Starship Blackbeard

by Michael Wallace

  Malthorne returned a few minutes later, seemingly calmer. He took his seat and relit the pipe, which had gone out in his absence.

  “Excuse me,” he said, with no further explanation for his behavior. “Tell me, where has your old friend gone now?”

  “Drake?” Rutherford said. “Assuming he doesn’t intend to surrender or abandon his ship and hide—and I see no evidence that he will do either of those things—then he has got to set about repairing his ship. And I imagine Drake will see to it that his Hroom pilot gets off the sugar.”

  “Once an eater, always an eater,” Malthorne said.

  “Perhaps. I’ve seen them detoxed. In any event, I have to think that Drake will go to heroic efforts. He risked his life for a reason.”

  “He has managed to jump about without his pilot so far.”

  “I looked into that,” Rutherford said. “It seems that one of the liberated prisoners was a former merchant pilot—a certain Corporal Capp. Maybe Drake used her to get to the Barsa system. But her abilities would be limited. Drake needs Nyb Pim back in the chair.”

  “Supposing he manages to detox the Hroom. What then? Where is the best place for a renegade to get repairs?”

  “The Gryphon Shoals, maybe.” Rutherford shook his head as he gave it additional thought. “No, not for Ajax. The yards would be wholly inadequate. They’d need something big. A naval yard. Something in Ladino or New Dutch space. Or one of the Hroom worlds. Of course he’d need money, too.”

  “Money. Yes, that is a good point.”

  “I’d say Ladino. Maybe Argentina or San Pablo. Peruano also has decent yards. The governor there would probably turn a blind eye to a renegade Albion ship.”

  “Then I’ll send Vigilant at the head of a task force,” Malthorne said. “Let’s say I give you Richmond and Nimitz. Calypso, too. Plus a few destroyers and torpedo ships. Enough that you can divide your forces as needed and still have the firepower to handle Ajax.”

  It wasn’t firepower that concerned Rutherford, it was command. These ships the admiral mentioned were captained by overly cautious men and women, not the type to outwit James Drake. He’d have rather named his own task force, with superior command. But these ships were the ones Malthorne would have chosen had he been venturing out with the mighty Dreadnought. Commanded by those who were loyal to the admiral.

  Malthorne fixed him with a penetrating gaze. “Is there a problem?”

  “No, Lord Admiral. That should be sufficient.”

  He wanted to ask about the strange reaction over the slaver wreckage, or why Malthorne had ordered Vigilant brought planetside. After consideration, he decided not to press.

  “Very well. You have your orders.”

  #

  It was early evening when the naval police drove Rutherford off the Malthorne estate. When they were passing through the estate village, the lorry slowed to wait for a group of laborers trudging across the road behind a large tractor. The tractor itself was driven by a human, but curiously, the workers were all Hroom, tall and slender.

  Hroom were a tropical people and wore jackets against the chill autumn air. As the lorry drove past, a Hroom with a pack and chemical sprayer met Rutherford’s gaze through the window. The worker’s face was a pale pink, his eyes glazed. An eater, a slave.

  Rutherford turned away, frowning and unsettled.

  It was not illegal to bring slaves to Albion, although Rutherford had heard grumbles that the Hroom were upsetting the long-established relationship between the land-owning class and free labor, at least in the countryside.

  He was sure his father would never do such a thing, or any of the landowners of Canada. They were a conservative, almost reactionary people in the Western Hemisphere, especially in the higher classes. And while he didn’t agree with his father’s views on many things, in this case, he wondered if the Baron Rutherford might not be correct.

  Not that the captain was afraid of Hroom. He’d had them in his crew, and they were intelligent and diligent so long as you kept them from sugar. Even eaters didn’t bother him. In larger numbers, empire Hroom with fleets and firearms might be a threat, but not eaters. So long as the sugar kept coming, they were as docile as hunting hounds.

  His thoughts turned again to Drake’s pilot and the destroyed slave ship itself. So much fuss over so little. He couldn’t see the point of it.

  Soon they arrived at the military spaceport. Vigilant sat on the tarmac, a long, hungry, wolf-like form. It looked enormous from this vantage, surrounded by small support vehicles, with work crews going over the shields and men climbing inside the twenty-foot-high exhaust ports off the back engines.

  Inside the ship, unfamiliar men and women were moving about the corridors. He assumed at first that they were technicians and other workers giving the ship an interior tuneup to match what the navy crews were performing on the outside. It was only when he reached the bridge and saw unfamiliar faces in the pilot’s chair, at the tech officer’s console, and even in the signal officer’s chair that he reconsidered. What the blazes?

  Commander Pittsfield was still there, thank God. He was scowling, his arms crossed. His gaze met Rutherford’s and he shook his head.

  Rutherford now understood why Malthorne had ordered him to land at the spaceport. And why he’d been summoned personally to the lord admiral’s estate. That way he hadn’t been around to complain while they replaced most of his crew.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Drake kept the view tight so the pirate captain couldn’t see his bridge. No sense letting the other man spot the empty chairs. He sat sprawled casually, as if this sort of business were typical. Jane whispered information about Captain Kidd in his ear.

  The man appearing on the other side looked the part. He had long, braided hair, turning gray at the temples. A scar curved around his left eye. A long, aquiline nose dominated his face, which was adorned with gold hoops in his ears and gold beads on the drooping ends of his mustache, which draped over a braided beard.

  An attractive young woman stood at the shoulder of the pirate captain, staring through the screen with a sharp gaze. She had dark hair in a bob, and she wore a tight jumpsuit with a red skull emblazoned across the chest. The jumpsuit was unzipped enough to show cleavage, and there was a ruby pendant the size of a bloody eyeball between her breasts. At first, Drake thought her the captain’s wife or mistress, but as she leaned in to whisper in the older man’s ear, he noted a similarity between them. His daughter, Drake thought.

  Another person passed through the view of the pirate bridge. This one was a Hroom, his skin the native mottled reddish orange. Not an eater.

  Jane spoke in Drake’s ear. “Captain Pete Vargus,” she said. “Illegitimate captain of the so-called Captain Kidd. Known felon, wanted dead or alive by the Royal Navy.”

  Was there something disapproving in her voice, or was that Drake’s imagination?

  “Captain Vargus,” Drake said with a smile, as if he’d known the name already. “The pirate who gave Richmond so much trouble. Seems your past has caught up with you.”

  “We’re no pirates,” the man said with a grunt. “We were in uncharted space when Richmond attacked us unprovoked. What do you want? An apology for damaging her while we fought for our lives? Very well, I am terribly sorry for any misunderstanding.”

  “What is your cargo?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Is it valuable? I’d hate to destroy it without knowing first what it is.”

  “Bring it on,” the other captain blustered. “I gave Richmond a whipping, and I’ll do the same to you. Put you down like a mad dog.”

  Drake smiled. “Doubtful. Have you heard of the Battle of Ypis III? This ship single-handedly forced the surrender of three Hroom sloops of war. I’m sure I could manage your rickety piece of rubbish with little trouble.”

  “Not today, you won’t. I can see your shields. You took a beating in some kind of fight. Probably out of ammo too, am I right? I’m no idiot—you’re try
ing to take me on pure swagger.”

  Drake’s thumb moved. “Barker, show our friends the crotalus battery.”

  The external viewscreen flared white. When it resolved focus again, two missiles streaked away from Ajax. They accelerated rapidly, but it would take time to overtake Captain Kidd at her current speed.

  “Three minutes to impact,” Jane said.

  “I can call them off,” Drake said. “Or I can fire more if this is not sufficient. I have plenty, as you’ll soon see.”

  As per Vargus’s sneering remark, some of this was, in fact, swagger, but not all of it. They’d done precious little shooting since the mutiny. The shields were in rough shape, but they had more than sufficient firepower.

  “My shields can take it,” Vargus said, though there was something else in his voice. Uncertainty, perhaps? “What do you want? You’re a fool if you think we’ll surrender. Those missiles hit, and I’ll give you one hell of a fight.”

  Drake leaned back in his chair, waiting.

  “Well?” Vargus demanded after several seconds. “What do you want?”

  “Money.”

  “Money?”

  “Twenty thousand pounds. You can pay it how you like. I’d prefer King Bartholomew’s frowning face on the coins, but I’ll take guilders or pesos. Even gold bullion, if that’s all you’ve got.”

  “Why, you . . . ” He sputtered. “This is robbery!”

  “Said the pirate to the highwayman.”

  “If you think I’m going to pay—”

  “Barker, fire two more missiles,” Drake said. Two more streaked out, joining the first. To the pirate captain, he said, “You know I can take you. I’m in position. If you try to come around at this distance, I’ll fire off my missiles to keep your shields up, then stand by to knock you apart with a broadside when you close. My own damaged shields will never be a factor.” Drake glanced at Commander Tolvern, who stood to one side chewing her lip. “My commander thinks I could take you with my chase gun alone. I’m tempted to try, if only for the sport.”

  Vargus cursed him.

  Jane’s voice spoke up again “One minute to impact. Expected shield damage twenty-seven percent.”

  “Now I’m no mathematician,” Drake said, “But after the second pair strikes, it seems that your shields will be at forty-six percent. Optimistically speaking.”

  “Stop! Disarm the missiles. I’ll pay.” Vargus waved his hand to the young woman, who had moved off to a computer at one side. “Cut power. Come to.”

  Tech Officer Smythe waved his hand, and Drake looked over to see the young man shaking his head and pointing to his console. Drake looked down at his own display to see what Smythe was sending over. It showed Captain Kidd still accelerating. What’s more, Vargus was bringing out some sort of weapon system. Capp started to say something, but Tolvern held out a hand to stop the other young woman before she could give the pirates information through the open channel.

  “You’re lying,” Drake started to tell the other captain. Then all systems suffered a hitch, and everything turned black. Everything was offline for two long seconds, then the systems began to recover. When the lights came back up, lights and alarms were flashing everywhere. Captain Kidd had disappeared from the screen.

  Captain Kidd had hit them with what the navy called a flash-bang. It was a huge electromagnetic pulse, often with a neutron burst. Shields caught most of it, but as it washed over the hull, it forced backup systems online while everything resolved itself. Smythe worked furiously to regain control, while Tolvern shouted back and forth with Barker.

  “Missile impact in . . . ” Jane began. “Recalculating. Recalculating.”

  She was recalculating because the second pair of missiles were squirting in random directions, like balloons inflated and then sent shooting off with a hiss of air and corkscrew flights. There wasn’t going to be an impact to calculate.

  “What about the first salvo?” Drake asked.

  “One of the missiles hit, sir,” Tolvern said. “Minimal damage. The other is gone—hard to say what happened. There she is!”

  She, in this case, was Captain Kidd, now appearing on the screen. Vargus had turned her around, and she was coming up at Ajax’s belly, where shields were weakest after Rutherford’s attack.

  “Roll her over!” Drake said, sensing what the enemy ship intended. “Full barrage.”

  The pirate ship fired missiles at distance and torpedoes as she closed. Barker fired the Gatling guns, taking out the first missiles, then Tolvern rolled as Drake had ordered. There was something off with the anti-grav after the flash-bang attack, and he was first lifted in his seat and then slammed down as if by a lead fist, crushing the air from his lungs. He almost blacked out. Capp had fallen from her seat and now crawled shakily back up.

  The aft shields took the punishment of the torpedoes. Jane’s warning voice came on to tell him just how badly they’d been damaged, but he ignored her, ordering another roll, this time to present cannon.

  Captain Kidd executed its own rolling maneuver, and the two ships squared against each other like a pair of Old Earth sailing ships aiming their cannon, preparing to stand and trade blows at a few dozen yards. In this case, a few hundred miles, but the effect was the same.

  The enemy ship loomed in the viewscreen. A white skull lay atop two crossed sabers. It was the bloody Jolly Roger. Vargus. The cocky fool wasn’t hiding his piracy, he was reveling in it.

  Captain Kidd got the first shot, raking Ajax’s exposed side. But she only had three cannon. Ajax had eight heavy cannon. Barker took his time before firing. Explosions lit up alongside the Captain Kidd from stern to bow, blooming red and orange.

  The pirate ship fired again, then made to break free. Ajax launched another broadside. These projectiles hit the armored underbelly of the enemy ship, but as it spun away, bits of debris spiraled into space, broken out by explosive decompression of failing airlocks. They’d punched through the pirate ship’s armor.

  The pirate ship tried to flee, but Drake brought Ajax in behind to give pursuit. He felt his bloodlust rising, like an ancient Viking warrior locked deep in his DNA, now breaking free, grinning savagely. Ready to deliver the killing blow.

  No. That wasn’t his intent.

  “Hail Captain Kidd,” he said, intending to demand a surrender.

  “Enemy communication system offline,” Jane’s voice said.

  “We must have knocked it out,” Tolvern said.

  Drake called down to Barker. “The pirates can’t hear us. Fire a warning shot across her bow.” Then, to Tolvern. “We’ll force her to a halt and communicate via signal flares if she can’t come back online.”

  After a few seconds, another missile streaked from Ajax’s bays. It overtook Captain Kidd and flashed over her bow. The missile then doubled back and raced once more toward the pirate ship. It exploded harmlessly in front of the ship’s bow. Drake smiled at Barker’s freelancing. The implication was obvious.

  We can destroy you at any time.

  But the enemy didn’t seem to get the message.

  “They’re not slowing,” Tolvern said.

  “I see that. Jane, give me status of enemy shields.”

  “Estimating . . . starboard shield forty-three percent. Rear shield, ninety-two percent. Deck shield, ninety-eight percent. Port shield, 100 percent. Deck shield, one hundred percent. Confidence level of estimate . . . medium-high.”

  Captain Kidd had weathered the encounter better than expected. The exchange of broadsides had ripped her up pretty good, but Drake was disappointed in the damage caused by that initial missile strike. He needed something kinetic.

  “Barker,” he told the gunner. “Give me torpedo bays one and two. Now.”

  Two torpedoes left Ajax. They moved sluggishly at first and only gradually pulled away from the cruiser as they closed the distance to the rear of the enemy ship. On the viewscreen, they presented a similar profile to the missiles but were heavier, made of depleted uranium, with an explosiv
e first stage. At fifty miles, the noses of the torpedoes broke off, raced ahead, and detonated against the rear shields.

  While the shields were dealing with this, the main mass of the torpedoes slammed into Captain Kidd, one after the other. There was a double flash. When the viewscreen came back, the pirate ship was flaring plasma, no longer accelerating.

  “Jane. Enemy rear shields?” Drake demanded.

  “Estimating . . . ” Jane waited. “Estimating . . . recalculating.”

  She was having a hard time calculating through the secondary explosions rippling along the backside of the pirate ship. No time to wait. “Bring her along starboard. Present broadside."

  Capp worked the controls, with Tolvern giving orders to the gunners and engineers. They tried to come along the weakened side of the enemy ship, but the pirates rolled expertly away to present their stronger shields. The enemy got off a shot with one of her cannon as she rolled around again, and Ajax shuddered from the fire. Warnings flashed on his console.

  Jane finally came through. “Rear enemy shield at twelve percent.”

  “Take her back,” Drake ordered. “Chase gun at the engines. We’ll disable her from behind.”

  They rained metal on the enemy ship, trying to destroy what remained of the rear shields. Captain Kidd continued doggedly fighting back. They were clearly beaten; gasses were venting like streams of milky liquid into the vacuum. One of those torpedoes had penetrated the airlocks.

  “Blast you, Vargus,” Drake said. “Why won’t you surrender?”

  Smythe piped up from his computer. “Enemy engines are overheating. Seems to be purposeful. I think they’re readying a countermeasure.”

  “Watch it,” Capp said. “It’s another trick.”

  Yes, like the flash-bang. But Drake wasn’t going to sit still to find out what. Next time might be more lethal. He had the rear shields demolished; a couple of missiles up the tailpipe would vaporize the ship. But he still hoped to disable her.

  “Torpedo three and four,” he called down to Barker.

  Two more torpedoes blasted loose. They were so close that the initial detonations shuddered through the hull of Ajax as well. The uranium rods thrust deeply into Captain Kidd, their progress visible all along the hull, as flames jetted into space where they passed. One of them passed all the way through, hurtling out the front like a bullet going through a watermelon.