Family

Chapter 1

B’alCher padded bare foot across the cafeteria floor, a mug of warm herbal tea
cupped in her hands. The warm sensation radiating from the mug was one of the only
pleasures she was allowed. A slave owns nothing but her spirit and mind and this small
pleasure was one she claimed. A deep sigh escaped her nostrils as she silently moved to a
small round table near a corner and eased into one of the two chairs. The room was all
but empty and she could’ve chosen any table, but this one suited her. Hazarding a glance
at her guard standing near the hatchway, she quietly reaffirmed her choice as she exhaled
and blew steam off of the top of her tea. Carefully holding the mug to her lips, she sipped
the drink with just a hint of a slurping sound as she tried to avoid burning her mouth. She
could tell that Mozant watched her every move peripherally. He had been “crew” on the
Qwi’ven when B’alCher was taken as a slave.
Memories bubbled to the surface as she looked at Mozant a moment longer than
usual. The last day of her freedom washed over her as she remembered standing in line in
the passageway just outside the mid-ship, port side airlock with the remaining survivors.
By the time Gustav and his men boarded the Qwi’ven most of her crew were already
dead. The living had been rounded up and any perceived as a threat were blown out the
airlock. Gustav had smiled grimly and called it “walking the plank.” Some Terran
reference she was sure. The image of Ships’ Captain A’thenTal shrugging off her
captor’s hands, stiffening her neck and setting her jaw as she strode purposefully into the
airlock caused B’alCher’s eyes to burn with tears as she remembered staring into her
mother’s eyes through the porthole glass just before she was evacuated into the void.
When Gustav’s gaze fell on Mozant, the Ship’s 3rd fell to his knees sobbing and begged
to be spared. Clutching at the trousers of the pirate, and desperate to avoid death, Mozant
looked up at Gustav and pleaded…

“I’m not a threat… I’ll serve you…I’ll join you! I’m a good gunner. I know TEC-7 star
drives; I can fix them. I can more than fix them, I can make them purr. There’s a lot I can
do for you. There’s a lot I can offer. Just don’t put me out.”
The brigand looked at the sobbing wretch thoughtfully. Seeing this pause, and
determined to sweeten the pot, Mozant continued. “You want company? I can point out
the best choice; untouched!” He looked along the line of prisoners and spotting B’alCher
continued. “That one…take her” He said as he pointed to B’alCher. “Please… take
her… she is untouched. She will fulfill your wildest fantasies. Just let me live… I beg
you.”

B’alCher nearly spilled her tea as she gave a quick shake of her head in an attempt
to dislodge the image of her half-brother’s betrayal. Something akin to hate and disgust
welled up in her bosom as she remembered more.

Gustav had looked at the gawky fifteen year old with a feral sneer as the taint of
something dark clouded his carnage filled mind. “I would like company,” he said as he
leered at B’alCher, “and I thank you for pointing out the ‘best’ one for the job.” He
looked down at the groveling heap at his feet. Boys…it’s a sorry turd that will sell his

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crew to save his hide. This man’s a turd, a real piece of shit, but I am a generous captain
so I’m going to let him live. He will be a living example of what happens to anyone that
might consider selling out the crew of the Ragnarok! Welcome to the crew Turd!
With a slight grunt he smashed the butt of his weapon on Mozant’s skull. The man
crumpled to the floor. With a quick nod to several of his cohorts, he had Mozant pinned
to the deck plates. Drawing a laser knife he deftly removed the man’s tongue and both
thumbs.

Hot tears burned B’alCher’s cheeks as she squeezed her eyes shut. She had not
spoken a word to her bodyguard since that day. Her life traded for his blubbering
weakness. That had been nearly two years ago. One side note; Gustav had vented the
other crew members on general principles. Once he awoke, Turd was given the duty of
watching out for Gustav’s new slave. More specifically he was to make sure that no one
touched her and that she did not escape. To help ensure his compliance, Gustav informed
Turd of the rules he would live by from this day forward: If B’alCher was ever seen alone
outside her quarters, he was to be shot on sight. If she was seen talking to crew members
other than Gustav, he was to be shot on sight. If she escaped, he was to be shot on sight.
If Turd was seen without the girl, it would be assumed she escaped, and he would be shot
on sight. One last rule; from this day forward he was to be known as Turd. She shivered
again as another memory drifted to the forefront of her mind. The memory of the first
time Gustav had come to her.

It was the same day the Qwi’ven had been taken. His fetid breath and unwashed
stench churned her stomach as he pushed her onto a bed and tore at her clothing. She’d
scrambled to get away; kicking and clawing, but he was a brute of a man. He grabbed
her about the throat and punched her once… twice… three times, hard in the face. Her
nose bled freely and her vision swam as all resistance ebbed from her limbs. She
squeezed her eyes shut and tried to shake the last of that memory free.
The pleasure of the tea was gone. B’alCher wept. She wanted to die. She turned
her watery gaze to the ceiling just as a klaxon sounded indicating that they were about to
drop out of trans-space. She stood and started for the door, the steaming tea left on the
table. This was a danger of no small measure as the transition could get bumpy and items
not secured presented dangerous projectiles. She knew that Gustav would beat her if the
danger came to pass; assuming they survived. Turd quickly stepped to the side of the
door, trying to avoid her gaze at all costs; his shame palpable in the air between them.
Again the klaxon sounded. She didn’t have time to get back to her quarters and get
strapped in. Despite her death wish, something urged her to seek safety so she stepped
across the passage to the Aid Station and strapped into one of the four transition seats
located there. Turd shuffled in after her and struggled to strap himself into another seat.

Gustav sat in the command chair scanning the bridge while his flight crew made
final preparations for transition. The jump to normal space was rarely risky for
commercial or military vessels. They had well traveled jump lanes, flight plans and
tenders that kept approaches relatively clear. The Ragnarok had none of those benefits.
As captain of a pirate vessel, Gustav had to depend on information gleaned from prey
ships for current navigational information… or he had to fly blind. His usual modus

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operandi was to disable his prey out in “deep system” just prior to jump, or to ambush
ships out in “deep space” as the unaware ship bled velocity prior to entering a system.
Once a ship was taken and silenced, the cargo was collected and sold to buyers of such
goods. The current jump was the tail leg of a very lucrative sacking and he was looking
forward to dumping a large portion of the proceeds to Jorge, one of his favorite clients. It
was ironic that Jorge worked for TSA, Transtar Shipping Alliance, a very large
corporation that shipped more than sixty percent of all goods across this sector. Further, it
was ironic that many of the ships that Gustav preyed on belonged to TSA or one of its
various subsidiaries. He took care not to damage TSA vessels too badly, no need biting
the proverbial hand that feeds you. The “subs” as he called them, were a different story.
He took great pleasure in their pain. A quiet “hmpf,” escaped the slight smile of his
mouth as he thought about a brief conversation he’d once had with Jorge.
“Corporate don’t care so much. Long as they can write it off. Hell, when we buys
the stuff back from the likes’a you we gets a break. We gets insurance money for the loss
and we gets to sell for a markup… you know supply and demand. You take it, supply goes
down and demand goes up, then we fill it with stuff that was already being shipped to ‘em
first off. Long as you don’t make it too expensive so’s it pays to start patrollin’.”

The astrogator interrupted his thoughts as she looked over her shoulder, “10
seconds to trans entry.”
Quickly refocusing on the here and now, Gustav acknowledged the report as the
third warning sounded. By the time the bell quieted, the ship began the tell tale bump,
bump, bump of crossing the threshold between trans-space and normal space. A few
seconds more and the ship settled as they fully entered the envelope. Ten seconds longer
and the ship exited transition. Suddenly the view screen settled to a static star field.
“Sir, we came out long and hot, thirty-six hours for correction and system speed.”
Her fingers rapidly dancing across her control panel.
“WHAT the HELL!?” Gustav bellowed. Looking around the bridge for someone
to blame, his mouth twisted into a snarl. They were all hunkered down and trying to
avoid his attention. “Rrarrh” he growled and looked at the console for the ships status. He
was aggravated at the thought of having to spend twelve hours longer than planned just
slowing down. That was additional time they were exposed. While the risk of anyone
spotting the Ragnarok and engaging them were remote, that was a risk he would’ve
preferred not to take. He stabbed a button and sounded the ‘All Clear’ bell.
The brigand stood and shifted his weight slightly to allow the seat of his pants to
slide free and hang naturally. “Rena,” he belted, “you’ve got the con.” The navigator
nodded and stood. “Aye,” she said as she started for the chair he had just vacated. Gustav
exited the bridge and headed for the cafeteria. His stomach rumbled as he thought about
food.

B’alCher released the harness as soon as the bell sounded all-clear. Without
waiting for Turd, she walked out of the Aid Station and continued to her quarters. She
wanted to shower to scrub the grime of relived memories from her body.

Turd struggled with his restraints and had to jog to catch up with his charge. He
wanted desperately to call to her; he wanted her to wait for him to catch up so they could

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be close. He could feel her hate and loathing, but he was willing to bear it as long as she
was near. The guilt he felt for their family and for putting her in this predicament tortured
his soul. However seeing her and being near her was the only reminder he had of the
Qwi’ven and happiness. In some deluded part of his mind, Turd hoped that at some point
in the future he and B’alCher could get away from this madness and start again; all old
sins forgiven. He spent many hours filling in the blanks of that fantasy. They were too
closely related to mate so the fantasy family would be of mixed blood. That was ok. In
his delusion he envisioned a new family; a bigger family. He dreamed of a big, happy
family with enough power to scrub all thought of Gustav from the logs and to wipe the
existence of his lineage from the cosmos.

Gustav waded into his quarters and tugged his shirt from his trousers. His belly
was full and he had more than enough time for sleep prior to the rendezvous. He tapped
the communications control as he passed it, “Rena, I want to know who was in the
cafeteria just before transition… son-of-a-bitch left a mug loose. Find out and let me
know when I get back to the bridge.” Collapsing on his bunk, he briefly pondered
summoning the girl but sleep quickly overcame his carnal considerations. He’d have
enough time when he woke if he wanted the company. He smiled thinly as sleep crept
into the corners of his vision. He thought he might vent the idiot who left the mug loose
and then have the girl… he always loved mixing violence with pleasure. He started to
snore almost as soon as his eyes closed.

6 Hours Later

As the portal to her lavatory opened and B’alCher stepped through, the ship
pitched and rocked suddenly and a klaxon roared to life. Grabbing the frame to steady
herself, B’alCher could hear the familiar sound of the ships weapons being charged for
use. Her heart thumped as the sounds of impending danger struck a chord in her psyche.
A furious flash of memories mixed with possibilities clouded her mind. She wondered
fleetingly if the Ragnorak sounded like this when the Qwi’ven was attacked. The
noticeable difference between this event and others was the radical shaking the ship had
made just before the weapons started charging. As she regained her footing she wondered
if the ship had impacted some type of space debris. They were still alive, so it couldn’t
have been too large. Maybe “the Bastard” was dead. It was a stronger possibility that
some unfortunate soul was in the wrong bit of space at the wrong time and The Bastard
was going to make him pay. She wondered if Gustav would vent the survivors as he had
done so many times before. She also wondered if there would ever be an opportunity to
make him “walk the plank.” These musings were suddenly interrupted as the ship lurched
again; tossing her to the deck. She struggled to regain her footing as the sound of hull
metal buckling and the deafening roar of atmosphere being purged into hard vacuum
filled her quarters. Another sound could be heard faintly under the roar; the thin wispy
sounds of people dying. Her scalp crawled and the nerves in the back of her skull tingled.
She had heard this type of sound before in a different life. More explosions followed.
B’alCher ran to the entryway of her quarters and had to brace for another violent lurch as
the ship bucked again. The door opened and leaning on the bulkhead she poked her head
through. Glancing left she saw the void of space just beyond the jagged hull metal border

4
that framed the emptiness. Emergency shields were in place and the void protection doors
were beginning to grind toward each other. She bolted out the door, turned right and ran
down the passage way heading for the captain’s skiff. A grim smile tugged at her mouth
as she ran. This could be her opportunity to escape. It seemed that the weeks she had
worked to get Jerott’s attention might pay off.
She had heard about him on numerous occasions. He was considered by most of
the crew to be the fixer; if it was broken he could fix it. More importantly he was Rena’s
son. It was generally accepted that Gustav was the father. Regardless of his lineage, Jerott
had complete access to most of the ship. He had been able to take a standard ship’s skiff
which was only for transport from orbit to a planet’s surface and create a space-worthy
vessel. This special craft had been claimed by Gustav as the Captain’s Skiff.
B’alCher decided soon after hearing the stories, that Jerott was someone who
might provide a means of escape. Whenever she saw him in the galley she would give
him a flirtatious grin or a wink. Sometimes she would lean forward in just such a way to
spark his imagination. Once several weeks ago she had given Turd the slip and made her
way to the cargo bay. She found Jerott tinkering with some piece of equipment and
quickly established a rapport with the young man. He blushed at her flirtations and had
eagerly talked to her about the things he took pride in. When he mentioned the skiff and
some of the special changes he put in place to make it space-worthy she asked him to
show her the vessel. He acquiesced and took her through a couple of maintenance shafts
to where the skiff was docked. Jerott’s eyes were alight with excitement as he showed her
the skiff and the modifications he had made. She ooo’d and aww’d at the appropriate
places and asked seemingly innocuous questions about this button or that console. He
showed her the basics of the controls and described the capabilities of the skiff. She made
mental notes of how it all worked and how he had gained access.
The rush of air that followed a portal opening behind her warned her that someone
was coming. She did not stop. When she reached the next portal she opened it and
quickly glanced at Turd.

Turd was disturbed by the sudden sounds of his monitor informing him that B’al
was on the move, the klaxon, explosions and the whooshing sounds of evacuating air. His
thoughts were still cloudy as be rose and stumbled to the hatchway and peered out into
the hall. His attention was drawn to his right as the void protection doors completed the
sealing sequence. The patter of running feet drew his attention in the other direction.
B’alCher was running down the passageway. Fear clutched his heart and his chest felt
tight at the sight. Not three weeks had gone by since B’al had given him the slip for
several hours. Now she was attempting to do so again. He bolted from his quarters and
chased after her. Turd tried to call after her, fear discernable in his tongue-less voice as he
broke the silence that had hung between them for nearly two years. “B’aa… wai! WAI!...
B’aa…” Gustav would eviscerate him if B’alCher were to get away. The ship bucked
violently, Turd glanced at the bulkhead and grabbed the nearest rib of the ship for
stability. When he returned his focus to his charge at the end of the passage, their eyes
locked for a brief moment as she stepped through the portal at the end of the hall. In that
moment, her eyes pierced his soul and he knew hate. They would never be a family
again. There would be no rebuilding; no future with B’alCher. The portal closed and the
tell tale sounds of the locking mechanism engaging rang through the passage. Turd

5
pushed away from the wall and ran toward the locked door. He reached the portal and
rapidly keyed in a code. A chime indicated that the door was unlocked. He stepped
through and continued the pursuit. He understood that B’alCher was not trying to lock
him on one side of the portal so much as give him a message to leave her alone; it was
more for spite than an attempt to prevent his movement.

The ship rocked two more times before B’alCher reached the access door to the
skiff. She glanced back over her shoulder and pressed on. A last corner and she slid to a
stop. The panel next to the door indicated that the small craft was still docked. She
quickly peered through the view port in the door and sighed in relief; it was unoccupied.
She punched in the access code and opened the hatch to the skiff. As the hiss of the
opening hatch faded she heard the door opening in the passage behind her. Turd called
out to her. She quickly slid into the skiff and slammed the door back into its seat. The
sealing sequence began as Turd came into view through the port hole. “B’aa obe ub…
pee!” he began to plead and bang on the hatch. With a slight grimace she turned and
strode purposefully toward the pilot’s seat.

Gustav sat up in his bunk as the first salvo slammed the Ragnorak. Brigands
needed to keep a low profile, so they had been running sensors in passive mode to
prevent easy detection. The warning klaxon sounded. Needless to say, they had not
detected the incoming missiles until too late. His mind swam trying to clear the cob webs
of sleep from his thoughts. This was supposed to be a milk run. He had made this
transaction several times over the last two years without incident. Something had gone
wrong. The fact that Gustav hated being caught off guard helped focus his senses. He
rolled from the berth, stumbled to the communications console and stabbed the com
button. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!” Rena did not immediately answer so he
stormed out of his quarters and onto the bridge. His ears warmed as he swelled with
anger. “SHIELDS, SENSORS, TARGET SOMETHING, WHERE THE HELL DID
THAT COME FROM!” he barked more angrily. “GET US OUTTA HERE!” he snarled
as he pounded his fist onto the arm of his seat.
Another attack slammed home, and the ship rocked violently. “RETURN FIRE!!”
he bellowed, “STATUS!” A third salvo peeled outer hull away from the starboard side of
the ship. The various reports indicated what he already knew. The ship was heavily
damaged at mid-ship. Weapons were charging and returning fire. Shields were now up.
The opportunity to run was severely hampered by the fact that they had been actively
bleeding off speed and were not prepared to accelerate. The Ragnorak made a starboard
maneuver to present less of a target to the enemy. As the ship completed the arc and
began to slip sideways through space, Gustav noticed the plume of fire trailing the hail of
incoming missiles headed toward the ship. His breath caught as the first three missiles
exploded against the shields; the view screen darkened to prevent flash blindness of the
people on the bridge. When the darkness receded and the image recovered it was just in
time to show the fourth missile as it sailed smoothly through the failed defensive shields
and arced gracefully toward the bridge of the Ragnorak. Gustav’s eyes widened, his mind
whirled, his tongue felt thick and leaden in his mouth as he watched the beautiful fiery
plume race toward him. Time seemed to slow nearly to a stop as the missile impacted the
bridge. Gustav heard a loud explosive boom and felt searing heat and sharp pain that was

6
almost immediately quenched by the utter destruction of his nerves. There was a moment
where he could not breathe because the air was sucked from his lungs to feed the fire,
another brief instant where his lungs burned as they exploded because of the sudden
decompression to the void outside. Then quiet and stillness and Gustav couldn’t discern
anything else.

Turd felt the ship pitch violently as another explosion rang through the vessel. His
pounding at the skiff’s door took on a more fevered tempo and his voice a more fevered
pitch. “B’aa! OBE UB, PEE!”… “Doe oo ee?! WHA OU I OO?!” thud, thud, thud…
“WA AW AWIVE ARE WA?!” THUD, THUD, THUD… “OBE Ubbb…” there was a
hissing sound that came from the bulkhead behind Turd. The terrible screeching of hull
metal buckling and rending briefly roared over the hiss. Turd stopped his pounding long
enough to glance in the direction of the noises. His eyes filled with terror as the hull wall
opened up and the blackness of space filled the void. As he turned his pleading gaze back
to B’alCher she activated the engines and started to release the umbilicals that tied the
skiff to the mother ship. The vessel started to pull away from the Ragnorak. Spherical
shields flickered to life trapping Turd’s arms in the bubble along with some of the deck
and hull plating. Turd was held fast as the blackness behind him expanded. A shuddering
moan passed his lips as the atmosphere that was in the hold violently poured out of the
opening.

The skiff broke free of the Ragnorak and drifted away from the dying vessel.
B’alCher got up, moved back to the access door and stared out the portal. She felt the
sudden urge to wretch as the unseeing eyes of Mozant stared blankly back at her. She
turned and stumbled back to the cockpit and the safety of the pilot’s seat. She pulled her
legs up and tucked her chin into her knees and sat. For the next two hours the skiff
floated and bumped into wreckage of the Ragnorak. The meager deflector shield was
strained to dampen the hardest impacts. Then there was only silence and the slight uneasy
feel of her new home tumbling end over end. Her breathing slowed and became even.
She saw a blip on the control console indicating that the distress beacon had become
active and was broadcasting a signal throughout the system. The electronic voice of
Jerott sounded through the cabin “Stabilizing.” She looked over the console and found
the controls that opened the blast doors that covered the view ports on the front of the
ship. She stared out the screens as the spinning came to a halt and the small vessel began
to scan for possible places to land. In the distance she saw the wreckage of the Ragnorak;
the lifeless hull spewing fluids, smoke and gases into space. The bridge was obviously
missing. She leaned back in the acceleration chair and closed her eyes for a few
moments. A sense of triumph mixed with a sense of loss washed over her. The last
remnants of her life on the Qwi’ven remained onboard the Ragnorak. The last member of
her family was dead. She was alone. In some sense, she was relieved. The barbaric
attention of Gustav was over. Her hated half-brother was dead. She would no longer feel
the unwanted flesh or smell the fetid breath or endure the wounded stares… or give
herself to Jerott in rebellion of her captor. She was alone, but she was free. She sighed
and started to cry. After the tears stopped she leaned back in the chair and drifted off to
sleep.

7
2 Hours Later

B’alCher awoke to the deep thumping drum from the skiff’s control panel
indicating that someone was actively scanning the vessel. She sat forward in the seat as a
huge ship slowly came into view. Two thoughts washed through B’alCher’s mind. First,
the vessel was the largest she’d ever seen. Second, it was obviously a military vessel of
some sort. It bristled with arrays and protrusions that could be weapons or sensors. The
ship grew closer until it was all that was visible through the view screen. The skiff
shuddered as a tractor beam snared the vessel and pulled it inexorably toward the beam’s
source. There was a jolt and a metal-on-metal ring through the skiff as it was secured to
the larger vessel. B’alCher looked at the control panel as a PEMP pulse suddenly
darkened all controls in her craft. She sat in blackness as the air started warm
immediately. She slowed her breathing to conserve oxygen. With a jolt, the skiff began to
move again. Since the movement was not as smooth as before and the outer hull of the
ship still consumed the view port, she assumed that she was under tow.
B’alCher laid on the deck and started to breathe more shallowly as the air grew
stale. Fear stirred deep inside and she had passing claustrophobic thoughts of opening the
hatch; she needed to get out of there. The skiff lurched. She sat and looked out the view
screen. The skiff had been drawn into a bay in the larger vessel. A knock at the hatch
drew B’alCher’s attention to the exit. A figure in a light grey jumper looked through the
portal in the hatch. The figure was not wearing any atmospheric gear and looked human.
B’alCher decided there was not a better option so she unlocked the hatch and with a
slight grunt, pushed it open. As she leaned out of the portal she gulped in great breaths of
slightly metallic smelling atmosphere. After a moment she looked up and noticed six
humans clad in grey jump suits; all armed and all aiming at her. A human female stepped
into view and stated flatly, “You are a prisoner of the Jaelen 6 Liberation Front.”

1 Hour Later

B’alCher leaned back against the wall and drew her legs up close to her body. She
was seated on a small bed in the cell she’d been taken to shortly after opening the access
hatch of the skiff. Her captors had been short on conversation. The only communication
with B’alCher included directives like ‘get-up’ and ‘go in.’ She leaned her head back and
looked at the roof of the cell. She had been told that she was a prisoner and that this ship
belonged to the Jaelen 6 Liberation Front. As she scoured her memory she couldn’t think
of any force that could have a vessel that could put up a fight against TSA or any of the
other major corporations let alone the government of the United Star Congress. Who
were these people and how were they financed? “Focus” she grunted out loud; she
needed to be a lot more concerned with what they planned to do with her.

1 Year Later

“Captain, we’re picking up a distress beacon,” the Communications Officer

stated. “It’s faint; very faint.” She studied the communications board and quickly
adjusted the resolution of the signal. She continued “It is off the starboard side;
approximately twenty thousand kilometers.”

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 “Got it Sir,” the Astrogation Officer confirmed. After a moment he continued,
“Scans indicate a single life pod, sir.”
Captain Whitaker pursed his lips. “FRIG!”
The young captain continued to curse quietly under his breath. They were about
to attempt to run a blockade and didn’t need any delays to allow the TSA goons to
compensate. A single life; he should ignore the beacon. In a time of war, who would care
about one life when millions had been lost already. He was different. Every life mattered.
That’s what the JLF was fighting for. “FRIG!” he said again. “Comm Officer, send an
order for a runner to go get it.”
B’alCher smiled to herself as she punched the command into the communications
panel and relayed the command. She was glad to belong to this family. They were good
people.