Running Before the Storm 6

“Who’s in charge here?” A short Wanti woman with rank markings of a captain waved her powerful hand blaster around as if unsure whether to shoot, and which target she should take first. Her perfectly pressed ecru uniform looked starched enough to crack if bent too far.

Lannetay stood. “I am. What appears to be the trouble, Captain?”

“We received a transmission from this ship that bordered on treason. I demand access to your Core to discover the culprit for proffering charges.” Her pistol centered on Lannetay’s throat.

Lannetay gulped. She didn’t like having guns aimed at her. Bill? Don’t give her what she wants, just what she needs so we can get rid of her without complications. “Captain, I’ve ordered our ship to comply. You should have access by now.”

The woman’s eyes glazed as she accessed Bill impersonating a Core. Her weapon never wavered. “The sergeant spoke with a Victoria Rickman. Where is she?”

Carnifor remained seated, but smiled at the Wanti. “There is no Victoria Rickman aboard the William Placard.” She seemed unfazed by his charm.

The captain shifted her aim to a spot between Carnifor’s eyes. “That much I can see from your Core,” she snapped. “What happened to her?”

Iresha cocked her head to one side. “There’s never been a Victoria Rickman aboard, at least not since I’ve been a member of the crew.” She stood, and Bill dissolved the chair where she’d been seated.

The captain shook her head. Her collar remained stiff as a board. “There’s seven of you. I want you all in your living area – now.” She turned and stalked out, stuffing her pistol in it’s holster.

Carnifor sent an imitation of the woman’s voice to Iresha and Lannetay. I want you all in your living area – now.

Lannetay gave Carnifor a faux scowl. Bill, have everyone meet up in the common room.

The three crew exited the control cabin as the rest of the ship’s complement filed in. The soldiers held their JS-18 Monarch blaster rifles ready to cut down anyone who resisted.

The Wanti in charge stalked from one of the William Placard’s crew to the next, glaring at each in turn. “I’m Captain Bokkup. Someone from this ship spoke with the guard headquarters at Gorbandic Station. Confess now and your life will be spared.” She stopped pacing and looked around the common area as if suddenly realizing the size of the room.

Yeah. Right. Iresha’s quip reflected Lannetay’s estimation of the situation.

The seven crew of the William Placard exchanged glances of confusion. Lannetay took a half step toward Bokkup. “I was just speaking to Gorbandic Control. No other crewman aboard this ship was in contact with your guard station.”

Bokkup’s expression told Lannetay the captain accessed some on-board wet-ware. “You’re not lying.”

“You sound surprised.” Lannetay glanced at the deck before meeting Bokkup’s eyes. “Look, I try very hard to never lie. It’s too easy for people to check, and if I tell the truth I don’t have to remember what lies I told.”

Bokkup scowled. “Let’s just be sure. I want each of you to say ‘you can jolly well stew in your own juices’ so I can check voice prints.”

One after another the seven had their voices checked. Bokkup verified none of them had said the offensive words. Turning to a corporal she said, “Check for other life signs. That communication came from this ship.”

A young corporal produced a hand scanner and followed the running track around the circumference of the room. When he finished his scan he showed the results to Bokkup.

“No other life signs. But there are some rather odd inaccessible spaces.” She turned to Lannetay and pointed at a holographic display. “What’s in that area?”

Lannetay frowned. “I’m not an engineer. I’d have to assume that’s an area related to the operation of the ship. I’m a trader, not a starship designer.”

Bokkup nodded. “Any chance I could get a schematic to the ship?” Her eyes narrowed with implied threat. “No” wouldn’t be an acceptable answer.

Bill? Lannetay sent. Can you mock up some schematics to cover “those” spaces?

Already done, Lannetay.

“I’ve made a schematic available for you, Captain.” Lannetay crossed her arms and fought a smile.

Bokkup scowled. “Never mind. You couldn’t have faked that so quickly.”

Bill sent, A reward for Victoria Rickman has just been made public. Five hundred credits. Bokkup is probably angry about missing out on a bonus.

The captain waved to her soldiers to vacate the ship. “There’s nothing to find here. Let’s get out.”

“I’m sorry your search wasn’t more rewarding.” Lannetay added a touch of emphasis on the last word – just enough to hopefully make Bokkup wonder, but not enough to raise suspicion.

“Yes, well, see if you can find a cargo and leave.” Bokkup again looked around the huge common room, clearly amazed at such a large unused space.

Lannetay walked with the captain to the airlock. “We’ll certainly do our best. We don’t make a profit while we’re sitting still.”

When the airlock finished cycling Lannetay burst out laughing. “Bill, you’re killing me.”

The AI’s voice held a prim tone. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Carnifor chuckled. “You’re going to get us in trouble, Bill. This is why AIs are illegal in the Confederation.”

Bill managed to sound smug. “I can handle any trouble they dish out. They’re Wantis, after all. If they had brains they’d have already surrendered.”

“Like me?” Iresha snapped, hands on hips.

“You show uncommonly good sense.” Bill cleared his non-existing throat. “For a Wanti.”

Iresha’s voice belied her vocalized gratitude.“Thanks, Bill.”

L-T said, “Can’t we just get Gorbandic’s colony kit deployed and get off this rock?”

Lannetay walked back to the group. “The problem is how to do that. The Wantis will be watching the ship, and if Gorbandic sends out surface vehicles they’ll be watched, too.”

Goofball, leaning against the sofsteel aft bulkhead, gave a crooked smile. “I know a way.”

Lannetay opened her mouth to launch into a diatribe about how Goofball only wanted another joyride, but Carnifor cut her off. “When Tabby’s stealth is active she’s resistant to all but military grade sensor scans, Lannetay. The colony scanners won’t see it, so Goofball’s plan should work.”

“She’s perfectly capable of placing individual canisters.” Goofball stood, almost dancing with anticipation. “It’s up to you, but I could do it in ten minutes.”

Lannetay pondered. “We should do something to distract anyone watching the ship. Some of us could visit the station in person.”

“I’ll prep for launch.” Goofball nearly jumped toward his quarters and the secret hatch to his fighter, Tabby. “Bill, can you have the kit transferred to Tabby?”

Lannetay exited the control room to prepare for a distraction.

Ten minutes later the starboard lock cycled. Lannetay, Iresha, Marc, and L-T, all wearing support belts, made their way across the desolate landscape to Gorbandic’s main dome, gesticulating the whole way. As the station’s airlock opened, Tabby dropped from the belly of the William Placard and shot off into the distance.

Let us know when you want to return, Lannetay sent. We’ll be ready to leave in about eight minutes.

Copy that, Lannetay.

***

Goofball soared, physically and emotionally. Once again he could reach out and touch the horizon, gather stars from the sky, and redistribute them as he wished. The universe was his toy when he flew. However, he had a job to do so remaking creation would have to wait. Maybe his next flight.

He dropped down into a circular valley and mapped the insertion points of the various canisters in the colony kit. One by one Tabby fired them off as Goofball deliberately circled the depression. With the valley walls so high, the nanites would have less work to erect the physical atmospheric retaining walls. The field generators to put up the atmo shield would be ready ahead of schedule, so the air inside would quickly thicken to Earth normal. The last step, turning inert rock and silica into organic compounds, would require the physical involvement of colonists.

Goofball’s ten-minute trip was over before it began. Lannetay, I’m Romeo Tango Bravo.RTB in the phonetic alphabet, standing for return to base.

Confirmed. We’ll exit in fifty seconds.

A half-minute later the station’s lock cycled for the four members of the William Placard. They meandered across the lifeless soil, making wild gestures, as Tabby slid beneath the ship. Moments later the fighter seamlessly melded into the ship’s hull.

If you're wondering more about these characters, their origins are detailed in Ebony Sea: Origins. If you appreciate this story, please share on social media, and consider supporting the author's ability to continue writing by purchasing the Origins story and leaving a review at the link above.

The Brotherhood #39

By Mark W. Meier

Part 39

Act IV

Windowed The Soul

Chapter Eleven

In the marbles

Bits of rubber peel off racing car tires and the “marbles” build up on the edges of a track.

An hour after you arrived home a text arrived from the beagle. He’d found a drag racing team whose owner needed a rapid influx of cash. Five of his most lucrative stock investments all took a nosedive after rumors of sexual misconduct allegations were leveled at the CEOs. Then the team owner’s thirty-million-dollar mansion caught on fire, the suppression system malfunctioned, and the garage doors at the nearest fire stations jammed closed.

The mansion was a total loss.

Coincidentally, vandals ruined his summer home in the Hamptons, his Jamaican home was infested with termites, the workers at all of his factories went on strike, and cleanup from a hurricane in Texas kept him from his ranch.

He’d be living in a hotel until allowed to return to one of his homes. And the penthouse suite’s costs forced him to liquidate his racing team.

All a happenstance, of course.

Your offer of fifteen million dollars was accepted. You were the owner of the Muted Roar Top Fuel Funny Car drag racing team – or would be after the details were sorted out.

“How did you hear about this, Victor? It’s not like this kind of thing is on the news.”

“I’m friends with a guy at Hennen Motorsports. I’d asked him about getting into a race team, so he kept a lookout.”

You nodded. “Good job. Have Ben Kiel look over the papers when they get here, and schedule a signing.” Kiel was your personal attorney, not a corporate hack.

The beagle wrote on a sticky note at his desk. “Should we have a press conference, sir?”

“I don’t think so, Victor.” You stood to take your typical spot by the window, looking toward the river. “It’s not newsworthy.”

“Have you considered updating your will, sir?” The beagle seemed genuinely concerned, but he could be likened to a dog worrying a bone. “After all, picking up a race team will complicate things even more than they already are.”

You scowled, confident your assistant couldn’t see your expression. “I only have the one living relative, Victor. Hounding me won’t get me to change my mind.”

Now the beagle frowned. “Maybe Kiel could write something up. Would you look it over if he did?”

“Fine.” Your sigh would have been enough to tell anyone else not to bother. “But first have him look over the paperwork for the race team.”

“Very well, sir.” The partition between your desk and his rose.

Boats moved up and down the segment of the river you could see between the buildings of Savannah. The water still called to you. Though you weren’t about to race a sailboat again, the peace of sliding over the water was compelling. You considered the sounds of waves and wind and flapping sails as part of the contentment of the process. A smile blossomed at the memories.

That smile would soon be ended, along with your life.

Then the beagle finished a phone call and lowered the panel. “Kiel said he’d contact Saffron Racing and get the paperwork sent to him by the end of the day. If everything is in order we could sign by end of day tomorrow.”

Reality imposed itself. You nodded your response and kept your lonesome vigil.

Then the memory of the street racers screaming past on the interstate bubbled up in your mind. A bit more adrenaline and boating vanished from your imagination.

“Does Isaiah know anything about racing cars?” You turned toward the beagle. “I’ll need someone to oversee the team without getting in the way. I’d hate to have to fire him so soon.”

Howe pondered a moment. “He might have what it takes to manage without being intrusive.”

You turned back to the window. “The people in place know their jobs, Victor. Make sure Isaiah doesn’t step on any toes.”

The beagle’s phone rang, and after a muted conversation he stood to look over the partition. “Sir, Terrance Yang would like a word.”

You sighed again, then returned to your desk and picked up the phone. “Terrance. Michael here.”

“Mr. Grambic.” He’d never called you by your first name, despite your repeated efforts to keep things informal. “How’s business?”

I stirred in your mind, and suddenly you realized “how’s business” sounded like “Howe’s business.” And the beagle had been pushing you to change your will. You stumbled through an explanation of the latest developments in Canada, the police in France releasing their hold on the sale there, and the death of the man responsible for the explosion.

Could Howe have hired the mercenaries? Was he angling to take over?

“Mr. Grambic? Are you there?”

“I’m sorry, Terrance. What was it you’d asked?”

“Any idea when Dannacona will be up and running?”

Though Yang was a minor owner, ten percent of the company was significant enough that you’d have to calm his nerves. “These things take a considerable amount of time. We might not be producing anything until late summer next year.”

You turned to the internet to get some information about Yang while you spoke. “First off there’s the permitting, Terrance.” A quick scan showed his interest in Grambic Tiles to be his only investment in industry, and about half of his personal wealth. No wonder he was nervous. “Our land purchase offer was contingent on getting the required permits for construction. Then we have to line up contractors, subcontractors, municipal workers, and more. Then, and only then, can we break ground.” A notation indicated Yang suffered from ulcers. “If you’d like, I’m willing to buy back your share of the company at a pre-Paris price.”

“Oh, no-no, no.” Yang’s voice still held a nervous edge. “I’m willing to stay the course.”

Time to increase the heat on you. Your end was approaching and events were falling into place.

You heard the beagle’s phone ring again.

“Terrance, it’s busy here. Is there anything else I can do for you?” You noticed Howe lowering the partition at his desk. He held up the phone and mouthed the name of Judge Boynton. You raised a finger to tell him to hang on for a moment.

Yang grunted. “That should do for now, Mr. Grambic.”

After hanging up, you took a deep breath and had the beagle send the call to your phone. “Judge. What can I do for you today?” The vein at your left temple pulsed.

“Mis-ter Gram-bic.” The judge’s condescending greeting grated from your handset. “Going for a different kind of racing now? Drag racing? Are you going to drive wearing women’s clothing?”

Your teeth ground like a neophyte driver shifting gears. “What do you want, Boynton?”

“You realize I saved your life out there on the water, right?”

“Victor told me a fisherman hauled me out and took me to Polly’s Landing. Isaiah had already called for the ambulance. You had nothing to do with it.”

“Au contraire.” The judge’s French was atrocious. “I nearly sailed right over the top of your unconscious body. My keel would have split you wide open. I managed to swerve out of the way, saving your life. You’re welcome.”

You snorted your disbelief. “I’m pretty sure you only dodged to keep from hitting the log, Boynton.”

“Perhaps.” He still sounded smug, regardless of you catching him out. “But now we have another opportunity to race. I’m counting the sailing trip as a win, by the way.”

You sputtered incoherently for a moment. “A win? By what definition could you count that as a win?”

“I crossed the finish line before your fisherman savior.” Boynton sounded genuinely surprised. “Even if he’d beaten me, you weren’t in a sailboat, you weren’t in the same boat you left in, and you weren’t in command of the fishing boat when it returned to Polly’s Landing. I won by any definition.”

“I’ll repeat myself. What do you want?”

“You keep going over the same part of the track, Grambic. Careful you don’t get into the marbles.”

“So as long as I stick to my issue I have traction?” You couldn’t believe he’d admit that.

Boynton “hmmmed” to himself. “Whatever you have in mind it’s not working with me.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.” You sat, planting your forehead into the palm of your left hand. “I’m going to hang up unless you get to your point.”

“Your new race team,” said the judge. “Will you be racing Saturday?”

“Not personally, Boynton. I’m not a practiced driver.”

“But I am.”

This revelation silenced you for several seconds.

Boynton laughed. “Now you’re in the marbles, Grambic. You didn’t know that, did you?”

“What difference does that make?”

“I beat you on the water,” the judge snarled, “and I’ll beat you on the track. Even if you yourself aren’t racing. You’re nothing but a loser, Grambic, as that little event in Paris proves.”

You wondered how a state supreme court justice could possibly be so blatantly nasty. “Beating my racer on the track proves nothing.” But your voice had climbed at least an octave.

“If you say so, Grambic. See you in Atlanta.”

Click.

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Running Before the Storm 5

“Well, Carnifor, what do you think of that offer from Gorbandic Station?” Lannetay strolled from the aft of the hold toward the airlock leading forward.

Carnifor held back to stay in his normal position a half-pace behind her. “Not entirely sure. My gut tells me they’re genuine, because if the Wantis had even a hint of something like a colonization kit, they’d have torn the ship apart looking for it.”

“Other than the one Borenic stole from us, the Confederation hasn’t planted even a small kit since the war started.” Lannetay slowed to a stop. “The only thing they’ve put up is a lot of domes. But what does that mean?”

Carnifor pondered a moment. “They can’t afford it. Those kits are expensive, and the Wantis are using everything they have just to get food.”

“Not everything,” Lannetay argued. “Probably not even close. They spend most of their GPP on their navy. If they’d use an intermediary to buy a single Twenty-K kit, they’d have hundreds of square kilometers to raise crops within six months.”

Carnifor nodded. “A kit that big would cost as much as a light cruiser.”

“They’ve lost a lot of light cruisers since the war started. Add in all the other ships that have been destroyed, and the Wanti Confederation could be feeding humanity instead of the few farming planets Earth controls.”

“Bill?” Carnifor prompted. “What do you think?”

The big cargo doors finished closing. While the atmo shield held air away from the doors there was no direct noise, but the decking vibrated. A dull thump sounded, conducted from the deck to the atmosphere inside.

“They’re after power, not food.” Bill sounded very sure of himself.

Lannetay raised a finger. “Exactly! They’re using food as an excuse to control their people. They’ll raid Terran supplies, take over a colony or two to get enough, but they’ll never allow their populace enough freedom to produce what they need.”

“I see.” Carnifor wasn’t used to thinking like a civilian after nearly a decade in the navy. “So, what can we do about it?”

The airlock opened to admit Iresha. “Are you two coming inside, or are you up to something in here?” Her eyebrows wagged suggestively.

Before Lannetay could fire off a rejoinder, Bill’s voice sounded in the gigantic hollow bay. “Gorbandic station is calling again.”

Making a decision, Lannetay headed toward the lock. “I’ll take it in the control room. Tell L-T to join us.” Iresha ducked back through the lock to get out of Lannetay’s way.

“L-T?” Carnifor shook his head. “Why?”

Her stride lengthening with renewed purpose, Lannetay passed through the locks in time to see L-T enter the control room. “He’s more ‘street smart’ than the rest of us combined. I want his take on Gorbandic’s proposal.”

As Lannetay sat in the left-hand seat she ordered Bill to connect her with the station. When the hologram appeared, she said, “Gorbandic station, William Placard. I don’t think we’ve introduced ourselves. I’m Captain Lanny Tae.”

The woman on the other end of the signal smiled. “You’re right, Captain. I’m Phoebe Lesk, Director of Communications.”

Bill inserted an editorial comment. “She’s probably director of a few other things, too. That station only boasts about a thousand residents, so there can’t be many with the rank of ‘director.’”

Lannetay ignored Bill’s sidebar. “Director – ”

“Please. Call me Phoebe.”

Lannetay smiled. “Phoebe, tell me more about this trade deal you’re proposing. I’m intrigued, but unsure if we have anything of interest to you.”

Lesk touched her control panel, and Bill flashed a notification of “privacy” across the bottom of the hologram. Nobody in Lesk’s room could overhear their conversation.

“I was told by Grenwel Pop you had access to colonization kits.” Lesk leaned forward. “We’d like to acquire a One-K kit at least. Bigger if you have one.”

Lannetay frowned. “We could part with a small kit, but your station is tiny. Do you have something of similar value to trade?”

“Oh, it’s not so much what we have as what another colony world would buy.” A side holo of local space blossomed. “Clerimsu will pay for a hold of food at triple normal rates. That should cover a One-K kit.”

Working controls on her implants, Lannetay brought up a holo of L-T so she could watch his reactions without looking sideways. Is she right?

Barely. However, nobody in our position would part with that much value for so little.

“I think you’re undervaluing what you’re asking for.” Lannetay shook her head. “That’s not a good trade, even if we had such a kit.”

Lesk smiled. “How about if we added another thousand credits? We could raise that in a few days.”

L-T held up two fingers, and Lannetay said, “Make it two thousand and we have a deal.”

After a pause for thought, Lesk nodded. “Done. Will you deploy it or will we?”

“We’ll take care of it.”

The holo of L-T shook it’s head. For another five hundred.

Lannetay added, “For another five hundred credits.”

“I don’t know.” Lesk frowned in thought. “That could take extra time. How about you deploy it for three hundred fifty?”

Lannetay paused, glancing at the holo of L-T. He shrugged, so Lannetay said, “Very well. Call it a deal.”

The holo showing Clerimsu switched to local geography, with Gorbandic station tucked up against a steep cliff. Lesk said, “We’re right next to a bowl-shaped valley. It’s about a klick across, so if you put it there the Wantis won’t notice unless they’re looking more closely than they ever have.” Lesk grimaced. “They look closely at our business dealings, but they’ll probably ignore a colony kit deployed on the other side of a mountain. We’ll dig a tunnel through that mountain so we can access the area without raising any red flags. If the Wantis notice a new pile of rock nearby I’d be surprised.”

L-T squinted and moved into range of the holo pickup. “Why do you want a One-K? Gorbandic Station is industrial, not agricultural.”

Lesk raised an eyebrow at L-T’s sudden appearance, but otherwise didn’t react. “We’d like to branch out so we’re not dependent on the Wantis for something like food.” She switched to a nearly belligerent tone. “Besides, they’re taking almost all the food this world produces. Getting foodstuffs to take hold might require months, but in the end we’ll be better off.”’

Something didn’t sound right to L-T. “Why send food to Clerimsu? Wouldn’t it make sense to feed your own people instead of another colony?”

“We’re not animals.” Lesk shot L-T a nasty look. “They’re far worse off than we are. We’ve been stockpiling and preserving food for a while in hopes of someone willing to take a humanitarian mission. The thing is, we’ll have to eat it or ship it soon because some of it’s verging on spoilage.” Lesk looked from L-T to Lannetay and back. “If you would take take the food to Clerimsu, we’d get a farm, you’ll profit, and Clerimsu will be fed.”

“Of course we will.” Lannetay didn’t miss a beat. “Clerimsu is only fourteen days away for us.”

Lesk worked a few controls and a side channel opened. Numbers flashed across a flat ribbon screen as they flowed into Bill’s memory. “Here are the coordinates where the monastery is located. They’ll pay for the shipment upon delivery.” Another set of references appeared. “This is where we’d like the One-K kit deployed. As soon as you finish the deployment we’ll have your cargo ready to load.”

The two exchanged pleasantries for a few moments before signing off.

“Monastery?” Lannetay turned to Carnifor. “We’re taking food to monks?”

“Looks that way.” Carnifor shook his head.

“The Wantis called while you and Lesk spoke,” Bill said. “They asked when we planned to leave.”

Carnifor grunted. “Guess we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

“What did you tell them, Bill?” Lannetay smiled, knowing Bill’s sense of humor wouldn’t allow him to give the Wantis a straight answer.

Bill’s voice held enough of a mocking tone to make Carnifor grin. “I told them to go pound sand. ‘We’ll stay as long as we need to pick up a cargo to trade on another planet. You can jolly well stew in your own juices while we negotiate, or help us out so we can leave soonest.’ They didn’t have much to say after that.”

“What name did you give?” Lannetay suppressed a laugh. One day Bill would get them in trouble, but having their AI tell off the Wantis was too funny.

“Victoria Rickman.”

Iresha spoke from behind them. Neither Carnifor nor Lannetay had heard her enter. “Who’s Victoria Rickman?”

“Some rude woman who would be executed by the Wantis if they ever found her.” Carnifor’s chuckling was infectious. Iresha joined him.

Bill cut in. “There’s a squad of Wanti soldiers at the hatch. They’re threatening to blow the lock if we don’t open up. So I let them in.”

Lannetay opened an in-head window to view William Placard’s interior. Wantis brandishing rifles deployed through the ship, but one with only a pistol headed for the control room.

If you're wondering more about these characters, their origins are detailed in Ebony Sea: Origins. If you appreciate this story, please share on social media, and consider supporting the author's ability to continue writing by purchasing the Origins story and leaving a review at the link above.