Tempered, page 12
part #1 of Space Chef Series
Captain Vaslov shrugged his shoulders before eyeballing the XO. It was time to throw someone under the aircar. In a condescending voice he asked, “Crew assignment is your department, Watson. Who’s guarding the farm for us?”
Watson shuffled his feet for a moment and didn’t look at the captain. Rolling his eyes a bit, he finally looked up. “We were safe out here with the crew locked up. There isn’t anyone to watch it. You told me to keep watch out there.” He spread his arms wide, almost whacking one of the security men in the chest.
“Bridge now,” Vaslov growled as he pushed past the XO, and headed for the door. Spying the two women still in the room, he glared at them. “You two sluts need to get dressed and back on duty. I’m paying you to work, not fuck!” He ignored the fact it was he who had invited them in. Looking over his shoulder to Draven, he motioned him closer. “The computerized system is supposed to record automatically when not supervised. It’s normally the operator’s job to zoom in when he sees something unusual. Maybe the dumbo caught something on its own and we can salvage this situation.”
The Confederation as a rule didn’t trust independent artificial intelligence. Part of the war that destroyed Old Earth and the Sol system was run by corporate-sponsored AIs. Nobody wanted a repeat of that, even by accident. So on ships, the computer did actions by rote and was only a few steps above a robot pet. There were functioning intelligences in space, but they kept very low profiles and rarely came in contact with the regular military.
“Captain on the bridge,” one of the guards announced as Captain Vaslov stomped into the room. Looking around, the captain scowled at the officers. Only Lieutenant Spark acknowledged him with a salute. The rest sort of waved and spun in their chairs. All they cared about was a payday now. The naval farce was over.
“Which one of you lazy idiots triggered the sleeping gas like you were supposed to?” the captain asked.
Lieutenant Rosco Jones spun around in his chair to face the officer. “Neither you nor the XO ordered us to.” Gesturing over his shoulder, the helmsman pointed to the security desk. “We all thought XO Watson was taking care of it from the emergency bridge.” Seeing the look on Vaslov’s and Draven’s faces, he clarified a bit. “Seriously sir, that really is what we thought. Play acting aside. We know how a ship’s supposed to operate. None of us left the bridge.”
Captain Vaslov grunted. “Check the damn feeds and gas the shit out of the holds and engineering. Maybe we’ll catch whoever it is.”
Pushing past the captain, Draven sat down at the console, activating all the screens at once. “I never should have taken this freaking stupid job,” he said almost to himself.
“What was that? Did you find something?” Vaslov asked, stepping closer to peer down at the screens.
“Nothing yet, sir. I was just running through the activation sequence to myself. I’m only used to the older versions of this equipment,” Draven replied, covering himself. Down deep inside, he was raging. Plans existed among his unit to break free, steal one or both of the shuttles, and just leave. He was seriously thinking of just killing everyone on this cluster-fuck of a ship, taking his boys, and punching out. Why he allowed himself to be suckered in by this useless chunk of a man…
“There, right there,” Vaslov pointed at something on a screen, breaking Draven out of the internal loop he was creating. Isolating the specific screen, he started to zoom in.
The captain shook his head and said, “No. Put it up on the big screen so we all can see.”
Draven grumbled to himself and cursed the captain under his breath, but did as he was instructed. Hitting the correct sequence of buttons, he transferred the image from screen three, guest quarters, to the main bridge screen. “Done.”
The image in front of the officers shifted from that of near space to a dimly lit hallway. A single marine guard stood watch over the lift system hatchway. Just past him a slight figure dressed in color-shifting armor crept down the hall, hugging the walls.
“Where is that?” Captain Vaslov asked, still staring the screen.
Draven didn’t need to look, but did so anyway. “Brown twenty-five, guest quarters level.”
As everyone on the bridge watched, the marine turned his back to the hallway to search his gear bag for some reason. Half the room said out loud, “Turn around, you idiot.”
They watched as the guard pawed through his things. Then he looked up for just a moment. He didn’t see or hear the intruder, not until he was tackled.
“What is he doing to him?” Vaslov asked with a sense of morbid fascination. Death and sex went hand in hand for some, and he was beginning to feel a rise in his pants just watching this.
Draven’s face had turned to stone. Private Bates might not have been the brightest tool in his box, but he belonged to him, and this assassin was stealing his life from the former marine. Hearing the question, he answered without looking away from the screen. “Garrote. See how the assailant pulls their hands back and forth? It’s some sort of wire or chain. Usually you would squeeze as hard as you can until the airway cuts off.”
The sudden gush of blood and removal of Bates’ head made some on the bridge cry out in shock. But still they watched. It was only when the assailant looked up into the camera that someone spoke. “Freeze it,” Valsov ordered. Looking up at the screen in shock he asked, “How is that even possible? She’s just a cook.”
“Is she, Captain? Is she really just a cook?” Draven stood up straight after catching his breath. “Or is she something more?” Draven stood a little straighter, his free hand resting on his sidearm. “We have a serious problem on this ship with us.”
We’re Where?
“Why has Agent Bolton not responded?” Elder Smith asked for the tenth or eleventh time. Leaving the prelate’s cabin, he’d crossed the ship to now pace up and down across the rear portion of the bridge.
The Brotherhood fleet still sat hidden, but not for too much longer. Prelate Yakov waited for the most opportune moment to strike. Even now, surveillance drones circled the Washington, probing all its secrets.
“Give him time. The Washington is one of their largest ships, and even I don’t know where our agent is aboard it. The drones will tell us much, but not who or what is inside. Patience is a virtue, after all,” Prelate Yakov explained while he checked and cross-checked information from the drones.
“Speak not the holy writ to me, Alter son of Noah. My duties to his Holiness the Pope of Worlds outrank even you and these…” Elder Smith waved at the crew all around them. “These military people. It is impossible for any of them to truly understand His ways. You know this to be true as a Prelate of the Solar Temple.”
“My association with the brothers is a matter not to be discussed here. Would you bring the wrath of the Alliance down upon our heads? You know as well as I do the knights are secretive…” Yakov dropped his voice down low, “and everywhere! Lead not us all into your temptation, Elder. Allow me to do the job his Holiness selected me for. Have you forgotten that as well?”
Making calming motions with his hands, the Ancient Elder settled down. “I have forgotten. My apologies. It has been centuries since I last traveled the space ways. All of this...technology, is not my way.” Smith spit out the word as though it was made of dirt.
“Understood. Take a minor role in this, then. Parvis is prepared for war where you are not. Bolton will answer. He cannot help himself to not. The Washington shall be ours and we will cleanse the unworthy from the Empire of Man. So let it be written,” Yakov started.
“So let it be done,” Elder Smith finished with a smile.
“At last they are here,” Sergeant Bolton whispered. His long journey was at its end. Just a few small details to wrap up, and the ship would be theirs. Confederation tech in all its modern glory. Something the Brotherhood had very little of.
The Brotherhood of the Solar Temple was an ancient order on Old Earth. Founded three hundred years pre-diaspora at the very beginning of what humanity called the Space Age. They were religious prophets and believers. Three goals dominated the church: primacy of the spiritual over the temporal, preparing humanity to transition into a new age of the second coming, and domination of all religion. One God, one church. All others were to put to the sword.
Temporal authority at the time called them murderers and terrorists, forbidding the faithful from leaving Earth. But the brotherhood’s values were revered by many, both rich and poor. Where there is a will, a way will open. Colony ships were purchased or subverted in mid-flight by hard core followers from a place once called Europe. Humanity was reaching for the stars and the Brotherhood was going with them. Little did Earth know where they were actually going, though. Outer space was deep and dark.
“Time to inform Vaslov and start the dance. Soon this will all be over, and I will return home,” Bolton muttered to the shrine in the pantry. The signal had been given.
Now he had only to string them along a bit more.
“She’s a damn cook,” Vaslov yanked Draven around to see his face.
Looking at Vaslov’s hand on his arm, Draven snarled. “Get your fucking paws off me. This is all your fault! If you and that idiot you brought on board had told me the truth about this plan of yours from the beginning, we might have had a chance. But if she’s who I think she is, we’re fucked. There could be a half dozen of them on this ship with us. And the Navy? The fucking Confeds know where we are. They have to if she’s part of a Spec Op force. Those guys are way too valuable to just throw away. I’d always thought they were an urban legend.”
“You’re insane. Nobody, and I do mean nobody knows where we are. The Confederation Navy wouldn't follow us out here, even if they did know. Look at the coordinates, we’re half a parsec inside of Sylph space. No human’s ever charted these planets and lived to tell the tale,” Vaslov explained with a sneer. “You need to calm the fuck down and explain yourself to me. Who or what do you think is happening here and what Spec Ops force?”
“Sylph space? You are fucking insane! Have you ever fought them or even seen them? Because I have! They will freaking strip the flesh from our bodies and eat whatever’s left. Merciless is the best way to describe them, and that’s on a good day,” Draven yelled. “We dead! All of us! Dead!”
“Relax. Calm your whiny ass down. The folks we’re meeting have promised to protect us from those alien freaks. This part of space isn’t part of the Sylph empire, not technically,” Vaslov explained. “Once they have the Washington, we’ll all be transported out of here and back to friendly space. That was the deal I made.”
Draven snorted. “Deals can be broken. Who are these people that are meeting us, anyway? Or did you sell this ship for a bag of magic beans and a funny story? Sylph space! May the Gods of Space consume your soul.”
“I swore an oath to not say who they are. Their money is good, trust me. Bolton… I mean all my contacts couldn’t be lying to me, now could they?” the captain stammered. This wasn’t a situation he’d planned for. It was all supposed to be so easy.
“Bolton? You mean Sergeant Bolton, your steward?” Draven asked, a questioning look upon his face. “What does he have to do with all of this mess?”
Captain Vaslov shook his head back and forth. “I promised. On my life, I promised to not say anything.”
Drawing his sidearm and pointing it at him, Draven said, “It’ll be your death if you don’t start talking right fucking now. It’s not just you and fuck-face Watson over there. Oh, I know all about who he really is, and you should’ve left his traitorous ass back where you found him. There’s a reason they shoot traitors and spies. Did you think my company was just a bunch of guys and gals out for a lark with guns? Seriously. We’re all veterans of one sort or another. Start talking.”
“Fine, whatever. We’ll still get paid, regardless. A ship like this is too good to pass up,” the captain started to explain. “It was like this. I was in a bar and I met…” Vaslov explained being passed over for promotion and how he’d met Bolton. The plan was all his own except for the Sylph space part. That was a new one on him. The money they’d given him was good, though. It let him pay off everyone and front his own private rebellion. Technology to break the computer programing in his head wasn’t cheap.
“That you’d plan all of this on the word of a random guy at the bar blows my fucking mind. Seriously, the Brotherhood. That’s who you’re dealing with?” Draven shook his head in disgust. “They aren’t pirates. They’re more like ghosts, if you had to call them anything. I only know about them because of my contacts with fleet intel. Nobody knows who they are or where they come from. Which in is fucking scary. When were they supposed to meet us?”
“Now. Today. I was supposed to have the ship at this point in space between a specific set of dates. We’ve already passed that,” Vaslov pointed out.
“Scan the system again. Look for anything out of the ordinary,” Draven ordered the officers.
“Do what he says,” the captain ordered.
The bridge officers in charge of weapons and navigation turned to their stations and began activating every scan on the ship.
“Sir, I think I’ve got something,” the weapons officer, Cremin, said. “An intermittent contact just off the port bow. Maybe three hundred meters or so. I almost didn’t catch it at first. Somehow it passed through our shields. When it did traces of Alpha and Beta, Ion field particles were left behind. Let me show you,” she explained. Hitting a series of switches on her console, she threw what she was seeing up on the main screen. “Watch this track. Every time the contact passes through our shield, it leaves a bit of itself. See, right there. That spot.” She pointed to several spots on the display. “Now watch what happens when it reaches this point.” The screen flashed again.
“Navigation, your thought on this, whatever it is?” Vaslov asked.
“Just what I can extrapolate from Tara, I mean Lieutenant Cremin’s map. If you look at where the contact possibly came from…Sir, we could have a lot of something hiding out here,” Jones explained. “It’s not a Sylph probe, that’s for sure. Nothing in our database matches it.”
“Brotherhood ships, maybe? We can ask Bolton. He was supposed to inform me when his masters were here,” Vaslov explained. “Have one of your men go grab him.”
“Good idea, we’ll get this shit out of the way right freaking now. Because I want off this ship and out of this system.” Draven gave orders to his men. “What about the cook? Any special orders other than killing her?”
“Kill her. You still haven’t said who you think she is, though,” the captain asked. Draven slumped back into his chair.
“Special Operations or Black Ops, if I had to guess. Like I said earlier they’re supposed to be extinct. Ghosts. Confed command blew up the officers leading the missions and hunted down all the members. Or at least that’s the story my contacts all repeated to me. Ghosts in the machine, is what some call them. Rumors abound, but no one has seen one in a decade,” Draven explained. “If she is part of that, the navy brass must have slipped her on board on purpose. All that fuss at the dock. She was slipping her weapons on board. Why else fuss over kitchen shit? Remember we didn’t search those boxes of hers.”
“Why else indeed,” Vaslov answered thinking of all the shit Lewis might have brought onto the ship.
Food Orgy
Going down was easier than going up. If only my sex life was like that! It’s pretty much why I preferred robotic partners to the real thing. Men suck the wrong way and it’s not my place in life to teach them. Women are better for that, but have the wrong parts for me to really get my freak on with. Too bad human parts aren’t interchangeable. I could create the best partner that way.
Cocking my head to one side, I thought a bit more about that. If I took the head from one and the dick from the other… too distracting!
I didn’t bother with the real bridge. Was halfway there when my dead body surprise went bang, and I knew the jig was up. That bit made me chuckle. Madeline Kahn, actress for the ages.
Leaning against the wall, I tripped the locks, then kneed the door open. “Sarah, whoever thought up these was an idiot. Gun battles won’t wait for this shit. Hold on a minute, sir, while I open the door. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I’m gonna shoot the fucking idiot that thought this procedure up. It’s too much like kneeing a guy in the nuts.”
“Internal ship’s records only say Group five being involved with that design element. Would you like me to dig deeper?” Sarah responded.
Having visions of her tearing up the comm channels, trying to dig out an answer made me wince. It happened that way once before with my old team. No signals out, no signals in while we were in heavy contact with half a battalion of really pissed off aliens. This was not long after she’d been installed and was taking everything I said literally. Very literally. How do you explain to a super intelligent, but people stupid, artificial intelligence that looking for Hungarian paprika on every planetary database at the same time isn’t possible because the only source of it was on Old Earth? I’d casually mentioned that I’d like to make chicken paprikash someday. My great, great grandmother claimed our family was from Hungary. How the entire conversation boiled down to paprika escapes me, but it did cause a very intense conversation with Sarah about what I mean versus what I say. It’s still a work in progress.
“Not now, Sarah. Dig into it if and when we return to Confed space,” I muttered back to her. Down really was faster inside the Jeffries tubes. Plus I had them mostly figured out, where to put my hands, where not to place a foot, and for all that’s holy, don’t press the button. Squirting and spraying goop and or shit is no fun in a confined space. It's a wonder the marine guards didn’t smell me coming at them. “And give me directions if I mess up in here.”
“Goddess damn it!” I cursed out loud for the umpteenth time, as I missed yet another tube junction. Climbing up them was slow and tedious. Sliding downward was like trying to thread the needle at Beggar's Canyon back home. Don’t listen to me, I made that shit up. Military humor. We got to watch all the cool Old Earth shit. It was too bad that space wasn’t the way the Lucasites portrayed it. Not that thousands of Jedest followers didn’t try to make it that way. The Goddess of Space was enough of a god for me. I found it hard to believe in mystical powers that held everything together. They should’ve called themselves glue boys or something.
