Winds of Marque

by Bennett R. Coles

  “So,” she said, “you are in league with the Sectoids. Why?”

  “We’re not in league with those scum.” His expression revealed shock and horror, which Liam assessed as genuine. “How dare you question my loyalty to my species.”

  “Attacking honest merchants and killing civilians doesn’t strike me as loyalty,” Amelia retorted, “especially with Sectoids and their acid.”

  “You understand nothing,” he scoffed. “We take what weapons we can get, and we’re fighting for a cause you don’t understand.”

  “Don’t lie to us,” Liam interjected. “You’re nothing but a band of thugs, preying on the innocent.”

  “And what do you know,” the prisoner suddenly shouted, “about preying on the innocent?”

  His voice echoed off the cell walls as he shuffled painfully up to his feet. Virtue stepped back a pace, but the prisoner made no move to come forward. He leaned heavily against the wall.

  “I can hear your accent, milord. And I can see the casual disregard you have for our lives. If anyone preys on the innocent, it’s you.”

  “I beg to differ,” Liam said, stepping forward as his fists clenched. “I saw what you did to the crew of the Lightning Louise.”

  “Necessary casualties. They were killed quickly.”

  “Not all of them.”

  The prisoner’s face darkened, and as he looked straight at Liam it twisted into a cruel sneer.

  “Yes, the ship’s patron. He got what he deserved.”

  “Why did he deserve to be tortured?” Virtue asked. “What did he do?”

  “Are you nothing but a puppet, girl? Can you not see what people like him are doing?”

  “I see an honest merchant, nothing more.”

  “Then you’re blind.”

  Liam took another good look at this man. His hair was cut short, and his clothes were of a city dweller from farther in toward the Hub. His speech was precise, though common, and his gaze burned with a zeal not typical of a pirate.

  “So you’re the one who tortured and killed the patron,” Liam said quietly, reaching for his sword.

  “I’m not saying I did it,” the prisoner responded. But Liam saw the uncertainty that flickered across his features. “Only that I think he deserved it.”

  “A petty distinction,” Liam replied, slowly starting to draw the saber.

  He felt Virtue’s hand on his, pausing the motion.

  “You need to explain to us why you think that,” she said. “If there’s some legitimate grievance in this sector which needs to be addressed, we need to know about it.”

  The prisoner considered this for a moment, then scoffed.

  “The grievance . . . is you.”

  “Me?” Virtue asked, her eyes wide with shock.

  “No! You, the Navy, your Imperial masters. You’re all just puppets.”

  “And I suppose,” Liam said, keeping his sword sheathed but resting his hand on the pommel, “your little band of pirates is going to make everything right.”

  “Justice will prevail,” he said with a knowing, anticipatory look, “when the dark star rises.”

  “What is that?” Virtue asked. “The dark star?”

  “Something you should learn about.”

  “It’s their pirate plan,” Liam muttered. “Steal all the money, buy all the weapons, and then impose their own kind of tyranny on Silica.”

  “You know nothing.”

  “I know plenty of people like you. Lawless, selfish types who don’t want to live by the rules of the Empire, and who make up some perceived grievance as moral cover for their own atrocities.”

  The prisoner fell silent for a moment, staring at Liam. Then he slumped back down into a crouch. “This is pointless. I have nothing to say to you.”

  Liam made to turn away, but he gave Virtue a tiny nod.

  She reached into her bag and pulled out a gold pendant.

  “We found this in your ship,” she said, holding it up for him. “I was going to give it to one of my hardworking shipmates, but I sensed it might have sentimental value for you.”

  He glanced at it, clear recognition lighting up his eyes. But then he looked away.

  “Tell me more about this dark star,” she said, “and you can have it back.”

  “Keep it,” he said, expression hardening. “I won’t be bought.”

  “Remain silent and you’ll hang for sure,” Liam pronounced. “But if you cooperate we might be able to work something out.”

  “The promises of an Imperial lord,” the prisoner scoffed, “are worthless.”

  “And clearly,” Liam countered, “so are the words of a pirate murderer.”

  “Talk to me,” Virtue said again, holding up the pendant. “There’s no need to make things worse.”

  “Things can’t get any worse.” The prisoner turned to face the far wall of the cell.

  Virtue sighed, and glanced up at Liam. He motioned for her to follow him out.

  He had a feeling they would get no more out of this man tonight.

  The lack of starlight shining in through the portholes of the captain’s cabin told Liam that Daring was on the starboard tack again. She’d been struggling against this head wind for days and was making slow time back to Windfall.

  “The interrogations produced some results,” he said. “It appears even pirates can respond well to kindness.”

  Riverton sat back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. She’d discarded her uniform coat and her white shirt and trousers stood in stark contrast to her dark face and hands. Despite her relaxed posture, however, there was a new intensity in her eyes. “Do tell.”

  “This crew is clearly not the mainstay of the pirate force. There are at least half a dozen ships, operating with some independence, but with overall coordination. And this is definitely more than a band of rogues—there is a bigger force behind them. Something called the dark star. We weren’t able to confirm what that is.”

  “Perhaps a base on a distant planet?”

  “That would be my guess, ma’am, or maybe a very large ship.”

  “Oh?”

  “Several pirates let slip that their main base is far from any sun. And we do have a Sectoid ship lurking in this sector.”

  “I don’t think that ship would be this dark star they speak of,” she said smoothly. “You did ask the pirates if they were connected to Sectoids?”

  “Yes, ma’am, and they denied it. But we do have that acid damage in Lightning Louise.”

  “Puzzling,” she said, nodding. “But hardly definitive evidence to set us against the Sectoid vessel.”

  “But, ma’am . . .” Liam was honestly at a loss for words. Why was she ignoring what was clearly staring them in the face? “Surely we should consider the possibility.”

  “Consider all you want,” she snapped. “But our mission is to support the fleet in case of war. Our mission is not to start that war.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Liam stood in silence for a moment, watching Riverton’s expression and posture expertly slip back into her usual cool serenity.

  “Do you think the pirates have larger ships?” she asked mildly.

  “I think that the ship we took is one of the smaller ones, but I would suspect few of them are larger than a frigate. Amelia managed to get one ship name out of a prisoner: the Golden Wind.”

  “Is it in any of our records?”

  “No, ma’am. But when we put into Windfall we can do a search through the Imperial archives and I can ask around. I’m sure my new friend Mr. Long will be willing to share info if I offer to take more cargo off his hands.”

  Riverton leaned forward. “Yes, about that. This trip we specifically took low-value cargo. For our next, I’d like to reverse that.”

  “A high-value shipment,” Liam asked, following her reasoning, “in order to attract attention?”

  “We had a lead on this pirate ship we captured, because we happened to witness its attack. I don’t expect to be
that lucky again. We need to make our own luck.”

  “By drawing an attack on ourselves.” Liam nodded his approval.

  “It’s the fastest way to get more information, more prisoners, and more prize money,” she said, rising to her feet. “I’m impressed at how well we fought and I’m confident that we can repeat our success.”

  She’d had her first taste of victory in command, Liam knew. And now she wanted more. It was a natural reaction, but the fact that she’d considered it for this long before voicing her idea gave him confidence that she’d thought the plan through. More and more he was seeing real ability in her, and he realized that for the first time he actually thought of her as someone worthy of command. It was an odd feeling, these days, but a welcome one. Now he just had to figure out how her mind worked.

  “I’ll look for the most valuable cargo I can find, ma’am.”

  She nodded, pacing in the tiny space between her desk and dining table. “Any thoughts on where the pirate base might be?”

  “Only that it’s not in one of the solar systems. We’ll have to keep studying the small-objects chart to see if there’s anything large enough to support a permanent settlement that’s within range of the known attacks in this sector.”

  “Damned shame we lost the memory core of the pirate ship.”

  “Yes,” Liam said, frowning as he thought of the Theropod captain who had managed to best him. “Next time we’ll prioritize its capture.”

  She stopped pacing, facing him full on. Her large eyes seemed to assess him anew, and a glimmer of a smile brightened her features. “Well done, XO,” she said simply. “Carry on.”

  Chapter 12

  Normally it was a relief to get off the ship after an extended period in space, but as Amelia stepped across the brow and onto Windfall Station, she wrinkled her nose at the stale air. As much as sailors liked to complain about life aboard ships, out here in the Halo worlds, there were plenty of worse fates. As her eyes scanned the promenade she felt the same sadness she had felt during their first visit. Once upon a time somebody had really put some effort into making this station a nice place to live, with the wide-open space under a vaulted ceiling, and even real trees to cast shadows across the line of storefronts. But years of either poverty or simple neglect had diminished what could have been a happy place.

  At least she was in comfortable civilian clothes. She stole an admiring glance at Subcommander Blackwood as he strode forward in his riding trousers to greet Matthew Long and his assistants. The XO’s voice carried across the docks as he played his role of the impatient noble, and she had to suppress a smile at his chameleon qualities. Captain Julian Stonebridge was quite a change from the beggar she’d taken pity on that rainy night, and neither was even close to the real man himself.

  “Sightseeing,” she heard Swift growl behind her, “or lending a hand?”

  She tore her eyes from Blackwood, answering Swift’s wry expression with a quick, embarrassed grin before reaching down to take one end of the crate. Together she and Swift heaved it onto the waiting cart. Mr. Long’s associates didn’t seem that interested in helping, standing off to the side of their boss while he reviewed paperwork with Blackwood. After she’d tossed down the second crate, she paused to catch her breath, motioning for Swift to pause as well.

  “Hey there,” she called over to Long’s assistants, “we could use a couple of big, strong lads to help us out.”

  They couldn’t help but look back at her, but were slow to move. She put on her best pouty look, then flashed them a big smile. As expected, that inspired them to action and they came over to help unload cargo. It was easy for her to keep the smile on her face as they chatted her up, but she was pleased when the final crate was secured on the cart. Why couldn’t people just help out because it was kind? Did there always have to be the promise of some reward?

  Blackwood returned with a new pouch of money, nodding curtly and motioning for Long’s men to take the cart away. Once they were clear, he motioned Amelia and Swift closer.

  “Mr. Long says he has some very valuable cargoes,” he said quietly, “but they’re not stored in his usual warehouses. We’ll have to go with him into the station to inspect them.”

  “I’d really rather stay here,” Swift replied. “We have a lot of work to do on the masts.”

  “And the captain wants us out of here in less than a day,” Blackwood finished, agreeing. “I’d take Sky, but she’s escorting the captain.”

  “Where to?” Swift asked.

  Blackwood shrugged in what Amelia could tell was a show of indifference. When he spoke, his voice was carefully casual. “So I guess it’s just us, Amelia—care for a stroll in the station?”

  “A tour of Windfall,” she said with a smirk. “It’s every girl’s daydream.”

  “And every young gentleman’s,” he replied wryly before turning back to Swift. “Get the cargo doors closed up and get to your work. Set a senior sailor as brow’s mate and ensure no one goes ashore.”

  “Yes, milord.”

  Amelia moved to Blackwood’s side and walked with him back to where Long waited. The heavyset man gave her a slow nod then turned to Blackwood.

  “If you’ll accompany me, my lord, it’s a bit of a walk to the secure storage.”

  Long led the way with his limping shuffle, and Amelia was forced to slow her pace. The promenade was quieter than it had been during their last visit, but enough people were moving in both directions to keep her wary. She felt the pressure of her pistol strapped under her shoulder, knowing that the only person who was going to get their hands on it was her. Her muscles tensed as she watched each passerby, almost wanting one of them to try to grab at her.

  Blackwood’s hand brushed against her arm. She glanced up at him, held by his inquisitive gaze.

  You okay? he mouthed.

  Forcing her shoulders to loosen, she nodded. He watched her for a moment longer, then gave her a friendly wink. She raised an eyebrow, then playfully knocked his hand away.

  “This way, my lord,” Long said, turning to indicate a set of stairs leading up away from the promenade. “Please precede me—my old bones need more time to make the ascent.”

  Blackwood in turn gestured for Amelia to go first. “After you.”

  If someone was going to be looking at her butt, she decided, she’d rather it be Blackwood than Long. She stepped up onto the stairs, listening as the XO followed her at a respectful distance and Long huffed and puffed along behind. At the top of the stairs a mezzanine spread out before her in a half-moon, with clusters of chairs and half a dozen doors leading through the rounded, reinforced wall. Beside each door was a small window, and a pair of sword-wielding toughs stood guard over the entire area.

  Blackwood stepped up next to her, scanning the scene. “I guess this is where they keep the good stuff.”

  It took Long another minute to reach the top of the stairs, and he pulled out a moist handkerchief to mop his brow. He simply stood and breathed for a long moment, dark eyes skirting irritatedly over the lean and healthy bodies of his guests. Finally, he motioned toward one of the doors.

  “I have a cargo in my secure stores which I think might be just what you’re looking for, my lord. Alas, visitors are not allowed into the vaults, but if you make yourself comfortable here, I will bring you a sample and a full manifest.”

  “Yes”—Blackwood simpered—“splendid. And have them send out some wine.”

  Long frowned, but made no reply other than to nod before limping toward the middle door.

  Amelia sat down in the nearest chair, which overlooked the promenade below. Blackwood sat down facing her, his own eyes gazing down at the wide walkway.

  “The air seems a bit fresher up here,” he commented.

  “I don’t think there are too many crowds coming up this way,” she replied. “Not too many valuable cargoes passing through, I’d guess.”

  She glanced up as an elderly man hurried over with a tray balancing two glasses and
a decanter of what looked like red wine. He set it down with a smile and retreated. Blackwood expertly poured them each a glass.

  “I’m curious about what counts as valuable cargo here at Windfall,” she mused, taking a sip of the wine.

  He stifled a gag, face screwing up as he peered at the wine in his glass. “I certainly hope it isn’t this vinegar.”

  She took another sip. It was bold, to be sure, but hardly undrinkable. Was he just playing the part of a spoiled dandy, or was he really offended?

  “Well, all the more for me, then, my lord,” she offered.

  His expression was still pained, and he cast startled eyes over to her. “Are you serious?”

  She still wasn’t sure if he was playing a role or not, and with a glance at the distant guards she leaned in across the table. “Sir, do you really not like it? I think it’s okay.”

  He started, then quickly composed himself. He leaned in, so that their noses were almost touching. “Julian Stonebridge can’t abide it, but of course it’s not that bad.”

  He leaned back and, eyes on her, took another small sip. His lip wrinkled but otherwise he displayed no reaction. “You see?”

  “You think it’s piss, don’t you?”

  “Not at all, Amelia. A rich, fruity varietal with earthy undercurrents and a bold finish.”

  “You’re full of it . . . milord.”

  He sighed, gently replacing the glass. “Watered down beer I can drink. Back-shed moonshine I can drink, but I’ve never been able to acquire a taste for cheap plonk.”

  “Well, the stuff in the senior mess is certainly better than anything I’ve ever tasted in my life,” she said, taking another sip, “but I haven’t lost my taste for the plonk.”

  “My apologies, Amelia, I meant no disrespect.”

  His concern for her honor was actually quite touching, she thought. The nobility might be a collection of ignorant snobs, but they did have manners. And as he stared earnestly at her across the small table, she was struck at how much she liked his attention.

  “None taken,” she whispered. “None at all.”

  “And if you think the wine in Daring is good,” he added, leaning back casually in his chair, “just wait until you try some at one of Lord Grandview’s balls.”