Garvey merely shrugged.
“Well, then.” Sydney closed her eyes for a moment, drawing a deep breath before looking at her exec once more. “How many ships have dropped into the system anyway?”
“McInerny reports ID’ing a dozen, though she admits that there could be a few small tag-alongs lost in the shadows of the bigger ones. Oh, and they’re not just hanging there, out at the edge, any longer.” When Sydney’s gaze snapped to his, Garvey continued, “They’ve gotten busy with settling into formation. We won’t know what comes next until they’ve finished forming up.”
“Great.” Sydney sighed, but was otherwise silent for nearly half a minute as she weighed her options.
“OK. We are fully undocked?”
“Yes, Ma’am. Had to, to release the O’Shaugnassey vessel from our bay.”
“Right. Well, hold us on station right where we are for the moment. The timing of this whole thing is going to be critical. I’ll be up to the bridge after I take care of a few last-minute details. Dismissed.”
“Yes, Captain.” Garvey stood and quickly left the small room, double-timing it in the direction of his bridge post. Sydney activated her comm.
“Mr. Rieger.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” came the ensign’s voice in reply.
“Raise the lead militia ship if you would, please,” Sydney instructed. “Patch it through to me when you have Mr. Miller on line.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Sydney pulled out her hand comp and was double-checking that her notification for Cami Frye was ready to send when her desktop terminal lit with the image of militia quasi-leader Joe Miller.
“Yes, Captain Chambers?”
“Just a last-minute double-check, Mr. Miller,” Sydney said, putting her hand comp back in her pocket. “Your folks all on the same page with what’s about to happen?”
“Yes, of course,” Miller retorted. “We all know what to do, though some are more eager than others to get started. And yes, Captain, we all know the risks. Just give us the high sign when it’s time.”
Sydney gave the man a professional nod. “Tell your people to move out in thirty minutes — that’s firm unless I call back to say different. The pirate fleet is in its final formation stage, but we want to move the action as far out from the Station as possible.”
“Got it.” Miller returned Sydney’s professional nod. “Good hunting to you, Captain.”
Sydney quirked a half-smile at the phrase, one she hadn’t heard used since her cadet days. “Thank you, Mr. Miller,” she returned. “Good hunting indeed, to you and your people as well. Morrigan, out.”
She blanked the screen but continued to stare at it for a moment, bemused by the conversation’s final words. “Good hunting,” she muttered to herself. “We’ll all need that and more over the next few hours.”
With a final shake of her head she rose and headed for Morrigan’s bridge.
3
Krista Sperry watched her lord and master, Hans Vattermann, with an eye jaundiced by both fear and hate. Vattermann was eagerly viewing the large display that dominated the control room of Hans Vattermann I, occasionally barking an order as his and O’Shaugnassey’s fleets sorted themselves into the exact order that he demanded. Krista winced inwardly as those around her prepared for the demolition run ... not what Vattermann called the coming action, but there could be no other description of a “battle” that pitted a fleet of heavily-armed pirates against a swarm of tiny militia ships and one TSM cruiser.
And it was all so tragically sudden. Even beyond the hopeful schemes that she and Chloe had recently plotted, Krista had long fostered a hope that someone in the militia or TSM would get lucky and incinerate Vattermann and the ship around him, but the moment — since Vattermann had forced her to accompany the joint pirate “expeditionary force” as yet another object lesson in humility — Krista was stuck in that very ship. Incinerating Vattermann would result in the obliteration of her own precious self as well.
Krista was not and had never been suicidal, but there were moments when she wondered if such a sacrifice might just be worth it.
She pushed the thought out of her head and tugged absently at the slutty outfit she had been forced to wear for the occasion, adjusting it as best she could to retain some modesty despite the wandering eyes of the pirate crew. Vattermann, oblivious to her discomfort — possibly even delighting in it — merely allowed his lips to twist into a satisfied sneer when the final maneuvers were complete and all ships announced themselves in position to begin the attack run.
“All-right,” Hans exulted, smashing both fists against the arms of his command chair and drawing an oblique, yet disapproving, look from the vessel’s captain, Gunnar Schultz. “We’ve got them all where we want them,” Vattermann continued with venomous enthusiasm. “That Irish worm O’Shaugnassey is out front where his ships will take the brunt of the fighting, and that bitch is solidly placed to receive the full measure of my wrath!”
He leaped to his feet and began to pace, to the extent that he could in the crowded confines of the command center. “All we have to do is follow the trail of destruction and take control of Outpost Station at our leisure. Es ist wunderhübsch! Ich bin ein Genie!”
“Kommandant, all ships report ready and waiting for your command to move,” Schultz said with just the right amount of deference.
“Ya, ya, bitten Sie sie zu gehen,” Vattermann nearly yelled, falling into his native German as his excitement mounted, adding in English when puzzled eyes turned his way, “Go, go!”
As Schultz turned himself to the task of getting the fleet underway Vattermann spied Krista out of the corner of his eye and immediately turned his predatory gaze toward her. In a flash, lust replaced the look of triumph that had settled in his eyes and he peremptorily waved for her to come to him. As soon as she was within his reach he grabbed her hand and dragged her scantily-clad body tight against his own, pinning her there almost painfully as he sneered at her.
“You do know why you’re here, don’t you, bitch?” Tender words of love, in Vattermann’s vernacular.
Krista returned his gaze, her face as impassive and unthreatening as she could make it. “Of course, Hans,” she little more than whispered. “To please you. My life is about pleasing you. I exist to please you.”
“Louder,” Hans growled. “Louder, so everyone can hear!”
“I exist to please you,” Krista repeated, speaking more loudly but with no more expression in her voice than she might use in ordering a package of toilet paper. Hans didn’t seem to notice the tone, though, only the words.
“Damn straight you do!” He smashed his lips to hers, kissing her with the passion of a bull in heat but the technique of a bull maddened by a toreador. Krista endured it, opening her mouth to allow Hans entry but making no effort to return his lust. After a while it ended. Hans moved her away from him, slightly, but retained his tight grip, holding her against himself, pressing against her in a manner she presumed that he found pleasurable.
“You belong to me, bitch,” he told her in tones quiet yet still fierce and unpleasant. “Your life is mine, even as the life of that TSM bitch is mine.” Krista had to use all her willpower to keep from flinching as a string of drool leaked from Hans’ mouth to settle wetly on her cheek. “But there is a great difference between you two bitches, though.”
“Tell me, Hans,” Krista whispered.
“The difference is, that bitch I will destroy, and enjoy destroying her.” His leer turned even more predatory as he gave her a sharp and, she imagined, lustful squeeze. “You, I will merely enjoy.”
Hans moved his hands to just below the bottom of Krista’s brief skirt then moved them slowly upward, under her clothing and against her naked skin, until she felt her stomach twist in disgust. By sheer dint of will she remained where she stood, pressed against him, impassive, ruthlessly suppressing her stomach’s rebellion as his hands kneaded her butt and, at the same time, pushed her more firmly against his har
dness. She began to wonder if he was going to strip her right there and rape her in the presence of the entire command crew ... but finally he released her, gasped for breath a time or two, then pushed her away from him with a jerk of one arm.
“Go,” he said to her. “Go to my cabin and prepare yourself. Once that bitch is vaporized I will come to you and we will ... celebrate.”
Krista took a quick breath herself, then nodded. “Yes, Hans,” she acquiesced, and quickly got herself away from there, away from him ... away from the madness that was about to happen ... and toward the one, tiny, glimpse of hope that she had. The hope offered by a tiny icon she had happened to notice, blinking at the far edge of the command deck viewscreen, ignored by Hans and his bloodthirsty crew. An icon she knew very well.
The icon of the Brigid Delaney.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
1
Sydney rushed onto the bridge, calling out, “Status!” as she went. The only head that swung her way, though, was that of first officer Steve Garvey, from his position at the tactical holo tank.
“Here, Captain,” the XO reported, his voice terse. “It’s starting.”
She altered her course to join Garvey at the holo tank. The two officers stood in silence as they studied the image in front of them: A dozen points of light, the enemy fleet, had clearly heaved into motion at the outer edges of the Cyg-C system. After a moment of studying the display she grimaced.
“Apparently they’re all here and ready to go,” she little more than muttered, then turned to call out toward the scan position. “Ms. McInerny.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” the scan tech answered, turning to face her superior.
“What’s the vector on that bunch?”
“One moment, Captain.” McInerny turned back to her panel and punched several commands into her station computer.
“Vector is nine degrees to our flank, Ma’am,” she reported after a moment, then turned to look at Sydney once more. “They’re aimed at Outpost Station itself, Captain, not at us.”
“Crap.” Sydney let the oath hang in the air as she considered her options. Garvey stepped up beside her after a moment, speaking low for her ears only.
“They either want us to chase them, or they’re simply ignoring us,” the exec said.
“No, XO,” Sydney said, then shook her head. “They’re daring us to do our worst.” She studied the holo tank display for a minute more, then shrugged. “Rather what I expected, actually, and doesn’t really change anything. Mr. Rieger.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” the comm officer responded.
“Give me a ship-to ship on all militia frequencies, general announcement.”
“Aye, Captain,” Rieger acknowledged. A few panel-touches later he added, “Circuit open.” Sydney raised her voice for the bridge’s general pickup mikes.
“All militia units, this is Captain Chambers on the Cahan Morrigan,” she began. “The pirate fleet has begun their push, which means we need to begin our operations shortly. Be aware, though, that the target vector of the enemy armada is toward Outpost Station, not toward us. Apparently they don’t think that we’re even worth bothering with.” She threw a touch of irony into her tone for the snarky comment then paused to let the meaning of the words sink in to her listeners. After a moment she continued, “It’s now our job to show them that their perception is not only wrong, but dead wrong.”
She paused for another moment before pushing on to more important matters. “Be aware that their vector does make our job a little more difficult. It is likely that they intend to flank us, rather than just running right over us — and while that would be a bad thing if we were in ships like theirs, the fact is that you people are not in battle cruisers. You are in the civilian equivalent of fast attack boats. Each one of you is maneuverable enough to make their heads spin when the time comes. Remember that, and use it to your advantage. The plan that we agreed on is still a go, even with what the pirates have chosen to do — except that they’ll likely get a whole lot closer to the station than we’d hoped. Annoying, but that’s life. Just stick to the plan and bring this battle home in our favor.”
Militia pilot Chris Henderson’s voice broke in a moment after Sydney had finished speaking. “Should we move up the departure time, Captain?”
Sydney turned to her exec. “How long to zero moment, XO?”
“Ten minutes, Captain.”
Sydney considered the question for less than an instant. “No,” she said, firmly and loud so there would be no mistake by any of the militia on the conference link. “In fact, let’s tack an additional twenty minutes onto the countdown — Go in thirty minutes from now. Morrigan will begin its portion of the plan ten minutes after that.”
“Roger that, Captain Chambers,” Henderson returned. “All units, acknowledge to your team leader.”
“I know this wait is a pain, people,” the captain said, still speaking for the entire militia to hear, “but we’ll all be seeing a lot more action than we want, a lot sooner than we’d like. Now is the time to keep cool and keep focused. Morrigan out.” She signaled for Rieger to cut the connection; when he nodded that they were off-line, Sydney relaxed slightly, turned her back to the command crew and leaned slightly toward Garvey.
“Now is also the time,” she told the XO in a low murmur, “to take care of any last-minute issues that might occur to you.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Garvey answered, adding a small grimace as punctuation, then turned to head for his own station.
As her exec left, Sydney considered for a moment, then pulled her hand comp from her pocket. Selecting the pre-arranged notification she had double-checked just minutes before, she touched send.
2
Chloe O’Shaugnassey stared with near super-human intensity at the cloud of small ships hanging with military precision to one side of Outpost Station. The scene reflected on her main screen reminded her of nothing she had ever before witnessed: The 16 Cygni Militia in formation as a single unit, preparing for battle against a common foe. Often enough she had heard of the aftermath of her uncle’s interactions with militia members; evasion was his first line of defense in such encounters, followed closely by run-away-like-a-rabbit. As a result, neither side had even incurred a casualty.
But as Chloe watched events shape up in front of her it became increasingly clear that neither O’Shaugnassey tactic was likely to succeed, or even be tried, on this day. Today the two sides would meet, head-on.
Chloe found herself aghast at the prospect.
“Uncle Patrick,” she muttered, quietly and to herself, “what in the world can you be thinkin’? Sure and I know you signed up to fight against the Confederacy — but the most of those ships are no more Confederate than they’re enemies. These folk are our neighbors, even our friends!”
She watched, feeling more helpless than ever before in her life, as the line of militia ships began to advance in tight precision against the incoming pirate fleet ... a fleet that her commercial-grade sensors could only hint at, so far had she removed herself from the coming field of battle. Even as she felt her chest begin to constrict with anxiety she fought to hold herself back. The battle was not hers to fight, not in a small, unarmed freighter. But she couldn’t help her thoughts ... couldn’t help but cry out when, ten minutes after the militia ships began their orderly march toward combat and likely destruction, the one true Confederate battleship present to stand against the pirate fleet — the Cahan Morrigan — opened a hyper window and quickly jumped into it, disappearing from her screen.
“NO!”
Chloe’s wail still echoed in the Brigid Delaney’s small control cabin as she frantically reached for her comm controls, touching the saved contact code for her Uncle Patrick’s command ship Clancy Aodhan. She could contain herself no longer.
“What in the world are you doin’, Captain Chambers?” She couldn’t help but mutter to herself as she waited out the light-speed delay a connection to her still-far away uncle would take. “Sendin’ all t
he little folk in to be killed whilst you flee to safer shores? Ah, Captain, I’d a thought better of you.”
Two comm ports lit simultaneously: One the connection to her uncle, the other an incoming message packet. Her eyes widened when she saw the source code of the packet; without a thought she killed the link to Clancy Aodhan and eagerly cued up the unexpected, zipped, packet.
3
Hans Vattermann stared at his command viewscreen with an intensity nearly equal to that of Chloe O’Shaugnassey, but with the touch of a smile on his lips rather than the heartache that was her lot. The scene he watched was exactly what he had dreamed of, from the moment he had learned that his old nemesis Sydney Chambers commanded the Confederacy’s feeble response to the force he had assembled: Chambers’ ship standing alone against his powerful fleet, standing hopelessly where he could destroy her almost at his leisure. The coming conflict between 16 Cygni’s pitiful militia forces and O’Shaugnassey’s handful of ships was, to Vattermann’s mind, merely a side-show ... a minor drama that would play out for his amusement. The main objectives hung beyond that, silent, ripe ... each waiting to be plucked in their own special way:
Sydney Chambers, to be crushed into atoms by the overwhelming power of his fleet;
Outpost Station, to be boarded, conquered, and annexed into what was the growing sphere of his influence, his control. His own private empire.
He didn’t realize that his attention had drifted until Stefan Holzig, his chief lieutenant and second in command, spoke up to inform him of progress in the pending battle.
“Kommandant,” Holzig said, swinging his chair so he could face Vattermann, “the militia ships have begun engaging with the leading edge of our fleet.”
Vattermann jerked slightly as his attention snapped back to the here-and-now. “Ja?” He focused his eyes on the screen once more, where a few streaks of laser light were indeed visibly shooting from the foremost militia ships. “So what?”
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