NASTRAGULL - Chapter 2

 

The girls hobbled along the large balcony that encircled the ballroom. "Look! Look at this shit, Alexa!" Nina held up her left hand, displaying only three complete digits. She looked more pissed than hurt, which made sense, since Alexa could see an emergency pain-block bracelet wrapped round her wrist.

Alexa smirked. "You always put your fingers where they don't belong. That's why you keep losing them." She shook her head when Nina thrust her hand toward her.

"They grow back. Eventually."

Alexa rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and what if they didn't? What if the Ancestors hadn't fixed that before they first headed into the Big Dark?"

"Then I'd be in deep shit, wouldn't I?" Nina muttered around a couple of pain pills. An emergency p-block never lasted more than a few minutes. "Now, are you gonna fix 'em up, or not?" She waggled the stumps at Alexa.

Shaking her head, Alexa removed a first aid pack from a pocket on Nina's right leg and began to wrap the damaged hand. Nina winced, and Alexa commented, "Be cool, it's only a few fingers. Have Doc do a cloning stim later."

Nina sniffed, "Well, actually, the right term would be regenerate, because cloning is only when you... Fuck, that hurt, bitch!" Alexa ignored Nina as she administrated the first aid. When she'd finished she looked at her friend with pride. "All done. And damned well, if I say so myself."

Nina sighed. "Thanks. You know, if I keep this up, I'll have more regenerated parts than originals."

"And what's your point? As long as you have your original head and brain you're fine, right?" Alexa smiled at her friend—but she still looked sad.

Nina was biting down hard, obviously trying to ignore the pain from her hand; and in her eyes, Alexa could see the shadows of a sadness that mirrored her own. But all she said was, "Right."

Nodding, Alexa injected Nina with a hypo from the pack, then dosed herself with the same drug. Both shivered and smiled, their eyes glassy, as the drug hit their systems. Once they felt they could go on, they continued out onto a second level above the ballroom, and smiled as they headed toward a very wide spiral staircase. By then, the sounds of fighting had more or less ceased, and someone had silenced the alarms, too. The lights kept flickering on and off, like distant heat lightning, but at least it was normal-spectrum; someone had turned off the yellow warning lights.

As they swept out onto a landing, Nina glanced at her companion and said, "Where's your blaster?"

Alexa's cheeks turned red, and she frowned. "Um, don't ask. I'll get a new one later. By the way, Nina, do you have any more charger mags? All of mine are useless...must have charged them wrong or something." Nina nodded and tossed Alexa a couple of power charge magazines with her good hand. 

"You're welcome," Nina mumbled back as she checked her own weapon for any damage. She glanced up and let out a snort of amusement. "Look. The Twins from Hell." She gestured toward two female aliens who appeared, at first glance, to be identical to each other. Both wore battle fatigues like Alexa and Nina, and carried enormous magma rifles. Their purple skins were stippled with small yellow dots, and they both had long, prehensile tails. At the moment, those tails secured a young prisoner between them.

"Mohama and Miska, what do you have there?" Alexa called.

"Just a young brat," Miska replied haughtily. "Thinks it is Oman like the two of you, but it has a pale skin."

"We figure we could kill some time until General Assembly," Mohama added happily. "Care to join us as we ravish him over there?" She nodded towards a secluded area.

"Sure!" Nina grinned. She moved close to the prisoner and yanked up his head. "He's just a boy," she exclaimed. She started to fumble between his legs. When she found his private parts she looked at him, impressed. "I'm in." She glanced at Alexa. "What about you?"

Alexa rolled her eyes and said firmly, "I like my men past puberty, thanks." The boy looked at her pleadingly for help, but Alexa deliberately misinterpreted his look and said, "In your dreams, kid, in your dreams." Wasn't her responsibility to protect little lost boys.

"Still waiting for your knight in shining armor?" Nina smirked.

Suddenly irritated, Alexa stopped and turned around. She walked back to her friends and glared at the prisoner. "How old is he?"

"Who cares? He's as tall as we are, and check this out." Miska sliced through the boy's trunks with her razor-sharp nails, exposing his privates. Alexa raised her eyebrows but failed to whistle, given her missing front tooth. "Hell, he's still too young. He'll explode before we can have any fun with him."

"Not if you do that nerve thing you so happily brag about," Nina mused, while looking over the boy and licking her lips.

Alexa shook her head and said, "It's just waste of time. Besides, he's obviously an Orchid Oman, since he's been circumcised. His end nerves are ruined, and that would block the impulses from his sexual nerve."

Nina insisted, "But you could give it a try?"

"He better be worth it, girl, or you'll be out of power batteries for the next galactic year."

Everyone but Nina started to laugh, including the victim. The victim! Nina stuck out her tongue at Alexa and the twins.

The girls went wild around their young trophy, and hurried him away toward a small, secluded area behind a staircase while they danced around him and tore off his clothes. The boy's eyes grow larger and larger as the four girls informed him what each one of them would do to him. He didn't really look that scared; it was obvious, in fact, that he was quite excited. They hurried towards a hatch near the staircase, leaving a long trail of equipment and clothing behind them.

But their fun wasn't to be. Suddenly, unexpected, the bulkhead erupted with a deafening roar right beside them, tossing them all head-over-heels from the pressure wave and filling the air with debris and billowing smoke. The boy's body acted as a shield, protecting the girls; Miska and Mohama fell back, with the boy on top of them. Nina fell down the stairs and Alexa slammed hard, head first, into a bulkhead, losing another tooth.

After a dizzying moment she looked up, holding her head in both hands as she cursed with a bloody mouth. She was disoriented, and she could feel blood oozing out of  her ears. She tried to get back on her feet and into the fight, and then time stopped.

She looked up into a pair of dark blue eyes staring down at her. There he was. The knight—her knight.

Ever since Alexa had been sold to the pirates at the age of ten, she'd had only one dream: To be rescued by a knight in shining armor. That dream was silly, and it hadn't really lasted long. Once she'd turned fifteen she'd been adopted by the Captain as his daughter, and automatically received second crew shares. Now she was looting for her freedom, to get enough credits to manumit herself. She hated piracy with a passion, but she had no choice in the matter: so she dove into the life with a vengeance. Still, every time a shot was fired, her heart clenched and her soul was forever scarred. She knew she had to leave this horrible life, or she would end it herself.

Alexa stared, paralyzed, at the most handsome young man she had ever seen—and she let her guard down in the process. An iron-hard fist struck her in the face, followed by another in the gut. She went down like a poleaxed sheep, crashing into the bulkhead she'd just crawled up from and breaking her third tooth of the day. She hit the deck in a still heap, dead to the world.

 

A dozen young men and women, all dressed in light blue formal uniforms, charged out of a hallway armed with slug-throwing handguns and blasters. They quickly removed the girls' weapons, and made sure they stayed unconscious for a while with their own version of the pirates' slave collars. Then they began to advance against the pirate positions in two-by-two formations. Unlike the pirates, who had been reveling in their victory and were shocked by the unexpected attack, the newcomers were very organized, very professional, and very well-disciplined. They fired short, controlled bursts and advanced fearlessly against their enemy, who substantially outnumbered them. Their facial expressions were invariably ironclad masks of hatred.

It was a suicide mission, and they all knew it. But they didn't let that stop them for a moment.

When Zuzack realized what was happening, he cursed and bellowed, "Alarm! Nastasturus!"

The word send cold chills down many of the pirates' spines, and confusion erupted among them.

Zuzack stood at the center of the ballroom shouting out orders to his pirates. "Get them, lads and tramps, give them all you got, and don't damage them too much! They're worth more alive than dead!"

Laser and magma bolts rained down like a hailstorm all around, but Zuzack just stood there as if he were immortal, displaying no sign of fear. The pirates advanced, unorganized, and several of them were killed or injured from the effective fire laid down by the cadets from the Nastasturus Federation. Lieutenant Hughes grabbed his weapon and aimed it at the oncoming threat, but Zuzack only laid his large hand on his lieutenant's shoulder and said calmly, "Fewer crew members means more spoil for the survivors. Remember, we're done in this sector and heading home." Hughes gave his Captain a strange and questioning look, and after a few moments he lowered his weapon and smiled uncertainly.

The fight was bloody but short, for the Nastasturus soldiers soon began to run out of ammunition. At that point, Zuzack ordered his troops to charge in and capture them alive. The pirates swarmed the cadets, and the hand-to-hand fighting was fierce.

One of the pirates aimed her rifle at one of the cadets' backs and was about to press the trigger when her head was separated messily from her body. Zuzack wiped his sword on her quivering form and snarled, "I told you, fools, I want them all alive!"

Zuzack gestured towards his third officer, Major Grotech, who snapped out an order through his helmet communicator.

A moment later, four huge lizard-like dogs charged from the boarding tube into the civilian ship. The Tilters rushed the young cadets before they noticed the new threat from behind, and it was all they could do to fend off the huge animals. Meanwhile, pirates approached with net-throwers, discharging the weapons when they got within range and capturing several of the cadets that way. The Tilter dogs themselves spat a web-like substance that immobilized the remaining cadets, and suddenly it was over. 

Alexa and Nina helped each other to their feet, and supported each other as they picked their way through the cadets. They stopped long enough to kick a couple, but not too hard, so they wouldn't piss off the Captain too much. The twins Miska and Mohama followed angrily, after they noticed the bloody emasculated mess their fun-toy had become. Along the way, they took back their weapons from the captured cadets.

"What a waste," Miska growled. "The poor thing could at least have been allowed to die with a smile on his face."

Alexa ignored her; her attention was elsewhere. There he was again: her Knight. No shining armor, though. He was a young man in his early twenties, with short dark brown hair, his face bruised up from the fight. Knight or not, he needed to be taught who was in charge. She smirked. Time to break him in. Then her gaze snagged on his deep blue eyes, and an odd weakness seemed to overcome her. Dammit, knees, don't you mutiny on me now!

Alexa kicked towards his face, coming as close as she could without actually touching him, and lisped through her broken teeth, "Anybody ever told you it's not nice to hit a lady?"

"You are no lady. You are a whore and a pirate." He said it through clenched teeth, a menacing gleam in his eyes.

Alexa glared down at him, frustration and anger roiling inside her. Bastard. Her long-lost knight had made her feel weak, something no male was allowed to do. This was no way for a knight to treat his damsel in distress. She aimed another kick at the young soldier's pretty face, and her toes struck the wall hard when he jerked his head away. Pissed, her foot throbbing, Alexa lost her cool. Knight or not, it was time to kick some serious ass. Literally. She was about to kick him again when something snagged her ankle from behind and, to her horror, lifted her up in the air upside-down.

Hanging helplessly, she twisted around to see what had her. The large saurian woman holding her up shook her head, the razor blades woven into the ends of her long dreads clinking and rattling. The saurian grunted, "Cap'n said no damage, Brat."

"Let me down, Myra, or I'll turn you into a pair of boots."

Hissing in laughter, Myra tossed Alexa over her shoulder and smacked her buttocks a few times. "Now, now, my little princess, you are no longer a member of your Royalist Clan. You will obey, or Cap'n will have his way with you—again."

Alexa started screaming and protesting, her legs kicking holes into the air and fists punching Myra's back hard. The saurian barely noticed. "Like hell he will, you lizard bitch!" she screamed. "Like hell he will! Let me down, I'm warning you! I mean it, Myra, you'll be the start of the next fashion statement to sweep the galaxy—and dammit, stop spanking my ass!" She was not going to put up with this crap. Imagine, being treated like this in front of her knight!

But the more she struggled and shouted threats, the harder the smacks fell on her firm, unprotected buttocks. A few of the pirates standing nearby started to laugh at the display. Instead of breaking up the fight, they started cheering Myra and Alexa on. 

But soon the cheering stopped like someone had cut it off with a switch, and so did the spanking. A large, strong hand grabbed hold of Alexa's dreadlocks, pulling her head back, interrupting her complaints.

"You again. Let her go, Myra," Zuzack ordered. He held Alexa up by hair, with her legs kicking several feet from the ground. It hurt amazingly badly, so she shut up. "Now, young lady," Zuzack growled, "you will obey me, or I'll sell you—but only after the entire crew has had their way with you. Is that understood, Brat?"

Alexa looked at him in horror. She tried to nod as she grabbed onto her hair and the Captain's long, muscular arm in a futile attempt to stop the pain and pressure from her scalp and hairline. She felt more than heard the sound of tearing flesh near her newly-acquired bald spot, and she realized that if she didn't respond quickly, she was about to lose her whole scalp.

"Yes, Captain, I swear I will never do wrong again, I swear!" Alexa shouted sincerely. She didn't plead or ask for any mercy, even when he gave her a little shake. Dammit, would she lose all her hair? She ground her teeth.  Well, be that as it may. She would at least be alive, and it could be fixed. But she felt sure that if she begged for any mercy, she would die for sure—or worse, be scalped alive.

Zuzack stared at Alexa, and there was madness in his eyes. The ripping sound of Alexa's scalp giving away turned him on, apparently. Well, she knew that other people's fears turned him on more than sex did. But there could be, no fear in Alexa's eyes. She bit down hard on her lower lip, preparing for the excruciating pain that would soon follow, when her entire scalp and all her hair would be lost forever. She figured Zuzack would never allow her to have it regenerated. He and most of the other older pirates treasured their battle scars almost as much as any normal treasure.

To her amazement, Zuzack's expression changed and he begun to laugh, as he put Alexa down very slowly. Then he was patting her on top of her head like some animal. "Kids!" he roared. "That's my little princess! Be nice, and I might reclaim you as my daughter again!"

Zuzack laughed hard, and bore the look of a proud father as he walked over to the Nastasturus cadets. "You boys and girls better be officers from wealthy families or Clans," he told them brightly, "because if you're not, you will be sold off as food. Hell, I might just let you have dinner with some of my crew later." He laughed loudly, rubbing his large belly. The cadets only stared back at him hatefully—except for one, who was trembling and covering his face, trying to conceal his tears from his friends.

Zuzack ignored the whimpering young cadet, his eye caught by another young man with red hair who stood out from the rest and glared defiantly at him. More hatred radiated from the redhead than from any one of the other cadets, or even any of the prisoners in general. "I take it you're the leader of this little group?" Zuzack asked coolly.           

The young cadet didn't answer; he just continued to glare at the enormous pirate Captain with defiant eyes. His stare made Zuzack feel a bit of unease; but hell—no fear, no fun. He walked up to the cadet, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to his feet, ignoring the boy's struggles.

"I don't like the look in your eyes, boy. I think it's time to teach you and your fine friends a valuable lesson in manners and respect toward your new owner."

Zuzack looked more or less human—but he wasn't, not entirely. He smiled and opened his mouth wide, lifted his tongue, and a barbed feeding tendril flashed out with lightning speed. It struck the cadet in the left eyeball, and before the kid could even feel it, had yanked out his eye and disappeared back into the Captain's mouth. The cadet dropped, screaming, blood oozing from the black hole where his eye had been. He screamed and cursed, threatening the pirate and all his followers with vile fates that he had no means of carrying out.

After crunching up and swallowing his prize, Zuzack assured the prisoner, "I know what you're thinking, lad: that we'll clone it back. But we won't. I see by your insignia that you're a cadet pilot. Well, you can never pilot a craft with only one eye—at least, not a military craft. By the time you reach a safe port, it will be too late to clone it back...if you make it back alive, that is."

Lieutenant Hughes sidled up to his Captain and whispered, "Sir, with all due respect, he is worth more intact."

The Captain pulled Hughes aside and whispered, "Listen, Lieutenant, they're all officer cadets. Remember last time we had some, and what they did to my old ship? The damages and the loss of good fellow pirates' lives weren't worth all the trouble. Not again! This time, I intend to make sure they don't start anything funny."

"But what if he is worth a high ransom, or top dollar in the slave pits?"

"Don't worry. If he is, then we'll fix him up as good as new. But if he's just an everyday cadet, or no one of importance, then..."

"What do you intend to do, Cap'n, if I may be so bold?"

Zuzack leered at Hughes and murmured, "Wait till supper." He turned back to the prisoners. "In the meantime, put them on the slave blocks, just in case they get creative." The two pirates looked at each other and began laughing.

The prisoners were rounded up like cattle, and most of the pirates gathered with them in the huge main ballroom. There were over three thousand people present, and at least half of them were prisoners. The prisoners, exhausted in mind and body, sat and lay down on the floor. Many of them were injured, and most were bruised from the fight. Some of the prisoners were in shackles, but most were not. What they all had in common was the collar each had around his or her neck, engraved with a number or sigil that represented the individual pirate or clan who had claimed the prisoner for further trade.

Zuzack snapped out an order and the wall on the far end of the ballroom peeled back, revealing two large airlocks flanked by wide viewports. No doubt they had been used to load large items and passengers directly into the ballroom. Visible through the ports were the long barrels of the anti-fighter guns attached to the ship's hull. Zuzack stepped forward and pressed a control on a computer console, and two sets of controls morphed out of the wall. He took up station at one while the saurian woman, Myra, took the other. Both grasped a joystick with a pistol handle, while peering through the port into space.

Two pirates pushed a well-dressed elderly man into the airlock and slammed the hatch shut on his screams. He pounded on the inside of the hatch, and his face, bright red and contorted with fear, was visible through a small window near the top. A pirate turned a knob on the wall, and the old man grabbed his head and seemed to be screaming from pain. A whisper of horror swept through the crowd.

"Pull!" Zuzack shouted out loud.

One of the pirates by the airlock pulled down a handle, and the old man was spat out into space as the remaining air went screaming onto the void. He was still alive, kicking and screaming, as Zuzack and Myra opened fire, cutting him into pieces. During the entire atrocity most of the pirates cheered the events, though some looked on with less enthusiasm. Bets were made, and money, jewelry and prisoners exchanged hands.

The crew began to chant, "One more, one more."

The Captain looked at Myra, who shrugged, and then pointed at an old woman wearing a dress that would have cost a normal person a year's salary. "That was your old man, wasn't it?" Zuzack asked innocently. The woman, crying silently, simply nodded. "I take it would be to cruel of me to part two loved ones."

For a long moment no one spoke; then the old woman lifted her head high and said proudly, "Do what you will, monster."

Zuzack gestured sharply, and two pirates moved on the woman. In seconds they had her shackles off, and had forced her into the airlock; the entire time she fought as hard as her husband had. Her face twisted in fury, she pounded on the port so hard that her fist left smears of blood across the thick crystal.

The pirate crowd had a frisson of extra amusement when a little boy leapt up off the ballroom floor, escaping the clutches of his mother, and rand toward the hatch shouting, shouting, "Grandmother, grandmother! No, NO, I'm coming!"

He reached the door and tried to open it as the pirates roared in laughter; when it became clear he had absolutely no chance of succeeding, he, too, pounded hard on the glass, his face a mask of fear and pain. His grandmother mouthed "I love you" from the other side of the port.

Zuzack grabbed the boy from behind. "What is this, a mutiny?" He smiled at the young boy, reveling in his fear. "Say goodbye to your granny, lad. PULL!"

The old woman shot out into the darkness and Myra opened up, cutting her into pieces with .50 caliber slugs.

Zuzack turned to his jolly crew and hollered, "Enough! Start processing the prisoners. Never mind cleaning this old ship of anything of value and supplies—we'll do that later. We'll have our regular auction over any unclaimed spoil when we return to base, so finish up here as quickly as you can." He turned to his officers. All saluted him and nodded; they needed no further details or instructions. Everyone knew what needed to be done.

The crew cheered their Captain and their success and then went back to looting the ship, despite their Captain's orders. The officers and the more experienced pirates concentrated on processing the prisoners.

Zuzack held up the young boy who had just lost his grandparents. The boy tried to hit Zuzack, but to no avail. Zuzack crowed with delight. "As for you, my little mutineer, I'm going to have me some fun with you." Zuzack tossed the boy over his shoulder, laughing, and walked down the corridor toward an empty stateroom. Soon, a hatch clicked shut behind them, and the boy's horrible screams cut off.

 

Two starships hurtled through space, leaving debris and bodies floating behind. The first ship was the Bitch, an old, modified destroyer—class vessel from the trading wars that could carry a crew up to three thousand. The Bitch had been upgraded and repaired several times, and far more weapons had been attached to her than were normally used. When she was underway, the cannons and missile turrets were lowered back into the deck, and hatches covered their emplacements.

The Bitch was followed by a vessel ten times larger. It was a more modern vessel and quite beautiful, except for some hastily repaired hull damage. She was the Bright Star, a vast Transport Cruiser that could handle over twenty thousand passengers in comfort. Five thousand were active at any one time, while another fifteen thousand people were stored in the coolers. The crew was—had been—about fifteen hundred strong, and less than two hundred were security and officers.

The coolers made the trip inexpensive for the people who chose to ride that way; they were frozen in stasis and basically stacked like cordwood in the hull. On the Bright Star, four types of berths were available: First Class, Diplomatic, Second Class, and Third Class, which were the coolers. Nearly all the money was made from the first three classes; the cooler travelers were just gravy. Most Civilian Transport Cruisers were owned and operated by The Federated Merchants (T.F.M.) or The Commercial Traders (T.C.T.). The Federated Merchants happened to own the Bright Star.    

 

The Bitch was as busy as a kicked beehive. Most of the crew was repairing the ship, while others were busy locking down and guarding the prisoners, now that they'd been processed and selected for the different types of Blocks. Males were parted from females; different species and families were also selected into different blocks.

The slave block was the preferred tool of slave traffickers and prisoner transporters throughout the galaxy; it made transporting unwilling humanoid cargo a lot easier. A smaller version was a very popular toy item among children on several worlds; they used it when they played games like Traders and Slaves, or Prisoner and Warden.

To Zuzack's surprise, Alexa and Nina volunteered to take care of all unclaimed prisoners—something most pirates couldn't care less about. Alexa did it to keep herself near her fallen knight. With help from Nina, she removed his uniform and placed him on a block, sitting him gently down on a bench. They put his ankles onto two half holes in the center of the stock device, and his wrists on the sides at the same level. The upper part of the stock was placed on top, locking him down. When they were done, they pushed a button on the stock, and air filled the rubber bladders lining the arm and leg holes, rendering the wrists and ankles immobile. Alexa attached a controller to her sleeping knight's neck—it logged information about the prisoner's health status into a computer built into one side of the stock—while Nina lowered the bench. It was now impossible to escape without help.

After they'd finished with Alexa's knight, they did the same thing with the rest of the Nastasturus cadets, though perhaps less gently. Later, they moved on to the other unclaimed prisoners. For some of the larger aliens they altered the block, aided in their work by colorless little androids.

NASTRAGULL - Chapter 11

The limousine sped through an exotic mélange of sculpted parks, sparkling waterfalls, tiny gem-like pools, calm woodlands, and thousands of palaces in various sizes, colors, and architectural styles. The structures stood many kilometers apart, rising up like individual dreams in the exquisite landscape. Small shuttles and hovercoupes passed the limo occasionally, but the traffic was very light, barely enough to disturb the delicate animal life that grazed the greenswards below. Clouds of flutterbirds graced the upper reaches of the airspace, their bright colors sharp against the cerulean skies. Were one to look in that direction, far to the north was a dazzling cityscape constructed of countless enormous skyscrapers, their elaborate designs as varied and competitive as their heights.

The hovercraft came lightly to rest in front of an enormous place constructed of dark green marble veined with convoluted gold designs, next to a large fountain that sprayed water fifty meters into the air. As a wing door in the back of the car slid open, several servants standing next to the fountain hurried forward, only to stop as a curt voice bid them halt. A pair of black, shiny boots hit the marble of the entry court, and their owner stood with a poise that was almost feline in its elegance.

The boots belonged to Admiral Hadrian Cook, the commanding officer of the 11^th Galactic Fleet of the Nastasturus Federation. Cook was in his early sixties, though his body was that of an athletic thirty-year-old; he paid plenty to keep it that way, too. The Admiral waved away the servants as he placed his forage hat on his shiny, bald head. His facial expression was carefully controlled, concealing any emotions he might have been feeling; and several battle scars stood out from his pale white skin, reminders that he was a survivor. He could have had them removed very easily, had he chosen to do so. But he wore them, as he wore his perfectly tailored, sharply pressed uniform, with the grace of a king.

Trailed by the servants, he strode briskly up the flagstone walk and climbed the wide stairway to the main entrance. As he reached it, two guards in old-fashioned colorful uniforms saluted him. They might have been ancient Colonial Marines, given their clothing and accoutrements, except for their thoroughly modern plasma rifles. Cook ignored them as he entered the palace, and was greeted by an old man wearing a servant's uniform with a distinctive patch on his chest, informing every one of his exalted station.

The Chamberlain bowed his head and said, "This way, Admiral," while gesturing cordially with one hand.

Admiral Cook followed his escort through the enormous palace, passing several guards and servants on the way. He ignored his magnificent surroundings, moving forward as if programmed. His frustration at having to leave his Fleet in this time of need was tightly reined in, and entirely concealed from any who didn't know him very well indeed.

His aplomb was shaken somewhat when they passed a large chamber, where several people were arguing vociferously. Hearing the upset voices, some of which he recognized, he paused in the entryway as the Chamberlain continued on a few steps. When the servant realized his charge had abandoned him, he stopped and fixed the Admiral with an irritated stare. "This way, Admiral," the Chamberlain repeated firmly.

Eyes narrowed to slits, Cook ignored his escort and strode purposefully into a vast, exquisitely-appointed drawing room. A cluster of Elites were gathered inside, some still shouting as others wept. The weepers were two elegantly dressed women, who sat on individual divans grouped strategically next to a fireplace, surrounded by a score of civilians. The older woman was about Cook's age; she was dressed in a lavish white dress with a décor of green and gold leaves, her gray-peppered dark hair coiled atop her head in a fashion a decade out of date. Her name was Lady Beala Hornet.

The younger woman, who sported loose, long curly blonde hair, was more up to date in the fashion department, but the expensive jewelry that dripped from her neck, wrists, and ankles failed to make her look like anything more than she was: a moderately pretty, very wealthy young woman. Cook recognized her as an Oranii, the daughter of a local Elite business baron and his nephew's most recent squeeze.

On closer inspection, Cook noted the occasional military uniform scattered among the clutter of ornate civilian dress. Elites, of course, of various ranks; along with the civilians, they were offering comfort and support to the ladies on the divans. A short, stocky man in pseudo-military civilian dress paced the floor nearby, cursing and punching the air with a clenched fist.

Several individuals in less-martial uniforms stood apart from the clot of Elites; it took him a moment to recognize them as the local constabulary. He scowled, puzzled, as a tremulous voice shouted, "Hadrian! Oh, Hadrian, thank heavens!"

Lady Hornet pushed her friends away and spread her arms wide, making no move to stand. Cook did his best to erase his frown as he removed his hat and walked over to give Beala an awkward hug; she was family, after all. As he stepped back, the lady fought to compose herself, drying her eyes with a small cloth provided by an attendant.

When she looked up at Cook at last, her face was bleak. In a trembling voice, she stated, "They took him...they took my son." Then her face twisted in fury and she screamed out her frustration: "Those bloody pirates took my only child! Hadrian! I want them dead, dead, dead! Do you hear me?"

He nodded graciously. "I hear and understand, milady," he said, careful not to promise anything.

Those words were followed by an explosion of comments and shouts from everyone surrounding Lady Hornet. Meanwhile, Lady Oranii apparently concluded that she was being left too much alone, and that she required more attention than the old hag next to her. She screamed theatrically and cried louder, her face glistening with tears.

At that moment, Cook was reminded of why he had chosen to become a soldier, and wished that he was on some calm battlefield very, very far away from all this civilian commotion. He could make no sense of anything that was said amidst all the shouts and screams. He embraced Beala again, and was just about to say something comforting to her when he heard a cough from behind. He saw his opportunity to regroup and took it. He gently but firmly disengaged himself from milady's arms and, without a word, turned around and placed his cap back in its proper place, on his head.

The Chamberlain was pointing in the direction of the hallway, a tight little small smirk on his face. Cook stepped forward and gave the jumped-up servant a glare that quickly made him spin around and scuttle forward, with Cook following in his wake. The Admiral manfully ignored the cries from the weeping ladies as he left the drawing room and continued his tour through the palace. His mind was a welter of thoughts, most of them personal; he had to force himself to ignore them and focus on his mission, which currently was to report to the Supreme Military Commander of the Nastasturus Federation.

He shouldn't have taken the detour in the first place, dammit.

Five minutes later the Chamberlain paused in front of two huge doors, which slid open at his gesture. Cook swept off his cover, handed it to the Chamberlain, and entered.

"...and that is the last report we have received," a nervous police inspector was saying as he approached. The officer was addressing a huge man's back. Said man stood before a large window, gazing at a floral clock that dominated the park outside. Currently it stood at half past three, the Admiral noted absently. He approached the big man's dais and stopped, waiting until he was noticed.

It didn't take long. The man by the window turned abruptly, his eyes locking briefly with Cook's. Like Cook, he wore a tailored, light-blue uniform with white trousers and shiny black boots. He too was bald; but unlike Cook, he retained a fringe of gray hair. He was in his early seventies.

Marshal Guss Villette von Hornet, the Supreme Commander of the armed forces of the Nastasturus Federation—and Lady Beala's husband—looked as calm as he ever did, as if nothing untoward had happened.

Cook stood at perfect attention, clicking the heels of his spotless boots together. "Admiral Hadrian Cook reporting as ordered, sir!"

"Stand easy, Admiral." Pushing past the police inspector, the Marshal made his way toward the seat of his battered granitewood desk, nodding for Cook to take the visitor's chair. The policeman remained standing.

Hornet said crisply to Cook, "Admiral, are you aware of the fate of the civilian cruiser Bright Star, late of the Federated Merchants?"

"I was made aware of it this morning, sir. It was logged as lost more than three weeks ago."

"You may not be aware that my son was aboard. Along with the rest of his cadet squad."

Cook regarded Marshal Hornet with a cool expression and replied, "That is most unfortunate, sir, but what does that have to do with me?"

At first, Hornet looked stunned; and then, slowly, his face suffused with anger and he growled, "Nothing, Admiral, except that Alec is your nephew, and I need your help."

Cook scowled and snapped, more sharply than perhaps he should have, "Sir, this is a civilian police matter. It shouldn't be, but it is. It's all laid out in the Constitution, and if you'll recall your history it's something that the police themselves fought very hard for. I don't like it any better than you do, but the separation of powers is considered inviolable." 

"That's exactly what I have been explaining, sir," the police inspector said anxiously. "We are handling this, and we will..."

Marshal Hornet stood up abruptly and smashed a ham-sized fist down on the scarred black surface of the desk. "Silence, the both of you!" He took a long moment to calm down before he eased back down into his chair, and looked at them each in turn. "What you fail to understand is that it is my son in danger...and neither of you is married to his mother."

He drummed his fingers on the desk and then said, "Admiral Cook. I need you because of all the senior officers in service, either within the military or the police ranks, you have the best track record when it comes to tracking down pirates. You started out with the Federal Police and spent more than ten years as a Commissioned Pirate Hunter, as I recall."

"Sir! I switched services more than thirty years ago!"

"Protest noted. However, you were the best, and I believe that your knowledge can be of great use to both the FPs and the CPH Authority." The Marshal leaned forward, his eyes blazing. "Moreover, you have a singular qualification that places you at the head of my rather short list of candidates: you are family. It was, in fact, you more than I who inspired my son to join the military."

The Marshal leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, allowing a taut silence to grow between them. When he spoke again, his voice was devoid of emotion. "Admiral Cook, you will deploy the Eleventh Fleet to the last known coordinates of the Bright Star. You will track down the pirates who took the liner, engage them, and rescue the surviving passengers, including my son. You will not return until your orders are countermanded by an officer with the appropriate authority, or until you are successful."

"The entire fleet, sir?" Cook was stunned. "You want me to take the entire Eleventh, several thousand vessels carrying more than two million crew members, to look for one person?"

"I do not. There were thousands of people aboard the Bright Star. Repatriate as many as you can." He took a deep breath and looked down at the desk, his eyes haunted. "I will admit that, yes, my thoughts are primarily with Alec and his squad mates."

Cook nodded. "Well, how many of them are they?" He looked at the police officer.

"Fourteen, sir, including the Marshal's son."

"Fourteen lost cadets?" Admiral Cook repeated.

"Most of them are from very important families, sir, and..."

Cook interrupted the inspector: "And one Dealer has a better chance of finding them than ten galactic fleets will ever have."

The policeman nodded eagerly. "Yessir, that's what I've been saying to the Marshal, sir. Our investigators have already appointed several Dealers to this particular task."

"Are the two of you finished?" Marshal Hornet looked up at the policeman and Admiral Cook with tired eyes. "Admiral, it's not just that I want you to find my son and his mates. Your orders go beyond even finding the thousands of other people the pirates took off the Bright Star. I want you to do nothing less than obliterate the pirate clan responsible, to wipe them from the face of the universe. I want to send the pirates in all the inhabited galaxies a very clear message. I also mean to send a severe warning to the Merchants and Traders, making it clear that I will not allow these depredations to continue on their watch without severe repercussions."

Cook's eyes widened. "You cannot mean for me to bring military force to bear on the Merchants and Traders, sir. That might spark a civil war."

"I doubt it will come to that, but I'll do what's necessary to excise this cancer of piracy before it destroys us all."

"At the expense of the rule of law, sir?" Cook asked stiffly, his outrage obvious. "Your orders as they stand would be illegal without the Government's consent. It would be tantamount to a coup d'etat."

Marshal Hornet looked at him calmly. "I will get the Government's permission, Admiral. Even if I do not, I will activate the override clause in the Military Compact so that my order stands for one full year. In any case, the consequences will be upon my head. You cannot legally ignore a lawful order I give you, and I order you to do this."

"And what if I construe it as an unlawful order, which it obviously is?"

"In that case, I would have you removed, broken in rank, and replaced with a more willing officer, Admiral. You would be exonerated at court martial, but almost certainly retired from service, while I most certainly would be hanged."

"I see." The admiral fiddled with his gig line, an uncharacteristic gesture that shouted out his inner turmoil to any who knew him well. He looked up suddenly. "Marshal, even if the Merchants and Traders accede without a fight, this could turn very ugly if we use the military instead of the CPH Authority. It might force a constitutional challenge that could tear our Federation apart, sir. Please reconsider. Allow me exclusive use of the CPH in this, not the military. I can plan the mission and even take temporary leave of absence so that I can lead this expedition. I ask you—no, I beg you—to reconsider."

Marshal Hornet shook his head slowly, his fingers drumming on the desktop. After a long moment, he waved his hand and ordered, "Inspector, leave us."

When they were alone, Admiral Cook continued, "Guss, we don't even know what clan took them—and for all we know, they may be already be dead or sold off. In the latter case, it's only a matter of time before a Dealer finds them and buys them back."

"That process can take years of negotiation," Hornet replied in a tired voice. "Besides, Admiral, we know exactly who took them. There were survivors." He gestured toward the fireplace.

For the first time since Admiral Cook had entered the Marshal's office, he paid attention to the other people in the room. He recognized most of the men and women as high officials in the Nastasturus government, Federal Police, Commissioned Traders, and so forth. Cook's eyes stopped on two uniformed military officers who stood at ease beside the fire, conducting a quiet conversation. As he watched, the younger of the two glanced out the window and laughed. The other man nudged him, and they immediately stood stiffly at attention. When the Marshal beckoned to them, they marched in unison up to the desk and threw perfect salutes. Cook returned them perfunctorily, as did the Marshal.

Hornet made the introductions. "Admiral Hadrian Cook, you know our cousin, Major Thore Nesbit. With him is officer cadet Andrew Bow." Both young men stared straight ahead, still standing at attention.

Admiral Cook looked at them suspiciously. "The two of you got away?"

In unison they answered, "Yes, Admiral!"

"During the attack, I take it?"

Cook noticed that Bow glanced nervously at the Major, who replied loudly, "No, Admiral! We escaped after being held prisoner for three weeks, sir!"

Cook glared at Nesbit; he didn't care for the man, relative or not. Perhaps it was because of his naked ambition, or his popularity among both the military and the masses. Maybe it was because of his good looks; a man had no right to look so beautiful, or to be built so perfectly. Perhaps it was because of his stated sexual preferences; Cook had no doubt that the boy with Nesbit was his current catamite. None of those things cut any ice with Hadrian Cook; despite Nesbit's beautiful face and perfect body, Cook knew that he was looking into the eyes of an experienced killer...or worse, a murderer.

Cook turned slowly towards the Marshal and hissed through clenched teeth, "Everyone. Leave us."

No one moved except for Major Nesbit and Cadet Bow, who looked at each other questioningly.

"Leave us!" shouted Admiral Cook, as he stared at his superior officer.

This time it worked. With the exception of the two young officers, no one waited for the Marshal's consent; they scuttled out the exit and were gone. Nesbit and Bow remained, uncertain of what to do, until Hornet nodded towards the door. They saluted sharply, turned around, and walked quickly out the door, the sound of their boot heels echoing down the hall.

The atmosphere was taut with emotion as the two officers stared at each other. Finally, Admiral Hadrian Cook af Hornet spoke. "I warned you that something like this might happen eight years ago, when you sent Alec away for his schooling."

He glared at his brother, who stood slowly and strode toward the office's north wall, where a huge painting of the founding of the Federation extended from floor to ceiling. He pressed a spot on the ornate frame, and it flashed twice before disappearing, revealing a large wet bar and several computer monitors on a low credenza.

Cook continued, "Guss, I told you it would never work. You should have trained him here, where it was safe."

The Marshal filled two glasses made of vaporous ice with a thick, dark-blue liquid. He attached handles to the glasses, to protect hands from the tremendous cold, and exited the bar. The painted nano-wall faded back into place behind him. Not looking at the Admiral, he gestured with his head for his brother to follow.

They walked out onto a terrace surrounded by lush green growth, and seated themselves on a pair of overstuffed all-weather armchairs. Without a word, the Marshal made a tiny gesture; the balcony doors slammed shut behind them, and the entire terrace started to slowly move upward towards the roof. When it reached the top, it slid sideways along the battlements before stopping inside a large opening in one of the towers, giving the two men a fabulous view of the landscape.

Hornet broke the silence. "I will be brief."

"Thank the stars," Cook muttered.

The Marshal frowned and continued. "Without Alec marrying into the House of Oranii, and strengthening the House of Hornet—not to mention insuring its survival—our clan's future looks dark. Brother. You realize that Nesbit would do anything to marry Michelle Oranii."

"You're referring to the spoiled blonde tramp downstairs?"

"Yes. Her."

Cook snorted. "Right. Nesbit has no interest in anything female."

Hornet shook his head in disagreement. "He does if they can give him status and recognition."

"You're saying he might try to join our House with hers? If Alec is gone, that would give him enough power to claim his inheritance, and immediately ascend to the main branch."

"Indeed it would."

They sat silently for a long moment. Nesbit Thore af Hornet was the child of their sister Lywellyn, dead these two decades. As firstborn of his generation, Guss was the head of the main branch of the powerful House of Hornet; leadership of the clan was by primogeniture, and had been for untold centuries. The clan head's younger siblings automatically became heads of their own cadet branches of the family, hence the "af Hornet" cognomen. Only Guss, his wife, and his eldest child—his only child, thus far—could be considered true Hornets, with all the Elite privileges that implied. Having been born to Lywellyn, Nesbit's privileges were more limited. However, if Alec were dead or incapacitated, Nesbit could ascend to the main branch of the family as the eldest survivor of his generation.

The Marshal took a sip from his ice glass, licking his lips from the cold before he spoke again. "Yes. If Alec is dead, Nesbit is free to marry Michelle Oranii, whereupon he will demand his birthright and be the next person to inherent the House of Hornet. This is something we must prevent at all costs. He is still a member of our House, but he wants to start his own."

Admiral Cook nodded. "And that's the real reason behind your decision to send the Eleventh out to look for him. I understand that, but why give me that order in front of everyone? Now your actions will be challenged by the Senate."

"That's precisely why I did it. If that happens, I'll activate the override clause, so that no one can question any of my orders the first year. After that, of course, I will be forced by the Senate to stand down the order and bring you back home. But it will give you one year to find him."

"What about sending a message to the Merchants and the Traders? Did you say that just for show?"

"Hell no. They've been too lax too long; if they want to keep policing the spacelanes themselves in conjunction with the FPs and the CPHA, they need to do a better job than this. Things are falling apart out there; it's not even safe to take a hop from here to the far moon. It's beginning to look like their organizations are riddled with corruption from top to bottom—that they're actually allowing some of these depredations. I won't have that. I expect they're currently receiving that message loud and clear from their representatives. Hopefully, it will frighten them enough to start searching for Alec and his friends."

"You don't think there's any risk that they'll try to sweep certain evidence under the rug?"

The Marshal shook his head. "I don't see that happening, as long as Alec is still alive."

Cook peered at him over the rim of his melting glass, and realized that he'd best finish his drink before it ended up on his trousers. He took a deep chug and smacked his lips. "Guss, it'll still be like looking for a needle in a haystack. A very big haystack."

"I don't agree. Two CPH ships attacked the very same pirates not long ago. They weren't hard to find, and I think we can do so again."

"What class of commission?" Cook wondered, curling his hands around the glass. He stared moodily into the thick bluish liquid inside.

"The latest...the First Class Frigates."

"And how did they fare?"

"They were destroyed."

Cook's hand clenched convulsively; the ice-glass shattered, spilling sticky fluid over his hands and staining his perfect uniform. He rose slowly, ignoring his discomfort, and strode to the railing, looking out unseeing at the landscape. After a long moment, the Marshal joined him at the rail.

Finally, Cook turned back to his brother and commanding officer. "Dammit, Guss, the First Class Frigates are the best the CPH has," he said gruffly. "No average pirate vessel could stand a chance against one of them, much less two. That would require either a fleet or, at bare minimum, a very large cruiser. No pirate known uses a cruiser; they're not nimble enough. Guss, why don't you just arrest that little bastard Nesbit and his lover? This whole thing stinks worse than the ass-end of a bluttercow!"

The admiral lifted an eyebrow. "Arrest him? On what charges, with what evidence? He's a bloody hero. I take it you haven't followed the news lately."

"Me follow the news? That Government propaganda bullshit?"

Marshal Hornet looked at his younger brother coldly and said, "I know we have our differences, Hadrian, but I will not have anyone of my family slander the Federation. Anyone."

Cook nodded sharply. "Of course. My apologies. Now, what rules of engagement must I follow during this little pirate-hunting expedition?"

Hornet chose not to notice Cook's tone. "You are to use your own professional judgment at all times. However, I advise you to avoid the direct use of force if at all possible. Do not destroy anything belonging to the Traders or Merchants."

"What if they're in the hands of Florencia or some other foreign power?"

"In that case, you may consider this expedition an act of defense, and you may engage that foreign power, but only in space."

"And I may use any of my unofficial sources?"

"Details like that don't concern me, Hadrian. Just find Alec and the other prisoners. If you feel that you must, you may ask your Order for help."

Cook gave his brother a puzzled look. "I thought you disliked the Grisamm."

"Professionally, I do. But this is personal."

Cook nodded, and decided to throw caution to the wind. He wrapped his brother in a fierce embrace and said softly. "Let's do it."

Guss whispered, "Just find him as fast as you can. I'll have your orders sent to your flagship."

Cook pulled back and said, "Do you remember that one time when Alec didn't speak to me for almost a year?"

"Of course. What about it?"

"I'll make a long story short. It all started when Nesbit challenged Alec to a game of HoloSquares."

Guss frowned and said, "Yes. That was very embarrassing for me...er, Alec."

"Well, brother, not really. You see, there's something you never knew."

Again, that cocked eyebrow. "What is that?"

"Nesbit made the challenge the day before Alec's tenth birthday."

"Yes, so?"

"The following day, in front of all the guests at his birthday party, he made a bet with me."

"He gambled?" Hornet blurted.

Cook rolled his eyes. "Yes. He gambled. He bet me one credit that the game would be over in five minutes. Needless to say, I took the bet. Both Alec and Nesbit were very good at HoloSquares, and I really wanted to see who was best. Well, we both know what happened."

"That we do. It was the one and only time my son embarrassed me in my own house. He lost the game in less than five minutes."

Cook nodded and fell silent for a moment before he said, "I just now realized why he was upset with me for almost a year. I never paid Alec that credit."

"And why should you? The spoiled brat lost the game."

Cook looked at his brother and said coldly, "True, but he won the bet. I was angry at him for doing so, but that was no reason to dishonor myself by not keeping my word."

"Ah." After a moment, Hornet raised his head towards the sky and muttered, "Guess you owe him a credit then."

The two brothers looked at each other, and for an instant Cook thought that his older brother wanted to say something more—something he was hiding. Neither one of them noticed when the balcony began to move back toward its original position.