The rest of the power surges back on, lights come up, and I drop forward, my chest slamming into the buckles of the harness.
I grunt, flailing for the controls. “Hell Monkey—”
“Working on it.” He stretches his arm, just managing to brush fingertips across the right buttons on the conn so the Vagabond starts to slowly tilt back into place. “Regaining appropriate altitude.”
It’s pretty ungraceful with the shifting gravity, but I manage to scramble my ass back into my seat and hit the comms channel, still open and connected to the other three ships.
“Hey, sound off. Everyone make it through okay?”
Coy’s laughter rings out over the space, and my breath rushes out of me in relief. “Well. If that wasn’t something for the history books.”
“Everything accounted for over here,” Faye chimes in. “Honor lost her goggles, but otherwise we’re good.”
Setter’s voice, when he responds, sounds definitely less pleased than the other two. “We are . . . fine. I’m almost positive there was a less risky way to have approached all of this.”
“Hey, you’re the one who started everything up with your plan for shield modifications,” I point out. “Which, speaking of . . .”
Hell Monkey is already one step ahead of me. “Networking connections got broken on the ride—cables too. We’re four separate ships again.”
Good. I mean, not that I didn’t like the group effort, but I like the Vagabond as is. My quick, nimble, sixty-two-meter-long baby.
“Rose?” I call out. “You there again?”
“Good evening, Captain Farshot.” I grin at the sound of her automated voice. “Your heart rate appears severely elevated. Do you require assistance?”
“I love you too, Rose.” Tension leaves my body in little waves. First from my stomach, then from my back, then my neck. I pull my arms across my body, trying to stretch out the muscles in my shoulders and wrists. “Okay . . . anyone’s ship in bad shape after all that? We got any bearings yet?”
“Still working on where we ended up,” says Hell Monkey. “Gonna take a few more minutes before the sensors get calibrated to give us more than ‘Hey, we’re in space.’”
“The Gun got rattled a little in that ride,” Coy calls over the channel, “but she’s pretty intact.”
“Same for the Wynlari,” says Setter. “Some minor damage to the hull on our starboard side, but that’s the extent of it.”
Silence falls. We all wait for the Orso crew to sound off. And we wait . . .
“Faye?” asks Coy after a minute. “You still there?”
Faye snorts. “It’s not sharing hour, pretties. As far as you’re all concerned, the Deadshot is in perfect condition.”
Can’t really fault her for that one. We’re not exactly all on the same side here. Not anymore. Which is why when I get the results from a full scan of the Vagabond, I downplay it with, “Our ass got a little singed, but we’re flying pretty still.”
That’s not entirely true. One of our engines shows signs of damage. Nothing that’s gonna have us falling out of the sky in the next few hours or so, but the kind of damage that could get a little more serious if we don’t take a look at it soon. But I’m not sure how much of it even Hell Monkey can fix without docking somewhere for a day or two.
I mute our end of the channel and look over at my engineer. When he catches my eyes, he shakes his head. “Just guessing off the scans, but I think I’m gonna have to suit up and go outside to do repairs. And I’d have to reroute a lot of Rose’s bandwidth to help me out.”
“Dammit.” I take a slow breath and let it out to a seven-count. “Okay, let’s just hold off for right now. Maybe we can catch a break—”
Coy’s voice cuts across the bridge. “Farshot, check your short-range sensors—are you seeing them?”
I unmute immediately. “What is it? Rose, put whatever the hell she’s talking about on-screen.”
The viewscreen flips over to show three probes, all outfitted with a weird, rocklike shield around them, drifting in a little cluster about a hundred meters off our keel.
“They’re transmitting their coordinates,” says Setter quietly. “Long-distance.”
Coy sighs. “I guess we can expect Edgar to join us soon.”
Faye doesn’t say anything. But a second later, I hear the distant boom-boom-boom of the Deadshot’s cannons going off, and one by one the probes go up in little balls of flame and shattered metal and circuitry.
“He’ll still have the coordinates,” I tell her. “I mean, not to be a dick. Just pointing it out.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Her voice sounds distant. Like she’s leaning back away from the comms to show just how little she’s caring about all this. “He tried to blow us up, so I get to take away some of his toys.”
“In all fairness,” says Setter, “he didn’t do anything against any of the rules. We’re allowed to try to impede each other, throw up obstacles, and so forth. After all, Faye and Alyssa, you got in a blaster fight—”
“Oh . . . I . . .” I stutter. Damn, that Setter can put you on the spot. “I mean, just a little one . . .”
“—and Faye, you locked Alyssa in a room—”
Faye clears her throat. “I had no doubt she could get out easily.”
“—so just because Edgar worked on a much larger and much more effective scale doesn’t mean he is in the wrong—”
Hell Monkey shoots a hand out and mutes our end again. “Long-range sensors are up again, Captain.” His voice is tight and urgent, his fingers working quickly across the dash as he processes the incoming information. “We’re in the middle of the Emoa system.”
The name sounds vaguely familiar. “Emoa . . . That puts us on the outer edge of the quadrant, I’m pretty sure. One of the newer additions to the empire and relatively uncharted. Seven planets total. Two categorized as terrestrial.”
“Viola and Calm,” says Hell Monkey, nodding. And then he shoots me a look. Like, a look. “And I’m picking up a beacon on Calm.”
Forty-Two
THE CHANNEL BETWEEN THE FOUR WORLDCRUISERS goes dead.
Coy goes dark first, and the Gilded Gun shoots off toward Calm, burning engines hot at top sublight speed. Setter and Faye take off right on her tail, and I grab the controls to follow, cursing my slow reflexes.
And then more cursing as it quickly becomes clear that that engine damage is going to put us at a disadvantage in a race right now.
“Rose, redirect any auxiliary power to sublight engines.” I flick a glance over at Hell Monkey. “What do we have in our arsenal that can help us out here? Anything nonlethal we can detonate? EMP pulses or something?”
No answer. I raise my eyebrows at him, one eye still on the worldcruisers pulling away ahead of us. He’s half folded over the conn, frowning at the readout.
“Hey, H.M., did you feel like participating in this situation?” I ask, waving around the bridge. “Or were you just gonna sit this one out?”
He straightens. “Rose, show me our starboard on the viewscreen—forty degrees to a hundred forty degrees, wide scan.”
The lights of the worldcruiser engines disappear, and instead the screen is filled with a wide expanse of stars.
And something very small, but moving very quickly toward us. It’s almost hard to pick out by the naked eye, and our sensors are showing not much more than a blip.
This doesn’t look like a blip. This looks a hell of a lot bigger than a blip.
Dread settles heavy and ice-cold in my stomach. “What is that?”
This time Rose is the one who answers. “Incoming warship signature. Matches known configurations for the starkiller stealth classification. Only known registration and manufacturer: the Mega Shipping Conglomerate.”
I frown at the screen. “A Mega ship? What the hell is a Mega ship doing way out here? Do they have any bases in this system?”
H.M. inputs the query into the conn and then shakes his head at the results. “Nothing. Closest base is
two systems away.”
“Excuse me, Captain Faroshti.” JR appears behind my chair, and I crane my neck around to see it. “Media reports that the Megas were recently victims of a burglary at one of their weapons facilities. Including the theft of at least one stealth-capable ship. Is it possible that’s relevant in this instance?”
Yeah. Yeah, I’d say that’s pretty damn relevant. A stolen ship means just about anybody could be at the helm over there. On a ship called a starkiller. Very comforting. If Rose thought my pulse was fast before, she’s going to be super concerned now because I can feel my heart hammering the hell out of my rib cage. I swing back around to the conn.
“Rose, analyze that ship’s trajectory and give me a time to intercept. Hell Monkey, try to hail Coy.”
I jam the controls forward, trying to will the Vagabond to go faster, even with the damage dragging her down. Come on, baby . . . come on, baby . . .
“Captain Farshot, the warship is on an intercept course with the worldcruiser the Gilded Gun. Maximum sublight speed. Time to engagement is six minutes.”
So on top of being a stolen starkiller ship, it’s also in a serious hurry. This is not getting better. “And how long until we can get there?”
“Seven minutes and thirty-two seconds.”
I pull the Vagabond’s nose starboard several degrees, hoping I can maybe angle it so we can get in between the warship and the crownchasers. “H.M., anything from Coy?”
“Nothing. She’s not responding to hails.”
“The others?”
“Not them either.” His voice sounds strangled. Like the rising anxiety on the bridge is wrapping itself around his throat. “They’re all running hot, redirecting everything to engine power to try to beat each other to that planet. Extraneous systems are deprioritized.”
Extraneous systems—like long-range sensors, like communications. Which means none of them are going to pick up that warship until it’s right on top of them. If it even bothers to get that close. A warship like that has a lot more weapons than the cannons on these cruisers—and it can shoot from a lot farther away too.
I can feel the worry building, and I’m having trouble swallowing it back down. Instead it’s just flooding my chest, scrabbling around like a rabid Tiraxian badger, making it hard for me to think, to figure out a plan, because I can’t breathe, there’s not enough room between my ribs, and it’s too tight in here, it’s too much, it’s too—it’s too—
Warm hands wrap around my arms and spin me in my chair. Hell Monkey crouches in front of me. His grip is solid and heavy on my wrists, anchoring me in place, but that’s the only part of him touching me. He holds the rest of himself away to give me space. So I have full access to all the oxygen floating around me.
I suck in a shaky breath.
“Who are you?” he asks in a quiet voice.
I stare down into his face, take one more breath, and grit my jaw. “I’m Captain Alyssa Fucking Farshot.”
He grins. “You’re godsdamn right. So what do you need me to do?”
“Get to the engine room,” I tell him, straightening. “Whatever you can get out of our engines, I want it.” He nods and is off the bridge in half a moment.
I spin in my chair and sit forward onto the edge, straightening the collar of my coat, raising that hard Faroshti jawline and those cheekbones that people always told me came from my mother.
“Rose, keep us on an intercept trajectory. Maximum sublight speed.”
And then I hail the warship, video and audio, looking right into the viewscreen with my best come on, try me look.
“Mega warship, this is Captain Alyssa Farshot of the Vagabond Quick. You’re looking a little lost here, kitten. This is crownchasers business.”
Silence.
Stars and gods, Coy, please check your sensors.
I try again. “This is all coming off very aggressive, starkiller, and I’d hate to have to run my boot right up your ass. Very unpleasant for both of us. Why don’t you come back here and talk this out with me?”
My viewscreen flickers, and then an image fills the space.
A masked figure in a hooded cloak.
The blood freezes in my body, and for a second, I’m not on the bridge of the Vagabond anymore. I’m down in the haunted crystal tunnels of the Defiant. I’m pinned against the wall. I’m watching Owyn fall. I’m covered in blood. . . .
I blink. And I’m back on the Vagabond. Where I belong. Where I’m in control. I let that fear trying to bubble up harden into something cold and sharp. “Oh, look. There’s more than one of you. How delightful.”
Its hands move over the controls, and a mechanical voice transmits over the comms.
WE ARE MANY MORE. WE ARE HERE TO CLEAR THE WAY.
“Oh hell, no. I have unfinished business with you assholes that we can take care of right here and now. Come on—my ship is damaged, we’re limping along. . . . I’m a prime target. Come take your shot. I won’t run.”
The voice laughs, harsh and unnatural. The sound of it is unnerving as hell.
WE HAVE MORE THAN ENOUGH FIREPOWER FOR ALL OF YOU. WAIT YOUR TURN.
The channel cuts off, and I watch, helplessly, as the warship races past the point where the Vagabond had been hoping to intercept it. I light up the cannons, but by the time I get them warmed up and ready, it’s already leaving us in the dust. Which means I’m right back where I was, scrambling desperately to close the distance. Farther ahead, I can see Setter’s and Faye’s ships nearing the gray-green planet Calm, and beyond that is Coy, starting to slow as she angles to enter orbit.
The ship jumps a little underneath me, and I steady myself as Hell Monkey races back onto the bridge, panting.
“I managed to get us a boost. Not much—maybe ten thousand kilometers or so—and it’ll only last a few minutes, but it could help. . . .”
He trails off when he sees me already shaking my head, and his slow, heavy footsteps draw near the back of my chair.
“It’s too late. They’re already out of range. I—”
“Weapons alert,” calls Rose. “Detecting dual missile launch from the Mega warship. Target: the Gilded Gun.”
I don’t mean to gasp, but it slips out of my mouth. Hell Monkey reaches down for my hand, and I grab on to his fingers furiously, leaning into his arm. Watching on the viewscreen as two bright red missiles cut across the stars toward Coy. Listening as Rose’s voice coolly counts down to disaster.
“Impact estimated in four . . .”
Come on, Coy. Do something.
“. . . three . . .”
Swerve. Deploy countermeasures. Something.
“. . . two . . .”
It’s not supposed to go like this. Please, gods, don’t let it go like this.
“. . . one . . .”
Forty-Three
AT THE LAST POSSIBLE SECOND, I SEE THE GILDED Gun swerve. A bloom of fire bursts and then Rose again:
“Impact detected. Successful hit.”
This weird strangled noise comes out of my mouth. For a moment, I feel like I’m in a bubble and everything else has stopped and I’m just staring as Coy’s ship spins and falls, dragged into Calm’s gravity well, trailing flames and smoke. Setter’s and Faye’s ships pull up, turn toward the threat they didn’t know was coming—but slow, so slow, and the warship bears down on them.
We’re too far away; our sublight engines are too jacked up.
Time to get a little wild.
“Hell Monkey, strap in. Get the cannons warmed up.”
He obeys immediately as I lay in the riskiest course I’ve ever plotted in my life. Hyperlight engines are not really meant for short sprints into the middle of a bunch of ship traffic, but you know . . . desperate times and stuff.
“Captain Farshot, this is not a recommended course of action given current parameters—”
“Save it, Rose.”
Hell Monkey raises a nervous eyebrow. “Are you actually planning what I think you’re planning?”
“More or less. Just be ready to fire as soon as we’re out.” I check the trajectory angle one more time—deep breath, Farshot—and then I hit it.
A burst of diffused light. A streak of stars.
And then we’re there, right above the stolen warship, and I yell, “NOW!”
Hell Monkey doesn’t hesitate. He hauls down on the cannons, launching rounds from all of them. They hit—boom, boom, boom, boom—peppering the hull as we sail past. I push the Vagabond until we’re close to the other two worldcruisers and then swing around so we’re facing the warship, sitting directly in its path.
“Doesn’t look like we did much damage,” Hell Monkey mutters. “We’re gonna run out of cannon charges way before they start feeling the hurt.”
On the edge of the viewscreen, I can see the curve of the planet—its atmosphere a pall of gray-green clouds and flashes of lightning. I can’t see where Coy fell. If she cracked against the solid ground. If she broke up in the storms.
I flip a signal on the comms, sending a ping to the other two worldcruisers, and they respond immediately.
“On your starboard,” Setter says as soon as the channel is open.
“Off your port side.” Faye’s voice sounds hard and angry. “I’ve got all our cannons hot and probably five or six rounds left.”
“Use whatever you’ve got.” I tighten my grip on the controls. “I’m going to try to draw their fire.”
“You’re not as quick as usual,” Setter points out. “Are you sure—”
“Proximity alert,” says Rose. “Warship approaching with weapons live.”
“I’ll just have to be squirrelly, Setter. Worry less about us and focus on trying to punch a hole in that ship.”
I slam down on the controls, shooting the Vagabond forward, right at the warship’s nose. As soon as it fires, I dive, throwing us into a roll. The guns follow and I’m having to react quick as hell to keep from getting clipped by them as we swoop underneath the keel and come up on the aft.
“Missiles launched!” Hell Monkey calls. “Deploying countermeasures!”
I curse vividly. Peel us off to the right, trying to get clear as one, two, three of the warship’s missiles collide with our decoys and explode, rattling our hull. I keep the Vagabond close to the warship, weaving a pattern around the big bulk of her. She’s got serious armor and shields and weapons every which way, but worldcruisers are lighter, quicker. We’ve got to be able to use that to our advantage.
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