“When you killed the Captain, Dallas, you got fate worse than simple incarceration.”

“What could be worse than-”

“You’re the Captain now!”

The men cheered. The blood continued to flow as a cleanbot finally activated and tried to suck it up.

“What?” Dallas said in a very quiet whisper, drowned out by the cheers of the men who were now crowding around him, congratulating him and slapping him on the shoulders.

“What?” Dallas said again, looking around him, “What…?”

-----

“So where is he now?”

Texas Morgan had struggled in his life with a number of things; the expectations upon the son of a war hero and living legend could be excruciating at times. When friends would go off into town or on leave in an effort to get into trouble, he’d stayed back every time, hoping to be the kind of son his father would be proud of.

If his father’s words on his deathbed were any indication, he’d done well in this area of his life; he’d been a good son to his father, but how in the blazes had he failed so spectacularly as a father to his son?

“Pater,” said Huston, his voice almost absentminded as he looked at the gadget in front of him, “I would imagine he’s quite safe. He’s abandoned this old comm-mail account, and he apparently used it only for the purpose of contacting the transport that he’s now docked with.”

“Any chance of raising them? Getting them to return Dallas or the Galatine?”

“If the reward offered hasn’t gotten them to do that, I doubt anything shy of a personal command from the Emperor will have any effect at all. The captain of that ship- hm- here are his records,” suddenly, the main screen in his father’s office glowed blue, and an overweight man dressed in the mish-mosh clothing choices of an independent captain on an un-registered transport appeared. The man was grossly overweight, unshaven, and had the kind of leering smile Texas had learned to hate on a man early in life.

“Is that the man who our son entrusted his life to?”

Both Texas and Huston turned- Liberty was at the door, her face concerned and agitated.

“Mother,” Huston said patiently, “there’s very little to worry about. Captains like this are everywhere in the lanes. Very few register their vessels precisely because they don’t like being tracked by authorities like Pater here, but that doesn’t automatically make them a -”

The blue background shimmered, suddenly, and the overweight, disheveled captain disappeared.

“Oh, dear,” Huston said, his glasses slipping down his nose just a touch.

“What?” said Pater, “What’s wrong?”

On the screen, thousands of glowing pixels swirled and coalesced into a humanoid form.

“The Captain,” said Austin, “is- incapacitated somehow.”

“Saw that coming,” Huston said. “His crew gave him terrible ratings. Folks like that are ripe for assassination.”

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“Does that put Dallas in any Danger?” Mater asked.

“Not really,” Austin said, pushing a lock of his dark hair behind his ear, “unless he adopts the late captain’s terrible fashion sense.”

“Not like the reputation of our family can get any worse,” Pater grumbled under his breath.

“Yes, about that,” Austin said. “It’s been a week now, Pater, and the people are still very restless about what’s happened to their skyline. Are you keeping them informed?”

“Do you watch the vids, boy? I’ve been out there each day, telling them about our search for the Galatine. But our reach legally doesn’t extend beyond our system. And even if it did, I doubt we’d be able to do much to compel anyone to return it, or Dallas.”

“Pater,” said Austin. Something on one of the many screens set up in Pater’s office had caught his attention. “Pater, have you had a chance to see this? It looks like it might be important.”

“What? What is it?”

Austin didn’t answer; but instead tapped the screen in front of him in a few key places to put its display on the big screen on Pater’s wall, replacing the picture of Dallas, the new Captain of the - did the ship even have a name? Too small and insignificant to guess.

Now, instead of Dallas’ visage, a local journalist smiled out at them as a crowd gathered behind them. “One week,” said the reporter, “one week into the bizarre theft of the Galatine has failed to yield any results. Viscount Morded took to the podium in the city square to issue this statement:”

The camera pulled back and showed the podium, a squat, stone pillar that had stood in place for nearly five decades, available for any citizen to speak their mind on any subject at any time of day, so long as profanity and the innocence of any child listeners would be protected.

And today, it was Viscount Morded. His beard was braided and oiled, his eyes were sincere and sad, and his voice had the ponderous echo of a man reluctantly called to do his duty for his society. “It is,” he spoke with finality- he’d already apparently been talking for some time, “with great regret that I must publicly ask our beloved leader to call free elections early this cycle. For his leadership has been called into serious question.”

“That filthy snake!” Austin said. “He’s taking this as an opportunity to slander you, Pater!”

“Relax, will you Austin?” Huston said, sighing and removing his glasses. “I haven’t seen you this upset since the fall fashion line came out of the core worlds.”

“Shut up, Huston.”

“Your elder brother’s right, Austin,” Pater said. “I expected this. Morded’s been a jackal at my heels ever since we were in school together. If he keeps up his usual pattern, he’s going to start quoting folks at this point.”

“The good book says,” Morded’s voice piped out of the holovision, as if on cue, “in the first book of Timothy, chapter three, verse five, that only a man who is visibly in control of his family ought be considered fit to rule. Look at the skyline of our city, everyone! Is there any doubt that Texas Morgan has lost control of his family? There is a hole, now, not just in our city, but in our defenses and in the hearts of the people!”

“Can’t you arrest him or something, Texas?” Mater said. Her hands were folded in front of her, but Huston and Austin both looked at each other, recognizing the tone of her voice and the expression on her face. It was the look she’d often had when some bully had tried to hurt one or both of them when they’d been younger and in school.

“On what charge?” Texas asked with an absent-minded air; his mind was already elsewhere, thinking.

“Texas, the man is bad, you know that!”

“Liberty, dear, there’s no law against that.”

“But he’s causing trouble for our family!”

“Well, if he says anything false then I’ll challenge him to a duel. But in the meantime, we’re going to have to suck up his poison and keep doing our jobs. Morded is right in that this is, ultimately, my fault. But I’ve won every election the past two decades and he can’t make me call an early one now.”

“Can’t he?”

“I surely hope not.”

------

TO BE CONTINUED...