Galactic Freighter: Scourge of the Deep Space Pirates (Contact) (37 page)

Most of a year passed as he reasserted his control. After handling a number of bureaucratic problems, he headed for the offices of Celeste Freight.

Buck relished the comfort that the hustle gave him. He didn't interfere with the day-to-day operations even though the Admiral tried to involve him. Instead, Buck spent his time on the new relationships the company had and found them to his liking. Some of the people he knew, others were new to him, and all seemed pleased he took the time to get acquainted.

"Good morning Minister," Admiral Basselrod said. "I understand we received a comm from Sir Tommy."

"Yes," Buck responded. "It seems his reception left something to be desired. Our fears that the arrival of a flotilla of heavy cruisers might be misinterpreted were well founded."

"And?" questioned Basselrod, anxious to know the outcome.

"Our ever resourceful knight pulled one of his hare-brained stunts."

The Kalazecis picket ships had challenged the flotilla well away from Myslac. Tommy transmitted in Kalazecis that this was part of the fleet that had destroyed their ships at Katakan and expected the Kalazecis to parley. Tommy then told them that over one thousand more ships, some bigger, were available if he called for them. He had assured the Kalazecis that would not happen if they agreed to meet with him.

"Then he offered to go aboard one of the Kalazecis ships as a show of good faith. That caught the Kalazecis off guard," Buck said. "What can you say or do when someone says they have enough ships to destroy you and then is willing to, in effect, become a hostage. And he went." Buck shook his head in wonderment. "Damned if it didn't work."

"Minister, I've often wondered where and how the man learned these skills or traits? It isn't usual behavior."

"I have no idea, Ross. All I know with certainty, his wild ideas have saved my life and the empire untold troubles and credits. Even Sebastian has asked the same question.

"Okay, what's going on with Celeste Freight? Anything of interest happening?"

"No, nothing unusual. Our fleet should arrive here over the few days with good hauls and no troubles reported."

Basselrod spent the better part of the morning briefing Buck on existing contracts and ongoing negations on future hauls. Celeste Freight had become the empire’s preeminent hauler. Shippers with high value cargos sought them, often to the grumblings of other freighters. Basselrod had the unpleasant chore of recommending other freight haulers when Celeste's ships were booked. Buck had heard the complaints but his sympathy did little to ward off the grievances.

"We have a contract with Seltsam, food stuffs that will take five of our ships," Ross said. "We could split the haul, but that means the Fillman group: they're next in line on the referral list, determined by capacity and lottery, and you know what kind of ruckus that will cause."

"Andrik Fillman," Buck said reflectively. "I've tried to get along with the man but nothing seems to work."

"He sees you as the consummate interloper. Your early freight hauling days still make for good conversation in the bars. You did have quite a reputation. Maybe I should say still have quite a reputation."

Buck's younger days weren't something he wanted to revisit. Granted, until he had his own freight business, his past did raise some eyebrows. He'd never lost a fight and he'd admit size made a difference.

"I've invited Fillman to discuss the possibilities of a shared run to Seltsam." Andrik, old Slavic for brave, manly, did see himself in that light. His early life, from what Ross knew, held secrets Fillman didn't want aired. A rebellious young man, he'd run away from home spacing on a freighter. Unforgiving of shortcomings as he defined them, Fillman had attracted a small but violent number of followers. Antagonistic by nature, a conversation with him often ended with threats or fights. As a former naval officer, Ross Basselrod avoided intimidation, learning early in his career it more often backfired, bringing retaliation.

Buck excused himself, leaving by a side entrance as the comm announced Fillman's arrival.

Ross stood, walked from behind his desk, and opened the door.

"Mr. Fillman, good to see you. Please come in."

"Cut the crap Basselrod. Where's Fryman? He owes me and I aim to collect."

A head shorter than Buck, as was Basselrod, Fillman was close to the same weight of the minister. A scrap between the two would have consequences.

A Lord and Minister fighting with a commoner would raise concerns Buck would not want and did not need—hence his early exit.

"Lord Fryman has returned to the ministry and we don't need to rehash old or imaginary grievances. I invited you here to offer a joint haul to Seltsam. The pay is handsome and we are prepared to modify two of your ships to accommodate the goods."

"Lord? An insult to the word," Fillman snarled. "And imaginary, that's crap and you know it. If you weren't so old, I'd take it out on you."

"Yes, fortunately, I do have that going for me and a very lucrative contract if you can get off this petty binge long enough to talk business." Basselrod had dealt with this kind more times than the man could imagine. Backing down to someone like Fillman gave them an edge, something not in Ross's nature.

Fillman glared, apparently unaccustomed to people fronting him so brazenly. Instead of taking the offered chair, he stood in the center of the room, legs spread, arms folded across his chest, face screwed in anger. "I'll take the whole load. I've got five ships lined up. We don't need or want Fryman's ships. I assert my rights according to the canons of the Stoics."

Ross, jolted by the Stoic pronouncement, managed to hide his alarm. "Ha. Won't happen. We have the contract." Ross met Fillman's glare. "And you cannot possibly satisfy the atmospheric control conditions required for this cargo. We are the source for the equipment. Without our help," he paused, "Nope, Mr. Fillman, it will not happen."

"My lawyers have filed papers to nullify the contract. This Inter-World Transportation bunch is no more than a front for Fryman. A good haul comes in and it goes to him."

"Your ships are not equipped to handle the cargo that much is certain. Any court will find the same thing. And this meeting is over."

Basselrod walked to the door, opened it, and motioned for Fillman to leave. The Seltsam's haul had to space. A late delivery would mean hardships for their citizens.

"Tell Fryman I demand satisfaction." The burly freighter stomped through the receptionist's office.

It had been decades since anyone had invoked the Stoic's Right's of Satisfaction. The challenge meant trouble for Buck and the Emperor. Neither would or could ignore the test, or what it meant to both, nor could they take it lightly. There would be problems enough if the court delayed the freighter's leaving. All kinds of ramifications could result. Ross sat heavily in his chair pondering what he could do to stop this insanity. He keyed an icon and told Buck of Fillman's declaration.

"My Lord, you cannot countenance a fight with this man. It would raise his stature and demean yours." He didn't say one of them could die.

Chapter Thirty-Six:
The Rights of Stoics

B
uck left his office to answer the summons from Sebastian thankful the palace portico warded off the light drizzle. The Emperor's secretary waited a clear sign of the monarch's concern. The man’s silence only reinforced Buck's apprehension. The man read the Emperor's moods as no other could.

They quickly crossed the large anteroom and entered Sebastian’s office. Buck stood silent and bowed before the Emperor.

"I do not like this one bit, Buck. I have no doubt of your skills in such matters, but the outcome is not certain. I have checked on this man and he is quite capable. He claims to have won every fight he's been in, many just to prove his fierce prowess. I resent his religious attitude but that is my opinion. He is free to worship as he pleases. However, it says everything about what methods he will use. The man means to kill you."

Ionian customs, set forth when first colonized, included duels to settle grievances. Over the years, seldom had anyone asserted Stoics and most people knew it as a last resort to settle differences.

"I could put a stop to it, but that would favor a royal and settle nothing, probably resulting in unwanted discontent," Sebastian said.

Buck agreed.

The right to claim Stoics, ironically one of the last vestiges of the old customs brought to Iona, remained steadfast in the population's thinking despite its lack of use. Originally, it derived from the privilege of all peoples to be free and that included freedom from those who would do them harm. Fillman could have made the claim before a magistrate, but he preferred to circumvent conventional structure as he claimed it favored the elite. The man settled issues with his brawn. Well-founded rumor had it he had killed a number of men in personal fights.

Sebastian looked out the window the morning sun bathed him. "How do you plan to handle this?"

"By the rules, Sire. I have studied them sufficiently to understand all the ramifications."

"A studious approach. But that isn't what I wish to know. Have you trained?" Sebastian had excelled in sports during his collegiate years and knew what it meant to take on someone who means to kill you. Even as prince in waiting, he wasn't immune to people trying to hurt him or worse.

"I have been at the gym daily since the fleet returned from Katakan." Buck assured the Emperor the physical condition was not a concern. "I'll admit it wasn't for a Stoic's challenge but to remove a bit of an unwanted pouch that had crept up on me."

"Got a gut, huh?"

"Had one, Sire. It’s gone." Buck patted his taut stomach. Both men enjoyed the moment of humor but it didn't last long.

"If you want, I can place people in the audience to watch for nefarious acts. I have no doubt others of Fillman’s ilk will look for any opportunity to give him the edge."

"Thank you, Sire, but I must refuse your thoughtful well-meant offer. If word got out of such a move, and it always seems to, it would do the throne harm. I can and will have my own people scattered throughout the group. If anyone tries anything wayward, they will deal with it. That is if they spot it in time."

Sebastian fronted the Lord, placing his hand on Buck's shoulder and shaking his hand. "Take nothing for granted, my friend. Be ready for every trick. Be prepared to retaliate in kind. There are no rules, regardless of what you have read."

"Majesty, you know of my time with the SEAL's. I spent a great deal of time training with them in hand-to-hand fighting. They are the best in the empire."

Patting him on the back he walked Buck to the door.

The Minister bowed and stepped from the office committed to win. He would beat Fillman and not bring shame or criticism upon his Emperor or himself.

***

A week later, Buck stood before four hundred assembled freighters, noting Fillman's absence.

"Gentlemen," that brought hoots and hollers, "As you know, Andrik Fillman has filed a lawsuit against me."

Boos and catcalls echoed off the meeting room walls. Buck waved the shouters quiet. "He claims that I have used this office to better my own company."

Shouts of derision aimed at Fillman again echoed around the room.

Buck gaveled for order. "Andrik Fillman is within his rights, so everyone settle down. There is another matter. You also know, Andrik challenged me under the Canons of Stoics. It wasn't done to my face, but under the rules set down over six-hundred years ago, the challenge must be satisfied." That quieted any raucous behavior. These people knew what that meant and, like many Ionian's, took it seriously.

Buck had kept his resolution since returning from Katakan, with regular trips to the exercise room keeping Buck in fighting trim.

Donald Rasby the SEAL commander had helped Buck train.

Buck’s street fighting skills, by Rasby's account, were the best he had ever faced, but Rasby had brought a level of sophistication to Buck’s raw skill.

Buck knew all of his capabilities would be challenged.

"According to the rules, the challenge must be satisfied before our peers. That means you," Buck waved at the assembled. "You must select an interim leader for this group. Whoever you pick will also set the time and place for answering the challenge."

The last time anyone asserted these rights, over one-hundred Ionian years earlier, it had ended with the death of one combatant.

Buck left the hall for home.

Molly, tears in her eyes, met him at the front portico.

He held her close. "I'll be fine. I know what I have to do and will do it."

"These men you have scattered through the audience? Are they completely trustworthy?" Worry clouded Molly’s face. She was clearly apprehensive that Fillman would learn their identity and buy them off. When it came to the life of Buck, she trusted no one but him. If she’d been allowed to attend, which the five hundred year old rules prevented, she would add her name. Buck had listed the SEALs as bodyguards permitting their presence.

"Yes, they were selected with great care. They are Rasby's SEALs."

That seemed to ease her concerns. She led him inside and sat him on a hassock. Tenderly, she massaged his massive shoulders. "You're very tight. You must loosen your muscles. As they are, you'll be like a stump, unable to move."

Buck relaxed as her strong fingers kneaded and drained the stress that had all but consumed him.

Molly keyed the comm and handed it to her husband. "It's Admiral Basselrod."

After a less than cordial introduction, Ross all but yelled, "It is insane. I'm telling the Emperor. He'll put a stop to this."

Molly, hands on her hips, her face flaring, agreed with the Admiral.

"He already knows," Buck retorted. "In fact, he wants a live vid piped to him—secretly, of course."

"Buck, you must not do this," Basselrod repeated. "Have you no sense of decorum? You are a Lord of the Realm. This is unseemly, and downright ridiculous. A man of your stature in what's no more than a licensed street fight—outrageous."