by Dean Henegar
“Commodore, we have arrived at the jump point. Shall I proceed to G1322?” Captain Guzman asked, using the reference number the gnomes had used to mark the system on their star charts.
“Go to general quarters and proceed into the system, Captain,” Slater ordered. There were more improvements to be made, but he couldn’t wait around forever for them. They were going to need more salvage sooner rather than later, as well as a bit of payback.
The crew rushed to their stations as Slater finished up the last of the MOBS he wanted ready for any possible conflict. He went with mostly the reaper drones for his frontline forces but still printed up a squad of gnomes and a batch of the new rats. One of the compartments on the upper deck had been converted to look exactly like the bridge of the mothership they had taken out. The gnomes would play the role of bridge crew if any of the inhabitants of the new system took interest in them.
“Transition complete. No contacts near the jump point. Welcome to system G1322. Sensors, remain passive but get us an idea of what’s out there,” the captain ordered.
Slater agreed with keeping their stealth up for as long as possible. Banging out active sensor pulses was a sure way to attract attention. They kept their speed low to hide the flare from their engines as they crept deeper into the system. It took time, but eventually, they had a pretty good picture of what was out there.
Motherships flitted about the system, coming and going from three jump points. He had also spotted the first—and closest—gnomish space station. This one was located just outside a large asteroid and was close to the jump point they had just used—only a few hours of thrust away. Farther in the system, he could see each of the three desolate worlds as well as the three gnomish stations orbiting each of them. These were larger stations that could dock anywhere from six to ten motherships. Slater didn’t know why each world had only three stations. Perhaps that was the most that could get along with each other in the proximity of orbit.
The largest station by far could support twelve motherships, and it was attached to an asteroid near one of the other jump points that led deeper into gnomish space. The final station was located at the fringe of the system and was anchored to an asteroid near the final jump point. Neither the gnomes nor the dwarves had any information on where that jump point led, but the charts did show that the station anchored near there contained the gnomish clan that was most likely to have human slaves.
First things first, to even begin thinking about taking on one of the larger stations, he would need much more mass. The closest station would provide that mass, and thankfully, both of its two docking ports were empty. The Franklin’s camo now happened to look just like the mothership they had recently destroyed—a ship that the station was probably expecting to arrive. Slater didn’t want to keep them waiting and had the captain set a course.
— 19 —
“Clanmaster Keeblhar, we have a ship on the scope. Looks like Fitzfazzle is returning,” the gnome at the scanner station told him.
Keeblhar sighed in annoyance. Leave it to that loser Fitzfazzle to show up at the end of his shift. It was just the type of petty thing she would do to annoy him; he would have to stay at his duties until his ship was docked. Keeblhar was well aware that Fitzfazzle had designs on the red hat of leadership for the entire clan. Why couldn’t the foolhardy gnome just be content with ruling aboard her mothership? From the spies she had placed on her crew, he knew that Fitzfazzle had already taken the title of clan leader when they were away from the station. The clan might have experienced some financial troubles and were down to only two operational motherships, but Keeblhar was confident that his people would rise once more in the gnomish hierarchy.
“Comms, open a hailing frequency. Hopefully Fitzfazzle has been successful in her time away,” Keeblhar ordered.
It took longer than it should have for Fitzfazzle to reply. Undoubtedly it was another subtle insult and a further challenge to his authority over the clan.
“Placing on screen, Clanmaster,” comms responded, and the image resolved. Keeblhar looked on in shock as the bridge of Fitzfazzle’s mothership was revealed and he saw her sitting in the captain’s chair. She was wearing the . . . red . . . hat . . . of . . . command!
“How dare you, Fitzfazzle! You have gone too far. This is an act of outright rebellion. You will approach with shields down and surrender yourself immediately. You will face the clan’s judgment for your actions,” Keeblhar replied, cutting off the connection. He fumed as he looked around the command bridge of the station, seeing the shock on the faces of his crew. To subtly undermine a superior in a bid to get them to abdicate leadership was one thing; to blatantly wear the red hat of command in front of Clanmaster Keeblhar was quite another.
“Raise shields and power weapons. Let this upstart Fitzfazzle know we mean business. Gather the defenders and have them take Fitzfazzle into custody, along with her officers. Lethal force is authorized and encouraged against these mutineers if they offer any resistance,” Keeblhar ordered.
The mothership didn’t try to reply to his commands and continued on its present course. Good, Fitzfazzle is smart enough not to argue the point, Keeblhar thought. The ship continued its approach, moving faster than normal docking procedures dictated.
“Clanmaster, they haven’t lowered their shields and I’m picking up strange readings that look almost like a weapon’s power signature,” the gnome on sensors advised.
“What does she think she is doing? Are the raiders attached to her hull arming their lasers?” Keeblhar asked, confused, as the mothership wasn’t armed. If Fitzfazzle intended to attack, she would have launched her raiders. To attack the clan station was suicide. Granted, Keeblhar’s clan was poor, but he had more than enough firepower to destroy a small mothership and her six outdated raiders.
“Missiles inbound! Four missiles locked and tracking toward the station!” the gnome manning scanners shouted. The rest of the crew began muttering in disbelief.
“Quiet down. You all know what to do. Activate point-defense lasers. Weapons free. Try to disable that mothership without destroying it,” Keeblhar ordered. He couldn’t afford to destroy one of the only two motherships in his clan’s possession. His other ship—commanded by his loyal son—was also scheduled to arrive today. Hopefully his son had run a successful mission and would bring back enough loot to enable them to repair any damage he was about to inflict on Fitzfazzle’s ship.
“Power up point defenses at full. Main batteries at fifty percent. We want that mothership back in one piece. How are our shields?” Keeblhar ordered, knowing their old shield generators took some time to spool up to maximum power.
“Shields are at sixty-two percent and climbing. Point defense has taken down two missiles. They’re getting close, sir,” the gnome stationed at weapons replied.
Keeblhar took a moment to decide what to do. Gnomish ships didn’t use missiles. Had Fitzfazzle bought them from one of the other races?
“Main batteries firing. We have six that can come to bear,” the gnome on weapons added.
“Very good—” Keeblhar’s orders were interrupted when the station shook from the impact of one of the missiles. The point defenses had taken down another just before impact.
“Shields holding at thirty-eight percent. Main batteries are returning fire. Enemy shields are still up.” Just when the tech finished telling Keeblhar about the strength of the shields, they dropped to five percent and red damage indicators started to display on his station’s status screen.
“Some kind of kinetic projectile took down the last of the shield charge, sir. We have hull breaches in sections three and seven. Looks like they were targeting our shield generators and comm array,” the tech manning the damage-control monitor added. Somehow, Fitzfazzle had not only armed her mothership but had added tech not normally seen among the gnomish clans.
“This confirms it. Fitzfazzle is a traitor. Bring down her shields. Disable that vessel!” Keeblhar commanded.
&nb
sp; The six laser batteries that could come to bear on the approaching mothership fired as fast as their capacitors allowed, one short blast every five to ten seconds. Keeblhar wished he had spent the resources to install better defenses, but with his clan’s financial state, there was little in the budget for upgrading the defenses on the station. This would be the first attack on one of the stations in this system that he could remember. Of course, when one clan attacked another, it never advertised the attack and instead just announced that there had been a change in management.
“Enemy shields are down. We’re trying to target their weapons, but their ship is hard to see, almost like there is some kind of jamming going on,” the gunnery gnome announced.
The mothership’s shields might have been down, but its fire didn’t abate much, even when Keeblhar’s lasers began to slam into its hull. Three of his laser batteries had been taken out of action by Fitzfazzle’s ship and its mysterious array of weaponry. As he watched, a laser lashed out against the station, hitting one of the point-defense batteries located near docking port one. It was time to take off the gloves if he wanted to stop the rebel mothership.
“Go full power on all main batteries. Rotate the station to bring the undamaged weapons to bear,” Keeblhar ordered as another of his laser cannons was taken down. Even with rotating the station, he wouldn’t have a full broadside of all his lasers; several of the weapons on the station were down for maintenance. The best he could do, for now, was four batteries that could hit the enemy, and one of those was iffy on whether it would function after more than a few blasts. Even under his continuous fire, the mothership maintained its course toward hatch one, only now beginning its deceleration to match the station’s orbit.
“Looks like they want to board us. Get the reserves activated and in position to repel boarders. If she thinks that the forces she has on her little mothership can match our defenders, she has truly lost her mind,” Keeblhar said confidently. A mothership could pack a sizeable number of warriors to board other vessels, but the station itself carried far more.
The station was shaped like a large cylinder with a boarding hatch on either end to handle the two ships of Keeblhar’s fleet. It was a massive structure, even if it was among the smallest of its type. His clan was only a small one, but the station still had to be big enough to hold all of them, including dependents. Sure, some gnomes still lived on the two habitable worlds that existed in gnomish space, but the majority of their race lived on the clan stations, as it had been for countless generations.
“Hull breaches in sections forty-four, thirty-eight, twenty-seven, and fifty-two. Repair teams dispatched. Commander Fizzle reports his troops are setting up defenses against boarders and the reserves are gathering at the armories to be issued weapons. Long-range comm array is destroyed,” one of the techs advised.
Keeblhar nodded in acknowledgment as he scanned the damaged sections. One of the hits had taken out a backup reactor, which the work crews had thankfully shut down in time to prevent a larger disaster. Other hits affected portions of the hull near the laser cannons, likely shots that Fitzfazzle had missed in her attempt to take out his defenses. Not all the shots had missed, and Keeblhar was alarmed to see only two weapons firing on the mothership, which was even now closing in on its final approach to board.
“All hands, prepare to repel boarders,” Keeblhar announced over the main station address system. The batteries on Fitzfazzle’s ship stopped firing as it made its approach. He wasn’t sure how the mothership was holding together with the beating he had inflicted on it, but the damage must have decimated her complement of boarders. The strange jamming his crew had reported prevented him from getting a good visual of the ship, leaving him unable to see how much damage he had inflicted and how much he was going to have to shell out for repairs. Watching the readiness indicators, Keeblhar saw that nearly all of Fizzle’s defenders were in place, and the first of the reserves were beginning to trickle in.
“Fizzle, once they pop the hatch, cut down any attackers, then take the ship as quickly as possible. She can’t have too many boarders left after the beating our guns gave her,” Keeblhar said.
“Aye, aye, Clanmaster. We’ll take them—” Keeblhar watched Fizzle’s head explode like a melon as the connection cut out. Pulling up the surveillance vid, Keeblhar watched as dozens of his defenders were shredded and small holes were punched through the exterior of the station near boarding hatch one.
“Fitzfazzle’s vessel has fired some kind of small-caliber, rapid-fire kinetic weapon, Clanmaster. Our troops are taking heavy losses. Wait, the fire’s stopped and the ship is docking. We’re losing atmosphere in several compartments. Damage control has been notified.”
Flipping through the various vid feeds, Keeblhar found a working camera that covered docking hatch one. The sound of a ship clanking into place was heard, and the hatch spun open. Once it was open, instead of a batch of boarders appearing to take advantage of his weakened and disoriented defenders, a swarm of bilge rats rushed through the hatch and began to scurry about the ship.
“What is going on here? Is her ship infested with vermin?” Keeblhar said, thoroughly confused at the spectacle. Thankfully, most of the defenders at the hatch itself were still unharmed; it looked like Fitzfazzle wasn’t willing to risk damaging the actual boarding hatch with whatever fiendish weapon she had used on the areas around it.
The first of the rats ran past the entryway, heading deeper into the ship. He would need to have the beasts hunted down after the battle to keep them from becoming too much of a nuisance.
As he watched, the last few rats ran up to the defenders at the barricade covering the boarding hatch and . . . exploded? He couldn’t believe his eyes, the strong force of defenders waiting to repel Fitzfazzle’s forces had been blasted to bits. Only a half dozen of his gnomes at the hatch were still alive as the rats began to make their way over to and detonate among other large clusters of his defenders positioned deeper in the station.
“The rats are explosive. Kill them before they get near you!” he shouted on the ship-wide comm. Many of his forces didn’t realize what was going on and were too slow to react, while others shot down the rats before they could get too close to do any damage. By the time the last of the vermin were killed, his forces had taken another forty casualties. Between the defenders killed by the kinetic weapon and the ones killed by the rats, he was down over 140 crew. Still, the clan had over five hundred defenders, and another two hundred or so reserves were even now being mustered.
“Clanmaster, your son is reporting that he is inbound with our second mothership,” the crew member at the comms stations announced.
“Hail him and put me through,” he ordered. In moments, the image of his son, A Keeblhar, appeared. The Clanmaster had gone with the traditional gnomish method of naming his progeny: the first born took the family name and a forename that was listed alphabetically. His first born, A, would eventually take over as leader of the family when Keeblhar died, and his forename would be dropped as he took up the mantle as Keeblhar.
“Father, what is going on over there?” A asked.
“Fitzfazzle has gone rogue and is attempting to take over the clan. Get here as fast as you can and help with our defense,” Keeblhar ordered.
“Yes, Father, I’ll send the raiders over now to reinforce you with my boarding parties. We’ve had a successful run but are down two raider vessels and the boarding parties have taken some casualties during our time away,” A replied.
“Very well. Try to board Fitzfazzle’s mothership directly as we attack from the station. We need that ship intact. This foolish rebellion has already cost us too much and I don’t want to add the cost of a replacement mothership to our bill,” Keeblhar said. Unless Fitzfazzle’s ship had some valuable loot on it, the clan was likely bankrupt. If the ship was destroyed, his odds went from likely bankrupt to definitely bankrupt.
“I will do so, Father. You can count on me,” his son replied. He had always b
een the best of his children. If only B through H had proven as competent, then he wouldn’t have been forced to give command of the second mothership to Fitzfazzle.
Movement at the boarding hatch drew his attention. Strange mechanical units were stepping onto the station. The automatons had four metal legs and looked like spiders, yet they were taller than a gnome. Their purpose became very evident as a large projectile weapon mounted on the side of the bots began to boom accurate fire into the few defenders remaining at the hatchway. After the explosive rats had done their damage, his troops were caught off guard and were only able to put up a token resistance. The other “arm” of the bot didn’t have a weapon but instead carried a large rectangular shield the mechanized terror used to protect most of its body.
Laser blasts from his defenders melted divots in the shield but couldn’t punch through. In a matter of moments, the bots had carved through his first line of defense and were pushing farther into the station. To make matters worse, a squad of hulking orcs followed in after the last of the drones had boarded.
“So she thinks that cobbling together a few drones and hiring orc mercenaries will win the day. Fitzfazzle is going to find that between me and my son, she is sorely outmatched,” Keeblhar said confidently for the benefit of the bridge crew, watching the battle for the station play out on his screen.
— 20 —
“Sir, we have separation on the mothership. Four raiders designated R1 to R4 are inbound. Designating mothership as contact M1,” the crewman on sensors said. Slater pulled his attention from the surprisingly successful boarding action to the threats incoming from space. “Short-range comms are transmitting between M1 and the station. We’ve taken out the station’s long-range unit, but the short-range ones are too small to target.”
