“I already, ahem, have some crew picked out for you.”
Chapter Nine
Lieutenant Capp stepped out of the away pod and took in the battle cruiser’s hangar. She let out a grunt at what she saw, though it took a moment to recognize what left her dissatisfied. The hangar was large and clean. Everything was neatly stacked, in better condition than a pirate was used to—which was how she still thought of Catarina Vargus in spite of the woman’s shiny new commission—and the crew was hard at work fusing the last of the tyrillium scale into the bombproof that would protect the launch bay.
Carvalho got out of the pod and stood next to her. “Looks like someone’s toy.”
“Aye, luv, that’s what’s bugging me. I knew there was something wrong.”
Everything was clean and new. There were no scars where damaged scale had been cut loose and patched up. No pieces of broken equipment being repaired, no oil stains on the floor, no scorched sections of plating. Even the air smelled wrong—clean, perfectly filtered, without the smell of solvents and binding agents. One of the strikers was on the bay floor, shiny as a toy, and some bloke was even rubbing it down with a cloth.
“This ship has never seen combat,” Carvalho said.
“None of these blokes either, I’d wager.”
“I wish we were back on Blackbeard.”
“You and me both,” she said. “But we got some of our people with us, and that’ll help. And word has it that Vargus is bringing over some of her own.”
The others were getting out of the away pods, starting with Hubert Rodriguez, a former mercenary who had patched Blackbeard up on more than one occasion before the buzzards destroyed his spaceyards. Dwight Barker, chief engineer and gunner, came out with him. The two men were deep in argument about the new ship’s main battery.
Several other mechanics, boatswains, and techs, mostly Ladino and Singaporean, had come over with them, and they listened to the two men argue like a grumpy old couple after fifty years of marriage.
Noah Brockett, Blackbeard’s science officer, and Stephen Smythe, Blackbeard’s former tech officer, climbed out next, discussing something that had a lot of numbers and scientific mumbo jumbo. Pontificating, again. Something about sensor arrays that Capp couldn’t properly follow. Beth Lomelí, the defense grid specialist, was with them, but the short Ladino listened while they blathered on, though Capp thought the lady was as smart as either of the fellows.
Finally, Nyb Pim, Blackbeard’s old pilot, who would be serving the same role on Vargus’s new battle cruiser. The Hroom unfolded himself like a giant stick insect as he climbed out. He looked around the bay, his large dark eyes taking in everything. A hum emerged from deep in his throat.
“Unless I am mistaken,” Nyb Pim said in his high, almost hooting voice, “this ship is filled with fresh recruits.”
“That’s what we’re here for, mate,” Capp said. “Add a little seasoning to the stew.”
“I have to admit,” Carvalho said, “I do like the looks of this.”
He stepped up to the striker and rubbed his hand over the surface. “A falcon. A lot more fun to fly than that torpedo boat, believe me. Get this underneath you and—” He made a whooshing noise.
“Aye, it’s a shiny toy all right,” Capp said.
Vargus was watching them with her arms crossed from the other side of the bay. Even from a distance, her expression radiated skepticism. Next to her stood that ugly bloke they’d fought on San Pablo, the one who’d lost an arm and had it replaced with a Gatling gun. No gun now, just a normal prosthetic. What was his name? Nix? Capp’s stomach soured in distaste.
A crew member attached a small lorry to one of the three away pods, which had come in on rails, and hauled it toward the service lift as Vargus approached the newcomers, who numbered sixteen in all.
“So,” Vargus said. “Who runs this little cabal?”
“Cabal?” Capp said. “What’s that mean?” She looked to Carvalho for an answer, but he only shrugged.
“Which one of you is in charge?” the other woman pressed.
Capp blinked. “Ain’t you in charge, Cap’n? That’s what we was told.”
“It must be you, Lieutenant Capp.” Vargus looked impatient. “Drake said he was sending over some of his old crew, and you all arrived at once. And I would suppose the only reason for that is because he wants you to act as a check on my command of the ship. To make sure I don’t step out of line.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Capp said. “But yeah, if you put it that way, I figure I’m in charge of this lot. I’m your new first mate, which makes me the ranking officer here.”
Capp was aware of her rough York Town accent as she said this, and how unlikely it was that she’d ended up as the second-highest ranking officer of the second most powerful ship in the Royal Navy. Then again, Captain Vargus was a pirate, no matter how posh her accent. How was it she sounded like a highborn lady anyhow?
“You’re the one who will lead the mutiny, should the circumstances call for it,” Vargus said.
“We ain’t gonna mutiny.”
“That’s what you say now. Give it time, you’ll reconsider.”
Capp couldn’t help herself. “That’s bollocks.”
“Think about it, Lieutenant.”
Capp rubbed a hand over her buzzed scalp. Huh, maybe Vargus had a point. Drake had briefed his old crew before sending them in the away pods. There hadn’t been any explicit orders to keep an eye on Vargus, but the admiral made it clear how important this mission was and the consequences if they failed. Get to the Great Bear System, work around the clock to set up a defensive perimeter, and dig deep into the asteroid that was to be their forward operating base. What if Vargus tried something funny?
“Look, we didn’t choose to come here,” Capp said. “Well, maybe Brockett, but he’s always keen to poke around new places. Smythe, too. You know how them science blokes are. Give ’em some new tech, an alien brain to cut into, and they’re happy. The rest of us are doing what Drake told us.”
“Following orders like good little soldiers.”
Capp thrust out her chin. “Aye, that’s right.”
Vargus gave her a hard stare. Capp didn’t look away, and eventually the other woman’s expression softened.
“Well, I suppose it could be worse,” Vargus said. “You are not Edward McGowan.”
“That piss nozzle?” Capp said. “I woulda deserted before I served under him again.”
This brought a smile to Vargus’s face. “Well, then. Maybe we’re going to get along after all.”
But then Capp remembered something else that Drake had said.
“Oh, yeah, that reminds me.” She fished out her hand computer. “Got our first orders right here. We’re supposed to rendezvous with McGowan at these coordinates.”
And just like that, the smile vanished from Captain Vargus’s face.
#
Catarina christened the new ship before leaving Albion. Drake had suggested a few names. The one he preferred was Queen Maud, after the Albion monarch who had built a fleet of battle cruisers a few decades ago. Terrible name. Sounded like a luxury liner.
Catarina suggest alternatives. Drake nixed them all as too piratey sounding—even as she pointed out that his own cruiser, Ajax, had been rechristened Blackbeard during the civil war.
“How about Void Queen?” she finally suggested. “Sufficiently martial, and you can tell yourself it means old Maud if you want.”
“While you tell yourself it means Queen Catarina Vargus of Segovia.” He raised an eyebrow. “Very well. Void Queen it is.”
At last, the ship was ready to embark, crew on board, marines tucked into their stasis chambers, and the hold stuffed with food, equipment, and ordnance. Carvalho took the helm of one of the falcons. The other four striker craft followed him in orbit around Albion, and when they came back around, the assembled flotilla of mercenary ships and navy vessels lined up in front of the battleship Dreadnought ju
st beyond Fort William. Carvalho dropped countermeasures as he raced past Void Queen—thirty bottles of champagne. They smashed against the new battle cruiser’s hull. Thirty-eight warships fired their guns in salute.
Void Queen slipped her tether and fired her guns in response.
Three hours later, Catarina led her fleet out of orbit and toward the jump point. In spite of the new ship, the inexperienced crew, and the motley collection of fighting ships and barges in her wake, they reached the jump point to the Fantalus System with few issues. The biggest mishap came when the strikers were on a training run, and two of the craft clipped wings during launch. Both ships needed repairs.
But the fleet jumped into Fantalus on schedule, crossed the system, and completed another jump even more smoothly than the first, this one into the so-called Nordland System.
Catarina left Orient Tiger—now captained by her old mate, Da Rosa—with three schooners in Fantalus until the barges had been shepherded through. They had to be sent through piecemeal and reassembled after each jump.
Once the fleet was reassembled, Catarina cautiously set out to meet McGowan, who waited for her on the far side of the system, next to the jump point into the Great Bear. In addition to his own ship, the cruiser HMS Peerless, McGowan had two torpedo boats, a Singaporean war junk, and a missile frigate. He sent a subspace warning her to proceed with caution.
She’d passed through the Nordland System before, and understood the warning without further explanation. Nordland was a desert, its once numerous mining colonies abandoned after decades of Scandian raids. The old camps still registered hot from decaying nuclear reactions; they’d be an ideal place from which to launch an ambush.
She kept her ships in a tight clump. McGowan’s task force would be too far away to help if there were trouble. No rush, anyway; she had to get all her forces and her supplies up to the next jump point before going through, which forced her to maintain the speed of her slowest ships.
Two days into the crossing, McGowan sent another message. An unknown probe had popped into the system a few days earlier, taken a quick look around, and self-destructed. Someone was watching them, McGowan claimed, ready to either come through or waiting in ambush on the other side. So would she hurry up? Leave behind the slower ships if she must, and get Void Queen to the rendezvous point as soon as possible.
She was on the bridge with her new crew when McGowan’s subspace came through. They were more at ease with each other than they had been a few weeks earlier, but were still feeling each other out. Capp was as blunt as any pirate Catarina had known. Smythe was clever enough, but when he got bored, would “multitask,” which meant he’d play a game of Romans vs. Soviets on his side console when he thought no one was looking.
Carvalho, head of the falcon wing, seemed to be happiest when he was working with Rodriguez in the engineering bay or with Barker down in the gunnery. Neither Capp nor Carvalho cared much for Nix, one of the few Catarina had brought over from Orient Tiger. Hard to blame them; Nix had tried to kill them once during a fight at the San Pablo yards.
The Hroom pilot, Nyb Pim, was the steadying influence of the old Blackbeard crew members. He listened to her intently, his wide, liquid eyes staring, and asked questions that seemed alternatively wise or naive. When he was interfacing with the nav computer, a melodic hum sounded deep in his throat that Catarina came to think of as the background music on her bridge.
After reading McGowan’s subspace, Catarina turned to Capp, who was lounging in the first mate’s chair, and showed it to her.
Capp read the last part aloud. “Ready guns, have striker wing on alert. Leave slower vessels behind and proceed with alacrity.” She frowned. “What’s that mean, now? Come quick, like?”
“More or less. What do you think, Lieutenant? Is this an order?”
“Ain’t he only in command when we’re in combat?”
“Theoretically,” Catarina said. “Which is probably why he uses such martial language, so he can claim this is battle preparation.”
“You want Smythe to open a channel? We can send a subspace and figure it out.”
“That uses a lot of energy, and there’s a chance someone might intercept the message.” Catarina raised one eyebrow. “The more I think about it, the more clear it seems. Not an order, but a strong . . . suggestion, which we will carefully consider. All in all, I think we’d be better off protecting our supplies, don’t you? I can’t be entirely confident that McGowan has cleared the system of hostile elements.”
“You mean ignore him, don’t you?”
“That is my inclination,” Catarina agreed.
“Normally, I don’t care if that bloke loses his temper. What’s he gonna do if he don’t like it? But you know, the thing about McGowan is that he’s more brave with other people’s ships than his own. Back in the Apex fight, he liked hanging back and watching the action.”
“Is that his reputation?” Catarina asked, somewhat surprised. She thought she knew all of McGowan’s flaws—all his numerous flaws—but this was a new one. “Is he known as a coward?”
“Not exactly, no. Get him into the battle and he’ll fight like a lion. But he don’t like scuffin’ up his ship if he can help it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. Knowing when to avoid combat and when to press the attack is one of the most important determinants of success in battle. When you avoid the fight, you maintain your forces for future action.”
Capp eyed her. “Sounds like military thinking. You study in the Academy or something?”
“I’ve been reading up.”
“Where did you learn to talk all posh anyhow? Your old man didn’t talk like that, and your sister don’t, neither.”
“Never mind,” Catarina said. “What about McGowan? He’s supposed to escort us into the Great Bear System and hold off enemies if they appear. You don’t think he’ll cut and run, do you?”
“Nah, Cap’n. So long as everything goes right, he’ll be there. But he’s going to risk our ships before he risks his own. That’s my point. And if we make him mad, I figure he might just dump us in the Great Bear and run off for wherever Drake has him going next. Know what I mean?”
Catarina did. And the reality was that if something did come through that jump from the Great Bear and Void Queen had dawdled crossing the system, McGowan would have legitimate reasons to be angry.
Chapter Ten
Catarina had lived on the edge of the McGowan property for three years after her arrival on Albion. It was one of the vast, parklike estates that dotted the midlands of the continent of Britain. Three thousand acres of wheat, six thousand acres of sheep pasture. Dairy farms, an estate-owned village for workers, and taxes paid by a dozen surrounding hamlets. The earl had suffered a stroke, so his son Reginald managed the estate, while the second son, Edward, was in the Academy.
As a resident of the estate, a guest of the earl, and a supposedly highborn young lady, Catarina attended balls at the manor, which perched majestically on the lake. Her favorite part of the estate, however, was the extensive grounds, especially the hunting forest north of the lake. A twenty-minute ride took one to the stone bridge over the river and from there into the best hunting ground, where the woods were thicker and the animals less wary.
It was here that the McGowan men took their dogs and horses to track elk, moose, and wild boar. Bear, too, including grizzlies. The earl’s daughters were athletic and active, and organized their own hunts, which Catarina enjoyed, as well.
One day, the two McGowan sisters and a female cousin led Catarina on horseback deep into the woods where an estate forester had earlier spotted a massive boar. The old fellow claimed the boar was a thousand pounds, at least, with tusks big enough to impale a dog. Whether that was true or not, the hounds were as eager as ever, and went baying ahead as soon as they caught the scent. The undergrowth was too thick for direct pursuit, but Catarina spotted an overgrown side trail, and the four young women galloped ahead, anxious to cut off the boar be
fore it broke into the hill country, where it would be harder to follow.
The dogs kept up their racket to the right of the trail, and something massive crashed through the underbrush ahead of them. Their prey approached the trail, and Catarina caught a glimpse of a massive black shape and mean, piggy eyes. The boar spotted her, grunted fiercely, and exploded across the trail in front of her. She reached for her short rifle—the sporting weapon for boar hunts—but her horse reared in terror before she could get the gun from its sheath, and her quarry escaped. The other women pulled up short, shouting as the beast disappeared.
“Come on!” Catarina shouted. Her heart was pounding, and her breath was short. “We’ll get ahead of it!”
She dug her heels into the horse’s haunches and charged forward. The dogs came loping onto the trail, covered in burrs, tongues lolling. They picked up the scent again and forged ahead, this time keeping to the trail. Catarina kept her gun in hand. One glimpse and she’d blast it. Then fire a second time to finish it before it could wheel about and charge.
A gunshot. So close that Catarina started. A flock of nearby crows went screeching into the sky. What the devil! Had one of the others . . .? No, that had come from ahead.
They rounded the corner just as the trail came to a shallow ford across one of the woodland streams. The boar lay struggling in the water, kicking up mud with its flailing feet. Blood streamed from a wound in its side, and it screamed and heaved. A man slid from his horse on the opposite side of the stream, where the trail made a steep climb into the woods. He dropped his gun and drew a long knife.
While Catarina watched in awe, the man leaped over the snapping, snarling boar’s jaws, straddled the animal, and dragged his knife across its throat. The boar bucked and nearly regained its feet. The man flew backward in the water as it dragged itself toward him, snapping at his leg. One of the McGowan girls screamed.
The man scrambled to his feet and leaped clear before the animal could get him. Blood gushed from its throat, and soon its struggles faded until it was only twitching as its blood further clouded the muddy water.
Queen of the Void (The Void Queen Trilogy Book 1) Page 9
