we have a track on their flag-ship?”

He knew the answer through his own sources but Hagman repeated the information those he knew about had communicated. The Intimidator was still scouring the outer reaches of the system for Xenon remnants but Skull wanted it’s return. All it needed was a lure. It was a time to be audacious and a plan was fermenting in his brain, however it was not yet time to share it, particularly with unanswered questions concerning the nature and extent of Force’s penetration of his security.

Law questioned Hagman closely on the search for traitors. He held fast to his belief that his accomplices had fled with Force himself, if indeed they existed.

“Force was bluffing,” Hagman reiterated. “Sowing dissension, playing mind-games with us.”

“Yet he penetrated our systems while stuck in a holding cell,” Law observed. “Perhaps your lack of belief is blinding your search? You will assume they exist and find them.”

“Understood,” Hagman replied. Law watched his body language carefully as he left the chamber and opened a secure channel to his ship captains. They had convoys to organise and an attack to plan.

[Faze]

Crafty, Steve. Devious & crafty.

Love it

[Al]

Great read and you really had me worried for a while there.

Al

[Adamskini]

\o/

[Moss]

Steve that wasn't nice! you have a streak in you Good read tho I do hope they can do better for the real thing.

[KiwiNZ]

Cool read. I already thought they were going down in their first encounter. Yay, good to have sims these days

Looking forward to the next part.

[Mercenary]

The sudden attack of a Xenon Cap did make me wonder if was only a simm.

Still an excellent read.

Couple of things:

"easy meet for the Sarge's" - should that be "meat" and maybe Sarge's be Sarges' (unless its and abbreviation).

[SteveMill]

The sudden attack of a Xenon Cap did make me wonder if was only a simm.

Still an excellent read.

Couple of things:

"easy meet for the Sarge's" - should that be "meat" and maybe Sarge's be Sarges' (unless its and abbreviation).

Thanks for the spot. Not sure about Sarge - as it is both an abbreviation and a possessive. I tried to put that doubt in the readers mind about it being a sim by the without warning arrival when in reality a nav-sat in the Boron sectors, as mentioned in the previous chapter, would have given warning and of course, the absence of Max.

[Moss]

I tried to put that doubt in the readers mind about it being a sim by the without warning arrival when in reality a nav-sat in the Boron sectors, as mentioned in the previous chapter, would have given warning and of course, the absence of Max.

Hehe you failed (with me anyway!), once I got reading I assumed we'd moved forward, a few days maybe, and that Max and Tyre were having thier holiday and that maybe the navsats had been knocked out recently and would be explained as we read on, never occured to me that it was some kind of sim, ah well, it was a relief when I did find out it was only a simulated battle

[Deleted User]

Great stuff Steve.

A touch of the "Kobayashi Maru" scene from ST2.

IO

[SteveMill]

Great stuff Steve.

A touch of the "Kobayashi Maru" scene from ST2.

IO

Of course! I managed to resist using the "Aren't you supposed to be dead?" line though.

[Mercenary]

I tried to put that doubt in the readers mind about it being a sim by the without warning arrival when in reality a nav-sat in the Boron sectors, as mentioned in the previous chapter, would have given warning and of course, the absence of Max.

Hehe you failed (with me anyway!), once I got reading I assumed we'd moved forward, a few days maybe, and that Max and Tyre were having thier holiday and that maybe the navsats had been knocked out recently and would be explained as we read on, never occured to me that it was some kind of sim, ah well, it was a relief when I did find out it was only a simulated battle

Ahh, it was the first line that had me wondering, the word "anticipating" sowed the seed of doubt,,, i.e. 'we've done this before' and at this point nothing else has led us to believe a combat is about to ensue....

[SteveMill]

Ahh, it was the first line that had me wondering, the word "anticipating" sowed the seed of doubt,,, i.e. 'we've done this before' and at this point nothing else has led us to believe a combat is about to ensue....

The subtle art of .. er ... subtlety. I'm glad some people are paying attention.

I'm planning to finish this chapter over the weekend and I have a boring train journey to kill monday if work doesn't stop me going down to Manchester for the training course. so hopefully more of this catching-up, breathing space, chapter after all the action of the previous one.

[Al]

so hopefully more of this catching-up, breathing space, chapter after all the action of the previous one.

dont feel obligied to do more of the breathing space stuff. If you feel you have to write another violent and fast-paced chapter, I guess we'll just have to live with it



Al

[SteveMill]

so hopefully more of this catching-up, breathing space, chapter after all the action of the previous one.

dont feel obligied to do more of the breathing space stuff. If you feel you have to write another violent and fast-paced chapter, I guess we'll just have to live with it



Al

It's consolidation time mainly but I might be able to work something in for you.

[Kodiak]

[quote=“That’s four sims and four defeats Max. This tub isn’t a warship, there’s no way we can stand up to one in a fair fight.”

“Then we’ll have to make sure it’s bloody unfair!” Max said with a grin. “Leave it with me, it’ll give me something to do while I’m catching rays!”[/quote]


Hey Steve does this mean that max is going to try to capture a xenon destroyer?

if he did that would be realy

-I'm just guessing

[Gandalf The White]

Hi Steve,

Well I have had a good treat! ch9 and part of 10/. Wow!

Good stuff.

[KiwiNZ]

this needs to be bumped

[SteveMill]

this needs to be bumped

New part coming. Have been working over the weekend so not much done. As soon as the next scene is complete i'll post.

[Al]

Wooohoo

Al