by Ava D. Dohn
* * *
Salak stared out the forward window of his ship, whistling some jaunty little tune. His initial disappointment at the Shikkeron’s turn around was quickly fading, feeling he was now close to boxing his enemy in. Looking into the starry sky, he envisioned his fleet of pirates forcing his opponent into surrender or, at worst, into the Nebulas’ rock field.
When Godenn’s game plan was upset by the Shikkeron turning about, Salak had adjusted his strategy and gone in hot pursuit. It was originally intended that his Stasis and Pseudes warships were to be the hounds, sweeping in behind the Shikkeron as it passed the Twin Suns going east, preventing the fox from escaping, while Godenn’s advancing forces would hem the ship in and capture the Shikkeron with its crew alive.
Now the Shikkeron had forced a change of plans. Salak would attempt a disabling attack to slow his victim down, giving Godden’s taskforce time to overtake the Shikkeron. If that didn’t work, Salak would push the ship into the rock fields and release his fighters to inflict crippling damage.
Lieutenant Namir burst into the room. “Commander! Commander! They’ve turned straight toward us, comin’ at attack speed!”
Salak whipped around, a shock-filled face showing his disbelief. He stormed toward the hatch, shaking a fist at Namir. “You’d better not be shittin’ me, or I’ll cut out your heart!”
Namir cried out in his own defense, “I’m not, Commander! The ship’s comin’ straight in on our line! We’ll be engaged in five minutes!”
Salak rushed for the bridge, Namir close on his heels.
“Yes, Sir,” The bridge officer anxiously replied, “it never even slowed down when it turned. Thought the ship would rip herself apart doin’ it.” He glanced at his observation screen. “Now it’s put on speed and comin’ straight toward us!”
Salak looked at the screen, watching the flashing blip moving closer. He fumed, “It ain’t that friggin’ wimp Bedan at the bridge! He’s not man enough to take on a move like that!” He whipped around, grabbing Namir’s jacket, shaking him. “I was promised that little bitch-girl would be down by now! If she’s on the bridge, we’ll have hell to pay!” Salak pushed Namir away and began shouting to his bridge officers, “Signal the fleet to prepare to engage the enemy. No big guns! No big guns! Got it? I want these people alive. Prepare for evasive action!”
“Two minutes to contact.” The voice of the navigation officer echoed back over her shoulder.
Bedan looked at Darla nervously, asking, “Are you sure we want to do this?”
Darla nodded. “The worst is we’ll rip ourselves apart and become the biggest shrapnel bomb in history. At our speed, we’re bound to take out a few of ‘em.”
Bedan gave a grim-faced nod and ordered his bridge officers, “Ready forward battery! Ready starboard battery! Prepare for radical reverse! On my mark!”
The hodgepodge armada of Stasis luggers, armed bilanders, a sprinkling of busses and cutters, along with the Pseudes’ four cutters and Salak’s barquentine, slowed down and spread out in web formation, Salak’s bark at the far western end of the line. He hoped to envelope the Shikkeron using an umbrella maneuver where the bulk of Salak’s force would gather inward, closing for enemy intercept, while the remainder would spread out in a spherical formation to close around the ship as it passed.
Salak ordered his bridge officer, “Prepare the fighters for launch. Pass my directive on to the other ships.”
Suddenly the navigation officer cried out, “We have incoming! The Shikkeron’s let go a spread of torpedoes, Commander! They’re going wild!”
“What!?” Salak screamed. “How many did those bastards let go?”
The excited officer paused to examine his screen, studying ghostly images of approaching missiles. “Can’t tell! Eight…maybe twelve! They’re scatterin’ all over the map! Can’t nail them down!”
Salak looked up at the main screen to watch the wild trajectory of these crazy weapons. “Damn corkscrews! Rotten, bitchin’ corkscrews! Should ‘a sent real assassins to have that girl taken out!”
Bedan had ordered the Shikkeron’s missiles programmed to lock on targets, but to then fly erratically, confusing their intended victims. It was a dangerous maneuver for any attacking ship, considering it might fly into one of its own missiles. Salak knew just how dangerous this tactic was and puzzled over it being done. He also knew the great risk it was to ships grouped close together as the hub of his armada was now.
His thoughts of how to counter the attack were interrupted by the navigation officer’s wild shouts. “It’s coming round, sliding to larboard!”
Salak mumbled as he stared dumbly at the screen. “She’ll come apart! She’ll tear herself friggin’ apart!”
Another cry rang in Salak’s ear. “We got a broadside! They gave us a broadside!”
The screen was now filled with dozens of ghostly tracers zigzagging in every direction. Behind them, the Shikkeron was slowly pivoting on its axis, turning stem to stern. Salak’s hounds had seriously underestimated the fox. Even if it should tear itself asunder, there would be little celebrating among Salak’s crews.
Salak screamed for evasive actions as two torpedoes homed in on his ship.
