Chapter 5

Knowing Bill, I really shouldn't have been surprised. I double checked the information on my PDA but it matched the pylon and dock numbers. "Are you sure that's her?"

The dock master looked over his own manifest and nodded his head. "That's her alright, the Pearl de Vere. And you say you're her new captain?" he asked, looking somewhat incredulous—shifting his sight between me and the far less than pristine vessel under discussion just out the docking bay windows.

"Apparently so," I replied, equally incredulous.

"Change of command confirmed," the station's AI informed us.

The man shrugged. "That's that, then, I suppose." He then tapped a small metal disk on his right breast pocket. "Hey, Reg, we need a tug over here at FY-114 pronto."

"You mean I have to take it right now?" I asked, more than a little surprised.

He nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Well, yeah, we can only hold ships that have been mothballed."

"A pull or push?" a female voice asked from a nearby speaker.

"Both. Someone's claiming the K'treel and then I need you to park that derelict Solvent in here."

"The K'treel ... you mean the Pearl? What poor son of a bitch did they manage to pawn that bald ostrich off to?"

"A very pleasant Centurion—that's a Civil Service Major to you, Reg—who's standing right next to me."

"Damn it, Jake," she swore, "you've got to warn me when you do that!" I could hear the tug pilot sigh and then her next words were obviously directed at me. "My apologies for the language, sir. I'll have your ship out in no time at all."

"That's quite all right, Reg," I responded chuckling. "After seeing this 'bald ostrich' for myself, I have to say I agree with you."

"I'm sure she's a fine ship," Reg added apologetically. "It's just she got shot up real bad on her last mission and rather than repair her, they sent her here."

"Which explains the 'bald' comment," I responded. "I'm assuming the 'ostrich' reference means she can't fly either."

"That's correct, sir. I was on duty when the Pearl showed up last week. She burned out her surviving engine just getting back here."

"Records show her fusion core is undamaged but her AI is offline," Jake offered after looking through his PDA files but then shook his head and began flipping through a few more. "Wait a minute, let me correct that. The AI appears to be running—that's how it got back in the first place—it's just there's no way to talk to it, hence the offline note. There also might be some thruster power available but it's uncertain whether they'll respond to helm control or not."

I could hear a few mechanical clanks and hisses come over the loudspeaker. Looking out the windows, I could see a small tug hook magnetic clamps to the top of the K'treel.

"Alright, I'm here," she informed us. "Just tell me what repair dock she's scheduled for and I'll head her off in that direction."

"Uhm..."

She started laughing. "I can see someone set you up right nicely, sir."

"Tribune Whitefeather."

"Oh, you poor bastard," she replied, sotto voce. Evidently his reputation preceded him even way out here in the bone yard.

"Actually, my parents were married when I was born," I tossed back with a chuckle, "but I agree with your sentiment."

"I think I'm going to like you, Major ... I mean, Centurion," she added with a giggle. "Now, we can't just cut this bird loose or she'll go floating out into the shipping lanes. Any ideas where we can park her until you can get her up and running?"

"Not a one," I replied. "You?"

"Hey, Jake, Honey, what docking clamps can they use on a K'treel?"

"Pretty much any of the HK series or the older Gestler Harnesses, I'd imagine." He then turned and looked at me. "What kind of ships or stations do you have access to?"

"None," I replied. "Well, my pod is on the Mobile Bay but that's it."

Jake flipped through his PDA but with no success. "Unfortunately, the Mobile Bay only has the Mk I and II pod mounts, along with a few slots with IOLA grapplers—but those won't work on a K'treel."

"What about the emergency ventral hatch ring?"

"Pardon?" he asked until his brain caught up with the question. "Oh, wait, that's not a bad idea. Let me check." Back to the PDA but this time with success, Jake looked up at me with a smile. "Sure enough, we have a match! Great catch, Reg!"

Tapping his communication disk again, he called out again. "Mobile Bay, this is Lieutenant Jake Daniels of the Challenger Station Storage Piers. Captain Hendricks is requesting permission to dock the Pearl de Vere at one of your four hatch rings. Can you confirm?"

"Docking permission granted, Lieutenant. You may proceed."

Jake quickly tapped a few buttons, releasing the docking clamps, and I watched as Reg gently eased the Pearl de Vere out of its bay. Now if I could only figure out what to do with a ship that was only mostly dead.

"Oh, David," Erica murmured somberly as she looked around. "You said it was bad but I never envisioned ... this."

I glanced up from my temporary workstation and nodded my head wearily. "It's definitely a fixer upper, that's for sure," I replied with a wan smile. Even in a skin-suit, the woman looked spectacular.

"Still haven't made contact with the AI?"

I shook my head. "We can tell she knows we're here and she seems to be trying to help but so far nothing."

To say the ship was a mess was a gross understatement. She had been shot all to hell and it was a miracle of the highest order that she was still relatively intact. Much of the vessel's interior was exposed to space by gaping holes in the hull. The bridge was gone. Engineering wasn't much better. The nine pods were little better than debris and we couldn't even get close to the AI Core. As unstable as everything was, I'd limited those working on her up to this point to just Gene, Martin, Tom and myself—and our sleep training has definitely been getting a workout.

Utilizing power from the Mobile Bay, we'd been able to stabilize the bulkheads and restore life support to three crew compartments nearest the hatch ring. We turned those into our version of a construction trailer, which explained why Erica was here.

"So what do you need me to do?" she asked, walking around to my side of the workstation.

"Keep us all connected and on task," I replied, standing up. "This," I said, walking over to what looked like a smaller computer tower, "is our AI substation. It links us to the Mobile Bay and allows its AI access to available systems over here. Hey, Moby?"

"Yes, David?"

"Give Concubine Erica full access to all systems as pertains to this repair and refit mission."

"Are you sure that is wise, David, given that she is a concubine?"

"I trust her implicitly, Moby."

"Very well, sir."

The Mobile Bay—our current home away from home—had become a far greater asset than first anticipated. She was an Orbital Pod Tender, which meant she was little more that a spaceworthy frame with the capacity of holding upwards of 240 pods in forty rings of six—twenty each, fore and aft of a rudimentary bridge that had two pod lighter bays. We hardly took up any space at all—one pod mount and now a hatch ring but that was it. The ship continued about its normal duties uninterrupted—holding and switching pods with cargo and colony ships coming and going—with us along for the ride.

She had no crew to speak of, though there was space for one—and only one—but that was just in case it needed to bug out should the Sa'arm show up. And even then it would be at glacial speeds compared to an Aurora (over twice the mass with the same engines. You do the math.) Otherwise, she was the orbital version of a warehouse and loading dock ... managed by an otherwise very bored Artificial Intelligence who found the work we were doing fascinating.

We'd come to calling him Moby. It was Matt's idea.

"And these over here," I continued, moving over to an oversized touchscreen on the far wall, "are all the known schematics for K'treel Explorers." I flipped through a couple and then enlarged the portion of one showing the engineering compartments—with three green symbols on it. "Moby overlays the schematics with our real time data. You can see Martin and Tom here," I explained, pointing to the symbols, "while Gene is over here."

"That's pretty helpful," Erica observed but then her face scrunched up in confusion. "But weren't you saying something last night about having the wrong blueprints?"

"That's exactly right," I said, agreeing with her. "These schematics are helpful but they only go so far because this ship doesn't match any of them." I pulled at the current image until it showed the front third of the vessel. "Do you see these things here?"

She nodded.

"Those are two low powered phased beam weapons and this over here, right in the nose, is a plasma torpedo launcher with magazine."

"Wait a minute," she interrupted. "Moby has our symbols right next to where one of those beam thingies is supposed to be."

"You catch on fast," I remarked with a smile. "Best we can tell the ship is totally unarmed. Which makes sense, considering what it used to be."

"I don't understand."

"The key is the name. Here, let me show you." I motioned for her to follow me to our makeshift airlock. "You'll need to put your emergency hood and gloves on, though. There's still no atmosphere on the other side."

Stepping in, I sealed the inner door before opening the outer one. "After you," I invited, gesturing for her to turn on her head lamps.

She entered the next room and I could hear her immediately gasp in surprise over the suit-comm. Then she started giggling. "Oh, David, that is ... just ... wow."

I smiled. "It turns out that Pearl de Vere was the name of a 19^th century madam in Cripple Creek, Colorado."

"Well, that certainly explains the art work," she snickered, pointing to a large mural of a nude man with a partially clothed woman astride his cock, while another woman, also nude, was standing by his side feeding him one of her breasts.

"Is the whole ship like this?"

I gestured to the hallway. Stepping through the doorway, she started giggling again. "No wonder you're so wound up when you come back to the pod." Looking back at me, she smiled but raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying the Pearl de Vere was a floating bordello?"

"The nicer term is 'comfort ship'," I replied, "but essentially, yes. Though now that she is being refitted for a different mission, we've been told she'll be given a different name."

"Really? What?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. They didn't say—just that it would need to conform to the established naming scheme, or something like that."

I led her back to the airlock and after following the procedures, we were back breathing regular air.

"Based on information Moby was able to retrieve, it appears this particular K'treel had been someone's luxury yacht before it was handed over to Central Command."

"Which explains the lack of weapons," Erica observed.

"Exactly" I replied. "It's also missing a lot of other things, as well. All the other K'treels are designed for surviving a long time on their own in deep space, and they have all kinds of repair equipment like machine shop replicators and spare parts to do that. This one doesn't. If it did, we would be well on our way to making the ship functional again."

"So what does it have?"

"Space—lots and lots of space," I went back to the touchscreen and pulled up a partial schematic. "This is the layout as far as Moby, the guys, and I have been able to confirm. Each of the pods is fully expanded and subdivided into six floors of—basically—condominiums."

Erica let out a low whistle. "That looks like a lot of rooms. Do you know how many per pod?"

I shook my head. "No, the damage is too severe. Moby's calculations as to the space available, adding in all the additional rooms in the crew quarter area, put the possible number of concubines previously living on board in the 700 or so range, plus all their children."

"Wow!"

"We should know more once we get the AI reconnected."

I was walking Erica through the task and management software Moby had assembled for us when she noticed something on the smaller workstation screen. Curious, she tapped on it, which then pulled up one of the schematics on the wall. "David, our guys are all in engineering, right?" she asked as she walked over to the bigger screen.

"Yeah," I replied, somewhat confused.

"Well, then," she asked, enlarging a portion of the schematic, revealing two blinking yellow icons, "who are these two?"

A crowd had gathered in our expanded office back in the pod. I'd called a halt to our work efforts, as the two blinking spots on the ship layout were proving to be a genuine mystery that need to be solved.

"So what do we know so far?" I asked

"Very little," Gene replied, sweeping through the schematics until he reached the one he was looking for. "They're alive, they're not moving, and they're here," he said, pointing to the fifth of the nine pods which we'd designated as Pod E.

"But who are they?" Priya asked, unable to contain her curiosity.

"That's the question, now, isn't it?" I replied, glancing over at my head concubine. "Erica's been able to confirm with Moby that the Pearl was thought lost in an unknown system four months ago."

"Seems she was part of a Navy Task Force investigating that region of space, when they were surprised by a Sa'arm fleet of some sort," Erica revealed. "Much of the information is sealed but the report did note the presumed loss of three vessels—one of which was the Pearl de Vere."

"Our scans of the hull did indicate unusual puncture patterns, here and here," Martin offered, calling up the relevant pictures on the wall. "Our best guess is that she was boarded at some point."

"Pardon my interruption, sir."

"Yes, what is it Jarvis?" I asked the ceiling, wondering why the pod AI was intruding on the meeting. In case you're curious about the name—again, Matt's idea.

"You have visitors at the door."

"Visitors? How can I have visitors?" I asked, genuinely baffled.

"They say they are your new neighbors and wish to borrow a cup of sugar—which makes absolutely no sense at all, since they clearly have replicators in their own pods."

I immediately became suspicious and started walking toward the front of the pod. "Moby?"

"Sorry, David, I've been sworn to secrecy."

"Who is it?" I called out, knowing Jarvis would pipe it through the door.

"Just a few lost sheep in need of a shepherd," called the all too familiar voice.

Another expressed a bit of disappointment. "Aw, I wanted to go with the Mormon missionary line."

"Wouldn't work," the other responded. "They're usually two guys. We could've been a couple of JWs, though."

I gestured for Jarvis to open the door. "What are you... ?"

I was unable to finish my question, however, as my arms were suddenly filled with a shapely feminine form and soft lips were urgently pressed to mine. I could hear the amusement around me but my senses were taken in by the unexpected passion, not to mention the fragrant hint of jasmine.

After a few moments, I found myself staring down into the deep brown eyes of my favorite marine. "You're smaller," was all I could come up with.

She laughed. "I plant a big wet one on you and that's the best you can do?"

"Well," I mumbled, "you surprised me."

"That's okay," she replied, giving me a light peck on the lips this time. "I've been dreaming of doing that for days now."

"So how was it?" a voice from behind her asked. I looked over her shoulder only to see an equally smaller lawyer I knew.

"It was okay," Serena teased, gazing up at me with her dimpled smile.

"Kiss her again, Dave," came the urging from both of my concubines. "Show her what you can do!" Erica added.

Pretty soon the others all jumped on the bandwagon so I did what I had to do. I kissed her again.

"Now that's more like it," Serena exclaimed—her eyes a bit glazed over and her breathing labored—when we came up for air. Applause broke out as she stepped back from our embrace.

Emma, meanwhile, moved in to give me a hug and a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Don't worry," she whispered. "I'll get mine later." That thought thrilled and terrified me, all at the same time.

"Now for our final surprise."

Curious, I glanced up to see Serena gesture for someone out in the Mobile Bay's spinal corridor to come closer. Coming into view were people I'd never expected to see again, let alone now.

"Hi, Dad," my daughter Joy called out as she ran to me. Not far behind her were her three—Sophie, age ten, Anna, eight, and five year old Ricky—all calling out "Grandpa!" While bringing up the rear was the kids' father, Craig, along with a number of people I didn't recognize. In a matter of seconds, I was swallowed up in a massive group hug as tears began to roll down my face.

Needless to say, everything came to a screeching halt as the mini family reunion took place. Eventually, though, after all the hugs and tears, their story came out. Seems both my daughter and her husband got caught up as sponsors in the Seattle/ Vancouver pick up a week and a half earlier—just in different places.

Joy, who is a surgical nurse, was working at the University Medical Center when Confederacy marines made their appearance. Craig, meanwhile, got nabbed at Boeing, where he was an engineering specialist on propulsion systems. Since Joy went first, she got the kids—which alerted Craig to the fact she'd been picked up as well. They somehow managed to re-connect in—of all places—the processing room on the Andromeda.

"But how did you get mixed up with these two?" I asked, gesturing to Serena and Emma. "And why are you two normal sized again?" I directed at the two women, "not that I'm complaining."

"Funny how things work out," Serena started. "After they stabilized me up on the Orion, I'll give you ten guesses as to where they sent me for the serious work, and the first nine are free."