Olympus Beckons Pt. 09

This story takes place in the universe created by fellow writer "farbeyondourstars".

Olympus Beckons - Part 9: "Convoy Duty."

The command chair, situated in the centre of the bridge, elevated so as to overlook the myriad consoles and stations that surrounded it, as well as the officers who manned them, had, for his whole career, both lured and terrified him.

For years he had aspired to ascend to that throne, to take post as Captain and Commander of a ship o' war. Yet always there was that little refrain tickling the back of his mind, "Are you good enough?"

In times of peace, it might not have mattered overmuch. A diligent officer could take the time to carefully learn his craft, and eventually, provided he wasn't some kind of incompetent fool or officious poltroon, could earn the trust of his ship's company.

But this Captain apparently had no time for that sort of dillydallying. She had learned her trade in the crucible of war, and apparently, she really liked to shoot things.

When she had taken command, some six months ago, he had bridled at being so overlooked. He had given a decade and a half to the Navy, he was no prodigy, he knew, but he'd worked his way up the ranks, before being promoted to executive officer aboard Zeus. To his mind, the ship was his, and yet she had just waltzed in and usurped his captaincy. She wasn't even Teraxan, and what was worse, she looked so fucking young.

Gods, how wrong he had been. He'd scanned her record the day she came aboard. The woman was a regen and had probably spent more time in various navies than he'd been alive. She'd served through the Cressarion Outbreak, and then the First and Second Colonial Wars. And then, of course, there was the big one.

After the bloodbath of the Thorian war, she'd apparently spent years as a merchant spacer, never settling in one place, never welcome; working passage aboard some of the shittiest rust buckets in space. Because, back then, nobody in their right mind would employ a fucking Thorian. They were literally the lepers of space.

The records got a bit sketchy there, but it looked like at some point she'd been taken on by a merc crew; bounty hunting and killing pirates out in the black, out beyond the Rim. Those sharks didn't give a shit where she came from, only that she knew her business. They were all outcasts, sociopaths, and borderline criminals anyway, and apparently, she'd fitted right in, somehow ending up in command of a privateer gunship.

When the core navies finally abandoned the Rim Systems, basically taking their ball and going home, local outfits were forced to take up the slack. Many of them had folded, or gone down guns blazing, as mercenary gangs, pirate warlords, and organised crime mobs took the opportunity to simply run amok. Those were dark times.

The Teraxan Navy had managed to stand, barely. They had been hammered in the Thorian War, and casualties had been near catastrophic. In the aftermath, they had been forced to build up as rapidly as they could, scrounging, begging or buying whatever second-hand warships they could get their hands on, pushing them into service with half-trained crews, while they worked furiously to construct the newer vessels they needed.

But they'd had to start almost from scratch, throwing together the military shipyards that the war had flattened, before they could get the ball rolling and begin laying down hulls. And given it took almost two years to build even a destroyer, they'd barely managed to put a dozen new warships into space since the end of the war. Construction rates were improving, but it would be another year, at least, before the first major combatant slipped from the moorings.

Even so, they'd been howling for experienced officers, and necessity trumped all. So, six months ago, the Invictus class cruiser Zeus had gotten themselves a new CO, and she was Thorian.

And much to his chagrin, it took her maybe as much as thirty seconds to figure him out.

He thought she would bench his whining ass immediately or give him shit assignments until he threw in the towel and quit, and for a while, she did, but Damon was no quitter, no ma'am.

But after a couple of months, he found himself sitting in the command chair more and more. Certainly, a lot more than when the previous Captain had been in command.

Sometimes she'd wait till they were in the middle of an exercise, or a docking maneuver to just get up and 'grab a cup of coffee', or whatever bullshit excuse she came up with. And sometimes she didn't bother with excuses at all. She'd simply turn to him with that fucking smile on her face and go, "Take the conn if you please."

She was fucking infuriating, but he had to admit she knew her trade. She fucking loved training, seemingly taking a particularly sadistic delight in tactical wargames. And every single time he was matched against her, she chopped him off at the knees. And the bitch made it look easy.

It drove him nuts. He pored over every mock engagement, analysed every after-action report he could get his hands on, studied raider operations until they haunted his fucking dreams, and pulled out every sneaky tactic he could think of. And still she murdered him more or less every time.

But sometimes he got close, especially lately. Though that last one had been particularly horrible. He'd actually bagged her ship for once and was trying hard not to crow about it. But when he picked up her surviving lifeboat, the bastard thing had blown up in his shuttle-bay, taking half his vessel with it. Then the annoying tart had looked across at him with a grin and shrugged, "Oops."

He had come perilously close to strangling her right there on the bridge.

And, against his better judgement, and so obviously contrary to any and all fucking common sense, he was really starting to like her.

It was just... infuriating.

A light flickering on the command board pricked at his awareness, and he flicked a switch.

A moment later, he looked up, "Miss Kristianson, the Captain sends her regards and requests the company of you and Miss Romero for dinner this evening," he turned, "you too, Lieutenant Collingwood."

The fair-skinned navigator tilted her head, "Dress?"

"Captain's table, but dress informal; supper only."

The woman turned to meet the eyes of the rating manning the next console, a mischievous smile playing on her lips as she murmured, "Supper only; what a pity."

...

The meal had been, well, not as awful as it could have been. Ration packs found aboard the captured prison barge had obviously been stolen from someplace with expensive tastes, as they were from one of the better civilian outlets, and though they were maybe a bit past their expiry date, they still tasted better than the usual shipboard fare.

Frances had somehow scrounged a couple of bottles of Helion red, and she poured each of her four guests a generous measure as she moved about the table, collecting the used plates and shoving them into the recycler. Helen had been mortified at being served by her Captain and had risen awkwardly, "I-I can get that for you ma'am."

The woman had waved her back into her chair with a wry smile, "Thank you kindly, Helen, but relax. It's been a bit of a day, and it's not going to get any easier, so best take a load off while you can."

Slumping back into her seat at the head of the table with a sigh, Frances took a generous swallow of her own wine, "Hmm, not bad."

Refilling her glass, she studied her four guests. There was the therapist Felina Romero, still looking a little frazzled, but while Frances saw the woman periodically looking to young Helen for reassurance, "Or was it comfort?" there was no panic in her eyes. The therapist had been dumped right in the deep end, without warning or preparation, and as far as Frances was concerned, she was showing remarkable strength.

She nodded internally, the woman had been thoroughly shaken, but she was tougher than she knew.

Then there was Helen Kristianson herself, the young midshipwoman so recently posted aboard her ship. She was turning into a fine young woman, and a good officer. Frances had read the report about the most recent covert operation on Zesta. She'd also spoken to the marines who'd been there, even the notorious Private Lightfoot. The hulking marine had been less than pleased with the Captain, and he wasn't shy about letting her know it. But it wasn't too hard to figure out where that anger really came from, and so no great chore to overlook his insubordination. And, to the man's credit, after getting it out of his system, he'd actually mumbled an apology. She grinned at the memory; he was a good man.

Helen had done well, but what impressed the Captain most was how she had not remained a passive member of the team. The account of her interrogation of that thug showed the woman had some steel in her spine, and that was all to the good.

Selene Collingwood had a slight, delicate, almost bird-like frame, but if she was a bird, it was a bird of prey. She was a lovely creature, with elfin looks that wouldn't have gone amiss on a catwalk, and a mind to match her beauty. Frances knew the woman had a distinctly 'chequered' past, but there was no doubting her ability as a navigator. What was yet to be evidenced however, was her ability to command. Unknown to the navigator, that was about to change.

The fourth guest was Lieutenant Darya Satlykova, the second in command of her marine detachment. She might be hawk-like in attitude, but other than that, there was absolutely nothing delicate about this woman. No, if she favoured any animal at all, it was a tigress. She was lean, lethal, and fierce, probably quite capable of killing everyone in the room using only the cutlery lying on the table. Frances had always had a thing for 'dangerous' characters and had to admit she had to suppress a tiny frisson of excitement every time the deadly woman met her eyes.

She brushed the distinctly improper thoughts aside, "To business."

Clearing her throat was enough to garner the attention of her guests, "So, enjoyable as it is to have you as guests at my table, I'm afraid this is a working dinner. So, shall we?"

There were murmurs of assent around the table, and Frances nodded, "Right, first things first," she turned to the marine, "Leftenant?"

Darya put her glass down, "Not a great deal to report, ma'am. We boarded the prison transport, she's called the 'Elmira,' by the way, and took control without incident. The crew didn't put up a fight. We released one hundred and forty-seven women from confinement and placed them in the crew quarters. They have all suffered from various degrees of abuse and are pretty traumatised, ma'am. I had the prisoners fitted with shock collars and incarcerated in the slave-cages in the hold."

Frances looked up, "Not the cells?"

The marines' features did not so much as flicker, but her voice was flat, "Nope."

"Fair enough, and Leftenant Hopper?"

The marine's expression was carefully neutral, which in itself was telling, "We had words, Captain."

"So, the marine Leftenant is sleeping with the drop-ship pilot. Gods, it sounds like an episode of 'Solarian Passion,'" she crushed the smile that was threatening to appear on her face, "and the result?"

The woman blushed ever so slightly, "Um, mixed."

"I see."

The marine officer licked her lips awkwardly, "I, uh, explained to her that her action was..."

"Reckless as fuck?"

"Yes, uh, that. But she argues her shot was a good one, and that it saved marine lives, and while I agree what she did was irresponsible, I have to admit that what she says is also true. I mean, I could demote her, but all she cares about is flying, or I could confine her to quarters outwith duty hours, but she basically lives on her damned dropship anyway, so, either way, absolutely no fucks would be given. Or," she flushed, "I could recommend a court martial."

"Is that what you want to do?"

Darya sighed, "Not really," catching herself, she braced her shoulders and met the Captain's eyes unwaveringly, "but I will if you think it necessary."

Frances shook her head, "Don't do that. Instead, I want you to thank her for me."

"Thank her?"

"Why, yes, Leftenant. While it is true that if the assault shuttle had blown up it would have killed everyone in the boat-bay and likely crippled the ship, it didn't. Her actions saved the lives of fellow marines, and I am most grateful for that."

Uh, yes, Capta-" she paused as Frances leaned closer, her voice hardening.

"And you tell her from me that if she ever does anything that dumb again, or puts a hole in my ship, I will personally throw her ass out the nearest airlock."

The marine paled slightly, but if there was any fear in the woman's voice as she replied, Frances couldn't hear it, "I'll be sure to pass that on, ma'am."

The Captain held her eyes for a moment, before turning her attention to the table in general, "So, I intend to put a prize crew aboard the..." she looked to the marine.

"The 'Elmira' ma'am."

She nodded, "Thank you; aboard the Elmira. Once we have completed repairs, we shall tow her out of the gravity wells, synchronise our hyperdrives, and make jump for the nearest spaceport where we can obtain proper care for our charges, hand our prisoners to the authorities, make further repairs and resupply," she turned to the navigator, "where would that be?"

"Carcosa Station, ma'am, eight days jump from here. There is a Navy post there servicing the rimward patrols. They should be able to facilitate our resupply. We may also be able to garner replacements for our marine contingent, maybe. But, uh, ma'am, isn't our hyperdrive crippled?"

"It is, but the one aboard the Pistolero will make for an excellent replacement."

Helen looked up, "But didn't we shoot that thing to pieces?"

Frances nodded quite cheerfully, "Oh, we did indeed, but our gunners were careful to avoid firing into two particular compartments; their hyperdrive chamber, and the capacitor rings. The Chief Engineer is already well into salvaging the unit and is confident he'll have our jump capability restored to some extent within forty-eight hours."

Felina snorted, "You planned this?"

"Well, whatever else happened, I was always going to take their hyperdrive, yes."

The woman shook her head in bemusement, "Wow."

Frances grinned at her, before turning back to her navigator, "So, you will repair aboard the Elmira and take command at your earliest convenience, Lieutenant Collingwood. Get together with the XO and select a suitable prize-crew. I expect to see your recommendations and selection on my desk by end of watch."

The woman's face was a picture, "Me? B-but wouldn't the XO be a better..."

Frances shook her head with a definitive, "No. I can spare you, or the XO, not both. And I want the computer system aboard that thing interrogated as fully as possible in the time we have available. That means it falls to you, Selene. On my personal authority, you will receive temporary promotion to brevet Captain and take command of that vessel forthwith, understood?"

"Uh, yes, ma'am... um, any special instructions? I mean..."

It was Frances who gave her a reassuring smile, but it was Captain Frobisher who spoke, and her voice was not gentle, "I am placing you in command of that ship, Leftenant, and I expect you to command it. The XO will have a packet containing your orders ready for you before you go aboard."

Selene swallowed, "Yes, ma'am."

Turning to the marine officer, she gave her a nod, "You too, Darya. I'm sending you aboard with a fireteam of a dozen marines to back up Miss Collingwood. I take it that won't be a problem?"

"No, ma'am, though, won't that leave you very short-handed?"

The Captain shrugged, "Only in the short term. Doctor Ostrow says the good Major is already back on his feet and will be fit for light duty in a day or two. The same goes for most of our casualties. By the time we come out of jump, I should be able to muster a full squad."

The marine nodded, "Fair enough. Who do you want left in command here in the meantime?"

Frances chuckled, "Well, that's your decision, but if you are asking my opinion, I think Sergeant Callahan would be a good choice."

Darya nodded, "Joe's a good man, steady as a rock, even Jeff likes him. There won't be any trouble there."

With a nod, the Captain agreed, "Very well, then that's sorted," she turned to her other guests, "Now, Felina."

The woman looked startled, Me?"

"Yes, it was my intention to send you aboard the Elmira with the medical team, but I thought it best to discuss it with you first."

The woman looked nervous, "But, why?"

"You heard the Leftenant. There are a hundred and forty-seven traumatised women cowering aboard that ship, probably still wondering if their rescue is even 'real.' You're the closest thing we have to a counsellor aboard ship. Perhaps you can help them."

"Captain, I'm a therapist, not a trauma counsellor, I don't know how much help I'd be," she licked her lips uncertainly before looking up to meet the Helen's eyes, "but... I'd be willing to try."

"Thank you."

Frances paused, and then raised a finger, as if recalling something that had slipped her mind, "Oh, I wonder if you'd like to go with her, Helen?"

The woman's reply was near instantaneous, which spoke well of her mental reflexes, "Absolutely..." um, she blushed, "I mean, yes please, ma'am. That is, if you think I could help..."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I can think of something constructive for you to do. You will repair aboard the Elmira as her XO, with the brevet promotion to Lieutenant, effective immediately."

The woman's eyes went wide, and her jaw almost hit the table, "L-Lieu... B-but Captain! I've only been in the navy seven months?"

Frances gave her a smile, "I know, think of it as a reward for a job well done on Zesta, and Helen, without taking anything away from it, it's only for ten days, while the ship is under tow, and I'm certain the XO will make sure there are enough seasoned hands available to keep you right if you flounder. Trust me, you'll be back to being a 'Snotty' and fetching my coffee again as soon as you get back aboard Zeus. But in the meantime, the experience will do you both good. Besides, it's not completely outrageous. You would be eligible to apply to sit the examination for Leftenant at the end of this tour, assuming you had your Captain's support," her eyes narrowed, "are you going to tell me there is some reason why you shouldn't expect that support?"

"Uh, no ma'am."

"Well, jolly good then. Now, pleasant as this is, I'm sure you've all suddenly discovered you have many things to do. That being the case, perhaps I should bid you a good evening," she grinned, "off you trot."

Lieutenant Satlykova was the last to leave. She was the most experienced of the junior officers by far, and she paused in the doorway to look back, her hunter's eyes gleaming as brightly as her smile, "You know, ma'am, you should have joined the corps. I think you would have made a crackerjack marine."

Frances chuckled, "Crackerjack, eh?"

"Oh yeah, you would have probably driven the Gunny and Major Dimitri to suicide by now, but it would be funny as Hell to watch," she saluted, "good night, ma'am."

...

Selene eyed the prisoners. She and Helen had taken the time to pass among the women they had rescued beforehand and had seen the results of the abuses they had suffered first-hand.

That experience had not left them unaffected.

The prison ship originally had a crew of sixty, half of them being "guards" for the women they had kidnapped. A few had been vaporised along with their sublight drives when Zeus had pummeled them with a salvo of plasma torpedoes, but fifty-two remained. Along with the twenty survivors of the boarding party that attacked the cruiser, they were paraded in two lines before the slave cages in the cargo hold that was now their home.

Manacled and fitted with neural shock collars, they were a sullen, miserable lot, and Selene could feel the hatred washing off them like bile.

Beside her, Helen stood, with the control unit for the collars held in one hand, and from her expression it was clear the woman would have no problems using it.

There were a few of the prize crew with them, but the pirates mostly had eyes for the dozen marines, all fully armed and armoured, standing watch around them.

Selene stepped forward; her voice amplified by her wristcom, "I am Captain Selene Collingwood. This vessel has been seized by the Teraxan Navy and is now under military jurisdiction..."

One of the prisoners sneered, "I'm wanna shove my 'diction' up your fucking ass, bitch."

Helen shifted the control unit in her grip, but Selene held her hand up to stop her, otherwise ignoring the interruption, "As prisoners of the Teraxan Navy, each of you in turn will step forward, give your name, and strip for search and scan..."

"Fuck you!"

There was a stirring among the prisoners, many snarled insults, a few spat.

Selene pursed her lips, then she stepped forward towards the first man who had spoken.

He eyed her, his mouth curled in an evil leer, "Best not eyeball me, bitch. I been in the slammer plenty times, it don't scare me none. But if I git outta these chains, I'm gonna skullfuck your corpse ya fucki-"

She drew her pistol, aimed it at the man's face and pulled the trigger.

The thud of the burning headless corpse hitting the deckplates provoked a silence that was... profound.

Selene holstered her sidearm and calmly walked back to her place before turning to face them again.

"Any prisoner failing to comply with ANY order given or making any kind of threat towards a member of my crew will be considered a mutineer and summarily executed," she gestured to the body, "just like him."

She eyed them again, "You have all been fitted with shock collars," she looked round, "Helen."

A second later, every prisoner was lying in a crumpled agonised heap as collars did their work. Selene nodded and Helen flicked a switch to deactivate the device.

Groaning, they staggered back to their feet, standing shivering and trembling from the aftershocks.

The woman's voice was cold, "You are murderers, rapists, pirates, and slavers. Please, by all means, give me an excuse, and I will fry every fucking one of you without a second thought."

...

Frances sat in the command chair, listening to the hum of computers, the chatter from comms, and the movement of the bridgecrew. She breathed in the familiar scents of oil and machinery, the musk of bodies, washed and sometimes unwashed, all working in close proximity. It was the scent of a ship of war, and to her there was nothing like it in all of space.

She sipped her coffee and looked about. All seemed to be as it should be.

Flicking a switch, she turned her attention to the grizzled face that appeared on one of the monitors, "How are we doing?"

The Chief Engineer wiped the sweat from his forehead and grunted, "'Bout ready down here, Captain. I've installed the hyperdrive from the slaver ship and tied it into our systems. No idea where they got it from, but it looks military, and it's quite the beast, a real power-hungry bitch of a thing."

She nodded, "Will that be a problem?"

The man made a noncommittal noise, "Shouldn't be. We salvaged their capacitor rings, and I've rigged them to run alongside ours. Our reactor might be old, but she's hefty, built to supply juice enough to run our systems and charge the main gun at the same time. One thing we are not short of is power. Fuck knows how long it took those jokers to charge this thing to full aboard that piece of shit they were flying, but I think we could do it quick enough."

She gave a snort, "So what you're saying is we can jump without killing ourselves or scattering our atoms across the whole of Hell's creation?"

The craggy spacer grinned, "Probably."

"Probably? Oh, joy... Well, Chief, if this thing kills us all, I definitely know who to blame, but for what it's worth, good work."

"Hey, I wasn't the one who blew up our last hyperdrive."

She rolled her eyes, "Fair point, my bad; bridge out."

Tapping another key, she smiled up at the face that appeared onscreen, "Captain Collingwood."

Selene blushed at the words, but her voice was more or less steady when she replied, "Captain Frobisher."

"How's the chair?"

Aboard the prison ship, Selene looked about, trying hard not to notice how everyone on the bridge was surreptitiously watching her, waiting on her commands. She suppressed a nervous chuckle as Helen gave her a bright smile and an encouraging 'thumbs up.'

Looking back into the monitor, she shook her head, "It's a lot bigger than I thought it'd be."

Frances remembered that feeling well, but this was no time for coddling. Instead, she raised her chin, her voice firm, "I expect you to grow into it."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Now, my compliments to you, Captain, but what is your status?"

Selene eyed the information on her console, "Instruments show we're sufficiently clear of the gravity well to jump, we've synchronised our hyperdrive with yours, and all stations show green on my board," she paused and looked up, "Elmira stands ready."

"Very well, Zeus stands ready," Frances gave the woman a small smile, "at your convenience, Captain."

Aboard the bridge of the prison ship, Selene found herself somehow sitting taller in her command chair. She could feel her heart thumping and an excited tingling, as if some small spark of lightning was running up and down her spine. "Gods, I've not felt like this since I lost my virginity."

Resisting the subconscious urge to nervously tug at the hem of her tunic, she ran her eyes over the bridge consoles one last time, before turning back to the monitor, and somehow - somehow, she kept her voice from quivering, "Very well; in three, two, one... Jump!"

...

Frances looked about as the universe vanished around them and the ship submerged smoothly into the alien realm of hyperspace. She turned to her XO with a grin, "Cool, we didn't blow up."

,,,

Days later, Selene slumped into a chair in the mess deck after yet another twenty-hour day and slurped wearily from her mug, "I need more caffeine, wonder if I could get an intravenous drip set up in medical."

A disgustingly cheerful voice dragged her attention away from her cup, "Hey, Cap."

She looked up blearily, "Hi Helen, Felina, pull up a pew" she yawned, "I don't know how she does it. I've been in charge for less than a week, and I'm fucking knackered."

Helen grinned, "Yea, it's a lot harder than it looks."

Selene snorted, "Yea, but at least you guys are enjoying yourselves. All I've got is a mountain of paperwork I literally need an air car to see the top of."

"What? Who's enjoying themselves?"

The acting Captain gave her a wicked smile, "You know our quarters are like, right next to one another, yea? So, from all the moaning and screaming that I keep hearing, either someone's started torturing the prisoners, or you guys are having a lot more fun than I am, and you know what? Fuck it, I'm okay either way."

Felina giggled as Helen blushed so brightly it almost lit the room, "Sorry, Capta-"

"Hey, don't fret it, I'm just jealous. But if I don't get laid soon, my vibrowand is going to fucking melt."

Felina looked about before leaning close enough to whisper, "I never really expected it to be like this."

"Like what?"

She coloured slightly with embarrassment, "So much..."

"Sex?"

The woman nodded.

With a tired sigh, Selene forced herself to sit up before sleep claimed her and she drowned in her coffee, "Yea, but think about it. Deep space duty can mean months in the black, weeks between ports. If you have a family, you might not see them in person for years at a time. You have a couple of hundred crew, mostly young, mostly fit, all cooped up together like that, for that length of time, and things are gonna happen. Even for the married ones, there's a lot of, 'What happens aboard, stays aboard.'"

"I guess..."

Selene pointed to her XO, "Just ask Helen, I mean she was morale officer. It was her job to provide sexual relief to anyone in the crew who felt lonely..."

"What!?"

"Yea," Selene nodded, "I mean, with a crew that large and looking like she does? I'm surprised the poor girl wasn't completely shagged out by the time her shift was done."

Felina's eyes went wide, head whipping between the two women, until Selene's deadpan expression crumbled into a fit of giggling, "Oh, my God! Your face! Fuck, I wish I'd taken a picture."

"Ooh! That was mean. Just you wait."

"I won't have to wait long. Your 'nighttime chorus' will be revenge enough, no doubt."

Helen chuckled but then sobered slightly, "Actually, Felina, sexual health is a thing, and it was part of my job to keep an eye out for anyone showing signs of excessive loneliness or homesickness. That meant I sometimes kept tabs on the various relationships and break-ups aboard ship; which reminds me," she turned to Selene, "what happened between you and 'Bunny'?"

"She started screwing that marine nugget."

Felina looked confused, "Uh, 'nugget'?"

"Slang for Marine Lieutenant."

"Oh, why did she do that?"

Selene shrugged, "Probly 'cos I started chasing the tactical officer, I guess. I mean, she pretended to be all dilligaff about the whole thing, but five minutes later and she's banging that jarhead."

"Dilliwhat?"

Helen shook her head, "Never mind, I'll explain later."

With a sigh, Selene sipped her coffee, "Pity really, she was fun. Hey, Helen?"

"Captain?"

"Yea, we dock in a couple of days, and I don't want to just dump the women and forget them. Can you maybe set up a meeting of some kind so I can see if there's anything more we can do for them? Maybe... uh, I dunno, maybe they have family we can contact, or maybe we can ensure they get set up with proper quarters on Carcosa. The legal guys on station will want to record statements, and that could be rough, I don't want them to feel abandoned."

Helen considered, "There's a lot of them, so a general meeting might get chaotic. I'll see if I can get them to nominate someone, or even a couple of them, who can speak for the rest as a group..."

Felina interrupted, "I've been talking to them, I can do that."

"Thanks, now I gotta get some sleep," she grinned, "you guys behave tonight, or I swear, I'm gonna come in there with a bucket of water."

"Spoilsport."

...

Carcosa Station was fairly unremarkable as far as rimward spaceports went. Not so large as Zesta, nor as busy, it was still a sizeable construct, originally built to service the mining ships that plied the unusually rich asteroid belts found at the edge of that system. It had grown over the years as industrial, smelting, and fabrication plants emerged to take advantage of such a readily available supply of metals and minerals. A prison had followed, providing a source of penal labour, and it was not unusual for independent pickmen and hellcat miners to find themselves toiling alongside slaves and indentured workers.

Mining was hard, dirty, dangerous work, and it took its inevitable toll on men and ships, and so eventually, a search and rescue unit was established, as well as shipyards to repair or even rebuild crushed or damaged ships.

When archeological ruins were discovered on one of the larger planetoids at the extreme outer edge of the system, treasure hunters and the like had swarmed the place for a while. But despite the legends, they had either left empty handed, or they fell afoul of accident or raider and never left at all.

When the various independent mercenary outfits that had been contracted to protect the mining ships proved entirely inadequate to the task, a Navy presence was finally established, and it eventually grew into what was called the "Rimward Patrol", one of the most unpopular and maligned duty stations in the whole of the Teraxan Navy. According to scuttlebutt, anyone posted to the Rimward Patrol had to be either the unluckiest sonofabitch in known space, or a fuck-up of truly extraordinary magnitude - or both.

But, despite that, the station was still an island of civilisation out in the black. It provided comforts, services, and security for the weary traveller, a possibility of work, and a chance at relaxation; for a while anyway.

But just like everywhere else, nothing was free.

...

The yard dogs had been waiting when Zeus docked, and Frances watched as they swarmed about the ship, connecting umbilicals and plugging the ship in to station power. It was a well-choreographed, well-practiced, dance "Just like worker ants."

The harbourmaster was a gruff and grizzled Navy reserve officer, with dark skin and the prematurely greying hair that a career spent dealing with every type of officious asshole under the sun eventually inspired. But Frances had been here before and knew just how far a bit of respect, and a case of smuggled whisky, would get her.

She met the woman in person on the dockside, taking in her typically stained coveralls, stocky frame and craggy smile, "Hey, Maggie, how goes it?"

The woman grunted, "Same shit, different day" she pointed back at the ship, "what the fuck you done to her this time?"

"Banged her up a bit, got most of it fixed ourselves on the way here, but she could use a bit of TLC. Maybe a wax 'n' polish."

"I don't do no fucking paint-jobs, girlie."

Frances grinned, "Hey, did you see the prize we brung in?"

The woman made a dismissive sound and spat on the deckplates, "Some flying dungeon with no fucking engine left? Oh, be still my beating heart, they'll be singing songs of your victory all over the station for sure. I bet you already stripped out all the good parts for yourself, ya bloody vulture."

"Sure did, buuut, I did find an unopened bottle of twenty-year-old 'Finnegans' in the Captain's safe."

That caught her attention, and her eyes took on a certain gleam that Frances knew well, "Yea? So... uh, whatchya want for it? I know you fuckers, you always want somethin."

With a chuckle, Frances held out the bottle, "Not a thing. It's a gift, from me and my crew, just to let you know how much we appreciate you."

"Seriously?"

"Yup. You've always done right by me, Mags, and sometimes that's worth remembering."

The woman's face brightened, "Well, thanks, I mean..."

"Although..."

"Fuck it! I fucking knew it. What're you after?"

"Nothing much, just that maybe you could see your way to expediting the repairs a bit, and maybe you might turn a blind eye if my guys snagged a part or two from stores."

The harbourmaster frowned, "Just a part or two?"

"Sure," Frances coughed, "mostly..."

...

By the time she got back aboard, she saw the blinking light from the message bin on her console. With a sigh, she keyed the first missive in the queue, "Best get on with it, I suppose."

An hour later, she keyed off the reader with a vehement curse, "Well, bollocks!"

Damon looked up from his own console, "Something amiss, Captain?"

She swiped the message to his board and pointed, "Damned right there is. We've been ordered to proceed to Khelgar and take up post as escort for convoy two-seven.

He was busy reading the order, "Looks like they're headed for the Bannerman Outpost," he grimaced, "I can see why they need the escort; you see how close their course takes them to Corsair Space? That's the Apollo's patrol area."

Shaking his head he read further, "Hmm, says the Apollo was ambushed on route to her position, and we're to take her place. She took damage and sustained significant casualties," he looked up, "including Captain Hawke."

Frances gave a weary sigh, murmuring, "So, they got old Horatio..."

"You knew him, Captain?"

Stirring, she drew a deep breath and nodded, "I did. He spoke up for me at my trial after the war," she grinned at the recollection, "cheeky fucker called me a 'competent officer'. But he also said I was a professional one. He was probably one of the reasons I didn't end up in a penal colony."

Damon saw the bleak look in her eyes and moved closer, "I'm sorry about your friend, Captain."

She chuckled, "Oh, I wouldn't go calling us friends, Damon. We were on opposite sides during the war. He put a hole in my ship at Schrodinger's Gate, and he damned near killed me at Second Goliath. But..." she sighed again, "I respected the man; he was good at his trade, and with him, it was never personal."

The XO eyed the report, "Well, it looks like he at least gave as good as he got."

"Hmm? My understanding was that Apollo was significantly outgunned?"

"Yes, but they managed to drive their attackers off."

"What?"

He tapped a few controls and eyed the scrolling data, "By all accounts, they inflicted damage on at least one vessel, and the enemy jumped away."

She considered, "And it was an ambush?"

Damon eyed her, "So it says."

The XO watched as she stared at the viewscreen, probably not even seeing it, her gaze focused... elsewhere. Eventually, she turned, "Send me the after-action report, please, Damon. I think I'd like to have a look at it."

"Yes, ma'am."

...

Selene eyed the boundary that marked the embarkation line and the interior of Zeus. She'd been about to step over it, as she had done a thousand times before, but something tugged at her. Some indescribable pull, that caused her to hesitate.

Across the open airlock, Frances watched her, that strange, somehow knowing, smile, playing on her lips.

Shaking her head, the navigator's voice sounded almost bemused, "Sorry, ma'am, I..."

The Captain's reply was strangely soft, "It's alright. Everyone remembers their first."

Selene took a breath and braced herself, stepping forward to salute, "Permission to..."

Her words tailed off as the sound of the bosun's pipes halted her in her tracks, and the marine side party that she'd not noticed snapped to attention when the man announced, "Elmira arriving."

Captain Frobisher returned the woman's salute and extended her hand, "Welcome aboard, Captain."

Selene finally took a firm grip of herself and managed to brace herself enough to speak through the lump in her throat, "Captain, I wish to report that I have handed over Elmira to the Harbourmaster, the ship is secure in all aspects, the prisoners transferred to the station, and I stand ready to be relieved."

Frances gave her a broad smile, "Very well, you are relieved."

The XO moved forward and shook her hand, "Congratulations, Selene, on your first command."

She snorted, "It was just a week, Sir."

He grinned, "Long enough?"

Selene found it hard to answer. Her mind was awhirl with emotions, and she didn't know if she was relieved or not, "I... honestly don't know. It was..." she shook her head, "something else."

Frances slapped her on the back, "Well, we'll just have to find you something better next time, eh?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good, now get yourself squared away, and you can make your report over supper."

...

For the XO, the next two days passed in a flurry of activity. In addition to repair and resupply, shore leave was arranged for the crew, and the bars and brothels on the station were well frequented and their services quite 'thoroughly' put to the test.

The Chief Engineer and Quartermaster had partaken of their larcenous proclivities with their usual efficiency, under the more-or-less watchful gaze of the Harbourmaster, who had, initially at least, decided to turn a blind eye to their thievery. When ration packs originally marked for a civilian outlet had vanished without trace, she barely raised a fuss, when a new automated surgical unit disappeared, she simply shrugged. But when a long-range tactical scanner had apparently decided to go for a walk, her feathers had become distinctly ruffled. And when a company's worth of brand-new marine armour, along with associated squad-level heavy weapons, vanished from the garrison stores, she started getting distinctly irate, but, by then, of course, it was too late...

But of the Captain, there was little sign, for she had taken to haunting the tactical section aboard ship, poring over recent reports with a deliberate and ruthless fascination that was distinctly driven, even for her.

Still, not fifty-five hours since they first docked, Zeus left port and boosted for the jump point. Her battle-damage repaired, her magazines fully loaded, and with perhaps a torpedo or two extra loaded aboard, just in case...

...

"What did you do to my torpedo launchers?"

The engineer had been tinkering with a cluster of tubes and wires when the voice cut through his workshop like a scalpel.

"Huh? Why, er... nothing, Captain."

She sniffed, "Those aren't Mk. 4's they're loaded with."

"Uh... no."

"Spit it out, and right quick."

The engineer looked about somewhat desperately, but for some reason, the quartermaster, who had been standing right there not two minutes ago, had apparently vanished.

"Well, you see the Calypso was in port."

"So?"

He cleared his throat carefully and tried to suppress a sudden desire to mop his sweaty brow as the Captain stalked towards him.

"The Calypso is headed back to Zesta for refit, and she had a full complement of the upgraded Mk. 5 warheads, and me and their Chief Engineer, who's a real nice fella by all accounts, got to playing a hand or two, and... nice fella. Did I say he was a nice fella?"

"You did."

"Terrible card player, but nice... Anyway, we played a hand or two and... well, it's not like they're gonna be firing any in spacedock is it? So... we, um... swapped. I mean, they only had them for training anyway, it's not like they'd use the bloody things for anything useful."

She sighed, "So, we have their torpedoes, and they have ours?"

"I can see how you'd put it that way..."

"Is there some other way to put it?"

"Ahhh, well, not in so many words, no. But I mean, we filled out paperwork and everything..."

"Paperwork?"

He brightened, "Of course! Everything above board, shipshape and all that. 'Exigencies of duty' they call it. We're headed into a potential combat situation, and they're headed back to a safe haven, so it's in the regs somewhere... probably."

"And these warheads? They're better?"

"Oh yes, a definite improvement on the old Mk. 4's. Probably about a twenty, maybe twenty-five percent increase in yield, and they have a more efficient magnetic bottle. Should increase the range, a little bit anyway. Course, they were never gonna let the likes of us near them, not when they can put them on some fancy new boat that's never gonna get within a lightyear of anything more dangerous than a target asteroid."

"I see," she pursed her lips, "you know, Chief. When they catch you, they're probably going to hang you. But, in the meantime... carry on."

"Yes, ma'am."

She turned, but hesitated, "Oh, and Chief?"

"Uh, yes ma'am?"

"You might want to hide that still."

"Still? What still?"

"Exactly."