Piratesbane
"This is crazy!"
Sara Pittman, the second officer on the mercenary corvette Timber Wolf. As she spoke the ship rocked as another blast of energy slammed into the ship. Sara looked again at her sensor screen but the pirates remained as an impenetrable wall between the Timber Wolf and escape. The commander of the ship, Gregory "Piratesbane" Smith smiled grimly at her then turned back to the screen. Blue photon bolts and green blazes of laser crisscrossed it in a myriad of colors. Somehow the pilot of the Corvette managed to evade this pattern of fire but damage was mounting even so. Another hit shook the ship and with it, Sara's worry increased.
"Greg! You have to get us out of here! We can't win this battle! I don't care how much money they gave us!"
"Sara...Sit back and shut up! I know what I'm doing!"
But anybody could see she was hardly consoled. Arrayed around his ship in the popular sphere formation were two Kestrel pirate frigates, a single Corvette, an Argosy bulk freighter and numerous fighters, mostly launched from the Argosy. Now and again a ship would dart in and exchange a close in flurry of energy with the Mercenary Corvette then the fighter or capital ship would retreat, again joining the circle of ships between the Timber Wolf and escape. While a saner captain would have either attempted to bargain with the pirates or perhaps surrender, Greg had instead opted to go in guns blazing. For the reason why, one need only look back to three weeks before, when Captain Gregory Smith again sat totally and belligerently drunk at the counter of the New Darven space bar.
"Gith me anothr damn thrink!" Greg Smith yelled then slammed his hand upon the bar, trying to punctuate his words. Instead he almost tumbled from his chair and had to grab frantically at the bar to steady himself. The bartender shook his head in disgust and walked over to the younger man. He was about twenty-three but the stubble on his face and the unruly hair upon his head suggested a man of two more years. He was just under two meters but he looked sickly thin. A closer examination would have shown his body's wirery strength, but to go that close mean contending with the bitter smell of beer and tobbeca-stick smoke. The hair on his head was a dirty blond color that contrasted badly with the dark color of his facial hair. The long black overcoat he wore finished the spectacle, turning a normal enough man into a typical space bum. But he had money.
"Look buddy," started the bartender. He had dealt with this sort before. "For the sake of my job, I've got to stop you. You've downed enough chemohol to give a space behemoth a hang over. If you want more you'll just have to..." He trailed off as Greg's drawn blaster touched his cheek. For an instant, the man before him was frighteningly sober. Then the drunk returned with a vengeance.
"I seth I wanth a drink so I'se gonnsa geth a damn drinth! Ith's your jog to geb it forb me!"
"Yah! Okay buddy! Just put the blaster down man!"
"Ohh thith? It'sth nothing!"
The blaster disappeared back to where it came from and the frightened bartender went to get the man's drink. As he did, a stranger walked to the bar and set herself down next to Greg. He looked over at her and tried to focus on her face. He smiled brightly and said," Why...The threes uf yous is identical! Thath is sthoooo cool!" The stranger backed away from the spray of spit coming from Greg's mouth and studied him for a moment. Shaking her head she then looked at a picture in her hand.
"There has got to be some kind of mistake," she muttered.
"Wath was that ma'me?" Greg asked her innocently, trying to look at the photo. The bartender approached with the Greg's drink but the stranger waved him away. Obediently he backed off.
"Hey! Whath the hell! Gibe me my damnnn dring!"
The stranger turned to his and grabbed his jacket. Greg, being too drunk to fight, let himself be manhandled obediently. With a grunt she pulled him up to her face and growled," are you the captain of the Timber Wolf ?"
"Thath's me. My names Gregothory ΒPriathsgan' Smith."
Again the stranger had to dodge spittle, though she was less than successful. She winced at the putrid smell of Greg's breath but did not put him down or try to wipe the drool from her face. Instead she put one hand into her pocket and removed a strange gun. Even in his drunken state, Gregory's reflexes kicked in with amazing speed. In a blinding flash of motion his hand fell to his own holster and wrapped itself around the gun there. But the stranger was yet faster. She held the gun to Greg's arm and pulled the trigger. Instead of a flash of light or a loud bang one might expect, only the hiss of air was to be heard. For a moment it seemed that Greg would still yet finish his draw. But as the gun came up it fell from nerveless hands. Gregory "Piratesbane" Smith fell to the floor in an ugly heap and lay there until four pairs of strong hands lifted and dragged him away.
An hour and a half later the woozy picture of reality appeared in Greg's eyes. He snapped them shut, willing the horrible sight away. But it would not disappear. Greg knew at once he was totally and undeniably sober.
"So, our little sleeping not-so beauty is finally awake. Welcome back to the world, Piratesbane. I hope your sleep was pleasant." The strange woman emphasized the word sleep in a matter of fact way.
"Sure. It's a happy day whenever I don't wake up in my own excrement. Now would you mind telling me what the hell is going on?"
"Mr. Smith, you have a chance to earn rather large sum of money. How do you feel about that?"
"Hmmmm...give me a second on that one." As he spoke Greg' hand fell to his side and pressed itself against his jacket. The strange woman did not miss the move and laughed.
"We're not so amateurish as to forget to remove your gun. We also took the liberty to search you out. Quite an arsenal you carry."
Greg's hand fell away from his jacket and clenched itself into a fist. "I can be dangerous even without a weapon. I think you should get to the point."
"My name is Deedlin Keller," Deedlin said, waving a hand in the air. "I work for the Rebellion. My job is to contact private groups and pay them to do work for us. Mostly we try to find people a little better than yourself but I fear the choice is no longer ours. I told you I have a well paying job for you. I didn't lie."
"What's the mission and pay?"
"You will locate and, if possible, eliminate the Pirate fleet known as the Darkriders. They have been operating in Rebel space and we want them out. Pay is 50,000 to take the mission and 4 million once you have completed it."
Greg whistled tonelessly at the sum. "That's a hell of a lot of money. There is only one reason people give out that kind of sum. Because the mission's for dead men."
"Look...We're giving this because we need you to take it. It's that simple. The Confederation is pushing us hard again and we're stretched to the limit just trying to hold them. The Pirates are playing havoc with our supply lines while our ships are at work."
"Geez lady. I didn't say I wouldn't take the mission. They don't call me Piratesbane for nothing. But you keep saying I am the only choice. Why?"
Deedlin looked sullenly at him, saying nothing. "Look lady, if I'm going to take a job, I'll need to know all about it. I don't do shadow jobs."
"If that's the way it's got to be."
"That's the way it's got to be Keller."
"Fine. We've already tried to contract several other groups. The first that accepted was the Golden Chariots. They were well equipped and they were capable. After two weeks of searching for the Darkriders they were ambushed and totally destroyed. Next we got a hold of the Killaren Mercenary group. They took the mission and set out. They still haven't come back."
"Okay, I'm getting the picture. But if all these groups with multiple ships and heavy hardware couldn't do it, what makes you think my single ship could?"
"We don't expect you to face down with the entire fleet. The problem with the last two groups was they were much to big and drew attention to themselves. Your single ship may be just what we need. What we want is for you to locate the Pirate main base. Once you do we want you to figure out how many ships and of what type these pirates are. After that we'll try to scrape together an attack groups and clean them out."
Greg turned and reached up, scratching at the three-day-old growth on his chin. It rasped loudly in the silent chamber but he failed to notice the effect on Deedlin. After a moment he turned back to her.
"I'll take the mission on two conditions. One, I get all the money up front. I don't want to hear whining either. If you look at my tract record I have never run with someone's money. And if I die, I will release several ownerships to your organization. That should cover any loss."
"That's acceptable, I suppose," Deedlin said carefully, cringing slightly.
"And two, you will send me a complete disk of all information you have on this group and any affiliation. I want everything."
"Oh! That we can do easily!" Deedlin affirmed, letting out a sigh.
"Good. Then our business is concluded. I want my weapons back and a ride to my ship."
"Just step through the door and tell the guard. He'll take care of you." Greg started away then looked over his shoulder at Deedlin.
"Oh, and Keller, I look forward to seeing you again." He winked slyly and headed off. Behind him Deedlin Keller shivered.
When Greg got to the Timber Wolf, he was met by his loving crew.
"Where the hell have you been Cap! We've been trying to get out of here for nearly an hour. Rebel troops have been staking us out."
It was Zack Feller that said this. He wasn't the most savory person but he was an awesome pilot. Next to him was Hobbs Benkin. He was a skilled gunner, often squeezing the best from the two photon turrets of the Timber Wolf. He was also a tech genius. Instead of a hi, he looked vehemently at Greg. The only person outside the ship that didn't appear angry was Sara Pittman. She was, as always, busy with her hero adoration.
"Don't mind them, Sir. We were very worried about you."
Greg brushed past her and headed into the cargo bay. He pressed down on a part of the wall and the hum of "white noise" started. Any listening devices would be nullified by the constant sound of the generator.
"Stuff it, all of you! We got a mission. You all know what that means. Zack, I want a full overhaul on the engines. Maybe even some of the new mark nines everybody is raving about."
"Cap, those things are expensive! How much dough did you get?"
"4.05 mil."
Zack whistled tonelessly then smiled.
"I'll get right on it Greg."
"Good. Hobbs, you and I are going to go shopping. I want to load out the Timber with some new equipment and I want your... advice on what to bring. We're going in twenty minutes."
"Yah yah yah, whatever. I'll get a tractor."
"What about me, Sir?" Sara asked loudly.
Everybody looked at her as if noticing her for the first time. But Greg just handed her a data chip.
"This is our mission parameters and background. I want you to read it completely and figure out if there are any discrepancies or such. I want you done by the time we leave."
Sara grabbed the chip and looked down at it. "Don't you worry Sir! You can count on me to do the job. I'll give you a full update as soon as I'm done." Sara looked up expectantly only to find herself alone.
"Will you look at that? They've got the new class six Photon Turrets out! They say that they have 10% more power and 5% more range."
"Great...Grab two. We could use the increased firepower. But I'm looking for the seeker section. I want a look at the Mark VIII missiles."
Hobbs made an entry on his data pad, sending in the order for the two photon turrets. Then he led Greg over to where a large missile and a torpedo were racked on the wall. Greg pulled down a data screen and entered the code for the missile. He whistled softly when he saw the info.
"Geez...Look at this. It's got a speed of 500 units. That means it finally topped out the Defender."
There was a long running problem among freighter and privateer pilots that the venerable Mark VI seeker was slower than the preferred pirate fighter, the Defender. Nothing was worse than watching an expensive missile chase after a target only to get ditched.
"And they increased the explosive load. That will help with quick destruction," Hobbs added. Then together they looked at the price.
"Holy Christ! They've got to be kidding."
"Hobbs, we're rich now. We're going to need these things. How much tonnage do we have left?"
"Well let's see," Hobbs murmured, again looking at his pad. "We lost 60 tons to the two photon turrets. The shield compactors take up 12, the plasma conduit takes two. Afterburner and tanks take another fifteen. Our five pack takes a whopping 40 tons. That only leaves the twin missile racks and the durasteel layer. Respectively twenty tons. We've got 70 left over."
"Good. Thirty missiles it is then."
"That's 150,000 credits."
"Yep...Put it down."
Hobbs sighed and entered the order. Then to his surprise, Greg headed for the office.
"Hey Greg! We've still got 40 tons!"
"I know," he yelled back but kept heading for the office. Hobbs cursed and followed. Greg walked meaningfully into the office and yelled, "Greeliong! Get your lazy ass out here!"
There was a string of gurgling sounds that a person could recognize as cussing and then a loud crash. Moments later Greeliong appeared. He was a quadruped alien about the size of a large dog. To add to the impression was a long whip-like tail that trailed behind the alien. His deep brown skin was covered in black patches of oil and grease (still used in all known ships) and his pudgy face had an angry blue cut on it. A large hanging pouch underneath Greeliong proved to be a rather large stomach. As the he approached, he continued to fill the room with angry cursing.
"Damn it Greg! What the hell is your problem now? I thought I told you not to bother me."
"Yah and your quinokse eats sheplin. I need a 'special' part and I thought you might be able to help me."
Greeliong's face turned black with anger then settled down to a light blue of amusement.
"Why should I?"
Greg pulled forth a credit chip and handed it to the annoyed mechanic. Greeliong looked at it and his three eyes widened as one, showing increased anxiety. The alien somehow made the chip disappear then waved to them to come closer.
"I think I know what you want, Samia."
Greg grinned a little at the honorific title then followed the waddling alien to the back of his shop. Greeliong looked left and right quickly then grasped a piece of sheet metal against the wall. He pulled back and there was a loud rasping sound. Before them a door opened and revealed a bright room. Greeliong touched a small button on one of his belts and then headed in. Greg and Hobbes followed a respectful and safe distance away.
"This is the place boys," Greeliong said proudly. " Whatever you need...it's in here."
Greg did a slow turn and went to one wall. There he touched a small section of gold colored alloy.
"Is this what I think it is?"
"That's the stuff. Imperial-grade Tritanium. Toughest stuff in the entire known galaxy. It costs me a lot of money to get that stuff. The Confeds are starting to really lock down on its smuggling."
"I'll take it," Greg said simply. Beside him Hobbs looked excited.
"Boy," Greeliong huffed, eyeing Greg, "that stuff's expensive. I don't think you can afford it."
"I can. What's that strange thing in the corner?"
Greeliong smiled widely, a scary sight for anyone unfamiliar with his species, and walked over to it. "I am most proud of this little puppy. If it was ever found out I have it, I'd probably die. Its a Rebel cloaking device."
"Where did you get it," Hobbs asked.
"Some guy came through and sold it to me. Said he got it for doing a mission for the Rebs then didn't need it anymore. Doesn't matter much anyway, its mine now."
"Good," Greg said offhandedly." I'll take it."
"So where to now," asked Hobbs as they left a very happy Greeliong behind. "We went from 5.05 million to 1.05 million. And I bet your not done yet either."
"Your right. Follow me, we're going to get a special little toy I've been thinking of."
Zack watched as the larger engines were placed into the open sections left by the original engines. By most standards, the corvette had very easy access engines. More than any other ship, Corvettes were upgraded with larger engines. Their modular systems made it a quick job too. Each of the larger engines were clipped into place and tested to see if it was active. As the fourth fired perfectly, Hobbs and Greg arrived with their new toys.
"Are the engines in place Zack?" Greg queried.
Zack gave him a dour look that said, "What the hell do you think?"
But Greg didn't seem to notice and instead dragged him over to the
tractor. "Listen Zack, we need to get these new weapons on the ship quick. Greeliong is coming by a little later to... add a new finish. You and the rest of the crew get to work on getting the old turrets out and putting the new ones in. Hobbs and I should be able to get the missiles loaded alone."
Zack waved Greg off dismissively and started for the ship.
"And don't forget to turn in the old turrets for a rebate," Greg yelled after him. He got the finger for his effort. As soon as Zack had disappeared, Hobbs and Greg ran to the weapon bay, carrying a strange silvery device between them.
A day later the Timber Wolf was ready to launch. Greg sat solemnly in the command seat and drank deeply from his bottle of chemehol. The newly painted and armed corvette floated out of dock and headed for the system periphery. There it engaged its jump engines and disappeared.
"This is crazy!"
"Sara...Sit down and shut up! I know what I'm doing."
Zack cursed. "We're losing shield integrity. We're down to twenty percent. They'll be cooking armor soon."
"We'll survive. Nail that damn Defender when it comes around again! That thing's starting to bug me."
The aforementioned fighter did "dead mans" 180 degree turn and raced back in at the rear of the Timber. The pilot perhaps hoped that either the gunners wouldn't notice his tiny ship or perhaps be too busy to do anything about him. They weren't. As the fighter passed by, firing its tri-pack of lasers, both turrets swung and raked the tiny ship. It's shields blazed with light but somehow held against the onslaught. The pilot jerked out of his run and accelerated forward, trying to rejoin the circle. Hobbs smiled and launched a single missile as the Defender passed the Timber's nose. The pilot realized his mistake and tried to dive away, going to full burn. The missile followed unerringly and slammed into the ship. The Defender shook violently then was consumed in a ball of fire from which only debris exited. Greg whooped aloud and congratulated Hobbs.
"But we're not out yet," Zack warned as he avoided a rocket fired by a Lightning. "We need to get serious here."
Greg looked at Sara and she looked hurriedly back at her screen.
"Sara! Give me a read on any incoming fighters!"
"There's a Lightning that is closing on our starboard side and a Hawk to our port."
The Hawk fighter dove in at top speed and launched one of its two missiles. It raced forward and slammed into the Timber's shields. The energy field brightened to almost opaque before reluctantly returning to transparent. The Lightning pilot, realizing that the Wolf's shields were near their end, went to afterburner and started blowing out javelin rockets. Both turret gunners tracked the fighter and burned away at it. The Lightning seemed to halt in space as the Pirate slapped on his reverse burners. But with both the gunners watching the Lightning, the Pirate Hawk was set up for the perfect free run. Or so she thought. As the small ship raced in with its four lasers blazing, the Timber rolled over, presenting the little fighter its belly. Amazed at his luck for being set up in the Corvette's blind spot, the Hawk slowed to take advantage of the moment. He didn't even have time to realize his mistake. In milliseconds the doors on the missile bay had snapped open and ejected three missiles. They had only a few meters to go before they slammed into the impudent Hawk. It became an expanding fireball even as the pilot tried to eject. Now the gunners refocused their fire on the fleeing Lightning. Zack accelerated and caught the other quickly. It took but a moment for the two photon turrets to finish their job.
"That's two less fighters," grunted Hobbs, immensely proud of his gunners.
"You're..." Greg started then almost fell from his seat as the entire ship jumped. Outside, a quartet of torpedoes smashed into the Timber's rear, exploding the shields with raw power. Red lights flashed to life and everybody looked up. Shields were down.
"That's it Hobbs! Now or never!"
"Okay! Everybody hold on tight! Activating Cloak!"
Reality shimmered wildly as the Timber Wolf warped space and time around itself. To every known sensor in the galaxy, the Wolf wavered and then vanished without a trace.
"Now its up to you Zack," Greg said quietly. "Get us behind the second Kestrel. Right behind."
"Don't tell me how to do my job Greg!"
The Timber Wolf slipped through space as the Pirate ships tried to reacquire a target. Zack dodged between the Corvette and the Argosy and put the ship right behind the waiting Kestrel. The ship came so close that the nose paint started to peel from the Kestrel's engines excess heat.
"We're ready," Zack affirmed as the ship settled.
"Good, let's do it," Greg snarled.
The Timber shimmered back into existence, shieldless but ready. As one both turrets fired and six missiles fell from their weapon pylons, slashing out at the ship. Fire raced along the pirate's shields as the photon energy ripped at the condensed electrons. The missiles added their explosive power to the mix and between them the shields fell away.
"Now! Fire the five pack."
The five grouped photon guns in the Timber's nose spoke out, slamming accelerated photons into hardened steel and the weaker engine nozzles. The Kestrel's captain, realizing he was under attack, tried to get his ship moving. But even as it began to move the engine housings melted. The Kestrel lost control and spun wildly away. As it went it struck the smaller Corvette and it too spun off, it's side caved in. In moments the Pirate formation was nearly destroyed. The loss of two ships in such rapid succession spooked the cutthroats. The fighters retreated to their respective ships and the Argosy and second Kestrel turned to escape.
"They're getting away!" yelled Sara, taken by the moment. Greg growled at her and she fell silent, hurt that nobody would listen to her. Zack cranked up the engines and began to chase the running Argosy. Hobbs fired off three missiles and each slammed into the ships center section. A check showed that the ship's shields were almost gone. They entered range with it and green and blue fire snapped between the two ships. But the laser shots mostly bounced off the highly reflective surface of the Corvette while the photon bolts ravaged what little remained of the Argosy's shields.
"He's slowing to go to warp!"
Greg acknowledged her and looked at Hobbs.
"Do it."
A single missile launched from the Timber's bay and raced out for the enemy ship. Already the Argosy had bled off all its speed and was preparing to run. The missile bored in and struck the ship near its rear wings. The projectile exploded brightly but the Argosy exited unharmed. Its jump engines came to life and the Argosy slipped away.
"It escaped," Sara moaned. Greg threw a cup at her then looked expectantly at Hobbs. Sara dodged the cup and watched as Hobbs punched button after button.
"We did it Greg. I'm getting a clear signal."
"Tell the Rebels they got themselves a target," Greg breathed with a heavy sigh. Then he left the bridge in search of a drink.
Sara walked slowly down the main corridor of the Timber. Ahead was the captain's quarters. The door seemed to mock her as she approached. She almost turned away but then she drew herself up and continued on. At the door she tapped lightly. Greg's voice came from inside," What the hell do you want!"
"It's Sara, Sir. I wanted to talk."
"Come on in," he answered.
The door opened and Sara entered into the quarters of her idol. It didn't disappoint. The entire room was a mess. Dirty clothes and empty drink bottles littered the entire floor. The furniture, all shabby and mostly broken, was arranged totally without plan and also carried its fair share of filthy clothes and papers. On one wall, pieces of metal from the ships Greg had destroyed here hung, each with a plaque underneath. Against another was a photon rifle missing its focus apparatus. Having seen him use it, Sara knew the weapon would completely scatter a person at close range. The last wall hosted a large screen tele-viewer. On it the perfect looking news anchor Deedlin Keller was talking loudly. Greg was sprawled out on his bed watching. He motioned her over and made a quiet gesture then pointed at the TV. She sat reverently on the bed corner and looked at the screen. Deedlin was moving on.
"And in other news our sources report that the Rebel task force code-named Piratesbane has succeeded in its mission. The fleet chased down and destroyed the infamous Pirate fleet known as the Darkriders. When engaged the pirates were caught completely by surprise and surrendered after their base was destroyed. A reported seven hundred men and women as well as XT's were captured and are set to tried starting next month. On a more interesting note the credit for the finding of the pirate fleet is attributed to the mercenary Greg "Piratesbane" Smith. We were unable to reach him for comment but I think all of us here at KRBUS send our thanks his way for a job well done. We'll be back after these commercials with more news on the Confed..."
Greg shut the TV down. "What do you think of that! I thought I recognized her! I wonder if she actually set me up for the story instead of setting me up for a rebel mission. They sounded pretty surprised when we called them. Anyways...Oh yah...What do you want Sara?"
"Sir..." she started haltingly, trying to find her words." I...," she paused for a second in surprise. "Your not drunk?"
Greg looked up in shock and covered his mouth. Then he shook his head in disgust. "I knew I was forgetting something. Must have missed lunch." He paused then sighed. "Actually I think I'm going to stop doing all that drinking for a while. It really doesn't make anything any better."
"Oh Sir!" Sara as she threw her arms around him. He pushed her away quickly but not as hard as she expected.
"Damn it! What the hell's your problem?"
Sara recovered quickly and apologized. "Sorry, Sir. Moments lapse in discipline."
"Did you want something or not? I hate long visits."
Sara's heart sank when he said it but she continued on stalwartly. "Well Sir, I've been on this crew for almost three years now. We've been through a lot together, the two of us." As she talked she fidgeted with her long burgundy hair, not looking at Greg.
"The longer I'm around you, the more I feel is between us. I know I've always watched you from afar. I've tried to make you see what I saw and make you feel what I feel. I've given my all to do for you whatever you asked without question. Still, I've always been afraid to come to you but... But I can't deny myself any longer. I know you have the same feelings for me as I do for you...Don't you?" She looked up hopefully; biting her lip in a way she knew made her look cute and worried at the same time. This would be when the hours in front of the mirror would pay off. Every hair, every eyelash, every inch of skin was carefully primped and prepared to make her look the best she ever had. Her clothing, costing her all of her savings, was a dashing picture. Her blouse was made of Jeppinian fur, softest to the known galaxy and cut low. Her short skirt was perfectly matched to the blouse, being both brilliant and very tight. Sara had even applied sun-fire sparkles on her eyelids so that they glittered softly. The second Greg saw her he would be helplessly enthralled.
Greg glanced up from the magazine he had picked up and looked over at her. "What was that again?"
Sara's heart collapsed into her stomach, leaving her feeling empty of any emotion except desire and defeat. "Nothing," she murmured, her voice cracking, "nothing at all." She shut her eyes and felt hot tears start to well up in them. Greg continued without notice.
"Well if that's all I need you to run through that new job we got. I want to know the info on that Confed Captain. Real shmuk. Killed a whole city when they wouldn't let him land."
"Right away, Sir." Sara's voice was almost mechanical. She stood and headed for the door. But when she reached it a flame of anger shot up inside her. "No, not again, damn it," she said turning. Greg looked at her bewildered.
"Not what again?"
Instead of answering she walked slowly over to him and placed her hand on his chest. He started to move but she pushed him down against the bed. "Hey, what are you doing?"
"You're not sending me away again," she said with finality, straddling him and still holding him down. Now it was apparent he was uncomfortable and he started to struggle up. She slammed him down again and kissed him hungrily. When she finally came up for air, Greg had stopped fighting. Now he was just dumbfounded. It took him a few moments to be able to even breath. Then he sputtered, "have I been missing something?"
"Maybe once," she said lustily, "but not anymore."
The door clicked loudly as it locked.
On the bridge Zack and Hobbs sat back cozily, watching the star field. Each of them had a tray of food and they were eating Greg's private stock of jerky. Zack ripped at a piece of Teriyaki and started to chew then stopped. "Hey...do you feel that?"
"What?" Hobbs asked, munching some Gerathi pepper-spice.
"It feels like the ship's rocking."
Hobbs closed his eyes for a moment then nodded his head. "Yah, it does feel like we're rocking. Wonder what's happening."
(This message has been edited by moderator (edited 02-18-2003).)
