Part 6 in a space pirates seriesIts cooing, female voice was quite pleasing. Truth be told, it was starting to grow on them. That sexy, purring woman telling them what to do. They took to it too easily.
"At the split, keep right," the GPS instructed.
"Right it is," the pilot responded, smiling. He tugged on the flight controls to direct the cosmic dreadnaught down the right path.
The Imperial flagship
Chocolate Love Stars and its two accompanying vessels
Good Gravy and
Calculator were slowly but steadily winding their way down the interplanetary spacelane toward Earth.
Meanwhile, on the observation deck, Fleet Admiral Turmel was in conference with two holograms. This time the holograms represented Captain Slog of the
Calculator and Germ of the
Good Gravy.
"Thanks to your help, we've affected repairs on all critical systems," Turmel reported. "All combat-essential systems are operational." He sipped on an exotic tea. Delicious.
"Excellent," Slog said. "Pestilence, what's our status?"
"We project the financial meltdown will reach Earth in one standard half hour," Germ reported. "Our course is plotted to put us directly in its path."
Turmel interjected. "So when you say standard half hour, do you mean the hour is half-standard, or is it half of a standard hour, or is it just sub-standard?" he asked.
"Thirty minutes," Germ answered.
"Admiral to the command deck," a voice sounded over the intercom. "Admiral Turmel, please report to command deck."
"Gentlemen," Turmel said, standing, "I'll see you out there."
He made his way to the bridge.
On his viewscreen, the Imperial defense force deployed to meet the invaders. Turmel recognized many of vessels, knew each of their names like he would his own children. The Emperor in his wisdom had renamed every ship in the fleet, bestowing them with the most terrifying, fear-inspiring names he could dream up.
The
Assumption, the
Not Tonight, the
Indecision, the
Cold Shoulder, and
Incommunicado were followed by
We Need to See Other People,
Just Friends, and
I Need Space.
Yes, Andronicus rechristened every ship save one -
Chocolate Love Stars. It boggled Turmel's mind. Had he angered His Excellency in some way?
The entire first fleet. Cleary, the three privateer boats were outgunned. This was unwise fiscal policy, Germ knew, from his time with the paratrooper accountants. Then, he noticed something else.
"It looks like someone got here before us," Germ pointed at his monitor. "Look at the damage to the docking ring. Almost a third of it's been destroyed."
"Yes," Turmel said, stifling any shred of guilt under a veneer of cold command, "it's tragic. No doubt some accident involving space crabs and neutronium.”
"But sir--" one of Turmel's crew piped up.
"Stow it, crewman," Turmel cut him off.
"Why is the fleet deployed?" Germ wondered. "Unless they knew we were coming."
"It's standard defensive posture in a financial crisis," Turmel corrected, surprising even himself with his tactical knowledge. "Most people wouldn't recognize it, as we haven't had a financial crisis in years."
Captain Slog's voice cut in on the line, "They must be deployed like this to prevent a run on the banks.”
"Maybe," Turmel said, flipping the scanner display from ship to ship, shaking his head. "Look at the raptor carriers and the styrac attack cruisers. They're empty."
"Incoming transmission," the communications officer reported.
"This is Earth Defense Command," said a new voice on the loudspeaker. "Unidentified vessel, you are instructed to reduce speed and transmit your security clearance."
"Let's do audio only," Turmel told the radio man, who nodded when the channel was ready. "EDC, this is Venutian luxury liner
Wuyi Oolong, six weeks out of Uranus, returning from a Kuiper pleasure cruise.”
"I do not show a
Wuyi Oolong on our scheduled arrivals," the EDC replied.
“I’m sure it’s just a mix up,” Turmel said in a carefully calculated, carefree tone. “The lesser planets are not as organized as Earth.”
“That's very true," squawked the EDC. "And your companion ships?”
“
Golden Yunnan and the
Golden Monkey,” Turmel replied. "Request permission to dock for refueling."
Across the vastness, perched in the command module of the docking ring, Captain Marissa Faireborn's eyes narrowed as she watched the approaching silhouette. There was something vaguely familiar to her about the ship configuration.
She climbed down from her command chair to the controls console where the harbor operations staff worked.
"Analysis," she ordered.
"It is the right size to be a cruise ship," the sensor technician told her. "But the profile is not a match for any ship in our databanks."
"Clearance code?" Faireborn asked.
“It’s an old code, but it checks out,” the communications officer said. “I was about to clear them.”
Faireborn stared at the image on the view again. Something was not right.
“Shall I hold?” the operator asked, looking up at Faireborn expectantly. He couldn't wait for his shift to be over.
"They're not slowing," the sensor tech interrupted.
This made the comm officer sad. It meant trouble. Which meant he'd get to the bowling alley late this evening. He got back on the horn.
"
Wuyi Oolong," he transmitted. "I repeat, you are ordered to reduce speed."
Meanwhile, back on the dreadnought, the pilot turned to look at the admiral, but Turmel shook his head. No, they would not reduce speed.
"Spaceport," Turmel said instead, "we are suffering a braking malfunction. We should have it cleared up momentarily. Please stand by."
"Negative,
Wuyi Oolong," Faireborn jumped on the line. "You have not disengaged your stardrive. That's no braking malfunction. Reduce speed at once."
Turmel switched off the space radio. "Oops," he said, as if it were an accident.
He turned to the comm officer. "Full alert," he said grimly. "Battle stations." Alarms sounded.
"Recalculating route," the GPS interrupted the dramatic moment. "Make the next available U-turn."
"And turn that thing off," Turmel ordered.
"Aye sir," the pilot said and fumbled with the controls trying to silence the GPS which continued to urge them to turn around.
Turmel put down his cup of tea on the console and picked up the squawkbox. "Put me through ship-wide," he told the radio op.
"Ready," the op replied.
"All hands, this is the admiral," Turmel said. All over the dreadnought, the brave crew of the
Chocolate Love Stars stopped their hurried preparations to hear the words of their commander.
"We've served together for the last few years," Turmel's voice sounded over the intercom. "During this time, I've done my best to avoid getting to know you. I spend most of my time stargazing, reading, drinking tea, and looking up new blends on the internet."
Below, the crew members nodded to each other in agreement. It was true.
"Perhaps," he continued, "I distanced myself so that if I ever lost any of you, it would soften the pain. Sure. Today, however, we all get know to each other quite well. Today we go into battle together.
"We must destroy this entity, this financial meltdown," Turmel explained. "And if our own fleet attempts to stop us, we will be forced to fight them as well. I can only assure you we do this for a greater cause. We must save our home, our Earth.
"Over the years, I've suffered shame, embarrassment, and derision for serving on a mighty starship with such a laughable, girly name. No doubt you've likewise suffered similar mockery at every port we visit.
"But today we will forever change that. We will make our name one to be feared.
"After today, history will never forget the name ...
Chocolate Love Stars." Turmel said.
The crew erupted into cheers.
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