Stellar Objects

Chapter 6: Capture

Sergeant Lieutenant Shelly Carpace was hunting her prey.

The filthy kid in the engine room had somehow delivered the extra power the Captain had ordered. It gave the rusty frigate ship the thrust it needed to head off the shuttle before it slipped amongst the asteroid belt.

The criminal's shuttle was now locked in the Ghandi's magnetic pull and couldn't break away. It reminded Shelly of folktales her grandparents used to tell her about reeling in something called fish. Apparently, Earth used to have creatures that swam freely in water that people would catch and then eat. With her grandparents, however, the only parents she ever knew, Shelly could never tell which tales were tall and which were true. She suspected that there was never such thing as fish in the sea. But it made for a good bedtime story then, and an apt metaphor now.

"Thank you, Captain," she said. "For reeling him in."

"Huh?" Nayar grunted, clearly unaware of the fish myth, "but you don't have to thank me. I was just doing my duty."

"All the same," Shelly replied. "It's a good day for justice, and the Raj thanks you."

"The Raj can kiss my—"

"Asteroid!" shouted the pilot, banking the Ghandi hard to the starboard to avoid a collision with an errant space rock.

Shelly was relieved they'd avoided the asteroid, but also relieved that Captain Nayar hadn't completed his thought. She didn't want to write him up for treasonous talk, but she would if she had to. That was her duty. She was committed to her job. She was her job. And her job was her.

Duty.

Service.

Sacrifice.

She believed those words as such a guiding force in her life that she'd had them inked onto her left arm – in Hindi, of course. She was a loyal servant to the Raj; unwavering and unquestioning.

She was doing his work, keeping the peace while the worlds were at war. She'd captured one of the Raj's disloyal deserters, and now it was time to meet him.

Shelly marched off the bridge, down the narrow corridor on the upper level. She nearly tripped over a floor panel that was slightly out of place.

The Ghandi was an old ship, and would've been sent to the wrecking yard years ago if it weren't for the war. But the Perimeter Patrol had to make do with old vessels and crews not fit for battle.

Shelly kicked the edge of the floor panel and it clunked back into place. No sense letting someone else trip, she thought.

She reached the docking bay and lifted the Velcro flap on her uniform, revealing a shiny bronze badge. It wasn't real bronze, of course, but recycled plastic. But regardless of its material, the badge gave her the authority she needed to make the arrest.

She pulled out the compliance stick from her trouser pocket and flicked it open. The telescopic stick extended to a metre's length. She pressed the button and the stick sizzled with electricity. She hoped she didn't have to use it, but hope was not a strategy. Preparation is.

Shelly stopped at the control panel at the end of the tunnel. In a moment, she'd open the air lock, revealing the cargo door to the captured ship. But first, she was going to warn Crowther and declare her intentions. She tapped the INTERCOM icon on the wall-mounted glass pad and spoke:

"This is Sergeant Lt. Shelly Carpace of the Perimeter Patrol. You are under arrest for treason against the Raj and deserting the Galactic Navy. Prepare to be boarded."

Shelly tapped two more icons and the airlock opened, revealing the shuttle's cargo door. It was partially burnt with blast marks and had clearly seen a fight.

Or two.

The cargo door lifted open, the Ghandi's computer now in control of the shuttle's operating system. Shelly stood firm to face her fugitive.

Judson Crowther remained seated in the pilot's seat and swung the chair around to face her. He looked different than his digigraph; older, haggard, and unshaved.

But he still had a smile and he grinned widely at Shelly. Most people looked straight at the compliance stick, but not Crowther. He held her gaze, locking eyes with Shelly; almost like a staring content she used to play with as a child. She always won. Shelly never flinched first.

Finally, Judson's eyes cast down towards the electrified stick.

Shelly won again.

"Fly softly and carry an electric stick?" he said.

A joker. She'd met his type before; trying to use humour to wriggle out of an arrest. But Shelly had neither then time nor the patience for jokes.

"There's nowhere left to run, Judson Crowther," she said.

He laughed. He actually laughed. As if anything between them was funny.

"You and I don't share the same philosophy," he said, turning back to his controls. He pulled back hard on the accelerator and the shuttle shook violently. But it didn't budge from its docking.

"I've created an energy vacuum around your shuttle before—"

Suddenly, Judson turned back pointing a disrupter pistol at her and pulled the trigger. She recognized the make, a Mol-Spread 2600, an older but reliable model that could disperse organic molecules from five hundred meters away. But inside the energy vacuum, it was as useless as a fishing rod.

"You're not a good listener, are you?" she asked, as Judson frantically clicked the trigger in vain. She wasn't about to allow this traitor to disperse her molecules, no way. She was smarter than that.

"Oh sorry," he said, putting the gun down. "Wasn't listening."

"Cute," she said, rolling her eyes.

"I used to get handsome," he said. "But cute'll do."

Was he trying to be friendly? Shelly was about to lock him up for the rest of his life – which would be very short – and preside over his execution. And he was flirting with her?

"Hands up, handsome," she said. "I'm sure you know the drill."

Judson held his hands in front of his body, and the gun dropped to the floor.

"Kick it over," she ordered.

Judson rose from the chair and tapped the gun with his foot. It slid across the metal floor. Shelly stopped it with her toe.

She turned the compliance stick around and pressed the button. A white spray spewed from the stick, creating a white webbing around Judson's hands.

"It smells," he said, screwing up his face. "What's this stuff made of?"

"You think they'd tell us," she said.

With his hands now fully immobilized, Shelly reached out and guided her captive back through the cargo hold and into the boarding tunnel.

"Welcome aboard, sailor," she said. "Say Namaste to the Ghandi, your home

away from home...until they try you for treason."

Shelly marched Crowther into the main corridor and to the right, towards the brig. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the floor paneling had upended slightly again. She made a note to report it to Maintenance, but didn't stop to put it back in place.

She was already doing a duty.

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