This is a rewrite of an original 8 episode story.  Now expanded and improved.

 “The Last Frontier”, is set in a universe some two hundred years in our future. While high tech, the conditions closely resemble the early years of the settlement of the American West. There is a relatively thin population of homesteaders, farmers and mining concerns spread throughout the accessible universe. Crime and lawlessness, especially that supported by a criminal organization called "The Syndicate" run rampant. The thinly spread Terran Confederation’s Space Command is assigned to protect the shipping and transport lanes.

One man, Leslie Webber, Captain of the Star Cruiser "Proteus" does a particularly good job at maintaining order in his district. Unfortunately, some "Syndicate operatives" in the government think he does his job all too well. And are determined to make an example of him.  Leslie Webber will serve as an example and a warning to other Space Command officers “who dare to interfere with Syndicate business”.   Leslie loses everything, his career, his family even his sex.  But Webber’s enemies underestimate her resolve and her thirst for revenge.  Even as a woman, Leslie Webber is still the “deadliest gun in the confederation”. And the down but not quite out hero(ine) now has acquired a near psychotic homicidal viciousness.  If they thought Webber was a “bad ass” before, just wait until they meet “The Bitch From Hell”.

The Last Frontier

by Maria Twelve and Thomas R.

RETRIBUTION

Rewrite 2/02

16 MAY 2216 TERRAN COMMON ERA.

    Captain Leslie Webber sat in his command chair on the bridge of his ship, the PROTEUS, a Cruiser class jumpship with a crew of nearly 200, and watched the huge transport ferry on his forward com screen as it lumbered past.  Next to him, on the right was seated his first officer, Commander Melissa Connor, his first officer and Co-Captain.

     The PROTEUS had been assigned to escort the ANTARIES AND IRINDI TRANSPORT FIFTY-SEVEN and its load of refined Platinum across the Sirian Ord belt, as it proceeded to its destination at Indihar.

     “Helm! Match speeds and follow transport.  Maintain distance of two hundred clicks.”  Ordered Webber as the transport finally overtook its escort.

     “Webber!  We have a J-com message from Command four” interrupted Webber’s First Officer and Co-Captain, Commander Melissa Connor as she saw the icon blink on her com screen.

      The Terran Confederation Space Command had developed a system of command where a Male-Female team would share the duties of ship’s Captain in order to take advantage of the differences between the logic and temperaments of the male and female brain.  The idea was that the advantages of one thinking style would compensate for any shortcomings in the other.

 

     Most command decisions were based on this system.  In the event of a conflict however, the male officer would have the final word.  This custom was supposedly was based upon research that indicated that crews, as a whole, responded best and more quickly to a male commanding officer. Thus far, over the years, the system had proven itself and had long been accepted, by all parties involved, as the standard procedure.

    “What is it?” Webber replied

    The slight, but attractive “thirty-something” brunette read the text from her screen. “You wont like this, Leslie, but we have been ordered to set course for the Adena system immediately.  The orders are from Admiral Chandler himself.”

     “Yes, and leave a transport ship carrying one hundred tons of refined platinum unescorted through Syndicate controlled territory?  Doesn’t that sound a little suspicious to you?”

    “I know that we don’t have any evidence that Chandler is on the Syndicate’s take, but you do have a point.” Melissa replied.

     “Our oath as Space Command officers is to protect the shipping lanes and the people of the Terran Confederation from all hostile forces both domestic and alien.  I don’t care if the orders came from the commander in chief himself.  I will not abandon those whom I am sworn to protect.” Said Leslie.

      The criminal organization known as “The Syndicate” had cursed this part of the Galaxy for nearly twenty years. It victimized honest, hard working colonists with its demands for “protection” money and special “taxes”, while it trafficked in illegal goods and technologies and supported various bands of “raiders” who preyed on interstellar shipping.

   It was common knowledge that the tendrils of the Syndicate were everywhere, reaching even into the halls of government itself. The TC forces were spread out fairly thin, but Webber was able to keep his district relatively safe from the Syndicate raiders. Leslie Webber knew that some people thought that he was doing his job much too well.

     “I concur.” Conner replied, “but I highly recommend that we do proceed to Adena as soon as we know that the shipment will be safe.”

     “Well, we might be a little late,” said Webber, “but we can claim engine problems, if it –- Whoa! lookie there!”

On his com-screen, Webber sees Two smaller spacecraft resembling black cockroaches.  The array of antennas and photon cannons bristling out of their sides seems only to enhance the “bug” effect.

         

     “Raiders!” exclaimed Connor “ I count three of them, closing in on the transport.

         

      “What did I tell ya', Melissa, right on cue!”

     POW! POW! POW! POW! POW!  The raiders fired their photon cannons at the transport.  The rapid shots resembled the streams the old style "tracer" bullets, causing small explosions where they struck the transport's hull.

     “Helm! Battle mode.” Ordered Webber. “Relinquish control to command.”

         

     “Aye, sir! Helm to command.” The helmsman replied as he pressed an Icon on his com-screen

     The helm controls swung around in front of the chairs. Webber grabbed one of the control sticks as Connor swung a com-screen, displaying range grids and targeting indicators, closer to her face.

         

     This was a situation all too familiar to Captain Webber, but he seemed to live for it. “All right kiddies! It's ShowTime!” Said the Captain as he pulled on the helm controls.

     The PROTEUS wheeled around and accelerated as it closed in on the transporter and its attackers.

     POW! POW! POW! POW! POW! A stream of photon cannon fire erupted from the PROTEUS's bow-mounted weapon, and stitched across the nearest raider, shattering its hull like glass.

     BOOM!  A massive internal explosion finished the stricken

craft.

     “Scratch one raider!” Webber exclaimed with excitement  “Ha! We caught them flatfooted!”

         

     Conner looked into her ranging com-screen. “The other two are running!  Bearing one fifty-three on seventy-nine!”

     Webber moved the stick to the right and pursued the fleeing craft. The raiders were running away full tilt, but with PROTEUS close behind.

 

     POW! POW!  The raiders fired a few shots aft. They bounced harmlessly off the nose of the larger craft.

     POW! POW! POW! The PROTEUS returned fire with its point-five-meter photon cannons once again. The multiple shots tore into the stern of the lead raider.  It caught fire and then-- BOOM! Exploded.

     Webber turned the ship to pursue the remaining craft.

     ZAP! The Raider suddenly disappeared in a flash of blue light.

     “Damn! They jumped!” cursed Webber as he slapped the arm of his chair with his fist.  There was no way to follow he vessel, it could now be anywhere within a radius of seven parsecs of space.

     KBOOM! A single large shot, seemingly out of nowhere, suddenly tore into the stern of the PROTEUS, rocking the ship and setting off alarms.          

         

     “What the hell was that?” Exclaimed Webber, taken entirely by surprise.

         

     The Commander checked her ranging screens “Syndicate enforcer ship!” she replied “It must have jumped in just as the raider jumped out.”

     ZAP! ZAP! Two more flashes of light!  Two more Syndicate "ENFORCER SHIPS" materialized.  Looking like huge, elongated, yellow and black eggs, they swung their 'point-five' cannon turrets around and begin to fire.

     BOOM! Another explosion ripped PROTEUS amidships.

     “Battle stations! Battle stations!” Webber shouted over the com-system.

     On the bridge, crewmembers began to run in all directions.  Numerous small fires began to break out.  Webber and Connor ran over to the few still working

com-screens in an attempt to assess the damage.  Webber did not like what he saw.

         

    “Shit! The reaction engines are gone! Force shields down, Jump caps have discharged.”

         

     “Fire control is disabled! We're sitting ducks!” Replied Conner.

         

     “Damn it! Cursed Webber. “We drove right into an ambush! The bastards set us up!”

      Webber and Connor watched helplessly on the com-screens as the three enforcers closed in on the crippled PROTEUS.

     Webber looked on in bewilderment. “They have us! Why don’t they finish us off?”

 

     Two of the ships extended black, cross, shaped devices, connected to hollow articulated arms, towards  Webber’s vessel.

     The crosses struck the hull, and attached themselves with claw like hooks that extended from each arm and drove themselves inward.

    A powerful, beak-like hydraulic ram cutter, in the center began to push itself through the PROTEUS's hull plates.      

         

     “They are deploying their spiders!” Conner yelled. “We are going to be boarded!”

     CRUNCHHH! The metal beak punched through the inside wall of one of the peripheral passageways, peeling it open

like the petals of a flower, as the ram's four quadrants opened up. They sealed the contact and revealed a hole leading into the hollow arm that formed a connecting passageway between the ships.

     A strange assortment of men, some dressed similar to pirates, bikers and cowboys and armed with automatic firearms, poured out of the opening, shooting at the crewmembers.  Two crewmen fell. A few armed crewmembers fired back. One of the boarders was hit.

     On the bridge, Webber and Connor, were out of their chairs, but still watching their com-screens.

     CRUNCHHHH!  One of the spider beaks suddenly punched through the sidewall of the bridge, and peeled it open.  Another group of hostile boarders charged from the hole, firing their weapons.

     Connor ran for cover near an open door, Webber ducked behind a console.

    Webber pulled his "One hundred over ten", a large automatic pistol, from his holster.  POW! POW! POW! He returned fire. Three of the invaders fell.  They would not get up again.

    Webber was famous for his gun handling skills. That he learned when growing up as a pioneer’s son in the wilderness of Barnes Star Four.  Some people called him “the deadliest gun in the Confederation”. He was a consummate master of the fast draw and was dead accurate.  His weapon of choice what the Horton & Roth 100/10.  Its magazine held 100 lead/uranium wafers that became deadly caseless projectiles when the separately stored propellant propelled them through the weapon’s shaping chamber and its ten millimeter barrel.

     Despite the development of Lasers, particle beams and photon cannons, the explosively propelled metal projectile was, after centuries, still hard to beat for practicality and utility for the purposes of personal protection.    The only major changes in the last three hundred years had been the introduction of separate “clips” for projectiles and propellant.

     Despite its ancient principles, Leslie’s pistol still was a marvel of modern technology. The separate propellant pack, allowed for adjustment of the velocity of the round.  It could fire single, or 3 or 5 shot bursts and had a full automatic mode.  Recoil was fully suppressed and small adjustable jets near the end of the barrel eliminated the tendency for “muzzle rise” during full automatic operation.

     Webber’s fast draw was of no advantage in this situation though.  All he could hope to do is to delay the inevitable.  POW! POW! He continued to fire.  Dropping two more of the invaders.  So long as he did not succumb to the temptation to switch to full auto mode, he could hold off the onslaught for some time.

     Inspired by their leader, other members of the bridge crew began to take positions behind chairs and instrument consoles, and began shooting.

    Several more of the invaders fell, but there were still more behind them. One by one, the defenders were picked off.

     Webber, about to be overwhelmed by the onslaught, continued to fire. POW! POW! He shot two more invaders at almost point blank range.

   Suddenly, ZING! A stray bullet drew sparks as it struck Webber's gun. He tried to pull the trigger but the weapon was hopelessly jammed.

     A bearded man, seeing his opportunity, grabbed Webber around the neck. Webber pulled out his 14 inch Ranger’s combat knife from his leg sheath and THUNK! drove it into his attacker's side.

     Webber’s Space Command Ranger’s knife was his last line of defense. He was adept in its use as he was with his gun.

    Webber swung the knife in a wide arc and slashed the throat of another man, but there were just too many of them. Several attackers grabbed the Captain from behind, and wrestled him to the deck. With the butt of a pistol, one struck the back of Webber’s head rendering him unconscious.

 

Chapter 2

      Leslie had no idea where he was.  He stood in a large dimly lit room with shiny metal walls and high ceiling.  A large window on the opposite wall revealed a striking view of the starry sky.  What had become of his crew, he did not know.  Webber stood silently in his restraints, and otherwise naked, as his two leather clad guards turned him to face the dark, silhouetted image on the view screen. 

    “Welcome, Captain Webber!” said an electronically distorted voice.

     “Konstantin!” Webber growled as he realized whom he was speaking to. The faceless image was that of “Konstantin” the mysterious and anonymous leader of the “Syndicate”.

     “You have been a vexation to our operations in the Irindi district for quite some time.” Konstantin Continued. “ Unfortunately for you, your life, as you have known it, is over.”

     “My crew! What have you done with my crew?” Leslie shouted in desperation.

     “Most have been put to work at tasks more useful to our organization. A few, like you, have been selected for “special treatment”.

    “You Bastard!  If I ever --”

     “Silence!  By all rights I should have had you killed.  But then you would become a martyr, a ‘big hero’.  No, I want you to serve me as an example, a warning to others who would dare interfere with Syndicate business.”

    “You are to be my ‘Guinea Pig’ so to speak,” Konstantin continued. “A subject is needed to test a new item of alien technology that I have recently acquired from the wreckage of a Reptoid ship.  Some of my scientists tell me that it will not work with humans, while others have a different opinion.”

    “If it fails, then you indeed will be dead. If it works, wellll. . . in either case you will never Captain a Starship again.  Take him away!”

     The two burly guards dragged Webber from the room and into a side chamber, where sat what looked like a cylindrical glass tank, just large enough to hold a human.  It was attached to a silvery looking box, covered with myriads of blinking multicolored lights.  The cylinder itself was filled with a greenish, glowing liquid.

     “Drop Him in!” a voice on the com-system commanded.

     Webber, in his restraints, was helpless to resist the guards as they hoisted him up and dropped him into the tank head-first.  It was like drowning in syrup. Leslie felt a -surge of panic as the thick fluid filled his lungs and then nothing as he lost consciousness.

     “Leslie Webber!, your name was chosen well.”     Leslie was awoken by the electronically distorted voice of Konstantin. The room was dark, save for the dim light of the com screen.  The shadowy figure upon it, once again, was that of the “faceless” head of the Syndicate.

     Leslie’s head pounded like a hammer.  His body felt as it had been “asleep” as the pain of thousands of “needles” coursed through his limbs.  He couldn’t discern much about what, if anything had been done to him. From what he had been able to ascertain, from the sensations in his arms and legs, he was apparently strapped to some kind of ‘X” shaped, padded cross or table that was in an upright position and facing the screen.

     As the pain and numbness in his body began to dissipate, Leslie began to notice the tickling of what felt like a fibrous substance hanging along the sides of his head and rubbing on his shoulders.  There was also an unfamiliar, peculiar weight pulling at the skin on his chest and a strange "tightness" in his crotch. 

     He had little time to ponder upon the meanings of these strange sensations.  The lights in the room suddenly came on, momentarily blinding him, when he could see again, what had happened became readily apparent.

      Long, wavy, reddish blonde hair hung, in a disorganized mass from his head and fell into his face and across his shoulders.

     His upper body, now much smaller, now sported a set of fair sized woman’s breasts.  He couldn’t move his head down far enough to properly examine his crotch area, but he didn’t have to see to know. Leslie had the body of a woman!

     “Yes Leslie”, said the voice on the com screen. ”You have been turned, both physically and genetically into a female.  And quite an attractive specimen at that.”

     “No. . . This can’t. . . “ Leslie began to speak, but she was again shocked by the higher pitched sound of her voice.  “What is this?!”  She shouted after momentarily regaining her composure.  “What did you do to me you bastard?!”

     “You are quite a lucky woman Miss Webber.  From what we can tell, there is a three out of four chance that the genetic converter will kill rather than reconstruct a human subject.  You have beaten the odds.”

     “Now what?!” Leslie spat back, sensing that her ordeal was not yet over.

     “We will release you.  But not before I allow a selected few of my officers to extract a bit of pleasure from your personal misfortune.  For all the problems you have caused, you owe them at least that much.”

     Konstantin’s statement needed no further clarification. Several leering men in various stages of undress, lead by a large man with a black goatee, Leslie recognized as “Captain Thorn”, entered the room.  She recognized also Captains Akita and Zared several other Syndicate officers, she had “dealings with” over the years, and a couple of others she had never seen before.

   

   “NOOO!” Leslie screamed as she struggled to no effect, against the straps holding her on to the table. 

     CHAPTER 3

    At the “ranch” on Barnes Star Four, Adrienne Webber had received the news that her husband, Leslie, had either been killed or captured in an encounter with Syndicate and Raider ships three days previously.  She was still struggling with how to break the news to their Ten-year-old son, Justin.

She walked in the cool evening air gazing up into the starry sky.  Her fingers gently fondled the locket, a gift from her husband, that dangled from her neck.   She knew that Leslie had probably been killed. But she could still hope.

     The stillness of the evening air was disturbed by the unmistakable sound of an ATV, one of the large six wheeled all terrain vehicles that served as the basic mode of transportation on this backwater colony planet with its poorly developed road system.

     As the machine drew closer, Adrienne recognized it as belonging to Doctor Merrit, The local physician who served the outlying areas south of Sandersville.

     Dr. Merrit stopped his vehicle and climbed out.

              

     “Doctor Merrit!” exclaimed Adrienne excitedly.

         

     “Hello, Adrienne.  Admiral Simmons suggested

that I stop by and look in on you.  How are

you holding up?”

         

     “It's been two days since I received the news

of Leslie's disappearance.” Adrienne replied “I'm trying to be brave for Justin's sake.”

         

     “Have you told him yet?”

         

     “No.  He's only ten years old. I. . . I Just don't know what to tell him.  I don't know if Leslie is alive or dead...”

         

     “We must be prepared for the worst I am afraid.” Said the doctor sympathetically “He was involved in a battle with Syndicate raiders when he was last heard from.  And we all know that the Syndicate does not have a reputation for mercy.

         

     Adrienne hung her head. “I know, Doctor, I know.  You will tell me if you hear any more news?

         

     “Yes.  Take care, Adrienne. Please call me if you need me.

Dr. Merrit climbed into his ATV and drove away.  Adrienne

slowly walked across her front yard, looking into the stars

listlessly.

    

      Yes, she knew that the Syndicate did not have a reputation for mercy.  She knew that if Leslie hadn’t been executed outright, he likely might have been sent to work in the mines or some other place, without hope of rescue where his remaining life expectancy would be very short indeed.

     As she pondered what to tell Justin, she heard the engines of a ship’s shuttle approach their landing pad.

    She felt a mixture of both relief and trepidation.  “Perhaps Leslie has come home?” she thought, but it also could have been a Government official who was bearing bad news.

     She ran outside, to see in the distance, a small black shuttlecraft land on the pad.  A man emerged, threw a bundle of something out onto the tarmac and climbed back inside the vessel.  The craft quickly took off and vanished into the night sky.

    Adrienne ran out to see what the man had left on the landing pad.  She suddenly stopped and gasped in horror.

 

   The “bundle” was a naked woman, covered with bruises, was lying face down in a puddle of blood!

     The woman moaned in pain, She was still alive!  Adrienne pulled out her com-phone.  Dr. Merrit answered.

    “Doctor!,” Adrienne shouted “Someone is injured. Send an ambulance ship out to the Webber ranch immediately!”

    Carefully she turned the woman on her back.  The blood appeared to be stemming from the groin area.  It was obvious now that she was dealing with the victim of a brutal rape.

     Adrienne tore some fabric from the hem of her skirt and stuffed it into the bleeding orifice to stanch the flow of blood. 

     “Oh God!  Oh God!  Stay with me honey” said Adrienne as she frantically applied emergency aid to the woman.

     It seemed to work.  The lady opened her eyes and moaned the word “Adrienne!” before losing consciousness once more.

     “How did she know my name?” Adrienne pondered, before being interrupted by the engine noise of an ATV.

    “The ambulance ship would be delayed.” Dr. Merrit told Adrienne as he once again climbed out of his vehicle.

      She helped the Doctor carry the woman to the ATV and they took her to the house.  They laid her on a bed in the spare bedroom and covered her with a sheet.

      Dr. Merrit took some readings and began his examination. After thoroughly examining the woman, as far as the equipment that he had with him would allow, He confirmed Adrienne’s suspicions.

     “The woman has definitely been raped. And by multiple assailants, as far as I can tell.”  The doctor stated, mater-of-factly.  “Fortunately, there are no broken bones or internal injuries.  She does have several severe contusions and some vaginal tearing.  She has lost a lot of blood.  Your fast action probably saved her life.”

    “Thank God!” A relieved Adrienne replied.  Do you know who she is?

    The doctor checked the screen of his medical computer.  “That’s odd!” he said.  “Her DNA matches one Kora Horst.  A prostitute who last lived on Efra Two.”

     “What’s she doing here?” Asked Adrienne. “Leslie was. . . is a good man. I know for a fact that he would never have anything to do with a prostitute.”

     “I have no idea, but there is another problem. According to the Confederation DNA Data Bank, Kora Horst died over three years ago.”

     “Apparently she didn’t.”

     “Don’t be too sure,” said the doctor as he looked at the screen again. “According to the records, her body was identified and doubly DNA verified by the local coroner and the T.C.P.S.  This lady could only possibly be a twin or clone, although no records exist of either.”

     The woman began to stir and moan again.  Her eyes fluttered open and fixed themselves on Adrienne.

    “ Adrienne!  Is it you?  Is it really you!”

     Adrienne, looked at the doctor and then back at the woman.  “Yes my name is Adrienne.” She replied, “Adrienne Webber.” 

     The woman looked up and smiled painfully.  “Adrienne, It’s Leslie!”

     “Leslie! What about Leslie?” asked Adrienne excitedly.

     “No!. . . I. . .”  The woman tried to speak, but the words would not come.  Once again she lapsed into unconsciousness.

    About that time the ambulance ship had landed.  Two paramedics ran in with their gurney and rolled the woman out.  They were taking her to the hospital at Sandersville.  Adrienne was sure to give her name and address as a “contact person”.  She would be keeping close tabs on this case, which still made little sense to her.  She was sure, however, that Leslie was connected with it somehow.

Chapter 4

     Leslie woke up in her hospital room several hours later.  She could sense the tubes stuck into nearly every orifice of her body, but her main concern now was the pain.  She could hardly move a muscle or even try to open her eyes without encountering excruciating physical distress.

     Leslie hoped that what she had been through since the battle aboard the PROTEUS was just a long terrible dream.  In her twilight state of consciousness, she found that she could almost make herself believe it. 

     Leslie heard the reassuring voice of a nurse telling her that she would be all right. And suddenly felt the rush of some drug take effect and propagate its comforting effects throughout her body.  Soon she drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

     It was daylight when Leslie awoke again.  The pain had eased considerably and felt more like a full body “ache” than anything else.  Most of the tubes, save for a catheter, running between her legs, had also been removed.

 

     She pushed up on her elbows, trying to sit up.  The feel of an unfamiliar weight shifting on her chest and the wisp of reddish hair hanging in her face, suddenly drove home to her the fact that the last experiences she remembered were certainly not dreams.

     She lifted up the sheets and once again beheld her new body.  It was covered with several purple bruises, but otherwise looked intact.  Painfully, she swung her legs over the sides of her bed and struggled to get up. 

     Her legs didn’t feel right.  Not only were Leslie’s knees weak from her traumatic ordeal, but they felt oddly “bent” and “twisted” somewhat.  Looking down she could see her now thin limbs. They looked a mile long.  Yes, her lower legs looked noticeably bent at the knees –sideways and out, she was slightly bowlegged.  Her legs seemed to hinge differently at the hips too, exactly how she couldn’t tell.  They just didn’t “feel right”.

     Leslie’s center of balance now seemed lower, something no one notices until there is a change.  That and the odd angles that her legs wanted to assume, made it quite difficult for Leslie to steady herself on her feet.  She had to hold onto a chair to keep from falling as she slowly made her way to within range of the mirror that was attached to what looked like a closet door.

     “Oh my God!” Leslie involuntarily exclaimed as she got her first real look at Konstantin’s handiwork.  Leslie stood before the mirror in all her nude glory.  The being that looked back at her seemed incredible.  She appeared to stand just under six feet tall, looked about thirty years of age and in top physical condition.  Lean and thin, but still curvaceous and, despite her size, she did not suggest the appearance of an “amazon” or a bodybuilder.  Her finely toned muscles sort of reminded Leslie of an athletic model or a dancer.

     Leslie figured her breasts for a “C” cup size, quite big enough, but not excessively so, keeping with the general overall “streamlined” look of her body.  Her hair was quite wavy and thick, sort of reddish blonde in color and fell to just above the middle of her back.  Save for a few wisps that hung across her face though, the rest seemed to be held back behind her head by some sort of clip or something.

     Her eyes, large and an odd striking blue color, seemed to dominate her face, which save for the purple bruise on her left cheek, was flawless. She was one “very hot chick”, but Leslie also noticed that she bore no resemblance to any of the females on either side of her family.  Her DNA had been changed after all.  The woman in the mirror was not a feminized version of Leslie Webber himself, but a completely biologically unrelated individual.

    Leslie initially just stared in awe, not at the fact that she was looking at herself, but at the “magnificence” of the being that looked back at her.  The last time she ever saw a woman like that . . . Hell, she had never seen a woman like that, not “live” anyway, perhaps on video.  Of course, Konstantin, given his wealth and position could have access to such creatures, and their DNA.

    Soon, however, Leslie noticed that she was starting to breathe heavily, beginning to hyperventilate.  She was not being turned on; she was much too frightened for that.  Slowly but surely, however her mind was now beginning to actually realize what had happened to her.  That woman was her!  Leslie put her hands to her face and turned away from the mirror.

     “NOOOOO!” she screamed!  “God Damnit!, NOOOO!”  The strange sound of her higher pitched voice seemed to evoke a “vicious circle” effect upsetting Leslie even more.

     Her screams attracted the attention of two nurses who rushed into her room and helped Leslie back to her bed.

     “There, there, dear” one of the nurses said in a soothing voice. “There is no permanent damage.  No cuts or broken bones, the bruises will fade and you will be as pretty as ever.”

     She had misinterpreted Leslie’s concern.  Leslie started to correct her, but thought better of it.  Leslie smiled at the nurse and nodded, then pulled her bed sheet up tightly around her neck.

     Try as she may, she could not get the image of her face out of her mind.  Her memory of those blue eyes seemed to “bore into her”.  She was not Leslie Webber anymore, or very soon would not be.  Leslie had seen a vision of her future and could only speculate about what she might become.  Would she like the person? Would she be someone to be proud or ashamed of?

     “No!” Leslie swore to herself, “I’ll not let her have me.”  “I sill am Leslie Webber, inside at least, I will not surrender!”

CHAPTER 5

     Three days later, Adrienne received a com-Call from the Sandersville hospital.  The Nurse informed her that Dr. Merrit wanted her to meet him there at ten o’clock the next morning.  She could tell Adrienne no more details.

     She got an early start and drove the “Webber Enterprises” ATV the forty miles or so, cross country, to Sandersville.  The trip took nearly two hours.

     Sandersville, population about 50,000 was the closest thing to a city on this hemisphere of the planet.  It served as the support hub for the numerous small ranches, farms and mining operations spread out around the region that supplied food and materials to nearby outlying Terran Confederation colonies on other less fertile planets. 

     Save for the spaceport, conditions in Sandersville were much like in small Earth based cities a century or more before. Most traffic was surface based, consisting of ATV’s for the most part and a few automobiles and trucks.  The structures were less than impressive, at least by early 23rd Century standards.  The most imposing building in town, built in the latest “Neo-Gothic Revival” style, was the ten story high “Sanders building” where Claton F. (Clay) Sanders had his offices.

     Clay Sanders was Governor of the Barnes Star Four Colony.  He had been re-elected twice, already, although no one knew why.  He was not all that popular.  He had made his fortune in mining interests and even managed to have the town named after him.  Perhaps the “open secret” that Sanders, like a lot of the politicians in this region of space, also had close ties to “The Syndicate” was also a factor.  For some reason Sanders usually ran unopposed. 

     When Adrienne finally got to the hospital, Dr. Merrit greeted her at the door.  He began to brief her on the case so far. “She is now is fully conscious and is recovering rapidly, but she refuses to tell us her name.  She insisted on speaking to you.  That’s why you are here.”

   “We still have the woman signed in as a “Jane Doe”.  Although the DNA is the same, the fingerprints did not match.  All we know is that she is not Kora Horst. Fingerprints are not DNA controlled. So she must be n unregistered twin or a clone.

    Leslie was sitting upright, in bed, when Adrienne was admitted into her room.  The bruises were now beginning to fade and her long reddish blonde hair was now combed and pinned back away from her face, which looked quite attractive even without makeup.

     Her eyes lit up as she saw Adrienne enter the room.

“Adrienne!”, she said, but then noticed the confused look on her wife’s face. “You don’t know me, do you?”

     Adrienne shook her head, but carefully walked closer, perhaps too close.  “But you know something about my husband.  I am sure of it!” she replied.

     Leslie was silent for a few seconds, then began to speak again.

     “You’re right Adrienne, I do.--- I am Leslie.  I am your husband, Adrienne.”

      Adrienne’s first mouth dropped open in surprise, but a skeptical look began to form on her countenance. 

    

     “The Syndicate did this to me.” Leslie continued. “---Some kind of alien genetic reprogramming.  They wanted me to serve as a warning to other fleet captains who take their role of guardians of the shipping lanes too seriously.”

     Adrienne listened incredulously. 

     “Hey a brainwave scan would prove it”, Leslie said, noting the look on Adrienne’s face, “But why wait? Ask me anything!  Anything only Leslie and you would know about!”  

     Adrienne had to think for a moment. “Alright, I’ll play,” she said.  “Where did you take me on our first, no, Second date?”

     Now it was the Leslie’s turn to think.  She began to speak, but stopped and thought again some more.  “We rode our horses to the Gifford hills, and had a picnic by candlelight.  I picked you a moonflower.”

     Adrienne was taken aback. “That’s pretty good.” She said.  Quickly she followed up with another question.

 

    “What did Leslie give me when I was in the maternity ward giving birth to our son, Jeremy?”

      “That’s Justin! And it was a pink, stuffed bunny rabbit.  I got it at the hospital gift store and you complained that I paid too much for it.”

     Adrienne was stunned! She put her hand to her mouth and reached out with the other to lightly touch the woman’s face.  “Oh my God! Leslie! That’s really you!”

     “I have a hard time believing it myself, Adrienne.”

     “But what are you going to do, Leslie?  What are WE going to do?”

    

     “After I recover from the little “party” that Konstantin’s boys threw for me the other night,” said Leslie as she adjusted her pillow, “ I am going to examine the medical options.  There has to be some way to reverse this.”

    

      “Meanwhile, Adrienne, work on getting my identity back.  They will need a sworn affidavit from you and other people you can find who know me, attesting to my being Leslie Webber.”  “Bring them in here, I will answer any of their questions.”

     “Funny how things work out,” Leslie chuckled as she lay back in the bed. ”I will still be able to use my own name.”

CHAPTER 6

      A week later Leslie was finally released from the Hospital.  Physically, despite her traumatic experience, She was “none the worse for her wear” and was given a clean bill of health.  Staff members were good enough to take her to the spaceport where she was able to retrieve her personal shuttle, she had left there nearly three weeks before.

     Leslie wondered what her home life would be like when she returned to “The Ranch”. Adrienne was obviously “uncomfortable” about ‘his’ new appearance. What vexed Leslie the most, however, was the question “How is Justin going to react to seeing his father this way?” 

     Leslie had discussed this situation with Adrienne during one of her visits.  At first they thought that it might be best to tell Justin that Leslie was an “Aunt”, but the first time she was called “Leslie” erroneously by either Adrienne or a friend would blow the whole ruse.  The Kid was bright, he would have figured that something “funny” was going on.  Finally, they decided that it would be best to tell Justin the truth to begin with. 

     Leslie noted the small figure on the tarmac as she approached the landing pad.  It was Justin!  He had heard his father’s shuttle returning home and had run out to meet it.

     “Damn kid!”, Leslie thought to herself. “How many times have I told him to stand outside the red line when the shuttle was landing?  I’m gonna. . .”

    Leslie caught herself.  What was she “gonna do?”

    She carefully maneuvered the shuttle into it’s landing bay, opened the belly hatch and deployed the ladder.

     “Dad! Dad!”, she heard the boy shout as she began to descend the ladder.  Justin stopped shouting and just stared as he realized that he person emerging from his father’s ship was a stranger.  The gray, unisex jumpsuit, despite its bagginess, did little to hide the obvious feminine form beneath it.

     “You’re not my father.” the kid commented, with a puzzled look on his face.  “Where is Dad?”

     Leslie was at a loss for words.  Apparently, Adrienne had not told Justin anything  — Yet.

     “Uh . . . I need to speak with your mother”, she said.

     “Lady, is daddy all right?  Sid, at school, told me that my father was dead.”

     “He’s fine, kid, just a little . . . Uh . . . Injury is all.”

     Adrienne met them at the door.  “You haven’t told Justin?” Leslie snapped angrily. “I thought that we had agreed --”

     “I thought that it would be best if we both told him together.” Adrienne replied.

     Justin’s reaction to the story was unexpected.  He began to cry.  Intellectually, he understood the truth, but emotionally, he knew that he had “Lost his father.” In one sense at least.

    

     Even Leslie brushed away a tear. Adrienne gathered the small family together in a mutual embrace as they comforted each other.

*************

     Leslie put her few personal items into the spare bedroom.  She knew that she would no longer be sharing her bed with Adrienne. Leslie didn’t have to ask, she knew.  The sad, but relieved look on Adrienne’s face told Leslie that she had made the correct decision.  Leslie could not expect Adrienne to sleep with a woman any more than she would sleep with a man.

     Leslie next walked into her exercise room.  In the corner sat the computer controlled hydraulic resistance machine that she had always worked out on.  Hesitatingly, she sat on its bench.  Now was as good a time as any to see what “damage” had been done. She pushed upwards on the handgrips, but to no avail.  She had expected that.

     “Computer! Reset for user—optimum resistance.” Lesley spoke to the machine.

     Leslie exerted herself for all she was worth. Finally some movement!  The com-screen told the story. Her physical strength was about half of what it had been.  Still, she was no weakling. Apparently, the DNA conversion process resulted in good muscle development, but she would have to continue to work out to maintain it.

    She was just as strong or stronger than the average male who didn’t work out, but that wasn’t enough.  No soldier ever can have too much strength.  Before, in a hand to hand combat situation, Leslie could handle all but the biggest, muscle bound Simians, but now, most of the “tough guys” she usually had to deal with could easily overpower her. 

     Suddenly Leslie felt really vulnerable for the first time.  She would have a hard time defending herself and her looks would actually attract her male foes like blowflies to shit.  Her gun would be her primary means of protection now.  Could she still handle it?

    Leslie ran back to the master bedroom and checked her dresser drawer.  The 100/10 automatic pistol she had kept at home was still there.  Leslie picked it up and took it back to the exercise room. 

     The strap that held the sliding clip that held the gun to her right thigh needed some re-adjustment.  She then slid the weapon, by means of the groove in its side, into the slide.  The weight of the gun seemed re-assuring.

     She walked over to the corner of the room where the shooting range was set up.  POW! She drew and fired the gun at the target.  Not bad, the shot was an inch or so to the right of the bull’s eye center though. Fortunately, the weapon was equipped with state of the art full recoil suppression.   Leslie flipped the selector switch to full automatic.

     BRAAAP!  She shot a short burst of automatic fire.  The muzzle rise was a little harder to control than she remembered.  She clicked the anti-muzzle rise jet adjustment up one more notch.  BRAAAAP! She fired once again—Perfect!

     Now was the moment of truth.

     “Computer!,” Leslie addressed the voice activated com-system that monitored the facility. “Time from physical contact of weapon to impact on target.”  

     Leslie slightly adjusted the position of her pistol that once again hung on her leg. “ready!”

     POW! Leslie drew her weapon and fired.  The projectile again struck about a half inch to the right of center of the bull’s eye, about 50 feet away.

     “Point zero four one seconds” the computer replied.

     “Damn!” Leslie exclaimed with some surprise.

      Adrienne, hearing the shots, ran into the room to investigate.  “Is everything alright?” she asked, seeing the surprised look on Leslie’s face.

     Leslie didn’t answer. “Ready!” Leslie shouted again and POW! Drew her gun and hit the target again, nearly exactly in the same place.

     “Point zero four seconds.” the computer responded.

     “Son of a bitch!” Leslie still seemed incredulous. “My best time before this all happened was zero four three seconds.  I’m faster now than I was as a man.”

     Adrienne thought about it for a moment. “My guess would be that the reduced mass of your arm permits you to move a bit quicker.”

     “Well, looks like I gained something after all.  So long as I have my gun, I can fight as well as I ever did, even slightly better.”  Leslie turned her attention to the target.

      “Hmmm. I must be getting rusty.  My aim’s off slightly to the right.”

     “Hold out your arm Leslie.” Said Adrienne, “Turn your wrist a bit”.

     Leslie, to humor her “wife”, did as asked, then she saw it.

     “See, Leslie, “Adrienne continued. “Your elbow bends outwards to the side a little bit.”

     “Son of a gun, I never noticed that.”

     “Its perfectly normal, Leslie, for a woman.  It’s a natural adaptation, so that the arms will clear the wider hips when they hang at your side.  That bend is why some women have a hard time throwing objects overhand.  You are going to have to compensate for the slight change of position of your hand when you shoot.”

     “Well, then with a bit of practice it should not take long for me to true up my aim, now that I see what’s affecting it.” Leslie replied.

     “There is a LOT of adapting you will have to do Leslie” Adrienne countered. “I see the nurses didn’t teach you very much about your body during your recovery.”

     “What do you mean?”

    

      “The way you walk, move and sit.—even the way you talk has to be changed.”

     “Hold on Adrienne, I might be in a different package, but I am still me, in my head anyway.  I am not going to become a ‘girly girl’.—Even for you.”

     “But you still want to be a Space Command officer, don’t you?” Adrienne replied.

     “I still am a Space Command officer.  Admiral Simmons said that I would be reinstated at my same rank in a few months, as soon as I have some time to recover.  Here are woman officers too, you know.”

     “Yes but those women are expected to meet certain standards of appearance, posture and grooming, just as man is.  You will need to learn these things before you can wear a Space Command uniform again.  I will help you, but you must co-operate.”

    Leslie thought about what Adrienne said.  “Okay, I can be realistic about it, I will admit that I need some help.  I don’t want to attract any more of the wrong kind of attention than I do now.  I’ll be the first to admit I come off looking like some kind of a freak.  I need to be able to blend in, but I refuse to take it any farther than that.”

     The satisfied look of victory reflected in Adrienne’s face. “Well, I suppose that we can start with a bit of grooming.  Fixing your hair, a bit of makeup, some new clothes –-“

     “Hey, I’ll do the other things, even clothes, but no dresses or skirts.” Leslie replied.

     Adrienne wanted to argue that point, but noting the determined tone of Leslie’s voice, relented. “Okay, Leslie no skirts. We can live with that, so long as you do everything else.”

     Adrienne looked around the room, something wasn’t right.  She saw it.  The full-length mirror near her own exercise station had been turned to the wall.  She shot a reproving glance at Leslie and began to turn it back.

     “Please, Adrienne,” Leslie responded, “Mirrors disturb me. . . I can’t . . . I see enough without having to look into a mirror.”

     Adrienne hesitated, “When was the last time you--?”

    “Five days ago, in the Hospital.  It was worse than the first time.”

     “You are not taking this very well, are you?” replied Adrienne. “What about the doctors?  Are they going to do the surgery?”

     Leslie sighed. ”They won’t touch me for at least a year.  Standard procedure with a genetic female. Being that it is a drastic, irreversible operation, and my body is perfectly healthy as it is, they want to make damn sure I don’t regret it a few months down the road.  They want to give my psychology time to “stabilize” before they do anything.  If I still want to undergo the procedure a year from now they will consider it.”

     “Shit, even then I’ll be a wimpy eunuch with female bone structure and DNA.  Surgery can’t change that.”

     “Surely”, replied Adrienne, “With all the advances in DNA and biological engineering over the last two centuries, they should be able to change your DNA back.”

     “DNA conversion and engineering for a multicelluar organism only works at conception.  It cannot be done in the case of a mature organism —- at least not according to our own Terran Science.” Said Leslie.

     “So are you going to have the surgery?”

     “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, Adrienne.  Perhaps by then I can find Konstantin’s machine.”  

 

     The days that followed were a challenge for both Leslie and Adrienne. With Adrienne’s instructions, Leslie found that she could easily slip into the mode of walking and posture that her body was designed for.  Her biggest problem was learning how to keep her knees together when she sat down.  Her legs still wanted to splay outwards in the masculine mode. It was one of the few things that Leslie had to make a conscious effort to control.

    The voice was not much of a problem. Leslie was a military officer and women officers were expected to be able to use their “command voice” as well as the men.  Leslie’s word choice and intonation might sound a bit odd in a civilian situation though, but she didn’t care. The entire point of her “adaptation lessons” was to be able to rejoin the ranks of her fellow officers once again.

     Leslie kept her hair in the same ponytail she had when she first returned home.  It kept her “bothersome” locks out of her face and it was easy to maintain, but Adrienne insisted that she keep it well brushed. Despite her urge to cut it off, or at least adopt a shorter style, Adrienne got Leslie to reluctantly promise not to cut her hair any shorter than the just below shoulder length it already was.

    Leslie’s only concession to mirrors was the small compact mirror Adrienne had her use for her makeup lessons. Only a bit of light pink lipstick and a little work around the eyes was needed. Leslie, surprisingly, co-operated. She didn’t want to look ‘odd’ in public or in the presence of other women where the use of makeup was expected.  In the small mirror, Leslie could see just enough to do what she needed to do and not see the full effect of her face.

     Three weeks later, Leslie “discovered” an entirely new and even less pleasant aspect of the feminine condition.  Fortunately, Adrienne was available to help her manage the situation.  This confirmation of her “femininity” seemed to depress Leslie even more.   It seemed like Mother Nature was only “rubbing it in”.  Determined to never let her forget, even for a moment what she had become.

     Things were not going well with Justin either.  The boy seemed quite “standoffish” he would seldom talk to Leslie, but would often just stare at her. 

      There was a positive aspect to the situation. The Doctor’s report said that Leslie’s body was, chrono-biologically, twenty six to thirty years of age, and as Leslie’s male body had been thirty eight years old, she had gained at least ten years on her life span. And this not counting the extra few years women tend to live longer than men.

   Leslie also thought about Kora Horst, the DNA “donor”. She must have been one of the Syndicate’s special “call girls”, Leslie figured. That her DNA was preserved might have some significance. Perhaps Kora had belonged to Konstantin himself.  She probably had “disappointed” him in some way, which may have been why she had been “bumped off”.

     Leslie’s, “female lessons”, in the meantime proceeded.

Adrienne had finally gotten her out of the baggy jumpsuits and overalls and into more feminine clothing, such as closer fitting tailored jumpsuits that revealed more of the shapely form beneath.

       Leslie now slept “in the nude” not out of habit, but because she could not bear to “lower herself” to wear a female nightgown.  She also kept her bedroom door locked.  Indeed, she seemed to lock all doors behind her.  She still “had issues” to deal with. It disturbed Adrienne and she could do nothing about them, but she was thankful that things could have been a lot worse. 

     The Space Command had put Leslie on an “Indefinite medical leave”. This gave Leslie the time to learn the proper military bearing and rules and regulations concerning WOMEN in the Space Command.  Save for grooming standards and fraternization rules, however, they were mostly the same as for the men.

       There WAS ONE rule, however, that concerned her. That a woman was not allowed to command a fleet starship.--- It wasn’t based on conservative archaism, but upon the then accepted socio-scientific “fact” that a starship crew allegedly responded much better to a MAN who is in charge.

     

    Leslie was not overly worried, though.   She was sure that she could “get around that little rule” based upon her special circumstances. Inside, mentally, she WAS still a man.  She had command experience. For her age, 38, she was the most decorated of all fleet Captains, having earned the “double star award” for heroism three times.  She would probably be awarded another for this last mission, even though she had lost both the PROTEUS and its crew in the battle.

CHAPTER 7

   

     Over two months had passed.  Leslie was now ready to once again become part of the Space Command.  Another thing was also apparent.  She could no longer live with Adrienne and Justin. Not only were “appearances” and the “social situation” awkward enough, Adrienne, for all her love and help, could not adjust to having a woman as a “husband.”

     Despite her help and support she seemed “cool” towards Leslie and seemed to be afraid to express even the normal affection often seen between female friends.

       Justin was having problems in school.  He never did accept Leslie as a father.  Indeed, if anything, he seemed to be frightened of her.

     Leslie and Adrienne agreed to file the legal papers that would terminate their union.  “You need a man and Justin needs a father.” Leslie told her.

     Leslie left for headquarters three months from the day she returned home.  She now looked every inch the Space Command officer she was, as she said her good byes to her wife and son before climbing into her shuttle. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, militarily correct bun.  She wore the proper, dark blue Terran Confederation Space Command uniform, the woman’s cut, of course, along with her medals and campaign ribbons.  From every pore she seemed to exude an air of confidence, competence and authority.

     She got more than a few gasps, double tasks and behind her back murmurs when she entered The Space Command Headquarters’ offices.  If it bothered her, Leslie didn’t let anyone know it.  She reported straight to Admiral Simmon’s office as directed.

    

     Admiral Simmons complemented Leslie on her “professional appearance”.   The Admiral’s news, however, was not good.

     “What do you mean, I can’t have my command back!” Shouted Leslie, as she slammed her fist on the Admiral’s table

    Admiral Simmons looked up at her, ignoring her angry outburst.  “Now Leslie, you know as well as I do that regulations do not permit women the supreme command of a ship.”

    “But I am a qualified and experienced fleet Captain!  I have the same MIND that I always had!.  You yourself self once said that I was your best man!”

     The Admiral looked down at his desk. “I know it and YOU know it Leslie, but your DNA says otherwise.”

     “Wasn’t this sort of problem settled TWO HUNDRED years ago!  As long as the Woman can do the Job. . .”

      “I don’t make the rules, Leslie.  That is the job of the regulatory board.  And there are just as many women as men on it.--- They have refused to make any exceptions, even in your case.”

 

     “We no longer live in an idealistic world, Leslie. Fashions in thought and ideas change just as much as fashions in clothing.  Sure, women and men are considered as equals in society, but Women and Men are also different.—Not inferior or superior, but different.  These differences were taken into account when the command structure was organized. As things presently stand, women can hold any position in space command EXCEPT ship's Captain.”

    “ I CAN offer you first officers position on the Lexington, however.  As you know, this is practically a Co- Captain position.  Regulations require that a ship be commanded by a man/ woman team.”

     “Yes, Admiral, but it is not the same.  The Male member of the team always has the final word on all command decisions.”

      “That is true, but first officer is the best position I can offer you.” 

     Leslie straightened up and boldly spoke. ”If that is the case, I hereby resign my commission, effectively immediately!”

     The Admiral looked up at her. “I will not accept your resignation, Webber.  Not now anyway.  You need some time to think about it.  If you feel the same way a month from now, I will reconsider.  Meanwhile, you will be put on personal leave.”

     “Understood sir”, Said Leslie as she snapped a salute.  “May I be dismissed sir?”

      “Yes,---Oh Leslie, I have just received a communiqué from fleet HQ.  It seems that your own first officer, Commander Cordell has been located.  She is in the Fleet hospital at Nema two.”

     “My God! that’s a Mental Facility!  What did they do to her?!  Is she all right?

       “I don’t know any details, Webber, I was just informed to pass the message on to you.”

     Leslie proceeded to the spaceport immediately.  The only ship traveling in the direction of Nema Two was the IRINDI & ANTARIES TRANSPORT FERRY 42.  It would have to do.

     As a Space Command officer, she would at least have a decent cabin and not have to share accommodations with cargo and livestock, like most of the other passengers.  It would take three jumps and as many days for the under powered and bulky craft to reach Nema Two.  But at least she could get there.

     Melissa’s doctors would not tell Leslie anything over the com phone connection.  It was a matter of “doctor-patient confidentiality” and no, It didn’t matter if Leslie WAS Commander Connor’s C.O. or not.  They would only speak to her in person.  Leslie’s mind would be stewing in concern, uncertainty and turmoil for the next three days.

     After the ship got underway, Leslie heard a knock on her cabin door.  It was Harcourt Anderson, the Captain of the Transport Ferry.  The old man looked a bit surprised and then apologetic. 

     “Oh I’m sorry”, he said. “You are not the Captain Leslie Webber that I expected”

     “A lot of people have been telling me that lately.” Leslie replied.  “Oh! You’re Captain Anderson, now I recognize you.”

      The man was still confused. “ I was looking for The Leslie Webber that rescued my ship from the raiders near Epsilon Irindi two years ago.”

       “That’s me, but as you can see, I am not quite the man I once was.”

     Leslie told the Captain the whole gruesome story. 

     “It’s a shame, a real shame”, the old man replied.  “So you are considering resigning your commission?  What are you going to do for a ship?  No captain I have ever heard of would ever be content in life and not be on the bridge of his own ship.” 

     “I thought that I would try my luck in the private sector.  Perhaps a passenger liner.”

     “Hardly! No offense, but due to the situation with raiders, the liners and even most of the transport companies have adopted the military model for their officer placements.  I am afraid that you, as a  . . . Woman, would get no better deal than you were offered in the Command.  My own I & A, Transport Company would hire you though.  I could see to it.  I owe you a favor”

     “No offense to you either, Captain, and I really do appreciate the offer, but being captain of a slow transport ferry would be quite a letdown from having once commanded a real starship.”

     The Captain thought for a moment.  “There is one other option. A & I owns a dismantling yard on the moon of Hobart’s Planet at Aphra.  From time to time, various companies, and even the government send their old or damaged ships there to be broken down for parts.  It is quite possible that you might be able to find a repairable ship there for yourself.”

     “ And don’t worry about paying for it.  You saved this ship and its cargo once, and I am sure that A & I would be willing to at least give you a “junker” and the means to repair it out of gratitude.  They might even give you a contract as a security escort.  The company would never have survived the loss of this ship’s cargo if you hadn’t saved it when you did.”

     “But that was my job”, Leslie replied, “no gratitude is necessary.”

      “Think about it anyway, Captain Webber. I can get you a ship if you need one.”

     Leslie thanked Captain Anderson for his offer and promised to stay in touch.  She was in no position right now to be making such decisions.  All she could do is think about her first officer, Melissa Connor. 

     Konstantin said that he had selected several of Leslie’s crew for “special treatment”.  Melissa, given her position, would likely have been included in that group.

     In addition to being her first officer, the “co-captain” of their ship, the PROTEUS, Melissa was also Leslie’s most trusted friend and confidante.  Leslie had held her second only to Adrienne, as the most important woman in his life.

    Leslie dared not think about what Konstintin had done to her, but as Leslie lay in her bunk, trying to sleep, she could not help but speculate.  Perhaps she was maimed or disfigured?  “No”, thought Leslie, as she looked down at herself, “Konstantin has a bit more imagination than that.  He would have done something a bit more subtle, though no less cruel or sadistic.”  “Had he done something directly to her mind?  Or did Melissa have a severe psychological reaction to her ordeal?”

     Leslie could understand that.  The psychological Trauma of having been changed into a woman and the subsequent rape, nearly had been enough to send her “round the bend” herself.

     Leslie couldn’t sleep, so she had to take pills to render her unconscious for the next two nights.

 

   Upon arrival at Nema Two, Leslie took the first available shuttle to the Military hospital.  She found herself shaking like a leaf.  The suspense was unbearable.

    

      Doctor Gershom, one of Melissa’s Doctors, met Leslie in the reception area. 

     “How is she Doctor?” Leslie nervously asked.  “What did they do to her?”

     “Physically, she is quite healthy” Gershom replied. ”We don’t really know just what they DID do to her, but what ever it was it seems irreversible.”

     “Something was done to her brain.”

     “Oh God!” Leslie gasped!  How bad is it?

     “She appears to have been stripped of her capacity for emotion.  She is neither happy nor sad, angry or disappointed, fearful or joyful.  She just . . . IS.”

     “IS?”, Leslie replied in frustration over Dr. Gershom,s cryptic statements. “IS WHAT?”

     “You will have to see her to understand.  Follow me.”

     Dr. Gershom led Leslie to Melissa’s room.  Melissa was sitting in a chair next to her bed and reading a Com Screen.  There appeared to be nothing wrong with her at all.

     “Leslie?” She said as she looked up. “  Excuse me if I am not surprised at your appearance. I heard about what Konstantin did to you.  I trust that you are adapting well.”

     “Melissa!” Leslie felt like embracing her friend, but “something” about the “blank” look in her eyes held her back.

     Melissa did not seem to be especially happy at all to see Leslie.  Indeed it was as if Leslie had been there for a week. Melissa just seemed to accept her presence.  She registered no indication of the joy of reunion. No look of relief, not even a smile.

     “Melissa?  What’s wrong? What did they do to you?”

    

     “It’s not bad, really,” Melissa replied. “It has merely served to amplify the efficiency of my mind, that one aspect of humanity that places us above the animals.

     “Not bad?” Leslie cried. “How can you say THAT? You will never know joy, happiness or love again!

     “True, but I will also never experience anger, hate or fear again either. You cannot imagine what it is like to have one’s mind freed from those fetters.  I have never been able to think so clearly in my life.”

     “Oh! Poor Melissa!” Leslie began to sob, “They have turned you into a .  .  . MACHINE! A friggin machine!”

     “Please, don’t cry Leslie. don’t feel sorry for me. I am still here. My mind, that which makes me ME. Has not been affected or diminished in any way.  If anything, I have become enhanced.”

    “The machine metaphor is not all that accurate, you know.  I can still feel physical pain.  And I can know pleasure too, if that part of my brain is stimulated.  But I no longer just simply live to avoid the former and to pursue the latter.  Thought is my venue now! And achieving that which should be done has become my sole source of motivation.”

    “I’ll KILL Konstantin and all of those other bastards for this!  I swear!” cursed Leslie, under her breath, between sobs.  She violently kicked over an IV stand.

     “Control yourself Captain.  Konstantin thought he was punishing me, he thought that it would be sadistically “funny” to remove a woman’s feelings and emotions.  He never realized that instead of handicapping me, he significantly increased my capacity for flawless reason and my devotion to a cause.  He wanted to destroy me, but instead he only succeeded in turning me into an even more formidable foe.”

   

      “Foe? You can’t hate.  How can you have enemies?.”

     “It is not Hate, Leslie, but simple LOGIC. If Konstantin is permitted to live, then many more people will needlessly die and suffer as a result of his actions. I agree, with you, Leslie, Konstantin and his organization must be eliminated.”

     “That is a lot easier said than done, Melissa.  I no longer have a ship and I will soon no longer have a commission. As soon as I escort you home, I am quitting the Space Command ”

     “Damnit! Then I’m gonna find survivors of PROTEUS, set them loose and devote the rest of my life to hunting down and personally shooting that son of a bitch, Konstantin, for what he did to us.”

     “How do you propose to take on him and his organization without a ship or the support of the Military?” asked Melissa.

     “I can get a ship.  I think.”

     “You will also need a crew. --- May I propose that I be your first recruit?”

      “But Melissa, are you even suited for service? Your mind --”

      “There is nothing wrong with my mind, Leslie, nothing at all!  I am no child-like retard.  I AM still the same person I always was, I remember everything!  I can still remember what it was like to have emotions.  I can even FAKE them if you like!  How DARE you even suggest that I may be incompetent!  If anything, I am a superior being, clear of thought and free from fear!  You NEED me Leslie! I can be the edge you need to defeat Konstantin!”

     Leslie was taken aback by Melissa’s outburst.  For a creature supposedly without feelings, she certainly put on a good show of righteous indignation.

     “Was my argument sufficient to convince you?” Melissa continued, switching back to her deadpan monotone.

     “I suppose you can come with me.  You should.   I feel that is my fault that Konstantin did what he did to you.”

      “Guilt, another useless and destructive feeling I, at least, won’t have to worry about.” Said Melissa with a smile, but the timing was a bit off, the effect was unsettling rather than reassuring.

    

     Dr.Gershom turned to Lesley. “Do you think that we should release her?  There is nothing more that we can do for her here.”

     “Please,” Leslie replied. ”I will take full responsibility.”

     “I will tell the nurse to prepare the discharge papers then.”

    Leslie smiled sadly and looked at Melissa. ”It looks like I will now have my own “Spock”.”

     “Spock?” Gershom remarked.

     “Yes, Are you not a student of the classics?  The old Television of two centuries ago.  There was a Science fiction series that allegedly depicted our own age, albeit overly optimistically.  One of the Characters was from a planet where the inhabitants had no emotions.”

     “Oh yes, THAT Spock!” The Doctor replied.  Seriously, do not be misled by literature or your own hopeful optimism. I am afraid that you will discover that Melissa is nothing at all like Spock.”

      “Mister Rodenbury’s Character merely controlled and suppressed his feelings, Melissa truly doesn’t have any.  She is purely guided by what she thinks is the correct course of action to achieve her goals.”

       “She is free from all inhibitions,” Dr. Gershom continued.  She WILL do whatever she thinks she has to do.  You will also find that she suffers from overconfidence.  Her logic, however, is only as good as her data. These traits can be a very dangerous combination, especially in a combat situation.”

    “It is for that reason that I am recommending her discharge from service on medical grounds.  As she has a service related disability, she will be able to live quite well on her pension.”

     “Don’t worry about me Leslie,” said Melissa, “ He simply does not understand the unfettered mind. I frighten him.  I tend to frighten nearly everyone. Fortunately, loneliness doesn’t bother me.  But You know the real Me, Leslie. I never would hurt a friend.  I will still be the best first officer and friend you ever had.”

     “You always were, Melissa, you always were.”

CHAPTER 8

     Captain Anderson was a good as his word.  At his urging, the Irindi & Antaries Transport Company had given now Ex Captain Leslie Webber full access to their Salvage operation on the moon of Hobart’s Planet in the Aphrian system.

    Leslie had saved The Company a year previously when (Then) ‘He’ rescued one of their ships and its valuable cargo from a fleet of Syndicate Raiders.

     This was before Leslie’s betrayal and capture, by Syndicate operatives

     The Shuttlecraft descended from the transport and proceeded to the Moon of Hobart’s planet. The small vessel dodged orbiting bits of debris and various elements from discarded spacecraft that circled the small planetoid.  Finally, the craft set down upon the roof of the command center and connected to the airlock.

     Both Leslie and Melissa, dressed in their skin-tight, dark-blue pressure suits, descended the spiral steps.

The place seemed cramped, dirty and empty. At first, they appeared to be the only living persons there.

       A black man, about 40 years of age and of medium build greeted the two women in the reception area.   Leslie repressed a gasp when she realized that the man was not wearing the latest in fashionable headgear. The entire right half of the man’s skull seemed to be made of a shell of shiny metal.  The ends of several small computer cards protruded from slots that obviously went INTO the poor man’s head.

      Still, Leslie forced a smile.

     “Greetings Ladies”, The man said with a friendly grin. “Ashley Bainbridge at your service.” 

     “Leslie Webber, and this is my colleague, Melissa Connor.”

     “Yes, there is nothing like the presence of a couple of lovely creatures such as yourselves to brighten up the otherwise dreary confines of my little world.”

    

     Bainbridge noticed that Melissa was not responding as expected to his greeting. 

     “Miss Webber, is there something I should know about your companion?”

     “The Syndicate took away her emotions It’s. . .”

      “I can speak for myself, Leslie.”

     “No need to elaborate,” Bainbridge interrupted, ”as you can see, I too have had my own unfortunate encounters with the Syndicate.  Luckily, through the miracle of electronic bio chips, The doctors were able to rebuild the parts of my brain that were damaged in the beating.  Of course, I have since added a few upgrades of my own.”

     “I take it that Captain Anderson has informed you as to why we are here.”

     “Yes, he thinks that I might be able to find you a small starship as a favor to him.  But quite frankly, all I can offer you are pieces.  This is a dismantling yard after all.”

     Bainbridge led them to his “office”.  It was a small, dark room with a centrally located “control panel”. There were several flat com screens, mounted on bracket arms, pointed in different directions.  It reminded Leslie of the bridge of a small star ship. Indeed that is likely where the equipment came from in the first place.

     Bainbridge began to brief the Women about the operation.

     “You mean to say that we are the only people on this moon?” asked Leslie with some surprise.

     “Yes.” Bainbridge replied. ”The gantries are all automatic and I control them here.  The lifting ships that carry off the parts to other locations in the yard, are also remotely controlled.  Believe it or not, this is entirely a one-man operation.”

     “So we are going to have to build a new starship from the ground up?   And do it ourselves?”

     “That is your only option.” Said Bainbridge “Any ship they bring in here is beyond repair.  We can set up gantry two for the project.”

     Leslie thought for a moment. “ As to design, we will need something small enough for a small crew to operate, but large enough to carry enough weaponry to fend off the biggest syndicate raider/enforcer ships.”

     “What we can actually build will depend upon what parts we have available.” Bainbridge remarked.

     Bainbridge looked at the com screen near his desk, and pressed his fingers along different parts of the graphics.  A list came up.

     “We will start with the armaments and then construct a platform to carry them.” Said Bainbridge as he scanned the list.  “Let’s see.  Hmmm, slim pickings. We only have a couple of point five meter photon cannons.”

     “Only two standard point fives?” Said Leslie indignantly. “I need a forward array of at least four to have any chance against a syndicate ship.”

     “Relax, I have a one point five meter photon cannon we can use for the forward weapon.  That should be sufficient.”

     “A one point five!” Leslie’s eyes lit up. “At close range one of those things can penetrate a level five shield. Where the hell did you get it?

     “It came from a Space Command heavy battle cruiser.” Bainbridge replied.  “Some bureaucrat in charge of the salvage operation miscounted the guns and came up one short.  Now, we won’t be able to turret mount it.  A smaller ship could only carry it in a fixed forward position.  Would that be okay?”

     “You bet your a . . ., Oh sorry!” replied Leslie a bit over enthusiastically. “ Sure, that will be fine”

    A Graphic Image of the gun formed on the large, wall mounted com screen.

 

     “We can mount the point fives on turrets above and below to protect the flanks and supplement the forward weapon if necessary.”  Two turret guns appeared on the screen.  Leslie moved them with the computer controls until they looked like they were in the correct positions.  The weapons system was taking shape.

     “We also have a point seven five.” Said Bainbridge

     “The point seven five can be installed facing rear.” Leslie replied.  “That could be a nasty surprise for someone expecting to face the usual single point five.”

     She now studied at the weapons graphics on the screen.  “Not bad, “she remarked.  Fairly well defended, and a good aggressive edge.  I wouldn’t go up against more than two enforcers with it though.”

      Leslie’s weapons savvy impressed Bainbridge.  He leaned back in his chair. “Leslie, If I may call you that, do you want to be able to do some REAL damage?

  Having a good defensive weapons system is one thing, but if you are like me you will want to REALLY kick some  syndicate ass.”

     “I am all ears.  What have you got in mind?”

     All three crammed themselves into Bainbridge’s small shuttle craft.   After he strapped himself into his seat, Bainbridge removed a small, silver computer chip card from his shirt pocket.  Leslie watched in wonderment, and a bit of horror as Bainbridge pulled another such “card” out of its slot in the side of his HEAD and plugged in the new card.

    “What the heck was that about.”  Leslie commented

    “My shuttle pilot skills” Said Bainbridge as he stuck the other card back into his pocket. “That’s one advantage to having half a head full of silicon.  I can plug in various skills that I might need from time to time.  I can be a Pilot, Musician, Chemist, Lawyer, you name it.  If I got the card for it, I can do it.”  

     He started up the ship and flew several Clicks to another section of the yard.  Atop the piles of debris, lying on its side loomed a large, metal cylindrical object, some fifty feet in diameter and over three hundred feet long. 

     “There it is ladies!”, said Bainbridge proudly. “Your ace in the hole.”

     “Leslie,” Melissa spoke up, “It’s a QUELL tube!”

     “A Quark accelerator! On a starship! You can’t be serious Bainbridge.” Said Leslie. “That’s part of a planet based power plant. It would take up half the interior of our ship.”

     “Quells are highly unstable and very dangerous.” Added Melissa. ”The technology was banned over a decade ago after a quell plant malfunctioned and destroyed the moon on Aldebarn four.  Since then all quell plants have been taken off line and dismantled.”

     “ Well, this one was sent here for dismantling, but I have never gotten around to it.  As far as I know, it is still functional.”

     “But our antimatter reactors are a lot smaller and more practical for starship power requirements.” Leslie replied.

     I didn’t say that we were going to use the QUELL to POWER the ship.” Bainbridge replied. “If the front cowling and the wave-guides are removed, it can be turned into a one hell of a weapon.

     “He is right.” Said Melissa ”The quark stream emitted would actually split the nuclei in the atoms of whatever it was pointed at.”

       “It would induce self sustaining fission reaction that will propagate itself throughout the entire mass of the target.”

     “With its fifteen meter bore,” Melissa continued, “ I would guess that it could take out a small planet.”

     Bainbridge lay back in his seat and smiled.  “Like I said, ladies--- K I C K   A S S ! ”

      Grandiose visions of apocalyptic destruction began to swim through Leslie’s head, but common sense and reason soon began to re-assert themselves.  “From what I have heard about QUELLS, we could very well end up kicking our own asses.”

     “Not to worry,” Said Bainbridge “ I was working on software to control quell stability.  I think I solved the problem, but then they were banned before I had a chance to introduce it. My work was for nothing, then, but now, perhaps, it might be useful.”

     “What do you think, Melissa?” asked Leslie

     “I think that it’s much too powerful to be a practical weapon.  It is capable of destruction on a planetary scale. Using this against a starship would be like using a photon cannon to kill a flea. The explosion could possibly destroy us along with the target.

     “Well it would work at longer ranges, “Leslie countered. “ Nothing could stand against it.   If anything else, it would be good for intimidation.  Daddy always said that people are very co-operative when they are looking down the barrel of your greener.”

     “Greener?”

     “ A double barrel ten gauge scatter gun.  It has settled many an argument in both the old American West and the earlier days of planetary colonization.”

     “It’s your call Captain”, replied Melissa. “I can summarize my opinion in one word —- overcompensation.”

    Leslie looked over at Bainbridge “Let’s do it!”

     On the planning screen, the Quell lay parallel to the one point five, also facing forward.  Leslie had been initially correct.  The Quell WOULD take up nearly half the ship.  It was offset to the starboard side to help balance the mass of the jump engine system.  The hull would have to be built around it.  

     The ship itself would be ugly and unsymmetrical.  It would be, basically, a, 500-ft long, flattened horizontal cylinder, some one hundred twenty feet wide and fifty high. There would be a hump running long ways down the hull on the starboard side, to accommodate the diameter of the Quell.  Two gun turrets, holding the point fives would be roughly centered on the flat surfaces of the hull above and below.  The ends of the hull would slope together, giving a slight streamlined effect.  Save for the chrome edges of the Quell tube, and the white turrets, the ship would be painted black.

     “Your ship needs a name” Said Bainbridge.

     Leslie thought about it for a few moments.  “How about what it represents?---Vengeance!,---No make that a little more picturesque, “Retribution!”  Yes, that’s what we will call her --- RETRIBUTION!  Pay back!”

     The Women were given rooms a short distance from Bainbridge’s office. Like the rest of the facility, they were small and dirty, but they would do. Hopefully, they would soon have their own quarters aboard their new ship.

     They had very little to do.  Bainbridge was the only person who knew how to work the lifting ships and the gantries. He kept busy assembling the pieces.  Save for the hull plates, the construction consisted of simply plugging together the various parts and modules.

     To keep busy, Leslie decided to sharpen up her personal weapons skills. In a large room once used to store supplies, she found a supply of filled sandbags and stacked them against a wall some fifty feet away. To this she attached a target.

    Pow!  Pow! Pow! Leslie’s “slightly off” aim had, by now been corrected.  She put three shots cleanly through the same hole in the center of the bull’s eye.  She slipped the selector to full automatic.

     BRAAAAAPPPP! The target was shredded into confetti.

     Melissa, hearing the shots, walked in to see what was going on.

     “How’s your shooting?”

     “I’m as good as I ever was.” Leslie replied. “Better in some ways, I gained a couple of thousandths on the draw.”

      Leslie next pulled out her combat knife, flipped it, caught it and made a few practice jabs in the air. 

     “I still seem to be able to handle this thing pretty well too, but I am not as strong as I was and that worries me.”

     “Loose the knife Leslie.” Said Melissa.

     “Get serious Melissa, I may be as good as you in weaponless combat, but I am still only a WOMAN! I need my knife now more than ever!  If I loose my gun, any reasonably strong man with half my skills could overpower me.”

      The very thought of that reality made her curse under her breath.  She had been used to being able to hold her own in a fight with any opponent.

  

    Melissa looked at her and said ”You don’t need that Knife.  Use this one instead.  I made it for you in the shop.”

     Melissa handed Leslie the weapon.

     It was little more than a long, flexible, thin, stainless steel rod.  It was hardly wider than an Ice pick and terminated in a sharp point.  ‘handle’ consisted of rubberized tape wrapped around the blunt end.

     “Why it’s a Shiv!” Leslie observed. 

     “Yes, Easily concealable, along your leg, arm or the small of your back.”

     “But that’s a coward’s weapon!”

     “Look, Leslie, you yourself pointed out a woman’s weakness.  You need to turn that weakness into your advantage.  You are still holding to the male philosophy of combat.”

     “Combat is combat!”  You fight, the better opponent wins.” Leslie replied.

     “The male fights primarily by intimidation. — He postures and exaggerates his imposing size.  He displays his weapons, such as his guns and his knifes.  His philosophy and attitude is to drive or frighten away potential opponents.  Only the occasional fool or the strong “warrior type” who thinks that he may be able to overpower his adversary would dare attack in the first place. To a male, fighting is a mixture of  “repelling force” and aggression.”

     “A woman on the other hand, attempts to draw her opponents inward, rather than frighten them away.  Her sexual attraction and appearance of vulnerability both work together to that effect.  Both aspects should be emphasized.  No intimidating or provocative weapons, such as the knife should be visible.  You draw in an opponent and present no threat.  He then has no reason to feel a need to defend himself.  By the time you slip the shiv under his ribcage and skewer his heart, it is too late for him to react.  Much stronger opponents can be easily vanquished that way.”

     Leslie thought about what Melissa told her.  It began to dawn on Leslie that women use similar techniques and principles in areas other than hand to hand combat.  “Son of a gun!” she commented as she remembered “his” younger days.  She couldn't count the many times when some woman had played him for a sucker.  “It should have been obvious all along.”

      “Yes, draw them in and spring the trap!”

      It would be an interesting approach to play around with, especially now, when she could set her own traps with her own perfect bait.

     “But there is one ‘sticky point’ in such a defense” Leslie noted.  “The attractive approach attracts more attackers”

     “Both The Male and Female technique have their weaknesses.", Melissa Replied. “In the male approach, you have fewer attackers, but those who do are usually the stronger ones who have a chance of defeating you.”

     “The Female method, does indeed attract more assailants, any of them might be as easily vanquished regardless of their superior physical strength.”

     “Neither approach is necessarily superior to the other, Leslie, but you must make sure that you learn to fight in the mode that you are best physically suited for.”

    “I see your point, Melissa.” Leslie said as she examined the shiv.  “Are you going to show me how to use this thing?”

     Melissa, like a magician, seemingly produced another shiv out of thin air. “This is one of my own.”

     “How long have you been packing that?” asked Leslie. 

     “I always have, even before our most unfortunate encounter with the syndicate.” Melissa replied.  “It’s hidden in the seam of the sleeve of my pressure suit.

     “Melissa, I never expected . . .”

     “The first rule is nobody knows that you are armed.”

     “Then why did you let those syndicate thugs destroy your emotions?”

      “I was rendered unconscious in the battle.  They had already done the damage before I had recovered. Konstantin might have thought that it would be funny to remove a woman’s emotions, but I was not raped, and you can be assured that three of Konstantin’s men did not find what he did to me as being ‘funny’ at all.”  Melissa snapped out her shiv and slipped it back into her sleeve.  “I managed to take their small shuttlecraft and escape. I was out of their reach before they knew I was missing.  ---But that is another story.”

     “The second rule,” Melissa Continued, “ is that no one sees you pull it out.  If your victim sees it, he likely can disarm you.  It also makes them very angry.  As often as not they will give you a taste of your own steel.”

     “The Third rule, Always carry a spare!” Another weapon appeared in Melissa’s left hand.  She passed it to Leslie.  “Here this is yours too!”

     “This is a one chance weapon. Your first strike must be lethal or your advantage is lost. You insert it immediately under the left side of the ribcage and drive it upward and into the center of the chest.  From the back it is inserted at the center of the left side of the ribcage and driven inward and to the center.”

     Melissa instructed Leslie in the techniques of hiding and surreptitiously withdrawing and the shiv.  She had to stress that it was not a weapon to be pointing and threatening with.  Leslie still was thinking in terms of Knives.  It “slipped out, did its dirty work, and that was it.”

     Melissa’s cool and clinical approach to such a subject began to make Leslie feel uneasy.  The impression was that the woman could now kill another human being quickly and easily and with no more concern than stepping on a bug.

     Leslie was glad that Melissa was “on her side”, but Leslie also knew that, now, anyone could find themselves on the wrong end of Melissa’s blade if she thought that they stood in the way of her objectives.  She was “loyal” to no one.

     That the Melissa Leslie once knew no longer existed saddened her.  Her only consolation was that she would be able to turn around Konstantin’s handiwork on her friend to use as yet another weapon against him.

     Leslie had a lot to think about.  After Melissa’s lessons on the fine art of “offing” people with a shiv, she returned to her target practice.  The fast draw was not a fluke, she could still draw and put a well placed shot into a target within four one hundreds of a second, give or take a thousandth. She was finally beginning to think that there still might be a bit of the hero left in her after all.

     When Leslie returned to her quarters, she felt better about herself than she had in months. She now had a renewed confidence in her fighting ability. The old Leslie was good, now she was even better even if it were just by a couple of thousands of a second.

     Leslie also knew that she might also be more dangerous.  She would be depending upon her gun more than she had before. Being not as physically strong, she could foresee situations where she might have to shoot or kill a man to put him out of action, where before, a good punch in the face would have done the job.  That aspect disturbed her somewhat, but then again, that’s the chance a foe would have to take if they were foolish enough to mess with Leslie Webber.

     The next morning, Melissa had yet another surprise lesson for Leslie. This one, more disturbing than the last.

     “It’s time you start looking like you are supposed to, Leslie” Melissa remarked. “You need to learn how to be more attractive and inviting.”

      Leslie didn’t like the sound of that. She had avoided this aspect of herself since the beginning.  The last thing she wanted was to learn how to attract men.  That happened well enough on its own without her encouraging it.

    She was a “Man” herself, at least mentally, and had no desires to encourage any more attention than she already did from members of that sex.  The rape did little to improve that attitude.

     Leslie did not encourage her “attractiveness”, She wore little or no makeup and made it a point to keep her hair always up in a tight, military style bun. But the necessity of wearing a skintight pressure suit or even a space command uniform did little to hide her physical attributes.  Now Melissa was encouraging her to increase the “attention factor” even more.

     “But Adrienne already has taught me what I need to know about looking like a woman.” 

     “To fully compensate for what you have lost as a man, you must make the most of what you have gained as a woman.” Said the Commander.  “You need to enhance and cultivate both your physical attractiveness and the appearance of vulnerability.  Those are the primary weapons in a woman’s arsenal.”

     “I never thought of being pretty and helpless looking as being weapons.” Leslie replied.

     “Remember, Sun Tzu said that the art of combat is also the art of deception.  You may be a ball buster, but you don’t have to look like one.” Said Melissa. “You yourself said that any man with half you skills could physically overpower you. This is how we turn that factor around”.

     “Okay, I see your point, Melissa, I do need any edge I can get.  What do you want me to do?”

     “First of all, loosen up, Do not look so militarily stiff and imposing. You are no longer a Space Command officer.” Said Melissa, as she grabbed Leslie’s shoulders and gave them a shake.  “And Loose that bun!

    “Your hair needs to fall freely down your back and across your shoulders.”  Melissa pulled out a few strategic pins from Leslie’s hair and brushed it down into position.

     “Sit down.” Melissa demanded and pointed to a chair by the dresser. She removed the robe that Leslie had thrown over the mirror.  Leslie still was nervous around mirrors,

    “Don’t make me do this!” Leslie nearly pleaded.  But she co-operated anyway.  It was something that “had to be done”.  Leslie knew that, and as always, accepted it and did it.

     Melissa applied a bit of makeup to Leslie’s face, not much, Leslie had one of those faces that didn’t need much makeup, but a bit more than Adrienne had been able to coerce Leslie into using previously. She then made Leslie look into the large mirror to see the full effect, rather than the small compact mirror Leslie had been reluctantly using to apply her occasional spot of lipstick.

    The effect was “electric”.  Once again Leslie was taken back to the first time she got a look of herself in the mirror at the hospital.  Leslie once again stared at herself in dumbstruck amazement.  She thought she was “hot” before, now she was “dynamite.” 

     “Now smile!” said Melissa. Her words breaking the spell and returning Leslie to cognizance.  Leslie flashed a forced, quick smile, and quickly retracted it.

     “Makes me look like an airhead.” Leslie remarked.

     “That smile will get you into places that you would have had to fight your way into otherwise.” Melissa replied. “ Look at yourself!.  Now you see what real power is.  And you were afraid of being vulnerable.”

     Leslie turned back to the mirror.  This time she didn’t experience the panic she felt at the hospital.  By now several months had passed. She knew she was a woman and could look upon herself more objectively.

    This time she smiled without being encouraged to do so by her friend. “My god! I could just walk up to the baddest, meanest dude in the joint, and take him down before he ever knew what happened. And make him enjoy every second of it.  Leslie’s voice took on a gleeful menacing, tone.

     “Don’t press your luck and don’t get carried away with yourself.” Melissa replied.  “You are really no more powerful than you were before.  True, you may have new and different strengths, but you still have the woman’s weaknesses.  If you try that stunt with a guy, you better make sure that he is alone. If he has any of his friends standing near by, they won’t take too kindly to you.  And they won’t be suckers for a repeat performance.”         

CHAPTER 9

      By now the components of the “Retribution” were in place.  They could watch the ship take shape on the gantry- two view screen.  The engines were installed and Bainbridge’s robots were welding the hull plates into place.

     Leslie found that the new appearance she was cultivating made Bainbridge “nervous”.  She found it fascinating how simple things like the way she looked or the way she moved could affect another person like that.  She avoided the temptation however to play mind games with the poor man.  She would save her ‘manipulations’ for her enemies and toned things down a bit.

     She dispensed with the makeup for now.  That would literally be her “war paint.  She kept her hair loose though. 

     “Bainbridge”, asked Leslie, “Its about time we find a crew.”

     “You will need an engineer”

     “And who do you recommend?” Leslie replied.  She knew what his answer would be.

     “Myself.  You won’t find anyone who knows this ship better. I built it!”

      “Are you sure you want to leave your nice secure job here, to go gallivanting through space on a mission that might get you killed?”  Said Leslie with a smile.—she was getting good at that.

     “ This could be my best and only chance to pay back those sons of bitches for what they did to me.  Why do you think I kept that QUELL?  For years I have always fantasized having a way to somehow ram that thing down their throats and set it off.”

     “I like your attitude, Bainbridge, you will fit right in.  We also need a ship’s doctor.  Do you keep any doctor cards in your pocket?”

     “No, but I know just the fellow we need.  He was a great surgeon --- once.  That was before the Syndicate had his arms cut off.---Don’t worry they have been since replaced with bionics.”

     “Is he any good?”

     “Yes, but the medical board has still refused to reinstate his license. ---Something about his bionic limbs and “regulations”.

     Leslie sighed to herself.  She knew all too well about “regulations.”

     “Get him then!” she told Bainbridge.

      As Bainbridge began to enter numbers into the com system.  The computer voice interrupted.  “ Attention! Unscheduled shuttle craft approaching docking station.”

     “Acknowledged!” Replied Bainbridge.

     “Looks like we have company” he said to Leslie.  “Shall we go to meet them?”

     “Oh, and be sure to bring your sidearm, we don’t know who might drop in on us around here.”

    

    The Three approached the stairway in the reception area and waited.  The airlock opened.  A single individual stepped out. 

     The shape was visibly female, but its upper half was shrouded in a hooded cape.  She wore her pressure suit beneath it.  She slowly descended the steps and approached Leslie.

     “Leslie Webber?” the woman asked.

      The woman had an “Asian” look about her, but her skin was too dark and her features were a bit too coarse to assign her to that race.  Yet she looked “quite attractive” in Leslie’s eyes.

     “Yes, I am Webber!” Leslie replied  “and you are?”

     “Call me Zee!”

     “And how can I help you, uh . . . Zee”

     Zee pushed back the hood, revealing a smooth, bald head. “I am here to help you, Webber.  You need me.”

 

     “I am a Biotelemetricist.”

     Leslie couldn’t believe her luck.  Only the top line Space Command warships, employed Biotelemetry officers.  Such gifted individuals were too rare to be “wasted” on anything else but vital military operations.

     “You must be pretty good.” responded Leslie. I never advertised my intent to acquire a ship or my need to assemble a crew.”

      “I sensed your need Webber.” Zee replied

     Like everyone else, Leslie had assumed that her ship’s sensor capability would be limited to ranges measured in “light minutes”.  Now, With Zee’s help, she would be able to scan out Parsec distances in real time. 

    Leslie knew the basics of Biotelemetery.  A century ago, human ability to “sense” remote locations, “read minds” or derive information about an object one touched was dismissed by orthodox Science as pure “superstition” and “quackery”.  But of course, that was before the mechanics, or even the concept, of “Quantum wave linking” had been discovered.

    It immediately became apparent that that’s what the so called “Psychics” had been doing all along. Albeit haphazardly and inefficiently.  The human brain, it turned out, could actually detect and derive information from quantum wave interactions (QWI) between particles.  It was the perfect QWI antenna.  Armed with this knowledge, devices and training techniques were developed to enhance this ability in those persons that were particularly “sensitive”.

     Zee was such a person.  Biotelemetricists (BTs), like her, were able to “project” their consciousness to very far distances, and were unaffected by constraints of light speed physics.  They were also able to “read minds”---sort of.

       It seemed that actual “Telepathy”, though, as originally conceived in the “unscientific days” really did not exist as such.  The Quantum waves only carried only the most basic of conceptual information  —simple “word” concepts such as “up” “Down”  “In” “out” “Horizontal” “vertical”, etc.

       A skilled BT, however, could still put these things together and effectively read another person’s thoughts.

This is what was going on, unconsciously, in the old days, giving the illusion of actual “mind reading”  ---but what had been called Telepathy was, in reality, a more indirect process.

      The other accepted ability of a BT was that they could take an object and be able to “tune into” what ever person or other object had been in contact with it.

     This was based upon the fact that particles that had once touched other particles, formed permanent “quantum interconnections” with each other.   These could be “traced” by the BT, no matter WHERE in the universe the connected particle might now be located.

      This used to be called “Psychometry” in the old days, when it was considered a “Mysterious” “Supernatural” ability.  It was simply called QL (quantum link) Reading now.  It was a very useful tool.

     “You are aware of what you are volunteering for?” Leslie asked Zee. “We could all be killed!—--or even worse.”

    “I am aware of the risks.” She replied.

     Zee, impressed Leslie as a somewhat quiet, “stoic” individual, not much of a conversationalist.  She would answer when asked, but would otherwise not volunteer much information at all.

    “So, Where you From?” Lesley asked, hoping to draw Zee out a bit.

     “North America, Earth” she replied. “Amerind, Lakota people.”

     That explained her appearance---to a degree.

     “I like your Hairstyle” Commented Leslie with a smile.

      Zee seemed to freeze for a second, giving Leslie a very cold look. “And I Like your body”, she responded, but with a sarcastic tone in her voice, that left no doubt in Leslie’s mind as to its direct implications.  Leslie had touched on a very “sensitive” subject, as far as Zee was concerned.  The “haircut” had likely been courtesy of the Syndicate.

    Melissa’s quick logic figured it out immediately.  She put her head on Zee’s shoulder as a “comforting gesture”  even though she had no feelings herself, she did know that the real feelings of others were important.

      She turned to Leslie.  “Only a woman, a BORN woman, would truly understand how Zee feels.”

     ”I’m sorry Zee. Please forgive me.” Said Leslie  quietly.

     Sure, Leslie thought, compared to what the Syndicate had done to herself, Bainbridge and Melissa, the loss of one’s hair seemed but a minor concern.  But to a Woman, as Leslie understood more about every day, hair could be an important part of her identity and her femininity.  To have had it cruelly taken away from her could be very traumatic indeed.

     Leslie changed the subject. “Zee!  That does not seem like an Amerind name.  Is it short for something?”

     “No, I call myself “Zee”. It is not short for anything” The woman replied. 

     Again there was something in the tone of her voice, that told Leslie that she was treading close to “dangerous territory”.  Zee’s name would also be a taboo subject, Leslie realized, and made a mental note of it.

     Zee directed her attention towards Bainbridge.  She momentarily glanced at the shiny metal shell that comprised the right half of his cranium.  An expression of sympathy followed by a look of “knowing” quickly washed across her face.

    “Zee,” said Leslie. “This is Ashley Bainbridge, our engineer.” 

     Zee wasted no time in telling Bainbridge what kind of equipment she would need.  As Biotelemetry was rarely used in most shipping, there were no BT consoles available in the salvage yard.

      Bainbridge, would have to construct the “Random Field” screen and the “sonic chamber” that Zee would use in her work.  Fortunately, the devices were relatively simple machines that only served as “focusing” devices for Zee’s innate skills, but they were still important as her “accuracy rating” was only about eighty percent without them.

     Bainbridge also, as promised, sent a message to his doctor friend.  Leslie had also asked Bainbridge to find them a “gunner” and he had also mentioned the need in his message to the doctor.

CHAPTER 10

    

     Meanwhile, as the weeks went by, “The Retribution” was nearing completion in Gantry two.  The hull had been pressurized and Leslie and the others were at work on the interior.  There were accommodations for ten crewmembers, but there would likely be no more than six or seven.

     Leslie and Zee began to get along better. As Leslie knew not to mention anything in regards to Zee’s lack of hair or ask about the origins of her name.  Zee opened up more and began to talk about her people.

     After near extinction, many of the Amerind tribes were rebounding and a interest was developing in their older cultures.  Near future plans called for entire planets being devoted to certain tribal groups.  Rakia Three, for example, was to be settled entirely by peoples once comprised various tribes of “the Plains Indians”.  The Buffalo herds were being built there, and soon would thrive in sufficient numbers to support the proposed human population.

     Of course, the people would not be living in their earlier “primitive” state.  There would be cities and libraries and technology, but modified somewhat as to reflect the Culture—--Much as the Japanese had done in the Nineteenth and Twentieth centuries.  They were able to take Western “civilization” and make it distinctively “Japanese”.

       The Amerinds felt that they could do something similar.   After seven hundred years, they would finally be their “own people” once again.  It would be wonderful to see.

     Zee’s console was located in the center of the rear portion of the ship, away from most of the distractions.

     It was dominated by the “random field screen” That generated a random scatter of colored dots of various densities and sizes and with different “dynamics” or motions.  The screen minimized the effort needed to “see” mental imagery---thus her efficiency and accuracy would be greatly enhanced.

      Portions of faint “images”, from the subconscious mind that usually “feedback” along the visual cortex and retina to a degree, tend to “block” the dots that don’t correspond with part of the picture.  The dots on the screen that DO match up, tend to be enhanced. Thus the operator sees a surprisingly clear picture, generated by the minds interactions with the quantum waves in the universe.

      It was like a “high tech Crystal ball” That was deliberately designed to amplify a, by now, finally understood, psycho-biosensory function.

     The sonic chamber, was simply a hemispherical metal “hood” with a clear, plastic front, which was mounted over Zee’s console chair.  It generated various frequencies of white noise from several different directions, thus providing an auditory equivalent of the Random Field “View screen”.

    Zee explained that everybody was able to do what she did to some extent, but most people had to use the Screen or the chamber to really experience anything dramatic.

     “Even an “ordinary person”, said Zee, “could see “visions” and hear “voices” while looking at the screen and using the sonic chamber.”

    “The real skill involved, “ said Zee, “is that of interpretation.  Anybody can see “visions” and hear “voices” especially when looking into a random field.  The real trick is in knowing what the images and sounds actually mean.  Like with interpreting dreams, you have to intimately know the symbols you mind uses to represent words and concepts.”

       “This cannot be taught as each mind is different.  One hones their interpretive skills through years of experience.  The best “psychics” of the old days could only achieve eighty- percent accuracy at best.  A good BT like me, with the aid of my equipment, can operate at ninety eight percent consistent accuracy and a few near one hundreds thrown in once and a while.”

     “That’s Great Zee.” Leslie observed.

     “Don’t be too impressed.  That one or two percent can add up to a lot when you are talking distances measured in light years.  The longer the range, the greater the inaccuracy.  Something to think about when attempting to execute a surprise jump attack.”

     Leslie decided to try it for herself.  She sat in the chair, lowered the hood over her head and turned on the sound.  It sounded like a waterfall was rushing between her ears.  She felt slightly dizzy. She began to hear “voices” that sounded like whispers.

     She turned towards the Random field view screen, and adjusted the dot density.  To her absolute surprise a beautiful color “photographic” image of her house on the “Ranch” of Barnards Star four appeared.  The detail was remarkable.  She could even count the windowpanes.

    More pictures appeared, one every two or three seconds or so, fading out and resolving itself into another.  It was almost like watching a slide show.

Another picture appeared.  This time, a middle aged man, with a graying moustache and steel gray, piercing eyes.  She also noticed that he seemed to be wearing black leather gloves. 

     “Who was it?” she wondered. “Could she be looking at the face of Konstantin himself?”.

     As quickly as they had come the imagery ended.  The “slide show” was over.  “Wow!” she exclaimed, as she pushed the hood away and took her eyes away from the screen.  She had had enough excitement for the moment.

     Zee smiled knowingly.

     Leslie described how she could see the ranch and remarked about how blue the sky looked.  She also told Zee about the man she had saw, but Zee seemed concerned about something else.

     “You saw colors?” she asked

     “Yes.” Leslie replied.

     “That’s highly unusual.  Most ordinary people see images, but they describe them as looking like faded black and white photographs.  Perhaps you have some innate ability in this area yourself.”

     “You have never had “visions’ before?”, Zee inquired?

     “No, not that I can recall” Leslie replied.

     “Then it must be your new body, Leslie.  Whoever your DNA donor was, she was highly psychic.  You have inherited her unique brain structures.  With a bit of training I would think that YOU would make a passable BT, yourself.”

     “From what I hear, my donor’s talents were wasted.  She had another, less reputable, profession.”  Leslie replied.  “ As for myself, I am a starship Captain, I could never fit in as a member of the crew, despite what other abilities I might have.  That’s why I quit the Space Command.”

     “Nevertheless,” said Zee, “Those skills might be very useful in that capacity too.  You need to pay more attention to your feelings—-ask what they are telling you and then check it out.  You might be surprised at what you can do.”

     “I’ve been having strange feelings for months, but I have attributed them to just being a girl.”

    “They may be more than that, Leslie.  Pay more attention to them in the future.”

     They were interrupted by another announcement on the Com system.  “Shuttle arriving from A & I number forty-two”, said the computer voice.

 

   

    As Captain, Leslie had now assumed leadership of the little group, so it was natural that she should head the welcoming committee.

 

     Leslie, Melissa, Zee and Bainbridge proceeded to the reception area to greet the new arrivals.

    Two people, men this time, emerged from the airlock and proceeded down the steps.

    The larger of the two men lead the way.  His face was hidden in the shadow of his wide brimmed hat. 

     Leslie’s heart skipped a beat when she noticed that the man was wearing black leather gloves!

    She tensed up as the man approached closer.  The light revealed a shaggy looking gray-black moustache!.  It was the man she had seen on Zee’s screen, not a half hour before.

     Zee could sense something was bothering Leslie.  “It’s him, isn’t it?”

     Leslie nodded the affirmative ever so slightly.

     “Don’t jump to conclusions, Leslie. You only saw an image from the near future, I know its scary when it first happens, but don’t let it throw you.  You have no real evidence that this man is Konstantin.  Proper interpretation of what you see is the key.”

     “Doc!”  Said Bainbridge, as he stepped forward.  He shook the man’s hand and patted him on the back.

     “Ash!” the man replied with a smile, “How you doin’?”

     “Fine Doc.”

     Leslie began to feel a bit better.  “Yes,” she realized, “He wears those gloves hide his bionic hands.  He IS Bainbridge’s friend, “the Doctor””.  She shivered for a second.  She had been on the verge of shooting the man. 

     “That BT ability could be dangerous if you didn’t know how to use it.” She realized.  A tragedy had been narrowly averted.

     The other man was much younger.  He looked about twenty, but might not have been as old as that.  He was thin and slight of build.  He too, wore a wide brimmed hat, similar to an old Stetson, but flat on top.  Such hats were beginning to become quite the fashion in the outer regions.

    He wore TWO sidearms carried in two holsters around his waist.  The butts pointed forward.  From the look of them, they were both “One Twenty over Eight’s”.  Carrying one hundred twenty, eight-millimeter lead uranium projectiles.  Leslie, herself, preferred a single “one hundred over ten”.

     Bainbridge Introduced the Doctor to Leslie.  He removed his hat.  “Doctor Gideon Havelock, at your service ma’am!  Everyone just calls me “Doc.”--- “Bill!”  He turned to his companion “There are Ladies present!”

     “Oh, sorry” The young man replied, as he quickly reached up and removed his own hat.  “Sorry, Ma’am . . . ma’ams.”

     Leslie had never been so courteously treated, but she didn’t know whether she was being honored or patronized.

     She put aside her concerns for the moment, and directed her attention to the younger man.

     “And YOU are . . . ?”

      “Err. . .BILL, ma’am, Just Bill”  The young man was obviously nervous.

     “He’s an orphan”, The “Doc” spoke up.  “His father owned a small mining claim on Barnards star four.”

     “That’s where I am from”, Leslie replied.  “I own---I DID own a small ranch there”.

     “His parents were killed when his father refused to sell his claim to a man with syndicate connections”, The Doctor continued.  “Woulda killed Bill too, but he was hiding at the time.  He was only fourteen years old.”

     “But I killed the men that done it!” Bill interrupted. “I put more holes in them than a lace curtain”

     “Syndicate men?” Leslie asked.

     “They worked for Mister Sanders, you know, of Sandersville”. Bill replied.

     Leslie knew all about “Clay” Sanders.  He was THE Syndicate’s man on Barnards Star four.  He was more of an “administrator”. Sources indicated that he was taking HIS orders directly from Konstantin.  He likely wasn’t trying to get into the mining business on his own.

    He was paid well though. Well enough to buy up most of the nearby town, and then have it named after himself.

    Leslie herself had been taken to the Sandersville Hospital after her rape.

      Sanders controlled the local politics and was rumored to have “fixed” the elections.  Adrienne, in her last communication, had complained to Leslie about how Sanders’s people had raised the property taxes so high, that they were in danger of loosing the Ranch.

     “Bill, here, is the gunner you requested” said the Doc.  “He is quite gifted.  He’s ambidextrous, can shoot with either hand at the same time and hit anything he is shooting at.”

     “And that’s taking one shot at a time.”  Bill interrupted.  “Only a fool ever uses his automatic setting.  One shot will kill a man just as dead as ten.  Oh, Them fellas that killed my folks were a special case.”

     Leslie looked Skeptically at Bill.  “How old are you?”

     “I’ll b. . . be Twenty, Ma’am, in about three months.”

      “He IS old enough to be in the Space Command.” The doc commented.

     “I need a SHIP’S gunner, one who can operate a photon cannon” Said Leslie.

     “I Can LEARN ma’am.  I taught myself how to shoot pistols—and there ain’t no one better.” Said Bill.

     “Call Me Captain!” Said Leslie.  She was tired of hearing the “M” word, even if it WAS a gesture of respect.  Such “respect” only further “drove home” in her mind, what she had become.

     “Yes m . . . er. . . Captain!”

     “He would be worth three men on the ground or in a boarding party” Said Doc. “and he does learn quickly.  Most Space Command gunners are not much older than him.”

     Doc turned to Bainbridge “Ash! Are you going to show us your Kick ass star ship?”

     Bainbridge pointed to the Gantry two viewing screen.

The Retribution could be seen in all its glory.  Its black smooth skin and the shiny metal trim glinted in the “sun” light.

     “It’s about the size of a raider,” the doctor observed.

     “But his has the same type reaction and Jump engines that are used in the Enforcer ships”, Bainbridge replied. “  With it’s lesser mass, It can really haul ass in a straight run, and can jump half again as far as an enforcer. “

     “What about Force shielding?”

     “I have decided to use deflector fields instead.  They require less energy to deflect larger impacts than absorbing them like the shields.  The trick is to make them stronger than is required to move the mass of the ship.  A big hit wont break through, it will only knock the ship around a bit.  The inertia damping system protects the crew.”

     “Is that a Particle scoop?” Doc asked pointing to the large round opening that took up half the front of the vessel.

     “No it’s a fifteen meter Quell”

     “You’re shitting me!” Doc replied with surprise. “You can’t use that on a Starship. You would be engulfed in the same explosion that destroys your target.  Provided, of course, the Quell doesn’t blow YOU up first.”

     “It will only be used at longer ranges, if at all. It’s for intimidation, mostly. We have a one point five meter photon cannon to deal with most of the other Syndicate ships. And trust me Doc, I have found a way to stabilize the Quell.  We will be safe from it.”

    

     Doc thought about the situation for a while.  “Ok Ash! I’m in.  When do you propose to take our little ship on its first Space trials?”

      “It will be in about a week.  We still have some interior work to do and a few calibrations to make.”

     Leslie listened to the conversation and didn’t like how it was sounding.  Sure, Doc was Bainbridge’s friend, but it was becoming obvious that She was now being “left out of the loop.”

     “I want one thing understood, Havelock,“ Leslie asserted, “I am the Captain of this ship.  Who I decide to take on, when this ship flies and where it flies to, is my decision alone.  If you want to become a part of this crew you WILL take orders from me and me alone.  What Bainbridge might say means nothing unless I approve it.  Do you understand that?

     Doc was taken off guard.  “Uh . . . Yes, Yes CAPTAIN Webber!”

    Leslie could see it coming.  If left to his own devices, Doc was the type that would not take her seriously.  He would make his own decisions and coerce his friends to go along with him.  He would soon be running the ship if she didn’t clamp down on him NOW!

CHAPTER 11

     The size and dynamics of the group was getting too complex now to function as a handful of friends.  Leslie had to now take charge and begin to enforce some military discipline.

      She was now CAPTAIN Webber, once again.  In different packaging, of course, but Captain Webber just the same. 

     Breeches in discipline would no longer be ignored.  Not that there had been any real problems before, but NOW was the time to take complete charge of the operation. 

     Bainbridge, of course, ran the Salvage yard, but he was now also a member of Retribution’s crew. He was, from this point on, to be under Captain Webber’s command.

     Bill and the Doc had volunteered and they were also to be subservient to Captain Webber as would be Zee and Melissa.

     Interstellar space law would apply to Webber and her crew.  If need be the Captain of a ship had the power of life and death over the crewmembers.  Though Leslie hoped that it would never come to that.

     Crewmembers would be subject to actual prosecution for willfully disobeying orders or acts of mutiny.  This was serious business, and Leslie did take her job seriously.

   

     Leslie called everybody together and broke the news to them.  “From this point on I am officially the Captain and you are the crew”.  I will no longer be your friend, but your Leader.”

     “When I captained the Proteus, I could be considered a real ’Son of a Bitch’ at times.  Now, I suppose, you will have to settle for a ‘Bitch’ instead.”  Bill snickered, but a hard stare from Leslie stopped him cold.

 

    “I hereby declare that Terran Confederation Starship Retribution is officially being taken into custody by Captain Leslie Webber, formerly of the Terran Confederation Space Command. The assembled crew is now subject to all applying laws rules and regulations as set forth in the Interstellar Space Council Proceedings of the fifth day of June, in the year Twenty Two fifteen of the Terran Common Era.

     The casual, laid back atmosphere of the Salvage yard quarters was over.  Leslie was in full command.  There were no official uniforms, other than the standard dark blue pressure suit.

      Needless to say, all three women looked quite “magnificent” in the skintight garments. The black “capstan tubes”, about the diameter of a finger, that ran along the side of their arms, legs and down either side of their bodies tended to enhance their curvaceousness even more.

 

    Leslie and Zee were the biggest women, both looked fine in their outfits, but Leslie, seemed to be a bit more “streamlined”, while Zee was a bit “rounder’” in places.

      Melissa was about five inches shorter than the other women, otherwise, she resembled a smaller scale version of Leslie, but with short brow hair.  Which one looked better, was however, a matter of taste.

    None of the men were especially well built.  Bill, was too thin, Bainbridge looked a bit flabby and Doc, close to 50 years of age, was just a bit “old”, although he looked reasonably well fit.

      The Men were more self-conscious than the women about their appearance.  They opted to supplement their appearance somewhat with their jackets.  Both Doc and Bill also wore their wide brim hats.

     Leslie couldn’t relate to their plight.  She had looked good in a pressure suit as a Man and equally well as a Woman.  She had never felt self-conscious about her body.  She would tolerate the foibles of the men however.  She wanted them to be comfortable.

     Assignments were issued.  Leslie, herself, would take the helm station and would have complete control of the Quell.  Melissa would be responsible for navigation and power distribution.  Bainbridge was, naturally, the engineer.  Zee handled both conventional sensors and Biotelemetry.  Doc had medical duties, but would double as the turret gunner.  Bill would be assigned to the big one point five.

     The day had finally come to take the Retribution on its first test flight. Leslie had been putting her crew through its paces for weeks.  NOW it was time to see what they all were made of.

    Leslie went through her checklist.  Everything seemed to be in order.  A final check with Bainbridge confirmed her assessment.

     Melissa had plotted a course around the Aphrian star system.  Zee turned on the sensors.

     The Anti Grav System was engaged and the Retribution slowly lifted off of the ground for the first time.

     The inertial damping system was engaged and set to one Point five Gs.  No one wanted to be squashed flat against a bulkhead when the reaction engines were fired up.