Big Blue, Darwin VIII, was a monster of a world. A sphere of bright hydrogen, helium and methane two-hundred thousand kilometers across. Twelve concentric rings of ice and fifty-nine moons adorned the ancient monarch, looming large in the sky above them on the sixth moon.
Iceni Queen and Spartacus sat with their engines rumbling beneath the great shelter tarp rigged to protect them from prying eyes and the radioactive bombardment of the parent world. The invisible storm was deadly and they had to work at a frantic pace in low gravity on the ice-locked surface to get the protective structure up in time. Corsair warships, as a rule, had excellent radiation shielding, but Julian decided some time ago to sacrifice significant cargo and berthing space to accommodate expensive magnetic field generators, allowing them the advantage of enduring much harsher conditions, and the ability to hide where none would look. The cost and decrease in hold space meant going after higher value cargo and taking greater risks, but he Billy and Deacon had assembled two of the best crews in the Marches. To say nothing of cobbling together a pair of fine, if aging, ships which little resembled the armored freighters they began their lives as.
Improvisation was, by necessity, a common and well-developed trait among corsairs and mercenary groups; “The Bastards,” as they came to be collectively know for their infamous leader, had a reputation for being artists in this regard. This shelter took up the cargo bays of both vessels and precluded them from exploiting a rare opportunity the week before when a luxury liner strayed from regulated hyperjump routes and found itself without power, waiting on rescue or plundering.
A contingent of the crew wanted to hold an emergency meeting, no doubt to discuss abandoning Julian’s long planned attack on this medical supply fleet in favor of capturing the liner with its many wealthy passengers. Julian flew into a near rage, reminding them of his supreme authority once an operation had begun and the need for communications blackout in proximity to unjammed hostiles. Kyle Reese, the Queen’s Boarding Master, went so far as to start making his way to the bridge to press the point. Natasha saw him coming on a monitor and put the ship on alert, forcing Reese back to the EVA prep-room with his raiders. The tension between the two men was palpable and mounting. Everyone was bracing for a power struggle between them. Julian was the best-known Corsair in the colonized galaxy but that cut both ways, and in the opinions of some of his shipmates, more trouble then it or he was worth. At least a dozen of The Bastards had died last year at the hands of bounty hunters and mercs looking to collect the quarter million monits on his head.
Julian didn’t help matters any, of course, by routinely holding information back from even his closest officers and disclosing it offhandedly once a point of committal was reached. This time it was the inclusion of a third vessel that would certainly demand a sizable piece of the profits. The legendary “War Hammer,” commanded by Julian’s uncle and mentor Mad Jack McAllister, was to begin a fast approach from the dense asteroid field a quarter-billion kilometers sunward of Big Blue. That they had to hope War Hammer was in position and on time was not a small concern, especially since any contact would tip off Federation listening posts to the attack. That War Hammer even made it into the system without being detected and chased off was still open to question, but Julian waved off the possibility saying, “Uncle Jack will be there.” Deacon had angrily, though of course privately, argued the uncertainties of the plan but Billy was sold and between them they would carry the vote in council so he relented. Still, space travel was as much art as science under the best of circumstances and in their profession a good deal more so.
Natasha sat unblinking at her monitor. A blue light reflected on her face and visor. The crew had all donned their vacc suits and the ships had been decompressed in anticipation of action. A small, cloaked satellite orbited the third and smallest of Big Blue’s thirty-six moons where it would alert them when the medical fleet arrived to top-off their fuel tanks by scooping hydrogen from the gas giant’s outer atmosphere before leaving the solar system to hyper shunt. It was yet another example of Julian’s habit of making decisions for the group outside of council. It had cost the lion’s share of the profits from a very successful venture that should have made them all wealthy for the better part of a year. He knew he needed it for this plan to work and he would broke no opposition from the short-sighted.
Julian allowed himself to stare at her for a time and admire the azure glow on her face, partially hidden by her helmet. He had been playing with the thought of asking her to share his cabin but hesitated. Not being one for hesitation as a rule, this intrigued him. It wasn’t so much the fact that relationships of that kind with another bridge officer led to no good, which was undeniable, but rather the lecture on the subject that would be forthcoming from his faithful quarter master.
“Dare,” she said sharply. “Tree armored freighters beginning dare approach, von escort corvette in high rear slot. Facing sunward. No sign of dee second corvette or da frigate.”
“Uncle Jack . . . ” Julian said, “Iceni Queen to Spartacus, status.”
“Spartacus is ready and standing by,” came the reply. Under the protection of their radiation shelter the comlink was clear but the two ships would be unable to communicate further until they swung wide of the planet. They had drilled this maneuver for two weeks around Gas Bag, the large Jovian in the Freeport system that served as The Bastards’ home port since Julian had been raised to captain almost a decade earlier.
“Strike the tent,” Julian called and the shelter burst open along its center, falling back. As it reached the icy surface of the moon, the two ships were lifting off and configuring for flight. Soon, they were racing around the far side of Big Blue. They skated quickly through its outer atmosphere, deepening as they came ‘round. They would use the titan’s veil to slow themselves as they emerged on the convoy’s position and its gravity to whip them forward again once they were in sight and could make any needed adjustments to their course.
The constant drilling had been the source of much grumbling among the crews, especially once Julian informed them they would stay in orbit around Gas Bag until the exercises were through, not setting foot on Freeport a moment before. They complained, they brawled, but they drilled. Julian held them together by sheer force of personality and an unpredictable temper as much as by the success of his ventures. All depended on timing in such matters and this was going to be especially complicated. Deacon, now on the bridge in his capacity as first officer, contemplated this as the two ships became tiny points of fire racing across the night-side face of Big Blue, rumbling and shaking violently in the turbulence. Still one more of Julian’s surprises to go, the one most likely to cause upset. Reese in particular would use this as an excuse to challenge him once they were safely away. Assuming of corse they lived to escape which was still quite something as assumptions went.
As they came upon the convoy, now at a crawl through Big Blue’s upper atmosphere, the two raiders came along side of each other and began to accelerate wildly, turning their bellies down to face the planet and pulling up to give them a strait line of fire at the corvette which sat motionless several kilometers above.
“Jamming,” Natasha called, her eyes never straying from her monitor. After a moment her stone continence lightened and she looked to Julian over her shoulder. “Any requests?” she asked with a laugh, pulling up the ship’s music library.
“Whatever you think appropriate,” Julian said with a smirk. The blocking of outgoing communications upon overtaking a target was standard corsair tactics, easier when they could be taken by surprise at close range like this, but a truly gifted electronic warfare officer could sometimes take control of a ship’s internal communications as well, causing chaos as an opposing captain was forced to resort to runners to accomplish even the simplest tasks. The Bastards were known for flooding their targets with music, played at high volume, to put their prey further on edge. An EW officer of Natasha Ekemova’s caliber was a prize in of itself, yet one more very good reason to put thoughts of her out of his head.
“A little Gilbert and Sullivan should do I tink,” she said with a pronounced keystroke, much lightening the mood on the bridge for a moment.
“Would scare the crap out of me,” Deacon admitted.
“Spartacus, rex-down fifty meters, angel-up two arc seconds,” Julian said, not wanting distraction to take hold.
“Yarr,” came the affirmation after a brief hesitation. Captain Billy DeVells was even more of a stickler for precision then Julian and hated even minor variations made to a well-rehearsed mission plan.
The corvette began to drop zeke as soon as the raiders came into view, placing the two freighters between itself and the attackers. Not a standard tactic for Federation escort vessels but also not unwise. The pirates would be loath to endanger their prize and likely slow and separate to avoid it. The corvette would then have a brief window where it faced only a single vessel. If it could wound one enough most attackers would give up.
Julian would have none of it however. He counted on the freighter captains being unwilling to play the shield and was not disappointed. They were frantically pulling away from Big Blue and turning wide to head back sunward and the protection of their frigate. With any luck it would have dispatched the first attacker by the time these new aggressors reached them.
The corvette threw its engines into full reverse thrust, hoping to keep its main forward armaments bearing on the attackers who seemed determined to crash into her. Being thrown by the gas giant like sling stones, the raiders raced forward. It would be hard to make course corrections, especially in the suicidally close formation they were keeping, still, they didn’t flinch. The lone escort fired a spread of javelin missiles from its forward pods. They had reached their targets within seconds but were quickly destroyed by the corsair’s phalanx guns, which sprayed a massive hail of metal before them and easily shredded the approaching threat. The few rockets that escaped the defensive fire detonated ineffectually on their armored targets. Next, two pulse lasers swept across the huge ram shields of the attacking vessels but the effort was futile.
The pirates were using an older class of armored freighter, though clearly heavily modified, equipped with massive armored shields affixed to their bows to protect them from dust and debris when moving at high speed. Such devices began disappearing from military and commercial ships decades ago but the corsairs of the March Worlds often preferred them. Though less effective against navigation hazards they could be augmented to be vastly superior against anti-ship weaponry. The corvette then spun about and lit its afterburners with an agility that impressed. It made its way for the initial contact site near the sunward asteroid field at its best possible acceleration, but her captain must have known it was done for him.
They closed to within a few hundred meters and fired all their weaponry, even their point-defense guns. They began rotating quickly once the shooting started to bring every last weapon to bare as they raced by the corvette which was cut in two, immediately before its engineering compartment. The two halves tumbled away quickly as the ship underwent explosive decompression. Many lives would be lost in the cold of the void today and it was a death that horrified any spacer, corsairs included, but kid-gloves were of no use in battle or business. This was both.
“Outstanding, gunnery” Julian said loudly over the com and a great “Hazza!” echoed back from all stations as was tradition.
“Gunnery wants those bonus shares,” Reese beamed in, “but our turn’s still coming up.” He then added, “When the boarding crew wins I’ll match them myself though for shooting like that though!”
Deacon winced at his console, glancing over his shoulder to look at Julian who made no indication he had even heard the highly inappropriate remark, clearly meant to make Reese seem gracious at the captain’s expense. But Deacon knew he had heard it and there would trouble. While getting on Reese’s bad side was foolish, getting on Julian’s was weapons-grade stupid. He just hoped it would keep until they reached New Antigua. That man would push Julian too far and he would do it soon.
“The second corvette appears to have been more or less obliterated,” Deacon said. Though he placed great stock in being laconic, he was glad to have something to say to break the heavy silence that had fallen on the bridge. It was clear that everyone had heard. “The frigate’s had a good deal of its weaponry very nicely dispatched but is otherwise in good shape,” and he turned to look Julian in the eye as he said it. It was almost time for Julian’s surprise. He kept his face smooth and his tone businesslike as his captain simply nodded. The two had a heated argument over Julian’s plan which only the two of them, plus Mad Jack and likely Natasha were fully privy to. Darwin IV’s port security might already be aware of the attack and sending reinforcements despite the best communication’s jamming.
“The shark seems to have lost some teeth!” Julian said with a surprised laugh that all but those who knew him best would likely take for sincere. “Let’s take her apprize,” he then said, as though it had just occurred to him.
“Hazza!” came the response throughout both the Queen and the Spartacus. Deacon shook his head and suppressed a wry laugh. Julian had called it and now he owed him diner.
“Spartacus, pursue the freighters and begin boarding. Capture the first and begin offloading the second once it’s secured and underway.” Julian spoke quickly and ordered the helm to plot an intercept course for the frigate, talking right-over Captain DeVells’ sighing conformation. That was one man who truly hated Julian’s surprises and always saw through them. Deacon cracked a smile, picturing Billy’s exasperated grimace.
“That’s not the plan, Julian!” Reese shouted over the comlink. “We’re likely to lose at least one of the freighters that way. We stick to the plan.” Silence took hold. At times like this there should be a low-level buzzing of muffled voices over a dozen local channels but there was a tense emptiness instead.
“Kruger, relieve Mister Reese,” It was Julian who broke the silence.
“Yarr, done Captain.” buzzed the response as the crew began resuming their perorations. Everyone would have their noses on the grindstone, none wanting any attention with Julian in the bloodthirsty rage he must be in. But Julian smiled. The fool had delivered him from the most precarious aspect of the plan, which was Reese himself. With another ship added to the wing Reese was next in line for command, assuming he didn’t push for the captured warship to be stripped and sold to the rebel groups who would pay a dear sum for the technology. That wouldn’t be a problem anymore, and neither would Reese. Deacon didn’t smile though. He worried Julian would kill him, and worried he wouldn’t.
“Iceni Queen, This is War Hammer,” came a booming voice, only slightly subdued by wires and open space.
“Uncle Jack,” Julian beamed, in too good a mood to even play at being mad. “We’ll begin deceleration in just under thirteen minutes and be in weapons range in eighteen.”
“Yarr,” said the senior and resumed taking low-yield potshots at the struggling frigate, now targeting its maneuvering engines. The frigate was wounded but still dangerous and showing no sign as yet it intended to run though it must be aware of the Queen’s pending arrival on the scene. She was a beauty, no doubt. Twenty-thousand metric tons and a crew of four-hundred and thirty including its contingent of marines. They would sell their lives dearly and fight with abandon once the attacker’s intentions were clear. They must be starting to suspect already.
The corsairs had been raiding from their bases in the Riftward Marches for generations now, which were beginning to transform into bustling colonies in their own right with the plunder taken from Federation shipping and the flood of refugees that came from the Core Worlds, fleeing the oppression and poverty they suffered there. The wealthiest worlds in the settled galaxy. The Free Trade Federation’s cooperate class lived in opulence while those of the servant classes suffered under crushing poverty, those “lucky” enough to be deemed of some use to their masters at least. These prols lived in the cramped and filthy sprawls that stretched for thousands of kilometers beneath the towering archologies of their betters. Those deemed un-useful were forced into secure ghettos or the poisoned wilds, their populations monitored and controlled by those who decided everything in society. The Federation Defense Force was drawn from these lower classes, acting as police, army, and navy of the Trade Council. They were reviled by their brothers as traitors who brutalized their fellows. Some out of desperation to feed themselves and their families, many out of sheer cruelty. The FDF uniform was, by custom, a death sentence once in corsair hands.
The Queen turned about to slow her approach and Julian gave the order to launch the fighters. He had outfitted the ships with small docking bays to each hold a pair of Cheetah light interceptors. There was much grumbling about it in council, especially from Reese, over the cargo space sacrificed but Julian charmed or browbeat all the section masters and the rest followed. In the end, everyone agreed they paid for themselves in saved lives, even if the pilots insisted on triple shares and the large maintenance section meant cuts from the boarding crews. Reese especially loved that, but Julian artfully threw Kyle’s constant boasting over his people’s efficiency back in his face to much amusement, even from Reese’s men themselves who felt cornered by the raucous laughter brought on by the exchange. The quickest way to get your own way in council was to get them rolling and Julian knew that well. He was accounted a fine leader for his strength and charm but he knew the trick was being ruthless and manipulative.
The Cheetahs emerged from the rear-facing bay like bullets from a gun barrel, making for the battle-site directly. They would arrive several minutes before the Queen and join the War Hammer’s four. Though exceedingly expensive, and skilled pilots both rare and costly, the fighters were invaluable in wangling cargo ships and tying up the defenses of escort vessels. Many, including the Queen’s, “Amazon Ursula” and “Dire Kitty,” were former FDF officers who left the service and migrated to the March Worlds. This also created tensions with other crew members, along with the unavoidable fighter pilot attitude. Ursula and Kitty were close to Natasha, and to a lesser extent with Julian and Deacon, but hardly spoke a word to the rest of the crew. They were also bazaarly secretive about their relationship even though there was no stigma attached to it in The Rift. An old habit, no doubt learned from a lifetime of having to appear respectable. All that mattered to Julian is that they killed like champions and kept Federation gunships off his ass when he was busy stealing. They began making tight sweeping arcs across one another’s paths, very dangerous at such high speeds but it served its purposes. Gun crews on the frigate would be losing their weapon locks every few seconds this way which would help protect them until they could close to their own much shorter range. Ir was also an exercise in bravado and if there was one thing Julian understood and respected it was a good display of bravado.
When the Iceni Queen turned again to face the direction of the battle, they saw the enemy frigate as a small grey shape darting too and fro, desperately trying to bring its weaponry to bare on the tiny points of light that circled it like angry fireflies. The War Hammer swept back and forth below her, taking shots of opportunity and making sure it could send no transmission back to Darwin IV. As the Queen approached, Mad Jack signaled they were ready to board. Indeed there was little else that could be accomplished as what damage they could inflict and fly her clear of here was essentially done. She could have run for home or made for the freighters and her remaining escort once she saw she was out matched. Pride held her captain in the fight and would now bring about his ruin. Julian liked that. To die for pride was thought foolish and arrogant by most but he felt it was as good a reason one was likely to find when the time came, and at least pride was a reason of your own. To die for a fat man’s purse was the act of a fool by his reckoning.
“Punch some holes, Floyd,” Julian said to the Master Gunner over the intercom. At once a spread of four missiles shot through the raging silence of the battlefield. They all struck their target midship a few meters apart. The Talon missile was another favorite of the Rift World Corsairs. A shaped charge behind a thin hard duraloy shaft made only a small opening in the ship’s hull, just enough to let the air inside out quickly, while causing its interior hull plating to shatter and ricochet through the affected compartment. Anyone inside would be little more then a stain before they knew what hit them. The lack of oxygen would also extinguish any fire that might break out and aid in keeping the target in more or less one piece until the raiders could have their way with her. A pressurized hull in battle was a huge liability but Federation ships relied on heavy armoring and force-shielded hulls to protect them, not even carrying enough vacc suits for more then a quarter of their crew in most cases. It was a deficiency that Julian was grateful they were too stubborn or lazy to correct and hoped it stayed that way for a long time to come.
The frigate’s engines and portholes went dark and she began to coast with her momentum. Not fast, but this was a bad sign. A major command linkage may have been severed and time was precious. Julian was certain that Darwin IV was sending a patrol out by now to discover why the supply fleet had not jumped or reported in. They might have an hour with a good deal of luck.
The Queen took position directly above the frigate, now identified as the Hercules, and the War Hammer below. They fired two dozen magnetic restraining cables and began reeling her in. The Queen’s landing struts touched down and locked on her hull. A docking ring lowered from her belly and clamped in place. A team would already be inside cutting their way in. Three minutes estimated time according to his display update. As much as Julian enjoyed his vocation this part drove him to the brink of raving lunacy each time. All he could do now was sit back and wait. “Cue the music and proceed at your convenience, Mr. Kruger,” Julian said.
“Yarr,” came the thickly accented response.
Julian leaned back and shut his eyes, drumming his fingers together in front of him. He was getting cross. Things were already not going to plan and now he might leave with nothing but the freighters. An instant later he heard a long range sensor alarm, beeping calmly but sternly.
“From the planet?” Julian asked.
“No,” Deacon said, “From behind Big Blue. Spartacus is nearing the Oort cloud and both freighters are away. Thirty-two minutes to intercept, an unescorted armored cruiser. Two-hundred and fifty thousand tons.”
Julian froze like a statue, only the eyes remained sharp. They turned upward and darted back and forth, his hands held out before him gesturing as if he were weighing something. Deacon watched him blankly for a moment, waiting on the obvious order to abandon the frigate and go while they could. There would certainly be no getting away . . . Julian’s eyes smiled and Deacon’s widened. “Oh no . . . ” he said under his breath, his blood going cold.
“Iceni Queen to Spartacus, abort your jump sequence and turn on the cruiser,” Julian’s eyes locked forward as he spoke and Deacon’s head slumped. His shoulders sank halfway to his waist. Then he straitened and began plotting a course.
“Are you wired right, lad?” Mad Jack’s voice was clearly filled with bewilderment and concern, heard even over the speaker.
“We can do this,” Julian said urgently, with a pleading quality that was out of character enough to make everyone pause.
“On your wing, lad” was Mad Jack’s response after a pause.
“The order is full committal,” Julian said, and there was certainly nothing pleading about his tone now.
“Hazza! Hazza! Hazza!” came the cries, the crews became swept away in the boldness and potential rewards of the brazen attack. Both ships moved quickly to recover their fighters and form-up, then lit their afterburners. The crippled frigate fell from thought and view as they sped for the huge grey vessel which sat patient and motionless twenty-thousand kilometers from the mammoth blue world where the battle had begun. Just close enough to severely limit the options of approaching attackers and far enough to allow some freedom of movement.
Her captain was shrewd and experienced, the loss of the medical supply freighters and the decimation of three superior escort craft, one about to be captured, gave him all the information he needed to see he was dealing with skilled opponents. Bernard G. Sturgis, thirty year veteran of the FDF Navy, rubbed his hands vigorously and his eyes became those of a hunting eagle. He was due for retirement and this would let him do it an admiral. He ordered the ship’s repulser and dissipater fields charged, all her weapons manned and readied. Once the attacking ships were identified to him he had to stop himself from salivating. Mad Jack and his whelp protege, he thought to himself. I’ll crush those scum in one shot. Hell, I’ll get the damned Starburst for this.
“Shouldn’t we begin a wide orbit and have some momentum once they reach us?” The first officer’s question brought him back to the moment.
“No,” he said firmly, “They’ll have to cut speed and try a tight orbit on our position or else strafe across it from a narrow angle. We’ll win either contest.”
“The third vessel has begun to double back, closing on us from the opposing direction, ETA in twelve minutes twenty seconds, a full four minutes behind the initial pair. A Moment . . . Trans intercept: ‘Closing talon’.”
“From which craft?” asked Sturgis.
“The smaller of the formed pair, a converted freighter, Iceni Queen,” confirmed the businesslike operations officer, Lieutenant Kaminski. Sturgis regarded her a moment. A shark that one, she might be the one for Mr. San Sebastian’s job. He then turned his attention to his monitor. Letting the boy call the play, Jack? Your mind has gone soft with scotch and syphilis no doubt. So much the better.
“Everyone sit tight and poised,” he said calmly and smiled to himself. He looked around his polished and brightly lit bridge. This would be the first true combat trial for her class, the most advanced starship yet put to space. Her thick armored hull and layered shielding made her nearly invulnerable to fighter craft and most weaponry that the ragged ships of rebels and pirates could bring to muster. This allowed the crew to move freely without the need to resort to environment suits. Those aboard who had served with the captain were grateful for that as he was of an older school that believed in keeping his ship depressurized during all normal operations.
What made her so special though was her new ion drive. It had almost no moving parts and allowed for fantastic acceleration, though sluggish to get going. New technology allowed superior containment of the ship’s internal inertia and even provided a modest gravity field throughout the ship, freeing up a massive amount of space and energy by alleviating the need for centrifuges on long range craft. The Charlemagne was a showcase vessel representing the new school of thought in naval architecture, and hopefully a quantum-leap forward in design. Captain Sturgis was always skeptical of new technologies aboard serving vessels, especially with so many new systems not truly tested in the field.
That, at least I can remedy here and now, he thought and straitened his coat. The Iceni Queen began raising zeke rapidly as the War Hammer lowered hers, assuming the three ships took evenly placed positions, they would all arrive simultaneously. They might bloody his nose if they all dived in at full acceleration, and they would be able to avoid the gas giant if skillfully handled, but he would survive it and they would not.
“Charge the spinal-mount and keep our bow locked on War Hammer,” Sturgis spoke sharply, reasserting his intensity of focus. “I’ll have that payback now, Jack,” he added, well below his breath. The one glaring black mark on his record was a ransoming at the hands of Mad Jack McAllister. He managed to achieve considerable things and claw his way to a position of respect in the fleet but the door to the admiralty was barred to him. Only a spectacular blow to a major threat to Federation shipping lines would wipe it away and force the council to recognize him. Cutting the throat of Mad Jack’s nephew and hand-groomed successor in front of him then tossing him like an animal into the dark abyss of the Department of Justice would be a thing of great personal satisfaction. “Good things do happen to good people,” he said to no one. His officers glanced about but returned to their work.
He had campaigned long and hard, using up a considerable number of favors, in getting this assignment and convincing the council to approve an “at the captain’s discretion” mission plan for its shake-down cruise. It provided a perfect opportunity to draw-in Mad Jack and have done with the matter at last.
He paid a hefty sum for the name of a dissident known to be in contact with Mad Jack’s nephew for several months. A correspondence mostly on the topics of ship design, including many facts about the Charlemagne, on which Mr. Blackthorne served as a primary designer. Captain Sturgis’s contact at the Internal Security Service was preparing to make an arrest when the captain seized on the opportunity to redeem his good name and have his vengeance. He convinced his associate, and through him his superiors, that the McAllisters could be drawn into a trap by leaking news of the medical fleet and delayed Blackthorne’s apprehension until they determined he had passed along the information. Unfortunately for Captain Sturgis he was not in full possession of the facts. In reality Mr. Blackthorne was aware of his situation well in advance of his apprehension and along with his new friend, Julian “The Bastard “ McAllister, had come up with a plan as well.
Unfortunate we weren’t in time to prevent the capture of the freighters though, thought Sturgis. They had been delayed by a distress call and had to stand-by for the better part of a day to rescue the survivors of a cooperate yacht. He was furious but they had made it in time. No matter though, the captured ships will be hunted down in short order and the whole operation will seem all the more impressive for it. All the more reason to take Mad Jack alive. A quick death would not do here I think.
“The spinal-mount is charged,” reported the weapons officer, “The War Hammer is locked in.”
Captain Sturgis was concerned that the huge particle accelerator that ran down the length of the Charlemagne would obliterate Mad Jack in the opening salvo but these corsairs were not to be toyed with, even well outmatched. He’ll live, he’s like a cockroach, he told himself.
“Fire at will once the target is in midrange,” Sturgis ordered, but no sooner then the words were out of his moth the main lights went dead. All turned red under the emergency lighting and confusion raged across the bridge. “What in Orion’s Spur is going on?” he demanded.
Kaminski answered, “They’ve accessed the main computer,” astonishment filled her voice.
“We have command lock-out from the bridge!” he exclaimed, “They can’t remote-access any ship systems!” Rage narrowed his eyes and made his voice thunder.
“No,” she explained, “but they did manage to force the computer to reboot itself, we’ll be helpless for another five to seven minutes. Long enough for them to tear us to pieces.”
Thoughts raced across the captain’s mind and astonishment filled his own voice, “They don’t intend to . . . They could have just run . . . All hands prepaid to be boarded!” He pulled his personal com from his belt and called his security chief. He was answered by a message saying Commander Turner was not available and would he kindly leave a message, it went on to assure him his call was important.
“No shit,” he said at the tone.
Two successive waves of Talons raced from the speeding corsair ships. Moments later the Charlemagne was rocked from seemingly all sides. The ship’s composite armor acquitted itself well against the warheads but without the protection of the ship’s point-defense weapons and protective hull shielding there were numerous casualties among the armored marines that had taken-up position along the outer decks. Those not killed or injured were thrown about wildly, the ship now in zero-gravity until the computer was back on-line. Pirates often preferred to cut their way into an enemy ship from unexpected locations. The cruiser’s only hope was to repel the attackers long enough that help from Darwin IV would arrive in time. Two squadrons of gunships with their tenders were orbiting the world and signaled to move in as soon as the Charlemagne appeared above Big Blue. But they were nearly an hour away, command deciding that the local garrison commander be kept in the dark least the corsairs learn of the trap through eyes and ears there.
The three ships grappled the larger vessel and reeled themselves down onto her. Cutting lasers mounted on the bottoms of the raiders began their work of making Swiss cheese of the warship’s central boom. Reports began coming-in that the attackers had amassed in the forward section of the boom, the area most heavily hit by the missile volleys. They quickly divided the primary hull from the drive hull and began severing the control and power links between the two. It would be an easy matter to reconnect what was needed once they were in control of the ship and it would cripple her in the interim. The raiders from the Spartacus guarded the captured section while those from the Queen made ready to storm the primary hull. The War Hammer then began cutting its way into the engineering section of the cruiser.
The only advantage left to Captain Sturgis was that the attackers would be forced to fight their way through a narrow area where he could amass his security officers and remaining marines. By the time the securities hatches, sealed tightly by iris valves, were breached the pirates would burst-in on a hail of gunfire. He sat and watched his monitors as the ship’s computer and battery power was brought back on line. This will be a bloodbath, he thought, but the situation is still salvageable. He leaned back in his chair and watched, wondering what trick these Bastards might yet have up their sleeves.
The Iceni Queen and Spartacus had been left with skeleton crews so that the boarding action could bring every possible fighter aboard the Charlemagne. She was still without gravity, a secondary system that could not be maintained under battery power, so The Bastards affixed magnetic shoes to the boots of their armored vacc suits. They used a variety of armor types purchased from arms smugglers or captured on raids. They were almost as heavily modified as their vessels, especially among the dedicated boarding parties. Julian was most pleased as he almost never got to wear his powered battle armor and was very proud of it. He had chosen a beaked helmet with narrow, mirrored eyepieces giving it a sinister look. It had teeth and a hanging tongue done in metal and welded to the snout-piece which contained an air scrubber allowing the suit to conserve its air when there was an outside source available. A stylized pirate hat in muffler black steel with a skull and crossbones cut out from its high brim was affixed to the crown of the helm. Comical and hideous, like its owner. Horns were popular, as well as spiked shoulder plates, strange paint schemes, edged blades on the forearms for cutting through the more common cloth vacc suits and punching holes in visors.
The regular boarding parties separated from the main host and attempted to enter the ship’s primary hull through its four air locks. The resistance would be fiercest here and they were the best equipped and trained to deal with it. Kruger was in overall command of this effort with a hundred and fifty-six raiders. Kruger was one of Julian’s creatures, having served with him on the War Hammer under Uncle Jack where they were apprenticed together. He was glad to have him in place of Reese for this. Not because Kyle Reese wasn’t one of the very best at what he did, but because of its aesthetic value, symbolic of a new beginning.
Julian himself commanded the main force who had gathered in the neck of the Charlemagne where they waited on the demolitions team, the “Kaboom Squad,” as they were affectionately known, to finish their work. They placed a number of thermal charges that would heat to tens of thousands of degrees and neatly melt through the bulkheads surrounding the access doors. A few well-placed explosives would then blast it free and open the entire access-way in a flash. Far more convenient then trying to squeeze everyone through a tiny hatch under fire.
The squad leader, a giant of a man named Tuttuwalla, waved his people back and signaled Julian all was ready. Julian turned to Deacon then Natasha who would be entering in the second rank on his flanks. They readied their weapons, short barreled gauss guns loaded with specially designed low-velocity armor-piercing rounds. The groups would move three abreast in an inverted chevron formation in groups two ranks deep.
The first rank would be armed with boarding guns, loaded with buckshot, and progress at a low crouch to absorb their recoil more easily. The shotgun had mostly disappeared from common usage but the Rift corsairs favored them for their excellent stopping power and the minimal risk to cause hull punctures or seriously damage delicate equipment. The second rank would carry the automatic gauss guns and spray the area with rain-like sheets of steel over the heads of the first. Magnetic weapons, having no recoil, could more easily be handled in free fall.
Julian raised a hand, making two circles in the air as he called, “Be yea ready, me maties!”
“YARR!” came the thunderous response in voices both good natured and vaguely psychotic. And with that, Julian typed a quick command into the covered keyboard set on his left forearm then snapped it closed and shouldered his weapon.
Captain Sturgis leaned so far forward in his chair that he would certainly have tumbled out of it were he not restrained by a safety harness. He and his bridge crew had donned their environment suits, as had most of the crew he hoped, as he was having the entire ship depressurized that very moment. He cursed himself for trusting new technology, relying on the ship’s armor and shielded hull to protect her from her foes. That nasty little surprise had cost dearly. Still, the marines were suited-up and ready. They would rescue the day now if it could be saved.
He knew the pirates were ready to pounce but they delayed for a moment which seemed eternal from his remote vantage point on the bridge. Then something else unexpected happened. He heard music, familiar happy music. It can’t be, he thought to himself with a confused look hidden behind his visor.
“A rollicking band of pirates we,
Who tired of tossing on the sea,
Are trying their hands at burglary
With weapons grim and gory!”
Then an explosion, a big one that blew the entire bulkhead into a dozen parts which flew down the corridor at his waiting men. A bare instant later, a great volume of gunfire followed and out marched the invaders in step and tight, even lines. They were singing, loud and clear and it was broadcast over every channel with the music:
“With cat-like tread, upon our prey we steal,
In silence dread, the cautious way we feel!
No sound at all, we never speak a word,
A fly’s foot fall would be distinctly heard!”
The Charlemagne’s marines were startled and began to fall back at once. No sooner had they emerged to escape, they began falling in great numbers, shot-down like animals from behind.
“So stealthily the pirates creep
While all the household soundly sleeps.”
In a matter of moments the retreat degenerated to a rout, Captain Sturgis watched aghast the carnage and knew it would all be over soon if he kept hemorrhaging men at this rate.
“Come friends who plow the sea!
Truce to navigation, take another station,
Let’s vary piracy, with a little burglary!”
Elsewhere, heavily armored men forced their way through the air locks and began flooding into his ship, everywhere the losses were staggering. Once his crew began to find new defensive positions and a brief moment to brace themselves, the attackers would either plow threw them or else seal them in nonessential areas with quickly welded hatches. It was all falling apart. These corsairs fought like demons, killing ten of his men for every loss they suffered, every time one was hit he’d be passed back down the line and replaced by one behind. After ten minutes of this he decided there was no hope of keeping the ship secure until his assistance arrived. He ordered the remaining bridge crew and the eight marines there with them to ready themselves for action and began leading them down a service tube they had to crawl their way along in the dark, guided only by their helmet lights. The passage was never under gravity so it had frequent hand holds and room enough for a man in an environment suit to pass easily. That was a tiny blessing at least. Sturgis’s plan was to reach the reactor and disable it so the ship could not be taken out of the system.
He would sneak into the engineering section this way and make his stand there. If the worst came, he could destroy the ship. He would not be captured by another McAllister no matter what happened. It took several minutes to reach engineering in this manor but they arrived and began to stealthily enter the darkened chamber. The only lights came from monitors and indicator lights so there was power down here at least. He and twenty men made their way to the power control station and restored the main lighting so they could get to work. As soon as there was light he wished he were back in the dark. Fifty corsairs were quietly waiting for them and had them in their sights. They stood upon walls and ceiling with weapons drawn, being equipped with powered armor and low-light vision. The bodies of his engineers floated lifeless about the room along with small quivering globules of their blood. He barely had time to sigh in disgust before he was shoot through his visor and left eye.
Once the crew had been dispatched to the last, Julian and his Bastards set to work on securing their great prize. Though structurally sound for the most part, power had to be restored and the various holes in the ship’s hull had to be sealed for them to hyper-shunt. Two fleet tenders with two-dozen Federation gunships were speeding their way to the captured cruiser along with a pair of light escort frigates sent from Darwin IV. They were quickly gaining ground and the damage had been more extensive then Julian had hoped, but there would be time enough given just a bit too much luck.
The Iceni Queen and Spartacus, still under skeleton crew, were clamped down tight to the Charlemagne to act as external drives. The heavier War Hammer lead the way, towing the huge vessel by six magnetic cables stretching back from her stern. It was going to be a close race to the outer solar system and the repair crews had their work cut out for them if they were going to get her under her own power and be ready to make the jump to safety. The main computer, though now functional, had been locked-out by her captain before he abandoned the bridge and there was no time to try and circumvent it. They brought-down a portable unit kept in storage for just such an event and Natasha and her people were moving frantically to get it operational. This new warship was radical in design and the task was proving onerous. She cursed freely in her native Russian so Julian made a point of not disturbing her, least he be stabbed.
Floyd was monitoring the sensors from the captured ship’s bridge, weaponry was a tertiary concern with the relief force from Darwin IV closing on them rapidly. The corsair ships could only move so fast with her in tow. “You’re not gonna believe this shit,” he said in a tone both amused and impressed. They all turned to him as he continued, “That frigate is under power and falling-in with the relief force.”
Julian stepped over and examined the screen. “Tenacious mother-fucker.” He did like that he was able to walk without the aid of those hideous magnetic clamps on your feet, his knees ached from it. Gravity was handy and in short supply on a ship. The Queen and Spartacus only had tiny centrifuges used for sleeping, to help keep the muscles from atrophying, but you spent almost all your waking hours in free fall. Only about point eight G’s but better then nothing. Julian thought he might leave the system intact as the power consumption seemed to be surprisingly low.
They were certainly not out of danger and if the computer couldn’t by bypassed they might yet have to abandon the cruiser but Julian felt giddy. He sat at the helm beside the operations station and started playing. Everything was brand spanking new and of the latest and greatest that cooperate science and engineering could muster. Remarkable sensor and EW capabilities though the corsairs had made a few advancements in the latter area that could stand to be implemented. Amazing weaponry, though it relied more on energy weapons then he cared for. Plenty of room for a good hundred ton bay up front I should think, he mused.
Julian’s thoughts now wandered to Guy Blackthorne. He hoped all was going to plan. Guy seemed a nice enough fellow and besides he would be invaluable in helping them learn and make the necessary modifications to these systems. His help would save them months of costly down time. If all was well, he should by now be in the care of Farouk Bourassa, captain of the Black Adder. It cost Julian a pretty penny to convince the Pit Viper captain to free an ISS prisoner from custody and spirit him out of the Core Worlds. He felt an odd pang he assumed was guilt over leaving Deacon and Uncle Jack out of the loop on this but he knew neither would have agreed to attempt taking this ship based on some backdoor access codes set by a man now under arrest for espionage. Only Natasha knew about that and it was hell getting her to go along with it. They’ll work it out in the end but what can they say? They were both in on trying to take the frigate unbeknownst to the rest of the company. Then Julian felt very bad about having thought that, but it passed quickly enough. Now is the time to feel smug and self-satisfied, he told himself.
Full life support was now restored to the essential areas and they were able to remove their helmets though they kept them handy. Natasha suggested people would be able to work faster and they should have a few minutes warning before the shooting started if it came to that. Julian and Deacon had agreed. It was still cold but worth the trade off to have the damn thing off your head a bit.
He had a terrible itch on the side of his nose but made no move to scratch it. Not a superstitious man like most spacers, he just had a bad feeling about doing so until they were truly safe and on the way home . . . “The freedom to scratch your nose is never so appreciated as when it is lost.” his mother used to say. Home, Julian thought, opening a whole new can of mental worms for himself.
“Boys an’ girls, vee are on-line,” Natasha chimed in triumph. Julian smiled and scratched that itch. |
Submission Name: Iceni Queen 2--Big Blue
