| Status | complete |
| Tags | m/f, f/f, f/n, d/s, scifi |
| Warnings | nc |
Captain Camellia Ruiz settles back into her command chair, leaving her shock harness unbuckled, and sips her coffee as she surveys the bridge around her. Commander Julia Carson, her executive officer, stretches and smooths her own rumpled softsuit, no doubt glad to be ending her watch.
Camellia gives her XO a small smile. It's Carson's first cruise as an executive officer, and Camellia already has the beginnings of a glowing report on the young woman's performance partially drafted on her tablet. She has quite a way to go when it comes to confidence, especially when commanding, but that's hardly unusual for submissive officers, and the woman's sheer competence more than makes up for it. Carson notices the smile and returns it shyly.
Anything to be aware of, XO?
Carson shakes her head. Smooth transition into normal space,
ma'am. No problems for us or either of the frigates. The, um, Captain
Korz reported some kind of problem with one of their fusion reactors,
but he didn't seem overly concerned by it.
Camellia makes a thoughtful noise. Korz captains one of the seven civilian merchant ships that are part of their impromptu convoy, and Camellia has not gotten the impression that the man is particularly good at what he does. Still, if a wonky fusion reactor on one of the merchies is the worst of their problems, she'll count herself lucky. She's also, she reminds herself, not technically responsible for them, since she's not escorting them. In theory, the Archer and her two smaller companions are simply on an anti-piracy patrol, but as usual, a naval patrol is a magnet for merchant ships, which is why she's been holding her little task force to under half their normal maximum speed. If that becomes annoying or inconvenient, she has full latitude to abandon the merchants, but it'd be a hard-hearted naval officer indeed to pull that kind of thing this far into the Macohu Free Zone.
Well,
she says. So far so good, then. You're relieved, XO, and
I'd like it if you got some rest. It looks like we'll be into Ladeva
in... about thirty hours.
Of course, ma'am. You have command.
Carson dips her head, then leaves the
bridge. Camellia sits back and looks around, enjoying the quiet hum of the
handful of bridge crew working together. The Archer, with her crew of sixty, is
a sleek, modern destroyer and like the rest of her crew Camellia takes great
pride in her ship. The two frigates accompanying her, HNS Morrigan and HNS
Erebus, are smaller, and a touch less advanced, but still very capable of taking
care of themselves. Together, the three navy ships - of which she is the overall
commander - are a formidable fighting unit. She doubts that pirates, who tend to
fly obsolescent military vessels from the Fringe Worlds or converted civilian
vessels, would willingly tangle with them.
Assuming, that is, that the pirates are aware of them in the first place. Both the Archer and the two frigates have modern and effective stealth systems, and Camellia knows that even the merchants in her own informal "convoy" are likely having trouble tracking them. It's entirely possible that the merchants will appear to be un-escorted and attract pirate attention.
That, Camellia reflects with a predatory smile, would be bad luck for them. She doesn't take the pleasure in killing pirates that some naval officers do, especially because she's all too aware that most of their crews are either conscripts or outright slaves. Still, sometimes these things can't be helped, and any pirate she personally can remove from the universe she's happy to count as a victory.
She taps briefly at her command chair's built-in tablet, summoning a view of the system, and stares for a moment at the display. Thirty hours to Ladeva, a brief courtesy call there, a bit of showing the flag, and then onwards.
Morning, sir!
The guard gives Anjali Mohindra, junior economic analyst, an answering smile, and his eyes flicker down to the ID hanging around her neck. Anjali grabs it in one hand and holds it up towards both him and the camera right behind him. The camera will already have scanned it and matched her face up with the info on file, but for whatever reason, having the Marine guards recognize her in person is part of the ritual.
The guard scrutinizes her ID for a moment, then gives her a small nod. Welcome
back.
Thank you, sir. Quiet day so far?
Yeah,
the Marine corporal says, eyes scanning the street for a
moment. Hotter 'n heck, though.
Anjali couldn't agree more -
both of Sofia's suns are low in the sky, and despite that, the
temperature's already closing in on 40 degrees centigrade. They'll be
lucky if it stays under fifty today closer to noon. She's not
surprised the other Marine guard is sitting comfortably inside the
air-conditioned guard post. Beneath her light jumpsuit, she's sweating
as well, and the idea of getting to her desk is suddenly pretty
appealing.
Well,
she says, after a silent moment. Stay cool, I
guess. Have a good one, sir.
You too,
the Marine says, already turning to head back into the
shade.
Anjali jogs toward the embassy building, an unassuming two-story structure built of white stone in the local style. Huge expanses of white cloth, looking more than anything like sails, hang over the embassy's walled courtyard and the roofs of the embassy compound, keeping at least some of the punishing sun off. She badges into the main embassy building, hops up a flight of stairs, and arrives at her desk before any of the other analysts. Only Gus Orisen, embassy chief of staff, is already in and he barely acknowledges her friendly wave.
She settles into her chair, logs in, and starts scanning through her
mail. Routine, routine, routine, routine... nothing. So far so good. She pulls
up a couple of local news sites and has just started catching up when another
email appears. The subject line catches her interest immediately: drinks
tonight?
She flips over to it, and unsurprisingly, it's from Peaks - Evan Peaks, a middle-ranking officer in Sofia's notoriously corrupt police force. He's second-in-command of the police intelligence unit, one of the few half-decent people in the entire Sofian force, and (as far as everyone else is concerned) her boyfriend. As part of that carefully-constructed appearance, he makes a habit of using her work address to ask her out for drinks and a meal every week or so. She pulls up the email and scans it quickly - tonight, 1930 local time, at a medium-nice bar a few blocks away. Perfect.
Peaks is, as per usual, a bit late and leaves her sitting alone at a two-person table for a while. Despite the bar's air conditioning it's sweltering inside, and Anjali sips at her heavily-iced cocktail, wondering whether he has urgent information or he was just being his usual impulsive self. This early in the evening, Tamsin's is already packed, and the surf of voices combined with music being played far too loud makes it virtually impossible to hold a conversation.
Or to overhear one, for that matter.
Peaks enters the bar, giving her a genuine smile when he spots her, and takes the seat across from her. As though by magic, a drink appears in front of him. He raises an eyebrow at Anjali, who grins - yes, you're that predictable, her smile says. He chuckles, settling into his seat, and seems to relax; if he's bothered by the pulsating music, loud conversation, humidity, or heat he doesn't show it. That unflappability is one of the things Anjali likes most about him. She leans forwards slightly, jumpsuit artfully unzipped just the right amount, and gently touches her own collar, as though nervous. His eyes flick down to the movement, then back up to her face, and there's a new heat in his look.
You want to get out of here?
, he mouths, then takes a sip of his
drink. She shrugs, unwilling to shout loudly enough for him to hear her
- her body language will speak loudly enough anyway, she figures. He
reads her face for a second, then gives her a choppy nod, sips his drink
again, and stands to lead her outside.
The first word out of Peaks' mouth, once they get back to his apartment,
is sorry
. Anjali gives him a small smile. No worries, it's
just - you know, kinda loud.
Yeah,
Peaks says, one hand on the back of his neck. I
should've remembered. Sorry again.
It's alright,
Anjali says, stepping closer to him. I'd much
rather be here, anyway.
He looks down at her, then says, innocently: Oh? Why's that?
She giggles. Honestly? The real reason, right now, is that you have a shower. I
feel like a... swamp creature, or something.
Mm,
he says, pulling her into his arms. I do have a shower,
and I'm pretty sure it's big enough for two.
Anjali laughs. Sounds divine. Let's.
She starts towards the shower, but he puts a gentle hand on her chest. Wait.
There's something important, first, before we get distracted. I got... something
came across my desk, at work, and I figured you'd want to see it.
She turns back towards him, all thoughts of showering suddenly
forgotten. Oh?
He holds out a storage stick to her. You didn't get it from me.
She slips the stick into a pocket in her jumpsuit. Thanks,
she
says, kissing him on the cheek. Is it a right-now kind of thing, or
can it wait?
He grins, gently tugging the zipper on her jumpsuit further downward towards her
waist. I think everything else can wait for tomorrow.
It's much easier to pretend to be in love with someone, Anjali reflects, if you actually are in love with them. Her relationship with Peaks was supposed to be a cover, so that she could be his conduit for information to pass back to military intelligence, but she'd found it impossible not to fall for the man, with his warmth, charm, caring personality, and clean-cut good looks. As if that wasn't enough, he also had several other... very appealing qualities, and Anjali found herself blushing slightly as she booted her workstation.
The storage stick turns out to contain only two files, both images. One of them is obviously a frame from a video recording, annotated with a bit of metadata from some kind of dockyard system. In the center of the image is a large ship, a warship for certain, cradled in a docking bay. She taps her front teeth thoughtfully, wondering what she's seeing, and then switches to the other image.
It's... the inside of what might be a conference room, in grainy low-resolution color and with the fisheye effect that lets Anjali know it was taken by a concealed camera. At the head of a large oval table is a grand chair, looking almost like a throne. Lounging in it, arrogance radiating from the easy lines of his body, is a man, in perhaps his late thirties, with messy blonde hair and ice-blue eyes. At his side is a woman, head bowed, kneeling on the floor, and Anjali's eyes follow a leash from the man's hand to her collar. Interesting, but...
She looks more closely. The woman's shirt has shoulder boards of rank. Perhaps a loser in the pirates' internal power struggles? It wouldn't surprise her, since humiliating an adversary, especially a sub, is a way for the insecure to show strength.
She stares at the image for a few more seconds, then switches back to the image of the docked ship. She doesn't know what she's looking at, but Peaks seemed to think it was important, although he didn't explain exactly why he thought that.
Frowning, she taps another key, packaging both of the files to go out with her usual report on the next diplomatic courier homeward.
Rear Admiral Claris sweeps into the room, a pair of staff officers trailing in her wake, and doesn't bother taking the seat left for her at the conference table. Instead, she gestures impatiently at one of the hapless staff officers, who taps quickly at his tablet. She glares at him for a moment, then turns to face the assembled naval officers.
Captain Dakota Easton straightens in their chair. They're the most junior officer present, except for a single senior Specialist from the Commodore's staff, and one of only three submissives in a room overflowing with hard, aggressive dominant energy. They swallow, deliberately composing themselves, and meet the Rear Admiral's gaze as best they can.
Thank you all for attending on such short notice,
Claris
says. We've just had a lucky break - two, in fact - and we're going
to take full advantage of it. First off, though, I should explain what's
happening. I assume everyone here remembers the Cerberus incident?
She looks around, and apparently she's not sufficiently
convinced. Easton. I assume you do remember, so would you please
remind everyone else?
Dakota blushes and fights down the urge to sink into their chair. Y -
um, yes ma'am. The... the Cerberus was a battlecruiser that went missing
without a trace while on patrol nearly three years ago. Um. The crew had
reported unusual fluctuations in their hyper generator and anomalous
readings from all three reactors, but the Captain apparently... decided
to make the trip home, rather than waiting for a repair ship. Um. They
never arrived and we never heard anything from them again. It was a - a
big deal in the press at the time.
Claris snorts. Yes it was. 'NAVY MISPLACES MOUNTAIN OF STEEL' and all
that. Thank you, Captain, for the succinct summary.
Of course, ma'am.
Claris shoots Dakota an unreadable look, which Dakota eventually decides means "don't interrupt me".
The Rear Admiral goes on. Separately from that, about ten months ago,
three warships - the destroyer Archer and the two frigates Morrigan
and Erebus - were destroyed during a surprise attack on a naval
patrol. We only know about that, I'll remind you all, because two of
the seven merchant ships travelling with them managed to evade pursuit
and make port, although both were heavily damaged. The merchants'
sensor recordings were borderline useless, but we do know this:
Captain Ruiz, who had overall command of the task group, abruptly
ordered battle stations and told the merchants to scatter and run for
it.
The silence in the room when the Rear Admiral pauses is painfully taut. After a moment, she clears her throat and goes on.
Our thinking on the subject has always been that Captain Ruiz led her
group into a carefully-planned ambush, probably with the collusion of
one of the merchants she was escorting, and that her group was wiped
out by an initial strike. It's difficult to imagine her ordering the
merchants to scatter unless she knew the odds were hopeless, but it's
also difficult to imagine pirates managing that sort of ambush with
sufficient firepower to comfortably take out three warships.
As you all know, there was considerable suspicion at the time that
it was either the Macohu Navy, such as it is, or one of the other
imperial powers looking to give us a black eye. The Navy has never
considered either of those realistic, because the Macohuns do not have
the capability and nobody else has the motive for what would be an act
of war.
No,
she says. It was pirates, but we've never known how they
managed it.
She pauses for a moment and looks around. Any questions so far?
When no answer is forthcoming, she turns to her staff officers. Put
them up, please.
The conference room's main display lights up, and a pair of images appear. Dakota can hear a collective in-drawing of breath.
Indeed,
Rear Admiral Claris says. These two images were provided by
sources within the Mocahu Free Zone. On the left is what is manifestly
a Hades-class battlecruiser, docked at what are probably the
orbital facilities near Sofia II. As it happens, there is only a
single Hades-class whose whereabouts are not definitively known at the
moment... and that is the HNS Cerberus, until recently assumed lost
with all hands. This image is twelve days old.
The other part of the puzzle is this second image. Naval intelligence
were rather surprised when this man turned up in their
database... and, in fact, in the Navy's own personnel database. Seated
in the chair is Captain - well, formerly Captain, currently presumed
deceased - Kane Ingalls. His last post was Commanding Officer, HNS
Cerberus.
One of the other naval officers - another Captain whose name Dakota
doesn't know - speaks up. So he deserted and took his ship with
him?
That's what we're now assuming,
Rear Admiral Claris says,
grimacing. Furthermore, see the woman kneeling beside him? Do you
notice anything about her?
Dakota peers at the image, and their eyes widen. My God,
they
whisper. That's a naval uniform.
Claris' mouth is a hard line. That it is - and Intelligence's best
guess is that that is, in fact, Captain Ruiz herself, and that at least
some of her crew will also have survived and been taken captive by
this... group. And has been captive, without our knowing, for close to a
year.
If the silence before was tense, now it is bleak and hard. The Navy doesn't leave people behind, and for every officer in the room, Dakota included, this feels like a personal failing. The fact that they couldn't have known is cold comfort.
So.
Every officer in the room tears their eyes from the image of Captain Ruiz kneeling by the pirate warlord and looks back at Rear Admiral Claris.
Here's what will happen next. In seventy-two hours, we will form a
task group, under my command, and depart for Mocahu. There, we will
conceal our heavy units, use our light units to locate the Cerberus
and any allied ships, and then we will get our people back and destroy
or recapture the Cerberus. Are there any questions?
There's a momentary pause, and then one of the assembled Captains - a loud, cocky dominant who Dakota had a couple of run-ins with during officer school - speaks up.
Do we have to wait the full seventy-two, Admiral?
Laughter ripples around the room, and Rear Admiral Claris gives him an
indulgent smile. I know nobody wants to wait, but I think it'd be
polite to at least recall our crews from shore leave before we depart,
hm?
The dom looks down, nonplussed. Fair enough, Admiral.
Another silent moment, and then Claris says:
See to your commands. I'll see you back here in... twelve hours for
operational planning. Dismissed!
Ma'am? Incoming video call for you - it's her Highness.
Captain Raina Drake, Macohu Zone Patrol, looks up at her communications officer, standing in the open doorway of her day-cabin.
Put her through, please, lieutenant. I'll take it in my cabin.
Of course, ma'am. Please give her our regards.
Raina gives him a small smile. I always do.
A moment later, her display flickers to life, displays a brief animation while the call connects, and then the smiling face of Countess Ruby Marshall fills the screen.
Captain!
Countess,
Raina replies. To what do I owe the pleasure?
The Countess laughs. The ship that carries my name returning to port
isn't occasion enough for a call?
Raina smiles. Of course I'm happy to speak with you whenever, your
Highness, but I have to admit I'm a bit surprised you make the time.
The Countess' laughter fades, and her voice turns just a little
crisp. Yes. Well. Perhaps if more of my... esteemed fellow nobles
made a bit more time to actually pay attention to the ships they
sponsor, the Patrol would be in a bit of a better state than it is.
Raina sighs. It stings her pride to agree, but the Countess isn't wrong. Many nobles consider it a point of honor to sponsor a Patrol vessel, as part of their expected contribution back to society, but few of them particularly care about the quality or competency of those ships. The Patrol's high command, such as it is, would never dare to draw the ire of a noble by finding fault in something bearing their name, and as a result very few Patrol vessels are properly equipped, trained, or even truly spaceworthy. It's depressing to think about, and to make matters worse, it seems like few of her fellow officers are bothered by the situation. As long as they stay out of the way of any of the really nasty pirate groups, they seem to think, they can live lives of status, government-funded idleness, and extorting whatever independent merchants they happen to run across.
She stiffens slightly in her chair.
I wish I could disagree, your Highness.
She leaves that statement hanging in the air between them, and the Countess gives her a rueful smile before she continues.
I trust that things are running smoothly?
Raina nods. As well as they usually are, at any rate. We finally got
the long-range sensor suite fully repaired. Crane's a wizard at
scrounging and turned up a replacement computer core somehow, although
apparently he had to give away a good chunk of our alcohol rations in
the process.
Hm,
the Countess says, thoughtfully. I'm glad he's turning out
well, although I wish his skills weren't quite so necessary. Anything
I can help with?
I don't suppose you'd be willing to kill Duke Ferris in a duel, would
you?
The Countess, a woman of more than seventy years, laughs. I sometimes
wish that I could. He and his... friends among the nobility have gone
oddly quiet, lately, which certainly makes one wonder what they're up
to. I doubt either of us would like it if we knew. Captain Engle is
still being a thorn in your side, then?
She's insufferable. The pride of the Patrol under her command, and
she won't let anyone forget it for a moment. And her combat reports... I
mean, if they were even half true, there wouldn't be a pirate left
within fifty light-years. It's just... galling, and nobody at high
command does a thing about it.
The Countess' expression softens. I'm sorry. Well, do remember my
offer.
Raina shakes her head. Maybe some day. Not yet.
A quiet moment passes, and then the Countess clears her
throat. Yes. Well. I'll let you get back to your duties, Captain. Do
me proud.
Raina snaps a salute, passes on her crew's regards, and closes the link, then sits back in her chair, thinking for a moment. The Countess is a rare - perhaps even unique - creature in Macohu: a noble with true honesty and integrity. Certainly she's the only noble who has ever earned Raina's respect. Raina and her crew do their best to live up to the standard set by the woman, and Raina feels a fierce glow of pride in her heart when she considers the result. The MZP Countess Marshall, she knows without a scrap of doubt, is the most effective fighting unit in the entire Macohu Zone Patrol by far, and quite probably the only ship in the Patrol that would have a chance of meeting a real naval warship of her own size class in battle and winning. This isn't arrogance - at least, she hopes it's not - but just the simple result of the dedicated and competent crew she's built, along with the Countess' active patronage and funding.
Captain?
She looks up at the door and sees her executive officer, who's supposed to be on bridge watch. She raises an eyebrow, and the man clears his throat.
Thought you'd want to know - a Republic frigate just arrived
out-system and said hello. They're on anti-piracy patrol, apparently,
and are requesting permission to dock at Port Andres.
Hm,
Raina says, musing. The Republic navy tend to treat the Free
Zone as though it were their own territory and simply go wherever they
please. They normally wouldn't bother with the Port at all, and would
simply swing through the system without saying much, well aware that
no Patrol ship in their right mind would bother them.
From the look on her XO's face, he's also a little bit puzzled, and he says:
We haven't seen her before, either. It's a frigate, the, ah, HNS
Kobold, and the captain is a Dakota Easton. No records of either of
them. Could just be a new unit, or maybe it's a rotation on
their part. Either way, Port Command's letting them dock.
In that case, let's be a bit... extra hospitable, shall we? If the
Republic navy, or even just this one ship's captain, are taking a bit
more of an active interest it'd be nice to know a little more. Please
extend my compliments and invite them aboard for dinner at their
convenience.
The XO smiles. Of course, Captain. I'll see if we can't get some
fresh vegetables from planetside as well.
Dakota balls their gloved hands in their lap, watching out the shuttle's viewport as the MZP Countess Marshall gradually looms larger and larger. The Mocahu Zone Patrol doesn't have much of a reputation among the Republic Navy, but this particular ship - a heavy cruiser - has sleek, lean greyhound lines and she looks to be in impeccable repair. Even the anti-flash paint on her hull looks pristine, and Dakota wonders if she's just been refitted.
Hey.
They glance over at Mark Parsons, the Kobold's executive officer, a dominant, and the shuttle's only other passenger. He gives a meaningful look downward at their fists, and they force themselves to relax slightly. He gives them a tiny nod, then says:
Worried?
They sigh. Yeah.
What's worrying you?
I just... you know. I've never had to represent the Navy before like
this.
He gives them a crooked grin. Well, as a bit of an expert on how not
to do that, I'd say you can't possibly do it worse than I
did. Hopefully that's comforting.
Dakota returns his grin. I thought it was an overreaction,
honestly. I'm glad you didn't get kicked out of the academy, at
least.
He laughs. Look, it's not really my fault the Ibbuese are
so... prudish, and if they didn't want their officers contaminated by
foreign ideas, maybe they shouldn't have sent them to study at our
naval academy.
That's certainly one way to describe getting caught in the act with a
member of the royal family - and in a classroom, to boot.
Mark flushes just slightly. He started it.
Dakota giggles. From what I've heard it sounds like you were
decisively finishing it. Or him.
Mark gives them a rogueish grin. Well. It turned out alright, didn't
it? Apart from being stuck with you, of course.
I think it might be me who is stuck with you, actually.
His look softens. Wouldn't have it any other way.
Dakota looks briefly out the window, not meeting his gaze. Yeah.
Mark was their academy roommate, and he's followed them through the service since, despite having ample skill and corporate patronage for a command of his own, if he so desired. Dakota's not deaf to the persistent rumors that they and Mark are bonded, but that kind of connection has never really existed between them, and Dakota's not sure it ever could. Of course, Mark has... helped them through things a time or two in the past, and vice versa, but it's never been more than that. They've talked about it, certainly, and it's just not what either of them want from each other.
Despite that, they consider themselves tremendously lucky to have him as XO. A sub captain with a dom XO can be a recipe for problems, and the Navy keeps a careful eye on such arrangements, but they and Mark form a tight and effective team, and the crew looks up to both of them. It helps that Dakota's known him for so long that they feel they can actually... be themselves around him, and take off the Captain's hat when it's just the two of them.
You're in your own head again.
They sigh. Yes.
Try to relax. It's just a nice dinner with someone new. Worst case,
you come off as kind of weird and we don't ever see her again. That's
the worst case.
Yeah, I guess.
Here, look. We've got... four minutes until we dock. Let's do some
breathing together, okay?
Dakota sighs, anxiety warring with desire to let Mark care for them.
Fine.
Dakota's first impression of the interior of the MZP Countess Marshall is of overwhelming order and neatness. Everything is immaculately clean and well cared-for, and there aren't even scuff marks on the floor of the airlock. The ship must be practically brand new, they think, or have a real stickler for a Captain.
The airlock equalizes and the inner hatch slides open, putting Dakota and Mark face-to-face with that Captain and two other officers, both Lieutenants. The Captain, a dark-skinned woman almost a full foot taller than Dakota with a lean build, offers her own gloved hand. Dakota looks up at her, taking in the high cheekbones, the smooth curve of the lips, the severe bun.
Welcome aboard the Countess Marshall,
the woman says.
Dakota takes her hand and shakes it. Of course. Thank you for the
invitation, and I hope we'll be able to return the favor.
The woman, whose nametag reads DRAKE, smiles. I'd like that.
She makes introductions for the other two officers with her, and Dakota introduces Mark as their XO. Captain Drake, who gives her first name as Raina, is the soul of courtesy but her eyes continuously return to Dakota, and they find themselves blushing slightly.
I thought perhaps,
Captain Drake says, that Commander Parsons might
like to dine with my own officers, while you and I took the
opportunity to speak Captain to Captain? I will not be offended if you'd
prefer to enjoy the company of the other officers, though.
Dakota gives the Captain a gracious smile. I'm sure Commander Parsons
will do just fine on his own.
Raina Drake gives Dakota a slow smile. Perfect.
I have to say, ma'am, that I'm very impressed with your ship. She's
beautiful, and your crew clearly cares for her well.
Captain Drake - Raina, as she's asked Dakota to call her - leans back slightly in her chair. For a moment she appears to be thinking, and then she says:
We work hard. Macohu's not nearly as wealthy as the Republic, of
course, so we often find ourselves making do with equipment that
is... not exactly the latest or greatest, but it does breed a certain
ingenuity. The Countess does take good care of us, as well.
Oh, she's still alive?
Raina laughs. Very much so, and hopefully for a good long while
yet. I forgot that you Republic types only name your ships after
people who've already died. No, the Countess is our patron, and takes
a personal interest in the ship's well-being and performance.
That sounds like it could be quite an annoyance, ma'am, and a lot of
pressure as well. Having a member of the nobility looking over your
shoulder, I mean.
Oh yes. Luckily, the Countess is a very reasonable woman, and knows
what she doesn't know, if you catch my meaning. She's happy to leave
the running of things to professionals.
There's a quiet, companionable moment, and Dakota feels themselves relaxing as well. A moment later, Raina's steward - a luxury afforded by the Countess Marshall's status as a full cruiser - enters and offers both Raina and Dakota appetizers and slim glasses of a non-alcoholic wine. Dakota sips it and exhales, breathing out a good deal of their tension. They can do this.
Raina seems to notice them relaxing, and her own expression eases in turn. She takes a sip from her own glass, then says:
Your ship doesn't appear in our files. Is this your first anti-piracy
patrol?
Dakota nods. Yes. There has been a bit of, ah, pressure from a
handful of the megacorporations to make the Free Zone a bit safer for
investment, so the Navy's deploying a few more units out this way.
Without asking us about it, of course.
Dakota blushes. I don't - um.
Raina breaks into a grin. Sorry. It's a sore spot for us that your
Navy just does what it wants out here, but I can hardly blame you for
that. Besides, if it brings a bit more Republic cash into Mocahu, that
can hardly be a bad thing.
Dakota nods silently, glad that they'd practiced the cover story beforehand with Mark. Raina's watching their face intensely, and they experience a brief spike of panic at the idea that the dom can somehow read their thoughts, but the moment passes. Dakota looks away, uncomfortable with the feeling of lying to a dominant, and waits for their body to settle back down. Luckily, it does, but when they risk a look back, Raina gives them a puzzled look.
Is everything alright?
Dakota nods. Yes, ma'am. It's just... well, my first patrol. I've
never even - I mean, I haven't been in real combat yet.
Even as
Dakota's speaking, they feel foolish for admitting it, especially to
an officer of another navy.
Raina gives them a sympathetic smile. The pirates won't be a match
for your ship or crew if you can find the bastards, so I expect things
will be just fine. For that matter, most of them will just run as soon
as they realize you aren't a helpless merchant.
Are there any that won't? Anything we should be careful of?
Raina frowns. Sure, there are a few groups that might try to take a
solitary frigate if they had the opportunity. I can send the data we
have back with you when you return - we have good sensor profiles on a
lot of them.
We'd very much appreciate that, ma'am.
Of course. Anyone who's hunting pirates is a friend of ours. There is
one group that merits special mention, though - a nasty pack of thugs,
even by pirate standards. They call themselves Blue Dawn, and they've
been making noise about, you know, putting together a real fleet and
challenging the empires in open combat. I doubt they can, of course,
but they're a real threat and there have been some worrying rumors
about them. They have more support than I'd like... even here on
Sofia.
What kinds of rumors?
Oh,
Raina says. Nothing trustworthy, but I've heard - from more
than one source - that they have their hands on at least some stolen
naval hardware. Their base is over by Ladeva, but we haven't really
been able to give it a look. The, ah, high command is somewhat
reluctant to form a fleet for it. Actively disinterested in it,
even, and we've been ordered to stay away.
Hmm,
Dakota says, looking up as the steward re-enters carrying a
pair of plates. Interesting.
Quite. If you were of a suspicious mindset, you might read quite a
bit into that order.
An edge of bitterness creeps into Raina's tone,
revealing exactly what she thinks of it and of the likely underlying
motives.
Raina picks up knife and fork and cuts her first bite of food. Well,
we'll share what we have with you, for the good that's likely to
do. What I'd actually like, though, is to hear a little bit more about
your crew, Dakota... and about you.
Dakota blushes, suddenly acutely aware that their dress uniform's open
throat exposes a couple of inches of their unclaimed collar. Whatever
you'd like to know, ma'am.
Hmm,
Raina says, tapping her chin. I realize this is somewhat rude
of me to draw attention to, but the Patrol has virtually no submissive
officers, never mind Captains. I'd quite like to hear about your
journey to where you are.
Oh. Um. Well, it actually started when I was a teenager. You see, my
mother...
Three hundred and sixteen days. That's how long Camellia and the handful of survivors from her crew have been prisoners aboard the Cerberus. She turns the number over in her head, but it seems unreal, like it doesn't measure the passage of actual time but instead simply counts how many times her battered and exhausted body has managed to awaken. For that matter, she's not too confident in her count in the first place, so maybe it means nothing at all.
Wincing, she pulls herself to her hands and knees, trying to blink the fog of another night's broken sleep out of her mind. She raises her head as far as her cage allows, and sees only a single figure in the bed. She can see a hint of skin, so it's probably Julia, not M - not Ingalls, she corrects herself firmly. She's been starting to slip lately, calling him that word even in the privacy of her own thoughts, which sickens and disgusts her, but more powerful than even those two emotions is fear.
She's fading away. She can tell, can feel it moment by moment; she spends more and more of her time dissociating from the world around her, lost in dreams and hallucinations, and what's left of her will to fight is slipping away along with her grip on reality. She takes her own forearm in her mouth and bites herself savagely, letting the rush of pain and adrenaline bring her back to her senses, and tries to see whether Julia's awake.
She doesn't bother calling to her XO. Julia's presence here is just another part of Ingalls' cruelty, and if the other woman is sleeping, Camellia had best leave her that way. When they'd been captured - when she had led her crew into the exquisitely planned ambush - the man had first tried to break Camellia directly, through pain and abuse, and he had failed; while hurting her could get her to comply in the moment, it could not make her obey him as soon as the threat of pain was lifted.
In many ways, that first month, when it was just her and the man who would be Master, had been easier. Just her and him, a contest of wills. He'd soon tired of that, though, and realized how to truly bend her to his will. He'd brought Julia into his cabin and made Camellia watch as he... as he raped her sobbing executive officer, a woman Camellia feels responsible for in every way, and then afterwards, holding a gun to Julia's head, he'd - he'd - Camellia flinches away from the intolerable memory, not strong enough to confront it. Julia's still alive, which is what really matters, and if she never looks at Camellia again without terror in her eyes that is a price that she has to be willing to pay.
She reminds herself of that, over and over again, and it doesn't help much. She fantasizes, sometimes, that she'd called the man's bluff, refused to participate in Julia's torture, but she knows in her heart she couldn't have. She's already been made to watch three of her crew die and she can't bear another. She whispers the names of the fallen to herself: Corporal Ilych, a dominant and one of the Archer's small marine detachment; executed after attacking four pirates, by himself and unarmed, when they entered the cell where her crew were being held to drag one of the terrified subs away. Private First Class Breton, the only other surviving marine; executed after killing, hand to hand and while still shackled, the pirate who'd just raped her. Both of them at least deaths that Camellia can somehow... understand, even though she can never forget or forgive them.
And poor Ensign Torma. Ingalls had dragged Camellia, bound and gagged, into the cell her crew was being held in and forced her to kneel. He'd then ripped the gag from her mouth and ordered her to submit to him. She'd... she wants to avoid the memory, but she makes herself confront it. She'd spat her defiance at him, and he'd calmly, with no apparent emotion, ordered two of his guards to bring Torma to him and simply shot her dead in front of Camellia's eyes. With the Ensign's blood beginning to soak into his trousers, he'd asked her the same question again, in the exact same gloating tone, and she'd - broken. She'd hung her head, nodded, and simply given up; his cruelty and malice were greater than her strength.
A soft whimper from the bed pulls her away from her darkening thoughts. Julia curls into a ball, visibly trembling in her sleep; Camellia's heart clenches painfully, but she knows there's nothing she can do. If she wakes Julia, it will just be worse, and the sub needs any rest she can get. The urge to comfort her is overpowering, but Camellia grits her teeth and makes herself resist it. It's not like she has any comfort to offer anyway.
The cabin door slides open, and despite herself, she reflexively shrinks back against the far wall of her cage. Luckily, it's not her Master - not Ingalls, she tells herself - but rather Janey, one of the cabin-girls. Janey is a young submissive, a frail slip of a girl, and one of the many slaves held aboard the Cerberus to serve the pirates. She peeks around the hatchway and, seeing that Ingalls isn't here, steps carefully into the cabin. Camellia can see her carrying a stack of food containers, and her stomach clenches, reminding her of her own hunger.
She's been especially hungry lately, too. Not long after her Master had broken her and she'd accepted his collar, he'd had one of the pirates' medics remove her birth control. At first, she'd thought he intended to impregnate her, but the reality, as it often does aboard the Cerberus, had turned out to be so much worse. Once the hormones from the implant had left her system and she'd been pronounced fertile again, he'd - he'd left her blindfolded and chained to a filthy mattress in his own crew's common space. She doesn't know how many of the pirates used her, doesn't want to know, although she supposes Master does, since he has a video of her suffering. He's made her - and Julia - watch it with him before, although Camellia's brain refuses to remember anything else about that. What does matter is that she is, by her own best guess, about four months pregnant.
Motion in the room pulls Camellia back to reality. Silently, Janey sets one canister of food down on a small table by the bed - for Julia - and then brings another over to Camellia's cage. The canister just barely fits through the bars, and Janey kneels, offering it to Camellia with both hands. Camellia takes it, whispering her thanks. This close, she can feel Janey's fear, like a foul odor in the room. The whole ship is saturated with it, in fact - the terror and the pain of exhausted, abused submissives. Camellia can't get away from it, can't do anything about it, and it's slowly driving her mad.
Janey doesn't get up. She stays on her knees, head bowed, and Camellia can see that the girl is swaying slightly. Instinct overpowers her, and Camellia reaches for her through the bars. Janey notices the motion and looks up at Camellia, eyes wide, but she doesn't move. Camellia lays a trembling hand on the girl's head, strokes her lightly. Janey's eyes flutter shut and she lets a long, slow breath out.
Good girl,
Camellia croaks, her own voice sounding harsh to
herself. Janey gives her a look of surprise, and of something else
Camellia can't quite put a name to - longing, perhaps. She exhales
again, scoots herself as close to the bars as she can, and replies in
a barely audible whisper:
Thank you Miss.
It's not much, but to Camellia's aching heart it's like lighting a
match in the depths of winter. She forces her best smile, whispers:
You'd best be going.
Janey looks up at the open hatchway and realizes what Camellia means: if Ingalls catches them like this, it'll be ugly for both of them. She scrambles away, fearful-submissive flooding from her again, and flees from the room.
The cool quiet of the embassy early in the mornings is a welcome respite from the already-stifling outside air, and Anjali gratefully sinks into her work chair (government-issue, but comfortable) and downs half the contents of her water bottle. She boots her workstation, leans back in her chair, then jumps suddenly when someone clears their throat directly behind her. She whirls and looks up to see -
Major Mortensen, her... former instructor from basic training? Here?
She blinks in sheer surprise, not fully certain whether or not this is a dream, and blurts:
Sir?
He gives her a warm smile. Cadet Mohindra - although I guess it's no
longer Cadet, from the looks of things.
He glances around the desks,
then goes on: Is there a private place we can speak?
Of course,
she says, getting up and showing him to a conference
room. He follows her in, shuts the door behind him, and takes a seat
opposite her.
I'm sure,
he starts, you're wondering why I'm here.
Just a little bit, sir. Sofia's hardly the sort of place I'd expect
an army officer to turn up in... in uniform, at least.
You always were a sharp one,
he says, with a crooked grin. But yes,
I'm not quite here for a social call. I'm here attached to a Navy
operation, and I think it's likely we're going to need your help with
it.
Anjali raises her eyebrows, mind already racing. Of course,
sir. What's going on?
You remember nearly a year ago when that patrol group went missing on
the way to Ladeva? We looked into it at the time, concluded it was
probably a pirate ambush, but couldn't make much headway on how they'd
done it - or who - and we ultimately concluded all three ships were
likely lost with all hands.
Anjali nods slowly. I think I read about it.
Right. So, a few days ago, we came into possession - via you,
actually - of some rather key information about this. The first was a
photograph of a Hades-class battlecruiser at anchor, allegedly taken
somewhat recently, which we think depicts HNS Cerberus. She went
missing three or so years ago, apparently a victim of a hyperdrive
malfunction while at speed, but we never found any hard evidence. Her
sudden appearance suggests that we were wrong about her fate, and
something far more sinister happened.
It's - she was captured, sir? A battlecruiser? Without getting a bouy
out?
Taken, we think. By her Captain.
My God. And you think she's lurking around here?
The photo you passed on to us is from the docks in orbit around this
very planet - assuming it's real, which brings me to my first
question. How reliable is the source?
Anjali frowns. Fairly, sir, but I don't know where he got it from, so
I can't firmly vouch for it.
Mm,
he says. Well. Regardless of that, the second photograph is
much more interesting. You remember it, I assume?
Yes, sir. Man in a chair, female sub in naval uniform on a leash next
to him.
He grimaces. Right. That man, we think, is former Captain Kane
Ingalls... of the Cerberus, and until recently assumed dead by us. The
woman it's harder to be certain about, but she is a good match for
Captain Camellia Ruiz, of the HNS Archer, which was the lead ship of
that patrol group that went missing.
Anjali mutters a profanity. So we've got a former Navy officer with a
proper warship turned pirate, and we think he has some Navy crew as
prisoners.
The Major's look is grave. That's what the evidence points
towards. What we have, though, is very thin: two photographs, both of
uncertain provenance, one of quite low quality. They don't contradict
anything we do know... but it's not much to start a shooting war
on. That brings me to my main and most important point in speaking to
you. You know the politics here better than anyone else. Is there any
local group that could be playing us here?
Anjali leans back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling and thinking, then says:
Well, there's two separate things, right? Theory one: the Cerberus
was in fact stolen and was here, in Sofia, two weeks ago. Theory two:
not only was the Cerberus stolen, but its former Captain recently
destroyed a patrol group and took members of their crew prisoner.
Major Mortensen nods. Right.
For the first one... let's imagine someone, anyone, had faked that
photograph, intending for it to fall into our hands. The only response
they could possibly anticipate would be us trying to hunt her down,
and they could reasonably guess that we'd go to great lengths and
expend a lot of effort to do so. There are other groups - the other
imperial powers - that might benefit from that, but I don't really see
them trying to do this. It would require some kind of local network to
fake it in the first place, and if they had that, there are better
ways to draw our attention. Also, I don't think my direct source is
lying, so they'd either have to have compromised him, or to have
just... gotten lucky that he passed it on. It doesn't fit.
Hmmm,
replies Mortensen. There is one other angle to that,
though. Suppose that it is a fake, but we aren't the intended target
of it. Might it be directed at someone else?
That's an idea, sir, and if it was just the first photo in isolation,
I'd be very inclined towards it. The balance of power between the
pirate groups, the Zone Patrol, and the various nobles here on Sofia
is very delicate and complicated, and something that looked like
evidence of strength for a particular pirate faction could have quite
a lot of value. For example, if someone was trying to build a
coalition of pirate groups against whoever this Ingalls is, or to make
a case for some kind of operation against him... that sort of
thing. It's not unreasonable.
But there is the matter of the second photo,
Mortensen replies
quietly. None of the local powers seem like they'd care about an
individual Navy officer, nor about our crew at all, except maybe as
bargaining chips or trophies. If one were trying to make Ingalls'
faction look like a target, producing what is basically propaganda for
him seems counterproductive.
Anjali thinks silently for a moment. Yeah. Although, that does raise
a different question. The source of the first photo is obvious - it's
from a dockyard's video system, or says it is. The second one,
though... it looks like it was taken with a hidden camera, but by who,
and why? I can't quite construct a motive for what must've been a
considerable risk, unless the person who took it knew it'd get to us
somehow. Nobody else would be likely to care.
Mortensen gazes out the window for a few seconds, eyes flickering. I
think,
he says finally, that I might have an idea about that. The
Cerberus was a Navy ship, with a Navy crew. It's probable that Ingalls
replaced much of the crew after he took her, but equally probable that
at least a handful of the original crew remain. Imagine that you're a
Navy officer of a... flexible cast of mind, and you've turned traitor
with Ingalls for whatever reason. He takes these new prisoners,
mistreats them, and you have...
An attack of conscience? From a pirate?
He grunts. Pirates are people too, Mohindra, and have the usual
motives. Someone on Ingalls' crew has an attack of conscience, as you
say. They take this photo and arrange for it to end up in the hands
of... say someone who'll try to get it to us. It's not so far-fetched,
is it?
Anjali has to admit that it's not. Okay. I buy it. So someone within
Ingalls' crew takes photo number two and arranges for it to make its
way towards us. Whoever hands it to my source also draws the
conclusion that the battlecruiser recently in Sofia orbit is related
and acquires a frame of it from the dockyard's systems. My source gets
both photos and hands them to me, and they're both genuine.
Mortensen nods. It seems the least unlikely, at any rate. Can you see
if any of your local sources know anything at all about this? We're -
well, some things are already in motion, but any extra information we
could get could be invaluable.
Of course, sir. I'll get right on it.
Good,
he says, smiling. Anything you find, dispatch it as a
priority report via the usual courier. The courier has special
instructions to... expedite delivery.
Understood, sir. I'll see what I can turn up.
Just got a tight beam transmission from the Admiral, Captain. We're
go for a recon of Ladeva, but she did say she'd very much appreciate
it if we could avoid getting killed in the doing.
Dakota turns to look at their comm officer and smiles. I think we can
probably arrange that. Navigation, set up a least-time hyper course
for Ladeva. Tactical, pull up the system charts - assuming they're any
good - and start figuring out our best trajectory once we get
in-system. Weapons, we'll be hot the whole time, so I need your people
ready to go the moment we drop back into normal space after the hyper
run. Sensors, I expect we'll be going passive only, but I think the
Admiral would like it if we manage to not stumble into an ambush, so
please be extra sharp right when we drop out of hyper. And... comms,
please send back an acknowledgement and let them know we'll be moving
shortly.
They pause. Any questions, anyone? Speak now or, you know, ask
later.
That gets at least a little bit of a chuckle. They lean back in their chair, shut their eyes for a moment, and re-center themselves after giving so many orders so quickly. They remain like that until the comms officer speaks again:
Acknowledgement sent, Captain.
Thank you, comms.
Dakota does a quick mental computation: it's about
three light-hours to the heavily stealthed relay satellite sitting
further out-system, then probably another light-hour from there to the
main battle group, sheltering on the other side of one of Sofia's
massive, uninhabited gas giants. By the time the Admiral gets their
reply they'll be well on the way to the hyper limit, and the relay
satellite won't be able to find them to send them a reply, so
practically speaking they have all the orders they're going to get.
They swallow, suddenly nervous. They'll be the senior officer, and the one ultimately responsible not just for their ship but also the lives of their entire crew. No further instructions are going to come, so they'll just have to - to figure things out on their own and make the decisions themselves, if they need to. They're keenly aware that the stakes will be real, that this is no simulator exercise at the academy, and that if they mistakes, some or all of their people might not come home.
The impulse to stand up, leave the bridge, and find Mark is almost overpowering. Nobody on their command crew would think anything of it; the Kobold will be placidly accelerating towards the hyper limit for hours yet, and then will have nearly twenty hours in hyper as she makes the journey to Ladeva, and since they just issued orders that everyone's busy carrying out, there's no real need for them to be there. Nobody else will know that they're running to a dominant - not their dominant, but the closest thing they have to hand - for comfort because they're afraid of taking their ship and crew into combat for the first time.
Nobody else will know, but they will. If they let themselves leave now, they know they will be proving to themselves that they don't have what it takes to really command. Every sub officer, and especially every sub Captain, struggles with that fear sometimes - that when the going truly gets tough, they won't have what it takes to lead. Dakota knows that, and they also know it's important not to give that fear a foothold. The fact that none of the bridge crew will know why they left, and the fact that Mark won't judge them for seeking comfort and reassurance, only makes it more important that they keep themselves right here, where they're supposed to be.
They plant their feet firmly on the deck, sit up straight in their command chair, and silently recite a mantra drilled into them during their academy training: to lead well is the ultimate act of service.
Course prepared, Captain. Engines warmed up.
Do it.
In the darkness of her cabin, Raina blinks herself awake just enough to acknowledge the soft chime of her tablet. She switches on the light by the side of her bunk and accepts the call - audio only, of course.
Ma'am?
Janicki? What's going on?
Um, I'm sorry for - for waking you ma'am. The, um, ship you were
curious about before just started moving outsystem. I thought you'd
want to know. Sorry if that was wrong, ma'am.
No, no, it's fine. Where's Commander Knox? Is he not there with you?
He's, um, he's here, ma'am. He just - I asked whether I should wake
you up as well, and he said I should use my best judgment. Ma'am. Sorry.
Raina chuckles. I see. Alright, I'll be right up.
She kills the connection, rolls out of bed, and dresses herself, thinking as she does. Janicki - Ensign Zuzanna Janicki, her memory finally supplies - is the most junior officer aboard and the only submissive among the officers. The woman's a former merchant spacer, an electrician, and now an officer so new her shoulder boards are still shiny. Raina's not surprised Frank put the woman on the spot like that, and she turns the situation over in her head, wondering whether to say anything to him about it. For a dom officer she wouldn't make anything of it; figuring out whether someone's judgment is good, and whether they're willing to defend it if necessary, is part and parcel of figuring out whether they're officer material in the first place. For a sub, though...
On the other hand, maybe it's more important for a sub officer. Or maybe not. That's a good thing for her and Frank to talk about, probably at some length - Raina's never had a sub officer on her crew before, and she feels an extra responsibility to look after Janicki. The woman's obviously quite sharp and already starting to develop into a fine officer, and Raina wants to make quite sure that she's getting any support she needs. She makes a note to herself to commend the young woman's judgment, as well.
She scales a ladder up to the bridge deck, snaps a salute to the Marine sentry guarding the bridge, and walks in. As expected, Commander Frank Knox, her XO, is seated comfortably in the command chair.
Evening, Captain,
he says, with just a hint of amusement in his
voice. She gives him a glare of mock irritation which gradually fades
into a grin.
Ensign Janicki,
she says. The woman spins in her chair and looks up
at Raina, eyes wide.
Ma'am?
Wow, the woman's actually trembling. Raina stamps down the impulse to lay a comforting hand on her head, and instead says:
Thank you for waking me, Ensign. You knew I'd be interested and you
made the right call.
Ensign Janicki blushes deeply, obviously not quite comfortable being
praised in front of her fellow officers. Of course, ma'am.
Now,
Raina says. The Kobold is on the move? Where are they headed?
The Ensign turns back to her workstation, which is displaying a tactical plot nearby. Raina briefly peers over her shoulder at it, but she can't really get a good look.
Put it on the big screen please, Ensign.
Yes, ma'am.
A moment later, the tactical plot appears. Sure enough,
one of the dots very nearby - the HNS Kobold - has a small but
lengthening velocity vector pointing out of the system.
Hm. Where are they going?
Looks like a shortest-time transit to Ladeva, Captain.
Raina shoots her navigation officer a look, suddenly worried.
Is there anything else that direction?
Not... really, Captain. There's a few other places they could be
heading to, I guess, but a bit obliquely. They could also be going for
a cruise around the outer system, I guess. They are absolutely bang on
the quickest route to Ladeva, though.
Now why would they... huh. I suppose they could be going on patrol,
but that... hm. Keep an eye on them for me, Janicki, and Crane, you
have command for the moment. XO, my day-cabin for a few minutes
please.
Of course, Captain.
Raina and Frank walk the twenty meters to her day cabin in tense silence. She shuts the door, and without bothering to sit, says:
Did Ladeva come up at all when you were having dinner with their XO
last night?
Frank shakes his head. Wasn't that kind of conversation, Captain.
I see. I did mention it to Captain Easton - as the base of the
notoriously dangerous Blue Dawn, who I specifically mentioned were
rumored to have access to stolen military hardware.
Not to mention that convoy with the Republic escorts that got wiped
out there last year,
Frank murmurs.
Right. So. You're the Captain of a Republic frigate, out on your own
on anti-piracy patrol. You hear that there's a dangerous pirate group
out in Ladeva, which the MZP are afraid to engage even with much more
firepower than one little frigate. Shortly afterward, you set a
best-time course for that system. Why?
They're on patrol, Captain. Probably looking to do a recon of the
system, see if there's anything actually there. If I was running a
Republic frigate, with the sensors and ECM they have, I wouldn't be
too worried about getting spotted by any pirates - I'd figure I could
make it in and out unseen, and probably get a pretty good picture of
hostile assets in the process.
Raina chews her lip. Yeah. Maybe. It'd be daring, but they aren't
really giving out Captains' bars to too many cowards over there. I
just... it doesn't quite sit right. I had dinner with Captain Easton
and they struck me as inexperienced, but careful and methodical. I'd
have expected them to do just about anything else.
Well,
Frank says, quietly. I hate to say it, Captain, but is it
possible you're underestimating Captain Easton a little bit - because
of their orientation, I mean?
Raina pauses. I guess it's possible,
she admits. Still. I wonder if
they had orders to head that way after stopping in here?
Could be, Captain. No real way to tell. For that matter, we don't
know for certain they're heading to Ladeva itself. Maybe they head to
the hyper limit and wait for arrivals instead? That'd make a lot more
sense than a solo visit to Ladeva.
Raina makes a thoughtful sound. Yeah, you're right. They sit passive
by the hyper limit and get a sense for traffic flowing into and out of
the system before they start their patrol for real. It does make quite
a bit more sense, although I wouldn't start with the Ladeva route for
that - the Ibbu route has like six times the traffic.
Frank shrugs helplessly. We're just speculating. We can't tell their
intentions based on the info we have.
Not on the info we have yet, anyway,
Raina says. Let's follow them
out to the hyper limit. Give tactical a bit of practice keeping track
of a ship with working stealth systems, that kind of thing. If they
suddenly disappear, we'll know they're waiting there on passive, and
if they hyper out, well, we'll know that too.
Makes sense,
Frank says. Do you want to announce our presence?
It's not like they'll miss us either way,
Raina says. Get us
moving, and I'll go get cleaned up and call Captain Easton to let them
know that we're accompanying them to the hyper limit.
Hopefully they won't start shooting at us,
Frank says,
half-joking. I mean, technically, we're basically telling a Republic
warship we plan to just follow her around.
I doubt it. The Republic couldn't care less about our borders, and
I'm sure they have their share of hotheaded Captains who'd pick a
fight about that, but Easton isn't one of them. At worst we'll get a
mean look.
I'm sure you can outdo them in the mean look department if you have
to, Captain.
I'm sure too. Alright, let's get moving.
The study is one of Countess Ruby Marshall's favorite rooms. Built as part of the original manor, before any of the ill-advised later additions, the room has a certain timeless style to it that she always associates with comfort and peace. The walls and floor are a rich, dark wood that almost glows in the evening firelight, and enormous windows look out over the eastern part of the estate grounds. The last scraps of sunlight are just now fading over the horizon, casting long, soft shadows over the hills and valleys of Marshall County. She lifts her mug to her lips and takes a sip of hot tea.
It's about as comfortable as one could wish for, and then there's the company. She absently strokes Arthur's hair, looking down fondly at her husband of nearly fifty years. He looks back up at her, adoration in his eyes, and she gives his leash a gentle tug. He presses himself against her legs and she scratches the back of his head.
Are you comfortable, sweetheart?
He nods. Is something wrong, Mistress? You seem preoccupied.
She sighs, setting her mug down. I am - I just wish I knew what
by.
Arthur makes no reply, but simply relaxes on his knees next to her. He shuts his eyes, looking calm and happy. Ruby smiles, appreciating how well he knows her. She'll chew on whatever she needs to chew on, and when she wants or needs his advice, she'll ask for it, and until then quiet affection is the best thing he can offer. She briefly tangles her fingers in his silver-grey hair and tugs lightly, pleased by the resulting soft gasp. They're both past seventy now, and she knows that her body isn't what it was when they met, but it warms her heart that she can still get such a reaction out of him with a mere touch. She leans forward, plants a single kiss on his forehead, then leans back in her chair.
Duke Ferris,
she says, is up to something. I just wish I had some
idea what.
Arthur nods silently, leaving her space to think and speak.
Earlier today,
she almost growls, that... man actually threatened
me in the coat-room at Parliament. Nothing specific, you understand,
but he said that I'd be getting what I have coming very soon.
She feels her husband's shoulders tighten fractionally under her fingertips. Arthur might be her submissive, but he's also fiercely protective of her. She's quite glad of that - especially given that he spent about thirty years of his life as a Marine sergeant. His years are showing, but he keeps himself in better shape than many men half his age, and she's watched him practice enough to know that he's still deadly accurate with a handgun. Hopefully, she thinks, he'll never actually get to use that skill in anger again.
She picks her mug back up, tilting it gently and watching the dark
liquid move. I know - well, I suspect, but pretty damn strongly -
that he's in bed with this Blue Dawn group. He's likely involved in
whatever crimes they are, or at least is covering for them. That can't
be all of it, though. Why threaten me? He couldn't possibly be
planning to have me killed, could he?
She looks down at Arthur, and he opens his eyes slowly. I doubt it,
Mistress. People would immediately suspect him, for obvious
reasons. Also...
he shows just a tiny sliver of his teeth. I'm not
sure he'd want to risk making the attempt. No security is perfect, but
yours is quite good, and getting caught trying would be even worse
than getting caught having succeeded.
I suppose. If it did come to open conflict I'm not really sure which
way things would go.
Nor can he be, Mistress. I doubt he will risk anything overt.
Let's hope not, because if he does I fear there could be a lot of
bloodshed.
She sighs, setting her mug down. He's been talking a lot about
sovereignty, you know. He's saying - openly! - that he wants Sofia to
assume control over the whole Free Zone, bring the other independent
worlds into line. I wish not quite as many people were listening to
him.
All you can do is make your own case, Mistress, and try to put a stop
to whatever he's about - once you find out what it is.
She leans back into her chair, gazing up at the dark wood of the ceiling.
You're right,
she says. I just have a feeling that it might already
be too late.
Thank you all for joining on short notice.
Rear Admiral Claris looks around her flag bridge - more of a conference room than a bridge, really, since actual tactical command is exercised elsewhere. Four of her own staff officers are physically present, and the nearly twenty captains of the ships making up her battle group are displayed on the room's enormous video displays.
She waits patiently while a silent crewman deposits coffee, tea, and pastries on the conference room table, then begins speaking the instant the door slides shut.
Now, as you probably all have guessed, we do have an intelligence
network in place on Sofia itself. Major Mortensen has asked that
network to turn up any available information on local pirate groups,
with a view to finding out where the vermin holding Captain Ruiz and
her crew are based. The good news is that we now have a pretty good
idea where that base is.
She can see the faces around the room light up, see her captains straightening in their chairs and leaning forward. She waits a moment, then goes on:
We suspect they're based in Ladeva, which is a twenty-hour hyperspace
trip from here. Ordinarily, I would now have us disregard stealth and
move at best speed towards that system - especially since I recently
dispatched the Kobold to scout it. However, there is a more pressing
concern.
According to sources within the Sofian government and the MZP, two
unusual things are happening. The first is that a dozen berths at Port
Andres, which is the main orbital facility for Sofia II, have been
secretly ordered cleared and left open for some unspecified
purpose. I'm sure you can all guess what that likely means - they're
expecting visitors, but not visitors that they want announced in
advance.
Second, and more disturbing, we have reliable information that some
units of the Sofian planetary police have been told to prepare for
civil unrest in about -
she glances down at her tablet - thirty-six
hours. Again, covertly, and for no specified purpose.
She waits a moment to let the information sink in. She can see her assembled captains coming in real time to the same grim conclusion she and her own staff reached.
As you are doubtless all now thinking, these pieces of evidence point
to only one thing: a coup d'etat, with external backing. That external
backing could be another imperial power, but I think it's far more
likely that it's this Blue Dawn pirate group. Given the likely
timeline, I suspect that the pirate fleet, if indeed one is coming, is
already in transit from Ladeva to this system, and when they arrive
they'll likely burn hard for Sofia II to provide firepower for
whatever local group is kicking things off.
While I would dearly like to focus primarily on mounting a rescue,
our operational priorities have changed. We cannot allow a... pirate
kingdom to form this close to our own border, and we can't pass up
the chance to wipe out a significant part of this faction's
fleet. So. We will instead move, at low acceleration and under
stealth, towards Sofia II. If possible, we will catch the pirate fleet
in orbit, when they will be focused on action on the surface and not
likely expecting an attack from space. We will try, if we can, to
disable and board pirate vessels to make the planned rescue... but I
doubt that it will be possible.
She looks around at the assembled captains, seeing the mix of resignation and grim determination. Well, she tells herself, part of commanding is accepting that you will take losses, and if she can wipe out this pirate group and save a whole world for the loss of a dozen Navy lives, that's a price she will have to pay.
She clears her throat. Operational plans have just been transmitted
to you. Let's move, people.
Camellia groans, stomach still churning in the aftermath of the jump to hyper. The transition makes most people briefly nauseous, but it's far worse than it used to be before she was pregnant. She pulls herself up to her hands and knees in her cage, retching. Julia, drawn by the movement, glances at her with haunted eyes, then hurriedly looks away.
Camellia's just gotten her body calmed down again when the cabin door slides open, and the space instantly floods with the sickening sensation of Julia's terror. The sub scrambles as far across the bed as her chains will let her. Master - Ingalls - strides in, glances at Camellia, smirks, then turns his attention to Julia.
Going somewhere, pet?
Camellia's XO whimpers. Her Master takes four slow steps over to the bed; the chain attached to Julia's ankle cuff rattles as she tries to pull further away, to no avail. He reaches for her, grabs her by the hair, and jerks her roughly back into the center of the bed. He drags the woman's legs apart, and Julia makes a soft, terrified noise but offers no resistance.
He barks a rough laugh, then walks over to Camellia's cage and crouches down next to her. She averts her eyes, looks down at the floor instead.
I'll be finished with you Navy bitches soon,
he growls. You're good
fun, but it'll be bigger and better things for me. Might be able to
find a buyer for you and your crew, but if not... well, I'll just let
mine know I don't give a shit whether yours stay alive any more, eh?
Camellia trembles. Ten months of this hell, she thinks. Who knows how many of her people are even still alive? How many of them are still human? The completeness of her own failure rises up to swallow her, and she starts to drift away, but the sound of Ingalls rattling her cage brings her back to herself.
Hey,
he says. Stay with me, slut. Wrists through the bars, behind
you. You know the drill.
Camellia twists herself around until she can fit both arms between the bars behind her own back. Ingalls clamps a pair of steel cuffs around her wrists, locks them tightly enough that a dull ache starts radiating up her arms almost immediately. That done, he unlocks the door of her cage.
Out,
he says, flatly. She crawls out, staying on her knees; if she
stands, he'll hit her or - worse - hurt Julia.
Over to the bed.
She shuffles over on her knees, head bowed, and he drags her onto the bed next to Julia, who gives her a dead-eyed look and does not move. Ingalls shoves her onto her side facing Julia, then leans close to whisper in Camellia's ear:
I'm in the mood for sub pussy, and I have two subs to choose
from. Help me pick.
Camellia flinches, but she knows what she has to do:
Please,
she says. Fuck me, Master.
He snorts. Doesn't sound like you want it nearly as much as my pet
here does. I know she likes it rough, too, and I'm in a rough mood
tonight. Last chance, slut. Beg.
Camellia squeezes her eyes shut, praying, somehow, for mercy just this once. In the sultriest, most seductive voice she can muster, she says:
Master, I need you. Please, Master, my... my pussy needs to be
filled.
Well,
he laughs. That's a lot better. Not this time, slut, but I'll
let you help, and maybe after I'm done I'll find one of the crew to
give you what you need. First things first, though.
He grabs a fistful of Camellia's hair, drags her head between her XO's spread legs.
Get my pet ready for me. Remember, the better of a job you do, the
less it hurts her.
Camellia shudders, feeling hot tears starting to well in her eyes. She
hesitates, and Ingalls snaps now, slut!
and forces her face
forwards.
Camellia... does the best she can. After a few interminable minutes, Master drags her away and tosses her onto the bed next to Julia.
Good enough,
he growls. Now you stay right there, slut. I have a
special job for you today. I want you, slut, to talk to her while I'm
using her.
She hears him removing his jacket and tossing it to the cabin floor, then hears Julia's pitiful mewl of pain when Ingalls takes her in one savage thrust.
Tell her -
he says, grabbing Julia's slender wrists in one
hand. Tell her it'll be alright. Tell her everything will be
okay. Tell her how good she's being for you. Tell her,
he growls,
pinching Julia's creamy skin so roughly that Camellia can see the
bruises forming, that you'll always keep her safe.
Camellia's stunned, sickened, by what he's asking and hesitates a second too long. Ingalls backhands Julia viciously, and Camellia watches her XO's head snap to the side - sees Julia, eyes unfocused and glassy, with blood trailing from one corner of her mouth.
Yes, Master!
, Camellia says urgently, desperate to keep Ingalls from
hurting Julia any further. Julia! Julia, it's... it's me, Julia.
Her XO's eyes slowly refocus on her, and Julia gives her a blank, uncomprehending look - but there's something there, buried deeply. Some spark of recognition. Camellia scoots herself slightly closer, presses her forehead against Julia's as well as she can.
It's... it's going to be okay, Julia. I'll...
she chokes on her
words. I'll protect you. You'll - you'll always b-be safe
with... with me.
Ingalls grunts in pleasure. Good girl, slut. How does it feel, being
so powerless? Watching me fuck her in front of you?
Camellia can't find any words. She shuts her eyes tight, trying to keep her tears from falling, but they do anyway, soaking the bedsheets underneath her. Ingalls builds a rhythm, using Julia harshly, and Camellia hears the sub's breaths coming shallow and quickly as she whimpers in pain.
Again!
, Ingalls snaps. Tell her again!
Through tears, Camellia stammers: I'll - I'll k-keep you safe,
J-julia. You're a g... good girl for me.
Tell her this is what happens to good girls! Tell her she deserves
it!
Camellia glances at the corner of Julia's mouth, sees the trail of blood there - the reminder of the instant price of disobedience. Julia's eyes are like a dead thing, staring into space, seeing nothing.
This... is what happens to good girls, Julia. You d-deserve it.
Ingalls leans close to Camellia, hisses:
She trusted you. You were supposed to take care of her, and all the
others. You're worthless.
Camellia can't argue, and wouldn't even if she could. He's right. A stronger dom, a better one, would've - would've been able to do something. Would be able to do something now. She shudders, overcome by her own emotions, and drifts away from Cerberus into her own private hell.
Time passes. Everything hurts.
Slut!
It's Master, shaking her. He grabs her roughly by the hair. She looks up at him blankly, utterly defeated. The room slowly comes back into focus around her; Julia is panting on the bed beside her, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. Master forces her to face him, but she can't bear to meet his gaze, so she looks down at his chin - at that grinning, mocking mouth.
He drags her back between Julia's legs, uncuffs her hands. Her arms sting as blood makes its way back down abused veins. Camellia doesn't move.
Master stamps his boots back on, pulls his jacket back on.
Get her cleaned up,
he growls, then get back in your cage. If
you're not there when I get back, she'll pay for it.
He walks out of the cabin, shutting the door, leaving Camellia to care as best she can for the shattered ruin of her executive officer.
Sensors coming back up now... nothing close on passives,
Captain. Last EM turbulence is still fading but I'd guess we're
alone here.
Good,
Dakota says. The brief energy transient of a hyperspace
arrival, especially for something as small as a single frigate, won't
have been detectable more than a light-minute or so away, and they
expect that any kind of pirate ship lurking nearby should be easily
detectable by the Kobold's passive sensors well outside that
range. It's always possible someone's running totally dark and has
particularly good emission control, but there isn't really much to be
done about that.
Nav, let's start the primary burn.
Doing it now, Captain. We'll pass by the inhabited planet in... looks
like fourteen hours, and we'll swing by a couple of the uninhabited
outer ones on the way.
Great. How long to the first point of interest?
Unless we happen to spot something first, uh... just under three
hours, Captain.
Perfect. Until then, eyes and ears open, everyone. Let's not have any
surprises, especially while we're radiating so much.
The plan calls for the Kobold to burn at high power on an oblique course which will slingshot her around the outer edge of the system, past Ladeva's two outermost giant planets, and then back towards the inner core and the inhabited Ladeva I. Once they're at speed, they'll drop their engine power dramatically, and the run through the system core will be made purely balistically, with no engine power at all. They should look like any other dead hunk of rock hurtling through space, which is a good thing in Dakota's book, given what they're expecting to find. Being detected while far in-system could be decidedly bad.
Well, there's the port facilities, and what looks like some kind of
janky shipyard - it's not in the nav database, but then all the data
out here's pretty suspect. Four ships docked, all of them civilian
rustbuckets by the looks of it.
Dakota looks thoughtfully up at the main display on the Kobold's bridge, aware of Mark standing over their shoulder. Even though they're the captain and he's just the XO, they find his presence deeply calming, although they try not to let it show too much.
So,
they say, thinking aloud. We see port facilities, we see a
shipyard that isn't supposed to be there, we see a handful of
civvies. What we don't see is any evidence, at all, of pirates.
Not yet, anyway,
Mark says. The recon drones aren't in proper range
yet.
That's true. Let's slow down when we're behind the star, Nav, and
we'll swing back to pick up a take from the drones before we make our
exit.
Will do, Captain. Looks like... probably ninety minutes.
That quick, around the star?
We're at a good fraction of C, Captain. Even with a retrograde burn
and a big change in direction, ninety minutes easy.
Good to know, thank you. Sensors, anything at all out there?
Their sensor officer shrugs helplessly in his seat. Nothing,
Captain. There's civilian primary radar on the port and shipyard both,
but other than that, nothing. There's not even comms satellites, as
far as we can see.
That's a little weird,
Mark points out. Resource colonies like
this, they always have satellites up because people end up so spread
out. I wonder if something happened to them.
Dakota makes a thoughtful noise. Could be. They might also just be
too faint for us to pick up. Let's wait for the take from the drones.
The burn around the back side of Ladeva's sun, a dwarf star glowing a dull, angry red, is uneventful. They swing so close to the star that its radiation temporarily blinds their own sensors, but the glare of the star will also make their powerful main engines impossible for anyone else to see. The deceleration burn goes flawlessly, and then the Kobold swings back around the star towards Ladeva I, invisible against the red dwarf's corona.
As they cross within ten thousand kilometers of the planet, the ship's computer aims low-power comm lasers at the recon drones' programmed positions, links to them, and downloads their sensor data.
The sensor officer speaks first: Huh.
Well,
Mark says, at least we know we're in the right place. One of
those civvies is the MS Irondale, which is one of the merchants that
went missing during the Archer incident. So, probably the same people
here.
Agreed,
Dakota says. What's going on with the planet, though? We
can see settlements on the surface, and one of the drones has plenty
of lights showing on the night side. Why's everything so quiet? There
should be some kind of traffic, somewhere.
No idea, Captain,
the sensor officer says. We could land and ask
them?
That gets a chuckle out of the bridge crew, at least.
Dakota stares at the sensor plot for another few moments, willing it to contain more than it does. Eventually, they say:
Alright, well. We have what we came for. Pirate group confirmed here,
but no sign of a fleet, nor of much orbital activity. Let's go report
back - quietly, please, Nav, and let's coast a bit further away first.
Yes, Captain. Time back to the hyper limit is nine hours if we're
running quiet.
Better slow than seen, Nav.
Sure thing, Captain.
The Countess Marshall has been on watch, waiting silently by the Ladeva shortest-time transit point, for more than two days. They're drifting, silent and dark, waiting for the telltale flash of a hyper transit - and with each hour they don't see one, Raina gets steadily more worried. She doesn't normally spend too much time fretting about the well-being of ships of other navies, but...
But Dakota's aboard this one. She sighs, frustrated with herself, but that doesn't make it any less true. Irritated, she pushes her breakfast plate away and takes another sip of her coffee, staring at one of the mess hall's display screens blankly. She's just fascinated, she tells herself. She's never met anyone like Dakota, and she wants to get to know them better. That's all.
She drops off her tray and walks to the bridge, giving herself time to think. When - when, not if - the Kobold returns, she'll invite Dakota over for dinner again. Maybe they could go planetside together, and she could show... no, she chides herself. That would be unprofessional, and she has no interest in making her own service look more ridiculous than it already does. Dinner will have to do.
She steps onto the bridge, and she's surprised by the air of crackling tension. She glances up at the main display, and sees - contacts?
Commander Knox?
Several transits out of hyperspace, Captain. We make it eight so far,
no firm IDs on any of them yet but they're all smallish. A real mix of
stuff.
Anything anywhere close?
No. If it was we'd be at battle stations, given they're
unidentified.
Fair enough. I can take the watch over, if you'd like.
Sure thing. There's also a, uhm,
Sir!
, calls the sensor officer. Three more - check that, four more
transits. Big ones!
Any IDs?
One moment... got 'em, sir. Looks like... oh. Call it two light
cruisers, a heavy cruiser, and one full-on battlecruiser,
sir. Got a database match on that last one, too - she's a Republic
unit, a Hades-class.
Raina's worked with Frank for years and has never heard him swear until today.
How solid is that?
Real solid, sir. Look, they all just lit up their drives. We've got
matches on a lot of 'em, now. It's a mix of stuff. These have to be
pirates.
With a Republic battlecruiser along?
Your guess is better than mine, sir. I can tell you they're heading
in-system, though, and they're burning hard.
Raina breaks into the conversation: They're heading for the planet?
Basically direct, yes ma'am.
Frank gives her a look. Orders, Captain?
We know what we have to do. Twelve to one are long odds,
she
murmurs, but we're not running and there's not much point in
hiding. We'll follow them inward and see if we can get a good hit or
two in before they know we're there.
And once they do realize we're there?
I don't know, Commander. I don't know... but we're going to try
anyway, because there's a billion people that direction that we all
took an oath to protect. I doubt there's enough Patrol firepower in
the system to stop them anyway, and that's assuming it was all
battle-ready right this second, but we're still going to make the
attempt.
Plus,
she says, brightening slightly. It'll take us a few hours to
get to engagement range anyway. That ought to give us plenty of time
to think of something clever.
A graveyard chuckle runs through her bridge crew. She looks around her command deck, pride in her people swelling in her chest, and then gazes up again at the main display - at the light codes representing the pirate fleet accelerating towards their home.
Nav? Get us moving.
Countess Marshall watches out the car window as the pre-dawn streets of Espre's downtown core pass by. It's early morning, not yet six o'clock, and neither sun has yet made its way over the horizon. It's still hours until Parliament will begin its business for the day. She makes a deliberate habit of arriving very early, well before most of her colleagues, so that she can prepare for the day's debates and, even more importantly, have time to do some actual thinking before she and the rest of the nobles - those who bother to pay attention, anyway - while the day away talking past each other.
The car slows to a stop for a moment, and Ruby hears her driver slide the window down. She doesn't move, but her ears prickle - Jorg seems to be having a conversation with one of the gate guards, although she can't make out what's being said. Ordinarily, her car's transponder would simply be allowed through by the building's security network without any further business. A minute or so later, Jorg slides his window back up and eases the car forward towards the underground parking area.
Everything alright?
Well, ma'am,
Jorg says, taking a corner with smooth confidence. I'd
say that the gate guards very much wanted to convince me that it is.
Now he has her full attention. Ruby turns to look at him, and catches his eyes in the rearview mirror.
What do you mean by that?
It was a new man on the gate, ma'am, one I don't recognize. I decided
I'd stop 'an welcome him, you know, get the measure of him a bit. He
seemed a bit taken aback that I'd stopped, 'an he tried very hard to
get me to move on quick. Not at all how the gate guards usually are.
There were also,
he goes on, pulling the car neatly into a parking
space, six of 'em, and usually there are two. All new men. Gives one
to think a bit.
He kills the car's engine, opens his door, and walks around to her side to let her out. Ruby stares up at him, momentarily unable to move, then takes his gloved hand and pulls herself upright. As they start to walk towards the elevator, he whispers:
They also asked if you had any bodyguards along, ma'am. I told 'em
no.
She looks at him, frowning. Something's wrong.
Sure is. I think if we were to try to leave, we'd find ourselves
suddenly, ah, waiting quite a while.
She swears. Let's get to my office. I'd best call the Count.
Whatever's going to happen probably won't happen until more of the
nobles are here, so there might still be time.
They make the elevator ride up in tense silence, and Ruby mutters a silent thanks for her husband's insistence on using Jorg as her driver. He's an excellent wheelman, it's true, and the very soul of courtesy and proper servant etiquette. He's also a former member of one of the Zone Patrol's elite Reconnaisance & Patrol teams, although that fact is kept as quiet as possible, and the slender, long-haired, almost effeminate submissive doesn't really look the part.
He catches her looking at him, and gives her a small smile in return.
I'm sure it'll all be alright, ma'am.
I hope so, Jorg. I don't have a good feeling about this.
The elevator dings, and Jorg steps out ahead of her. The corridor leading to her office is empty, and the two of them walk quickly inside and shut the door behind them.
I reckon you'd better make that call, ma'am,
he says, looking out
the office window. Looks like there's a... ah. See there?
He points towards a nearby rooftop, and she peers into the dim morning light. She can just barely make out a shape, perhaps two.
Men on the roof?
Men who're trying not to be seen, ma'am, 'an they have line of sight
over the entrance gate 'an this entire side of the building. I make
four of 'em, call it two teams of two.
He casts another glance
outside, then says:
Ma'am, I'd quite like if you were to sit - right there.
He points
to one of the comfortable armchairs she has strewn around her office,
and she takes it. It's the one corner of the office, she immediately
realizes, that can't be seen through the windows at all. She swallows,
and despite her formidable self-control, she looks down to see the
faintest tremble in her clenched hands.
Call the Count, ma'am?
Oh, right, she'd forgotten. She pulls her tablet out, taps a few times, and her husband picks up instantly.
Mistress?
She searches her memory quickly for the pre-arranged code and comes up blank. She looks up at Jorg silently, and he mouths the word "hatbox". Right!
Ah, good morning, sweetheart. I was wondering if you could check
something for me?
Of course, Mistress. How can I be of service?
Please check whether there's a hatbox atop my dresser. I thought I
had brought it with me to Parliament House but it turns out I don't.
There's a momentary pause, and Ruby can almost hear her husband's mind racing. "Hatbox" indicates physical danger to her, and the only reason she'd be using that codeword is if she can't speak freely - or is under duress. He chooses his next words carefully:
It's here, Mistress. Would you like me to bring it to you?
No, there's no need for that. You stay at the Estate. Please send May
over with it, though. We'll meet her at the east gate.
Of course, Mistress. I'll do so immediately. Is there anything else
you desire?
If you could see to it that there's a nice fire built when I get
home, I'd like that. A quiet night in sounds nice.
Another code
phrase: put the household guards on alert.
It will be as you say, Mistress. Have a lovely day.
You too, sweetheart.
She kills the call, then looks up at Jorg. Now what?
Well, ma'am, there's a couple of options. We can wait here, we can
wait somewhere else, we can try to leave, or we can try to
hide. That's about it.
Are there any other ways out? I assume we can't just... walk out.
Jorg glances out the window again. I don't really know what's going
to happen, ma'am, if anything does happen, but I will say that
securing the area is like, one-oh-one stuff. I really doubt we'd be
able to just stroll out the gate. I'd have guards on all the exit
points.
Ruby frowns. How many guards, do you think?
Ma'am,
Jorg says, a note of caution in his voice. Don't be thinking
of any action-movie stuff. Most likely it'd get me killed an' you
captured, assuming you don't get killed yourself. Not the smart play.
Well,
she snaps. What do you think we should do, mister expert
bodyguard?
He flinches away from her tone, looking hurt, and seems to shrink back just a little. A moment later, he schools his face back into his usual blankly attentive expression and straightens back up. She feels a sudden rush of shame.
Sorry,
she says. I'm just - just frightened.
S' alright,
he says, and glances down at his watch. May ought to be
here in... let's call it twenty minutes. What say you take your usual
morning walk around the grounds, and we happen to be near the east
gate right around then?
What about the guards?
As to that,
Jorg says. I said I'd have guards, not that
there'll be any. Plus, if whatever they plan to happen isn't ready to go
off, they might not want to make a scene where people can see. Might
just let us go instead, if we're pushy enough. Even if they don't, we'll
know a bit more.
Fair enough,
she says. Let's go take that walk, then.
The Parliament grounds are eerily quiet this time of morning, but there's an unmistakeable humming tension in the air, like one of Espre's regular summer thunderstorms is just about to arrive. There do seem to be a lot of guards about, and Jorg surrepititiously calls her attention to their demeanor and posture. There's a sort of caged, nervous energy coiling through them; Ruby watches one man check his watch four times in two minutes. They're obviously waiting for something to happen.
Jorg glances at his own watch. May ought to be here shortly, ma'am.
She makes her way over to the east gate to the grounds, Jorg a step ahead of her, and frowns at the pair of guards. One is wearing a sidearm - unusual for the parliamentary guards, who are generally unarmed - and the other has a boxy shape underneath his tunic that shouldn't be there.
Morning, your Highness,
says one of the guards, stepping in front of
the gate.
Morning yourself,
she says. Is something the matter?
A bit of a security issue, your Highness. If you'd return to your
office, please, we'll soon have things sorted out.
Oh,
she says. I'm picking something up from a servant of mine, you
see. She's right there.
The guard turns to look and sees the car parked at the side of the
street, then turns back. Sorry, your Highness. My orders are nobody
leaves the grounds, for any reason.
She exchanges a look with Jorg. Could you go and get it from her,
then? It's a hat.
The guard frowns, but evidently can't think of any reasonable excuse
not to. He snaps his fingers at the other guard. Go grab it.
Yes, sir,
the other guard says, and jogs over to the car.
I really think you'd best let her highness go,
Jorg says quietly,
now that the other guard is out of earshot. She can look after her
own security, if she needs to.
Well,
the guard says, that ain't what my orders say. Get all the
nobles safely under guard in the Parliament building and wait for
further instructions. Nobody out.
I see,
Jorg says. In that case, it might be best if we -
The guard twitches towards his sidearm, and Jorg's right hand suddenly blurs mid-sentence, driving up into the guard's abdomen, and then as the man folds up, the edge of Jorg's left hand sends him crashing to the pavement, unconscious. A dozen meters away, the guard leaning over the car collapses into the gutter as well, and the door slides open.
Run, ma'am!
Ruby doesn't need to be told twice. She sprints to the car and dives through the door, with Jorg right behind her, and the door's barely closed before they're off at speed. From the front seat, May - another of Ruby's unassuming bodyguards - glances back at her.
Everything alright, ma'am?
Y - yes, I think so, just - just shaken.
Jorg fusses momentarily over her, getting her buckled in. She glances sideways at him.
I thought you said no action-movie behavior, Jorg?
He was about to draw his weapon, ma'am. I think a bit of action-movie
can be excused.
Davis, in the drivers' seat, calls back to her.
Where to, ma'am? Back to the Estate?
She stares out the window for a moment, thinking - scanning the rooftops for more shapes that shouldn't be there. A plan forms in her head.
No. The Republic embassy.
Will do, ma'am. Be about three minutes.
Ruby's met the Republic Ambassador, a tall, greying dominant by the name of Horace Wellsley, a couple of times at state functions. If he's at all surprised by a pair of Republic Marines depositing her and her trio of bodyguards unannounced in his office, he doesn't show it.
Countess Marshall,
he says lightly, as though this was a social
visit.
Ambassador,
she says. We find ourselves your... guests, somewhat
suddenly.
Indeed,
he says. I've heard some very distressing rumors, and I
fear that your presence here serves to confirm at least some of
them. I'm sure you're aware of matters at Parliament?
Ruby nods. The guard force there attempted to prevent us from
leaving. They've apparently been ordered not to let anyone out,
especially the sitting nobles.
The Ambassador grimaces. Yes. I have also heard, from quite reliable
sources, that the planetary police were placed on alert for civil
disturbances... thirty-six hours ago, and effective an hour from now.
Ruby's blood chills. So it's pre-planned, then.
Yes. When I heard, I pulled all my own staff back within the Embassy
compound immediately. We also dispatched a courier boat back towards
Redfen, but it'll take several days for a round trip, and that means
several days before any kind of relief... or rescue. Until then, we'll
have to rely on our own resources.
A sub wearing a military uniform, with a Corporal's stripes on his shoulders, comes into the office without knocking.
Sir, Cap'n Maier sent me to tell you there's a handful of local
police types outside. They're asking after her Highness.
Are they,
the Ambassador says, sounding unimpressed. Well. Tell
them... hm, no, best not to lie. Tell them the Embassy grounds are our
sovereign territory and that if they'd like to -
From outside, in the distance, Ruby hears the faint pop-pop of a pair of gunshots, followed by a long, rattling burst of automatic weapon fire. The Ambassador takes two quick steps to the window and looks out, joined a moment later by the corporal and by Davis. Jorg and May exchange looks, and Jorg gently nudges Ruby away from the windows.
That was from over towards Parliament,
Davis says.
Yep,
says the Corporal. I'd better get back down there, sir. I'll,
ah, convey your regrets to the locals and let them know we're closed.
Go, Corporal,
the Ambassador says, glancing around at Ruby's
bodyguards. I think her Highness and I are in good hands here.
Alright,
Anjali breathes into her headset. Eyes on the Parliament
building. Guard detail's definitely unusual, looks like they're all
armed. Heavy planetary police presence, too. Bit of a crowd gathering
here but they're keeping well back so far.
She's posted up in the perfect hiding place: her own small apartment, which is on the third floor of one of the low buildings ringing the Parliament building. Since there's already something that everyone else is looking at, she looks absolutely unobtrusive: just another ordinary civilian, going about her life and gawking at the clump of police.
Plus, she reflects, there are many less civilized ways to do reconnaisance than from a comfortable armchair, out the window of one's own home. She doesn't even need binoculars, at this distance.
Anyone in or out?
Not this second, but there's a limousine approaching - looks like one
of the nobles, it has standards flying on the front. The gate guards
are waving them in... no, wait, they're stopping. Guards seem
agitated, one of them's gesturing - ah, let me see if I can get a
video feed going, Sir.
Captain Maier breaks in: I'll need you to narrate anyway.
He's in
overall command of the embassy's security detachment, and he's been
listening in on her reports, she guesses.
Will do, Sir. Okay, I've got another guard coming in... looks like an
officer, and pretty pissed. He's gesturing - these guys all look jumpy
as anything. I think he's telling them to get - oh, fuck!
It happens before she can speak, or even think. One of the guards draws his sidearm, raises it and aims into the car's open window; the officer next to him starts to turn, shouting something, and then the guard fires twice into the car. A split second later, a short burst of submachine gun fire rings out, and the guard and officer both drop instantly. The other guards all instantly reach for their weapons, and Anjali jumps out of her chair and takes cover behind the wall below the window. She wants to see what's going on, but not as much as she doesn't want to get hit by a stray bullet.
What happened? Mohindra?
One of the guards just drew his weapon and shot into the car, Sir!
Someone in the car shot back and took out two of the guards. I think
things are about to get really ugly down here.
Her words are punctuated by the snapping reports of a dozen handguns, then another long, wavering burst of automatic weapons fire, and then a moment of dead silence while the stunned crowd realizes what's happening.
Then, the screaming begins.
It's confirmed, Ambassador. Shots fired at Parliament, and there's a
heavy police presence there clearing the area. The situation's
extremely confused but our source got a good look - there was some
kind of shootout between some bodyguards and the Parliament
guards. Whatever's happening is starting.
The Ambassador swears. Is everyone safely inside the compound?
All but a couple. I have two Marines in plain clothes off fetching
one person, and we have a couple of intelligence people still out in
the city... but they can take care of themselves. We'll be locked down
tight soon.
Thank you, Captain. Is the courier away already?
They'll be under way momentarily. I think we can expect to have to
hold out for a few days, minimum.
And can we?
The leader of the Embassy's Marine guards shrugs. If we keep our
heads down and nobody does anything stupid, probably. I have
twenty-eight people total, so we're massively outnumbered by the
locals. If they really decide they want to come in here we'll be hard
put to stop them. Not,
he adds, slightly showing his teeth, that
we'll make it cheap for 'em.
Alright, thank you, Captain. We'll remain carefully neutral and play
for time. Is there anything you need from me?
Not really, Ambassador. Keep the civilians calm if you can. They'll
be looking to you.
The Ambassador grimaces. I'll try.
Captain Maier nods, then salutes. I'll see to the defense. Let's see
if we can't buy enough time for the Navy to get here.
He turns and leaves, and Ruby and the Ambassador exchange a grave look. They're both in deadly peril - and so are all the people that look to both of them for protection and guidance. There's frustratingly little to be done, although... a thought strikes Ruby.
It's still so early,
she says, aloud. They were trying to trap us
in the Parliament building - but they can't have gotten many of the
nobles, can they? They can't have planned for things to start now - so
maybe they aren't fully ready yet. There might still be a chance to
stop things.
Jorg looks up. What are you thinking, ma'am?
The household guard.
And leave the Count unprotected? That seems like a big risk.
Ruby laughs. I'm not sure I could get him to stay behind. No... no, I
don't think he'll be unprotected.
Her chief bodyguard frowns. I don't like it, ma'am.
Well,
she says, I appreciate your opinion, but it's my decision and
it's important, so I'm doing it anyway. I understand that I'm about to
risk many people's lives, and that my husband's is among them. I take
that risk knowingly, because - because not taking it will be worse.
Jorg stares at her for a moment, then says softly: Well, that's why
you're the Countess and I'm not, ma'am.
Ruby pulls her tablet from her purse, grateful that she didn't drop it, and calls her husband.
Sweetheart?
Yes, Mistress?
Bring the household guard - everyone - to Parliament, and meet me
there. There's a chance to stop this before it gets worse.
There are a few seconds of tense silence on the line, and then her
husband simply says: Yes, Mistress. We will be there soon.
Ruby kills the call without another word, then addresses her three bodyguards:
We're about to do something you three like even less, and I'll be
counting heavily on you. We are going to the Parliament building to
meet up with the household guard and retake the building.
Ma'am! You can't. We can't lose you.
Ruby whirls to face May, who is standing by the doorway, looking at
her in horror. Do not,
she grits out, tell me what I cannot do. My
people are about to risk their lives. My husband, the love of my
life, is about to do the same. All of them are doing so at my
orders. I will be there with them. You may follow me or not, as you
like.
May's eyes widen in shock, and she takes an involuntary step backwards. Ruby glares at her.
Sorry, ma'am,
mumbles May. We're - I'll go. I was out of line.
You were,
Ruby says, her anger fading slightly. But I understand
why, and I forgive you. Now. Let's go.
Ma'am,
Jorg says, quietly. We can go, but we ought to go by
car. The streets will be a madhouse.
She glares at him. His thinking is obvious: he'd much rather she be in her nice, safe, armored limousine than out on the streets. He averts his eyes for a moment, then straightens his back and meets her eyes. Tension crackles, then Ruby backs down in the face of his calm.
Fine,
she says. Let's go.
They're decelerating into orbit, Captain. Looks like a couple of them
are heading for the Port, but most are burning for geostationary
parking orbits.
Raina frowns at the main display. They're planning something
planetside, then.
I'd say so, Captain. We'll be entering extreme range in... nine
minutes, at this speed.
Good,
she says, watching the displayed time ticking downwards.
Her sensor officer speaks up: Ma'am, do you want us to wait until
we're in range to go active? Our target solutions are okay but not
great.
Yes,
Raina replies, slowly. We're likely only going to have a
couple of minutes after they detect us, so we'd better make them
count. Stay passive for now.
Yes, ma'am,
the sensor officer says. If he has the faintest quaver
in his voice, nobody else on the bridge crew is in a mood to blame
him.
Good tracks on everything, Admiral. We make it five frigates, three
destroyers, two light cruisers, two heavy cruisers, and one
battlecruiser - she's the Cerberus, for certain.
Perfect,
replies Rear Admiral Claris. Assign targets... but hold
fire until we're in better range. Let's not have a prolonged shootout
in orbit.
Of course, Admiral.
Claris leans back in her chair, pondering the holographic projection of the battle-space in front of her. The pirate fleet is an untidy gaggle of points of red light, just now decelerating to enter orbit on the planet. They're strung out, uncoordinated, except that four of their five heavy units are clumped together. The last heavy cruiser is considerably to the rear of the formation, straggling nearly an hour behind - and is marked with considerably lower confidence than the others, so she must have some kind of stealth systems running. Another stolen military unit, perhaps.
By comparison, her own task group is a tightly-clumped set of blue points: three frigates, four destroyers, four light cruisers, two heavy cruisers... and two battleships. She has a considerable edge in total firepower, and her crews and ships are likely much better. The outcome is almost a foregone conclusion, but the longer the fight goes on, the more chance the pirate fleet will have of landing a lucky hit, so if she can overwhelm them during the initial engagement, she will.
She stares at a particular red dot in the pirate formation, with its little identifying label reading CERBERUS. Ingalls will be there, she thinks... and maybe so will the captive crew. Hopefully, anyway. She frowns. She can order her own ships to try to disable rather than killing, but if they try to do that, her own casualties will certainly rise, and rise considerably. If she thought there was a chance the pirate fleet would surrender, she might try it anyway, but she knows in her heart that Ingalls won't. It's the death penalty anyway for what he's done, so he'll have nothing to lose, and saving the lives of his crew won't mean anything to him.
So no, she concludes unhappily, she can't give that order. Not without trading away some of the lives of her own crews. Unfair though it is, she's going to have to shoot to kill and hope God is merciful to the innocent.
Her flag captain interrupts her darkening thoughts. Targeting
solutions are set, Admiral. Entering extreme range in two minutes.
The Admiral stares at the plot for a moment, comparing times and
distances. Let's close further. Hold fire until they detect us or
we're in better range.
Will do, Admiral.
Ruby, flanked by Jorg, May, and Davis, looks impatiently down the street to the east. Her three bodyguards, now wearing body armor and carrying compact submachine guns, are scanning the surroundings warily. Ruby readjusts her own armor, irritated by its weight. A big part of the reason she has such competent bodyguards is exactly so that she doesn't have to wear body armor, but faced with a united front of all three of them, she gave in, and is wearing a slim, well-fitted vest over her dress.
A car turns onto the street at speed, then a second behind it, and her heart lifts.
There!
Jorg glances down the street and smiles. Finally.
The procession races down the street and halts in front of her; from the half-dozen cars and pair of trucks spill nearly forty members of her household guard. Davis rushes over and helps Arthur down from one of the trucks. He's in full armor and cradling a carbine, but Davis ushers him over to Ruby while Ivan, captain of the guard, forms her troops up. They aren't a military unit, aren't trained as one, but Ruby knows they're better than most of the nobility's household guard, and their training and equipment are both far better than others might expect.
She hopes they're better enough.
Ivan has the guards gathered around him, save for Ruby's three bodyguards, who are forming a triangle around her and Arthur. He's speaking to them, gesturing down the street - towards the Parliament building, just out of sight around a corner.
She moves closer to the conversation so she can hear what's being said.
- usual teams. One, two, and three, you move first; four, five, six,
you move second. Seven, eight, cover our backs. We move up to the
corner, take a quick peek, then we'll hit the east gate hard and
fast. Don't shoot anyone unless you're bloody certain they're going to
shoot you - no more killing than we have to. Everyone clear?
A junior member of her guard speaks up. What the hell's going on,
sir?
Ivan, a former Marine lieutenant and combat veteran, just shrugs. No
idea, but the Parliamentary guard and the police - we can assume
they're hostile.
Another guard blurts out: You want us to get into a shootout with the
police? And the Parliament guards?
If we have to,
he says. Look. It's like this. We don't know what's
going on. Maybe they don't either. If we show up and they surrender,
by all means let's let them, but if not, well - orders from the
Countess.
He glances up at her, and her household guards turn to face her as one. She looks levelly back at their questioning faces.
There's a coup attempt in progress,
she says. We're going to stop
it.
There you go,
Ivan says, in a comforting tone. Now, if her Highness
wants it done, let's get it done.
He waves an arm and leads her guards up the street towards Parliament. Ruby, Arthur, and her bodyguards follow at a respectful distance. They wait anxiously while Ivan peers around the corner.
Four on the east gate,
he says. All armed.
He frowns, looking down
for a moment, then turns to Ruby. What exactly do you want done, your
Highness?
About the guards?
In general. What do you want us to do here?
Retake the Parliament building.
And just... defend it? Rescue people?
It's Ruby's turn to frown, nonplussed. I'm not - I mean, the building
doesn't matter. It's just a building. It's the - it's the government
that matters. We can't let these people take it over.
Ivan risks another look around the corner. We can probably storm the
building, but then we'll need to figure -
Look!
, one of the guards calls out, pointing upwards. Ruby peers
into the morning sky and makes out a flight of five shuttles,
screaming down from orbit towards the city center.
That'll be their reinforcements,
Ivan says. Or ours. Or
neither. Either way, we better get moving quick. We'll sort the rest
later.
He gestures for the guard teams to stack up behind him, counts
silently to three, and then says: Go!
Her household guard rushes en masse out into the street, carbines coming up, and almost before the guards on the gate can react, they're outnumbered almost ten to one. All four of them swiftly raise their hands. Her own guards don't even slow down; they charge through the east gate at a dead run, pounding towards the Parliament building. Ruby can't match their pace, but she trails behind them, with Arthur and her bodyguards, heading too for the seat of the government.
The first handful of her guards are most of the way up the steps before someone reacts decisively; a short burst of gunfire from inside the building drops one of her own people instantly, and her household guard scatters into cover. The enemies on the other gates, alerted by the noise, turn inward towards the Parliament house, suddenly realizing something's amiss. They raise their weapons, and in a moment a chaotic, many-sided firefight has broken out. Ruby's bodyguards hustle her and Arthur out of sight and into cover, and she finds herself pressed flat against one of the building's walls as her little party creeps towards the rear. A pair of parliamentary guards run around a corner directly in front of them and freeze, wide-eyed in shock. May cuts both of them down with a burst from her submachine gun.
Inside! We can't stay out here, your Highness!
Ruby doesn't need to be told twice. The five of them sprint for one of the service entrances to the building, left open and unguarded, and Davis slams the door behind them once they've entered. While she catches her breath, her three bodyguards fan out, searching the area but finding nothing.
Upstairs,
she pants. To the main chamber.
They run up several flights of stairs, and though Ruby's struggling to breathe, she refuses to slow down. As dark spots start creeping into her vision, she reaches the atrium that opens into the main parliamentary chamber. She crouches to catch her breath. Arthur, next to her, doesn't even seem to be breathing hard. Ahead of her, Davis and May toss the doors to the main chamber open, revealing half a dozen nobles being held under guard by four of the planetary police. In a split second both bodyguards have their weapons up, and the police are too slow to react. Davis shouts for them to freeze and, too stunned to do anything else, they do. While Davis covers them, May disarms all four and shepherds them away from the captive nobles.
Duke Marcos?
He looks up at her, tearing his eyes away from her
bodyguards. Countess Marshall? What's going on?
I was hoping you'd know. What happened?
It's that rat bastard Ferris,
the Duke growls. He's running
this. He's gotten control of at least part of the planetary police,
and I think - I think he has other allies, too. Certainly there are
other nobles working with him.
Where is he? Is he here?
Duke Marcos nods. Oh yes. He stopped by earlier, to gloat. He's
definitely here.
Well then,
Ruby says. Let's see if we can't find him and cut the
head off this whole thing. Davis,
she says, take Duke Marcos, the
Count, and the others upstairs to my office, barricade yourselves
there, and see that no harm comes to them.
Yes, ma'am,
Davis says, still watching the four planetary police
over the sights of his submachine gun.
Marcos gives Ruby a look. Trading one captor for another, I see. If
you're going to confront Duke Ferris, I'd rather come with you.
She shrugs. Suit yourself. Davis, Arthur, you two get to my
office. The rest of you,
she says to the other seated nobles, can go
with them if you like. Or not. May, Jorg, come on.
Your Highness?
She looks up at the atrium entrance - it's Ivan, calling for her. She, May, and Jorg jog to the entrance.
Her guard captain's face is grim, and he's bleeding from a cut on his cheek.
They've got a lot of reinforcements coming up, and it's not just
regular police - I think there's a tactical unit out there too. We're
falling back inside the building. Got about twenty of our people
left.
She stares at him, wide-eyed. So few?
They lost more, your Highness, but there's a lot more of 'em and we
started the fight in the open. It couldn't be helped.
She looks up, sees a few of her own guards staggering into the building, carrying a couple of wounded between them. Several more take up positions covering the doorway.
Well, now what?
Practically speaking, your Highness, we're trapped. If you have help
you can call, this might be the time.
You're the help, Ivan.
Well,
he says, swapping a fresh magazine into his carbine. In that
case, we'll do what we can, but it's only a matter of time, if they're
getting reinforcements and we aren't.
She looks toward the open doorway for a moment, thinking. She acted rashly, and now she's put her whole group into a deadly trap. Perhaps if she surrenders, the rest of them will be able to...
Flag! White flag outside, ma'am!
The noise of gunfire slowly ceases, and then there's a long, silent minute, before one of her guards calls back:
It's Duke Ferris, ma'am. He wants to talk to you, outside.
Well. This is how it ends, she supposes. She trades looks with Jorg and May, who look mutinous. Jorg opens his mouth to speak, then snaps it shut again when she glares at him.
If he hurts you, ma'am...
May says, an undertone of fury in her voice.
He won't,
Ruby says, with much more confidence than she feels. I'm
much more use alive.
I hope you're right,
Jorg says, anxiety written all over his face.
There's no other choice, anyway,
she says. Come on, let's go.
She walks past her own guards, still crouched behind cover in the entryway, and out into the sunlight, with Jorg and May flanking her. Duke Ferris, surrounded by half a dozen of his own household guards, sneers when he sees her.
Countess Marshall,
he says, in the same oily tones he might use if
this were an ordinary social call, I might have known you'd be
interfering.
And I,
she says coolly, might have known you'd manage to bungle a
coup. Surely you know the rest of the nobility won't go in for this,
and Marcos and the others you have in there won't be enough
leverage. It'll be civil war.
Oh,
he says, I don't think so. You see, Countess -
and then a
shuttle roars by low overhead. - I have allies in orbit. An entire
fleet of them, in fact. Anyone who decides to resist will be swiftly
crushed, although I doubt they'll be brave enough to even try -
especially after I make an example of your own citizens.
Ruby gapes at him. You can't be serious.
I have but to say the word,
Duke Ferris gloats, and the warships in
orbit will launch kinetic strikes against every settlement in Marshall
County. Would you like me to prove it?
Ruby shudders. You're a monster.
The Duke gives her a cold, reptilian look. You don't even know what a
true monster is, Countess, but you'll find out in time. I'm going to
-
Just then, high in the sky above, a pinprick of light appears - then another, and another, clustered all about the tiny black specks of the pirate fleet. Drawn by the motion, Ruby looks up and gasps. The Duke whirls, turning his gaze upwards, just in time to see the brilliant flash of a starship dying.
Christ, Admiral! That heavy cruiser at the back just went active and
snap-launched at both the light cruisers. She's gotten a second volley
off, too - looks like they're all concentrated on the light cruisers
as well.
My God,
Rear Admiral Claris breathes. She's not with them? She's a
Zone Patrol cruiser and she's taking them all on by herself!?
Looks it, Admiral.
Are we in range?
Sure are, but it's about another ninety seconds to optimal.
Optimal doesn't matter any more, Captain. Open fire right now - but
don't hit that cruiser at the back!
It's a picture-perfect surprise attack, and if the odds were better than twelve to one, they might've even gotten away with it. Unfortunately, she thinks with a grimace, they aren't, and so they won't. The pirates, shocked to find themselves under attack and scattered into an ineffective formation, are slow to react. One light cruiser dies outright when her fusion bottle ruptures, and the second is a dying hulk, but the rest of the pirates are coming into action now and the Countess Marshall is being painted by targeting radar. Any moment now, the pirates will launch their counter-volley, and she, her crew, and her beautiful ship will die.
Well, there are worse ways to go.
Ma'am!
The sensor officer calls. Contact - many contacts, close!
Over a dozen, ma'am! They're going active - holy God! Missile launch!
The tactical display suddenly flickers wildly as the newcomers' jammers come online. A moment later, the Countess's computer systems filter the noise away, and Raina gapes at the tactical display. The new fleet has launched over a hundred missiles in one gargantuan volley, and those missiles are boosting hard towards the pirate fleet. None of them seem to be aimed at the Countess - for now.
Hail them!
, Raina snaps. Identify and let them know we're not
hostile!
Doing so, Captain,
her comms officer replies, but Raina doesn't hear
it. She's too busy watching the wave of missiles stampeding towards
the disorganized, stunned pirate fleet, and she smiles hungrily at the
main display, watching the distance tick down.
Camellia groans, rolling onto her other side within the cramped confines of her cage and trying to find some small measure of comfort. The post-hyper nausea is horrible, far worse than she's ever experienced before, and it's taking every ounce of her strength to keep herself from vomiting. On Ingalls' bed, painfully outside touching range, Julia is whimpering, and the stench of fear and suffering emanating from her fills the cabin and makes everything that much worse.
There's a tiny noise from just outside the cabin door, and Camellia looks up, sickening fear rising up to choke her. When he - when Master - had hurt her last night, had made Julia watch while he hurt her - he'd gloated that he'd be finished with them soon. He'd said that he was going to sieze the destiny he really deserved, the power and the wealth he'd been denied for so long. Once he had that, he'd told her, he'd have no further use for her or her XO, nor any of the rest of her surviving crew, and so he'd give her a front-row seat to... to what would come next.
The door slides open, and instead Janey peeks cautiously around the doorframe. Seeing that Ingalls isn't there, the cabin-girl steps inside and shuts the door behind her. She's carrying a small stack of food containers, and although Camellia can't think of anything she wants less than to eat right now, she'll have to force herself anyway. Second chances to eat are not given. Janey kneels and silently offers one through the bars of the cage; Camellia takes the container and sets it on the floor. Janey gets to her feet, wincing, and sets another container on the bedside table by Julia -
The world suddenly heaves madly, and Camellia is thrown bodily against the bars. The lights abruptly die, and she finds herself suddenly in darkness. She hears Janey and Julia both scream, then the cabin's dim red emergency lights flicker on. The ship shudders again, and she hears the spike-chilling wail of the atmosphere loss alarm. Any spacer, hearing that tone, will instantly don a softsuit and helmet... which Camellia can't do, trapped in her cage.
She curses under her breath, then gathers herself. A sharp pain as she does so lets her know that she has at least one broken rib, but she grits her teeth, gets to her hands and knees, and looks around in the gloom. Julia's unconscious on the floor next to Ingalls' bed, moaning softly, and Camellia can see what looks like a spray of blood underneath her. She stamps down a sudden feeling of despair and looks around for Janey. The cabin-girl is huddled in a corner, face a mask of absolute terror - but she's alive and conscious, at least.
Camellia coughs wetly. Janey?
The sub looks over at her, trembling. Her eyes lock onto Camellia's.
Janey,
Camellia croaks out. Get into a suit.
Janey gives her an uncomprehending look, and Camellia curses again in frustration. Janey's a slave taken from planetside in Ladeva, and she's never actually been to space except aboard the Cerberus - and the pirates never bother with things like teaching their slaves basic space-safety drills. She swallows and pitches her voice slightly more firmly.
The emergency box. In the corner above you. Open it.
Janey whimpers in fear, but pulls herself to her feet, doing as Camellia says. She manages to undo the latches on the box and it pops open.
Good,
Camellia tells her. Grab the suits and the first aid
kit. Set them on the deck.
Janey does so, and Camellia carefully coaches her through putting her the survival suit on. Unfortunately there are only two suits, so either she or Julia will have to do without, but at least that's an easy choice. She talks Janey through getting the half-conscious Julia suited as well. The atmosphere alarm stops shrieking, which is hopefully a good sign, but the lights are still down. Once Julia and Janey are both suited, there's nothing left to be done but wait. At Camellia's direction, Janey gently moves Julia next to the cage, then curls up against the side of it herself. Camellia lays one hand on each of them, feeling the slick softsuit material under her fingertips, and feels a curious sensation of peace washing over her. Julia has an obvious head injury which she can't treat, and Janey is still visibly trembling inside her suit, but at least she's done this one small thing for the two of them. If this section of the ship loses pressure, the two subs will have at least some chance, and that's... well, it's something.
The ship shudders again, and gravity abruptly vanishes; Camellia grabs quickly for both subs, holding them against the bars of her cage.
Janey whimpers. What's happening, Miss?
We're fighting, I think. Probably not winning.
Are we going to die?
I hope not. Listen, Janey, I have something very important for you to
do, okay? If this part of the ship loses air, your suits will keep you
alive for a bit. If that happens, I need you to... to take Julia, and
try to get her somewhere safe. You understand? I need you to be brave
for me.
Janey gives a jerky nod. I'll do my best, Miss.
Good girl,
Camellia murmurs. For now I don't think there's
anything to do but wait and do our best to keep calm.
A few tense minutes pass; Camellia clutches the two subs tightly, telling herself it's because of the lack of gravity. The cabin lights flicker back to life and the background hum of Cerberus' primary life-support systems returns. Gravity abruptly reasserts itself, and Julia, still semi-conscious, moans in pain as she suddenly slumps onto the floor. Camellia's grip on the bars of her cage tightens until it's painful, but there's nothing she can do for Julia from in here.
She feels the slightest tremor in the ship, and briefly lets go of Janey to touch her bare hand to the deck below. She can just barely feel a steady vibration through the plates, which probably means the Cerberus is on the move again, burning hard and fast. Whatever battle they just fought, it seems like it's over.
The sensor officer's voice is quiet: Well, Captain, I think we've
found our pirates.
Dakota frowns at the main tactical display. It does seem that way,
doesn't it. This over here must be the rest of the task force... and
this'll be the pirate fleet.
Mark grunts his agreement. Looks like the pirates got the worst of
it.
That's quite an understatement: of the thirteen pirates the
Kobold's passive sensors can detect at this range, only four are
radiating any emissions at all, and only two are under engine power. The
rest are all dying hulks and shattered wrecks. From what the Kobold can see,
they didn't get a single kill in reply either. It must've been a
near-perfect ambush by Admiral Claris, and Dakota smiles grimly at the thought.
Captain,
says the sensor officer. One contact is starting to
break away from the rest of the pirates. It looks like they're making a
run for the hyper limit, and they're being mighty quick about it.
In
time with the man's words, the display's projection of the battle scene
zooms in on a single point of light and a lengthening velocity vector appears.
Any ID on it?
Negative, Captain, but she's one of the largest. I have her streaming
atmosphere and her emissions are erratic, so she must be hurt pretty
bad, but she's burning hard. She's got some pretty good stealth systems
as well, because we're not holding contact too well.
Dakota taps one of the arms of their command chair, considering the tactical picture. The fleeing pirate is burning practically straight away from Admiral Claris' fleet, and was probably already near the edge of weapon range to begin with. Possibly the Admiral's light units could catch her - possibly. On the other hand, running directly away from the Admiral is sending her directly towards the Kobold... which is a patrol frigate, and doesn't really have any business fighting a ship that size.
They glance at Mark. He's also looking thoughtfully at the tactical
picture, and probably thinking much along the same lines they are. They
force a bit of humor into their voice: Think we can take them,
sir?
He flashes them a smile. Any day of the week, Captain.
Dakota gives a small nod. They're outclassed, probably hugely so, but their opponent already has what must be severe battle damage. They're also running almost directly towards the Kobold, which means the frigate won't have to maneuver much to get in position and can set up for a knife-range ambush. Even better, the pirate's speed will carry them quickly past the Kobold, so they aren't at much risk of getting sucked into a prolonged engagement - as long as they can survive whatever immediate counterattack the pirate can get off, they can probably break contact. If they're very lucky, they'll be able to disable her altogether, preventing her from hypering away, and then the Admiral's task force can capture her later.
Yes, Dakota thinks. It's a risky plan, dangerous even, but it has a good
chance of working. Preventing a heavy pirate unit from escaping is well
worth risking their ship for. They nod to themselves and straighten in
their command chair. Alright,
they say, quietly. Here's what
we're going to do...
Camellia is dragged onto the bridge and tossed unceremoniously onto the floor, which sends a shock of pain radiating from her ribcage. She groans in pain, then rough hands sieze her by the upper arms and drag her into a kneeling position. She knows better than to look up, and keeps her eyes on the deck, breath coming as short, painful gasps. A gloved hand digs harshly into her hair and she finds her head forced upward, bringing her Master into her field of view.
He's visibly radiating fury, angrier than Camellia has ever seen him before, and she flinches away from actually looking at his face. Luckily, his attention isn't on her - he's glaring at a trio of his own officers, who are kneeling on the deck opposite, with the weapons of several armed pirates trained on them. He growls, releases his grip on her hair, and stalks across the deck towards the kneeling pirates.
Attention everyone,
he says, and after a moment's delay she hears
his voice resonating throughout the ship from every speaker. He sounds
unbelievably, absurdly calm, as though he was a merchant captain giving
a routine announcement. We had a little incident with the power and
gravity recently, and I wanted to reassure any of you that were worried
that it was nothing to do with our scrap with the Republic Navy. In
fact, it was caused by a group of -
and here his mask of calm cracks
for just a moment and she hears the rage bubbling
beneath rats, traitors, who tried to sell every one of us
out to the Republic. Tried to sell you out. Well, they failed, and every
one of you knows how we deal with traitors.
With that, he kills the comm link, leaving his last words hanging in the air. All three of the kneeling pirates look terrified; two of them are staring at the deck, while one looks stubbornly up at Ingalls.
Andreyevich,
Ingalls spits, as though it's an
insult. Wherever you go, these two always seem to follow - so I know
what brought them into your pathetic little mutiny. Why you, though?
The pirate officer says nothing, but the studious way he keeps his eyes on Ingalls gives him away. Ingalls growls, draws his sidearm, and aims it directly at Camellia. She doesn't bother flinching. At this point, him shooting her would be a kindness, and she looks at him with grim resignation. The captive pirate's glance flickers to her just slightly, though - to the just-barely-perceptible swell of her belly.
Ingalls' eyes widen in recognition. You - that's your baby in her, is
it?
The other man sets his jaw but does not reply. You,
Ingalls says, are a world class fucking idiot. I might've known you'd
knock up one of the fucking slaves and get a bunch of feelings
about it. What the hell did you think would happen? You'd just take
over my ship, turn us all over to the Navy, and you two'd ride
off into the sunset happily ever after? Eh?
In fact,
Ingalls goes on, you've actually made things a whole
lot fucking worse for her and that baby of hers.
He shifts his aim
from Camellia's head to the other pirate's, and Camellia sees the
kneeling man tremble slightly. I was going to just sell her off once
all the business in Sofia was done,
Ingalls says, but now I'm
going to have to make a fucking example of her, so I'll tell you what
I'm going to do. I'm keeping her for the rest of her miserable goddamn
life, and I will personally see to it that she's hungry, cold, and
hurting for every single fucking second of it - and once she has that
baby, Andreyevich, I'm going to make sure that child never knows
anything but suffering. Do you understand me? Do you understand what
you've fucking signed her up for?
Ingalls turns to face her, and she doesn't need to see his face to know
that he's deadly, deadly serious. She swallows, terror starting to choke
her. He smirks, seeing her fear, then turns back to Andreyevich and
presses his gun against the man's forehead. You're going to your
grave knowing how badly you failed her, Andreyevich. Take it to hell
with you.
He tightens his finger on the trigger momentarily... then
releases it, grunts, and holsters his pistol. He turns to address the
half-dozen armed pirates covering the three men.
Space them.
The three pirates, despite being handcuffed and on their knees, try to struggle. They have no chance, and in short order all three of them are dragged from the bridge. The hatch slides shut behind them with a faint click, and the sudden silence is deafening. Ingalls glares at the closed door for a moment, then tosses himself into his command chair. He glances over his shoulder at Camellia, then snaps his fingers, pointing at the deck next to his chair. She's well trained, and she crawls over to kneel next to him. He grabs her by the collar and her skin crawls under his touch.
Seems like it's not just me you're submissive enough for, slut.
She winces, eyes down. Yes, Master,
she says, woodenly.
He chuckles, then addresses the rest of his bridge crew. How bad is
it, anyway?
Ah... all three reactors back online, Cap'n, and most systems are
back up. Some light battle damage. Part of deck six is open to space but
it's contained and we're patching it. Something's fucked up with
tactical, though - not sure where we are on weapons or targeting.
Ingalls listens silently, then grunts. Good enough. We're what, six
hours from the hyper limit?
Yes, cap'n,
reports another officer. Direct course for Ladeva?
Yeah. We'll get there, get refit, then swing back in here and wipe
this sorry little state off the fucking map.
He briefly looks up at
the Cerberus' main tactical display, pondering it. I wonder if Ferris
set this up?
Cap'n?
A little bit convenient that a big Republic Navy task force
happens to be here right when the plan's supposed to go off, don't you
think? And we end up taking all the lumps? I wonder if he was just
trying to get us off the board.
His XO makes a thoughtful noise. Don't think the Duke's really smart
enough for that, Cap'n.
Ingalls barks a harsh laugh. Yeah, maybe. Either way, when we get
back I'll have a nice little conversation with him and
we'll... straighten all this out. I don't really think he'll -
The sensor officer interrupts him. Captain! Contact, very close -
active contact! We're being illuminated... range under a million
kilometers, Captain!
Ingalls freezes. What the f-?
Dakota's never been this afraid before. Around them, their crew are sitting rigid in their seats, staring tensely at their displays, and Dakota can almost taste the fear from them, too. They don't blame the crew at all - they're about to engage an enemy who hugely outmasses and outguns the Kobold, and only a couple of them have seen any real combat before. It's the Kobold's first-ever shooting engagement, and there's a very real risk that it could be their last.
It's taken nearly forty minutes of increasingly difficult waiting to slowly nudge the Kobold into the perfect position ahead of the fleeing pirate battlecruiser, which is plenty of time for Dakota to second-guess themselves over and over. They genuinely can't tell whether this plan is brave, stupid, or both, and an acid little voice in their head is trying to convince them that they're taking an unjustifiable risk out of some ridiculous need to prove to others - and to themselves - that they have what it takes to make tough decisions. They aren't even sure if that voice is wrong. Perhaps there's some truth to it. Either way, they're not backing away the decision now.
The range to the battlecruiser finally drops close to the projected minimum, passing by the Kobold well within laser range.
Do it,
Dakota snaps.
The weapons officer, who has been sitting statue-still with her hands in her lap, flips the cover on the guarded WEAPONS RELEASE switch and presses it. On the tactical display, thirty-two points of light - the Kobold's entire missile load, launched and left inert over the past few minutes of preparation - suddenly blaze brightly as their drives go active, diving for the nearby target. At this range, even the Cerberus' automatic point defenses will have very little time to react, and if things go well, they could land a killing blow.
Dakota's not counting on it, though. The Kobold is spinning on her long axis, and moments after the missiles ignite, her starboard laser batteries come to bear on the battlecruiser and her tactical computers fire. X-rays flash across the void; the range is incredibly short and even the Kobold's relatively light weapons tear enormous gashes in the Cerberus' hull plating. The laser batteries' capacitors drain in an instant, and a half-second later, the ship's roll brings the port batteries to bear on the target. Dakota bares their teeth as the second volley lashes the battlecruiser, but there's no time to celebrate their successful ambush now - they have to clear the range, and quickly.
Nav? Your turn!
Yes, Captain!
The Kobold begins accelerating, ignoring the
normal safety rules and burning as hard and fast as they can along the
opposite of the battlecruiser's vector. It's the fastest way to get
away, and if they're lucky, they'll be able to get out and evade contact
before the Cerberus can react. Dakota grips their command chair. In the
next few minutes, they'll find out whether this plan was clever after
all, although if it turns out that it wasn't, they probably won't have
the opportunity to learn from the experience. A distant part of their
mind watches the missile volley starting to detonate around the
battlecruiser, but their eyes are locked firmly on the
distance-to-target display as they silently urge it upwards.
Raina and the rest of her crew are still in shock from their close brush with death. If the Republic fleet had waited a single minute more, she thinks to herself, the Countess would probably have been reduced to wreckage by the pirate fleet's counterattack. As it was, the Republic Navy's first missile salvo had done relatively little damage - but it hadn't mattered, in the end. The pirate fleet, suddenly realizing they were facing an entire naval task group while they themselves were already disorganized and out of position, had come apart instantly and degenerated into a gaggle of individual and uncoordinated ships, each trying to run for their lives. The results had been extremely one-sided, and Raina doubts that even a single Republic Navy ship was seriously damaged.
The Countess got away with only light battle damage, and over the past hour or so they've been gradually gaining on the largest of the fleeing pirates - a battlecruiser, which also managed to escape the larger engagement mostly unscathed. Her quarry outmasses the Countess considerably, but on the other hand, Raina's crew is certainly better, and more importantly they aren't busy trying to run away. It will probably still be an ugly engagement, but with her speed advantage she should be able to damage her larger opponent, then keep her distance and whittle them down. If things are getting ugly, she ought to be able to disengage and regroup. The battle in orbit is won, anyway - this is about making sure none of the pirates can return to make trouble later.
Um, ma'am?
Raina turns in her chair to look at Janicki, her sensor
officer. Yes?
There's a little... I think our target might be a little more damaged
than we thought. They're trailing a bit of atmosphere, and their
emissions are a little bit... well, it looks off.
Raina walks over to stand behind Janicki and resists the urge to lay a
comforting hand on the woman's shoulder. She seems like she took their
recent collective brush with death harder than most, and Raina can feel
the edge of fear in how she carries herself. Let's see?
Janicki zooms her display in a bit. See these faint reflections
falling behind? Atmospheric gases and debris.
It's not important, but Raina's glad Janicki has something to focus on
other than being worried. Suddenly, the display changes and a new, faint
contact appears next to the fleeing pirate. A large debris piece?
Janicki frowns. No, ma'am,
she says, tapping her front
teeth. It's an active contact, but we're just getting backscatter
from it because it's so close to the - oh my God!
It's the Kobold, Raina realizes in an instant. They must've made the
trip back from Ladeva shortly after the pirate fleet did and been
coasting silently towards the engagement the entire time. The fleeing
battlecruiser has practically run straight into her, and Dakota -
Captain Easton - has executed a beautiful ambush. She flings herself
back into her command chair. On the main screen, Ensign!
The tactical picture takes over the bridge's main display, and every officer can instantly tell what's going on: the little Republic frigate has somehow gotten herself practically into knife range and dumped her entire missile load in one volley. Raina watches the missiles flare suddenly on the display as they ignite, and at that range, the battlecruiser's point defenses have mere seconds to react. Of the thirty-two missiles, they get nearly a third. The frigate burns hard, directly opposite the battlecruiser's course (and Raina's own), and the pirate crew manages only a single return salvo before the Kobold passes out of their range. The frigate, rolling and twisting to unmask her own point defenses, manages to down five of the six answering missiles... but a single one gets through and detonates just astern of the smaller ship.
Raina's blood suddenly runs cold as the Kobold's engines abruptly die and all her active emissions go dark. Even a single one of the battlecruiser's heavier missiles could have done crippling or even lethal damage to the frigate, and a vision of Dakota and their crew desperately scrambling to survive rises unbidden. On the other hand, the pirate battlecruiser has just been hammered by nearly twenty fusion warheads and is now a shattered wreck, spinning wildly; it could have as many as a thousand people on board, perhaps even more. The Kobold is damaged, likely severely, but the Cerberus is practically destroyed and unless they act quickly whatever survivors there are will run out of air in their softsuits and lifeboats. She clenches her fists in frustration, but she knows what she has to do. Besides, she tells herself, the Kobold's course is taking her in-system and towards the Republic fleet, while the Cerberus is tumbling wildly towards deep space. If she doesn't affect a rescue, nobody else will.
Get us alongside that battlecruiser immediately,
she
snaps. And hail the Kobold - let anyone who's still alive over there
know that we'll come for them as soon as we can.
She stares at her
display, half-listening as her bridge crew enact her orders, watching
the other two lonely points of light separating and whispering a prayer.
As the shuttle starts to burn to match the Cerberus' rotation, Raina gets her first real look at how bad the damage is. The battlecruiser is tumbling in all three axes, and the shuttle has to maneuver hard to line up with one of the larger ship's hangars. Luckily for Raina she's always had an iron stomach, but Crane is looking decidedly green inside his softsuit. Although he's a genius engineer Raina knows he's quite prone to motion sickness, and she hopes for his sake the Cerberus still has artificial gravity.
They peer out one of the shuttle's portholes together, and Raina doesn't have to be a genius engineer herself to tell how dire the Cerberus' situation is. Huge sections of the battlecruiser's armor have been simply blasted away or melted into slag under the hammer blows of two dozen fusion warheads. The entire forward third of the ship is crumpled and twisted like a discarded child's toy. Deep gashes are carved down her flanks, likely by the Kobold's short-range laser weapons, and in a couple of places Raina thinks that she might be able to see clean through the battlecruiser. The devastation looks total, and her heart sinks as she imagines the likely death toll.
Beside her, Crane makes a thoughtful noise, then says only: Wow.
Raina grimaces. Yeah. Well, we'll have to see what the situation
is. I doubt they have life support over there and it'd be a miracle if
we can get it back.
Yeah,
Crane says slowly. We'll see. The Marines say there's
still atmosphere in some places, and one of the reactors might not be
destroyed. There are layers and layers of redundant systems and
protection, so we might have more to work with than you'd think. We'll
see.
The shuttle lurches, and suddenly the Cerberus appears almost stationary in space and they start their final approach burn. Raina sits back in her seat and glances at the wrist display on her softsuit. The Cerberus has only partial atmosphere, so everyone has to stay suited up at all times; her Marines are in proper hardsuits intended for combat in hard vacuum, but she, Crane, and the handful of engineers sharing the shuttle are all in their usual shipboard softsuits instead. The softsuits are more comfortable and easier to work in, but also provide zero protection if someone does happen to shoot any of them. Luckily, she thinks to herself, she'll have a bunch of Marines around to prevent that from happening. Still, cornered pirates aren't the most reasonable bunch, and things could turn nasty quickly.
There's a gentle bump as the shuttle makes contact with the
Cerberus. Raina is the first one to the door; in the Cerberus' docking
bay, a quartet of armored Marines are waiting to recieve them. A
corporal steps forward and greets her with a salute. Welcome aboard,
Ma'am, with Lieutenant Hastings' compliments.
Raina gives him a nod. Thank you, Corporal. Where's the Lieutenant?
With the team clearing the area around the bridge, Ma'am. If you'll
come with me, I can take you to him.
He glances over her shoulder
and spots Crane and his half-dozen engineers unloading equipment from
the shuttle. Ah! Lieutenant Crane?
Crane looks up. One and the same.
We're very glad to see you, Sir. Sergeant Kazinsky's waiting for you
in the engineering bridge. These two -
he gestures over his shoulder
at two of the Marines - will escort you down there once you're
ready.
He turns back to Raina. Shall we, Ma'am?
She smiles. Lead on, Corporal.
The silent, dimly-lit battlecruiser is profoundly unsettling. Raina's never been aboard a dead starship before, and she hadn't realized until now how much she's used to the gentle hum of life support and the warm glow of multispectrum lights. The Cerberus has only emergency lighting, and every little sound of their movement - even of her own breathing - is amplified by the stillness. A couple of times she half-glimpses movement out of the corner of her eye, or thinks she does, and turns to look down corridors they pass, but there's nothing. The Corporal fills the silence somewhat by getting her up to speed on the situation aboard.
It's a real f- a real mess, Ma'am. A lot of the poor bastards weren't
in suits at all when they got hit, and it's just... well, I'll just say
that we found the barracks they had for their slaves, and you don't want
to go in there. Everyone that's still alive, we've moved into any
atmosphere-tight places we can find and gotten them into what suits we
can, but it's a big ship and there's only so many of us.
Any resistance?
We haven't made it onto the main bridge yet, but outside there, just
a couple of individual idiots, Ma'am. Nobody seems to feel much like
fighting it out right now.
He gives a humorless chuckle. I guess
at this point most of them would rather just surrender - and that's the
pirates, even. The slaves we've been finding... haven't seen anyone that
happy to see a Marine in a long time, if you know what I mean.
Raina frowns. How many survivors are there?
Close to four hundred, Ma'am. A tight squeeze on the Countess, for
sure. Ah, here we are.
He leads her around a corner in the hallway, and a dozen armored figures
come into view. One of them, with a Lieutenant's stripes stencilled on
his armor, touches his fist to his chest in salute. Welcome aboard,
Captain. Good work, Corporal. Back with your team now.
Of course, Sir,
says the Corporal, saluting and turning away.
I got some of the situation from the Corporal,
Raina says, but
he mentioned we haven't taken the bridge yet. What's going on?
Ah,
says the Lieutenant. So, we can, ah, make an entrance
whenever you'd like, Captain, but we've... established communications
with the bridge crew, and it sounds like it could be a bit of a - a
delicate situation. They apparently have some hostages in there.
The hair on Raina's neck stands up. What kind of hostages?
Apparently, they had a handful of Zone Patrol among their slaves, and
a few captured Republic Navy people as well. They're threatening to
shoot them out of hand at the moment, and they said they want to talk to
you.
Raina mutters a curse to herself. Alright, let's see what they
want. Patch me in.
The man that appears on Raina's wrist display looks utterly... ordinary, more like a civil servant than the popular imagination of a pirate captain. He's utterly calm and collected; if he has any emotional reaction to the fact that he's holding a kneeling submissive at gunpoint, it doesn't show on his face. They might as well be discussing cargos, Raina thinks, except for something unspeakable looking at her out of the depths of the man's eyes, there to see if you look hard enough. Behind her, she can make out at least two other armed figures, both in boarding armor, and three more kneeling hostages.
Do I have the honor of addressing the captain of our... rescuer?
Straight to business, then. You do. Captain Raina Drake, Macohu Zone
Patrol. And you are...?
Kane Ingalls, Captain, formerly of the Republic Navy. Lately
of... well, I'm a bit of a free agent. I'll cut immediately to the
chase. You have the advantage at the moment, and I'd like to negotiate
safe passage for me and my comrades here.
Raina can't help showing her surprise. And in exchange for that, you
would offer me...?
Not detonating this ship immediately,
he says with no apparent
feeling. There are some hundreds of people aboard, many of them
captives of ours. I assume you don't want that on your conscience... or
the deaths of yourself and your crew, for that matter. I'd die too, but
if I'm going to die anyway... may as well go out with a particularly big
bang, no?
Raina glances sideways at Lieutenant Hastings, who's also listening in. She raises an eyebrow, and the man shrugs noncommittally. So, no idea whether the threat's real or not. Not good.
An interesting offer,
she deadpans to hide her own
nerves. What exactly were you planning on taking safe passage on?
He sounds amused: If you pass my request on to your high command,
you'll find that they'll be happy to supply us with a hyper-capable
yacht. We'll be taking a handful of the most valuable hostages with us,
to be released once we reach a more, ah, hospitable port.
Raina grunts. I suppose I'd better do that, then.
She kills the
link without further ceremony, then turns to the Lieutenant.
So,
she says. Obviously, we're not doing that. Lightspeed
delay is about an hour from here, so we've got a couple of hours to work
with before he can expect a reply. Can we get into the bridge?
Physically, I mean?
The Lieutenant looks thoughtful. With enough explosives, sure, but
we'll probably get a lot of those hostages killed. We're not special
forces or R&P, Captain. Sorry.
Raina frowns. Well, we're not going to find any kind of detonator
they've hidden in a couple of hours, and I'm not sure we should even
try. If they do have one, we might all be dead really quick. What do you
think are the odds they actually wired the ship to blow? Could they even
do that?
I kind of doubt it, Captain. This thing's a warship, and a big one,
and I may just be a Marine but I'm pretty sure they build these
specifically so they don't blow up. I suppose you could
overload one of the fusion reactors, but those are all cold metal
right now anyway. I mean, what else would you do it with? Maybe they
have a warhead or two stashed somewhere? But still, she took more than
twenty nukes already, so clearly she's one tough bitch, if you'll
pardon the language. I think he's bluffing, personally.
Raina swallows. She has a high-stakes gamble to take with many, many
lives on the line. She takes a breath, holds it, and lets it
out. Alright. Here's what we're going to do...
Every passing minute ratchets the tension on the bridge higher. Camellia has been kneeling, hands cuffed behind her, for God knows how long. A dull burning ache started in her knees and has been radiating steadily up her thighs, and she's trembling with the effort of holding the position. From the corner of her eye she can see Julia, shivering in the chilly air and also trying her best to stay still. The pirates are prowling around the bridge like caged animals, eyeing their kneeling captives hungrily, and Camellia has to exert every last ounce of self-control to keep herself from moving when she sees Julia's head dip. The sub - her sub, her body screams at her - is exhausted and terrified, and to do anything other than hold her and comfort her is intolerable, but tolerate it she must or they're both dead. She holds her breath when one of the pirates nudges Julia's head back up with his gun, but Julia swallows, straightens her back, and stares straight ahead.
Camellia heard Ingalls' ultimatum, as did all the other hostages on the bridge, and she heard her own doom in it. She doesn't know what the local government will do, but the choices are pretty simple: either they'll give into Ingalls' demands, in which case he'll bring both her and Julia with him, or they won't, in which case he'll shoot them trying to get his way. She finds herself hoping for the latter; at least it would be an escape. She doesn't know if he was serious about blowing the ship up - she believes he'd do it if he could, she just doesn't know if he can. At least if he does, it'll be a painless ending. As she looks at the life stretched out in front of her if she doesn't die today, a painless way out doesn't sound like such a bad thing.
A low chime, incredibly loud in the silent bridge, turns every head - including one of the hostages, an older woman Camellia doesn't know who earns a brutal blow from the butt of a pirate's carbine. Ingalls gestures at the main display, and Camellia can just barely make out a woman in naval uniform there.
Captain Ingalls,
the woman says, with palpable
bitterness. Zone Patrol command has decided to... accept your
request, and dispatched a hyper-capable yacht to this position. It will
be here in - about three hours.
Ingalls leaps out of his command chair. Perfect, thank you
Captain. As soon as it arrives and we're safely aboard I'll be happy to
reveal how to disarm the explosives, and the Cerberus is yours for the taking.
Indeed,
the woman says. I will be in contact.
She kills the link unceremoniously, and Ingalls barks a laugh. I
knew it,
he says. They're all so fucking soft.
This
gets an answering laugh from the other pirates, and Camellia feels them
relaxing now that they're getting what they want. A few more tense hours
and they'll be aboard their yacht, heading wherever they want to
head... and Camellia knows in her heart that Ingalls isn't done with her
or Julia, that he'll bring them with him. Worse, he might just bring
Julia and leave Camellia here, knowing she'll never see the woman she's
become so deeply attached to ever again. Impotent fury churns in her
chest, but there's nothing she can do, nothing at all that won't just
get her or Julia or both killed more quickly and certainly. She just has
to -
There's a sudden explosion of sound and light, and Camellia watches, frozen to the spot, as the bridge hatchway disappears in a rolling peal of thunder. A split second later, armored figures are darting through, weapons up, and the dull crack of weapons fire is deafeningly loud. The pirates, caught off-guard, have no chance and in moments half of them are already down. Ingalls, however, is still up, and Camellia watches, horrified, as he swings his own weapon towards the hostages - towards Julia. He knows his time is up, she thinks, and he's going to take this one last cruel act of revenge on the world, and there's nothing she can do about it. Even as she finishes the thought, she's already uncoiling from the floor, driven by an instinct older than humanity, and her last conscious act is to hurl herself bodily into Ingalls. She hears a bang close by, feels a sudden blossoming of pain in her chest, and then she falls to the deck, darkness closing in to take her. Her last conscious memory is Julia's cry of anguish.
The next thing Camellia remembers is a dull sensation of total disconnection from her body, as though everything that's happening to her is on the other side of a heavy curtain; she hears grim, hard voices around her, urgent words she can't make out, and she feels herself being lifted up and carried, far far away...
Dakota will never get used to Espre's sweltering heat. The twin suns are
high in the sky, and the transition from the relatively dim and cool
shipboard environment to open air down in the gravity well is
punishing. They offer their best salute, given the circumstances, to the
sentry outside Zone Patrol headquarters. Here to see Admiral
Drake,
they explain. The sentry dips his head and ushers them inside.
Raina looks just as dashing as she always does. Since the battle in orbit several months ago, and the concurrent near civil war, there have been some... remarkable changes here, and one of them is the crisp admiral's uniform that Raina now wears. She's been promoted all the way to commander-in-chief of the Zone Patrol, after the previous commander and deputy commander were both removed and imprisoned for corruption, and she's since been cleaning house with vigor, backed by a powerful faction of nobles led by her own patron, the Countess Marshall. The Zone Patrol is about a third smaller than it was, but - in Dakota's estimation - it's about three times as dangerous, and the sudden and complete loss of Duke Ferris' patronage after he himself was imprisoned for treason has put the fear of God into many of those who viewed the Zone Patrol primarily as an exercise in graft. Raina gestures to the seat across from her, but Dakota shakes their head. Raina gives them a puzzled look.
It's not a, um, official visit, ma'am, and I won't take up too much
of your time. I was just... we're here for the next couple of days on
patrol, and I was wondering if you'd like to - to have dinner with me?
Raina raises an eyebrow. In a diplomatic
visiting-officer-from-a-foreign-navy sort of way, or...?
Dakota blushes. I meant more in a... sub and a dom kind of way, ma'am.
Raina smiles. That could get politically complicated. God knows
there's already too much noise about us climbing into bed with the Republic!
Dakota's heart sinks. I understand, ma'am. I'll -
Raina cuts them off. No. We're having dinner, Dakota. It'll probably
be complicated... but good things often are.
She glances down at her
desk for a moment, then back up. I'm free starting at six. Find a
place and make arrangements for us.
Dakota smiles again, shyly. Will do, ma'am.
Raina grins. I'll be looking forward to it.
Camellia gradually blinks herself awake as the first rays of sunrise filter through her bedroom window. She sits up and looks around, but she's alone, so Julia must be in her own room. She yawns, dresses, and steps out into the living room, where Janey is busy tending to the fire. Camellia comes up behind her, deliberately stepping on all the places where the old wooden floor creaks, and ruffles the young woman's hair.
Morning, sweetheart.
Janey turns to look at her, a faint blush coloring her
cheeks. Morning, Miss. Sleep well?
Mhm. Is Julia up yet?
I haven't seen her yet, Miss. Would you like me to see if she's in bed?
Camellia shakes her head. Once you're done with the fire, please
start on breakfast. I'll go check on her.
Of course, Miss,
Janey says. The sub kneels in front of the
stove, watching the fire slowly grow, and the way she looks utterly
relaxed and comfortable is so powerful a sight that Camellia has to just
stand and admire her for a moment. Janey seems to notice Camellia
watching her and blushes again. Sorry, Miss,
she says
sheepishly. I'll get started on breakfast.
There's no hurry,
Camellia says. If you want to enjoy the fire
for a bit first, go ahead.
She turns away, takes the few steps to
Julia's door, and quietly lets herself in. Julia's lying in bed,
just on the edge of waking, and Camellia sits down next to her and lays
a gentle hand on her shoulder. Julia slowly opens her eyes and looks up.
Morning, Miss.
Morning yourself. Couldn't sleep?
Julia shakes her head. Sorry.
No apology needed, hon. You're always welcome in my bed, but you
don't have to stay. I know you sleep better in here.
I know,
Julia says. I just - I want to stay.
Camellia smiles at her. Well,
she says, perhaps that can be
something to talk with Mrs. Soto about today?
I suppose so,
Julia says. I wish I could be done with therapy already.
Camellia chuckles. Me too. We'll get there. Don't rush it.
Yes, Miss,
Julia says, in a tone conveying that she's agreeing
with Camellia because she knows Camellia is right, but that she wishes
she wasn't.
Good girl,
Camellia says, enjoying the little shiver the phrase
draws out of Julia. Janey will have breakfast ready in a bit, so you
might want to get up - unless you want us to eat all of it before you
get there.
Julia laughs. Yes, Miss.
Camellia lets her fingers brush across Julia's unclaimed collar briefly. Julia's eyes snap up to her, widening slightly, and Camellia just gives her a warm smile and gets to her feet. Some day soon, she thinks to herself. Some day soon. She lets herself out of Julia's room and finds her usual coffee mug already sitting at her place in the table, with Janey bustling around their home's small kitchen. Whatever she's making, it smells heavenly. She takes her seat, sips the coffee, and stares out the window into the woods.
It's been a long road here, she thinks. Weeks in a Navy hospital until she was nearly insane from the confinement and separation from Julia. Painful, lonely months of therapy and tests and assessments before they could even see each other again. An honorable discharge for both of them - even if they wanted to stay in the Navy, the psychs would never clear Julia for duty again, and there's no way a Captain would be stationed on a ship with a sub officer she was now deeply bonded with. Once they'd both been discharged, Camellia and Julia had found each other, and... done their best to start things anew, to put everything else behind them, and to be just a dom and a sub who care for each other.
Moving here was part of that, for both of them. Tersis is a backwater of an agricultural planet, which nobody much cares about or bothers to visit; Wiscomb is a small town, a backwater of a backwater, and land out here is cheap. With her and Julia's Navy pensions they could easily afford to just buy a place out here and live out the rest of their days comfortably, if not exactly luxuriously.
As for Janey... well, Camellia reflects, that was really just luck. She'd been in the sub wing of the Naval hospital in the bed next to Julia, and the two subs had become fast friends while they were both confined. Once they'd been discharged, Janey - who'd been orphaned in Ladeva's brutal civil war at age fourteen, captured by Ingalls' crew of psychopaths at fifteen, and endured four years of brutal slavery - had nowhere else to go, and Camellia's heart had ached for the poor girl. The decision to invite her to come along had made itself, and Camellia is devoutly glad that it did. Of the three of them, Janey seems to be recovering the most quickly, and she's taken to the running of their shared household with energy and dedication. She seems to have simply decided that she wants to belong to Camellia, as well, which was a surprise but a very happy one. Camellia has passed many happy evenings in this house already, sitting on the back porch and looking up at the stars with both subs sitting comfortably at her feet.
Julia's door opens, and Julia comes out into the kitchen, already dressed in one of the simple and dark-colored dresses she's come to prefer. She takes her own seat, and Janey pours her a cup of coffee as well. The silence is warm, cozy, broken only by the sound of something frying on the stovetop and the crackle of the fire. Janey plates three meals, brings them over to the table, sets them down, and takes her own seat. Camellia looks down at the eggs, bacon, and hash browns, cooked for her by someone who cares for her - looks over at the woman who endured so much under her command, who she's come to love - looks over at the girl who so unexpectedly came into her life and into her heart - and she suddenly feels tears welling in her eyes. She hides her face, embarassed by her own emotions, but Julia reaches out to gently touch her.
It's okay to cry,
Julia says, softly. We all have hard days.
Camellia shakes her head. No, it's not that. I just - I love you both
so much.
There's a moment of silence, then the scraping of chairs, and then breakfast is forgotten as both subs wrap Camellia in their arms.
We love you too, Miss.
End!