Tales Of The Pink Mist Ch 02

Chapter Two

Carnality

As the crew got their crash courses in dreadnaught operation, Quillan had left them alone and gradually settled herself. She had become very nervous in handing her ship over to a bunch of people she had met only a few days previously. The ever-present, tireless Alice watched them all via the ship's cameras, patiently correcting mistakes as only a computer was able.

Once Quillan was satisfied that Ensign Jeffers knew how to fly this behemoth, she ordered the ship's helm to manual operation and held her breath. Ensign Jeffers was the pilot of the ill-fated ENFORCER and, according to Captain Wilkerson, had performed his duties aboard that ship with near precision.

Captain Wilkerson. It had been a tough decision for Quillan, but there was room for only one ship's captain. She called Charleen to meet her on the mess deck for breakfast. They had become fast friends.

"Charleen," Quillan began, poking at her eggs with a fork. "I'm not sure how to say this..."

"Stop right there, Quillan. I know what you're gonna say."

"You do?" Quillan's eyebrow rose a millimeter.

"I've been in the military since the day after college," Charleen replied, taking a swig of military issue beer as they sat in one corner of the mess hall. "Just a few months from retirement. I was captain of the ENFORCER for three years. Had you figured out the instant you walked into the mess hall to meet us the first time. You told me that I'm the XO on this ship, right? You're the owner. You're the captain. You make the rules. This ain't the military." Charleen drained her beer and pegged the empty can into a recycle tube, listening to the whoosh as it was whisked away into the bowels of the ship to be reprocessed.

"We're pirates," Charleen continued, popping open another can. "I don't give a trashmatter fuck whether I have any kind of rank or not. As long as the rest of the crew listens to what I tell them, that's good enough for me. If they don't, I'll beat the shit out of 'em."

Relief flooded into Quillan and it showed on her face.

"Good deal," she said. "Just to keep some form of order here, you have the rank of commander. Is that all right?"

"Yep. Good enough for me."

The door to the mess hall swooshed aside and Alice walked in; seemed to glide in, actually. That body. In that formfitting uniform. A seemingly permanent upturn of the lips in an enigmatic smile. Her hip sway was just the right amount. Holy shit. Every head in the room turned to watch her as she made her way to Quillan and Charleen's table. Straight and gay alike, the men got hard, the women got wet. "Miss Universal Galaxy" be damned. This was "Miss Every-Fucking-Thing." Charleen's beer-hand froze, the can teetering on her lips.

"You wished to see me at this particular time, Captain Quillan?" asked Alice, in her purring voice. Quillan giggled at Charleen and thumped her on the skull to bring her back to reality. The XO continued to stare, but set her can back on the table. Gradually, the others all went back to their respective conversations.

"Yes, Lieutenant Nine," Quillan replied. "Have a seat, please." Alice slid into the empty seat next to Quillan, her eyes wide with curiosity. Quillan shifted slightly in her seat, angling herself to see Alice and the catatonic executive officer.

"Lieutenant," began Quillan, "you know that a ship can have only one executive officer, right? Only one first mate?" Charleen finally snapped out of her reverie.

"Not entirely true, Captain," she interjected before the beautiful blonde could answer. "While that mostly holds true, when you get to the root of each posting, they can be very different. 'First mate' can be used interchangeably with 'executive officer' or 'quartermaster'...probably a couple others, too." She turned to Alice and extended her hand with an, "I-wanna-fuck-the-everliving-shit-out-of-you" smile. Her voice, however, was all business as she introduced herself. "Commander Charleen Wilkerson, Lieutenant. I thought the captain was the only one aboard this bucket when she rescued us."

Alice reached to shake hands for the first time in her existence. Her enhanced musculature and generated cyberbone could easily crush the proffered hand, but as she sensed no animosity from the commander, merely provided a firm grip in return.

"Yes, Commander," she purred. "I know very well who you are. I was controlling the ship when you were rescued." Charleen furrowed her brow, trying to muddle through those first few hours after rescue. It was all kinda fuzzy until she'd gotten cleaned up and had a good night's sleep.

Quillan took a sip of coffee and forked some now cold egg into her mouth.

"What the lieutenant means, Charleen, is that she IS the ship. This her construct." Quillan gestured up and down the magnificent body. The new commander let out a low whistle, nodding slowly.

"I'd heard whispers of rumors of tales that the Aliiance was working on advanced A.I.; trying to emulate sentience or something like that. Never knew they succeeded."

For the next hour, they talked about artificial intelligence, Alice patiently fielding a few of the same questions which Quillan had asked the night before. The conversation was winding down in preparation for docking with Infernus' Purgatory.

"So," said Charleen with finality, idly playing with her now empty beer can, "you're a warwagon who can think for itself. How did they achieve total autonomic functionality and create true sentience?"

"I haven't been able to access that part of the database yet," said Alice. Quillan smirked at the word, "yet." Alice continued, "The boobytraps which were placed in my systems also acted as blocks to certain portions of my software. As they were removed, I was able to access more and more programming, getting closer to true sentience. When Captain Quillan met the MALCOLM H RAYBURN and the final boobytrap was removed, so was the last block."

Quillan noisily cleared her throat.

"Ladies, I hate to break it to you," she chuckled, "but we have just a few hours before we hit Purgatory and I need to clear the air; get your assignments straight. So..shut the hell up." A mischievous grin to show that she wasn't angry. "In deference to Commander Wilkerson's revelation about the first mate posting, and since this is my pirate ship, I'm going to create a new post. That of, 'First Officer.' Before you start pointing out that a first officer is the same as an executive officer, I'M going to say that it's not. The XO answers to me, the First Officer answers to the XO. First Officer post is third in command of the ship. Shiny? Make sense?"

Alice's face lit up in a radiant smile, eyes shining with pure joy. Charleen shrugged and tried to take a sip of her beer. The can was empty. She pegged it into the recycler.

"Lieutenant Nine," Quillan said, as she gazed upon the perfect woman, "You are hereby promoted to the rank of commander, same as Charleen. Commander Wilkerson's departments are weapons, communications, and flight deck. Commander Nine's departments are Engineering, Experimentation, and Life Support. Anything I missed, I'll assign later. You're both responsible for scheduling in your respective sections as well as discipline, if the need arises. We're running on a skeleton crew right now, but we'll pick up extra crew and fighter pilots when we hit Purgatory. Questions?"

Alice bit her lower lip. GOD! That was so fucking sexy!

"Captain Quillan? Do I get my own quarters or bunk with you?"

Charleen's laughter could be heard on the bridge.

At a half million miles distance from Infernus' Purgatory, the massive dreadnaught began appearing on sensor arrays. At a quarter million miles, one or two long range deterrent weapons were trained on her. At a hundred thousand miles, larger weapons targeted and swung to cover the dreadnaught's approach. Through it all, the THOMAS A PARKER kept coming in a straight line. Right on cue, as Quillan had predicted, when they hit the fifty thousand mile mark communications reported that the station had attempted contact.

"Inbound Alliance dreadnaught, this is Infernus' Purgatory. You are in privately marked territory. State your intentions or leave. If you have not responded by the twenty five thousand mile mark, you will be destroyed, This your only warning."

Known throughout the galaxy, Purgatory was a haven for disreputable types as well as a vacation spot for the ultra-ultra-rich. Quillan had discovered it quite by accident when she had limped in to make repairs several years ago. A coupling had broken, snapped in half, and she was dragging her cargo box by one slender cable. There was no way she could make planetfall; the cable would have burned in two and she would have lost her cargo. She'd never lost a single piece of cargo and didn't intend to start. Since then, she'd run several pieces of "specialized" cargo for the station. She had a solid business alliance as well as friendship with Infernus, and ran cargo for him whenever she was in the area.

She didn't recognize the voice demanding to know her business. Must be a new guy.

"Oh-yeh, choombata," she greeted, affecting a gutterspeak accent. Some of the crew turned in their seats to look at her like she was out of her mind. "Me wan' bigbig chowdown wid de fireman. You dig?"

"What the fuck are you talking about, bitch? Speak Common, ya ignorant slax-fire."

There was a long pause, then the voice seemed to become very officious...as if Quillan had been introduced as the Alliance President.

"Yes, ma'am! You are requested to proceed directly to bay five two seven. You are cleared for docking at your discretion."

"Ey, choombata," she replied nonchalantly in that phony accent, "Null perspiration. Tell de bigbig honcho me here. We talk. Adios." She closed the connection with a chuckle.

Charleen, sitting a few feet away, turned her head to spear Quillan with a look.

"Captain," she said, "you wanna tell me what the hell just happened?"

Quillan held up a finger in a "wait" gesture to Charleen, then spoke to the others in the room.

"Ensign Jeffers, reduce speed to one third until we are five hundred miles out, then crawl to bay five twenty-seven for docking. Muffin, full shields, charge weapons; highest power, if you please. People here take potshots at Alliance vessels all the trashmatter time. Fire ONLY on my command. No automatic return fire whatsoever. Alice, passive targeting only on the ships along with designations, please. Confirm those orders, gentlemen."

Both men repeated their tasks word for word as they looked at each other with "what the fuck?" expressions. Quillan nodded firmly at their efficiency and turned to Charleen with a smile, as the panel at her arm beeped and lit up with a list of ships in range. The list also showed whether the target was friendly or hostile to the Alliance. She noted two large Mongan carriers docked next to each other.

"I told you about my initial run-in with this station and how Infernus helped me out? What I just did was tell port control that he'd better let me dock or I'd kick his ass to Orion's Belt and back."

Charleen looked at the screen to see the long range view of the station; little twinkles and winks as sunlight hit various ships moving around it. She tugged an earlobe.

"Captain," she said, slowly, trying to put it together. "You were just...making small talk...I think." She scrunched her face in total confusion. Quillan thought it was the cutest facial expression she'd ever seen, especially from a woman who didn't take shit and seemed the type to break her fist on people's faces. Quillan settled back in her chair.

"It was code. That boy is shitting his pants right now. When I signed off with, 'Adios,' the station's computers keyed on it and sent the whole message to Infernus. The boy knows it. Damn near everyone is scared of Infernus." She turned to look at Muffin. "Isn't that right, Mister Mansberg?"

"Yes, ma'am," Muffin rumbled softly, looking up to study the targets. "Anyone who'd sell his own flesh into slavery is not someone to fuck with. How'd you figure it out, Captain-ma'am?" Quillan just winked knowingly, her mouth turned slightly upward into a Mona Lisa smile. Muffin chuckled. "Understood, Captain-ma'am." He turned back to his panel with a grin.

Something had passed between them which the rest of the crew had missed; it was the Great Unspoken. Many criminals and some semi-legal people had developed their own code over the centuries. The Great Unspoken, it was called. It permitted that element of society to "read" thoughts and "speak" to each other with a simple look. It usually said, "You and I both know, but no one else needs to know." To their credit, no one in the room questioned any further.

At five hundred miles, Ensign Jeffers slowed the scraped, scarred, dented, blood-spattered dreadnaught to barely above a crawl. Flitting around the station were thousands of ships of all shapes and sizes in various states of repair (or disrepair, in some cases). All of them gave the scratched, chipped, bent, and dented dreadnaught a wide berth. Any battlewagon that looked that trashmatter, had to have an angry captain in command. The station itself was a twenty mile-long cylinder, inset with windows and docking bays. Some bays were large enough to entirely contain the massive dreadnaught.

"Steady on, Mister Jeffers. You're doing fine. Muffin, drop the port forward shield, please, then take your hands completely away from the fire control panel. Alice, please make sure that all weapons are locked out of autofire but remain charged." Quillan opened the ship wide intercom and spoke conversationally, as if she was ordering dinner. "Ladies and gentlemen, we're about to be fired on. There is no need to panic. All hands, just relax. This is a walk on a tranquil planet. Please grab onto something, it'll be a little bumpy."

Charleen again looked at the captain as if she was daft.

"Captain, as XO it's my duty to ask if you're in your right fucking mind," she said, her eyes flitting from the view screen to Ensign Jeffers, who was concentrating on meeting the docking port as it slowly hove into view. She glanced at Muffin who was looking in her direction with the same quizzical look on his face. Alice simply stood next to Quillan's chair, being her beautiful self.

"Call it a welcome...sort of an initiation to the club," Quillan replied in her unflappable way as she drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair.

"Captain," growled Muffin, "three hammerpoint lasers are in the final stages of charging. I can slam the shields up..." For as big a man as he was, he sounded very skittish.

"Just hang on, Mr. Mansberg."

Suddenly, the rapid fire hammerpoint lasers opened up on the section bereft of shields. The enormous dreadnought rocked violently, warning horns sounding for attention.

"Mr. Mansberg," Quillan said, in a conversational tone, as she silenced the alarms, "if you would, please, target one of those hammerpoints with a pulse laser and destroy it. Try not to rupture their hull; we're not trying to kill anyone. Alice, you may monitor and adjust the power level, if you wish."

"With pleasure, captain-ma'am."

"Of course, Captain Quillan."

Presently, what appeared to be a solid blue beam of light shot from the THOMAS A PARKER; In actuality, the laser pulsed at several thousand times a second, providing its own form of rapidly hammering the target. It slammed into the station, causing a silent explosion in the vacuum of space. Quillan leaned forward in her seat, focusing closely on the point of impact, trying to detect any residual debris...like bodies...emanating from the ruptured hull. Detecting nothing, she mentally counted to three. Right on cue, Alice said:

"Captain Quillan, Infernus wishes to personally speak with you."

Quillan opened the channel.

"Hello, Big Boy," she said, good naturedly. The second-ugliest human she'd ever laid eyes on filled the view screen, sporting a huge grin. He was also the same size and build of Muffin. That's how she had known the two were related. Infernus' close-cropped black hair was sprinkled with gray. Must be Daddy.

"Hey, Cosmo," he greeted, his chuckle sounded like a bass drum. "That was a helluva trashmatter hit. They felt it down in the Cemetery. I kinda thought you'd be dropping by and reserved a bay for you. When I got wind that you'd found a dreadnaught, I just about shit. Wanna sell her? I can give ya a good price and throw in a Grand Boomer with a Cranston Braindrive...nearly top shape. We had to replace the cockpit. The previous owners didn't wanna part with it too easily."

His eyes shifted slightly; from his point of view, he'd be staring straight at Alice.

"Good God-on-Samarji! You wanna sell her, too? No way in hell would she go to the sexpits! I'd keep that piece a' ass for myself."

Alice narrowed her eyes at the vision of Infernus and opened her mouth to say something, but was quickly cut off by Quillan.

"Always the charmer, Big Boy," she replied. "I'm afraid the answer is no to both questions. I came to pick up a few things and call in some favors. Is Monkey still around?"

"Nah," he scoffed. "Monkey and his crew got tossed in an airlock and spaced by a Mongan hit squad a few months back. He tried to fuck the Mongan royalty on a drug deal."

"Who runs the Cemetery now?"

"Damn fine piece a' ass named Nessie. I tried to get her to work directly for me, but the dough she rakes in...shit...I dunno how she does it, but my cut of her profits...I could run this station on what she brings in all by her little lonesome. I'll let her know you're coming. She gives you any shit, lemme know."

Quillan smiled pleasantly.

"You always did know how to take care of me," she said appreciatively. "I need a repairman most gashfast, please. The best you've got. I need some repairs before I can move out again. I'll send you a list of people I need to talk to. Also, my crew is gonna be wandering around for the next few days. They'll be dressed in Alliance unies without insignia. I'd consider it a personal favor if they weren't fucked with."

"Check, Cosmo. I'll label 'em as Alliance Intel-types," Infernus replied with a knowing wink. "I'll have Sluggo meet you when you dock. He can fix anything you'd care to put in front of him. Your crew gets fucked with and someone gets spaced. You have my word. After you get straight, come on up to the office. We got some catching up to do. Right now, I gotta have that laser turret replaced and bitchslap a certain comm dweeb...he'll learn to be nice if it kills him. Lates." The connection closed.

"Captain Quillan," asked a perplexed Alice, "why is it necessary to call a repairman? I am perfectly capable of repairing this ship and its components. Or did you plan to have ME fixed?"

"Tenhells! Definitely not, Commander!" Quillan almost broke her neck turning to look at Alice so quickly. "That's not the sort of repairman I'm after. I need someone to 'repair' certain databases...give us a little more nastiness so we'll be taken more seriously."

As the ship entered the huge docking bay, it was cast into shadow, powerful exterior lighting coming on to illuminate the area. Ensign Jeffers dropped the shields completely and brought the behemoth to a complete stop while holding a murmured conversation with the docking control center. Resounding thuds echoed through the ship as monstrous clamps were extended from the walls of the bay and gently closed to hold the ship in place. For a few more minutes he was busy powering down the engines and carefully checking the systems; after all, this was his new baby.

Quillan opened the shipwide intercom, her usual conversational tone issuing from the hidden speakers.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Infernus' Purgatory. A few things before I turn you loose.