“Nephew,” Jean Luc looked at me pityingly, “you saw how I manhandled you last time. And now you’re really back for more? I’d pick up your chips and run home to mama with your tail tucked firmly between your legs if I was you, because I am your better in every way. I can run rings around this Bug Mother-ship and destroy your paltry band of space incompetents with both hands tied behind my back and still make it back to my quarters in time for tea.”
I bared my teeth at the other man. “The last time we tangled, you traded me a pair of Battleships and the biggest Pirate Station on the border for the Lucky Clover,” I said coldly. “I wonder what you’re thinking of giving me this time when you run for the hyper limit?”
“A tactical maneuver which bore more dividends than you can imagine,” Jean Luc said dismissively, “an intellect that’s been as stunted as yours clearly needs time to catch up before you’ll be able to realize the glory that is my plan. But for just a minute, let’s sink down and put things in a way that even you can understand: you got a run-down pirate station and two parted out Battleships. While here I am, with a fleet of ships and a star system that possesses the largest deposit of trillium in the Spineward Sectors at my command.”
“You’re going down Jean Luc,” I flared, genuinely losing my cool.
“Only in your dreams, Nephew,” Jean Luc sneered at me and then turned to someone off screen, “bring us around; it’s time we taught my Nephew the reason why naval dilettantes shouldn’t try locking horns with masters of the craft.”
“Leaving me alive was a mistake, but having your men torture and kill my crew was the moment you signed your own death warrant,” I said, standing up and glaring at my pirate uncle—a man I had actually sympathized with before learning the truth behind his cloak of lies. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”
“You fatally overestimate yourself, Pipsqueak,” Jean Luc replied evenly, “you’re not even in the same league. That’s why I’ll enjoy teaching you this lesson…at length.”
“Make peace with whatever it is you believe in and prepare to die, Traitor Prince,” I ground out, “it’s time for you to learn that actions have consequences.”
“Only one of us will be doing the teaching around here,” Jean Luc grinned.
My blood started boiling.
“One will rise and one will fall,” Jean Luc said in an almost formal voice, and with an abrupt slashing motion severed the connection.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I said to the empty screen, slowly regaining my royal mask. I turned to Captain Laurent, “Let’s go give the Pirate Jean Luc a fight he’ll never forget!”
“The pirates have turned around and are now on a heading to intercept us,” the Sensor Warrant reported.
“Helm, plot our own intercept course. Tactical,” the Captain continued, turning to his First Officer down in the Tactical Pit, “ready the ship for another engagement.”
“What happened to the Phoenix and her escorts,” I demanded, looking at the main screen and not finding either set of ships.
“The Phoenix is coming around the opposite side of the Mother-ship,” Eastwood reported crisply, “she’s further out from their range of fire than we are, but after her last encounter with the pirates she looks determined to keep the range open.”
“And her escorts?” I asked.
“Since we achieved close proximity to the Mother-ship, a number of Scouts and Harvesters have attempted to intercept us. The Corvettes and Gunships have been dealing with them, alongside our own escort squadron,” Laurent reported.
I blinked. I’d been entirely too focused on the main event to pay much attention. I had issued orders that the smaller ships were not to directly engage the enemy Battleships without a direct order to support the Flagship, but still…I was going to have to do better going forward—at least when it came to keeping track of my ships.
“Tell the escorts to keep doing what they’re doing,” I told the Captain, “but that they should be ready in case we need them; this next pass should be telling.”
“Shields have achieved a 100% recharge,” Ensign Longbottom called out.
I was momentarily irritated, but the news was actually well-received the second I stopped to think about it.
Looking up at the main screen, I was surprised to see how close the enemy Battleships were to the main action. After a moment of temporary surprise I gave a shark like grin; I couldn’t wait until the clash. My desire to punish Jean Luc for his crimes against humanity was an almost palpable force thumping inside me. The thought of arresting my uncle had flown out the window the moment I’d escaped from top Sector Central security. If a military moron and political neophyte like myself could break out or be sprung from prison, then there was no way a man like Jean Luc—who really was my superior in just about every way when it came to trickery, deception and betrayal—would be stuck inside a dungeon ship longer than a fortnight.
No, in both my position as Protector of Tracto and Admiral of a Confederation Fleet, my duty was clear I had to kill Jean Luc, here and now. The thought of a possible ‘fate worse than death’ was tempting, and I had to remind myself of my own personal motto, which had been developed after years of watching holo-drama’s and vid series where the hero slaughtered flunkies in job lots, but was unable to put an end to the true villain. ‘Death is too good for him,’ or some permutation was often invoked, but it really meant that everything the villain did after the hero failed to kill him became blood on our blind, young hero’s hands. After seeing that absurd scenario play out far too many times, my own personal motto was: ‘death is never too good for my enemies.’
The fact that I’d never really had enemies until now was beside the point. When I captured Jean Luc—assuming he wasn’t atomized when his ship was destroyed, of course—then death would be his just desserts, and his reign of piracy and murder would be rewarded in kind.
I was the government in this system, answerable only to my wife—a Hold Mistress of Tracto—and the Confederation Assembly. As the duly-appointed representative of said government, I had no choice but to space the black-hearted Blood Lord of Cold Space at the first opportunity. Again, assuming he wasn’t atomized or had his head chopped off at some point along the way.
“One of our shuttle bays is opening; someone has engaged the manual override,” Damage Control Technician Arienne Blythe reported in a clinical voice that nonetheless managed to cut through the chatter on the bridge like three-pronged fork into a moist, baked potato.
“Get that shuttle bay closed,” Laurent barked.
“We have a shuttle leaving the bay, Captain,” a Sensor operator shouted, jumping out of his seat and throwing a hand up in the air.
“Find me that shuttle and put it on the screen!” Laurent demanded.
“Mutineers, Captain? Or do you think they’re in league with Jean Luc?” I asked in a quiet voice as visions of a second, unreported, anti-personnel device aboard Armor Prince skittered through my mind. “I thought we physically disabled the long range array?”
“Yes, we disabled the array; and no, I don’t know yet, Admiral Montagne,” Laurent said shortly.
“I’ve got a visual,” cried the Sensor Officer.
“Throw it up on the main screen,” Laurent ordered.
An image of a mutated-looking shuttle of some kind appeared on our screen. It looked somewhat like a standard shuttle, only longer, narrower, and with a number of jagged spikes protruding from the hull.
“What is that thing?” I asked, taken aback. Thoughts of a stealth raider sneaking through our shields and sensor arrays somehow blossomed in my mind.
“I have no idea,” Laurent replied, looking stunned.
“I believe that is, Commander Spalding’s modified Lander,” Damage Control said from the side, “the Fix, he calls it, I believe.”
I blinked and then my face turned red as the implications penetrated.
“What does the old space wrench think he’s doing?” Laurent said
with disbelief.
“Isn’t it obvious?” I said tightly. “He’s going for the ship.”
“The Lucky Clover?” Laurent said disbelievingly, shaking his head. “But a Lander can’t hope to capture a ship that big—it’s insane.”
“Insane or not, the Chief Engineer plans to shut down her fusion generators so we can board, capture and reclaim our ship,” I said neutrally.
“I thought you ordered him to stay put,” Laurent growled.
I turned and looked steadily at the Captain, “The Engineer is a past master of creatively interpreting orders. I’m sure he’ll have a good explanation in hand,” I said tightly.
“If he’s not blown to space dust,” the Captain grunted.
“Well, there is that,” I said as I turned to the Bridge, “ignore the Lander—focus on those Battleships!”
Chapter 75: Thunder and Fury
“The enemy Battleships look like they’re trying to pass on either side of us and put us in a crossfire,” Eastwood reported.
“Veer to port; increase the distance between us and the Mother-ship,” I ordered under the general principle that anything the enemy wanted me to do was probably a bad thing.
“Admiral, I’m not so sure that’s the wisest—” Laurent started.
“The order is given,” I said, even though my stomach did a little flip flop at the idea of ignoring the Captain’s advice. I reminded myself that indecisiveness was the worst thing one could do in battle.
“It could be a trap, Sir,” he said, leaning in close.
I looked up at him and frowned. “Do you think you can out maneuver my uncle, if I give you your head?” I asked him, honestly interested in the answer to whether or not Laurent thought he was good enough to out-think and out-plan Jean Luc.
Laurent hesitated and then shook his head.
“Then we’re just going to have to take our hits, get in close and brawl. This crew can slug it out with the best of them,” I said with a frustrated sigh. It’s not that I wasn’t going to try and pull one over on my uncle; it’s just that I had no illusions about our relative strengths in the naval arena.
The Captain took a step back, looking frustrated, and minutes later we had turned enough that both of the pirates were now going to pass along our starboard side.
“Full power to the starboard side, Mr. Longbottom,” I reminded our Shield Operator.
“Shields have been temporarily supercharged to 110%,” the Ensign said crisply.
“Praise Saint Murphy for five, fully functioning, fusion generators,” Laurent breathed.
“Can we do that?” I asked in surprise. “Supercharge our shields. I didn’t know that was even possible,” I failed to add that no one had ever mentioned the possibility to me before.
“Longbottom is a trained officer with a specialization in shields operations,” Laurent hastened to assure me, “and we never had a fully charged grid before.
“Then I guess we need to thank Spalding and Akantha for the forward progress,” I said with a sigh.
Then there was no more time for discussion.
“Fuego!” First Officer Eastwood roared into his microphone. Turbo-lasers, heavy lasers and point defensive weaponry unloaded with all the fury the Armor Prince and the Vineyard could muster, as the titanic warships did what they had been built to do.
“Shields down to 75%,” Ensign Longbottom cried.
“Keep those gunners firing until their barrels melt if you have to, First Officer,” Laurent barked, “they can’t have fully recharged their shields like we have.”
“Drive it home, Chief,” Officer Eastwood ordered into his microphone, pounding his console for emphasis.
“Enemy shields are dropping, Captain,” the Sensor Officer reported, “several shots have landed and they are spotting!”
Rapid laser fire at close range crisscrossed the space between our ships as the exchange reached maximum intensity.
“I’m reading venting from the enemy ship!” cried the Sensor Warrant triumphantly.
“Blast! Their shields are stabilizing,” Eastwood cursed.
“Our shields just dropped under 50%,” Longbottom reported, “compensating!”
“Venting has slowed, Admiral,” reported the Sensor Operator, “it looks like they’re getting it under control.”
“Keep up the pressure, Tactical,” I called out, even as the distance between our ships grew.
“Prepare to receive the Lucky Clover,” Laurent called out in a carrying voice, “the blighters are going to be ready for some payback after the way we manhandled the Vineyard!”
I smiled, but couldn’t quite put my whole heart into it. Yes, we had done some damage but the Vineyard was a tough ship; she ought to be, being the same class as we were. The problem was that as far as I could see, we’d hurt the pirates but not enough to be anything close to a game-changer. Manhandling might have been too strong a word.
“Captain,” called out Eastwood, “recommend we roll the ship!”
“Make it so, Helm,” Laurent ordered.
“Send ’em straight to Hades, boys and girls,” I said standing up and allowing my face to fill with the righteous fury that was only laying a few layers below the surface, “the Vineyarder’s are a bunch of pirates, but these blokes are behind everything we’ve been forced to suffer through these past few months. No mercy!”
“Admiral Montagne and the Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet!” Laurent roared right in my ear, his voice so loud I could feel my right ear begin to ring as I went temporarily deaf, but not deaf enough to miss the bridge cheer in reply.
Then the Lucky Clover took it straight to us.
“Shields down to 80% and falling,” reported Longbottom, “75%, 65%.”
“Their shields are still holding, Captain,” barked Eastwood, “no sign of spotting.”
“The Vineyard is heeling over and coming about,” reported Shepherd from his position in Navigation.
“We’ll deal with them after this pass against the Clover,” I ordered.
“I’m rerouting power to compensate, but if the Vineyard comes over before I can redistribute our shield power, our starboard side will be weakened, Sir,” the Ensign in charge of the small, three man Shield section called out.
“Do it, Longbottom,” Laurent said without a single scrap of hesitation.
“I’ve got multiple, low yield nuclear explosions directly behind us!” yelped the Sensor Warrant.
“Missiles?” I said, bolting upright in my seat.
“Sensors, report; what’s going on behind my ship,” Laurent demanded before rounding back on Tactical. “Keep after the Clover, Clinton, but make sure to reallocate our point defense to missile defense!”
“Missile defense, Aye, Captain,” Eastwood replied.
“It’s not missiles, Sirs!” the Warrant in charge of sensors said his voice filled with rising disbelief, “It’s Commander Spalding.”
Laurent and I exchanged a wide eyed look.
“Tactical, belay that last order,” I said recovering my wits seconds before the Captain, “and keep firing—throw everything and the kitchen sink at the Lucky Clover!”
Chapter 76: Rocket Man
He was the very model of a very outraged Space Engineer
“Yee-haw!” Spalding screamed into his face mask, as multiple small yield atomic pellets exploded at the stern of his refurbished Lander. The explosions provided the forward momentum they needed to drive the Lander forward at a speed most small craft were unable to achieve due to their, necessarily small, engines.
“Oh, Murphy,” Brence gasped, and his words were followed by the sounds of someone throwing up in their mask.
“Don’t worry, lad, the Fix will get us there in one piece,” Spalding chortled with glee, “and don’t mind the radiation either; the rear end’s reinforced, remember!?”
“Radiation?” Brence managed between heaves. “We’re going to be spotted and blown out of cold space, Commander,” Brence groaned. “Sir, we have to get ou
t of here!”
“They won’t be able to get a lock on us with their beam weaponry just as soon as we go ballistic,” Spalding hastened to assure him.
“Sir, they’ll have us locked into their targeting array as soon as they see the detonation,” Brence retorted, his words accompanied by the sound of the mask’s suction devise being activated to clear his face mask.
“They’ll never see us coming,” Spalding disagreed, “I’ve stealthed the ship. Every time we stop using the drive we become a sensor ghost. The can see us, but they can’t target us!”’ he cackled maniacally.
“But our grav-profile,” Brence protested, “we aren’t big enough to shield our anti-gravity system!”
“That’s why we’re not going to use it, except during acceleration,” Spalding chortled and cut the main engine. They were finally going more than fast enough to intercept the Clover.
“Not free-fall,” Brence groaned, as the atomic drive and the grav-plates cut out simultaneously.
“But of course,” Spalding said with surprise at the denseness of your new protégé, “how else are we going to mask our emissions without the proper amount of shielding? Obviously we can’t, which means if we can’t mask, we have to eliminate!”
“Sweet Murphy,” Brence replied, which was followed by more vomiting.
“Haven’t quite got your space legs yet, I see,” Spalding observed, feeling the first stirrings of concern. “But you’ve done a yeoman’s work out on the hull…I’ve seen you out there!”
“I normally take a zero-g patch before,” Brence’s words were interrupted by the sound of the mask’s suction devise being activated and his stomach heaving again.
“Well, err…this might be a bit of a trip for ye,” Spalding conceded before shaking off the unhappy emotion in favor of playing with his brand new toy. “Don’t worry, lad; we’ll get you there quick as crabs through co-ed bunks!”
Chapter 77: The Final Approach
“Brence?” Spalding asked, wanting to make sure his partner in crime was still among the land of the living.
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