by Jay Allan
She hadn’t heard from Vig.
He’d activated the catapult…that had been after he’d blown the doors. So, he hadn’t been blasted out into space. At least that logic made enough sense for Andi to convince herself it was true.
Most of her thoughts, were devoted to Vig just them, but her eyes were glued to the screen. The torpedoes—her minefield—were chasing down the Union ship. The vessel had managed to elude six of the weapons, or at least gotten far enough away from their vectors that it was clear they would be able to escape any damage.
But two were still close.
She could let the torpedoes try to close, to impact with the enemy ship and obliterate it. That would be ideal, but it was also the least likely occurrence. Naval ships had almost given up using torpedoes in the last fifty years, at least physical ones. Modern ships had too much thrust, and energy weapon ranges had steadily increased over the last century. Andi figured she had one chance in three for one of the warheads to actually hit the enemy ship. Maybe one in four.
But she didn’t need a direct hit.
“I want the engines ready…and Barret, you make sure the lasers are charged.”
She could bet everything on destroying her enemy in one stroke…or she could hedge her bets. She tracked the likeliest vectors for the ship and the two pursuing torpedoes. If she detonated them at just the right instant, she might damage the enemy ship, even cripple it.
But she had to time it perfectly. Her mind raced, calculating the exact moment for the explosion, and even adjusting for the time it would take to transmit a destruct command. It was tight, difficult, maybe as much of a longshot as hoping for an outright hit. But she’d already decided, and Andi rarely second guessed herself.
She watched, tense, holding her breath…and then she pressed the button, sending the command to the two warheads, just as they were both passing within a kilometer of the Union ship.
* * *
Phantasia shook hard, and she spun around, gyrating in a wild roll. Boucher was strapped in, but even so, she could feel the pain as two of her ribs snapped. Her body had been thrown hard forward, and even as she tried to remain focused on the battle, she could see the damage all around.
The bridge was filled with smoke, several different shades of toxic fumes from various damaged systems swirling around her. The reactor was down, the ship’s power limited to emergency battery stores. She could see Drusus Olivetti sprawled across the deck, the grotesque angle between his head and his neck making it immediately clear he was dead.
Phantasia was crippled, helpless. She’d screamed desperately into the comm unit, ordering her people in engineering to report, to get her ship functioning again. But all she’d heard was static. She didn’t know if her people on the lower decks were all dead, or if the intraship comm was just out.
It didn’t matter. She was beaten, finished. It didn’t seem possible. How could that ship, that small, insignificant ship, have thwarted her at every turn, bested all of her people?
She looked across the bridge at the display, one of the few systems still functioning. The enemy ship was there, coming around, closing on Phantasia. If she’d had anything, a laser, or some engine power, Boucher could at least fight back.
But she had nothing.
Her ship was crippled, dead in space.
She felt the panic rising up inside her, the cold feeling of approaching death. She’d sent others to their ends, as often as not, in suffering and agony, with little sympathy and no remorse. But now that she faced death, all she wanted was to escape, to find the mercy that she had so often refused her own victims.
Surrender was forbidden, of course, against every mandate that directed the actions of Sector Nine operatives. The penalty for cowardice, for yielding to the enemy was death. But she faced death if she didn’t give up.
Maybe she’d faced it anyway, even if she’d escaped the system, returned to Montmirail with the mission she’d commanded a total shambles. Perhaps it was better, for her, for all her people. The Confederation was the enemy, but their ways were different. She would be imprisoned at first, almost certainly, but she could make a deal, offer information in return for leniency.
Yes, perhaps she could make it work, build a new life. It seemed a better choice than dying in the depths of the Badlands.
She reached out, activated the comm. “This is Sector Nine ship Phantasia to the unknown vessel out there. We are crippled and defenseless, and we yield. We ask for mercy, and we surrender to you.”
* * *
Andi started at the speaker, her face twisted in a nasty scowl. She heard the sounds of the Sector Nine commander, the Union killer who now sought mercy. She could see Barret across the bridge, looking on with some level of confusion.
Andi returned her comrade’s gaze, but there was no uncertainty in her eyes. The mines had worked, they had crippled the enemy ship, rendered it harmless. But they hadn’t destroyed it utterly, and they’d left it there…for Andi to decide its fate.
She could see Barret’s discomfort. He despised the Union as much as anyone else, but even after the dishonor that had seen him expelled from the service, he still carried far too much navy honor with him, at least for Andi’s tastes. And the Confederation navy did not refuse surrender requests, no matter how horrible the yielding party’s crimes.
Andi turned back and stared at the comm again. The surrender was no trick, no deceit, she was sure of that. The scans left no doubt. The Union ship was utterly helpless. Likely, if left on its own, its remaining power would eventually fail, and it would lose life support. A terrifying, lingering death for everyone onboard.
Andi knew she couldn’t allow that. She couldn’t let cold and lack of air do what she had to do herself.
She reached out, flipped on the comm. “Sector Nine vessel, this is Pegasus. We have received your surrender request.” She stared straight ahead, not a hint of emotion in her expression.
“Yes, Pegasus…thank you for responding. I am Commander Boucher. We have eleven survivors, and we all wish surrender. We request rescue and transit back to the Confederation, where we will cooperate with all authorities.”
“That is good to hear, Commander Boucher. There is just one thing I must do first. I have to obtain approval from the surrender committee. Fortunately, on this ship there are only two members. Their names are Gregor and Jackal.”
Andi got up from her chair and she walked across the bridge, carrying the portable comm mic with her. “Unfortunately, I can’t seem to find them, Commander…no matter how hard I look.”
She walked over to Barret’s station, and she put her hand on his shoulder, pushing him gently from his seat. “I’m not sure where they can be…” She sat at the just-vacated position, and her hands moved over the controls. “They must have been killed, Commander…slaughtered by your murderous cutthroats.” Her emotionless tone was gone, replaced by the sound of pure venom. “That is too bad, Commander…it leaves me no options.”
Her hands gripped the gunnery controls, and she opened the power flow, charging up the topside turret. “Too bad for you. I’m afraid without my two friends, there is no way for me to accept your surrender. So, I guess I don’t have any choice.”
Andi could feel the discomfort from Barret, hear his breathing. Her friend knew she was going to do, and while she doubted he would try to stop her, he was clearly on edge.
“I’m terribly sorry, Commander.” Andi brought up the scope and finalized the fire lock. The enemy ship had no thrust, no evasive capability. A child brought in from the street could have aimed the guns. Opening fire on a helpless vessel, one that had surrendered, would be nothing short of murder.
But Andi didn’t care. Not one bit.
“Yes, I’m terribly sorry, Commander…sorry that this will be so quick, so relatively painless. Given time and opportunity, I would relish taking longer, looking into your eyes as the life fades from them. But circumstances allow us what they do. Goodbye, Commander Boucher. I called ahead
and saved your place. You will get to see hell before I do.”
Andi’s fingers tightened, and Pegasus’s lasers fired…once, and then again, a few seconds later. She imagined the beams ripping into the damaged ship, slicing open its hull. She closed her eyes for a second, seeing the Sector Nine operatives running, screaming, lost in panic as the frigid vacuum of space tore into their ship, as they gasped for air and froze or died in the agony of the flames.
And then she saw the ship—Phantasia, her counterpart had called it—vanish from the scanner display.
The fight was over, and Andi felt a brief spark, a passing second of elation at the victory…and at what she saw as final justice meted out. But it was gone almost at once, and all that remained was a yawning pit of pain and loss, and the faces of two comrades, friends and brothers…gone.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Samis Station Three
Orbiting Ventica VII
Year 302 AC
“I am sorry about your shipmates, Andi.” There was genuine remorse in Durango’s voice, Andi was sure of it. She rarely believed anything she heard, or took anyone’s word. But she believed the shipyard manager, and whatever else he was, was reliable in his own way. “You were true to your word. You had to know the artifacts you brought back were worth more than the half million credits I promised you. Much more. Yet, you brought them back and honored the agreement. That is a rare thing, Andi. You are hard, cold—sometimes, I suspect, cruel and merciless—but at your core, you are an honorable warrior. You will always be welcome at Samis, for whatever you may need. Which, at this moment, appears to be significant repairs to your ship.
Andi nodded. She wasn’t sure what she thought of Durango’s words. She gave credence to flattery and kind words even less than she believed people’s claims and promises. But again, there had been a sincerity to what he’d said. She nodded. “Yes, my ship needs…significant repairs.”
Pegasus was battered, the entire rear of its cargo hold gone, the hull dented and pockmarked in a dozen placed and hastily patched in a dozen more. She’d barely gotten the ship back to Samis, and she hadn’t dared to estimate the costs of making the vessel truly spaceworthy again, much less bringing it back to top condition. Half a million credits sounded like a lot of money when she’d accepted it for the mission, but now she figured she’d be handing most of that right back to Durango. She could live with that, for her part, at least. She’d never had much—for most of her life, she’d had nothing at all—but the thought of her people coming away with almost nothing for the second mission in a row was painful. Her mind was working, trying to decide what repairs could wait, how much she could leave undone and still take Pegasus on a couple milk runs to work her way through repair costs.
“We both know what you brought back is worth many times what we are paying you. I can’t change that…I am not the ultimate decision maker. But I do have some authority…and I will repair Pegasus for you, back to tip top shape…at no charge.
The words hit Andi like a hammer. This was completely unexpected.
“I’m sorry, Durango…thank you for that offer…but I can’t accept charity. Maybe we can sit down and shave off all the nonessential…”
“It is not charity. I am almost stealing from you on this. And, I know your ship was in top condition before you left, because I put it there myself. So, let me pay your fee, and let me fix the damages you suffered on the mission.” A pause. “I can’t do anything to bring back your lost comrades, of course, but I will provide annuities for their next of kin. It’s the least we can do for those who served us so well.”
Andi was dumbstruck. She’d wallowed so long in the sewers of humanity, she could hardly recognize someone dealing honorably with her.
“I don’t know what to say, Durango.”
“Don’t say anything. You’ve got to be exhausted…and you need some medical care yourself. Leave Pegasus to me. You will find your half million in the system AI. That’s more convenient right now than a crate of platinum…but when you leave, it is instantly convertible to hard currency at the purser’s office.”
“Thank you again, Durango.” She extended her hand. “Now, I have to find a way to sneak back to Dannith. I have some business there, and some considerable…complications…to deal with.”
“I am sure you will find a way, Andi…after you visit the infirmary.” Durango smiled, and he reached out and grasped her hand.
* * *
“We will have to keep an eye on her. I am quite impressed.” The man stood in the shadows at the rear of the room, looking down at the small row of crates. “These artifacts are of considerable value. They will go a long way in sustaining our superiority over the Union.”
“Two of her people died to bring these to us.”
“People die in our line of work, Durango, and in hers. There is no way to avoid it. We have treated her fairly. I wholeheartedly agree with your addition of the annuities and your waiver of the repair costs for her vessel. Andi Lafarge has proven to be an asset of considerable value, and it is in our interests to ensure she remains active…and enhance her loyalty to you. We will very likely want to use her again.”
“She is in serious trouble, sir…you know that. That, more than the damage to her ship, endangers her future prospects. And she is insistent on going back to Dannith to attend to…some business. We both know what that means.”
“Perhaps we can help her with her problems with the authorities. I am not without influence. I believe we might get the case against her closed, the unfortunate damage done to the spaceport facilities classified as accidental…or caused in the act of self-defense. Her people were under attack there, after all, regardless of how many police and spaceport cronies Carmichael bribed to state otherwise.”
“Is that really possible?” Durango was a gritty veteran of the rough and tumble frontier, a man who had dealt with every manner of rogue. But in that moment, he sounded purely earnest.
“Yes, Durango, I believe it is. I will see to it at once. By the time Andi Lafarge gets out of the infirmary and hops a shuttle back to Dannith, she will be an upstanding citizen…or at least the closest facsimile thereof.”
The man stepped forward, coming out of the shadows. He was tall, handsome, every centimeter of him the picture of what all the Confederation believed him to be, the scion of a vastly wealthy family, one of the most well known throughout Confed space.
What few of those vast billions, almost none, in fact, knew was that Gary Holsten was also the head of Confederation Intelligence.
“She has served us well, Durango, served the Confederation well. And we take care of our own…even when they don’t know they’re ours.
* * *
Brewer walked into his office. He appeared to be a somewhat successful frontier merchant, dealing in various and sundry exotic merchandise. Under that veneer, he was a notorious black marketeer, a buyer of almost any old tech artifacts that could be had.
And under that cover, he was Sector Nine’s station chief, the Union’s senior operative on Dannith.
Aimee Boucher’s mission had been overdue for weeks, and now he was getting scraps of intel, nothing reliable, but repeated rumors that Andi Lafarge and Pegasus—the hated Nightrunner renamed—had returned with artifacts from Aquellus. He didn’t know if it was true, but some nagging thought at the back of his mind told him it was.
“Curse that Andi Lafarge and her pack of pirates.” The words echoed softly in the nearly dark room. He was alone. He’d left his guards outside. All he wanted was a drink, maybe two or three, and then to go home and get some sleep. In the morning he would try to find out more about what had happened to Boucher and her expedition…and he would commence a new operation, one that would finally rid him of Jim Lorillard’s despised ship, and his handpicked successor. They had been a thorn in his side for too long, and it was finally time to do something about it.
He walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink. He lifted it to his lips and took a
deep gulp. He felt the smooth brandy sliding down his throat…and something else. He set the glass down and stepped back from the bar. The drink tasted…strange.
“You needn’t worry, Brewer. That one drink is quite enough, I assure you.”
The Sector Nine operative put his hands to his neck, and he opened his mouth to scream for the guards. But nothing came out.
Then he fell to his knees as his body convulsed in pain. He could hardly move, and he rasped to suck in the smallest breaths of air.
“How much do you know about Blast, Brewer? I had a friend once, who was addicted. It’s nasty stuff, really…but if it is dissolved into water with a handful of other, very easily obtained, chemicals and then distilled, it becomes quite a potent poison. And a fast-acting one, I might add, at least to the point of incapacitation.” Andi Lafarge stepped out from the dark side of the room and started at the dying man. “But where are my manners, Brewer? Allow me to introduce myself. I am Andromeda Lafarge. I believe you know who I am, and while we are together, let me add to my resume for you. You needn’t be concerned for the ship you sent to Aquellus. It is gone, along with everyone you sent out there.”
Andi knelt down in front of Brewer, and her hand moved slowly, pulling her knife from its sheath. “The poison will certainly kill you, but it will take some time. Normally, I’d let you suffer, but I’m not sure I can lived with myself if I don’t get to feel my knife sliding between your ribs, ridding the universe of one of its vast legion of parasites.” As she spoke the words, she jammed the blade into Brewer’s abdomen, and she shoved it upward, slicing into his lungs and his heart. She held it for just a second, feeling the blood pouring out, the hot warmth dripping down, over her knife and her hands.”