“Do you still have visual on the pirate?” he asked.
“No, but we spotted her two minutes ago, four points off the starboard bow.”
Liam instinctively glanced upward, searching the puffs of gas for the telltale silhouette of a ship. Movement and shadows masked the entire vista, though. The brilliant glow of the thousands of stars in the Hub cast plenty of light, but the nebula was thick with the remains of an ancient, exploded sun. The solar winds had been tearing at the expanding gas cloud for millennia, and here at the border the scape was chaotic and ever-changing.
“I believe you,” he said, giving up his search. “Keep a sharp eye for any trickery.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rounding her console he took half a dozen shaky steps to grip the raised command chair. Riverton was strapped into her seat, screens spread out around her.
“Looks like our long hunt is at an end, XO,” she said. “It’s definitely Black Hand. The last sighting confirmed her distinctive raised quarterdeck”—she glanced at him for emphasis—“and additional mounted beam weapons.”
“They’re really not even trying to be subtle anymore,” he mused. “Where’s the fun in hunting pirates when they make it so obvious? I’ve rather enjoyed the last two months of cat and mouse . . .”
As usual, she didn’t share his easy humor.
“It means I’m not launching you in the boats,” she stated. “You’d be picked off before you could cover half the distance.”
“Maybe we could approach through one of the clouds.”
“It’s too uncertain.” Her tone indicated the end of the discussion.
“Grapple boarding, then?”
She nodded. “Port side. Our starboard hull is still a bit tender and I’d like to keep it out of the direct fire.”
“Yes, ma’am. But I recommend both cannon sides be armed and manned—in this environment we’ll want maximum flexibility.”
Riverton glanced up at the swirling clouds and gripped her armrests as the ship bucked again. She nodded.
“We’re going straight in, hopefully catching them by surprise. There may only be time for a single broadside before we grapple.”
“My team will be ready.”
She surveyed the scene outside again, then gave him an approving look.
“Fair winds, XO,” she said, with the hint of a smile.
“Following rays, Captain.”
He retreated from her chair, grabbing the hatch cover in the deck astern of Brown’s station. His armor was like a second skin now and he clambered down the ladder with ease, pulling the hatch closed behind him.
One deck down Liam paused, surveying the final preparations of the gunnery crews. The gun deck had a single, wide corridor down the center of the ship, with twelve reinforced doors on either bulkhead leading to the individual cannon compartments. The forward doors were already closed, and the last bags of gunpowder were being passed through the aft doors by blackened, grim-faced sailors.
One sailor noticed him and straightened slightly to knuckle her forehead. “Who did we find, sir?”
“Black Hand,” he said, noting with satisfaction the instant recognition alighting on her face. This crew took their mission much more personally than any he’d sailed with in the past.
“Will we engage soon?”
“Everything’s ready,” he replied. “We’re starting our final approach.”
“Another bold advance, straight in?”
“Of course,” he grinned. “We have to be daring.”
She returned the grin, and one of the other sailors laughed.
It had become the ship’s catchphrase, and her name had become her crew’s philosophy. Liam gave the sailors a final nod then grabbed the ladder for the next descent.
Another deck down, Liam weaved carefully along the ship’s main passageway, the deck rolling steadily beneath him. A sudden crash of crockery followed by a curse through the bulkhead to his right told him the cooks were having trouble securing the galley. Usually the crew had hours to prepare for battle as Daring slowly closed a fleeing foe, but here at the fringes of the nebula sightlines were almost zero, and this battle had caught everyone unexpected. But Liam had no concerns—in the time it had taken him to don his armor, the entire ship had been brought to battle stations. He reached the midships ladder and thankfully grabbed the handrail, descending the steep steps as Daring bucked and creaked around him.
The boarding party was assembled in the passageway, all eyes turning to him as he stepped down onto the deck. His eyes immediately sought Amelia, who met his gaze with an excited grin as she flexed her shoulders under her new armor. Many of the sailors still wore the standard, padded protection issued by His Majesty, but Amelia had invested some of her prize money in personal protection. She was encased in a smooth breastplate, shoulder guards, and leg guards, the steel dull and without ornamentation. Her only special addition was on the gauntlets, where wicked spikes protruded from each knuckle.
“I’m more used to punching thugs at close range than stabbing them,” she’d explained sweetly when she’d first showed him. “This will help.”
Liam forced his gaze to break from her and survey the rest of the team. Fourteen sailors in total, seasoned veterans all, and he saw nothing but quiet determination on their faces. Finally, his eyes came to rest on Daring’s assaulter, Chief Petty Officer Harper Sky.
“Boarding team ready, sir,” Sky said, lifting her helmet in one hand to slip it down over her short brown hair.
The deep green of her armor hinted at its quality, as did the lack of dents and scratches across its surface. It was possible the assaulter spent all her spare time buffing out damage, but Liam suspected that she was just very talented at not getting hit in the first place. Liam glanced down at his own black armor. The polish and gold filigree were forever marred by the scars of Sectoid acid damage, and he hadn’t yet gotten around to having the last of the dents banged out.
“We’re closing to grapple,” he said without preamble, motioning for the team to separate fore and aft into their two groups. “My team will board aft and Chief Sky’s will board midships. We’ll take the bridge and you take the cannons.”
Murmurs rose around him as glances were exchanged, but he sensed no objection. Just the usual mutterings of sailors facing sudden change.
“Priorities, sir?” Sky asked.
“This is Black Hand,” Liam said, again noting the recognition in the faces before him, followed by a new determination. “She’s one of Dark Star’s flagships, and no doubt she carries information vital to the pirate efforts. We’ve also heard”—he paused for emphasis—“that Dark Star may personally be on board.”
A few excited expletives punctuated the rumbled reaction.
“Capture whoever you can,” he concluded, “and save what loot you can. And by the Abyss don’t let them wipe any memory cores.”
Another round of muttering rippled through the team. It was an ongoing shell game with the pirates—everyone in Daring knew that there was a larger organization behind what looked like common brigands, and each pirate crew fought unusually hard to destroy any evidence before capture. Tossing treasure out the airlock was their favorite distraction, and a painful one to ignore.
All voices were cut off by the sudden roar of cannons above them. Daring’s first broadside heralded the opening of battle.
“To your airlocks,” Liam ordered, turning and heading aft. Amelia plus their team of six followed, weapons clinking as they fumbled to stay on their feet. A constant pressure to port indicated the ship heeling into a sharp turn, and another roar of cannon loosed above them.
Liam let his sailors lead the way into the airlock, grabbing a handset from the bulkhead as he peered forward to ensure that Sky’s team was in position. Activating the comms, he heard Riverton’s voice crackling in his ear.
“Captain.”
“Captain, ma’am, XO. Both teams in position for grapple boarding.”
“Very goo
d. We’re in range and firing hooks with the next salvo. Board when ready.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Liam hung up, stepped into the cramped airlock, and shut the heavy door behind him. His armor pressed into Amelia and she shuffled forward, but there was little room. The rest of the team was eyes forward, watching as best they could through the small porthole in the outer door.
He slipped on his helmet, feeling the calming silence that came with it. Amelia noticed the motion and donned her own headgear, a simple covering of smooth metal that curved from her eyebrows back to her neck.
She smiled, her restless gaze lingering on him. He gave her a wink, then turned his attention to the vista through the porthole.
The massive form of Master Rating Atticus Flatrock, his body tensed for the assault, blocked most of the view, though. Beside him was Able Rating Mia Hedge, her sword already drawn as she prepared to be first through.
Liam saw the dazzling starlight through the porthole fade as the shadow of Black Hand fell across them, but he barely had time to look before he heard another blast of cannon. Seconds later, the entire ship lurched around him as the massive grappling hooks dug into the pirate ship and took hold. The mottled hull of Black Hand was visible outside, steadily drawing closer as the cannon crews reeled in their catch.
“Extend the skirt,” he ordered. “Get ready.”
Flatrock manipulated the controls to extend the flexible tube on the outer hull, even as the airlock door on Black Hand swung into view and closed in. Liam glanced upward to his unseen bridge, marveling again at the ship-handling skills of Riverton and Brown. There was a crash as the two vessels gently collided. Under the grinding of metal Liam heard the hiss of air as the skirt was flooded, and then the outer airlock door slid open.
Hedge was through in a flash, floating across the zero-gravity space and slamming her override tool into the manual airlock control on Black Hand’s hull. Seconds later the pirate door slipped open and Hedge disappeared into the darkness beyond. Flatrock was across the gulf a moment later, followed by the rest of the assault team. Amelia stepped forward, and Liam followed. The sailors who usually manned their boat, Faith and Hunter, hung back as rear guard to protect the airlock.
Liam watched as Amelia sailed across the space between ships, landed on the far deck, and drew her sword. Liam grabbed the frigid rim of Daring’s open airlock and pushed himself off, his cheeks barely feeling the chill in the air before he reached the opening at the end of the skirt. Amelia pulled him through and he felt gravity kick in as his feet slammed down on the deck.
The team had fanned out in a defensive circle, holding until everyone was aboard. The storm was pounding Black Hand as much as Daring, and everyone lurched as the deck shuddered. Liam drew his saber and hefted a pistol.
“Three decks straight up,” he ordered. “Move!”
As always, surprise was their ally and speed their greatest weapon in these first few moments of a boarding. Hedge was up the nearest ladder in the blink of an eye, her quickness in stark contrast to the lumbering power of Flatrock behind her. Liam heard shouts above him and the clash of blades, but by the time he ascended the ladder the quick melee was already over. Two pirates—one Human, one Theropod—lay sprawled on the deck in growing pools of blood. Hedge was already up the next ladder.
Liam followed Amelia’s armored form up another two decks, then quickly surveyed the scene. His team was gathered in a low space, a short passageway leading aft and a heavy door forward. The pirate ship bridge lay beyond that door. Hedge was manipulating her lock override, but the door remained closed.
“They’ve got a local fail-safe,” she snapped, glaring back in frustration. “I can’t override the lock.”
Liam sheathed his sword and drew his second pistol.
“Flatrock, plant charges. Blow that thing open.” He glanced at his gathered team. “I’m through first. Fan out to the sides and shoot to wound. We want prisoners.”
Each sailor drew their pistol as Flatrock pulled a pair of shaped charges from his satchel and pressed them against the hinges of the bridge door. Liam tensed, watching Flatrock step back and depress the trigger.
The blasts tore through the bulkhead—the door flew off its hinges and careened forward through the dense smoke. Liam charged through the opening. He ran blind through the smoke for the first few steps, then his vision cleared enough to see a reptilian figure dead ahead, raising a gun. Liam fired twice. The Theropod collapsed backward. Liam staggered forward on the heaving deck, firing suddenly at movement to his left. A Human pirate peeked up from behind the command chair and fired twice, the bullets pinging off Liam’s breastplate. He responded in kind, but his shots punched into the chair as he tried to suppress the target for capture.
Shots and shouts erupted behind him as his team stormed the bridge, but Liam didn’t hesitate in his charge forward. Taking cover would only make him look like a pirate to his own sailors, he knew, so he kept moving forward, back to his own troops, and trusted his armor to take the hits. A bullet cracked off his helmet, stunning him, but he instinctively swung and fired at the nearest movement. A pirate staggered, clutching his shattered arm. Liam slammed the empty pistol into its holster and drew his saber. The smoke had billowed through most of the room and visibility was barely arm’s length.
His attention snapped to sudden movement to his side, where a huge pirate slashed down with a sword. Liam’s own blade rose in sheer reflex, but the power of the strike sent him staggering. He retreated, raising his second pistol to fire. The pirate blade swept upward, smacking flat against Liam’s hand and knocking the pistol clear. Liam jabbed inward but the pirate dodged, cutting down with a vicious backswing. Liam ducked under the strike and stabbed forward in a counter, but again the pirate evaded. Their blades clashed, steel scraping as they fought the heaving deck as much as each other. The pirate drew forward, his expression hard as he glared at Liam across their locked swords. His young, rugged face was clean-shaven and his pale eyes were cold, with none of the panic Liam saw so often in common pirates. This man moved with a calm, murderous intent. He suddenly withdrew a step, giving them both some room. Then he unsheathed a short sword and pressed the attack, forcing Liam back as he blocked the heavy strike and tried to dodge the quick stabs against his armor.
Out of the smoke a short, armored form rushed into the fray. Liam pivoted in defense but immediately recognized Amelia’s smooth steel helmet. She swung her cutlass at the pirate, forcing him to retreat a step before he batted her blade aside. Liam saw the opening and lunged, but the pirate sword was like quicksilver as it slashed back and parried Liam’s strike. Liam staggered off-balance, grunting as the pirate slammed his sword down against Liam’s torso. He dropped to one knee and swung ferociously at air.
Forcing himself up he attacked again, but the pirate deflected his blows with the ease of an Imperial bodyguard. Amelia pressed the attack on the other side, their foe deftly giving ground and parried their strikes, always keeping his distance. His longsword was almost too fast to follow, and Liam could feel himself tiring as he defended against the barrage.
The pirate suddenly shifted, his sword slashing down with such force that Liam felt his legs buckle as he blocked. His own saber was pushed against his helmet, barely holding back the blow, and he dimly saw the pirate’s short sword batting Amelia’s cutlass clear out of her hand.
Liam kept his saber up, bracing for impact as the pirate reared back for a single, devastating strike. He readied his weary legs—whether that blade struck toward him or Amelia, he would be there to parry it.
Amelia, empty-handed, wrapped one forearm around the pirate’s short sword, pinning it to her own breastplate. He tried to wrench it free but she hung on, lifting clear off her feet as she swung in close to him. Her fist smashed upward into the pirate’s chin and the big man staggered. She struck again and he crumpled, his swords clattering down from limp fingers as he collapsed in a heap. Liam righted himself, ready to run the blaggard thro
ugh, but Amelia’s hand reached out to stop him. Blood dripped from the spikes on her gauntlet.
“He’s done,” she gasped, grabbing her sword and bringing it to bear. “And we might have just taken down Dark Star himself.”
Liam gulped air, surveying the bridge.
Through the smoke he saw the precise, guarded movements of his own team as they searched the space. Unmoving pirate bodies lay sprawled at their feet.
“Sound off,” he ordered.
His sailors each responded, still alive and well. He gave orders to gather the pirate casualties, bind and search them, secure the bridge, and start copying data.
“You okay?” Amelia asked him.
He nodded, scanning for his lost pistol even as he warily watched the unconscious pirate at their feet.
“You’re right,” he said, kicking the pirate blades well clear. “This gentleman is worth talking to. He clearly has formal training in swordsmanship.”
“Just no experience with brawling,” Amelia replied, holding up her spiked gauntlet. “Told you it would help.”
“You prove your worth yet again,” he said, then added quietly, “darling.”
The forward end of the bridge was clear of smoke, and Liam stole a look through its canopy toward the bulk of Daring grappled alongside. His ship was almost as large as this one, but with her dust-caked hull and strap-on cargo containers she lacked the elegant, aggressive lines of this pirate ship. No doubt any observer would have bet fully on Black Hand before this battle began. Spotting his stray pistol, Liam took a deep breath and holstered the weapon, his eyes moving between Daring’s bulk and the unconscious pirate dueler on the deck before him.
As with so many things in his life and mission these days, first impressions were rarely accurate and little was as it seemed.
A clutch of prisoners was herded over to the brig in Daring without incident, but the transfer of supplies from one ship to the other took several hours. Liam had a standing rule that search teams moved in groups of four, always with an officer or senior sailor present, to try to minimize the personal looting that inevitably went with the seizure of a pirate ship. In theory all the cargo was logged by the quartermaster and stored for distribution among everyone when the mission was over. No doubt a few trinkets went missing here and there, and Liam honestly didn’t begrudge a sailor’s occasional petty acquisition, but the official line was zero tolerance. It always made for grumpy sailors during the search process, but it maintained a sense of fair play that was ultimately far more valuable for crew cohesion.
Dark Star Rising Page 4
