Starquest: Scourge of the Spaceways, page 8
With so many uncolonized worlds and moons sharing the system, Naar never lost her frontier lawlessness, even while she lost all freedom of devotion. The sights and sounds of chapels and churchbells and psalms raised to the glory of the Star-Maker were replaced by the thin minarets from which eerie wailing was sent out at fixed times to propitiate the Dark Will, and all men in the public streets must halt their talk, and kneel, and grovel. The Pavo enforced no other laws on this wild world, and punished no crime save blasphemy.
Here alone was the slave trade still openly practiced, too far from Septentrion for either the former Empire to tax or the current Commonwealth to abolish.
The Ellyll warships from Naar were like many-petalled roses made of crystal, each petal holding a weapon emplacement; and their freighters and barges were like globes of glass, filled with luminous soft shadows.
The ships of this third flotilla flew under the banner of flail and fetters on a field of stripes. This was of old the emblem of the Slavers' Guild, defunct for shame and seen under no other sun but Naar.
3. Ambuscade in Space
The approach was carefully timed. Athos, in his guise as Captain Rackstraw, had an old-fashioned pocketwatch in his hand, ticking, since he did not know whether any electronic timepiece would remain in working order after the energies he was about to unleash swept through this volume of space.
The captain's pinnace of the Dog-Faced Fortune had been appropriated, and launched toward the dead star at the center of the system, towing a dozen missiles. These were epsilon-level weapons with one-kilogram cobalt-anticobalt warheads of forty megaton yield: able to crack a planetary defense shield, obliterate an orbital fort, or turn a city into a crater two thousand feet wide and a thousand feet deep.
Athos was happy to get rid of these military-grade weapons. They had been added to the arsenal of the Devil's Delight during Liska's final cruise as captain, evidently for use in the Hvalens Sector war. A pirating raiding commerce vessels had no use for such things.
Despite the severe warp in the higher-dimension timespace locally preventing ansible communication, some faster than light instruments were still operating. The gravitic-frequency sensors were able to detect the sudden drop in mass when the pinnace encountered the sun, and the warheads ignited.
In the silent vastness of space, an unimaginable explosion shattered all chemical and nucleonic bonds of molecules and atoms, and a spherical blast of pure, ultrahigh-frequency energy erupted forth.
Whatever odd interior condition it was that prevented the sun from shedding light somehow had not collapsed the mighty star into a dwarf. The sun's dark, mirror-smooth face still emitted x-rays, much as black holes were known to do, whenever any normal matter straying near was disintegrated by tidal forces. Energy sufficient to flatten a dozen cities now disturbed the strange surface of the dark star, and was answered by a convulsive eruption an order of magnitude greater, of gamma rays, x-rays, ultraviolet, and radio-noise erupting upward like a volcano.
It was a small-scale, impromptu version of a Carrington Event weapon, made possible by the odd properties of a dark sun that was not perfectly dead.
Athos' glance touched his pocketwatch. Eight minutes until the shockwave passed through this volume of space. Until then, radio communication worked. Athos nodded at Wilco, his twitching Mustelid signal master. Wilco flashed a message to the Dog-Faced Fortune.
The small armed merchantman of Dog-Faced Fortune approached the vast glassy sphere-shaped treasure barge of the Fame's Fancy, issuing a hail as she came. The Devil's Delight was smaller yet, and hid in the shadow of the Dog-Faced Fortune as the three ships drew near.
Six minutes.
Athos said to Green Spalpeen, "Steady as she goes, helmsmen."
Spalpeen said, "The thrusters are baffled, Captain, and I am using jets only when the Fortune does, to mask the discharge."
Wilco said, "Messages between the Fancy and the Fortune, sir. If the swillsniffing egghole-lickers are going to rut us over, now is the time."
Five minutes.
Athos could have left Tisquantum on Vulk's bridge as a reminder of his newfound oath, but he thought he needed the tall savage here, to help with discipline. It was a risk, but he trusted Vulk's oath more than those of the pirates aboard his own ship. He began to wonder if the risk were wise.
Wilco said, "Right now the rutters be just jawing nicey-nice. He's spun a cockamamie yarn about an emergency life support breach, and he needs to dock to take on degravitized water."
Athos thought it was actually not a bad cover story. An Ellyll freighter would be the only logical place to find resupply for a damaged Ellyll life support. Any suspicion on the part of the Ellyll captain, however, or even too strict a reliance on protocol, would also prove ruinous. The pocketwatch in Athos' fingers grew slippery with sweat, as he realized how flimsy and hasty this plan actually was.
If Ozymandias were here, he would have carefully thought out each separate contingency before acting. He could have done this job perfectly. He would not have fumbled and stumbled. He would have not needed a ghostly temple maiden to rescue him. If only he were still here.
Wilco said, "Captain Clytemnestra has a voice honey-sweet enough to make a eunuch sproing. You want this on speakers?"
"No. Keep me informed of any change."
Athos waited. The viewscreens showed the Dog-Faced Fortune on close approach to the Fame's Fancy. Closer the two vessels came. There was no sign of weapon energization, no screens being raised. All was calm.
Four minutes.
He turned to Arbogast. "Report."
The calm, elite, schoolmaster voice of Arbogast's speaking box said, "The armed sloop Ibis is closest. She is at fifty million miles downrange, forty minutes away by reactionless thruster, four minutes by tachyon drive. She has one main 300-megajoule gun and four 90-megajoule secondaries.
"The brigantine Star King is twice that distance, with two primary guns, and twelve secondaries, and four missile towers. She's eight minutes by tachyon drive, but she is a Devonian vessel, who rarely mount graviton thrusters. By reactionless engine, over an hour away.
"The next nearest warship is the superdreadnaught Supreme. Her trinary beam weapon runs along her major axis, and is able to cut a moon in half. She has one hundred primary-yield plasma cannons, six hundred secondaries, launchers for strike missiles and ship-to-ship missiles, a counter electronics array able to blanket a whole star system. She carries two spaceports, port and starboard, for launching starfighter squadrons. Note the plural."
Athos was not worried about continent-killer or city-killer weapons. His ship was too small to be targeted by them. "How many anti-missile and small anti-spacecraft railguns?"
"Infinite, sir," said Arbogast drily. "As best one can tell."
Athos expected the number was more akin to one thousand, but the estimate was good enough. Arbogast gave the distances and vectors of the other ships in the other flotillas. Arbogast paused again to mention the superdreadnaught.
"Captain, by reactionless thrusters, the Supreme is four hours away. But she is certain to have gravitic thrusters and tachyon drives, and dynamos enough for them, which puts her twenty-four minutes away."
"Once she goes to general quarters."
"Indeed, sir. Would you like an estimate on her hyperspatial channel inflection capacity? Roughly point five radians for every radian of Riemannian arc distortion we muster. She can bend hyperspace more acutely and drive a shorter hypertube through it than we can, and will arrive at any destination point earlier, once she sees us form our exit point here and leave realspace."
"We are not leaving."
"Sir?" The giant spider had no eyebrow to raise, but he manipulated his voicebox with a claw to get the proper inflection of bemused disbelief. "Is the plan to stand our ground and exchange broadsides? We have eight large guns to her one hundred. The outermost of her one hundred twenty defensive screens is a sphere with five square miles of superconductive dissipation area protecting her eight-foot thick ultronium-osmium alloy armor plating. If your policy of allowing any cravens aboard to report to the spaceboats, perhaps this is a proper time for me to avail myself of …"
"Man your post. We will be away before that ship opens her eyes. Commodore Blackjack has not led this crew awry erenow, has he?"
Wilco said, "Commodore? What the rut, sir? Should I be signing your dam-spronging garble as Commodore? What swill-skulled snot-lapper promoted your hindbone?"
Tisquantum, glowering, put his hand on the bullwhip at his belt. His way of life did not allow for the luxury of uttering fighting words without fighting. Pirates, coming from civilized and softer worlds, were less polite. Athos, however, knew the difference between insubordination and mere foul-mouthed banter. His glance and gesture told Tisquantum to unhand the whip, and his voice held quiet humor when he answered Wilco, "Why, the gallant Captain Vulk promoted me, when he bowed the knee. Our fleet of two fourth-rate light ships is not the largest in history, but I am in command. Is not a fleet captain a commodore?"
The dispassionate, high-class accent Arbogast's translator box answered, "It is a rank no longer customary among corsairs. All captains have only Ahab over them."
Athos said, "Then it is a custom to be revived. Signal master! Use the title Commodore on the message cast. Send the first when the Fortune docks with the Fancy, and we have line-of-sight."
"Aye, sir!" And, a moment later, Wilco called out, "Sweet rut! Danking valve is pooned and shanked. Ships are mated. No maneuver."
Athos ordered Tisquantum to sound general quarters. Alarms rang in all parts of the ship, echoing in the distance.
Over the intercom, Athos boomed, "All hands to battle-stations. If you damned knaves have any prayers to say, say them now. I expect each man-jack of you to do his duty and more, down to the last cabin boy. Let there not be a single coward on the Devil's Delight, lest the name of Captain Yeho, who filled our hold with gold, will be stained! Sing out, lads, if you hear me!"
He muted the intercom. The roar of many voices echoed down the corridors from engine room to flight deck to turrets to towers, loud enough to be heard through the bulkheads.
Athos barked out: "Helm, come about to off her prow. Engine room, prepare for reactionless thrust, full power. Master Gunner, weapons hot. Gunner's Mate, screens to full power. Signal Master, transmit."
"Aye, sir!" "Aye, aye!" "Yes-ss, glorious-ss captain!" "Screens up!" "Stenching strob, sir!"
Athos glanced at the pocketwatch. Two minutes.
He toggled the intercom. "All stations, report!"
"Gun crews standing by." "Missile room, ready to hash and bash." "Engine room ready."
Athos held his breath a moment, as a man might do to steady his nerves before firing.
He gave the order. "Engine room, full speed ahead."
4. Strike of the Pirate Raider
Until this moment, the Devil's Delight had been keeping the bulk of the Dog-Faced Fortune between herself and Captain Clytemnestra's ship. With a roar of engines and a whine of inertia-compensators, the shark-shaped warship came swooping out of the shadow of the intervening ship. She overtook and swept past the Fancy, then applied full reverse thrust. Devil's Delight matched course and speed with the rotund treasure barge, rotating in midflight to bring the broadside of her weapon platforms to bear.
To the Fame's Fancy, the first hint that an unknown cruiser had joined the convoy was seeing her appear suddenly just off the prow, with the ninefold shields of the sleek, shark-finned warship blazing like rainbows of fire. The burning holo of her Black Jolly Roger banner was shining bright; her weapons were armed and locked on target; and a flock of missiles had issued from her launch tower and were maneuvering into strike positions.
A bow chaser was the only gun the Fancy had in position to fire, nor could she rotate to bring her main gun to bear, as the Dog-Faced Fortune was preventing the Fancy from maneuvering. The ships were already connected by a docking tube. Now the centipede-shaped Fortune lashed out with tractor-presser beams, grappling and clinging to the silvery globe of the huge freighter, fierce as a mastiff who will not let go once his jaws are clamped on a victim. The reactionless thrusters of the Dog-Faced Fortune now ignited, wrestling against the thrusters of the larger ship.
Athos snapped the pocketwatch cover shut. Time had run.
Hob the Electrician threw the master switch for the bridge. All unshielded circuits shut down, leaving only orange emergency lamps burning. Any positronic relays were switched to manual control.
The shockwave from the dead star passed through the volume of space, and silently crashed over the ship, a storm of high energy particles. Most were stopped by the nine-ply shields and particle deflectors powered by atomic dynamos. Even so, these shields were designed to stop the wavelengths and particle compositions common to weapon beams. This was far stronger, and involved wavelengths higher and lower than what ship-borne weapons could generate.
Even with her shields up, aboard the Devil's Delight, bare metal surfaces crawled with blue sparks. Uninsulated copper cables heated up. Bus-bars grew red. Despite all precautions, the radiation storm found improperly-protected circuits, and ignited fires.
During the long watches of the flight here, Athos had kept the crew busy by overhauling the fire suppression system. Tisquantum with his whips and lashes drove the men. The tall savage might be of a tribe that feared no death, but he was not fool enough not to fear unchecked fire on a spaceship.
On the bridge, maintenance bots rapidly opened smoking circuit boards and hosed them down with smothering foam. Nozzles in the overhead gushed to life, and showered Athos and his bridge crew. The crewmen were vacuum-suited up for battle. Men cursed, wiped their faces, and closed their helmets. The deck was awash with water, and recyclers set underfoot hummed with suction.
Athos could only imagine what a ship not prepared would suffer, or a planet. Every vessel in the system no doubt had alarms ringing on every deck. As for the planet Noctua, perhaps the intercontinental force-shields and ray-screens could ward off the solar flare. Perhaps not.
The chattering of external Geiger counters grew quiet. The shockwave was diminishing, but static still jammed the radio. On the bridge, Hob brought the circuits back online, one by one. The viewscreen flickered with ghost images, but the scene outside the hull could be discerned.
If the Fame's Fancy had attempted to emit any mayday or signal any alarm, the Carrington wave provoked from the dead star prevented it. Radar and sensor images of the ships, even so close at hand, flickered and jumped.
However, the message Wilco sent was carried on a lasercast ray traveling the axis of a highly-opaque tractor-presser beam, directly into a receiving dish of the Fame's Fancy. The coherent signal at point-blank range was not silenced by the static.
"From Commodore Blackjack Rackstraw to Captain Clytemnestra, greetings! And strike your colors. The code requires one clear warning be given: I hereby give it. Surrender, and yield your tithe and fealty to me, and I promise quarter and ransom. Resist at your peril."
Immediately, heterodyned on this same lasercast beam, came a reply: "Attacking ship! This is Iridia Lilim Clytemnestra. We have no quarrel with any jack named Rackstraw! Break off! We sail under the shield of the Red Roger! Captain Ahab will mark you with the black spot!"
Athos had Wilco send his second narrowcast: "My quarrel is with Ahab, not you, dear lady. I have given you challenge, all neat and proper! Renounce him, and vow fealty, and you will find me lenient."
By this time, the most forward of the missiles had struck the outermost ply of the hastily-raised shields of the Fame's Fancy. The screens reddened under the impacts, and began to radiate ever hotter, red-orange to flame-yellow. Then the next wave struck. A cluster of two-hundred megajoule explosions ignited in the silent darkness of space, showering the ship with x-rays, gamma-rays, and stripped helium nuclei. Where the impacts were most concentrated, the outer screen turned blue-white and flickered.
The ion guns and plasma cannons of the Devil's Delight now spoke, and the outer shield of the Fancy evaporated, releasing its pent-up energy in a widening globe of highly-charged particles. The wash of energy danced like Saint Elmo's fire across the straining shield behind, heating it red-hot.
This second shield glowed orange then yellow under the barrage of primary guns roaring and flaring from the turrets of the Devils' Delight. The secondary guns, like hellish searchlights, played over the curve of the second shield, to prevent any heat from being radiated back out into space.
The second shield blazed white, ignited, and failed. Only the third and final shield remained, flickering and wavering, blue-white with strain, but holding.
In perfect synchronization with the main batteries of the Devil's Delight, a slim, hard, hot needle-beam ignited from the prow turret under the expert eye of Sureshot the master gunner, cutting through this final screen and smiting the bowchaser of the other ship before that gun even had a chance to fire.
The flickering last screen continued to hold, sending half of the needle beam energy rebounding into space like surges of red thunderbolts: but the hottest and tightest part of the beam broke through nonetheless. So expert was Sureshot's control, that the weapon platform was smashed, but hullplates to either side, while singed, were not breached.
Sureshot then began chopping away any radio dishes, sensor arrays, and telemetry units he could see peeping out from the hull, rendering the larger ship blind and mute.
Missiles belatedly launched from the equator of the rotund treasure barge now came into view above the horizon of her rounded hull, and accelerated toward the Devil's Delight. These were met with counter-missiles and wide-angled cones of ionic rays, and by a hail of chaff and shrapnel sent out into the void by hull-mounted scatterguns. Clouds of radiation and expanding spheres of blue-white fire filled space with more static.
Dudd the gunner's mate was commendably alert, and had positioned a second volley of missiles to smash any launch tubes as they opened their tower ports to fire. With normal sensor beams inoperative, Athos had sent spotters with sextants and stereoscopic rangefinders in space-armor clinging to the hull of the Devil's Delight, to triangulate visually on the position of the launch plumes.
