Caretakers
Book Two of the
Stag Privateers series.
by
Nathan Jones
Copyright © 2019 Nathan Jones
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the author
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The events depicted in this novel are fictional. The characters in this story are also fictional, and any resemblance to anyone living or dead is entirely unintentional.
by Nathan Jones
POST-APOCALYPTIC
BEST LAID PLANS
Fuel
Shortage
Invasion
Reclamation
Determination
NUCLEAR WINTER
First Winter
First Spring
Chain Breakers
Going Home
Fallen City
MOUNTAIN MAN
Badlands
Homecoming
Homeland
Mountain War
Final Stand (upcoming)
SCIENCE FICTION
STELLAR MERGER
Boralene
Ensom (upcoming)
STAG PRIVATEERS
Last Stand
Caretakers
Stag Uprising (upcoming)
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Epilogue
Author's Note
Links to books by Nathan Jones
Chapter One
Interim
Aiden Thorne, captain of the privateer light cruiser Last Stand, was in the bridge early the morning after their escape from Brastos 4 and the task force it seemed was hunting them.
Not too surprising given the unpleasant events of last night, after he'd discovered his new crew member Lana sneaking out of the gunner's room. It hadn't taken a genius to put together that the Blank Slate, who he'd rescued from a Deek slaving ship with zero memories a few weeks ago, was sleeping with the young man.
Then, even worse, he'd lost his temper and hit the gunner.
Sleep hadn't appealed after that, especially since he'd sent his prototype adult companion Ali away in a huff. Only to realize that, after over a year of sleeping peacefully cuddled up to the impossibly beautiful and realistic robot, he felt oddly restless without her pressed comfortingly against him; the bed felt cold and empty without her warmth and softness in his arms.
Rather than lay awake moping, and given the lack of alternative options, he'd chosen to report for his shift early and update his logs on yesterday's failed attack. Mostly analyzing the tactics the Deconstructionist Movement ships and hired mercenaries had employed to try to trap his ship.
He could admit he was usually very enthusiastic when it came to studying the Movement and recording his findings. Less generous people, to name no names aside from that they ended in “ix”, might even accuse him of carrying his interest to the point of obsession. Even certain robotic lovers had gently suggested he might be a bit too zealous in his studies.
Aiden couldn't see how that mattered, since he was also committed to continuing his war with the Deeks, the common slang for Movement members, until they finally caught him and killed him. Given that, simply spending a lot of time learning about his enemy to better destroy them seemed completely reasonable and indeed beneficial.
Especially at times like right now, when it kept him from thinking about a specific young woman he'd allowed himself to develop feelings for, only to discover that she'd gone and thrown herself at someone else. Or, equally unpleasant, that when he'd found out about it he'd punched that someone else in the face.
Completely unprofessional. He was ashamed both as an officer of the Preservationist Fleet and as a gentleman.
He was also, if he had to admit it, not looking forward to the morning shift beginning, and having to be in the same room with Lana and the gunner after what had happened. It wasn't that he was nervous, of course; he'd been in countless battles, many of them fleet engagements, destroyed dozens of ships, and even faced down Deek frigates and won the day.
But the prospect of having to meet Lana's big hazel eyes, or endure the gunner's disciplined, nonjudgmental silence, wasn't an appealing one. Or, for that matter, having to contemplate the relationship they were apparently now in.
When he heard the light tread of footsteps entering the bridge he silently tensed, expecting the ordeal had begun. But, absurdly, to his relief it was just his science officer, Barix Ishiv. Absurd, because that was probably the first time he'd ever been relieved to see the slight, arrogant Ishivi.
Maybe the first time anyone had.
The man's light brown hair was still tussled from sleep, gray eyes squinting blearily at the path to his workstation. To top off his exhausted appearance, he was carrying a steaming drink in a foam mug. Which was against formal rules for bridge operation, although given the increasingly . . . lax enforcement of nonessential rules over the years the Last Stand continued its privateering mission, most of the time Aiden overlooked these kinds of slip ups.
Which he did now, turning back to his analysis of yesterday's battle as the short, slightly built purebred settled in at his workstation, second from the end on the right side in the semicircle facing the large three-dimensional main display, which filled the center of the circular room.
Silence settled, which Aiden was more than content with.
But apparently his crew member wasn't. “How are you doing this morning, Barix?” the Ishivi said sarcastically out of the side of his mouth in a high pitched voice, then continued normally. “Oh great, great, thank you kindly for asking! Only my room was completely trashed by a stray shot in yesterday's fight, so I had to sleep on a couch in the lounge. Except, for some reason it was occupied late into the night by two people who shall remain nameless, aside from the fact that they rhyme with “Fauna” and “runner.”
The slight man raised his voice, obviously building up to a good rant. “Who once again spent hours hogging the place, watching insipid romances and dramas and void knows what else, which under most circumstances I find incredibly amusing since neither of those two have the slightest idea what drama or romance even is, but they still waste all their time, and
