The Dugesian Saga Part One: A Broken Peace Page 2

  Chapter Two

  Barak awoke with a start as he was tossed from his bunk onto the hard floor.

  "Aaagghh!" he cried as he cradled his banged up arm.

  Barak picked himself up and quickly walked out of his private bunk room and on into the crew quarters. The ship had a dank, humid aroma of rust and burnt oil. The small crew room, which was little bigger than a closet with two bunk racks on each wall, was illuminated dimly by a few red lights. After passing through the crew room, he emerged into the considerably larger battle deck. There his crew were just finishing docking procedures.

  "Report!" ordered Barak.

  "Captain," replied his Second in a gnarled raspy voice. "We've just made hard seal with the battle station."

  "You should have alerted me sooner, Old Ironsides," scolded Barak.

  Old Ironsides was a grizzled old war veteran. His sweaty grey hair half covered his face. His face had so many scars and wrinkles no one could remember what he used to look like as a young man. As well, he always had a scowl on his face and his eyes squinted to varying degrees to express his state of mind. He was tall, but walked slowly and with a hunch. His skin was like leather. They called him Old Ironsides because he wore a suit of solid metal around his waist, over a brown leather tunic. No one remembered his real name. He was rumoured to have single handedly killed a Galtrechtian ice bear, then eat it. Both were dreadful feats.

  "Arrgh...," replied Old Ironsides as he squinted slightly. "Surry Cap'n hmmph."

  Barak looked to his Tactical Officer, Weas: "Make sure you get all the ammo you need Weas, I don't want the cannons to run out during a firefight."

  "Aye aye, Cappy," replied Weas.

  Weas was a tall and slender man around thirty. He had slick black hair and a sly smile on his face as though he was plotting something at all times. He wore tight black pants and a sleeveless black shirt. Around his waist was slung a gun belt, with dual pistols and several grenades. Weas could always be counted on when boarding captured vessels.

  "I'll try to get us a missile or two as well," added Weas. "If the price is right."

  "Good. Hehehehe," chuckled Barak.

  His pilot, Joel had just finished powering down the ship and arose from his seat.

  "Captain," said Joel. "We've got a slight problem with the docking thrusters."

  Joel was a young man, and relatively new on the crew. He had short brown hair, parted down the middle. His short height and slim build helped him fit easily into the helm chair. He used to fly air transports, but wanted to try his luck out in space where there was more wealth to be had. He had gotten his space legs rather quickly after only a few incidents of nausea. Plus it was cheaper for Barak to bring on a newbie, rather than a more experienced pilot, so he gave him a shot.

  "I noticed," replied Barak as he rubbed his elbow. "Make sure you get that taken care of."

  "Aye sir," Joel responded.

  "Any word from Boiler Room?" asked Barak.

  "Not for a day or so now sir," responded Old Ironsides. "I'll get down there and make sure he's still alive."

  Barak nodded and turned to head towards the airlock: "I'm heading aboard the station, make sure everyone gets what they need."

  Barak stepped off the battle deck and turned to his right, leading to a small hatch. Cranking the screw on the side of the hatch, there was a light hiss as air filled a tiny vacuum. Barak opened the rusty door and walked down a dark, long narrow tunnel. At the far end he repeated the process with another hatch, and finally stepped out into a large circular concourse. There were small shops selling anything a ship might need, a bar, a strip joint and a few food vendors. Barak was looking for work though, and so he made his way around the concourse to the captains lounge. Therein were listings of ships for hire or jobs that needed ships and crews. As well, it was a great place to gather some intelligence. As Barak entered the captains lounge, there was some kind of impromptu meeting going on. A few men who could only be representatives of the Baccan Empire were making a speech of some sort. Barak listened in.

  "For too long," began one official. "We have been living on the outskirts of space. Making a hard living, under brutal conditions. It has been more than a decade since the old Empire collapsed, and things have just gotten worse. The new Baccan Empire consists of only a handful of backwater systems."

  Barak thought to himself as the man spoke. He remembered the glory days of the old Empire. Back then his ship, the Black Seagull, was a strong and feared little frigate. He preyed on the weak and reaped the benefits. But after the fall of the old Empire, many systems opted to join the newly forged Market Alliance. Work and resources became scarce, and his once proud ship had fallen into disrepair and obsolescence. It wasn't fair.

  The official continued: "We are a strong people, a proud people! I say to you, let us band together and retake what is ours by rights!"

  "What would you have us do?" piped up another captain. "Our ships are old and small. There are no battlecruisers to lead us as there were back in the old days!"

  "That," interjected the official. "Is where you are wrong. I announce to you today that we have created a new battlecruiser... bigger, stronger, and more fearsome than any in the Old Empire. For years now we have secretly been constructing it in the obscurity of the asteroid field on the edge of this system."

  Some of the captains shook their heads in disbelief.

  "See for yourselves," added the official. "Arm your ships, and join us tomorrow. There will be plenty for all to plunder and become rich! All we ask is for you to swear your allegiance to the Baccan Empire, lend us your ships, and help us restore our Empire to glory!"

  There was a cheer in the crowd as the idea of untold plunder and booty, war and glory filled the minds of the other captains. Barak had found a worthy cause and made up his mind quickly. If what the man said was true, it would make him rich.

  "The Black Seagull will fly with you!" Barak yelled.

  Another captain swore his allegiance, and another, followed by another. Soon the room was of one mind.

  "Good," continued the official. "Hundreds of other captains from the stations in this system and others have also sworn their allegiance. We have a fleet! Go now and arm your ships, steel your crew, and make ready for glory! Tomorrow, rendezvous with the Vorticon at these coordinates, then we take back what, by rights, should be ours!"

  The whole room erupted: "Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!"

  Barak left the captains lounge with renewed resolve. He would find his crew and let them know to spend all their reserves in arming the Black Seagull. The old girl would have to be ready. There was little time and so Barak set to work.