One sock on, the other left behind, beltless pants sagging at his waist, and shirt buttons misaligned, Vas staggered into the cafeteria, one of the last to make it.
The entire 92 man crew of the Junk Dog were assembling in the ship’s largest open area. Some sat at the metal tables where they normally ate. Most simply stood, looking anxiously at the rear of the room.
There, the officers were huddled into a tight-knit circle, anxiously discussing something. Vas spotted Daro right away, silver hair and straight jaw hard to mistake, but he couldn’t name the others. Dalur was noticeably absent.
Suddenly eager for a familiar face, Vas scanned the crowd, looking for Mayilk. He spotted him easily, resting at one of the metal tables, like an adult in a child’s seat. Though easy to spot, he was on the opposite end of the room, which meant pushing and shoving through the growing crowd. Vas was about to do it, until he caught a glimpse of a sturdy figure between him and Mayilk. It was Vik. He hadn’t seen Vas, eyes firmly latched onto the group of officers, but his presence was enough to dissuade. Instead, like the others, Vas waited for news.
He wouldn’t have to wait long. Mere moments later, Dalur strode through one of the side doors, gray coat flying behind as she parted the crowd like a clipper. She headed for the rear of the room. Once there, she joined the whispered conversation, immediately arguing with Daro about something.
Vas strained to hear, but it was fruitless. Countless other whispered conversations hid whatever Dalur was saying. He even tried to catch bits and pieces of the crew’s whispers, but there were so many it was hard to single one out. The only thing he could really register was a discussion to his right. One word.
Desperate
Vas swallowed. Working on a pirate vessel was an already terrifying revelation. Working on a desperate pirate vessel was an even more terrifying one. He hoped it wasn’t true.
As if sensing his anxiety, Dalur ended her argument with Daro, leaving her Second to face the crew. Still clearly displeased, Daro resumed his duties. “Quiet for the Captain.” He bellowed, trained voice easily shushing the whispers.
Dalur nodded her head in thanks, and then leapt up onto one of the metal tables, boots smacking the metal surface with a resounding boom. For a second, she was silent, weighing the crew’s mood, deciding what to say. Another second later, she decided. “You’re not children, so I won’t treat you like one. I’ll give it to you straight.” A pause. “We’re behind… bad.” Murmurs among the crowd. “Tella was… a disaster. Unforeseeable but a disaster nonetheless. What was supposed to be a strong 100 day profit has turned into a huge loss.” Louder murmurs. “Which is why…” She exclaimed, raising her voice to silence the whispers. “When we saw an opportunity, we knew we had to pounce.” That shut them up. “Twenty-three minutes ago, we caught a ship on our scanners, moving at warp speed, almost parallel to us. We immediately adjusted course to tail them, keeping well enough behind that they wouldn’t see us in turn.” Total silence now, everyone listening. “While it’s impossible to tell for sure at these speeds, we were able to deduce its likely size and destination.” Another pause for effect, followed by a small smile. “We think it’s a merchant vessel headed for Paravir.”
That got the crowd buzzing. A swarm of comments, both excited and fearful filled the small space. Vas said nothing, fighting the urge to vomit. They were really going to attack a ship.
While he reeled, Dalur held up a hand for silence. Slowly, the crew obeyed and the buzz died. “In two days, six hours, and twenty-seven minutes, they will exit the safety of warp to deposit their goods. We’ll be right behind them.” She smiled. “A Junk Dog ready for its first feast in forever.
Another buzz, quieter than before filled the small room. This time, Dalur let it play out, patiently gauging the mood of her crew. As she did, she might have spotted Vas, now leaning against the wall, remembering how to breathe.
To his right, at one of the tables, a man rose. One of the older crewmen on the ship. Vas recognized the graying hair and toned build. It was Mory, a well-respected veteran.
“Captain.” He began, his voice quieting the crowd. “I’ll be the one to say it, but I know I’m not the only one thinking it. Are we sure this is a good idea?” Vas recognized the voice now. Same man who’d muttered desperate.
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
Dalur nodded respectfully. “Speak, Mory.”
“I just don’t like it, Captain. Tagging an unknown ship, jumping them straight out of warp, in Order space no less. Just seems risky… very risky.”
She nodded again. “I’m not blind to the risk. However, Daro knows Paravir. It’s Order space, but any response will be slow. Minimum two hours to intervene.” Her voice changed as she reasoned with him. The words flowed like silk, a salesmen closing a deal. “As for the ship, while true we can’t exactly identify it, its size is an almost perfect match for a Merchant Class D. Paravir’s a luxury goods market, and its trajectory indicates it’s coming from Glasf. All signs point to a lightly guarded merchant vessel. The exact kind of target we prefer.”
She was persuasive, an easy speaker. Most of the crew seemed assured, but Mory stood firm. She continued. “Besides, it’s as I said. We’re behind. Risk is part of the life we chose. It’s acceptable.”
Mory remained unshaken. “You know I’ll go along with whatever you decide. Always have. But I’ll leave it with this. I’ll always choose to be alive and behind…”
“Than dead and ahead.” Dalur finished it for him. Mory nodded, and she grinned. “I agree, but sometimes you don’t have to choose.”
Obviously still unconvinced, he nonetheless relented, returning to his seat.
Dalur let the moment settle, adjusting the cuffs on her uniform and pulling back her short, auburn ponytail before continuing. “Daro will group you into strike teams. New crew will be partnered with more experienced raiders. Remember, this is a chance for some of you.” She scanned the crowd, pausing, Vas thought, at him. “A chance to earn some acclaim, prove yourself. I suggest seizing it.” Gracefully, she stepped down, replaced a moment later by Daro.
He had a datapad tucked in his arm. Without ceremony he began reading from it, listing off the teams. A strike team, Vas learned, was made up of six members. A leader and five other crew. He went through six different teams before Vas heard his own name.
"Strike team 7. Leader Daro. Yofi. Kav. Mory. Vas…”
“Not Vik. Not Vik.” Vas whispered quietly, wishing with all his fervor.
“Ramol.” He finished.
“Great. Great.” Vas muttered, angry that he felt relieved.
--------
An hour later he was gathered in a side room with the rest of his strike team. Yofi and Kav, the only two women, were chatting quietly to each other. Yofi was middle-aged, with brown hair and deeply tanned skin. Kav was younger and blond, with enough muscles to wrestle a Droth.
Across from Vas, Mory was contemplative. Still unhappy, but going along with it, like he said he would.
Next to him, Ram was unusually quiet. He’d yet to say anything to Vas, which was strange for him. Vas suspected Daro’s presence would have him on his best behavior.
Speaking of, the Captain’s second was in the corner, eyes furrowed as he read through his datapad. He’d yet to say anything, but they were all waiting for him. After another minute, he set the datapad down, disgruntled. Then, one by one, he took in their faces. “I’m no good at lying, so I won’t even bother trying.” He began. “I would have chosen none of you for my team.” He looked at them in turn. First, he looked at Mory. “Discontent.” Then, Yofi. “Trigger-happy.” Then, Kav. “Chaotic.” Then, Ram. “Stupid.” Then, Vas. “Green.” He crossed his arms. “Not ideal, but this is what Dalur wants, so this is what she gets.”
All but Mory and Yofi shifted uncomfortably. Daro continued. “But you are on my team now, so you fight by my rules. I have three.” He held up a finger. “One. We are a unit. A team. We operate together. We fight together. We live together. We die together.” A second finger. “Two. No twitchy fingers. If your trigger finger gets too happy, I’ll gladly cut it off for you. Most of these go down peacefully. I’d like this one to go similarly.” A third finger. “Three. In the hull piercer, and on that ship I am your god. My word is scripture. Understand?” They all nodded. “Good. I’ll have more information tomorrow morning. All I know now is we’ll be one of the forward teams. You’re dismissed. Get some rest.”
Vas stood up to exit, suddenly aware of how tired he was. The others stepped out ahead of him, but before he could leave, Daro stopped him. “Sit down, Vas.”
Reluctantly, he obeyed, sitting again, now alone with Daro. The grizzled veteran stared him up and down before starting. “Look kid, it’s no secret I didn’t want you. Still don’t. Maybe now you understand why, though I was hoping you’d leave before you saw combat.” Vas nodded. Daro’s behavior towards him becoming a little clearer by the minute. “But, you’re my responsibility now, and I take my responsibility very seriously.” His eyes softened, ever so slightly. “I’ll get you off that ship alive.”
Vas could only nod, overcome by sudden relief and gratitude. “Thank you, sir.”
“Be up early. You and I are practicing combat drills tomorrow morning before breakfast.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re dismissed.”
Vas stood up, and, with one final nod, exited the room. He could feel the counter in his mind, the clock forever ticking.
Two days, five hours, fifteen minutes.