Hollywood scowled at the man on the screen, but he was at least as stubborn as she was.
“Because I said so, Jones,” she answered.
“That’s a load of sheep shit, Hollywood,” Esser replied.
Not that she blamed him. She’d brought Hollywood, Tralfa, and Varmint on this mission. She’d even stopped calling her ship a Raider and was telling everyone that the class were Clippers now, intended for long, fast flights, rather than lurking quietly at the edge of the gravity well and pouncing on unsuspecting freighters coming and going.
Legitimate business now. Honest.
The smaller ones used to be called Pickets, because that was what they were used for. Used to be used for. Now, they were Rapid Couriers, designed to run as fast as possible between two points. And if you weren’t hauling around a lot of boarding party crew, you could go a long time between resupply runs.
“Kosnett specifically wanted me here because I can represent the old Syndicates when we run into people,” she continued. “And I know a lot of those people personally. That leaves me Tralfa to run ahead to Derragon to let them know we’re coming, and you. I need you to haul ass to Meerut and tell Dexter to recruit three ships, if he can find them, to set up a triangle run here at Urwel. The faster you move, the sooner you’ll join us at Carinae II.”
He growled at that. But that was Esser Jones. The man reminded everyone of a tornado, with long, soot-black hair back in a tail like a comet’s, and big muscles. Still something of a pussy cat, when you approached him right, but she didn’t have time to flatter the man right now.
“Hey, you want to keep flying an RAN transponder, sometimes you get the shit details, Esser,” Hollywood said, getting a little exasperated at his intransigence. “If you really piss me off, I can transfer you to this job, instead of running around with Urumchi.”
That got his attention, like an open-handed slap might.
Kosnett had hired her to put together a communications network. And everyone else was contracted to her right now. That included Esser Jones and Varmint.
And sometimes, a girl’s got to pull rank.
Esser understood that, too. He was just being balky. Too long as his own captain, answering only to the board of directors or Enforcers like Triumphant or Glorious. Not Raiders like Hollywood. Or Clippers these days.
“Straight to Carinae?” he asked now, voice and mannerisms more subdued.
“With the usual drop outs every few days to make sure everybody arrives at the same time,” she nodded. “Since you don’t have to do that, you ought to be able to drop out on Dexter, tell him everything he needs, plus give him the packet Lord Morninghawk is sending along, then chase us straight across. We’ll handle whatever resupply you need from Kosnett’s stores at that point, since you’re doing him a major favor by getting all this moving today.”
“Why does it have to happen now anyway, Hollywood?” Esser asked.
“Because people are lazy, Jones,” she retorted. “Prince Kalidoona will have his hands full with shit over there, but if we start running to Toulouse with RAN sanction, they won’t argue with us. By the time they do get their shit sorted out, it will have become a habit. What?”
He was laughing at her now, great big guffaws and peels of hilarity. It was a good thing both of them were alone in their respective offices, talking on a tight-beam comm.
The galaxy wasn’t ready to know just how big a goofball Esser Jones could be.
“What?”
“You,” he finally managed to gasp. “Ewin. Getting their shit together. Seriously?”
“Kosnett’s betting a lot on it,” she replied. “So is Dalou, in the form of Lady Kugosu, so put that in your pipe and smoke it. Aditi wants more trade. Always has, even on their own terms. Lord Morninghawk turns that on its head, because he’s the Golden Boy right now with the only person that really matters around here.”
“Oh, alright,” the man finally admitted, however begrudging. “I suppose I have to go off and save the galaxy again, like I did after Second Meerut.”
“Exactly, Esser,” Hollywood agreed, relieved that the man would listen to reason. And threats. “The faster you get gone, the better for you.”
“I’m just afraid I’ll miss all the fun,” Jones said ruefully.
“You think anybody stands a chance, if they start shit with this force?” she challenged the man.
“That’s my point, Hollywood,” Esser laughed. “Gloran might be that stubborn. And I won’t be there to watch Kosnett hand somebody his head for it. Watching the logs and scans later won’t be nearly as much fun as being able to taunt those poxy bastards in real time when they try.”
“Then you best haul ass, Varmint,” she ordered. “Maybe you can get back fast enough, if you’d stop arguing with me.”
“Yes, mother,” Esser chortled. “Back soon.”
And he was gone.
Hollywood cut the line from her end and leaned back to study her office. She spent a lot of time on the stations with Dexter Milose, the Governor of Meerut, and his staff.
Current governor, she amended herself. Kosnett had asked her if she wanted to become the next Governor, or the Fleet Admiral/First Centurion of that little fleet, or go into business.
This still felt like the best option, long term. At some point, somebody would try their luck attacking Meerut again. Maybe with enough force to actually succeed.
At least until Kosnett brought in a wall of Heavy Dreadnoughts and curb-stomped the responsible parties. Irresponsible parties, because he’d warned everyone.
Yaumgan wasn’t dumb enough to challenge him. Gloran might. If they could bottle stubborn and sell it, they’d be rich, but in many ways, they were as badly disorganized as the fools at Ewinhome, just in a different direction.
The Princes were all about the blood. If you had it, you could be a big-time player. If not, you were a peon.
Gloran was the warrior culture. Aggressive, militant, hardass. Hard work got you promoted, rather than blood like Ewin and Dalou, or connections like Aditi. Any commoner could aspire to become a Fleet-Captain, or even a War-Captain. Historically, a few crazed berserkers had either married into the Imperial Family or been adopted when it made the most sense for them to inherit power.
Better than civil wars. At least for the locals.
Pirates like she’d been, once upon a time, had thrived during periods of instability and chaos, since fleets were too busy chasing each other off to stop and protect every little irrelevant colony.
Which was why some dumbass had hit Carinae II. And why it didn’t make a damned bit of sense that they had. Dalou was stable. Aditi was stable. Gloran might be next up for crazy, but they were stable now, and would be angry.
Was that the thing? Make the Emperor too angry to listen when Kosnett came along with a new future?
Who came out ahead?
Hollywood Ward didn’t have any ideas, but she had a few days to mull it over. Esser and Varmint would be hauling ass to catch up. Kosnett might be willing to take a little extra time from here, just to give Tralfa a chance to get to Derragon with his messages from the First Centurion.
Which suggested that the first major confrontation would occur in Carinae’s orbit.
What did they have to look forward to?