Black Dawn (4 page)

A large ship docked at the station drew the attention of a number of people seeking employment. However, the next few who turned
up on the doorstep Coy sent packing quickly. They left saying very
uncomplimentary things about Rigans in general, hermaphrodites in
particular, and Captain Lamont specifically.

Commander Butler did them an undeserved favor by keeping
Schiff and Rebel from taking them apart and spacing the pieces. Coy
quietly watched in approval as Butler held his ground and earned a
grudging respect from the two troopers.

An hour before leaving dock, an earnest young man came begging an interview for himself and a friend. Coy met them in the smaller of the two lounges turned briefing rooms.

Upon entering the room, they both came to attention and saluted- one a beat behind the other. Coy returned them , blandly.
“At ease. What can I do for you gentlemen?”
“We’ve come to apply for positions aboard your vessel. Sir,
ah, sir.”
“ ‘Sir’ is fine,” Coy assured them. “What exactly do you offer
that the people I’ve turned down didn’t?”
They exchanged a bewildered look. “Turned down?” the second said. “We heard you had lots of openings.”
“I do. But they are very specific openings.” Curious, Lamont
cocked its head. “What have you heard?”
“Not much,” the first answered. “We hit the station less than
an hour ago. To be honest, we’re here because we ran out of money to
go any further. Someone at the port said this ship was hiring on mercenaries before she left, so we gave it a shot. I didn’t realize you needed specialists.”
“I see.” Coy sat down. They stayed at attention. “Where have
you served before this?”
“Me? On merchant ships, sir.”
“Oh? They salute a lot on merchant ships?”
“Well,
ac
tually,” the young man drawled the word out, “they
were my second choice. I started out in military school.”
“You’ve had academy training?’
“Technically, yes. But not command. Computers. A little
communications work. That sort of thing.”
Coy blinked in disbelief at this gift landing in its lap. Aloud it
said, “From military to merchant to mercenary. Do you have difficulty
deciding what to do with yourself?”
He shuffled his feet a little. “A merchant ship was the quickest
way off planet at the time.”
Coy tried to look stern and encouraging at the same time. How
did Commodore Aubry always do it? “Away from what?”
“I, ah, needed to put some distance between myself and my
father’s people.”
“Your father’s “people” ?”
“He’s a, ah, businessman. Mostly. Sort of.”
Coy made a few mental assumptions and cleared the young
man. It focused on the other. “Are you tech as well?”
“No, s-sir. I’ve never worked for anyone with a real army.
Just security work. You, know, warehouses, rent-acop and so on.”
Lamont frowned a little. “What makes you think you can be a
soldier?”
The two looked at each other. The former security guard swallowed, and with an effort, turned back to Lamont. “If I have to explain
that in words, I guess I won’t make it. When Dev suggested we give it
a try, it seemed like a good idea. It seemed...” Coy watched hopefully
while he struggled for words and nerve. Finally, he found both.
“You’re not pirates, are you?”
Coy blinked in surprise. “If I were, would I tell you?”
He shrugged.
“No. We are
not
pirates.”
Something in Coy’s tone made him smile. “I didn’t think so. I
would hate to think I’d left everything just to end up on the other side
after all.”
“The other side of what?’
Another swallow. “My folks were killed by pirates. Everybody back home thinks I’m just out for revenge...but it’s not just that.
There’s more people than me that needs…” He gave a small frustrated
sigh. “It’s...like I said. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“What is your name?”
“Randy Sweggert, sir.”
“And..?” to the other.
“Devyu Aziza.”
“Very well. My name is Capt. Coy Lamont. I own and command this ship. Welcome to the BlackFleet. Mr. Sweggert, I will introduce you to Sgt. Schiff. He will get you situated. Mr. Aziza, there is
a communications console up on the bridge waiting for you.”
Both of their faces lit like candles.
“We’re in?!” Aziza exclaimed. “I mean, yes, sir. Thank you ,
sir”
Coy smiled at their enthusiasm, called Schiff and added their
names.

Numbers fourteen to twenty-two came quickly at their next
few stops: Andrea Pierce, a stunning blond with a wicked kick and
deadly aim. Anton Vennefron, quick minded but pessimistic. Barry
Donalds, cool and confident. Cori Swift, a bubbly red-head and Helen
McKnight, her tall dark counterpart. Tony Knepp, one of the few with
actual military training and talented as either trooper or tech. Orson
Terrell, who signed on as a tech, but after listing first aid as a talent
was snapped up by Byars for a corpsman. Sammy Nathon, a born tinkerer. And lastly Sren Erhardt, a lonely young clone who needed a
chance to live his own life.

Each with their own version of the Story. Each with something
they desperately needed; each with something they desperately needed
to give.

The day the last one signed on, Coy sat staring at the roster.
People under its command. Did it really want this again? Now that it
had them, what should it do with them? ‘
What are you going to do
with this fleet of yours?
’ It hadn’t lied to Butler. It knew what it wanted. But it went against all of its training and its….Coy paced and
thought and calculated all through the sleep cycle. It was afraid to
think it might actually be caring about something. And the fear was as
unaccustomed as the caring.

In the “morning” it took a deep breath and called a meeting
with Bon and Butler.

“We’re ready,” it told them as they sat around the ta
ble in the
port briefing room.
“Ready?” Bon asked. “Ready for what, Commodore?”
“To get down to business. The BlackFleet is on line.”
Butler blinked. “You’re kidding, right? We have , what, ninteen people now? Not counting the three of us. What are we going to
do with twenty-two people?”
“Numbers are not the issue. It depends more on motivation.
Training.”
“Motivation, I’ll take your word for, but half these people are
not
trained,” Butler insisted.
“So train them, Exec. I want you to sit down with Schiff and
work it out so everyone is trained. I have their assignments here,” it
gave the data to him. “Raeph, you have 6 people under you counting
Pedula, although I want him as shuttle pilot. If you need anyone else in
a pinch request Knepp. Or Aziza if he’s not on the bridge.”
“Okay. I won’t even mention that I could use a staff of twenty
all by myself.”
“Thank you for not mentioning it.”
“Then I will,” Butler said. “Why ? I mean, this isn’t permanent. Is it?”
Coy paused. “I don’t know. Possibly. I want a small team.
This ship , even at its size does not need a lot of maintenance. Yes,
we all will be pulling long shifts. But what I want to do can best be
done with a small, tightly knit unit. When you have intimate
knowledge of your team mates abilities and reaction times your efficiency is phenomenal.”
Butler tried again. “You really think we can go out there,” he
waved his arm in a large circle, “and be vigilantes or something? Playing hero ? That’s
really
what this is all about? Then give me an army
to do it with!”
Coy crossed its arms but said nothing.
Ken opened his mouth to protest further, but Bon gave him a
nudge and a shake of the head. “This is the people it wants, this is the
people we have, this is the people we’ll work with.”
Butler contained himself with an effort. “Bootlicker,” he
mumbled.
Lamont nodded. “Now that it’s settled, talk to Schiff. We
break orbit in four hours. I’m calling an all crew meeting in one. I
want the schedules then.” It stood and they followed suit. “Right now,
I have an appointment with our Med Tech.”

* * * * *

Twenty-one people occupied the large lounge-turnedconference room. Which left a lot of empty seating space. The few
who had been aboard since Alluria spoke to each other in quiet, familiar tones. Others looked about the room warily, or at their hands nervously. The newest recruits just sat, wondering. In an outfit this new,
four or five days gave a person a lot of seniority.

The doors swished open and the captain entered. Lamont
strode to the front of the room and looked over the group. Its first crew
since... They all looked back with various degrees of puzzlement and
curiosity. It
was very glad none of them had seen it pacing the corridor outside this
room , doing battle with its warring desires.

There was no need for gavel banging or throat clearing. Everyone’s attention was locked to the person before them.

“I believe”, Coy opened, “ in doing what is right. And I believe in doing what is correct. And I have found they are not always
the same.” There was a murmur of agreement around the room.

“Perhaps you have wondered what kept you on board when so
many others have been sent away. It is my understanding from talking
to each of you, that you, each in your own circumstances, have had to
choose between right and correct. Between honor and duty. It is not
an easy decision. Many of us have paid dearly for our choices. We
have lost family, homes, careers and friends. But those choices led
you here, to this moment. To the BlackFleet.”

Some of the puzzlement melted away. A myriad of expressions took its place. Old pain, damaged pride, skeptical hope.
“Many have asked what you were hired for. What the BlackFleet is going to be. Well, ladies and gentlemen, we are going to be
heroes. For anyone who needs us. Profit is not going to be our first
priority. If it is yours, let me know now, while the other side of the
airlock is attached to the station.” Coy paused. Did they understand
what it was asking of them? Had it read them right during those, often
hasty, interviews? It went on. “Another belief of mine is that everyone
deserves the right to prove - and improve - themselves. Many of you
have military experience, which has been considered, but it is not the
only grounds for an assignment.
“As of yet we have no rank insignia. We will, however, be
professional. I expect you to follow proper form and courtesy whether
someone is wearing a pin or not. As you know, I am owner and captain of this ship. You will address me as such. Commander Butler...”
a nod and he rose from his seat... “is second in command and Executive Officer. He’s the one you tell your problems to.” Coy gave him a
small nod. He returned a grimace. “Commander Bon...” Butler sat
and Bon rose. ... “ is our Chief Engineer and third in command. Which
makes him responsible
for anything that doesn’t work.” Bon saluted and sat. “Jump Pilot
Hoffman,” he remained seated, “that’s rather self explanatory. And
you don’t bother him with
anything
.” A small spattering of chuckles
acknowledged the value of the JP. “Med Tech Byars is in charge of
bumps, bruises and migraines. Lieutenant Parker is Navigation and
Weapons. Lieutenant Aziza is Communications. Those, for now, are
the officers.
“Sgt. Schiff is our hand to hand expert and is in charge of
ground troop training and crew fitness. We will all get to know him
very well over the next few weeks. His second is Cpl. Rebel. Troopers are, Pierce, Vennefron, Sweggert, Knepp, Donald and Erhardt.
Bon’s second in Engineering is Cpl. Luka. Techs are, Palo, Nathon,
Swift and McKnight. Pedula will be our shuttle pilot. Terrell is
Corpsman. “
Myke Pedula gave a small sigh at the announcement. Having
noticed his discomfort during the last jump, Coy discovered upon further conversation that he was, more than likely, a natural born pilot.
Assigning him to the shuttle was the first step toward ultimately getting the training that would allow him to reach his potential. Assuming
he could overcome his ingrained opinion that his abilities made him
abnormal.

“Those are primary assignments. You will each have secondary and tertiary training. In an emergency everyone is a tech, everyone
is a trooper and everyone better know first aid and stasis prep. Anyone who, for personal reasons does not wish to be frozen and revived
can put that in their file and it will be honored.” Coy stopped and
looked them over again. “Any questions?”
A hand raised and Coy nodded at it.

“Do you prefer ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ ?”

“I have no preference.” That should answer their unspoken
question as well. “I tend to go by ‘sir’ because it is more universally
accepted by military. Next?”

Pierce stood up. “Do we
always
wear black? It’s not my color.”

Coy watched her toss her long blond locks over her shoulder
and recalled her interview. Strikingly beautiful, Andrea Pierce had
been pre-judged and underestimated her entire life. Having finally had
her fill, she had decided the only thing to do was to turn the flaw into a
feature. Taking part in her world’s civil war, she had been able to get
into places no other underground agent could. The last thing many an
enemy saw was a blinding smile and that toss of curls.

“Our uniforms are black,” Coy told her. “What you wear , or
don’t wear , off duty is your business.”
She grinned, saluted and sat down.
Another hand. “Why does Commander Bon call you Commodore?”
Coy scowled at the chief engineer. “An old joke. Irrelevant as
well.”
“What about relationships among crew?”

Coy pursed its lips for a second. Didn’t anyone have any
military
questions? It reminded itself of the varied backgrounds represented here. Some, like the Haradans, did not have mixed crews in their
military.

“Relationships are an expected part of
life. However, I will not
tolerate any past time that interferes with the performance of duty. If it
is easier to fight alongside of people with whom you are not emotionally entangled, you had best take that into consideration.” It went very
serious as it added. “Any
relationship
that exploits another crew member for rank or privilege will not be tolerated. The offender will be
dropped off at the first oxygen bearing location – no matter where that
is.”