Triple Strike: Pasts Revisited

By G.M. Gray

Alan Beringer has settled into his role of human Elite inspector working with Pyrean Navy privateers. Is it stressful being the principle investigator into a dangerous and hitherto unknown pirate confederacy? Certainly. Is it kind of fun living amid the exuberant and free-spirited crew of the Swallow? Most definitely.

Accidenta

• Language: English
• Publisher: Akula Games LLC
• Release date: May 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987621332

Book preview

Operation 1: Pasts Revisited

Alan felt rather than saw the solar sails retract. Only specialized human vessels used sails, so the sensation was still unfamiliar to him even having lived on the Merry Swallow for almost two months. Solar sails were designed for efficient travel within solar systems in contrast to Gates which allowed for faster than light transit between stars. Most human vessels were either one or the other — either Gating from colony to colony, or shipping materials and personnel between a colony and its mining operations within the solar system. Having achieved interstellar capabilities three hundred years prior, humanity had mostly settled back into being a terrestrial species, and this showed in their technology.

The same couldn’t be said about pyreans. Sailing had been their primary method of locomotion within Pyre’s solar system for several millennia before the invention of Gates, and pyreans continued to rig interstellar ships with solar sails. The idea of specializing ships for a single route or range didn’t suit their nomadic traditions. The point of a ship was to go places — why limit them before the ship was even built?

Yet the fact that modern, pyrean solar sails bore a resemblance to those of human vessels constructed during the Golden Age of Sail was neither coincidence nor tradition. It reflected the pyreans’ longstanding fascination with that particular period in human history, and pyreans would be the first to admit the appearance was for aesthetic, rather than pragmatic, reasons.

Alan rubbed his eyes as the Merry Swallow entered a docking flight pattern. He used the chiming of the bells as an excuse to stop looking over the unending reports he’d been chained to the past few days. As Attaché Inspector of Observation (a title Alan suspected his boss had made up largely to poke fun at him), Alan Beringer represented the Elite Anti-Piracy Agency of the Human International Alliance in a partnership with the Piracy Division of the Pyrean Navy.

On the surface it was an odd match. The Elite investigated interstellar acts of piracy, while the Piracy Division committed them. Yet the Piracy Division was adamant that its purpose was to prevent piracy. The fact that the organization funded its efforts through piratic strikes was just a side effect. Tolls these strikes were called — conducted in a less destructive manner than those of unsanctioned pirates. Or so the Pyrean Navy claimed.

Irrespective of these ethical questions, the fact remained that Alan was on a pyrean naval vessel conducting an investigation mired with international intrigue. If his theories were correct, a pirate confederacy had formed between former Pyrean Navy members and human dissidents — likely with access to technologies created by Earth’s Heavy Industries. Pirate confederacies and inter-species alliances were not unusual, but the nature of this confederacy’s activity was concerning. This one appeared to have deep pockets connected to at least one of the human HGBs in the outer territories, as well as a far-reaching spy network that had at some point gained access to Navy intel and technology.

On its own, this was bad enough, but their targets were not limited to pyrean and human vessels. They’d initiated attacks against ships flying under the colors of the Moon Empire — the largest hive of ma’jenn in the galaxy. The ma’jenn were not a species to be trifled with, and the potential connection between the Navy and this unknown pirate confederacy had increased political tension between the Inter-tribal Pyrean Confederacy, which the Navy answered to, and the Crescent Court, which was the highest seat of power within the Moon Empire.

The upside of current pyrean-ma’jenn tension was that the Human International Alliance had formed an official relationship with the ma’jenn for the first time in their three hundred years of interspecies contact. The downside (at least for Alan) was that this relationship went through Alan and Alan alone. During the Chief Inspector’s latest communication with Alan, she’d made it clear that, as far as the HIA was concerned, if Alan messed this up, he need not return to Earth once his assignment finished.

No pressure, Alan mused as he flicked off the terminal’s display and leaned back in his chair. He held back a sigh. Alan needed to pack, but more than that, he needed to rest. He closed his eyes, hoping to settle his mild reading headache. Eric took this opportunity to climb up his arm and lounge along his shoulder. Alan opened one baleful eye to glare at his roommate.

You have a climbing post over there, you know.

Eric snapped his jaws in what Alan assumed was satisfaction before shaking his dewlap. Alan didn’t bother to argue. He gazed out the porthole, but neither the planet nor the orbiting station were visible yet. The Swallow was about an hour from port.

Both Sven and I will be gone for the week,Alan said to Eric in a serious tone. Somewhere along the way, Alan had decided that Eric, Sven’s genetically-modified space iguana, was a lot more intelligent than Alan first assumed. After close to two Standard Pyrean months of sharing living quarters, it seemed right to treat Eric with the same respect Alan would treat any roommate.

Are you going to be bored without us? Alan asked.

Eric blinked. His expression didn’t change, but Alan could tell the lizard was feeling smug. Alan narrowed his eyes. Let me guess. Sif is taking care of you.

Eric snapped his jaws. This time, Alan didn’t bother to suppress a sigh. No, I don’t think iguanas are her type.

Eric slid down Alan’s arm to clamber toward his post. Along on the way, he smacked his tail across Alan’s head. It wasn’t a strong blow, but Alan still winced.

Getting violent doesn’t make me any less right, Alan muttered, rubbing the sore spot.

Even without Eric’s harassment, Alan couldn’t convince his body to rest. He’d managed to turn his thoughts away from work, but now his mind raced in anticipation of this trip.

Alan rose from his seat and took a moment to stretch out his back before grabbing his bag to begin packing. He didn’t need much beyond a few changes of clothes and his travel documents. Any gifts he’d bring could be purchased planetside.

In less than an hour, Alan would disembark to the planet BH-8202 — more whimsically known as Psyche. It was a mixer planet, occupied by both humans and pyreans, and it was roughly the size of Earth with similar oxygen-nitrogen mixtures in the atmosphere. The only notable difference was the higher percentage of water covering its surface. Given these initial conditions, Psyche had required very little terraforming, and what had been done was accomplished as a joint undertaking between human and pyrean settlers. Because of this, the planet made for an ideal trade location in the outer territories.

For Alan, Psyche was significant for none of these reasons. The planet only mattered to him in that it was where his grandmother lived. It had been five Standard Earth years since he’d seen her. Between Alan’s responsibilities and her remote residence, it would easily be another five years if he didn’t take this opportunity to visit.

By the time he finished packing and had pulled on his boots, Alan felt the Swallow synchronize with the space station’s rotations. He slung the small backpack over his shoulder and stepped out of his quarters to join Sven and the others in the cargo bay.

The Swallow’s cargo bay was the busiest Alan had seen it since his arrival (that was to say, his kidnapping). Although the Merry Swallow had docked in the pyrean-operated space station for minor repairs and maintenance, Psyche itself was a popular planet for tourism. They would be in port for five Psyche days, and because only a skeleton crew was needed to manage the ship, many of the sailors had requested shore leave for either part or the whole of this time.

Shuttles going from the station to the planetside town of Tsiege were cheap and plentiful. Between the space station’s bustling trade and commerce in the thermosphere, and Tsiege’s lovely seaside vistas on the surface, the town of Tsiege had become a popular locale for pyrean star sailors.

Alan brushed past various crew members to reach Sven, but none of them paid Alan any heed. By now, the novelty of having an Elite inspector on board had worn off, and they were more interested in getting planetside than gawking at the ship’s human mascot. Sven stood near a large crate of supplies as he looked over a manifest.

The Swallow’s captain was dressed as he usually did, wearing a tucked shirt, nondescript pants, and mid-calf boots. A bandana held the mess of lilac hair out of his eyes, and he sported the usual bracer around his left forearm and a heavy glove enveloping his right, prosthetic hand. Nothing looked different about Sven’s clothing, but he somehow seemed more put together — looking just a little tidier and more mature than usual.

Sven was responsible for directing the Swallow’s planetside trade and resupply operations, but once those tasks were completed, he’d spend the rest of his time on shore leave. Ian, Dirk, and Lance, who were working near Sven, wouldn’t have time for official shore leave, but they’d be planetside on engineering business through most of the maintenance. Sif, as a senior engineer, would direct the remaining engineers from the station.

Ian did not protest having to work the whole time while planetside, claiming he’d visited Psyche on more than enough occasions. On the other hand, the twins couldn’t hide their disappointment. They wore matching expressions that were just a little more grim and stoic than Alan was used to seeing, but it couldn’t be easy to stand amid a crowd of jovial crew members, laughing and discussing vacation plans, while they had five full days of work ahead of them. When Dirk noticed Alan, he gave the human a quick wave before returning to his task of loading crates onto a pallet.

Sven looked up from his manifest.

Alan! Sven called out, a light smile touching his lips upon seeing his roommate. He handed the tablet to Ian before taking a step toward Alan. All done packing? Ready to visit Linda?

Linda von Volsung was the only daughter of the famed pyrean pirate, Tristan von Volsung, and his human wife, Isolde. Isolde had died before Alan was born, but Linda had been a constant presence in his life throughout Alan’s childhood.

Despite her marriage into human nobility, Alan’s mother insisted on raising Alan and his siblings on the primarily pyrean planet of Nibel. Linda has chosen to live with them, helping to care for all four of the Beringer children. Only when Alan turned eight, when his mother’s health began to deteriorate, did Sir Beringer insist they return to Earth. He wanted Lady Beringer to have access to the best medical treatment available, and although the decision no doubt extended Sylvia’s life, it meant Alan left behind both his grandmother and his friends.

Once they’d moved to Earth, Alan had seen his grandmother on precious few occasions. That the Swallow had a scheduled maintenance stop on Pysche felt like serendipity, and Alan knew better than to turn down a stroke of luck.

Yes, thank you, Alan replied, returning his thoughts to the present. I didn’t realize how far away she’s living, though. It’s not even on the same continent as Tsiege.

Eh, no big deal, Sven said with a dismissive wave. Planetary distances seem small once you travel on a galactic scale, yeah? My friend Jakob is a pilot planetside, so you’ll get special treatment. You’ll like Jakob. We’ve been friends since forever. He’s like a big brother. Got me into all sorts of mischief growing up.

Ian gave Sven an amused grin, before returning his attention to Lance and Dirk. It seemed he already knew these stories. As Sven launched into a tale of the time he and Jakob snuck aboard a carrier, Valtra came up from behind and slung an arm over Sven’s shoulder.

You’re yammering, Capt. That mean you’ve finished packing?

Eheheh, Sven laughed. Not quite, but I have a lot to do here, so my bags have to wait.

I’d be happy to assist, Captain, Gunnar chimed in. The young Second Mate had managed to push his way through the milling crowd to join them. I decided to go planetside with Ian to sort through some of the navigation-specific parts. I’m covering for Ragnar too.

Gunnar was dressed as he always dressed — in dark, well-fitted clothes beneath a formal pea coat. His honey-colored hair was tussled just enough to give him a rakish elegance that was completely at odds with his gentle, mild-mannered personality. After joining the crew, Alan had confirmed what he’d suspected since first meeting Gunnar. The Chief of Navigation was Pyreel. Before pyreans escaped the gravity well of Pyre, the Pyreel tribe had ruled over the other tribes. It had been millennia since the Pyreel wielded any real power, but this meant Gunnar amounted to pyrean nobility. And no matter how hard he tried to look like an average sailor, Gunnar never quite pulled it off.

Valtra rolled her eyes. I can’t believe you’re letting Raggers have a full five days of shore leave just because he asked.

Gunnar smiled but said nothing. Alan knew why Ragnar was so eager for shore leave. He’d overheard Ragnar’s conversation several weeks earlier (before ambushing Ragnar and throwing him in a closet). Ragnar was meeting up with his long-distance girlfriend. As a sailor and officer, Ragnar had little time to spend with her in person, so Gunnar wanted to accommodate his friend even if it meant less time for himself.

Ugh, you’re too good to him, Gunn, Valtra declared with a long-suffering sigh, but her sharp eyes went a little soft for once, as if even she thought the gesture was sweet. While you’re working, me and the Capt are gonna hit up Tsiege. Our tavern crawls are the stuff of legends. One day you’re not gettin’ out of joining us.

It wasn’t clear from Valtra’s tone whether she pitied Gunnar for his loss, or was accusing him of finding excuses.

I don’t know if I’m the best company for that sort of thing, Gunnar admitted with a nervous laugh.

Meanwhile Alan couldn’t quite hide a mild look of surprise as he glanced at Sven. When Sven noticed his questioning gaze, the captain tilted his chin to stare at the ground. Sven, so straightforward and guileless, seemed like he didn’t want to continue this conversation. Alan couldn’t resist pressing the matter.

Legendary tavern crawls, Jiordson? Alan asked in a leading tone.

Valtra’s black eyes sparkled. Any earlier warmth she’d felt for Gunnar was replaced with heartless mischief directed at her captain. What, Beringer? The Captain never told you? He’s quite popular with the shore lads. Dashing tales of piracy and all. They can’t resist ‘im.

Out the corner of his eye, Alan saw Gunnar starting to blush before busying himself with his tablet, but Alan was not as decorous. He arched an eyebrow at Sven.

Oh?

Sven looked a little embarrassed. He let out an awkward laugh as if to distract Alan from the picture Valtra wanted to paint.

Everyone loves dashing tales of derring-do, huh?

Sven was many things, and he had more layers to him than he let on, but Alan couldn’t picture him as a typical sea dog. A drinker and a carouser, yes, but Alan had spent almost two Standard Pyrean months in Sven’s bedroom. Outside of the whole pirate captor holding an Elite inspector hostage situation, Sven had been a perfect gentleman.

When it came to Valtra, Alan had no trouble imagining her chasing tail on shore, but it seemed Sven had a libertine side of his own. This explained why Sven looked just a little nicer than he normally did. He was more cleaned up, wearing the same style of clothes but better tailored and more form-fitting than what he wore while sailing. Casual, but dressing to impress.

Not that it mattered to Alan.

Well, if it’s the stuff of legends, who can argue with that?

Alan tried to keep his tone and body language light and teasing. It shouldn’t have mattered to Alan, but a small, hard knot had formed in his stomach despite himself. It felt a little like jealousy but what Alan was jealous of, he couldn’t imagine. That Sven hadn’t told Alan about his conquests? That Sven hadn’t invited him to the bar crawl? That Sven never once tried to seduce him?

Alan discarded the last thought before it could fully form.

As Alan coughed, Valtra laughed before giving Sven another companionable shake. That’s why Nat is locked up in my room, if you’re wondering. She winked at Alan. Goal is to be planetside by the time she escapes.

And if she fails to pick the locks, Ian added, Sif will let her out. Spirits help us if she makes it to Psyche, and Admiral Jiordson finds out his precious daughter has gone boozing on her big brother’s watch.

I think you mean ‘Spirits help me,’ Sven muttered. His tone held some of the good-natured grumbling Alan expected, but he sounded just a little subdued. Sven looked decidedly less pleased than he had moments earlier.

Valtra seemed to notice his shift in mood as well. Her eyes flickered between Alan and Sven. Hey, Beringer. You’ll be in Tsiege on the last day, won’t you? Why don’t you join us? It’ll be fun.

Alan’s eyes widened. While his constitution was not as delicate as Gunnar’s, he wasn’t sure he could measure up to Valtra’s hard living either.

Oh, um, thank you for the offer, First Mate…er, Valtra. Alan paused. I…I’m sure you’ll have more fun without me, though. I don’t really drink, and, um, Alan hesitated, thinking about the other activity Valtra and Sven seemed intent to participate in. I’m engaged. Remember?

Alan had not realized mentioning Elaine would kill the mood as quickly as it did, but the conversation died faster than Alan could have managed had he tried.

Valtra dropped her eyes, and Ian’s sigh was audible. Alan could not begin to guess at what cultural faux pas he’d just committed, but he knew enough to know he was at fault.

But unless I finish sorting this cargo, Sven snapped in the tense moment of silence, None of the officers are going anywhere or having any fun, yeah?

Alan had never seen Sven so grouchy and irritable. He looked askance at his friend but kept his mouth shut, not wanting to make things worse. Even Valtra had stopped baiting Sven. She performed the most flawless, formal salute Alan had ever seen her give.

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