Lost Star, Hawke, Morgan [novel24 .TXT] 📗

“Since when is a pirate respectable?”

Captain Sear waved his gloved hand. “You’re a privateer, a mercenary for legitimate hire, not a pirate out for his own gain.”

Captain Melchior lifted the long skirts of her royal blue captain’s coat and dropped into the matching recliner by the couch. “I’d say that’s debatable.” She grinned, and the dim golden light burnished her dark skin with copper highlights. Her pitch-black lion’s mane of hair gleamed blue with only the slightest touch of silver. One dark brow lifted. “I think Ravnos gains plenty, every time Moribund loses another base to our guns.”

From his seat on the opposite recliner, Ravnos nodded solemnly. “I gain one more peaceful night of sleep.”

Captain Sear rolled his eyes. “Don’t we all?”

Their shared laughter was quiet and subdued.

“Anyway…” Captain Sear sat up and slapped his black-clad knees. “So, Captain Ravnos, how do you feel about a diplomatic mission?”

Ravnos blinked. “Diplomatic?”

Captain Sear nodded. “I have a highly sensitive document that needs to be delivered to Barbados Prime, just past Imperial borders.”

Ravnos’s brows lifted. Barbados Prime was the capital of the Republic of the Caribbean Stars, one of the richest and best defended star-based nations in the known universe. They were infamous for being the original safe haven for the first spaceflight privateers and merchant marine corps and had named their worlds for their most lucrative profession: interstellar piracy.

Over a century ago, the Republic had chosen to join the Imperial League of Interstellar Nations as a legitimate government and had supposedly stopped their plundering. Officially, they maintained their current level of wealth by training and deploying private armies that flew to engagements in demon-class mercenary warships.

The small Republic was treated with sincere respect in the Empire, as not one Imperial house wanted the Republic’s warships aimed at them.

Ravnos shook his head. “Do I want to know what this…document…entails?”

Captain Sear shrugged. “They are your ship’s articles declaring your fealty to President William Ayden Cyrus Kidd of the Republic of Caribbean Stars. As they are a free government, you and your ship will be outside of Imperial jurisdiction.”

Ravnos’s smile tightened. “And beyond the reach of Moribund’s extremely high-placed patron, I assume?”

Captain Sear’s pale lips stretched into a broad smile, baring his teeth. It wasn’t exactly a pretty sight. “President Kidd utterly loathes the Moribund Company.”

Captain Melchior rolled her expressive black eyes. “Oh, great, you’re cutting him loose in the rum and gambling capital of the known universe?”

Ravnos grinned. “You know, I always wanted to have my home port in paradise.”

Interstellar Service & Discipline: Lost Star

101

Captain Melchior narrowed her gaze on Ravnos. “Don’t go marrying any professional courtesans.”

Ravnos blinked. “Are you saying I should marry an amateur?”

“Oh!” Sear lifted one black-gloved finger and grinned. “That reminds me.” He leaned to one side to reach into his coat pocket. “I have a gift for you.” He pulled out a flat white paper box the size of his hand. He flicked his wrist and sent the box spinning toward Ravnos.

Ravnos reached out and snagged the flying box. “A gift?”

Sear’s smile widened to show his teeth. “Open it.”

Ravnos opened the box and lifted out a gold bangle as thick as his pinky. “A bracelet?” His augmented vision focused on the shimmering iridescence moving along the metal. The band was covered…no, made of titanium nanites. “This is…mimetic?”

Sear chuckled. “Key word, anchor thirteen.”

Ravnos frowned at the band in his palm. “Anchor thirteen.” The band promptly shrank down to a width of three fingers, the perfect size for a… Ravnos looked over at Sear. “A cockring?”

Sear shrugged. “Well, you are going to be stationed in the rum and gambling capital of the known universe.” He lifted his glass of champagne. “Wouldn’t want you to lose control right away.”

Captain Melchior threw back her head and released a peal of laughter. “Perfect!”

* * * * *

From his window seat in the

Hellsbreath’s

extremely posh captain’s gig, Ravnos looked down on the sprawling capital city of the Republic of the Caribbean Stars. The vast collection of pillared whitewashed palazzos was perched on the very edge of the rugged cliffs overlooking the sea coast. The gold-, silver-, and copper-plated domes sparkled under iridescent energy-deflection domes. The surrounding ocean was a perfect turquoise blue, and the sandy coast a snowy white under the planet’s double sun. Imported Terran palm trees waved their broad fronds in the near-constant sea breeze.

It was the very picture of paradise.

The barque veered toward the broad cone of the space dock.

Ravnos settled back into his seat. He had wanted to spend his entire two weeks of shore leave in the city, but that simply wasn’t possible. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one with an appointment with President Kidd. According to his intelligence, there were several visiting dignitaries, including an Imperial admiral and a royal delegation from Skeldhor.

Seht…

102

Morgan Hawke

Ravnos pressed a hand over his pounding heart. He took a deep, slow breath and reached for calm. There was no way in hell that Seht would be there.

But if he was…?

He shook his head firmly. He had no intention of being anywhere close enough to them to find out. He would not endanger his dream of annihilating the Moribund Company with even the remote possibility that he might be recognized for what he was. Not even for the chance to catch a glimpse of the one person who still haunted his dreams.

The Hellsbreath’s gig eased over the mile-wide mouth of the cone-shaped spaceport sliding into the Meissner anti-grav inertial-dampening field. Bells sounded, warning all other ships that the gigantic superconductors miles below under the floor of the pit were in use. The ship drifted downward.

Eyes closed, Ravnos monitored everything through his residual link to the gig’s sentience. His nav-pilot and the small craft worked in perfect sync, the organic mind blending seamlessly with the machine’s sentience. He nodded in approval.

Synchronization didn’t always happen. More than a few pilots treated the ships they flew as dead, unthinking objects. Not a good idea when, more often than not, the