Olympus Beckons Pt. 12

Olympus Beckons - Chapter 12 "How Much for the Pretty One?"

Stripping off her armoured vac-suit and stepping under the hot shower was sheer luxury, and she basked in it for a few moments as the blissful sensation seemed to wash the stress right out of her. As Captain, she could override the water-ration and shower all day if she liked, not that she would, but just sometimes it was most definitely tempting.

Stepping from the cubicle, she rubbed her hair dry with a towel and tied it back, before throwing on a t-shirt and shorts. Padding across her cabin she grabbed a well-used toolkit from a cabinet and turned to the suit, pulling the mobile rack where it hung into the middle of the room so she could crouch down and connect it to the diagnostic reader before getting to work.

She could have left it in the more than capable hands of her armourer, and she probably would later, but nobody who worked in space for any length of time didn't do their own suit maintenance first, not unless they had some kind of weird death wish or something.

It was an older suit. It had served her well, and she would have recognised the scars and scrapes on its carapace anywhere. She snorted, thumping the shoulder pauldron affectionately and shaking her head, "You're probably my oldest friend, buddy. Now isn't that a thing?"

Most suits didn't carry the internally mounted weaponry hers did, but hers was a throwback to the Thorian War, when things were a lot less... civilised. At least she'd dismounted the plasma caster that would normally have sat on the shoulder like some malign parrot, but the vibroblade concealed under the plates on the left forearm was still there, as was the lazgun mounted under the right. She hadn't had to use the things in years, but it would have gone against the grain to let them fall into disuse through lack of maintenance, so she checked and tested them like she always did. Mind you, if it came to pass that the Captain somehow got herself involved in hand-to-hand combat, then she was either doing something very wrong, or events had taken a definite turn.

But truthfully, she enjoyed working on the suit. She'd done it so many times she could have completed the task in her sleep, her fingers working almost without thought. It was... restful.

The door chimed just as she was running a final calibration, so instead of rising, she called up from the floor, "Enter."

The waft of freshly brewed coffee prickled enticingly at her senses as the door slid aside.

The woman entering the sanctity of the Captain's cabin was definitely more than merely attractive, with a pleasantly curved figure that even her spacer's fatigues couldn't disguise, long dark hair that fell down across aquiline features and a wide, almost sensual mouth. Her eyes were brightly inquisitive, and her smile was distinctly impish. But what was more important was she carried a steaming jug of that most blessed substance...

"Hey, Captain, I brought coffee. Helen told me how you like it."

Frances looked up at her and grinned, "Hey, Felina, you're a lifesaver. Just give me a minu-," there was a barely audible 'click' and a snort of satisfaction, "got the bugger!"

Smiling, she sat up, wiping her hands on a rag, long legs splayed out in front of her, "What's up?"

Felina had to concentrate on the woman's eyes, as she tried not to gawk at the muscular play of those toned limbs, the way her t-shirt was stretched across her bust, or how that tiny streak of oil on her cheek made her smile so endearingly mischievous. In uniform she was utterly terrifying and utterly untouchable, but now... "She's built like a gymnast, and... and she looks so much younger."

"Um, I... I brought coffee."

In a graceful movement, those legs curved under her and the woman rose, "So I see, to what do I owe the honour?"

Felina felt herself blushing as the Captain met her gaze, eyes as bright, as mischievous and unblinking as those of the slyest of cats, "No, not young, not even remotely."

"Helen suggested you might like a cup, and she's still at her station, so... Well, I just thought..."

Gesturing to a chair, Frances chuckled, "Aw, she's too good to me, always looking out for my sanity. Here, take a load off, and I'll grab you another cup. How are you and Helen getting on?"

"Good! We're getting on good, and uh, I wanted to thank you for letting us bunk together. I mean, uh... well, you know."

There was a snort of laughter as the Captain wandered back to the table with the extra mug, "That was Damon, not me. He's the XO and dealing with crew matters is part of his job, but I'm glad it's working out. But," her eyes narrowed slightly, "not that the coffee doesn't smell fantastic, but you had another reason for coming, didn't you?"

Felina blushed, "Um, well, yes, sort of... It was for me, really."

Pouring out the wondrous brew, Frances nodded, "Yes?"

"I... I wanted you to see that I wasn't so scared this time. That is," she gestured around her, "the fight. I wanted you to see I hadn't panicked this time. I mean, I still wanted to hide under my bunk and cry, but... I didn't."

Pushing a cup towards her, Frances smiled at the woman, "You didn't panic last time either, Felina. You had a reaction afterwards, but half of that was shock, half was adrenaline, and the other half was just plain relief at not being dead."

"That's three halves."

"So, sue me. I'm a spaceship Captain, not a mathematician. How's the crew?"

If the question, or the change in subject, surprised her, it didn't show, "I haven't had much chance to interact yet with many after this last fight, but I can tell they were up for it. They... they have a lot of confidence in you."

"That's reassuring."

Felina kept the slight frown from her face. The Captain's reply was confident, but she heard the slight sigh hidden in her voice. Sipping her coffee, she considered for a moment before speaking, "Heavy is the head that bears the crown?"

There was a nod, "Sometimes, but that's the way it should be."

The younger woman nodded, "I, uh, wanted to thank you again for taking me on as crew counselor. Quite a few of the ship's company, and not just the younger ones, have taken to 'chatting' with me. Maybe feeling me out a bit I think, but hopefully trust will build up."

Frances nodded, "You'll let me know if any issues arise?"

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Felina answered, "Uh, if it poses a danger then yes, otherwise," she swallowed, "no."

The Captain put her cup down, "No?"

It was amazing, simply amazing, how just that slight change in tone made that one word suddenly sound so fucking terrifying, and Felina had to concentrate hard to stop her hand from physically shaking.

Biting the bullet, she forced herself to meet the woman's eyes, "No."

Frances stared at her, eyes flat and expressionless, and Felina literally felt the sweat trickling down her back, but she bit her lip and said nothing.

Looking away, the Captain snorted softly, "Fair enough."

"Was she grinning?"

"You bitch! You did that deliberately!"

Those mischievous eyes were back, "Did I?"

Leaning forward, Frances refilled her mug, "It takes guts to stand to post, but it takes more than that to stand by your principles, a whole lot more. That takes integrity. I've met many with guts enough, that I still wouldn't trust as far as I could spit a rat. If my crew are going to trust you with their secrets and fears, then I needed to know. Now I do."

"You scared the shit out of me."

"Yea, sorry about that."

"No, you're fucking not."

The Captain shrugged, a small, insouciant, smile playing on her lips, "True."

Sitting back, she gave the younger woman an apologetic shrug, "Anyway, I'm glad it's working out. I think maybe you being a 'civilian' helps."

Felina snorted, "Oh, that much is certain."

"How so?"

Gesturing casually, the woman grinned, "Well, I doubt you flounce about like some floozy, in your bra and knickers, in front of anyone else in the crew, but I'm a 'civilian', so it's, okay?"

That elicited a laugh, "Touché, but it's a t-shirt and shorts, and I'm hardly 'flouncing', besides," she grinned, "the crew's seen my naked butt often enough."

"Huh?"

"Oh, you're not the only one who has to go through regular suit checks for measurements and fitting. They're mandatory, and I don't change the rules just because I'm the Captain. That would be bad form," she pouted, "I think I drew quite a crowd of gawkers and passers-by last time, though it might have been more the novelty, as opposed to just my ass."

Felina's muttering was out of her mouth before she could stop herself, "I wouldn't be too sure."

"What?"

"Uh, nothing, Captain."

Frances gave a wry chuckle before taking another sip of her coffee. Then she looked up from her cup, "You know, I'm going to meet the crew of one of those gunships in a bit. You should come with; they're Rimrunners, come to make the offer to our prisoners. You might find it interesting.

Felina tilted her head, her expression curious, "The offer?"

The coffee was as black as Satan's Hoof, and looked strong enough to melt the spoon the Captain idly stirred it with, and Felina had to shudder as the woman sipped it with relish, "That stuff could melt its way through the deck if she spilled it."

Her own cup was essentially untouched, and given she lacked the desire to dissolver her intestines, would remain that way, but she at least pretended to nurse the brew as she leaned forward eagerly to listen to the woman's explanation.

"Aye, gunship crews are always desperate for trained spacers, so when they capture a prize, they typically make an offer to anyone willing to join their crew."

"Anyone?"

Frances laughed, "Well, they took me, so they can't be that fussy, but they typically don't take slavers and the like. Anyone who accepts takes the collar and joins up."

Felina's eyes widened, "Takes the collar? You were a slave?"

Shaking her head, Frances made a noncommittal sound, "Urm, not exactly. There are no slaves on a gunship crew, and anyone trying to call themselves "Master" or whatever, would be lucky if they shot them before shoving the dumb fuck right out the nearest airlock. It's more like an indenture, but... more to the ship, if you know what I mean, not to the skipper or any one person. Eventually, if you serve long enough, and fight hard enough, your name gets put forward and the crew vote on it. If they accept you, then that's it; you're one of them."

The counselor was fascinated, "And if they don't?"

"Well, if it's just they're still not sure of you, then you can offer to serve longer and try to earn their trust. But if it's a definite 'no', then they put you off at the next port with a few creds and no hard feelings."

"What's it like? I mean," she flushed, "you hear stories."

Frances burst out laughing, "You watched that program didn't you, "Gunships and Gangbangs" or whatever the Hell, they called it?"

Blushing furiously, Felina mumbled something incoherent, as she felt herself nodding.

"Oh Felina, the things I learn about you..."

Sighing happily, Frances shook her head with a wicked grin, "Well, sad to say it's not like that at all. Not really," she paused and looked thoughtful for a second, "well, not entirely.

"On a gunboat the Skipper has a small cabin to themselves, and the First Mate gets their own rack, but everyone else hotbunks. So, there's absolutely no room for any privacy whatsoever, which means if you're banging anyone then the whole crew knows about it," her eyes twinkled and her smile broadened as she added, "especially if the participants are, you know, loud.

"Anyway, it's not considered good manners to make anything of it if a couple of crew members are having a bit of fun, though there's the usual japes."

"Japes?"

Frances shrugged, "You know; I mean you have a couple going hard at it right there in front of you, when you're trying to mind your own business and drink a cup of Joe, and there's all this grunting and moaning going on. So, sooner or later someone will start offering advice, or taking bets, or the Skipper will wander by and offer a critique on their performance. Hell, one time I remember they knocked up 'score cards' for this young couple who were totally into one another and who'd been humping for a while. The poor bastards were mortified," she shrugged, "dunno why, they scored pretty good."

"Seriously?"

"Would I lie?"

"Hmm, I'll reserve judgement on that one."

With an answering grin, Frances continued, "Anyway, it's a hard life, dangerous. They take merc contracts, do anti-piracy patrols on the Frontier and the like, and the casualty rate isn't pretty, so they're usually a pretty close-knit group. And to start with you're not a slave, but you're not really free either; you can be traded."

Felina blinked, "Traded?"

"Yea, I mean, they'd never sell you, but you can be traded to another gunship for spare parts, fuel, ammunition, or swapped for other crew, that sort of thing. They don't keep official personnel records on the Rim, like on a database. So, everything is inscribed on your collar; which ships you served on, which battles you fought in, your skillset, good points, and bad."

"Couldn't that be forged?"

She laughed, "Yea, but if they found out, they'd space you, so not a good plan."

Whistling, Felina nodded, "I can see that. Uh, were you ever traded?"

"Once; the Skipper told me he didn't want to do it, but our autocannon was damaged, and we needed a new one, so, for the good of our boat, that was me."

Scratching one ear, Frances revisited her memories and found herself grinning, "But it wasn't that bad a life; hard, tough, but not bad. Everyone's in the same boat, literally, and once you're accepted, you take the mark of your ship and that's it. They become like your family," she laughed, "you might still get a right royal kicking if you fuck up, but they'd never turn their backs on you."

Ever the counselor, Felina heard herself asking, "Is that why you joined them?"

With something of a sigh, Frances nodded, "I suppose so, I was in a bad place. It was years after the war, but Tholians were still lepers. I had nobody, no world, no family; all my friends were dead, and everyone pretty much treated me like shit. Even on the ships I worked, they wouldn't piss on me if I was on fire. I guess, after a few years of that I just got lonely," she snorted, "maybe I'm not as tough as I pretend to be."

Raising her brows, Felina gave her an incredulous look, "Yeaaah, nobody's taking that bet."

"Whatever."

The counselor eyed the woman as she slumped back in her chair, legs folded under her, steaming cup of coffee cradled in her hand, just staring into the black brew, seemingly lost in her memories. She looked almost, vulnerable.

"Um, did... do you have a 'mark' from a gunship, Captain?"

Smiling, Frances looked up, "Sure," putting down her mug she rolled back her t-shirt from her shoulder, exposing the intricate design beneath, "it's a laser brand."

Felina breathed softly, "It's beautiful," unconsciously she reached out to touch it, before catching herself and jerking her hand back.

Frances nodded, "It's a Hydra," running her fingers across the design her eyes took on a distant, almost dreamy look, "and for two years she was mine."

With a grin she let the fabric fall back, "It's funny, I used to have a lot of tattoos, a whole sleeve down this arm to begin with. I had it done by this ex-jailbird on Sephira; old guy, a real artist. He did it the old-fashioned way, with ink and needles, completely by hand. It was beautiful," she shrugged, "gone now, just like the rest."

"You had them removed?"

Looking up, Frances frowned, "Huh? Oh, no, that was the rejuve. It undid them."

"Pardon?"

"You not know this story? I'd have thought it would have been in my file. Anyway, it was during The War. I won't bore you with the detail, but basically, we jumped into this uncharted minefield, and when we tried to get clear we accidentally set off two of these rad bombs. Old things, big nasty fuckers. The first blew away our shields and the second," she pursed her lips, "well, the second killed about half the crew, pretty much, me included."

Eyes bleak, she sipped her coffee and stirred the cup, "The medics managed to stabilise me, but I was done for. The radiation ate me to the bone. But I was a decorated officer," she sneered, "a hero, apparently, and a Patrician to boot, so I was given a complete rejuve. No idea how much it must have cost, and they definitely didn't 'waste' it on anyone else. But it was a total rewrite. It basically reset my body back to puberty, which was fucking annoying."

Felina snorted, "What?"

"Hey, have you ever tried commanding a warship when you looked like you were a thirteen-year-old schoolgirl? The fucking Chief Engineer offered to put a baby seat on my command chair. I wanted to space the cheeky bastard, but my XO talked me out of it."

For a second, Felina thought she caught a mischievous twinkle in the woman's eyes, but when she looked, the Captain just stared back at her, sphinxlike and completely unreadable.

"I... I don't believe you. You're pulling my leg."

Frances just grinned, "Am I?"

...

The survivors of the cruiser 'Gort', all thirty-six from a ship's company of over eighty surrendered without a fight. They had somehow patched many of the holes that perforated the ship and restored atmosphere to a few compartments. But the reactor was down, main power was out, and, given the damage that had been inflicted, it wasn't coming back anytime soon. Given that meant the failure of life-support as soon as the batteries died, they had little choice. All an enemy had to do was stand off and wait for them to die.

Half of them were wounded, some of them, including their Commanding Officer, had radiation sickness from attempting to restore reactor power and they were in a pretty poor state.

Captain Frobisher eyed them as they were escorted off the assault shuttle by her marines. Doctor Ostrow, along with a few of his corpsmen were waiting, and they scuttled between the stretchers, carrying out emergency care on the worst injured.

He turned to the marines, "Get those five to the sickbay immediately, these others can be treated in the hole."

One of the wounded, a bedraggled looking officer whose face was already gaunt with rad poisoning, pulled himself free of the Leftenant holding him upright, "Hole?"

Frances stepped forward, "He's being poetic. We don't have a brig big enough, so you'll be held in an empty cargo bay. It won't be comfortable, but don't worry, we'll ensure your needs are met."

The man swallowed, "T-thank you."

He staggered, but caught himself, "I'd like to go with them."

"No, the doc says you need treatment in sickbay, so that's where you go" her lips curled in a thin smile, "he can be somewhat stubborn about these things. I've found it's best to humour him."

At her curt gesture a marine moved forward, but the officer held his place for a moment longer, "My crew... They're not slavers, or... pirates. We're mercs, we didn't attack the convoy. J-just you."

It was clear he was weakening, and she had no love for him, but his concern for his crew was at least worth something. She sniffed, "You're not slavers, I'll give you that. But you still attacked us. It could be argued we're not in Teraxan space, but that's poor consolation to the Apollo's dead.

She looked about at the survivors, her face hard, "You'll be classed as 'hostile belligerents' and dealt with accordingly. But at least you won't hang."

This time her gesture brooked no argument, "Take him away."

...

The heavy slab of the airlock door slid aside with the familiar hiss of powerful motors, revealing the motley crew within. There was a half dozen of them, the suits they wore were a mishmash of styles and makes that probably originated across half the sector and beyond. All patched and different, even before they had been uniquely modified and decorated by a lifetime of hard use.

The armoured carapace of each had been garishly painted and lacquered, emblazoned with sigils and insignias; this one bore a crimson dragon, that one a harpy. Over there a leering skull and crossbones was painted on a helmet, while over here a grinning demon gesticulated from a shoulder plate. Each was a statement, and for the most part that statement was definitely, "Fuck around and find out."

The leader stood in their midst, and she was striking. She wore a helmet of black; its visor painted like a ghostly skull. Like the rest of her suit, it was probably military once. Upon the chestpiece a grizzly cage of ribs had been rendered, while the limbs of her suit had been decorated like the stylized bones of an undead thing, and when she stepped forward, it looked like some animated skeleton had come a calling.

They were all very obviously armed, and the marine sentry shifted ever so slightly, lifting the muzzle of his blaster rifle in unspoken warning.

Frances rested her hand gently on the man's arm, "Now, now, Jeff, let's not get off on the wrong foot. I'm sure our 'guests' won't mind leaving their toys behind before coming aboard."

The hulking marine growled a reply, but at least he didn't shoot anyone, so Frances took it as a win.

One of the garish figures raised his head, "If you're suggesting we can't be trusted to go about armed, then maybe there are some might take offence at such a thing."

The Captain moved forward until she stood eye to eye with the speaker, "If you're suggesting my ship and my hospitality somehow can't be trusted, then I fucking guarantee that 'offence' will be taken."

There was a snort as the leader lifted a hand to the man's shoulder, "Easy, Zek, easy, we is guests here, yeah? Let's not be rude. Maybe we leave the hardware behind this time, eh?"

The man grunted, clearly not happy, but he nodded, "Fair'nuff, Skipper, we play gút."

At his gesture, the figures divested themselves of their weapons and piled them into the arms of presumably their most junior crewmate, and Frances had to chuckle as the poor sap was all but buried by the makeshift armoury he had suddenly inherited.

The leader slapped him on the back, "Sucks to be the new-guy. You stay here, Pike, okies?"

There was a muffled reply from under the pile of holsters, bandoliers and blasters, "Yuss, boss."

Looking back, the woman in the airlock stepped up to the magical line that separated the interior of 'Zeus' from all that lay beyond, and as she did the faceplate of her helm flipped open to reveal dark eyes and a fierce grin, "Oy, Zeus. Me and mine? We still welcome aboard now, yeah?"

The Captain nodded, "Come aboard, and make yourselves at home. I see you brought your crew with you."

The woman laughed, "Not so, Navy, I only bring the good-looking ones. They all wanted to see the inside of this bad bitch, but work still has to be done, so I left the ugly ones behind to do the graft, serves them right eh?

She raised her head, "I be Kora, Skipper of the gunship Mako," she hooked a thumb at the man who had spoken already, "an' this handsome devil is Zek, my First Mate."

The man said nothing, but Frances could almost feel his glower.

The armoured woman stepped over the threshold, moving with an exaggerated feline grace that even her suit couldn't completely disguise. Her eyes might have been mischievous, but they still flicked over the marine sentry, almost instinctively assessing the soldier, cooly measuring his stance and his gear, and Frances suppressed a grin. She'd met such creatures more than once; a predator. So, she tilted her head to one side, letting nothing on her face show but an expression of amused curiosity, and waited.

To her side Felina shifted slightly, and the woman's eyes were on her in an instant. Moving forward she peered at the young counselor, her voice a soft purr, "What's this? Sooo pretty, so sweet, and so obviously not Navy?"

Those eyes slid sideways to her crew and her lips parted in a sly grin, "Maybe this Captain not so boring as we fear, yeah? Look like she maybe keeps a toy for herself, and a right pretty one too."

Felina could feel herself flushing as the woman literally stalked around her, but she met the creature's eyes and forced herself not to look away. After a moment the gunship Skipper gave her a toothsome smile, and cast a glance back at the Captain, "Oh, I like this one. She sacred, but she try so hard not to show it. She has guts, but I bet she tremblin' something fierce inside."

Suddenly the woman was so close that Felina could smell her through the open faceplate, a strange scent, somehow alien and familiar, both heady, and yes, at least a little enticing. Her eyes were bright and close, and those lips parted again as she whispered, "Tell me, little bird, is you tremblin'"

Frances cleared her throat, "She's spoken for."

"By you?"

Felina thought for a moment she might have heard something of a challenge issued in those words, but if there was, the Captain appeared unperturbed, favouring her with a broad smile as she replied, "I am not so lucky."

"Shame."

The feral woman chuckled and slapped Felina playfully on the posterior before turning away, "Maybe later you tell me who has dibs on this one, yeah? Maybe we do trade, one of mine for one of hers. We take this one for spin, teach her some 'tings. Me promise" she held a hand to her heart, "we give her back... eventually."

Frances sniffed, almost dismissively, "Only one? You'll have to do better than that."

"Oho!"

With a wry shake of her head, the Captain chuckled, "But I'll tell her anyway, though I'd not be holding my breath if I were you."

"Oh, I dunno, Captain, me can hold my breath a looong time."

"Good to know," she straightened, "now, are we done posturing, or might I offer you the hospitality of my ship?"

The woman nodded, her eyes suddenly as cold and calculating as any shark and it wasn't lost on Felina that her sing-song accent had suddenly vanished, "Yes, I think that's probably a sensible suggestion. Not that I doubt you'd be anything but a gracious host, Captain, and I admit you hide it well, but somehow, I doubt you'd be quite so keen to have us aboard if you didn't want something."

She smiled an amiable smile, winking at Felina, and her accent almost magically reappeared, "So, it lucky I bring a bottle or two of the 'good stuff' yeah? I say we go drink. An' then, when we all good and drunk, maybe then you can tell me exactly what it is you really want from me and mine, yes?"

...

"Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

The Captain's suggestion had clearly caught him by surprise, and the First Officer had almost choked on his drink when she laid out her plan before them. But even though he had recovered quickly, the expensive whisky had still all but exploded from his glass as he slammed it down on the coffee table. Eyes blazing, he ignored the spill and surged to his feet, "That's insane!"

Frances eyed him, her face a mask, her voice nothing but mild, "Gently, Damon."

He threw his arms up, "Fuck gently! You're going to get yourself killed."

Across the table, the gunship skipper refilled her own glass, chucking darkly as she did, "I like this one too; he cares. Maybe a lil' too much, but it speaks well of him I think, eh?"

Damon turned on the woman, "You know what? I'd tell you to go fuck yourself if I thought it would do any good, but I know this is all on her!"

It hardly came as a surprise when the Captain had invited the gunship commander and her First Mate to supper, though it should maybe have rung at least a few alarm bells when the burly form of Private Lightfoot had lumbered into the wardroom to join them, looking distinctly awkward, with his dress uniform polished, pressed and shiny, and with his cap all but crushed in one massive, ham-sized hand.

The Skipper of the Mako had taken one look at the hulking marine and let out a silent whistle of appreciation, "Woah, looks like you build em big in your navy," she grinned, "where can I get one?"

Her First Mate snorted and looked like he was about to add something, but he stopped and abruptly reconsidered as Jeff glowered at him. Frances couldn't tell if the man's life had flashed before his eyes, but she was pretty sure it probably should have.

She eyed the marine up and down and gave him a broad smile, "Well, look at you, Private Lightfoot. All spick and span. You look good; I approve."

The big man flushed slightly at the praise, his voice a low rumble, "Gunny said he'd have my balls if I fucked this up... uh, ma'am."

She pulled out a chair for him, "Well, if that happens, I promise, I won't tell him if you don't. Now, can I get you a drink?"

He goggled, "Seriously?"

With a grin, she nodded, "Beer?"

His face was a picture, "Uh, yes ma'am, thank ye ma'am."

Frances had tried, she really had, but the food was about as awful as it always was, though thankfully she still had some of the saches of hot sauce she had pilfered from the bar on Khelgar, so she could at least kill the taste of the soyapork cubes and rice gumbo that she'd been able to knock together.

She was about to apologise to Kora and her other guest when she saw that the woman was watching in horrified fascination as Jeff hoovered up his plateful, eating with almost mechanical efficiency, before reaching out to the other plates, "You done with that?"

Damon shook his head in bewilderment as Jeff emptied one plate after another, before reaching for the bowl in the middle of the table, "How can you eat that stuff?"

The big man paused a moment, as if considering, before looking up, "Practice."

Kora snorted, and turned to the Captain, her face a picture of delight, "Oh please! You gotta tell me, you got any more like him?"

There was a dry mutter from the XO, "One's enough."

But after pouring them all another drink the Captain had finally come to the meat of the matter, and the issue that so exercised her First Officer.

She couldn't think of a gentle way to ease into it, so eventually she shrugged internally, and turned to the gunship commander, "I need to go to the Shalako system, and I want you to take me."

Damon's jaw fell open, "What the fu..."

Kora ignored him, as well as the startled grunt from her own First Mate, instead she slowly turned to the Captain, her eyes narrowing as she met the woman's unblinking gaze, "Shalako? That's out there on the edge of the Tarantula Nebula, beyond The Rim. That's a Frontier world, a pirate world."

The First Mate was less somewhat genteel, "Why the fuck do you want to go there?"

Frances sighed, "Simple enough, our prisoners from that cruiser said they received their contract from a man on Shalako. They intimated the contract came with precise details of our ship movements and patrol routes. That's how they ambushed Apollo. That means the person who gave them that contract either knows, or is a point of contact, with the mole in Headquarters. I'm going to go out there and get them to tell me what they know."

The First Mate snorted, "How?"

Frances turned to the man, her lips parted in the thinnest of smiles, her voice cold, "I'll be persuasive."

Pursing her lips, Kora shook her head, "It's a pirate world, completely lawless."

"I know, that's why I can't take Zeus. First sign of a navy warship and they'd either run like Hell or come out shooting. But you," she smiled as she pointed a finger at Kora, "you and your motley crew could get me there unnoticed, couldn't you?"

The woman looked thoughtful, "Some mercs are welcome," she eyed the Captain, "some, not so much."

"Which are you?"

The gunship Commander held her hand out and made a face as she rocked it uncertainly, "Well, it's been a while, maybe they've forgotten."

With a grunt, the First Mate knocked back his shot, "Fat fuckin' chance."

She glared at him, "He was cheating."

He nodded, "Yup, probably."

The woman grumbled, "Least, I think he was cheating, well, he might have been, couldn't really be sure."

The man nodded again as he refilled his glass, "Probably shouldn't have shot him then."

"I didn't like him anyway."

The First Mate downed the measure with an appreciative sigh before reaching for the bottle again, "Yea, I got that."

Reaching across the table, Frances picked it up before him and refilled first her own glass and then everyone else's. Looking down the amber liquor, she was still for a moment before lifting her eyes, "So, what do you think my chances would be, if I posed as one of your crew?"

Kora lifted her own glass, "I think your chances of getting us all killed are excellent, but of pulling it off? Impossible to say," she looked up, "you do know what those wolves will do to you if the catch you?"

The Captain snorted, "Oh yea."

Damon had been trying like hell to hold it in check but enough was enough, "Captain, this is nuts. Those bastards will skin you alive!"

"They'll need to take me alive first."

"Oh, for fucks sake! Look..."

She sighed, "I know, but this has to be done."

"But Cap..."

Her eyes hardened, "Enough! I appreciate the concern, Hell, I even agree with you, but we have no choice," she gestured out into space, "those assholes we killed today were so incompetent they couldn't fight their way out of a wet paper bag. But don't be fooled, they're just the first. Sooner or later, whoever is doing this will send someone who actually knows their stuff. And if that person can pick the time and place of their choosing to strike, then that's when things are likely to take a bit of a turn. This leak must be plugged. Or eventually we're all going to get fucking killed."

Lifting his chin, Damon looked her square in the eye, "You can't go alone. Take me with..."

"No, I'm taking Jeff. You will take command of Zeus in my absence."

The big marine had been pretty much ignoring the argument, busy as he was, draining the last of his beer. Slowly he lowered his stein, "Huh?"

Frances pushed another brew his way, "That is, if you'll go."

The hulking figure eyed the bottle, and grinned, "This stuff aint bad, we gonna take some with us?"

The Captain almost grinned, but despite the inclination she forced herself to be serious, "It's a dangerous job, Jeff. I wouldn't call it a suicide mission..."

Kora snorted, "I would."

Frances rolled her eyes, "I wouldn't call it a suicide mission, but truthfully, it's not far off."

He didn't even blink, instead, his lips curled back in an evil smile that, in more than a few places, had sent hardened thugs running screaming for the doors, "Mad, stupidly dangerous, likely to get us horribly killed?"

He shrugged, "Must be Tuesday."

...

The remainder of the convoy's journey passed peacefully enough on the surface, but behind the scenes things were very different.

The cruiser Apollo had spent the first few days of their journey safely ensconced withing the cavernous main hold of the freighter Matryoshka, and they hadn't wasted a minute of that precious time with the crew working feverishly to repair and restore the ships systems for the fight to come.

Now, she sailed alongside her sister ship, and if some of her hullplates still bore the marks of battle, then she bore those scars proudly. Shaking her head with amusement, Frances had watched as eager crewmen in vac-suits had scurried across her bow painting the stylised 'skull and crossbones' insignias that marked her kills.

She sighed, "We're gonna end up turning the whole navy into buccaneers at this rate."

Still, the ship's improved condition, opened another opportunity...

...

From the cramped cockpit of her gunship, Kora had watched as the Gort was maneuvered into the womb so recently vacated by Apollo. The ship had taken a battering and most of her primary systems were out, but her command deck had been repressurised and a few thrusters still functioned. Even so, it was a slow and laborious maneuver as the sorely wounded vessel was gently eased into the hold of the Matryoshka.

She looked down at the image smiling at her from the viewplate on her console, "So, you gonna help us with repairs, yeah?"

Frances nodded, "Sure, but we're gonna strip out a few bits and pieces for ourselves in exchange."

"Oh? And why should I be agreeing with this?"

"Well, my engineers, and those on Apollo, are probably the best you'll find out here when it comes to getting the reactor and jumpdrive of your prize back up and running. If you have anyone who can do the job better, just say so."

Kora sniffed, "No, you right enuff there. But what you gonna steal off my ship in the meantime? That's what I wanna know."

"The armour and railgun. You can't fight the ship right now anyway, you have to get her to a proper repair yard for a refit before she'll be fit for action again, but at least we can let you get her there under her own power. That's gotta be worth something. And I'm guessing you have techs and workcrews aplenty who can restore her weapons?"

"Yeah, we can do guns easy enough, and if you can fix her jumpdrive then we won't have to risk hiding her in the dark until we get a repair ship out here. We could lose her that way."

"Then everyone's happy."

Kora snorted, "Oh, we'll see just how happy you is when you come aboard my gunship, Captain."

The way the woman stressed that last word, and the shark-like smile on her face, promised for interesting times ahead, and Frances knew that given the circumstances all she could do was grin and bear it. Still, that stubborn and intractable part of her, "I really have to watch that," couldn't help but make her reply with a defiant challenge, "Oh yeah?"

The gunship skipper chuckled, "Oh yeah, we gonna have fun wit you's. Aint no free berths on my boat. If you gonna pretend to be on my crew, and maybe get us killed in the process, then we gonna work your ass off in the meantime."

She didn't really expect the navy woman to bite, but it was fun pushing the buttons to see if she would. Most of the navy Captains and petty bureaucrats she'd met in the past were dicks. Oh, sure, some knew their stuff, and anyone who'd gone up against them knew they weren't all cowards and lickspittles, but they were officious pricks just the same, always looking down on them that ran the Rim.

This one? She wasn't so sure of this one. Some of her crew said they'd heard she'd lived out here a while, bounty hunting or the like. And some said they'd heard she was a killer; but then again, who wasn't?

Still... She found herself looking down at the viewplate, into those eyes; cool and unperturbed, and that thin, sardonic, damned near sinister, smile, and she found herself thinking about it a moment longer, while at the same time trying to ignore the tiny voice in her head that whispered, "Maybe best we not push too far eh?"

Frances tilted her head slightly, expression unreadable, but her voice definitely held a damnable edge of wry humour when she finally spoke, "I look forward to it... Skipper."

Kora cut the connection and sat there a moment, staring at the blank screen.

...

Aboard Zeus, the Chief Engineer suppressed a groan when the Captain strolled onto his engineering deck. He could tell just from the look in her eyes...

"What now?"

She smiled, and her next words made him wince, "Well, I was thinking."

"Aw crap."