“And what is it that’s comin’ through,” he muttered, his voice stiff with tension.
“It’s....” Flannery scowled as his scan took an unusually long time to sort out an image of the newly transitioned vessel. When a clear picture finally showed, though, he relaxed and allowed himself a small sigh before reporting the news.
“It’s just one small ship, boss,” the lieutenant said. “Not squealing any ID, so it’s likely Vattermann. The ship’s the same class and displacement as the Clancy, so at least they’re not trying to one-up or intimidate us. Yet.”
O’Shaugnassey wasn’t ready to relax, though, barely whispering the question most important at that particular moment. “Are their weapons hot, Tom?”
“Nnn ... no.” Flannery’s hands flew over the scan controls, querying Clancy’s computers for any indication of hostile intent from the other ship, and finding none. “No weapons hot, boss — heck, nothing hot but their engines, and those are definitely slowing them down. They’ll be at a dead stop relative to us in about ten minutes.” He threw Patrick a glance over one shoulder. “It looks like they really are here to talk.”
Patrick sat back in his command chair once more but this time allowed himself to become as relaxed as he looked. He took a couple of deep breaths, but otherwise sat silent for most of a minute before saying another word.
“All right, then,” he finally said, “I’m guessin’ we can relax and get ready to hear what the man has to say. Sean?”
“Aye?” The pilot finally pulled his hand back from Clancy’s emergency GO button and turned to look at his boss.
“Dial the engines back but don’t shut ’em down. I don’t want to be sittin’ around here too long no matter what the bastard has to say.”
Gerald nodded in understanding and acknowledgement. “Aye,” he said again, and turned back to begin adjusting Clancy’s controls to the necessary settings. Meanwhile, O’Shaugnassey stood and stretched briefly, then tapped Flannery on the shoulder.
“Let’s be goin’, Tom,” he said. “It’ll be takin’ us the ten minutes to get the shuttle ready to go. You can use the shuttle’s screens to watch for their transport to be launchin’.”
“Right, boss,” Flannery agreed, then rose to follow Patrick out of Clancy’s control room.
Most of an hour later the fussy, time-consuming process of docking two shuttles was done and O’Shaugnassey began the equally fussy but, thankfully, less complicated process of unstrapping himself from his shuttle seat. With Flannery silent as he worked at locking the craft’s flight controls Patrick kept his thoughts to himself as well. His instincts screamed for conversation, urged him to debate again the wisdom of even talking to someone like Vattermann, let alone considering an accord with the man — but the time for debate was over. He would be face-to-face with the Cyg-A pirate chieftain in minutes, and from that point, what would be would be.
A buzz sounded from Flannery’s control panel, rousting Patrick from his inner turmoil.
“All locked down, boss, and not a moment too soon,” the other man told O’Shaugnassey, then swung around to observe his chief, who was now unstrapped and floating a few inches above his seat cushions. “That buzz was from the hatchway proximity alarm. Vattermann’s got his door open and is waiting for you.”
Patrick acknowledged the news with a grimace. “So, then,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “’Tis off we go to see the wizard.”
Flannery frowned at his boss’ words. “Ah....” the lieutenant began, but O’Shaugnassey merely grinned at him.
“Naught to worry, Tommy me lad,” Patrick said, forcing himself to be as cheerful as he could. “I’m no worse off than my namesake St. Patrick was when he faced down the snakes in Ireland all those years ago.”
“Right,” Flannery acknowledged, but his face reflected its owner’s deep-seated lack of conviction.
“Now, you’ll be stayin’ right where you be, understand? The agreement call for me and him only, face to face.” O’Shaugnassey smiled as his subordinate’s face hardened, then added, as though to soften the order, “Though I’ll be havin’ no argument with you, Tommy boy, if you should see fit to listen in on the talkin’.”
Flannery’s face softened a bit and he nodded in understanding. He was reaching for a set of headphones even as Patrick turned and swam through the zero-gravity toward the shuttle’s entry bay.
All the hatch’s caution lights glowed safety-green as he arrived; Patrick entered the code which would unlock and open the hatch to open passage between the two shuttles. With a slight pop of adjusting pressure, the entry swung open to reveal Hans Vattermann floating at an unmistakable parade rest, staring toward O’Shaugnassey as though coolly regarding a fallen enemy.
“So,” the Cyg-A pirate said, his voice growling with a thick though understandable German accent. “Running afoul of the Confederacy has finally caused you to grow a pair, ja?”
Patrick felt his face form itself into a nasty grin at the thinly-veiled insult. “I’d be sayin’ rather that it caused me to decide I’m fond enough of my family jewels to be takin’ steps to prevent ’em bein’ blown off.” He paused a moment to let Vattermann register the words. “And it caused me to consider listenin’ to whatever it is you have to say.”
Vattermann’s head jerked in a single nod of assent. “Sehr gut,” he said, then cocked his head slightly in consideration. “You are ready then to work with my fleet to deal with this TSM … inconvenience?”
O’Shaugnassey shrugged, which made his body rotate slightly and caused him to grab at an anchor point. “I agree to listen, aye,” he said. “But from what I saw in our little tiff this TSM Captain has a fair set of balls of her own. She won’t be givin’ up without a fight. That said, her ship’s nearly as old as some of mine. It won’t be standin’ up to much of a fight.”
Vattermann’s answering grin would have made a golem shiver. “Exactly my point, Irish. We must combine to crush this upstart in her rust bucket ship. With my fleet and yours working in concert the bitch will stand no chance. We will blow her and her TSM meddling out of space and make 16 Cygni well and truly ours, as it should have been all along.”
Patrick felt a small shiver run through him at the vehemence with which Vattermann had said, “the bitch,” blinking a couple of times as he considered the words.
“Sounds to me like you’re makin’ this a might bit personal,” he said, speaking softly, more than a little concerned for Vattermann’s storied temper.
“Ach,” the Cyg-A pirate spat. “Personal? Nein. Merely speaking from experience. The captain of that rust bucket is a glorified clerk who got her promotions through sluttish behavior and traitorous ways. She has no business even continuing to breathe let alone to command a military cruiser.” Vattermann sneered. “Destroying the bitch will amount to a service to the TSM as much as it will be a boon for the Cygni worlds. And if it is a pleasure at the same time — well, then, so much the better.”
O’Shaugnassey swallowed hard at the thought of so cavalierly destroying a ship full of people — people he didn’t know, to be sure, but merely people doing their jobs none the less. Not what I became a pirate to achieve, he couldn’t help but remind himself, and still something that could blow up in our faces. Yet it could also be just the thing that would bring the Confederacy’s attention to those injustices that drove him to become a pirate in the first place.
“So the plan is to destroy the TSM ship,” Patrick said after a moment, keeping his voice mild and as devoid of emotion as he could. “Seems to me a futile thing to be doin’. Won’t the TSM just be sendin’ another ship in its place?”
Vattermann’s sneer was now filled with evil-sounding laughter. “So they replace one rust bucket with another,” he said, derision filling the words. “And that is what they’ll send, you know it and I know it. The TSM has no taste for sending good hardware to the likes of 16 Cygni. Well, so what? By the time the Confederacy can manage to extract its head from its ass and send another ship I — we — will
have full control of Outpost Station, not to mention everything else in the three systems.” He paused, as though savoring the spoils of the plan even as he explained it to O’Shaugnassey. “Mark my words, Irish. The next ship that TSM sends out here will not be coming to get rid of us. The next TSM ship will be sent to recognize us as the new government of 16 Cygni.”
Patrick felt another shiver run through him ... but this one had as much of disgust to it as it had desire. “Take over Outpost Station,” he echoed, his voice full of wonder and, at the same time, horror.
“Once we vaporize that bitch and her little pretend military ship, what’s to stop us?” Vattermann’s eyes glittered with equal parts bloodlust and madness. “It’s something that should have been done long before now. The Confederacy is much too weak and too far away to even understand what Cygni needs, let alone to govern us. What good do they do us, anyway? What good has the Confederacy ever done us?”
Patrick sighed. “I’m not one to be defendin’ the Confederacy, you can count on that,” he told Vattermann, voice raw with emotion. His voice then hardened as he went on, “But neither am I goin’ to be settin’ myself up as the government of three star systems. I’m fine with Outpost Station runnin’ as it is.”
Vattermann’s eyes narrowed as he considered. “So, then....”
O’Shaugnassey grimaced. “Aye, the TSM ship is a problem we must be facin’. I —” He paused a moment then sighed deeply. “I’ll be joinin’ with you on takin’ down the TSM ship. Can’t say I’m all that happy with the idea — I’d much rather TSM came to be seein’ our side of the story. But if she gets destroyed, well, I’ll just have to be livin’ with it.”
He then focused directly on Vattermann’s eyes, and spoke as clearly as he knew how to be sure there was no misunderstanding. “But that is as far as we go together, Vattermann. I’m not about to be stormin’ a Confederacy station for your political goals.”
Vattermann sneered again, adding a head shake for emphasis. “It’s always half a loaf with you, isn’t it, Irish?” He added a snort of derision, then pulled a data pad out of a pocket and shoved it toward O’Shaugnassey through the zero gravity. “Fine.”
“And what’ll this be?” Patrick snagged the device as Vattermann’s shove carried it within his reach.
“That’s the tactical plan for taking out the bitch,” Vattermann said in a tone devoid of feeling. “Taking out the military ship,” he corrected himself an instant later. “You’ll see where your people fit in — I’ve given you the easy part. Just be sure that you don’t botch it.”
O’Shaugnassey didn’t look at the device but merely pocketed it, keeping his eyes fixed on his piratical opposite number. “We’ll be doin’ our part just fine,” he said. There was no mistaking the anger behind the words.
Vattermann said nothing, merely snorted a silent laugh, then reached out to activate the closing mechanism of his shuttle’s hatchway. Patrick closed his eyes and drew a breath to calm himself, then slapped at his own shuttle’s hatch control.
“Blowin’ up a TSM cruiser and takin’ over Outpost Station,” the Irish pirate muttered as he turned to swim his way back to the shuttle’s cabin. “Either the man’s totally daft or an even craftier wolf that I’d thought.”
Either way, he decided as he signaled Flannery to return to their ship, the next while is going to be an interesting time in which to be alive.
CHAPTER TWELVE
1
Sydney placed a hand lightly on Cami Frye’s shoulder, stopping her as she raised her arm to knock on Station Manager Rudolph’s door.
“A moment, Lieutenant.”
Frye turned puzzled eyes toward the TSM captain she had once again been tasked with escorting. “Yes, Ma’am?”
Sydney removed her hand from the younger woman’s shoulder and regarded her escort a moment before speaking. She had been drawn to the local officer during their first encounter, despite the lieutenant’s youth and inexperience, sensing a solid core of both decency and determination. It was the earlier estimation that made it so surprising to find Frye now seeming anxious, her head constantly shifting from side to side as they covered the distance from the docks to the Station offices. The captain hesitated, though, before asking for an explanation — Frye was not, after all, in her chain of command. Still, she decided after a moment, what was about to happen would affect everyone in the three systems, and the more information she had the better she could prepare.
“You seem ... nervous, lieutenant,” the captain said at last, keeping her voice calm and unthreatening. “That is not something I expected to see in you after our first conversation.”
“Ah ... no, Ma’am,” Cami little more than stuttered. “That is, thank you, Ma’am. But the fact is, I was nervous the last time you were here. I’m surprised that it didn’t show.”
Sydney frowned slightly. “Why were you nervous then?”
Frye gasped out a tense laugh. “About meeting you, Ma’am.” When Sydney’s look became puzzled, Cami attempted to explain. “I — well, you’re kind of a hero to me, Ma’am. Being captain of a fighting ship and all.”
“Ah.” Sydney pressed her lips together; being someone’s hero was not an idea that she liked to contemplate, but neither could she find it in herself to remonstrate the young officer. Still....
“That’s not why you’re nervous now, though, is it?”
Cami opened and shut her mouth a couple of times before any sound managed to emerge. “No, Ma’am,” she finally managed to mutter. “It’s ... well, all the militia people coming on-station make me wonder just how close we are to a big fight.”
“Ah,” Sydney repeated, then nodded. “I see. What would your post be during a battle?”
The lieutenant shrugged slightly. “Well, I’m Station Security, Ma’am, not militia, so I’d probably be right here. Guarding Manager Rudolph.”
Sydney stared at the young woman for a moment. There was something more there than was being said, she decided. Yes, Camilla Frye was a scared kid who had never been anywhere near a large fight, let alone a space battle — but she was also a young woman determined enough to have joined Station Security, the armed force that was available to her, rather than merely attempting to hide herself from the coming conflict. Now she seemed torn between the duties Station Security gave her and a desire to do more, to be out in space where the action would be.
Sydney sighed quietly. Youth was indeed wasted on the young.
“Guarding your station manager,” the captain finally said in slow, deliberate tones, “is an extremely important post, Lieutenant. Manager Rudolph’s safety is critical to the continued smooth operation of the entire 16 Cygni system.”
Cami’s face colored slightly. “I know that, Ma’am,” she said softly. “It’s just that....”
“You wish that you could be closer to the action,” Sydney softly finished the thought that the younger woman left hanging.
The security officer acknowledged Sydney’s guess with the barest of nods.
“I’ve got news for you, then,” Sydney told her in a voice that grew suddenly hard, if not cold. “Two things. First, the action in a space battle isn’t always as exciting as you’d like to think. More often it’s either extremely boring — or extremely terrifying. When it’s the latter, even the best of officers tend to wind up extremely dead.
“Second,” Sydney continued before Frye could break in. “If things don’t go well out there — if I and the militia don’t do our jobs, and the pirates break through — there will likely be a lot more action here on the Station than you can imagine. Your post at Manager Rudolph’s side will likely be one of the most dangerous of all.”
Cami’s eyes grew wide. This time when she opened her mouth to speak no words managed to escape at all.
“Now,” Sydney ventured after allowing the lieutenant a moment to absorb what she’d been told, “I believe we’ve kept Manager Rudolph waiting long enough.”
Frye knocked on the manager’s doo
r, opening it and waving Sydney in without a word. As the captain strode into his office Walter Rudolph stood, waving at Frye to close the door behind his visitor.
“Glad you made it back,” he said. “I hear that Arega Heavy Industries managed to come up with the parts that you needed.”
“They did indeed,” Sydney acknowledged. “The Morrigan is again fit and ready for whatever comes. I gather that cloud of little ships I saw as we docked is your militia?”
Rudolph’s grin of reply looked somehow uneasy. “It is,” he said, then sat back down behind his desk and allowed the grin to fade to a scowl. “That’s all of ’em. Good people, but a cantankerous bunch. There’s a reason that it’s been so long since they’ve all come together at the same time here on the station.”
Sydney frowned. “I thought that the militia existed for the purpose of protecting Outpost Station.”
“Our charter assigns to the militia the protection of all of 16 Cygni,” Rudolph shot back. “That’s why we’d become so desperate. Forty little ships and just over a hundred people may be enough to act as a police and volunteer rescue force. They’ve done those things like champions for a lot of years — they’re the best men and women you’ll ever want to meet, men and women I’m proud to call my friends. Real patriots, every one of ’em.” The look on his face turned bleak. “But there was no way that they could handle a threat like the pirates, not once those bastards got war ships.”
Sydney consciously eased her mouth out of the grim slash it had become at hearing the news. “I imagine not. Forty very little ships to patrol an area of — what did you say it is, three-and-a-half million cubic AU? That’s a lot to expect in the first place, even without having to face war ships. I begin to see why you complained about TSM sending only us to cover that area.”
“Captain, the members of the militia are a scrappy bunch,” Rudolph said, throwing his head back defensively, pride obvious in his throaty growl. “Real good fighters when they have to be. And those ‘very little ships’ are a hell of a lot better armed than you might think. They did just fine until the likes of Vattermann came along.” He paused to sigh and seemed to sag as the reality of what faced those brave men and women seemed to settle on him.
Sydney Chambers Page 18
