The Last Frontier
by: Marina Twelve and Tom R.  

Retribution   part IV

 

"I am here to help you Leslie Webber. You need me." Said the dark, bald, oriental looking woman. Who had introduced herself only as "Zee". "I am a biotelemetricist."

Leslie couldn’t believe her luck. Only the top line Space Command warships, employed Biotelemetry officers. Such gifted individuals were too rare to be "wasted" on anything else but vital military operations.

"You’re good." Responded Leslie.

She had to have been good. Leslie had never advertised her intentions to acquire a ship nor her need to assemble a crew. "Zee" had "detected" that on her own and had come to this remote location to volunteer her services.

 

Like everyone else, Leslie had assumed that her ship’s sensor capability would be limited to ranges measured in "light minutes", With Zee’s help, she would be able to scan out Parsec distances in real time.

Leslie knew the basics of Biotelemetery. A century ago, human ability to "sense" remote locations, "read minds" or derive information about an object one touched was dismissed by orthodox Science as pure "superstition" and "quackery". But of course, THAT was before the mechanics, or even the concept, of "Quantum wave linking" had been discovered.

It immediately became apparent that THAT is what the so called "Psychics" had been doing all along. Albeit haphazardly and inefficiently. The human brain, it turned out, could actually detect and derive information from quantum wave interactions (QWI) between particles. It was the PERFECT QWI antenna. Armed with this knowledge, devices and training techniques were developed to enhance this ability in those persons that were particularly "sensitive".

Zee was such a person. Biotelemetricists (BTs), like her, were able to "project" their consciousness to very far distances, and were unaffected by constraints of light speed physics. They were also able to "read minds"---sort of.

It seemed that actual "Telepathy" as originally conceived in the "unscientific days" actually DID NOT exist as such. The Quantum waves only carried only the most basic of conceptual information —simple "word" concepts such as "up" "Down" "In" "out" "Horizontal" "vertical", etc.

A skilled BT, however, could put these things together and effectively read another person’s thoughts, as what had actually happened, unconsciously, in the old days, giving the illusion of actual "mind reading" ---but it was in reality, a more indirect process.

The other accepted ability of a BT was that they could take an object and be able to "tune into" what ever person or other object had been in contact with it.

This was based upon the fact that particles that had once touched other particles, formed permanent "quantum interconnections" with each other, which could be "traced" by the BT, no matter WHERE in the universe the connected particle night now be located.

This used to be called "Psychometry" in the old days, when it was considered a "Mysterious" "Supernatural" ability. It was simply called QL (quantum link)Reading now. It was a very useful tool.

 

"You ARE aware of what you are volunteering for?" Leslie asked Zee. "We could all be killed!—--or even worse."

"I am aware of the risks." She replied.

Zee, impressed Leslie as a somewhat quiet, "stoic" individual, not much of a conversationalist. She would answer when asked, but would otherwise not volunteer much information at all.

"So, Where you From?" Lesley asked, hoping to draw Zee out a bit.

"North America, Earth" she replied. "Amerind, Lakota people."

That explained her appearance---to a degree.

"I like your Hairstyle" Commented Leslie with a smile.

Zee seemed to freeze for a second, giving Leslie a very cold look. "And I Like your BODY", she responded, but with a sarcastic tone in her voice, that left no doubt in Leslie’s mind as to its direct implications. Leslie had touched on a very "sensitive" subject, as far as Zee was concerned. The "haircut" had likely been courtesy of the Syndicate.

Melissa’s quick logic figured it out immediately. She put her had on Zee’s shoulder as a "comforting gesture" even though she had no feelings herself, she DID know that the real feelings of others were important.

She turned to Leslie. "Only a woman, a BORN woman, would truly understand how Zee feels."

"I’m sorry Zee. Please forgive me." Said Leslie quietly.

Sure, Leslie thought, compared to what the Syndicate had done to herself, Bainbridge and Melissa, the loss of one’s hair seemed but a minor concern. But to a Woman, as Leslie understood more about every day, HAIR could be an important part of her identity and her femininity. To have had it cruelly taken away from her could be very traumatic indeed.

Leslie changed the subject. "Zee! That does not seem like an Amerind name. Is it short for something?"

"No, I call myself "Zee". It is not short for anything" The Woman Replied.

Again there was something in the tone of her voice, that told Leslie that she was treading close to "dangerous territory". Zee’s name would ALSO be a taboo subject, Leslie realized, and made a mental note of it.

When Zee was introduced to Bainbridge, she wasted no time in telling him what kind of equipment she would need. As Biotelemetry was rarely used in most shipping, there were no BT consoles available in the salvage yard.

Bainbridge, would have to construct the "Random Field" screen and the "sonic chamber" that Zee would use in her work. Fortunately, the devices were relatively simple machines that only served as "focusing" devices for Zee’s innate skills, but they were still important as her "accuracy rating" was only about eighty percent without them.

Bainbridge also, as promised, sent a message to his doctor friend. Leslie had also asked Bainbridge to find them a "gunner" and he had also mentioned the need in his message to the doctor.

 

Meanwhile, as the weeks went by, "The Retribution" was nearing completion in Gantry two. The hull had been pressurized and Leslie and the others were at work on the interior. There were accommodations for ten crewmembers, but there would likely be no more than six or seven.

Leslie and Zee began to get along better. As Leslie knew not to mention anything in regards to Zee’s lack of hair or ask about the origins of her name. Zee opened up more and began to talk more about her people.

After near extinction, many of the Amerind tribes were rebounding and a interest was developing in their older cultures. Near future plans called for entire planets being devoted to certain tribal groups. Rakia Three, for example, was to be settled entirely by peoples once comprised various tribes of "the Plains Indians". The Buffalo herds were being built there, and soon would thrive in sufficient numbers to support the proposed human population.

Of course, the people would not be living in their earlier "primitive" state. There would be cities and libraries and technology, but modified somewhat as to reflect the Culture—--Much as the Japanese had done in the Nineteenth and Twentieth centuries. They were able to take Western "civilization" and make it distinctively "Japanese".

The Amerinds felt that they could do something similar. After seven hundred years, they would finally be their "own people" once again. It would be wonderful to see.

Zee’s console was located in the center of the rear portion of the ship, away from most of the distractions.

It was dominated by the "random field screen" That generated a random scatter of colored dots of various densities and sizes and with different "dynamics" or motions. The screen minimized the effort needed to "see" mental imagery---thus her efficiency and accuracy would be greatly enhanced.

Portions of faint "images", from the subconscious mind that usually "feedback" along the visual cortex and retina to a degree, tend to "block" the dots that don’t correspond with part of the picture. The dots on the screen that DO match up, tend to be enhanced. Thus the operator sees a surprisingly clear picture, generated by the minds interactions with the quantum waves in the universe.

It was like a "high tech Crystal ball" That was deliberately designed to amplify a, by now, finally understood, psycho-biosensory function.

The sonic chamber, was simply a hemispherical metal "hood" with a clear, plastic front, which was mounted over Zee’s console chair. It generated various frequencies of white noise from several different directions, thus providing an AUDITORY equivalent of the Random Field "View screen".

 

Zee explained that everybody was able to do what she did to some extent, but most people had to use the Screen or the chamber to really experience anything dramatic.

"Even an "ordinary person", said Zee, "could see "visions" and hear "voices" while looking at the screen and using the sonic chamber."

"The real skill involved, " said Zee, "is that of INTERPRETATION. Anybody can see "visions" and hear "voices" especially when looking into a random field. The real trick is in knowing what the images and sounds actually mean. Like with interpreting dreams, you have to intimately know the symbols you mind uses to represent words and concepts."

"This cannot be taught as each mind is different. One hones their interpretive skills through years of experience. The best "psychics" of the old days could only achieve eighty- percent accuracy at best. A good BT like me, with the aid of my equipment, can operate at ninety eight percent consistent accuracy and a few near one hundreds thrown in once and a while."

"That’s Great Zee." Leslie observed.

"Don’t be too impressed. That one or two percent can add up to a lot when you are talking distances measured in light years. The longer the range, the greater the inaccuracy. Something to think about when attempting to execute a surprise jump attack."

Leslie decided to try it for herself. She sat in the chair, lowered the hood over her head and turned on the sound. It sounded like a waterfall was rushing between her ears. She felt slightly dizzy. She began to hear "voices" that sounded like whispers.

She turned towards the Random field view screen, and adjusted the dot density. To her absolute surprise a beautiful color "photographic" image of her house on the "Ranch" of Barnes Star four appeared. The detail was remarkable. She could even count the windowpanes.

More pictures appeared, one every two or three seconds or so, fading out and resolving itself into another. It was almost like watching a slide show.

Another picture appeared. This time, a middle aged man, with a graying moustache and steel gray, piercing eyes. She also noticed that he seemed to be wearing black leather gloves.

"Who was it?" she wondered. "Could she be looking at the face of Konstantin himself?".

As quickly as they had come the imagery ended. The "slide show" was over. "Wow!" she exclaimed, as she pushed the hood away and took her eyes away from the screen. She had had enough excitement for the moment.

Zee smiled knowingly.

Leslie described how she could see the ranch and remarked about how blue the sky looked. She also told Zee about the man she had saw, but Zee seemed concerned about something else.

"You saw colors?" she asked

"Yes." Leslie replied.

"That’s highly unusual. Most ordinary people see images, but they describe them as looking like faded black and white photographs. Perhaps you have some innate ability in this area yourself."

"You have never had "visions’ before?", Zee inquired?

"No, not that I can recall" Leslie replied.

"It’s your new body, Leslie. Whoever your DNA donor was, she was highly psychic. You have inherited her unique brain structures. With a bit of training I would think that YOU would make a passable BT, yourself."

"From what I hear, my donor’s talents were wasted. She had another profession." Leslie replied. " As for myself, I am a starship Captain, I could never fit in as a member of the crew, despite what other abilities I might have. That’s why I quit the Space Command."

"Nevertheless," said Zee, "Those skills might be very useful in THAT capacity too. You need to pay more attention to your feelings—-ask what they are telling you and then check it out. You might be surprised at what you can do."

"I’ve been having "strange feelings" for months, but I have attributed them to just being a girl."

"They may be MORE than that, Leslie. Pay more attention to them in the future."

They were interrupted by another announcement on the Com system. "Shuttle arriving from A & I number forty two", said the computer voice.

 

As Captain, Leslie had now assumed leadership of the little group, so it was natural that she should head the welcoming committee.

 

Leslie, Melissa, Zee and Bainbridge proceeded to the reception area to greet the new arrivals.

Two people, men this time, emerged from the airlock and proceeded down the steps.

The larger of the two men lead the way. His face was hidden in the shadow of his wide brimmed hat.

Leslie’s heart skipped a beat when she noticed that the man was wearing black leather gloves!

She tensed up as the man approached closer. The light revealed a shaggy looking gray-black moustache!. It WAS the man she had seen on Zee’s screen, not a half hour before.

Zee could sense something was bothering Leslie. "It’s him, isn’t it?"

Leslie nodded the affirmative ever so slightly.

"Don’t jump to conclusions, Leslie. You only saw an image from the near future, I know its scary when it first happens, but don’t let it throw you. You have no real evidence that this man is Konstantin. Proper interpretation of what you see is the key."

"Doc!" Said Bainbridge, as he stepped forward. He shook the man’s hand and patted him on the back.

"Ash!" the man replied with a smile, "How you doin’?"

"Fine Doc."

Leslie began to feel a bit better. "Yes," she realized, "He wears those gloves hide his bionic hands. He IS Bainbridge’s friend, "the Doctor"". She shivered for a second. She had been on the verge of shooting the man. "That BT ability COULD be dangerous if you didn’t know how to use it." She realized. A tragedy had been narrowly averted.

The other man was obviously younger. He looked about twenty, but might not have been as old as that. He was thin and slight of build. He too, wore a wide brimmed hat, similar to an old Stetson, but flat on top. Such hats were beginning to become quite the fashion in the outer regions.

He wore TWO sidearms carried in two holsters around his waist. The butts pointed forward. From the look of them, they were both "One Twenty over Eights". Carrying one hundred twenty, eight-millimeter lead uranium projectiles. Leslie, herself, preferred a single "one hundred over ten".

Despite the development of Lasers, particle beams and photon cannons, the explosively propelled metal projectile was, after centuries, still hard to beat for practicality and utility for the purposes of personal protection.

The only major changes in the last three hundred years had been the introduction of separate "clips" for projectiles and propellant. Three shot bursts and full auto options were also now standard.

Bainbridge Introduced the Doctor to Leslie. He removed his hat. "Doctor Gideon Havelock, at your service m’am! Everyone just calls me "Doc."--- "Bill!" He turned to his companion "There are Ladies present!"

"Oh, sorry" The young man replied, as he quickly reached up and removed his own hat. "Sorry, M’am . . . m’ams."

Leslie had never been so courteously treated, but she didn’t know whether she was being honored or patronized.

She put aside her concerns for the moment, and directed her attention to the younger man.

"And YOU are . . . ?"

"Err. . .BILL, m’am, Just Bill" The young man was obviously nervous.

"He’s an orphan", The "Doc" spoke up. "His father owned a small mining claim on Barnes star four."

"That’s where I am from", Leslie replied. "I own---I DID own a small ranch there".

"His parents were killed when his father refused to sell his claim to a man with syndicate connections", The Doctor continued. "Woulda killed Bill too, but he was hiding at the time. He was only fourteen years old."

"But I killed the men that done it!" Bill interrupted. "I put more holes in them than a lace curtain"

"Syndicate men?" Leslie asked.

"They worked for Mister Sanders, you know, of Sandersville". Bill replied.

Leslie knew all about "Clay" Sanders. He was THE Syndicate’s man on Barnes’ Star four. He was more of an "administrator". Sources indicated that he was taking HIS orders directly from Konstantin. He likely wasn’t trying to get into the mining business on his own.

He was paid well though. Well enough to buy up most of the nearby town, and then have it named after himself.

Leslie herself had been taken to the Sandersville Hospital after her rape.

Sanders controlled the local politics and was rumored to have "fixed" the elections. Adrienne, in her last communication, had complained to Leslie about how Sanders’ people had raised the property taxes so high, that they were in danger of loosing the Ranch.

"Bill, here, is the gunner you requested" said the Doc. "He is quite gifted. He’s ambidextrous, can shoot with either hand at the same time and hit anything he is shooting at."

"And THAT’S taking one shot at a time." Bill interrupted. "Only a fool ever uses his automatic setting. One shot will kill a man just as dead as ten. Oh, Them fellas that killed my folks were a special case."

Leslie looked Skeptically at Bill. "How old are you?"

"I’ll b. . . be Twenty, M’am, in about three months."

"He IS old enough to be in the Space Command." The doc commented.

"I need a SHIP’S gunner, one who can operate a photon cannon" Said Leslie.

"I Can LEARN m’am. I taught myself how to shoot pistols—and there ain’t no one better." Said Bill.

"Call Me Captain!" Said Leslie. She was tired of hearing the "M" word, even if it WAS a gesture of respect. Such "respect" only further "drove home" in her mind, what she had become.

"Yes m . . . er. . . Captain!"

"He would be worth three men on the ground or in a boarding party" Said Doc. "and he does learn quickly. Most Space Command gunners are not much older than him."

Doc turned to Bainbridge "Ash! Are you going to show us your Kick ass star ship?"

Bainbridged pointed to the Gantry two viewing screen.

The Retribution could be seen in all its glory. Its black smooth skin and the shiny metal trim glinted in the "sun" light.

"It’s about the size of a raider," the doctor observed.

"But his has the same type reaction and Jump engines that are used in the Enforcer ships", Bainbridge replied. " With it’s lesser mass, It can really haul ass in a straight run, and can jump half again as far as an enforcer. "

"What about Force sheilding?"

"I have decided to use deflector fields instead. They require less energy to deflect larger impacts than absorbing them like the shields. The trick is to make them stronger than is required to move the mass of the ship. A big hit wont break through, it will only knock the ship around a bit. The inertia damping system protects the crew."

"Is that a Particle scoop?" Doc asked pointing to the large round opening that took up half the front of the vessel.

"No it’s a fifteen meter Quell"

"You’re shitting me!" Doc replied with surprise. "You can’t use that on a Starship. You would be engulfed in the same explosion that destroys your target. Provided, of course, the Quell doesn’t blow YOU up first."

"It will only be used at longer ranges, if at all. It’s for intimidation, mostly. We have a one point five meter photon cannon to deal with most of the other Syndicate ships. Trust me Doc, I have found a way to stabilize the Quell. We will be safe from it."

 

Doc thought about the situation for a while. "Ok Ash! I’m in. When do you propose to take our little ship on it’s first Space trials?"

"It will be in about a week. We still have some interior work to do and a few calibrations to make."

Leslie listened to the conversation and didn’t like how it was sounding. Sure, Doc was Bainbridge’s friend, but it was becoming obvious that "She was being left out of the loop."

"I want one thing understood, Havelock," Leslie asserted, "I AM the Captain of this ship. WHO I decide to take on, when this ship flies and where it flies to is MY decision alone. If you want to become a part of this crew you WILL take orders from ME and ME alone. What Bainbridge might say means NOTHING unless I approve it. Do you understand that?

Doc was taken off guard. "Uh . . . Yes, Yes Captain WEBBER!"

Leslie could see it coming. If left to his own devices, Doc was the type that would not take her seriously. He would make his own decisions and coerce his friends to go along with him. He would soon be running the ship if she didn’t clamp down on him NOW!

 

The size and dynamics of the group was getting too complex now to function as a handful of friends. Leslie had to now take charge and begin to enforce some military discipline.

 

She WAS NOW CAPTAIN WEBBER, once again. In different packaging, of course, but CAPTAIN Webber just the same.

Breeches in discipline would no longer be ignored. Not that there had been any real problems before, but NOW was the time to take complete charge of the operation.

Bainbridge, of course, ran the Salvage yard, but he was NOW also a member of Retribution’s crew. He was, from this point on, to be under Captain Webber’s command.

Bill and the Doc had volunteered and they were also to be subservient to Captain Webber as would be Zee and Melissa.

Interstellar space law would apply to Webber and her crew. If need be the Captain of a ship had the power of life and death over the crewmembers. Though Leslie hoped that it would never come to that.

Crewmembers would be subject to actual prosecution for willfully disobeying orders or acts of mutiny. THIS was serious business, and Leslie DID take her job seriously.

 

Leslie called everybody together and broke the news to them. "From this point on I am officially the Captain and you are the crew". I will no longer be your friend, but your Leader."

"When I captained the Proteus, I could be considered a real ’Son of a Bitch’ at times. Now, I suppose, you will have to settle for a ‘BITCH’ instead." Bill snickered, but a hard stare from Leslie stopped him cold.

 

"I hereby declare that Terran Confederation Starship Retribution is officially being taken into custody by Captain Leslie Webber, formerly of the Terran Confederation Space Command. The assembled crew is now subject to all applying laws rules and regulations as set forth in the Interstellar Space Council Proceedings of the fifth day of June, in the year Twenty Two fifteen of the Terran Common Era.

The casual , Laid back atmosphere of the Salvage yard quarters was over. Leslie was in full command. There were no official uniforms, other than the standard dark blue pressure suit.

Needless to say, all three women, looked quite "magnificent" in the skin tight garments. The black "activating tubes", about the diameter of a finger, that ran along the side of their arms, legs and down either side of their bodies tended to enhance their curvaceousness even more.

 

Leslie and Zee were the biggest women, both looked fine in their outfits, but Leslie, seemed to be a bit more "streamlined", while Zee was a bit "rounder’" in places.

Melissa was about five inches shorter than the other women, otherwise, she resembled a smaller scale version of Leslie, but with short brow hair. Which one looked better, was however, a matter of taste.

None of the men were especially well built. Bill, was too thin, Bainbridge looked a bit flabby and Doc, close to 50 years of age, was just a bit "old", although he looked reasonably well fit.

The Men were more self-conscious than the women about their appearance. They opted to supplement their appearance somewhat with their jackets. Both Doc and Bill also wore their wide brim hats.

Leslie couldn’t relate to their plight. She had looked good in a pressure suit as a Man and equally well as a Woman. She had never felt self conscious about her body. She would tolerate the foibles of the men however. She wanted them to be comfortable.

 

Assignments were issued. Leslie, herself, would take the helm station and would have complete control of the Quell. Melissa would be responsible for navigation and power distribution. Bainbridge was, naturally, the engineer. Zee handled both conventional sensors and biotelemetry. Dock had medical duties, but would double as the turret gunner. Bill would be assigned to the big one point five.

 

 

 

The day had finally come to finally take the Retribution on its first test flight. Leslie had been putting her crew through its paces for weeks. NOW it was time to see what they all were made of.

Leslie went through her checklist. Everything seemed to be in order. A final check with Bainbridge confirmed her assessment.

Melissa had plotted a course around the Aphrian star system. Zee turned on the sensors.

The AntiGrav System was engaged and the Retribution slowly lifted off of the ground for the first time.

The inertial damping system was engaged and set to one Point five Gs. No one wanted to be squashed flat against a bulkhead when the reaction engines were fired up.

The ship soon had cleared the gantry and the highest structures in the area. "Reaction engines engage now!" said Leslie as she pushed the "throttle" lever forward.

Retribution lurched ahead. So far so good.

"Lets see what she’s got" said Leslie as she shoved the lever to the full forward position.

The engines began to whine. "Computer! time us to .5 cee" The ship moved faster and faster.

"point Five light speed achieved---Seven point three four five seconds". The computer responded.

" Shit! That’s better than the Proteus!" exclaimed Leslie. "You did good Bainbridge!"

"Bill, do you want to fire the gun?" Leslie asked.

" Do I?!. . . oh . . . AYE Captain!"

"On my order! Three rapid shots dead ahead. FIRE!"

BAM BAM BAM the recoil could be felt in the ship but it was not serious.

On the forward view screen, the fireballs could be seen disappearing into the distance.

"WHOOOWEEE!" Bill shouted!

"Belay that shouting!" Leslie retorted.

"Aye Captain, Sorry"

 

Leslie could hardly blame the boy though. She felt the same way she fired her first Photon Cannon—and THAT was only a point five.

"Computer! rear cannon Three shots aft! FIRE" BAM BAM BAM, the point seven five did not rock the ship nearly as hard as the larger cannon, but it still packed a punch four times as greater than the point fives usually installed in the rear tail position. "That’s going to spoil some poor bastard’s day" Leslie thought, as she laughed to herself.

"Doc—Random fire upper and lower turrets. FIRE!"

POW POW POW POW POW, POW POW POW POW POW. Fireballs radiated out in all directions, above and below the ship as the point fives swung around.

"Looks like the weapon’s systems check out ok" said Bainbridge over the com.

"One more test, for now." Said Leslie. We are going to fire the Quell!

"Fire the Quell?" asked Bainbridge.

"Yes, now is as good a time as any, What is the matter, is anything wrong?"

"No, it’s just that it has never been used in this manner before."

"There always has to be a first time Bainbridge, do you think its ready?"

"Yes, the Quell is a go! Have you selected a target?"

"Melissa! Find us an asteroid of sufficient size and far enough downrange". Leslie ordered.

"I have one. A – X one two seven. I am sending you the cords. It is of point zero one five E mass and is currently six hundred thousand clicks downrange "

"Computer! adjust ship attitude to cords"

The Retribution’s steering engines fired and the bow swung into position.

The forward view screen now displayed a cross hair grid, which Leslie carefully superimposed upon the tiny dot on the image field.

"Locked on!"

"Preparing to fire Quell!" A deep vibration rumbled through the ship. It rose in frequency and soon settled into a sustained whine.

Leslie pressed the red, "Quell discharge" button.

With a mighty THWUMP! A bright flash of blue shot out of the tube.

"Impact in two seconds!" Leslie shouted.

NOTHING.

"Melissa, double check the range of that. . . "

For a second, a blue fireball as large as a sun lit up the entire quadrant of the sky.

"Fields up! FIELDS UP NOW!" Zee Screamed over the com!

"SHIT!" said Leslie as she saw the THOUSANDS irregular black shapes silhouetted against the light and rapidly growing bigger.

 

END OF PART FOUR

 

 

 

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© 2001 by Marina Twelve. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.