Ship's Interface Ch. 003

Now Bonded, and with Interface's energy levels on the rebound, the joy they shared soared. The ship recognised their presence and opened the door for them as they left the room. Wanting to celebrate, they returned to their lounge and even though Interface was only present in spirit, for the moment, they 'vigorously' celebrated, making passionate love to each other, over, and over, long into the night.

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"Captain Franco, Commander Cortez has requested to speak with you". Harold Franco slumped in his command chair on the bridge of the Anatolia, rubbing his forehead.

"I'll take it in my ready room." Franco told Jones, his comms officer as he started to rise from his seat.

"The message said, 'In person'." Jones finished, not looking the Captain in the eyes. Franco growled and his eyes grew wide. "Damn it!" he cursed, and threw the half finished bottle of whiskey he'd been nursing at the lieutenant.

The bottle hit the man hard on the head, cutting his brow which promptly started to bleed. "If you fucking bleed all over my console, I will personally space you through an airlock, got it?!" The Captain yelled at Jones, who grabbed his forehead and headed down to the medical bay, cowering. He was swiftly replaced by another crew member at the comms station, who fastidiously kept his head down.

"Make for the current rendezvous point for the 'Victoria Gloriosa'. Top Speed." He commanded the helmsman. "Aye, Captain," he confirmed. "Course laid in."

"Notify me when we're fifteen minutes out. I'll be in my ready room." the Captain demanded as he stormed off the bridge.

"Fuck me." Franco thought, as he collapsed into the high back chair behind his ostentatious desk. "If I only had a little more time, I would have found that fucking freighter that nuked his nephew." It had only been three months since Juan Cortez had assigned him the five ships in his raiding group, three corvettes, a small cruiser, and a frigate. Cortez ran this corner of the Magan Empire's underworld, controlling most of the piracy in the region, with some smuggling and slave trading mixed in.

Franco's assignment was to catch and strip the freighters Cortez sent his way from the major hyperspace lanes. He had been tailing a freighter for four day and had been just about to capture it, when the fuckers nuked one of his corvettes with an overloaded engine before slipping away in a nebula.

The loss of the ship and crew didn't bother him that much, that's what they were for, disposable tools of his trade. Unfortunately for Franco, one of the young lieutenants on that corvette had been Cortez's nephew. The jettisoned cargo from the freighter wouldn't make up for it; there had to be blood. He had hoped for more time to find those fuckers so it wouldn't be his.

"Fifteen minutes, Captain" one of his crew called from the bridge. "Okay," he thought. "Let's get this shit show on the road."

The Anatolia extended its docking ring to the airlock of the battle cruiser, 'Victoria Gloriosa', Cortez's command ship. Franco felt the intended intimidation of the size mismatch of the two vessels as he crossed the docking tube to the 'Gloriosa'.

As he entered the airlock, Franco was flanked by two gorilla sized men, who escorted Franco to Cortez's ready room. As the door opened, Cortez was studying a holographic map of the sector, several shipping lanes highlighted as apparent targets.

Without a word or looking up, he gestured to the chair in front of his large desk, and the two enormous men put a hand on each shoulder roughly sitting Franco down. Cortez said nothing for a moment, eyes on the map, as Franco squirmed in his seat. Then he spoke.

"I give you five of my finest ships to command, and give you a relatively simple task of gathering up the freighters I send to you." He paused, quickly rose to his feet, yelling. "And you can't even perform this simple task I give to you." Sweat began pouring down Franco's face as he stammered trying to find an excuse that wouldn't get him killed right here.

"You don't understand!" Franco defended himself. Not noticing that Cortez hadn't mentioned his nephew, he continued. "My corvette was taking the lead," he lied, " when they turned hard and jettisoned their engine, setting it to overload right in front of your nephew." Franco kept laying it on thick. "He was a good man and a decent sailor; if only my corvette was faster I could have shielded him with my ship, sparing his beautiful life." Piling it higher, with the cherry on top, "I've had my ships patrolling all through that god forsaken nebula, and when I find them, I will avenge your nephew's life."

Franco waited to see Cortez's reaction and learn his fate. Cortez spoke coolly. "My brother's boy was a scoundrel, like his father. I only took him in as a favor to my Dear Mama." Franco realized too late he had miscalculated. Cortez continued. "But such is the way of the life we have chosen, no?" He settled back into chair, pouring more of the golden liquor from a crystal decanter on his desk into a glass, taking a sip.

"No, my friend, your sin is much larger than one lost pup." Franco's eyes darted around the room looking for a means to escape.

"Let me ask you a question. How well do you know our 'business'?" Cortez's manner had become frighteningly friendly. "Where are we deriving our income? Please, speak up, don't be shy." Cortez encouraged.

Not sure where his line of reasoning was going, Franco answered. "Gambling establishments and bookies, protection agreements, slaving, and piracy." He was completely unnerved by Cortez's even tone.

"And what percentage of our business is each?"

"I'm not sure off hand.." Franco tried to deflect.

"Take your best guess." Cortez pressed.

"Ten percent from gambling, five from protection, twenty from slaving, and the rest from pirating?" Franco ball parked.

"Not bad, you're pretty close. Maybe I need to watch my numbers with you." Cortez chuckled to himself. "By your figuring, sixty five percent of our income is from pirating. Do you know how much of that is tied up with our little hyperspace cut out?"

Franco sensed the thrust of his point approaching, and hoped it wouldn't be accompanied by the point of a knife. "Twenty percent?" he guessed.

"Eighty. Fucking. Percent!" Cortez exploded. "That cut out is the life blood of this enterprise. I spent ten years and half my fortune setting this up, paying off half of the Fucking Galactic Turnpike Authority to pull this off. But it only works if no one knows about it, right?" His eyes shone with fury.

"The job was simple. Collect the freighters we misdirect and send your way. Take the goods, destroy the evidence, eliminate any witnesses." He paused to take an angry swig of his drink. "If one, just one, person survives to tell the authorities, freighters will stop taking this shipping lane, and the whole area will be infested with Naval ships." Franco couldn't stop the shaking of his hands.

"You let one get away. That one ship could be the end of everything I have built." Cortez paused, taking a breath. "I have strung men's entrails up in the mess hall as a warning to those who fail me", he paused, "but you pose a rather unique opportunity for me. Turns out, you're the best man for this job." His voice got low and venomous. "You, my friend, are now uniquely motivated to find and tie up this loose end. I know about the woman you've been hiding, trying to protect her from me, as well as your little boy, and little girl." A chill ran down Franco's spine. He had been so careful, how did he find out about them? Now they were in danger, too.

"If you fail me again, I will personally slit your throat, but not before I make you watch all three go to 'Market'." A cold dread settled on Franco. Horrible fates awaited women sold at market. The boy would end up in a mine somewhere, worked to death, and his little girl... It was too much to contemplate.

"I won't fail you again." Franco declared.

Cortez rose from his seat, gestured to his boys to bring Franco to his feet. "You had better not." he said quietly, as he patted Franco's face with an open palm. "I'll give you five more ships. Get it done." Without another word, Cortez waved him away and returned to his maps.

The giant thugs flanked Franco once more and escorted him off the ship.

Back on the Anitolia, and under way with eight ships at his back, he poured himself a scotch. He watched out the viewport as they passed into the nebula, and thought about how he was going to enjoy killing these fucks that just made his life complicated.

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*Author's Note*

Please check my Bio for the story update schedule.

Be good to each other,

T