Pursue the Past: Samair in Argos: Book 1
Page 36
“Understood, Em-One,” Kutok replied. “The Captain ordered Shuttle One to be prepared for launch.”
“Thank you, Kutok,” Tamara said. Gotta do this fast. She was approaching the freighter, where the two damaged Centurions were firing on the starboard side. Her sensors indicated that the Grania Estelle’s shields were failing, currently showing at only about eight percent power. Gaps were starting to form in the shield coverage, and the fighters were moving to try and exploit those.
As she closed, she held down the trigger, aiming at the closest of the fighters. Lightly, she alternately pressed the rudder pedals, which made the Perdition’s guns spray fire all over a small area. It decreased the accuracy of any potential hits, but it increased the chance of some sort of hit. Her shooting had the desired effect. A pair of bolts hit the Centurion at max range with glancing blows, causing little more than superficial damage, but forcing the pilot to break off his attack on the freighter and veer away.
But Tamara wasn’t going to let him get away so easily. She continued her pursuit, peppering his tail with shots from her cannons, until finally one well-placed bolt ruptured the portside engine, ruptured his fuel tank and the ship exploded. The ship shredded in a great fireball which was instantly snuffed by the vacuum of space as the atmo and fuel were consumed.
“One to go,” she muttered. A glance at her own fuel readouts was not encouraging. The excessive maneuvers had burned through more fuel than expected. Little more than three minutes of playing time and then she would be drifting free.
“Grania Estelle, this is Em-One,” she said. “I’m just about out of the fight and I can’t guarantee I can get this guy. Try and warn him off.” She increased speed, firing as she went, trying to score at least a minor hit to try and force the last fighter to break off and head home.
“Attention Hecate fighters, this is the Grania Estelle. Break off your attack and stand down immediately. We do not wish to destroy you. Break off and we will cease firing.” Kutok sounded slightly annoyed at giving this message, as though it should have been completely obvious an action.
But the last Hecate pilot, flying his damaged fighter with one side of his weapons gone, clung stubbornly to his prize. Another salvo tore through the failing shields and hammered into the hull. Cargo bay three was in danger of being cut open again, something that annoyed Tamara beyond anything else.
I just got that hull fixed! Tamara watched as the number indicating distance rapidly scrolled down. At less than a kilometer of distance between them, she fired. An alarm blinked red for an instant as the ship tried to warn her (again) that her fuel was almost gone.
“Winged him!” she crowed, as the Centurion’s port engine shredded, trailing smoke. The fighter broke right, looping under the belly of the huge freighter. “Get him, Captain!”
One more series of insistent beeps and flashing lights and then the fuel supply ran out. All systems except the radio and life support shut down. Acceleration cut to zero and the Perdition was adrift. “Damn it!” she screamed.
“Captain, Em-One has lost power,” George reported. “She’s adrift.”
“Once we take care of this last annoying stinging parasite,” the Captain said, “launch shuttle one and tractor her back into the boat bay.” The Hecate fighter was out of his area of responsibility, in fact he was on the other side of the ship entirely. He was monitoring the sensors, however, for if that last little bastard came into his patch of sky again, he was determined that he was going to blast him out of the stars. They had damaged his beautiful belle. His ship, his home, his pride. This was one of the few times he wished Grania Estelle was a warship instead of a bulk cargo freighter, for he wished he could unleash some serious payback on the sniveling worms who had attacked him. Simply destroying the fighters and their pilots was not enough. He wanted the ones who would give those kinds of orders.
But with the Ganges getting ready for space, it was unlikely he was going to get any kind of satisfaction in that regard. Grania Estelle had barely stood up to six fighters and (if he was honest with himself) that was due to the excellent piloting and combat skills displayed by Moxie, not his own gunnery. Against a light cruiser, they stood no chance whatsoever. They needed to get out of this system as soon as they could.
“He’s making another run, Captain,” George cried, working his gunnery console, trying to track the last fighter. “And I’m going to get him.”
The Captain couldn’t help but chuckle, but then he gritted his teeth as the ship shook lightly again as another strafing run struck the hull. “No more playing around, George.”
George was concentrating fiercely, the tip of his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth, the rest of his body, except his hands and his eyes locked in position. Every spare erg of energy in his body was spent on focusing on the controls. The pilot tried to duck and weave his fighter around to throw off the freighter’s targeting and for the moment, he was succeeding.
“Helm, full starboard roll,” Eamonn ordered. The helmsman complied and the Grania Estelle began to turn.
George started in surprise. Clearly he hadn’t been paying attention to the Captain’s order. But this seemed to work out to his advantage, as he pressed the firing control. “Hold still, you little bastard,” he muttered to himself.
Energy bolts lanced out from the freighter’s cannons, dancing all around the Hecate starfighter, which turned as fast as its damaged engines and hull could stand. But with each miss, he seemed to grow more confident, taking more potshots at the freighter’s hull. He seemed to be taunting the freighter crew with his ability to evade their weapons. He was far too lucky and skilled to allow them to kill him.
And then George grabbed hold of the pilot’s luck and tore off a hunk. A pair of well-placed shots hit the Centurion fighter in the fuselage and the cockpit. In the span of one second, the nimble (if damaged) fighter was slipping along near the hull of the bigger ship, and the next it was shredded metal expanding outward as the Centurion’s power core detonated.
“Yes!” the ops officer yelled in triumph, thrusting a fist in the air. Calming long enough to check his sensors, he said, “We’re clear, Captain. No further pursuit.”
“Get the shuttle out there,” the Captain ordered. “Pick up Moxie and bring her back aboard.” He let out a long breath and then deactivated his weapons controls. The control stick folded back down to the side of his chair again, out of the way. “Get me a full damage report. Oh, and speak with engineering about how long it’s going to take to get the shields back up to full power again.” He turned to the hak’ruk. “Get me shipwide.”
Kutok pressed a key and then nodded to him.
“This is the Captain speaking. Very well done, everyone. We are clear of the fighters and we are leaving the system. I know we had all hoped to spend some time here for shore leave, but it seems the locals have other ideas. As you all know, they attacked us over a contract dispute and if we stay too much longer, I suspect that they will send their cruiser after us. So we are leaving this place and moving on to our next stop: Kazyanenko. I just want to express my anger to you all at our treatment here by the locals and again my thanks and gratitude at all your hard work and dedication. That is all.” Kutok cut the connection. He stood. “I’m going down to the boat bay to meet the shuttle. George, you have the bridge. Call me immediately if anything changes.”
“Yes, Captain, I have the bridge,” the enthused operations officer said as his captain walked off the bridge.
The Perdition touched down on the deck of the boat bay as the tractoring beams brought it to rest. Tamara had the standard fighter jockey’s ego and thus humiliation at being towed back into the carrier vessel, but she had nothing else to be ashamed of. She had downed four fighters, allowing the Grania Estelle to get the other two and escape the battle space relatively unscathed. There was some very minor damage to cargo bay three and to the hull around the engineering spaces. Thankfully, the engineering spaces did not have any breaches.
The Captain rushed over to help her, but she waved him off as she climbed shakily to her feet. “Sorry, Captain, just trying to shake off the adrenaline. It’s been a few centuries since I was in combat like that.”
“You did good, Moxie,” he said, grinning. “You did real good!”
She smiled back at him. “Thanks, Captain. You all didn’t do too bad yourselves. Way to keep it together under pressure.”
“I’m just sorry the little weasels here cheated us out of our shore leave.” He grimaced. “And our shares.”
“Do we have enough fuel and supplies to make it to Kazyanenko?” she asked.
He nodded. “Cookie laid in enough supplies for two jumps,” he explained. “We’ll be fine. He’s rotated some fish from Instow out of the freezers and some other stuff from Folston.” He squinted at her ship sitting on the deck. “Little worse for wear, Moxie.”
“And you’re going to let me fix it up, free of charge,” she informed him with a smile. “Seeing as how the Grania Estelle and her crew owe me big for taking on those four fighters for you.”
He made a mocking sigh. “I suppose I can do that for you. This time.”
“I’m a member of your crew, Captain. You need to take care of all of your assets.” Tamara was giving him a very frank look.
He nodded. “Of course. In fact, I’m thinking I would like to expand our repertoire a bit.”
“Oh?”
“After this debacle with the gadolinium shipment, I’m thinking that perhaps we should start dealing less in raw materials and more in finished goods. With only the few replicators we have we aren’t really a mobile factory, but I think we can get a fair few parts and things built. And after today, I think we need more than just four laser cannons for defense.”
“I agree on the weapons, I’ll talk to Quesh about getting the rail guns completed. They would have been done here, but obviously that didn’t work out,” Tamara said. She stood up straighter, rolling her shoulders. “What did you have in mind as far as other goods?”
“Well, the places we go will need things. More than simply metal ores and random junk we collect in a previous system. What if we made things using the replicators? Fill our holds with some raw materials, go to a new planet or station and build the things they need.”
“And charge them appropriately for those things,” she said sardonically.
He shrugged. “This isn’t a charity, Moxie. My crew and I are doing this for a living, as are you since you signed on. You showed us and you helped us to rebuild my ship. Why can’t we do the same in other places?”
Tamara smiled. “I tend to agree. I think people will truly want certain things: shelters, plumbing, computers, ductwork, hell, aircars, mining gear, agricultural equipment, anything finished. I think that’s an excellent idea. But despite our experiences here, and believe me when I say, I don’t want to do that again, I think that taking a consignment or a shipment of goods scheduled to go from one place to another isn’t a bad thing. I mean, that’s how interplanetary commerce works. The jackholes here just tried to take advantage of a bad situation. We just need to remember not to come back here without some sort of strong escort or maybe a convoy if we could somehow swing that.”
“Sounds like a good idea. We don’t usually run into too many ships, though I know there are at least a score of them in this area of Indie space, the nearby 100 or so systems.”
“Can we walk?” she asked. He nodded.
“Of course.”
“Any of those ships, have they been friendly?” They exited the boat bay and headed down the corridor.
He nodded. “A few. I haven’t met up with all of them. Emilia Walker, of course. I’m holding out hope for them,” the Captain admitted.
“So am I,” she said. “Any others that you meet up with?”
“Why are you interested all of a sudden?”
“I’m curious,” she replied. “I’m out of my time here, Captain. In my time, all these systems were part of the Republic and there was merchant traffic all through here. In one hundred systems? There used to easily be five to six ships per system. So yes, around five to six hundred ships. If there are twenty or so now after a serious upheaval, I think that’s pretty good. But if we can make friends and business relationships with some of the other ships and crews, we might be able to make a difference out here.”
“You really care about the welfare of all the people and planets out here?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
She sighed. “The correct answer is, ‘yes I care about all of them’ but we both know that simply isn’t true. I wish it was. It’s not so much about the welfare of the people, though the better off things are, the more they’re going to avail themselves of our services. No, what I meant was that if the ships start working together, incidents like the one we just dealt with will become more rare.”
“Something like the co-op idea?’
“Exactly. I don’t pretend to be an expert on that, but if we’re part of a group instead of individual ships, it might make little petty bureaucrats like Steffan and his minister there think twice about trying to cheat us.”
“And why would that make them afraid of us?” he asked, a tiny smile on his lips.
“Because if we are part of a big group and are bringing in goods from other worlds, if they piss us off, we’ll stop coming in here. Now, if one ship decided to stop coming here, it might not have too big an impact. But five? Twelve?”
“I see your point,” the Captain replied.
“Well, Captain, I’d be more than happy to discuss this with you more, but I need to get a shower and a change of clothes. And I think I need to speak with Quesh about damage repairs.”
He nodded. “I’ll leave you to it then. Again, Moxie,” he said clapping her on the shoulder and making her stumble a bit, “Sorry. But very good work out there today.”
“Captain, I’m sorry to wake you sir, but the Ganges has left its docking slip and is underway on a course for us.” George’s voice was tinged with fear. But he was holding together.
A cold spike of terror shot through him as he rolled off his bunk. He was pulling on his ship suit and boots almost immediately. His stomach was a ball of acid and his legs decided that they were going to morph into rubber. Nonetheless, he was out of his quarters, fully dressed and hustling to the bridge in just under two minutes.
Upon arrival to the bridge, he dropped into his chair. “Report,” he demanded.
“Ganges is underway, Captain,” George replied. “If they maintain current speed they will intercept us a little over an hour from the hyper limit.”
“Can we increase speed?”
“No, Captain. The Chief reports our engines are already at maximum.”
“Do you have any good news?” he asked.
George paused. “Well, we’ve managed to rebuild our shield power to full. Well, back up to as high as we had it before the attack.”
“That’s something anyway,” he replied. “Are you sure we can’t increase acceleration?”
“Quesh is, sir,” George answered. “I asked him about it earlier, he said we are already running at one hundred percent on the engines. He’s concerned that if we push them, especially for the amount of time we need to reach the hyper limit that we will burn them out. And I don’t think we can manage without the engines.”
The Captain sighed. “Have they tried to speak with us?”
Serinda, who was seated at communications, nodded. “Yes, Captain, twice they’ve called for us to heave to.”
&nb
sp; “I’m getting really tired of being told to surrender,” Eamonn grumbled. “Can’t an honest freighter Captain do business in a system without getting chased out?”
“They’re hailing us again, Captain,” Serinda said. “They are really insistent.”
“Voice message? Or video?”
“Video, Captain.”
“Put them on,” he ordered.
The image on the Captain’s display appeared of a man in his late fifties, dark hair streaked with silver. His face was lined and weathered and it was clear from the fury blazing in his eyes that he was furious with his prey.
“This is Commander Jensen Tyler of the warship Ganges to Grania Estelle. This is the last warning you will receive. You will cut your engines, power down your shields and weapons and prepare to be boarded, or I fill fire upon you and disable your ship. Respond!”
The Captain grimaced. “This is Vincent Eamonn, Captain of the Grania Estelle. This attack on and now pursuit of my vessel have been completely unprovoked. I am departing this system before there is any further loss of life. We ask that you break off your pursuit. Eamonn out.” He nodded and Serinda cut the connection. “I don’t suppose we can hope that the only systems they actually have functioning are engines and communications?”
“I’d like to believe that, Captain,” George replied. “But we still don’t have the aft scanners overhauled. Until they close the distance, we can’t really see them.”
He rubbed his forehead then nodded. “All right. Helm, cut acceleration to zero, then flip us around so the forward sensors can get a good look.”
Everyone on the bridge was staring at him. No one moved.
“Now, people!” he yelled. Startled, they all jumped and hustled to their tasks.
“Zero acceleration, Captain,” the helmsman called.
“Activating sensors,” George reported. “Damn.”
That was the first time that Eamonn could remember the ops officer had ever used a curse word, even one as minor as ‘damn’. But it was enough to truly get the Captain’s attention. “What is it?”