Starfire
Copyright© 2025 by Mark Randall
Chapter 30
Otis Wilson was proud of his piloting abilities. He had never wanted to be a fighter pilot; instead, he was happy piloting the tugs and rock haulers. Slow and safe was his motto. He had long ago heard about there being two kinds of pilots. Old pilots and bold pilots. But no old, bold pilots. Otis wanted to add a third category, rich pilots. Once the Folly got to its destination, he planned on being the richest old pilot in history.
Otis got on the rescue frequency, “Mule calling Bulldog, come in Bulldog.”
Max responded quickly, “This Bulldog 6, Mule. Got you five by five.”
“Copy Bulldog, it’s good to hear your voice, Lieutenant Eastman. I feel a lot better knowing you’ve got my back. I’ve got a visual on the mayday.” Otis explained.
“I got a visual too, Mule. We’ll start taking our overwatch positions. Be sure to holler if something comes up.”
“Sure will, switching to hailing frequency now.”
Otis switched over to the emergency frequency “Mayday station, this is the heavy tug Mule from the Independent Ship Seward’s Folly. Please respond.”
Lieutenant Wilson repeated this call two more times. In that time, the Mule had gotten close enough to see details of the ship.
“That’s odd.” He half-whispered.
“What’s that, sir?” his copilot asked.
“What do you see when you look at that ship?”
“I’m not sure. I mean, it looks like one of those fancy luxury cruisers. Pretty expensive tub if you ask me.”
“Yeah, but what’s missing?”
He was interrupted by an incoming call. “Thank God you’re here. This is Lansford Graves on the Hastings Cutoff. I am so glad to hear from you.”
“Mr. Graves, I am Lieutenant Wilson. What is the nature of your emergency?” Otis asked.
“Pirates hijacked us. They took all of our passengers and fuel. They disabled our radios, and then they cast us loose. We’ve been drifting for over a month.” Graves explained.
“OK, Mr. Graves, do you need anything? Medical assistance, oxygen, water?”
“No, nothing. Are you going to take us to your ship? What did you call it, Seward’s Folly?”
“That’s the plan, Mr. Graves. Are you sure you don’t need anything? I’ve got a medical team and a damage control party ready to assist if you need them.”
“No, we’re fine. The only damage was to the radios. We’ve finally been able to jerry rig a new system.”
“OK, Sir, if you could just light up your docking lights, I’ll match up and dock with you.”
“Do you really need to do that? Can’t you just throw us a rope or something”?
The copilot snorted. “At ease, Ensign. There’s no need for that.” Otis reprimanded.
“Sorry, sir. Doesn’t this guy know basic operations?”
“This just keeps getting weirder and weirder.” Wilson thought to himself.
“It doesn’t quite work that way, Mr. Graves. To safely tow you back to the Seward’s Folly, we need to be physically docked. The only place we can do that is at your docking port. Once we get that accomplished, we can start back to the Seward’s Folly.”
“Well, if you say so. Hang on while I figure this out.”
A very long 5 minutes passed. Wilson was about to call again when the approach and docking lights came up.
“Very good, Mr. Graves. Now just be patient and we’ll be docked in no time at all.”
As the tug closed in on the docking port, Wilson’s earlier concerns returned. “Collins, what is wrong with this picture?”
“I don’t know what you mean, sir. Like I said before, it just looks like a fancy ship.”
“Don’t you think it’s funny that a ship that had been taken by pirates doesn’t have any battle damage?”
“I didn’t notice, but you’re right. She’s clean as a whistle. What’s up, Lieutenant?”
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