“Sealed off? Is that normal?”
“No, you limit the wave frequencies, you limit your comm options. This ship has a bandwidth that can’t be used at all.”
“Why would design a ship like that?
“You wouldn’t, unless you wanted to be in constant communication with someone...”
Ilrica’s eyes went wide. “I just found something in the schematics that shouldn’t be there. I’ll call you back in a second.”
* * *
Ilrica unplugged herself and slapped the autopilot, making a run for the engine room. Ducking under a couple of coolant pipes, she found what she was looking for, a large sealed metallic box just sitting there on top of the field capacitance system.
“What the krip is this?”
She found a hinge at one end, with a synchro-lock. A quick swipe of her claws later, and the ruined lock fell to the floor. She opened up the crate, revealing an enormous tracking beacon slowly pulsating within.
Ilrica reached up to her ear. “Dyson, I think I just figured out what this whole ‘diplomatic mission’ is really about.”
Gerald crouched low and looked out of his viewport. Thousands of black and red pirate ships were gathered together. Never in his life had he seen so many ships gathered in one place before.
“Yeah, I think I just did too.”
“We’re bait,” they said in unison.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Iliest Philosophers say that the universe is essentially without meaning, and the only meaning that exists is that which we project onto it. This is demonstrably false, as meaning is a basic need to be fulfilled like any other. If what the Iliest say were true, then anyone could simply assign meaning to anything and it would be valid. A man could say that the meaning of life was to eat a trolla sandwich, then find himself completely satisfied after having eaten it. But thousands of trolla sandwiches later, such a man would find his stomach full, but still empty inside. This is because while we may discover meaning, we cannot create it. The things that fulfill us are fixed and unchanging.
- Attributed to Sinlihost
The bridge of the Uragiri was like a who’s who of Alliance Command’s most wanted list. Asuffon Klaas, the Dragon of the South, Llanoo Royt, the Ravager, Hafloon, the Shih, Ugedomoar, the Cruel, even the famous Vralom brothers had managed to put aside their famous rivalry to gather together at this time.
They were as varied as a group of thieves could be, with one exception. When Lyssandra Bal talked, they all listened.
“Ragnarok, it is an ancient word,” she said as she walked past the pirate lords, looking each of them in the eye in turn. “Some translate it to mean the end of existence, but that is incorrect. It means the end of the gods. The end of the old order where mortals cowered beneath the boots of the old ones.”
“She brought us here for a grammar lesson?” SoyBrencus sniffed.
Lyssandra turned to Galh, giving him the chance to correct his subordinate.
“Bite your tongue, lad, or I’ll cut it off. She’s killed more gods than you’ll ever meet,” Galh snapped with his long, toothy maw. SoyBrencus backed down.
Satisfied, Lyssandra continued. “I have brought you here because the time has come. The age of Ragnarok is about to begin anew. And in the vacuum of power that will exist with the death of the gods, who will step in to lead? I’m here to offer each of you a chance to fill those mighty shoes.”
The pirate lords looked at each other doubtfully. Only Assufon had the courage to speak his mind. “It’s not worth the risk,” he said, his long tongue flicking about.
“There won’t be any military campaigns this time. No long drawn-out quagmire warfare. This time, it will be quick and simple.”
The floor before her grew into a podium and she set down on it a rack of glowing vials.
“These are a gift from my Bertulf allies.”
A wave of hushed surprised passed through those gathered.
Lyssandra was pleased that it had the intended effect. “Yes, they were the first to sign on. These are processed genetic samples from the most wealthy and affluent families from each of the major industrial worlds.”
She took out a silver flask and set it down next to the samples. “In this flask, nano-mimetic gel...”
Some of the lords guessed where this was going, and stared in disbelief.
She set down a small humming device shaped like a glass eye, its surface continually falling inwards into the iris like a miniature waterfall. “...And here, is the Eye of Acta combined with the Eye of Xemze from the vaults on Central. I doubt they’ve even realized it’s missing. With these, we will create a plague. Lethal, incurable. We will seed on every habitable world. It will get into the water, it will get in the air. Animals and insects will be carriers. It will be transmitted by food, touch and breath. It will be everywhere, completely unavoidable, but it will kill only what we program it to kill.”
Lyssandra took a second to let it all sink in for effect.
“This plague kills elites, and only elites. Even a drop of noble blood will be enough to trigger the disease. The old bloodlines will be wiped out in a single stroke. Bereft of their leadership and nobles, the peoples of the former alliance will come begging us for protection. By signing on with me, you not only insure immunity for your own family lines, but also the wealth of ten thousand worlds. Surely that is a reward worthy of the risk I am offering you.”
The gathered lords were impressed.
“General,” Erusal called out. “I’ve got two small Alliance craft on my scope.”
“What? Out here?”
A window appeared with the small yacht in view. “I wasn’t doing anything, it was just sitting there just outside the edge of their weapons range.”
“Force a hail.”
The wave officer uploaded a viral charge and a window came up with Gerald’s surprised face in it.
The blood drained from his face. “You!”
Lyssandra’s face went red with anger. “It’s you again! Curse you, Gerald Dyson! How did you find me?”
Suddenly klaxons sounded and alarms blinked. Hundreds of Alliance warships were zipping into range, armor unfolded and weapons readied. What had only seconds before been black space was now a sea of shimmering silver.
* * *
On the bridge of the Hexton, Admiral Greir stood resolute and dauntless. His young crew was not so impassive. They openly gasped at the number of pirate ships, many forgetting their duties and standing up at their stations, as if they meant to turn and run.
“Attack wings Harland and Nettle, begin deploying the necass net field. Attack wings Norfolk and Comox, target their fighter carriers before they can launch...”
The bridge crew snapped to work, emboldened by the powerful authority of his voice.
“...Attack wing Onyx, protect the bait ship, it has important diplomats on board.”
Greir didn’t even need to look at the view screen. He could already see three moves ahead. He turned to his friend, and newly-commissioned consultant, Daan Nathers.
“I still can’t believe this worked.”
“Dyson’s bad luck led us right to her,” Nathers boasted.
Greir turned back and watched the first move begin. “What was that, you said, Lyssandra? That I was a worthless old relic? Well, today you will see what a relic can do.”
Nathers coughed and put out his hand. Greir reluctantly took out a credit chip and flipped it to him.
“Told you it would work.”
“Admiral, what about the Alliance yacht? Shall we shield it too?”
Greir and Nathers looked at each other.
“You have your orders,” Nathers said coldly.
* * *
Aboard the Uragiri, all was chaos. Men and women climbed over each other, frantically unfolding the ship’s armor, charging her weapons, all the while spilling their food and beer and screaming at one another. Some prayed for the first time in their filthy little lives. Others prayed fo
r the last.
“You did this, Lyssandra,” SoyBrencus accused, grabbing her by the collar. “You lead us here into a trap...”
His head hit the floor before he even realized she had drawn her sword.
“What would I have to gain by betraying all of you?” she asked as she flicked the blood off her weapon. “You think the Alliance would ever give me clemency after all I have done?”
The other pirate lords considered her words.
“It’s that little ship that led them here,” Erusal said.
Lyssandra pointed her glowing saber at the remaining lords. “We have numbers on our side, we should attack immediately!”
“But the Alliance fleet are setting up necass barriers.”
“Good! Let them box themselves in here with us. Don’t you see? We have a chance to destroy the bulk of their fleet right here and now while our strength is concentrated.”
The others were wary.
Lyssandra swung her blade to the wave officers. “Command all corsairs, ATTACK!”
* * *
The Kalia Greir jinked to the left just as three lances of energy tore through the space where she had been a second before.
As Ilrica fought against the controls, the bridge door opened and Zurra walked in. Her eyes were red, her face saggy. It looked like she hadn’t slept in days.
“What happened?” she asked.
A trio of heavy fighters came up behind them. Ilrica shifted the armor plates towards the back, absorbing their missile strikes just long enough to fire with the rear gun, vaporizing two of them. The third pivoted on its wing and dove away.
“Looks like our bad luck charm stumbled upon a gathering of every pirate ship in the galaxy,” Ilrica said, pointing at the tactical display. “And he’s got a bunch after him.”
“Good,” Zurra said coldly.
Ilrica shot up and released countermeasures, causing a swarm of missiles to detonate prematurely before reaching them. “No, not good. He’s smack dab in the middle of two fleets about to collide. If we don’t pull him outta there, he’s a goner.”
Zurra’s eyes narrowed icily. “Let him die.”
Ilrica turned. “Wow, what happened to you?”
* * *
Like giant whales they swam, the carriers vomiting out waves of barracuda-like fighters, the two massive fleets closed in on one another. Then, it was as if a storm broke out in space. Hundreds of thousands of rays, so many that they covered up the blackness of space. They seemed to merge into a single wave of energy passing over all of creation. Lances of light and trails of missiles, like falling rain they spat at one another, so many crossing that at the center, thousands of missiles collided with one another by accident as they hunted more distant targets.
That was the point where Gerald’s yacht was.
Gerald was thrown back and the view screen in front of him split in two as a missile penetrated the hull and lodged into it. There was a momentary blowout of air until the sealant systems took over, and he found himself staring right at the tip of the warhead. He held his breath, fearful to even blink for fear of setting it off. He hoped that it had been fired at a more distant target, that it had hit him by accident before arming itself, but there was no way to know.
After a minute of paralyzing silence, he remembered to breathe again.
“Holy cow, we’re got to get out of here,” Gerald said. “Computer, can you do like, evasive stuff and go towards the good guys and away from the bad guys?”
There was a blast and Gerald was thrown against the bulkhead.
“Unable to comply.”
“Why not?” he asked, rubbing his head.
“The engine section of this craft has just been destroyed.”
Gerald looked over at one of the few remaining monitors. He was now in half a ship.
“Well, that can’t be good.”
* * *
The Alliance was gaining ground. A corsair carrier exploded from within, long before she had a chance to deploy all of her fighters. A pirate frigate buckled in half and flew apart. Though the pirate ships were greater in number, they each found their own targets, often simply firing wildly at the nearest enemy ship in range. Meanwhile, the Alliance ships fired methodically, following a kind of ancient, percussive rhythm. For a heartbeat, they would be silent as they tracked their next target, then, as one fire a single volley, tearing apart a single corsair, a million needles converging on a single point, destroying it utterly. Then then another pause, then another volley. Every half second, a corsair cruiser exploded in a rhythmic bolero of war and destruction. It didn’t matter how many layers of armor the ship had, or how they were configured; the ship’s defenses were overwhelmed by several orders of magnitude in a crescendo of fire, leaving only debris behind.
Damaged Alliance craft backed off towards the rear of the formation, allowing fresh ships to bear the brunt. Slowly, methodically, inexorably, the smaller Alliance fleet was annihilating the corsairs, grinding them to pieces in an elegy of righteous indignation.
* * *
On the bridge of the Hexton, Admiral Greir looked on, his foot absentmindedly tapping along to the waltz of death playing out before them. Through the crystronic plug in his neck, he picked out each target, for every gunner in the fleet to see. He never admitted it to anyone, but at times like this, it felt like being a god. He simply willed something to disappear, and a heartbeat later it was gone. He felt like the master of life and death itself. A part of him wanted to laugh out loud, but he restrained it. After all, he was not here for himself. He had a duty to perform, and that overrode everything else. It’s what set him apart from a killer.
He knew where to begin. The rotha-class battleships were the biggest threat after the carriers, after that the command ships, then the fuel tankers. That would leave the bulk of the fleet ill-supported, out of communication, and away from resupply. After that, everything else was just mop-up, really. In a way, the battle was already over, like a series of dominos falling one after another. All that was left now was to watch the fall play out.
The younger officers looked on in amazement. Only minutes before, they had been on the verge of flight, now they could only stare.
Guessing their thoughts, Greir turned to Lieutenant Artross. “Tell me, Lieutenant,” he asked, loud enough for the rest to hear. “We can orient our ships anyway we please, so why, do you think, do we put them into formations?”
Artross thought to answer, but then realized he wasn’t sure. He had never really considered it before. It just seemed like that is how it was usually done. For a moment, he considered activating his wireless functions and doing a search, but somehow he felt like that would be rude. “Um, so the crew don’t get disoriented?”
Grier shook his head. “Because ships do not win battles. Fleets do.”
* * *
“FIRE!” Lyssandra called out, and the Uragiri gutted an Alliance frigate from stem to stern.
“General, the enemy is tearing us apart,” Erusal warned as he stood over the holo-tank. At this rate they’ll hit our lines in two minutes.”
“Good,” she sneered in delight.
Everyone looked at her as if she were mad. “Good?”
* * *
Ilrica didn’t know whether to be angry or elated when an Alliance destroyer squadron took formation around the Kalia Greir, their armor plates extending out to shield her. Control fields were engaged and the Kalia Greir was tugboated back towards the rear of the formation as the battle raged on before them.
“Bah! I can’t see Dyson out there anymore,” Ilrica snarled as she yanked the cables out of the back of her neck. “This piece of junk scope can’t see anything in that firestorm.”
Zurra looked hopeful. “Then he is gone?”
Ilrica was worried. “Last I saw, the yacht was crippled. If he was smart, he shut down everything in the hopes that he’ll be ignored as just a piece of debris until the battle is over. Of course, that runs a significant risk. If he were to be s
truck by some random shot or concussion wave, he’d be shredded to pieces with no emergency systems to save him. It’s all a matter of luck.”
Ilrica’s eyes went wide. “What the frakk am I saying? We can’t rely on his luck. He’s going to die!”
She sprinted past Zurra and ran down the corridor to Trahzi’s room. An explosion rocked the ship as one of their destroyer escorts was struck by a missile volley. Ilrica kept her balance and rather than knocking, simply gave the door a quick trio of slices. It came apart in molten ribbons.
Trahzi didn’t protest or even seem to notice. She was curled up in a corner, holding the puppy tightly against her chest as she trembled.
“Boy, you are just a big pile of worthless right now, aren’t you?” Ilrica snapped.
Ilrica walked up and smacked her on the head. “Hey, wake up! Big all-mighty cry-baby, Gerald’s trapped out there and you are the only one who can get to him. I need you to stop sobbing like a torat for long enough to go grab him!”
There was another explosion and the ship rocked from side to side. Trahzi curled herself even tighter. “Again...” she simpered. “It’s happening again...”
Ilrica stood back up and pinched the bridge of her snout. “Well, this isn’t going to work. I’m a hunter, not a therapist. If Gerald were here he could probably talk you through it. Of course, if he was here we wouldn’t need The Great and Powerful Sissy to begin with...”
She had an idea, but it would be dangerous. It could even blow her cover. She looked around to see if anyone was watching even though she knew it was silly. The rational part of her knew it was ridiculous to risk exposing herself just to save Dyson, but her heart would have none of it. The decision was made before she even really allowed herself to consider the consequences.
Ilrica grabbed her head. “Ahhh, I am such an idiot! This is such a stupid thing to do!” The image of Gerald smiling at her came through her heart, and she resigned herself to her fate.
“Okay, fine.” The crystronics at the back of her neck folded open, the concealed components within spinning to life.
Kharmic Rebound Page 53
