Spacecarrier

By Veradance

The universe was at war.
The spacecarrier was the size of a moon with more sentient beings than the colonies it was sent to protect.

On the spacecarrier First Lt Starfield was fighting her own battles.

She had to steal a prototype from the most feared division on the spacecarrier, avoid being assassinated by her commanding officer and hope her new found love did not have her executed. That was only the beginning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Veradance
• Release date: Apr 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476281094

Book preview

The Chronicles of Lady Starfield

Vol I: Spacecarrier

By Veradance

Copyright 2012 Veradance

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchase for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This Book is dedicated to my friends who have always given me encouragement.

Camilla Evans

Mary Mcleod

And my children

Camilla Hartley

Jim Hartley

Special Thanks to

Michelle Muether

Who volunteered to be the

President of my fan club.

Little did she know, I would take her up on it!

Ha! Ha!

Introduction

This document has been cleared by the following agencies.

Bureau of Intergalactic Contact

The following document was translated into vernacular of the local inhabits of territory know as U.S.A in idiom of a language referred to as English on Planet Terra . Due to the literature advancement act 1339.7 worlds in isolation from the galactic community may receive information in fiction format to prepare them for eventual contact by the larger community.

Division of Technology Control

This document has been declared free of any engineering detail that could result in

development of technology not already in residence on the planet.

*****

Chapter One

Remove the prototype, replace it with a duplicate use any means necessary, those were her orders. First Lt. Starfield paused as the door to her commanding officer's private suite slid shut behind her. After taking a deep breath she made a precision about left and began walking down the dim hallway. Behind her and to the front the corridor stretched out of sight into the darkness, the only light source a faint glow coming from the ceiling. The illumination was just enough for humans to make out patterns of gray in the carpeting under foot and in the designs on the walls. The brighter light of ship-day would reveal a riot of conflicting colors and division insignia. Carpeting designed to absorb sound silenced her footsteps, walking at a steady pace the lieutenants' thoughts focused on her orders. Remove the prototype replace it with a duplicate using any means necessary. Appropriating another division’s inventory without permission was under the best of circumstances hazardous to one's health, but this was insane. The device was a project of the Interrogator Division. Interrogators specialized in retrieving information from prisoners of war using methods that were as effective as they were unpleasant. An art they didn’t hesitate to practice on their fellow soldiers when enforcing discipline. On her list of beings she would least like to make enemies of the Interrogator Division came in second only behind God, and it might be safer to offend the Almighty since forgiveness was not an Interrogator attribute. In her years of service aboard the Spacecarrier Aegaeon, they fell into the category of the specialties she had made a successful effort to avoid. That wasn’t really as strange as it might seem, true there was at least one division on the ship but the carrier often held more sentient beings than the colonies it was sent to protect. What could Major Blather be up to? The High Command tended to overlook divisional infighting as long as it didn’t interfere with actual combat. Whatever the Colonel’s plans were, one thing was certain, they did not include concern for her personal safety and wellbeing.

LIEUTENANT! roared the Vorn. Startled, Lt. Starfield looked up. She had nearly walked into the Vorn guard. The Vorn towered over her a mountain of muscle, eight-foot tall on huge squat legs. Backing away Starfield's gaze made it up past the neck-less plateau of shoulder muscles to the vaguely simian head. Excuse me soldier, I was preoccupied and meant no disrespect. she said while evoking the Vorn gesture of submission before a superior fighter, mentally adding a quick prayer that this Vorn was in a good mood. The gesture involved bringing her left hand to her right shoulder then sweeping the left arm out with the hand open and the palm facing up, then repeating the gesture with her right arm touching her left shoulder. It wasn’t an exact imitation since she had only two arms instead of four. The deep green muzzle wrinkled as it grimaced flashing finger length canines, snorting the Vorn rumbled with enough volume to echo down the halls despite the sound proofing FEMALES NEVER WATCH WHERE THEY ARE GOING. What? thought Starfield, how does it know I’m female? Vorn were notorious for ignoring minor things like human sexual differences and referred to all humans as male. There were only two possibilities, either she was standing in the presence of a Vorn genius or this one knew her well enough to recognize her scent. Looking at the snorting alien, it dawned on her that she had met only one Vorn with a sense of humor. Sergeant Trog, how pleasant to not quite run in to you , she said. This sent the Vorn into another fit of snorting as she laughed. It was Alliance policy to never allow more than a couple companies of Vorn on the spacecarrier. The majority of combat species were housed away from the carrier in their own specialized troopships. This arrangement not only saved wear and tear on the spacecarrier itself, but it did wonders for the rate of unfortunate accidents involving combat troops and support specialties. Lt. Starfield had little sympathy for such accidents, she was sure anyone stupid enough to tick off a creature that pushed a ton in mass and considered fusion cannons a form of light artillery had to qualify as a non-sentient life form.

Trog what have you been up to, I haven’t seen you since the second quarter? she asked. The massive soldier stretched, straining the confines of his gray alloy armor, speaking in a soft thunder he began, Current assignment is guard duty for this section of mid-level officer suites. He added with disgust, Ceremonial post there has not been even one attempted assassination. Starfield glanced down at the sleeves of her uniform brushing away imaginary dust from them considering, friendship or not if I break any cultural taboos by asking for a favor I could rapidly become a light snack. She asked, Trog, if I were to ask you to keep track of one officer, where he went, who he met as discreetly as possible, would it be permissible? The Vorn yawned offering a splendid view of those massive canines then replied, The surveillance mission or the question? Starfield reached over and gave his armor a resounding whack followed by a kick in the general direction of his shins. It would have taken an ancient tank to do any damage, but it made a good show. Trog! she yelled, Don’t play dense with me! This sent the Vorn into another fit of snorting, Starfield covered her eyes with one hand and shook her head. It took several minutes for Trog to settle down enough to carry on a conversation. After a half-hour, she had finally gotten Sergeant Trog to agree not to be too helpful. The hard part was persuading the Vorn that No she did not want him to accidentally step on Major Blather (a tempting thought), and NO she wasn’t planning to send in a hired assassin. This truly disappointed Trog, he hadn’t killed anything in nearly a week. So as much as it pained the alien, he would simply observe and gather information from his troops. This could be very helpful since most officers seemed to confuse the combat guards with robots and therefore ignored them. This attitude mystified Starfield, she always kept one eye on the Vorn and the other on the nearest exit.

Her conversation with Trog had eaten up what little time she had left before her shift started. She needed to hurry although in theory since she was the senior officer, she could be late but old habits die hard. At the lift station she slipped her hand into a slot recessed into the wall. Scanners in the slot would identify her by the microchip implanted in her hand as she tapped out the code for her desired destination. The lifts were sealed capsules that shot through the miles of shafts that ran the length and breadth of the carrier. The operating system of the lift would rate her request for transportation using her rank, specialty, any medals awarded, current mission status, and destination and compare them against any other current requests to use this particular capsule. There were beings who swore that you could spend your entire career waiting for a capsule. Personally she could never remember having to wait very long for one. The capsule deposited her on the west side of the main control section at the second level, which gave her direct access to one of the three monorail systems that hung from the control section's fifty foot ceiling. The line she joined contained about a dozen different species that were trained in one the many specialties used in the control center. The atmospheric filters were working especially well for she could just make out the dim line of the opposite wall as she looked out across the horizon. Located in the heart of the Spacecarrier Aegaeon the control center was protected by miles of reinforced alloy. Control systems of every conceivable design and then some filled the huge space before her. As an environmental specialist she kept track of hazards posed by the interaction of the various systems of technology used throughout the carrier. It was an essential position that tended to go un-noticed, attention usually meant a firing squad.

As she arrived at her duty station, Second Lt. Karrack snapped stiffly to attention waiting to exchange salutes. The blue specialist uniform he wore was crisply pressed and his silver gray belt buckle and boots buffed to perfection. Each of his light blue feathers looked freshly air brushed while his deep blue beak looked suspiciously like it had been polished Amber smiled as she approached him, whenever she got the chance she would tease him that he had chosen this specialty because of how really good he looked in the uniform’s colors. Karrack’s arrival had been a gift from a hostile personnel director. The Avianary had always been a competent technician but his career had suffered from repeated transfers. His insistence on military code and devotion to paperwork had not made him popular. The problem with Karrack was that he felt an enthusiasm about regulations that most individuals reserved for sex or food. Her solution had been simple upon his arrival she had put him in charge of her section’s paperwork. The previous year when her section had been audited, the inspectors had been in awe of him. However, she couldn’t help but wince each time Karrack caught an inspector in an error and corrected him. After the exchange of salutes, Karrack gave her the turnover from the last shift. The computer system was well into the transition programs that would alter the section she would be responsible for this quarter. She had been given the section that housed the Interrogator Division, no doubt thanks to some unseen manipulation by Major Blather. Altering the sections was supposed to increase efficiency and reduce stress but in reality some specialists never pulled heavy duty, the reward of incompetence. She glanced at the area's specifications, poor fellows she thought it appears that even interrogators had their own problems. Their commanding officer, Malacor had chosen to maintain his personal suite next to their crew quarters. Amber shuddered at the thought of Major Blather as a neighbor.

After checking her monitors to make sure everything was running smoothly Lt. Starfield told her aide about Major Blather's late night summons. Lt. Karrack's first reaction was to repeat in short shrill notes, Lt. Starfield's orders for verification, Remove the prototype, replace it with a duplicate, use any means necessary. Even filtered through a translator the Avianary language always came out as song, this produced interesting effects in conversations when more than one of them was involved. The feathered alien cocked his head to one side and began to preen his crest feathers with his left blue scaled hand as he continued with a second verse. I don't see the problem, regulations 1236, 1734, 1910 and General Orders 12 give you legitimate grounds for refusal. her aide softly thrilled. Amber stretched her neck up and gave several rapid small no movements before speaking, a gesture that was Avianary for, Those of the same nest don’t always sing the same song. She had expected this, Karrack, I believe if you review regulations 1456,1457, 1458 and General Orders 4, you will discover that they contain wording that would nullify the regulations you have just referred to. Karrack glared at her and his feathered crest began to rise at the suggestion that his precious regulations might in fact tend to contradict one another. It was clearly a painful act but finally the bird man sang dirge like, There have been interpretations of the regulations that on the surface appear contradictory. Amber leaned forward to gently stoke Karrack's beak with one hand. It was as close as she could get to the beak rubbing gestures that Avianaries used between friends or kin. Karrack, the fact is that any grounds I use to protest against a superior officer will most likely be used to bury me in. Even if I won my case, I would be blacklisted as a troublemaker with transfers into places most unpleasant in positions highly tenuous, or Major Blather just might arrange for my sudden demise under mysterious circumstances. Looking into the birdman's blue eyes Amber continued, I am going to need your help. There isn't anyone on board who can snatch up information from banks of data files better than you. Enough preening she thought, Amber sat up and said, Start with research on First Commander Malacor since the prototype is his project, OK? As the Avianary moved to his station on the computer console, Lt. Starfield turned to access her own system. The Alliance had discovered the hard way that computer programs no matter how sophisticated were a poor substitute for instinct and judgment in many specialties, including her own. She spent much of her time peering into computer terminals trying to predict possible breakdowns in the environmental safeguards before making up the work schedule for her people to perform maintenance. Well, she sighed at least the Interrogators didn't appear to have any complicated or difficult systems, no fusion reactors, no weapon batteries, no special environments for some species native to a world that breathed poison or lived at absurd gravities.

It wasn't quite time to leave when Karrack finished his research on First Commander Malacor. The Avianary began to recite in low alto, First Commander Malacor is second in command for all the Interrogator Divisions of the Alliance, he is outranked only by Lord Commander Shivar who rarely comes aboard the carrier. Malacor has been instrumental in the development of more effective means of questioning prisoners. He holds the fleet records on the length of survival at the highest level of pain for each of the enemy species to undergo questioning. Amber took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment as her stomach had started to hurt, after she opened her eyes she asked, Wouldn't torture be a more accurate description?. Her aide nodded his dull blue beak no, while adding, The official language states questioning; Interrogators question enemy troops and investigate Allied troops. In an effort to lighten this somewhat depressing line of conversation Lt. Starfield asked, Well why doesn't he hold the records on investigation of Allied troops? The birdman snapped his head from one side to the other a full 180 degrees, a gesture that meant what follows is not to be overheard. Then he replied, Trust me if official records were kept of pain levels on allied troops, Commander Malacor would hold them. Great, thought Amber, I have to steal something from a being who rates number one on everyone's nightmare list! She wondered how much a really good assassin would cost ? No, with her luck, she'd probably approach somebody already retained by Major Blather.

After releasing her aide to complete other assignments, Lt. Starfield sat brooding in front of her computer console. Lt. Starfield hated to admit it but Major Blather was right about one thing, she would have to get close to the Interrogator Commander to pull this off. She glanced at the daily memos on her terminal, among them was one concerning a party being given in the Signal corps on the next day’s swing shift. The Signal Corp which gathered information shared the same section as did the Interrogators. The high ranking officers in attendance were a matter of public record so she didn't have any trouble confirming that Malacor would attend. Now she needed a plan. She needed something subtle but effective. She stared at the view screen which showed a picture of the commander in his uniform, it was black hole black armor with an even darker cloth hooded mantle that obscured the being's true form. The only difference between members was the etching on the faceplate, in enlisted men this etching was red, in officers up to commander rank the inlay was silver but only commanders wore gold. As supreme officer of the corps aboard the carrier Commander Malacor had the addition of gold threads interwoven in black mail of his gloves. Somehow the fact that Commander Malacor had chosen an almost human skull for the etching on his faceplate did not help her seething stomach. Under normal circumstances she avoided parties, invariably after a few drinks, she would manage to insult someone who could make her life interesting. Major Blather and that personnel director were prime examples. The personnel director had no sense of humor whatsoever, all she had done was to ask him, How he avoided ever accidentally putting someone in a position they were trained for? Could she help it, if a few senior officers had heard her remark and thought it funny? The last time she had one too many all the computers in her section had developed a southern dialect. Fortunately she wasn’t so drunk that she left any evidence, but even now every once in a while one of the voice recognition programs would start singing Dixie. There was no help for it, she would have to go, it would be her only social opportunity to get Commander Malacor's attention, she certainly didn't want his professional interest! By the time her shift was over Amber had come up with a plan.

Lt. Starfield wasn't sure how many clothier shops were on the ship in the different commercial sections but she only needed one to put through a special rush order. When she got to the shop she waited with a Caproon while Twitter finished scanning a Reptiliod. The Caproon who was coiled in a resting position most closely resembled a green and orange striped caterpillar who happened to be ten foot long and almost two feet in diameter. As she admired the creatures skin she spoke to it saying, You have such lovely stripes, I don’t think I have ever seen a more vivid pattern. The creature swung its head to a level just a foot above hers then arching its neck so that black fist size compound eyes looked into hers as it spoke. The mouth parts opened and closed in complex silent gestures forming sounds too high for human hearing for just a few seconds before its verbal translator kicked in. A human with good eyes, how rare! came forth in soft masculine tones. Lt. Starfield stretched her neck and slowly bowed her head in a nod of appreciation of the complement and replied, If your silk is as fine as your manners, it is a rare thread indeed. The Caproon bobbed its head before replying, Soft, strong my silk so the feathered one has offered to trade. Twitter who had finished with her measurements of the Reptiliod entered the conversation and began bartering for a month’s output of the Caproon’s silk. Twitter was a Kwet, a non-humanoid species. The Kwet vaguely resembled a terrain ostrich except instead of wings they had two feathered covered arms that ended in scaled four fingered hands with two opposable digits. Twitter’s bobbing head topped out at just under seven feet, while the males of her species could go a lanky nine feet. Her brain was safe in the center of her body cavity not crammed into that tiny head, which at the moment was sporting hot pink and metallic blue glitter on its eyelids to match the jeweled bodice she was wearing over a body dress of luminescent pearl.

When the Caproon left after their bartering was finished, Twitter said, Just give me a minute to lock up and I will fix us a nice cup of tea. Amber replied, Actually this isn't entirely a social visit, I've come to place a special order for a dress. Fluttering her eyelids Twitter, clasped a hand to her feathered bosom and said, Be still my beating hearts, she wants a dress!. Amber answered, Oh, give me a break Twitter my wardrobe isn't that bad. Humph! clipped Twitter as her beak snapped together then she swiveled her head close and lowered her glittering eyelids as she said in a mock whisper, Did you finally decide to earn that fee of yours? By this time the conversation had moved to the back of the shop to a small table with the standard adjust to most reasonable life forms chairs. No, it is nothing like that, said Amber as she sat down. Twitter's chair had formed a nest shape that allowed her to sit. Twitter by this time had found hot water and a tea set which she placed on the table as she continued chatting. "I don't understand why you went to all the trouble of the oral examine, the fees, not to mention thirty broad spectrum inoculations against who knows what, just to get a