by Eric Thomson
“Ah. In that case, I hear and obey, Lord. Shall I tell Khorsan Base of our new plans?”
“Under no circumstances. Those useless, flatulent whoresons would tell the Admiralty, and then where will we be? In a jurisdictional dispute between the Deep Space Fleet and the disease called Tai Kan? May every demon of the Underworld have its way with the poxed insects. Just take us to Kilia as fast as our tired engines can manage.”
“Done.”
Brakal cut the link, then, after waving Regar out of his office, turned around to stare through the thick porthole. Dunmoore. Could it be after all this time?
And yet the ghost’s tactics, its ruthless success in decimating Imperial shipping in this sector, spoke of a bold enemy commander. The flame-haired she-wolf was one of the few humans with the mix of skill and luck necessary to prosper and win.
But what was she doing at Kilia? Didn’t the Commonwealth leave it alone for the same reasons as the Empire — because it was a valuable conduit for intelligence and underhanded activities? Yet the ship reported by Chorlak’s commander might not be the ghost and its captain might not be Dunmoore.
Best to keep one’s anticipation on a tight leash. Time would tell. Time and the forge of battle. Nevertheless, Brakal felt a tremor of excitement at the possibility of meeting his old foe once more, the female who destroyed Tol Vakash and his chances of becoming someone able to influence the course of a war he feared the Empire was slowly losing. Losing to the likes of Dunmoore and her peers.
— Eighteen —
“That’s the fastest anyone’s ever told us to leave,” Cullop said when Dunmoore finished recounting her brief stint ashore. “Fast enough to make anyone suspicious.”
“Oh, I’m suspicious all right, Emma, yet we still don’t know whether the people taken off Kattegat Maru are here or elsewhere. But this is far from over. I attracted Tarrant’s attention and aroused his suspicions. He won’t leave matters as they are. Tarrant might well suspect his Mary Celeste gambit went awry.”
“Hence the possibility of the precious metals refund being tainted, or a tracker planted on the shuttle.”
She nodded at the first officer.
“It’s something I would do.”
“And if Petty Officer Harkon or the cox’n find something?” Sirico asked.
“We exploit it to our advantage. If Tarrant’s people attached a subspace tracker to the shuttle, we’ll leave it in working condition and turn the tables on anyone following us. It wouldn’t surprise me to discover he ordered our elimination, perhaps even by the same ships responsible for Kattegat Maru, since they’ve already committed an act of piracy deserving summary execution.”
Renny Halfen snorted.
“We can’t hang them twice for the same offense. But since no one knows we’re a battlecruiser under the skin, good luck to them.”
“Good luck indeed.”
The call waiting icon blinked in the lower corner of the conference room’s main display.
“Here we go.” She touched the controls embedded in the table and Petty Officer Harkon’s face replace the Furious Faerie emblem.
“You called it, Captain. I found a subspace tracker cunningly affixed to the shuttle’s keel. If no one thought to check, it would have stayed there until the next routine inspection. As ordered, I didn’t touch the thing, but it’s live and transmitting.”
“So now we know how they might have tagged Kattegat Maru if it wasn’t through an adulterated cargo container.” Dunmoore glanced at Carrie Fennon, sitting quietly against the wall. “Comments?”
“Either is possible, sir, but if my mother feels paranoid, and she often does out in the Zone, she’ll scan any cargo before taking it in. A hitchhiker on the shuttle, however, would escape notice.”
“Since the pirates took both shuttles and cargo, we might never find out. But this is actually a good development. Kilia might have turned into a dead end for us if Tarrant accepted my story at face value. However, since he acted, we can be reasonably sure he’s involved, even if the abductees aren’t in Kilia. Once we’re done...” The call waiting icon came up again. “Yes?”
“Vincenzo, sir. Those metal ingots they returned aren’t the ones we gave them. They’re nothing more than iron and lead with a thin veneer on the outside. Chief Simms says they’re next to worthless.”
Though Lieutenant Biros’ face darkened with an angry frown, Dunmoore chuckled.
“No honor among thieves. That petty trickery makes striking back at Tarrant and Kilia an even more delightful proposition. If there’s nothing else, let’s break out of orbit and rejoin Kattegat Maru. Then, we’ll make an FTL jump to the system’s outer edge, where I hope the bastards try to screw us over like they did Katie. Try and fail, naturally.”
Holt’s piratical grin made a brief appearance. “Naturally.”
**
“How long do you intend to loiter?” Holt asked after pouring himself a cup from the day cabin’s urn. “Any normal vessel wouldn’t spend more than a few hours sub-light to recalibrate once it’s crossed the heliopause and can go FTL at interstellar speeds.”
Dunmoore gave him a dubious grimace.
“I’ll drag Iolanthe’s skirts until someone steps on them, Zeke. It’s the best place to ambush anyone Tarrant put on our tail. Besides, a ship our size taking time to transition from in-system to interstellar wouldn’t seem particularly strange.”
“Let’s hope it’ll be the same pirates that attacked Kattegat Maru. Or part of the same confederation.”
“Oh, no doubt they’ll be related, if not the same, although I’m still puzzled by Tarrant’s intentions. Are we to be terminated with extreme prejudice because we represent a threat? Or pirated in a time-honored manner because we represent an opportunity?”
“Or discretely tailed to see if we represent Commonwealth authorities?” Holt dropped into a chair across from Dunmoore. “Someone might have picked up a whiff of Navy blue from our emissions.”
Dunmoore’s right eyebrow crept up to her copper hairline.
“You mean that supposed Shrehari corsair, who could either be a spy or our counterpart, a Deep Space Fleet Q-ship instead of an ordinary marauder? Perhaps. If so, that would mean Kilia is playing footsie with the enemy.”
“Not necessarily to the degree we might think, Skipper. If Tarrant and company think the Shrehari captain is one of their sort, an illicit profit-seeker, rather than a servant of the emperor, then it becomes chumminess between fellow crooks. For them, patriotism is a dirty word if there’s money to be made. We were probably the most honest spacers to visit in living memory.”
She raised her cup in salute.
“And the only ones capable of forcing Kilia to its knees. Thorin and his crew mapped out every weapons emplacement and shield generator. A few dozen stealth missiles fired from a standoff position, programmed to go live on final approach, and we can force Tarrant into cooperating. He can’t risk even one Mark Five nuclear-tipped anti-ship bird striking hard enough to crack the asteroid and cause massive decompression.”
“Why do I get a mental image of the Furious Faerie trying to kill a gnat with a sledgehammer?”
“Because you’d rather we be discreet instead of going in fully unmasked and telling the universe we’re not a big, oafish privateer with delusions of grandeur.”
Holt inclined his head in agreement.
“Discretion is my middle name. If we reveal Persephone is really the Commonwealth Starship Iolanthe, we’ll need new hunting grounds once we finish this mission.”
“Or the bad guys, human, Shrehari, whatever, will feel that sweet sense of doom every time they see a big, oafish freighter and steer clear, which would be good for honest civilian shipping.”
“But not for our tactic of luring them in until we see the whites of their sub-light drives.”
“So we change tactics, Zeke. Playing the weak little thing hasn’t worked that well in recent weeks anyhow. Time for more aggressive tactics.”
A m
ischievous smile appeared on Holt’s lips.
“As a great general once said, when in doubt, find something and kill it.”
“I think he said in the absence of orders, go find something and kill it, but your mangled version fits better.”
“As I intended.”
This time Holt raised his mug in salute.
Before Dunmoore could call him on it, her day cabin’s communicator pinged.
“CIC to the captain.”
Both recognized Sirico’s voice.
“Yes, Thorin.”
“Long-range sensors picked up three hyperspace trails. If they’re our quarry, Chief Yens figures thirty minutes.”
“Excellent.” She glanced at her first officer. “So much for dragging our skirts until the end of days. Tell Kattegat Maru to make a hole in space and stay clear of any action. Put us at battle stations in fifteen minutes and prepare to unmask the Furious Faerie.”
“Avec plaisir, mon capitaine. CIC, out.”
“Since when does Thorin speak French with you, Skipper?”
She shrugged.
“It’s a new affectation, something that appears whenever his bloodlust comes out to play.”
Holt drained his mug and stood.
“I worry about Thorin sometimes. A combat systems officer should enjoy his job, but he positively revels in it. That can’t be good for his sanity.”
“Are any of us truly sane?” She asked with an impish twinkle in her eyes.
“In Iolanthe? I doubt it, considering everyone not only volunteered to serve the Commonwealth aboard starships but volunteered a second time to serve in Special Operations Command.”
“Everyone? I seem to recall Tatiana’s company was dragooned into joining this crew, never mind that Admiral Nagira didn’t bother asking me whether I wanted this ship in preference to a shore billet.”
His one good eye winked at her.
“Only because he already knew the answer. And every single Scandia Regiment soldier aboard is proud as punch to serve in Iolanthe, so there.”
— Nineteen —
“I’m still not used to sounding battle stations aboard a civilian freighter,” Lieutenant Theo Kremm, Kattegat Maru’s relief first officer remarked as he activated the klaxon Cullop designated as their siren. “Considering we’d be better off sounding ‘run like hell’ stations instead.”
“Or in this case, ‘make a hole in space’ stations,” Command Sergeant Aase Jennsen said as she took her seat on the small bridge.
“Don’t worry,” Cullop replied over her shoulder. “If things go sideways, we’ll be rabbiting out in a matter of seconds. But since the three contacts Iolanthe picked up probably came from Kilia, they won’t live long enough to dent the Furious Faerie’s hull, let alone find us. We can just sit back and watch the mightiest Q-ship in the known galaxy unmask, which will be a new experience for us.”
“Perhaps for you wonderful people,” Kremm replied. “But I was privileged to witness her frightening transformation from Herja’s bridge a few months ago, remember?”
“In that case, no spoilers. I would love to get a taste for what our prey feels when it realizes she’s not a defenseless civilian tub.”
**
Apprentice Officer Carrie Fennon was already in her assigned seat at the back of the CIC when Dunmoore entered and took the command chair from Thorin Sirico. Because of it being an armored cube at the Q-ship’s heart, the CIC was the safest compartment during battle and therefore the best place for a teenaged civilian.
Besides, Dunmoore figured Carrie would learn things that could be useful for her watch-keeping ticket examinations. It might even make her consider a hitch in the Navy, or at least think about joining the naval reserve. The look of intense concentration on her youthful face as she studied the tactical projection and each of the displays spoke of a mind absorbing everything as if it were a microfiber sponge.
Dunmoore exchanged an amused glance with Major Salminen, who’d been answering Carrie Fennon’s whispered questions, then asked, “Status?”
“Hyperspace traces still heading in our direction. Estimated emergence, if they’re after us, will be in under ten minutes,” Sirico replied. “The ship is at battle stations and ready to unmask on command. Kattegat Maru is also at battle stations and running silent. If Chief Yens didn’t know where she was, our sensors would struggle to spot her. Those dumb pirates are in for a lovely surprise.”
“May I ask a question, Captain? Or would that be inappropriate while we’re at battle stations?”
Siobhan swiveled her chair around to face Carrie.
“Please do. Until the enemy appears, there’s little else to do. Once they’re here, however...”
A grave nod greeted her response.
“Understood, sir. Are you assuming they’re hostile? Lieutenant Commander Sirico explained what unmasking means, in that it gives Iolanthe’s true identity away.”
“I intend to wait until I’m sure of their intentions. My working assumption is they want to seize what they believe is the privateer Persephone, much in the same way they took Kattegat Maru. Failing that, their orders might be to wreck us.”
“Why is Kilia sending these pirates after Iolanthe?”
“Probably because I raised Tarrant’s suspicions by claiming acquaintanceship with both your mother and Captain Piris. Alternatively, the Shrehari corsair we saw is an Imperial spy ship and its crew made Iolanthe for a Fleet unit, something they shared with Tarrant.”
“Or both,” Sirico said.
“True. As for the matter of unmasking, so far everyone who saw Iolanthe in battlecruiser mode didn’t live long enough to spread the word. If Tarrant sent a trio of his pirates after us, they might well suffer the same fate. But if their mission is non-lethal, such as intimidation, we may just partially unmask and present the aspect of a privateer rather than that of a warship.”
“Oh.” Fennon slowly nodded as she digested this new tidbit. “That makes sense. A privateer would be better armed than a freighter, but not as heavily as a Navy vessel.”
“However, if those three ships are coming for us, I doubt they’ll stop at giving us a scare or making sure we leave this area. No. They’ll be aiming to repeat what they pulled with Kattegat Maru. And that’s not going to happen.”
“There’s another option,” Ezekiel Holt, or rather his hologram floating by Dunmoore’s right arm, said. “We could let a boarding party come into our lair and pounce. Do what Emma did with Piris’ folks.”
“Tarrant knows we carry an infantry company. They won’t even try. It will be surrender under threat of destruction. If they bother with the niceties and don’t just open fire the moment they’re within range.”
“Shame. I’m sure Tatiana’s folks would enjoy a good live-fire repel boarders exercise.”
“And mar our otherwise pristine interior? Pass, Zeke. I’m surprised a first officer known for running a tight ship would even think of such a thing.”
The small hologram shrugged although Dunmoore fancied she could see a twinkle of devilry in its eye.
“It was an idea. Something different from our usual lure ‘em into range and blow ‘em away with nuclear missiles shtick.”
“Shtick? Is that what you call how we wage war?”
“Yes, it is. When you do the same thing every time, it becomes a shtick. And nice alliteration, Skipper. I’d say Apprentice Officer Fennon is learning the wrong lessons from us right now. Lord knows what she’ll tell her mother about the Navy. Probably enough to see us barred from ever hosting an honest Guild member again.”
A strangled sound reached Dunmoore’s ears. She turned to glance over her shoulder and winked at the round-eyed young woman. No need for explanations. Tatiana Salminen was already whispering something into her ear about how borderline crazy Dunmoore and her crew became in the face of an impending battle.
The next few minutes passed in silence, then Chief Yens held up a hand.
“Three emergence signatures ap
proximately two hundred and fifty thousand kilometers aft.”
Sirico let out a low whistle.
“Nice precision work.”
“I’ll wager Kilia partially vectored them in,” Holt’s hologram said. “Then dropped out of FTL just before entering our hyperspace scanner’s range and triangulated with home base to get our most recent position courtesy of the subspace tracker stuck to the captain’s pinnace.”
Dunmoore gave her first officer a tight smile.
“Sounds plausible. The Navy should do something about Kilia when the opportunity presents itself. Vectoring pirates onto honest merchant ships is a capital offense.”
“You’d attack Kilia?” Fennon blurted out.
Dunmoore glanced over her shoulder again.
“Tarrant obviously need to be taught a lesson. How that lesson will unfold depends on him although it won’t be taught by Iolanthe alone. We’re not quite that powerful. But first things first. Do you have an ID, Chief?”
“Aye. One of the three is the Shrehari corsair we saw at Kilia. The other pair are two of the human-built hulls that orbited alongside the bonehead.”
“Sir?” The signals petty officer raised a hand. “We’re being hailed. Audio only.”
“Here we go. Put it on.” When the petty officer gave her thumbs up, she said, “This is Captain Shannon O’Donnell of the private military vessel Persephone. I understand you wish to speak with me.”
“Cooperate, and you’ll live,” a rough, but human voice replied.
“Oh? Care to explain?” Dunmoore’s tone took on that honeyed texture her crew knew presaged a storm.
“We’re targeting you with our weapons. Spool up your hyperdrives, and we open fire. You may or may not survive the opening salvo. But if you do cooperate, your chances of survival will be better. And at three against one, it’s a given we out-gun you by a wide margin.”
“Is it?” A feral smile twisted her lips. “How should we cooperate?”
