Pursue the Past: Samair in Argos: Book 1

by Michael Kotcher

  “Keep on it, Kutok. Serinda, anything?”

  The young woman blinked. “Captain, she’s a warship, all right, Kutok is right about that. But she’s broadcasting Republic ID!”

  He shrugged. “That’s not too uncommon,” he drawled, though his mind was racing. “Get Moxie on the comms, now.”

  Serinda looked puzzled for only an instant, but then she got it.

  Tamara trotted onto the bridge a few minutes later. “You wanted to see me, Captain?”

  “We have company,” he replied, pointing to the display. “A Republic warship.”

  She shrugged. “Had to happen sometime. I admit their timing could have been a little better.” She ignored the glare the soldier behind her gave her. She didn’t need to turn around to know that the man had been checking her out before she’d spoken.

  “I was thinking, and I believe you’re right, Moxie.” He eyed her, clearly trying to send a message to her through willpower alone. “Do you remember what happened at Instow?”

  Tamara nodded in understanding. “I do. You want I should do that now?”

  “Yes, Moxie, I do.”

  She walked over to the communications console, and Serinda gladly slid over to accommodate her in the cramped space. Tamara went to work on the console, bringing up with the same ID and communications codes she’d used back at Instow to trick the Republic ships there that Grania Estelle was actually a Naval Reserve vessel. It was a risk, in fact, a very serious risk, should Verrikoth decide to take retribution for this act. She nodded to Kutok, who acknowledge her by nodding her shiny black head.

  “Good to go,” Tamara reported, mentally crossing her fingers that the soldier wouldn’t react. He didn’t seem the terribly interested in what they were doing.

  “Hold until five light minutes, Moxie.”

  “Understood, Captain.” She glanced over at the guard, who leered at her suggestively. Tamara gave him a disparaging look and then returned her attention to her console.

  “Commander, we’re got a small flotilla of ships that are moving toward the hyper limit,” the sensor operator reported. “They’re about eleven hours away at their current speed.”

  “The bulk freighter is broadcasting ID,” the communications watch said excitedly. “It’s her, sir. It’s Grania Estelle.”

  Commander Harth tapped his fist on the arm of his command chair. “Finally,” he said aloud. After months of chasing them across this Cluster, they finally caught up to them, with the possibility that they might even catch them. “Helm, set course to intercept, best speed.”

  “Aye, Commander,” the helmsman replied, putting in the commands on her console.

  “What’s her status, Sensors?” he asked, referring to the freighter. “Are they indicating Naval Reserve status?”

  “No, sir, she isn’t. She’s not as hale and hearty as we got at the reports from Hecate, sir,” he admitted. “She’s taken some engine damage, in fact four of her six propulsion units are offline. Also, her shield strength is considerably lower than it was before.”

  “Maybe they’re just keeping them up to hold off solar radiation, but not keeping them at full power?” Harth suggested.

  The sensor officer twisted his lips. “I don’t think so, Commander. Their power plan output matches the reading we got from the people at Hecate, in fact, it’s a little higher. But I’m detecting a fair amount of hull damage on the port side of that ship, which is facing us. They’ve got about half the number of shield relays they should, or did have back at Hecate. I think they’ve been in a battle.”

  “What’s the story with her escorts?” Harth turned to his own display, frowning as he did so.

  “Eight ships, sir. Three light cruisers, a corvette and four modified merchant vessels.” The sensor officer frowned and then turned back to his captain. “Sir, the corvette that’s holding position close to Grania Estelle, sir.”

  “What about it?” he asked. There was a shiver in the deckplates as the artificial gravity systems compensated for Legacy’s acceleration. He pressed a button and the display brought the corvette up, the sensor readouts scrolling down beside it helpfully.

  “Its Republic design,” the man replied. “In fact, it’s recent design. I’d say it was Cygness class, similar to that of Fury.”

  “Is that ship the Fury?” he asked, pressing a few controls.

  After a moment’s checking, the sensor officer shook his head. “No, sir. Same class, but it’s definitely a different ship.”

  “But it could be from Fury’s patrol unit?”

  The man nodded. “Yes, sir, it could be. In fact, it probably is. They’re broadcasting their ID, Ravage on a Republic frequency, but they’re not using standard Republic military channels.”

  “Are they indicating they’re a Republic ship?” That didn’t make sense.

  But the man was shaking his head again. “Oh, no, sir. Sorry, I didn’t mean to confuse you. I meant they’re using Republic ID frequency, but they’re not using military codes.”

  The Commander waved one hand as though shooing away a fly. “Whatever. They’re with that rat pack of ships, and the fact that Grania Estelle is showing more damage makes me think that we’ve fallen in with a group of pirates.” He smiled wolfishly. “A group of well-armed pirates, but pirates nonetheless.” He looked over the other ships on his display. “What about the cruisers? How much trouble did we just drop into?”

  “Well, from what I can tell, we might have a bit of a run for our money with those cruisers, Commander,” the sensor officer replied. “Against one, we’d mop them up. But against three, I think they could move around quick enough that we might not be able to focus on one long enough.” He shook his head slowly. “They’re outfitted with turbolasers and a few heavy laser cannons, but I think I might be seeing a couple of missile batteries on each of them.”

  Harth sighed. That was a big force multiplier. Of course, Legacy was also armed with turbolasers and heavy laser cannons on her broadsides, as well as a pair of Sierra-missile batteries in the bow and on each broadside. A Republic heavy cruiser was no slouch and certainly nothing out here in the Cluster could stand toe-to-toe with Legacy, but as a group, depending on what they were armed with, they might be in a little bit of trouble. Oh, Harth had no doubt he would emerge victorious, but his ship might take more damage and suffer more casualties than he’d like. He didn’t want to suffer any, truth be told.

  “We’ll just deal with it. Now I wish we’d loaded up with a couple of fighters. Would have helped a lot with point defense.” He sighed, straightening in his seat. “Nothing for it now. Continue on course.”

  “Captain, it’s a Republic heavy cruiser,” Kutok reported.

  “They’re closing fast,” Eamonn replied. “I suppose that’s a good thing.” He smiled ruefully. “I guess that’s what we wanted.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the soldier by the door shift slightly. Still nothing threatening, in fact, he seemed to be just as at ease than before the cruiser showed up. Either this guy was the most laid back soldier imaginable, he was completely out of the loop as far as what his bosses were doing, or he knew something that Eamonn and his crew did not. Eamonn was a betting man, and he was betting that the third option was the correct one. He typed out a question and sent it to Tamara’s private frequency, the one Stella typically used to contact her on her implants.

  [The soldier on the bridge is way too relaxed. Are we missing something?]

  Tamara tried to keep her face expressionless, but she shrugged noncommittally. She motioned for Serinda to do her thing, and the younger woman quickly did another scan of all communications frequencies. She shrugged her shoulders slightly, indicating she didn’t find anything out of the ordinary. Tamara replied subvocally, sending a message to the Captain’s display.

  [Serinda and I aren’t finding anything, Captain. This guy just might be way out of the loop, but I agree with you. I think something is up.]

  The captain tapped his lips with one finger and then
sent Tamara another message. [Do it.] She nodded, though he was facing away for her and couldn’t see. She pressed the control and the Grania Estelle’s ID changed. The bridge officers continued to stab at their consoles, Tamara watching over Serinda’s shoulder, all of them clawing at their heads trying to make sense out of this situation. Why wasn’t the guard concerned? And for that matter, why hadn’t Tyler or Verrikoth, or even the commanding officer on Ravage sent a message demanding to know why Grania Estelle was broadcasting Republic ID?

  Unseen by the others, the guard only smirked.

  “Commander, Gra… I mean Target One has changed her ID code,” the sensor officer on Ganges reported.

  “Changed how?” Tyler demanded.

  “They’re broadcasting Republic ID, sir,” the man replied meekly. “Republic Navy Reserve.”

  Tyler frowned. Was it possible that this bulk freighter and her pain-in-the-ass captain were actually Republic Navy? Is that why they fought so hard and so well to keep us away?

  But Verrikoth looked interested as he walked over. “What iz thiss I hear about Grania Esstelle broadcassting Republic ID codez?”

  “Confirmed, Captain,” the sensor officer replied, bypassing Tyler, who grimaced.

  The zheen let out a hissing laugh, though his face and antennae indicated he wasn’t really amused. “It sseemz we have a very clever new member in my growing fleet, Commander. The Captain of the bulk freighter is trying to ssignal the Republic cruizzer.”

  “That bastard,” Tyler swore. “Even now, with troops on his ship and Ravage ready to pound him to scrap, he keeps trying to swindle us.”

  Verrikoth tipped his head to look over at the human. “Sswindle uss?” he asked, hissing again. “Thiss iz not some sshady buzinesss deal here, Commander. I am looking to rule this Clusster. And if the Republic decidez to come ssnooping around, then we musst deal with them.”

  Tyler blanched. “No one said anything about taking on a Republic heavy cruiser.”

  “Are you afraid, Commander? I can ssmell your fear. Perhapss I erred in choosing you for my flagsship Captain.”

  The man’s fists clenched. “No, there was no error. I’m just concerned about taking on a ship as powerful as that one.”

  Verrikoth nodded. “Caution is understandable. But ssometimez bold action iz needed.” He hissed again. “But not thiss time. Communicationz!” he barked.

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “Ssignal all shipss to upload the comm package,” he ordered and the comm officer hustled to obey. The zheen turned back to Tyler. “What interestss me is that Captain Eamonn haz a Navy code. It makes me wonder. Are they part of the Republic Navy? Haz my fight already begun?”

  “I can’t see that being true, sir,” Tyler hedged. “That has to be a fake.”

  “Perhapss,” Verrikoth replied. “Are we ready?” he asked, directing his inquiry to the comm officer.

  “Ready, sir.”

  “Then begin broadcasting.”

  “Whoa!” the comm officer on Legacy’s bridge exclaimed. “Commander, all of the ships in the group, even the corvette in the small group and the warships in the other are now broadcasting Naval Reserve ID codes.”

  But Harth was shaking his head. “No way. There is no chance that this many Reserve ships were out here in the Cluster and I hadn’t known about it. Maybe one, but not all of them. This is a ruse.” He curled a hand into a fist. “I’m not falling for it.”

  “But sir, if those are real signatures…” the comm officer replied.

  “Yes, I understand the consequences, Ensign,” the Commander said scathingly. The young man at the comms ducked his head, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “Helm, continue on course.” He checked the displays. At current course and speed, Legacy would catch them long before they reached the hyper limit. But if they scattered, it would be unlikely that they could catch more than one of them, aside from the big freighter. He just had to hope that whoever was in command over there was arrogant enough to think they could take him on in a straight fight.

  They had to be pirates. There were no legitimate governments out here that would have their own fleets, certainly nothing of this size and power. Eight ships didn’t constitute a fleet, and four of them were only converted merchant ships that had a few guns tacked on. But it was the fact that someone had built these cruisers in the first place. Maybe it was a coalition of planets that banded together and financed this fleet. That seemed reasonable, but to what purpose? The planets out here in the Cluster didn’t have much in the way of loyalty toward one another and Republic agents would have heard if there was anyone rising to any kind of power out here. Or even if any serious trading partners were starting to band together. He’d have a serious talk with the Intel people back in the Republic after this was over.

  ***************************

  “This trip is taking forever,” the Captain muttered to himself. “When did that happen?” he wondered. When did I get so used to a well-tuned and functional ship that going back to the way things were simply won’t do anymore? He sighed. I’m getting soft. The distance between Grania Estelle and Ravage and the other ships was slowly opening. The two different stars they’d be aiming for were not all that far apart from each other, only a few light years, so the large flotilla was still within easy closing distance of the freighter and her escort ship. The heavy cruiser was bearing down on them steadily, fast enough that they could even catch the speedier warships and still possibly have time to swing around and catch the much slower bulk freighter before they jumped.

  Could a single heavy cruiser fight off eight smaller warships? And, on another note, was the captain of that ship moving to attack or to assist? And what was Vincent Eamonn supposed to do when they got close enough?

  But now, finally, the guard on the bridge moved into action. He raised his rectangular comlink to his mouth and spoke into it, his voice pitched too low for Eamonn to hear. The captain looked to the others on the bridge, but there was nothing they could do. Less than a minute later, three others guards arrived, all of them heavily armed. The first guard hefted his weapon, though it wasn’t pointed at anyone on the bridge.

  “Captain. I have orders from Ganges. You are to continue on course to the hyper limit and you are not to reduce speed or change course. Once we reach the hyper limit, you are to jump for Amethyst as scheduled, your navigation linked with Ravage.”

  Everyone on the bridge froze. The guard sighed. “Captain, please let’s not make this difficult. I have my orders and so do you. The Republic ship here changes nothing. This ship and everything in it belong to Verrikoth. So don’t do something stupid.” Still no one moved. “Are you going to make me shoot someone? Bug lady?” He swiveled around and pointed his rifle at Kutok, who bristled at the slur.

  “Don’t you dare call me a… bug!” she seethed, raising one clawed hand. She was far enough away from the man that he was in no real danger, but seeing that hand full of talons was still rather intimidating.

  But he wasn’t impressed. “Calm down… bug,” he taunted. “I have no problem shooting you, or anyone else on the bridge here. So, Captain. What’s it going to be? Are you going to behave and we all jump for Amethyst? Or does the bug get crunched?”

  Every time he said that hateful word, Kutok’s rage grew. She was visibly shaking. The man’s smirk grew wider. “All right.” He fired, and Kutok’s hand exploded in verdant gore. She emitted a high-pitched keening noise from pain. The hand was blasted off from just above her lowest joint, what on a human would be a wrist joint. Her arm curled in, the wounded part right up to her thorax, the keening noise getting louder and more piercing.

  The man raised his weapon again, ready to finish the job. “No!” the Captain shouted, lunging to his feet. Tamara was trying to get to her from around the communications console, but one of the guards stuck a pistol in her face, stopping her. “Leave her alone!” he demanded. “All right, all right! I’ll do it. We get to the hyper limit and we jump!”

  “S
hut her up, Captain!” the man shouted, not lowering his weapon an inch.

  “You blew her hand off, you bastard!” Eamonn shouted right back. “She’s in agony.”

  He shrugged. “I warned her. I warned you. Now I’m warning you again. Shut her up, or she loses her head. And if that doesn’t finish her, I’ll blow apart her thorax and then stomp the rest into the deckplates.”

  Eamonn, glaring daggers at the guard, approached the screeching hak’ruk, his hands outstretched as though to catch her. “Come on, Kutok. Help me save all our lives, especially yours.”

  The compound eyes were sparkling with agony. She swiveled her head to stare at the man who had shot her, the sound level dropping to a much more manageable level. But she didn’t stop; either she couldn’t, or she was continuing as a small measure of defiance for the bastard who might yet kill her anyway.

  “Moxie, can you help Kutok down to sickbay?” the captain asked, gently, holding the hak’ruk in his arms. She sagged against him, though her head was laser focused on the guard, making sure he never left her sight.

  Tamara nodded slowly, her face immediately shifting from anger to compassion. “Of course, sir.” She rushed forward to help and the guard moved aside to let her pass, taking Kutok’s weight in her arms. She wasn’t trying to lift the hak’ruk, Tamara was a strong woman, but Kutok weighed almost as much as the human. She wasn’t a bodybuilder, but thankfully, Kutok was able to hold herself up on her back legs. The two females shuffled off the bridge, sidling past the guards, one of whom “accidently” rubbed his hand along Tamara’s side and rear. She clenched her jaw and pushed past until the two of them were in the hall. One of the guards, the one who had put his hands on her, followed them out, but he kept a respectful distance, though just a few centimeters out of kicking distance, should either of them decide to get feisty.

  Tamara could hear the captain issuing orders on the bridge, as well as yelling at the guard for his completely unnecessary actions. The guard’s voice replied, but it was pitched too low for Tamara to hear. Most likely he was telling the Captain off, probably acting completely reasonable, as though his hands were lily white, instead of green with blood.