Chapter Ten

When the Cutty Sark landed on Kol, she was greeted by an eager crowd of recruits and shipyard workers. Stepping off the ship into the crowd, Maarkean looked uncomfortable. Saracasi sympathized with her brother, but she knew he should start to expect this. Everyone was curious about what had transpired during the congress’ meeting. Instead of answering everyone’s questions, he brushed off the crowd, calling for a meeting with just a few people.

In a room in Chavatwor’s headquarters building, Saracasi joined Zeric, Gu’od, Gamaly, Solyss, Chavatwor, and Davidus. She wasn’t sure if Zeric or Chavatwor looked more eager. Chavatwor had a major construction project on the line. His ideas and plans for ship upgrades, a new fighter design, and plans for a new type of capital ship were all he could talk about recently. This project combined his two loves: designing starships and opposing the Alliance.

As for Zeric, Saracasi wasn’t sure what he was anticipating. The man had been running the core of recruits ragged. She didn’t enjoy daily PT and combat training, which was why she had only joined them a few times. But she had gotten to know several of the pilot recruits when they came to help work on the freighter. They thought Zeric was enjoying himself.

“Congress voted to form an army for the United Worlds of the Kreogh Sector,” Maarkean said without preamble.

The tension in the room evaporated. Saracasi felt a wave of satisfaction. The people would not abandon Enro and just roll over for the Alliance. Now, if the Alliance would just bow to the pressure and back down from its undemocratic actions before actual bloodshed occurred.

“I assume you are in command?” Solyss said with a congratulatory smile.

“No, General Celris Numba of Cardine has been placed in command,” Maarkean answered.

The response around the room was decidedly more mixed than it had been for the news about the formation of the army. Solyss looked shocked, Gamaly frowned, Chavatwor looked curious, Gu’od nodded, and Zeric smiled. Saracasi was not sure how she felt about the news.

Knowing nothing about General Numba, she had no opinion there, but she knew her brother’s reservations about leading. She thought he’d do a good job, and she knew that at least part of him had been disappointed at being relieved of command on Enro.

“That’s great!” Zeric said, covering up Solyss’ initial objection. “Now you can join the rest of us in the fight, instead of sitting behind a desk.”

Maarkean smiled slightly. “Not quite. I have been given command of the military’s naval and marine forces, with the rank of major general.”

Solyss brightened somewhat, while Zeric frowned. “Better you than me.”

“Don’t be so sure. I’ve been given authority to form the ranks of the marines and navy as I deem necessary,” Maarkean said, giving Zeric a pointed look.

Saracasi tried to hide a smile as she watched Zeric’s eyes grow large with only slightly exaggerated fear. Gamaly showed no restraint and laughed at the man’s expression. Zeric ignored her, remaining focused on Maarkean. “You wouldn’t?”

“I don’t know,” Maarkean said with mock sincerity. “Brigadier Dustlighter has a nice ring to it.”

Everyone enjoyed a few minutes of mirth before Chavatwor asked a question that brought things back to a more serious tone. “Which ships would you like me to get started on first?”

The question caused Maarkean to frown. “That’s where we start to run into problems.”

Attention turned back to Maarkean. Saracasi didn’t like where she thought this might be going. As her brother started explaining, what he said just confirmed her displeasure.

“Congress has voted to suspend all payments of Alliance taxes. Instead, each world will send half of what it was supposed to have collected to the congress, and the other half can be kept by the planet and used as they deem necessary, or cut and kept by the people and companies.

“The majority of this income Congress has designated for planetary defensive infrastructure, equipment and weapons for the army, troop transports, paying for Congress’ expenses, etc. A fraction has been designated for use to form a navy and marines.”

This brought a frown to everyone’s faces. Chavatwor asked the obvious question. “How small of a fraction?”

“Well, let’s just say, if we used all of it, we’d be able to pay for about half of your new frigate design,” Maarkean said, annoyance creeping into his voice.

Saracasi’s shoulders slumped. Chavatwor had been incredibly excited by the idea of designing a ship from scratch, and some of that enthusiasm had rubbed off on her. Designing a craft that would be perfectly suited to their needs would have been an exciting challenge to overcome.

“Lahkaba is going to try to get us some more funding, and he has promised we won’t be left out when they purchase weapons, but General Numba is focusing most of the military resources on the army. Which makes sense. There is no way we can build up a strong enough navy quickly enough to be able to defend the worlds from space. We’ll have to rely on ground defenses once we clear out Alliance forces. Which will be a job for the army,” Maarkean explained. Saracasi got the sense her brother wasn’t completely sold on the plan, though he did speak respectfully.

Taking a deep breath, Maarkean continued, “Since the general is planning on making a mobile army, instead of a solely defensive force, our marines will primarily be used for special actions. Therefore, we won’t need several divisions of them. For now, we’ll aim to form a single, highly trained battalion.”

With a smile and nod, he looked at Zeric. “As such, you can avoid becoming a general for now, Colonel Dustlighter.”

Zeric frowned for a second but then nodded. “I knew a few colonels I respected.”

“But I reserve the right to promote you,” Maarkean said, getting one more frown out of Zeric. Then he turned to Davidus. “Dav, if you’re willing, I’d like to put you in command of our star fighter group. And we’ll be lucky if it can really be group size. I don’t know where we’ll get fighters yet, but we have four captured ones from Enro that have been promised to us.”

“Of course,” Davidus replied.

Maarkean nodded in acknowledgement and turned to Solyss. “About the only thing we can afford to do ship-wise is to retrofit some of the transports that have been volunteered, such as the Chimopori, Unending Justice, and Durandal II. I’d like you to command the squadron of new gunships.”

“It would be an honor,” Solyss said, giving a slight bow.

“What are we going to do about ships?” Saracasi asked. “Can we afford to finish the conversion of the freighter?”

“Yes, though she won’t be as well equipped as I would like. We’ll be able to pay for the replacement life support system, convert the cargo bays to hangar decks, and hopefully add a few defensive weapons. But we won’t be able to afford a heavy battery, shield upgrades, or a new hyperdrive,” Maarkean said, looking at Chavatwor.

The Kowwok engineer nodded, looking thoughtful. “If you could acquire any of those components, I would be happy to install them at a reasonable rate.”

Maarkean smiled gratefully. “I was hoping you’d say that. Because Zeric and his Rogues are going to help us with our ship and funding shortage.”

“I am?” Zeric asked, confused.

“You’re going to steal some for us.”

“Okay, cool,” Zeric said with a shrug. “From where?”

“Ailleroc.”

“Isn’t that the headquarters for Alliance forces in the sector? Most heavily populated and defended planet?” Zeric asked.

“Yes.”

“Just wanted to be sure we were talking about the same Ailleroc.”

The meeting continued for another half an hour as Maarkean laid out his plans and intelligence data on the Alliance that he gotten from another former Alliance officer. During the meeting, Saracasi felt a small touch of disappointment that Maarkean had not singled her out for an important role in this new military.

She hadn’t yet talked to him about her desire to stay out of the fighting, and she hadn’t really made a final decision. But it would have been nice to have been offered a role.

When the meeting broke up, she waited while everyone else left so that she could have a word with her brother. He was always treating her like she was still a child. She might not want to join the fight, but he didn’t know that. It was time he recognized that she was a grown woman and a competent engineer. She couldn’t just follow him around or hide on the Cutty Sark.

She was prepared to lay into him, but her speech was cut off when Maarkean began, “I know what you’re going to say. But I wanted to give you a choice, instead of railroading you into a role like I did with the others.”

Suspicious, Saracasi managed to ask, “And what was I going to say?”

“That you deserve to have a part in this rebel army. That I can’t treat you like a child and try to protect you anymore.”

Saracasi frowned, unsure if he was genuine or just anticipating her argument. In the end, she decided it didn’t matter. So long as he gave her a chance to participate, it didn’t matter why he did it.

“All right,” she said. “So what’s my role going to be?”

“You have a choice. I need someone to oversee the retrofitting of all the ships and work with Chavatwor. He’s been incredibly generous, but he has his business to look out for before seeing to our needs. I need someone who speaks his language.

“Or you can take command of the Cutty Sark. With the upgrades she’s already received, she’ll make a good gunboat. She’ll remain my personal transport if I ever need to go to Irod or meet with General Numba, but we’ll need her in the fight as well.”

The second offer surprised Saracasi. She knew how much the Cutty Sark meant to Maarkean. That ship had been the thing that allowed him to keep flying after resigning from the navy to raise her. In some ways, she thought it had taken the place of his wife as well.

Maarkean offering her the chance to take command of the Cutty Sark, potentially in combat, touched her. She knew there was some selfishness to the offer: better her than a stranger. And needing to fly him around would be a perfect excuse not to send her into combat. But it did show his confidence in her. Those selfish reasons wouldn’t be enough for him to make the offer if he didn’t really believe she could do it.

Despite the import of that offer, she found herself drawn to the first choice. Commanding the Cutty Sark would mean being directly involved in combat, something she still did not trust herself to handle. Being an engineer would mean helping the cause without having to kill. It would also allow her to do what she loved: work on ships.

“I’ll be your chief engineer,” she finally answered.

Though he looked like he was trying to hide it, relief was evident on Maarkean’s face. She knew how hard it must have been for him to make the offer to send his little sister into combat. This way, everyone would be happy.

As tired as Zeric was getting of PT and training exercises in the Kol desert, he was disappointed that their mission to Ailleroc occurred as soon as it did. The conversion of the mining freighter proved to be nearly complete; Chavatwor had started work on it before Maarkean had even arrived. The upgrades to the transports only took two weeks, despite his wish that it would take a few more.

As a marine grunt, he had always preferred missions to training. Training was monotonous and boring, while combat was exciting. Even though some of the recruits were close to his age, or older, and had fought in the same war, he could tell that most of them still thought as he once had.

Now, however, war and age had tempered his own enthusiasm to a point where he now saw combat as something to be avoided whenever possible. And now that he was the one in charge of and responsible for all of these lives, he looked at training in a different light. Training could make the difference between victory and defeat, life and death. As much raw combat experience as his Rogues had, they did not have much experience working together.

Although the decision on when to go was not technically up to him, he knew Maarkean would listen if he told him the Rogues weren’t ready. But despite his newfound desire for more and more training, he couldn’t justify making that claim. The recruits had trained hard. There had been complaints and grumbling, but he supposed they had weeded out anyone not really dedicated to the cause back on Mirthod. In a way, it was a blessing in disguise that Ice had disrupted their recruiting.

The morning of the departure, Zeric stood before the mirror in his room. As an officer, he had one of the few remaining single-occupancy rooms. He supposed there were some perks to being in charge.

Chavatwor had used some of his business contacts to find a clothing retailer on Kol who would take Maarkean’s credit voucher instead of hard cash. A collection of uniforms had arrived the day before, and Zeric now stood in a black-and-grey camouflage battle dress uniform, or BDU. It looked a little out of place here in the desert, but it was the perfect gear for where they were going.

Zeric started toward the door but then stopped. It might not be strictly appropriate, but he had named his group the Rogues, after all. With a nod to his own logic, he grabbed his Ba’aar Razors hockey team cap from atop the dresser. The logo was red, but the cap was mostly black. A satisfied smile on his face, he pulled the cap onto his head.

Making his way through the combined shipyard and military camp, Zeric found the marines already formed up. For the moment, they were organized into a single company with three platoons. Sigfa Neith, Calek Orion, and Asheerah each stood before one of the platoons. Asheerah’s was the smallest. All had cases at their feet, holding their space combat armor.

Standing a slight distance in front of the marines were Ymp Ki-Li and Gu’od. At the sight of Zeric, Gu’od turned and bellowed a call to attention. It seemed his friend was enjoying his role as gruff first sergeant. The marines came to attention, though in a more disorderly fashion than Zeric thought reasonable given the weeks of training.

He approached closer and Ymp snapped off a perfect salute, which said something considering how uncomfortable it was for a Camari to hold their fingers in a straight locked position. Zeric quickly returned the salute, and Ymp dropped her arm back to her side. He surveyed the assembled group and felt a mix of apprehension and pride. It was a weird contradiction.

“All right, Rogues, listen up,” Zeric said, hoping that he was raising his voice only as much as he needed to in order to be heard. He hated being yelled at.

“This isn’t going to be an easy op. I won’t pretend otherwise. But if we’re successful, we’ll have shown the Alliance that nowhere in this sector are they safe, because the entire sector is united against them. We’re going to grow our navy from an old mining freighter and a few couriers to real warships.

“In order to do that, we need to be quick, coordinated, and disciplined. We need to show the Alliance that we’re not pirates, we’re not thugs. We may be Rogues, but we’re also professional marines. Keep weapons on stun if at all possible, stick to the mission, and watch each other’s backs.”

Zeric felt belittling saying things he thought should be obvious, but he knew from experience that the obvious things were not generally obvious to everyone. Going into a combat situation with weapons set to stun was one of his orders that was less than obvious. Stun setting had several drawbacks: less range, less accuracy, easier to defend against. But it would also preserve lives.

“All right, get to your ships,” Zeric said. He never knew how to end speeches.

Beside him, Ymp called out, “Company dismissed. Report to your assigned transports.”

The orderly ranks immediately vanished as the marines grabbed their gear and started wandering around the makeshift landing field. This part could go smoother, Zeric thought, but as long as everyone made it where they needed to go, he would be satisfied. There were only five transports and a freighter. He didn’t think it would be that hard to find the one you were supposed to be on.

As the disorderly scattering continued, Solyss Novastar walked up to join him, Ymp, and Gu’od. Zeric noticed Solyss watching with a frown as Asheerah and her entire platoon headed toward the massive mining freighter. Zeric could sympathize. He wouldn’t like it if Gu’od and Gamaly were going off on another ship.

“Major Novastar,” Zeric said with a grin. Unlike himself, Novastar puffed up slightly when his rank was mentioned. The man appeared proud of it, despite the fact that they were just an amateurish, illegal group of rebels.

“Colonel,” Solyss said and then nodded to Ymp. “Major, have you talked to him yet?”

Ymp pursed her large, wide lips. “No.”

“Talked to me about what?” Zeric asked, confused.

Ymp and Solyss exchanged a look. Solyss apparently lost the confrontation because he spoke. “We think you should talk to General Ocaitchi about the mission.”

“What about the mission?”

“It is inappropriate for a general to fly into combat,” Solyss stated. “The Cutty Sark is going into one of the most dangerous places.”

Zeric frowned. As much as he hated going into combat, he knew he would hate sitting on the sidelines even more. He suspected Maarkean would feel the same way.

However, he also agreed with Solyss. A general’s place was behind the lines, directing things and making the important strategic decisions. From the flight deck of a gunship in the middle of battle, he wouldn’t be able to keep track of everything. And someone needed to do that.

“Why are you telling me this?” Zeric asked, resistant.

“As you are the next senior officer, it would be inappropriate for us to go over your head,” Ymp said, which surprised Zeric. As a mercenary, he hadn’t expected her to take to military protocols well. Many of the other mercenaries hadn’t.

“What about Commander Brieni?” Zeric asked. Unlike himself, Davidus insisted on remaining formal at all times. While Solyss appeared proud of his rank, Davidus, on the other hand, was defensive and demanding about respecting it.

Another look crossed between Ymp and Solyss. This time Gu’od spoke. “They thought Maarkean would listen to you.”

Zeric sighed. He didn’t consider himself observant, but even he knew that there was tension between Maarkean and Davidus. Oddly, this tension was balanced by respect. He actually thought Maarkean would be more inclined to listen to Davidus.

“Do you have someone to take his place flying the Cutty Sark?” Zeric asked.

“Sienn’lyn,” Gu’od answered immediately.

“Your new apprentice?” Zeric asked skeptically.

“She’s actually quite a good pilot,” Solyss said, his voice approving. “Rivals Isaxo. While that’s no comparison to the general, she’s one of the best we have. The next best is Jerik Needa, but I doubt General Ocaitchi would feel comfortable giving his ship to a bounty hunter that tried to capture him.”

With a snort, Zeric nodded. He had been surprised when he had first heard the news that Maarkean had recruited the bounty hunter. Though, upon reflection, he shouldn’t have. Zeric now worked for Maarkean, and he had tried to steal the Cutty Sark. Twice.

“All right,” Zeric said finally. “Go find Sienn and bring her to the Cutty Sark. I’ll talk to Maark.”

Solyss nodded gratefully to Zeric and then popped off a formal salute before turning and heading toward his own ship. Gu’od just nodded before going to find Sienn’lyn. Ymp remained behind.

Zeric raised an eyebrow at her. “I don’t suppose you’re going to try to tell me I should sit this one out, too?”

Ymp gave one of her wide, disconcerting smiles. “Of course not. Colonels are supposed to get their hands dirty. Plus, if you die, I get your job. And since you have a tendency to screw things up, those odds aren’t bad.”

The sudden reversion from her new formal, military persona to her old condescending attitude toward him took him off guard. She compounded the confusion by snapping off a salute before departing. Zeric was left to just shake his head.

Left alone now, Zeric had no reason not to head to the Cutty Sark himself. It would be awkward if Gu’od arrived with Sienn’lyn before he talked to Maarkean, though it might make things easier on him.

Walking down the dusty field, Zeric examined the mining freighter that had just recently emerged from the protective warehouse. From the outside, the ship looked much like he remembered it. Few of the weapons Chavatwor hoped to add had been installed yet. The hull was still a rusty brown color, which gave it a nice camouflage look against the desert background.

The differences were centered around the cargo pods. Originally, the three pods each had one massive door that lowered and exposed a cavernous interior. Those doors had been replaced, and the pods cut in half. The bottom half of each pod had a new door that lifted up into the ship, instead of lowering outward.

Not visible from the outside, the upper half of the pods had been merged together into one massive space that served as a maintenance and storage deck. Before, each pod had been completely independent and large enough that a ship the size of the Cutty Sark could have fit inside. Now, the lower parts were still big enough for six fighter-size craft, but not tall enough for a ship like the Cutty Sark.

Moving past the freighter turned carrier, Zeric came to the courier transports turned gunships. He wasn’t sure ‘gunship’ really qualified as the appropriate designation. Each courier now carried the equivalent firepower as an Alliance gunship, but their main cargo bays had been converted to barracks.

When Zeric reached the Cutty Sark, the once-open cargo area was a jumble of people, storage lockers, and bunks. One corner of the bay had been converted into a multiple-person washroom. The bay was crowded with Sigfa Neith’s 1st Platoon’s 1st Squad as they set themselves up for the journey.

Zeric squeezed his way through the marines. A couple made sloppy attempts to salute him, though most appeared oblivious to his presence. Zeric just nodded in reply, moving as quickly as he could toward the stairs at the back of the bay. Once up the stairs, he emerged onto a much less crowded crew deck.

The common room was currently empty, though there was a marine in the small kitchen suite already at work on the midday meal. Between the crew, the marine squad, and others, the Cutty Sark would be carrying almost twenty people on a nine-day journey to Ailleroc and then, hopefully, bringing all of them back. The return trip would not need to be done in formation with the freighter, so it would be a few days shorter. All told, Zeric would be spending almost three weeks onboard.

He moved quickly down the narrow corridor and deposited his gear in one of the four crew cabins. He would not have to share this room with anyone else.

Again, being an officer had its advantages. From there, he took the few remaining steps to the ship’s flight deck.

Zeric wasn’t sure why the command area was called a cockpit for fighters, whereas it was a flight deck on ships like this, the bridge on big ships like the freighter, and the CIC (Combat Information Center) on big warships. He just chalked it up to naval tradition—the same way a ship’s commander was always addressed as “Captain,” when he might carry the rank of major or commander, or even be a civilian.

Sitting in the pilot’s chair, which seemed like the natural place for him, Maarkean was going through pre-flight. Next to him sat Gamaly, running checks on the operations console. Behind them, and to Zeric’s right, at the weapon’s console, sat a raven-haired Terran named Almes. The man was one of the marines, but he had some experience operating ship-based weaponry, so Maarkean had drafted him.

“All your marines onboard?” Maarkean asked when he noticed Zeric.

Zeric shrugged. “You’d have to ask Sigfa.”

Maarkean nodded absently in reply, going back to his pre-flight routine. Zeric considered how to approach this topic without being inappropriate. If he could get Maarkean alone, it wouldn’t matter. And even having Gamaly there was fine. But it wouldn’t do to undermine Maarkean in front of one of the recruits.

An idea struck him. “Almes, go down and ask Lieutenant Neith what the status of the squad is.”

“Aye, Colonel,” Almes said, giving a sloppy salute as he stood.

Once the man disappeared down the short corridor, Zeric turned back to Maarkean. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“You’re right, I should be relaxing on a beach somewhere sipping on a drink with one of those little umbrellas. You Terrans have some weird creations, but some of them are real genius.”

Zeric frowned but pressed on. “Seriously, General, your place is directing this operation, not flying a ship into combat.”

“We’re not a large military. Everyone has to do what they are best at. I’m a better flier than a general. I’ll do the general thing because I have to, but I can’t just sit around and expect others to do all of the work,” Maarkean argued, still paying more attention to his checklist.

“And what happens if the Cutty Sark gets shot down? Losing you in our first operation would completely undermine the entire effort.”

Maarkean stopped, seeming to consider Zeric’s words. But after a second, he shook his head. “Then I just won’t get shot down.”

With a disappointed noise, Gamaly said, “Zeric’s right, and you know it.”

This caused Maarkean to stop and Zeric to give her a look of shock. It wasn’t often that Gamaly agreed with him, at least in front of others. Lately, she had actually been quite passive, not involving herself directly in any of the planning discussions.

“Maybe,” Maarkean said, a note of reluctance in his tone. “But the point remains, we need highly qualified pilots if this is going to succeed.”

“And we have them. The whole point of this operation is that we need ships for our group of pilots to fly. There’s no lacking for talent. That girl we picked up on Mirthod, for instance. She is quite a good pilot,” Gamaly said.

The suggestion further confused Zeric. With all of the attention Gu’od was paying to Sienn’lyn lately, she was the last one he would expect Gamaly to suggest. Whatever was going on there, he didn’t know if he wanted to get involved, despite his curiosity and concern.

Putting that out of his mind, Zeric turned back to Maarkean. “Plus, I’ll be here, so you know this ship is coming back.”

Maarkean turned around and gave Zeric a penetrating look. “Really? You mean this isn’t part of your long-term plan to steal my ship?”

“What? No, of course not. You know me. I don’t have long-term plans,” Zeric said defensively.

“Good point,” Maarkean said, then sighed. “Very well. Dav said much the same thing to me earlier.”

With clear reluctance, Maarkean stood up from the pilot’s seat. He slipped past Zeric without another word and went into his personal quarters to pack.

A few minutes later, Almes appeared down the corridor. He was followed by Gu’od and Sienn’lyn. Almes came to a stop before Zeric and gave another sloppy salute.

“The LT says everyone is aboard and secure, sir.”

“Thank you, Private,” Zeric said, squeezing himself against the bulkhead as much as possible to allow Almes and then Sienn’lyn to get past him. They each took a seat at their respective stations, Sienn’lyn looking very uncertain.

“You sure General Ocaitchi is fine with me flying his ship?” she asked.

Zeric chuckled. “I am most definitely sure he is not fine with it.”

Gamaly cast him a dirty look and then gave a more comforting look to Sienn’lyn. “The general decided he would be more useful aboard the carrier. Gu spoke very highly of your skills, and the general agreed you would be the best choice to replace him as pilot.”

“And the general is a wise man,” Almes said, turning to face the Liw’kel women. “Now I get to spend some quality time with two beautiful ladies.”

The young man gave what he must have thought was a charming or seductive smile. Zeric almost burst out laughing at the cold expressions Gamaly and Sienn’lyn both returned. The looks did nothing to deter the man, however; he continued to leer.

“All right,” Zeric finally said, regretting being the one needing to say this. “Not appropriate, Private.”

“Yes, sir,” Almes replied, though the wink he gave Sienn’lyn before turning around suggested he didn’t really mean it.

The sound of a door opening drew Zeric’s attention. Behind him, Maarkean emerged from his quarters. He nodded to Gu’od and Zeric but said nothing. With one last forlorn look at the flight controls, he turned and headed toward the hatch down to the cargo deck.