Pursue the Past: Samair in Argos: Book 1

by Michael Kotcher

  “Wh-why?” Kutok stammered, her voice so low that Tamara almost didn’t hear it. Her implants, however, amplified the sound and helpfully scrolled text indicating what Kutok had said on Tamara’s HUD.

  “Because they’re pirates, Kutok,” Tamara replied. “Because no matter what time you live in, it seems there are always people that like to prey upon others. You’re no victim and who knows? It might have been the fact that you stood up to him and didn’t meekly back down that made him do it. Had to show he meant business.”

  “I will kill him,” the hak’ruk vowed. This saddened Tamara, because for all her fierceness, Kutok was a proper lady and a gentle soul. The fact that she could be driven to this… It was just another tick on the ledger as far as Tamara was concerned.

  “Come on, let’s get to you to Turan. It’s going to be all right.”

  “It’s never going to be all right!” Kutok hissed, raising her voice and then cringing from the pain. “Never,” she whispered.

  Tamara didn’t have any reply.

  “Coming into extreme weapons’ range now, Captain,” the tactical officer reported, clearly excited.

  “Easy now, Perrin,” Harth chided gently to the ensign at tactical. “Plenty of time for you to clear your guns if it comes to that.”

  The young man flushed in embarrassment. It had been a very long run out across the system to catch up to this group of ships. Their quarry was finally in sight and in range and energy levels and morale aboard Legacy were through the roof. Harth considered his options. Grania Estelle was definitely his main quarry here, but she was escorted. Legacy could easily take the corvette that was escorting her, but she wouldn’t be alone for long. The other ships would quickly turn to engage before he’d have a chance to board the freighter. And then the heavy cruiser would have her hands full. But there was no way of knowing what the others would do. Would they cut their losses and leave the two ships to their fate, or would they turn and engage?

  “Are the two groups close enough together to support each other?” he asked, rubbing his chin.

  Ensign Perrin shook his head. “No, sir, but I’m not entirely sure about their speed and acceleration rates, but there should be a small window where we can operate without interference from the larger mass of ships.”

  Harth nodded. “When we do, then what will the freighter do? Are they going to be good and stick around, seeing as how we’re a Republic warship? Or are they going to bolt for the hyper limit?”

  No one had a good answer. He didn’t blame them, he didn’t have an answer either. Finally he nodded, making up his mind. “Hail the Grania Estelle,” he ordered. “But make sure that the other ships are included in my broadcast.”

  The communications officer nodded, then after a moment said, “You’re on, sir.”

  “Grania Estelle, this is Commander Harth on the Legacy. You are ordered to heave to prepare to be boarded. If you do not do so, we will open fire. Any ships that attempt to stop me from my goal will be fired upon and destroyed.” He flicked his eyes to the comm officer, who cut the transmission. “Let’s hear what they say.”

  “Captain, you are not to respond to that message,” the soldier informed Eamonn. His weapon was pointed directly at the captain’s head. The man was completely calm, as though the two of them were standing in a coffee shop and he was placing his order. “You will continue on course for the hyper limit and you will not deviate from that unless either I or Captain Verrikoth orders it. Now, sit yourself back down in your chair and give the order to the helm.”

  Eamonn worked his jaw and slowly lowered himself back into the seat. Fists clenched, he turned back to the main display. “Helm,” he ground out, “Continue on course. Serinda, radio silence for now.”

  The two officers chorused acknowledgement, not making eye contact with anyone, for fear that the soldiers would pay attention to them. Serinda’s hands were shaking, both from fear and from shame. She wasn’t strong enough to stand up to these men, not like Kutok, and after seeing what they had done to her the woman couldn’t even look up at anyone on the bridge. Her friend had been horribly wounded and the only ones who had tried to move were the Captain and Tamara. She’d been aboard this ship for years, far longer than the former Republic engineer, had been friends with the black insectoid female since almost the beginning of her tenure. And she’d just stood there and let the bastard shoot her. Her eyes burned and she blinked hard to hold back the tears and she clenched her fists to control the shaking.

  The pilot just simply sat facing forward, not looking at anyone, her face a blank mask, back ramrod straight. She refused to speak to anyone and only to the captain if she had an update or if he required a report.

  “Grania Estelle is not responding, sir,” the comms officer replied.

  Harth shook his head. He hadn’t really expected one, truth be told. “Continue on toward the freighter,” he ordered. “Leave the others alone for now, but bring us to Condition One.”

  “The corvette is moving in between us and the Grania Estelle,” Tactical reported. It wasn’t much more than a gesture, seeing as how the corvette could fit inside one of the bulk freighter’s massive cargo bays. He checked another readout. “Moving from extreme to long range on turbolasers now, sir.”

  “Guns, warning shots, one hundred meters off their forward bow,” he ordered, indicating the freighter.

  “Aye, sir,” the tactical officer replied, grinning, entering the commands on his console. A second later, the massive cannons pumped out a trio of shots that passed just in front of the kilometer-long bulk freighter. The ship continued on its course, undaunted. “They’re not stopping, Commander.”

  “I see it,” he replied.

  “Looks like the corvette is moving away from the freighter, sir,” the executive officer, Lieutenant Tran reported. “They’re accelerating toward us.”

  “Fire on Grania Estelle,” Harth ordered. “I’m so tired of all these games. No more cat and mouse. Bring down their sublight engines. Then switch targets to the corvette. Disable them.”

  ~~~~*~~~~~

  The ship shivered as Legacy’s turbolasers hammered into their after section. The shields shredded and collapsed within seconds under the heavy cruiser’s barrage. Eamonn stood at the Operations station, watching the green icon protective bubble around his switch rapidly from green to red and then turn from a solid line to one that had holes in it as the turbolasers quickly punched holes in the energy barrier. Spotting turned to holes which turned to fully collapsed shields in the aft section. Three shots later and the hull took a hit. The sound could be heard throughout the ship, the vibration translating through the huge ship.

  “Cut the engines,” he ordered. “Do it now,” he snapped to the pilot, who looked like she might argue. “Shut your mouth!” he said to the guard, pointing a finger at the man. “That heavy cruiser will take out our engines. Then I can’t follow your orders. If we behave for a little while, your ships will engage them and then we can continue on our way.”

  The soldier shrugged, his rifle slung over one shoulder. He clearly didn’t like being told what to do by the captain, but he wasn’t going to argue in this instance. Clearly the heavy cruiser wasn’t going to just let the bulk freighter slip away, so they had no choice but to power down for now. But only for now. “Very well, Captain. We’ll do things your way for the moment. But the instant I feel that we can get underway again, we will.” Then, he stepped up to the Captain, standing at the Operations station. “And never speak to me in such a tone again. You are Captain of this ship because my Captain allows it. You are easily replaced.”

  “Fine,” Eamonn said, turning back to his instruments. “Serinda, send a message to Legacy, tell them we are cutting our engines. Then send a comm laser to Ravage and inform them that as soon as we see an opening, we’re going to run as fast as we can for the hyper limit. We’re going to continue to drift in that direction until we can jump.”

  The raven-haired woman looked up at her captain,
stricken. He locked gazes with her for a long moment, but then she nodded and turned back to her console.

  Chapter 31

  “Report,” Harth asked calmly. The first round of missiles missed their target, annoyingly. The electronic jamming suite on board the corvette was far better than predicted, which worried him a bit. The pirates and defense forces out here in the Cluster were not supposed to have systems as advanced as those of the Republic. He salved his pride by remembering that that ship was a former Republic vessel. It meant that whoever these pirates were, they had stolen or acquired Republic military tech and were using it. It also meant, he thought sourly, that they might also have copied it. The missiles lost track and raced out into the void, away from the freighter and the corvette. Harth shook his head and grimaced.

  “Missiles lost track, sir,” Tactical reported. “Corvette is moving to engage us, sir. They’re in range of our turbolasers now.”

  “Let them have it,” he ordered. He watched at the Legacy’s guns opened up, sending charged particle lances at their target. The amount of energy slamming into the smaller ship’s shields caused them to turn opaque, but the captain of the other ship was no fool, it seemed. He banked his turn, not allowing the heavy cruiser’s weapons to fully blast apart his ship on a head on course.

  “Corvette’s forward shields have taken heavy hits,” the report came in. “We’ve punched a few holes in them, moderate damage to their forward section. They’re still under power and maneuvering.”

  “Missile separation!” the sensor officer reported. “Ten, twelve, fourteen Sierra-class missiles inbound. ETA forty-five seconds.”

  “Guns, I said I want that corvette down. Take care of it.” Harth watched as the ship’s turbolasers lashed out again, savaging the smaller ship as she was trying to turn away from Legacy. The salvos tore through Ravage’s weakened shields, smashing through the belly hull and engines of the smaller craft. She spun uncontrolled, power going out on half the ship. “Good shooting, Tactical,” Harth congratulated.

  The other officers at tactical lit up the ship’s electronic countermeasures as well as the point defense guns, trying to jam the guidance systems of as many of the inbound missiles as they could and shoot down the rest. Chaff burst forth, and jammers howled, confusing the Sierras’ nav systems. Six of them veered off course and the guns blasted apart four more. But four managed to sneak by, doggedly tracking down their prey. They crashed into the heavy cruiser’s shields, detonating on impact.

  The ship shuddered under the impacts. “Forward shields at twenty-three percent,” the tactical operator reported. “I’ve got some spotting, but no breaches. No damage to the hull.”

  Harth nodded, exhaling slowly. He tried not to project to his bridge crew just how nervous seeing a salvo of those missiles had made him. “The corvette must have flushed all her tubes at us,” he said aloud instead.

  “Commander, the other ships are not moving to intercept,” the sensor officer called out.

  “Odd,” he replied, rubbing his chin. “We get in a scrap with one of theirs and they just float on, unconcerned? Damned peculiar.” He frowned. “And suspicious. Sensors, keep an eye out for any surprises.”

  “What do you mean we’re just going to leave them?” Tyler demanded, throwing his arms to the sides. “We spent all that effort to secure that freighter and now you’re just going to throw away both ships?”

  Verrikoth moved with speed greater than the human commander’s eye could follow. His chitinous armored fist slammed into the man’s neck, not hard enough to cause permanent damage, but certainly enough to make his point. Tyler collapsed to the decking, gasping desperately trying to gulp down air through his damaged trachea. Stepping over him, the zheen kicked him hard in the stomach, causing him to double up, sucking wind in long wheezing gasps.

  “Your tongue esscapess you, Commander,” he told him, standing over him. “I have grown very tired of listening to you whine. And you question my orderz far too much.” The low moaning sounds were starting to subside, so Verrikoth game him another sharp kick in the abdomen. Tyler gagged and curled into a ball on the deck. “I have given you much leeway. Do not quesstion me again, Commander. Or I will end your miserable life.” The zheen walked away from him, and the rest of the Ganges bridge crew did their best to look anywhere but at their commander, crumpled there on the deck plates.

  “You,” Verrikoth said, pointing at the communications officer. “Order the cruiserz to launch two of their three fighterz each toward the bulk freighter. Their orderz are to harass the Republic warsship long enough for the freighter to jump. They are to land in the freighter’z cargo holdz. Do it now.”

  “Yes, Captain,” the man said, sitting bolt upright in his chair, clearly terrified but still obeying orders.

  Commander Tyler slowly picked himself up off the deck. “Permission…” he started, but then choked, coughed and then tried again. “Permission to go to sickbay, Captain?” he said, his voice sounding as though he had been gargling with gravel. His throat was dark red from where Verrikoth had punched him and he was holding one hand on his stomach.

  “Denied, Commander,” Verrikoth replied smoothly. “You will sstand here on the bridge and be an example to your men of what true sstrength iz. I will tolerate no weakness in my crew. You will either sstand your watch now, or I will be recruiting a new commander for Gangez.” He flexed his armored hand menacingly, the mandibles on his face clicking together lightly, as though daring the man to try something. He was aware of the sidearm on the commander’s hip, but clearly the zheen wasn’t concerned about the weapon.

  Tyler was smart enough to keep the anger and humiliation off his face. “I understand, Captain,” he grated. “I will stand my watch.” One hand was up to his throat, trying to massage his throat back into shape. He felt as though the pirate had punched a dent into him.

  “Good.” The zheen turned his back on him.

  -----------------*-----------------

  “Captain, the cruisers and the merchant ships with them have not altered course,” the sensor operator indicated.

  Harth nodded in acknowledgement. “Very well. Order the Marines away on their mission.” The entire ship’s Marine contingent, the entire platoon, was armed and armored up and launching in the ship’s two assault shuttles with orders to secure the Ravage. It was a Republic ship once, it would be again. True, Harth’s mission was to track down and capture the Grania Estelle and he fully intended on doing that, but he also felt it was his duty to bring that corvette into back into the fleet as well. Admiral Tandred was always looking for good ships and with the cost-cutting measures underway back home, adding another warship back to the fleet, even a small one like Ravage would help.

  Five minutes later, when the shuttles were almost to their target, the sensor officer cried out. “Missile separation!”

  Ice filled Harth’s stomach. “From where?”

  “Ravage, sir,” the officer replied. “They must have got their launchers back up. Only ten weapons heading this way though.”

  “Small victories,” the commander grumped. “ECM, point defense, stop those weapons.”

  The ship went to work again, the jammers howled and screamed into the void, the point defense lasers blazed out their fury. Eight of the weapons wandered away or were blasted to atoms while one more was picked off just outside the Legacy’s shield barrier. The last missile exploded against the shields, causing them nearly to buckle.

  “We’re getting spotting on the forward shields, Captain,” the watch stander at the shield station called out. “Minor damage to the hull. Forward shields at twenty-four percent.”

  “What’s the status on the shuttles?” he demanded.

  “They’re under fire, Captain, from the Ravage but it looks like the weapons are in local control. There’s no coordination between the active weapons.” The sensor operator’s report was factual and clipped; she was showing no hesitation.

  “Very well,” the captain replied. Then he
checked his own display. “Sensors, what are the contacts breaking away from the further group?”

  The operator checked her displays and then her face flushed to the roots of her hair. “Sorry, sir, I should have caught that. There are a small group of ships breaking away from the others on a course for us. Could be fighters, based on the size and speed.”

  “Wonderful,” Harth replied. “All right. Guns, get ready to intercept and keep them off of us and the Ravage. I’m not having Marines take her back just so they can blow her apart.”

  Sadly, Legacy was not outfitted with any fighters; it had been deemed unnecessary at the time of their extended deployment. Legacy wasn’t really designed to carry any fighters anyway, though it might have been possible to shoehorn one or maybe two into the shuttle bay, but it would have been a very tight fit. The Amun-Ra class heavy cruiser was an older model, one that had been kept in service for almost forty years now and wasn’t one rated to carry starfighters. It was a ship with heavy weapons and shields meant to deal out pain and absorb a good deal of punishment in return. Unfortunately, this particular class wasn’t terribly good at swatting starfighters out of the sky. Normally light cruisers, destroyers or corvettes, ships that were better equipped to handle smaller vessels would usually accompany Legacy, but in his haste, Harth decided to leave with no support.

  He was regretting that now. But there was nothing he could do about that now.

  “Marine shuttles are docked with Ravage,” the sensor operator reported.

  “Good,” Harth said. “Helm, move us closer so we can provide support.”

  “Aye, Captain, moving closer,” the helmsman replied.

  ----------------*-----------------