by Daniel Gibbs
He glanced at the small picture of Michelle and Maggie stuck to an out-of-the-way portion of the flight control panel. “Just if You’re up there, help me get back to my family.” Justin closed his eyes. “In Jesus’s name, amen.”
Well, either I’m losing it, or maybe God heard me. Hey, it can’t hurt. The search continued as Justin stared at the sensor screen, marking down possible targets.
System XB-0813-C
Neutral Space
28 August 2434
Tehrani smoothed her black space sweater down as the Zvika Greengold emerged from its artificial wormhole through the void into the first waypoint on their patrol. She ticked off the five seconds it took for their sensors to come back online.
“Conn, TAO. Reading multiple contacts clustered around the in-system Helium-3 refinery. Freighters, mining vessels, personnel shuttles.”
“Populate the board with Sierra contacts, TAO.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
The tactical plot on Tehrani’s monitor sprang to life with dozens of green icons, denoting the vessels as nonhostile but not friendly Terran Coalition units. Exactly where they should be.
“We could do a high-speed pass and really freak them out,” Wright said and chuckled. “Thirty-minute cool down on our Lawrence drives has commenced, ma’am. No ill effects detected from the in-nebula jump.”
“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, inbound wormholes.” Bryan held his breath. “CDF signature, ma’am. Marcus Luttrell, Astute, Earnest Evans, and Vasco da Gama classified as Sierra Twenty-Six through Thirty-One.”
Tehrani’s mind went back to Justin Spencer, who was alone and trying to find a needle in the middle of a cosmic haystack of gargantuan proportions. Any rumination on the mission plan left her feeling guilty for leaving one of their best pilots behind. She assuaged it by reminding herself how important it was they dealt with the pirates.
“Conn, Communications,” Singh said, cutting into her thoughts. “I have a request for vidlink from the Raifuku Maru’s skipper. He identifies himself as the ranking captain on scene for the Nosamo Aerothermic Technologies corporation.”
Megacorps. The Terran Coalition detested few things more than corporations so large they aspired to be nation-states—aside from the League of Sol. A century ago, antitrust laws had forced most megacorps beyond the Coalition’s borders and into neutral space. Some neutral systems welcomed them with open arms, such as Hestia. Others fought tooth and nail to keep the corporations out.
Tehrani set her jaw. “Put him on.”
A few moments later, a man with a peculiar presentation appeared on the screen mounted above her head. “Hello, Terran Coalition vessel. Can you hear me?” While his hair and facial appearance were normal for a human, the man was dressed in what could almost be described as livery. It held lively colors of purple and teal, making for one of the oddest uniforms Tehrani had ever seen.
“This is Colonel Banu Tehrani, commanding the CSV Zvika Greengold and her battlegroup, Mister…”
“Sabastian Isais Nilo Ramires. Shipmaster Ramires of the Raifuku Maru. You’re in violation of our asteroid-mining and helium-refining operations. Leave at once.”
“Under the treaties negotiated between the Terran Coalition and the Organization of Non-Aligned Planets, Coalition Defense Force vessels have full right of passage throughout any nonsettled system in this region.” Tehrani crossed her arms. “We’re conducting freedom-of-navigation exercises and have no interest in your operations.”
Ramires paused, narrowed his eyes, and tried to puff out his chest. “I see. In that case, we have no objection to your being here. Do not come within one hundred thousand kilometers of our property.”
Or what? You’ll throw rocks at us? Based on the long-range scans the Greengold had already conducted, it didn’t appear most of the civilian ships could fight off a small band of determined pirates, much less a carrier battlegroup. “We’ll be jumping out in twenty-eight minutes, Mr. Ramires.”
“Raifuku Maru out.”
The screen went black.
“Pleasant fellow,” Wright remarked. “Surprising, since he looked like what I’d imagine a court jester did a thousand years ago.”
Tehrani snorted out a laugh. “His getup was quite interesting.”
“So, what’s the plan, Skipper?”
“Cool off our drive, jump to the next system, and hopefully rattle our pirate friends enough to make a mistake Spencer can exploit.” She turned toward him. “The same plan we had half an hour ago.”
“Touché. Just checking.”
As the minutes ticked away, Tehrani worried about Spencer’s safety. One thing was for sure: she doubted she would’ve volunteered for a solo mission in the middle of a star-birthing nebula. May Allah watch over him.
Sokratis Papoutsis strode onto the bridge of his command ship, the Argos. His first mate had requested his presence only a few moments before. The bridge had been reworked to rival a military vessel’s combat information center, and dozens of crew members lined consoles dedicated to sensors, fleet control, and weapons.
“Report,” he barked.
“Boss, we’ve got a CDF stealth recon fighter at extreme range. The thing’s going in and out,” Parish replied, pointing to the holographic projection of the nebula around them. “But it's conducting a grid-pattern search.”
A conclusion was easy to draw: either someone from the Panthir had talked, or the Coalition’s vaunted signals intelligence arm had come through again for them. Neither was positive. Papoutsis set his jaw. “How close to us?”
The hologram shifted to show a projected grid pattern based on the CDF craft’s position tracking. The craft’s path brought it steadily closer to the small fleet.
“I see.” Papoutsis clenched his fist. “Where’s the rest of their force? Specifically, the escort carrier?”
Parish touched the screen, and the holographic display shifted. “They’re making a lot of noise, jumping from system to system in the buffer region between Terran Coalition and human-occupied neutral space. Seem to be sticking to systems with no military or habitation presence.”
“They’re showing the flag,” Papoutsis said with a snort. “How many corvettes do we have ready to jump?”
“Eleven, boss. Everything else is ready. Hey, you’re not thinking of—”
Papoutsis glowered at him. “Why not? They’ve got an escort carrier with fewer weapons than we have and three escorts. Two of them are Saurian frigates over thirty years old, and the other’s a destroyer named after a guy who barely survived combat.” He snorted. “I’m sick and tired of running from the Terran Coalition and their goody-two-shoes CDF thugs. They’re no better than the Galters—or the League, for that matter. All are the same… impose their will on the rest of us.”
By that point, the entire bridge crew had stopped what they were doing and paid close attention to the conversation between Papoutsis and Parish.
“Order all units to form up. Plot a fleet jump for the Zvika Greengold, and we’re going to kill all those bastards until they quit sending them!” By the end, Papoutsis’s voice had risen to a roar. Part of the bravado was for show, to keep their morale up. Some of it was real.
“Yes, boss!” one of the navigators yelled.
The entire company began to cheer wildly.
Papoutsis smiled. It would feel good to eliminate the carrier and the ships supporting it. Then they would go back to getting rich. He glanced at his underling. “Oh, and send one of our better pilots to deal with the interloper here. I don’t want him making it back. Clear?”
“On it, boss.”
16
“Lawrence drive cooldown complete,” Wright said from his perch in the XO’s chair. “Ready to jump at your discretion, ma’am.”
Tehrani glanced around the Zvika Greengold’s bridge, taking a quick read of her crew. Nervous. They’re all nervous. Not that she could blame them—any moment could bring word from Spencer or a hostile threat from the pirates. At least Battl
egroup Z was concentrated, for once. “Thank you, XO.” Her eyes flicked toward Mitzner. “Navigation, plot Lawrence jump for the next system on our patrol list.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
Less than a minute elapsed before Mitzner’s voice rang out again. “Jump plotted and inputted into the nav computer, ma’am.”
As Tehrani sent the mental command to her mouth to order a jump, Bryan interrupted. “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, multiple inbound wormholes.”
“More freighters, maybe?” Wright asked rhetorically.
“Maybe it’s a rival megacorp,” Tehrani replied.
“Conn, TAO. Lusitanian signature confirmed,” Bryan said, his volume rising. “Ten—no, eleven corvettes, same design as the pirate vessels we’ve faced so far.” He bent over the tactical console, double-checking something. “One bulk hauler jumping in now. Same drive signature as the pirate carrier.”
Tehrani’s eyes grew wide, and she checked her own tactical plot just to be sure. The pirates are hitting mining operations now? It didn’t make sense on the face of it. Their MO was to attack freighters heading to Coalition space. Unless they’re here for us. The thought made her blood run cold, as it suggested other, more ominous possibilities. “TAO, designate all new contacts as hostile. Do you have a projected course?”
“Aye, aye, ma’am. Designating the carrier as Master One and the corvettes as Master Two through Twelve. They’re loitering around the jump-in point. Range from Master One is roughly three hundred thousand kilometers. The rest of the hostile contacts are tightly clustered around it.”
So far away was the enemy that Tehrani hadn’t called for general quarters yet. This is neutral space—it’s not our responsibility to defend. She set her jaw. “I don’t like our odds against this fleet, even with our entire battlegroup.”
“Concur, Skipper,” Wright replied. “Might be time to punch out. We don’t get paid to defend megacorps.” He quirked his nose. “But it strikes me as mighty odd for them to show up here just as we do.”
“You’re not the only one.” Tehrani directed her attention to the tactical plot. “Navigation, lay in a parabolic course away from the enemy. Prepare for Lawrence drive jump.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
The stars shifted outside the windows directly to the fore of the bridge as the Greengold rotated in the void. Some of her escorts were briefly visible maneuvering around them and taking up flanking positions, per standard CDF combat doctrine.
“Conn, Communications.” Singh stared at her, his eyes narrowed. “Ma’am, I’m getting a lot of traffic between Master One and the megacorp shipmaster. They’re transmitting in the clear.” He paused. “The pirates are demanding to know why they’re working with us. There’s something in here about protecting money too.”
Wright put a hand to his forehead. “Great.”
“Shipmaster Ramires is attempting to explain that we announced we’re on a freedom-of-navigation exercise. Pirates aren’t buying it,” Singh continued. He glanced up. “They just shut off communications, ma’am.”
“Conn, TAO. Aspect change, all hostile contacts. They’ve gone to max sub-light and are headed directly for Sierra Eight.”
The Raifuku Maru.
“Dammit.” Wright exhaled loudly. “Those freighters are too far inside the gas giant’s gravity well to jump out before the pirates get there if my admittedly poor math is right.”
Tehrani double-checked her screen. “Mine’s not much better, but I concur.” She closed her eyes for a split second. “We can’t leave them to face the pirates alone, especially if we’re the cause of the attack. It would go against everything the CDF stands for.”
“How do you propose an escort carrier, a destroyer, two frigates, and a stealth raider take on a converted carrier and eleven overpowered corvettes plus God only knows how many fighters and bombers?” Wright stared at her with his mouth agape.
“The same way we’ve done it every other time we were outnumbered ten to one. Superior skill, training, and perhaps some help from Allah.”
Wright leaned in. “I’m not talking you out of this, am I?”
“No.” Tehrani smiled slightly. “You’re not.”
“Okay. Then let’s kill these guys and go pick up our wayward pilot. By the time we’re done here, he’ll probably have single-handedly waxed every pirate in the Lagoon Nebula.”
Tehrani suppressed a smirk at her XO’s smug prediction of victory, which she knew was a front. He gets worried every time I take us into direct ship-to-ship combat—as he should. The Greengold was up to six battle stars on her hull. Typically, those honors were reserved for escorts and capital ships. It wasn’t lost on her that someday, their number would be up. “Communications, patch me into 1MC.”
“1MC tied in, ma’am.”
“Attention, all hands. This is Colonel Tehrani. General quarters, general quarters. Man your battle stations. Set material condition one throughout the ship. This is not a drill. I say again, this is not a drill.”
The overhead lights immediately dimmed and switched to a deep blue.
“Conn, TAO. Material condition one set throughout the ship, ma’am.”
“TAO, raise shields. Charge the energy weapons capacitor. Bring our point-defense systems online in automatic mode.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
“Navigation, intercept course, Master One.” Tehrani set her jaw. “Communications, direct the Astute to move off and seek targets of opportunity while staying within fire support range.” Her Starbolt missiles may yet prove useful if deployed at the proper time.
“Whatcha thinking, Skipper? I doubt a straight-up slugging match is going to work here,” Wright said as he bent over his screen, staring at the clusters of blue and red dots.
“Pick off some of their escorts, hope they make a mistake or two that’ll help us, and finish the carrier off once the herd is thinned.”
“Conn, Communications. Inbound vidlink request from Ramires, ma’am.”
Tehrani let out a deep sigh. “Oh, I suppose he’s going to yell at us for helping.” She rolled her eyes. “Put him on, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am.”
“Can you hear me?” Ramires shrieked as the screen above her head came alive.
“Yes, we read you.”
“Well, what are you going to do? The pirates said they’re going to destroy our operation. This is all your fault. They said we were working with you!” Ramires seemed to teeter on going into hysterics.
“Shipmaster, calm yourself,” Tehrani replied in a formal tone. “The Terran Coalition will not tolerate piracy near its borders. We’re moving to intercept.”
“Do you have enough ships? Your force looks… small.”
Only a megacorp shipmaster would be stuck-up enough first to insult us then to ask for our help and complain about the number of men and women putting themselves in harm's way to defend his sorry ass. Tehrani flexed her hand into a fist a few times, out of view of the camera that pointed down from the overhead. “I have every confidence in Battlegroup Z’s ability to engage the enemy, Shipmaster. However, if any of your vessels have military capabilities and are willing to fight, we’ll take all comers.”
Ramires’s face twisted and blanched. “Uh, well, the Raifuku Maru is a freighter and not capable of fighting. I don’t think any of our other commanders would feel like they could contribute in a meaningful way without getting their ships shot out from under them, but I will ask.”
Above all, Tehrani detested cowards. Since the Maru was the largest ship in the Nosamo Aerothermic Technologies formation, sporting multiple neutron beams, Ramires’s words were hollow and reeked of his being perfectly willing to allow others to die in his place. She kept the disgust off her face and smiled thinly. “Thank you, Shipmaster. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a battle to fight.”
“Of course. Raifuku Maru out.”
“Why don’t we send a bill to HQ after we’re done for expenses rendered?” Wright asked.
“Charge enough to retire.”
Waves of laughter rippled from those within earshot.
Even Tehrani was amused, not that anything was funny twenty minutes from combat. “Splendid idea, XO.” She tilted her head. “We’re going to need everything we’ve got from the hangar. Get twenty combat spacecraft ready for launch—eight Sabres, eight Boars, and four Maulers.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Wright replied. “Four Sabres and four Boars are on ready five now. It’ll take twenty to thirty minutes to get the rest lined up for launch.”
“Tell them to hurry, as if their lives depended on it, then get everything else in our hangar ready to go right behind them.”
“Aye, aye.”
Time seemed to crawl as the Greengold and her battlegroup raced toward the enemy formation at seven percent of light speed. A sudden inspiration hit her. “Communications, get me an open commlink with Master One.”
Wright’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “What, Skipper?”
“Maybe they’ll leave if we ask nicely.”
“Well, it’ll be good in-flight entertainment if nothing else,” Wright replied with a smirk.
“You’re on, ma’am,” Singh interjected. “I’ll route any response to your monitor.”
“This is Colonel Banu Tehrani, commanding the CSV Zvika Greengold, to commander hostile formation.”
Several seconds passed before an image of a human male appeared above her. He wore a brown spacer uniform, and his face was twisted into a sneer. “Do you wish to surrender, Terran?”
Tehrani smiled. “No, but I see no reason for our conflict to affect neutral parties.”
“Any human—or alien, for that matter—consorting with the Terran Coalition is a valid target for us. Surrender now, and we might spare your lives as we liberate your equipment to fund our cause.” His voice held a definite Greek accent.
Sounds like a true believer to me. “I will not allow you to harm these merchants and miners.”
