Vick's Vultures (Union Earth Privateers Book 1)

by Scott Warren

  He knew his rage was misdirected at these poor fools, their vessel jetting plasma into the black scape of Pilum Forel. That he was, in truth, vexed by these space walkers, these humans that surprised at every turn. At least one was still aboard, gone to ground as if it knew the ship better than its commander. Two security teams, dead, several communications specialists, including his master hailman, dead. Multiple hull breaches. His primary communications equipment and his superluminal sensors, destroyed. Even that vicious Grah’lhin emissary was dead, though Best Wishes could not bring himself to mourn the passing of the thing. One of their jagged red ships now approached to deliver a new emissary.

  The Grah’lhin knew this enemy, one that attacked from within, with skin like blackest sky and anger like the thunder. An enemy that hid between stars, disguising their heat and their place in space and time. Their only tell had been a change in the direction of vented xenon before the trail disappeared. Clue enough to plot their vector. Such primitive engines, and laughable weapons. Pitiful tech from an inconsequential lesser empire. And the cowards survived both attacks while cutting him from within. This was not a familiar fight.

  Best Wishes cared little for the pride of his people. The Dirregaunt claimed, collectively, to be the best hunters among the stars. But most had never hunted anything in their lives. They had never known the tedium of waiting in perfect ambush for weeks, striking in a split second incapacitating their prey with a singular blow. Best Wishes was the best hunter in the galaxy, not because he was Dirregaunt, but because he was Best Wishes. Then came the spacewalker. Colorless, odorless. How could one hunt a devil? By loosing another devil who could.

  His first officer approached him. “Sir, one of the Grah’lhin vessels has docked.”

  Best Wishes turned. “Well, let us meet the lesser devil. Come, Modest Bearing,” he said. A security team escorted them from the bridge. There would be escorts everywhere, he knew, until the second spacewalker could be found and expunged. A troublesome burden, the coddling grated his nerves the entire way to the shuttle bay. Security made everything sluggish.

  The Grah’lhin ship was a mass of hardened edges and uncomfortable crystalline protrusions barely larger than a shuttle. It was a dull red, the hull slightly translucent, though not enough to reveal what lay within. An iris airlock twisted open on the underside of the cutter. Three Grah’lhin skittered out of the hatch, and down one of the legs upon which the ship rested. The sight of them still tickled the primal part of his brain, telling him to run. They approached Best Wishes, a mass of clicking legs and mandibles.

  Weapons were raised by the security team, but Best Wishes held them off with a curt gesture. He had seen one of the creatures angry now, and knew what he saw barely qualified as awake for these xenos. Besides, the personal lasers might not stop the Graylings should they choose to attack. The Grah’lhin still wanted Victoria. The lead Grah’lhin stooped slightly to meet Best Wishes’ eyes, the protective layers sliding back from the moist sensory band in exactly the same fashion as his predecessor.

  “The humans aboard your ship, I will hunt them.”

  Best Wishes glanced to his security officer, who offered confused eyes. How had the creature known there were space walkers aboard? The previous emissary had not been granted access to communications, nor ever asked to use them before it died. Best Wishes was missing something here. But more important matters were at stake.

  “You can find it?”

  Several sets of vestigial wings buzzed underneath thick carapace. “Perhaps, Dirregaunt Commander. Did I not tell you of their cunning? Of their … malice? Few prey are more dangerous. And Victoria has escaped you.”

  “You also told me they walk in the void, and hide between stars. I now know I did not lend due worth to your words. Now among my crew rest the dead of the hunt, in storage until we can take them home.

  More mandibles clicked before the Grah’lhin answered. “They practice the highest of subterfuge. Fall not to legend, Dirregaunt Commander, neither ignore the data your senses present you. Trust my experience, and open your ship to me that I might find them.”

  “Commander,” interrupted Modest Bearing, “You can’t mean to let these monstrosities loose on the ship? We’re adding to one malicious infestation with another.”

  A looked quelled his first officer. Now was not the time for half-measures, not when the space walkers forced the Springdawn to retreat while victory was close. Not when they had ruptured the hull and sent his on-duty sensor and communications teams spiraling into the void. He turned back to the insectoid aliens and their uncomfortable ship.

  “Go. Find me the humans that remain on my vessel.”

  Victoria waited impatiently as the magnetic seals secured the Condor to the docking port of the listening post. She began to climb the ladder to the dorsal hatch as soon as the air pressure began to equalize, and by the time she reached the top rungs the hatch was being pulled open to reveal a wide toothy grin.

  “Vick, you ol’ starhound, get on up here.”

  “Jax,” she said as she took his hand, black and gnarled as aged rosewood. As she climbed out of the hatch he pulled her into a fierce hug. She was greeted to a close-up of his graying crew cut as he laughed and slapped her on the back.

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it, you ain’t seen a woman in years,” she said as she extricated herself from his grip. Red emerged from the hatch behind her and offered his hand.

  “Good to see you, Jax.”

  Jax took his hand, that grin never leaving his face. Somehow the man never failed to lift Victoria up just that little bit. His bearing was infectious.

  “What’s this I hear about you having some presents for ol’ Jax and his merry men?”

  “You can marry men on your own time, captain. What do you know?” asked Victoria.

  Jax laughed. “Well, I know you two are making trails. The net is all afire, and word with the Jenursa is that a Dirregaunt dreadnought is lookin’ for a little ship fits the Condor’s likeness. Amazing how gabby we all get when the Big Three are in the neighborhood. We got told to head here. FTL con is lit up, needs both our inputs. Weren’t sure what we’d find here, but your bird looks beat to all hell.”

  “Those ‘Gaunt batteries are no joke. Tagged us near three hundred K-K.”

  Jax whistled. “That’s a damn sight further than we thought. New generation?”

  “Some high-profile task force prick, gets all the shiny new toys.”

  “And just how did you come on the scope of this specialist? Let me guess, you spent five minutes talking to him and he declared humanity enemies of the Praetory.”

  Victoria rolled her eyes, then twisted and called down the hatch. “Hey F.P., come on up.”

  It was her turn to grin as the First Prince ascended the ladder. Slowly, the Malagath emerged from the hatch, followed by his retinue. The otherwise immutable smile slid from Jax’s face as he looked up into the blue hued face of First Prince Tavram.

  “Vick, girl, oh what have you got the Vultures mixed up in now?”

  “Just a millennia long war between two galactic super-giants. Oh, did I mention that this is First Prince Tavram? Anyway, I’d better get at that message terminal. First Prince, your crew is free to move about the station and stretch out. I know they’re a bit cramped aboard the Condor. We should be safe here, Bargult doesn’t know about this listening post.”

  “Bargult?” asked Jax, “How does that overgrown ladybug weigh into it?”

  “You’re not gonna believe this, Jax, but I’ve got marines aboard the Dirregaunt cruiser. One of them sent a databurst we unpacked in Horizon. More intel on the Dirregaunt than we’ve ever seen. Equipment, engine frequencies, deck plans, you name it,” said Victoria, heading for the communication center with Red in tow. Jax skipped to catch up.

  “Hold on Vick, back it up. You have marines on a Dirregaunt ship.”

  “Boarded at Taru station, along with our mutual friend. Bug bastard is helping them find me. Goddamn bastard k
nows we’re headed for the Malagath front.”

  They passed members of Jax’s crew already taking advantage of the short break afforded by the automated space station’s relative luxury. She couldn’t help slowing her pace slightly as the two shirtless marines jogged past on the track that went around the outer ring of the station. Exercise bikes were well and good, but a body needed to stretch its legs from time to time, see just how far it could be pushed and keep running.

  Her own crew would be pulling maintenance in shifts, replacing what hurt they could and patching what they couldn’t. She passed a porthole, through which the stubby black nose of the Condor was silhouetted against the bright blue star of the local system. Crewmembers could already be seen in vacuum suits outside the ship, seeing to the external damage the near miss of the Springdawn’s weapons had caused. She shivered despite the heat of the station, remembering the way the Dirregaunt commander had cut apart the Dreadstar after she picked up the First Prince. He must be sharp as a razor to have tracked her this far. What might such a commander have done to earn his position?

  “You cold, Vick?” asked Red.

  Victoria shook her head, taking one final look at the lifeless planetoid around which the station orbited and moving away from the window. She ducked under some piping to reach the hatch to the communication node. She heaved it open, with Red’s help and Jax’s supervision. The latch clicked into its bracket and Victoria looked at her counterpart.

  “Age before beauty,” he said as he swung onto the ladder. His grin was the last thing to disappear down the access. Red followed, and by the time Victoria was sliding down the ladder Jax had already began booting up the faster-than-light communications terminal. Her retinal implants interfaced with the station’s computers, briefly displaying notifications of unread messages in her Union Earth account before returning to standby. The number had slowly rose as she ignored more and more of it, and now reached the low thousands. She figured if it were worth reading, it would have come through an FTL crypto.

  The terminal looked like so much junk to her, framed by twisted snakes of segmented metal wires tunneling every which-way into the walls, ceiling and the floor, where the crypto array hung beneath the station. An ancient display and old-fashioned mechanical keyboard were the only visible interface to one of the most advanced devices the human race had ever concocted. Even if most of the improved technology was stolen, they had worked out the initial process themselves. A layer of fine dust coated both, which she brushed off as she took Jax’s place on the bolted stool.

  It took only a few moments to input her captain’s credentials, Jax rested a hand on her shoulder as he leaned forward to read the message from the Secretary of State and Colony with her. She felt him tense up as he scanned the words of the FTL crypto.

  “Aw shit,” said Victoria, slamming her fist on the keyboard and turning from the display. Little fiberglass keys sprung loose from the device. “Fucking shit, fuck. No fucking way, I won’t believe Wong sent that fucking message. She wants us to hand over the First Prince? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “It’s black and white, Vick,” said Jax. He didn’t look pleased about it either, it broke every tenet the privateers operated by. Situations involving ferrying the Big Three were never well established by State and Colony, but surrendering rescues to their attackers was tantamount to bounty hunting. A high profile turnover like this could break humanity’s tenuous reputation in the Orion Spur.

  “Goddammit. What do you think the Malagath are going to do when they find out we have orders to hand them over to the Dirregaunt? We’d have to kill them ourselves, and the crew would never stand for it.”

  “Ain’t got a choice, girl. Can’t disregard an order from S&C, no matter who your rescue is.”

  “There’s always a choice, Jax. Red? What do you think?”

  Major Calhoun had, up until this point, remained quiet as he digested the unsavory message. He shrugged, weariness creeping into his voice. “My marines will keep order if it comes to that. But it can’t come to that, it’d break the Condor. And a broken ship is a dead ship out this far from Earth.”

  “Great, so break every rule in the book, betray a very powerful member of the Malagath ruling class we swore to protect, and stem a mutiny aboard the Condor when they find out we’re to hand over the xenos they taught to play poker. When you put it like that it sounds so simple.”

  “I never told you command would be easy, Vick,” Jax said, “In the meantime, let’s see about getting that tech offloaded. We’re due to meet the Sagan in a couple days, we’ll hand off to them. I’ll crypto that databurst back to the U.E. while we’re at it. You make it back; you’ll all be heroes.”

  “Traitorous, backstabbing heroes. You can take the tech. We’ll take the Springdawn. But you gotta do something for me. I’m going to need every bag of tricks you got handy, starting with your gravitic buoy. Seems we lost ours”

  “Anything you need, Vick. However we can help.”

  Tessa had been a marine for 12 years, three of those in space. She was a veteran of countless hostile encounters, domestic and xeno, where she proved her iron nerves and steel resolve through strength of arms and will alike. She’d seen battle brothers fall, some who would survive and some who would never rise again. She always kept fighting. When she felt that second explosion translate through the hull of the Springdawn, when Aimes’ broadcast cut off so suddenly, she knew he was dead. She ran. She found a secluded corner of the massive ship, climbed up a tree, and bawled until she passed out from sheer exhaustion.

  Now her suit’s alarm woke her, warning her of approaching footfalls. Cautiously, she peeked beneath the false canopy, and immediately retreated out of line-of-sight. A Grayling passed beneath her refuge, lumbering on patrol with a retinue of Dirregaunt security forces and their handheld lasers.

  She didn’t like the implication of an alliance between the two, however temporary it might be. Humanity had crossed paths with Bargult on more than one occasion and become something of an interest to the Grayling, and he could, unfortunately, provide the Springdawn with a good deal of accurate intel regarding the habits of the privateers.

  Plus, she didn’t like her odds against even a few of the beasts. The first had caught her by surprise, and she gambled away far too much of her dwindling ammunition to break the Dirregaunt barricade and escape the berserk xeno. One of the Dirregaunt had tagged her with a laser as she’d left, slagging most of the ablative material on her leg. It still wasn’t clear how the Grayling nervous system interpreted the data viewed through their sensory band, but she doubted the foliage she had stuck to her vacuum suit would do much good.

  “Well girl, you knew this would be a one-way ticket as soon as you stepped on board,” she said. They hadn’t seen the last of the Condor, either. Tessa had to be ready if she were to offer them any aid, and that meant learning the extent to which the Springdawn was tracking the Vultures.

  She pulled up her incomplete schematics of the Springdawn, trying to ignore the curling pain in her stomach. It had been almost a day since she had eaten, and nothing burned calories like combat. The vacuum suit was near perfect at collecting sweat, urine, and exhaled moisture to return to the body, and as long as her algae cultures held up she had all the oxygen she could breath. The protein shots she had held off until she direly needed them. The emergency sustenance would do nothing to cure her aching belly, however.

  On her schematic she had a pretty good idea of where the a few major stations were, but no clue where the most important compartment in the ship was. The bridge was still a mystery. The Dirregaunt used messengers to communicate most orders and information. One of them might have information she could use to help the Condor. She had been tracking the paths they took; it had been useful to learn the fastest routes through the sprawling ship. And her weapon just so happened to have the perfect attachment for waylaying one, if she could avoid the patrols. It would be dangerous. If she were caught doing it, the Dirregaunt and Gr
aylings could flush her out and expose her.

  Her best chance would be in the area she’d dubbed ‘The Boonies’, on account of the rough scrub and foliage. A foggy path cut through the compartment, funneling would-be messengers and their security details down a predictable path. On Earth, no military would be that sloppy when enemy agents were running around. But this wasn’t Earth, and the Dirregaunt had long forgotten what it meant to be the hunted. She began the slow process of charging the cryo-round. She had to be perfect, very little of the sedative remained, and she couldn’t afford to make a lot of noise. Slowly, she worked her way into the foliage above and waited for the next patrol.

  Aesop watched the sun set over the lifeless planetoid beneath the listening post as he hung, inverted, outside the aft portside wing. A misnomer, as no airfoil existed on the Condor. Really, it was only a sloped bulwark of ablative plating and electromagnetic armor designed to give the Condor a fighting chance against the advanced weaponry of a universe that made her look like a biplane in a world of jet engines. The lasers employed by blue-navy warships on Earth could cut metal at almost a hundred kilometers, but some xenotech variants could sheer a starliner in half at a thousand times that range. Those warships he left behind long ago on a planet that might never move on from its quarrelsome ways.

  He never tired of the microgravity of orbit, caught in a constant free-fall above the black surface of the alien planetoid as a shroud of stars revealed themselves in the night. He felt completely at home. On Earth he’d always felt out of place. He had laid on the sand after the invasion of Tehran, staring up at the stars and the black smoke rising over the city, unable to reconcile how little the discovery of life in the universe had diminished humanity’s need to slaughter each other over such petty things. Transgressions older than the written word were brought to bear while ships jumped between stars, trading and making contact with dozens of other civilizations.