Sydney Chambers

by B. T. Jaybush

  “Aye, Captain,” the weapons officer acknowledged, then quickly passed the updated command to her counterpart at Morrigan’s auxiliary weapons array.

  “All right then.” The captain took a breath, released it. “Mr. Hellespont, get us underway.”

  2

  “So the Irish dog wants to play rough, does he?”

  Hans Vattermann leaned forward in his command throne, eyeing the action on the massive control room screen with a jaundiced eye. He had hoped, though not expected, that the initial laser pulses he had aimed at O’Shaugnassey’s craft would spur the cur into toughening up and continuing the attack on Outpost Station. Those hopes had turned to dust as the fleet of Irish pirates turned, almost as a single unit, and began peppering Vattermann’s own ships with not only lasers, but missiles and other ordnance as well.

  “Damage is minimal so far, Kommandant,” Stefan Holzig reported. “But O’Shaugnassey’s gunners seem to be gaining accuracy with each salvo. Should we ramp up our own response, sir?”

  Vattermann snorted evilly. “Are you seriously asking me if we should shoot back?” Vattermann’s voice dripped with enough sarcasm to cause his lieutenant’s clothing to feel suddenly damp. The feeling passed in an instant, though, to be replaced with the chill of an abrupt release of adrenalin into Holzig’s system when the Kommandant roared his answer.

  “Of course we shoot back!” Vattermann had spoken so forcefully that he had to pause a moment to regain his breath before continuing. “Loose everything that we have at that sniveling dog! Lasers, missiles, bullets, whatever — if it can kill, I want it flying toward O’Shaugnassey!”

  “Yes, Kommandant,” Holzig little more than muttered, then turned back to his station to pass the order on to the other ships. He had barely touched the comm controls, though, when Vattermann spoke up again.

  “Varte mal.”

  Holzig was no speaker of Vattermann’s native language, but the German phrase for “wait” was one that he had definitely picked up, little as his master used it. The lieutenant swung to face the pirate chief once more, schooling his face to neutrality as he did so.

  “Kommandant?”

  Vattermann grimaced. “Much as I want to crush O’Shaugnassey like the insect that he is, we cannot afford to be completely distracted from our primary goal,” he said, his voice filled with tension but remarkably controlled nonetheless. “Detail two of our ships — and no, I don’t care which two — to break off and circle around the Irish mob. The target is Outpost Station. I want them docked and boarding the place within an hour. It must be ready for our own appearance by the time we are ready to dock.”

  A feral grin had worked its way onto Vattermann’s face by the time he finished speaking. Holzig allowed a bit of the same to touch his own features. “With pleasure, Kommandant,” he said, then turned to pass on his master’s orders.

  3

  Chris Henderson stared at her sensors in disbelief as the instrument showed her the five leading pirate vessels — O’Shaugnassey’s ships, from the markings — turn and begin firing on their own allies. A moment later her headphones crackled with Joe Miller’s voice.

  “Chris, you seein’ what I’m seein’?”

  Henderson nodded in her two-person skiff. “Seems like the assholes got some dissention in their ranks, Joe,” she drawled. “It’s always so sad to see trouble develop in paradise.”

  There was silence for a moment as both militia leaders contemplated what they were seeing. Finally Miller, always the practical one, spoke up again. “I don’t know about you, but I vote to save our ammo and concentrate our fire on the ones still heading for the station,” he said.

  Chris Henderson didn’t even have to consider the suggestion. “You got it in one, Joe,” she answered.

  “Hey, two of Vattermann’s ships are trying’ an end-around!” Ted Graham’s shout caused both Henderson and Miller to re-examine their instruments. “Probably trying to sneak onto the station while we’re all busy out here.”

  “Yeah, I see that. Ted, we can’t let that happen,” Miller snapped.

  “We sure can’t. I say we concentrate on those two,” Henderson piped up. “For the moment, anyway. Vattermann and O’Shaugnassey got their hands full with each other, so it’s up to us to make sure no pirates dock at Outpost Station in the meantime.”

  “Ten-four on that, Chris,” Miller answered. “Want me to —”

  “No, I got it. Henderson to all militia.” Chris now switched from command to the all-call channel. “Concentrate fire on those two pirate bastards tryin’ to sneak their way to Outpost Station. It looks like the rest of Vattermann and O’Shaugnassey’s forces are busy chewin’ on each other, so it’s up to us to stop the SOB’s from gettin’ a shot at taking the station.”

  “Roger that,” Henry Pastori responded promptly. “I second the notion. Gotta keep those scumbags off the station. Me and my group’ll head after the one to our left.”

  “They’re all yours,” Miller responded. “Chris, why don’t you take your bunch that way too. Henry, you and me got the other one.”

  “Right with ya, Joe.”

  Within seconds of agreement the mosquito fleet militia had divided and was busily dive-bombing Vattermann’s pair of outliers.

  4

  “Don’t know how much longer we can take this, boss.”

  As if to punctuate the comment a large explosion off the ship’s port side made the Blarney’s control room ring like a bell. The entire vessel shook alarmingly. Patrick O’Shaugnassey had no sooner grimaced at Tom Flannery’s words than there was yet another sharp lurch as Blarney maneuvered to avoid even more incoming missiles and lasers.

  “Don’t I know it, Tom,” he muttered. “Still, my conscience won’t be lettin’ that bastard Vattermann have at Outpost Station without givin’ him the best fight we can.”

  “I get that, boss,” Flannery said, his voice softer. “But if all of us get blown out of space, he’s going to have his way with the station anyway and — wait, hold on!”

  Flannery worked frantically at his station for a few moments, then transferred a view of the area in front of the Blarney to the control room’s large main screen. “Boss, you’ve got to see this. That TSM ship just transited back in-system at the back of Vattermann’s ships. They’re hammerin’ him back there!”

  Patrick eagerly leaned forward, as though that would allow him to better see the on-screen action. “Is Vattermann responding?”

  “He’s....” Flannery touched a few more controls then began nodding. “Looks like four of his ships are turning to face the warship —” he began, and then grinned. “No, make that three — one of them just took a kill shot and went dead. But that’s still four less bastards shooting at us.”

  O’Shaugnassey grinned in response, the first happy look he’d shown since ordering his forces to turn on the other pirate fleet. “That leaves, what, five of his ships shootin’ at the five of ours? Plus the militia folk, of course. Much better odds, I’m thinkin’.”

  Flannery shook his head. “Actually even better than that. The militia guys quit targeting us when two of Vattermann’s ships started doing an end-run around the fight, heading to dock at Outpost Station while the rest of us are busy.”

  “Damn.” Patrick drummed his fingers on his command chair arm for a moment as he pondered the situation. “How’s the TSM ship farin’,” he asked at last.

  “Doesn’t look like they’ve been hit much,” Flannery told him. “They’re —”

  Patrick’s second broke off to stare at his screens a moment, “Uh, boss, they’re gone again.” He touched several controls before turning back to Patrick. “They disabled a second of those four ships that turned toward them then jumped back into hyper.”

  A sly smile spread itself across Patrick’s face. “Well, what do you know,” he cackled, nodding in understanding. “Chloe said the TSM captain’s not a villain, but she didn’t say she’d such a good head on her shoulders.”

  Flanne
ry frowned at his boss’s words. “What?”

  O’Shaugnassey’s grin widened even more. “She’s makin’ like a dive-bomber,” he said, humor dancing in his voice. “It’s like, ‘now you see me and now you don’t, and I’ll be shootin’ at you when you don’t expect me to.’”

  Flannery’s eyes widened as he began to see what Patrick meant. “Jump in just long enough to engage a ship or two, then jump out and come back somewhere else. Huh. Makes sense, considering she’s only got the one ship.”

  “Aye, and likely she doesn’t trust us, even though we’re shootin’ at the same bugger as she.” Patrick grimaced, his humor gone. “Still, ’tis only Vattermann who wants the station in his hands, and it’s unlikely Captain Chambers can be doin’ anything about those two outliers Vattermann sent ahead to dock.”

  “You’re right about that, boss.” Flannery grunted as the Clancy shuddered from a particularly near miss. “They’re being harassed by the militia, but they’re closing on the station anyway.”

  “Hah. Tom, which of our lads are closest to Vattermann’s outliers?”

  “Ah ...” He consulted his screens. “Artur and Bairre.”

  Patrick nodded. “Good. Tell those two to peel off and do whatever they can to stop Vattermann’s scum from dockin’. Tell ’em to be squealin’ their intentions to the militia folk as they go, though.”

  “Got it,” Flannery said, and turned to relay the order. O’Shaugnassey, meanwhile, stood and walked over to place a hand on his gunner’s shoulder.

  “I know it’s a lot to be askin of ye, lad,” he said gently, “but we’re gonna be gettin’ real close to Vattermann’s ship in just a wee moment. I need you to be shootin’ at ’em as fast as you can.”

  Brady O’Dwyer looked up from his weapons console at Patrick and swallowed hard. “I’ll do my best, boss,” he said.

  “Good lad.” Patrick shifted his gaze to Sean Gerald, the Clancy’s pilot. “Sean, let’s be movin a wee bit closer to the Vattermann flagship,” he ordered, the look on his face one of determination. “I want to be showin’ that smug bastard he doesn’t shoot at us and get away with it.”

  5

  “O’Shaugnassey has turned his ships, Kommandant,” Stefan Holzig reported, his tone terse and strained. “All of them. They are also intensifying their fire.”

  “Dummkopf,” Vattermann grunted, his face a picture of derision. “He thinks that he and his pitiful scows can stop me? Increase our rate of fire also, Stephan. Let’s rid this system of that Irish curse once and for all.”

  “Of course, Komman — ah, wait a minute. Sir! The TSM ship has jumped back in-system.”

  “Wass? Where?” Vattermann leaped to his feet and moved to peer over Holzig’s shoulder.

  “Behind us, Kommandant. They’re —” Holzig broke off for a moment as he frantically worked his controls. “Kommandant, our captains are requesting permission to turn and face this new enemy.”

  “Ja!” Vattermann pounded both fists on the back of his lieutenant’s chair. “All trailing ships, return fire in whatever manner is necessary!”

  Holzig passed on the order, then studied his displays for a tense moment. “Sir, they’ve holed one of our ships. It’s dead in space and they’re now pummeling a second one!” After a moment he added, softly, “That leaves us with only three ships firing on O’Shaugnassey.”

  “So? Three of our ships should be more than enough to deal with that Irish cur and his wrecking-yard rabble.” Vattermann drew in a deep breath, let it go, then turned to resume his command throne as though nothing had happened to disturb him. The image was disturbed only slightly as the ship shuddered from the impact of O’Shaugnassey’s fire.

  “Of course, Kommandant,” Holzig said, just loud enough to be heard, and turned back to his board.

  6

  “One enemy ship dead in space, Captain,” Stacy Francis reported from her station at weapons. She clearly tried, but couldn’t hide all of the exultation from her voice.

  “I can see the screens quite well, Ensign,” Sydney retorted levelly. “There are still three more turning to face us. Keep your mind on your work.”

  “Aye, Ma’am. Targeting bogey two.”

  “One down,” Steve Garvey murmured at her side. “Do we try to get all of them, or....”

  Morrigan shuddered from a near-miss explosion. “Stick to the plan, XO,” the captain answered in an equally low tone. “Stick to the schedule. We make these runs on the clock, not on results. Two minutes in, them jump away.”

  “Fifteen seconds,” called out Stefan Womack from his post at navigation.

  “Shoot sharp, Ms. Francis,” Sydney said, turning to look across the control room at her weapons officer. “Clip one if you can, but just keep them busy for ten more seconds.”

  “Yes, Ma’am — yahaa! Good shooting, Sean!” Sydney’s eyes darted to the large viewscreen at the room’s front, where gasses and debris could be seen slowly moving away from the second enemy vessel. Apparently Sean Grelkin had winged it from his position at auxiliary weapons control.

  “All right! Two down,” Garvey said, a touch of delight in his voice.

  “Time, Captain,” Womack called from navigation.

  “Take us out, Mr. Hellespont,” Garvey commanded crisply. With no discernable delay a hyper window opened in front of them and the Cahan Morrigan flashed into it, vanishing just ahead of an intense barrage of missiles sent by the remaining enemy ships.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  1

  Morrigan had no sooner emerged from the brief hyper jump than the comm station pinged. “Captain, incoming call,” reported Peter Rieger after gaining his captain’s attention. “It’s Chloe O’Shaugnassey again, Ma’am.”

  Sydney gave a brief sigh. “I did promise to continue our talk,” she muttered, then turned to look at Garvey as he stood beside her. “XO, do a full systems check before we head back for the next pass. Try to keep it to three minutes.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Garvey acknowledged, then turned and began moving from station to station across the command center, verifying the readouts on his own portable screen with those of the ship’s command crew. Sydney, meanwhile, took a breath before touching the control to raise her chair’s comm screen.

  “On my station, Mr. Rieger,” she ordered. Chloe O’Shaugnassey’s features appeared there a pair of seconds later.

  “Yes, Ms. O’Shaugnassey,” Sydney acknowledged. “Still not much time, so please be concise. Oh, and you were apparently correct about your uncle — he appears to be taking heavy fire from Vattermann’s ships.”

  Chloe stared for a moment; Sydney could see that her eyes were troubled. “Aye,” she said at last, “thank you for tellin’ me that. But I’m callin to plead for somethin’ else entirely. Vattermann has my friend.”

  Sydney frowned in confusion. “Your friend?”

  “Aye. Remember I told you of my friend, who I meet on Outpost Station? He has her. The bastard’s got Krista prisoner on his ship.”

  The captain had to force her mouth to close after a sigh of exasperation forced its way out. “A prisoner,” she said slowly. “So your friend is — what, a civilian on a pirate ship?”

  “Aye!” Chloe was clearly becoming agitated — or possibly desperate, Sydney wasn’t sure which. “Vattermann captured Krista years back. He’s been forcin’ her to be his slave — that is to say, his sex slave — ever since. He brought her along to show her just how big a man he is. But she’s not a pirate, Captain. She’s a freighter pilot, of no danger to anyone. And ... and....” The Irish woman broke off, biting her lip, clearly hesitating to say what was on her mind. Finally desperation — or maybe passion — drove her to add, “I love her, Captain. I can’t bear the thought of Krista dyin’ out there!”

  Sydney felt her eyes harden and her blood run cold as she stared at the young woman on her screen. The captain breathed hard and slow for a few seconds before trusting her voice to reply.

  “Which ship is she on, Ms. O’Shaugnas
sey?”

  “Why, Vattermann’s own ship, of course,” Chloe replied, her voice still tight. “The bastard wouldn’t let her be any farther than that away from him. Can you help, Captain? Can you try not to kill her?”

  The captain gave her caller a smile so tight that it verged on being a grimace. “You had my attention when you said, ‘sex slave,’ Ms. O’Shaugnassey. That is something I cannot abide, as a Confederate officer or as a woman. We will definitely take extra precautions to see that your friend lives to give testimony against Vattermann for yet one more crime.” A crime even more heinous than piracy, Sydney added to herself, though not one she was surprised to learn the man was dabbling in.

  “Thank you, Captain,” Chloe said, the sound of relief clear in her voice though the look of fear remained etched on her features. “Thank you, more than I can say.”

  Sydney merely nodded in response before touching the control that broke the connection. Garvey sidled up beside her as the screen was still blanking.

  “All systems nominal, Captain,” he said. “We’re good for another run.”

  “Take us in then, XO, on the clock,” the captain ordered, her voice tight through clenched jaws.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” the exec acknowledged. “Mr. Womack, begin your two-minute countdown the instant we emerge from hyper. Mr. Hellespont, jump us to our second run coordinates the moment we reach interval zero.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hellespont confirmed, and less than a minute later the Morrigan was once more hastening into a newly-formed hyper window.