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    The Last Flagship: The Science Officer, #6
    The Last Flagship: The Science Officer, #6
    The Last Flagship: The Science Officer, #6
    Ebook194 pages2 hours

    The Last Flagship: The Science Officer, #6

    By Blaze Ward

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    About this ebook

    She disappeared more than eighty years ago. Lost forever to myth and legend like Excalibur tossed into the waters.

    When The Science Officer leads the crew to the last flagship of the Neu Berne fleet, they must risk awakening a Sentient warship if they want to go after the man who destroyed Storm Gauntlet.

    Just how derelict is the last flagship? Could it be a trap as well?

    The Last Flagship may just be the most daring caper for Javier Aritza, Suvi, and the crew of Storm Gauntlet, as well as the most surprising!

    This is the sixth novella in the Science Officer series. Be sure to read the entire series! 

    Part of the Alexandria Station universe.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKnotted Road Press
    Release dateOct 10, 2017
    ISBN9781943663583
    The Last Flagship: The Science Officer, #6
    Author

    Blaze Ward

    Blaze Ward writes science fiction in the Alexandria Station universe (Jessica Keller, The Science Officer,  The Story Road, etc.) as well as several other science fiction universes, such as Star Dragon, the Dominion, and more. He also writes odd bits of high fantasy with swords and orcs. In addition, he is the Editor and Publisher of Boundary Shock Quarterly Magazine. You can find out more at his website www.blazeward.com, as well as Facebook, Goodreads, and other places. Blaze's works are available as ebooks, paper, and audio, and can be found at a variety of online vendors. His newsletter comes out regularly, and you can also follow his blog on his website. He really enjoys interacting with fans, and looks forward to any and all questions—even ones about his books!

    Read more from Blaze Ward

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      Book preview

      The Last Flagship - Blaze Ward

      The Last Flagship

      The Last Flagship

      The Science Officer:

      Volume

      6

      Blaze Ward

      Knotted Road Press

      Contents

      Book Seventeen: Avalon

      Part One

      Part Two

      Part Three

      Part Four

      Book Eighteen: Derelict

      Part One

      Part Two

      Part Three

      Part Four

      Book Nineteen: Hammerfield

      Part One

      Part Two

      Part Three

      Part Four

      Part Five

      Part Six

      Part Seven

      Part Eight

      Part Nine

      Book Twenty: Excalibur

      Part One

      Part Two

      Part Three

      Read more!

      About the Author

      Also by Blaze Ward

      About Knotted Road Press

      Book Seventeen: Avalon

      Part

      One

      Javier had the door to his workshop locked. Partly for safety reasons. Mostly just to keep people from wandering aimlessly in and wanting to chat. Even on a starship in flight, that happened.

      His manners were generally up to chatting. Just not today.

      He could be alone here. Just him and his junk.

      And

      Suvi

      .

      His AI sidekick sat in her little armed probe, watching. It was like a giant, gray eyeball, bigger than his head, smaller than his shoulders, parked on her charging ring with a slobbering amount of music, books, and videos stored down in the base, in case she got bored.

      The rest of the room was an

      organized

      mess

      .

      He had redone everything when he’d first claimed the space. Turned the shelves into clear-faced drawers so he could see what was in them, while still keeping it all from flying around if they lost power to the gravplates, which happened less frequently than it used it. Stuck things into drawers with a filing system that existed only in his head. It would look utterly random to a stranger

      walking

      in

      .

      Fourteen years in the Concord Fleet meant that those habits were automatic on a starship.

      The off-white tabletop in front of him with burn marks, coffee rings, and dried gunk, had stretchy nets on each corner. They held things like his welding laser and clockwork tools down, but kept them

      at

      hand

      .

      He was mostly tinkering, anyway. Working on a new waldo arm that he could mount on Suvi’s probe. Something to do with his hands while his backbrain dug deep into old memories and raked the muck about until it found what it was

      looking

      for

      .

      His nightmares, the last few days, had been spectacular as a result.

      The door chime was almost a welcome interruption.

      Almost.

      Javier took a deep breath, stashed everything under handy nets,

      and

      rose

      .

      His back hurt from being hunched over too long on the four-legged stool. Probably time to go do some yoga or something. He was pretty good about maintaining his regular lifting and stretching cycle.

      He ran his hand back through his short, black hair and contemplated how much of it was coming in gray now, mostly at his temples, but a little everywhere. He wasn’t vain enough to dye it, and many women seemed to think it made him look more distinguished.

      Always a good thing, looking good for the women of

      this

      crew

      .

      Privately, he made a bet with himself who would be on the other side of that hatch. There were only a few people who would come down here, rather than just call him on the comm to ask a question.

      That meant it would be a private conversation.

      Another deep breath, finding his calm center, as he approached the hatch.

      He unlocked the system and opened it, finding himself staring at her chest. Not hard to do when her breasts were about on a level with his chin. Small ones, to be sure, hiding on top of muscles. Lots of muscles. But breasts.

      Djamila Sykora. Dragoon of the private service, Strike Corvette Storm Gauntlet.

      A woman 2.1 meters tall. She towered over Javier by thirty centimeters.

      Her brown hair was still worn short to fit inside an armoured lifesuit, buzzed very tight on the sides and spiked into a petite Mohawk

      on

      top

      .

      It was still the only thing petite

      about

      her

      .

      She had bright, pretty green eyes. They reminded him of Holly, his ex-wife, but he only told her that when he wanted to annoy this woman. Mostly, it was the faint freckles, anyway.

      The bone structure in her face wasn’t delicate enough to be pretty, but he suspected she could be stunningly beautiful if she ever cared to try. Not that a hardass like Sykora would, unless she was undercover on a grift. Like the Pleasure Dome

      had

      been

      .

      Artemis, by Michelangelo.

      The only vaguely-female touch was the collection of tiny gold or silver rings, studs, and stones in both ears. Seven on the right. Nine on the left. Nothing through the nose, though.

      Javier sized her up, then stepped back and to the side so she could enter.

      Today, he couldn’t even work up the energy to ogle her ass, or bitch at her intrusion into his personal space.

      Just as well. She surprised him by walking to a side wall, crossing her arms, and leaning her weight

      against

      it

      .

      That was so out of character for Sykora that Javier had to fight to keep his mouth from falling on the floor.

      After all, the woman was a veteran; a bad-ass, former marine of the Neu Berne Navy. A close-combat expert of zero-gravity fighting who was commonly referred to as the Ballerina of Death.

      A woman born with a stick up her ass. And willing to abuse anybody she felt was slacking the slightest amount from their true potential as she

      saw

      it

      .

      He would have said they mixed as well as oil and water, but it was frequently petroleum and fire

      between

      them

      .

      Javier closed the hatchway and locked it again.

      Keeping any of her

      friends

      out

      .

      Suvi was in her armed probe and watching from the workbench. If Sykora got out of hand, Javier knew his sidekick would happily shoot the woman.

      He walked back to the stool he had been using before, pulled it to the opposite side of the small room, and sat. It put his eyes about at a level with her belly button.

      Not that it was visible, but he knew it was there, riding a hard eight-pack of abs. Today, she was in muted gray. Slacks and a button-up overshirt in chambray with a very petite camouflage pattern. The top of a black t-shirt peeked over the highest button.

      With a start, Javier realized it was the uniform she had stolen when they snuck aboard Shangdu, the resort vessel known as the Pleasure Dome. He wondered if that was a conscious choice on her part. And what it said about why she

      was

      here

      .

      More unfinished business, at least on

      her

      part

      .

      Silence bound them for several seconds.

      Javier took another deep breath.

      Released

      it

      .

      Why are you here? he asked bluntly.

      No elegant turn of phrase. No chiding sarcasm. Nothing.

      He was tired, and didn’t want to deal with the dragoon today. Especially not the scowl on

      her

      face

      .

      "Hammerfield," she said, finally, in a quiet, alto voice unlike her normal angry bellow.

      She was not saying as much as

      she

      said

      .

      Javier assaulted her with silence in return.

      He could out-patient a hunter like her, probably by orders of magnitude. Patience was his thing.

      It really exists? she asked, relenting from her harsh stare.

      Javier shrugged.

      I told you and Captain Sokolov what I know, he said. "Nastiest piece of orbital chaos I’ve ever surveyed. And sitting back in the corner, orbiting a small gas giant like one of her moons in a tiny and exceedingly complex LaGrange point, a vessel with a transponder code identifying her as Hammerfield. Whether it really is THE Hammerfield, I don’t know. Won’t, until we board her. That was several years ago, and I only memorized

      so

      much

      ."

      So it wouldn’t be in your old logs? she asked.

      There was something in her

      voice

      .

      Hope

      ?

      Her?

      What would the High Priestess of Death hope for, in the lost flagship of her own nation’s navy, vanished decades before she

      was

      born

      ?

      The Great War had ended in a collapse so complete that only today was Neu Berne anything more than a tourist destination. It was the sort of place rich folks from the Concord could go to watch the proud descendants of the warring generation still trying to come to terms

      with

      loss

      .

      You cut up my ship, Javier growled angrily at her. "After you made me kill her. Those logs are written

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