Tales of the "Pink Mist" Ch. 00

"What would you like to know, Captain?" the techbot at her side asked with its sexy purring voice.

"For starters, what did they do about it?" Quillan turned to the bot.

"Standard Alliance search protocols were initiated. After the prescribed twenty-four hour waiting period, the last known trajectory was determined and a squadron of Tactical Search Vessels were dispatched along that line to the Omega-Theta 4 system. The search was canceled after 365 Earth days. This ship was presumed lost."

Quillan's eyebrows shot up.

"365 days? How long have you been here?"

"398 days had elapsed before you arrived."

"Waitwaitwait," Quillan said, as she shook her head trying to comprehend the enormity of the situation. "This ship sat in the middle of that shitstorm for over a year and didn't get totally destroyed? How is that possible?"

"I am unable to take any form of action other than defensive without direct authorization from the captain. The replacement of your uniform is one such action that was authorized, no doubt for convenience' sake," replied Alice. "As the captain had vacated the vessel, all that could be done was to keep the shields up as long as possible. Even self-repair must be authorized by the captain or other designated individual, all of whom were no longer aboard."

"Why didn't the captain authorize self-repair as needed? That's just plain stupidity."

"Since this is a prototype vessel, certain limits and restraints were put in place. Self-repair is one. Attack is another."

"'Attack' I can understand," said Quillan as she ran her hand through her short red hair, "but self-repair? Buncha idiots..."

Quillan clapped her hands and rubbed them together, taking a deep breath.

"All right, First Mate Alice Nine, now hear this. As captain of this vessel, you are hereby authorized for self-repair using any and all necessary means to insure that this ship is running at peak performance. This does not include changes to programming in your own neural network. Those have to go through me or an individual to be designated by me at a future time. Confirm these orders." Quillan had said it all in one breath. She was pleased with herself and sat back with a smile.

"Your orders are confirmed, Captain. Self-repair is authorized. Mainframe program changes are not authorized," Alice replied succinctly.

Quillan's smile turned to slight annoyance.

"Are you making fun of me, Alice?"

A hint of humor in Alice's voice.

"Oh, no, Captain. I would never do that." The techbot's illuminated left eye blinked out momentarily in the semblance of a wink. Quillan chuckled.

"Alright, Alice, give me a display of the ship's systems and put it on the main screen, please." Quillan had added the "please" without even thinking.

Her practiced eye noted slight modifications to the drive capabilities. More efficient.

"Alice, please compute a course to the edge of the Sol system."

"Course computed, Captain. There is a flaw in the computation, however. With permission, I will repair it. I know what is wrong with that part of the programming. May I make the necessary corrections?"

"Please do. I don't want to wind up like the last bunch. And give me an error percentage, please."

The lighting dimmed for a few seconds as the enormous processing power was stretched to its limit, changing billions of lines of code in order to effect the noted corrections. The lights came back up.

"All corrections have been made, Captain. The probability of error is now less than one trillionth of one percent. That's the best I can do. I've run over one hundred thousand test folds through the simulation and the virtual ship arrived within four microns of a fixed point in all cases. Does this meet your approval?"

One hundred thousand tests in less than ten seconds? No wonder the lights dimmed.

"It does, Alice. Fold us to the specified galaxy, please."

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Quillan Margoles, thirty-three years of age, stood five feet, seven inches tall. Her flaming red hair, cut short, framed her angular face. A few freckles were scattered here and there. Her blue eyes were fixed on the view screen before her as she stood up and strode forward a few paces. Her black jumpsuit accentuated her curves and highlighted her plentiful breasts.

"EarthCom Central, this is the DreadnaughtThomas A. Parker on station at coordinates Zulu Delta Foxtrot Seven Seven One. I wish to be placed in direct contact with Alliance President Cuthbertson. This ship has been seized under Right of Salvage and is in the command of Captain Quillan S. Margoles. Any attempt to take this ship by force will be met with the full defensive capabilities of this ship. I don't wish to start a fight; I merely wish to arrive at a beneficial outcome for all concerned. Acknowledge, please."

"Thomas A. Parker, this EarthCom Central. Be advised that Alliance vessels are en route to your location. You are to hold position and stand by until you are relieved by Admiral MacGuffin. Any attempt to leave your current position will be considered a hostile act. Likewise, any detected powering up of weapons will be considered hostile and you will be fired on." Male voice. Angry male voice. Aren't they all angry when they're surprised by a ghost ship which popped up on their sensor network and nailed 'em with their pants down? The answer was as she expected. The military never wanted to let go of any piece of hardware, let alone the latest and greatest.

"Alice, keep the shields up. Hold us steady here. Transmit the details of ship abandonment and every detail since my arrival to News Command, Judicial Command, Military Command, and Tactical Command, in that order, please." Four beeps sounded one second apart to indicate the command had been carried out. Quillan wanted the news nets to get hold of the information before anyone else. She knew that Judicial Command would start ruling on this salvage immediately. Notifying MilCom and TacCom was a courtesy. "While you're at it, show me the positions of the closing craft along with their designations."

The main viewer showed a massive armada of over one hundred ships of all sizes converging on theThomas A. Parker. Two of them were dreadnaughts. Class Sevens from the looks of the thrusters.

"Thomas A. Parker, this is EarthCom. Lower your shields and prepare to be boarded."

Quillan rolled her eyes and replied, "You really expect me to listen to a flunky who's located several hundred thousand miles away? Fuck you. Patch me through to whoever's in command of the closing group."

The communication panel started beeping for attention, several lights on it flickering at once. Quillan grinned mirthfully. This was quite amusing. She opened all channels at once.

"Okay," she said, "Who's first?"

"This is Captain Latoff Ivanov, I command the Vulture Attack Squadron. We will blow you out of the sky if you don't lower your shields."

"This is Admiral MacGuffin, in command of the intercept fleet. You wished to speak with me?"

"Military Tribunal Judge Harrison, Captain. We've reviewed your case." That was fast.

"MilCom Fleet Admiral Garrison, standing by, Captain Margoles."

"Tactical Command Fleet Admiral Louisa Daltoni. We want our ship back and will take it, little girl."

Quillan chuckled.

"Captain Latoff, sorry. This meeting is for the grownups. Buh-bye." She closed the connection, cutting him off before he could reply, and spoke to the rest. "Ladies and Gentlemen, you WILL be polite or I will end your part of this conversation and you will wait for me to contact you. Got it?"

"Understood."

"Yes, Captain."

"Last chance, give us... *grumble* All right."

"Of course, Captain."

Quillan poked around the console a moment and figured out how to bring up the visual screen, giving each person their own quarter. A small legend in the lower left corner of each display showed who was who.

"Now that we are all together and chatting amiably... Admiral MacGuffin, I suggest you halt your vessels where you are. You might even want to turn them around. Am I right, Judge Harrison?"

Harrison looked to be pushing eighty years old, but the sparkle in his eyes was testament to his mental capacity. He was the same judge who had given the final disposition in Quillan's case those many years ago. He even winked slightly in recognition.

"You are correct, Captain Margoles. This tribunal reviewed the records which were sent to us and, after determining that they had not been tampered with, came to the unanimous decision that Right of Salvage stands in this case. The search for your vessel was called off over a month ago; the ship, crew and all equipment were officially listed as 'lost due to unknown causes.' The distress and vocal beacons were in continuous operation for over a year. Military loss, your gain. Congratulations on your find.

"However, Captain, should you attack any Alliance vessel or territory unprovoked, the military is authorized to respond with everything in its arsenal. You are hereby granted full rights and privileges to the ship and her systems..."

TacCom Admiral Daltoni's jaw dropped and veins stood out on her forehead. They were fairly large veins, too. That woman was headed for an aneurism if she wasn't careful.

"Judge! Are you out of your mind? You realize that you've just granted full access to systems and hardware which were classified above level 3? We need to..." Quillan's finger disconnected the woman, mid-tirade.

"Anyone else want to be rude?" she asked lightly, finger poised over the panel. The remaining three shook their heads. "Very well. Judge, please finish, sir."

Judge Harrison, continued somberly.

"As I was saying, you are hereby granted full rights and privileges to the ship and her systems provided that you allow a team of five people aboard your vessel to declassify or download the necessary data in order that it be rendered safe. Do you understand these terms and conditions?"

"Thank you, Judge. I understand and acknowledge all of the aforementioned terms and hereby agree to them." Quillan's mind went into overdrive thinking of what needed to be done before the decommissioning crew could arrive.

MilCom Fleet Admiral Garrison spoke up.

"Judge, Admiral MacGuffin. May I speak to you both on a private channel, please? Captain Margoles, will you excuse us for a moment?"

She nodded, smiling, and the screen blanked. Turning her head, she asked the techbot behind her, "Alice, can they still hear us?"

"Yes, Captain. The video is active, too. They can hear and see everything you do."

A little disgruntled, Quillan turned back to the screen.

"Alice," she asked, speaking up a little, "is that armada still inbound on our position?"

Quillan had not been idle in the five days during which the ship was repairing itself. She had read everything she could find about ship systems. Her speed-reading ability was remarkable. She had managed to get through the entire engineering section and ninety percent of the weapons and defensive systems data during that time. Her memory retention and recall had been verified by several sources (grade school through the academy, along with numerous independent psychiatric evaluations) at between 99.379 percent and 99.999 percent. Her mind was a sponge.

"Yes, Captain. The first ship will arrive at our position in nine minutes. We will be within their firing range in two minutes."

"That's fine. We have a one minute firing advantage. Target every inbound ship and send a firing solution to them. Plasma array targeted on the lead vessel. Charge all weapons. Hold fire," Quillan said conversationally.

"Captain, as first mate pro-tempore it is my duty to inform you that they are authorized to fire on us in that case."

"Just do it, please. I'm well aware of the fire order," Quillan replied smoothly and without aggressiveness.

The screen lit up to display an overall view of the armada, with the planet Neptune hanging in the background. Each ship on the screen was suddenly surrounded by red brackets with a four- or five-digit number directly beneath it. The number changed constantly, counting down towards zero. It denoted range to target. Several dozen ships in the attacking group turned bright orange/yellow as their braking thrusters were fired, some even turning around and heading back to Earth-Actual. The two dreadnaughts and a few of the larger attack craft kept coming, those being better equipped to handle the firepower of theThomas A. Parker.

"Captain, this is Admiral MacGuffin. Please don't do that, Madam. I've just gotten three resignations and fourteen requests for transfer to desk duty." The voice on the other end was mildly amused. "I need to change my underwear, as well."

"Admiral," Quillan said, as she grinned charmingly into the display before her, watching the ships hightail it away. "I made the suggestion to halt your progress. I was merely reinforcing my statement. I can't help the fact that the captains under your command are scared of a single ship."

The three faces appeared on the screen again, all staring at Quillan. A slight nod from the judge told her that he approved of her bluff. Admiral MacGuffin sported an ear to ear grin, while Garrison's face remained passive. He suddenly winked.

The judge spoke first.

"Captain Margoles, I shall take my leave. The rest of this conference is just between the three of you. My personal number is displayed on your communications panel. If there are any problems with this conference, please give me a call. Remember, the ball is in your court. As long as the conditions of the judgment are met within twenty-four hours, there will be no problem. Good day and safe travels to you." He signed off, the other two views expanding automatically to fill the screen.

"Captain," broke in Alice. "My Theta One encryption protocol has been enabled by MilCom. This is normally reserved for councils of war. Would you like for me to disable that feature?"

Quillan sauntered back to her command chair, her well-rounded ass swaying provocatively for the audience on the screen behind her. A little eye candy never hurt. She sat, demurely crossing her legs at the ankles, leaning back and resting her arms on those of the chair.

"No, Alice," she said. "Can they control any other part of this ship?"

"Yes, Captain. They can access my root functions and take this ship if they wish."

"Shut it out and scan for backdoors. Place my vocal pattern as a temporary code on it. I'll update the security features when this is over. Let me know if any other attempts are made at security breaches."

"Yes, Captain."

Turning toward the screen, Quillan waggled her finger and shook her head.

"Naughty, naughty, gentlemen," she spoke. "What is this 'conference' about?"

Admiral Garrison, in charge of Military Command (MilCom, for short) which oversaw all military operations in the Alliance, somewhat abashedly cleared his throat to speak. He had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Captain Margoles, we would to formally offer you an employment opportunity. You are, of course, well within your rights to refuse, but we would be pleased if you will hear the terms and conditions of employment."

Quillan punched a few buttons on her armrest and saw that the remaining ships in the armada had halted their encroachment on her position. Using the same panel, she silently ordered all weapons to power down and the targeting sequence nullified. Several chirps from the panel acknowledged her commands.

"Go on, Admiral. I'm listening."

Both images looked slightly off their screens and as one man, heaved sighs of relief. Admiral MacGuffin looked to his right and nodded slightly, whereupon a black-clad figure, it's face just out of sight above the view of the camera, moved onto the screen. Quillan could tell it was a man, but that was all.

"Captain," said Admiral Garrison, "should you accept our offer, you will be given a 'Letter of Marque and Reprisal' to be used at your discretion. Are you familiar with this term?"

Quillan's eyebrow rose a millimeter.

"One of my optional classes at the academy was in Old Earth History. I always found that portion of the class to be the best. Basically, the letter you're talking about turns me into a legal pirate. I can capture or destroy whatever I see fit as long as I have reasonable cause for my actions and it's not a part of the Alliance or about to become so. That about cover it? The last Letter of Marque ever issued was to the private company of Goodyear...a blimp, if memory serves, over eight hundred years ago in an action called 'World War Two.'"

"Well done, Captain Margoles," said Admiral MacGuffin, the commander of the armada, as he leaned back in his chair and applauded slowly. "You will have almost total autonomy, but we will supply you with hardened targets from time to time. They MUST be hit within a specific time period. You may deal with them in your own manner and any 'spoils of war' are yours to keep. We would LIKE for you transmit any data you glean from these targets, but in most cases, we should already have that information."

"It sounds good so far, Admirals," she replied hesitantly, "but I sense a few 'howevers' on the way."

"Admiral MacGuffin," spoke Garrison. "It seems that we've made the right decision. She's very canny."

"Well, Jim," said MacGuffin, using the supreme admiral's first name, "she was in line to graduate third in her class of eleven thousand."

"All right, Captain Margoles, here's the bad part," said Garrison, matter-of-factly. "The 'Must Hits' will almost certainly have superior firepower and a higher classification of armor. Their responses will be quick and, most assuredly, devastating if they hit you. You WON'T be able to call us for reinforcements. We recommend that you build your own little army. You'll have to be self-sufficient. We WILL provide you with several small one- and two-man fighters for harassment purposes if needed. They've been stripped of any Alliance identification...sterilized, if you will.

"Now for the upside. Your systems will remain fully operatinoal and under your complete control. We'll remove any and all codes, blocks, hindrances, and backdoors into your computer system and the ship will be one hundred percent yours at full capability if you accept. Every nut, bolt, bit, byte, experiment, and laser will be yours IF you complete all of the tasks assigned to you. If you don't complete the tasks, you'll be dead and the ship will be so much scrap metal, so the point will be moot."

The panel at her arm blipped for attention. She excused herself for a moment and read the displayed message.

The backdoor programs were boobytrapped. If she ordered their removal, she'd have a dead ship and be stuck at the edge of the solar system. Quillan uncrossed her legs and leaned forward in her seat.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," she said, calmly. "The tribunal found in my favor. If I refuse the offer of employment, the ship and rudimentary functions; power, life support, weapons, and a few other things are still mine, right? I just have to give up the classified shit which is on a list that will be transmitted to me. If I accept, though, every fucking thing on board is mine to keep after I win."

"Perfect assessment, Captain. We'll even throw in some sterilized starter cash and give you an alias, if you wish, to sweeten the deal."

Quillan smiled evilly.

"Send my 'Letter of Marque and Reprisal' and pull the boobytraps out of MY ship's systems. I'll need fourteen days to forge documents and raise a crew. To prove that I'm on the up and up, you can leave one, and one only, boobytrap for remote wipe. After I contact you that I'm ready, you are to remove that trap."