The worst pirate hunters.., p.1
The Worst Pirate Hunters in the Fringe, page 1
The Worst Pirate Hunters in the Fringe
Book Three, Dumb Luck and Dead Heroes
Skyler Ramirez
Persephone Entertainment Inc.
Copyright © 2023 Skyler S. Ramirez
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
Published by Persephone Entertainment Inc.
Texas, USA
To my parents, who encouraged and fed my love of reading in my youth. And for being so patient with me, even when they caught me crouched down and reading by my younger brother’s night light when it was way past my bedtime.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Note to the Reader
Books by Skyler Ramirez
About The Author
Chapter 1
Interrogated by an Idiot
“Mr. Mendoza, you may be the dumbest man I’ve ever met.”
You ever have one of those days when the hits just keep on coming? Seriously, I thought that day for me was just two days ago when Owen Thompson hijacked my ship and put an explosive implant into my XO’s neck. But today is quickly inserting itself for the title of ‘Worst Day Ever’. Or maybe it’s just an all-around crappy week.
There we were, minding our own business, trying to get out of the Fiori system as quickly as we could while avoiding any official entanglements, when the mother of all official entanglements sought us out. I was rudely awakened from a nice nap, my ship was captured and boarded by a Leeward Republic battlecruiser, and then I got to sort of meet Lin’s father—that was weird. And now I get to sit here and be questioned by this guy who looks like he just got out of high school and keeps telling me I’m dumb.
Of course, he’s a naval intelligence officer—not in my Navy, but that doesn’t really matter—so he has plenty of experience with stupidity. Whoever originally said that military intelligence is an oxymoron must have been thinking of this kid.
"What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Mendoza?" he asks, rudely omitting my title. I may no longer be in the Navy, but I’m still the captain of a ship.
I shrug, mainly because every time I do, it ticks him off, and that’s probably the only fun I’m going to have on this cursed day.
“I’ll ask you for the last time: what were you doing in the Fiori system?”
I shrug again, gratified to see his face turn a slightly deeper shade of red. “I was shopping for some drapes. My cabin has a pretty cold aesthetic going on, and I thought I could liven the place up.”
He slams both palms down on the table in anger at my flippant response. I don’t react; that’s the third time he’s done that, so it’s lost any small shock value it had ninety minutes ago when this little interrogation started.
“I warn you, Mr. Mendoza, until you answer my questions, you’re not leaving this room.”
Taking a moment to look around the small gray interrogation room, I shrug once again. “I don’t know; it’s not so bad. My drapes guy could do wonders with that two-way mirror over there; add in a few throw pillows and a duvet, and this space could be downright cozy.” Ha! The joke’s on him. I have no idea what a duvet is. I just remember my ex-wife, Carla, always talking about us needing a new one.
He doesn’t appreciate my amazing sense of humor. But that’s alright with me; I decided from the start that his opinion doesn’t really matter. Besides, it’s fun messing with him, so I lean forward conspiratorially. He can’t help it; he leans forward across the table as well.
“Listen,” I tell him soberly, “all joking aside, I was actually here smuggling drugs out of the system.”
A look of triumph flashes across his face, followed just as quickly by skepticism. He suspects I’m playing an angle. Good.
“And just where would we find these drugs, and what exactly are they?” he asks cautiously.
“In my cargo hold, near the port bulkhead, in a crate marked ‘baked beans’.” I lean forward more, and he does the same as a natural response. “And I’d rather not say what kind of drugs they are.”
He’s getting excited, even though he must still suspect I’m pulling his leg. “I don’t care if you’d rather say or not,” he says with what he probably thinks is a calm, authoritative tone, but his voice cracks a little at the end. “You will tell me now what is in that shipment.”
I shrug again and lean forward even more; our faces are less than ten centimeters apart now. “Fine, but I thought you’d want me to exercise a little discretion in a matter like this.” I cast a meaningful glance at the two-way mirror behind him.
“Anything you say to me, you can say to the cameras and the other intelligence officers watching,” he says.
“OK,” I say with an apologetic look, “I was just bringing you your medication; you know, for that little problem you have.” I look down in the direction of his lap meaningfully and then back up to savor his reaction.
For a moment, nothing happens; his face is stuck in the grim, authoritative expression he uses when asking me questions. But then, I see understanding dawn, and his eyebrows furrow as his mouth curves down in an angry frown.
I should stop now; I really should. But I’m having way too much fun. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of; it happens to the best of us. But I think I got it here not a moment too soon. All the female Marines were talking about your…issue while they escorted me here.”
That does it. I thought I made him turn red earlier, but now he turns a shade of almost purple, and I can see he’s about to throw an apoplectic fit. Perfect! I lean back to enjoy the show.
But just as he starts opening his mouth to let forth a no-doubt bloodcurdling but impotent scream, the small room’s hatch opens, and an older woman steps in, interrupting the show. I recognize her immediately as the rear admiral who led the boarding party that ‘captured’ me two hours ago.
“Daniels,” the woman says calmly, addressing the stupid intelligence officer, “give us the room.”
Admirals have a way of issuing orders without yelling but with no less emphasis, and her simple command is enough to instantly cut off any invectives the guy was about to throw my way. He turns heel without argument and leaves the room, not even giving me a backward glance, though I can tell by the way his shoulders are hunched and his hands balled into fists that he’s still raging mad.
“Bye, sweetie!” I yell after him. “I’ll see you after work. Don’t forget about those pills!”
Chapter 2
Interrogated by a Master
The admiral waits for the intelligence officer to leave the room and for the hatch to shut behind him before throwing me a disapproving look that reminds me of my grandmother when she caught me trying to ride one of the dogs on her farm—it was a beagle, and I was nine, but I still thought it might work.
I say nothing but do a pretty good job of keeping a perfectly innocent and beatific expression on my face like I’m a favored student and not the little boy caught pulling the braids of the girl in front of me.
“There is a debate going on, Captain Mendoza,” she says calmly—at least she remembers to give me my due title, “about just what I should do with you. Our intelligence section would like me to throw you in a very deep and extremely dark hole for the rest of your mortal days while we extract each and every piece of knowledge that may be rattling around in that brain cavity of yours. I suspect that Lieutenant Commander Daniels will be the first to recommend that the particular hole they throw you in be full of Visalian crocodiles.”
She pauses, perhaps to give me the opportunity to respond. I choose not to. I want to see where this is going. And I’m still trying not to laugh out loud at the way Daniels left the room a few seconds ago.
To my surprise, she smiles at my silence. “Luckily for you, it just so happens I’m not convinced you would even know enough for it to be worth our trouble.”
OK, now I have to say something. Because she just called me dumb in a much deeper and more meaningful way than Daniels did. Of course, what I end up saying isn’t at all what I would have said had I taken even a moment to consider my words.
“Lady, I know things that would make your head spin.” And just like that, it’s as if all my SERE training about resisting interrogation never h
She raises an eyebrow. “Really? Like what, that big discovery in Gerson that your king is so convinced he’s managed to keep under wraps?”
My composure breaks. I just almost died—twice!—to keep the secret of that stellarium deposit, and here she is mentioning it like it’s yesterday’s news. “You broke Harris, didn’t you?” I demand to know. “I knew that guy wouldn’t be able to hold up.”
“The makeup artist?” she asks incredulously and then sits back in her chair and laughs. She’s surprisingly casual and relaxed for a member of the admiralty; maybe they do things differently here in the Leeward Republic. “No,” she continues. “I imagine he knows even less than you, but he did go into great detail about what he would change about his interrogator’s approach to cosmetics. The look on the poor lieutenant’s face when she finally realized he wasn’t trying to get under her skin but was actually being serious…” She shakes her head and gives a short laugh.
“Then, Jessica?” I ask, my voice rising an octave because the thought of someone breaking her to the point that she would reveal such valuable information is distressing in the extreme to me.
“Relax, Captain,” the admiral says, her tone not rising to meet mine. “Miss Lin hasn’t been subjected to the ham-fisted interrogation techniques of our illustrious intelligence directorate. No, she has been with her father this entire time…catching up.”
Oh, yeah. Her father. I’m still trying to wrap my head around that one.
As if sensing my thoughts, the admiral gives me a wry smile. “Yes, I imagine you and Lieutenant Commander Lin will have a lot to talk about when you’re reunited after all this.”
“So, we will be reunited?” I ask, unable to keep the hope out of my tone.
She leans forward, and I subconsciously meet her halfway, almost kicking myself when I realize she just used the same tactic on me that I used on poor Daniels moments ago. “Oh, yes, Captain,” she says with a thin smile, “you see, I actually have some need of you.”
I’m going to ask what she means, but she quickly changes the subject, and I’m starting to realize that when it comes to subtle verbal sparring and keeping your conversation partner off balance, I’m in the presence of a master.
“Tell me, Captain, did you know that the Leeward Republic Naval Academy just added an entire section on your actions at Bellerophon?”
That actually surprises me. “What class, How-Not-to-Captain 101?”
She smirks. “No, actually. Military Ethics 304, one of the advanced classes for our command candidates. And it may not surprise you to hear that there are multiple schools of thought…”
She goes on for a few minutes, and it takes a little while for me to realize that she has cleanly distracted me from the fact that she knows about Prometheus’ greatest secret, and she supposedly didn’t hear about it from Harris or Lin, and she certainly didn’t get it from me.
Then how?
“Anyway,” she says, “it’s an absolutely compelling case of the classic trolley problem; do you divert a trolley to hit one person on a side track to avoid killing five on the main track, or do you…”
I’m still only half listening as my mind races to try and figure things out. Because as near as I can tell, this is all-around bad for me and my crew. Not that I really care about good ole King Charles and his stellarium—I’d tell the Leeward Republic or anyone else about it in a heartbeat if I thought it would benefit Lin or me. But even if they didn’t learn it from us, I know there are many, including one Agent of the King’s Cross, Heather Kilgore, who will assume it was us who spilled the tea. And that is not a woman I want thinking I betrayed her.
But then I realize something else and want to hit my head with the palm of my hand repeatedly, but I refrain lest she think I’m having some sort of episode. She mentioned the secret in the Gerson system, but she didn’t actually mention the stellarium.
She’s fishing.
“…and I’m of the second school of thought, that you made the only choice you could have.” She pauses, maybe for air or maybe because she’s finally realized I’m not paying attention to her as she dissects the action that ruined my life six-and-a-half months ago.
“You’re mistaken,” I tell her bluntly. “What I did at Bellerophon was wrong, and there’s simply no way to spin it otherwise. I made a bad choice. Period. And 504 civilians died as a result. Tell that to your classroom.” The words come easy—strangely so—though I know my tone is bitter. The only other person I’ve ever said this out loud to was Jessica Lin. But something about the old admiral has put me weirdly at ease. It’s the mark of an excellent interrogator, and even knowing that she’s playing me like a fiddle doesn’t change how I react to it.
She considers my response for a second, then shakes her head. “Even your own navy concluded you were innocent of any wrongdoing. Full acquittal.”
I frown. “A farce,” I say dismissively, having had this particular discussion many times with friends and family following the court-martial. “Admiral Oliphant didn’t want me dragging his name or his daughter through the mud any more than I already had; he pressured the panel to find in my favor. Politics, pure and simple.”
She looks at me, perhaps trying to see if I’m serious, but then surprises me by smiling. The admiral leans forward conspiratorially again, but this time, I stay where I am and don’t meet her halfway. “You know,” she says, “my father used to say the same two things to every poor boy who picked me up for a date when I was a teenager. First, he’d say, ‘Son, there is nothing more powerful than a father’s love for his daughter’. Then, he would add, ‘Except, that is, for a father’s hate for any man not good enough for his daughter’.”
She lets that hang there between us for a while as if she expects me to respond. When I don’t, she shrugs and stands abruptly. “Well, anyway, I assume you’d like to get back to your crew.”
Surprised, I stand slowly, nodding.
She moves to the hatch, and it opens as she nears it, no doubt via some unseen signal to the Marines in the hall. But right before she leaves the room, she turns back to me, her smile gone. “I know you think your father-in-law lobbied for your acquittal. But we had a man in the room, as it were. Terrence Oliphant did, in fact, lobby the panel of judges. But it will surprise you, I imagine, to learn that he lobbied against you. Had Oliphant had his way, you would have been convicted and received the death penalty from the King. Something for you to think about.”
Before I can respond, she’s gone through the hatch, leaving me with my head spinning and with far more questions than answers.
Chapter 3
The Damsel in Distress
“She had a giant zit on her forehead, and she used the wrong shade of foundation to try and cover it up. She used Beige Dream, but she should have used Desert Sand.” That strange fact enters my earholes courtesy of Harris, the newest member of my crew.
It’s been three hours since the Dauntless stopped my ship and took us all into custody without much in the way of explanation. Now, at least, we’re not in interrogation rooms anymore. Instead, a Marine showed me to a small conference room where Harris was already waiting. Since then, for about forty minutes, he’s been describing in painful detail the various cosmetic shortcomings of the female lieutenant who tried to interrogate him. The admiral wasn’t kidding. I only hope the poor young officer isn’t still listening to our conversation, or she might develop a complex.
“Where’s Jessica?” I ask aloud for about the fifth time. Harris ignores me—which is fine because I’m asking the microphones no doubt live in this room, not him—and keeps prattling on about his interrogator’s split ends or something like that. I think the guy talks when he’s nervous. Being woken in the middle of your sleep cycle by a massive battlecruiser capturing and boarding your unarmed ship will do that to a man.
Luckily for both of us, my question is answered promptly this time as the conference room hatch opens and Jessica Lin steps in, her face red and partially hidden by her straight, short black hair, which is hanging forward in a vain effort to hide the puffiness around her stunning green eyes. Despite all that, she’s still the most perfect woman I’ve ever laid eyes on; even the rumpled shipsuit she must have thrown on as we were being boarded can’t hide her beauty, nor can the redness of her face hide its perfect proportions or the smoothness of her unblemished skin.
