Tales of the "Pink Mist" Ch. 02

"You elected to stay on this ship and become pirates. Act like it. If someone tries to pick a fight with you, end it quickly. Take shit from no one. That does NOT mean that you can go and intentionally start trouble. Mind your manners.

"I've set up a 'ship's bank' if you will, and your payshares to date have been deposited in your respective accounts. Please see the disbursement officer..."

She looked at Charleen who rolled her eyes and grumbled as she headed for the door.

"...at the main airlock to receive your personal credsticks. If you need an advance on your next payshare, contact me and we'll discuss it."

She turned in her seat to give Alice a meaningful look. Alice nodded acknowledgment and went to get the proper equipment.

"The current medical officer will also be standing by the door to implant you with a subcutaneous lifesign communicator. It is the size of a grain of rice and will sting for a little while after implantation. It monitors your vital signs and contains a tracking device which will be activated ONLY if we detect any distress on your part. It will not be used to check your whereabouts under normal circumstances.

'To activate the communicator, merely tap it twice and then say the name of the person you wish. Tap it twice again to disconnect. If you say the word, 'help,' by itself, you can expect a rescue squad shortly. They're not what you might expect, but they're devastating and efficient. Be DAMN sure you need help. If you just 'want to test it,' then you will answer to me...I guarantee that I won't be happy.

"You can thank the Alliance for this little lifecomm gadget. Anyone who doesn't agree with this monitoring device, take your pay and have a nice life."

"We'll be leaving this station at 0600, six days from today. Be on board or enjoy your new home.

"You may feel free to seek your own temporary quarters on the station or return to your quarters here. This ship is your home. Don't be put off by the sentries which will be posted at the main airlock. The implants you will receive contain encrypted transmitters which will identify you as crew. Simply walk past the sentries...don't look them in the eye, though...they get testy. Thank the Alliance for those, as well.

"Enjoy yourselves."

Quillan signed off and looked at Jeffers and Muffin who were sitting quietly.

"Are you still on my ship?" she asked, the humor evident in her voice. "Get out of here. Have fun. Don't get killed." She looked directly at Muffin. "Want me to talk to your dad?"

The giant man shook his head as he stood and thumped toward the door, Jeffers punching a few more buttons and rushing to catch up to his new friend.

"Thanks, Captain-ma'am," he rumbled in reply. "Just gonna keep a low profile. Potter and me was kinda thinking of staying on board, if it's all the same to you."

Potter Fielding Jeffers. His parents must have been hippies.

"Fine by me," she answered, "but, before you go anywhere else, go get your pay and the new chip. The sentries at the door will be looking both ways. I don't want to come back and find a puddle of goo containing your DNA. Shiny?"

"Shiny, Captain-ma'am." He put a huge arm around Ensign Jeffers, purely a friendship gesture. "C'mon, choombata. Let's get them damn chips and then hit the rec hall. I'll whup your ass in tinker-chess."

"HA! You can try, you arrogant blockmonster! I took third in the world finals when..." The closing door cut off the rest of his sentence.

Alone on the bridge, Quillan let out a long slow sigh, for the nth time examining every detail of the room.

The front view port looked out into the huge service bay in which they sat. She watched a squad of five service techs, hard to tell what sex they were as they were encased in atmosuits, fly past as they went about their chores on someone else's ship. As she hadn't settled any agreements with a service vendor, there was no one working on her ship yet. The view port, when activated for battle, became opaque and presented a digital image provided by myriad pickups on the hull of the ship. If she wanted to, she could get a view of every conceivable angle around the ship; similar to a vidcam mounted on a ball. When the viewport opaqued, a duranium/tritanium alloy shield was raised to provide a nearly impenetrable forward "hardshield." The walls around the entire bridge were made of this alloy.

If the ship was in such a trashmatter state that required it, the bridge could be jettisoned in a single unit. Handy in the middle of a fight was the emergency plasma shielding which would also serve as a cloak to allow the module to hightail it to safety. Theoretically. Thank god the previous captain hadn't used that feature. If activated, thirty seconds after the module cleared the hull, self-destruction of the entire ship would take place.

Her eyes dropped to the empty seats recently vacated by Jeffers and Muffin.

The helm station, dead center of the bridge, mere feet from the view port, controlled the engines and steering of the huge ship. Each helmsman programmed the panel to his or her liking for ease of use. If Commander Wilkerson took a seat at the station, the seat read her body type and vitals to determine who was sitting there and reconfigured itself according to her specifications. She could get out of the seat and let Jeffers slide in and the panel would instantly be set up for him.

Directly behind him sat the gunner; in this case, Muffin. When Muffin was seated, he was looking through a smaller screen containing a heads up display. His hands rested on the arms of the chair, fingers naturally placed in slots containing small pads similar to the pads on ancient laptop computers. Sliding his fingers over the pads would control targeting and firing of individual weapons or all of them at the same time. If given the order, he could temporarily take control of the helm to reposition the ship for a better firing angle.

To her right was the navigation station. It was tied directly to Alice's mainframe.

To the left was the communications station.

Then, there was her own chair which was situated in the exact geographic center of the bridge. From it, she had access to every function on the ship, including opening or closing any door she wished. The myriad of buttons were...

Her examination was interrupted by Charleen's voice.

"Captain, all pay has been given out and everyone's been implanted with the lifecomm. Nobody refused. Three people in addition to Mansberg and Jeffers elected to stay aboard and permission was granted."

"Very well, Commander," she said, the relief in her voice heard through the intercom. She had feared that a lot of people would be suspect of their new captain's intentions. "We could use a few people here to keep the pilot light lit. Wait for your relief and then hit the station. See you in a few days."

Long pause.

"Begging your pardon, Ma'am," Charleen's confused voice replied, "but...uh...who's my relief?"

Quillan chuckled.

"Is Alice still with you?"

"Right here, Captain Quillan."

"All right, Alice," she said, grinning to herself as she opened the bridge door behind her. "Post the sentries." She began slowly counting to herself. She reached the count of seven when...

"MARY-MOTHER-OF-GOD-AND-ALL-THAT'S-HOLY!!!"

...Charleen's voice floated up the corridors and onto the bridge.

Quillan's laughter echoed back.

As Alice and Quillan exited the ship, they descended the ramp to the service bay, Quillan still chuckling.

Behind them, guarding the gangplank, were the sentries. Culled from the deepest darkest reaches of some twisted scientist's mind, they were very sleek six-legged creatures resembling mutant lizards. The long narrow snout appeared to be nothing but teeth. Sharp teeth. To be exact, tritanium steel teeth. They could quite literally chew through the foot thick bulkhead of the ship and barely pause in their forward motion. A swipe of one of the tritanium-clawed feet could decapitate a human or turn said human into meat-flavored cole slaw. It was next to impossible to attack one from behind also since the creatures, having no eyes or ears, relied on motion and heat sensors to detect threats. The thin whiplike tail was studded with inch-long rounded nubs. If an unprotected human got hit with a tail, broken bones and internal injuries would ensue. The creatures' internal cybernetics were tied to the main computer that allowed them to instantly identify crew members or other personnel who were authorized by the senior crew. The "repairman" Sluggo was one such authorized.

Sluggo, as had been stated, was waiting for them when they docked and was now jacked into the main computer via cables attached directly to his brain. He was under express orders not to leave the ship for any reason, because he wouldn't be able to get back on. Since he was working on Alice's brain, she had a vested interest and was monitoring his progress very closely.

Sluggo didn't waste time trying to check those files he didn't need. He was accessing the ship's identification files, changing the name, as well as providing over one thousand false identities and backgrounds for the current and any future crew. The fake identities were optional. A crew member could change his her name and the background for the new identity could be found in any database in the Alliance. Even the hypersecure military databases.

Two hours after the THOMAS A PARKER had docked, Quillan's account was debited several million credits and an impossibly thin technogeek ambled down the gangplank. Where the ninth generation THOMAS A PARKER used to sit was now parked a fourth generation dreadnaught named PINK MIST.

It couldn't possibly be anything else as every record in every database including the most secure Alliance databases reflected that fact. Records would show that the decommissioned MICHAEL R COLBY had been sold for scrap to a buyer on Rell VII. That buyer had, in turn sold it to a little-known cargo company operated by one Quillan S. Margoles. If Quillan chose, she could activate her false identification profile and become Justine T. Majors...the files would reflect that "Justine" was the owner of the cargo company. With the press of a button, "Quillan S. Margoles" would disappear.

The wide main hallway was awash in a sea of bodies of all shapes, sizes and races. Vendors hawked their wares from pushpull carts. Eating establishments carrying everything from rat meat to the most expensive Salarian sandfish dotted the way, sitting next to clothing shops and parts stores. A shopping mall. Heads turned as a fairly tall gorgeous blond wearing a body-hugging black jumpsuit sauntered past, accompanied by a fairly attractive red head. A casual observer might note that the red head was typing on a newer model hand held "carrier," but couldn't care any less WHAT she was typing. Most of the attention was on Alice.

Quillan hit the send button on her carrier and placed it back into its belt holster, then pointed off to her right and wandered toward a small unmarked hallway. Halfway down it, she ran her hand along the wall, found the correct panel, and pushed. The shimmerpad activated in order to transfer them to the other end of the station.

"I suppose we could have taken a subtube, but there's less chance of getting waylaid on a shimmerpad," smiled Quillan, when they had materialized in the plush surroundings of an administrative office.

"Where are we, Captain Quillan?" asked Alice, looking around at the opulence. Quillan walked up to stand directly in front of Alice, smiling gently.

"Alice, whenever we're alone or not on the ship, you can just call me Quillan. Be informal, in other words."

"All right, then," Alice giggled, a light merry sound in stark contrast to her smoky voice. "Where are we, Quillan?" she repeated.

"We're in Infernus' outer office. He should be here...shit..." She sighed and moved her hands away from her body as five heavily armored bodyguards, faces hidden behind hardened plates, surrounded them with rapid fire slug-throwing rifles pointed at their heads. "Do like I'm doing and just be still, Alice. I'll take care of it."

Alice raised her hands in response, her internal targeting systems already kicking in to evaluate the perceived threat. The bodyguards were tagged and categorized instantly; numbered One to Five, their heights, weights, armor strengths and weaknesses, make, model, and firing rate of each weapon, along with the probability of which one was likely to fire first based on heart and respiratory rates. Number Four's attack probability was thirteen percent higher than any of the others. She casually turned to ready an attack, if needed, barely moving her feet to get optimal traction on the thick rug.

"Guys," Quillan said, her voice friendly, "is this really necessary? I mean, after all, we WERE invited here."

"Just stand there and breathe, Quillan," replied an equally friendly male voice from bodyguard Number Five. Attack probability: Sixty-eight percent. "You know we gotta check for weps before you go in. Your friend is cybered to the max. She have anything that we might need to know about?" He had lowered his weapon, but kept it at the ready. His attack probability level dropped to less than twenty percent.

"Really, Mike," sighed Quillan, recognizing the voice, her hands still raised. "I know you take your job seriously, but don't you think this going a little overboard? As for Alice, here, she's cybered to the max because she's my compgeek AND she's one of my command staff."

"Look, bitch," growled Number Four, who's attack probability increased two percent. "I don't give a trashmatter fuck who she is, or who you are for that matter, you're not getting in until you get searched. Now," he motioned to the floor with his slug-thrower, "you and blondie hit the deck, face down."

Quillan casually turned her head to speak to Alice.

"My, that man is rude."

"Yes, he is, Quillan," the gorgeous blond purred. "Would you like for me to disarm him?" Number Four's probability shot up to ninety-nine percent, his finger tightening on the trigger.

"If you do that," Quillan replied, "the others here might not react too favorably."

Indeed, their percentages had all increased dramatically, even Mike who brought his weapon to bear, aimed carefully at Alice's head. All five bodyguards had made the unforgivable mistake of standing within arm's reach of the sexy blonde commander.

Alice twitched. Five dull thuds as the weapons hit the thick carpeting almost simultaneously.

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Alice's right hand shot outward, pushing Number Four's slug-thrower backward hard into his shoulder, his finger momentarily losing contact with the trigger. She gripped the muzzle and twisted the gun clockwise, the bodyguard's finger coming completely out of the trigger guard. She jerked the rifle out of his grip, dropping it at her feet as she spun to her left to face the next highest probability: Number Two.

As she completed her maneuver, she grabbed the barrel with her left hand as her open right hand contacted the man's elbow and bent it in the direction elbows are supposed to bend. She brought her right hand toward her, snagging the shoulder stock in the process, then ripped the gun from his hands as well. She dropped it, reached to Number One and simply pulled the rifle from his grip. Drop.

A half-step and quarter-turn put her hands in range of Three and Five at precisely the same instant. She twisted the guns in opposite directions and dropped them to the floor.

Slightly over a half second. Zero body count. Number Four would have a sore shoulder for a few hours, but there was nothing major; unless you counted their bruised egos.

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"Then, I'll just have to disarm them all, Captain Quillan," smiled Alice. Her face changed slightly as she furrowed her brow and dropped her gaze to her hand. Her internal monitoring system had relayed to the ship/brain a slight degradation of the neuromuscular interface in her right arm. The ship/brain instantly processed the information and sent back a signal to reduce motor functions to that area while the interface was fed an update patch and the system's own self-repair took place. A second signal was sent to the body's processor to "flag for minimal use" that portion of the body.

In layman's terms: her hand hurt.

Quillan caught the look, filing it away for future reference, but returned her own gaze to Mike as she lowered her arms. All of the bodyguards' eyes were wide in bewilderment at what had just transpired.

"Now, Mike," Quillan's smooth voice said, as she gestured to the ceiling and around the room, "think about it for a moment; you know she's wired out the ass, as your scans pointed out and she just proved. So, you and I both know that the scanners have examined us down to the molecular level, right?"

Mike shifted uncomfortably. Quillan nodded firmly to herself and continued.

"Right. So you also know that we carry no weps." She narrowed her eyes. "I have a sneaking suspicion that you and your goons wanted to grope, fondle and possibly rape us right here, right now. That...will...not...happen. Shiny?"

Before Mike could reply, the guard designated Number Four, now categorized "extremely hostile," charged Alice with his hands extended at waist level. She sidestepped, made an "L-shape" with her hand and simply let his throat run into it. His feet went out from under him and he landed heavily on his back, gasping for breath, his hands flying to his bruised trachea. Alice bent over the gasping man and carefully pulled off his face mask in order that he might breathe easier.

"Sir," she addressed him, her smoky voice matter-of-fact, "please don't do that. You'll be fine in a few minutes. Just lie still and take long slow breaths. If you try to attack me again, I'm afraid that extreme violence will ensue, up to and possibly including your untimely demise. Blink twice if you understand, don't talk."

Eyes filled with hate, he relaxed and squeezed his eyes shut twice, breathing slowly and deeply. His designation dropped to "passive," his attack probability percentage dropped to four percent.

Quillan ran a hand through her flaming red hair. Exasperated sigh. She looked around at the others, defiance in her features.

"Anyone else?" she dared. None took the bait. "Then, we're icy. Pick up your weps and go away. Our business is not with you." The men warily moved in, crouching to pick up their weapons while watching Alice very closely. Two helped their injured comrade up and they all made for the door.

"Good one, Quillan," said Mike, cheerily. "Dinner later?"

"Fuck off, Mike," she replied, sporting a huge grin. His laughter receded down the hallway.

As the door closed behind the retreating bodyguards, Quillan called out.

"All right, Infernus, you asshole. Open your flaming office door and let us in."

A panel slid aside noiselessly. Infernus' rumbling voice from hidden speakers.

"Just you, Quillan. The blonde can wait in the lobby or go sightseeing. You're gonna be here a while."

Quillan turned to wink and nod at Alice; indication that she'd be fine.

"Should you need me, Quillan, I'll be sitting in that chair." Alice pointed to a leather covered chair a few steps away. Quillan smiled, very reluctant to leave the beauty by herself, then turned and went into Infernus' office.

Her stomach churned to see the abuse being heaped on the diminutive slave. Charleen stood with her back against the wall in the Cemetery, accompanied by Lt Delnith Klaksell, a weapons tech in her department. Delnith placed a restraining hand on Charleen's arm while the latter ground her teeth and muttered oaths to make a Stellar Marine proud.

The slave in question was being fucked mercilessly by two medium-sized human males, their dicks jackhammering in and out of her mouth and pussy at the same time. The males were laughing and joking as they pulled the girl this way and that. One held her by the ass cheeks while the other clenched her breasts tightly in each hand, threatening to tear them off. The poor girl whimpered, her eyes rolled back in her head as she neared unconsciousness. She looked like a ragdoll. Six other men stood by, smilingly watching the scene and slowly stroking their erect cocks as they waited their turn.