Chapter 71

The Chief of Security of the Pleasure palace was boneless, limp, flaccid — all the past week's tension had flowed out of him as he watched that multiply accursed assault shuttle head into the blackness of space, he had heard, for its mother ship which no one had seen.

He had heard on the security backchannel net that, on the first visit the shuttle made to the Palace, two intrepid newsies had hired an interplanetary shuttle (IPS) to follow the shuttle to its mother ship. The pilot had been very courteously informed over the guard frequency there was severe turbulence in the area and advised they should not proceed further. The newsies convinced the pilot to proceed despite further advice. Turbulence in n space? Rot! They learnt differently when two of those smaller craft they later sometimes saw in company with the shuttle slashed past close enough the pilot swore he read the instructions on the 'lock panels— he was guessing it had been two in close formation as they came back to pass across the bow of the IPS close enough to see the PD tracking them in passing. At that point, the pilot acknowledged the warnings and aborted the mission. Some days later, rumours abounded that three other newsies were still missing after telling colleagues they were heading for that mother ship.

The Chief had studied the vids of that kangaroo trial, the full transcripts, not the five second grabs seen on the faxes, unexpurgated, before any legal shark got at them and had them "amended"; and he had seen that hard faced bitch cross every tee and dot every eye and then march those slavers straight out the airlock. He'd also seen the faxes showing that 'demned shuttle unloading the slaves under the escort of that yellow eyed giant with that bitch chatting and smiling with O'Flaherty and worse, he was sort of smiling back at her; the Godfather nevah smiled at any one — she must had had his scrotum wrapped with detcord.

The Chief knew he could handle anything that arose in his domain and that the shields would hold against that shuttle's fifty but there was no way known he had a defence against the one eighties of those escorts. He had developed a severe case of the worries.

Head Office had advised the Palace management that these people were to be shown every courtesy and for Deity's sake make sure nothing happens to them. The bosses sloughed the problem down the slop chute to him.

The Chief had made it a point to be around when the first visit was made and they looked like a bunch of school kids with their teachers — until you looked closely at the teachers' eyes. Then these large officers in armour followed them out. He moved forward to inform them that weapons and armour were not allowed on the facility. The biggest (he wore three rank bars) just looked at him with those yellow eyes while his companion (wearing two and a half) fixed him with yellow flecked eyes and suggested, politely, that the Chief should give them the security tour of the facility. The clear implication was they were going to move over, through or with him. Morg and TJ got their tour. To the Chief's untold relief he never saw them again and he realised how fortunate he was.

He hadn't even had to become involved inside the facility — except to write voluminous reports for head office and the insurers' legals. There had been only two minor incidents — well, not minor for the perpetrators.

The first episode was on the first day when the word flashed around that some of those rescued slaves were in the gaming room. They were easy to locate — just look for the beautiful school girls (somehow their ages had never been checked). The twerp had refused the girl's softly spoken request to remove his hand from her shoulder; she had smiled at him and then smashed his wrist. One of the golden haired escorts / chaperones / whatever had walked over to the pair and the idiot had made the mistake of referring to the lady in the colloquial as part of the female genitalia — she had looked at him for a long moment and then gently scratched his cheek. The perp froze — literally locked solid and hadn't been able to do other than move his eyes and breathe since. The chancre mechanics had finally decided he was malingering in the hope of receiving damages — fat chance.

In a way, the second male would be luckier. He would heal — eventually. The fool had made a play for a big breasted petite women, one of the older ones, wouldn't take no for an answer and got physical about it trying to remove the "little black thing" she wore. The attacker was methodically metaphorically taken apart. Viewing the tapes later the Chief had to admire her technique, which was new to him, and formed the opinion he could have been actually dismembered had she the mind.

Bet and Dell had scoured the planet for biological fabric and had found since the last visit that the fabric had been altered to hold colour by feeding the brew different cocktails — the secret was the use of a catalyst in the mix. The bartering skills of the purchasers became legendary as they seemed to know the price which left the seller some profit. The deals were sweetened by the mementos — wood plaques with the Sundowner logo inlaid with platinum and gold. TJ had obtained the wood — a fine grain oak unique to Bhute (nothing as crass as "timber") something to do with the star's spectrum - and Art had enjoyed itself during the night watches. Threep had performed the engravings using his micro skills depicting scenes of antient times when itinerant work was common. When the knowledge of the plaques became more widespread, the merchants realised they had not had such a tough deal; indeed some of the offers for a plaque exceeded the purchase price of the cloth.

(A cult developed over the following centuries for possessing the Art works.)

"Ready to depart, Ma'am" Morg reported to Clare "All on board, boats and scouts clamped and we're airtight."

"Thank you, Morg, have the watch take us home."

"Aye aye, Ma'am" and Morg returned to the bridge to give the spacing watch its instructions.

Some slight tremor could be felt as "Sundowner" broke orbit and headed for 'Pest through the hyper of the Orion Perseus gap.

"Sundowner" had undergone a re-organisation.

Enroute to Bhute once the routine (for Clare) settled, Clare's mind had turned to her new organisation. The training was going well and her Seniors were solving the teething problems.

Her Tulips were the foundation of the organisation covering deck and engine room and the Trainees were (regrettably) exclusively manning the space wing. But what to do with the Gennies? And with the increase in complement a better command structure was indicated. But the whole scheme was complicated by Clare's desire to continue the cross training and not lock positions down, except of course, the engine room. Orville could be a hard head but he had a point.

The acquisition of the two Engineers had been Deity sent - filling the yawning shortfall she had been envisaging in that department with the new construction. Clare appreciated Derrin's services but had this niggling reservation at the lack of human oversight as Orville could only be in one place at one time. Bolem was still a nuisance with his intense interest in the hydroponics unit but Orville seemed to have reached a working solution with his Machinist's Mate.

Dorothy and her Deck Apes kept the rest of the ship, except for the boat bays, Bristol fashion. Dorothy? Yah!

The Tulip other ranks continued with their cross training but did concentrate on their speciality; they also had to keep up their hours in the seats.

Master Chief, with help from TJ and Morg, had the space training taped and, with the robos, had the maintenance in hand. The scouts were now getting proper care and maintenance from the robos as well, but who to command them?

Clare had called TJ and Morg into her office and touted the idea of a re-organisation.

Both men nodded sagely — and said nowt. Clare looked at them and snarled,

"Look you, I didn't get you here to just listen to me. I want input. Advice. Help even. I want to tidy up the command structure and at the same time, I want to keep the present flexibility. I can't manage that — yet — for the Trainees or the Gennies as they are on single track each."

There was still silence for a long moment until TJ demonstrated an intense interest in the overhead,

"I think we want a Training Officer."

"Nice choice of words, TJ" Morg said ""Want" not "need"."

"Yes: want" TJ turned to look at his oppo.

Clare cocked her head at him,

"That's a start. Got anyone in mind?"

There was a slight smile about his lips as he regarded his captain,

"Yes, in fact, I have. Shirley Wood..."

The listening eyes opened at the mention of the name.

" ... She's in 'Pest; on half pay pending medical discharge. Those buggers are at it again. Shirley was at Home Space with Home fleet, Captain jg, had a CA and only a handful of survivors, trying to protect D'Orville's flagship and took a bucketful of missiles. Seems she doesn't regenerate skin too well and she's got scars all over. She has rehabilitated well otherwise, but Second Space doesn't have too many hulls available and the new builds have their choice of appointments there are so many able bodied around. So, they beached her. She'd nominated 'Pest as port of enlistment, was on Gryphon really, but she's attached to the hospital in 'Pest. She went looking for Ivy to hear what had happened to us and ended up visiting Harriers and then Sloan Square and got the gory details..."

He again inspected the overhead before imparting the sting in the tail,

" ... and the Companions recommend her."

"Now that is interesting" Morg murmured.

"Yes, indeed! Seems she gets on very well with Décor;..."

Clare had no idea of the significance of that statement and from the look exchanged between the men decided if they wanted to tell...

" ... descendent of the technicians used to control them."

"Threep and she will get on like a house on fire, ahh, one way or t'other" Morg stated.

"No problem. The woman doesn't have a clue about her heritage; and we didn't pick it. Had a word with Threep and he's suits with the idea. And he thinks he might be able to help with the regen; says Haslar doesn't know the secret. Cheeky blighter wont tell me either."

"With that experience" Clare pointed out "I could use her as Exec."

"Nah" Morg stated flatly "she hasn't the necessary familiarity with the type and we are a family here. Training Officer, I can see seamlessly, but XO? ... She could come in as Captain though with either TJ or me as Exec"

"Goody" Clare smirked at him "that gives me the opening I wanted. Not that I don't want Shirley — heck, I need her.

That makes you XO, Morg. No arguments! You both know Morg will be better at the job (the duo exchanged slight nods) whereas TJ will make the better commander when and if I go (the nods were more contemplative than forceful). If, Deity forefend, we had a division, you'd both be my captains but we don't and we won't.

Morg, you will have the usual duties plus primary responsibilities as Pilot; I'm appointing Dorothy to LT as your assistant and CICO..."

"That's overdue" TJ agreed.

" ... and Cat, jg' as junior. TJ, you are "Guns" and you share the scouts with EW; Bet, jg, will be offside you and Cedric EW with Dell also jg. I'm still not happy with Cedric and what he did to my ship..."

"Don't knock it Clare, it works" Morg declared.

" ... whatever. Clean room goes with Cedric, administratively. Shirley can slip in as Training Officer and I'll have Allie as my Paybob..."

"She's gonna be brassed at that" TJ interjected.

" ... Tough! Someone's gotta do it. But I'm looking at the Daughters rotating through the positions and being overall responsible for hydroponics — they've worked Colin in there anyway — catering, laundry, and morale etcetera; they're onto those anyway...

Elle Stanton as LT to have Space with Dusty 2 i/c as CWOfficer and Mrs Smeaton as assistant...

I'm bumping 'Nita and Jane to CPOs to fill the Bosun's slot — we've got a lot more gear these days. Orville will scream about 'Nita but I need her in that slot with her Black Gang experience. The rest of the Tulips to be POs with responsibility for the Gennies and. to the extent they are rotated through, the Trainees...