The merchant conversions would be a prize unto themselves, but the opportunity to seize a CR-70 corvette eclipsed the rewards offered by even a pair of conversions and the wreckage of the settlement ship.
Commander Jersey made his way to Middleton’s side as he thought through the various possibilities. “Quite the trap for a ship-less band of pirates,” the older man said under his breath as the bridge crew went about their duties.
“Agreed,” Middleton grudged, impressed at his former helmsman’s conclusion, “someone’s pulled a few strings to set this up, and whoever that is can’t be far. Once we’ve secured that settler’s data logs we’ll be able to review the initial attack from their perspective and get a better idea what we’re up against.”
“The most troublesome part,” Jersey said evenly as he gave the captain a pointed look, “is Captain Manning’s report that his own marines turned on him at the outset.”
Captain Middleton nodded, all too aware of the implications of Manning’s report. “One thing at a time, Commander,” he said, “first we secure those ships. When that’s finished, we find out who’s tearing this stretch of the Spine apart—and put a stop to them.”
“Do you think this is connected to the secret military outpost we just visited?” Jersey asked.
“I do,” Middleton replied, “but in truth I don’t see how…at least, not yet.”
The minutes ticked down until the sensor ghosts of Middleton’s ‘fleet’ disappeared. He had known they would vanish in time, since their creation had depended on reflecting Fei Long’s generated signal off both the atmosphere and the oceans below. Without triangulation, it is almost impossible to generate a false image of any kind, but the temporary nature of the illusion had served its purpose. It was only a matter of time for Sergeant Joneson and his Lancers to secure those two ships, and without their fusion cores there was no way they could escape the Pride.
So when they both began to burn from orbit using their painfully slow auxiliary thrusters, it brought a smile to Middleton’s lips. Their panic told him two things: first, that whoever was in command of this particular operation was no longer aboard either vessel, since such a person would have made the decision to flee long before. Second, it told him that the pirate forces were still spread across the three vessels, which made Sergeant Joneson’s job aboard the corvette that much easier.
As they entered effective range of the Lancer shuttle, Middleton issued a set of orders to Sergeant Joneson and his Lancers: they were to capture, if reasonably achievable, the leader of this pirate operation who was almost certainly aboard the Elysium’s Wings.
After he sent the orders, he knew it was up to Sergeant Joneson and his Lancers to do their jobs. All he could do now was to keep whoever might be lurking beyond their sensor range from interrupting them as they did so.
Chapter XXI: After Action
“Captain, Sergeant Joneson reporting,” the other man’s voice came across the bridge’s speakers some three hours after disembarkation. “The three intact vessels have been seized, seventeen prisoners have been secured, and we’re returning to the Pride to regroup before heading over to the settlement ship.”
“What’s your status, Sergeant?” Middleton asked, knowing they had paid a price for this victory.
“I can put thirty two pairs of boots on the settlement ship, Captain,” he replied promptly. “Of my eighteen casualties, we’ve got four confirmed fatalities and as many more that will require Doctor Middleton’s care to make the next twenty four hours. The rest should be back in action within a week or two; those Marines were dug in but good, sir.”
“Good work, Sergeant,” Middleton said, keeping the wince from his voice. “I’ll have medical personnel waiting in the shuttle bay.”
“Thank you, Captain,” he replied before the captain severed the connection and issuing the order to sickbay.
Joneson’s men would need the best possible care, and Middleton knew that meant his ex-wife rather than Doctor Cho. Doctor Cho was a recruit from Shèhuì Héxié and, as far as Middleton could tell from Jo’s appraisals and the man’s ‘resume,’ the man was barely passable in the field of trauma surgery. It seemed his reason for imprisonment on his home world had been due to ‘administering therapies and/or conducting research without government sanction or patient consent.’
Middleton had actually balked at including the man in their recruitment drive, but there were so few qualified medical personnel that he knew he needed to get someone to fill the role, at least in the short-term.
With Jo’s impending departure, Captain Middleton was decidedly less than pleased at her replacement’s credentials and history. But such was the duty of command, and in truth Middleton had almost become accustomed to working with what was available rather than what was needed.
Sergeant Joneson’s shuttle returned to the shuttle bay and offloaded their prisoners and wounded. Less than ten minutes after their arrival, the shuttle turned back around and made its way over to the settlement ship, where it landed without incident as the Lancer Sergeant signaled they had made contact with the survivors.
It was a tricky situation, to be certain, since there were almost certainly still pirates mixed in with the remaining settlers. The entire remaining complement of the settlement ship had been confined to a sternward section of the ship, where life support was apparently still operating on emergency power.
But Middleton could not allow those people to die of suffocation or freeze to death aboard their ship as it spiraled to its inevitable death in the atmosphere of the planet below. Thankfully, the atmosphere of that planet was breathable, if thin and dangerously rich in carbon dioxide, and Middleton knew it was his job to get as many landing craft as possible back into rotation so the people could be transported below. It would be close getting them all off in time using their two shuttles and the still-operational shuttle on the corvette, but with the merchant conversions having ejected their power cores there was no choice but to get on with it as soon as possible.
Surprisingly, Sergeant Joneson had flushed out another six pirates from among the settler ship’s remaining passengers in less than an hour, and signaled that he was convinced the remaining populace posed no threat to ship’s security.
The shuttles began transporting the colonists to the planet’s surface immediately, and at a hundred passengers per trip and with a roundtrip time of two hours, it would be seven hours before they were all safely disembarked from the ruined hulk.
As the last passenger-laden shuttle touched down on the planet’s surface, the Pride’s crew began the process of salvaging whatever remained of the ship’s precious cargo comprised of quick-setup habitation modules, atmospheric purifiers, moisture condensers and every other piece of machinery which made human life possible on a barren, otherwise inhospitable world.
All told, they managed to recover some thirty percent of the original materials, with the rest either having been destroyed in the initial attack some three weeks earlier, or taken by those same pirates before Captain Manning had arrived with the Elysium’s Wings.
Captain Manning, aside from receiving a few plasma burns, was fit enough for a debriefing so Middleton called him to his ready room as soon as he had been cleared by sickbay.
“Captain Manning,” Middleton greeted as the other man entered, his arm hung in a sling and half his clearly-burned face was covered in Combat Heal residue, but his strong features and stony demeanor were obvious despite his injuries, “have a seat.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Manning replied as he made his way to the chair opposite Middleton’s. He lowered himself gingerly into the seat before continuing, “I want to thank you on behalf of my world; the Elysium’s Wings is a valuable asset in these troubled times. I can’t begin to express how much it means to my people, and to me personally, that you were able to recover her.”
“It’s our job, Captain,” Middleton replied awkwardly. He had never dealt with gratitude very well, especially from fellow servic
emen and women. “I don’t want to keep you any longer than necessary, so I’ll cut right to the point: who headed the mutiny aboard your ship, and do you have any indication as to who they might have been working for?”
Manning cracked a toothy grin as he nodded approvingly. “I like your style, Captain Middleton. My Marine commander, Lieutenant Sproles, was involved,” he said as his jaw clenched tightly, “and after thinking back on it, my second in command had to be the instigator since only he had the access codes needed to scramble main computer control. Who were they working for? Your guess is as good as mine,” he said bitterly, “but together, and with the two dozen Marines under their command, they were able to take key points all over the ship in less than twenty seconds after the mainframe went down. We never knew what hit us, Captain. If not for my Chief Engineer’s penchant for protocol,” he scoffed, clearly more at himself than anyone else, “they’d have taken Main Engineering as well. Had that happened, the best I could have hoped for was a depressurized airlock.”
“I hate to ask…” Middleton began, but Captain Manning waved him off.
“Why did they spare me?” Manning asked, correctly guessing Middleton’s intent. When Captain Middleton nodded, Manning leaned forward, “Because my family currently commands over half of the Elysium SDF. For thirty two generations we’ve manned our world’s warships, and no one knows as much about Elysium’s tactical disposition as the Manning clan. My guess is they were planning something for my world, and we have you to thank for disrupting those plans.”
“Elysium is a rich source of Trillium, isn’t that right?” Middleton asked, having reviewed the system’s statistics before meeting with Captain Manning.
“We’ve supplied Sectors 23 and 24 with nearly twenty percent of their Trillium for two centuries,” Manning confirmed stiffly before slumping his shoulders fractionally. “But…”
“But?” Middleton pressed.
Manning sighed. “Our Trillium supply is almost exhausted,” he said eventually. “It’s a closely guarded secret and our system’s economy depends on exporting Trillium, but the truth is we’ve only got another decade before production will begin to drop off. We report a ten year stockpile to the Confederated Imperial government, but the truth is we’ve barely got enough in reserves to make a quarterly shipping quota.”
Captain Middleton smiled faintly. “Captain Manning,” he began, lacing his fingers and leaning forward on his desk, “I’m not the enemy. We’re not here for your Trillium; we’re here to help.”
Manning narrowed his eyes fractionally. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Captain.”
Middleton sighed. “The Multi-Sector Patrol Fleet was established to help systems when the burden gets too heavy for local resources to carry,” he explained. “Admiral Montagne sent us out here to patrol Sector 24 and do whatever we can to help, and the truth is we haven’t done nearly as much as I would have liked. If Elysium is in trouble, I’m glad to help in whatever way I can without compromising the integrity of my mission.”
“Admiral Montagne?” Manning repeated, his eyebrows climbing slightly. “I thought Jean Luc Montagne died fifty years ago during Capria’s popular uprising—and wasn’t he a Captain?”
“You know your history,” Middleton said appreciatively, “but the Admiral Montagne in command of the MSP is not Jean Luc Montagne. Vice Admiral Jason Montagne-Vekna, Jean Luc’s nephew, is the commander of the MSP. It’s on his orders that the Pride of Prometheus is patrolling this region of the Spine.” He omitted the part where his mission’s timeframe had already long-since expired, and that he was now out here essentially on his own.
“I’m sorry,” Manning said with a doubtful shake of his head, “I’m not aware of any ‘Vice Admiral Jason Montagne-Vekna’.”
“It’s a long story,” Middleton said with a splay of his hands, “to put it succinctly, his position was a superfluous one designed purely for political reasons. But when the Empire withdrew from the Spineward Sectors, superfluous title or not, his was the highest name left on the MSP’s command structure. He could have tucked tail and run back to Capria—as it seems most of the constituent members of the MSP’s contributory worlds did—but he stuck his chin out and decided to carry the flag instead.”
“Interesting,” Captain Manning said with a slow nod. “Then I suppose we’re indebted not only to you, but to this Admiral Montagne as well.”
“Captain Manning,” Middleton said, leaning back in his chair, “I’ve got this one, old, outdated ship to patrol with. We’re of absolutely no threat to Elysium, regardless of its own particular challenges, so as much as possible I would appreciate an open exchange between us. Let’s leave the political maneuvering to the politicians, eh?”
Manning’s eyes flashed briefly before he nodded. “Alright,” he said, straightening himself in his chair, “let’s be open: how did you know where my ship was located?”
“As I said,” Middleton replied evenly, “we were performing routine patrols when we came across your ship.”
“You said your orders were to patrol Sector 24,” Manning countered pointedly, “but this system is inside Sector 23’s border.”
“Just inside the border,” Middleton allowed. “Evidence we’ve recently collected suggests that Sector 23 might be worth investigating, but I can’t speak any further on the subject, to ensure operational security.”
“Can you see my dilemma, Captain?” Manning said stoically. “I’m afraid not everything you’re saying is adding up.”
“How about this,” Middleton said, glad to have the preamble over with, “we’ll affect repairs to the merchant conversions since they’re barely damaged. We send one to Elysium with yourself and a security contingent from my vessel? We’ll keep the other conversion here to oversee the temporary colony’s safety.”
Manning snorted. “You put me under armed guard and you keep my Wings? How could I agree to that?”
“We won’t keep anything,” Middleton assured him. “But seeing as your corvette is far from space-worthy in its present state, it seems to me that the best course of action would be to stabilize its orbit and await a repair crew from your world. You can leave whoever you want to oversee the Elysium’s Wings’ security, and you have my word that whatever orders you leave regarding my own crew’s activities aboard your vessel will be respected.”
The two men silently considered each other for several moments before Manning leaned forward with a thunderous expression, “You think I’m a pirate, don’t you?”
Middleton shrugged his shoulders lightly without breaking eye contact. “It seems we both have cause for concern, Captain Manning,” he said as diplomatically as possible, “but you have to admit it’s…concerning that, of your original seventy three man crew, only six of you survived and you happen to be one of them. Marauding pirates aren’t known for taking prisoners, especially when those pirates are obviously operating on the sly—and from the inside, no less.”
Captain Manning’s face went red before his expression relaxed and he threw his head back, filling the ready room with laughter. “I like you, Captain,” he said after his laughter had ceased. “I’ll leave all five of my men on the Wings while I make for Elysium, as it’s my SDF’s protocol for a defeated Captain to report personally,” he said with a hint of bitterness. “This should minimize the number of men you’ll feel obligated to have escort me home, as well as allow my people to get under way putting the ship to rights so she can limp home. I’d appreciate whatever assistance you can give us in the immediate portion of the repairs, Captain Middleton; without you and your people, I’d be dead and my ship would be in the hands of those blighters, to say nothing of the colonists on the planet below.” He stood and thrust out his good, left hand.
Middleton stood and accepted the man’s hand. “The first conversion should be ready in just over a day. Please feel free to make use of the Pride’s facilities during that time.”
Manning shook his head. “I can’t do that
, Captain, but thank you for the offer. I’ve got to get back to my Wings and set my people to task.”
“I’ll have my Chief Engineer coordinate with your people,” Middleton said as the other man turned to leave the room. Before he reached the door, Middleton said, “One more thing, Captain.”
“Yes?” Manning said, turning to face him.
“Your First Officer,” Middleton began, “his name was Brooks, Commander Brooks, is that right? I’d like to take a look into his past associations so we can try to figure out where this thing leads.”
Manning shook his head. “Brooks took ill just before this deployment,” he replied. “I had to move my Tactical officer up in his stead.”
“Your Tactical Officer?” Middleton asked, reaching for a data slate so he could review the Wings’ chain of command.
“Yes,” Manning said, “a bright young Lieutenant Commander named Charles Raubach.” A dark look crossed Manning’s face as Middleton’s eyebrows rose fractionally in surprise. “I wish I hadn’t killed him with my first shot…I’d like nothing more than to have a private chat with him right about now.”
Clearing the unexpected knot which had just formed in his throat by swallowing it—hard—Middleton nodded officiously. “Thank you, Captain; I’ll look into this Lieutenant Commander Raubach as time allows.”
“Anything you need, just ask,” Manning said with a curt nod as he turned and left the ready room. “And if whoever’s backing those mutinous blighters wanders this way while I’m gone, I hope you’ll put the Wings to good use.”
Middleton had hoped to find a thread which linked the pirate activity taking place in this part of the Spineward Sectors but he had no idea that it would point to one of the oldest, most powerful families in the Empire. The evidence was mounting, however, with Captain Meisha Raubach admitting to mutiny before her execution and now another Raubach having done likewise—unsuccessfully, thank Murphy—here, on the other side of the sector, it was clear that this was an orchestrated power grab which had been in the making for quite some time.
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