The lights flickered from a split-second power loss; the deck swayed beneath him as the ship shook from impact after impact; the stars outside were drowned in the glow of laserfire and explosions; the sound of rending metal and melting circuits filled the air. It was truly a good day to die.

"Captain! Shields are off-line."

A new set of sirens joined the cacophony of alarms that shrieked through the bridge, and blast doors all throughout the ship closed themselves as they attempted to isolate the new hull breaches that had just formed.

Jarvis Ragnar smiled, even as he fell to the ground, the force of a renewed enemy assault too much for the ship's compensators to handle. "Keep us between them and the transports!" He yelled, straining to be heard over the chaos that permeated the air. Smoke was pouring into the bridge now in quantities too great for the air scrubbers to handle. Hacking, coughing, the crew of the Wanderer's Home stayed at their posts, even as the starboard prong of the ship's forward section erupted into a pile of slag, disintegrated by enemy fire. And still, Jarvis Ragnar smiled.

"The last of our fighters have been eliminated, sir." On any other day, that report would have burned its way into his soul, reducing him to little more than a helpless, weeping imbecile, but today, it just made him smile all the more.

The ship rocked violently again, and Jarvis was once more thrown to the floor; he didn't bother to stand up again. Besides, the air was a little clearer so low to the floor. His chronometer beeped, and his smile grew still larger. "It's time," He said quietly to himself, content to lay where he was while what remained of his ship continued to be pounded into stardust by the small flotilla of pirate vessels assembled outside.


* * *


"Realspace in 3. . . 2. . . 1. . . now." The Assassin-class Corvette Ageless Soldier reverted from hyperspace at the head of a formation of seven ships, escorted by three squadrons of various starfighters. It had taken several weeks, and all of their available assets, but The Wandering Ones had finally devised a plan to do the two things they had promised: defend Stellar Enterprises' shipping, and hunt down the pirates responsible for disrupting the route between Belgaroth and Rendili.

"Registering three pirate assault craft in-system, all damaged; approximately twenty transports and freighters of various design; and one squadron of starfighters on patrol, divided into four flights. The station's primary shield is active." Directly ahead was a common asteroid base, analogues of which could be found in every inhabited sector of the galaxy. Pirate traffic had already begun to respond to the arrival of the new ships, most of the smaller craft running for open space, while the nearest flight of starfighters came closer for a more thorough inspection.

"Open fire," Zal Marrick said, a malicious smile appearing on his face. "Attention pirate forces," He said loudly, releasing his finger from the activation button of the ship's comm system, "by authority of Stellar Enterprises and the League of Nations, I order you to surrender immediately. This is your only warning; comply now, and I will end the bombardment of your station; resist, and I will turn you to dust. Respond."


* * *


Three months ago

Taken from Accidental Encounter

Rob Stellar

How long will it take you to get your operation up and running? I actually have a shipment leaving here tomorrow. Would you be able to stay and escort it to Ojom with you?

An incessant beeping filled his ears: it was tomorrow already.

Jarvis Ragnar sat up slowly, slamming his fist on the alarm sitting next to his bed. He scratched his head, yawning and stretching as the starlight caught his eye: Space. His eyes widened in shock as he recognized several small shapes, barely discernable in the distance. Space! He jumped to his feet, throwing on his clothes as quickly as possible, hopping out of his room as he struggled to put his last shoe on. Running the few steps between his quarters and the bridge, he stepped through the door and almost ran into his friend Ferril. "How long do we have," He asked urgently.

"The convoy's leaving in three hours, brother; they're right on time. We, on the other hand, are ahead of time." Ferril sounded rather proud of himself. Jarvis wanted to hit him.

"There's no such thing as ahead of time; not when you're flying escort. You're either ready, or you're not. Are we ready?"

"Uhh. . . not yet," Ferril admitted unpleasantly, turning away to point at one of the crewmen. "There's a problem with the port cannon; we did a partial power-up to test systems, and it almost exploded. We aren't sure what's wrong."

Jarvis had spent a small fortune turning the Wanderer's Home into one the most heavily armed corvette he'd ever come across, and now one of the main cannons wasn't working. "We've fired it three times. Three times! It's already broken? You said it would work; you said everything would work! We've got escort duty in THREE HOURS and guess what—IT'S NOT WORKING!"

Ferril lowered his head, trying to find something to look at that would give him an excuse for not meeting his boss's gaze. "Oh!" He exclaimed, looking up, a hopeful smile appearing on his face: "I've heard from Zal and Gren; they've secured a ship, and they've got enough of a crew to launch right now."

"What about Jim?"

"Yep, yep," Ferril continued, nodding excitedly. "We've got our base of operations, and clearance from Ojom's system defense force to start moving in more ships."

Jarvis nodded his head in satisfaction. "Signal whoever's in charge of those freighters; tell them we're ready whenever they are."


* * *


The small convoy exited hyperspace without incident, as Jarvis had expected. The problem was that the space around Ojom was very busy, meaning ships had to drop out of hyperspace well away from the planet itself, and its ring of orbital starports, and their complements of security and defense ships.

Almost immediately, three ships broke away from nearby traffic lanes, positioning themselves directly in front of Jarvis and the ships he had been charged to protect. Thin layers of paint flecked off of the sides of each ship, revealing a pirate insignia on each craft. Jarvis didn't recognize the symbol, but he did know this: these pirates belonged to a different organization than the ones he had recently dispatched.

"Signal for help, and take us in," Jarvis ordered, gritting his teeth as he thought of the position he was putting himself and his men in. "Signal the transports and tell them to hold position."

"Sir, they're ordering us to turn over the transports, or they'll open fire." Jarvis smirked, an act he hoped would draw the attention of his crew away from his left foot, which he was tapping vigorously against the deck, nervous and a little bit scared. "Sir, should I respond?"

"Yeah, we'll respond. Tactical," He said loudly, turning to look at his tactical officer, "target those ships and open fire with all available weapons. Launch The Wandering One and the starfighters. Let's make them hurt." With Allara and her starfighter gone, the two remaining fighters took up positions around the Blastboat, and the three craft accelerated toward the enemy.

Jarvis was worried. He had a good crew and a good ship, and his ship outmassed and outgunned any one of the enemy vessels, but he was afraid that the three of them together were more than a match for his single starship. As the vessels exchanged fire, the enemy formation split up, trying to outmaneuver Jarvis and attack the transports.

"Order the fighters to attack the portside ship, target all weapons on the starboard vessel and turn us to track their trajectory, but keep us between the freighters and that central vessel. And charge the starboard cannon."

"The drain on the shields might weaken them enough for enemy fire to collapse them," Ferril cautioned."

"We don't have a choice," Jarvis replied grimly, grabbing a nearby rail firmly in anticipation of the coming barrage.

The pirate's central ship tried to move itself above the Wanderer's Home, reorienting itself to present its more heavily armed and armored ventral surface. The navigator compensated as best as he could, but it was obvious that the enemy ship was going to get past Jarvis' little roadblock.

With the ship rocking from fire on three sides and readouts dancing as the shields teetered on the brink of failure, Ferril reported that the main cannon was charged. "Fire!" Jarvis yelled, watching as a brilliant beam of energy shot from the starboard prong of his ship, impacting the right-most enemy ship. "Redirect all available weapons to the central ship, and bring us about to face it." While the other vessel wasn't by any means disabled, the powerful blast had caught its crew off-guard, and the damage it had dealt was enough to give them pause.

A volley of weaponsfire leapt from the dorsal surface of the Wanderer's Home, slamming into the enemy vessel with earth-shaking force. They were mad now. The two undamaged enemy ships bore down on Jarvis' position with an anger born of being denied their prize. Jarvis' fighters were doing all that they could against the ship they had been ordered to attack, but the much larger ship had shrugged off any damage they had dealt, and its point-defense weapons were making any sustained attack impossible.

It wouldn't be much longer before the shields failed, and now the damaged enemy vessel was turning to join the conflict. Surely these idiots aren't going to be the end of us. And as if on cue, an Assassin-class corvette streaked by at enormous speed, unleashing a quick volley before it was gone, cutting a huge arc in an attempt to slow itself down and turn back toward the fight. "It looked like you needed some help, boss." The voice belonged to Zal Marrick, who apparently was captaining the newly arrived ship.

We might just survive this. Jarvis smiled in relief, allowing his tensed muscles to relax slightly. "Comm—"

"We've got more incoming," The tactical officer cut Jarvis off. "They're starfighters."

"This is Jim, reporting in with a full fighter squadron; we're moving to join the other fighters." With the portside ship being harassed by over a dozen fighters, the starboard vessel damaged, and Zal's corvette soon to be back in range, whatever cost-benefit ratio these pirates were working by had obviously shifted, and they quickly decided that it was time to abandon their assault and get out of there.

Jarvis ordered the fighters to switch targets to the damaged vessel, then his ship grabbed the enemy vessel overhead in a tractor beam and continued its attack. "Zal, can you get that last ship?"

Zal's corvette altered course to intercept the last of the enemy ships. "I think so."

"Don't let them escape."

As the seconds ticked by, Jarvis watched his sensor screens as the two ships approached one another. "Boss, I'm not going to be able to get within tractor range; it'll be gone by then."

"Don't let them escape," Jarvis said grimly, his own ship still shaking under the force of exchanged fire.

Jarvis watched on his screens as Zal's ship turned sharply, shedding speed and positioning itself for attack. The enemy ship flew past, and a volley of turbolasers and concussion missiles chased after it, the blasts of energy converging on one of the ship's sublight drives. It erupted in a spectacular explosion, setting off secondary explosions that ran all the way down the hull of the ship, ending only when they converged at the bow.

As the distant explosion quickly died in the vacuum of space, Jarvis returned his attention to the ships closer to him, like the one that was positioned directly above him. It had stopped firing, partly because of physical or ion cannon damage, but mostly because the crew of the ship didn't want to meet the same fate their associates had. "Helm," Jarvis said calmly as he watched the sensor symbols that represented approaching Ojom security ships, "take us in. Signal the freighters to follow." Yep. All in a days work.


* * *


Gren and Zal were gone, off to recruit more men and get more ships. The Wanderer's Home was nearby, undergoing repairs under Ferril's supervision. Zal's new corvette wasn't far off, either, being refitted with several ion cannons. Allara had taken the fighter squadron out for training. The two pirate ships that had survived the attack were docked nearby, awaiting transport to wherever Rob Stellar had decided they were going. The convoy was safely to Rendili, probably in the process of being unloaded. Everything had worked out wonderfully.

Jarvis was sitting in the captain's chair onboard The Wandering One, dreaming about the past, and worrying about the future. The first time he had chosen to protect Stellar Enterprises' transports, he had done so under no obligation, but this fight had been totally different; this time, they had been waiting for him. This time, he was in their way. He had won this fight, but Jarvis was afraid that the price might prove to be far greater than he had thought. These pirates weren't just going to give up and go away because two or three ships had started escorting Stellar's convoys. It was one thing to endanger yourself, but it was another thing entirely to build a crew that trusted you, and then force them to fight—and maybe die—defending automated transports. And for what, some sheet metal? Oh, what have I gotten us into?

The Present

There was one ship that could summon forth the wrath of the small alliance of pirates who had set up camp along the Belgaroth/Rendili route; there was one man who was deplored enough to move them to joint battle; there was one name that had haunted the efforts of every pirate in the sector for the past three months: The Wanderer's Home, Jarvis Ragnar, and The Wandering Ones.

The ships outside the viewport bore symbols from seven different organizations. They were assembled in a respectable enough formation, executing an attack that was. . . thorough, if nothing else. Today, they would get their vengeance; today, Jarvis Ragnar would die; the Wanderer's Home would be slagged; and once and for all, The Wandering Ones would be defeated.

Or so they had thought. "The SE ransports have jumped," One of the crewmen reported between coughs, the sting of smoke in his eyes making it almost impossible to read his instrumentation. Huge sections of the ship were depressurized; all weapons were off-line; the engines had been destroyed; the ship that had become the symbol of The Wandering Ones was dead, and all indications showed that her crew would soon follow.

"Sir, they're breaking off."

Jarvis' smile hadn't faded. He stood back up, covering his face with a damp cloth. Right on time. "Get this air vented! It might be a while before help arrives. Sit tight; we're gonna make it." There are some calls that even the most bloodthirsty souls must answer.


* * *


Two Months Ago

Jarvis was finally in a position to do some real damage. With five corvettes, four squadrons of starfighters, and a handful of refitted system patrol craft, it was time to take the fight to the pirates. Gren and Allara both had contacts in the underworld, and they had tracked down a number of shadowports, asteroid bases, and front companies that were supplying and concealing pirates throughout the surrounding sectors. With the help of Stellar Enterprises, Jarvis had formed two attack groups, consisting of two of his ships and one from Stellar Enterprises, along with starfighter escorts. While Allara and Gren led the attacks, Jarvis was going to continue their escort duties. Stellar Enterprises was planning to strike two other bases simultaneously; if the whole operation ended successfully, the first half of the Belgaroth/Rendili route would be virtually pirate-free, at least for the next couple of weeks.



"Captain, we'll be reverting in fifteen seconds."

"All hands, prepare for combat," Allara said, her voice sounding like a mechanized croak through the voice modulator built into her suit.

The ships and their crews were already battle scarred from their first attack of the day, which had gone pretty well. Their first target was little more than an asteroid with a big hole in it, with grav plating at the bottom, a mag-con field at the top, and a life-upport system somewhere in-between. There had been two smaller ships there, and it hadn't been long before they had surrendered. The ships were on their way to Giju at the moment, where that particular pirate group was wanted by the authorities; after that, the SE security forces who were now in control of the ships would take them to wherever it was all of the captured ships kept going to, and—as far as Allara was concerned—that would be that.

But for now, there was another fight to be fought, and it wasn't going to be so easy. The brilliance of hyperspace dissolved around them, and the attack group found themselves staring right at their target. It was a space station, large enough to handle five ships the size of Allara's: at the moment, there were four.

Allara quickly commed the SE commander. "I think it's time we see what your fighters can do. Deploy your fighters to intercept theirs; I'll send mine to begin runs on the station. We're outnumbered, but we aren't outgunned, and we definitely aren't outclassed."

"Yes, sir." His short reply brought a smile to Allara's concealed face. She glanced around the bridge quickly, reminding herself that no one there knew that beneath the armored and blood-stained environmental suit she wore, that she was. . . well, a girl. They called her "Jim" when they weren't responding with "Sir," and it had been so long since she had seen her family—her real family—that "Jim" had started to feel more like her real name than anything else. Back to the present; back to the fight.

The SE fighters streaked by, tearing through approaching pirate starfighters with ease. They circled back around, tearing another swath of destruction through the approaching fighters. As the docked ships began to detach and come about to fight, several of the fighters broke off and launched quick missile volleys, then dove back into the dogfight. The SE gunship moved forward, drawing most of the enemy fire with its larger size and allowing its superior shields to soak up the damage without much trouble. Allara ordered all ships to focus their fire on the nearest ship, then had her fighters shift targets from the station to the enemy ship; their missiles and torpedoes peppered its side, and the combined firepower brought down its shields, allowing a concentrated ion cannon assault to disable it.

Allara's two ships accelerated, passing up the SE gunship and giving it a break from the damage it was taking. With one enemy ship and most of their fighters out of the fight, the attack group had a little room to work with. The fighters were able to deal out significant damage through missile runs, and the fast, well-armed SE fighters were able to run from one target to the next, dancing around the battlefield as they struck from multiple vectors, coordinating each attack to yield maximum results. Allara, who was more comfortable in the cockpit of a starfighter than the bridge of a starship any day, could really appreciate the value of quality fighters.



Everyone had taken their fair share of damage, but at the end of the day, it was SE and The Wandering Ones who won out. Four asteroid bases had been dismantled or destroyed, one had been retained for possible sale to any one of a number of mining companies, and the shadowport was under the watchful guard of Stellar Enterprises, until Jarvis could figure out what to do with it. Of the pirates which were captured, most were wanted by nearby systems; the few that weren't were detained by Ojom, while the rest were shipped away, to be tried and prosecuted by the worlds they had harmed.

In addition to the payment from SE for services rendered and ships captured, most of the nearby systems had some form of reward out for aide in apprehending pirates; hopefully, actually apprehending them counted.

Jarvis was sitting on the bridge of The Wandering One once again, staring at nothing, his mind wandering from one thing to the next. He used to like staring out at the stars, but here, at Ojom, where there was so much traffic, it kind of felt disappointing. He was glad that his men had been so successful, and even more glad that Allara and Gren had proven to be such competent leaders, but he was still worried. There was something on the horizon, a darkness that threatened to destroy him, and everything he and his friends had built; he could feel it in his bones, like a pain that wouldn't go away. He had joked once that the five of them together were invincible, that they couldn't fail, and they couldn't be killed, but now he was afraid that it would be him that would destroy them all.

His commlink beeped, and he glanced down at it. "Back to work. Work, work, work." Jarvis stood up, walking out of the Blastboat and heading back into the ship that had become his home. There was just so much to do. I can't even find time to worry anymore. What's going on here?.

The Present


The asteroid was proving to be a hard nut to crack. Its shields were stronger than most pirates would bother to install, and it was ringed with defensive weaponry. While two of the three damaged pirate vessels had been disabled, the third was limping away, trying to escape the gravity of the asteroid field; Zal dispatched most of his fighters to take it down. Finally, the station's shields gave out, and Zal ordered ion cannon barrages on the entrenched weaponry, knocking out one hemisphere of the station's defenses in just a few minutes.

"We've got incoming! It's them."

Thirteen pirate ships exited hyperspace nearby, immediately altering course to intercept Zal's attack group. Zal ordered his forces to turn about and head through the asteroid field, hoping to avoid a conflict with the much larger enemy force. His ships fired one all-out salvo of missiles at the station before running, doing little real damage to the station itself, but making the asteroid look like it had taken a beating.

As Zal studied the pirate ships on sensors, one thought came to his mind: "How long did Jarvis have to survive against them?"

"Uh, six or seven minutes," One of the crewmen said, not sounding very reassuring.

Zal squeezed his eyes shut, putting his head in his hands as he leaned over in his command chair, the first shots from the enemy ships already impacting against the shields. "This better work," He whispered, hoping no one else heard his short comment, or the desperation in his voice.


* * *


One Month Ago

"We have five vessels and five half-squadrons; we've successfully repelled assaults from six separate pirate organizations, some of which were not targeting Stellar Enterprises' assets, meaning we had no legal obligation to intervene. Of your worlds, we have offered direct aide to Ojom, Recopia, Giju, and—of course—Belgaroth, and have accepted contracts from several other worlds." Jarvis felt strange, standing in front of this special committee, with all of those unfriendly eyes staring down on him.

"Are you trying to say that we owe you something, Mr. Ragnar?" The speaker was a human; Jarvis wasn't sure what world he represented, but it didn't really matter. These Core-types were all the same, and right then and there, he knew he was fighting a hopeless battle.

"No, of course not; I'm just asking that the League consider endorsing our work, and authorizing us to work throughout the League's space. Mr. Stellar has been pleased with our work so far, and what I don't think you—"

"Mr. Ragnar, that is enough. The arbitrary defeat of a few ships here and there is not nearly significant enough—"

"But that's my point exactly, sir. Without the freedom to—"

"Mr. Ragnar! I am not finished. Simply put: your work is—by any real scale—meaningless, and the. . . questionable origins of your crew members makes your request for us to allow heavily armed vessels free and unrestricted passage through our collective space preposterous, to say the least. Now, you're wasting our time; we have work to do. Good day."

"Excuse me, but this hearing is not over." One of the other humans stood, and Jarvis recognized him: he was the representative from Ojom. It was he who had arranged this hearing, as a favor to Jarvis for the help he had given on occasion. "This is Captain Tyler Moliere of the Ojom Security Force," The man said, gesturing to a shadowy figure who stepped forward, presenting himself before the committee. "He is here to testify on behalf of Jarvis Ragnar's organization. Captain Moliere, please begin."

The captain stepped forward a little more, his stiff posture and military-style uniform contrasting sharply with Jarvis' casual, well-worn features and clothing. "Two weeks ago, during a routine patrol of the system, I identified a vessel matching the description of a ship belonging to a man wanted for murder on several worlds. I called for backup, then ordered the vessel to slow for inspection; it opened fire almost immediately. My ship was disabled in only a few seconds, and it was clear that the man was going to kill me and my crew before he jumped to hyperspace and escaped." The captain turned to look at Jarvis: "Then they came.

"Mr. Ragnar was escorting a shipment of Stellar Enterprises' goods in-system when he heard my call for backup. He dispatched three starfighters, all that he had with him at the time, to offer assistance if needed. By the time they arrived, my ship had been disabled, and they knew they were outgunned, but they intervened anyway. They lost one of their pilots, but they disabled the attacking ship, and saved the lives of myself and my crew.

"I've read the reports, sirs; Mr. Ragnar's men have assisted in three other altercations in the space around Ojom, each time helping to protect lives and property. And because you're going to ask anyway: no, its not the policy of the Security Force or the government of Ojom to reward acts of civil service with monetary compensation. They want to save lives; they want to do what is right." He paused for a moment, glancing at Jarvis with a look of profound sadness. "This council has no right to dismiss him simply because he is a Ryn."

"Captain Moliere, you are out of line!"

"None of us do."

"Captain Moliere: that is enough!"

"I've said all I have to say. Good day, sirs." Moliere bowed to the committee, then turned to Jarvis and extended his hand.

Jarvis shook the hand gladly, smiling in appreciation. "Thank you for saying what most in your position are too afraid to." Jarvis had seen the glances cast at him by members of Ojom's police organizations; it was the same look of condescension and disgust that was painted on several of the committee members' faces right then. He turned back to the committee as the captain exited the room. The friendly smile vanished as he returned his attention to them, and when he spoke, any sign of compassion or understanding was gone. "Is now the part where you dismiss this case without bothering to consider it?"

"Mr. Ragnar," The representative from Ojom said, "I assure you that we will consider your request very thoroughly. We have the reports from the Ojom Security Force here, as well as information concerning your performance provided by Stellar Enterprises, and copies of the agreements you have entered into with other LON worlds. This committee will not so arbitrarily dismiss your request. You have my word."


* * *


The Present

It was a tricky game they were playing, and the slightest miscalculation could ruin everything. "Slow us down a little, but make sure it looks like we don't have a choice." Zal's attack group was weaving through the outer edges of the asteroid field, the pirate group almost twice their size in hot pursuit.

A warning light began flashing on Zal's console. "What's that?"

"Engine room, sir," The helmsman said. "They're having trouble with one of the primary sublight drives; looks like we'll have to reduce speed."

"Let's just hope it looks convincing enough."

"It should; they really broke it."

Zal tapped a few buttons, silencing the warning.

"Our timing's still off, sir," The comm officer reported. "We're still ten seconds ahead of schedule, give or take."

"Hm," Zal grunted, studying the readouts. "It's time to improvise. On my mark, I want all ships to shift course; we're going to veer away from the asteroid field and break for open space."

"Uh, sir, is that wise?"

"We don't have a choice; we have to adjust; timing is everything."

"All ships have acknowledged the new orders; they're standing by."

Zal stared at the readouts on his screen, watching the distance between his ships and the pursuing pirates decrease, watching as they approached the single essential point of the entire operation. The timer was counting down; everything depended upon his next command. "Break now."


* * *


The shattered hulk of the Wanderer's Home drifted in space, its only light provided by the superheated slag that drifted around it. Jarvis' cry of joy had been short-lived. Thirteen of the enemy ships had broken off, but two had remained behind to finish the job. Those two ships were going to ruin everything.

Jarvis and his crew had retreated to the engine room, not because it was the safest place on the ship, but because if the reactor blew, it wouldn't matter where they were. Buried in the heart of the ship, it was impossible for them to see the three ships that exited hyperspace right on top of them; they were three Rendili StarDrive Light Corvettes, the basic same ship type as the Wanderer's Home, but unlike the vessel Jarvis was on, these were combat-ready. They unleashed their combined firepower immediately, pounding away at the two smaller pirate ships. With no troops to capture the ships, and no time to waste, they slagged the two ships with torpedoes, reducing them to dust clouds when their reactors blew.

Two of the ships jumped away immediately, while the third stayed behind to rescue what was left of the crew of the Wanderer's Home.


* * *


One Month Ago

The special committee had agreed that The Wandering Ones would have full access through LON space while on official business for one of the League's member worlds, but would be treated as an unaffiliated organization at any other time. Of course, "Official Business" is such a silly term, and any number of "official" things could potentially lead Jarvis and/or his men into places where they might "happen" upon other. . . "less-official business," so Jarvis wasn't too worried, at least not about that.

Stellar Enterprises had begun allocating forces to the defense of their freighter convoys, meaning Jarvis and his men would soon find themselves replaced, at least on the Belgaroth/Rendili route. That was why it was so important that Jarvis got some kind of official sanction from the LON: so he could expand into some nearby space, and so he'd have some shiny credentials if he and his men suddenly found themselves without a job.

That wasn't to say that Stellar was being a jerk, or anything to that effect. No, Rob had made sure that Jarvis and his men had something to do all the time, and there wasn't any indication that that was going to change, but Jarvis was a Ryn, and he was used to getting short-changed by just about everybody, so just in case, Jarvis had a plan.

But Jarvis had more pressing issues at the moment. Most of his sources of information were running dry, and there were whispers that in the realm of the less-than-legitimate, Jarvis Ragnar was a name to be despised, and maybe hunted. Their most recent pirate run-in had been with ships bearing different markings, meaning it was possible that some of the pirates were starting to pool resources in order to crack this trade route open, meaning all of Jarvis' fears might be coming true.

But Jarvis was determined to be ready. At Allara's urgent request, he had purchased a number of SE starfighters, and asked her to sort out how to distribute them properly. Jarvis had put Zal in charge of a new rotation that allowed each ship's crew time to train with SE personnel, giving them an opportunity to learn solid tactics from qualified instructors. Ferril had been quietly sent to Rendili in order to purchase three of their Light Corvettes, which would undoubtedly prove helpful in the fight he was now sure was imminent. In the meantime, he and Gren continued to supervise the escort of SE transports, and hunt down what pirates they could.


* * *


The Present


"Turn us about and engage them." The command shocked and scared every member of the bridge crew, including Zal, who had just issued it. "They're late; we have to stall, or they won't come out close enough for it to matter." The entire strike group slowed and made a tight loop, charging into a fight in which they were outnumbered two-to-one. Zal's ships were sporting more advanced weapons and shields, thanks to a series of minor refits over the past three months, but their fighters had fled in a different direction, and they were still significantly outnumbered.

Then what they had been waiting for happened. . . sort of. Two Rendili StarDrive Light Corvettes dropped out of hyperspace, dragged into realspace by the asteroid field at a precise point. They had chosen an anomalously thin area of the field because of the smaller mass shadow, which would allow them to drop out closer to the asteroids. The original plan had been to pin the pirates inside of the asteroids, but Zal had been forced to change course in order to stay close to the reversion point, meaning the pirates were now well away from the asteroids.

And then there was the question of where the other ship went. Zal just hoped that the ship's absence meant that Jarvis might still be alive out there, somewhere. So now it was nine against thirteen. The nine were in a better position, with better-coordinated crews and more up-to-date ships, but the thirteen were thirteen, as in four more than nine, and they had fighters. The worst part was that Stellar Enterprises had ships all throughout the sector, but Jarvis and the others had decided that The Wandering Ones would handle this themselves.

Well, here we are. Zal took a deep breath, commed. . . whoever was in command over there, and set his mind on the task. "We've got to hold them here until our fighters arrive; none of them can escape."

"Well, you're the boss, boss, so let's make this happen." The voice belonged to Ferril, meaning Gren must be with the absent ship. Whatever the case might be out there, the two larger Rendili corvettes opened fire, pouring destructive energy into the enemy group, while Zal's ships spread out in an attempt to surround the enemy. Before long, there were damage and casualty reports coming in from every ship; enemy fighters were everywhere, and without any fighter screens of their own, the point-defense gunners were hard-pressed to stave off the tiny assailants.

Then, like a wave smashing against a breakwater, Allara and her fighter squadrons dove into the fray, weaving between friend and foe, dropping torpedoes and missiles as they went, exploding out of one side of the developing furball only to turn around and dive back in. They flew through at incredible speeds, maintaining tight trios as they executed complex maneuvers. The SE starfighters most of her men flew were a full generation newer than the most advanced of the pirates' second-hand fighters, and their extensive training over the past month proved its usefulness in just the first few seconds.


* * *


The four of them stood expectantly in front of an occupied tank filled with "healer solution," one of SE's glorious inventions. Whatever the case, Jarvis was definitely looking better. Six of the crew had survived, which was about half, since most of the ship's systems were run by droids.

He opened his eyes, the hatch overhead opening immediately. He was awake. Jarvis rose slowly, taking off the breath mask as his head appeared above the solution. A medical droid helped him onto an adjacent platform, wrapping him in a robe of sorts and leading him down to his friends. "That stuff doesn't look like Bacta," He said groggily, eyeing the vat of strange liquid.

"That's the 'patented Healer Solution, a revolution in nano-medicine,'" Zal said enthusiastically, as if he was quoting some infomercial.

"Nano-medicine?" Jarvis responded warily. "As in little robots?"

"As in little robots," Ferril confirmed.

Jarvis jerked suddenly, pulling off the robe and throwing it at the medical droid. "'Fresher! Where's the dang 'fresher?!" He was looking around frantically, as if he was afraid someone was about to jump out of a corner and knife him in the gut.

Gren ran over to a nearby doorway, tapping the activation panel and standing aside. As Jarvis dashed into the room, Gren stepped away, laughing quietly to himself. Allara ran over quickly, holding down the "close" button. "Storage room?! Hey! This is a storage room!" A thud sounded, which was probably Jarvis running frantically into the still-closed door.

"Get these things off me! Let me out! I'm gonna kill you all!" And so it continued for several seconds, until Allara finally stepped away, allowing Jarvis to open the door and "escape," at which time he dashed through the room's exit and ran down the hall. Everyone leveled their disappointed gazes at Allara.

"He almost died; we should give him a break."

Two security droids appeared moments later, escorting Jarvis back into the room. "I have to get checked out before they can let me leave," He said sheepishly, still wearing nothing more than the diaper-like garment he had emerged from the tank with.

"I think we made it," Allara said, a hint of joy and relief translating through her suit's voice modulator.

Jarvis didn't know what had happened at the main conflict; he didn't know that they had lost three ships and two crews in the battle, or that two of the pirate vessels had escaped. He didn't know that the asteroid base had been demolished after its major components had been salvaged, or that the others had decided to detain one of the pirate crews themselves for further questioning. He didn't know that they were on their way to The Wandering One, the Blastboat that had begun it all. He didn't know, and in truth, he didn't care; all that mattered was that they had all survived. . . they had all survived. Yep, it's a good day to live.