To catch a pirate.
At six-hundred hours Chief Bridge Officer Joel Fournelle entered Krayne’s quarters with a brief knock and his daily report. Krayne looked up from his absorption. Fournelle appeared crisp in duty blues. His dark skin and black eyes with a broad, hawkish nose gave him a haughty, predatory look. “You look like hell. Have a rough night?”
Weary but pleased, Krayne smiled and felt the bristling along his chin. His beard nearly matched his hair in length. His back ached.
“Busy night, but well spent. I think I’ve identified my pirate.” A smug smile escaped even as he stretched his aching shoulders. At Fournelle’s look, he commanded, “read the information while I dress.”
Fournelle moved to the screen, his expression ambivalent, but he said nothing. Stiffening at the screen’s image, Fournelle turned the chair and sat. Watching while Fournelle examined the woman’s image on the screen, Krayne smiled.
“Vocal read,” Fournelle requested and the synthetic voice started reading the file’s biographical data, citizen and service-numbers.
Krayne left to get a delayed shower, but his thoughts followed the data readout. He knew the information, had it memorized. Jezlynn Angeline Chambers was the black haired, and as it turned out, blue-eyed, woman of the night before. An orphan of the last Khajarian war, so parentage, date and time of birth were unknown. She held dual-citizenship, both in the Alliance and on Griff. She graduated from a prestigious Earth university with a Master of Science degree in astro-engineering at the age of seventeen. A prodigy.
To discharge her education contract she enlisted with Space Service Corps for the standard six-year contract. Her first tour of duty landed her at the Engine Design and Development Center on Constellation Station, a prestigious and auspicious beginning. Three years later she was transferred to the Embassy class ship, the Constant. Krayne speculated on Fournelle’s reaction to that piece of information as he shaved before entering the shower. He knew the information on the Constant was sketchy, but investigated it further when it cropped up in his pirate’s file. The Constant had been attacked, and nearly destroyed. Lieutenant Chambers’ name appeared on a list of eighteen officers listed as missing, deserters. Possible mutineers, or worse, traitors. Chambers had turned herself in two years after the incident.
She was not court-martialed because charges were dropped for insufficient evidence. The investigation team deemed the circumstantial evidence surrounding the end of her tour on the Constant enough to give her a dishonorable discharge. Not refuting the charges, she transferred to the United Planets Ranger Forces for completion of her education contract. Several Ranger reports referred to her as ‘Jet’ Chambers.
It was the height of the last Khajari conflict and the Rangers were desperate for capable aero-astro pilots. Chambers was assigned as a recon and rescue pilot. Not a particularly prestigious position, lacking the distinction and renown of fighter pilots, but nearly as dangerous a duty. Nevertheless, her Ranger record was impressive.
The automated shower turned off and he smiled, remembering last night. According to her Corps personnel record, music was listed as one of her passions.
As he stepped back into his cabin Joel looked at him. “With her background who would believe she could attain Major or serve with honor?” Joel asked rhetorically. “Although her record shows disciplinary actions for insubordination.”
“She received several commendations and medals, Joel, including the Legion of Honor. She was at Xiseka.” Krayne said, sure Joel knew of the devastating but victorious ground battle that ended the last war. Krayne spoke to the com. “List Chambers present occupation and location on-screen.”
Another screen appeared. Joel read the information twice. He looked at Krayne. “So how in hell do you disappear from the Alliance’s sight? These records show no residence, no medical, legal, financial, or requisition logs; no request for veteran services, or civilian services, either,” he read the list. “The only proof she’s still alive is a list of current licenses and filed tax returns. Taxes on what? Pirated goods?”
“Patent on a new hull coating. Used by the Rangers on those new invisible transports we’ve received reports on. If that didn’t light a spark at Ship Design Command, I don’t know what would. Took time to track that down, but a patent search helped. Used J.A. Chambers. Could have been anybody, except it was the same technology that eluded us yesterday. An apparently wealthy woman. It seems that for whatever reasons, Chambers has turned her back on Alliance, meeting only the legal minimal standard of citizenship-licensing and filing tax reports,” Krayne said.
Joel frowned and turned away from the com. “No wonder the Corps hasn’t been able to get that technology. What makes you think this woman is the pirate raiding Moon Base One? The computer can’t even place her in this location and she has no criminal record. Except the Constant.”
“There is no criminal action stemming from the Constant,” Krayne corrected, “and I saw her last night. She may or may not be the person we are after, but she fits the profile for my pirate better than anyone else. That makes her my leading suspect.”
“Your pirate? You say you saw her last night—where?”
“By invitation.” Krayne laughed at Fournelle’s expression. His bridge officer often lacked humor. “I received a note. A paper one, you believe it? Expensive communication, and hand delivered, too.” Krayne smiled with relish of the unusual gesture. “It told me to visit a local bar last night. The Black Angel wished to see me.” He ran a hand over his head, it was still wet. He picked up the towel.
Fournelle’s brows lowered in dismay. “You went without security? Without anyone onboard knowing your whereabouts? On a planet that remains borderline hostile to Service Corps presence? You’re crazy.”