by Robert Culp
“That works for me,” I say. I open my holoCom to deliver a string of orders. “FlightOps, get Spooky back aboard. Get her flight recorders downloaded and processed ASAP. Relax the ready fighters to a thirty-minute window. When those two cruisers get closer we’ll make some more decisions. Engineering, in any other situation I’d say 89% is a good solution, but in this one I’m going to say good is the enemy of best. I want as many of those eleven points as you can give me. Chief Nicholson, open a channel to Secretary Robar, Ministry of Galactic Affairs.”
All stations answer in order and in the affirmative.
“Captain, I cannot get a direct line to the Secretary. I get his receptionist who tells me he only talks to people by appointment.”
“Draft a message for delivery then. Hopefully, he’ll see it with enough time to be of value. Something to the effect of ‘Secretary Robar, this is Prophecy, we are observing two craft which we hypothesize to have come from Vlondra. Were you expecting anyone?’ put my signature on it, etc.”
A minute later I’m told the message has been delivered.
“Bridge, FlightOps. Spooky is aboard. All recordings are being downloaded, processed, and disseminated appropriately. The intelligence geeks actually squealed with glee.”
“FlightOps, Captain. Roger, thank you.” I want so badly to review the data personally, but I know that it’s in capable hands that will deliver an honest report to me as soon as possible. An initial report will be within the hour, but a more thorough report—well, it will be a continuous operation but they will notify me as soon as they find anything of note. I just wish it didn’t take so long!
There’s not really anything for us to do for the moment except wait.
An hour later, I get an idea. “Chief Nicholson, do you have any reason to suspect communication between either of those ships and the Malorian Cruiser?”
“I can’t say one way or…incoming message from Konsyoga, ma’am.”
“Route it here, please.”
“Captain MacTaggert, Captain Skorsi here. By order of the Malorian Empire you are under arrest. You will make yourself available—in person—on my vessel in five minutes. I intend to ascertain your real purpose here. You have no doubt observed the two ships inbound. I’d recommend no deception or intent at evasion. We stand by to receive your shuttle. Unless you’d rather I have you picked up?” The tone of his voice is one I’ve heard many times. He’s not leaving any room for discussion or negotiation. That doesn’t mean I can’t try.
CHAPTER NINE
“I don’t understand, Captain,” I say to the holoCom, doing my best to remain calm. “I have been very open about our reasons for being here. If you have more questions, I’m certain we can discuss them in a civilized manner. Perhaps you’d care to join me for a nice rack of Atlas lamb? We stand ready to receive you and your party with full military honors. Cocktails in two hours, dinner to follow? Formal attire is neither desired nor required.”
Celeste mutes my holoCom, “Does that popinjay really expect you to surrender yourself to him?”
“I have no idea,” I answer. “But tell Chief Sergeant Okkam to put together an honor guard, don’t spare the spit, polish, or extra magazines. Get them to the shuttle bay to receive visitors RFN.”
As she is nodding, Captain Skorsi speaks again. “Negative. I have no interest in any of your pleasantries. You will shuttle over to me. If I don’t see a shuttle—a lone, solitary shuttle—leaving your vessel in four minutes, I will dispatch a loaded troop carrier to retrieve you. And I promise you, Captain, they will do just that with little regard for the balance of your crew or the structural integrity of your vessel.”
A message from Celeste pops up on my holoCom: Ice armor is ready to deploy, Prophecy will be enveloped and protected in twenty seconds from initiation. A glance at the tactical display tells me the cruiser and the patrol ships have taken up blockading positions making it very difficult for us to get out to a safe distance from the planet to Transit. Fortunately, there’s only three of them. Had there been a fourth they could have us boxed in, but they don’t. I type out a message to Okkam and Celeste while talking to Skorsi: Stand down on the honor guard, armor up all troopers and prepare to repel boarders. Stand by on ice armor. Both of them acknowledge my directives.
“Captain Skorsi, I have done nothing to warrant such action from you. Again, I have been very transparent about our doings here. It appears I have no choice if I wish to avoid an armed confrontation though,” I sigh audibly, “It will be as you desire.” I close this channel and open the “all bridge stations” channel. “This is the Captain. Battle Stations. Set Defense Condition One throughout the ship. Deploy the ice armor. Weapons officer, I want those clods of Malorian shit out of my sky. Fire when you have adequate targeting solutions and weapons locked. Pilot, be prepared to punch us through their formation and out of orbit, we need some maneuvering room.”
Many things seem to happen at once. The forward meson cannon fires as the ice approaches the weapon’s apertures. The dual beams stab the unprepared Malorian cruiser. We note several secondary explosions throughout the ship.
“Captain, Konsyoga signals their surrender.”
“Send an acknowledgement but ignore them otherwise, we’ve got two more ships to destroy.”
I hear Celeste giving orders at the weapons station. “Assign the turrets to ‘Weapons Free’ and engage targets of opportunity.”
“FlightOps, Bridge,” I say into my holoCom. “Status of the wing?”
“We were listening ma’am,” Shawna answers. “Pilots are in their birds waiting for a BUS order.”
“Roger, stand by,” to the helmsman I say, “Go over that future derelict formerly known as Konsyoga. Once we’re on the far side, pivot around so we can bring the bow cannons on those two patrol boats.”
“Aye, ma’am. Executing.”
“Mr. Dagmar,” I say. “Feel free to use the rearward facing meson cannon at either of those approaching patrol ships.”
“And other targets of opportunity, ma’am?” he asks.
“You may indulge yourself.”
“Missiles inbound,” Athena reports. “Two minutes to impact.”
“Countermeasures out,” Dagmar answers.
“FlightOps, Captain. Missiles inbound, less than two minutes. Launch when you can do so safely. Engage all hostiles. Weapons Free, Condition Red. BUS.”
“Blow Up Shit, aye!” Shawna answers. “When my kids are done there won’t be anything worth salvaging.” Before the channel closes, I hear someone in FlightOps say, “Let’s see what this girl can do.” I don’t have time to wonder if they mean an individual pilot, Shawna, Prophecy or me. And right now, I really don’t care. But I’m a bit curious how “this girl” will do myself.
“Konsyoga Actual is hailing you by name, ma’am,” Chief Nicholson reports. I nod then open the channel on my holoCom.
“Coward!” his voice shrieks from the speaker. “You attack me without provocation? There will be repercussions!”
“‘Without provocation’? You demanded I surrender or your thugs would board my ship. I call that provocation. If I were you, I’d abandon that hunk of junk before it finishes exploding.” I close the channel.
“One of the patrol cruisers is departing the area,” Athena reports. “The rearward meson cannon missed but it must have been more than they were prepared to face. The other is attempting to avoid the cannon while getting a firing solution on us.” A glance at the tactical monitor confirms my suspicion; six of Prophecy’s fighters are rendering the Malorian cruiser inhospitable, non-operational being a foregone conclusion.
“You reported inbound missiles?” I ask. No sooner have the words left my mouth than the ship rocks violently.
“Six total, three rendered moot by our countermeasures, two destroyed by close in weapon systems, one has made impact.” She listens intently to incoming reports. “Light casualties, a few concussions, fractures, no penetration of the hull.”
Gods, I love this ship! “Very well, continue to press our advantage.”
“Firing. Hit. It looks like propulsion…conjecture is the remaining target’s Transit drive is disabled.”
“Captain,” my Communications tech reports, “the second cruiser is surrendering. I’m redirecting the feed to your holoCom.”
“Third ship is turning, it looks like he’s leaving the AO,” Dagmar reports.
“Hail battleship, this is Captain Sheen, late of the cruiser Paladin. I have shut down all offensive and defensive systems. We surrender and cede the day to you. It is requested and hoped that you will not interfere with our evacuation of this region.” On the tactical viewer we see life pods blossoming from the limping ship as it begins its slow descent to the world below. Another vessel, it looks to be a Transit capable pinnace, streaks away and is soon in Transit space then gone from our sensors.
“Captain!” the helmsman exclaims, “the runner is back!”
The cruiser we thought was leaving did a run around the planet and has approached our stern. Without being told, my pilot has coordinated with the weapons officer to bring our biggest weapon to bear on the threat.
“It’s firing,” Celeste reports. “A salvo of six, crap they’re calving, twelve inbound missiles.”
“Countermeasures out,” Dagmar says.
“Liar!” I bark into the holoCom. “At worst, you were in league with that pirate Skorsi aboard that floating pile of debris formerly known as Konsyoga! He, and by extension you, attempted to arrest me and refused to listen to reason. In short, he—and by extension you—became a complete pain in my ass! But I will take the higher road. You may evacuate your ship whilst my fighters use it for target practice. They will not engage anything larger than an escape pod. Unless they feel threatened. Prophecy out.” I cut the channel and call FlightOps. “What’s our status?”
“By and large, we’re okay,” Shawna reports. “We lost one fighter and another is disabled. The balance of the wing is eager to kill someone or something.”
“Very well, recover the casualties.”
Celeste yells, “Brace for impact!” The ship rocks violently, much worse than before.
“Report!” I yell.
“Countermeasures defeated six, CIWS caught three, one impact vicinity hangar bay, one amidships topside, one port side maneuver drive, and it looks like between the impact and the EMP we took a loss on the computer system, maybe twenty percent,” Celeste tells me. “Redundant systems already coming on line.”
“Very well, casualties?”
“More of the same, but on a grander scale. Medical reports one fatality.”
Damnit! I turn back to my holoCom, “FlightOps, Captain. Can you launch?”
“Roger that, ma’am,” Shawna answers. “The rescue shuttle made it out seconds before impact. He’s shook up, but he’s functional. I’ve got deck apes clearing the debris for now.”
“Understood, do what you need to, Bridge out.”
“Captain Skorsi for you, ma’am.”
“I’ll take it here, thanks Comms.”
“Captain MacTaggert, you have proven yourself as a capable battle ship commander,” I can hear explosions as well as screams and moans in the background. “Please allow me the courtesy of unmolested evacuation.”
“Mister Skorsi,” I say, intentionally not calling him Captain, “I told you days ago, we are not a ‘battle ship.’ We are explorers. This fight was completely unnecessary, but the record will reflect that it was started at your request. I do not have the authority to grant you access to Trelnar, as I am not a representative of their government. All I can tell you is that my intention is to leave no piece of any of the three vehicles that attempted to destroy my ship in a configuration larger than three meters. One of your cohorts continues to attack me. I have no recourse other than considering anything flying to be a threat. Once the remaining patrol boat is neutralized—and it shortly will be—we can discuss the disposition of any passengers remaining aboard your…hull. However, it is my duty to point out that you, Mr. Skorsi, have committed crimes against the Atlan Expeditionary Fleet for which you will answer. It is my order that you don an APE suit and launch yourself—without a tether—into space to a position away from that floating piece of garbage on which you find yourself. My shuttle will recover you and you will be brought aboard for interrogation, trial and sentencing. Cross me at your peril.” Turning my head but leaving the holoCom channel open I say, “Weapons Officer, fire when you have a solution."
“Very well,” Skorsi replies. “I will stand trial for my actions. Please exact no vengeance on my crew.”
I close the channel without answer. Within moments, Celeste reports, “A man sized and shaped object is leaving Konsyoga.”
“Distance between the object and the hulk?”
“Eight meters and increasing.”
“We’ll let him sweat a bit,” I’m in no hurry to pick him up.
Celeste is at the communications station now, “The remaining patrol cruiser is demanding we surrender.”
“Weapons, let our forward meson cannons answer for us, please.”
“Incoming laser fire, Captain,” the defense systems officer reports. “And it is being deflected by the ice armor.
“Marvelous system,” Celeste muses, “and it only costs us 2,000 gallons of water when we use it.”
“That’s all?” I gasp. “I wish I had the patent on that bad boy. Before we destroy the wreckage I suppose it would be prudent to drain their fresh water tanks.”
“Perhaps, but it’s not required,” Celeste answers. “The system draws from our non-potable gray water awaiting purification. Granted, the ice armor is not recoverable, so it is a loss of resource, but it’s far from critical. We make a concerted effort to top off our tanks when we do a logistical upload.”
“Firing forward meson cannons,” the weapons officer announces, “a hit. It looks like we got the power plant. One, two, four, multiple secondary explosions.”
“Captain we are being hailed. A Captain Markus for you, ma’am.”
“Prophecy Actual, this is Captain Madeline Markus of the Malorian patrol cruiser Aurora,” a woman’s voice announces. “We are of no danger to you and respectfully withdraw from the field. We acknowledge your superiority and admit we have been bested. We humbly ask permission to retire from this engagement.”
I mute the holoCom, “First Officer, I’m trying real hard to find a reason not to blow that ship into chunks.”
“Having any luck?” Celeste asks, a devilish grin playing around her features.
“Not a bit,” I answer. “Can you shed any light on the subject?”
“Only by pointing out that the captain has in fact surrendered you would be firing on a ship that claims to be incapable of defending itself and by their own admission is unwilling to mount any offensive actions against us. In most systems, Atlas being one of them, that would constitute a war crime.”
Dagmar interrupts us, “A fourth ship has dropped out of Transit, Captain.”
Celeste runs to Dagmar’s station. “It's a different design, and much faster. It's doing at least Maneuver...brace for impact!"
The words scarcely leave her mouth when three concussive explosions rock Prophecy. Most of the bridge crew is knocked from their chairs. “What happened?” I ask getting back into my seat. “Were we rammed?”
“Negative, ma’am,” Celeste says. “We took a good punch, but no hull breaches reported. Very few significant injuries. Most of the concussive force was ablated by the ice.”
“And the ship?” I ask. “The attacker?”
“Already in Transit space, ma’am.” Dagmar says. “And they’re gone.”
Celeste is back at my side. “I'll have the sensor logs run through, I don't think that ship came from the same fleet as these three. Oh, you still have that other commander, Markus I believe her name is, to deal with.”
“There is that. Thanks.” I restore the communications channel. “Capt
ain Markus, your crew is spared. But you have some explaining to do. I require you to don an APE suit and take up a position apart from the floating hulk that used to be your ship. I assure you, you will be treated with dignity and respect. Until you give me reason to do otherwise. Acknowledge please." I mute that channel and open an internal one. “FlightOps, this is the Captain. Launch a recovery shuttle to pick up the two Malorian officers that are floating in my sky. Have a minimum of two troopers in marauder armor aboard said shuttle; verify that the APE suits contain humanoid life forms and not explosives, please. Have the fighters do a fly-by of the Malorian wreckage and advise on any life signs they observe.”
“Wilco, ma’am. While I have you, the pilot from our damaged fighter has been recovered and is en route to Prophecy. The initial reports are that he’s irritated, embarrassed, and lightly singed around the edges but he’s eager to get back into the fight.”
“Good news indeed FlightOps. Captain out.”
No sooner does my finger leave the button closing the channel to FlightOps, I hear Skorsi’s voice explode from the holoCom. “Captain, please! It is unconscionable that you leave me floating out here like this! I have maneuverability, I’m launching myself towards your cruiser!”
“Mr. Skorsi,” I answer. “If you do anything other than maintain your position I will consider what I think is you to be a weapon and deal with it accordingly after which I will retaliate against any remaining personnel on what is left of your ship. Is that in accordance with your desires?”
“No ma’am,” he responds. “It is not.”
Celeste approaches my chair. “You ordered two of the commanders to surrender but let the third depart. May I ask why?”
“Of the three, he was the most honest. He never threatened, never deceived, never acted like he was leaving hoping to take a cheap shot. Besides, if half of what I’ve heard of the Malorian Empire is true, he is on that fast boat that left the area. He’ll be dead before he gets home. Or shortly thereafter.”
“There is that,” she says. “Just curious.”
