In the Presence of My Enemies Read online

  IN THE

  PRESENCE

  OF MY

  ENEMIES

  Kestrel Saga: Volume IV

  A novel by

  Stephen A. Fender

  Edited by

  Lynda Dietz

  Published by

  JRP ©

  Jolly Rogers Productions

  In The Presence Of My Enemies

  Copyright © 2014 Stephen A. Fender

  www.StephenFender.com

  First Edition: June 2014

  Published through Jolly Rogers Productions (JRP) ©, a subsidiary division of StephenFender.com

  All rights reserved.

  Ordering information: [email protected]

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Print ISBN: 1499146752

  Print ISBN13: 978-1499146752

  Electronic AISN:

  Cover art layout by Stephen Fender ©.

  I’d like to thank to my family, friends and fans that have been there through this process. I’m grateful for all of you, and each of you has a special place in my heart.

  I’d also like to thank my editor, Lynda. She spent countless hours going over this text, and it was time well spent. This novel is the culmination of a lot of hard work, and I’m exceedingly grateful for her assistance. You rock!

  Thanks should also go to my parents, Bill and Denise. You’ve been amazingly supportive. I love you both so very much.

  I want to extend a very special thanks to my lovely wife, Jamie. Your support has been nothing short of astounding.

  “All that glimmers is not necessarily gold, and some things bought that can never be sold.”

  — Akturian Statute of Attainment

  Prologue

  He knew that even as he gazed out the wide view port, what he was seeing was a trick of his mind. The stars surrounding the ship—once numbering in the tens of thousands—had all but disappeared, replaced by twisting and turning shapes forged by the hands of warring races. In their time, these forms were the pinnacle of their respective races’ technological advances, capable of both immense destruction and unimagined scientific discovery.

  Now the mighty machines were all dead: disremembered relics of a time not too distant in the past. Their enormous power generators hummed and twisted no more. Long silent were their destructive batteries, drained of their projectiles and energy shells. No longer were the crews flowing about their corridors—as blood would in the veins of the body—bringing life to every corner of the vessel. Every window was now a dark spot on the pitted and battered hulls, and if anyone ventured close enough to peer into them, the curious would have more luck seeing into the depths of a black hole.

  With no friction in space to slow them down, every fragment of debris spun and twisted as it had begun those years ago when it was blown free from whatever ship was nearby. Now it was nearly impossible to tell most ships from one another. With their identification transponders as dead as the hulks they lived in, the only way to categorize one ship from another was by chance—that lucky moment one might see the christened name plastered across an unbroken stretch of hull plating, or find an unbroken china cup from one of their wardrooms floating in the hundreds of square miles of debris.

  But those trinkets weren’t the veritable needles-in-haystacks that Captain Nango Gandar and his crew were looking for. He couldn’t care less about names that meant nothing to him, remnants of an old war that had nothing to do with him or his people. All he cared about was getting paid, and he was sure he was going to find something in the floating carcasses spinning inexorably just beyond his salvage ship to quench that appetite.

  As the navigator turned the salvage ship Bo’tham to port, Gandar’s view of the stars was obscured by the gutted remains of a large warship. It looked like a Sector Command cruiser, but Gandar couldn’t be certain. Extending his three gangly fingers, he stroked the thick proboscis extending down from his chin as he contemplated his next move.

  “We’ll be on it in just a moment, Gandar,” the blue-skinned navigator said without turning from his station. “Should I make ready the docking clamps?”

  The captain’s only response was to grunt an acknowledgement. The Bo’tham was in dangerous territory, and every second counted. The remains of the battlefield was littered with any number of objects that threatened to perforate the hull of the small salvage ship at any given moment, to say nothing about the proximity of the site to Kafaran space. While many races hadn’t had contact with that dangerous and unpredictable race since the end of the Galactic War years before, Gandar was quite sure they still patrolled this area of space. On an earlier salvage operation near this location, Gandar’s sensor had picked up what he was sure was a Kafaran scout, well outside the unofficial boundaries of their empire, but he hadn’t stuck around long enough to verify those readings. After all, he was cautious, not stupid.

  Out of restraint, Gandar had beat a hasty retreat, vowing to return to the site soon. Now he was back, and his sensors were tuned to their finest settings. He didn’t want to stray too far into the field, which would make a speedy retreat extremely perilous. However, he also knew that any valuable items would likely be found on the largest of the capital ships—and they were most certainly located near the center of the five-hundred-square-mile field.

  With a heavy sigh, Gandar shook his large head, the overlapping layers of blue-tinted skin reacting slowly while trying to keep up. “No. We will need to move farther into the field.”

  “It’s pretty crowded in there,” the navigator replied in a cautious tone. “We could find ourselves out of maneuvering room really fast.”

  “I’m not paying you for your opinions, just your skills. And if you’re telling me you can’t handle it, then I’m sure I can get someone else up here to take over for you … and for half the price.”

  While it was true that no one on board had the piloting skills the current navigator had, the man at the helm was equally certain Gandar would make good on his threats. Having strayed so far from the normal shipping lanes to get here, the Bo’tham’s fuel supply and food stores were both running dangerously low. The easiest way to ration was always to eliminate those things responsible for their consumption, and that meant the crew first.

  “That’s not what I’m saying,” the navigator defended. “All I’m saying is that, if we get pinched in there—”

  “That’s not your concern right now. If you’re so troubled about your own hide, perhaps you should have stayed home and suckled on your mother!”

  Both defeated and embarrassed, the navigator lowered his head and turned his attention back to his console, his ego sufficiently deflated. “Yes, sir.”

  Gandar’s immense chest expanded with satisfaction over his victory. “Right now we remain undiscovered, and we will proceed along those lines until the situation changes. Plot a solution into the navigation computer. I want to get as close to the heart of this mess as soon as possible.”

  *

  Nearly an hour after entering the debris field, and with several close calls under their belts, the angular Bo’tham neared the center of the long-dead conflict. All around the two-hundred-foot-long craft, bits and pieces of starships from a half dozen races floated serenely, occasionally colliding with one another and releasing even more flotsam.

  Standing close to the five-foot-tall hexagonal view port at the front of the control room, Gandar surveyed the scene with satisfaction. Surely there was something of value in the remains, the largest concentration of which was sitting just off the starboard bow.

  I must possess it. “Any idea of what I’m looking at?” Gandar asked the navigator.

  T
hree fingers lightly scratched at the navigator’s malleable scalp. “My guess would be a Unified ship … probably a fighter carrier. Looks like it has launch bays along the side. Hard to tell if we’re looking at the port or starboard, though. The bow and the stern are … missing.”

  Gandar bobbed his fat head accordingly. “That would be my assessment as well. I think we’ve found our target. If there is even one salvageable Sector Command fighter still on board, the profit alone would make this entire trip worth the headache involved in getting it out.”

  The navigator eyed the former Sector Command carrier suspiciously. Any type of fighter we discover will be too big for our cargo hold. “We’d have to rig it for towing.”

  “Is that a problem?” Gandar sneered.

  “Not at all. That means we can use the cargo hold exclusively for anything else we find.”

  “Such as?” Gandar asked, wondering what list of artifacts the slimy little navigator had invented for his own personal gain.

  “The possibilities are almost endless,” the navigator said eagerly, now seeing profit where he once saw danger. “Hover tanks, mechanoids, medical equipment, not to mention small arms and munitions. All worth a king’s fortune.”

  Gandar had already thought as much, and was as inwardly eager to begin the operation as his crewman. However, preparations would need to be made first. Although the Bo’tham was equipped with a number of robotic arms easily capable of ripping into smaller vessels, Unified vessels were known to have extremely thick armor around their most sensitive areas. The hangar doors were especially hardy, and would take an enormous amount of time to tear open.

  “Is there a suitable docking ring?” Gandar asked.

  The navigator keyed in the request to the Bo’tham’s sensors. “It looks like there are several that are structurally sound.”

  “Are any of them close to the hangar level?”

  The navigator scanned the readout again, then shook his head in disappointment. “The closest one appears to be three levels above. However, if we can get down to the hangar, we should be able to force one of the landing doors open from inside, using the hand-operated emergency release system. Once open, they’re easily large enough to navigate the Bo’tham inside, or to haul out anything just as large.”

  Gandar approved the plan, although navigating the innards of the ship were not on his original agenda. It could pose any number of difficulties, and he was already taxed for time. Thankfully, the navigator had had the forethought to pull up the carrier’s deck plans from a database recently acquired by Gandar on the black market. “Call down to the engine room and inform the engineer that we will require two cargo droids to accompany us inside the derelict once we are safely attached. Then I want you to download the schematics to our portable computers. Once that is complete, you will begin the docking operation.” Gandar then turned, and when the navigator noticed he was heading for the door, he decided to speak up.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To suit up. Maybe you’ve forgotten that there is no air over there,” the captain said, waving a meaty hand at the remains of the carrier.

  The navigator cocked his head. “You normally wait for us to secure the area before you come over.”

  “We don’t have time to be overly cautious. Now, do as you’ve been instructed and be quick about it. Take preliminary sensor readings of the inner airlock once you’ve attached the ship, but don’t waste too much time. We’ve got a job to do, and a fortune to make. Every second we delay is money flushed down the toilet.”

  *

  Once the Bo’tham was secured to the docking ring, and the man-sized hatch had been laser cut and shoved inward, Gandar and his team of two cautiously entered the derelict’s long-abandoned airlock compartment. Behind them, two cargo droids, each a three-foot-tall multi-limbed unit custom-designed for ripping into salvaged vessels, hovered silently as they awaited their next orders.

  Gandar turned to his engineer, a recent recruit he had picked up in a far-flung cantina on Alpha-Seven. “Take a droid and make your way to the nearest ship’s armory,” he said, pulling up the holographic plans for the level on which they currently found themselves. “They’re never marked on blueprints, but I have it on good authority that it’ll be near the remains of the Marine barracks.”

  The engineer nodded without responding, his thick helmet obscuring most of the motion. Flicking on the floodlight above his visor, he shuffled down a long corridor to his right, his heavy magnetic boots smacking down with each step. A minute later, the engineer was out of sight, the darkness of the corridor consuming even the bright ambiance of his light.

  “There is a ladder nearby,” Gandar said as he turned his torso to face his navigator. “It will take us down to the hangar level, assuming these schematics are accurate.”

  “You don’t trust them?” the navigator asked with a laugh that was laced with uncertainty.

  “I don’t trust anything, and that’s especially true for people who ask too many questions. Now come on.”

  After traversing through two empty compartments, the duo easily located the ladder. Slowly descending several flights of stairs, they found their path barred by a closed door. A sign above the door in Galactic Standard read “Hangar, Level 3.” Gandar tapped the controls on his wrist computer and commanded the cargo droid to move into position. As the two men stepped back, the droid hovered to the door and extended the appendage tipped with a laser cutter. Within minutes, the task of slicing into the door was complete, and Gandar pushed the newly cut portion of the portal away.

  Inside the hangar, the lights of their environmental suits did little to dispel the gloominess of the compartment. Gandar and his navigator moved slowly, with their droid following close behind. When a glint of something metallic registered in his periphery, the navigator was quick to draw his sidearm and face it. Gandar added his own light to the unknown object.

  “What is it?” the navigator asked.

  As Gandar’s light scanned the object’s length, he let out a slow laugh. “Exactly what we came for. It’s a fighter craft of some type.” He held his wrist computer aloft, letting the small scanner probe the craft.

  “Object identified,” the synthesized voice responded in short order. “Unified Sector Command medium star fighter; Seminole-class Mark II.”

  “How much is it worth?” the navigator asked as he scanned the craft for any visible damage.

  “A bundle if it’s spaceworthy. Sector Command still has these in their inventory, but they’ve been drastically upgraded. You can still find these older models on a lot of border worlds, though, but in far fewer numbers. I know a guy on Minos that would pay a fortune for this little beauty.”

  The navigator walked quickly around the craft, noting a series of chains holding it to the deck, but finding no evidence of damage to the hull. He then noticed that one of the two fusion drive engines was missing. He relayed as much to Gandar. “It’s probably down for maintenance.”

  “Who cares? You can strap just about anything to this baby and she’ll fly.” He looked down to his computer, noting that the atmosphere in the hangar was the same consistency as the space outside the hulk. “Let’s work on getting one of the hangar doors open. The area looks pretty clear of debris, so we shouldn’t have a problem at all with attaching the Bo’tham’s tow beams to it.”

  “Sounds good,” the navigator replied, then took the cargo droid with him to the door release mechanism as Gandar continued to ogle the prize they were about to reap.

  Tapping the communications link on his wrist, Gandar tried to raise his engineer.

  “Chursa here,” the engineer replied.

  “We’ve found a fighter in the hangar, and we’re preparing to open the landing door. What is your status?”

  “I’ve located what I believe to be the armory, but the door has been previously forced.”

  Gandar grunted. “The crew must have tried to break in after the ship lost power. I assume the compartm
ent is empty, then?”

  “Yes, it is. But … I don’t think the crew forced this door. At least, not by any means I’ve ever seen.”

  “What do you mean?” Gandar asked as he watched the hovering droid work feverishly to gain access to the hangar door’s manual override machinery.

  “This door wasn’t cut open with a laser torch, nor was it imploded using the fail-safe charges built into the frame. This looks like … well, it looks like brute force. Like something just grabbed the doors and crushed them apart.”

  “Extreme times call for extreme measures, Chursa. Who knows what the crew of this ship was thinking as it was dying around them? You understand as well as I do that they could have used anything … would have used anything … if they were in fear of being boarded.”

  Chursa sighed heavily into the intercom. “I spent a lot of time on board a lot of ships in my time with the service. Even after they screwed me out of my pension and I had to go freelance … well, there are just some things you never forget. I can tell you, in all my years in damage control, I’ve never seen anything like this.”

  “Forget about it, Chursa. If there are no weapons, there’s no need for you to remain there. You can muddle over your sensor readings, your past accolades, and your theories all you like when we get back to the Bo’tham. For now, drop what you’re doing and get down to the hangar. We have real work to accomplish.” As he finished speaking, Gandar watched as the cargo droid removed the panel it had been working on, then jammed two of its four limbs into the open cavity. “Did you copy that, Chursa?”

  There was a brief moment of silence before the engineer responded in a distracted tone. “Yeah. Yeah, I copy.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  There was another pause before the engineer replied. “I … I don’t know. I don’t think so. I just thought … I saw something move at the end of the corridor.”

  “Stop imagining things and get your ass down here, Chursa. The hangar door is going to be opened any minute and I’ll need you to help the secure the fighter.”

  “There it is again,” Chursa’s worried voice echoed through the speaker in Gandar’s helmet.