Adjusting his grip, he stood up. Holding the head with one hand he pulled out the Light Sword of Power out of the Admiral’s eye socket, careful to only hold the hilt and not the edge of the blade.
Seeing their Admiral’s head in his hands, the Guardian’s roared their rage and a pair of hairy hands pulled the Tracto-an Lancer back by his shoulders.
“Release me,” he snarled, rounding on the Sundered who was holding him.
“We have this,” Puko popped his lips appraisingly
as he scanned the Lancer’s damaged armor, “go see a healer.”
“I can still fight,” Nikomedes growled, shrugging off the older male’s hands but when he turned back to the fight, a wall of Sundered had already moved past him. Unlike how the Lancers trained to keep distance and fight as fire teams, the Sundered moved in formation, their duralloy shields locked. The males stood to the fore, and the females to the rear firing blaster bolts around and between the legs of the males.
“World of Men,” Nikomedes cursed. If he wanted to push his way back into the fight at this point, he would have to push some Demon’s wife out of the way, and probably enrage one of the warriors currently busy fighting the Guardians. Even Demons did not take kindly to another man making any kind of physical contact with their mates.
“Push,” boomed Puko from beside him, and as Nikomedes watched, her Ladyship’s Vassals thrust forward with their spears and then shoved forward with their shields.
“We can’t get into the ship in time, not at this speed,” Nikomedes said, adjusting his grip on his sword and readying himself for a charge. They had to press forward before the Guardians realized they had the weight of numbers.
“Don’t worry so much,” Puko grunted, “we have boarders already crawling on the hull of the Destroyer.”
“What?” Nikomedes asked in surprise.
“We started moving before the peace fell apart. If there’s one thing we’ve learned, it’s that ‘negotiations’ with ‘monkey-boys’ always break down,” Puko said sourly, then the older male brightened, “the Coalition was more than willing to join us for the chance at a warship.”
“You brought in outside, non-aligned, war-bands?!” Nikomedes flared.
“The Hunt-Packs wouldn’t hire themselves to the likes of him,” Puko shook his head, “they either stayed neutral or came to us. It was an easy decision to make.”
“Easy,” Nikomedes said in a hard voice.
“They want to fight, and it’s better their blood water the decks than that of my people,” Puko snarled.
The Lancer’s lips twisted. This was the problem working with allies—everyone had their own agenda.
Before he could say anything else, he heard the tromp-tromp-clomp of power-armored boots coming up behind him and then the blast doors leading into the enemy Flagship sealed closed.
“Take a good look at that sealed door, and then tell me you’ve made the right decision for this Station,” Wainwright said icily as Nikomedes felt the muzzle of an oversized, normally crew-served ion cannon pressed against his helmet, “because this close, a bolt from my ion cannon will scramble your brains worse than you did for Yagar.”
“We’ve got boarders on the hull of the Sector Flagship as we speak,” Nikomedes said, ignoring the ion cannon.
“Boarders?! This wasn’t the only ship!” the Colonel snarled.
“There are other teams for the other ships,” Nikomedes shrugged.
“I ought to blow your head off for insubordination,” Wainwright snapped. “You couldn’t have known all of this was going to happen, and still you went behind my back.”
“The servant of betrayers will betray you; this is a well-known fact and saying in my land. My only surprise is that you are surprised by this,” the Lancer said evenly.
“You couldn’t know what would happen, and you had your orders,” growled the Marine.
“My orders are to hold onto this station as the matrimony of my Warlord’s future daughters—and to do so by any means necessary,” Nikomedes snapped back. “I had a plan for a receiving a proper guest, and I had a plan for a betrayal,” the Tracto-an decided to moderate his tone, to something more reasonable. “If this Yagar wasn’t like his masters, he would have challenged his overlords over their dishonorable natures, and we would be guesting him right now in the quarters I have prepared. But since he was not as you hoped, we are even now prepared to capture everything we can and destroy the rest with station weaponry.”
“I locked down the fire link,” Wainwright said in a low, hard voice.
“My people have them on manual control, and possess the override codes to lock out the fire control,” the Elder Sundered rumbled, shoving his spear’s tip between the two men and using it to lever the ion cannon away from Nikomedes head. “Fighting among ourselves is pointless. We are all on the same side, fighting the same foe—again.”
“You have taken away all my choices, is it?” Wainwright ground out.
“We are not your enemy,” Puko said evenly.
“Agreed. We are battle-brothers, forged in the same fire when we took this station,” Nikomedes assented.
“The Moral Code says—” Puko started as Colonel Alabaster Wainwright stood their glaring at the two of them.
“Of all the fie,” the Marine Officer snapped, “I am surrounded by crazy Uplifts and even crazier natives. Who would have ever thought the Uplifts to be the more understandable of the pair?”
The Marine Colonel activated his communicator, “Operation rapid response is a go. I say again, Operation Rapid Response is a go—we have ticks on the hull and it’s time remove them,” he said.
Nikomedes smiled. Akantha would have this Hold for her future daughters, and it was because of him. Who knew how the Marines and their leader would have jumped? That was why he had tried to take that decision out of their hands. He wondered what reward he would receive from the Beautiful Hold Mistress.
It was too bad her Protector was still alive…for if he was not, this kind of action would have surely won him significant favor in Akantha’s eyes.
Chapter 37: Thanks for the tribute!
“Do you want us to give the signal now, Captain?” the Comm. Officer asked with a thread of urgency running through his voice.
“Not yet, Comm.,” Captain McCruise replied, her eyes locked on the main screen, “we’ll let them get nice and complacent before we make our move.”
“Sir,” interjected her Tactical Officer, “they have to be halfway through their recharge cycle by now.”
“And well past the need for active sensor sweeps,” the hatchet-faced Synthia McCruise agreed.
“Protocol says to continue active sweeps whenever the ship is outside of dock,” the Tactical Officer said doubtfully.
“These are pirates, remember? The wolves of the stars,” she smiled tightly, “what do they have to fear three hours into an empty system?”
“That’s a big gamble, Sir,” the Tactical Officer finally said.
“Life’s a gamble, girl,” McCruise responded with a smile.
“For the record—” the Tactical Officer started.
“An objection is noted in the record,” McCruise said dismissively, her eyes still locked on the main screen, “we continue as planned.”
“Yes, Sir,” the Tactical Officer said unhappily.
“Oh, lighten up Malaria; we’ll have more than enough time with this convoy, even if we decided to wait for another hour,” McCruise said, leaning forward in her chair.
The Tactical Officer muttered something under her voice.
“What was that?” the Captain asked, her voice hardening.
A stir in the Sensor section diverted the attention of everyone on the bridge from the rising drama between the Captain and her Tactical Officer.
“What is it, Mister Koff?” the Captain demanded.
The Sensor Lieutenant turned to the Captain, his eyes shining. “You were right, Sir. They’ve just stopped actively pinging,” he said with con
trolled excitement.
“Lazy, pirate broads,” the Confederation Captain said with satisfaction. “I knew the girls over there couldn’t be bothered to stick to military protocol for any longer than they felt they had to.”
Lieutenant Koff’s brow wrinkled.
“Yes, Lieutenant?” the Captain asked impatiently.
“Um, studies show that absent outside factors, the average pirate is male, Sir,” he said hesitantly, “by a wide margin, I might add.”
“It illuminates one of the bigger flaws in the other gender,” McCruise said with an agreeable smile, “for as a rule, most women are smart enough to avoid a descent into general piracy and brigandage.”
Officer Koff blinked rapidly, looking confused.
“Don’t worry, Koff,” smirked the Captain, taking pity on the beleaguered Sensor Officer, “it’s like when newscasters talk about the woman-in-the-street perspective on planetary political issues. I’m simply trying to put myself in the shoes of the other side. Never having desired to be a man, and lacking hard intel on the opposing captains, I tend to assign an arbitrary gender to my opponents.”
“Of course, Captain,” Koff agreed, beating a hasty metaphorical retreat.
“Was there a purpose to that little charade?” McCruise’s First Officer asked in a low voice as she leaned over to speak in the Captain’s ear.
“Any further pings, Sensors?” the Captain asked in a raised voice, seemingly ignoring her First Officer.
“No, Captain,” Officer Koff replied, nearly jumping as he straightened from the console he was peering over one of his operator’s shoulders to see.
The Captain smiled with satisfaction
“The Bridge was getting a little antsy,” she muttered in a low voice to her First Officer, “this way, the five minutes or so I needed to verify inactivity passed without constant, potentially career-ending calls for us to do something precipitously.”
The First Officer looked surprised and then nodded before stepping back.
“Helm,” McCruise called out in a well-practiced Captain’s voice that carried across the bridge.
“Yes, Captain!” said the Helmsman.
“Let’s keep our drive emissions down, so point us at that convoy and take the engines to fifteen percent power, if you please,” Captain McCruise said.
“My pleasure, Sir,” the Helm said with excitement.
“Comm.,” the Captain turned to her Comm. Officer unhurriedly.
“Aye, Captain,” said the Comm. Officer.
“Contact the other ships via whisker laser; they are to match speeds with us and advance upon the enemy,” she said with a hungry smile.
“We’re already linked in via com-laser, Captain,” said the Officer, “relaying now.”
“Oh,” McCruise added as if it were something she had only just recalled, “you can also tell them the old battle-axe is finally ready to get off her duff.”
The Comm. Officer blanched. “Captain!” he spluttered, “why I would never.”
McCruise grinned. “Just yanking on your chain,” she glanced over at the Tactical Officer pointedly, “like a few of you have been doing to me.” She paused when she shot her eyes back over to the Comm. Officer, who was still looking dismayed, “Although I really won’t be offended—I was more than half serious about relaying that ‘battle-axe’ comment.”
“Hardly proper for a Communications Officer,” the Officer said a touch stiffly, “however, I am always ready to transmit the Captain’s words directly to her subordinate ship commanders. If you’ve got a transmission, Sir?”
“That’s alright,” McCruise said, hiding a smile behind her mouth, it was probably time to stop playing with her Officers and get back to work. She’d already had her fun, after all. “Let’s focus on those Light Destroyers, people, and remember they’ve got two freighters to guard, not just one—let’s divide and conquer.”
Chapter 38: The Furball
“They’re coming right for us!” screamed the Captain of the other Cutter on the Herring sub-channel
“Break right. Break Left!” Archibald screamed at his fellow captain. “Helm, take us around to guard their port side!”
“Shields to maximum, Captain,” shouted the Chief Petty Officer at the shield console.
“Aaagh!” Shrieked the Captain on Archibald’s screen as klaxon’s sounded in the background and a structural support beam cracked before falling on what looked like his sensor operator, crushing the hapless man on the other ship.
“The Horn Toad just lost her shields and is streaming air from multiple rents in her hull,” cried out Archibald’s Sensor Operator, “she’d not going to make it!”
“Get us on her port side, Helmsman! Do it now,” Archibald ordered, his stomach in his throat. “I don’t care how you do it—just get us there!” he cried, grabbing hold of the arms of his small command chair to keep from falling out of his chair as his little Cutter rocked from side to side.
“We’re not going to make it, Archie,” the Horn Toad’s Captain said, looking desperate and about to break under the force of the incredible strain.
“We’ll get there, Garros, you guys just hold on. Hold on, you hear me?” Archibald’s head snapped away from the main screen where the Horn Toad was being strafed by one of the Pirates Light Destroyers to glare at the other captain, “We’re coming!”
“Firing our lasers and blaster cannons now,” reported Archibald’s weapon’s officer.
“Take the pressure off them, anything,” the young Cutter Captain yelled.
“It’s been an honor, Archie,” Captain Garros of the Horn Toad said, looking green in the face.
“No!” the young Caprian Captain shouted at the screen built into his command chair, but the other Captain ignored him.
“There should be an opening soon, Arch,” Garros said, turning away from the pickup. Even as his own ship shuddered around him, Captain Archibald of the Red Herring Cutter, Silent Strike, heard his brother captain order, “All non-essential hands to the escape pods. Helm, set a ramming course for enemy Destroyer B.”
“Aye, Sir,” Archibald could hear the helmsman shout in the background while someone else started screaming that they had to run away. Garros’ First Officer moved across his screens field of vision and the sound of fist hitting flesh could be heard over the pickup, after which the screaming stopped.
“You don’t have to do this; we’ve got you, man,” Archibald pounded the side of his chair with a fist.
“Core’s going unstable,” Garros said with certainty, looking unsteady as he leaned over the side of his chair to throw up.
“Garros, no,” Archibald said faintly, “we’ve made it through worse than this and survived.”
“Tell the Admiral we gave them Hades,” the Captain of the Horn Toad said before the image on Archibald’s screen blurred and everything wobbled back and forth. When the screen settled again, Garros was on the floor. Heart in his mouth, Archibald watched as the other man dragged himself back into his chair. Having regained his post, Garros snapped off a quick salute and then cut the connection.
“We’re there, Captain,” cried Archibald’s helmsman, “we’re stuck to their port side tighter than a burr-tick; that destroyer won’t blast any more holes over here!” Then the helmsman’s voice wobbled, “Sir!” he cried, “they must have lost drive control—they’ve turned straight toward Destroyer B!”
“Pull off,” the young Herring Captain’s voice wobbled.
“What, Sir?” demanded the Helm, “We can’t just abandon the Horn Toad!”
“I said pull the Silent Strike off their flank and get us out of here,” Archibald said in sudden rage, finding himself standing before he even realized it, “they’re going to ram them, you fool—the Toad’s lost!”
There was a brief silence after which the young captain shook his head. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for,” Archibald said.
“Escape pods are beginning to separate, and I think the pirates are starting to
realize what’s going on. Destroyer B has just taken evasive maneuvers,” the Sensor Operator said faintly.
“Maneuver the Silent Strike for best advantage; I want as many of our blaster cannons and laser mounts brought to bear. When they ram we’ll pulverize anything that’s left!” Archibald said, uncaring of the tears streaming down his face. He knew that Garros, at least, wasn’t going to abandon his warship—someone had to ride the Cutter in.
“Aye, Sir,” his First Officer growled in her grizzled, well-trained, Senior Chief Petty Officer’s voice’s.
“Yes, Sir,” their Helmsman said after being prodded.
“It’s okay, Paul-Henri,” the Captain said, speaking to his Helmsman, “you’ve done a great job. Just do it again and get us in the sweet spot.”
“I can’t believe it,” cried his Sensor Operator as the Horn Toad slammed into the pirate destroyer on its starboard side and the little Cutter shattered into pieces.
“They’re not going to break through,” reported his weapon’s officer in a sad voice.
“The Admiral will be proud of them either way,” Archibald said, his ears feeling like they had been stuffed with cotton and his head placed under water as events continued to unfold on the screen.
Then there was a flash on the screen as the Cutter’s core went critical and exploded.
“They must have taken off the safety interlocks,” cried the Damage Control operator in horror.
“Take us in and give them both barrels…stand and deliver indeed!” Archibald ordered, everything snapping back into focus as he saw a giant gash open in the side of the pirate ship.
Chapter 39: McCruising through the Bumps
Admiral's Revenge (A Spineward Sectors Novel:) Page 29
