Ships of My Fathers (39 page)

He struggled to put a smile on it. “Sounds different in context. I guess he wanted his revenge, and he got it.”

“Mostly.”

Michael turned back to face him. “Mostly?”

Collins pulled up a chair and sat across the table. “Well, it had been almost a year by then. There had been a few crew changes, even a command change, we believe.”

“Then he didn’t… but the people he killed on the
Reilly
…”

Collins shook his head. “Were no more innocent than the ones who attacked the
Kaiser’s Folly
. By then, the
Reilly
was a well-known but elusive pirate vessel.”

“And the ones who transferred, they got away?”

“Well, the war ended shortly after that, and with it the privateer program. We hung on to a few of them of course. It took us a while to reassert control over this sector, and men like Malcolm were useful. As part of that, he did some investigating for us, strictly off the books, of course.”

“What kind of investigation?”

“Among other things, tracking down what became of the crews of ships like the
Reilly
.”

“And did he find them?”

Collins nodded. “Seven, in fact. Four we had the pleasure of putting on trial.”

“And the other three?”

“At least he brought us the bodies.”

“Was that all of them?”

Collins shook his head. “No. We believe four others may have remained at large, but I don’t think even Malcolm knew for sure.”

“Who were they, these four?”

Collins smiled. “Well, one of them he never looked for, or at least not hard. She had had a very convincing death in the final days of the war, a flyer crash on Cenita, complete with death certificate and a grave.”

A grave. “Elsa Watkins?”

He nodded. “Indeed, Mr. Fletcher. Elsa Watkins, or as she’s been known for the last sixteen years, Jana Lewis, and as you’ve informed us, also known as Winged Lady.”

“And the others?”

“All dead, though not all as convincingly as Miss Watkins. Johannes Richter supposedly died in a warehouse fire on Nasar, but there is no coroner’s report. Stefan Carrillo supposedly drowned when his single-mast boat went down in a storm on Taschin, but the boat in question was never registered with any of the local ports. And finally, the man we believe was in command of the
Reilly
, Gunter Farlin, was reportedly on board the star liner
Lorista
when she went down into Callista’s outer Jovian, but of course, no bodies were ever recovered from that disaster.”

“The captain, huh? And you think he’s still alive.”

Collins shrugged. “Malcolm did. In fact, he thought… well, I’m sure you’ll read his own files when you get back to the
Sophie’s Grace
.”

“What? He didn’t think he was this Father Chessman, did he?”

Collins waved his hands dismissively. “We know very little about this Chessman figure. Truth be told, we’re not even sure he exists. If he does, though, he’s either a top strategist for the Yoshido pirate empire or perhaps even the true head of it, merely propping up the old Yoshido family as a shield. But if Gunter Farlin did live on after the
Lorista
crash, he has disappeared even more effectively than this Father Chessman.”

“Ok, but what about Elsa Watkins? Lt. Commander Wheaton told me about the stolen Navy missiles. Surely you have her by now, right?”

Collins frowned. “We have the
Blue Jaguar
, to be certain, but not her captain.”

“But I saw her run into the airlock not two minutes before it blew out.”

“Yes, as did four other witnesses as well as the security footage. But when the marines boarded the
Jaguar
, she was not on board.”

“Could she be hiding on it somewhere? I mean, look at the little spaces I found in a three weeks.”

“It’s possible, but I doubt it. Certainly, we’re going to have some fun dismantling the
Jaguar
at the Naval yard over the next few weeks, but my gut tells me that someone who evaded Malcolm’s net for this long had an escape plan all set to go for circumstances like this.”

Michael considered it, nodding. She had certainly sounded like a crafty woman. He could believe she had come up with something far better than Michael’s cargo escape. “Then I guess I’ll have to keep an eye out for her.”

“Does that mean you’re going to continue Malcolm’s investigations?”

“I suppose,” he replied. Certainly, if he did not find Elsa Watkins, she was likely to find him. “At the very least I want to get back to the
Sophie
and look over Malcolm’s files.”

“And I understand you’re planning to take the captain’s exam.”

“Yeah, that was the plan.”

“Well, if you can pass it and put together a crew, come see me. The
Sophie’s Grace
is… well, she’s a little special. If you’re going to be running around with her, you should know. If not, tell me, and we’ll take her off your hands for a generous price.”

Michael stiffened. “You don’t think I can do it?”

“I have no doubt in your abilities, but I’m not sure you’ll want to.” He glanced over to the door. “You have a family out there that loves you. They run good ships, and I’m sure you could do very well with them. Most people would consider that a very nice life.”

He thought about it. Malcolm’s cagey cooking vs. Maggie Nelson’s pastries. Toilets that did not always seal right vs. a top notch environmental crew finding leaks before they happen. Ship shares earning tens of thousands per run vs. scraping by on marginal cargo. Collins had a point. Life with S&W would be a much nicer life.

But none of that mattered. Malcolm had been skilled enough to have gotten jobs like those. He could have had that life, but he chose not to. He was after something else, and it was much more important to him than pastries, toilets, or money.

“No,” he said at last. “Malcolm started this, and I guess I’m going to finish it.”

Collins stood, extending his hand. Michael took it.

“Malcolm was a good man,” Collins said. “And from the looks of you, I’d say he kept his promise.”

“His promise?”

“To your mother. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Fletcher, and I hope we get to work together in the future.”

His cousin and uncle were waiting outside, and Hans rose as soon as Michael emerged from the projection room.

Collins gave a short nod to them all and left them with the steward.

“Michael,” Hans began. “I don’t know what to say except that I was wrong, and you were right.”

Michael shook his head. “You couldn’t have known.”

“No,” he replied, “but I could have believed you about Malcolm. I should have, and I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

Michael shifted uncomfortably. “It’s okay.” He looked his uncle in the eye and tried to give a reassuring nod. “You never got to know him like I did.”

“You’re leaving then. Back to
Sophie’s Grace
?”

“I think I have to. It’s a long story.”

Hans shook his head. “You don’t have to explain. It’s your decision, but know that there will always be a place for you at Schneider and Williams. Always.”

Michael held out his hand. “I appreciate that, and I might take you up on it someday. I think Peter and Sophia would like that.”

Hans took the offered hand. “Until then, Michael, good luck and safe travels.” With that he walked away.

Michael watched him go, sensing Gabrielle at his side. “It’s sad. He almost looks broken.”

She wrapped an arm around for a gentle side hug. “I guess he is, in a way.”

“What do you mean?”

“He promoted Ms. Corazon before we left. She finally made Captain and got the prize jewel of the fleet. Dad says he’s going back to the corporate headquarters on Callista Prime. I hear Old Man Williams is stepping down, so I guess it’s going to be Dad’s turn to fly the desk.”

“I’m sure he’ll do well.”

“And you? Have you been studying your navigation between escape attempts?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“Look for me when you make ports, okay?”

“Sure thing, cousin,” she replied, “but if you pass the exam, you’re buying me a steak in the Guild hall.”

“That’s a date.”

Chapter 27

“You know son, there are times when I am quite proud of you. Truly. Not that I’m saying this is one of those times, but they do exist.” — Malcolm Fletcher

M
ICHAEL’S TRIP BACK TO
T
ASCHIN
was done in decreasing style. He had stayed for another three weeks at Arvin while they tore down the
Blue Jaguar
. It took some paperwork, but he was able to claim his few possessions, not that they mattered much. Then it was a trip aboard the CFS
Hidalgo
as she and her squadron of heavy cruisers made a run to Cenita. The
Hidalgo
was frequently used as a command ship for smaller task forces, and Michael was given the Admiral’s suite, compliments of a grateful but unnamed patron in Naval ordinance.

The Naval facilities at Cenita were much smaller, but he was given a nice room for another week until the frigate CFS
Arroyo
departed for Ballison. He had a four-day layover there, and he made it a point to swing by the Hopping Hole at his earliest opportunity. The bouncer at the door took one look at him and waved him in, no questions asked.

The final leg of his journey was on a little courier, the CFS
CP-722
, which her crew had nicknamed the
Pretty Peg
. He celebrated his birthday on the second day of the run, not that it was much of a celebration. He was finishing up on the weight machine when the off-duty navigator came in to use the treadmill. “It’s my birthday,” he had said.

“Oh, congrats,” was the reply. “I don’t think we can muster up much of a party, but I saw a couple of cupcakes in the bottom of the freezer if you want one. Just don’t tell skipper you took it.”

So that was how he celebrated his long-awaited eighteenth birthday. At least it had sprinkles on the icing.

His return to Taschin seemed anti-climactic. No one there knew he was coming, and certainly none of them had heard of his adventures. He made it a point not to look up Annie or Josie. He would do so in time, but not quite yet.

The meetings with Hollings and the other lawyers had been perfunctory. After their first meeting — had it only been nine months ago? — Hollings knew better than to offer any unnecessary advice. This was a simple matter of processing paperwork. Some of it Hollings dealt with for him, but a few matters remained that Michael had to attend to personally.

So here he was, taking care of one final detail at the port registry, changing the ownership of
Sophie’s Grace
. The clerk on the other side of the counter moved the papers with all the excitement of a rookie cleaning the sludge tank, but he did keep the forms coming.

They were almost done before the clerk finally took note of the names. “Say, it looks like the last registered owner was a Malcolm Fletcher. Any relation?”

“Yes,” Michael replied, thumbing his signature on the last line. “He was my father.”

For my father...

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

There are so many people to thank for encouraging me to write. These include family, friends, teachers, and other authors. I could try to list them all, but who would read it? Still, I would never have gotten this far without their advice and encouragement.

For
Ships of My Fathers
, however, I can narrow it down. Julia and Rose showed tremendous patience and surprising support when I said, “Yep, it’s time to write another novel.” They also made excellent beta readers.

I must also thank Angela England, my copyeditor. She’s the reason I’m doing the italics correctly. I also want to thank my fellow writers over on Google+ for their encouragement and their fine-tuning of my cover, especially Nathan, Jefferson, and Jennifer.

I also want to thank my father, because in a way, this book is about him. No, he wasn’t a space captain, nor was he a privateer. He was not even one for boats, really. He was an electrical engineer who designed circuits to operate in the microwave part of the radio spectrum, a range most engineers liken to black magic. He did quite a few communication projects, from long distance towers to cell phones, and he did a number of defense projects as well, mostly ECM and other airborne defensive systems.

As technology advances, his work is being replaced piece by piece, but he did leave behind one enduring technological legacy. Neil Armstrong’s “one small step” came to us through circuits he designed. He died of cancer in 2005, and I miss him to this very day.

So how is this book about him? Quite simply, he was my father.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dan Thompson started writing fiction at age ten. Luckily for the world, all copies of that early Star Wars rip-off have been lost to time and Sith retaliation. Moving on from that six-page handwritten epic, he wrote short stories through the 1980’s and 1990’s, and sold a few to magazines that rarely lived past his story’s publication.

After three or four abandoned novels, he finally started finishing some and decided they should do more than collect dust and red scribbles. Because of the shakeup e-books have brought to publishing, he decided to pursue self-publishing for the time being. Thus Quantum Forge Press was born.

He lives near Austin with his wife and three children, drives old police cars, wears kilts when the weather permits, visits with friends as much as possible, and is generally considered to be the weirdo next door. Fortunately, the neighbors don’t know how weird he really is.

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, locations, or events is entirely coincidental.

SHIPS OF MY FATHERS

Copyright (c) 2013 by Dan Thompson

Cover art by Dan Thompson

All rights reserved.