by Mia R Kleve
Commander Dyrkayl scowled and drummed her fingertips on her console. “Close for boarding; send everyone.”
Lieutenant Klirr, their weapons officer, cocked her head curiously. “Everyone?”
“Everyone.” Dyrkayl hissed.
* * *
“Well, that escalated quickly,” Rylak said. “The Kryvayla just closed the remaining distance between it and the Herald of Blades and the MinSha are punching out electromagnetic grapples. I suspect the boarding goes poorly.”
“And no indication they’ve picked us up; excellent. Give them another ten minutes to get fully involved, Meekos, and then pull us alongside the Kryvayla. On your toes, Klovelo. If they show any signs of launching, don’t wait for instructions, just deal with it.”
The little Veetanho turned her gaze back to her displays, ready to pounce if the MinSha launched missiles.
“Can you expand on ‘pull us alongside’?” Rylak asked.
“That’s our prey they’ve stolen and our crewmember onboard.” Drake scowled a broad, toothy frown. “We’re going to see how much they like it when it happens to them.”
* * *
“All packmasters from Grym, sitrep!”
Donnell, Vanneck, and Eetria updated their status, but Ruxandra ignored them; she was busy. She squeezed Bran’s shoulder, hard, so he could feel it through his shipsuit, and the first in their stack lobbed a frag grenade through the hatch. The grenade detonated and hot fragments zinged back out the hatch at them. Bran had the good sense to wait a second longer, in case of ricochets, then pushed off, planting on the open doorway itself and diving into the room at full speed. Ruxandra did likewise but launched perpendicular to Bran so they covered both corners of the compartment. Yet another MinSha was just emerging from behind the workbench, where it had ridden out the grenade, and blue globules of alien blood drifted lazily through the vacuum from her injured partner.
Ruxandra opened fire while still soaring through the open compartment, but lacking gravity and a stable platform she only got three rounds on target before the recoil spun her around. The MinSha, however, was anchored to the floor and shrugged off the slow, heavy, ship-safe slugs. It raised its chemical laser and concentrated on the doorway where Packmaster Karin was just emerging. The packmaster shrieked soundlessly and recoiled, clutching her arm. The reaction sent her spinning crazily through the compartment, splashing the bulkheads with red blood of her own, but the longer the MinSha was distracted by her, the more rounds the rest of the pack could put on target. Xandra reached the corner and planted her magboots securely. She leaned into her carbine and dumped a burst into the warrior’s head. From the opposite corner, Bran did likewise, and the MinSha’s helmet shattered. More blood sprayed, and Xandra fired the last of her magazine into the wounded survivor.
Bran released his carbine on its sling and jumped for Karin. He caught her gently, and their momentum carried them to the ceiling, where he locked his boots in place. The laser carbine had ruined her right forearm just above the wrist, and partially cauterized meat was all that remained. Bran immediately grabbed the shipsuit’s built-in tourniquet below her elbow and reefed on it, hard.
“This is going to suck,” he said over the pack’s open comm channel.
Karin’s face was twisted in agony, but she ground out, “I know.” She scrunched her eyes shut, and Bran pulled on the tie fitted just below the tourniquet; it sliced through fur, meat, and bone to cleanly amputate the remnants of the limb. He pulled the wreckage of her arm away, and sealed the shipsuit against the stump to preserve oxygen and keep her from freezing in the icy cold of space.
Xandra became aware that Captain Grymalkynn was requesting a status update again, and she activated her comm. “Karin is combat ineffective, but not out. We’re at frame thirteen, but the damn bugs keep bumping us, slowing us down.”
“Keep…gah, keep moving.” Grymalkynn sounded out of breath. “They’ve practically emptied their ship to keep the pressure on. Maintain regular check-ins. If no one answers—you know what to do.”
“Aye, Captain.”
An indicator light on her pinplants’ visual display illuminated. Very, very few Pushtal could afford pinplants, which was why everyone was using suit communicators, but when that light caught her attention, she had to pause for just a moment to be sure it was real.
“Tell me you have good news,” she said over her internal system. “Tell me you’re on board.”
“This is a good-news, bad-news kinda thing,” Drake responded. “The bad news is, you guys are going to have to fight the MinSha for a little while yet. The good news is, if our plan works, they’ll be out of your fur and gone really soon.”
“If?”
“Well, yeah. We’re going to hijack the MinSha ship and demand they retreat, or they all die when you blow the Herald to hell.” He didn’t sound terribly thrilled with the plan and knew how it must have sounded to her.
“That’s your plan?” she shouted. Bran looked at her strangely—her angry face was clearly visible through her helmet, but who she was shouting at, or what she was saying, he didn’t know. She clamped down hard and regained her composure. “Pardon. That’s your plan? The Kryvayla out-masses us five to one!”
“You’re going to have to find a way to hold out,” Drake replied. “The Kryvayla jumping you blew plans A through G out the airlock. Do you remember back when Hr’ent got Meerawn in that sleeper hold and threatened to knock him out, over and over, until he’d listen to sense?”
“I do,” Xandra replied cautiously. Bran pointed impatiently at the door, but she shook her head and gestured for him to wait.
“Rylak’s cooked up something that’ll act like that sleeper hold; we just have to get onboard. Meekos will have us there in another two minutes.”
“I’m not sure we’ve got two minutes,” Ruxandra spat.
“Do what you must; we’re on our way,” Drake replied and cut the link.
“Who was that?” Bran demanded. “It wasn’t on any of our internal channels.”
“Help,” Xandra replied. “I hope. Let’s keep moving. Either it’ll matter, or it won’t.”
* * *
Hard Gs slammed the crew of the Blythe against their restraint harnesses, but the armor they wore spread some of the pressure from the straps, reducing the pain. Meekos deftly eased up on the retros at the very last second, allowing them to settle back comfortably into their seats. They threw their restraints free and Drake, Rylak, and Klovelo bounded for the airlock in the belly of their heavily stealthed cutter, while Meekos activated their electromagnetic locks.
The Blythe III was several generations newer than the ship they’d used to get around a decade earlier. The new ship had foregone the interface gunbird shuttle and instead packed in electronic countermeasures, passive and active stealth systems, and a more robust power plant to run it all. It wasn’t much larger than the Herald and was positively dwarfed by the Kryvayla. As Humans said, it wasn’t the size of the dog in the fight that mattered; it was the size of the fight in the dog. At least, that’s what Meekos claimed, and when their Cochkala pilot showed them an image of what a Terran dog looked like, Rylak immediately had that quote etched onto a brass plaque and mounted above his work station.
The trio, armored up and ready for vacuum operations, opened the hatch and climbed down onto the outer hull of the MinSha ship. Klovelo placed a tether, touched an electric charge pack to the cold-weld glue to secure it, and laid out a wedge of chromium thermite bulkhead cutting tape. It was slightly less spectacular than regular thermite, but it was also less likely to shower them with suit-melting sparks. He ignited the tape, which glowed brightly and began melting its way through the hull plating. Drake hauled on the tether cable, prying the wedge free along the molten edges, like cracking a massive tin can. Air from the compartment flashed out under pressure, and then Rylak was down through the hastily cut access, leading with his laser carbine.
Drake followed, and Klovelo entered last. The MinSha ligh
ting onboard was set to a slightly different spectrum, and it left Drake unsettled on the alien craft. The compartment within appeared to be some kind of barracks for the much-larger MinSha, their beds a strange contraption that didn’t look the slightest bit comfortable. Airtight hatches prevented the entire ship from decompressing, and Drake had to shoulder the hatch hard to force it open, given the pressure differentials. Once they were through and the hatch slammed shut again, they were back in atmo, but they kept their helmets on nonetheless.
Unlike the Blythe, the frigate’s command center was deep in the center of the ship, and it was going to take some time to find their way there.
* * *
“Dyrkayl! By entropy, where are you, you fool?” Captain Blirr roared from her too-empty bridge. She was about to repeat her demand when her XO replied.
“We are pressing the fight against the pirates, Captain! We are gaining ground, but slowly.”
“You’re on their ship? Where are my crew?”
“Most are here, supplementing our warriors. The Pushtal are tenacious and will not surrender. Their numbers have made—there! Push, now!” the XO interrupted herself, and Captain Blirr cursed inwardly.
“Of course they are, what would you do if given a choice between fighting or execution? Get back here! We have intruders on the ship!”
“What? That’s impossible. We have the Pushtal contained!”
Blirr’s attention was drawn away from the comms console to the hatch to her right. The access irised open, and a trio of armored forms glided in, guns up. Blirr slowly raised her hands and the shortest of the trio swam closer as the larger two covered her. The smallest form, likely a Veetanho judging from the shape of the helmet and her height, handed Blirr a translation pendant and relieved her of her sidearm.
“Can you understand me?” the tallest, asked. He was either an enormous Zuul, or a Besquith, but his face was hidden behind the armored shell of his helmet.
“I understand you,” Blirr replied. Dyrkayl will pay for this.
“Good.” The Veetanho returned to the bridge’s primary access and covered the approach while the third, also likely a Zuul, swam to a console, plugged in a small handheld device, and began punching in commands. The tallest lowered his carbine—slightly—and swam closer. “Judging from the rank etched onto your chitin, would you be the captain of this fine vessel?”
“I am, Pirate,” Blirr spat, and the Besquith laughed.
“Nothing of the sort, but right now you’re fucking with plans above your paygrade, so if you could go ahead and recall them, we’ll deal with your pirate problem ourselves and be on our way.”
Blirr was astounded by the Besquith’s audacity and took a moment to gather her composure.
“And if we do not?”
“Then I kill you and see if your next-in-command is more cooperative. Violence speaks louder than words, after all. If that fails, the Pushtal will overload their power plant and detonate their ship. You and your crew and your ship and the pirates all die. We don’t, because we have our own ride and will be out of the danger zone before the Herald goes critical.”
“They wouldn’t,” Blirr retorted, and the Besquith laughed again.
“Of course they would! They believe in that whole ‘Vorrha’ afterlife thing, where all the warriors gather to swap war stories while they’re waited upon by those they killed in battle. For a small crew of captured pirates to take out an entire MinSha frigate? Absolutely, they would. Under other circumstances, I’d be surprised they haven’t blown the ship already. Now quit stalling and recall your troops. Get everyone back on board, but no one comes onto the bridge until we’re away and gone.”
Blirr cursed Dyrkayl and her entire family line. If she hadn’t been so rash, there would have been a security element aboard the ship. She cursed the illness that had kept herself confined to quarters while her digestive tract sorted itself out. She cursed the Pushtal, and she cursed the Besquith, who stood in front of her. But Captain Blirr had no death wish, and given the state her idiot XO had left the ship in, she had zero chance of defeating this trio hand-to-hand, unarmed.
* * *
“Commander Dyrkayl, from Blirr. Are you there, Dyrkayl?”
“Yes, Captain. You said something about pirates aboard the Kryvayla?”
“Listen to me very carefully, Commander. I am on the bridge of the Kryvayla, and I have been captured. My captors demand you and my crew return to the ship, at which point I will be released; the pirates’ lives for ours. Make it happen, XO. I’m not keen to die this day.”
Dyrkayl stared at her communicator and turned to Klirr, who’d taken over for Assault Commander Ricktt when she’d developed a terminal case of decapitation.
“Fall back,” Dyrkayl ordered. “Everyone, back to the Kryvayla, now.”
“But we almost have them!” Klirr protested, and Dyrkayl cuffed the weapons officer on the back of her helmet. “Do not tell the troops, but Captain Blirr has been captured! The pirates somehow snuck their own people on board!”
“What?” Klirr was stunned. “Captured?”
“Yes, now do as I’ve ordered and fall back.”
Klirr turned away and began issuing orders to the assault team leaders. They had advanced deep into the Pushtal ship and rounding up everyone in the zero-atmo, zero-G maze of an alien ship was going to be a non-trivial exercise.
* * *
“They’re falling back!” Eetria cried over her communicator. “Press them! No mercy!”
Xandra activated her pinplants and pinged Drake. Bran was looking at her curiously again, but she waved him away.
“The MinSha are retreating. I suppose this is your doing?”
“Good to know. Apparently, capturing their ship’s captain got their attention. Let them flee,” Drake instructed her. “We’ll be along shortly, but we won’t leave the captain until you guys are secure.”
“You recall, I’m the ‘communications officer,’ and not their packmaster?” Xandra complained. “I’m going to have trouble convincing the crew to let these murderous scumbags go.”
“Pretend your life depends on it,” Drake replied with an edge to his voice. “You can be persuasive.”
* * *
“Grymalkynn, from Xandra.”
“Go for Grym,” Vanneck replied.
“No screwing around with me, Vanneck, get the Captain on the line, do it now.”
“Yeah, we’re a bit busy up here, Xandra, we have the MinSha on the run and we’re pressing them back.”
“No, you don’t. They’re pulling back because friendlies captured their captain. Put Grym on the line so I can explain.”
Vanneck frowned. That didn’t make sense at all; they didn’t have any friendlies in-system, and he would have heard any comms traffic if another Pushtal ship happened to come by, and the odds of that happening were virtually nil. He tapped Captain Grymalkynn on the shoulder and warned him he’d have incoming comms, then Vanneck cut himself out of the channel intercept.
“This is Grym, go.”
“Let the MinSha fall back, Captain. It’s complicated, but friends have captured their captain, still on the ship. They’re exchanging her life for ours.”
“You’d best start explaining yourself right now, Xandra.”
There was a pause, and Grymalkynn brought Vanneck, Eetria, and the other Pack commanders in on the same comms loop. Then Ruxandra’s voice returned.
“No time, sir, but I will after. If you kill all the MinSha on board, they will cast off and just blast us out of the stars. You have to let them go because the friendlies have a way to ensure they don’t just stand off and blast us. It will only work if you let them retreat.”
“And who, exactly, are these friendlies who somehow managed to sneak aboard a MinSha frigate and capture their commanding officer?”
“They’re a team of bounty hunters from the Peacemaker Guild. My bounty hunter team.”
Vanneck, Eetria, and the others all began talking over each other, but
Grym’s command suit had priority override, and he stomped on the conflicting messages and muted them all. Grym looked at his casualty tracker and was furious to see nearly two-thirds of his troops were greyed out or blinking to indicate wounded status. He felt his fur bristle, despite the vacuum suit, and he reopened his channel to his “communications officer.”
“Very well, Xandra. But I’ll kill you myself if this is some elaborate scam.”
“I understand, sir, and no, not a scam. Let the MinSha go. I, and my team, will explain all.”
* * *
“Looks like that’s all of ‘em,” Rylak said. His systems worm allowed him to access most of the ship’s internal systems. Like most shipboard systems, they were hardened against outside intrusion, but having physical access meant hacking in was far easier. He pulled up a holo of the crew status, and it showed everyone not dead was back on board.
“Good. Activate—what the hell did Meekos call it? Bucking bronco?”
“Some ridiculous Human thing, as usual,” Rylak turned back to his console, and Drake turned back to the captain.
“All right, here’s how this is going to work. My associate is releasing your EM-grapnels and retracting the boarding tube. We’ll be leaving the way we came. You’ve got a barracks compartment open to vacuum, by the way—and you’ll want to repair that—and then you’re going to lose control of your ship for a bit. Nothing outrageous, but you’re going to be locked out of your system for as long as it takes to burn to the emergence point and then loop around back toward Antaro Five. It’s all set in your autopilot and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“You bastard,” Blirr cursed. “You didn’t say anything about hijacking the ship!”
“You didn’t ask. And don’t give me that righteous indignation; it would have been a piece of cake to program your precious ship to go for a sun dive instead. Are we ready?”
