Vick's Vultures (Union Earth Privateers Book 1)

by Scott Warren

  The other six missiles the Condor had launched came online, the compact, ultra-light railguns tracked and fired on the remaining cutter and the Springdawn. They wouldn’t do more than tickle the dreadnaught, but they would sure as hell confuse it. Hopefully it would buy them a little time as the Springdawn looked for the source of the attack.

  The Condor tore a whirling vorticular tunnel through the brilliant ion cloud as Huian accelerated the ship towards the star. If they could just make it to horizon distance, they would reach the frontier of the Malagath Empire. If Tessa Baum could just buy them that time.

  “Conn, engineering, Vick we’ve got a problem.”

  “Go ahead Yuri,” said Victoria.

  “This ion cloud is acting like thin atmo, it’s heating up as we push through it, we’re riding a pressure wave that’s going to paint our coordinates across the sky like a bonfire. It’s wearing through the forward ablative armor.”

  “Shit, and leaving a trail two thousand meters across. Push through it, we can’t afford to take this slowly.”

  The hatch to the Conn slid open behind her.

  “Captain Victoria!” said a voice somewhere near the ceiling. She had known this was coming, but had hoped to avoid it. One did not snub a Malagath prince, however.

  Prince Tavram was dressed in one of the xeno vacuum suits, comically large for him. She had wanted him off the conn for the encounter with Best Wishes, so had sent him aft to wait for the transfer she never intended to make. It was tricky business, her gamble to play the Graylings off the Dirregaunt, and the Prince’s presence might have influenced Best Wishes’ decision.

  “This is not a good time, Tav,” she barked, but Tavram wasn’t one to take no for an answer.

  “Captain, I volunteered myself, and you have spat in the face of our enemy after he accepted our surrender. You humans have a collective death wish; it’s no wonder half the lesser empires are at your throat!”

  She turned, rankled by his proximity and attitude. She pushed the slender xeno back, much to his surprise. He tripped into the XO’s chair, from where his eyes were almost level with hers.

  “Alright you royal xeno cocksucker, shut up and listen. One, no one talks to me like that on my ship. Two, I am the final authority out here, not some State and Colony puke half a billion miles away. Sorry Huian, I’m sure your mother’s a great gal. Three, while your naïve newfound idealism is endearing, it’s a death warrant for me and mine. What do you think your buddies on the frontier do to us when they find out we handed the heir to their empire over to the DG on their doorstep? I’ll give you a fucking hint, it won’t be pretty, and it won’t be quick. But it did give me an idea, and idea on how to maybe get you home where that little seed of selflessness can maybe grow a tree of giving a fuck about someone other than yourself.”

  “Conn, sensors, Grayling contacts, two cutters inbound at a point-three, bears three-four-four on a positive azimuth.”

  Victoria turned away from the First Prince as her forward view screen highlighted and framed the two wicked-looking ships.

  “Tac, bring the rails online.”

  Thunder filled the Springdawn, impossibly loud. Consoles and displays sparked and shattered as the space walker carpeted the bridge with her horrid, primitive weapon. The Grayling had been her first target, its neck ending in a greasy, cratered stump as it slumped over the railing of the observation ring. The human warrior leapt on top of the aft communication station and shakily swung her weapon in his direction. How had she even gotten on the bridge? The familiar stink of sulfur began to suffuse the air.

  A sinister buzz and a solid-sounding thump drew Best Wishes’ attention away from the human female. Modest Bearing held both hands buried in his mane, where wetness was beginning to soak through the filaments. His first officer had been hit. Best Wishes caught the wounded officer as he collapsed to his knees, pressing his back to a console to shield himself from further fire.

  His security team had already begun to interpose between him and the space walker, who had begun moving about the bridge from cover to cover, firing blindly over consoles to keep his crew’s heads down. Several other members of the security team surrounded him, pulling him towards the hatch.

  “I’ll not leave him,” Best Wishes shouted over the din. The lead officer scowled, ears closed against the cacophony of the primitive’s weapon. But he must have discerned Best Wishes’ intent. He gestured to two of his men, who began to drag Modest Bearing along towards the forward hatch by his bloody mane and bony hooks. Best Wishes tried to look over the console, but the security officer shoved his head down, pushing him towards the hatch.

  He cast one final look through the hatch as the security team shoved him down the passageway along with the other rescued members of the bridge crew. Dutiful Heiress looked at him with terrified eyes as she made to catch up with them, but spacewalker grabbed her from behind and threw her to the ground. Though the creature had no face save for a smooth black panel, he could feel the human’s eyes on him as his security team slammed the hatch shut and smashed the control console, Dutiful still trapped within. Somehow the space walker could override their door controls, and permanently damaging them was the only way to make certain it couldn’t follow in a timely manner. There were ways around, redundant paths wound through the Springdawn like a maze. It had never been designed to account for hostile warriors within the hull. Best Wishes’ ears opened back up slowly as they retreated.

  The security team’s radioman said something to Kind Host. A lieutenant, he recalled. He was grateful his ears were still too muffled to hear the harsh radio waves so close to the source. He much preferred messengers to short-wave communicators. The lieutenant had to shout in his ear for him to hear the report. “We need to get you to the secondary command center, sir,” said Kind Host, “The Grah’lhin have begun attacking the crew, and fired on what they believe to be the Condor.”

  The fools. He’d have given them the Condor. His arrangement with the human predicated no stipulation in regards to the Grah’lhin. As much as he reviled letting her bargain deprive him of cutting her ship from the stars, it was better to see her fall at the hands of even temporary hunting allies. Once he had the First Prince on board, Victoria would have been left to her own merit against the superior numbers of the Grayling ships.

  Pushed through the hatch he could feel the ship’s capacitors vibration translate through the decking. The forward laser battery had discharged, spilling luminous death into the ion cloud. The Grah’lhin.

  The security detail pushed them through several winding passages, beginning to move towards the secondary command center at the foremost portion of the ship, where transparent alloys would offer a raw view of the outside space. Some of the team split his command crew towards a different route lest they all be ambushed together while the lieutenant led the way into an adjacent compartment. The chamber was lined with short, ruffled bactis stalks from the northern swamps on the home world. Course grass muffled their footfalls as they marched, but something was off. Best Wishes called a halt.

  The bactis stalks were cultivated only within the outboard sections of the ship.

  “Lieutenant, we’re going the wrong direction. The auxiliary command center is that way,” said Best Wishes, gesturing behind them.

  The lieutenant’s ears twitched as he glanced at the door and then to the officer supporting Modest Bearing. Best Wishes saw the unease in his eyes, and in turn the other members of the security team.

  “I see.”

  The security team dropped Modest Bearing to the deck, where he tried to sit, but fell back. His pallid skin was a sharp contrast to his blood-soaked mane. The human’s weapon had punched a hole in his first officer, just as the holes had been torn through Lightest Grove in the shuttle bay. Clean punctures, no burns or scoring. Just an empty void from where his blood spilled onto the grass. What kind of weapon could do such a thing so neatly?

  The security officer that had dropped Modest Bearing raised hi
s laser towards Best Wishes.

  “Is this to be your legacy, Lieutenant? Betrayal of the highest order?”

  Kind Host bared his rows of tiny razor-like teeth. “The betrayal belongs to you. Bringing those things on board, failing to kill the First Prince, and letting the lesser empires make fools of the Praetory. We’ll not let you take us to the gates of the Malagath Empire to be destroyed for your obsession. There is consensus between those among the crew who matter. You must be removed if we are to survive,” he said, raising his laser in turn.

  Those among the crew who mattered. The upper castes, mindful only of status and power. They had lost the will for the hunt long ago and now cared only for their own comfort and advancement. Best Wishes looked into the laser’s emitter, and then behind as the forest of bactis stalks began to quiver, as though something moved within.

  “And so you have brought me here to murder me? Separated us from those still loyal who would not follow the perpetrators of such a cowardly deed.”

  “It’s hardly murder. More akin to crushing an insect grown above his station.”

  “I rather think,” said Best Wishes, as warm flecks of chitin began to glow to his top eye from behind the nearest of the tall stalks, “That you should worry more of overgrown insects crushing you.”

  A shrill cry brought Kind Host’s attention back to the line of bactis, where two Grah’lhin erupted from the foliage, charging down the line of security officers. The pair struck the line of officers, stabbing with spear-like forelegs that jutted through the lieutenant at chest and stomach and lifted him from the deck. The team opened fire in panic with their handheld lasers even as they were struck down, killing the larger of the two even as it cleaved their numbers. Before they could focus fire on the last, both remaining Dirregaunt officers and Best Wishes were from their feet as a series of impacts rang through the hull, rattling the Springdawn. Dead stars, what was that?

  Best Wishes twisted, reaching for a laser one of the fallen officers had dropped as the last Grah’lhin cast aside the traitor’s body and lumbered over him. He rolled, avoiding the stabbing claws that embedded themselves in the deck, and fired at the first joint, severing the foreleg. The Grah’lhin collapsed on him, scrabbling for purchase on the slick grass. Best Wishes claws flashed out, tearing away part of the retractable shield which protected the vulnerable sensory band. The Grah’lhin shrieked, trying to pull away, but Best Wishes dug his claws in and forced the active end of the emitter through the small opening.

  “You’re finished, filth. Tell all your kind,” he spat. The creature shuddered and hissed as the handheld laser pistol discharged. The reek of burned bone scoured his nostrils, and a hot, greasy film began to drip from the sensory cavity.

  The Grah’lhin spasmed a final time and collapsed on top of him, pain shooting up his leg as his knee wrenched from the weight. He looked to the side, gasping in pain. Modest Bearing’s lifeless eyes stared back, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. He had bled out during the firefight.

  Best Wishes scanned his first officer, gut wrenching at the sorry state to which he had been reduced.

  “Perhaps you were right, old friend. We should have turned towards home and stopped this mad chase. I have welcomed death aboard this vessel, and those who follow me taste it. But it is too late to turn back now.”

  Pain flared as the weight of the Grah’lhin’s corpse was heaved off by the two remaining security officers, relieving the pressure on his lower body. His leg had been broken, twisted to an impossible angle. Above him, one of the security officers offered a hand. His face held something like awe at Best Wishes’ ferocity in killing the Grah’lhin, the same ferocity that had earned him his command. “Not all of us are disloyal to you, Commander. Please, the hunt needs you.”

  It took considerable effort to loop his claws through one of the security officer’s bone protuberances to stay upright.

  He looked at the second officer. “And you?”

  The Dirregaunt hesitated, glancing at the bodies around them. As his laser hand twitched, Best Wishes lifted his own and shot the disloyal crewmate dead. He scanned the faces of the bridge officers behind him, men he knew were true to him. They likely were to be killed as well, soon after himself.

  They passed Kind Host on their way forward. It seemed some life yet clung to him as Best Wishes stepped over him, looking at the pitiful traitor. He raised his laser again, but stopped short of activating the emitter. Death would come as sure as the dawn for this one, there was no need to hurry his passing.

  “Let’s proceed,” he said, leaving the security lieutenant to his painful end.

  The hatch to the secondary command center was just forward of the belly gun targeting center, where it was clear the Grah’lhin had been previously. Best Wishes could smell the blood as they passed, but the remaining team had reached the secondary bridge without incident. Sliding the hatch open bathed the corridor in the iridescent light of the ion cloud. The remaining crew flinched back, shying away and closing their top eye to the hypnotic effects of the undulating infrared swirls. Best Wishes drank it in, letting it fill his senses until he felt as though the transparent paneling didn’t exist at all, like he was exposed to the vacuum and one with the void.

  “Take me in,” he whispered, “The First Prince awaits us.”

  Chapter 12: Horizon

  Tessa stared down at the quivering Dirregaunt female, pressed up against the bulkhead near the hatch the commander had escaped through. At least, she thought he was the commander, the security team had made an awful fuss about trying to protect him. He was blurry, but she thought he’d fit the description the dead courier gave him. She’d shot at him, but only managed to hit the taller one beside him. But she had seen the look on his face as she had accosted the female. The wide eyes, the open jaw. Loss was nearly universal, at least to xenos with expressive faces, mirrored by her own face when Aimes had taken out the primary communication array.

  She wanted to kill the pitiful thing, so thin and waiflike. She wanted to kill all of them for chasing the Condor halfway across the Orion Spur, for scratching her up and giving her this fever and burning hip wound. But something in the way the commander had looked at this one. Could it be his mate? His lover? A sibling?

  Tessa looked around, trying not to let the room spin. The bridge was filled with the dead and the cries of the dying. She had hit at least five, mostly collateral damage as she attempted to destroy as much of the navigation, intercommunication, and sensor aggregate equipment as she could. The Springdawn had a redundant command center somewhere forward, but it would take time for Best Wishes to get situated and regain full control of his ship. Until then, Captain Marin could gain headway towards the solar core. Provided the Graylings didn’t catch her first, though it looked like they had begun turning on the crew of the Springdawn. She hadn’t expected that, but the chatter was unmistakable. That the Dirregaunt were using shortwave radios at all was telling. Radio waves were painful to Dirregaunt physiology, but the Graylings were making it too dangerous to use runners. With any luck the two xenos would have their hands too full of each other to bother with her.

  Returning her attention to her new captive, Tessa took a knee beside the bulkhead, leaning on her rifle. With some luck it would mask her exhaustion and fever. The thump of her armored knee against the deck startled the Dirregaunt, who tried to scrabble as far away from her as possible into the corner of the Springdawn’s bridge. To think humans were so cowed before these frightful creatures, just because the brain inside that head was capable of light speed calculations on the fly.

  “Please,” it whispered, “don’t hurt me.”

  “Tell me your name, Dirregaunt,” said Tessa. Her suit’s onboard computer translated it to the Dirregaunt language before spitting it out the external speakers. The surviving member of the bridge crew whimpered, not expecting Tessa to know her language. Xenos were often put on edge by such mundane tricks, and even the Dirregaunt were no exception.

&n
bsp; “I am Dutiful Heiress, spacewalker. Please, leave me.”

  Xeno superstitions more ancient than the human written word, and the Vultures fit them like a glove. Before the xeno could react, Tessa lashed out and snagged a handful of her mane.

  “Why should I not just kill you now? What value does your life hold?” she asked, approximating what she hoped was a sinister tone in their language. It seemed to be doing the trick.

  “My father is a Lord of the Hunt. I am heir to my family’s holdings, seven planets and three mineral-rich moons. I alone am worth more than many lesser empires. I can make you wealthy.”

  Tessa slammed her fist into the bulkhead above Dutiful Heiress. She left it there, leaning on it for support. “What need have I of your planets and moons? I walk between stars,” she snarled. In her mind she could picture Aimes sniggering at the melodramatic airs. “What value does your life hold to me?”

  With no answer forthcoming Tessa climbed back to her unsteady feet, shouldering her rifle. As she lifted it the Dirregaunt shrieked again, holding her hands up defensively.

  “Wait, please, I have value, I swear. The Commander, he harbors notions of a life as my mate.”

  That was more like it. Best Wishes’ mistress could be a useful tool. Not that Tessa had any intention of executing the poor creature, but she didn’t need to know that.

  “These notions, what fruit do they bear?”

  Dutiful sat up angrily, a defiant snarl twisting her mouth. “None,” she said, “the Commander is of the lower caste. Skilled in the hunt perhaps, but he has no prospect of ever mating me. He is beneath my station. He will never have anything than command of a small clutch. But his base desires will elevate me.”

  Tessa huffed. What a stone-cold bitch. So much for pack loyalty, everyone on board this ship seemed to resent their commander in one way or another. Still, unrequited affection might also buy the Vultures a few more precious minutes to make a horizon jump. A not altogether healthy idea of vengeance tickled her mind at taking something that Best Wishes loved, even if it was one-sided.