Chapter 3

In the last twenty years, the concentration of spacecraft in the solar system had burgeoned from tens to thousands. On Earth, politics had finally wrested the military from individual states, and enabled stability among the populace. With the exception of strong man politics which aggrandized the egos of those who would be warlords, pretty much all the goals of the various political systems that endeavored to work for their populations had been met. There was democratic representation, economic freedoms, regulation that prevented unfair trade behaviors, and limited taxation.

Education was free, universal, and required.

However some people felt constrained by the control of the world government. They itched to become kings, oligarchs, collectors of political power; an impossibility on the now tamed planet. On the other hand, space was free of such regulation. Some of the forward-thinking would-be dictators found space a great place to practice their chess game of dominance and winning. And there were some outside the system that didn't mind using the egocentric nature of such would-be oligarchs.

The government of Earth developed a navy to control and patrol the solar system, but it was a weak attempt to extend the good behavior expected among ground-bound humans. People who occupied non-Earth space shrugged off rules and regulations suggested by the Earth government, much to the delight of the would-be oligarchs.

So while space is harsh for those who lived and worked there, the economic reality was equally harsh. This lead to bankruptcies, and the equivalent of slavery of those who had trusted their employers. Oligarchs and dictators were happy to play chess with each other in real life, people becoming pawns, corporations acquired or destroyed. This wild west attitude gave rise to piracy; individual and corporate.

But this was a new level of development that promised more than just control of space – the taking of space navy vessels by pirates or, (Jeffrey surmised,) by one or more oligarchs, made Earth itself vulnerable to war from these would-be dictators. An acquisition of power in an inverted pyramid of steps – take one resource, use that to take another resource, use those accumulated resources to acquire others and defend against reductions of resources; the pinnacle being absolute power over everything and everyone.

Earth with its immense population might think of itself as mighty and powerful, but strategically, it was vulnerable because it was at the bottom of the gravity well. All an attacker had to do was throw rocks at the planet to initiate an extinction-level event. The people who had the temerity or chutzpa to perform such atrocities, essentially sociopaths, really smart sociopaths, were jockeying for the ability to do just that.

These thoughts and analyses had been going through Jeffrey's mind while discussing his immediate situation with Petty Officer Bianca. He realized he was now in the throes of one such chess game, like it or not. And while Jeffrey had no interest in being an oligarch or dictator, one of the natural rules of this game was he needed to acquire resources, not only if he wished to come out on top, but to survive.

One great resource was Petty Officer Bianca. She now had attached herself to him as a military tool. She commanded a detachment of Marines – small, but determined and well armed. He was not quite on the first steps of the pyramid though. His previous successful altercation with the pirate fleet gave him additional weapons and tools. His AI, Elizabeth, was also one of the best analytic tools he could have wished for, and one of the best weapons he had available. Elizabeth was fiercely loyal to him, which gave him a corner he could back himself into safely – he knew she had his back.

“Petty Officer Bianca,” began Jeffrey, “ - hey what's your first name?”

“Janet,” she replied.

“Okay Janet, tell me about your Marines.”

“The one I am most concerned about is Combat Technician Brandon Smith.” She began. “Smitty is a little loose with the regulations, seems like he will do anything to get ahead, regardless of the cost to others. He has received numerous demerits but that doesn't seem to have altered his behavior. I was ordered by Lieutenant Commander Noel to include him on this mission.”

Jeffrey replied, “I know quite a few people like that. Aside from the appointment by Noel, is he trustworthy? Do I need to imprison him?”

“I think he can be convinced to work with the team, but he needs to be watched,” she replied.

“Okay, what about the other Marines?” Jeffrey asked.

“Sargent Ojo Torres,” she said thoughtfully, “ is a professional soldier. He believes in the chain of command, but is a real thinker. He is working on a PhD. He is a good organizer.”

“Sounds like someone you want behind you, covering your back.”

“He is that,” she replied. “Then there is Combat Technician Audrey Svoboda. They call her 'Sneaky'. She is one of my best behind-the-lines rangers. A real ninja.”

“Where does she stand on Noel's usurpation of the Wanigan?”

“She was distressed, but follows her Sargent. Our key to controlling the Marines is Torres.”

“And the last one?”

“That would be 'Digger' - Private Zitulu Mbaka.” She paused for a moment, thoughtfully. “Digger is enthusiastic about the navy, but keeps his opinions to himself. He is a quiet and thoughtful man, but I haven't had any problems with him at all.”

Jeffrey needed to gather more intelligence about his situation with Wanigan, but thought that might best be done through a round table discussion with all his human resources. So first, ensure all the Marines were on board.

“Elizabeth.”

“CAPTAIN”

“Elizabeth, prepare operation 'Skedaddle'.

“UNDERSTOOD, CAPTAIN.”

“Janet,” He turned to the Petty Officer, “Let's get your pilot in here. We'll put him under control, then address the Marines.”

“Aye, Sir.”

Petty Officer Bianca went off to organize the surreptitious arrest of the pilot.

She ordered Smith and Mbaka to stand guard outside the cabin that held most of the prisoners, and Sargent Torres and Combat Technician Svoboda to the shuttle with herself. She went into the hold of the shuttle where the pilot met her.

“What do you need, Petty Officer?” asked the pilot.

“I need a couple of stretchers and med kits.” She replied. “Seems there were some wounded among his prisoners.”

The pilot assisted her in removing three stretchers and a gurney, and passed them on to the Marines outside the shuttle. Bianca then ordered the pilot to grab the med kits and follow her.

He balked. “I was told to stay with the shuttle,” he temporized, but still holding the two large medkits.

“These are your new orders. Get a move on, mister!” The two Marines looked at each other, then at their officer. Sargent Ojo Torres walked over to the pilot, loomed over him, which was quite a feat because Torres was shorter than the pilot by ten centimeters, and growled.

The pilot took the hint and hefted the medkits. Petty Officer Bianca turned and reentered the ship proper, the pilot followed her, then Torres and Sneaky came behind. Elizabeth shut the port.

In the corridor, Petty Officer Bianca told the pilot to continue forward, then took Sargent Torres aside and told her to take the pilot into custody. “Sir?” Torres commented, as if in request for confirmation.

“Do as I told you, Sargent,” Bianca ordered.

“Yes sir.” He conferred briefly with Sneaky, then moved up to the pilot and caught his attention. The pilot stopped and turned to look at the Sargent, who grabbed the pilot's hands, still gripping the med kits. Torres step-turned, putting the pilot's back to Sneaky, who stepped in, disarmed the pilot, and tapped him almost gently on the base of his neck, striking a neural nexus and rendering the pilot unconscious. They removed the pilot's armor suit and laid him on the gurney, strapping him in. Sneaky opened one of the medkits, took out an anesthetic hypospray and administered a dose to the pilot.

“Sneaky,” Sargent Torres ordered, “go back to the shuttle and look for explosives or other booby traps. I don't want any surprises.”

“Yessir,” replied the young woman. She slinked away back to the hanger.

The Sargent turned to his officer. “Damn. She's smooth,” he said appreciatively. “Now, please explain what's going on?”

“Sargent, the Wanigan has been taken over. I think the Exec has turned pirate, and that is a problem for me. I have commandeered and secured this vessel as a navy ship, and her captain. He and I are in agreement that we cannot afford to allow Wanigan to become a weapon of the pirates. Are you with me?” She studied her Sargent, who also studied her.

Two minutes passed before he answered. “My pledge is to the Navy. Wanigan is in violation of the Navy regulations and her skipper is under arrest. I trust you Ma'am. Sir. You have my team.”

“Okay,” she replied, relieved. “We need to address Smitty. He is your weakest link.”

“Leave him to me, Sir.”

“Very well, Sargent. Let's get this pilot to the cabin being used for the brig.”

They secured the pilot among the other prisoners, his official Navy undergarments standing out among the more eclectic collection of under-suit clothes. Torres noted the temperature in the cabin was lower than in the corridor, and the stuffiness of the cabin indicated the lower than average oxygen levels. He also noted the lethargic attitudes of the other prisoners, nodded to himself approvingly. Those prisoners were all secured to cargo rings with plastic binders. He looked around the cabin, noting the video cameras in the corners and the various box-like apparatuses on the ceiling.

Sneaky had found several booby traps, removed the explosives from their detonators. Lazy saboteurs had connected the detonators with cross-linked circuitry that if disturbed would set off the detonators. But nothing to prevent the removal of the actual explosives. After a thorough search, she followed the circuits to the radio receiver, changed the frequency and encoding, so as not to set off the anti-tampering booby traps, but to prevent someone from remotely setting off the detonators.

After ensuring the shuttle was not likely to explode unexpectedly, she looked through the engines and fuel cells for anomalies, but found none. She put the computer through a level one diagnostic, which compared the factory settings with current settings.

She then re-entered the ship proper and found Bianca and Torres. “Sarge, there were a few explosives, I rendered them less dangerous. Also disabled the remote – changed receiving frequency and code. Checked engines and fuel – nothing wrong there that I could see. Running level one diagnosis on computer.”

“Good,” replied the Sargent.

“So what's going on,” she asked, looking between her Sargent and the Petty Officer.

Bianca said, “Briefing in five in the galley. Get the others, I only want to do this once.”

“Yes sir, Ma'am,” she said, coming to a brief attention, saluted and turned to gather the other two Marines. As she walked toward the temporary brig, she thought on her response to the female officer. The old marine manual required the use of 'Ma'am', but the new manual treated all officers the same, thus everybody was called 'Sir' regardless of gender. She wasn't sure which she preferred, but was doing her best to follow regs.

As she approached the brig, she saw her two comrades standing outside the closed port. “What's going on,” asked Digger as she approached.

“Briefing in four minutes at the galley. Not sure what's happening, but the shuttle was booby trapped, with a remote detonator.”

Smitty and Digger both looked at her with wide open eyes. “Really,” said Smitty. Digger whistled.

The Marines assembled in the galley cum mess hall, finding their Sargent, petty officer, and the civilian captain. They sat at the long table. The captain sat on one end, Bianca sat to his right, Torres to his left. The Marines were on the other end of the table. There were still a couple vacant chairs.

“Coffee, anyone?” asked the captain. He got service for all of them, and presented it in the middle of the table. He poured himself a mug. Digger poured for the other Marines, Bianca poured for herself, and the Sargent declined. The odor of freshly ground and brewed coffee filled the galley, lending a subliminal sense of comfort.

Petty Officer Janet Bianca stood up, but indicated all the others should remain seated. She said, “Here's the situation. Wanigan has been taken over by mutineers and pirates. Our captain has been imprisoned. We have been ordered to take illegal actions. I, for one refuse to cooperate with converting a combat patrol ship to the tool of the pirates. I have commandeered this vessel and her captain as a navy vessel, and sworn her captain in. He is now official navy. Therefore, he now outranks all of us, and is our commanding officer.

“I don't think there is a regulation for this, so I want to hear each of your thoughts before you re-affirm your oaths.” She stood silent.

“I don't know, “ said Smitty. “Wanigan is one powerful ship. Don't know what to do about it, and would sure be afraid to fight it blow for blow.”

Private Zitulu 'Digger' Mbaka asked in his deep Nigerian accented baritone, “Sarge, what do you think?”

Torres looked over to Audrey 'Sneaky' Svoboda, biding his time, and said, “Sneaky, I need your thoughts.”

She thought for a moment. “Sarge, Petty Officer,” she finally began. “Two things. First, I go where my Sargent tells me to. Second, some evil bastard planted explosives on that shuttle with a remote detonator. And another thing,” she added, “I think Petty Officer Bianca is right on this one.”

Before the Sargent could add his opinion, Jeffrey stood up and said, “There are wider concerns than this one. Wanigan is one of five combat patrol ships. If there are other mutinies it could threaten all of our society. We in space will be subject to unjust actions, but worse, those on the moon, at Selene Base, all the orbital cities, and Earth herself, the bottom of the gravity well become vulnerable to the long-thinking evil people.

“I recently – a few minutes ago – swore to defend all of this. That means my ship and everyone I can influence is now a tool, a weapon, for protecting the innocent. Because I have been inducted into the Navy, I am now the legal commander of all aboard, especially sworn military personnel. But I don't want to force my crew to any behavior, I want you to do this because it is the right thing to do.” He sat down.

Sargent Torres stood up. “I agree with the Petty Officer. I have sworn my support to her and the captain of this ship. I think our priority should be to retake Wanigan and restore Captain Yusef to command. But I am here to follow orders of my officers.” Torres sat, then asked more quietly, “Do I have your pledges to this change of command? Digger?”

Private Mbaka replied “Yes, Sargent.”

“Sneaky?”

She looked at each of the inhabitants of the cabin. “You're my Sargent, I go where you tell me.”

But Jeffrey interrupted, saying, “Not good enough, Miss. I need you to want to do this. I am going to ask you to put your life on the line. I need you to buy into the mission, not because someone told you, but because it is the way to protect those innocents who are already in jeopardy.”

Svoboda swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yes sir.” she said. “I understand that. And I agree. But my answer stands – he is my Sargent and I go where he goes. It's more than chain of command, sir. It is loyalty to someone I trust.

“Sir, you are trustworthy only because my Sargent and my petty officer say you are. I'm not saying this right,” she lamented.

“No,” replied Jeffrey, “You said it just right. I have to prove myself. I think you will find that as a matter of course, and soon, I hope. I'll do what I can to earn your trust. Just follow your orders until you find me trustworthy.”

“Okay.”

Sargent Torres then turned to the other combat technician. “Smitty?”

“Uh, the odds don't look so good on this one, Sarge.” he drawled out. “but Sneaky has it right. I'm with you.”

“Very well,” said Petty Officer Bianca. “Line up here, all of you.”

Marines were used to lining up, so it was done rather smartly. Sargent Ojo Torres on the right, the rest in descending rank.

“Raise your right hands,” ordered Petty Officer Bianca. They complied, and she lead them through the oath, and afterward had them sit again.

“Now,” said Jeffrey, “I wish to introduce you to my crew.”

“Crew, sir?” asked Smitty.

“Well, kind of,” replied Jeffrey. “Elizabeth.” he called out.

“CAPTAIN,” replied the AI in his late wife's voice.

“Elizabeth, display yourself.” The wall behind the captain displayed the lifelike avatar of an apparent human woman in her thirties, in a nondescript uniform. The captain addressed the Marines, “This is Elizabeth. She runs my ship.”

“Your pilot?” asked Digger.

“Much more than that. In fact,” he paused, then called out, “Elizabeth, show us your real self.”

The video of his late wife was replaced by the view inside the secret backup control cabin, and focused on the computer system that housed the AI.

“Huh?” came from more than one of the assembled crew.

“Elizabeth is my AI,” said Jeffrey. “ She is very smart, and completely runs the ship. She was named for my late wife, and has assumed her personality. She was my entire crew until you came aboard.”

More sounds of incredulity emanated from the Marines. “Elizabeth,” Jeffrey said.

“CAPTAIN?”

“Show our new crew highlights of our recent combat experiences.”

“WORKING.” A display of the recent combat on board showed in one window, while simultaneously a display of the maneuvers that killed the pirate vessels which gained them so many prisoners opened in another window display. A third window opened to show current the goings-on in one of the brig cabins. The Marines and Petty Officer Bianca stared at the ongoing displays of combat in fascination.

“Thanks, Elizabeth,” said Jeffrey.

“NO PROBLEM, SWEETY.” All the display windows closed, the bulkhead returned to being just a wall.

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Sargent Ojo Torres let out a low whistle. “You've had some fight on your hands.”

Petty Officer Bianca said, “That's quite the AI. Where did you get it?”

Jeffrey replied, “On Selene. She's military surplus, with quite a bit of enhancements by myself. I tied her into the ship operations, gave her some simple commands, and fed her information about my late wife. She appropriated Elizabeth's personality on her own, which has been some comfort for me.”

Combat Technician Audrey Svoboda said, “Captain, I'm sorry to hear about your wife.”

Jeffrey said, “Thanks.”

“Pretty impressive tactics. Did you come up with them, or did the AI?”

“Both,” he replied. “I initiated the strategy, gave her some hints about some tactics, and she developed the rest herself.” He looked around the table, eying his new team individually. “As you can see, this ship has a very important weapon, my AI. Elizabeth is very dedicated to me and I to her. So two things related to that; first, she is this ships secret weapon. Word of her cannot be leaked. This is secret, proprietary. When you go back to the service, you will be debriefed. This information is not to be discussed. Just refer to her as my crew. Is that understood?”

All the Marines nodded agreement.

“Second, I will give you limited access to her. She will watch your back. As long as you are under my command, she is your best friend. If there is any betrayal, even after you are returned to standard service, there will be no enemy as vindictive as my AI.”

Petty Officer Bianca asked, “What about the virus that the pirates released? That's a pretty nasty bug.”

Jeffrey replied, “Indeed it was. The virus took her out, but not before we made a backup of her. I cleared the systems with an independent computer system, and had her come online a bit at a time. We neutralized the virus, studied it, and modified it to suit our purposes. When the Wanigan attempted to use the same virus to disable us, we knew what we had.”

“No wonder you were able to disarm us so easily,” said Bianca. “But you destroyed our weapons.”

“Not a problem,” Jeffrey said. “I've managed to capture quite an arsenal from the pirates. You and the Sargent come with me, we'll find good weapons to replace those that...my crew destroyed.”

“Yessir.”

Elizabeth continued tinkering with the virus code that the navy had sent to her, and finally came up with a few modifications that she thought would be useful to her captain. She located Jeffrey and asked to speak privately. Jeffrey showed the Sargent and petty officer the small arsenal he had relieved the pirates of, told them to arm themselves and the Marines, and to cache the rest in various places aboard the ship. Elizabeth would grant them access wherever they needed.

He then went to his cabin, and after the port slid shut Elizabeth said, “CAPTAIN, SEVERAL UPDATES. I HAVE MODIFIED THE VIRUS TO PERFORM ONLY FOR US, WITH BETTER AND MORE SNEAKY INGRESS THAN THE ORIGINAL.” She went on to detail the specifics of her modifications.

“ALSO, WE NEED TO SEE TO THE HUMAN NEEDS OF YOUR PRISONERS. WE ARE NOW OUT OF FOOD. IF WE ARE NOT GOING TO DISEMBARK THEM TO THE WANIGAN, WE NEED TO FIND FOOD FOR THEM. MY RECYCLERS CANNOT GENERATE FOOD QUICKLY ENOUGH.

“I HAVE A RECOMMENDED PLAN TO ADDRESS THE FOOD, RETURNING WANIGAN TO NAVY CONTROL AND TAKING CARE OF OUR HUMAN CARGO.” She then outlined her ideas. Jeffrey gave her the go-ahead, to get things in place for her strategic initiative, but to wait for an execution order.

Jeffrey outlined to the Marines the parts of the plan they needed to play and explained in more detail to Petty Officer Bianca the role she needed to play.

When all was ready, Janet Bianca made contact with Wanigan to report that the pilot had been injured in her attempt to commandeer the ship. The Marines were involved in trying to secure both the prisoners and to capture the crew of the Elizabeth. She requested another squad of Marines, a medic and a doctor, and enough emergency food rations to feed the prisoners while efforts to secure the ship were going on. She requested that a third shuttle be dispatched with spare parts and an engineer to repair the first shuttle.

While Bianca was broadcasting on a powerful signal from Elizabeth's antenna array, using the securely coded frequency-hopping communications protocol, Elizabeth piggybacked on the carrier frequencies disguising the piggybacked message as part of the pre-planned obscuring static, the message being her modified virus.

Wanigan's security officer was in the brig along with the captain and a few other die-hard navy officers and men. The technician at the communications console saw nothing out of the ordinary, but that was no surprise, as she was still new at that job. The anti-tampering software briefly raised a warning, but almost instantly quashed it, continuing to report all was normal.

She decoded the message and notified Noel of the broadcast from Petty Officer Bianca. He had her send the message to his new quarters in the Captain's cabin. He then walked the hundred meters from the engineering department to the Captain's cabin, activated the message and saw Petty Officer Bianca putting in her report and request.

Good. Things are taking longer than he anticipated, but he had time. He authorized the two additional shuttles, the medic, doctor and engineer, and instead of one squad of Marines, sent two.

He then contacted the CommTech. “I want you to keep trying to send that virus. What do we need to do to get it done?” As has been his habit, he had taken this female technician, Yuki Ohara, to bed on several occasions, before any of the other crew. It was, in his mind, the right of the executive officer to bed whomever he wished. Of course, It was the captain's privilege before his, but the captain was a wuss, probably a homo, or a degenerate of some other sort – maybe he liked boys? - anyway he felt he owned this Ohara.

Yuki Ohara felt goose bumps on her arms, her scalp itched and a shiver ran up her spine. She hated that man, and when opportunity arose, she had some plans for him that would keep his opportunity from ever arising again. But she decided to bide her time. “Lieutenant Commander Noel,” she said back through the intercom, “I am not familiar with the anti security software. It will take me some time to look at what it is supposed to do and figure out why it isn't doing it.”

“Well see what you can do to get it done. I'm tired of sitting here with my dick in my hand.”

That, thought Ohara, is my goal; take the opportunity to hold it in your hand away from you, you bastard.

Only two other females on the Wanigan he hadn't gotten into the sack, that petty officer and the marine now on the Elizabeth. He had plans for Petty Officer Janet Bianca. She was a bit more of a challenge, though. While a little shorter than him, she worked out a lot. She was a strong one. And she had already complained to him about other officers joking about her sexiness. A real ball-buster. But if he couldn't reason with her, there were always the pharmaceuticals.

He wouldn't admit to himself, but the marine, 'Sneaky' Svoboda scared him.

He had Ohara send images from the shuttles to his cabin. After some static the images came in clearly. The two squads of Marines, the ten crates of food, the doctor and technician. No wait – he only authorized two crates. As the shuttles took off, he activated the mic on his comm console. No one replied. He spent the next minute or so attempting to call the shuttles, then Ohara. Then Weapons, all to no avail.

His head began to ache and his vision to narrow. Spots appeared before his eyes, and the captain's cabin became very stuffy. Hard to breathe. He began to breathe more deeply, then he smelled a sickly sweet but familiar odor. Anesthetic gas! “Shit.” He said to himself, as he lapsed into a coma-like position.

Similar gas attacks were carried out on various locations in the ship, so that in Elizabeth's estimation, all the willing participants in the mutiny were temporarily anesthetized. The copy of Elizabeth that sneaked aboard the Wanigan had disarmed the security software, and quickly went through the files and controlled machines of the ship. She knew who was trustworthy and who was not.

She unlocked the doors in the brig, and as the Captain and other officers began to move out, activated the security comm console with an alarm. The Captain lifted a handset, and said “Yes” not wanting to give himself away, but still curious. A woman's voice spoke.

“CAPTAIN,” the voice said. “YOUR EXECUTIVE OFFICER IS UNCONSCIOUS IN YOUR CABIN, AND OTHER MUTINEERS ARE LIKEWISE DOWN. I LEFT CONSCIOUS THOSE WHOM I THOUGHT YOU COULD TRUST, BUT THAT IS ALL UP TO YOU. SECURE YOUR SHIP, CAPTAIN. THERE ARE THREE SQUADS OF Marines ON ELIZABETH. YOU DON'T HAVE MANY RESOURCES, BUT I WILL HELP AS I CAN. QUICKLY GET TO YOUR ARMORY.”

The Captain relayed the information to the security officer, who with the rest of the released prisoners made a beeline for the nearest weapons locker. After arming everyone, and grabbing enough handcuffs and ties, began heading for the bridge. A comm console in the corridor rang as the captain passed it. He lifted the handset and the same woman's voice said, “GO BACK AND GET GAS MASKS – I USED ANESTHETIC GAS TO DISABLE YOUR MUTINEERS.”

“Who are you,” the captain asked after he passed on the order to get gas masks from the weapons locker.

“I AM FROM ELIZABETH. I'LL EXPLAIN LATER.” The handset the captain was holding went dead.

The captain and security officer soon had control of his ship, the executive officer and other mutineers secured in the brig, and other members of the crew were going through quick interviews to help determine their reliability.

On Elizabeth, the second shuttle was just about to land next to the first. The third sat outside the shuttle bay awaiting its turn. As the second shuttle set down, the cargo doors opened quickly and the squad of six Marines jumped out and took positions around the shuttle. The medic and doctor then disembarked and walked toward the ship's port. They couldn't yet communicate – the radio was still being jammed.

Marine Sargent Ojo Torres walked out of the hold adjacent to the shuttle bay, and signaled the Marines to follow him. He then went back to the hold from which he had emerged. The Marines followed. The third shuttle pilot saw that all seemed okay, so brought his shuttle in to land just behind the other two, closer to the bay doors.

As soon as he shut down his engines, the bay doors closed and the shuttle bay repressurized. Marines disembarked at the ready, but Sargent Torres lead them to the hold. The two shuttle pilots remained outside their vehicles, weapons in hand.

Sargent Torres took off his recently repaired helmet and indicated the other Marines should too. Among the two squads was his marine lieutenant, Lt. Omotunde. The hold had crates and large storage containers. A central area had been cleared away for the Marines to gather.

Omotunde said in his thick Nigerian accent, “Okay, Torres. Quick brief. What's going on?”

“I'm sorry sir,” Torres replied as his Marines appeared from the shadows of the containers and behind the crates. They quickly disarmed the two squads of Marines, left one of the new group's non-coms in charge, and took the lieutenant to Captain Sokolov. Elizabeth secured the door between the hold and the bay, and the door to the ship proper.

Petty Officer Bianca met with the medic, doctor and technician. She gave a quick explanation, and had the technician return to the shuttles with Sneaky to disarm the remote explosives and booby traps. Svoboda went directly to the second shuttle. The pilot made as if to stop her, raising his plasma rifle halfway up.

“Woah, cowboy,” she said. “They told me to get the crates.”

“Oh. Okay,” said the pilot. He let his rifle dangle from its strap, and he entered the shuttle with Svoboda. He never saw it coming. The pilots had worn their light suits, which was, much like Jeffrey's glorified long underwear. Great for keeping your blood from boiling away, not so good for protecting you from a ninja-trained marine assassin.

The technician was explaining to the other pilot that there were remote-controlled explosives on board the shuttles that they needed to disarm. The pilot said, “What, like self-destruct charges?”

The technician said, “Not exactly. More like remote-controlled destruct charges.” The pilot, the marine and the technician all set about to find the explosives and their controllers, and soon enough had disarmed them all. After the other pilot came around, his colleague explained the situation. They all decided to go see what else was going on on the ship. Svoboda led them to the galley, which now contained the lieutenant, the rest of Torres' Marines, Petty Officer Janet Bianca, and Captain Jeffrey Sokolov.

Captain Sokolov asked the officers to sit down. “Elizabeth, report.”

“CAPTAIN, WANIGAN IS ALMOST UNDER CONTROL. CAPTAIN YUSEF HAS ARRESTED HIS EXEC OFFICER AND OTHERS WE IDENTIFIED AS PART OF THE MUTINY. IT APPEARS THAT WANIGAN HAS A NUMBER OF SELF-DESTRUCT DEVICES THAT THEIR TECHNICIANS ARE TRYING TO CLEAR.”

The lieutenant asked, “Who was that?”

“A member of my crew,” said Sokolov, expecting to keep Elizabeth's secret just that.

Petty Officer Bianca briefed the Lieutenant on her actions regarding activating Jeffrey as a Navy reserve officer, and commandeering the Elizabeth for purposes of re-securing the Wanigan and returning her captain to power.

Lt. Omotunde said, “Petty Officer, don't you think that is beyond your jurisdiction?”

“No sir,” said Bianca, defiantly. “I swore to protect the constitutions of all parties involved, and to defend the government and people of the entire solar system, from within and without. This is exactly what the framers of the oaths meant.”

Omotunde sat for a moment, thinking. Then said, “So where in the law do you possess the right to commandeer private ships and personnel?”

“Sir,” she replied, more uncertain, “I don't know. I did what I had to do. It was the right thing to do at the time, even if I violated the captain's rights.”

Jeffrey piped in, “Lieutenant,” he drawled. “Your navy officer requested assistance from me, and the only way I could help her was with her authority. I provisionally accepted that authority, and accepted the responsibility as a Captain in the navy.” He paused, casting a jaundiced eye on Omotunde. “Now where do you stand on the mutiny of the navy vessel?”

Omotunde scooted his chair back, taking a body position that signaled defiance. He crossed the arms across his broad chest. “I am the ranking officer here. I will be asking the questions.”

Jeffrey replied, “Well, in point of fact, I am the captain of this ship. A captain outranks everybody on board. Now answer my question. Where do you stand on the mutiny of your vessel?”

Omotunde said to Sargent Ojo Torres, “Sargent, place this civilian and the Petty Officer under arrest. The rest of you Marines, go join the other two squads.”

Combat Technician Smith stood up aggressively, gripping the kinetic pistol he had been issued from the weapons locker. Smitty looked to the Lieutenant, then to Torres. Sargent Torres remained seated, and said in a quiet voice, “Smitty, you took an oath. Sit down.” Smith looked uncertainly at his Sargent, and turned to the lieutenant.

Omotunde said in his most authoritative voice, the voice of a combat officer that demanded compliance, “Sargent I gave you an order. Do as you were ordered!” He placed his hands on the table. Looked to Smith, and said, “Combat Tech, give me your weapon!”

Smitty looked at the Sargent regretfully, and turned the pistol over to the lieutenant, butt first. “Sorry, Sarge, I'm still a Marine.”

The lieutenant aimed the pistol at a point between Bianca and Torres, and said to Smith, “You combat techs, secure these two.” When Torres' squad balked, he pointed the pistol directly at Torres' forehead.

Private Zitulu Mbaka said to Torres, “Sorry, Torres,” and took one of the zip-tie handcuffs he had secured from the weapons locker, walked over to the seated Sargent, disarmed him, and cuffed his hands behind his back. While everyone else was concentrating on the drama unfolding at the table in the galley, Svoboda sneaked out the exit.

She then ran down the corridor, and said, “Elizabeth, I need your help. Hide me.” A few meters ahead of her, a panel opened in the wall, displaying a hidden alcove. She dived into the alcove and the panel slid back in place. The alcove was one meter high and deep by two meters long. It was dark in the hiding place, but she decided not to activate any lights in the event somebody would think to use infrared detectors. “Thanks, Elizabeth.”

“YOU ARE WELCOME. REMAIN QUIET. BETWEEN US WE WILL TAKE OUR SHIP BACK,” the AI said. “GET SOME REST. OUR NEXT ACTIVITY WILL COMMENCE AT A LATER TIME.”

Sneaky thought on the events that had just occurred. She gave her oath to the captain of this ship, and to her Petty Officer. Her Sargent was not only her commander, he was a friend. She agreed that the captain was correct in being a tool for returning order to this sector. That, plus the captain was in the right. He was doing the right thing, damn it!

Omotunde was an unknown to her. He knew how to fight and develop tactics, but where did his loyalties lie? Was he a mutineer aligned with that bastard Noel? Or was he just a horse's ass, without any sense of originality or flexibility?

She reviewed her inventory of equipment and weapons. Her helmet was back in the galley. “Elizabeth, my helmet is still in the galley,” she whispered.

“DO NOT WORRY. I WILL PROTECT YOU FROM PRESSURE AND GAS PROBLEMS. GET SOME REST.”

Reassured, she propped herself up against the bulkhead, shut her eyes and dropped off to sleep.

In the galley, Jeffrey said, “Lieutenant, I don't know if you were involved in the mutiny of Wanigan, but by taking over my ship, you are now involving yourself in piracy. You sure you want to do that?”

Omotunde said, “This is an official Navy activity. You are being detained for actions against the Navy.”

“I don't know how you got to be a lieutenant, but you aren't very bright, are you?” Jeffrey said, the plastic handcuffs cutting into his wrist. Omotunde handed the pistol back to Smith.

“Watch them,” said Omotunde to Smith. He then turned to Private Mbaka. “Where is the other combat tech?”

Digger looked around, surprised that Sneaky wasn't there. “I don't know, sir.”

“Come with me.” Omotunde stalked out the door into the corridor, looked in all directions for evidence of the other combat technician. He reached into one of the pockets of his suit and retrieved a device that resembled binoculars, and held it to his eyes. He switched to infrared, but saw that the floor was cold, with no evidence of footsteps having passed either way. It appeared that someone was helping to conceal the passage of that marine. He thought for a few seconds, then said to Private Mbaka, “Take me to where the squads of Marines are.”

Captain Jeffrey Svoboda, Navy Petty Officer Janet Bianca, and Marine Sargent Ojo Torres sat around the table, their hands cuffed to their chairs with the nylon zip-ties that had become standard military and civilian police restraining devices for the last century. They were tough, lightweight, cheap, and disposable. Combat Technician Brandon Smith paced back and forth in the galley, his hand nervously touching the pistol the lieutenant had returned to him, a facial tic on his cheek and around his right eye clearly displaying the nervous tension in the man.

Sargent Torres said to the marine pacing behind him, “Smitty, are you joining with the pirates?”

Smith said, “No. Of course not, Sarge. But the lieutenant is an officer. He outranks everyone on board.”

Petty Officer Bianca retorted, “Think again, marine. Two of the articles of the Navy shoot down that theory. First,” she looked across the table at Smith. “The captain of a ship is the highest authority. Period. Second, during a time of mutiny or insurrection, an unknown officer has to be vetted before he is to be trusted.” She then looked at Torres. “Sargent, didn't you instruct your Marines in the Articles of the Navy?”

Torres looked thoughtful for a second, then replied, “Yes, sir, Ma'am.” He paused realizing he had again used the double pronoun. They both acknowledged the gaff with embarrassed uplift of their mouths. “But,” he continued, “Not all of my young recruits paid attention. Smith, here, seems to have slept through the classes. That's why I always have to remind him of the terms of engagement, much to my shame.”

Smitty said, “Aw Sarge, it ain't your fault,” he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I just get headaches with all that wordy stuff.”

Sargent Torres said, in a subdued voice, “Petty Officer Bianca, I seem to have failed you and the Marines. If we survive this and I have the opportunity, I'll resign from the corps. I hadn't realized I was such a failure.”

Smith came around the table to look his Sargent directly in the eyes. “No, Sarge, you can't do that.” He looked sorrowfully at the Sargent, his breathing became heavier and irregular. “You're a great Sargent. You're a friend. Don't do that.”

Torres judged that Smith was primed for the next step. “Well, I won't get the opportunity, Smitty. They'll probably shoot me before returning me to Wanigan. I think they'll probably shoot us all, kill us so they won't have to worry about witnesses.”

“No, they can't do that, can they?”

“Of course they can. They're pirates, remember. And now you're one of them. But I think they'll shoot you too.”

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” said the confused and agitated marine.

Sargent Torres said, “Come on, Smith. Cut these cuffs off, and let's coordinate with Wanigan, before the lieutenant is able to capture this ship.”

Smitty took out his combat utility knife and cut Torres' cuffs, then Bianca's. The relief on his face was palpable. She took the knife and cut Jeffrey's, who said, “Elizabeth, we need a distraction. We're going to the alternate control room.”

No reply was heard, but what sounded like a muffled explosion made its way through the ship, accompanied by a jerking on the deck plating. Jeffrey said, “That's my girl!” Then to everyone, “Follow me.”

Torres took the pistol from Smith, and they filed out of the galley, running behind Jeffrey. They entered his cabin, and the panel that hid entry to the alternate command cabin slid open. All four entered and the panel slid shut.

“Ellizabeth,” Jeffrey intoned. “Display all humans throughout the ship.

A wall panel morphed from its metallic-colored original appearance to a video display of the ship with colored dots representing various factions of humans. There were clusters of Marines in the hold, clusters of pirates in the cabin-made-brig, and the four in the backup control cabin. There was also a single individual secreted in the wall.

“Elizabeth, who is the lone marine in the wall?”

“CAPTAIN, THAT IS COMBAT TECHNICIAN SVOBODA.”

“Can you get her here?”

“I WOULD RATHER SHE STAY WHERE SHE IS.”

“Explain.”

“I HAVE HER RESTING FOR LATER ACTIVITIES. SHE WILL PROVE VITAL AS A BACKUP IF THINGS GO...SOUR.”

“Very well. Take care of her.”

“OF COURSE.”

“Elizabeth, can you contact Wanigan?”

“ YES, CAPTAIN. I HAVE A FRIEND OVER THERE.”

“I need to speak with Captain Yusef.”

“STANDBY.”

The other three in the cabin looked on with interest, amazed at the control the AI had over the ship. Petty Officer Bianca looked around the cabin, noted the electronics on one wall, crates containing field rations, several weapons on another wall. She redistributed the field ration crates, sat down on one, and indicated that the others should follow suit.

“Yusef here,” came the audio, followed a few seconds later by video showing the bald, bearded man in combat armor.

“Captain,” said Jeffrey. “Have you been able to reclaim your command?”

Yusef said, “Yes, thanks to your crew. I have some investigations to complete, but I think I have it well in hand. I seem to be missing a couple squads of Marines and some shuttles. You know anything about that?”

“Yes, Captain, they are aboard Elizabeth. What can you tell me about your Lieutenant Omotunde?”

“He is a straight arrow. I trust him with my life.”

“Have you been briefed on what's been going on on Elizabeth?”

“I have. I don't know how you did it, but one of your crew seems to have infiltrated Wanigan and took control of all our electronics. She seems to be in hiding, and communicates via electronic link only.”

“I'll explain that in a few minutes, but first I have a task for you.” Jeffrey leaned forward.

“All right,” replied Yusef, seemingly dubious.

“Captain, I need you to order your Marines to stand down and cooperate with me. I am afraid a couple squads of Marines can do considerable damage to a ship like mine. I'll patch you into his location.”

In the hold, Marine Lieutenant Omotunde was squatting in one corner with his Sargents, developing strategy and discussing tactics and contingencies.

Right next to Omotunde, the wall panel lit up and became a comm screen with two separate windows, one showing Captain Yusef and one showing Jeffrey.

Jeffrey said, “Go ahead Captain.”

Yusef said in his gruff voice, “Lieutenant Omotunde!”

Startled, Omotunde swiveled to look at the wall panel. “Captain!” he said in his Lagos accented English. Then to his squads, “Marines! Come to attention!” The Marines, not being able to see through Omotunde and the Sargents had no idea what bug crawled up the lieutenants ass, but reluctantly stood where they were, in no special formation.

Jeffrey said, “Lieutenant, let the men see the wall panel.”

“Oh. Yes, sir,” and stood out of the way. The Marines saw their captain apparently in charge again, stood a little straighter.

“Lieutenant. We have secured Wanigan.”

“Good news, Captain!”

“I have been briefed on the events going on over there. You are now ordered to cooperate with Captain Sokolov. Captain Sokolov is to be considered a Navy officer with the rank of Commander. Petty Officer Bianca was right in commandeering him and his vessel, though a bit unorthodox.”

“Captain, I will comply with your order, but first verify your order with the correct code.”

The militaries of the world had long realized that orders could be forged, trusted allies could become enemies, orders could be issued under duress, and orders that seemed plausible could have been issued by an enemy. Orders issued in the field could be checked with a database of codes directly from the commander to his subordinates. While not perfect, it increased the level of trust a commander had for his men and the trust his men had for their commander.

The captain read off a series of random-seeming digits which the lieutenant compared to his code list. Satisfied, Omotunde looked to Jeffrey, and said, “Captain Sokolov, Please accept my apologies for attempting to undermine your command. I am no pirate!”

Jeffrey said, “No problem, lieutenant. None of us were hurt, uh, badly, and Sargent Torres has learned a few things he needed to instruct his troops on.”

Yusef said, “Lieutenant,”

Omotunde turned his gaze to the image of Yusef. “Sir?”

“You and your Marines are seconded to Captain Sokolov until he is finished with you, or I recall you.” Yusef then read off another series of codes to verify the order and log it into the deployment system.

“Yes sir.” Then to Jeffrey, What are your orders, Captain Sokolov?”

Jeffrey thought it would be most useful to get rid of his pirate prisoners, so had Omotunde organize the official arrest and processing of pirates, then begin transporting them to Wanigan for transport to jail facilities on stations orbiting Earth.

Captain Yusef said to Jeffrey, “Captain, I want you to come aboard Wanigan for a debrief and briefing.”

Jeffrey thought about it for a few seconds, then replied, “Captain Yusef, I will take my runabout after I have secured my ship from...the recent activities.”

Yusef nodded in agreement. “Try to be here at eighteen hundred. You should be able to wrap things up by then.”

“Eighteen hundred Zulu. Aye, Captain.”

Elizabeth sensed the conversation was over and severed the link between the warship and the processing ship.

Jeffrey turned to Petty Officer Bianca and Sargent Torres. “I have an idea, but I'm not sure you're going to like it.”

“What do you have in mind,?” asked Bianca. Jeffrey outlined his idea, but said he would have to get it past Yusef.