Chapter 1

My name is Ernest Sheridan. I am the pilot, captain and owner of the “Nome Adventurer”. an open space ore carrier, also known as an asteroid hunter or rock hauler, depending on who you talked to. During the time frame this report covers I was contracted to, and operated off of the independent refinery ship, ‘Yankee Fork’. However, this report is to detail my actions during the pirate takeover of Mosley Station, which has nothing to do with the Yankee Fork, It’s Command or Crew.

The beginnings of this, for me, started in the flight operations room of the Yankee Fork. I was filing a flight plan to Mosley Station. My goal was to place, on account at Mosley My accumulated personal ore account. I had decided that rather than return to Mars with The Yankee Fork, that I would remain in the belt and either sign on to another ship. Or find my own asteroid and start working independently. Either way I wanted to set up a personal account at Mosley for the ore I had accumulated on my own. Plus, when the Yankee Fork set sail, my pay from them. I was going to use this as a grub stake.

As I was submitting my flight plan, The Air Boss came into the room. “Sheridan,” He called “Could you come to my office please.” Now, when the Air Boss asks you to do something, you don’t say no. Not unless you want to be tail end charlie on all launches and most importantly when you are bingo fuel in the landing pattern.

“You bet Boss, Is there a problem?” I asked as I entered the true center of everything important on the Yankee, Flight Control. Everything flyable in, on and around the Yankee Fork was watched and directed from this room. When the Yankee Fork was underway, everything would be centered on the bridge. And when they were docked at the Mars refit station, the Civil administration offices, deep within the ship, were in charge. But if there were ‘Yankee’ ships in space, Flight Control was the center of our universe. And, as far as pilots like myself were concerned, The Air Boss was GOD. Next on that celestial roster was the COB, or Chief of the Boat. From what I understood the title was from the old undersea wet navy. COB was the senior enlisted person on board. In this case COB Johnson was the air bosses’ strong right arm.

Some of the younger contract pilots, full of spit and vinegar, had learned, painfully, that Strong Right Arm was more than a phrase. Very rarely did the lesson need to be taught twice.

I saw that COB Johnson was in the room and was trying to look inconspicuous by watching the radar operators and the camera banks of the flight line and hangers. But I could tell he was much more interested in the conversation between myself and the Air Boss. As Boss Lee sat at his throne, He called his steward over and asked for coffee. Glancing at me he included me in the order.

I was seriously surprised when I got what I expected to be the usual substandard mess hall mud. This was premium earth grown coffee. fresh roasted and ground. I damn near had a religious experience with that first sip.

“Taste good Ernie?” He asked. All I could do for the moment was roll my eyes as I savored the first REAL coffee, I’d had in 5 years. And if truth be known, that had been a poor substitute for what I was drinking now.

“Well I’m glad you like it Ernie. I’ve got a private little area of the hydroponics section. I’ll have to put you on my distribution list.”

“Damn Boss, you don’t need to do that.” I was a firm believer in the Greeks bearing gifts legend. And I could smell a con coming on. The trouble was, at this level, I didn’t have enough pull to avoid it, At least gracefully.

He was looking at his personal display. “I see from the flight plan you just filed that you intend to take a little trip over to Mosley station. I hope that this is just a visit, you aren’t thinking about jumping ship, yet? Are You?”

“Boss you know that I haven’t made any secret about my plans to stay out here in the belt this time around. This trip is to take my personals over and start an account with one of the brokers over there. I have no intention of skipping out on our contract. But when you guys power up for Mars next year I hope to at least be set up with my own habitat and a grub stake to get me started.”

“We’ve got no problem with that Ernie.” He answered. “BUT I would like to ask you a favor for this trip. I wanted, well actually the Council wanted to know if the next pilot going over to Mosley could take a tag along with them. You are headed that way and I have to ask if you would like some company?”

“What kind of company? I don’t think the Mosley folks would be too happy, With ME, if I dump some troublemaker on them.”

“No nothing like that. Basically, what we have is a kid that we’ve got a lot of confidence in. We know that he’s a pretty good pilot and smart at the same time. The problem is his only experience is on board the Yankee Fork. He’s part of the Yankee family as opposed to being a contractor.”

“Whoa, right there Boss. I’m not going to play pimp to some snot nose wonder child. Let him get laid on his own. If he’s a smart as you say and a hot shot pilot to boot, He’ll have no trouble getting some round heeled sweetie here at home to fall over backwards with her legs spread.”

“No, that’s not what we mean, Ernie. We, Both the Council and Operations have a lot of hope for this kid. We feel that he’ll go far. Hopefully even to a command position. But right now, he’s green as grass. We’re afraid that, once we get back to Mars, and he has the run of that station, that he’ll end up getting shanghaied or worse. And a good guy will get wasted. What we want is for someone with real life station experience to slowly introduce him to the hazards and keep an eye on him.”