Winds of Marque

by Bennett R. Coles

  “Are those merchants in convoy?” she asked.

  “No.” He gave her a curious glance. “But their courses seem to be converging.”

  “Not unusual behavior, maybe,” she offered, “if they’re both heading for the same port.”

  “But they do seem a little close.” He was impressed at her tactical perception. “Well spotted, Quartermaster.”

  He grabbed a spare telescope from the central console and peered toward the Sectoid ship. The powerful, augmented optics gave him a good view of the distant vessel, all the light down that narrow field of vision focused and computer-enhanced for his eye. He could see the tall, gray form of the bug ship, easily twice the size of a Human battleship—meaning it was one of their minor vessels. “Any hostile activity from the Sectoid?” he asked Brown.

  “No, sir, except that she’s now inside the control zone for one of our colonies.” Brown tapped the chart laid out before her, indicating the red sphere surrounding the nearest planet. “Terrestrial world, marginally habitable for Humans, called Farmer’s Paradise.”

  Liam guessed it was an ironic name. They usually were.

  “It’s a known hideout for some pirate elements in this sector,” he explained to Virtue, “and a good place for us to begin our hunt.”

  “There’s a collection of tiny Human settlements on this world,” Cadet Highcastle interjected. “Mostly stubborn individualists who want to live free from Imperial oversight. We don’t usually pay them any mind, but that doesn’t mean the bugs can just wander into their space.”

  Brown kept her eyes on Blackwood, ignoring the cadet.

  “I’m more puzzled by the proximity of the two merchants,” she said. “The smaller one is definitely closing the larger one.”

  “We should close the Sectoid,” Highcastle said, loud enough for everyone to hear. When no one responded, he repeated himself, stepping closer to the command chair and staring up at Riverton expectantly.

  “Mind your station, Cadet Highcastle,” Liam finally replied.

  Highcastle turned away, face hardening into a sullen glare. He strode back to the central watch station, planting himself at the console right next to Brown. So close, in fact, that his bulk pressed against her, forcing her to sidestep to maintain her balance.

  Liam suppressed a sigh. That sort of action was typical of a noble snotter: insolent, but not actively insubordinate. Brown’s face darkened. She glared up at the self-absorbed youth, turned back to her displays for a moment, then stepped back.

  “Cadet Highcastle,” she asked loudly, “what’s our estimated CPA on the Sectoid?”

  Highcastle stared at her blankly.

  Liam watched the two officers stare at each other.

  “What’s our what?” Highcastle finally responded.

  Brown’s expression grew predatory. “CPA . . . Closest point of approach, Cadet. I’m pretty sure that was covered at the Academy. In the first week.”

  “I haven’t been to the Academy yet,” Highcastle mumbled, face reddening. “I’ll be starting next year.”

  “Then I suggest you spend your watch listening to Sublieutenant Brown,” Liam interjected, stepping toward them, “who has attended the Academy and who has earned her qualification to be in charge of this vessel.”

  Highcastle glanced at Brown and scoffed.

  Brown, to her extreme credit, didn’t give an inch.

  “You still haven’t answered my question, Cadet,” she said. “What’s our CPA on the Sectoid vessel?”

  “Obviously I don’t know,” Highcastle replied, rolling his eyes. “So why don’t you show me, Sublieutenant Brown?”

  “Well,” she said, “let’s start with the basics. First, surely you can tell me what our relative velocity is to the Sectoid ship?”

  Highcastle flicked his eyes across the command console, no doubt hoping the answer was flashing boldly in front of him. The silence crawled by. Liam sensed Virtue stepping slowly away.

  “Too hard?” Brown snapped. “How about you just tell me the distance between us and the Sectoid?”

  Highcastle looked at the chart, then fingered his telescope. His lips tried to form a response but failed.

  “Something simple, then,” Brown said. “What’s the name of our ship?”

  “What?”

  “No, Cadet, it’s Daring.”

  The color in Highcastle’s cheeks deepened. But Liam had seen enough cadets get publicly torn to shreds on the bridge, and he knew that Brown’s towering intellect was just beginning to stir; he didn’t really want such a public humiliation to occur with so many witnesses.

  “Mr. Highcastle,” he interjected, giving the young man a smile and placing a friendly hand on his shoulder. “The bridge crew are about to conduct their hourly rotation. Go and supervise it, if you please.”

  “Yes, sir,” the cadet replied. Liam caught the flash of relief on his face as he strode away to intercept the bosn’s mate.

  Liam stepped closer to Brown, keeping his smile in place. “Watch your temper with the lordlings, Sublieutenant,” he said quietly. “They haven’t learned their place yet.”

  “I’ll show him his place,” she growled.

  “I know. But remember, there was once a time when even you were that clueless.”

  “When I was ten, perhaps.”

  He laughed. “I was thinking more seven, but perhaps at that age you hadn’t yet learned to sneer.”

  Her stern expression cracked into a smile. “I can handle the lordling, sir. But maybe after the next port visit, Lieutenant Swift should be given a turn.”

  “Stars, Charlotte—I want Highcastle alive when we return home.”

  “Then let Sublieutenant Templegrey coddle him for a while.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. Until then, do your best to turn him into something useful.”

  “Yes, sir.” She glanced down at the chart. “I can probably at least get him doing—”

  “Ma’am!” cried one of the lookouts. “Weapons fire between the two merchantmen.”

  Brown snapped her telescope free from her belt and raised it to her eye in a practiced motion. Liam did the same. It took him several moments to find the right part of the sky, but then he saw the flashes of short-range cannon fire, brilliant pinpricks of light ending in muted explosions against the hull of the larger merchant. Despite the lookout’s initial report, Liam quickly saw that this was no pitched battle between ships.

  “The smaller ship is doing all the shooting,” Brown said, squinting through her scope.

  “It’s the pirates,” Highcastle exclaimed from his perch near the helmsman. “We should close and engage!”

  Liam looked over at the captain. She’d straightened in her chair and alternated between watching the battle through her own telescope and looking down at her tactical array. “Activate optical recording on the battle,” she said. “Maximum resolution.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Brown replied, fingers flying across her console.

  “Course, ma’am?” Liam prompted.

  “Maintain current course,” she ordered.

  He scanned the chart, and the relative position of the pirate attack, not sure he understood her thinking. Was she intending to flank? In any case, he had to get the ship ready to fight.

  “That stores report,” he asked Virtue, “do we have all our assault boarding-party gear ready for deployment?”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, handing the tablet to him.

  “And the boats?”

  “Operational, sir.” She thought for a moment. “But they’re currently rigged for standard sailing. If we’re sending an assault party, they’ll need to be reset to make room for the extra bodies.”

  “What does that take? Half an hour?”

  “About that, sir.”

  Liam checked Brown’s tactical display again, then turned back to Virtue.

  “Drawing weapons and armor, how long until we’re ready to send the assault team?”

  Virtue paused, clearly consideri
ng all the supply components that went into equipping fifteen sailors for close combat and getting them over to another ship.

  “An hour, sir, maybe a bit more.”

  “Make it so, Quartermaster.”

  Virtue knuckled her forehead and dashed from the bridge.

  Liam strode over to the captain’s chair.

  “I recommend I take a full assault party, ma’am. The pirates will be well armed.”

  “Regular boarding party,” she replied, still manipulating her tactical display. “By the time we get there, the pirates will be long gone.”

  Liam could read a tactical display as well as anyone. With their current sailing configuration, it would take several hours to close the distance. But he knew Daring was capable of greater speed. He was suddenly disappointed in Riverton—she’d seemed so much smarter.

  “If we full sheet we can reduce closing time by at least a quarter—and we have the thrusters, ma’am.”

  Her expression could have frozen a star. “I’m fully aware of my ship’s capabilities.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He leaned closer, considering carefully his next words. “But at our current speed we won’t be able to intercede in this attack.”

  She pretended to ignore him for a moment, gazing through her telescope once more, but eventually she turned to face him again.

  “Agreed. Unfortunate, but true. Maintain course.”

  Words of protest pushed up his throat, but discipline held them down. He stared up at his captain, reading in her stony expression something more than just obstinacy. There was a calculated intelligence there. “Maintain sensor silence as well,” Riverton added.

  It made no sense, but he had to obey. His mind churned over her words, trying to figure out what latitude they gave him.

  “Do not change any outward indicator from this ship,” Riverton said. “No course or speed changes, no active sensors, nothing.”

  He realized with chagrin that she was purposefully hemming him in. She wanted no deviation from her intent, that was clear.

  “I’ll see to it, ma’am.”

  He returned to the officer-of-the-watch console, noting with satisfaction as Brown updated their intercept course based on different possible speeds. Highcastle stood uselessly beside her, watching with restless energy.

  “Maintain sensor silence,” Liam ordered, loud enough for the entire bridge to hear.

  “Are we coming to full sail?” Highcastle demanded.

  “No. Maintain course.”

  The young noble suddenly turned to the console, inexpertly tapping in commands.

  “We’re still an hour away from missile range,” he protested. “We need to get closer.”

  “Maintain course and speed,” Liam said quietly to Brown.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But what about the pirates!” the lad exclaimed.

  “Shut your mouth, Cadet,” Liam barked. His own frustration was getting too close to the surface. He peered through his telescope again, noting that the firing had stopped and the two ships were now much closer. The pirates were going to board the merchant. His eyes snapped over to Riverton, who was also watching through her telescope. What was she thinking?

  “Status of the Sectoid ship?” Riverton asked suddenly.

  Her question caught everyone by surprise, and Liam realized that he, Brown, and Highcastle had all tunneled in on only one aspect of the tactical situation. Brown was momentarily flustered as she shifted her thinking.

  “No apparent change,” Liam reported, after a quick glance at the readouts. “No change to her course or speed, no increased energy levels or emissions that we can detect.”

  “Very well.”

  Riverton’s calm voice ensured a stillness on the bridge, and Liam forced himself to not pace as he watched Daring’s distance to intercept slowly close.

  Highcastle was fuming, arms crossed as he stood near the officer-of-the-watch station. Liam could sense the young man’s overwhelming frustration—no doubt he was not at all used to feeling powerless.

  Highcastle noticed his gaze. After a moment’s hesitation, the young man stalked over and leaned in to speak quietly.

  “Lord Blackwood, I . . . am most distressed at our decision to not aid that merchant ship.” The effort he was making to contain himself was impressive.

  “I understand,” Liam said carefully, not allowing any of his own frustration to show. “But the captain knows what she’s doing. We’ll arrive on scene when the time is right.”

  His last sentence sounded as hollow when spoken as it had in his mind.

  “But this ship has missiles, doesn’t it? We can fire them from well outside cannon range.”

  It was an unusual feeling for Liam to agree more with an untrained cadet than with his own commanding officer, but he held his expression firm.

  “We do, and we can. But we have very few of them, and they’re not intended for use against pirate ships.” He stabbed a finger out toward the distant Sectoid. “We need them in case something like that decides to take a run at us.”

  Highcastle listened in taut silence. Then, finally, he nodded.

  “I understand, Blackwood. Still, it’s a damn shame.”

  “It is.” Liam hardened his features. “And address me as ‘sir,’ Cadet Highcastle.”

  The youth barely managed to suppress his eye roll. “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter 7

  One of the ship’s boats had been launched from its cradle and was tethered to Daring’s hull by a pair of lines and the airlock tube. The two-man crew was already aboard, and the sailors of the boarding party were gathered around her in the narrow passageway.

  Hedge and Flatrock were there, of course, their reputations as scrappers well known in the Passagia squadron and their selection for boarding party a given. Amelia didn’t know the other two sailors, but they both looked fit and capable. She quickly inspected everyone’s space suits and weapons.

  Like them, her own belt was heavy with a cutlass and a pistol. The sword was bigger than anything she was used to, and she’d never even fired a pistol before. Her hands rested on the weapon on each hip, trying to get used to the feel of each. The space suit was lightweight, more an emergency escape suit—perfect for mobility but limited in actual lifesaving capability.

  The sound of boots approaching caught her attention, and she straightened as Subcommander Blackwood strode into view, flanked by Lieutenant Swift and Chief Sky. All three were suited and armed, faces set in grim determination.

  “Quartermaster,” Blackwood called out, “are we ready to cast off?”

  “Yes, sir. Boat’s crew is aboard, medical equipment has been loaded, and boarding party is ready.”

  Blackwood came to a halt in the middle of the team, his eyes casting around at the assembled sailors.

  “This is more likely a rescue mission than a fighting one,” he said, “but we know nothing about how these pirates operate and we’ll take no chances. Even though the pirate ship itself has fled, they may have left a prize crew on board. We will move swiftly, but cautiously, to secure the vessel.”

  Chief Sky gave the order to commence boarding, and the sailors swung themselves one by one down through the airlock tube. It was always an awkward motion for anyone, but Amelia winced as she watched her shipmates bumble to get themselves through the passage.

  “Might want to schedule some more training with the boat, Chief,” Lieutenant Swift commented lightly. “I’d like to get on board before I retire.”

  “I’ll see to it, sir,” Sky growled.

  Amelia ignored the eyes of the officers on her as she fumbled to maneuver herself into the tube. She did a final check of her gear, then gripped the crossbar at the top of the airlock tube with both hands. Swinging into zero-g was always a minor act of faith, but Amelia felt the familiar yet odd sense of sudden buoyancy as her suited body left Daring’s artificial gravity and floated free into the tube. Her trajectory wasn’t perfect, but a quick push against the approaching wall c
orrected her movement, and within moments she drifted through the hardened hatch of the boat. Steadying hands grabbed her on all sides and settled her in the middle of the space.

  The boat was large enough for twenty sailors, the deck uncluttered and currently laid out with harnesses along both sides for the boarding party to strap into. She checked the bindings of the stretchers laid across medical equipment in the center of the boat, a grim reminder of what might be waiting for them. The upper half of the hull was transparent and currently facing outward from Daring, offering a view of the half-lit, sickly-green surface of Farmer’s Paradise. Scattered settlements lit the night side and a few ships were barely visible in the gulf between Daring and the planet. The pirate ship was one of them, still being silently tracked as she fled.

  Blackwood drifted into the boat and took his seat next to the boat’s helmsman, Master Rating Faith. The old sailor gave him a polite nod. “Ready when you are, sir.”

  “Cast off, helmsman.”

  The bowsman, Able Rating Hunter, sealed the airlock and released all moorings to Daring before taking his position forward in the boat’s eyes. With a puff from the ion thrusters, Faith pushed them clear of the ship, passing astern of Daring’s bulk. Beyond was the battered hull of the merchant ship Lightning Louise, pockmarked from the effects of the pirate cannon. Amelia looked over it carefully, searching for any sign of life, but the ship appeared dark and silent. She felt her heart tighten as she imagined what might be waiting for them.

  “Starting our approach,” Blackwood signaled over his radio.

  “No change in energy levels,” reported Brown from the bridge.

  If there was anyone still on board, they didn’t appear to be reacting. The nearest mast was little more than a stump projecting from Louise’s hull, shreds of solar sail still clinging to the shattered post. Without fresh sheets, this ship was dead in space. She was a midsized merchant, easily three times Daring’s displacement with vast internal cargo bays.