by Sean Danker
Bjorn wondered if they would be used that way.
Ibuki’s target went up, then Lucas’.
“All clear,” Mao said, and Bjorn checked his readout and stopped the counter: 5.2242 seconds for the entire operation.
Kladinova had been nearly half a second ahead of Ibuki and Lucas. That was a massive margin, by Everwing standards.
“Status?” Bjorn said.
“All green,” Kladinova replied. There was something in her voice that Bjorn had never heard before. A spark, a feeling that had been absent in all their conversations before. As if he was used to her speaking voice, but this was the one she used to sing. In her eyes there was also a light that he wasn’t sure he liked.
“All units on overwatch,” Mao said. The other fighters fell into a loose pattern around the two damaged vessels. “Hail them. Get me both bridges. Let’s go.”
Two channels opened on the screen.
One showed an empty chair. The other displayed a woman a bit younger than Doyle. She had a round, childish face. Her eyes were large and wide. She was pale, sweating, and absolutely terrified.
“Thank you,” she gasped.
“Can we help?” Mao demanded.
“I don’t know,” the woman said, looking close to tears. “We’re sealed. We’re sealed,” she repeated.
Doyle appeared, swearing at someone offscreen. He dropped into his chair.
“Mara,” he said, pushing someone away. He was bleeding from a cut above his right eye. “Do you have integrity?”
“We do,” she said. “My stabilizers are shot. They’re completely gone.”
“That was what they wanted,” he said. “Whoever you are,” Doyle went on, now speaking to Mao, “you just saved a lot of people.”
“How many dead?” Mao asked.
Doyle froze. “It’s you,” he said.
“How many?”
“I don’t know. There’s no way to count people in the pods. Hundreds? Thousands?” He swallowed, but kept himself together. “We’re still here, though.”
“Who were they? What did they want?” Mao pressed.
“They didn’t say,” Mara wailed. “They just came out of nowhere and started shooting. We don’t even have shields.”
No shields? Bjorn swiped away his tactical view and focused on the Sunbath. His eyes widened. It was the cargo pods. Obviously the ship wasn’t meant to haul so much, and they added bulk to its superstructure to the degree that the ship’s shields literally couldn’t fit around all of it.
The shields were probably disabled. Activating them would send a force shield slicing through passengers.
“Who are you?” Doyle demanded.
“Commander Kelly Mao, Imperial Service.”
“Some kind of security forces? For the annexation?”
“That’s right. What matters is that your ships are still whole, more or less. I’m sorry for the people you’ve lost.”
“We knew this wasn’t the safest route,” Doyle said, but his eyes flicked to the side. “Mara, no.”
The woman on the other screen was weeping openly. Her signal vanished. Doyle twitched.
“Is that your wife? She’s in command of the other ship? Margarita?” Mao asked calmly.
“Yes.”
“Is she fit?”
“Yes. But she’s never been under fire before.”
“You have?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
Doyle was military. Or former military, more likely. That put a new spin on things. Bjorn turned his attention to his tactical feed, watching the patterns the fighters were weaving in their patrol. Kladinova was being a little more elaborate than the situation called for, but Bjorn decided to overlook it.
The pilots weren’t hearing this exchange.
“Were you in this war?” Mao asked.
“Not for long.”
“Then we can worry about that later. Your wife didn’t answer me. Is there any aid we can offer? This is a warship. We don’t have much.”
“As long as we have power, we can make repairs ourselves. But Mara took the hits. She’s dead in the water.”
“The pirates made no demands?”
“They didn’t say anything at all.”
Bjorn used his console to reconstruct the incident. The two cruisers had reacted differently to the attack.
Doyle had executed a sudden thrust to shift his ship, aggressively forcing the pirates to reposition. The Margarita had rolled, trying to present a less costly target. It hadn’t worked. The pirates had maintained fire, blasting a line up the side of the cruiser, puncturing and tearing open dozens of cargo containers before slicing free both stabilizers.
Doyle had kept his cool. Mara had panicked. Of course, all the cool in the galaxy couldn’t save either one of them from armed pirates when they were in tubs like those.
Bjorn rubbed his chin and thought hard. Something about this didn’t add up.
“Does this mean we have imperial protection?” Doyle asked.
“Absolutely not,” Mao stated flatly. “You’re here not only in breach of your own laws, but ours as well. You do not have the Empress’ protection. You have my sympathy, for whatever that’s worth.”
“Considering that you just saved our lives, I say it’s worth something. I owe you, Commander Mao.”
“You owe my crew. Mr. Doyle, you’re a long way from safety no matter which way you look. You’re nowhere near Burton Station, and it’s an even longer walk back. In fact, the only place that isn’t out of reach right now is Oasis. And I have a feeling you don’t want to go there.”
Doyle shook his head. “We have to make repairs and carry on to Burton Station. There’s no other way, and we can’t go back.”
“You’d all be executed if you did.”
“Yes.”
“Would your government really execute a hundred thousand of its own?” Mao asked.
“It’s done it before. So has yours.”
Bjorn winced. Doyle was probably talking about the Cohengard Revolt, but he didn’t have his facts straight. Yes, that had been ugly; yes, people had been executed—but not in those kinds of numbers.
“How long for the repairs?”
“I don’t know. I can’t see them taking less than twenty hours. The stabilizers are first priority, but we’ve both got heavy damage.”
“I can see that,” Mao said, sighing. “I wish I could help.”
“You already have.” Doyle hesitated, then took a deep breath. “The question is, will you stay?”
“Stand by.”
He nodded, and she cut the com.
“By the Empress,” she swore. “What a mess.”
“What do we do?” Woodhouse asked.
“What can we do?” Mao snapped, then controlled herself. “Where did these guys come from? Hanneine?”
“Most likely,” Compton said, pulling up the charts. “It would explain how they stayed off our sensors and blindsided the refugees.”
“That’s the problem,” Mao said, her eyes narrowing. “They deliberately crossed into Demenis. Who would do that? Were they suicidal? The word’s out—this is Evagardian space. There’s already blood in the water—our little fish is sure to have been talking. Cophony knows. Tenbrook knows. Everybody knows by now. Why would pirates come here to die?”
“They think the Empress is bluffing,” Sergeant Golding said, letting down her locks. “They think this annexation is just words, that she doesn’t have the resources to enforce it.”
“We’re obligated to rid the gene pool of people naive enough to believe there are limits to the Empress’ power,” Mao said. “But I still don’t like it.” She turned to Bjorn. “What did you see?”
“They were aggressive, ma’am,” he replied, enlarging his readout. “It was a pounce. Their fire wa
s meant for the Sunbath, but when she dodged it they focused on Margarita. Mara was the soft target. They were targeting the stabilizer from the beginning.”
“Crippled her straightaway,” Mao said. “Lydia, how’s it look out there?”
“My only contacts are the Ganraen refugees, Commander,” the AI replied.
“Bring it in. Resume alert rotation and don’t get comfortable,” Mao ordered. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
Bjorn heard Kladinova’s noise of disgust over the com, and hoped the commander hadn’t.
“Listen up,” Mao said, switching off the com. She spoke to the bridge crew directly; the pilots and support personnel were cut out of this address. “Whether you like it or not, whether you feel like you’re qualified or not, the four of you are my executive staff. Especially with the general out there in a fighter. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Bjorn and the others spoke in unison.
“We cannot under any circumstances offer these people protection. We also cannot leave them unprotected. As if that wasn’t awkward enough, the mission we have now is considerably more important than the one we launched with. Occupying the freelancers might not sound very glamorous, and it isn’t. But the important ones aren’t always the ones that sound good. Tying up Tenbrook is critical to this war, and we cannot deviate from that. Everyone tracking?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. We’re going to hold position for the moment in case Doyle needs something we can actually give him, but we’re going to make a decision within the hour, and that decision will be final. I’m open to everyone’s views, but let’s not kid ourselves. I need General Dayal to help me with this one, and cowardly as it might be, I’m probably going to go with whatever she suggests. Having said that—” Mao looked at them as though she had more to say, but then she deflated. “Having said that, the threat is gone. Alert lifted.”
Bjorn sagged in his seat. Woodhouse leapt up and ran from the bridge, and Compton followed him at a brisk walk. Sergeant Golding got to her feet and gazed at the commander’s back for a moment; then she left as well.
Bjorn needed to talk to Kladinova, congratulate her, check the fighter. He rubbed his face and got to his feet.
“Bjorn,” Mao said. He looked over his shoulder at her.
“Ma’am?”
She stood at the console, gazing down at the interface with distant eyes, her palms pressed to the plastic. The command platform was raised, but not nearly enough to make her taller than Bjorn. When she was asserting herself, it was easy to forget how small she was.
Now she wasn’t asserting anything.
“Major Compton came to me with a confession just before we jumped,” she said.
Bjorn was silent.
“He’s a good man. A great man, if you know anything about his record. I feel even more privileged to work with him because he chose to come clean with me. Even if he might not have done so otherwise.”
He just looked at her back expectantly.
“I want to thank you. I want you to know that I appreciate the way you handled it, what you were trying to do. I don’t think you were wrong. Usually an officer’s a little further into his career before he gets the confidence to . . .” She trailed off there, then straightened up. “Never mind. But you don’t have to worry about me, Bjorn. I wasn’t the first choice, but I was still given command of this vessel. The Empress is the judge of how much weight I can carry. Not you, Lieutenant.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m your commander. I don’t need protection. I just need people following orders. If there’s something I need to know, tell me.” She turned back to the viewport and gazed at the two massive ships. “I can handle it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Bjorn left the bridge, feeling inadequate.
It wasn’t the danger of the mission, or the hypocrisy, that he resented. It was the responsibility.
Bjorn didn’t like being responsible for Kladinova, but Mao hadn’t asked for her role any more than he’d asked for his. Now she had a hundred thousand people balanced on her narrow shoulders.
But if she didn’t need him to be considerate, then she probably didn’t need his sympathy either.
Kladinova’s fighter was in place, but the cockpit was still closed. Bjorn broke into a trot, and the cockpit hissed open.
Kladinova was still strapped in. Her hands were on the control globes, and she was leaning forward, straining against her straps.
“Lieutenant?” Bjorn approached cautiously. She turned to stare at him, and he almost flinched. She looked different. He tried to determine exactly what it was about her, but couldn’t. She was a little pale; that was all. And sweating.
She smiled.
“I’m okay,” she said, taking a long, shuddering breath. There was something nakedly wolfish about that smile, and though Bjorn’s dealings with the aristocracy were severely limited, he knew a lady was never supposed to expose herself this way. Even in the Service.
Diana Kladinova had completely let go of her princess facade, and Bjorn wanted to know why. Asking was probably out of the question.
She abruptly disengaged her restraints and leapt out of the fighter. Her body was trembling subtly, as if there were oceans of feverish energy waiting just under the surface.
“I’m okay,” she repeated, sounding relieved.
“It was your first combat,” Bjorn said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “That was the fastest triangle I’ve ever seen. It was perfect.”
It was Bjorn’s first combat as well, but he doubted she cared.
She nodded.
“You need to cool off.”
Her grin widened. “Yeah.”
For a moment Bjorn thought she was about to laugh; then she sobered. He watched her try to collect herself. “What about those ships?” she asked.
“A lot of casualties, but don’t worry about that. You just have to keep being the best. Rest up. Relax. I’ll take care of the fighter.”
“She’s good,” Kladinova said.
“I still have to do the checklist. Go. Shower.”
“Okay.” Her eyes had been sliding in and out of focus through the entire conversation.
Bjorn’s smile vanished as he watched her go.
He knew all the reactions that people could have to being in action. Everyone was trained on combat psychology. But with Kladinova this seemed like too much. It was exaggerated. Her implant should have helped take the edge off, regulating her body chemistry.
It was time to get nosy again.
The com chirped, and Bjorn answered. It was a private communication from DiJeur.
“What’s up?” he asked, turning back to the fighter and calling up the diagnostic.
“I have to talk to you, sir.”
“So talk.”
“In person.”
Bjorn blinked. “Rebecca, I’m right here in the bay.”
“Is Lieutenant Kladinova with you?”
“Not at the moment.”
“On my way. Two minutes.”
He started on the checklist, but his heart wasn’t in it. First Kladinova terrified him with her erratic behavior, then two of his shipmates were having a torrid affair, and now DiJeur was acting strange.
A man with a battle station, a fleet of pirates, and an imperial defector were hunting the Lydia, and the Lydia couldn’t even deal with her own internal problems.
And what about Sunbath and the Margarita?
“Lydia,” Bjorn said, closing his eyes, “what were the IDs on those three pirate vessels?”
“Captain Jose Piner’s Idealist II, Captain Sahara Liddle’s Lemecian, and the Flying Trigan, whose commander is unknown at this time.”
“Any record of these three working together? Were they partners?”
“Unknown, Lieutenant Bjorn
.”
Bjorn chewed his lip. The two luxury cruisers weren’t exactly subtle, but their captains were doing their best to fly discreetly. They were in the middle of nowhere, and varying their route explicitly to make themselves difficult to follow.
Yet these three pirates had known exactly where to find them. Moreover, they’d struck hard and without a word. Why would pirates target the Sunbath and the Margarita? The ships themselves had no value. They couldn’t be sold, and moving them for deconstruction and salvage wasn’t practical, not if they were crippled. Where was the value? What was the objective?
The pirates couldn’t be after the refugees themselves, because they hadn’t brought the means to move them. There was no money left, though Bjorn supposed the pirates hadn’t necessarily known that. But why cripple the ships? Those massive boats couldn’t run from even the slowest pirate.
“Lydia, give me a big feed.”
A massive image appeared in the air in front of him. Bjorn reached out to manipulate the menus. “I want to see our sensor array, all the space we’ve mapped.”
“One moment, Lieutenant Bjorn.”
Bjorn folded his arms and tapped his foot. The back of his neck began to prickle.
The five-space chart began to populate with readings. He pointed. “What’s this signal?”
“It’s a distress beacon.”
“And this one? Why are there so many? Where are they coming from?”
“They are requesting assistance for the Sunbath and Margarita.”
But Doyle hadn’t called for help. There hadn’t been time, he hadn’t had the means, and he’d had no reason to believe there was anyone to save him. Long-range coms were being suppressed. Little beacons like this were useless out here in the middle of nowhere; their range was too short.
Unless there was reason to believe there might be someone nearby.
“Commander,” Bjorn said into the com.
“Not a good time, Lieutenant.”
“Commander, this wasn’t piracy. It’s a trap. Tenbrook sent those ships. They crippled the refugees and sent out distress beacons mimicking them. This is his play. He knew we wouldn’t ignore it, and we wouldn’t leave them until they could move, at the very least.” Bjorn felt abruptly short of breath. “Commander, he’s got to be coming. He’s going to be coming right now.”