The Freeport Defense Council Seeking Out a Conspiracy

Captain Selina Hellers looks at the other captains in the video call. Their newest member, a Captain Destro, speaks up. “There has been yet another attack on the corporations in one of our houses,” the false voice of our staunchest defender says. “Are we to expect retaliation?”

“That depends, I guess,” Admiral Kyle Katzmann replies, “Is this one of your tricks.”

Captain Hellers shakes her head. “Shut it, Kyle,” she says to the kid. He’s always been paranoid about the machine mind in our midst, and feels that just because he runs a team of fighters as opposed to a single, larger ship makes him better than all the rest of us. Even started to call himself Admiral. “Any idea who is actually behind it?”

“Unconfirmed,” Destro states, “There is a possibility I am investigating, but it has yet to bear fruit. You?”

“I have a meeting with some less legitimate friends to check and see if they know anything,” Captain Hellers answers, then looks expectantly at Kyle and Marcie.

Marciella Bellardino, who has been silent up until now, sighs. “I don’t know? I don’t really have friends, but my bet is corporate nonsense gone wrong followed by a retaliation done better.” Marcie runs a massive homeship-converted-carrier and is one of the two members of the Freeport Defense Council whose vessel is itself a Freeport, once the only one prior to the PPPI-run super-dreadnought’s deal, and is still the only one that is actually used as a freeport. Unlike Kyle, she could call herself Admiral without sounding like an arrogant prick. But she doesn’t even refer to herself as Captain anymore.

“Probably right,” Kyle adds, “But I’ll head to Port Mady to check with the rank and file about what’s what.” And Kyle finds yet another excuse to head to Portus Madidorum. He’s almost as bad as Destro in the finding any reason to kick back and relax department but at least Destro can do that while also being their most effective asset.

With a sigh, Selina does admit that Kyle and his fighter squad are pretty good carousers. “Okay, but try to stay more sober than the people you’re talking to this time,” she says, “Last time you ended up telling those marauders more about our plans than learning from them.”

Kyle laughs. “That’s okay, this time I don’t know our plans,” he jokes as he leaves the call.

Marcie gives the remaining pair a nod. “Good luck in your investigations,” she says, “I’m going to begin making certain Portus Custodum has its full complement of defenses, just in case it turns out I’m wrong.”

“Good,” Selina adds just as Marcie leaves the call. “Destro, If you are right, should we be concerned?”

“Probably, though our deal should make you the least concerned party in this galaxy. What about if your hunch turns out to be correct?”

“Then we best hope our little council can hold up against a lot of threats at once.” She shakes her head and adds, “Any idea about your capabilities in relation to current Service vessels? I know modern Astro’s destroyers are basically smaller versions of your system but with worse brains and more people required, but I’m concerned about the Service.”

Destro, still only partly paying attention to her, asks, “Why are you so concerned? Who do you think it is?”

“Marcie is probably right, that it’s some kind of back and forth between companies. That’s what it normally is,” Captain Hellers explains, “But if it isn’t them, and it isn’t us, and whatever you’re looking into is wrong, there’s only one other option, and it really is less than ideal. Next commercial break, read up on an event, started about thirty-nine, forty years ago, lasted three years. It’s referred to as the Insurgency.”

There’s a briefest pause. “And so you are checking in with some Marauder base somewhere to see if they’re up to something sketchy?” the PPPI asks.

“Not exactly, but sort of? I’m checking in with an old friend, one that stays off the record, who knows more about marauder movements than even they do,” Captain Hellers replies.

“I assume if either of us are correct, and therefore we have to be prepared, we do the usual?” Captain Destro asks unnecessarily.

Captain Hellers replies, equally unnecessarily, “Of course. We come up with a plan, check with Marcie to make sure it’s feasible and doesn’t put too many people’s lives at risk, then loop our dear Admiral in at the last possible second.”

She swears she can hear Destro laughing as the super-dreadnought hangs up. Not the cobbled together false human face they use to communicate, but the actual computer. But that is less than important. Now, Captain Selina Hellers has a job to do. Leaving her office, she heads to her bridge. “Captain on deck,” her first officer Wilson Williamson says facetiously as she walks in.

She shakes her head at him. “Hey, Wills,” she asks, “Any idea where your ex is at?”

“Why would I know that?” Wilson asks, “Which one? I don’t know why you’re…” He begins to ramble.

Their pilot, Jacoby Calvin, interrupts his ramble, “I assume she’s talking about the one you’re still sleeping with? Right?” he says, though it isn’t a question, “That Marauder psycho you sneak off to see when you think we’re not paying attention.”

“You’re one to talk, Jay,” Wilson spits out.

Selina snaps her fingers and they both get quiet and turn to face her, as does the rest of the bridge. “We’re not talking about Jacoby’s little black book today. We’re asking you about Paul. Do you know where he is right now?”

“They’re on a run, so we risk getting shot, but other than that, yeah. It’s an Oort belt, on the Service-Freeport line,” Wills admits, and as he types in the coordinates, he turns to one of the scanning crew on the bridge and asks, “Does everyone really know?”

The crewmember nods. “You ain’t great at secrets, Wills.”

Wills groans and collapses into his seat. Selina sits down in her chair as well, and presses the comms button. “Everyone, prepare for gravdrive activation in five,” she informs the ship. Her ship might not be as big as the Obiettivitta or Portus Custodum, but she had nearly five hundred people under her command, and her ship was probably one of the deadliest in the Galaxy. Heck, a bunch of the weapon systems she has installed on the IFD Last Line are technically banned by intercorporate law. Because use of some of these systems to bombard a resource-laden asteroid or locale for a sustained period of time can make it cost prohibitive to mine, but still.

Jacoby finishes the calculations and turns to face his Captain. “On your switch,” he says, “Four jumps.”

Checking her watch, Captain Hellers takes a deep breath. In and out. Pressing down the comms button once more, she adds, “Four jumps, in three, two, one.” And, as she says one, she puts her left hand on the lever beside her captain’s chair, and pulls it backwards. She can feel the gravdrive whirring up, the sheathe encasing them. And they move, space to space. Then the Last Line stops, and slowly turns for the second of four. Then, once again, their gravdrive whirs up, and they rush forwards. This time they stop within view of what looks like a rogue planet drifting alone through the darkness. Another turn, another whirring, another jump. A star is close enough to be more than a speck of light here. And they turn once more, the gravdrive activates yet again, and their last jump takes them to the outer edge of an Oort cloud. Captain Hellers looks to her bridge crew. “Scanners up, tell me there’s a craptastic, broken looking freighter around here.”

One of the scanning crew presses a few buttons and says, “Six hours coreward. No one else in system. Shouldn’t there be a bigger Service presence this close to their space?”

Wills shrugs. “Depends on where their leaders are on the Service Paranoia Scale, tee em, and if they’re being paranoid inward or outward right now,” he says.

“Alright, I’m going to take a nap,” Selina informs Wills, “You have the bridge. However, if they start drifting towards us, or try to communicate, you wake me up and don’t make an ass out of yourself. Got it?”

“Fine,” Wills says, shaking his head, “But if they attack us because I’m busy waking you up instead of answering their hail, that’s on you.”

Captain Hellers leaves the bridge, and moves to her cabin. It’s the only cabin on the bridge’s deck, because she needs to be available to take the chair at a moment’s notice. Only Wills and Jacoby have ever really been into her cabin. Most people just assume it’s a luxurious room, like Wills’ cabin down in the main deck. But she wasn’t a Freeporter by birth. She grew up in the service, and had yet to find much comfort in luxuries. Her walls were bare, her room large yet almost entirely empty. A single cot, a workbench, and a wardrobe. Lying down on her cot, she stared at the metal ceiling. Normally she would pull off her compressing uniform, but she doesn’t want to get too comfortable. This is only a nap. “Open,” she says aloud to her room. The opaque ceiling begins to seemingly become transparent, revealing space above her, as does one of her walls, the one up against the outer hull. Not really, of course, it’s just screens and cameras, but it is the one luxury she finds relaxing. The reminder of where she is. Staring into the endless void, she drifts off into sleep.

“Get your butt out of bed, boss,” Wills voice echoes through her mind as Selina jolts up. He’s standing in her room’s door, staring at her. “Half hour out and they started moving towards us,” he adds before turning and leaving.

Getting up, Selina stretches her arm and back. Sleeping in uniform is not particularly good for one’s general wellbeing. Not because it is unhealthy, per se, just because it’s like sleeping in a weird position, everything ends up stiff and slightly misaligned when you wake up. After her quick stretches, she heads out to the bridge. “Any contact attempt yet, or just movement?” she asks.

Her comms officer, Tilda Delvin, looks over at her, “Not yet, but they might think we’re pirates.”

Selina sighs. “Fine, send a package with a chat connection, message reading, ‘Hey, Les, it’s Heller. Don’t shoot us, we won’t shoot back?’ with a question mark at the end.”

“Got it,” Tilda says, typing it up and firing the message off. She presses another button opening up the screen for the bridge to see. No one is online yet.

Suddenly, the video begins to come into view. A burly, mustached man appears before them, immediately beginning the call by saying, “Fuck yerself, that’s Cap’n Thomas to you, Selina.”

“Whatever you say, el Capitan,” Captain Heller jokes. “But do you mind if we have a quick chat, off the airwaves, Leslie?”

“We’s on a job,” Captain Leslie Thomas says, “What is it?”

Captain Selina Hellers counters, “Not suitable for air, has to do with the links. And there’s no one in system and no gravity disturbances.”

There’s a pause before Leslie finally replies. “Fine, but yer coming over here, not the other way ‘round.”

“Fine, we’ll be within shuttle range in ten,” Selina says.

“See ya then,” Captain Thomas states before shutting off communications.

Selina turns to Wills. “I assume you want to join me, Wills,” she says.

“That’d be nice,” he says.

Selina nods. “Then you get to wake up Mark.”

Wills groans and heads to the elevator. Captain Hellers types a quick extension into her the pad under her comms button, then presses it down. “Hanna, please get to the shuttle bay, you’ll be jumping us over.” She then types in the next extension and presses the button down. “Ryan, get your butt to the shuttle ASAP,” she adds. Hanna is one of their better pilots, and Ryan was a Service Marine that went AWOL with her all those years ago.

Mark Ulrichson walks onto the bridge. “Captain?” he says.

Captain Hellers stands up and gestures to the chair, “El Tee Ulrichson, you have the bridge. Do not commit any war crimes without checking with me first.”

Mark smirks, “Got it, cap,” he says as he sits down in her chair. And she heads to the elevator to meet the other three in the shuttle bay. Because if anyone knows whether the Marauders are making a unified play against the Corporations, it’s the Captain Leslie Thomas of the Lone Wolf. And hopefully Alicia’s taking a nap, because Selina really doesn’t want to deal with her old frenemy right now.