Rogue's Rules: Black Angel Series, #1

By Rhobin Lee Courtright

As a pirate, Jezlynn Chamber's greatest plunder is revenge. As a former Space Service Corps officer aboard the Constant, her sense of justice demands retribution against those who destroyed her career… and her mind. Other disgraced crewmates from the Constant join her mission, but Jezlynn must keep a secret from her friends -- she is not the person they remember. If she can keep her fractured mind together, they can form a criminal alliance that will change history, or destroy them completely.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9781597050708

Book preview

Prologue

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4573.01 Standard Space Calendar

Ben Chambers glanced at his wife, quietly seething while she sat relaxed but straight in her seat. Margarete’s auburn hair, braided in a coronet around the crown of her head, gave her elongated face a patrician look. Never a beautiful woman, she had aged into striking in a formidable way. He expected they looked like what they were—homesteading colonizers from Griff. He glanced at his watch wondering how much longer this flight lasted and resettled his aching back in the shuttle seat with a huff. A fresh needle of irritation, unfortunately, goaded his mouth into action. Margarete, you don’t adopt a child based on proficiency scores.

Nonsense. What do you want me to base it on?

He snorted. She made the most outrageous statements seem rational. I just don’t understand your sudden urgency for adopting a child. We don’t need one at this time in our lives. I don’t have time for fatherhood.

Maybe you don’t, but I have a viable farm that I want to see cared for when I decide to retire.

Then you hire a manager, not adopt a child.

Margarete gave him her look, a mixture of disdain, you don’t understand, and sympathy for his ignorance combined with the unspoken comments, ‘I’ve heard this argument before,’ and ‘Wait, you’ll see.’ She only answered with a small smile. A manager works for wages. I want someone to take over when I’m gone, to love it as much as I do. It aggravated him even more as he shifted in discomfort once more. Too often she was right, but he had serious doubts about this.

~ * ~

The orphanage, run by the Sisters of Mercy of Sigma Sector, was a large squat building, old and dingy. The applied grandiose pseudo-architectural detail meant to inspire seemed threatening to Ben. He cursed as they approached the front doors and Margarete shushed him. Nothing would change her mind or stop her now, so Ben, still wanting to please her, opened the door and entered with her. Soon he and Margarete sat before an oddly clad old woman.

She comes from a family of space gypsies. They took their ship to the wrong place at the wrong time. Only the child survived.

Ben looked at the Mother Superior in charge of the orphanage as she talked with Margarete. The order had survived centuries, even after separation from the Mother Church on Earth. They now clung to their traditions and rituals with rabid intensity. He was very uncomfortable in the woman’s presence, but neither she nor Margarete seemed to notice him.

It happened during a battle of the last Khajari conflict. Someone stuck her in an escape pod. How long she was marooned we don’t know. Because of this, she has no papers, but tests show her disease free. We don’t know her actual age, but she has the physical appearance of about five, and still has all her baby teeth.

Her scores? Margarete asked the orphanage’s Mother.

Very high. She scored highest in the district; did very good in cognitive ability, above level in reading skills, good hand-eye coordination and small motor skills. We predict she could easily place in any university when she comes of age.

She won’t need to. I plan on her becoming a farm manager.

Margarete, Ben said, you can’t plan the child’s life. The Mother Superior seemed too anxious for them to adopt this child. It sent waves of wariness crawling up his back.

The Mother didn’t even pause. She is a bit of a handful.

Bad-tempered? Margarete asked her eyebrows rising.

Oh no! Just very active... and stubborn.

That can be cured, Margarete said in her self-confident way. Can we see the child now?

They walked into an adjacent room, lit only by an open window. Sunlight repeated the windowpane pattern on the floor in startling polygons sharply outlined by the darkness of the rest of the room. Ben sighed in pleasure. No one opened windows on Griff, and although he loved exploring the rugged terrain of his home world, nothing smelled like a breeze passing through a window. He snorted softly, especially agreeable here as it cleared the musty mixed with disinfectant smell permeating the air.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the toes of a small pair of worn shoes breaking the light’s stark pattern on the floor. The shadowed and immobile child seemed very small, but he hadn’t been around many five-year-olds, mostly he ignored the children on Griff. This one seemed absorbed in watching the sun creep across the top of her shoes. She wore a faded overall and her short dark hair fell forward hiding her face. Her hands clasped a toy of some sort behind her.

What’s her name? he asked, gruffly interrupting the answer to one of Margarete’s interminable questions.

Jezlynn Angeline.

Ha. An angel, he said in an abrasive laugh-huff.

The Order’s Mother heard and laughed. No, no, I won’t mislead you that way. She gets into enough mischief for three children. Some of the caretakers have... well, never mind.

Some of the caretakers have... Margarete asked, her left eyebrow rising in interrogation.

They have called her the Devil’s Handmaiden, the woman said, flustered. It means nothing.

With that, Margarete wanted a comprehensive list of the misdeeds, and the two talked of the child’s crimes and pranks. Their chatter faded into background noise for Ben. He walked over to the little girl and squatted next to her. She crossed her arms against her chest and tucked a small doll under one arm. Her eyes slid toward him from her bowed head, showing she knew of his presence, but she didn’t move.

That one glance startled him, and he felt his breath catch. Her huge eyes were the rare intense blue of gem rock found on Griff and held the same luminous fire. So, you stand your ground, do you? He smiled his crooked smile and fished in his pockets to find a piece of the candy every geologist on Griff carried. Sucking it kept the mouth moist. He held it out to her. After a minute, dainty little fingers gently took his offering. When she had trouble with the wrapping, he took it back. Her eyes glistened with the welling of unshed tears and her chin trembled.

Naw, I’m not taking it from you. Here. He handed the candy back to her. She put it in her mouth and bit down. A puzzled frown crossed her face. You gotta suck on it.

She is too young for that, the orphanage Mother said, coming to awareness and seeking to intervene. She received the same flicking glance that had marked him.

Naw, she’s doing fine. He picked up the child and bounced her into a comfortable position on his arm. Let’s sign the documents and get headed home.

Ben, I haven’t determined... there are other children.

I have. You want a child. This is the one we’re taking.

Margarete’s lips thinned. She never liked having her plans challenged. She looked hard and long at the girl. Approaching, she cupped the small face with one hand and came to a decision. Well enough, but she won’t need this soiled old thing. Margarete whipped the doll away with two fingers and stuck it on a nearby shelf. She patted the small empty hand. We’ll get you a new doll once we’re back on Griff.

The child took the loss stoically, her eyes glued on Margarete in quiet regard.

Processing took several more hours, and for most of the time, his little girl sat on his lap, eventually even relaxing enough to lean against him. It felt good, right like. It made his objections about the adoption and the added responsibility take on a sliver of contentment. Ben had never felt anything like this before, not this fast, not for some stranger.

Margarete talked and took care of the details. A sister came to get Jezlynn to help pack her belongings. She slipped off his lap and disappeared with the woman who took her hand, while he was left to answer questions. The sister returned and placed a meager throw-away bag on the floor and withdrew. They asked him to sign some forms. When done, Ben got up and went to search for his daughter, but she was already on her way back. Briefly, he speculated on how she had retrieved the doll, the shelf had been very high.

So, he said, picking her up. My little angel has a streak of determined cussedness. That ought to give Margarete a few things to think about other than her farm. But I think until we’re on our way, maybe we should stow this friend of yours out of sight. He took the doll slowly from her grasp and placed it in his coat’s inside pocket. Jezlynn didn’t smile, but she did sigh and wrap one thin arm around his neck. A little later he noticed she had fallen asleep. It was a deceptive interlude.

On the shuttle she woke into activity, repeatedly escaping her seat harness to investigate the shuttle and the passengers. For Ben, chasing after her, the trip seemed to take a fraction of the time returning. After a second warning from the flight attendant, though, Margarete picked up her daughter and held her in place, giving Ben an exasperated look.

You will learn, Jezlynn, to behave yourself. It is never too early to learn reputation is everything, Margarete said.

As the shuttle came into dock, Jezlynn finally started talking in an echo of the conversation occurring on the flight deck at that very moment. Oh Lord, Margarete, sorry, but you’ll never make a farmer out of this one. Ben grinned. The future took on fresh interest.

One

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4594.03 Standard Space Calendar

This target differs from the ships you’ve hit before, Chambers told her team. The quarterdeck’s plasmetal grid floor clanged as the team shifted positions. She raised her voice and continued over the noise. The sound muffling coating had worn away long ago on the Migrant Sun, and like most nonessentials on Tricome’s ship, remained in disrepair.

She looked over her team, disliking what she saw—fringe outcasts and criminals. Those signing onto a ship like this were necessarily society’s detritus. Tricome hired anyone he found capable of a particular job. With her engine design background, she knew her options were more open. She could have a legal berth despite her reputation, had filled six of them since her discharge from the Ranger Forces. None satisfied her.

On this ship, she needed, and honed, her talents for self-preservation. The crew remained suspicious of her authority. Her eyes picked one crewman, Cor, out of the group gathered around her. She felt her face stiffen. He had worked a week in bruised discomfort when he didn’t accept an order, but her aggression had, at least, taught the others obedience. Now they cringed whenever she unleashed her temper.

There was plenty to criticize on this ship. Tricome owned the Migrant Sun and based his command on his own desires, not the ship’s needs. The crew’s restless movement at her prolonged silence drew her attention.

Besides standard laser defenses, this drone is equipped with the latest in grid defenses. It’s a lethal combination. The devices are not easy to spot, but watch for this.

As she spoke, she punched up a holo display of the ship’s design and a close-up of how the devices appeared, followed by a simulation of a man triggering one. The deck lit with blinding bright light when the simulation device triggered. Its bolt beam fried the intruder’s image. Startled, those nearest the demonstration threw arms across their faces and stepped back.

Watch for them, she said.

Silence engulfed the quarterdeck. Continuing with the visual, she showed the target. This is the passageway we take. We take these cargo containers and only these. I will access the ship’s computer and disarm this hold and the defenses along the passageway to it. The display highlighted the route in fluorescent blue. I am not turning on environment, so you’ll need to stay suited in xvee. Done properly, no one will know we hit the drone until she docks. Any questions?

Won’t tampering with the defense start ship lock-down?

The crew stirred at their crewmate’s question. She knew interfering with a ship’s systems was an unfamiliar tactic for them. Obtaining ship codes was a tricky business and differed from Tricome’s method of finding a small cargo hauler, usually a family concern, in dock and tracking it through the Fringe until he could strike. Mostly, he had the crew seize the prize before the cargo even entered a ship. Chambers caught her contemptuous answer in mid-sneer and controlled her expression.

Not necessarily. A design routine allows sectional disarmament for repairs and emergencies, but too many deviations from the program will trigger the defenses.

Why just this cargo?

We are taking the most valuable and resalable cargo. Our goal is to get in as fast as possible and be gone with the best before any system disruption turns on surveillance.

A few more questions arose, but most of the party seemed satisfied. That’s it, let’s move.

Sanker Tricome, huge and bizarre as a genetic experiment gone wrong, watched his crew file into the shuttle while he stroked his great orange-tiger cat. He brushed his identical orange facial hair into smooth alignment, then placed his hand on Chambers’ arm, detaining her. At her subtle withdrawal, he returned to stroking his cat.

A marvelous plan, dear Jezlynn, Tricome said in his high tenor purr. An easy job, hey? Even for those not Ranger trained.

She shrugged, saying nothing. Her glance moved from Tricome to Merit, the other new crewman. The short woman, closer to teen than adult, with a near-shaven head, flinched as Chambers’ eyes measure her where she stood with the raid team. Lowering her eyes, the woman scooted into the shuttle. A minute later Chambers ducked to ease through the hatch, indicating as she passed for the crewman to close and lock it.

~ * ~

In the shuttle’s crew section, the low hum of talk ensued, but not loud enough to be heard in the forward cockpit. Merit listened but didn’t join in.

Uppity bitch for such new crew, hey? Brin said. Watch for them, he mimicked in Chambers’ calm voice. Cold one she is.

Shut up, Brin, Tro said. "Tricome hiring Chambers for the Migrant Sun was our good fortune. At least the ship isn’t likely to fly apart at the least motion. Her plan’s no worse than some of the lost causes Tricome sends us on. While I was on watch, she spent hours on the Deep Net. Investigated this target. You just can’t stand anyone who demands fair work from you."

Shut up, yourself, Tro, you suck-up. Chambers ain’t likely to kiss your ass, even if she wanted a man.

Don’t go slurring her just because she don’t sniff around you, Brin.

Brin swore at his adversary but shut up with a few indistinct mumbled words.

Tricome’s believing she’s good, ex-Ranger and all. Didn’t say much himself, at this ‘briefing,’ hey? Cor said to Brin, punching him in the ribs with his elbow and grinning.

Tricome never briefed us, just told us to go, Brin answered, his tone aggravated and surly.

You think this is her plan alone? Cor asked.

That’s it, never knew Tricome to leave any cargo behind. How’d she know what to take, and what not?

Zerka better beware, she’ll have first place. No loss to get rid of that alien, either.

Zerka’s in no danger. Tricome has another place for Chambers, Scav said. Merit looked at Scav in surprise, she hadn’t thought him so crude. His friend Tro gave him a disgusted look, too.

Brin’s soft words silenced the laughter. Just so. Been thinking; the rest of that cargo needs looking to. After all, it’s our share we’re losing. A few soft voices agreed with Brin.

Scav said, Don’t know about that, seen her temper, and she seems real hard. Knows combat moves she practices all the time. Could be bad disobeying, especially the way Tricome feels.

You scared shit, just stay with the other suck-ups. What can she do to us anyway? Cor said.

Brin and a few others sniggered and offered a few suggestions.

Cor smiled back at them and said, "You think Tricome’ll let good crew go just for a screw? Migrant Sun’s no Corps ship and we’re not Rangers."

More contemptuous laughter followed. Merit noticed Scav shut up. Brin wasn’t a person to cross. Merit knew that, but knew Tricome in a temper could space anyone without regret. Knew for sure she wouldn’t do anything but what she was told. That was the problem working on a ship like the Migrant Sun—they attracted loathsome crew. Merit vowed to renew her efforts to find a better work berth.

With the smooth docking, everyone started arranging suits and gear. As the pressure equalized with a hiss, Scav moved to help open the hatch. With the ease of entry into the drone Merit figured Chambers had already worked some systems magic.

Everything proceeded in silence, with precision and according to plan, and with the designated cargo safely floated on the shuttle in less than ten minutes. As they locked down the last cargo container Chambers asked those reassembled on the shuttle, Where’s the rest of the team?

Cor stood safe among the gathered team. Merit sneered to herself. All talk and backstabbing, that was Cor.

Said they’d check out the other holds, Scav said, and backed away at Chambers’ sudden movement.

Merit was glad her helmet plate hid her face, and that Chambers’ face was hidden from her. Chambers called several times through the drone’s intra-link, but only static answered.

Leave them, Tro said, they’re probably fried. Let’s get out of here, now.

Chambers swore; it came through helmet audio in a violent burst of sound and no one made another comment. Merit didn’t feel any easier when their raid leader entered the flight deck. Chambers came out within seconds and left through the hatch still opened into the drone.

You three, come with me, she ordered, pointing as she moved. Afraid, Merit followed, as did the others selected.

Chambers stopped at a tender panel blinking red in warning. Inserting a dataclip she read the feed. Stupid bastards, they’ve tripped security. She fingered the panel’s pads for a minute, then said, Come on, I’ve bought us some time before lock-down starts.

Can we reach them? Tro asked following Chambers down the passageway. Merit’s helmet audio picked up the nervousness in Tro’s voice. It mirrored what she felt.

I’ve linked with the ship’s computer, as long as I follow its security protocols we’re okay.

How long do we have? Tro asked.

Long enough. With that, she led them through the darkened passageways using only her suit’s elume and only stopping to deflect ship defenses as they came to them. Merit was glad she followed last, for she never saw the defense triggers. Alarm warnings like red strobe lights flashed on tender panels they passed, unnerving her further.

The holo simulation replayed in Merit’s mind as they moved deeper into the ship. Shivering inside her suit, she forced her legs to move, afraid to follow, but even more afraid to go back alone. When they came within sight of the missing party, she threw-up. Her suit’s filter system quickly drew the mess away, but the taste lingered. They had never reached the cargo float netted at the far side of the hold. Brin squatted, frozen, near a compartment support, hoping to escape the searching beams traveling the hold. The others stood in dark grotesque star shapes, locked to the floor by their boots. Merit was glad the crazily changing patterns of light and dark in the hold prevented a clear view of the bodies.

I cannot disengage these defenses once they’ve been activated without triggering a total ship lock down, Chambers said, fingering the comlink on her glove’s back. Her voice sounded metallic in Merit’s headgear. Stay alert, they’re on motion sensor only, and won’t pick up the sound. I’m trying to slow the surveillance scan and response time.

Chambers’ fingers stopped even as the sickening light slowed its frantic pace to a crawl. Cautiously, and very slowly, Chambers moved from one body to the next. No one talked. Merit could hear the soft muffled sound from within her suit as magnetic boots locked and unlocked with Chambers’ movement. It made a counterpoint to the sound of everyone’s labored breathing through auditory.

This one’s still alive. Take them all back to the shuttle, Chambers ordered. When someone made a sound, she said, Don’t argue, you can’t get back without me. Just move slow.

Reaching a body, Merit unlocked the boots and pulled the suit and its contents out of the hold in slow agonizing motion. It wasn’t easy to keep her load in a slow steady trajectory. With each sudden variation, she held her breath, afraid to move. Chambers just watched them.

Don’t leave me, Brin’s voice choked as they reached the hatch.

Looking back, Merit saw Chambers approach the huddled figure in a slow movement. She grabbed the back of his gear and raised him to his feet while shoving him forward. They heard Brin’s scream as a target grid fell on his faceplate. Chambers kicked him out of the beam, stepping back herself as it flared on the deck in an explosion of light. Brin scuttled to the hatch during the beam’s flare, then huddled on the catwalk. Chambers followed in tedious slowness.

As she neared the hatch Tro yelled, You’re targeted. Chambers froze. Seconds passed in waiting, then the red lines deactivated. Chambers pushed off her heels, unweighting her boots, and used suit impulse jets to shoot herself through the hatch, her motion appearing frozen in the intermittent light. Tro hit the hatch release and the heavy door slid into place as light flared within the hold.

They quickly moved down the passageway, but not fast enough for Merit. Chambers took the lead, disarming the defenses as they came to them. Merit moved her twitching muscles at what seemed an arduous pace. No one talked about the dead men; no one talked at all. Merit feared a lockdown, knowing that once locked in the drone, no one would get out. Regurgitated particles peppered within her faceplate and clouded her view. The smell of vomit clung to each breath.

Relief on reaching the shuttle’s hatch weakened Merit’s knees and she stumbled as she stepped into the shuttle. The body popped from her arms, soaring in a trajectory that took it to the other side of the shuttle to bounce off the bulkhead. It bounced a second time before someone, she couldn’t tell who, caught it and pushed it aft, where it was tied down. She started laughing and couldn’t stop. Someone pulled her through the hatch and secured it. The drone’s hatch shut with an abrupt slam, halting her frenzied laughter. She dragged herself to a seat and strapped in, with a scant second to spare. The shuttle already shivered with power.

Once the shuttle disembarked for the Migrant Sun, Merit collapsed, drained and shaking. This had been her first raid. She’d lied when she told Zerka she’d done it before. Now she was even more scared. After minutes of immobility, she removed her helmet to wipe her face.

She heard Tro say, Was real worried you would leave us, her leaving the shuttle like that. He cleared his throat to regain his normal voice.

Tried, but the flight command console was locked up. She thinks of everything.

Merit was too tired to recognize the voice.

Bastards, Tro said, what about the rest of us? Hell, Tricome will space us all anyway.

Not knowing if his words were a promise or a threat, Merit turned her eyes to look at the motionless men tied down at the back of the shuttle. In the shuttle’s restored atmosphere, they stank bad, worse than she did; smelling of burned suit, burned meat, urine, and shit. She gagged again but swallowed hard. It didn’t do any good. As others removed their helmets, men spewed and the results remained floating in the compartment despite the air filter’s efforts. It was a miserable ride.

~ * ~

When Captain Tricome, gaudy in red and yellow, and First Mate Zerka, in his usual somber gray, met them, Merit figured Chambers had relayed the bad news.

Not a bump, Tro said as they locked with the Migrant Sun. You got to admit, whatever else, no one pilots as well.

No one answered him.

Coming from the flight deck, her helmet