With no ship crew responsibilities for the five hours it would take to get to Polaris-Zeta, and no more ramper chems to keep her wired, Anitra dozed off in the engine pod’s jump seat. The next she knew, someone was nudging her.
She opened her eyes to see Gavril wearing his favorite blue jacket, even though the engine pod bordered on hot. His serious expression alarmed her. She unwebbed and sat forward on the edge of the seat, hoping she hadn’t been snoring louder than the engines.
He sat sideways in the other jump seat. “You should hear this.” He pointed to the earwire that had fallen onto her chest.
She re-adhered it to her jaw. “...repeat, this is the Concordance Command Peace Frigate Bassilon. This system is under quarantine. Stand down and identify your ship.” The mid-range voice was gender-neutral, but a real human, and had a Mandarin accent.
“What’s going on?” She freed her hair and ran her fingers through it, then replaced the two combs.
“From what we can piece together from comms and pings, two-thirds of the Pol-G refugee ships chose the far jump point at Pol-Zeta, like we did. Only two Space Div frigates guarded it, and although they ordered the ships to turn back and painted them with weapons pings, they didn’t shoot. The refugee ships just navigated around them and jumped. That was maybe six hundred ships in about four hours, because the Pol-G controller sent them in waves. I figure the last of them went through right as we cleared Pol-G’s thermosphere.” He shook his head. “We’re giving a whole new meaning to ‘fashionably late.’”
“Okay, what’s the bad news?”
“It didn’t go so well at the main jump point. Eighteen Space Div frigates formed a moving sphere to protect the jump coordinates. Maybe fifty Pol-G ships got by them, but that still left incoming waves of three hundred ships. It was a standoff, until something bad happened, and all of a sudden, we’re getting pings that some of the frigates were shooting, and people were dying.” Gavril stood and held out his hand. She took it and let him help her get to her feet. Gravity felt normal, but her stomach bottomed out, probably because she hadn’t eaten anything since… she couldn’t remember when.
“About thirty minutes after we launched, CGC comms went dark. I kept us on course for the Zeta jump point, but now we have trouble.” He motioned her to follow him around the thrumming engine core to his pilot station. He pointed to a holo display depicting space. “This shows our realtime active scan results. Those red icons are four military frigates. The yellow diamond is us. The blue dots are the jump-point safety zone.” The red icons moved in a complex, stuttering pattern just outside the blue dots. “If we were faster and smaller, we could slip in between their perimeter.”
The synthvoice of the Diamantov’s shipcomp spoke in their earwires. “Active scans detected. Target pings detected. Target solutions achievable from Red One, Red Two, Red Three, Red Four.”
She was no spacer, but “target solutions” sounded like a bad thing.
Gavril crossed his arms as he spoke out loud. She heard it in her earwire, too, meaning so did the crew. “Peace Frigate Bassilon, this is Captain Danilovich of the freighter Deset Diamantov. We have four thousand and twelve adults and children, and eight newborn kittens. We aren’t looking for trouble. All any of us are looking for is a new home.” Gavril sounded marvelously calm.
The ship’s synthvoice spoke again. “Active scans detected.”
Worry coursed through her. “Shouldn’t you have Youssef or someone with tactical experience in here with you?” She stepped back. She was out of her depth, and likely in the way. Gavril moved closer.
He pointed to his earwire. “They’re already online.” He brushed a stray lock of hair off her forehead. “You needed the sleep, but now I need to know how Space Div ships operate, how they think. None of our crew has that kind of experience, and I don’t want to scare the passengers by asking them.” He gave her a brief smile. “My talent says they’re mostly calm right now, and I’d prefer they stay that way.”
She gave him an exasperated look. “Oh, thanks, no pressure.” She thought back to the few times she’d been on a Space Div ship involved in an enforcement action. “The blockade enforcers haven’t killed anyone—before today, that is—but they have confiscated ships. Some frigates are big enough to carry dozens of smaller ships like pinnaces or patrollers. They always have a temporary leader if it’s three or more ships together. Most of the captains I knew were steady and conservative, and would need a good reason to fire on unarmed refugee ships.” She frowned. “Spacers, at least the rankers, can be hotheaded. If some equally hotheaded settlers tried to shoot their way past the blockade...” She shrugged.
The Bassilon’s Mandarin-accented comms person came online. “Deset Diamantov, your configuration is a Leidari-class freighter, but with three times the armor. What weapons do you carry?” The query’s tone hinted at suspicion.
Gavril called up a holo image of the Diamantov as he responded. “None, unless you count debris lasers.” He highlighted twelve places on the ship’s hull, then whisked away with a flick of his finger. “See for yourself.”
He touched his earwire, meaning he spoke to the crew. “I sent the Bassilon the Diamantov’s diagram with our lasers, but not their power rating, or the sensors and scanners.”
“What sensors and scanners?” asked Anitra, leaving her earwire on so the crew would hear her question.
He smiled. “Along with the extra incalloy, the repair dock had spare parts in storage. We were going to add them to your cargo for sale, but Lizet and I decided we may as well get use out of them for the trip.” He waved toward the console. “I didn’t think about it making us look like we’re jackers masquerading as a merchant ship.” His mouth tightened. “All crew should probably be in exosuits, in case things go down twisted. Lizet, you especially. Leave them open for now, but ready to seal.”
He pointed to a cabinet on the far wall, which she opened to find three exosuits hanging on hooks. She took out the tall and short one, leaving the middle-sized one for Youssef, in case she came back. Gavril had to take off his jacket to get the exosuit over his broad shoulders, then had to show her how to seal hers and explain how the plumbing worked. She’d never had occasion to wear one.
The Bassilon’s next communication came from a different voice, a woman’s, with a slight German accent. “We have reason to believe you have no passengers, and are instead smuggling high-value goods looted from Polaris-Gamma and blight-infected plant material. Prepare to be boarded and inspected.”
“Negative,” snapped Gavril. “None of our airlocks are space-rated. I don’t know where you got your information, but our cargo is people.”
Gavril looked like he wanted to pace, so she moved back to give him room. The injustice of the accusation infuriated her.
A complex mix of anger and sadness flitted across Gavril’s face as he turned away from her. He rolled his shoulders and tilted his head from side to side. “Lizet, put a synchronized timestamp on the flying cameras in the passenger holds and send me twenty seconds of raw vid with audio.”
Anitra knew she should be at the cargo master’s console, or the galley, where she’d be more useful. Selfishly, she’d wanted to stay with Gavril because he made her feel safe, but the whole ship depended on him. She reluctantly took a step toward the exit.
“Vids in your dataspace.” Lizet sounded tense, but calm. “I sent other cameras to the supply holds, but it’ll take a few minutes.”
“Good thinking.” Gavril manipulated something in the holo interface. “Bassilon, sending you a tight-beam packet with realtime vids of our passengers.” He emphasized the last word. “Lizet, you’re our resident math genius. Look for an exploitable opening in the frigate flight patterns that puts us in transit the millisecond we’re in the jump zone. As big and slow to accelerate as we are, we’ll only have one shot.”
He turned to look at Anitra, but addressed the whole crew via his earwire. “For those of you who can’t access the shipcomp right now, I’l
l tell you what it says. Avoiding the frigates will cost us time and flux that I’d rather save for when we get to Sivari Intalo, but it’s either that, or stay here and play tag with four of Space Div’s finest. Anyone with better tactical ideas, speak up.”
Ever since Anitra heard the name of their destination, she felt like she’d forgotten something important about it, and it finally bubbled to the surface. “The CPS has a big field office and Jumper base on Sivari,” she told Gavril and the crew. “CPS security officers have private comms outside Space Div’s network. We can’t tell the Bassilon where we’re going, or we’ll have a welcoming committee.”
Gavril blew out an explosive breath that could be heard over the earwire. “The universe fucking hates me.” He rotated the holo showing the frigates in motion. “Lizet, find us a jump that’s three or four transit days from here, where we can take on flux if we need to.”
Her answer came back immediately. “I’ve got three. Pol-G used to sell surplus flux on J’Letha, four days away. My family had the shipping contract. Want me to queue it as an alternative?”
“Add them all,” said Gavril. “I’m sending your vids of the holds to the Bassilon.”
Anitra found she’d somehow moved closer to Gavril again. Dammit. She muted her earwire. “I’m going to the fresher and to the–”
She was interrupted by a new ping from the Bassilon. “Captain Danilovich,” said the German-accented woman, “perhaps you are unaware that one of your passengers is former Supply Depot Manager Anitra Sando Helden, who is subject to a detain-and-restrain order from Polaris-Gamma for grand larceny, destruction of government property, and kidnapping. She is also a multi-talent minder.”
Anitra frowned. “What the hell?” Nothing like stirring up a little bigotry to make non-minders view her as dangerous.
Gavril shook his head disgustedly as he keyed the comm to the Bassilon. “Apparently,” he said acidly, “I’m also unaware that the CGC military has added frontier-planet law enforcement to their mission.”
The ensuing silence encouraged her, though perhaps it shouldn’t have. Out beyond the borders of civilized space, jurisdictional violations would be hard to prove.
“Captain,” said Lizet. “I sent three solutions to get through their pattern. Two straight runs that put us within laser distance of one of their frigates. The third takes two vector changes and depends on them not seeing the flaw in their pattern in time to fix it.”
Gavril enlarged the holo display to show the three solutions side by side.
Youssef pinged. “How did the Bassilon know Helden is on board? Or for that matter, what our ship used to carry?”
“Settlement company spies?” asked Lizet.
Realization hit Anitra. She tapped her ship earwire. “Yes, and specifically, Dalgono.” She muttered a vile epithet. “Ten to one, he was playing both sides for maximum self-enrichment. Wouldn’t surprise me if he forced the committee’s hand into launching on his schedule. When we repelled him and his mercenary cousins, I bet he told the settlement company, who told the military, because he still wants my farking ship.”
“Who were you supposed to have kidnapped?” asked Lizet.
“The whole crew, probably.” Another realization tumbled into place. “Gavril, I think the German woman might be the Bassilon’s CPS security officer. The military doesn’t play games like this. She’s trying to distract or delay you.”
“Or provoke you,” suggested Youssef, “so they can claim self-defense.”
Gavril enlarged the holo display to a full meter’s size. “Lizet, plot a hybrid solution that looks like we’re going for one of your straight runs, but at the last possible minute, overload flux for the two-vector solution that hits their pattern flaw. Use the best speed that leaves us thirty-percent flux reserves.”
“What’s our interstellar transit destination?”
“J’Letha.” He touched a control on the console. “Bassilon, we don’t want trouble, but four thousand people are depending on us to get them to safety, and we don’t have enough flux to wait for you to decide. You obviously let all the other ships go before us. Are you really going to shoot the last one?”
“Solution plotted on your holo,” said Lizet.
Gavril turned the holo of space, where new lines and symbols appeared. “Good. Execute in fifteen seconds.” He brought up a second display that Anitra didn’t recognize. “Come on, Bassilon,” he grumbled quietly, “ask me.”
Anitra thought if she’d played more war games as a teen, she might have a clue about Gavril’s tactics. She’d once again drifted closer, like he was a subtle whirlpool that drew her in.
Enough. She was useless there, and a distraction. She waved to catch his attention and muted her ship’s earwire. “I need a fresher and food.” She pointed toward the exit.
He nodded. “Stay connected. I don’t want to lose you.” He pointed to her earwire, but the words felt weightier, more emotional than that. She searched his serious expression, tempted to drop her shield and find out.
“Deset Diamantov, what is your destination?” The Mandarin-accented voice was back.
“Yes!” Gavril smiled and fist-bumped the air. He touched the comms control. “Bassilon, we’re going to J’Letha. Here’s my chart.”
He flicked something in the interface, then tapped his earwire for the crew to hear. “Lizet, show us a countdown clock for the upcoming course change.” The holo display behind him showed nine minutes and decreasing seconds. “I sent Space Div our J’Letha nav solution, and accidentally-on-purpose included our straight-line path through the blockade. I hope it makes them complacent enough not to active-scan us until we get within energy-weapons range, by which time, we’ll be burning flux toward Lizet’s hole in the fence.”
“Should Helden and I be with the passengers when we do all these vector changes?” asked Youssef. “We haven’t told them jack about any of this.”
“No, the grav compensators will…” He trailed off. “Actually, yeah, but for the jump to transit. Should be smooth, but some children are sensitive to it, like cats and dogs are.”
Anitra smiled, glad for something she could do. She knew absolute zero about piloting ships or outsmarting Space Div frigates, but crowds, she could handle.
11
* Interstellar Transit Point Near Polaris-Zeta: Freighter “Deset Diamantov” * GDAT 3233.050 *
Gavril paced back and forth in the only pattern the cramped engine pod allowed. The engines thrummed with power and vibrated the marrow of his bones. He heard the shipcomp’s AI announce the five-minute warning for entry into interstellar transit space.
The wire in his skulljack allowed him to feel when two of the misbegotten Space Div pinnaces crossed his forward path close enough to count their gunports. He’d already designated them as Pin 1 and Pin 2 for the visual holo plot, to help track them. The frigates had discovered his vector changes too late to block him, but their unbelievably fast and agile pinnaces were doing their damnedest to make the Diamantov slow down or veer off. Pin 3 paralleled their flight and took periodic pulse-beamer shots at his sensors, trying to blind him on one side.
His constant active-scans told him when two more pinnaces joined the fray and began using cutting lasers on the freighter’s airlocks and engine ports, just like jackers trying to slice open a fat merchant ship. Through his interface, he felt the hull heat.
He couldn’t shoot back, or the mother frigate would pound the Diamantov to atoms, but he didn’t have to make their jobs easy.
“Lizet, I’m rolling us on X axis for the last three minutes. Shouldn’t affect transit entry, but watch for bubble anomalies, once we’re in.” He sent the commands to the trim jets and engine ports that started the Diamantov spinning. The pinnaces would have to roll with him to make accurate shots with lasers or pulse beamers.
Pin 1 and Pin 2 circled around for another harrying maneuver. Pin 1 zoomed ahead, twisting on an angle, closer to the Diamantov than ever. Pin 2 mirrored the flight path, but n
eglected the twist, putting it on a collision path with Diamantov’s bulky wing cover.
Gavril ordered the Diamantov to spin faster and shouted into the broadbeam comm. “Turn, you lopar! Turn!”
Pin 2 turned a second later, but it was too late. Its wing tangled with Diamantov’s. The freighter’s mass and extra incalloy won. The pinnace’s wing tore off and sent the rest tumbling like a toy.
Gavril sent another broadbeam comm. “Bassilon and whoever else is listening, you’ve got a pinnace pilot eating hard space. Sending scan readings for last known vector.” It was the best he could do for them.
“Two minutes until transit,” announced the calm synthvoice of the shipcomp’s AI.
The sensors said Diamantov’s wing cover was shredded, and the ship’s AI reported it as unresponsive.
Pin 1 veered wide in the direction of Pin 2’s mortally wounded ship. The other three pinnaces continued the parallel flight paths, but at a safer distance.
“Deset Diamantov, you are now subject to detainment for destruction of military property and attempted murder.” The German-accented voice sounded subtly triumphant. “We will commence disabling fire unless you decelerate immediately.”
Gavril tapped the ship earwire. “Emergency transit entrance in thirty seconds.”
“But we’re outside the zone,” said Lizet.
“Better that than being slagged by Space Div.” He made the ship’s AI announce the fast transit warning. “We’ve lost a wing cover. Our entrance might be rocky. All crew, seal exosuits.” He followed his own orders and sealed his. Better uncomfortable than dead.
He engaged the flux drive and watched the internal readouts closely. All dock tests had declared the drive fully operational, but going transit was the only test that mattered.
At ten seconds before transit, he sent a broadbeam comm to Space Div. “The Deset Diamantov respectfully declines your invitation for tea and crumpets. Another time, perhaps.”
The transition to transit space went smoothly, except for the shards of incalloy they undoubtedly left in the realspace at Polaris Zeta.
Last Ship Off Polaris-G: A Central Galactic Concordance Novella Page 9