Barbarians at the Gates

by Nuttall, Christopher

  Under normal circumstances, Roman knew, the ship’s hulk would have been towed to the nearest planet and the Federation Navy would begin a full investigation while notifying the relatives of the murdered crewmen. That was hardly a possibility at the moment, not with two warlords in the area who wouldn’t be inclined to cooperate with the Federation Navy. It was possible that they could use the liner as a source of spare parts, but that would mean transporting her to the Golden Hind and the Fleet Train when Admiral Mason arrived. But that would have to wait.

  “Elf, deactivate the distress beacon and pull back your teams,” he ordered. Unpowered and silent, the hulk wouldn’t be detected unless a patrolling ship literally stumbled over it. The odds were vastly against discovery. “We’ll keep the records, perhaps relay them to the warlords if they are disposed to cooperate, or inform the shipping companies once we leave the sector.”

  “Understood,” Elf said crisply. “We’re on our way.”

  “The admiral won’t approve of sending any kind of notification to the warlords,” Janine’s voice whispered through his earpiece. “We are at war with them, you know.”

  Roman nodded sourly. “I wasn’t going to send them a message with an ID header,” he told her. “We’ll have to leave it until we leave the sector, or unless our presence is discovered. The hulk can wait...”

  “Captain,” the sensor officer said. “I’m picking up a single ship in the system, heading away from us!”

  “Show me,” Roman ordered.

  A red icon blinked into life on the display.

  “Why didn’t you pick it up sooner?”

  “They were lying doggo,” the sensor officer reported. “They only just lit up their drive.”

  Roman did the math in his head. Elf had deactivated the distress beacon three minutes ago. The enemy craft had lit its drive just after it would have heard the distress signal terminate, tipping them off that someone had found the wreck. Distress beacons were designed to remain operational unless the hulk was completely vaporized.

  “Helm, bring us about,” he ordered. “Take us in pursuit.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Federation Navy’s position on piracy is quite clear. All pirates, regardless of their motivations, are to be interrogated—using truth drugs and brain probes—and then executed. Taking pirates alive is strongly discouraged. Rumors that some pirates have made deals with Federation Navy crewmen have been strongly denied.

  -Observations on Federation Navy Regulations, 4056

  FNS Midway, The Hive System, 4095

  Roman gripped his command chair as Midway picked up speed, running the tactical position through his head, again and again. In many ways, this reminded him of what the Federation Navy had endured at the Battle of Jefferson, where their survival had depended upon crossing the mass limit and escaping into FTL before the enemy battered them into dust. The pirates, on the other hand, might not know that someone was chasing them; they might not even realize they had been detected.

  For all the pirates knew, anyone could’ve stumbled across the dead luxury liner. And they shouldn’t know Midway was in the system…should they?

  “The pirate is picking up speed,” the tactical officer reported. “I think I have an identification, sir; she’s a North Carolina-class light cruiser. Several hundred of them were sold into self-defense forces or commercial shipping interests after the Inheritance Wars, and quite a few of them became pirate ships.”

  Roman nodded. The North Carolina ships had been withdrawn from service, according to his implant records, because they had major failings in their design that had become apparent when the Federation Navy tried to refit them. They operated fine with their original power cores, but more powerful fusion plants and drive fields had shaken several starships apart. The designers had rapidly produced a more suitable design, and the North Carolinas had been relegated to convoy escort before being decommissioned at the end of the war.

  Unless the pirates had risked installing newer drive systems, she couldn’t hope to outrun Midway.

  He felt his lips draw back into a snarl as the distance between the two ships narrowed sharply. Admiral Drake’s intelligence officers might want to encourage piracy in the hopes that it would set the two warlords at each other’s throats, yet there was no way he was going to allow scum like that to live. There hadn’t been any justice for his dead parents, not when pirates had killed them and vanished into the darkness of space, but there would be justice for the Harmonious Repose and her crew. The pirate ship would be obliterated.

  “I think they know we’re following them now,” the sensor officer said as the main display flashed red. “They just swept us with high-powered, active sensors.”

  “Drop the cloak,” Roman ordered. There was no point in attempting to hide now. Their pursuit had clearly created enough turbulence to allow their position to be located. “Bring up active sensors and lock onto them. Make sure they know that they can’t escape.”

  He pushed his rage into the back of his mind and concentrated. How would the pirates play it? They might try to surrender and attempt to claim that they should be tried by a planetary court, or they might try to fight. It would be a very short battle, under normal circumstances, and yet...

  Roman had standing orders to attempt to take pirate ships intact, if possible. The real problem with finding pirate bases was locating them. The intelligence officers wanted to brain-suck pirate crews to locate their bases and their support network within Federation space. Once they were found, a single battlecruiser would usually suffice to blow them to hell and gone.

  “They’re locking weapons on us,” the sensor officer reported. There was a very brief pause. “Missile separation; I say again, missile separation! I count ten inbounds toward our location!”

  “Bring up the point defense,” Roman ordered, as tracking data flowed up in front of him. Compared to the massive salvos thrown around during the Battle of Jefferson, it was hardly impressive. And, given that the missiles were at least ninety years out of date, they weren’t particularly threatening either. “Deploy ECM drones; take the missiles out only as a last resort.”

  His lips twitched as Midway flew through the missile salvo. The pirates hadn’t invested in the latest counter-ECM technology, although few pirates wanted to tangle with a warship under any circumstances. Only one missile refused to be distracted and had to be picked off by a point defence pulse cannon; the remainder flew off into the endless void, completely harmless. Roman could have returned fire, fairly sure of a kill, but he chose not to do so. Besides, the closer they were when his ship opened fire, the greater the chance of scoring a quick kill.

  “Open communications channels,” he ordered. The communications officer nodded and activated the ship-to-ship frequencies. “Pirate vessel; this is the Federation Navy.” Normally, he would have identified himself, but he had no idea who else might be listening in from cloak. “Cut your drives, lower your shields and prepare to be boarded. If you offer any resistance, we will destroy your vessel.”

  He waited as the message flashed to the pirate ship. It was a bluff, of sorts; even if the Federation Navy hadn’t ordained the death of every pirate encountered while on patrol, he had no intention of letting them live. But if he could arrange for their interrogation first, it might allow him to salvage something from the disaster. Admiral Mason wouldn’t be too pleased to discover that Roman had been chasing pirates instead of scouting their area of operations. His operations, no matter how strongly they aligned with tradition, might well have revealed their presence to prying eyes.

  “No response, sir,” the communications officer reported.

  “I think they did respond,” the tactical officer said. “I have another wave of missiles heading towards us.”

  “Deploy countermeasures,” Roman ordered dispassionately. The targeting systems were systematically drawing a bead on the pirate ship. He’d be able to open fire and cripple her drives within minutes, and then she could be b
oarded at leisure. The only danger would be the pirates attempting to trigger the self-destruct once the Marines started to swarm over her, but that would have been surprisingly brave of them. Pirates were rarely the bravest of men. “Prepare to engage...”

  “Navy ship, we have hostages,” a male voice broke into the circuit. The pirate sounded terrified, and yet determined to hold on to his ship. “We have hundreds of well-connected civilians on this ship. If you fire, you’ll kill them as well.”

  Roman ground his teeth. He’d known—known—that the pirates had captured the liner’s passengers, and yet he hadn’t thought about the danger in his desire to blow away the pirate ship and crew. Using the passengers as human shields was an old pirate tactic. Given that anyone wealthy enough to travel on a White Swan liner was clearly very rich and would have friends among the wealthy and powerful, destroying the ship would have unpleasant repercussions for his career. And even if he pushed that aside, he didn’t want to kill hundreds of innocent people. They didn’t deserve to die.

  “Elf,” he said, keying his private channel, “can you liberate the ship?”

  “Not easily,” Elf said grimly. “The bastards would see us coming. They’d be able to blow the ship or kill the hostages before we landed—it isn’t as if they have a future now we’ve caught them. And what happens when you fire on the ship?”

  Roman felt like screaming. She was right. A well-tended light cruiser would survive the crippling blow he’d planned to inflict, but a pirate ship might be destroyed, as pirates were notoriously sloppy about preventive maintenance. And considering there might be human shields on board the pirate ship...

  He keyed the ship-to-ship intercom.

  “Pirate ship, face facts,” he said, hating what he was about to say. “You cannot escape. I will not let you take hostages over the mass limit. And if you start killing hostages, I’m simply going to put a missile in your hull. Now, you can try and delay matters, but I really don’t have that much patience.”

  There was a long pause.

  “But I am prepared to deal with you,” he added reluctantly. “If you surrender without further ado, I will transport you to the nearest inhabited world. You will face trial there, rather than be summarily executed in space. I believe they will offer you the chance to pay your debt to society rather than execute you on the spot. That’s the best offer I will make, and it will be withdrawn soon. I suggest that you choose quickly.”

  “Right,” the pirate voice said. The pirate sounded as if he didn’t believe the offer, but judging from the noises in the background, discipline on the pirate ship was starting to break down. The younger pirates, in particular, knew that they were looking at a very short and nasty future that would end with them taking a short walk out of an airlock without a pressure suit.

  Roman smiled.

  “And what guarantee do we have that you will keep your word?” the pirate asked.

  “The word of a Federation Navy officer?” Roman offered. “The fact is, you really don’t have a choice. You either take the chance at life I’m offering, or you die for certain when I run out of patience and blow your little ship into debris. Which do you choose?”

  There were the sounds of more argument on the pirate bridge, followed by the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. Roman guessed that the previous captain had just been gunned down by his own crew.

  “We wish to surrender, Navy,” a new voice said. “What do you want us to do?”

  Roman allowed himself a moment of relief before ordering them to lower their shields, deactivate their weapons and de-power their ship’s drives. After they did so, he commanded, “Disarm your crew and have them wait for inspection in the rear hold. Any resistance of any kind will be met by lethal force. There will be no other warnings.”

  “Yes, sir,” the pirate said, sounding relieved. “We will comply.”

  Roman scowled. The Federation Navy’s policy on pirates wasn’t in place just because it was logistically easier to execute the pirates on the spot rather than dragging them to the nearest planet for a trial. It was possible that the nearest planet’s leadership might have agreements in place with the pirates, as poorer colonies needed supplies and weren’t always too choosy about where they came from. Handing the pirates over to the local governor was sometimes a way to ensure that they’d be freed and allowed to return to piracy. And besides, they knew that the pirates were guilty. No Naval court would do anything other than stamp ‘fully approved’ on the execution certificates.

  He keyed the intercom.

  “Elf, we have some prisoners for you,” he said. “Board and secure the ship, then check out the hostages. We’ll set up care for them on board Midway if necessary.”

  “Aye, sir,” Elf said. There was a dull clunk in the background as the Marine shuttles detached themselves from Midway. “We’re on our way.”

  Roman braced himself for last-minute treachery as the Marines flew toward the pirate ship. They were protected by ECM and shields, but even weapons dating all the way back to the First Interstellar War would easily be able to pick off the Marine shuttles. The pirate ship would never survive the barrage Roman would throw at it in response, yet Elf and two platoons of Marines—and the hostages—would still be dead. The pirates might suspect that he meant to trick them, or believe that they’d never see the light of day again; anything could push them over the edge. Pirates were simply not rational.

  “We’re boarding now,” Elf’s voice said, in his ear. “No sign of resistance yet...”

  “Good,” Roman said.

  On the live feed, pirates were swiftly secured by the Marines, their hands cuffed after a rough search and the removal of anything that could be used as a weapon. The remaining pirates—wonder of wonders—had followed orders. Elf and her team rapidly arrested them and left them to cool their heels in their own cargo bay. It didn’t take any DNA testing to determine that these were the pirates responsible for the attack on the liner. The look on their faces was enough.

  The Marines moved on to the hostages, who had been stowed into one of the other holds and a handful of cabins. Roman suspected that most of them were enthusiastic supporters of Admiral Justinian, but they’d probably be grateful to be rescued by anyone at this point. And if gratitude didn’t make them talkative, ONI would inject them with truth drugs and strip them of anything worth knowing. There didn’t seem to be any reason why some of the captives had been separated from the others. None of the female captives, at least, had been raped, although it was certain that they’d been threatened with it if they refused to cooperate, or if their relatives refused to pay the ransom. They would probably be delighted to see the Federation Navy.

  Elf buzzed him on their private line.

  “Captain, I believe that you should see this one personally,” she said. There was something odd in her voice. “One of the captives is far more important than we thought.”

  “They didn’t capture Admiral Justinian himself, did they?” Roman’s eyes narrowed.

  “Oh, no,” Elf said. “They captured his daughter.”

  “Pardon?” Roman blinked. “What the hell was she doing there?”

  * * *

  Over three hundred hostages had been rescued from the pirate ship The Black Knife, creating an immediate humanitarian crisis for Roman and his crew. Most of the hostages hadn’t been injured or mistreated, but they did want to go home as soon as possible, particularly the ones who suspected that ONI wanted a few words with them. They couldn’t all be accommodated on Midway, creating a minor problem until the engineering crew re-activated some of the space liner’s passenger compartments. The Harmonious Repose might have been disabled, but she made an adequate passenger space—and a prison for the pirates. Roman wasn’t about to leave them on their own vessel.

  He looked through the monitor into the holding cell. Henrietta Beauregard-Justinian had been separated from the other hostages on the pirate ship—clearly, the pirates had known who she was—and Roman had ordered her kept
in isolation. She was a remarkably pretty girl, barely out of her teens, with long blonde hair and an utterly perfect face. Her file stated that she had been engineered to fit the fashion of her birth time, a technique rarely available to anyone outside the upper class. The RockRats rarely engineered their children for looks.

  And she was under sentence of death.

  Roman scowled as he studied the oddly composed girl. The Senate had passed decrees ordering that anyone related to Admiral Justinian and the other warlords was to be killed on sight, with their properties seized and their personal effects confiscated. If he handed her over to Admiral Mason, Henrietta would be executed before she had a chance to beg for her life—indeed, Roman knew that his orders suggested that he should execute her himself. And yet, she was too young to be involved in her father’s treachery. It wasn’t right that she should die for his actions.

  He looked over at Elf, to see her looking at him speculatively.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said. There was no one else in the compartment. Henrietta was guarded by an armoured female Marine, but she was alone in the holding cell. Roman understood how she must feel. “You want to save her.”

  “Am I that predicable?” Roman snorted.

  “You’re a decent person,” Elf said. She leaned forward until her lips were almost touching his lips. “Now tell me; are you willing to risk everything you’ve earned since you set foot on Enterprise to keep her alive?”