[Rogue Trader 01] - Rogue Star

by Andy Hoare - (ebook by Undead)

  “Right then,” announced Lucian, decided upon his course. “Listen, Korvane, I am the Arcadius, not you, not Brielle, and not some squabbling petty noble. I say how our fortunes are made or lost. I say how we live or how we die. Do I make myself clear?”

  Lucian listened for Korvane’s response, which came after a short delay. “Father, I understand, but I had no—”

  “You will do as I say or I will denounce your claim!” Lucian bellowed, determined now more than ever to rein in his son’s good intentions. Good intentions never got anyone anywhere, not in the galaxy in which he lived.

  “Now listen.” Lucian said, feeling a measure of calm returning now that he had put Korvane in his place. “This is how we’re going to get the hell out of this mess you’ve negotiated us all into.”

  The Fairlight burst out of the Immaterium, Brielle immediately scanning the surrounding space for signs of her father or her stepbrother. She found them straight away, as she had expected to do, but she was somewhat shocked to see two entire fleets of vessels, apparently closing in on one another, as well.

  “What the hell has he got us into now?” she asked herself, deciding immediately that something must have gone terribly wrong. She activated the data-slates surrounding her command throne, a dozen and more screens lowering from the shadows above. The screens sputtered to life, the Fairlight’s cogitator banks pumping reams upon reams of data across them. With practiced ease, she separated out the superfluous information, homing in on that which she needed.

  The Oceanid and the Rosetta, her father’s vessel closing fast on her stepbrother’s, which appeared at anchor. One hundred and ten kilometres from their position, two fleets. One human, Luneberg’s, she knew, and one not. She smiled.

  Reaching up to adjust the data-slates’ settings, Brielle homed in on the other two rogue trader vessels, picking up a signal from—

  “Brielle?” The communication grilles set in the back of her command throne burst into life, causing her to jump in shock. She spat a spacer’s curse, before answering sweetly.

  “Father, this is Brielle, what’s happening? Are you alright?”

  “Yes, Brielle, now listen, as I won’t repeat myself.” He wasted no time in pleasantries, she thought, typical of him to get straight to the point. “Rosetta and Fairlight are to converge on my position and follow my orders to the letter. You will not deviate from the course I give you, and you will not fire upon any targets until I order you to do so. Do I make myself completely clear?”

  For a moment, Brielle was speechless. What the hell was his problem? “Father,” she replied. “I am perfectly—”

  “Do I make myself completely clear?” her father repeated, his tone angry and brooking no argument.

  “Completely,” she said, slamming her fist down on the console and closing the channel. How the hell could he speak to her like that? Who the hell did he think she was? Had Korvane poisoned him against her to such an extent that this was how it would be from here on out?

  Well, she thought, her stepbrother had had his day. She’d already seen to that.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Lucian stood in the centre of his bridge, studying the flickering image projected into the air by the holograph. The green globe was incomplete, almost half of the space invisible to him thanks to a damaged near-space augur array. Three groups of icons dominated the remainder, the one representing the Oceanid sitting dead centre, the movements of the others relayed relative to her position.

  Some one hundred kilometres to the Oceanid’s fore, two of the groups of icons danced, reams of data scrolling next to each. The larger of the groups represented the alien vessels, and there were five of these. Lucian noted, with a professional’s appreciation, the formation that the alien ships had assumed, their weapons’ fields of fire overlapping in such a manner as to make approach from any angle other than directly to stern all but suicidal.

  In contrast to the aliens’ deployment, the other group displayed only disarray. Lucian sneered as he regarded its arrangement, one cruiser and a dozen or so smaller escorts clustered around the vessel that he knew to be Imperial Commander Culpepper Luneberg’s flagship. It was typical of the man’s flawed character that he should deny his captains the benefit of a mutually supportive fire plan, instead concentrating solely on his own protection. He sought to destroy his enemy, the forces of the Imperial Commander Zachary Droon, but was evidently determined to minimise any risk to his own, personal safety. Well, thought Lucian, space battles were no respecters of safety, personal or otherwise.

  The alien fleet and that of Imperial Commander Luneberg were currently engaged in the opening moves of what Lucian was quite sure would prove to be the last battle for one of them. Luneberg’s forces had sought to engage their foe, but had been evaded now on several passes. The aliens would fight, of that Lucian was certain, but they had been hurt by his own broadsides, and would do so only on their own terms. The ballet continued: the humans unable to close on their target, and the aliens thus far unwilling to be closed upon.

  The last group of icons visible in the holograph’s globe of light represented his own, small flotilla. The Oceanid was a capable heavy cruiser, despite the damage she had suffered in recent engagements. Ten kilometres to the Oceanid’s port side lay the Rosetta, the cruiser captained by Lucian’s son, Korvane, who, only minutes before, had returned by shuttle from the surface of the world below. Inbound on their position, a mere fifteen kilometres distant, was the third and last of Lucian’s fleet, the cruiser, Fairlight, captained by his daughter, Brielle.

  Lucian folded his arms as he considered his position, prowling around the holograph, seeking to examine the situation, literally, from every possible angle. He had been pitched into this battle by the actions of his son, who had negotiated an alliance with Imperial Commander Zachary Droon. The only problem was, he had destroyed one of the aliens’ vessels and crippled another before his son had informed him that these aliens were, by dint of the agreement brokered by his son, allies. The life of a rogue trader was never a simple one.

  “Fairlight.” Lucian said, the servitor at the Oceanid’s communications station patching him through to the bridge of his daughter’s ship.

  “Go ahead, Father,” came the response. Lucian noted instantly that his daughter sounded even more uptight than normal. He had no time to worry about her state of mind however.

  “Rosetta.” The servitor opened the channel to the bridge of Korvane’s ship.

  Lucian reached down to the console at the base of the holograph and depressed a control stud. “I am transmitting the approach plan to you both. You will note your positions within that plan. Do you receive and understand?”

  He waited, affording his son and his daughter the time to relay the headings to their respective helmsmen. A minute later, his son was the first to respond.

  “Understood, Father.” Lucian was pleased to note that his son offered no further response. Perhaps he was suitably chastised following their earlier confrontation on the subject of Korvane’s negotiating the alliance with Droon in his father’s absence.

  He waited a minute more, before asking, “Brielle? Are you clear as to your role?”

  “I am clear, Father,” came the response, after a delay that Lucian knew was calculated to communicate Bridle’s displeasure.

  Just like her mother, he thought, allowing himself a wry grin at his daughter’s wilful behaviour.

  “Well enough,” he said. “You both have your orders. Good hunting, and good luck.”

  “Good hunting.” Korvane echoed, followed a moment later by his stepsister. Lucian took his seat at the command throne, taking a deep breath before issuing his order, “Helm, time to get under way.”

  “Aye, sir,” responded Helmsman Raldi, saluting his captain before turning and leaning his weight to the mighty wheel.

  Lucian looked to the holograph, seeing that his son’s vessel was manoeuvring into her allotted position. A couple of minutes later and the Rosetta
was in position. He watched the Fairlight, his studied eye seeing instantly, and without recourse to his instruments that his daughter’s ship was out of station by at least a kilometre.

  He sighed. “Brielle,” he said, the communications servitor patching him through the ship-to-ship array instantaneously. “Go ahead,” the clipped reply came back. “Brielle, you’re out of position. Close up on the Rosetta, now.”

  A delay was followed by, “Yes, Father, I will. I’m simply picking up some flare. I can ride it out, but I don’t want to risk the compensators, not now.”

  Lucian sighed for a second time. He had never been able to tell for sure whether his daughter was simply being evasive or whether she was outright lying. Another characteristic she had inherited from her mother and her people. It certainly wasn’t passed down from his own side of the family.

  “Well enough, Brielle. Just make sure you’ve shaken it by two point five. Understood?”

  “Understood, Father,” the reply came back. He smiled to himself. Brielle never could do things the simple way.

  “Ship to fleet.” Lucian called to the communications servitor. It nodded an instant later to indicate that he was speaking to both ships. “Korvane, Brielle. We begin our approach run now.” He nodded to the helmsman, who hauled on the huge, floor-mounted lever, feeding power to the main drives. The deck vibrated as engines roared into life, although thankfully they showed no sign of trouble from the misbehaving drive unit.

  “We find ourselves on the same side as these aliens, the tau as Korvane calls them. Now,” Lucian continued speaking so as to forestall his son’s inevitable interjection, “this could prove troublesome, given that not a couple of hours ago I personally sent several thousand of them to the depths of the seven hells. Despite that, I did so for entirely plausible reasons, but I feel that the remaining vessels may not share our newfound friendship. Therefore, if we are to honour the obligations entered into on our behalf, we are forced to take a somewhat unusual approach. This then, is my plan. We must draw the tau onto the guns of Luneberg’s fleet.”

  He sat back, knowing what was coming next. It came.

  “Father!” Korvane’s voice came back, Lucian’s son’s anger obvious, even over the static-filled and distorted ship-to-ship channel. “Father, I negotiated our agreement in good faith, and even though you disapprove, we are honour bound to abide by it. The tau might be aliens, but they are Droon’s allies, and we cannot be responsible for their demise.”

  Lucian grinned. By the Emperor, he really had spawned a couple of humourless whelps.

  “Korvane, I am not asking you to do so. Just follow your orders and shut the hell up,” he said, slamming his palm down and cutting the channel. He chuckled, imagining his son’s spluttering indignation at his words. He would have some explaining to do, later.

  Meanwhile, however, the two cruisers of Luneberg’s fleet had reached the optimum point at which to open fire, and did so at exactly the moment the Admiralty Staff textbooks told their captains they should. Lucian watched, his breath caught in his throat, as the moment of truth finally arrived.

  Nothing happened.

  Lucian slammed both palms down on the arms of his command throne, his laughter filling the bridge. “I knew it!”

  Brielle smiled demurely to herself as she realised the trick her father had just pulled. He had, she saw, gambled that Luneberg’s vessels were outfitted with weapons provided to them by the tau, as the orbital station at Mundus Chasmata had been. Furthermore, he had surmised, again correctly, that the tau weapons would not fire upon their own, leaving Luneberg’s vessels suddenly helpless at the crucial point in their confrontation.

  He was a wily old bastard, she had to give him that, but he hadn’t foreseen this. She tapped a code into the communications readout beside her command throne.

  “This,” she said aloud, hitting the key labelled ‘Transmit’, “is for the greater good.”

  Lucian watched from the starboard viewing port as explosions blossomed across the lengths of Luneberg’s two cruisers. He had seen that the Borialis Defensor was equipped with xenos-supplied weapons when he had passed her earlier, and realised instantly that these were the same, high velocity projectile weapons that had been unleashed against him by the Chasmatan orbital. He had gambled upon their not firing on their own, but something else entirely was occurring here.

  A dozen points of rapidly expanding orange studded the length of both enemy vessels, the exact locations, he knew, of the alien weaponry. Luneberg had sought to play them all—the rogue traders and the tau both—for suckers, but appeared to have been played himself.

  The Borealis Defensor listed to port, her captain, Lucian guessed, attempting desperately to manoeuvre his vessel out of the alien ships’ kill zone. The other cruiser responded by opening up her engines, the enormous power building inexorably to propel her forwards and away from danger.

  Neither vessel had even the slightest chance of escape, however, for they were firmly trapped within the aliens’ most deadly fire arc. The multiple, prow-mounted turrets on each of the five vessels turned as one, tracking the nameless cruiser as she attempted in vain to pull away. The muzzle of each spat blue fire, the hyper-velocity projectiles propelled across space in the blink of an eye.

  The cruiser was struck to starboard, amidships, a line of explosions blossoming across its spine. Even larger explosions appeared on the vessel’s port flank, the projectiles having passed entirely through its vast bulk.

  Lucian stood speechless, too stunned even to order his helmsman to steer away from the almost tragically uneven battle. Violet plasma geysered from the cruiser’s exit wounds, lending it the appearance of some gargantuan sea creature bleeding its guts into the churning ocean. A series of secondary explosions spread within the dying vessel, and its ravaged midsection bowed as fires danced along its length, fed white-hot by the ship’s rapidly escaping air.

  The fate of the first cruiser sealed, the tau vessels turned their attention to the Borealis Defensor.

  “Hard to port, full power to mains!” Lucian snapped out of his trance as the blazing wreck of the first cruiser drifted from his view. With the aliens intent on Luneberg’s flagship, he saw only one way of ending this in anything like a favourable position.

  “Comms!” he shouted, the interference-laden ship-to-ship channel bursting to life. “Fairlight, Rosetta, this is Oceanid!”

  “Go ahead, Father, I read you,” came back Brielle’s reply.

  Then silence.

  “Korvane?” Lucian said, looking across to the communications servitor. “Korvane, do you read me?”

  The only answer was the angry howl of the open communications channel.

  The Rosetta shook violently beneath Korvane’s feet, the scream of twisting steel audible from somewhere far below decks.

  “What the hell was that? Damage report, now!” bellowed Korvane, filled with a sudden dread. The sound had come from a part of his ship from which no such sound should ever come, even in the event of major battle damage. His gaze raced across the banks of data-screens clustered around the bridge, each choked with reams of rapidly scrolling figures.

  Before he could even begin to decipher the data however, a second explosion sounded from the guts of his vessel, the bridge lights cutting out, leaving only the illumination that came from the static-filled screens.

  “Where’s that report?” he called, standing, and grabbing the nearest bridge officer, a junior rating, by the collar. “You, go find out what’s happening to my ship!”

  Another explosion sounded, this time even deeper in the Rosetta’s innards. Korvane knew immediately that it was the drive section and his fears were confirmed a moment later as the ship began to list severely to port.

  “Damage control parties!” Korvane ordered. “Get the secondaries on line, now!”

  “Yes, sir,” replied a hooded junior tech-adept, hauling open an access hatch in the deck plate, and clambering in to the cable-choked crawlspace.


  Korvane experienced a moment of utter helplessness, the worst feeling a captain could ever have. Then, by the grace of the Emperor, the banks of screens flickered, went dead, and then awoke entirely, the machine spirit deep within the Rosetta’s cogitation banks reawakening them.

  He strode to the main bank, leaning over the command lectern and gripping its edge hard as he felt the artificial gravity fluctuate. For an instant, he stumbled as the gravitic generators fought to maintain their normal output, their force doubling before returning to something resembling their normal level. He fought to concentrate on the endless figures scrolling across the main screen, suddenly gaining an inkling into what had happened.

  Isolating the data committed by the Rosetta’s main bank augur array, Korvane reviewed the minute immediately preceding the explosion. Luneberg’s vessels had closed in on the tau fleet, but their weapons had failed to fire upon their targets, that much was clear. More data scrolled across the screen, until, there! A signal had burst across local space and Luneberg’s turrets had detonated.

  So too had something deep within his own vessel.

  “Sir!” A shout came from a rating in the bridge pit. “Sir, damage control parties report fires on decks seven through nineteen, fore, spreading fast!”

  “Damn it,” he cursed. “Get me—”

  Another explosion rocked the Rosetta, the deck plate buckling beneath Korvane’s feet. The force threw him bodily against the main console bank, slamming the breath from his lungs and leaving him winded. He collapsed to the floor, rolling over and gasping to draw breath.

  As he did so however, his lungs burst in agony as they drew in hot fumes, the stink of burning cables assaulting his senses. Coughing violently, he looked to the open access hatch in the middle of the bridge, from which a fountain of flames was erupting. He staggered to his feet, crossed the deck and hauled shut the metal blast hatch. His hands were burned as they closed on the superheated metal, but he gritted his teeth and slammed the hatch down, the flames spilling around its base for an instant, before they died.