by Carysa Locke
Uneasy tension moved through the room. No one wanted to be here, where such a destructive battle had so recently taken place. It was unlikely whoever was responsible would be back, but you never knew.
“If the Navy got out a distress call…” Feria said. She let the thought trail off but everyone knew what she was thinking.
Mercy shared a look with Cannon.
“All right. We jump out as soon as we can,” she said. “Hopefully before the Navy, or anyone else, checks in on this place.”
“Uh…boss?” Ghost worked the controls on the console in front of him. The holoview dissolved and reformed, showing a different section of the debris field. In the middle of it, dwarfing the misshapen pieces floating all around it, was a ship.
“Who the hell is that?”
“They’re not flying Navy colors,” Feria said. “But it’s a warship.”
Mercy could see that. The ship was large, with plasma turrets lining its sides, two launch tubes mounted underneath for missiles, and what looked like a hatch for drones.
“That’s a lot of guns,” Declan said.
“Enough to be responsible for all of this,” Cannon agreed, his face grim.
“It’s a Destroyer-class,” Mercy said. She couldn’t think of a more dangerous class of ship to face. “It doesn’t matter who they are. We’re outgunned. We have no jump drive. We’re dead in space.”
Chapter Seven
“You’re thinking like a null,” Cannon said. His green eyes met Mercy’s. They looked brighter; he’d clearly managed some sleep. “Remember, our greatest weapons have nothing to do with guns.” He looked beyond her. “Treon?”
“There are no Talented on board. They’re human, but the crew compliment is large. I’d say several hundred. At least five.”
“Reaper?”
Mercy’s consort raised an eyebrow at Cannon. “Are you asking me if I can kill five hundred people from here?”
Cannon’s mouth twitched. Mercy couldn’t tell if he was fighting a smile or gritting his teeth. “No. This is the kind of thing you handle. I’m asking you to take command.”
Declan made a noise of protest. Cannon ignored him.
Reaper stepped forward. “Treon, can you keep us hidden?”
“Only a handful of minds on the command deck,” Treon said. “Unless someone looks out an actual viewport, yes.”
“And if they do?” Mercy asked.
“Titus, prepare a message. Ship in distress. Use it only if Treon’s stamina fails.”
Treon shot his brother an annoyed look. “There’s no need to be insulting.”
“Ship in distress?” Mercy asked Reaper in a low voice.
“Our hull is still damaged. If they do see us, we want them to think we’re helpless.”
“If they’re mercenaries, they’ll probably board us.”
Reaper gave her a slow smile. “Exactly.”
All right, then.
Titus’s voice floated back to them, speaking what sounded like a standard distress message. “…transport ship Heresy. Our propulsion is damaged, we are requesting aid. This is the transport ship…”
Smart. Wolfgang had never preyed upon other vessels during Mercy’s time smuggling with him. But they’d met plenty of others in the profession with fewer scruples. More pirate than smuggler, Wolfgang took pains to steer Mercy and Atrea far away from that sort. Ironic, in hindsight.
Present thieves with a fully functional ship carrying possibly valuable cargo, and they were likely to fire a few shots, to disable it before boarding. Present them with a vessel already damaged, unable to effectively escape or fight back, and why risk damaging the goods?
They waited. The huge ship struggled to navigate through the space debris. As it was so large in size, most of the pieces struck its hull, then pinged off in new directions. Drones launched, firing kinetic rounds that helped send the smaller pieces spinning away from the ship. Mercy winced when one piece spun straight at them, missing Heresy by a narrow margin.
“How long before they can jump again?” Reaper asked. His voice, as ever, was cool and even. He could have been casually asking what the weather was like on Ardon.
Ghost shrugged. “Depends on how many jumps they’ve taken recently. A ship that size, it could be less than an hour. If our luck is bad, it could be as long as twelve or thirteen.”
Mercy watched Treon’s face carefully, but he showed no signs of stress. He caught her looking and smiled. “Don’t worry, my queen. I have more than enough strength to keep a few nulls from seeing us, even at this distance.”
He’d thrown in the my queen just because he knew it irritated her. “How are you doing it?” she asked, because she genuinely wanted to know.
“They see us on their instruments and holoscreen, if they’re looking, but I am encouraging their minds not to acknowledge the information their eyes are telling them.”
Similar to what Mercy did when she used her Talent to hide from people. She looked at the holoview, mentally calculating the distance to the destroyer. It was staggering to think of what Treon was doing, the distance and scale of it.
“Since you’re over there,” Reaper said his brother, “why are they here?”
“Passing through. They’re mercenaries, working for the Vandencourt family.” He frowned. “It seems the corporate heir has vanished and no one has seen him. The family believes he’s been taken, possibly for ransom.”
“The Vandencourts.” Mercy looked at the destroyer, imagining having the kind of wealth that permitted sending multiple ships just like this one out to track down one missing person. She shook her head. What a waste of resources.
“We’ve stolen from them a few times,” Cannon mused. “If I remember right, their heir was put in charge of the investigation into their missing shipments.” He shook his head. “Not a very effective investigator.”
Declan snorted. “Not a very effective anything. My crew and I robbed his personal ship once, while he was on it.”
Mercy laughed. “Seriously?”
“It was docked at the time, but still. He slept right through it. We left a message in his quarters — better to lose a few shipments than your life.” He shrugged broad shoulders. “I don’t know what happened, but he stopped interfering with our operations.”
“I remember that.” Cannon grinned. “The reports were entertaining to read.”
Mercy blew out a breath. “So we’re just waiting like this? For possibly hours?”
Treon waved a hand. “Go do whatever you’d like. I have this covered.”
Mercy folded her arms. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stay right here.”
“The jump point is closed.”
Casimir frowned at the astrogation console. He was finding that nothing irritated him more than hearing those words. Beside him, Gideon sighed, his head hanging down between his arms as he braced his hands against the edge of the console.
“Of course it’s closed,” Gideon muttered. “They’re all fucking closed.”
“That is incorrect, Gideon Abbott Abelman,” the AI’s voice said. It was female, melodic and programmed to sound reassuring. “Of the approximately three thousand, two hundred and seventy-five active jump points in the Commonwealth, only thirty-two percent are currently closed or transmitting as hazardous.”
“I stand corrected,” Gideon muttered. He slid a glance sideways to Casimir. “Just all of the ones we need to use, then.”
Casimir ignored him. He was looking at the crown sitting prominently behind a stasis wall above the command console. The stasis wall made it impossible to touch or interact with the crown in any way — it was, after all, a priceless heirloom of the Ashir royal line — but still allowed him to see how the Bloodline Jewel reacted to each jump they made.
It was an imprecise method of tracking down the missing Ashir heir, but unless he could get his hands on a Talented Hunter, it was the only method they had. Even with a Hunter’s help, he wasn’t sure it would matter. No one knew who the heir
was. It could be some bastard never acknowledged, or an unknown descendant from generations back in the family line. It could be someone a hundred years old, or a baby.
So far, they’d made fifteen space jumps. He had a list of probabilities based on which directions had caused the intensity of the jewel’s glow to increase.
It was still far too many possibilities, but Cas wasn’t giving up.
“Yelena.” Casimir addressed the AI. “We need this jump point. It’s the only major point with multiple jump options along our flight path. How closed is closed?”
“Captain, do you need me to define the word closed for you?” The AI’s voice held a trace of censure. “Closed means blocked, not open. In the case of a jump point, unable to accept incoming ships.”
Cas rubbed his forehead with a weary hand. “Yes, I know what it means, Yelena. I just need to know: is there a reason given? Are we talking a war zone, or they just don’t want people jumping into the system? There’s a Navy base there. They wouldn’t set a beacon without a good reason.”
“The beacon lists the coordinates as hazardous, Captain. It is also not a military beacon.”
Great. Vague, nonspecific. It could be a war zone, or it could be a collapsing star. They’d have no way of knowing unless they took the leap and jumped in.
“Set the coordinates. Make the jump.”
Gideon pushed away from the table. “Sir, you can’t be serious. For all we know, we could jump right into a black hole—”
“Someone set that beacon, Gideon. It’s not a black hole.” Cas took a seat. “Everyone strap in. This could get bumpy.”
The half dozen crew on the command deck followed his order without hesitation. Everyone except Gideon. Cas hid a sigh.
“Captain,” Yelena said, “Gideon Abbott Abelman is correct. This course of action is unwise.”
Gideon cast a look up. “For the fiftieth time, it’s just Gideon. I wish she’d stop doing that. I hate my middle name.” He glared at Cas like it was his fault. “She never used to do that. It’s only been happening since we visited the palace.”
“Your point?” Cas flipped the switch on the console beside him that set the alert for everyone aboard to engage in safety protocols.
“It didn’t escape my notice that the palace AI, Vera, also has the same name as our ship AI. Vera Yelena Vasiliev.”
“Hmm. So she does.”
“Sir.”
“Gideon?”
“Most AI’s don’t have three names.”
“Shouldn’t you be setting astrogation coordinates for that jump?”
Gideon’s jaw tightened. “Very well, sir.” Gideon sat at the astrogation console and strapped himself in before he began making the appropriate calculations. “For the record, sir, I would like it noted that I protest this action. I believe it puts everyone aboard at risk.”
“So noted. Deploy stealth flaps prior to jumping,” Cas said. “And engage stasis shield.”
Gideon swiveled his chair to face Cas. “The stasis shield will eat up our available power. The Laripim drive crystal will be depleted. We won’t be able to jump out as long as the shield is engaged.”
Cas drummed his fingers on his thigh, forcing himself to be patient. They were all tired, and Gideon was expressing legitimate concerns the rest of the crew were likely too intimidated to voice. “Yes, I’m aware of how the stasis shield works,” he said. “But nothing will penetrate it. So unless it’s a black hole waiting for us — something I’ve already said is impossible — we should be safe.” He lifted an eyebrow and nodded to the astrogation console.
“Yes, sir.” Gideon swiveled his chair back and said nothing more as they prepared to jump. Cas could tell from the set of his shoulders that he wasn’t happy, but to his credit, Gideon knew how far he could push, and when to stop.
Fortunately for them, Casimir’s ship was one of a rare few in the monarchy to run on a unique power source that outperformed standard ship fuel in every way. Laripim drive crystals, while not comparable to the matrix that ran his body or his assault rifle, still held vast depths of power that allowed ships to make multiple jumps in mere minutes, back to back, or run basic propulsion nearly endlessly. Their power pool restored at a fantastic rate as well, so that even when they had to wait between jumps, it was usually for less than an hour. Nothing like the many hours or even days that sometimes stretched between space jumps for normal ships.
The drive crystal also allowed them to have something no other ship in the Commonwealth enjoyed: a full stasis shield. The same technology used to hold things in stasis, except in the case of the shield, it affected only the micro-thin space the shield itself occupied, effectively creating an impenetrable barrier behind which the ship and people on it could continue functioning. Of course, the shield worked both ways. Nothing could get at them, but they also couldn’t fire through the shield or interact with anything beyond it.
Still, it was an excellent protective measure for a situation such as this.
Unfortunately for the rest of the universe, Laripim shipyards had come to an ignoble end; the corporation had gone bankrupt when it leaked that they were trafficking in children and employing trafficked workers in their shipyards. There would be no more drive crystals, until another company could duplicate what they’d created. Cas wasn’t worried. He’d studied the drive crystal when it was fitted to his ship. The company’s claims that it was manmade by their R&D department were lies. The crystal, like the matrix that ran his body, was a naturally occurring substance that might share some characteristics with the crystal that powered his body. Eventually, someone would rediscover it. Until then, he’d enjoy having the upper hand on everyone.
And, if the drive crystal ultimately failed at some point, that would be that. Casimir had lived long enough to know that nothing lasted forever, and it was best to take advantage of what you had while you could.
“Ready, sir,” Gideon said. His tone was crisp. The lighting on the command deck dimmed as the stasis shield went up, power redirecting into the shield.
“Jump,” Cas said, and braced himself for what was to come.
The change was nearly instantaneous, their time in otherspace so quick, Cas barely had a moment to draw a breath before they were out again.
“Yelena, holoview.”
A holoscreen shimmered above the command console. “Captain, several pieces of debris are in the area. They cannot penetrate our shield.”
“Yes, thank you. I see that.” What held Casimir’s attention wasn’t the debris, but the huge ship filling most of holoview.
“That’s a destroyer,” Gideon said.
“It is. Yelena, markings?”
“Markings and colors are consistent with the Golden Vanguard mercenary company.”
“Those fuckers,” someone muttered.
Cas agreed. They’d had a few run-ins with the Vanguard in the past. They functioned like a military crew because most of them were ex-military. That didn’t mean they had the same scruples as their former occupation.
“What the hell are they doing here?” Gideon asked. “Isn’t there a Navy base stationed here?”
“There is,” Cas said. “Yelena, can they see us?
“Stealth flaps are engaged. While not one hundred percent effective, tests have shown stealth flaps to be eighty-seven percent effective when a ship is not actively being searched for.”
Hopefully eighty-seven percent was good enough. “What else can you tell us?”
“The Golden Vangaurd ship Triumph is a Destroyer-class vessel, manufactured at the Ivaldi shipyards out of Solaria in the year—”
“Yelena, not the ship. What can you tell us about the state of things? The Navy? This debris? The beacon labeling this jump point hazardous and closed?”
The AI was silent for a moment, processing. “Captain, your questions call for speculation outside the parameters of—”
“Yelena, you are programmed to speculate when asked. I’m asking.”
“The N
avy base no longer exists. That is not speculation, Captain, but fact. The surrounding debris contains materials of the same basic structure many Naval space bases use for building. I speculate the debris is what remains of the no-longer-existent base. Further, the Triumph has weaponry consistent with the plasma marks still evident on pieces of debris located in quadrants 3, 7, and 9. The beacon is not of military issue, but is of a civilian make and model from Sparks Apex Holdings, year—”
“If the military didn’t set the beacon, and clearly the Triumph didn’t, where did it come from?”
“Unknown. But the frigate also present appears to be a civilian vessel carrying merchant markings and colors. It is a—”
“Frigate? What frigate? Show me.”
The holoview changed, the destroyer disappearing and a new ship taking its place. Much smaller, Yelena was right. It appeared to be a merchant frigate, with some damage taken to her hull.
Cas considered the ship, thinking. What was a merchant vessel doing here? Had she jumped into the middle of the combat between the Navy and the destroyer, and somehow survived? That seemed wildly unlikely.
Perhaps they were just unlucky, and wandered this way immediately following the battle.
He found his gaze drawn to the crown and the Bloodline Jewel at its crest. The glow had brightened, so they were moving in the right direction.
“What are they doing?” Gideon asked.
“Hmm?”
“I mean, they’re both just sitting there. Why?”
It was a good question. They’d certainly jumped into the middle of an odd little standoff.
“Gideon Abbott Abelman, I would speculate that both ships are currently incapable of jumping.”
“Bloody AI. Stop calling me that!”
“It is your name.”
“It’s just Gideon! You call him Captain.” He gestured to Cas.
“That is his title.”
“Gideon, enough.” Cas was still looking at the gem. “We don’t have time for this drama, whatever it might be. It’s unfortunate about the base, and on another day I might decide to do something about it, but we have a more important task. Plot the next jump.”