Once everything of value had been taken, Lieutenant Swift and his team scuttled the pirate ship. They pulled out as much of the air as they could, then they forced open all the airtight openings and blew the airlocks. The vacuum rushed through the dead ship, freezing everything. Reduced to a dead hulk, Black Hand was set adrift, to be lost amid the vastness of space.
Liam was seated at his usual table in the senior mess, poring over the pirate logs with Amelia and Templegrey, when Swift strode through the door.
“One less pirate ship,” the sailing officer declared, “and I need a drink.”
Liam gestured him over to the table, where a decanter of rum was already open. Swift flopped down next to Amelia and wrapped a friendly arm around her shoulder as he reached for a glass.
“Oh,” she said with a shiver, “you’re freezing!”
“Just finished sending another ship to its grave,” he said, pouring himself a generous portion. “It’s chilling business.”
“I don’t know why we don’t keep them,” Amelia said. “I’m sure those ships would be worth something if we sold them.”
“We could,” Liam replied, “but we don’t want any pirate spies recognizing their former vessels. Best we scuttle them and let them disappear into the Abyss.”
“I know, I know,” Amelia sighed. “It just seems a shame to waste perfectly good ships.”
The rum flowed freely enough as they discussed their latest findings, comparing information from Black Hand with intelligence already gathered. They were joined in time by the coxn, Chief Oliver Butcher, and the assaulter, Chief Sky. Spirits were always high after a successful battle, as the fear and adrenaline worked through everyone and was replaced by relief, and a mix of other emotions. Liam himself luxuriated in the sense of triumph, and he recognized in Amelia her usual delight at a mission well-accomplished. Glancing around the table he saw the grim satisfaction in Swift, Sky, and Butcher—hardened professionals just doing their job.
And on his right, her regal façade firmly in place, Templegrey sat quietly. As the ship’s doctor, she knew better than anyone the cost these battles sometimes brought, and her bright, relieved eyes spoke more of the boarding party’s success than any report. She was often a keen participant in the discussion of the intelligence, but today she seemed withdrawn, focusing her attention on helping Amelia check the lists of seized stores and valuables.
On an impulse, he reached out and squeezed her hand.
“You all right, doctor?”
She lifted her gaze to him, a perfect smile forming. “Yes, fine. Why?”
“You seem a bit subdued. You don’t normally bury yourself in stores reports.”
“There’s just so much,” she said, gesturing at the lists shared between her and Amelia. “I wonder if, at this rate, we’ll have room for it all.”
“Did we seize any good food?” Chief Butcher interjected on her other side.
“Food, yes,” Amelia answered, “but I don’t know yet if it’s any good.”
“How will we ever know,” Butcher continued, leaning forward, “if we can’t eat any of it?”
“We’ll eat when it’s time, Chief,” she retorted.
The coxn continued to stare at her expectantly, and Amelia’s brow furrowed. She glanced up at the wall clock, and her eyes went wide.
“What the—” She burst up from her chair, a colorful string of curses peppering the air as she stormed for the door.
Liam glanced back at the clock, suddenly realizing that it was ten minutes past the usual start time for dinner. Yet no stewards had appeared to lay out settings, and most certainly no food had appeared. His stomach suddenly growled, and he caught a smirk from the coxn.
“Let’s clear this paperwork, everyone,” he said. “I suspect the quartermaster will be back shortly with some apologetic stewards.”
By the time the table was cleared and the chairs were rearranged for dinner, the door burst open and harried sailors rushed in, Amelia close behind them. With a cacophony of cutlery the table was laid, and plates piled high with stew were placed down in front of everyone. Amelia shooed the steward and cooks out and took a seat at the far end of the table.
“Having trouble with your department, Quartermaster?” Sky mused.
“Trouble comes when we’re down to half strength,” she said with a heavy sigh. “Three of my four stewards retired with their riches after the last payout.”
“With all those hopefuls begging to join the ship, couldn’t you find any good stewards?”
“If you wanted to be served by clumsy, cussing hooligans as likely to spit in your food as serve it, sure.” She sighed. “Good stewards are surprisingly hard to find. So we’ve got one, and he’s often needed in the galley just to help the cooks.”
“They need all the help they can get,” Swift winced, tasting the stew. “What happened to that amazing chief cook we used to have?”
“She retired.” Amelia shrugged. “I think she opened her own restaurant on Passagia.”
“Does she cater to deployed ships?”
Liam joined in the laughter around the table. “At least they’ve figured out the coffee. I don’t think my stomach has recovered yet from the Templegrey blend.”
More laughter and catcalls saw Templegrey lift her hands in defense.
“I was just trying to help,” she said. “I don’t know how any of you can drink that ghastly stuff.”
“When you make it,” Sky offered, “trust me, we can’t.”
The lone steward did return eventually and cleared the plates away, and as everyone sat back with full bellies Liam poured himself a portion of rum and ceremoniously passed it to Swift on his left. The sailing officer filled his own glass and passed it to Sky, then to Amelia, then Butcher, and finally Templegrey. Everyone held their glass expectantly and silence descended over the table.
“Mr. Swift,” Liam said, “if you please?”
Swift rose from his seat and lifted his glass in salute.
“On this, our second day in space, I offer a toast to our mighty vessel, His Majesty’s Sailing Ship Daring—long may she serve and protect us.”
“To Daring,” Liam called, the others echoing his words around the table.
Liam drained his glass, then pushed back his chair and stood.
“Thank you, everyone. I’m going to brief the captain. I’ll update her on our latest intel.”
With a rumble of chairs and contented chatter, dinner broke up. Liam gathered his papers from the afternoon’s discussion, noting that Amelia herself was collecting the empty glasses. He smiled to himself. She still struggled with the idea that she had any sort of privilege over the crew and was happiest when she was getting her hands dirty.
“Sir, a moment?”
Templegrey’s hand rested on his sleeve, and he looked over at her questioningly. “Yes, doctor?”
“I’ve been thinking about the crew, and the way we distribute the prize money.”
“We’re not changing the traditional split,” he said immediately. “Everyone gets their portion as tradition allows.”
“No, no,” she said, brushing her hand along his arm, “I’d never suggest changing that. I was just thinking about the timing.”
“How so?”
“Well, the captain pays out very rarely, and only when there’s a large bounty to share. I worry that this infrequent and large method of payment is encouraging bad habits in the crew. Please remember, sir, that these sailors have never seen this kind of money before, and too many of them are wasting their fortunes in the occasional orgy of frivolous spending.”
“I see your point. But payout is also when we lose sailors, as they take their earnings and flee.” He gestured to the empty, disheveled mess and the petty officer currently tidying it. “If we divide the prize money more often, might we not lose sailors more often?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “If prize payment was smaller but more regular, it would seem to the crew more like a stable income th
an a huge windfall, and they would be more inclined to spend it wisely. Right now, I fear they think their big payout might be their last chance to enjoy life. There is uncertainty, and risk.” She stepped closer, eyes sparkling up at him. Her hand slipped off his arm and onto his waist. “If we paid out more frequently, there would be stability, and certainty.”
She was really pouring it on, he couldn’t help but notice. He’d been to enough gala balls and courtly settings to recognize a determined—and, admittedly, effective—charm offensive underway. Templegrey was clearly motivated if she felt the need to bring her courtly powers to bear. Six months ago he would have been irritated at a commissioned officer attempting such tactics, but he respected Templegrey enough to let it slide. Her argument, as usual, made sense, and she clearly held strong feelings on the matter.
“I’ll bring your suggestion to the captain.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Her hand dropped away and she walked for the door, offering Amelia a dazzling smile and a quick compliment. As the door shut behind her, Liam stepped toward Amelia.
“That was—”
His words died as she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him passionately. The sudden intensity surprised him, but he regained his balance and gripped her close. He leaned into her warm body, savoring the taste of her soft, rum-sweetened lips.
Finally, she pulled back, eyes shining with emotion.
“Hi,” he said. “How was your day, darling?”
“Long, violent, and frustrating,” she said kissing him again quickly. “But I hope it ends well.”
“I hope I can help with that. Just let me report to the captain, first.”
“She better not get too close to you.” Amelia stepped back slightly, running her hand down Liam’s arm to his waist. “Ooh, sir,” she said in her best imitation of Templegrey’s noble accent, “can you do something for me? If I bat my eyelashes enough will you do whatever I want?”
He scoffed, turning curiously toward the closed door. “That was weird. She definitely has an agenda there.”
“That agenda better not include you,” Amelia said, fist rising. “Honestly, if I didn’t like that little blonde tart so much I’d smash her pretty face right in.”
Liam gently pressed her fist down, recognizing just how drunk Amelia was. She was cute when she was drunk. But knowing Templegrey as well as he did, the idea that she was actually coming on to him was rather absurd.
“No, darling, it’s nothing like that. Ava believes in what she’s saying, and she doesn’t want to risk the chance that her idea will be ignored. So she was trying extra hard to convince me.”
“I’m surprised you even remember what she said, with her hands all over you.”
“It’s standard. You’ve said it yourself—we nobles live and die on our charm. This idea is important to her, but instead of just acting like a regular officer, she fell back, probably unconsciously, on ingrained habits. Likely because they work.”
“Are they working now?”
“Her idea has merit, but if I bring it up with the captain it will be for that reason, not because of the doctor’s charms.” He gave her an earnest look. “What do you think of her idea?”
Amelia stared up defiantly for a moment, then punched him lightly in the stomach.
“Yes,” she admitted, “it’s actually pretty smart. Sailors have no idea how to handle sudden riches, and for most of them the only outlet they can think of is taverns and the like. Listening to the scuttlebutt, a lot of our crew are already broke—they’ve drunk and played away everything they’ve earned. Our last visit home to Passagia saw Flatrock dubbed ‘King Atticus, Lord of the Golden Tower.’”
He didn’t get the reference.
“It’s the most expensive brothel in town,” she explained, before slumping her shoulders in a sigh. “You don’t have to worry about most of them retiring—they know this is the only way they’ll ever make this kind of money. If they got paid more regularly, though, they might learn how to spend it better.”
“Okay,” he said thoughtfully. “That means a lot, coming from you.”
“It was awfully insightful of Ava to recognize that about the crew.” Amelia tried to frown but it curled into a smile. “Stupid cow.”
Liam laughed out loud and kissed Amelia anew.
The captain’s cabin was dim, lit by starlight streaming in through the porthole and a single lamp on the table. Commander Riverton was seated in that pool of lamplight, notes spread out around her. Her uniform coat was draped over a chair behind her and her white shirt seemed to glow in the darkness. She looked up with a cool expression as Liam sat down across from her.
“A bit of revelry in the senior mess this evening, XO?”
Honestly, he thought to himself, how did she do it? He’d even paced his own drinking through the afternoon because he knew he had to report to her.
“Nothing excessive, ma’am,” he admitted. “Just a bit of stress release after today’s excitement.”
“Who has the mid watch?”
“Templegrey. Beyond the toast of the day I believe she drank only water or tea.”
“Very well.” Riverton sat back, folding her arms. “Do you think we have Dark Star himself in custody?”
“I don’t know,” he said, exhaling. “One pirate we subdued obviously has training from the Imperial Academy, and we confirmed he isn’t actually the captain of Black Hand, suggesting he might be an important visitor. As much as we could tell, the rest of the pirate prisoners seemed to defer to him.”
“You’ll be speaking with him soon?”
“I’ll give him a few days in the brig to soften up. But yes, soon.”
“Any new insights on Dark Star’s operations, based on our captured information?”
“Yes, actually.” Liam leaned forward, spreading out a star chart between them. “The Black Hand logs revealed two attacks on merchant ships”—he pointed out the locations—“here and here. Black Hand has met with two other pirate ships in recent months, indicating a tighter control by Dark Star over assets than what we used to see. We also found messages that reported other pirate attacks, and this corroborates what we suspected for the missing merchants on the border of the Silica and Iron Swarm sectors.”
“But does it still look like reduced pirate activity overall?”
“Yes, ma’am. Over the past six months there has been a clear drop in attacks on shipping. No doubt our destruction of the pirate base hurt them, and they’re taking time to rebuild. But what’s interesting is that they don’t seem to be rebuilding in the same way. Black Hand was in good shape and well-stocked, but her attacks were less frequent recently than, say, a year ago. This agrees with the overall pattern we’ve observed in the region. I’d propose that Dark Star is changing tactics after the blow we dealt.”
“Clear signs of close coordination across multiple star systems,” Riverton mused, “which is worrying. Random thugs the Empire can deal with, but this is something much more dangerous.”
“We recovered code words and key phrases,” Liam added, “secret signals that can be dropped into a conversation between pirates to confirm identities. They’re date-linked and valid only for a few more weeks. This suggests a very high level of coordination.”
“Agreed,” Riverton said, her eyes alight with new respect. “Do you think we can use them?”
“I’d like to have my usual team—Swift, Sky, and Virtue—study them. If nothing else we can train ourselves to listen for them when we’re ashore.”
Riverton nodded, her fingers tapping thoughtfully against the table.
“We haven’t been able to recover any specific orders from Dark Star that indicate a strategy,” Liam admitted. “Have your connections suggested anything?”
“Dark Star’s influence is limited to the Halo, but it is expansive. As for motive, nothing beyond robbery and greed has suggested itself.”
“There has to be more to it, ma’am.”
“I agree, XO. But
how do we uncover it?”
“I think it’s time for Sophia’s Fancy to make another stop at Windfall Station. I can check in with my usual contacts, but I’d suggest we use those coded pirate phrases while they’re still valid and take a closer look around.”
“Very good.” Riverton suddenly leaned forward, her eyes hardening. “Something bigger is going on here, XO. Bigger than any of us can see. We need to move swiftly before Dark Star surprises us all.”
Chapter 3
Amelia stepped through the airlock tunnel, her nose wrinkling as she left Daring behind and caught her first breaths of air from Windfall Station. The stale air was heavy with the lingering residue of close-in bodies and old machinery—it was never pleasant, but she realized it had a certain homey familiarity that she’d come to appreciate. As she stepped onto the station proper, her eyes automatically drifted upward to take in the soaring heights of the main promenade.
Daring—or, in her merchant disguise, Sophia’s Fancy—had tied up at what was becoming her usual berth at the station, down the line of docks and out of the way of most curious eyes. Amelia strode out across the rough surface of the loading area, glancing back once at her ship’s mottled bulk visible through the clear station hull before scanning the line of commercial establishments stretching away along the central street. Their façades looked like those of regular planetary buildings, even though she knew their interiors were built into the airtight compartments of the space station. High above, the dark bulkheads gave way to glass windows that revealed the dull brown surface of the planet Farmer’s Paradise. The gnarled trees beneath the windows were sprouting new leaves, and Amelia hoped a season of growth might improve the air quality.
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