by Blaze Ward
“Who’s firing on us?” he demanded, looking around.
“Contact,” the scanner officer called out without looking up from his screen. “I have SeekerStar on an intercept course. Repeat, SeekerStar intercepting.”
“Have they launched?” Hadi asked hungrily.
SeptStar had been specifically designed to crush Omezi’s squadron of one-woman craft in battle, using an entire array of lighter turrets on the rim and main hull. None were large enough to even threaten the cook, but a significant portion of Omezi’s power relied on those antique Spectres. Kill those and he went a long ways toward killing her power.
“Negative on secondary launch, sir,” came the answer. “Only the warship.”
Damn her anyway.
Hadi had assumed that it would take Omezi time to return to her warship before it could engage. SeptStar was smaller and a little lighter. He could run her down as well as the chef, or outrun her through jump, but if he did that now, he would lose the surprise he had on the chef, and the ability for a quick kill.
SeekerStar had not waited for Omezi to return, but moved immediately to fight him.
“Engage SeekerStar with the aft battery only,” he ordered. “Keep the rim turrets forward. Fire the bow Ram Cannons as soon as they have arc.”
“Yes, sir,” the various voices rang back in harmony.
His trap had just been reversed, but he had time to kill the chef yet before he and SeptStar fled. He could always return for Omezi later, even if the Ishtan decided that they were done with Lémieux destroyed.
They had indeed modified him into something more than human, though perhaps less than a god.
But he would visit his terrible wrath upon everyone before he was done.
Forty-Four
Ifedimma Ogu had seen much in her forty years. She still had memories of Tazo as a girl, before Yagazie had finally gotten them all into space. And Ife had served Kathra faithfully since the day an assassin’s bullet promoted the youngster to command, far earlier than she had ever expected.
Ife was not comitatus. She understood the line drawn between the women who were sworn as Kathra’s personal troops and the rest of them that merely served. That Ife was generally Kathra’s second in command among the ship’s crew just placed her first behind all the comitatus.
At least until today.
Kathra had warned the comitatus that change was coming. And done it with Ife in their dining hall with them. None of the women had acted surprised, and many had welcomed her warmly, even as she was more than a decade older than any of the rest of them.
But the Sept had arrived.
Ife’s primary job was sensors and communications. She saw the ship drop out of jump, just one of many that were registered in her subconscious.
Until a second ship came out behind it firing.
This one was larger, almost like a more compact version of SeekerStar or WinterStar, built along those same lines anyway, so that it was alien among all the local craft.
Kathra had already called and told her to rouse the ship, following some unknown instinct that warned her.
Obioma was flying them into battle. Ngozi was programming the guns. Adanne was aft, mothering her engines like chicks. Ife had already warned everyone that she would be pushing them all as far as they could go.
Possibly breaking them.
Anything to protect Kathra. And Daniel, too, if that was him on the smaller vessel, that little Cargo-2 currently being bombarded by the intruder.
“Ife, I have the range,” Ngozi called from above her, all of the seats having been ripped out and installed on the rim, instead of being awkwardly placed on a level.
Ife took one last look at the scan of the ship. The beacon identified it as SeptStar, in case she had any doubts.
As if she would go after pirates with any less ferocity.
Isaev must have built that ship for them. It had identical lines to SeekerStar in so many ways, only smaller. That would make it faster on the valence drives fleeing or chasing. And she could see three times as many point defense batteries as SeekerStar had.
Someone was laying a trap for The Haunt, you filthy salauds.
“Erin, this is Ife,” she called into the squadron circuit.
“We’re ready to launch,” Erin replied with an angry growl.
All Spectre lights already showed green. How many women had been just sitting in the watchroom, waiting for the alarm to go off? Of course, Kathra was away, so the comitatus was prepared to go rescue her at a moment’s notice.
“Stand down on launch, Erin,” Ife decided, not even taking a moment to revel that she could give that order today. “The target is an escort with plenty of guns to annihilate you if you close.”
Ife heard the brief angry squawk that emerged before Erin jammed her teeth together.
Ife was in command today.
May the Goddess have mercy on all their souls.
“Ife?” Ngozi repeated, as if she had missed it the first time.
“Stand by, Ngozi,” she said.
In her mind, Ife could see the dots turn into vector lines. If SeptStar was built like SeekerStar, he had a gun turret located dead center between the four engine wells. The ship had the wrong facing to engage, but that would change if this turned into a running chase.
“Obioma, bring us up and flare the bow to the left,” Ife ordered. “Keep us just enough on line to hit him with the Ram Cannons.”
Obioma actually turned and looked at her like she had lost her mind, but Ife smiled.
Command. She suddenly had a better understanding of how Kathra had to deal with all the headstrong women of the comitatus, at the same time she routinely butted heads with the clan leaders.
“Rear cannons on SeptStar,” Ife said, instead of snapping at the woman.
A light came on in Obioma’s eyes.
“Salaud,” she muttered under her breath and began stabbing buttons.
“Ngozi, adjust your firing arcs,” Ife said.
These women trained for this religiously, but none of the Mbaysey Tribal Squadron had ever been in a pitched battle, other than WinterStar’s death at the hands of Vorgash.
Still, they reacted quickly and smoothly. Ife leaned back and studied the vectors again.
SeptStar would be chasing Daniel, but if SeekerStar moved off his stern, he either had to turn to engage the bigger ship’s guns, or allow Ngozi to pound on SeptStar without response.
Which enemy do you wish to fight, because you cannot get us both, connard?
Ife felt the great ship shift as the gyros took hold. Out on the rim, everyone would be aboard a small ship as a massive wake passed under the keel.
Ife remembered harbors and wakes from her youth.
“Fire, Ngozi,” Ife ordered.
She had the stern. SeptStar was off their line and also turning on his gyros to line up on Daniel, moving his rear Ram Cannons even farther out of the way to shoot back.
Ife had no idea how long it might take an Anndaing merchant to recharge everything for a second jump away from trouble. She just needed to distract this salaud long enough to protect Daniel, and maybe teach this Sept connard not to act like a pirate in someone else’s front yard.
At least the little Cargo-2 was firing back with everything he had, but those were just particle cannons. Little, like a slap, rather than a fist or an elbow to the face.
That was Ife’s job.
“Firing,” Ngozi stabbed a button on her screen.
The beam was a strobe of light emerging from just below them and fluorescing across solar wind in an instant.
On her scanners, Ife watched the impact spall chunks and plasma off the rim of SeptStar.
Good, Ngozi had understood who their enemy was. Or at least what. The important equipment would be down in the central hull, if this ship had also been made in Isaev’s yard. Armored and protected by bulkheads and depth.
Cannons were out on the rim, but that wasn’t why you fired into the ring. Damage
there caused the ring to jam, throwing off everything else. WinterStar had actually shed pieces when the ring didn’t survive under the abuse from Vorgash, according to the stories Ife had heard.
In either case, a little damage out there could cause the entire vessel trouble.
Ife had been flying ships of this design for decades. She understood the weak points probably better than anyone in the solar system right now, which was why Kathra had put her here.
And then placed her in command.
“Up your rate of fire,” Ife ordered. “Burn out the guns if you have to. We are on home turf for repairs and they are not. Worst case, we flee to Kanus for repairs. Punish them, Ngozi. We only have to fight once and not for long.”
The woman stared at her with the whites of her eyes visible, but that was understandable. This ship was as much her baby as it was Ife’s.
“It is a tool, Ngozi,” Ife continued. “Use it like a hammer. We can buy another hammer tomorrow, but we have to win and do it right now.”
Ngozi nodded and pressed several other buttons.
On her board, Ife saw all the rim turrets open up. They could not do much at this range, but anything might be the straw to break this camel’s back.
It was good.
Now she just had to protect Daniel.
And kill this Sept connard.
Forty-Five
Daniel left his body behind and extended his mind outwards. Losing the Star Turtle had cost him power and range, but not so much that he could not do this.
Windrunner had begun to move, but it was a freighter, not a Spectre. They were moving on a vector, and Tragee had to flip the ship around and open the engines to move them to a different line.
If they survived, killing all that motion would take a while, but they had to survive first. That was Raja’s job. And Joane’s.
Daniel stretched out to SeptStar.
It felt like SeekerStar, when he was out flying with Kathra. That weird mix of minds split evenly between the hub and rim. He presumed the name meant it had been made by Isaev, as that salaud was all about money.
Daniel could see Vorgash returning to Tavle Jocia and camping while they did the same thing that Kathra had done. And they could afford to build something like that.
He assumed the Ishtan had led them here. There was no other way that ship, those people, could have found him.
Iruoma had killed two of them, leaving only four.
Even in his reduced state, he could hold four of their minds at bay.
Except there weren’t four. Or rather, there were. Four Ishtan. And something.
What?
They presented as a single entity, but Daniel could see the swirls of a human mind in there, like a cake he had baked with chocolate and white wrapped around themselves.
No. The human part was at the center, and four Ishtan minds were protecting it.
Him.
The range was far too great to do anything but watch, but Daniel could also taunt them. Perhaps he might even distract them while the others escaped.
Plus, in the distance, he could see the warm home nest of SeekerStar suddenly appear.
Kathra had come.
Good.
Except he didn’t smell her presence. Erin and the others, yes. But the brightest mind he saw was Ife.
How joyous!
She looked like Erin or Kathra from here, focused down with a diamond intensity like the finest chefs achieved when they pulled the masterpiece from the oven.
Daniel did not try to send her even a warm feeling. He turned all his rage on the imperials.
Four Ishtan minds, wrapped around a human like arms. What did that mean? None of the other humans on that ship even registered to Daniel, except as a background flavor. A hint of nutmeg mixed with salt, like an amateur looking for exotic in the kitchen.
The human noticed him now. It was like a sleeper suddenly stopped snoring and the eyes opened.
Daniel thought a rude gesture in his direction, watched it impact.
You will die now, the imperial said.
He had a name, even. Hadi Rostami. It didn’t mean anything to Daniel, except that the four Ishtan were one, without any name other than Ishtan. They had long since lost any individual identity, if they ever had one. His memories of their world did not suggest such a thing.
You wish to try me, silly human? Daniel pulsed back at the man. Can you even make a soufflé?
It didn’t make any sense. It didn’t have to. That was one of the ritual insults chefs exchanged when they were feeling feisty, followed by a bake-off to determine who had the better fu.
Such wars were often as tense as chop socky movie climax battles, before they ended.
This fool was just a sailor.
You will join Urid-Varg in death, Rostami snarled across the gap.
I already have, human, Daniel snarled back, just trying to make the man twitch. Do you think death with protect you from me?
Gods, this was silly. Around them, the world was a firefight between three spaceships, racing madly away from Ogrorspoxu and exchanging fire.
He lies, the four Ishtan broke in like a Greek chorus now.
The rest of your race calls you from the grave, Ishtan, Daniel turned his rage on them, mocking them as only a French chef could. Can you not hear them? It would be better for everyone if you killed yourselves and stopped trying to control the galaxy. Your evil is greater than anything I have ever done.
That blow seemed to strike a soft spot, but he doubted they even knew what a soufflé was in the first place, let alone how they might craft one to win in a kitchen.
He watched them turn inwards for a moment, as if ignoring Rostami to consult one another so that they could determine whether Daniel Lémieux really was full of shit, rather than an oracle proclaiming the future.
Somedays, it was hard to tell those sorts of things apart.
Around him, he felt Windrunner rattle as the smaller guns continued to hammer the hull. He felt the surge as Tragee got the engines fully on-line and the ship began to accelerate, but this was a freighter, not a warship. He had no doubts that SeptStar could run them down eventually.
Rostami’s mind started getting closer and Daniel understood that Tragee had pulled a fast one. Instead of racing away, he had spun the ship almost end for end and was accelerating the other way. Or rather, killing all forward momentum as hard and fast as the engines could, and forcing SeptStar to either pick a single jousting pass to kill them, or do the same.
With Ife and SeekerStar coming for them.
Daniel didn’t understand naval warfare, but he didn’t have to. Raja and Joane were quietly chattering back and forth with ideas as his body listened.
For all her nerdiness, Joane was still comitatus, a mighty warrior with a pistol on her hip. A woman absolutely fearless.
You failed, Rostami, Daniel mocked the man with his sharpest tone, hoping it wasn’t about to be proven a lie as the closing range let SeptStar kill them and flee Ife.
The man fixed harsh, angry eyes at Daniel across the space. That was at least as good a description as anything. Rostami wasn’t human anymore. The Ishtan had done something to him. Not as great or powerful as the gem, but more than anybody else in Daniel’s amazing memory.
And then Rostami screamed in an agony so intense that Daniel collapsed back into his body.
Forty-Six
Damn them, what were they doing?
Hadi hadn’t detected any communications linking the two vessels he was engaging, but both had reacted in perfect synchronicity, with SeptStar trapped between them. The alien freighter had gone into turnover, not pointed directly at SeptStar, but slowing so abruptly that he would overshoot them unless he either got close enough to ram them, or tried the same maneuver with SeptStar.
That would be suicide with SeekerStar coming up his stern. He would come to a dead rest exactly in front of Omezi’s flagship, where the Ram Cannons might cut him in two.
Worse, SeekerStar had
moved to a flank in such a way that he could either bring his bow guns to bear on the alien, or his stern guns onto SeekerStar. Not both.
Damn you, Omezi. You should not be this good.
He howled in his mind, where his crew could not hear. Nobody could, but the aliens.
Another alien presence continued to mock him, but Hadi had given up speaking to the chef. He understood the man better now. Saw how Urid-Varg must have changed him in order to do the things he did.
It would not help Hadi kill him, because the chef had far more power at his command, but Hadi could chase him and Omezi now.
And he owed that Rabic fool much pain.
You failed, Rostami, Daniel Lémieux said across the space separating them.
Hadi just snarled wordlessly back at the man. Around him, SeptStar continued to rattle as SeekerStar began to score hits commensurate with the alien gunner.
At least the freighter was starting to come apart under the pounding. Pieces of hull and armor were beginning to flake off under the impact of his own particle cannons.
Soon enough, he could flee the scene, having killed one of his foes and leaving the second for another day.
SeptStar jolted so hard that Hadi was thrown against his restraints. There would be exquisite bruising tomorrow.
He started to speak and someone drove a white-hot dagger directly into his mind.
Hadi could only scream mindlessly as someone died.
Forty-Seven
“Cut SeptStar off,” Ife ordered Obioma as Daniel’s courier came around hard and started pushing her engines.
She could see what that pilot was doing. Better, SeptStar had two choices now. He could try for the same maneuver in a much more fragile ship, with her bearing down fast and all her guns ready to hammer him, or he could declare failure and just accelerate, allowing Daniel and SeekerStar both to escape.
“Ram Cannons ranging now,” Ngozi called. “Locked and firing.”
That first hit jarred SeptStar far worse than any of the others. Ngozi had finally developed the feel for firing in motion. Ife could see the need to practice under more realistic combat situations in the future, especially if the Sept had just gone from an occasional pain in the ass to stalking them in the high grass for an ambush.
