Sydney Chambers

by B. T. Jaybush

  2

  “TSM’s back, boss, but I think Hornbuckle’s had it.”

  Patrick grimaced at his aide’s report; Carey Hornbuckle was one of his oldest friends, but the man had chosen to captain the weakest of O’Shaugnassey’s ships that day. “Destroyed or just down?”

  “They’re dead and venting but mostly still in one piece,” Flannery reported. “They got a piece of the other ship before it got them, though. Vattermann’s scow is venting badly, but it is still moving.” He paused to study his screen a moment, then gave a sly smile. “Moving away from the battle.”

  O’Shaugnassey gave a hollow laugh. “Savin’ himself, of course. Not a bit of loyalty to be found where Vattermann’s concerned.” Flannery merely shrugged in response. “How fares the TSM?”

  Flannery studied his readouts. “Looks like they’ve taken a hit, but they’re still moving and shooting and — yeah!” He shunted a new view to the Clancy’s main screen, showing two ships both venting gasses. “TSM is hit, but they nailed another one of Vattermann’s.”

  Patrick smiled a bit at the sight of the two ships and the debris field that was slowly expanding around them. The larger of the two, clearly the TSM warship, was still under power and pulling away from the debris, though it seemed to be down by at least one engine, skewing badly as it bore its way along an erratic path. “I’m beginnin’ to think Chloe was near to right about that TSM Captain,” he said, softly, for Flannery’s ears only. “A lot to be liked with that woman, Confederate officer or no.”

  Flannery shot his boss a strange look. “Since we seem to have thrown our lot in with her, boss, you had better hope your niece was absolutely right.”

  Patrick returned his lieutenant’s gaze, the smile on his face gaining a discernable tinge of irony. After a moment he heaved a small sigh and nodded.

  “Aye,” he said.

  3

  “Damage report!”

  Garvey’s bellow was barely audible over the wailing klaxons that pounded throughout Morrigan’s command center. When no response came the exec staggered to his own station and slapped the control which would silence the alarms — no alarm being really necessary as all hands on the ship were well aware that one of the pirate vessels had managed to smack them with a lucky shot. In the restored silence Garvey turned toward the engineering station, staggering only slightly as the ship jinked to avoid taking another hit. “Damage report, Ms. Kristoff!”

  “Sir,” the chief engineer responded. “That was a laser hit to number four engine. I managed to feather the core before it could go critical but we’re venting plasma out of the severed connections to that area. My people are working on it.”

  “Mr. Hellespont.” Captain Chambers’ icy, calm voice carried easily across the room. “Are you able to compensate for the loss of number four sufficiently to keep us maneuverable?”

  “We can keep to a mostly straight line, Ma’am, if I shut down two and run us on just one and three,” the helmsman responded. “Otherwise she’s going to want to fly in a circle. We can still maneuver, Captain, but turns might not be as, ah, crisp as you’d like. We won’t have much speed available, either, and the ride’s going to get bumpy.”

  “Can we go to hyper?”

  Hellespont hesitated a moment. “I wouldn’t recommend it in the middle of a battle, Captain. Going to hyper with only two engines takes too much extra tinkering with the equations to be safe on the fly.”

  “We’ll have to make do, then. Put engine two in reserve and keep us moving at best possible speed. Ms. Francis, status.”

  “We killed another one before we took the hit, Captain,” the weapons officer responded. “I’m trying to keep the last one in my sights but he’s dodging like a circus stunt clown.” There was a hint of frustration in her voice.

  Sydney considered for a second. “Keep them occupied as best you can, ensign,” she said, then redirected her attention to Garvey. “XO, with me.” The captain turned and quickly made her way to the tactical holo tank, Garvey on her heels.

  “I need to know what’s going on in the rest of the system,” the captain said when both had arrived at the station. “If we can’t go to hyper our pop-in-pop-out plan is scrapped. We need to pick from the alternatives.”

  “Right.” Garvey quickly checked some information on his portable screen, then addressed the holo view. “Captain, the battle is reduced by five ships so far. We got three. One of O’Shaugnassey’s is dead and one Vattermann ship so badly damaged that they’re limping away to the sidelines. Vattermann still has two ships attempting to access Outpost Station but they’re being harassed by two of O’Shaugnassey’s plus what’s left of the militia. Aside from the one ship still dogging us, the fighting is down to two of Vattermann’s slugging it out head-to-head with two of O’Shaugnassey’s.”

  “Hmm,” Sydney said thoughtfully. “Seems that Ms. O’Shaugnassey was right about her uncle. How are those two ships faring?”

  Garvey grimaced as he again consulted his portable. “Not well, Captain,” he reported in sober tones. “Vattermann’s ships are superior in size and weapons. It’s only a matter of time.”

  The captain considered, then gave a nod and turned away from the holo display. “Mr. Womack.”

  “Yes, Ma’am?”

  “Plot us a bee-line course toward the Vattermann flagship. Shunt it directly to helm when ready. Mr. Hellespont.”

  “Captain?” The helmsman’s voice sounded strained.

  “Execute the course you’re about to receive at flank speed. I want to run right up their tail pipes before they even know we’re coming.

  “Ms. Francis.”

  “Captain?”

  “You’re about to get a chance to strafe that last bogey as we turn. Warn Mr. Grelkin to do the same, and both of you make it good.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” came from both Hellespont and Francis in a weird sort of echo effect. A moment later Hellespont’s hands flew over the helm controls and Morrigan jerked into a turn that the ship’s drained inertial dampers couldn’t completely counteract. Both captain and executive officer found themselves grabbing for hand holds until things had stabilized.

  “Captain?” Garvey’s one word question carried a multitude of meanings; Sydney chose to answer only the layer dealing with her tactical decision.

  “We take out Vattermann and this whole thing ends,” she said flatly. “It doesn’t matter how disciplined he has his troops. Without Vattermann’s ego running the show the rest will revert to being the pirates that they are, hike up their skirts and run away. Just look at the way that ship O’Shaugnassey’s crew damaged crawled off to the sidelines.”

  Garvey nodded, slowly. “Are we up to it, though? From what I can see Vattermann hasn’t taken any damage of note.”

  “We’re as up to it as we’re going to be, XO,” Sydney said wryly. “And Vattermann is so busy with O’Shaugnassey right now he might not even see us coming. Ms. Francis.”

  “Captain?”

  “Did you bag that ship that’s dogging us?”

  “No, Ma’am,” Francis said, sounding distracted. “I’m —”

  “Leave it go, Ensign,” the captain said, cutting off any explanation. “Notify Mr. Grelkin that it’s his target now. I need you to prepare a nasty little surprise for the enemy’s flag vessel. They need to be stopped dead but left in one piece.”

  “Ah ... Captain, are you saying to pull the punch?”

  Sydney sighed. “No, Ensign, I don’t want the punch pulled. I want it surgical. There’s a civilian hostage on that ship whom I don’t want — no, who we need to rescue. Kill the ship without killing anyone in the ship, if you please.”

  Francis nodded in acknowledgement, her face turning into a study in concentration. “As you say, Ma’am.”

  Feeling a bit self-conscious about the order she had given the weapons officer, Sydney found herself glowering as she turned to Garvey only to find her exec blinking in surprise at what he’d just heard.

  “What?”


  “Ah,” Garvey began, then apparently thought better of the comment. “What do you need me to do, Captain?”

  Sydney forced herself to relax, allowing her mouth to twitch into a lopsided smile. “Pray that I’m right, XO.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  1

  The battle for Outpost Station had been underway for several hours. Over that amount of time, all ships, of whatever allegiance, had launched a great deal of hardware ordnance — that is, missiles — in addition to their energy weapons fire.

  As might be expected in any endeavor subject to human fallibility, not all of that ordnance had found its intended target.

  Morrigan, of course, had launched its fair share of missiles, though they had relied to a far greater extent on energy weapons; energy weapons could be recharged on the fly, while she had no way to restock on missiles. As a result of carefully restricted targeting and the extreme competence of her gunnery officers, the vast majority of hardware ordnance launched by Morrigan had reached their designated targets, usually with devastating result. The rare few that had missed were not allowed to simply wander off into the deeps of the Cygni system, though. Rogue ordnance was decidedly frowned upon by the Terran Space Military. Any TSM missile that did not impact within a set time limit — determined at launch by distance-to-target algorithms — would self-destruct, removing itself as a potential danger to friends and allies.

  The ordnance favored by pirates was not nearly as picky.

  Pirates worked with that they could find, salvage, or steal ... and their maintenance regimens were distinctly lacking by comparison to those mandated by the TSM. Which is not to say, of course, that either Vattermann’s or O’Shaugnassey’s weapons were fired to no effect; even less accurate missiles, fired by less competent personnel, are still deadly. But the reality was that pirates cared little about missiles that failed to score a hit. If they wandered off and damaged or destroyed an enemy, or a friend ... or an innocent ... well, that was just the way of battle.

  Fortunately, given the immensity of the Cygni system — and the fact that non-combatants had, for the most part, fled in anticipation of the battle — almost none of the pirate misfires managed to impact on anything more than a chunk of rock, here and there.

  Almost none.

  2

  The vibrations from the missile impact on the hull of Shades of Glory caused the entire vessel to shudder, less than a minute after exiting a hyper window five light seconds out from Outpost Station. Admiral Lord Steven Alexander looked up from his study of a status report as emergency klaxons began to wail and the blood-red of battle stations lighting tinged the area around him. He was just reaching for his comm station when it activated on its own.

  “Admiral, we have contact.” The voice of Flag Captain Randolph Chalmers brooked no nonsense, all business in the way of a combat veteran when under fire.

  “On my way,” Alexander responded, accepting the brusque call for what it indicated.

  It was a mere ten-second scramble down a short corridor to the flagship’s Command and Control Center. When Alexander arrived, the holo imager was already up, displaying the battle in progress just over a million miles ahead.

  “Report,” the admiral snapped as he entered the room. “What hit us?”

  “From all indications, a stray missile,” Chalmers said, looking up at the admiral’s question. “Those are definitely pirate forces pressing the attack, sir, and you are well aware of how careless that type is with their armament.” He paused as the tablet device he held pinged; after glancing at the information there, he added, “Negligible damage to the hull, sir. A couple of bent plates.”

  “Huh.” Alexander pushed closer to the holo tank, studying the forces involved and their arrayment, then spoke to the tech officer handling the display.

  “Magnify sector A-21 if you would, please, Sparks.”

  The holo zoomed in on the heart of the battle: a half a dozen ships marked in the wary yellow of unidentified combatants — likely pirates; a dozen or so tiny gnat-like ships that declared themselves to be station militia; and one, lone vessel, defiantly glowing with the green that indicated a TSM craft, its registry number identifying it as TSMNC-13785 Cahan Morrigan ... and sub-codes indicating a vessel with significant damage.

  “Looks to be militia surrounding the station itself,” Chalmers said as he sidled up beside his commanding officer. “Holding their own pretty well, too, from the look of it, probably because one of the pirate bands seems to have turned on the other. Not uncommon for pirates.”

  “Maybe,” Alexander grunted, even as he indicated that the tech should zoom in on the Morrigan. The damage the ship was reporting was more than clear on close inspection — vessels of Morrigan’s class were never intended to run on only two engines. Despite its obvious maneuvering difficulties, though, it seemed to be holding its own in a one-on-one with the largest of the pirate craft.

  “Still, that’s a most unusual array out there,” the admiral continued. “Look here — this pair of ‘pirate’ ships are clearly working in tandem with the militia, trying to keep the other pirates away from the station.”

  It was Chalmers turn to grunt. “You’re right,” he said, frowning at the odd proceeding. “So....”

  “So,” Alexander said, “I want you to scramble the Emerald fighters. Our first duty is to reinforce those militia fighters — the station must not be breached. We’ll drop them off as we head for Cahan Morrigan.”

  “Admiral,” the captain protested, “we have only a dozen Emeralds, but we have a full wing of seventy-two Falcons —”

  “I’m aware of that, Captain. I am also aware that Falcons do best in atmo — they don’t have enough maneuverability without something to bite against. I don’t want to lose birds or pilots to any ‘lucky hits.’”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Also, get the Morrigan’s captain on the horn. I need more information on just what the blazes is going on.”

  “Sir.” Chalmers nodded curtly and moved aside to enter commands into his tablet. Meanwhile, Alexander turned his attention back to the holo display.

  “Sparks,” he said, “give me your best zoom on the area immediately around the station, if you please....”

  3

  “New contact, Ma’am,” called out Thor Hellespont from his position at scan. “Reads at five light seconds out, fresh from transit.”

  Now what? “Get me an ID on that bogey if you would, please, Mr. Hellespont,” Sydney said, eyeing the holo display that had been knocked out by one or another of the several hits Morrigan had sustained.

  “Working on it, Captain.” There was a pause as the ensign adjusted his light-bound sensors. “It’s....” Hellespont frowned, quickly re-checking his findings before turning to catch Sydney’s eye.

  “It’s reading as TSM Shades of Glory, Ma’am,” he finally said.

  “The fleet flagship? Here?” Garvey’s voice in her ear caused Sydney to draw a quick breath and shake her head slightly.

  “I sent a request for backup, XO,” she told Garvey. “I wasn’t real specific on what kind was needed.”

  “I guess not.” The first officer turned his attention to Morrigan’s comm station. “Any hails from the newcomer, Mr. Rieger?”

  “No hail yet, sir,” Rieger replied. “I do have a carrier wave incoming, though, and — wait, belay that. Incoming hail, requesting update from Morrigan’s captain.”

  Sydney sighed. “Even in the midst of chaos, we have politics,” she said quietly to Garvey, adding a small grimace. “Acknowledge the request, Mr. Rieger, and set up a connection on my office terminal.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” The comm officer turned to his assignment.

  “Keep up the cat and mouse with Vattermann, XO,” she muttered as she turned to head for her office, then grabbed the arm of her command chair as Morrigan shook from yet another non-lethal hit. “Take a knockout if it presents itself,” she added, her voice almost a growl, “but otherwise just keep
us in one piece.”

  “Of course, Captain.”

  Sydney nodded, then quickly headed off the bridge.

  The terminal showed an active light as she arrived, but she took a moment to settle in her desk chair and breathe before punching the accept key. The screen came to life a second later, displaying the visage of a lieutenant she couldn’t place. “Captain Chambers,” the lieutenant said before Sydney could open her mouth.

  “Yes,” she replied, then waited out the five second delay light speed imposed on the conversation.

  “Hold, please, for Admiral Alexander.”

  Sydney exhaled hard at the business-as-usual politics of dealing with a flag crew, and waited a bit less than patiently for her long-time mentor to appear. Instinct told her that Alexander was only playing to the crew whose respect he had to maintain, but still....

  The admiral’s craggy features finally swam into view. “Captain — Sydney,” he said, his voice far more personable than that of his comm lieutenant. “I couldn’t resist taking a personal interest in your call for backup. I gather from your current situation things are as bad as the local officials made it seem.”

  “They are, sir.” Sydney drew and released a determined breath before continuing. “Bad, and worse because of my presence. Seems the head pirate has a personal grudge against me.”

  “Ah.” Alexander’s eyebrows rose. “You’re telling me this, why?”

  “Not because the grudge flows both ways,” she assured him. “Hans Vattermann is a dark part of my past — but it is my past. No, sir, I mention it because my presence may have triggered the melee that you see sooner than it otherwise would have happened.”

  “Vattermann, is it?” Alexander snorted softly, and added a shrug. “When they go bad, they do go bad. So, what can we do, now that we’re here?”

  The captain settled herself into her most formal posture. “Admiral, TSM Cahan Morrigan officially requests fleet aid in defense of 16 Cygni, and specifically in defense of Outpost Station against a coordinated pirate incursion.” She paused, then added, “While we’ve gained some allies since arriving, sir, we are still only one ship.”