Merchant-class JumpShip Amaranth
Martus’s Tears, Marian Hegemony
14 January 3064
The last two weeks with Captain Kidd Maverick and the crew of his JumpShip, the Amaranth, and the two DropShips, the Hydra and the egg-shaped Union-class Medusa, had been a mixed blessing for Jules Varner (now at the lowest rank of sailor, instead of the NCO he used to be, and holder of the title “FNG” within the crew). On the one hand he was constantly busy, learning on the job and working twelve hour shifts to keep the ships going. It was rewarding work, and at the end of each shift he slept soundly, not a worry in the galaxy. On the other hand, though, he was constantly busy, and had little time for himself or his thoughts. The crew chief, Harlem Vinyard, a strange mixture of robustness from overfeeding and not enough exercise, and extreme leanness from a life spent in zero gravity, was always on Jules’ case to learn and not do anything stupid.
On one occasion a fellow crew member was teaching Jules the simple task of cleaning an air-recycling duct filter. The man had said there was no way to mess it up. An hour later Jules and the crewman were shoulders deep into the duct, attempting to correct Jules’ mistake. How was he supposed to know that it didn’t go in like that? For a moment – a brief, fleeting, strange moment – he wished for the simplicity of infantry life. Then he got a sandwich and a full night’s sleep and thought otherwise. But learning to be a spacer when he had lived his entire life dirt-side was tough, and he had a feeling it wasn’t going to get any easier.
On the bright side he had made a few friends among the JumpShip and DropShip crews, and Captain Kidd Maverick (he had to force himself to remember to call the man Captain) checked on him regularly. In his capacity as commander of the JumpShip and its flotilla of DropShips, Kidd was an expert and professional, executing his duties with a precision and timeliness that Jules did not think possible – and the man was only thirty-two! Off duty, though, he was an easy talking, relaxed guy, and all the crew, from the lowest rates to DropShip commanders, talked to him like he was their friend (provided they addressed him as Captain, too). Jules decided early on that, in a bind, he would fight for Maverick, perhaps even die for the man. It wasn’t just that he had taken Jules in like his own –although that was part of it – it was that, deep down, Jules knew Kidd Maverick would do the same for him.
One of the first things Jules had learned about Kidd and his merchant operation was that his ships weren’t the only ones. Maverick was actually the junior Captain in a fleet of six JumpShips belonging to the Snellings-Finnegan Merchant Fleet, each with their own litter of DropShips and all vessels with full crews. Whenever they were planet-side, as they had been on the Hegemony world of Islington, the combined crews of all the JumpShips and DropShips that had earned shore leave (Maverick had granted Jules two days since he was so new to living in space) had increased the population of the small city they stopped in by twenty-five percent. It was an amazing site, all of those spacers running around town like a bunch of mad men.
Jules had met the owner of the fleet, Mr. Gerard Ryan Snellings-Finnegan, only once, when the man had taken a shuttle from his flagship, the Monolith-class Daring Vision, to visit the Amaranth on a routine inspection. Maverick had introduced Jules as their newest member, and Snellings-Finnegan had smiled and shaken his hand. And that was that. Jules doubted he would ever speak to the man again (a theory supported by other crewmembers).
So now this was life, whether Jules liked it or not. He had signed, thumb-imprinted, and iris-scanned a contract for a grand total of three years, with an option to extend for three more with a four percent pay raise and a five thousand C-bill bonus. He kept mulling that last part over, but he had three good years to think about it.
All was going relatively well (except for a nasty deep cut he had received attempting to close a service grating). It was just another day on the Amaranth, and Jules had just finished his shift. A fellow tech, Bradley Xia, and Jules were on their way to the mess hall for a quick bite before crashing. Xia was rambling Jules’ ears off, talking about the girls he wanted to meet on next shore leave.
“I hear the girls here are wild!” he was saying. “A buddy of mine over on the Intrepid said the last time he was here he hooked up with two broads at one of the clubs. Gave him a night he would never forget. And just to hear some of the things they did!”
Jules laughed. “He might be blowing smoke up your ass, Brad.”
Xia shook his head, undaunted. “No way! There are other guys that say the same thing. I’m gonna get me two curvy blonds...or maybe a blond and a redhead.”
Jules chuckled as they entered the mess.
And then sirens began to blare.
“This is the Captain,” Kidd Maverick’s voice barked over the intercom. “All hands to battle stations! All hands to battle stations! Prepare for anti-boarding operations.”
Dinner was quickly forgotten as Jules, Bradley, and the rest of the Amaranth’s crew scrabbled to their stations. Shotguns and needlers were passed out – weapons that would not harm the ship but would ruin a man’s day, for sure. Jules hefted his needler rifle and set out for the docking collar.
Normally, both DropShips would be berthed in the Amaranth’s docking collars. Today, though, the Hydra was on planet divulging its cargo (computer parts, or so Maverick swore). It was just the opening (literally and figuratively) the pirates needed to board. Jules knew that Snellings-Finnegan had his own aerofighter jocks, and wondered why they weren’t trying to beat the pirate DropShip to a pulp. Could the pirates have their own jocks? He didn’t know (in fact, he had no situational awareness of what was going on outside – oh, to be an infantryman again). What he did know was that in a few minutes pirates were going to start streaming through the Amaranth and killing people if he did not do something.
Jules slid into the bay connected to the docking collar, a clutch of sailors already there, positioned every which way behind corners and bulkheads. He took up position behind one of the corners and high, a crewmember below him with her feet facing his. Space made for such interesting tactics and positions.
There was a dull clang as the pirate DropShip slid into the neck of the docking collar, and another as it locked into place. Jules’ heart was beating faster every moment, his grip tightening on the needler’s grip. His mind slid into sharp focus, returning to the training beaten into him the last five years in the Mountain Men.
And, just before the hatch slid open, he thought of Ishtar. Her long, feathery, raven hair, her eyes dark, shimmering emeralds, her alabaster skin soft, and the cloying scent of the perfume she always used. Oh Ishtar...
The terminus parted, and Jules sent a hail of needles into the face of the first dark silhouette that presented itself. The figure didn’t make a sound, the long carbon needles burying their way through the face. He fired again, and another pirate was felled, the body lazily floating through the space. A third spray of needles fired from Jules’ weapon, another form hit, this time in the arm, but the damage was horrendous, and the screams of pain even more so.
In the time it had taken Jules to fire three shots, the rest of the gathered crew had only fired once a piece. Seeing the success of their comrade, the others began to increase their volume. Soon the pirates were scrabbling in an attempt to move past their dead and wounded mates and into the JumpShip.
Jules, seeing an opportunity, had other plans.
“You two, on my mark fire with everything you got.” He turned to another duo. “You two, follow me.”
The four crew gave him unsure nods, but moved into position.
“Now!”
The two sailors below, feet braced, fired again and again in a rapid burst of needles and shot. Jules shot through the open space, the other two crew behind him, and slid into the yawning DropShip entrance. He was met with yells of dismay and anger, but quickly silenced them as he arrested his movement and filled the ranks of pirates with a flurry of deadly needles. The two other sailors followed his example, raining death and destruction into the gathered ranks of pirates. These bandits had expected an easy catch and had packed the corridor tight. Now it worked against them.
As Jules moved ahead other members of the Amaranth took courage from his wild charge and began falling in behind him, firing at whatever moved. In short order Jules and his ad-hoc squad (he counted eleven in his little following) had cleared a great deal of the ship, and more teams were moving forward to secure the enemy vessel. But it wasn’t over yet. They still had to make it to the bridge.
Now the pirates knew they were done, but none of them wanted to die. Every corner was a death trap as two or three rogues would cross their fires, dominating a single short corridor or doorway. Jules and his team battled like banshees out of hell, filling each area with a hail of death and chaos, making the stubborn bandits pay for their lack of capitulation.
There was one entrance: the door to the bridge. Jules sent two of his squad, a man named al Zaid and a woman named Dhanoa, forward to check the door. With practiced moved the two slid down the short corridor, weapons tracking, and to the terminus itself. Careful hands felt around the crevasses, searching for wires or objects that could lead to booby traps. It was a tense few moments as the two crewmembers finished up their inspection.
“Clear,” al Zaid said.
Suddenly the door opened and a man stood, shotgun in hand, his tattooed face a mask of rage. He shot al Zaid at point blank range, bursting the man’s head like a melon. Dhanoa swung her needler pistol up and hit the bandit in the neck. His shotgun forgotten, the pirate clutched his ruined throat, gasping and gargling for air as bright red blood streamed freely into the zero gravity. Another clutch of needles ended his life.
The squad shot into the bridge, weapons ready, blood up. Some part of Jules’ mind was angry he lost al Zaid, but he pushed it aside with practiced ease – he would mourn him later, now there was fighting to be done. There was a lone woman on the bridge, curled up in a command chair. In her arms was a screaming babe, wrapped close in a white blanket. The woman was obviously a pirate. The tattoos over her face, arms, and chest marked her a veteran. But there was no fight in her except to protect the infant.
“We’re not going to hurt you,” Jules said softly, but not lowering his weapon. “Surrender, and you’ll be taken care of.” He looked at the still wailing baby. “Your child too.”
For a moment Jules thought she was going to do something – attack, blow herself up – and his white-knuckled hand gripped the needler rifle ever tighter. Then, defeat and weariness washing over her features, the bandit-mistress sighed and nodded.
“I surrender,” she said, her voice husky and cracked.
The squad sighed, lowering their weapons (a bit).
“So,” Jules said. “Anyone know how to work the comm stations?”
An hour later the pirate DropShip was clear. The badits’ JumpShip and second DropShip had been claimed by the Hegemony, but Snellings-Finnegan had demanded that the ship that attacked the Amaranth remain with his fleet (he did have an empty docking collar on his flagship, after all). Request granted, the merchant fleet moved to integrate the vessel into their ranks and cleanse it of anything pirate left behind.
The woman and her child, on the other hand, had been taken to Captain Maverick immediately, Jules and one of his squad, a man named Peavley, acting as guard. Snellings-Finnegan was present, too, interested in what she knew. What they gleaned from her was amazing (and a bit sad). The man that had stood in the doorway and shot al Zaid was her husband. She had wanted to surrender, but he feared what the anti-boarding party would do to their child. Their captain, now very dead at the hands of Marian marines, had brought his crew here with the promise of an easy raid and riches.
What was most interesting, though, was where they came from.
“We have a base,” she was saying, breast feeding her child as she spoke. “It’s about six or seven jumps from here. We didn’t bring any of the big hardware, just some fighters and weapons. Didn’t think we’d meet this much resistance.”
“Big hardware?” Maverick asked. “What do you mean?”
“BattleMechs,” she admitted. “And more aerofighters. Some tanks. We still have people back there, keeping everything running. Some of the older guys and the kids too young to fight, our slaves. About five hundred in all.”
“You said BattleMechs and tanks,” Snellings-Finnegan inquired. “How many?”
“Sixteen old BattleMechs,” the woman said. “Nothing advanced. All built decades before the Clans showed up. And twenty-four mixed tanks, mostly hovercraft. Again, all old, nothing fancy. But all solid.”
Jules thought he could see C-bill signs ringing up in the merchant-prince’s eyes.
“Why would you tell us this, Misses…?” Maverick asked.
“Hailey,” the woman replied. “Just Hailey. And I want to go home.”
Maverick gave her a hard look. “What, is there some trap waiting for us? Looking to lure us in so that the rest of your pirate band can spring you and your baby loose and take our ships and people as plunder?”
Hailey shook her head and adjusted her feeding baby. “The majority of our fighting men and women are killed or captured. I am trying to keep my child alive, as well as the children left at our base. If there was a trap, we would be putting their lives at risk, too. We are pirates, not genocidal maniacs.”
“What do you think, Mr. Snellings-Finnegan?” Maverick asked, apparently seeing the same thing Jules saw, but wasn’t happy about it.
“I say,” Snellings-Finnegan commanded, “that once we’re done with our business here, our fleet has a small mission to accomplish.”
And, suddenly, Jules felt the same sense of dread he saw on Maverick’s face. Seeing the galaxy was one thing. Going into uncharted space to find a pirate base was completely another.
Ishtar, why aren’t you here?