Blood and Steel: Rangers of the Federation, page 1
Copyright © 2024 Blood and Steel by Ulysses Namon.
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Storming the Red Castle
The interstellar yacht, Monkey Business, emerged from warp less than a hundred megameters from the decommissioned mining facility known as Château Rouge. At nearly a hundred yards long, it was the epitome of exquisite luxury, at least for the owner and his guests. But not today.
“Son, you have no idea who you’re messing with,” Mortimer Marcus Morgan, the ship’s owner, argued. “I have very powerful friends. But if you let us go now, we’ll—”
Mortimer’s warning was cut short by Hodges, who’d walked over and kicked the man in the groin. Pirates had no need for negotiations. They were more interested in ransoming the ship and her passengers for an exorbitant amount of money than in hosting a tea party to come to mutually agreeable terms.
“Shut the fuck up or next time my boot will be in your ass!” Hodges threatened. Turning away, he lamented, “Fucking rich guys: think yah can snap yah fingers and everyone will jump. Well, what about the rest of ya’ll? Do I have ta snap my fingers?” he said to the crew in a mocking tone.
They shook their heads, eager to please and stay out of his sights, since they were certain it wouldn’t take much to be tossed out of an airlock. Of them, only Renaldo had any skills useful to the Star Demon Syndicate, that being a cook. The others were just stewards.
“What’s the matter, kids? You’re actin’ like it’s your last day! Hee, hee, hee!” Stinky Pete cackled as he went over to Porsche Morgan, Mortimer’s daughter. Touching the blade of his knife to lift her chin, he said, “Can’t wait till we put this pretty little thing to work.”
“Don’t you dare touch her, you filthy bastard! I’ll kill you!” Mortimer shouted, struggling against his restraints.
Hodges slammed his boot heel into the man’s chest, knocking him on his back as Stinky Pete cackled again. Gasping from having the wind knocked out of him, Mortimer stayed on the floor while Hodges put his foot on the man’s face.
“I told yah, your asses belong to the Star Demon now, including hers.” He motioned toward Porsche who was now whimpering and fighting tears. “If he says she’s a whore, then she’s a whore. Shit, the boss can gift her to Stinky Pete and then he really could do whatever he wants to her. Now shut up!”
A comm signal interrupted Hodges tirade.
“About time. Get the ship ready for docking maneuvers.”
While the pirates scrambled to obey orders, a drone watched passively as Monkey Business glided by on its way to the autodock at Château Rouge. The ship had shut down its repulsor thrusters to avoid giving away its position. Once clear, they continued to their destination, sending a camouflaged sensor beacon into position—an alarm bell to warn them of any unwanted guests. Shortly after, the beacon signaled by tight-beam laser comm that it was ready and the countdown commenced.
“Everyone off the ship!” Hodges ordered once docked.
Some of the hostages cried, one of them even offered money to be let go, but all were herded along anyway. The pirate base was bustling with activity as plunder was organized to fence their claim. Other items were distributed among the pirates to use and enjoy, from weapons to clothes to food—all was for sale to the pirate who had money to spend. And in the middle of it all stood the Star Demon himself.
“What have you brought us, Hodges? This is not a common design for a yacht,” the pirate lord said in a low, smooth voice.
Despite the din going on around them, Hodges could hear him clearly. “This little beauty?” He motioned over his shoulder with his thumb. “It’s a reconfigured exploration ship. Mr. Moneybags, here,” he said, gripping Mortimer’s shoulders aggressively, “had it completely pimped out so he could take family and friends anywhere to party, including the middle of nowhere. It’s just like the Anabelle Baumfree, but with booze and caviar.”
“Why explore when one can hold a soiree on any planet they want?” the Star Demon acknowledged. “Did anyone follow?”
“Nope. The dumbasses set down on Chehalis.”
“The restricted planet?”
Hodges nodded confirmation. “No one there and nobody even knows they were ever there. If the patrol goes looking, they’ll have no idea where to start.”
“Deus damn it!” Mortimer shouted. “I’m sick and tired of being treated like trash! Do you know who I am? I know very powerful people! You’ll regret this! My wife is the—”
The Star Demon drew close in an instant, seizing the man by the throat. Mortimer could only gasp.
“Here, I am the one with power,” the Star Demon said so close, Mortimer swore he could feel his breath on his face. “Here, your life is mine to do with as I please.” He turned to Hodges, Mortimer still struggling for air. “Now what shall we do with this one?”
“All of them have KNR insurance policies on them. At least a cool million credits each, closer to ten on that one. Altogether, I’d say this group will rake in twenty mil, easy,” Hodges boasted.
“To the cells then, alive and unspoiled. Be sure to send out the ransom demands with proof of life,” the Star Demon ordered, shoving Mortimer back toward Hodges’s command.
Stinky Pete looked disappointed, having been salivating at the prospect of fresh meat becoming available at the brothel. Joining him, others had also stared at Porsche, scaring her and sickening Mortimer. Now the Morgan duo showed relief. Fearful of what else lay ahead, yes, but at least they’d be together.
Hodges nodded and turned back to the hostages. “You’ll be told where to go and what to do. Do anything to piss me off and these guys”—he pointed to the security robots that had surrounded them—“will not hesitate to zap your dumb asses. You can be sure as shit they don’t use those weak-ass rent-a-cop stunners like at the spaceport. Now move!”
They wound their way through the cargo terminal. Where, once, loads of processed metals and other minerals were put into cargo modules to be loaded onto freighters. The place was now bustling with dozens of people, including different parahumans, doing another type of work entirely. Mortimer noticed the clothing they wore not only covered the entire economic spectrum but from all across the Federation, Imperium, and the Alliance. Much was for sale, and all of it was either illegal or stolen.
Once out of the terminal, the group entered into the security area of the original colony. There were areas for scanners, offices, storage for robots, and an armory—all overseen by a central desk.
Hodges banged on the isoplast barrier separating the security area from the terminal to get the attention of the man sitting behind the desk. Tapping a button, a door next to the desk opened, and Hodges proceeded through. After passing the back of the desk, he turned off to the right and went down a wide corridor marked Counseling/Detention Center. They passed numerous doors until they reached a set of double doors at the end marked Detention Center. Inside was a large central desk with banks of holographic displays, surrounded by an open area with cells circling the outside. Someone sitting at the desk could simply turn and see into any cell. Since there was no one manning the desk currently, Hodges walked up and tapped the console, opening several cells.
“Men to the left, women to the right!” he barked.
Porsche started crying again, joined now by the other three female hostages. Her tears stopped abruptly when she approached the open cell and could see what was inside. It looked like something out of a nightmare. A large demonic bat, black with red along its wings and back, turned around and started making fluting noises from the base of its neck. Porsche had no idea what the creature was saying. Was it warning them? Threatening them from entering its space?
But the prisoner’s hesitation was temporary, as the security robots forced her and the others into their cells and the defense screens were reactivated. Now locked in, Porsche looked back at the creature she’d been paired with, eyeing its spiked tail anxiously. When the creature raised it to point at her, she started banging on the walls, pleading to be saved from the demonic creature she’d been imprisoned with.
“It’s no use,” Explorer said to herself. “Without a translator, this human can’t understand me.” She started pacing, trying to think of some way to communicate. She stopped at the wall furthest from the door and noticed a previous occupant had carved various pictures into the wall’s paint. “That’s it!”
She went over to an area free of scratches and wrote a simple greeting in English. Hello, my name is Explorer. What is yours?
She turned to see Porsche huddled toward the far side of the cell, eyes unfocused. Explorer tapped her tail spike against her message on the wall, but the girl continued to make mewling noises.
“To the last tailless ancestor, will you get over here and read this!” Explorer snapped at her. It was futile; she didn’t understand. In desperation, Explorer walked over and tried to pull the girl’s arm.
“Help! Help! Somebody, help me! It’s attacking me!” Porsche screamed as she tried to pull away.
“Porsche, are you okay? What’s happening?” Mortim
Ignoring the girl’s father, Explorer resorted to using her wings and manipulators to pull the wailing human across the cell. Even once there, the girl stayed in the fetal position, so Explorer grabbed her by the hair and forced her to look at the wall, holding her near the message until the human finally read it.
“Explorer of what?” the girl said, to which Explorer let out a trumpeting hooray.
“Yes, that is my name. Now what is yours?” Explorer asked, pointing with her right manipulator instead of her tail spike this time.
“I…I think it’s trying to talk to me.” She looked back at the wall and reread the message. “Oh, that’s your name! You want to know my name?”
Explorer nodded, glad she was finally making progress.
“My name is Porsche. Por-shuh,” she said her name a second time slowly, unaware that Explorer was giving her a look of both amusement and exasperation.
“Yes, Porsche, it is nice to finally make your acquaintance. Now, if you are done with your hysterics, let us get down to business,” Explorer said as she stepped closer to the wall and started writing her next message.
The tramp freighter, Memphis Beau, made its final approach to Château Rouge. The ship’s captain, Charlene Denkler, took note of the various scavenged recon satellites that the Star Demon Syndicate had set up around their new base.
“The Star Demon is as paranoid as ever,” Commented Luke, the ship’s computer.
“You’ve got it all wrong, Luke,” Charlene countered, shaking her head. “Those alarm bells he’s set up are just insurance—you hope you never have to use it, but you’ll be damn glad you invested in it when you need it.”
Not that Charlene was concerned about setting off any alarms. The Memphis Beau was a bioship constructed from bioplastic and other organic materials, with not one metallic nut or bolt. Being a miracle of modern biotechnology, it was quite expensive. But thanks to her latest fare, the ship would soon be paid off.
Charlene activated the ship’s intercom. “We’re approaching your destination now, Ranger Ryan.”
“Good,” came Tomi’s voice right behind her.
“Holy shit!” Charlene nearly jumped out of her skin. “Jehoshaphat on a bike, woman! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” exclaimed the captain.
Tomi waved her off. “Oh, calm down already. We can’t have you all excited and bug-eyed when you make contact. Remember, play it cool.”
“I know you rangers are a loco bunch, but how did you get those jarheads to go along with this shit?” Charlene ventured to ask. “Don’t they usually just march in and shoot the place to shit?”
“Eh, eh, eh…” Tomi waggled a finger in front of the captain. “One of the conditions you agreed to is the successful completion of this op,” she reminded her, “so, you just worry your little head about that.”
Tomi had dealt with operational security before, but not with a civilian involved, and certainly not with a bioroid captain commanding a bioship. She was doing her damnedest not to show the stress she was under, but between Explorer and her own child on the way, there were so many lives at risk.
Hang in there, Explorer. The cavalry is coming.
Senator Laticia Morgan breathed a sigh of relief once the last meeting on her daily schedule adjourned. She headed toward her office followed by her staff, numerous journalists, and political facilitators. Her chief of staff politely but firmly informed the various flies that they would have to wait until tomorrow to speak with the senator, but as others disbursed, Gerald Nash wasn’t willing to give up so easily.
“Senator Morgan, is it true that your husband was recently caught with his mistress aboard his private ship?”
Nash excelled at making enemies by spinning stories so elaborate they seemed to be true, despite the fact that, in time, most turned out to be smoke and mirrors. Laticia ignored him until the door closed, always careful to project the image of the perfect politician in the public eye—unflappable and able to deliver fiery speeches. Behind closed doors, though, she often swore so much her staffers would blush.
Now, with only her chief of staff as a witness, she immediately let her feelings toward the reporter be known.
“Shithead!” she shouted as she fell into her office chair. “That little shit-eater can rot in hades, for all I care! Let them saw off his balls and stuff ’em down his lying piehole.” She motioned to the image in the newspaper he referred to. “He put a picture of Porsche on the front page, claiming she’s Mortimer’s secret mistress.” Turning toward Bertrand, she asked, “Have our sources found any dirt on that little cocksucker?”
Bertrand didn’t want to stress his boss any more than she already was, but she needed to know the rest of the story—the reason Nash had used the word caught.
“Ma’am, some important news came in while you were in your meeting. I regret to inform you—”
“Damn it to hades, Bert!” Laticia snapped at him as she shuffled through documents on her holographic screen. “Stop babying me! I can’t make decisions if I don’t know anything.”
Bertrand cleared his throat and cut to the chase. “Your husband’s ship is missing.”
“What?” Laticia swiped her holoscreen aside to get a clear view of her chief of staff.
“We’ve lost all contact with Monkey Business. The Star Demon Syndicate has sent a ransom demand for your husband and daughter. We are confirming both pieces of information as we speak. Hopefully, this is only a ruse to—”
“Oh, dear Deus in heaven! Did you say the Star Demon Syndicate? Call the chief of operations for the Federation Navy and the commandant of the Federation Marines! Do it now! We have to stop them before it’s too late!”
The Hammer Drops
Conrad Robbie leaned back in his chair and snoozed. After getting the Emperor’s Revenge back to base, he had nothing to do while Blowtorch went about dealing with the disaster that happened on Horst. With all the equipment and personnel lost due to the global flood, he had a lot of explaining to do. Robbie was just glad it was Blowtorch’s ass on the line and not his.
“Hey, Robbie, somebody wants permission to dock. What do I do?” asked Beatrice. Robbie had been told that there were women pirates out there, but Beatrice was the first he’d met, and she was only recently recruited.
“Let the computer handle it. The whole thing is automated, so it can do it,” Robbie said without opening his eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to know this? You were caught smuggling, so that means you must have worked on a spaceship.”
“I was a purser. And thanks for reminding me of the worst day of my life. I just wish I could find out who ratted me out,” Beatrice lamented.
Yeah, I think I know who, Robbie thought to himself. The boss doesn’t like people who operate on his turf and don’t pay their dues. Now you get to work off your debt.
The station’s traffic control computer linked with the incoming ship’s flight controls and guided it in. Then the computer alerted Beatrice to something unusual.
“Check this out,” she said to Robbie. “It’s a bioship! I’ve seen one from a distance when my ship visited the Alliance world, Sappho. Weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.” Beatrice looked at the main holoviewer.
Begrudgingly, Robbie looked up. Well, I’ll be dipped in dog shit, he thought. That is a strange-looking ship. Glowing gossamer wings gave the ship the appearance of a giant butterfly gliding through the void. Passive scans alone showed no large energy signatures indicative of quantum engines. The sails were all that carried the vessel along.
“Light sails,” he commented aloud. “Wouldn’t that take forever to get anywhere?”
“Wrong there, buster. Those are diode sails. It utilizes defense-screen technology to act on the quantum vacuum. Instead of accelerating the way a quantum engine does, it lets it through one side but not the other, and the pressure differential creates thrust,” Beatrice explained.
To Robbie, it sounded like something a tree hugger would come up with, and he’d had his fill of them.
“If it’s so spectacular, what the hades is it doing here?” he queried, trying to cover up the fact that it raised the hairs on the back of his neck. “Shouldn’t they be showboating it back on Terra or Solium Aureum? Why here?”
