Dark Star Rising

by Bennett R. Coles

  Amelia’s eyes came to rest on the ball gown that still hung on the bulkhead behind the door. She smiled when she thought of the first part of that night, at how beautiful she’d felt and how handsome Liam had looked. And that ballroom looking out across the shimmering lake . . . what a magical setting.

  Her smile faded, though, as the later images of the evening flooded her mind. The host of the party executed in front of them all; Silverhawk’s sinister smile and his threats toward Commander Riverton. She tried to block them out with images of the dancing, regretting not accepting Liam’s invitation to that first dance. Humming a tune to herself she moved through the steps again, remembering how Templegrey had added style and flourish to each step and gesture. Amelia imagined herself in Liam’s arms, gliding through the dance together.

  But her mind kept going back to memory, and to Ava Templegrey in his arms. They’d been the picture of elegance after Amelia had failed to step up. Liam had also danced in that ballroom before, she reckoned, with the young Lady Brightlake. If the daughter had possessed any of the good looks of her mother, with that fiery red hair . . . Amelia abruptly stopped her practice, her arms falling flat against her sides.

  It was one thing to recognize a rival for her man, but how was Amelia supposed to compete with a ghost? She sighed, wondering once again how much longer Liam would spend with a crass commoner like her. He certainly hadn’t stopped Ava from flirting with him that evening in the senior mess. Had she met with him on other occasions to convince him of her suggestion?

  Amelia was being silly, she knew, and staying cooped up by herself in here wasn’t helping. She needed to get back to her crowd.

  The ship was technically still in battle, she realized as she stepped out into the main passageway and spotted the closed airlock doors in either direction. The chase of Storm Wind was now in its twentieth hour, but while progress was being made it was still at least another watch until things got interesting again. She’d managed to get a few hours’ sleep once the adrenaline of battle had given way to exhaustion but sleep never came easily when the enemy was near. Checking stores always made her feel better, and with her little kingdom sorted she moved with easy purpose up the decks to the senior mess.

  As she pushed open the door she heard Charlotte Brown’s familiar voice.

  “Are you kidding? We heard it all the way up on the bridge!”

  Laughter washed over Amelia as she stepped into the space, and she noticed all eyes were on a smug-looking Templegrey seated with the others at the table.

  “Classical training in song is essential for any lady,” she replied, eyes sparkling as she spotted Amelia. She offered a friendly smile, then turned back to Brown, Sky, and, next to her at the head of the table, Liam.

  “So you were trained in singing Theropod songs?” Liam said. “That’s about what those screams sounded like.”

  Templegrey folded her arms in a big show of pouting.

  Liam rubbed her back, Amelia noticed.

  “I’m sure my partner in the trap would agree my performance was most convincing?” Templegrey offered to Amelia.

  “Truly impressive,” Amelia replied, reaching for the coffee. “It nearly made my ears bleed.”

  She appreciated the laughter as she turned away and poured herself a drink. All just good, friendly banter after a stressful situation. Usually now someone would take a shot at her, or Brown, but Amelia felt a sudden urge to maintain the current target.

  “You didn’t make this, did you?” she said to Templegrey, hefting her coffee.

  More laughter filled the room as Templegrey shook her head.

  “I’ve been banned from ever undertaking that task again,” she said with a sigh.

  The sudden warble of the comms system caught everyone’s attention. Liam reached for the handset.

  “Senior mess, XO . . . I’ll be right there.” He rose from his seat, glancing at everyone. “We’re still hours from intercept, but the bridge reports that another ship is closing the pirates fast.”

  He strode for the door, the others rising to follow. Amelia put down her mug and slipped in close behind him. They ascended the two decks to the bridge, and as soon as her vision adjusted to the glare through the canopy Amelia made her way forward. Swift had the watch, and Riverton was in her command chair.

  Liam exchanged quick words with Swift, tactical information that was too brief and specialized for Amelia to follow. He grabbed a telescope from the officer of the watch console and scanned ahead. Within moments Brown and Templegrey also had telescopes up, and Amelia felt like she was missing the party. Glancing around, she found a spare viewing device.

  The telescopes always surprised her by how heavy they were. The outer casing was solid brass and the lenses were no doubt thick, but she suspected that it was the microcomputer innards that really added to the heft. She extended the device out and lifted it to her eye.

  It took a moment to adjust to the narrow view filled with stars, but Amelia remembered what Liam had taught her. There were almost always stars in view—they lived in a galactic cluster, after all—but the trick was to look for the shadows among the stars. Ships often appeared as holes in the starscape where their bulk occulted the distant light. Peeking around the bridge she noticed that everyone was looking dead ahead, and maybe slightly to port. She moved her telescope slowly across the sky.

  There! The unmistakable cross-shape of a sailing ship came into view. It was big, suggesting it was close. She could see all four masts clearly, meaning the vessel was pointed either directly toward her or directly away. She guessed that this was Storm Wind, its sails straining to starboard as it ran abeam of the wind. Amelia looked up through the bridge canopy and saw Daring’s own topmast and the sails billowing in a similar manner.

  “Stars, she’s fast,” Liam muttered.

  Amelia lowered her telescope, noting that his own instrument was pointed more to port.

  “She’s riding a stern wind,” Riverton replied, “full sheet.”

  “I can actually see her moving across the starscape,” Liam commented.

  That last sentence obviously meant something important, but Amelia didn’t follow until she stepped close to Liam, pointed her telescope down the same bearing as his, and realized how easily she was able to lock onto the new vessel.

  “Usually at these distances,” he added for her benefit, “we can’t see movement. That ship is flying.”

  “She’s a cutter,” Brown interjected, telescope still up, “built for speed. I can make out her raked bow, and she has extra sheets extended from her bowsprit.”

  The ship was wedge-shaped, long and narrow, and from this side view Amelia could see the huge sails straining forward from her masts, and the extra sails ballooning out in front like Brown had described.

  “Didn’t Dark Star sail in a fast cutter?” she asked. “Maybe this is a rescue ship—they’ll abandon the other tub and escape in that little stallion?”

  “Possibly,” Riverton mused. “What’s our time to intercept?”

  “Eight hours,” Swift replied, “at present speeds.”

  Amelia stepped aside as Brown eased past her, moving to a large, flat table on the other side of the captain’s chair. The table was marked with a series of concentric circles and a starburst of straight lines out from the center. The young sublieutenant placed a ship marker on the table, then a second, to the left. She made a few quick calculations on a wheeled device, then measured the distance between the two ship markers.

  “Estimate the cutter will intercept Storm Wind in ten minutes,” she announced.

  Swift muttered something under his breath, but otherwise the officers replied in grim silence.

  “Can we go any faster?” Amelia asked.

  “No,” Swift replied. “We’re straining the masts as it is just to maintain pursuit.”

  “Keep track on the cutter,” Liam ordered. “A ship that small can’t stay in space for long—it must have a base nearby. If we can—”

&n
bsp; “The cutter is opening fire,” Riverton interjected.

  Telescopes snapped up all around Amelia, with the trained precision of a drill movement. She fumbled to lift her own instrument.

  Sure enough, the tell-tale flashes of cannon fire were erupting from the cutter’s bow, and even as Amelia watched the sails began to shorten. Then the masts started to retract, lowering to rest snug against the hull. She’d been in enough battles now to recognize the openly aggressive posture being taken, and the continuous flashing of cannon meant that these were no warning shots. Storm Wind still looked intact, but even from this distance Amelia could see the flailing of torn sails and the awkward bend of the top mast.

  “The pirate’s being crippled,” she said.

  “I don’t think this is a rescue,” Liam agreed.

  “Bad blood between criminals?” Templegrey suggested.

  As Daring rode the winds there was nothing to do but watch as the cutter slammed into the pirate ship and locked on. All outward violence ceased, but Amelia could well guess that a boarding was underway, and a vicious battle was playing out within those two dark hulls. But because of the great gulf still separating them, there was nothing to do but watch and wait.

  “Both ships have slowed,” Swift reported. “Our estimated intercept is now four hours.”

  Eventually the watch turned and new sailors started taking their stations, but it was obvious none of the senior staff were leaving. Swift had a brief conversation with Templegrey to hand over duties of officer of the watch, but other than handing over the belt with pistol and saber, neither of them moved or eased up their monitoring of the situation. The series of standard reports from the new watch to Templegrey were a familiar buzz of routine and Amelia barely listened.

  Finally, after nearly three hours, and with the locked ships large enough to see with the naked eye, the lookout reported new flashes from the cutter. They were quickly identified as thrusters, and the smaller ship pulled away from its prey. It drifted clear and began extending its masts.

  “Are we within weapons range?” Liam asked.

  “Missiles, yes,” Templegrey replied, “but not cannon.”

  Missiles were a last resort, Amelia knew. Daring only carried eight of the long-range weapons, and the destructive power of a single shot could easily tear a civilian ship to shreds. They were for self-defense, and only in extremis.

  “Keep track on the cutter,” he ordered. “Let’s see if we can catch her before she can build up speed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Amelia felt the deck sway as Daring strained against the stiffening wind, heard the masts creak as she leaned into her pursuit.

  “Captain,” Templegrey said suddenly. “Incoming signal from the cutter.”

  “To us?”

  “To you personally, ma’am.”

  All eyes turned to the captain. If there was any surprise in her heart it was hidden beneath layers of aristocratic training as she turned an icy gaze toward the cutter ahead.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  Templegrey spoke over the channel, then activated the speaker.

  A crackly voice filled the bridge. “Commander Riverton, I assume you can hear me?”

  The voice was familiar, even through the static, and Amelia cast Liam a questioning glance. He frowned thoughtfully.

  “This is Commander Riverton,” the captain replied. “With whom do I speak?”

  “Sophia,” the voice replied, and even across the vacuum Amelia could sense the sneer, “you really need to try harder. Perhaps get yourself a faster ship than that miserable old tub. This prize is mine, and mine alone.”

  A blinding flash erupted from the cutter. Before anyone could react a missile smashed into Storm Wind. Its hull tore open and the masts spun away into space.

  Amelia gasped. No civilian ship should have access to that kind of weaponry. She dimly heard Templegrey sounding the drums to bring the ship to battle stations. Swift and Brown both burst into action, and seconds later Amelia heard the distant whine of the energy weapons spinning up.

  “Who is this?” Riverton demanded, her cool voice an eye in the storm around her. “As the captain of His Majesty’s Sailing Ship Daring I command you to surrender and prepare to be boarded.”

  “No, Commander,” the voice continued with a sigh, “you’re not giving the orders here. This is Captain Silverhawk of His Majesty’s Sailing Ship Arrow, and I’m ordering you to stand down and keep clear.”

  Riverton’s lips parted slightly, and she blinked several times. Then her eyes narrowed.

  “Authentication flags flying on the cutter,” Liam reported, telescope to his eye. “They match the code of the day and designate the rank of captain on board.”

  Riverton sat like a statue for a long moment, staring out at the cutter as it began to unfurl sails.

  “Officer of the watch,” she ordered, her voice cutting through the din of battle preparations, “come hard right, clear to outside of missile range.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Riverton activated the circuit again. “Yes, sir. I am keeping clear.”

  “Good girl, Sophia. I look forward to seeing you at the next grand ball. Perhaps I’ll have a new outfit made special for it.”

  “Shall we stand down from battle stations, ma’am?” Templegrey asked.

  “Not a chance,” Riverton snapped. She climbed down from her chair, and Amelia stepped clear as she saw the fury blazing in the captain’s eyes.

  “Maintain defensive posture,” she said, calm returning to her voice, “and hold station on the pirate wreckage outside of missile range. Inform me when Arrow has cleared the area.”

  Riverton’s boots thumped loudly on the deck in the sudden quiet. She retreated through the aft door, shutting it gently behind her. In the silence of the bridge Amelia just heard the distant, violent slam of the captain’s cabin door.

  “Sublieutenant Brown,” she heard Liam say behind her, “Sublieutenant Templegrey—we have a shift in our research priorities. Find out what happened to the money of the Brightlake estate.”

  Chapter 6

  If ever they wanted to follow the flow of money, Liam thought to himself as he stepped through the airlock, a space station like this was a good place to start.

  “Wow,” he heard beside him, “I think the interior decorators in Windfall Station could use some pointers.”

  He smiled at Amelia as her large eyes continued to roam upward. Then he followed her gaze to take in the main concourse of the Emperor’s Reach space station. Or, at least, the concourse he could see. The broad gallery extended away in both directions, eventually disappearing around the curve of the station’s hull. It rose to the height of thirty men, the far wall carved into pointed arches and the clear glass wall behind him revealing the line of ships floating just beyond. The concourse was divided by the dark ribbon of a road, with dockyard workers moving efficiently on this side while townsfolk ambled among the shops on the other. Carriages whisked past as the bustle of the largest station in this corner of the Empire continued at a regular, pulsing pace.

  “It helps to be the only safe port within a week’s sailing,” Liam said, jerking a thumb back toward the ships in the vacuum. “The taxes are high but are preferable to the alternative. The station was a massive investment in its day but the Imperial coffers are overflowing because of it.”

  “I guess they should really call this one Windfall, then,” she offered.

  “I think ‘Cash Cow’ would be more appropriate.”

  “Speaking of which,” she said, nodding toward the shops across the road, “I think I might go amuse myself this evening parting with some of my cash.”

  “I’d rather you were with me,” he said, glancing down at his own dress uniform, then at her casual outfit.

  “Me, too,” she said. “But you’re right—for tonight you need a companion with poise and polish. I’ll drown my sorrows in a mountain of new clothes.”

  “You’d fit right in among the
noble circles,” he chuckled.

  “I see that the captain agreed with your recommendation. The division of prize money was a welcome surprise, but not so much that sailors will lose their minds.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Liam looked out at the vast concourse, then back toward the ship. “But it wasn’t my idea, if you recall.”

  A flourish of movement caught his eye and he saw Ava Templegrey stepping across the brow and onto the station. She was wearing a ball gown of deep blue, with golden highlights and accessories that matched her hair. As she approached her legs were hidden beneath the voluminous skirts, so that she seemed to float rather than walk.

  “Oh,” Amelia said as Templegrey glided up to them, “you look absolutely beautiful.”

  “Thank you, darling,” she said with her habitual smile, reaching out to brush her fingers over Amelia’s cheek. “And you look adorable as ever.”

  Liam couldn’t help but agree. It really didn’t matter what Amelia was wearing or doing—his heart leaped whenever he saw her. On an impulse he took her hand and kissed it.

  “Have fun with your shopping. Don’t stay out too late.”

  “I was going to say the same to you!” She laughed. “Fancy, swanky, gala ball and everything.”

  Liam shrugged, knowing that this was a working evening. It would have been a lot more fun to have Amelia along, but they had all agreed that tonight was about staying low-key. Having a vivacious commoner would only draw eyes and set tongues wagging. He gestured grandly to his companion.

  “Our carriage awaits, Lady Templegrey.”

  As the doctor rustled past in her gown, Liam gave Amelia’s hand another squeeze. He turned to go, but her grip was suddenly fierce, holding him in place. He glanced at her.

  “One request,” she whispered suddenly.

  “Of course.”

  “No dancing. The next one is for me.”

  He grinned instinctively, but the sudden earnestness of her gaze sobered his reaction. He nodded. “The next dance is yours, darling.”

  She blinked, then her usual smirk emerged again. She smacked him on the butt. “On your way then, Lord Blackwood.”