Chloe felt her breath catch in her throat.
Krista pushed herself up to a sitting position, fluffing her pillow and placing it between her back and the headboard, carelessly allowing the blankets to fall away from the breasts that had given them both such pleasure not that long before. “Vattermann picked me at random to be his playmate. He told me as much, to make me feel inconsequential.” She gave Chloe a sad smile. “But he still takes every possible measure to make sure that I remain his playmate. At this point he considers me to be an investment. Sort of like a well-trained pet.”
Chloe frowned. “He must love you at least a wee bit,” she said, her romantic instincts kicking in full force. “The sex must mean somethin’ to him.”
“It means power.” Krista added a shrug. “The only person Hans Vattermann loves is Hans Vattermann. He fucks me because it plays into his fantasy of having power over everything that he sees. The fantasy makes his rocks pop more than the friction does.”
Chloe could see Krista shiver. “What?”
Krista was silent a moment. “Apparently there was a woman who did beat him once, or at least got in the way of his power trip. This new TSM captain.”
That surprised her. “The captain of the ship that TSM just sent?”
Krista nodded. “Hans was spitting nails when he heard her name. That’s what led to this,” she said, pointing to her bruised face. “He was so pissed about something she did to him that he couldn’t see straight. He kept screaming her name — Sydney Chambers, Sydney Chambers. Maybe he thought I was her — or maybe I was just female, and available to hit. He punched me harder than he’s ever hit me before, Chloe. He’s going to hit her hard, too. Hard.”
Chloe sighed and twisted herself around, ending up sitting cross-legged facing Krista. Unlike her lover, though, she snugged the blanket around herself against a sudden chill.
“Will he manage, do you think?”
Krista looked over at her. “Manage what?”
“To take down this Sydney Chambers.”
Krista shrugged. “TSM is powerful,” she said, “but she only has one ship. Hans has a lot more than that.” Then she turned a puzzled frown to Chloe.
“Why?”
Chloe considered for a moment. Her eyes, when she raise them to look at Krista, held the sparkle of a very Irish imp. “I can’t help but wonder,” she said slowly, “if there might not be some sort of a plan we can be makin’ to take advantage of Vattermann bein’ all preoccupied with this Sydney Chambers?”
CHAPTER TEN
1
“Captain Chambers, you have no idea how pleased we are that TSM has sent you to deal with the pirating issue.”
Sydney studied the man staring out from Morrigan’s main bridge viewscreen. Edward Tallman, Operational Vice President of Capstone Minerals Ltd, the corporation that styled itself the “owner” of the planet Cygni B-2, was the classic image of a corporate executive: Tall, a sculpted face topped by discreetly graying hair, and a well-toned body sharply dressed in a suit that probably had cost him enough credits to feed most of B-2’s population for a day. His gray eyes held a sincere look that, Sydney had no doubt, was intended to convey gratitude, power, integrity, and just about any other emotion that Tallman might find convenient for the moment. The captain found them unconvincing. She was, however, intrigued by the low-key attitude the Company man exhibited as he spoke of pirates.
“I go where I am sent,” she responded noncommittally, then cocked her head in consideration. “I must say that you don’t sound as though our arrival will have that great an impact on your operations.”
Tallman smiled, the action causing him to briefly resemble a cinema action star of some renown. “That’s an astute observation, Captain. I must admit that Capstone Minerals has somehow been spared much of the impact that this plague has caused many of our corporate brethren.”
Sydney frowned. “Meaning?”
“Meaning,” Tallman answered, his smile unwavering, “that we have lost very little of value to the brigands who are terrorizing 16 Cygni in general. Unquestionably, our ships are stopped. But given the nature of what is most often in our cargo bays — that is, raw ores not readily convertible to usable credits — the pirates generally settle for those goods stocked for the convenience of the ship crews. Food, medicinals, that sort of stuff. It’s an inconvenience to be sure. However, given that our transports are merely hauling the ores to Outpost Station, where they are transferred to the interstellar carriers, our crews seldom go hungry for more than a day or so. They complain about it, of course, and I’m sure that it isn’t pleasant — but to make up for it, we have arrangements on Outpost Station for our people to be better housed and fed than is standard in the industry. So far we’ve had very few, ah, resignations, as a result of pirate stops.”
Food and medicines, Sydney thought. Just what Robin Hood would take. “I do recall Capstone Minerals being listed as of the complainants in the charges of piracy, however.”
“Oh, we most assuredly signed on to the complaint,” Tallman assured her, sincerity now oozing from his pores as well as glowing in his eyes. “Certainly we were proud to add our corporate weight to the indictment — be a good corporate neighbor to our harder-hit brethren, and such. We are aware of the suffering that even our neighbors on B-3 endure, and if we can assist TSM in any way we will be most pleased to help.”
“I’m sure that you will be.” Sydney gave the man the most insincere smile she could manage. “Well, I thank you for your time, Mr. Tallman. It’s been most ... enlightening ... to speak with you.”
“You are most welcome, Captain Chambers,” Tallman oozed. “As are your thirsty sailors, any time they may wish make another visit to our neighborhood. We had nothing but good reports of the behavior of your people, and the pub owners were most appreciative of the extra income.”
The captain’s face became even more of a mask at the man’s words. “I will keep that in mind. Morrigan, out.”
Her smile faded as quickly as did the image on the viewscreen, and Sydney found herself unable to relax in her command chair, the underlying context of the conversation rattling in her mind even as Garvey sidled up beside her.
“A particularly slimy individual,” the exec commented dryly.
“Huh,” the captain grunted in response. “I’m not sure that description isn’t a disservice to slugs and snails and other slime creatures.” She was silent for a moment, drumming her fingers against the arm of her command chair as she re-ran what she had just heard through her mental logic circuits.
“It seems to me, XO,” she finally said, “that the people in charge of Capstone Minerals Limited are peculiarly unaware of just what is going on around them. Not to mention, just what a role their own actions have had in fostering the pirates.”
“I tend to agree, Captain,” Garvey said. “Without what we saw on the ground and what this guy just said, you have to wonder if there would even be pirates at 16 Cygni.”
Sydney gave her exec a sharp look. “Oh, there’d be pirates all right,” she said, her voice tight. “What Vattermann is doing over in the A system is classic pirating, vicious and dirty. But....”
“But maybe not here at Cyg-B,” Garvey ventured.
Sydney sighed. “Maybe not here,” she agreed. “In fact, given the way these so-called pirates behaved when we confronted them, I wonder if ‘pirates’ is really the correct way to look at O’Shaugnassey’s group.”
Garvey grinned. “The Robin Hood scenario again?”
“It’s beginning to seem a bit more plausible.” Sydney shrugged. “At the very least it does give one pause ... and reasons to re-assess our methods if not our objectives.”
“Agreed.”
“Meanwhile,” the captain said, standing and turning toward the rear of the bridge, “we’ve spent entirely enough time ‘showing the badge.’ Get us underway for Outpost Station, XO. You have the conn. I’ll be in my office, considering the new pieces of this puzzle.”
&nb
sp; “Yes, Ma’am,” the exec agreed, turning to head for his own station. “Helm....”
2
Chloe O’Shaugnassey was frustrated, filthy, and for only the most recent time, up to her elbows in engine parts as she fiddled desperately with her ship’s innards. Behind her, the engine room, which never came even close to being spotless, was littered with panel covers, empty part boxes, and the litter of a full day spent trying to reconstruct — trying to even remember — some of things Krista had taught her about system bypasses and component reconfigurations. With a muttered curse she finished tightening the particular bolt she’d been wrestling with and carefully worked her arms out of the tight access she’d been straining through, then kicked at the bulkhead and blew a few stray hairs away from her sweaty face.
Her attempt at repairs was not going well.
She kicked the sinning bulkhead once more for good measure then grabbed up a rag, wiping at her grimy hands as she moved over to a control panel to see, once again, if anything she had done would bring even a hint of life back into the silent engines. She flopped into the room’s lone seat, slumping in exhaustion for a moment before reaching out toward the control that would either fulfill or dash her hopes.
“If you weren’t named after my sainted mother, good ship Brigid Delaney,” Chloe muttered, as much to herself as to the ship on which she slaved, “sure and I’d be breakin’ you up myself and usin’ you for target practice. You could’ve broke down just a wee bit closer to home, don’t you know, so I could at the least be callin’ on uncle Patrick, but no! You always have to break down here in the God forsaken boondocks of C, where there’s nothing but star dust to keep me company and it’s too far from Outpost Station to call for help.”
She hesitated a moment, then grimaced and punched at the control. The only response was a loud “bang!” from the general direction of the panel where she’d been working. A sinking feeling in her belly, she curled her hand into a fist and applied the resulting fleshy hammer to the control panel; the action achieved no result beyond another bang from across the room and a shooting pain in her hand.
“Ow!” She cradled the damaged hand with her other one and felt herself verging on tears when a loud and unexpected “buzz-buzz-buzz” began, accompanied by the blinking light of an incoming transmission on the panel in front of her. A flash of excitement swept through her.
“Krista —” she began, then realized the impossibility of that sudden hope.
“No, of course it’s not Krista,” she muttered. “So who’s wantin’ to be talkin’ with me out here, in the middle of where God lost His pants?”
She grabbed up the rag to again wipe at her hands, then stood and hurried out of the engine room, headed for Brigid Delaney’s tiny bridge and the comm station where she could answer the call.
The bridge was empty as she rushed in, of course, but the ship’s monitoring systems were all up and running — and the image displayed on the main viewscreen caused her to crash to a stop the instant her eyes caught sight of it. Several moments passed before she finally comprehended what she was seeing, hanging off Brigid Delaney’s bow where for the past two days there had been nothing but the emptiness of space.
Hulking large enough to cause her heart to skip several beats was a ship whose size dwarfed anything she’d seen before in 16 Cygni.
“Saints preserve me,” she muttered when realization struck. “’Tis the TSM warship.”
She stood, frozen in place for a long moment as the reality sank in ... and until it dawned on her that, in all likelihood, the monster was merely responding to the distress call Brigid Delaney had been squaking since her engines died. That was, after all, what TSM ships were supposed to do, or so she understood. Somewhat relieved, but still apprehensive, she forced herself to take slow, calming breaths, then blindly sent her fingers out to touch the control which would respond to the still-buzzing call signal.
“Hello,” Chloe said, a slight quaver finding its way into her voice despite her best efforts. “Is this the big warship hangin’ off of my bow?”
A loud click snapped from the comm speaker. “Brigid Delaney, we are responding to your distress signal,” the voice of a young man announced. “Are you in any immediate jeopardy?”
“Ah —” Chloe hesitated. “I’m not in any danger of freezin’ or suffocatin, if that’s what you’re meanin’,” she finally told the voice.
“Very well, then. Please hold for the Captain.”
Chloe’s eyes widened at the thought that her predicament would catch the attention of the very person she and Krista had discussed just hours before. A minute passed before that woman’s voice came out of the bridge’s overhead speakers.
“This is Captain Sydney Chambers of the TSM Cahan Morrigan. We are here in response to your distress call, Brigid Delaney. How can we be of assistance?”
Quite apart from her surprise that the captain of such a huge warship would take a personal interest in a rescue operation, Chloe’s mouth fell agape at the name that captain had claimed for her ship. “Cahan Morrigan,” she found herself saying, “what a lovely Irish name for such a big, deadly ship!” A smile crept over her face in spite of herself, and she heard a voice whisper in her head, “No ship with a name like that can be harmin’ the likes of me.” She willed her heart to slow and desperately worked to keep her voice steady.
“I’d be grateful to you for any help you can be lendin’ me, Captain,” she said, and could hear the smile in her own voice as she spoke. “A ship by the name of Cahan Morrigan has to be a sign that a wee bit of luck may be comin’ my way. And don’t you know, I could use a bit of luck the way my ship’s been breakin’ down of late.”
There was a pause, and Chloe could swear she heard laughter in the voice that answered her. “I can’t know about your luck, Brigid Delaney, but it will be our pleasure to lend any aid that we can.” After another pause, Chambers continued, “My chief engineer suggests that we tractor your vessel into our landing bay before attempting repairs. If that meets with your approval, we can begin working on your problems immediately. Otherwise, I’m afraid that the best we can offer you is a lift to Outpost Station — we’ve meetings scheduled there for later today.”
Chloe had to gasp for breath for an instant. “You mean to say you can just be sweepin’ my ship right into the belly of your beast?”
“Ah —” It was a moment before the reply came. “Yes, that is correct. Your vessel will easily fit into our landing bay. We have a fully equipped repair station there, and at least one engineer who is nearly drooling to get her hands on your craft.”
Chloe laughed out loud at the woman’s words. “As long as your engineer promises to give her back to me, she’s more than welcome to take Brigid Delaney into her care. To be honest, my ship has not had that kind of attention in neigh on forever.” For the first time in a long time, Chloe was beginning to feel as though things just might be all right, even without Krista around.
“Very good, Brigid Delaney. Hang on to something. I’m told the ride during a tractoring can be a bit rough.”
“Thank you for the warnin’, Captain.” Chloe quickly got herself strapped into the control room chair.
“No problem,” the captain’s voice told her. “Tractoring will commence in thirty seconds. You’ll be met once the landing bay is pressurized. Morrigan, out.”
A few seconds later the Brigid Delaney shuddered and Chloe could feel it begin to move, could see the massive ship on her viewscreen begin to draw closer. She found herself relaxing and, to her surprise, becoming a bit wistful.
Ah, Krista, my love, would that you were with me to be seein’ this.
3
“Are you sure?”
“‘Beyond reasonable doubt’ sure?” Garvey frowned at his captain, glad to have her desk between them, given the sketchiness of the information he was reporting. “No. Confederacy records dating back to the chartering of 16 Cygni show several families with the name O’Shaugnassey, all of them register
ed to the B-2 colony. But. From what we’ve learned of that colony, Captain, the odds of more than one O’Shaugnassey family having made it off the surface are pretty slim.”
Sydney’s scowl deepened. “I give you that point, XO.”
Garvey nodded. “All of the intel I’ve been able to gather concerning Patrick O’Shaugnassey indicates that he’s got a fairly close relative working with him — a niece, most of the reports say. By extrapolation, then — assuming only one O’Shaugnassey family in 16 Cygni space, as opposed to being stuck on the mining colony — our rescued pilot is quite likely Patrick O’Shaugnassey’s niece.”
The captain pondered her exec’s words a moment. The memory of one particular thing Chloe O’Shaugnassey had said rang in her thoughts — “You mean to say you can just be sweepin’ my ship right into the belly of your beast?” Sydney had experienced a moment of consternation as she’d waded through the phrase — mostly because the woman’s thick accent had made it sound more like, “Y’mean t’say y’can just be sweepin’ me ship right into th’belly o’yer beast,” but also because calling Morrigan “her beast” had raised a flag with her instincts. Now, Garvey’s report told her why someone being rescued might refer to a TSM warship that way: if that rescuee was, in fact, a pirate.
She activated her comm. “Lieutenant Kristoff.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” came the reply a moment later.
“Slow the re-pressurization process just a bit, if you please,” Sydney said, her voice thoughtful. “I’ll be joining the greeting party, and don’t want any contact until I’m there.”
Sydney Chambers Page 16