Olympus Beckons Pt 12

Olympus Beckons - Chapter 12 "How Much for the Pretty One?"

Stripping off her armoured vac-suit and stepping under the hot shower was sheer luxury, and she basked in it for a few moments as the blissful sensation seemed to wash the stress right out of her. As Captain, she could override the water-ration and shower all day if she liked, not that she would, but just sometimes it was most definitely tempting.

Stepping from the cubicle, she rubbed her hair dry with a towel and tied it back, before throwing on a t-shirt and shorts. Padding across her cabin she grabbed a well-used toolkit from a cabinet and turned to the suit, pulling the mobile rack where it hung into the middle of the room so she could crouch down and connect it to the diagnostic reader before getting to work.

She could have left it in the more than capable hands of her armourer, and she probably would later, but nobody who worked in space for any length of time didn't do their own suit maintenance first, not unless they had some kind of weird death wish or something.

It was an older suit. It had served her well, and she would have recognised the scars and scrapes on its carapace anywhere. She snorted, thumping the shoulder pauldron affectionately and shaking her head,

"You're probably my oldest friend, buddy. Now isn't that a thing?"

Most suits didn't carry the internally mounted weaponry hers did, but hers was a throwback to the Thorian War, when things were a lot less...

civilised

. At least she'd dismounted the plasma caster that would normally have sat on the shoulder like some malign parrot, but the vibroblade concealed under the plates on the left forearm was still there, as was the lazgun mounted under the right. She hadn't had to use the things in years, but it would have gone against the grain to let them fall into disuse through lack of maintenance, so she checked and tested them like she always did. Mind you, if it came to pass that the Captain somehow got herself involved in hand-to-hand combat, then she was either doing something very wrong, or events had taken a definite turn.

But truthfully, she enjoyed working on the suit. She'd done it so many times she could have completed the task in her sleep, her fingers working almost without thought. It was... restful.

The door chimed just as she was running a final calibration, so instead of rising, she called up from the floor, "Enter."

The waft of freshly brewed coffee prickled enticingly at her senses as the door slid aside.

The woman entering the sanctity of the Captain's cabin was definitely more than merely attractive, with a pleasantly curved figure that even her spacer's fatigues couldn't disguise, long dark hair that fell down across aquiline features and a wide, almost sensual mouth. Her eyes were brightly inquisitive, and her smile was distinctly impish. But what was more important was she carried a steaming jug of that most blessed substance...

"Hey, Captain, I brought coffee. Helen told me how you like it."

Frances looked up at her and grinned, "Hey, Felina, you're a lifesaver. Just give me a minu-," there was a barely audible 'click' and a snort of satisfaction, "got the bugger!"

Smiling, she sat up, wiping her hands on a rag, long legs splayed out in front of her, "What's up?"

Felina had to concentrate on the woman's eyes, as she tried not to gawk at the muscular play of those toned limbs, the way her t-shirt was stretched across her bust, or how that tiny streak of oil on her cheek made her smile so endearingly mischievous. In uniform she was utterly terrifying and utterly untouchable, but now...

"She's built like a gymnast, and... and she looks so much younger."

"Um, I... I brought coffee."

In a graceful movement, those legs curved under her and the woman rose, "So I see, to what do I owe the honour?"

Felina felt herself blushing as the Captain met her gaze, eyes as bright, as mischievous and unblinking as those of the slyest of cats,

"No, not young, not even remotely."

"Helen suggested you might like a cup, and she's still at her station, so... Well, I just thought..."

Gesturing to a chair, Frances chuckled, "Aw, she's too good to me, always looking out for my sanity. Here, take a load off, and I'll grab you another cup. How are you and Helen getting on?"

"Good! We're getting on good, and uh, I wanted to thank you for letting us bunk together. I mean, uh... well, you know."

There was a snort of laughter as the Captain wandered back to the table with the extra mug, "That was Damon, not me. He's the XO and dealing with crew matters is part of his job, but I'm glad it's working out. But," her eyes narrowed slightly, "not that the coffee doesn't smell fantastic, but you had another reason for coming, didn't you?"

Felina blushed, "Um, well, yes, sort of... It was for me, really."

Pouring out the wondrous brew, Frances nodded, "Yes?"

"I... I wanted you to see that I wasn't so scared this time. That is," she gestured around her, "the fight. I wanted you to see I hadn't panicked this time. I mean, I still wanted to hide under my bunk and cry, but... I didn't."

Pushing a cup towards her, Frances smiled at the woman, "You didn't panic last time either, Felina. You had a reaction afterwards, but half of that was shock, half was adrenaline, and the other half was just plain relief at not being dead."

"That's three halves."

"So, sue me. I'm a spaceship Captain, not a mathematician. How's the crew?"

If the question, or the change in subject, surprised her, it didn't show, "I haven't had much chance to interact yet with many after this last fight, but I can tell they were up for it. They... they have a lot of confidence in you."

"That's reassuring."

Felina kept the slight frown from her face. The Captain's reply was confident, but she heard the slight sigh hidden in her voice. Sipping her coffee, she considered for a moment before speaking, "Heavy is the head that bears the crown?"

There was a nod, "Sometimes, but that's the way it should be."

The younger woman nodded, "I, uh, wanted to thank you again for taking me on as crew counselor. Quite a few of the ship's company, and not just the younger ones, have taken to 'chatting' with me. Maybe feeling me out a bit I think, but hopefully trust will build up."

Frances nodded, "You'll let me know if any issues arise?"

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Felina answered, "Uh, if it poses a danger then yes, otherwise," she swallowed, "no."

The Captain put her cup down, "No?"

It was amazing, simply amazing, how just that slight change in tone made that one word suddenly sound so fucking terrifying, and Felina had to concentrate hard to stop her hand from physically shaking.

Biting the bullet, she forced herself to meet the woman's eyes, "No."

Frances stared at her, eyes flat and expressionless, and Felina literally felt the sweat trickling down her back, but she bit her lip and said nothing.

Looking away, the Captain snorted softly, "Fair enough."

"Was she grinning?"

"You bitch! You did that deliberately!"

Those mischievous eyes were back, "Did I?"

Leaning forward, Frances refilled her mug, "It takes guts to stand to post, but it takes more than that to stand by your principles, a whole lot more. That takes integrity. I've met many with guts enough, that I still wouldn't trust as far as I could spit a rat. If my crew are going to trust you with their secrets and fears, then I needed to know. Now I do."

"You scared the shit out of me."

"Yea, sorry about that."

"No, you're fucking not."

The Captain shrugged, a small, insouciant, smile playing on her lips, "True."

Sitting back, she gave the younger woman an apologetic shrug, "Anyway, I'm glad it's working out. I think maybe you being a 'civilian' helps."

Felina snorted, "Oh, that much is certain."

"How so?"

Gesturing casually, the woman grinned, "Well, I doubt you flounce about like some floozy, in your bra and knickers, in front of anyone else in the crew, but I'm a 'civilian', so it's, okay?"

That elicited a laugh, "Touché, but it's a t-shirt and shorts, and I'm hardly 'flouncing', besides," she grinned, "the crew's seen my naked butt often enough."

"Huh?"

"Oh, you're not the only one who has to go through regular suit checks for measurements and fitting. They're mandatory, and I don't change the rules just because I'm the Captain. That would be bad form," she pouted, "I think I drew quite a crowd of gawkers and passers-by last time, though it might have been more the novelty, as opposed to just my ass."

Felina's muttering was out of her mouth before she could stop herself, "I wouldn't be too sure."

"What?"

"Uh, nothing, Captain."

Frances gave a wry chuckle before taking another sip of her coffee. Then she looked up from her cup, "You know, I'm going to meet the crew of one of those gunships in a bit. You should come with; they're Rimrunners, come to make the offer to our prisoners. You might find it interesting.

Felina tilted her head, her expression curious, "The offer?"

The coffee was as black as Satan's Hoof, and looked strong enough to melt the spoon the Captain idly stirred it with, and Felina had to shudder as the woman sipped it with relish,

"That stuff could melt its way through the deck if she spilled it."

Her own cup was essentially untouched, and given she lacked the desire to dissolver her intestines, would remain that way, but she at least pretended to nurse the brew as she leaned forward eagerly to listen to the woman's explanation.

"Aye, gunship crews are always desperate for trained spacers, so when they capture a prize, they typically make an offer to anyone willing to join their crew."

"Anyone?"

Frances laughed, "Well, they took me, so they can't be that fussy, but they typically don't take slavers and the like. Anyone who accepts takes the collar and joins up."

Felina's eyes widened, "Takes the collar? You were a slave?"

Shaking her head, Frances made a noncommittal sound, "Urm, not exactly. There are no slaves on a gunship crew, and anyone trying to call themselves "Master" or whatever, would be lucky if they shot them before shoving the dumb fuck right out the nearest airlock. It's more like an indenture, but... more to the ship, if you know what I mean, not to the skipper or any one person. Eventually, if you serve long enough, and fight hard enough, your name gets put forward and the crew vote on it. If they accept you, then that's it; you're one of them."

The counselor was fascinated, "And if they don't?"

"Well, if it's just they're still not sure of you, then you can offer to serve longer and try to earn their trust. But if it's a definite 'no', then they put you off at the next port with a few creds and no hard feelings."

"What's it like? I mean," she flushed, "you hear stories."

Frances burst out laughing, "You watched that program didn't you, "Gunships and Gangbangs" or whatever the Hell, they called it?"

Blushing furiously, Felina mumbled something incoherent, as she felt herself nodding.

"Oh Felina, the things I learn about you..."

Sighing happily, Frances shook her head with a wicked grin, "Well, sad to say it's not like that at all. Not really," she paused and looked thoughtful for a second, "well, not entirely.

"On a gunboat the Skipper has a small cabin to themselves, and the First Mate gets their own rack, but everyone else hotbunks. So, there's absolutely no room for any privacy whatsoever, which means if you're banging anyone then the whole crew knows about it," her eyes twinkled and her smile broadened as she added, "especially if the participants are, you know,

loud

.

"Anyway, it's not considered good manners to make anything of it if a couple of crew members are having a bit of fun, though there's the usual japes."

"Japes?"

Frances shrugged, "You know; I mean you have a couple going hard at it right there in front of you, when you're trying to mind your own business and drink a cup of Joe, and there's all this grunting and moaning going on. So, sooner or later someone will start offering advice, or taking bets, or the Skipper will wander by and offer a critique on their performance. Hell, one time I remember they knocked up 'score cards' for this young couple who were totally into one another and who'd been humping for a while. The poor bastards were mortified," she shrugged, "dunno why, they scored pretty good."

"Seriously?"

"Would I lie?"

"Hmm, I'll reserve judgement on that one."

With an answering grin, Frances continued, "Anyway, it's a hard life, dangerous. They take merc contracts, do anti-piracy patrols on the Frontier and the like, and the casualty rate isn't pretty, so they're usually a pretty close-knit group. And to start with you're not a slave, but you're not really free either; you can be traded."

Felina blinked, "Traded?"

"Yea, I mean, they'd never sell you, but you can be traded to another gunship for spare parts, fuel, ammunition, or swapped for other crew, that sort of thing. They don't keep official personnel records on the Rim, like on a database. So, everything is inscribed on your collar; which ships you served on, which battles you fought in, your skillset, good points, and bad."

"Couldn't that be forged?"

She laughed, "Yea, but if they found out, they'd space you, so not a good plan."

Whistling, Felina nodded, "I can see that. Uh, were you ever traded?"

"Once; the Skipper told me he didn't want to do it, but our autocannon was damaged, and we needed a new one, so, for the good of our boat, that was me."

Scratching one ear, Frances revisited her memories and found herself grinning, "But it wasn't that bad a life; hard, tough, but not bad. Everyone's in the same boat, literally, and once you're accepted, you take the mark of your ship and that's it. They become like your family," she laughed, "you might still get a right royal kicking if you fuck up, but they'd never turn their backs on you."

Ever the counselor, Felina heard herself asking, "Is that why you joined them?"

With something of a sigh, Frances nodded, "I suppose so, I was in a bad place. It was years after the war, but Tholians were still lepers. I had nobody, no world, no family; all my friends were dead, and everyone pretty much treated me like shit. Even on the ships I worked, they wouldn't piss on me if I was on fire. I guess, after a few years of that I just got lonely," she snorted, "maybe I'm not as tough as I pretend to be."

Raising her brows, Felina gave her an incredulous look, "Yeaaah, nobody's taking that bet."

"Whatever."

The counselor eyed the woman as she slumped back in her chair, legs folded under her, steaming cup of coffee cradled in her hand, just staring into the black brew, seemingly lost in her memories. She looked almost,

vulnerable

.

"Um, did... do you have a 'mark' from a gunship, Captain?"

Smiling, Frances looked up, "Sure," putting down her mug she rolled back her t-shirt from her shoulder, exposing the intricate design beneath, "it's a laser brand."

Felina breathed softly, "It's beautiful," unconsciously she reached out to touch it, before catching herself and jerking her hand back.

Frances nodded, "It's a Hydra," running her fingers across the design her eyes took on a distant, almost dreamy look, "and for two years she was mine."

With a grin she let the fabric fall back, "It's funny, I used to have a lot of tattoos, a whole sleeve down this arm to begin with. I had it done by this ex-jailbird on Sephira; old guy, a real artist. He did it the old-fashioned way, with ink and needles, completely by hand. It was beautiful," she shrugged, "gone now, just like the rest."

"You had them removed?"

Looking up, Frances frowned, "Huh? Oh, no, that was the rejuve. It undid them."

"Pardon?"

"You not know this story? I'd have thought it would have been in my file. Anyway, it was during The War. I won't bore you with the detail, but basically, we jumped into this uncharted minefield, and when we tried to get clear we accidentally set off two of these rad bombs. Old things, big nasty fuckers. The first blew away our shields and the second," she pursed her lips, "well, the second killed about half the crew, pretty much, me included."

Eyes bleak, she sipped her coffee and stirred the cup, "The medics managed to stabilise me, but I was done for. The radiation ate me to the bone. But I was a decorated officer," she sneered, "a

hero

, apparently, and a Patrician to boot, so I was given a complete rejuve. No idea how much it must have cost, and they definitely didn't 'waste' it on anyone else. But it was a total rewrite. It basically reset my body back to puberty, which was fucking annoying."

Felina snorted, "What?"

"Hey, have you ever tried commanding a warship when you looked like you were a thirteen-year-old schoolgirl? The fucking Chief Engineer offered to put a baby seat on my command chair. I wanted to space the cheeky bastard, but my XO talked me out of it."

For a second, Felina thought she caught a mischievous twinkle in the woman's eyes, but when she looked, the Captain just stared back at her, sphinxlike and completely unreadable.

"I... I don't believe you. You're pulling my leg."

Frances just grinned, "Am I?"

...

The survivors of the cruiser '

Gort',

all thirty-six from a ship's company of over eighty surrendered without a fight. They had somehow patched many of the holes that perforated the ship and restored atmosphere to a few compartments. But the reactor was down, main power was out, and, given the damage that had been inflicted, it wasn't coming back anytime soon. Given that meant the failure of life-support as soon as the batteries died, they had little choice. All an enemy had to do was stand off and wait for them to die.

Half of them were wounded, some of them, including their Commanding Officer, had radiation sickness from attempting to restore reactor power and they were in a pretty poor state.

Captain Frobisher eyed them as they were escorted off the assault shuttle by her marines. Doctor Ostrow, along with a few of his corpsmen were waiting, and they scuttled between the stretchers, carrying out emergency care on the worst injured.

He turned to the marines, "Get those five to the sickbay immediately, these others can be treated in the hole."

One of the wounded, a bedraggled looking officer whose face was already gaunt with rad poisoning, pulled himself free of the Leftenant holding him upright, "Hole?"

Frances stepped forward, "He's being poetic. We don't have a brig big enough, so you'll be held in an empty cargo bay. It won't be comfortable, but don't worry, we'll ensure your needs are met."

The man swallowed, "T-thank you."

He staggered, but caught himself, "I'd like to go with them."

"No, the doc says you need treatment in sickbay, so that's where you go" her lips curled in a thin smile, "he can be somewhat stubborn about these things. I've found it's best to humour him."

At her curt gesture a marine moved forward, but the officer held his place for a moment longer, "My crew... They're not slavers, or... pirates. We're mercs, we didn't attack the convoy. J-just you."

It was clear he was weakening, and she had no love for him, but his concern for his crew was at least worth something. She sniffed, "You're not slavers, I'll give you that. But you still attacked us. It could be argued we're not in Teraxan space, but that's poor consolation to the

Apollo's

dead.

She looked about at the survivors, her face hard, "You'll be classed as 'hostile belligerents' and dealt with accordingly. But at least you won't hang."

This time her gesture brooked no argument, "Take him away."