“Initiating final intercept maneuver,” the watch stander repeated before activating the command.
“How did they think they’d get away?” Shark’s weapons officer wondered.
“They probably hoped we’d be patrolling a long ways off,” Derian guessed, “and that in the confusion after the attack on the spaceport they could get far enough to reach a jump point before we caught them.”
The reply that came from the merchant ship was brief and belligerent. “We have committed no crime. We will not permit an illegal search.”
Shark’s captain smiled, but his answer held no humor. “This is not a search. Your ship is being seized for aiding an attack on the people of Kosatka. I repeat, prepare to receive a boarding party.”
Shark’s main propulsion fired to brake the ship’s velocity as the destroyer made its final approach on the freighter, her path curving inward to meet that of the other ship.
An urgent alert sounded, warnings appearing on the display before the captain. “He’s shooting at us?” Derian asked in amazement.
“The freighter has a grapeshot launcher mounted,” the weapons officer reported. “It was hidden, but we have the launcher site identified now. Our shields can take a lot more hits before they’d be in danger of failing.”
Being shot at certainly justified the use of force. “Use the pulse particle beams. I want that launcher fried.”
Pinpoint targeting in combat situations often wasn’t possible, but with the two ships so close and moving slowly relative to each other it was a simple task for the fire control systems. Shark trembled slightly as the streams of charged particles tore through space before slashing through part of the freighter and the grapeshot launcher.
“Launcher out of commission, Captain,” the weapons officer reported. “We’ve rescanned the freighter, looking for anomalies that might indicate other hidden weapons, and found nothing else. Which part of the freighter should we target next?”
Commander Derian frowned as he considered the question. Taking out the freighter’s propulsion would prevent it from accelerating any more but would force Shark to put across a towline and go through a long, tedious process of using her own propulsion to get the freighter to Kosatka’s orbital facility. There was also a real chance those shots could cause serious structural damage. On the other hand, destroying the control deck and other living areas would only require Shark’s engineers to install temporary controls to replace any destroyed. And the threat of shooting up the areas where the crew was located would more likely cause the freighter’s crew to back down.
Decided, Derian tapped his comm controls again. “Terrance Griep, cease maneuvering and stand by for a boarding party. If you do not comply, my next shots will be into your control deck and crew compartment.” He looked over at the weapons station. “Did you copy that?”
“Yes, sir. Targeting control deck and crew compartment.”
“Captain? The boarding party commander wants to know whether nonlethal shockers or lethal weaponry should be employed in case resistance is encountered?”
Derian almost tossed off a casual command to use lethal weaponry, pausing as he realized how easily that decision had come to him. Lethal weaponry. Just like that. A few years spent fighting an unpredictable and ruthless enemy had resulted in some uncomfortable changes in perspective. Adding nonlethal shockers to the boarding party armament wouldn’t add a significant burden, and would give them alternatives to killing. “Carry both,” the captain finally ordered. “Their orders are to employ shockers first. But lethal force is authorized if required by circumstances or if the freighter crew employs lethal weapons.”
Shark glided right next to the freighter, which was now behaving itself. Derian eyed the other ship with suspicion, though. “Make sure our maneuvering systems are set for automatic collision avoidance. If he tries to use his thrusters to bump us, I want us out of the way before he gets there.” On automatic, Shark’s thrusters should easily get the far more agile destroyer clear before the freighter could collide with her.
A secondary display lit up next to the captain’s seat, showing the boarding party in survival suits preparing to leap across the gap between ships toward the access hatch for the freighter crew compartment. Both ships were moving through space, but with their vectors matched it felt as if they were sitting absolutely still next to each other.
“They’re getting awfully bold, aren’t they?” the operations officer said, her voice worried. “What kind of idiot uses a single grapeshot launcher to attack a destroyer?”
“Yeah. Crazy for them to do that when it’s just them and us.” Derian paused, thinking. “I wonder what kind of backing they’re expecting to show up? Maybe that was part of their plan for getting away. Comms, get a message off to Piranha and the defense office. Tell them we might have some dangerous company coming.”
“Nothing specific, sir?” the comms watch asked. “Just a concern about dangerous company?”
Another alarm sounded on the captain’s display, this time accompanied by two red markers four light hours away at the jump point from Jatayu. Four hours ago, a pair of destroyers had jumped into this star system, the light from that event only now reaching ships near the inhabited world.
Neither destroyer was broadcasting any identification. That was both odd and threatening.
“Both new contacts are traveling at point zero four light speed,” operations reported. “It will take them one hundred hours to get here at that velocity.”
That changed things. Derian grimaced, unhappy at having his guess proven accurate so quickly. “Tell Piranha and the defense office that unknown destroyers have entered the star system and at current velocity will reach our position in a little more than four days. Request orders.”
This day had just gotten far too interesting.
He felt Shark’s thrusters fire before seeing the alert on his display.
“The freighter is firing full thrusters in an attempt to collide with us,” the operations officer reported. “We’re evading.”
“What’s the status of the boarding party?” Derian demanded.
“All still aboard. They were lining up to jump when the freighter started moving.”
“He jumped the gun,” the weapons officer remarked. “If that freighter had waited until our boarding party was moving, we’d have had to figure out how to recover them. What the hell is he trying to do?”
“Disable us with a low speed collision so we’d be easy pickings for those two destroyers, maybe. He’s not going to get a second chance,” Derian said. “Open fire on the freighter’s control deck and crew compartment. We’ll see how they like playing tag with particle beams and grapeshot.”
He’d tried to be humanitarian, and they’d forced him into killing all or most of them anyway.
“If those two destroyers are commanded by officers as zealous as whoever captained that freighter,” the operations officer said, “we’re going to have a nasty fight on our hands.”
“I was just thinking the same thing,” Derian said as he watched the freighter’s bridge and crew compartment dissolve under the fire from Shark. Fortunately, Piranha was not far off, docked at the orbital facility for some minor repair work. She could rejoin Shark in plenty of time to face those two newcomers at equal odds.
“Sir, we’ve got some odd readings from the freighter’s power core,” the engineering watch reported.
“He’s launched an escape pod,” the operations officer called out a moment later as the alert appeared on Derian’s display. “They must have been in it before the freighter began that last maneuver. It was all on automatic.”
The Terrance Griep, still sliding toward Shark, was now angling beneath the destroyer as Shark continued to climb to avoid a collision.
“They launched that escape pod at maximum boost, but they can’t outrun us even with that,” Derian sa
id. “What the hell are they trying?”
“Captain, the readings from the freighter’s power core indicate it’s becoming unstable!”
He got it then. He understood the entire plan. The only question left was whether he still had a chance to frustrate it.
Derian had spent years learning to follow proper procedures, but had also served under a commanding officer who had introduced him to the dangerous idea that sometimes proper procedures weren’t the answer.
Instead of following proper procedures now, calling out a propulsion order for the watch stander to confirm and carry out, Derian hit the command on his display for propulsion, running the power level up to full.
Shark jerked as her main propulsion cut in at full power, shoving the ship ahead and away from the freighter. Members of the crew grabbed for handholds, crying out in surprise, as Derian punched the control for the ship’s general announcing system. “All hands in survival suits! Brace for—!”
The Terrance Griep exploded as its power core overloaded. This close, Shark’s sensors only had time to begin sounding an alarm before the shock wave of gases, heat, radiation, and debris hit the fleeing destroyer.
Hit from behind and below, Shark’s stern pitched up, her maneuvering systems firing to try to prevent the ship from going into an end-over-end tumble through space.
“Main propulsion is off-line,” the engineering watch stander on the bridge reported in a shaky voice. “Serious damage aft. Engineering is not responding to requests for their status.”
“How’s the power core?” Derian asked, before getting a partial answer as the lighting went off, replaced with the dimmer glow of emergency lanterns.
“Checking, sir . . . our power core just carried out an automated emergency shutdown due to damage.”
He couldn’t afford to let anger overwhelm him, Derian told himself. “Do we still have comms?”
“Yes, sir. Primary comm system is rebooting, but the secondary is online and running on backup power.”
“Send a message that we’ve lost main propulsion and sustained other damage to engineering. Casualty count unknown. A full update will follow as we assess damage and get more details. Ensure that Piranha knows about the escape pod that left the freighter. Maybe they can catch it.”
“They set us up,” the operations officer said, angry and ashamed in equal measures. “The raid on the spaceport, the freighter that was intended to take us out, and those two destroyers arriving from Jatayu.”
A backup display appeared next to Derian’s seat. He saw the red markers on it showing where Shark had taken damage. It could have been worse. If he hadn’t ordered full acceleration, Shark would have taken the full force of the freighter’s death throes.
But that was small comfort at the moment. The enemy had been two steps ahead of them at every point.
“The orbital facility reports that it’s sending a tug to intercept us and help us get back for repairs,” the comm watch said. “The escape pod from the freighter is heading down toward the planet. Best estimate is a landing site near Ani.”
“Can Piranha handle those two destroyers alone?” the operations officer wondered.
“I hope so,” Derian said, bitterness filling him. He’d saved his ship but otherwise failed.
It would be up to others to save Kosatka.
CHAPTER 4
The Bruce Monroe had left orbit about Glenlyon’s primary world, making a freighter’s slow, lumbering path to the jump point for Jatayu. Saber had escorted the Bruce Monroe all the way to the jump point. According to the plans briefed to everyone, the destroyer would leave the freighter there, Saber remaining at Glenlyon to protect the star system.
Leigh Camagan, traveling on the Bruce Monroe under a false identity, had chafed at being unable to talk with Rob Geary during the journey to the jump point. She hoped he was both asserting himself as commanding officer and beginning to make changes to the way the former Earth Fleet crew reacted to the challenges of combat. Saber had carried out every maneuver with precision and skill, but then the Earth Fleet–trained crews had always displayed that.
Right up until Claymore had been destroyed at Jatayu. What would be waiting at Jatayu this time when the Bruce Monroe arrived on its own?
At least the freighter’s trip through jump space was exactly the same length as it would be for a far more maneuverable ship like Saber. Jump space didn’t care how fast a ship could accelerate in normal space. No matter what their velocity when they entered jump (and at the moment the jump drives only worked if ships were traveling at point zero six speed or less) everything in jump space moved at the same pace from jump point to jump point, for reasons that remained unexplained by science. And everyone in jump space experienced the same feelings of discomfort that got worse as the period in jump space went on. Itches that weren’t itches, and a growing sensation that your own skin no longer fit right. There were horrible stories about what had happened to the crews of ships that had spent too long in jump space. Most of them were probably made up, but whenever Leigh was in jump space she found herself believing all of them.
All of which was why it was both a relief and a tense moment as, after days of travel, the Bruce Monroe left jump space at Jatayu again.
This time no warships awaited the arrival of the freighter. But one was patrolling several light minutes away, and soon altered vector to intercept the Bruce Monroe.
“He’s a Buccaneer Class cutter,” the Bruce Monroe’s captain announced to the dozen passengers. The captain didn’t look happy, but he kept his voice and his body language calm and firm to avoid feeding any fears. “We can’t outrun him. We’ll comply with their orders, pay their ‘transit fees,’ and hopefully get cleared to continue on to Kosatka.”
Soon enough a message arrived from the warship. Maintain your current vector, await the cutter’s arrival, and be prepared to be boarded by an inspection team. Also be prepared to pay a transit fee to Scatha, a fee whose cost had tripled since the last attempt to pass through Jatayu.
* * *
• • •
The inspection team that boarded the freighter was armed with both hand weapons and swaggering attitudes that practically begged for someone among the freighter’s crew or passengers to give them an excuse for using those weapons.
But the crew of the Bruce Monroe and the passengers were all too smart or too scared to give the inspectors an opportunity for violence. When told to line up for screening, Leigh Camagan joined the others meekly enough. She watched the freighter’s small supply of alcoholic beverages being carried off. “Taxes were not paid on that liquor, so it’s contraband and is being confiscated,” the officer in charge of the inspection announced as if hoping that someone would object. When no one did, he started going down the line of passengers, checking their travel documents as well as the contents of their personal comm pads and universal wallets.
He reached Leigh and looked her up and down, leaning close to physically intimidate her. She thought the officer from Scatha had the attitude of a school bully who has achieved a lifelong dream of being able to apply those talents in his job. “Identification!”
Leigh Camagan tried to project nervousness underlain by fright, just the sort of reaction a bully would glory in, as she handed him her identification.
He squinted at the results that popped up on his pad. “Alice Mary Norton. Librarian.” The officer seemed to find that highly amusing. “Hey, she’s a librarian!”
“She knows what sort of trash you’ve been reading,” one of the other members of Scatha’s boarding party warned with a mocking grin.
“Yeah. You chasing down some overdue hardcopy books, Mary Alice?”
“I’m going back to Earth. I’m going to look at the wildflowers when I get there,” Leigh Camagan said. “I miss them.” Every word of which was true. Her decade of political experience had taught Leigh that telling a misle
ading truth instead of lying about the real reason for something always came across as much more sincere.
It also helped fool interrogation apps.
The officer glanced at his pad, apparently saw nothing to concern him, then stuck out his hand again. “Universal wallet.”
“Yes, sir,” Leigh Camagan said like the meek librarian she was supposed to be. She brought out the small, slim rectangular box and held it before her.
“Access code!” the Scathan bully demanded.
Letting her hand shake a bit with a show of fear, Leigh punched in the code that would let the officer’s pad read her wallet.
“They don’t pay librarians much, huh? There’s an individual transit fee, too. Authorize it!”
The “transit fee” charge that popped up on Leigh Camagan’s wallet amounted to nearly half of the unimpressive sum available. “Sir, please—”
“Are you resisting?” the officer asked as two of the other inspectors stepped forward eagerly.
“No, sir.” Leigh tapped the approval.
The officer moved on to the next passenger. She closed the wallet access and waited, guessing that the inspection team was waiting for someone to ask if they could sit down or leave and thereby make themselves a target for more harassment.
She’d have to thank Ninja for doing such an excellent job on her identification documents and her wallet. “They’ll ask for your passwords and codes,” Ninja had explained. “This pad isn’t your pad, but it’s loaded with lots of stuff that makes it look appropriate for your fake identity. Enter this code in your wallet and all they’ll see is a shell with not much money in it. Enter this other code and you’ll have access to the actual wallet with the Glenlyon government account that’ll pay for new ships.”
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