Mercy Kil

by Aaron Allston

  Jesmin clicked a couple of switches and looked at one of her auxiliary monitors. “All clear.”

  “Go.”

  Turman faced the center of the viewport directly ahead. “Put her on, Lieutenant.”

  The forward viewport darkened to opacity, and a new image glowed into life there. It was another ship’s bridge, its furnishings and consoles showing more blue than white, its captain in the background and a trio of bridge officers in the foreground, a virtual double of the arrangement Bhindi had set up. The officers wore Galactic Alliance naval blues. The captain was a human woman, her brown hair in a bun, her skin a reddish tan.

  Turman gave the other officer a pleasant nod. “Captain Evlen. Congratulations on your recent promotion. Your mother must be quite proud.”

  Evlen raised an eyebrow. “You know my mother?”

  “I’ve met her. But I was not in this uniform at the time. Or in any uniform. She probably wouldn’t remember me.”

  While Turman spoke, Bhindi began typing, innocuously, at her console. The forward port-side viewport blanked, and then text began to appear on it. BIANA HIDES RECURRENT TACYODERMITIS FROM COMMAND.

  Turman continued without a break, “I hope her twitching has finally cleared up.”

  Evlen paused, then offered a chilly smile. “Certainly. It was mysterious, but at least it was brief. And how is your knee? Better, I hope?”

  Voort almost cheered. Not only had Face gotten to the naval archives, but someone had accessed them in a search for Hocroft’s name. The searchers would have found only one report, an addendum to an operation by Alliance commandos during the Second Galactic Civil War, mentioning their encounter with an Avvan Hocroft and his recent knee injury.

  The last exchange between Evlen and Turman would cement in the captain’s mind the notion that Hocroft was a black-ops Imperial operative with extensive connections in and knowledge of the Alliance military.

  Voort returned his attention to the navigation board and his elation evaporated.

  Unpleasantries concluded, Turman got to the subject. “By the way—I was expecting the general.”

  Evlen nodded. “He’s been notified. We made good time by taking a couple of cross-jumps off the major routes, so our arrival caught him a little off guard. He’ll be here momentarily.”

  Voort began typing, and his words appeared beneath Bhindi’s. ONCOMING CORVETTE HAS SIDESLIPPED IN APPROACH. DIRECTLY AHEAD. IF WE NEED TO GO TO HYPERSPACE, MUST MANEUVER AND EXPOSE FLANK. He saw the gaze of the others flick over to that screen and take in its message.

  Bhindi typed back, STAY CHILLY.

  Turman offered a slight shrug. “While we wait, care for a game of virtual sabacc?”

  Evlen frowned. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “It’s also called Excess. I shuffle a deck of cards in my mind, as you do in yours. We each deal a hand. Of course, since it’s a mental exercise, we have the ultimate power to cheat, as if we had decks entirely composed of skifters. Since we could each choose the most valuable hand possible, the first trick each of us faces is to choose a hand that will win but not be absolutely unbeatable. That wins the hand, but the real trick, the one that wins the entire game, is to lose by the narrowest cumulative margin across the entire series of hands.”

  “That’s preposterous.”

  “It’s all the rage. Experience shows us that losing by the narrowest possible margin until almost the end is often the way to win a lengthy war.”

  “And when have you ever done that?”

  Jesmin began typing. PASSING OUT OF EXTREME WEAPONS RANGE INTO EFFECTIVE WEAPONS RANGE. JUST SAYING.

  Evlen glanced off to her right as if she, too, were reading something outside the holocam view. She returned her attention to Turman. “Well, I suspect we’ll have plenty of time to discuss our respective philosophies of war.”

  “How so?”

  “Because—”

  Jesmin hit a button on her console. “Deflectors!” Her bellow was loud enough to startle Voort.

  Bhindi reflexively brought up the ship’s deflectors.

  On-screen, Evlen did not immediately react to what was going on aboard Concussor. “—seizing your vessel. Heave to and prepare—” Then alarm notes began blaring on the corvette’s bridge and Evlen’s words cut off. The screen blanked and became a starfield again. In the distance, the glow of Starhook’s deflectors going live made the ship suddenly visible.

  Yet Bhindi’s voice remained cool. “Sound general quarters. Two, trade with me.” While swapping chairs with the ersatz Imperial officer, she glanced at Jesmin. “You felt something in the Force?”

  Jesmin nodded, most of her attention on her console. “Four new contacts. They’ve dropped out of hyperspace at Starhook’s original distance. They’re coming on at flank speed.”

  “Seven, bring us about, then all ahead full, then plot us a hyperspace jump out of here.”

  “Coming about.” Voort sent Concussor into a spin rather than a bank—he fired forward starboard maneuvering thrusters and the stern port maneuvering thrusters. The vessel began to spin in place. “Exit jump already plotted.”

  “You love math.”

  “I love math.”

  Impatient, Turman, now at the weapons console, looked back at Bhindi. “Orders?”

  “Stand by. We don’t want to provoke them.”

  “They’re already provoked, One.”

  She glowered at him. “Don’t worry about weapons. Put all discretionary power into whatever deflectors are facing the enemy; constantly update as we turn.”

  “Already being done—” Turman’s acknowledgment was cut off as the Concussor shuddered and the ship’s lights dimmed for a moment.

  Not everything dimmed. New lights began blinking or glowing steadily on Jesmin’s console.

  She glanced at Bhindi. “Engines damaged. Losing power. We’re at seventy percent. Hyperdrive appears to be reinitializing.”

  Turman interrupted. “Permission to return fire.”

  “Denied.” Bhindi hit her intercom. “Four, report.”

  There was no answer.

  “Four, report.”

  “Sorry, Leader.” Trey’s voice sounded harried. “Engines damaged, but I’m holding them together. Brief air-pressure drop here, but I got a plate of durasteel over the leak.”

  Bhindi breathed a sigh of relief.

  Trey’s voice came back: “Orders, Leader?”

  “Stand by, Four.” Bhindi leaned back. “Six?”

  “Here.”

  “Execute command Pollinate. It’s on your top menu.”

  “Yes, Leader.” Scut sounded confused.

  Voort kept his eye on his controls. He discontinued the maneuvering thrusters. But as he prepared to fire their opposite numbers, which would decelerate Concussor from its spin, Bhindi interrupted. “Don’t complete the maneuver, Seven. Leave us spinning.”

  “What? I mean, yes, One.”

  Bhindi glanced at Jesmin. “Signal to the crew Abandon ship.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Very surgical, Lieutenant.” Captain Evlen studied the image on the screen ahead. Magnified so that it appeared much closer than it was, the enemy patrol vessel, an Imperial-styled triangle narrowed at the base to the proportions of an ancient arrowhead, slowly spun in place. Sheets of sparks resembling flame jetted from its stern section. In mid-spin, its thrusters still on full, the vessel was maneuvering in an ever-widening spiral pattern, clearly out of control. Its shields were still up, but it offered no return fire. “I think they’re helpless.”

  The communications officer, a gray-skinned Duros with large, emotionless eyes, turned her way. “They’re hailing us.”

  “Put him on.”

  The image that replaced the view of the vessel suggested that things were at least as bad as Evlen had anticipated. The other vessel’s bridge was dim with smoke. No bridge crew members remained other than Hocroft, who stood at the communications officer’s station. He had sustained a minor injury; a riv
ulet of blood trickled down from his scalp at his hairline and smeared his right cheek.

  His voice was icy. “Well, that was unpleasant.”

  “As I was saying, heave to and prepare to be boarded.”

  “I can’t, you karking idiot. My engines were hit. They’re on runaway. My engineering crew is all dead. I can’t stop. Which, I take it, will be justification enough for you to continue firing until we’re all dead.” His voice turned bitter. “All those boys and girls ... was this really necessary?”

  “Drop your deflectors and I’ll hold my fire until you figure out a way to heave to ... or we decide to shut down your runaway engines by destroying them completely. But if your deflectors come up, if just one of your weapons systems begins to track us, if you resume a level course without immediately coming to a full stop, there won’t be enough of your craft left to fill a refresher stall.”

  “Understood.” Hocroft stepped to the center console and hit a couple of buttons.

  Evlen’s sensor officer nodded at her and made a lowering-hand gesture, indicating that the enemy’s deflectors were down.

  “I’m going aft.” Hocroft blotted his scalp wound with his sleeve. “I can initiate a compartmental self-destruct that will destroy the engines safely. Then I’ll be back here to use the maneuvering thrusters to stop us. Give me ten minutes.”

  “Five.”

  Hocroft glared. Without bothering to shut off the holocam view, he turned and strode from the bridge. The bridge doors snapped open for him, snapped closed behind him, leaving Evlen with her view of the smoke-filled bridge.

  Evlen glanced at her communications officer. “Instruct the others to hold back. We’ll pace the target and stay close. We’ll signal when we want the others to close. Tell Shieldbreaker to stand by to pick up prisoners. And tell our boarding shuttle to stand by to launch.”

  “Aye aye.”

  Evlen paused. “Have any of you ever heard of a compartmental self-destruct?”

  She got only silence and the shaking of heads in reply.

  Heading aft to Concussor’s belly bay, Bhindi answered Turman’s latest question. “The Pollinate command did a bunch of things. Locked down the shuttle bay so crewmates couldn’t enter. Slaved the escape pods’ launch ability to our comlinks. Disabled their comm systems.” She, Turman, Jesmin, and Voort passed one emergency pod bay. Its exterior door and the pod door within were both closed, sealed. The Wraiths could see crew members within pounding frantically on the doors and viewport. As the Wraiths passed, the crew redoubled their efforts and shouted words the Wraiths could not hear.

  Bhindi went on. “So when Five issued the Abandon ship order, the crewmates packed into the pods, which sealed them in tight, trapping them inside pending our issuing the launch command.”

  Jesmin sounded suspicious. “Which we are going to do, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “They think they’re about to die.” Turman’s voice held a note of sympathy. It was at odds with his Commander Hocroft disguise.

  “They’re not.”

  The Wraiths reached the shuttle bay doors, which stood open. Trey was visible through the shuttle’s forward viewports, clearly going through a preflight checklist.

  Bhindi ran up the shuttle’s boarding ramp, the footsteps of the other Wraiths clanging up behind her. Scut was not in the passenger compartment. Bhindi went forward to the cockpit. “Where’s Six?”

  Trey glanced at her. “Fuel at max. Um, he’s staying in the aux bridge until the last possible second. He says that if he patches everything through to our cockpit, he can’t be sure it will all work.”

  Bhindi sat in the copilot’s seat and strapped herself in. “Two, we need you to come up and pretend to fly this thing in case they get a holocam image of the bridge.”

  Movement on the other side of the bay drew her eye. Voort, awkward, had climbed on top of the one remaining interceptor and raised its topside boarding hatch. He was now clambering down into the cockpit. “What’s he doing?”

  Trey shrugged. “Saving us a resource? Checklist complete, by the way.”

  Turman came forward and took the pilot’s chair. “Saving us a resource and providing us cover.”

  Bhindi reached for her comlink, then thought better of it. Any commed message at this point might be overheard by the Starhook. She couldn’t order Voort to the shuttle, so she’d have to trust his judgment.

  Blast it.

  Trey went aft into the nearly empty trooper compartment. “Hey, lady. Mind if I sit here?”

  Bhindi opened the ship’s intercom to the auxiliary bridge. Since it was not a broadcast link, it could not be overheard by Starhook. “Six, execute these actions. Activate self-destruct, five-minute timer. Shut down engines. Set a one-minute timer to re-enable all escape pod functions and execute all commands that their occupants have entered since boarding. Transfer all bay controls to me. Also, kill the artificial gravity. Then—one guess what your last order is.”

  “On my way.”

  “Their engines have shut down. Still no sign of activity from their weapons or deflectors.”

  “Good.” Her attention mostly on the view of the crippled enemy, Evlen nodded.

  Then her eyes grew wide as gouts of thruster fire heralded multiple small-craft launches from the patrol vessel’s hull.

  Her sensor officer was quick. “I mark five, six, seven launches. Ball-shaped craft, they look like escape pods. Something else—thrust emissions from the underside, some other type of craft launching, but we don’t have a visual.”

  “Incoming signal!”

  “Put it on, Comm.”

  The view of the distant ship didn’t change; this signal was voice only. Hocroft’s voice: “Rather bad news, Captain. There was damage to the computer. Turns out there’s no such thing as a compartmental self-destruct, so I had to activate the usual sort.”

  “I knew it.” Evlen’s angry words were spoken in a low tone, one the bridge mike would not pick up.

  “Looks like we’re done for. I’ve ordered abandon ship, as you can see.”

  Evlen caught her communications officer’s eye, then made a throat-cutting gesture that meant Cease transmission. When he nodded, she spoke aloud. “Launch boarding shuttle.”

  “Aye aye. Launching.”

  “Tell them to steer well clear of the patrol vessel and be ready to engage a fleeing shuttle.”

  With minute adjustments of his maneuvering thrusters and repulsors, Voort kept his interceptor close to the Concussor’s underside. The shuttle, ahead of him, was coming up to speed on its outbound course, keeping the Concussor directly between it and the Starhook.

  Voort kept another part of his attention on his console timer. The Wraiths were now two and a half minutes into the self-destruct sequence. It would be very nice to be clear of the ball of explosive force the ship was about to become. Voort’s hands twitched on the interceptor’s yoke.

  There was movement on his sensor board. Something was launching from Starhook’s underside. The signal suggested a shuttle similar in size to the one Bhindi was piloting.

  The enemy shuttle vectored to pass the Concussor from a safe distance to port. Starhook was accelerating now, vectoring to pass from a safe distance starboard. The corvette would accelerate more slowly than the pursuing shuttle.

  Delicately, Voort rotated his interceptor’s nose toward port and kept his eye on the sensors.

  And the chrono continued its countdown. Two minutes fifteen left. Two minutes. One minute forty-five.

  As the pursuit shuttle came into view a bare two kilometers off to port, Voort lined up his shot at first by sight alone—weapons sensors would alert the target. He tracked his target, made sure his lasers were at full power.

  The shuttle’s deflectors were up ... all energy forward, toward the Wraiths’ shuttle. Voort almost smiled. He clicked his weapons sensors on, paused only the split second it took to adjust his aim to the center of the new bracket that had appeared as a heads-up display on his f
orward viewport, and fired.

  Green bolts leapt from the leading edges of his solar collection wings and converged on the shuttle’s stern. They chewed their way across its hindquarters, blackening its gray paint, carving metal debris free.

  The shuttle’s deflectors readjusted, strengthening at the stern. The shuttle veered away from Voort, sparks erupting from its aft thrusters.

  A stern shot for a stern shot, thrusters for thrusters. Voort didn’t bother with a taunt over the comm board. He just brought his own deflectors up to full power. He hit his thrusters and vectored in the direction of the Wraiths’ shuttle, putting his interceptor through a series of tiny, erratically timed maneuvers designed to make life hard for the gunnery officers back on Starhook.

  Parallel rows of light flashed past his interceptor, bright enough to be alarming, not close enough to interact with his deflectors.

  The chrono clicked down to one minute.

  The Starhook shuttle stayed on its escape vector. The crew had to be evaluating the damage Voort had done, deciding whether to resume pursuing and reengage. Every second they delayed took that decision further out of their hands. The Wraiths’ shuttle was now up to speed and might have its hyperspace jump plotted. Voort began to overtake it. It grew large enough that he could distinguish it by eye, not just on his sensors. Starhook’s laser pulses flashed near it, too, but at this distance the gunners’ chances of success were poor.

  Voort received a low-strength transmission on the Wraiths’ frequency—voice and data, encrypted and compressed. He decrypted it.

  Bhindi’s voice: “Our new course. Check my math, would you?”

  He snorted, amused, then ran numbers through his head while absently juking and jinking to keep the distant lasers from making too easy a target of him. Then he replied: “My numbers agree with yours to three significant digits. Discrepancies my fault, rounding errors. Have a safe jump.”

  The shuttle ahead seemed to stretch and then was gone.

  Voort activated his own hyperdrive and leapt into hyperspace after it.

  Captain Evlen watched the distant targets vanish. She sighed and looked to her navigator. “Plot likely destinations along their course. Prioritize for planets and stations with strong Imperial Remnant sympathies. Communications, signal for a pickup of the escape pods. And somebody tell me what the hell this actually was all about.”