Revenue Man

Chapter One

“Lt. Pickering, status report,” the captain asked from his command chair at the center of the bridge.

“Sir, we’re Winchester in the tube; both primaries are out, as are most of the PDCs,” I shouted through the smoke-filled bridge.

“Captain!” Ensign Alexi Hawkens shouted from the sensor station. “We just lost the Reliance, but it looks like she was able to damage the last cruiser before she went down.”

The captain sighed. “So this is it—just us, with no weapons. Where the hell is the fleet when you need them?”

I couldn’t help but interject. “Well, you know, Captain, they’re too busy preparing and training for the war to have noticed it’s already started. Give them a month, and I’m sure they’ll show up.”

The captain gave an amused laugh. The Revenue Cutter Service and the Navy had a doctrinal disagreement. We in the RCS believed in light, fast ships spread out in large numbers to intercept pirates and smugglers, with enough autonomy for the captains to make individual decisions as needed. On the other hand, the Navy preferred larger vessels and task fleets, which were more suited for defense against invasion but impractical against the pirates that plagued the outer colonies. Of course, when the invasion came to our main anchorage at Green Harbor, the Navy was nowhere to be found.

“All hands, this is the Captain speaking. Abandon ship. I say again, abandon ship. Union ground forces should still hold the major cities. Remember your training. I’m sure you’ll be evacuated when the Navy arrives.” The pilot and sensor operator stood and saluted, then took off toward the escape pod just aft of the bridge.

I turned to the captain. “What’s the plan, sir?”

He typed a few lines on his station, and a data stick ejected. “James,” he said softly, using my first name, “that cruiser can hold the orbital and bombard our ground forces if it isn’t taken care of. It’s blind luck the RCS was holding a major conference this weekend, and we had so many ships here. I have to believe the fleet will arrive before the enemy can send reinforcements. So I’m taking out that cruiser. I need you to take my final log and last message and make sure everyone gets off this ship before I turn it into the largest missile in human space.”

I paused momentarily, trying to come up with words and failing. Finally, I drew myself up and delivered a parade-ground perfect salute. “It’s been an honor, Captain Fulton.”

He returned the salute. “So others may live, James.”

I ran from the bridge toward the rear of the vessel. The Redoubtable was a small ship, only crewed by ten people, plus a five-person boarding crew. It felt like it took forever to find everyone and unlock the armory, handing weapons to the crew. I climbed into the last pod, hitting the release as we reached the escape pods. I heard a beeping as I waited for the force of the launch, and then everything went black.

I awoke to my comms panel beeping. I adjusted the pilot seat and checked my sensor station. I had just emerged from jump space in the New Ganymede system, named after the inhabited moon orbiting the gas giant. Sitting back in the command chair, which could do everything but fly the ship, I accepted the incoming call.

“New Ganymede Control to Redoubtable. Our records don’t show you’ve visited before. Is there anything we can help you with?”

I chuckled to myself. They were wondering why an old military hull like mine was in the system and if I was a pirate.

I keyed up the comm: “Hello, New Ganymede Control. This is Redoubtable. Captain Pickering commanding and requesting docking permissions with the New Ganymede orbital. I need to meet with Mr. Aaron Michaels. He’s my real estate agent for my new property. Outside of New Liberty,” there was a pause for around ten minutes as I continued to burn in the system from the jump limit, as I assumed someone checked my story. Finally, when I was thirty minutes out, the New Ganymede called me again. 

“Captain Pickering, everything seems in order on our end. Orbital traffic is minimal at this time, and your new property makes you a system resident, so docking at the orbital is free during low-traffic times like this. Please proceed to dock C-12.” I acknowledged the instructions and vectored to the approach heading Orbital Control sent me. 

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I turned the control of Redoubtable over to the station's auto-docking system once I got close. I kept an eye on everything to ensure nothing went wrong, but it was a routine docking, and I wasn’t worried. Soon enough, the docking light went green, and I was docked for shore power and air if I wanted it. Redoubtable’s power core was still the original from her Revenue Service days. The Dewalt-P.W. reactor was still as the day it was built when I had it inspected before its purchase last month and wouldn’t need fuel for another two score or so. As for Air, I could afford to switch it out, but there was no need. Plus, I hoped to have the Redoubtable dirt side by the end of the day.

Standing up, I switched everything over to standby and walked through the ship. The Redoubtable, officially registered as the Redoubtable II, was a sister ship to the vessel I had served on for four years before that fateful day at Green Harbor. Shaking off the dream and memory that spawned it, and walked to the airlock. Stepping in, I saluted the Union Flag out of habit despite not being in uniform and opened the outer door to the station. 

Closing the door behind me, I locked it and looked around to catch my bearings. The station had four long docking arms and a central station where the restaurants and other businesses that catered to individuals were. 

A nearby wall had a service kiosk on it. I checked it and started sinking my Commo with the local net. The next shuttle to New Liberty wasn’t for another two hours, so I decided to get some dinner. I walked through the station, just getting used to the hustle and bustle of everyday people going about a typical day, and then I spotted something that made me stop. It was a large poster above the Union Force’s Recruiting Center. A man in the green utilities of the Revenue Cutter Service stood in front of a Marine drop pod holding a rifle braced against his hip with a caption that read, “Which way to the front?”. 

That is definitely not the way it happened. I had never been so happy that my face looked nothing like the actor from the movie they made. I must have stood still just a little too long as I recognized a navy officer slightly younger than me with the rank Lieutenant J.G. walking up to me. “Good afternoon, sir. Have you considered joining the Union Navy before? We accept recruits up to the age of fifty. The facial scanners show you have never served before but are flight qualified, and the Navy is a great way to serve the union and get tax breaks for the rest of your life!”

 I was a pretty laid-back guy, but I was tempted to punch him for just a moment. I remembered that the Revenue Cutter Service wasn’t under the War Department before the war. And with its disbanding after Green Harbor, the records were never moved over. While I was debating my response and unclenching my fist, a man in a freshly pressed dress uniform stepped up. The Lieutenant stood to attention and saluted. The Marine Force commander, a rank equivalent to an army captain, returned the salute. “Lay off this one, Lieutenant. I can’t tell you what to do with your post, but I would set the facial scanners to check for tax-exempt individuals as well as former service members.” then he turned to me. “ I recognize the jacket. That's a real Cutter service jacket, not one of those cheap knockoffs they sold after the Vid.” he extended his hand to me, and I shook it. “My name is F.C. Hawker, and my wife’s family is from Green Harbor, a hell of a thing the cutters Service did there.” my gut fell. “Did they…” I trailed off, not sure how to ask; both sides upheld the Earth Conventions, but in any large-scale war, civilian casualties were inevitable. 

“Oh no, they are all fine! My father-in-law joined the Civil Defense Force during the invasion, but the line held three miles south of the city he was in. The closest he came to action was capturing a crashed Confed pilot who ejected close to his position.” he gave me a sympathetic look. “ what about you?? I’m sure you knew some people at the conference that day.”

 I thought about my answer for a moment, then decided to share just a little with the marine. I opened my jacket just enough to flash the pin I kept fixed to the inside. It showed a broken Confederation Cruiser in front of a green planet. The back unseen was marked with a 128/127. One was issued to each survivor of the RCS ships over Green Harbor that day. The odd numbering was due to reports of my demise being greatly exaggerated.

 The Marine’s reaction was immediate. He started to brace for a salute, but I waved him off before the Navy man realized what was happening. Hawker was quick on the uptake and changed his movement to an extended hand for a handshake. “Well, Sir, we will let you get on with your day. Let me know if you’re on the station later, and we can go for drinks.” I nodded my thanks to Hawker as I shook his hand. “ I’ll do that. I am looking at buying some property in the system and should be around for a while.”

I continued on my way, arriving at the restaurant section of the station; my nose led me to a burger joint on the left side of the corridor. Stepping inside, I found some booths and some bar-style seating. Taking a seat at the bar, I ordered a burger and soda. The meal was delicious, and I swiped Commo over the Charge Pad under the old-fashioned tip jar, which held a few of the local gold currency disks. 

With a wave to the line cook, I walked out and checked my Commo, happy to see it finished syncing with the local net. Following the directions to the shuttle sector, I found the shuttle down to New Liberty, the nearest major city to where my new property was and hopefully a quiet retirement.