Ch. 1
Disclaimer: You wouldn't WANT me to own this.
"Get me some more damn rum and be quick about it, man!"
When the Captain gave an order, one had to be all too quick to reply to his demands—lest he find himself hanging from the crow's nest by his own entrails. Sloek was good for many things--organizing men, plotting courses, firing blaster rifles with deadly accuracy—but for now, his leader wanted rum, and rum (and plenty of it) was what he was going to get. The middle-aged male bounded down below deck as fast as his feline legs could carry him, past the soldiers playing cards, past a crewman being pounded on by two much bigger riggers, all the way to the galley, where the cook was finishing up cooking his last large pot of putrid slop for the night. The cook's only indication that notice had been taken of the assistant was the deep grunt he offered the hurried man right before whacking the long neck off a large, formerly squawking bird.
Sloek franticly skimmed the ship's liquor inventory. The whiskey was slowly running out, the vodka was all but gone, and he hadn't seen so much as a drop of Shakelian gin in three weeks, but he would tackle that problem later. Tonight, the Captain and his esteemed guest, the Admiral B'nak, wanted a few large bottles of rum with which to wash down the gamy taste of the Procyon swamp heron meat. He was about to give up hope of ever finding the appropriate beverage when he managed to dig out a dusty bottle hidden in the corner behind a rotten, maggot-filled bovine carcass. Brushing off the dust and traces of rat droppings, Sloek quickly scurried back above deck to the Captain's quarters.
"So you see, Captain Maltor," the Admiral spoke, his mouth full of meat, "I'm taking this mission very seriously. The Terran empire has held us at bay too long. It is time we took the Breath of Ratec into full Procyon control, and with it, send the Terrans to their knees, begging for mercy."
Maltor grunted. He bit halfway into a small, green fruit, juice dripping down his arm. Before he spoke, he spit the fruit's large black pit across the room, where it hit an empty tankard with a loud "clang." "And it is true? When the Terran empire falls, they make me a rich man?"
"You and me both. You'll have the honor of your entire tribe…maybe even a planet or two to seal the deal." The Admiral spread out a map of the Terran's claim. "Go ahead, pick one, my friend."
Maltor stuffed the other half of the fruit in his mouth before hunching over the map. Picking up a long serrated knife, he traced the Mucculough Current through the Procyon Expanse, deep into the heart of Terran territory. His eyes flickered to a small green and blue planet, surrounded by three moons. He drove the knife into the table, over the planet, marking his claim. "That one. After I am done slaying the natives, that is the place the Tribe of Maltor will call home."
**********
Though she knew very well that he was still on the other side of the house, most likely still sleeping, there was something in her feline instincts that kept her quiet as she went about her mission. She snaked around a large pile, over the area rug and past the two chairs that had been abandoned since two nights ago. She approached his desk, taking a deep breath before plunging into the task at hand.
She was going to clean out the observatory if it killed her.
Armed with a garbage sack, Amelia rifled through Delbert's things, resolving that, if it didn't look important, it was destined for the garbage. She made quick work of the drawers, throwing away numerous broken lens and telescope parts. She rolled her eyes as she threw out an ancient, rusty compass which wouldn't work, nor did it look like it HAD worked in ten or twelve years. She had made her way to the desktop, which was so cluttered she had half a mind to just sweep everything off of it and force Delbert to start anew. She set aside charts and data sheets into neat stacks, and began to right the photographs that were tipped over on the far corner of the desk, save for one, which, in all the mess, sat upright as if Delbert had actually---dare she think it?—taken time to see that it stayed in it's proper place. She smiled inwardly as she noted that it was their wedding photo, being displayed proudly, dust and clutter free, save for a small mint propped up against the side of it. Of course, the only reason the picture was in such good condition was probably due to its novelty—they had only been married two months, after all.
*I give it another week before he's covered it like the others.* She snickered. She was about to dispose of a fistful of old (*Two years old! What is he thinking!*) newspapers when she heard someone stir in the entranceway.
"I can't shut my eyes around here anymore, can I?" Delbert grinned at her, his face clearly saying "Busted!"
"Not if you want to avoid being tripped by all this junk," she quipped, "Honestly, this place is a mess. Did you know, Doctor, that you have newspapers from two summers ago cluttering your desk?"
Delbert shrugged sheepishly, "I haven't quite gotten around to reading them. Busy, you know."
Amelia laughed before stuffing the articles in with the rest of her accumulations. Delbert frowned.
"Now really," Amelia insisted, "This place looks horrid. Hasn't seen a proper cleaning in…oh, it pains me to think about it."
"I'll clean it," he said, trying to shoo her away from the desk.
"Yes, and I'm going to see that John Silver is crowned Queen."
"I will," he persisted, "After breakfast. I'll get right on it."
Amelia eyed him skeptically, but dropped the sack. "Fine," she relinquished, "I have plenty of work to keep me busy anyway. But mark my words Delbert Doppler, you'll clean this place up or you'll find yourself sleeping here tonight…alone."
Doppler waved off the half-hearted threat. "Of course, of course, spotless by nightfall—you'll see."
She raised an eyebrow at him before leaving the room. "Yes, that WILL be something to see."
Delbert stood there a moment, taking in the enormity of his task. "Why do I have this feeling like I'll be sleeping alone for a few months?"
*******
In all his years as a bachelor, Delbert was still incapable of making an edible sort of toast. He knew that, and, much to his chagrin, so did his wife, who had the hindsight to see that the toast was already prepared and on a plate for them by the time he trudged downstairs, looking like a man who was just told to move the cosmos. He sat down across from his wife, taking a drink from his coffee cup.
"Just remember," she smiled slyly, "I DID offer to clean it for you."
He gave her a look that he meant to be one of fierce annoyance, but she simply chuckled, stirring her tea, and shaking her head. He grabbed his toast in one hand, the morning paper in another, and was about to begin reading the latest about the governmental troubles when his doorbell rang, sending a cacophony of sound throughout the manor.
"Bloody hell, it's barely eight o'clock!" Amelia exclaimed, as she straightened her clothing and headed for the door. Just as curious as she was as to whom could possibly be calling so early, Delbert followed on her heels, his paper and bread forgotten. He arrived in the main hall just as Amelia opened the door to allow a young naval courier to step inside.
"I've been told to deliver this telegram to Captain Amelia," he said, shaking slightly as he pulled a letter from his pocket, "I guess that's you…uh…yeah…ma'am." He handed the paper to Amelia before making a hasty retreat.
"What do you suppose it is, dear?" Delbert asked, peering over his wife's shoulder.
She sighed. "Well, at first I thought it was a letter from home saying that my great-aunt Aenid was dead, but then I remembered he was in uniform, so it must be bad news."
Delbert swallowed as she opened the envelope. It contained nothing but a single sheet of paper, with the crest of the empire at the top in bold reds and blues.
Captain Amelia,
Please report to Crescentia Spaceport at 14 00.
General Markum Salaes
"That's it?" Delbert asked, confused. "They just order you to show up?"
Amelia sighed. "That probably means it's VERY bad news."
"So what are you going to do?" he peered at her.
"I have 6 hours to be at port, of course."
Delbert sighed. *Damn navy.* "I'll get Delilah ready to go."
********
"Captain Amelia, always a pleasure," General Salaes smiled at her from over a long table, "I'm sorry for the short notice."
"Not a problem. What exactly am I here for, might I ask?"
"I'll get to that in a moment, I have a few more people I want here."
Amelia glanced around the room. There were already about 10 or 15 officers crowded around one large table, and she found it hard to believe that Salaes was anticipating a bigger group. She took the opportunity to peer at the long map that had been laid out on the table. It was an area she had gotten a little too familiar with in the past, and had a sinking feeling she was going to be revisiting in the future. She was deep in thought and didn't notice that the meeting was going to commence until she heard the thick wooden doors of the war room slam shut behind her. Snapping back to reality, Amelia watched straight faced and Salaes leaned on his end of the table.
"Gentlemen…it's those damn Procyons again."
*******
"…And so he's sending a few fleets down to head off the Procyons at the Mucculough Current."
Delbert blinked once at his wife. "So what's that got to do with you?"
"He wants me to lead one of the fleets."
Delbert groaned softly. He had been afraid of this ever since that morning. "And…?"
"And what?" Amelia said, "I'm going to take a dozen ships down to the border."
He squirmed in the chair he was sitting in. Suddenly, everything felt so uncomfortable…
Amelia easily sensed his tension. "You're welcome to accompany me," she said quietly, "I always have room for an experienced astronomer."
Delbert nodded slowly, apparently still deep in thought. "But…the Procyons? They're…they're…BRUTAL. More so than any pirate."
Amelia sighed. "I know. I've fought them once and hoped I would never have to again."
Delbert glanced up at his wife, and, for a fraction of a second, saw her as weak and vulnerable as he ever had seen her. But, with a blink of an eye, the sight was gone, and she stood.
"Well, this fleet isn't going to get prepared by itself. Those ruddy slackers need some direction…will you be joining me, Doctor?"
He was scared. The stories he had heard…and even Amelia was wary deep down, even though she had managed to hide it from the rest of the universe. After experiencing a few "adventures" in his life, he had surely had more than his fill, but he wasn't going to send his beloved wife out into the depths of disputed space alone.
"'Til death do we part, right?" he said, trying to be cheerful.
Amelia offered him a sad smile. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
To be continued…
Hello all you lovely people who made it this far! For those of you, who have read my previous work, welcome back for more punishment. I know the beginning may sound similar to my other story, but stick it out, okay? It's different, I swear…how else is she gonna get the news?
For the newcomers…ask the old readers…you're in for a lot of pain. Seriously though, you can call me Weasleykid8, or J., or "Stupid girl who couldn't write fic to save her life." Whatever. I DO request that all flames be made to me personally at my email address…other than that, you can say what you please, and please do! I love reviews.
So…I'm back…
::watches everyone flock::
Aloha,
J. CaptDuck96@netscape.net
Disclaimer: You wouldn't WANT me to own this.
"Get me some more damn rum and be quick about it, man!"
When the Captain gave an order, one had to be all too quick to reply to his demands—lest he find himself hanging from the crow's nest by his own entrails. Sloek was good for many things--organizing men, plotting courses, firing blaster rifles with deadly accuracy—but for now, his leader wanted rum, and rum (and plenty of it) was what he was going to get. The middle-aged male bounded down below deck as fast as his feline legs could carry him, past the soldiers playing cards, past a crewman being pounded on by two much bigger riggers, all the way to the galley, where the cook was finishing up cooking his last large pot of putrid slop for the night. The cook's only indication that notice had been taken of the assistant was the deep grunt he offered the hurried man right before whacking the long neck off a large, formerly squawking bird.
Sloek franticly skimmed the ship's liquor inventory. The whiskey was slowly running out, the vodka was all but gone, and he hadn't seen so much as a drop of Shakelian gin in three weeks, but he would tackle that problem later. Tonight, the Captain and his esteemed guest, the Admiral B'nak, wanted a few large bottles of rum with which to wash down the gamy taste of the Procyon swamp heron meat. He was about to give up hope of ever finding the appropriate beverage when he managed to dig out a dusty bottle hidden in the corner behind a rotten, maggot-filled bovine carcass. Brushing off the dust and traces of rat droppings, Sloek quickly scurried back above deck to the Captain's quarters.
"So you see, Captain Maltor," the Admiral spoke, his mouth full of meat, "I'm taking this mission very seriously. The Terran empire has held us at bay too long. It is time we took the Breath of Ratec into full Procyon control, and with it, send the Terrans to their knees, begging for mercy."
Maltor grunted. He bit halfway into a small, green fruit, juice dripping down his arm. Before he spoke, he spit the fruit's large black pit across the room, where it hit an empty tankard with a loud "clang." "And it is true? When the Terran empire falls, they make me a rich man?"
"You and me both. You'll have the honor of your entire tribe…maybe even a planet or two to seal the deal." The Admiral spread out a map of the Terran's claim. "Go ahead, pick one, my friend."
Maltor stuffed the other half of the fruit in his mouth before hunching over the map. Picking up a long serrated knife, he traced the Mucculough Current through the Procyon Expanse, deep into the heart of Terran territory. His eyes flickered to a small green and blue planet, surrounded by three moons. He drove the knife into the table, over the planet, marking his claim. "That one. After I am done slaying the natives, that is the place the Tribe of Maltor will call home."
**********
Though she knew very well that he was still on the other side of the house, most likely still sleeping, there was something in her feline instincts that kept her quiet as she went about her mission. She snaked around a large pile, over the area rug and past the two chairs that had been abandoned since two nights ago. She approached his desk, taking a deep breath before plunging into the task at hand.
She was going to clean out the observatory if it killed her.
Armed with a garbage sack, Amelia rifled through Delbert's things, resolving that, if it didn't look important, it was destined for the garbage. She made quick work of the drawers, throwing away numerous broken lens and telescope parts. She rolled her eyes as she threw out an ancient, rusty compass which wouldn't work, nor did it look like it HAD worked in ten or twelve years. She had made her way to the desktop, which was so cluttered she had half a mind to just sweep everything off of it and force Delbert to start anew. She set aside charts and data sheets into neat stacks, and began to right the photographs that were tipped over on the far corner of the desk, save for one, which, in all the mess, sat upright as if Delbert had actually---dare she think it?—taken time to see that it stayed in it's proper place. She smiled inwardly as she noted that it was their wedding photo, being displayed proudly, dust and clutter free, save for a small mint propped up against the side of it. Of course, the only reason the picture was in such good condition was probably due to its novelty—they had only been married two months, after all.
*I give it another week before he's covered it like the others.* She snickered. She was about to dispose of a fistful of old (*Two years old! What is he thinking!*) newspapers when she heard someone stir in the entranceway.
"I can't shut my eyes around here anymore, can I?" Delbert grinned at her, his face clearly saying "Busted!"
"Not if you want to avoid being tripped by all this junk," she quipped, "Honestly, this place is a mess. Did you know, Doctor, that you have newspapers from two summers ago cluttering your desk?"
Delbert shrugged sheepishly, "I haven't quite gotten around to reading them. Busy, you know."
Amelia laughed before stuffing the articles in with the rest of her accumulations. Delbert frowned.
"Now really," Amelia insisted, "This place looks horrid. Hasn't seen a proper cleaning in…oh, it pains me to think about it."
"I'll clean it," he said, trying to shoo her away from the desk.
"Yes, and I'm going to see that John Silver is crowned Queen."
"I will," he persisted, "After breakfast. I'll get right on it."
Amelia eyed him skeptically, but dropped the sack. "Fine," she relinquished, "I have plenty of work to keep me busy anyway. But mark my words Delbert Doppler, you'll clean this place up or you'll find yourself sleeping here tonight…alone."
Doppler waved off the half-hearted threat. "Of course, of course, spotless by nightfall—you'll see."
She raised an eyebrow at him before leaving the room. "Yes, that WILL be something to see."
Delbert stood there a moment, taking in the enormity of his task. "Why do I have this feeling like I'll be sleeping alone for a few months?"
*******
In all his years as a bachelor, Delbert was still incapable of making an edible sort of toast. He knew that, and, much to his chagrin, so did his wife, who had the hindsight to see that the toast was already prepared and on a plate for them by the time he trudged downstairs, looking like a man who was just told to move the cosmos. He sat down across from his wife, taking a drink from his coffee cup.
"Just remember," she smiled slyly, "I DID offer to clean it for you."
He gave her a look that he meant to be one of fierce annoyance, but she simply chuckled, stirring her tea, and shaking her head. He grabbed his toast in one hand, the morning paper in another, and was about to begin reading the latest about the governmental troubles when his doorbell rang, sending a cacophony of sound throughout the manor.
"Bloody hell, it's barely eight o'clock!" Amelia exclaimed, as she straightened her clothing and headed for the door. Just as curious as she was as to whom could possibly be calling so early, Delbert followed on her heels, his paper and bread forgotten. He arrived in the main hall just as Amelia opened the door to allow a young naval courier to step inside.
"I've been told to deliver this telegram to Captain Amelia," he said, shaking slightly as he pulled a letter from his pocket, "I guess that's you…uh…yeah…ma'am." He handed the paper to Amelia before making a hasty retreat.
"What do you suppose it is, dear?" Delbert asked, peering over his wife's shoulder.
She sighed. "Well, at first I thought it was a letter from home saying that my great-aunt Aenid was dead, but then I remembered he was in uniform, so it must be bad news."
Delbert swallowed as she opened the envelope. It contained nothing but a single sheet of paper, with the crest of the empire at the top in bold reds and blues.
Captain Amelia,
Please report to Crescentia Spaceport at 14 00.
General Markum Salaes
"That's it?" Delbert asked, confused. "They just order you to show up?"
Amelia sighed. "That probably means it's VERY bad news."
"So what are you going to do?" he peered at her.
"I have 6 hours to be at port, of course."
Delbert sighed. *Damn navy.* "I'll get Delilah ready to go."
********
"Captain Amelia, always a pleasure," General Salaes smiled at her from over a long table, "I'm sorry for the short notice."
"Not a problem. What exactly am I here for, might I ask?"
"I'll get to that in a moment, I have a few more people I want here."
Amelia glanced around the room. There were already about 10 or 15 officers crowded around one large table, and she found it hard to believe that Salaes was anticipating a bigger group. She took the opportunity to peer at the long map that had been laid out on the table. It was an area she had gotten a little too familiar with in the past, and had a sinking feeling she was going to be revisiting in the future. She was deep in thought and didn't notice that the meeting was going to commence until she heard the thick wooden doors of the war room slam shut behind her. Snapping back to reality, Amelia watched straight faced and Salaes leaned on his end of the table.
"Gentlemen…it's those damn Procyons again."
*******
"…And so he's sending a few fleets down to head off the Procyons at the Mucculough Current."
Delbert blinked once at his wife. "So what's that got to do with you?"
"He wants me to lead one of the fleets."
Delbert groaned softly. He had been afraid of this ever since that morning. "And…?"
"And what?" Amelia said, "I'm going to take a dozen ships down to the border."
He squirmed in the chair he was sitting in. Suddenly, everything felt so uncomfortable…
Amelia easily sensed his tension. "You're welcome to accompany me," she said quietly, "I always have room for an experienced astronomer."
Delbert nodded slowly, apparently still deep in thought. "But…the Procyons? They're…they're…BRUTAL. More so than any pirate."
Amelia sighed. "I know. I've fought them once and hoped I would never have to again."
Delbert glanced up at his wife, and, for a fraction of a second, saw her as weak and vulnerable as he ever had seen her. But, with a blink of an eye, the sight was gone, and she stood.
"Well, this fleet isn't going to get prepared by itself. Those ruddy slackers need some direction…will you be joining me, Doctor?"
He was scared. The stories he had heard…and even Amelia was wary deep down, even though she had managed to hide it from the rest of the universe. After experiencing a few "adventures" in his life, he had surely had more than his fill, but he wasn't going to send his beloved wife out into the depths of disputed space alone.
"'Til death do we part, right?" he said, trying to be cheerful.
Amelia offered him a sad smile. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."
To be continued…
Hello all you lovely people who made it this far! For those of you, who have read my previous work, welcome back for more punishment. I know the beginning may sound similar to my other story, but stick it out, okay? It's different, I swear…how else is she gonna get the news?
For the newcomers…ask the old readers…you're in for a lot of pain. Seriously though, you can call me Weasleykid8, or J., or "Stupid girl who couldn't write fic to save her life." Whatever. I DO request that all flames be made to me personally at my email address…other than that, you can say what you please, and please do! I love reviews.
So…I'm back…
::watches everyone flock::
Aloha,
J. CaptDuck96@netscape.net
