Ryan pulled himself down the accessway to the bridge, his hand sweaty on the rope. The Andiron was a merchant ship, hastily refitted with weapons for the run from Aurore to the Gamma Serpentis system. In her hold were several hundred tons of supplies for the troops occupying the Kafer homeworld. The old Anjou-class freighter, along with three other freighters, was accompanied by a pair of warships, the HMCSS Edmonton and the DSKM Saxony, both heavy frigates of different design.
The run from Aurore to Gamma Serpentis was very dangerous, but highly profitable. The various human military forces on Bugville needed a constant stream of supplies, everything from ammunition to food to clothing. Nothing produced on the Kafer homeworld could be trusted. The profits attracted merchants and freighter captains from throughout human space. Unfortunately, the merchant ships attracted attention of their own, everything from human pirates to Kafer raiders.
Ryan was a gunnery officer by training, retired these last seven years since Gamma Serpentis had fallen to the human fleets. In that time, he had worked his way to Executive Officer, or XO, on the Andiron, and had been in charge of fitting her out with weapons and drones for the run. He was a heavyset man, a native of Chengdu over on the Chinese Arm. His bulk was that of a heavyworlder, born on a world where everything weighed 50% more than on Earth. His face was rough-hewn, criss-crossed with scars, and his eyes were narrowed from squinting at too many suns. No one but his mother had ever called him handsome, certainly not since the War.
Right now the Andiron was running through the Ross 52 system, fresh from having discharged her drives into the well of one of the outer planets. In 2 hours they would be clear of the system’s ftl shelf and safe from attack. Until then, though…
“What do we got, Chin?” Said Ryan, as he floated onto the bridge.
The tall, thin Nigerian at the sensor ops post didn’t turn his head away from the screen as he replied. “Got a relay from Edmonton. It’s off her grav scanner. She posts a bogey, possibly two, at about 5 light-minutes out.” His long-fingered hands played over the controls as he tried to coax information out of his console.
“We showing anything yet?”
“Nah. It’s way beyond range of our passive systems, and I’m not lighting up the actives without a direct order from God Almighty. Or the captain.” Of course, the captain was drunk in his cabin, and Ryan had stopped requesting orders from the Almighty years ago, just after the massacre at Nous Voila.
Ryan had obtained a military active/passive sensor suite from a Nibelungen tech rep on Aurore. It had cost the profits from the last couple of runs, but he had a feeling they would need it. He fervently agreed with Chin regarding the actives. No way were they going to light those off unless there was no choice. Might as well stand in the middle of a dark field with a searchlight and yell out “Shoot me!”
At the console next to Chin, Michelle lounged in her chair, popping a big wad of gum. She was a remote-object controller, recently hired on at Aurore. Her job was handling the drones, two stutterwarp-powered decoys, complete with an inflatable “hull” that was designed to mimic the Andiron.
“Michelle, get ready to pop your decoys. I think we got a couple of raiders out there, or maybe one with missiles running out.”
The woman nodded assent, stuffing her wad of gum on the console next to the controls for the drones.
“Ryan! I got a flash from Saxony!” The communications officer’s voice was just on the edge of panic. The German frigate was running out ahead of the convoy, using her own drones to probe yet further ahead.
“Saxony to all ships. Repeat. Saxony to all ships.” The speaker’s Teutonic accent wasn’t overly heavy, but still noticeable. “We have multiple inbounds. Looks like a Beta and four fighters.”
A Beta was bad. It carried enough missiles and guns to pound the escorts, and the merchants would be ripe for the taking. The fighters were likely there to head off any escapees.
“Saxony to all vessels. Break and run. Repeat. Break and ru…” Static erupted from the speakers, as outside a sudden burst of light washed over the convoy. Somewhere out ahead of Saxony, at least one nuclear weapon had just exploded, powering a spray of X-ray lasers that speared through the frigate’s thin hull. Without screens or armor to absorb the strike, the Saxony died, hull flashing into vapor under the intense outpouring of energy from what was undoubtedly a Kafer missile.
The four merchant vessels scattered in opposite directions, hoping that the raiders couldn’t get them all. Like the old joke: “I don’t have to run faster than the bear. I just have to run faster than you.”
Edmonton, however, did not break. She had no choice. Just duty. A shepherd must defend the flock. The frigate launched her sole decoy, and moved to intercept the Beta. Her sacrifice might give the merchies enough time to get away. A frigate was no match for a battlecruiser, and wouldn’t last long against the heavier missile load and guns of her opponent. The Halifax-class frigate at least had some armor and screens to protect her, unlike the German Jute-class.
On the Andiron, Ryan didn’t even bother to watch the battle. It would take an hour or two to run its course, and he had other things to do. The fighters weren’t staying behind to assist the Beta, but instead broke off on their own to pursue the merchant vessels.
“Chin? How long before that fighter overtakes us?” It was simple question. How long do we have to live? Despite its new weapons, the Andiron wasn’t a warship. Those guns were more of a last-ditch defense sort of thing. Like now, really.
“Um, hang on.” Chin had been a civilian air traffic controller before signing on, and even he was rattled. “I’d say about an hour, perhaps an hour and a half, tops.”
He turned to address the bridge crew, the eight men and women looking to him for leadership. “OK. Here’s the drill. Everyone into p-suits. Michelle, when that thing is 20 minutes out, pop both decoys. Chin, get me a firing solution. I’m going to warm up the guns.”
As everyone moved to obey his orders, he wondered about their chances. If the fighter caused them any delay at all, the Beta would be able to catch them. He held out little hope of a lucky shot by the Canadian frigate. A Beta was just too big, and too well-protected. Armor, screens and lots of mass to absorb incoming fire. All the Andiron had to answer the fighter was a single jack turret with a pair of old LL-88 lasers. An older UTES suite on the turret rounded out the weapons mix.
In his quarters in the gravity wheel of the ship, he pulled on his old p-suit. Getting into the thing was so much easier in gravity, even in the weak approximation the small wheel on Andiron could generate. The suit was a relic, like him, a veteran of the Kafer war. As he dogged the helmet on, he sent a subvocalized command to the radio implanted in his throat, and called up the ship’s engineer.
Back in engineering, the Andiron’s chief engineer was pulling on her own p-suit. Unlike Ryan’s battered and bulky military suit, Sandra’s was a skintight marvel. She always maintained that the suit was designed to give her maximum mobility in a zero-gee environment, but in that suit she could dance a ballet. She did genuinely prefer the added mobility of the skinsuit, even if it didn’t provide as much protection as a standard p-suit. She had started with the helmet, and was checking the connection on the collar rings when Ryan’s call came through.
The headset radio buzzed, and the HUD on the inside of the helmet gave her Ryan’s name. She didn’t have an implanted radio, but the one in her helmet was sophisticated enough to respond as well as Ryan’s implant.
“What’s up, Mister XO?” Sandra sealed the gloves on her suit and pushed off into the engine compartment. The massive MHD turbine was making its rumbling whine audible even through the sonic baffling and her insulated helmet.
“I need more power, Scotty.” Sandra Scottsdale had never liked that nickname, but as an engineer on a starship she accepted it as a given.
“What, XO not enough?” She grinned behind her faceplate and gave a thumbs-up to her mechanic as she sailed over his head. He wore a tight, flexible suit similar to hers, and for the same reason.
“Ha. No. I need power for the guns.” The Andiron was a merchant vessel, with little excess power for such frivolities as weapons.
The run from Aurore to Gamma Serpentis was very dangerous, but highly profitable. The various human military forces on Bugville needed a constant stream of supplies, everything from ammunition to food to clothing. Nothing produced on the Kafer homeworld could be trusted. The profits attracted merchants and freighter captains from throughout human space. Unfortunately, the merchant ships attracted attention of their own, everything from human pirates to Kafer raiders.
Ryan was a gunnery officer by training, retired these last seven years since Gamma Serpentis had fallen to the human fleets. In that time, he had worked his way to Executive Officer, or XO, on the Andiron, and had been in charge of fitting her out with weapons and drones for the run. He was a heavyset man, a native of Chengdu over on the Chinese Arm. His bulk was that of a heavyworlder, born on a world where everything weighed 50% more than on Earth. His face was rough-hewn, criss-crossed with scars, and his eyes were narrowed from squinting at too many suns. No one but his mother had ever called him handsome, certainly not since the War.
Right now the Andiron was running through the Ross 52 system, fresh from having discharged her drives into the well of one of the outer planets. In 2 hours they would be clear of the system’s ftl shelf and safe from attack. Until then, though…
“What do we got, Chin?” Said Ryan, as he floated onto the bridge.
The tall, thin Nigerian at the sensor ops post didn’t turn his head away from the screen as he replied. “Got a relay from Edmonton. It’s off her grav scanner. She posts a bogey, possibly two, at about 5 light-minutes out.” His long-fingered hands played over the controls as he tried to coax information out of his console.
“We showing anything yet?”
“Nah. It’s way beyond range of our passive systems, and I’m not lighting up the actives without a direct order from God Almighty. Or the captain.” Of course, the captain was drunk in his cabin, and Ryan had stopped requesting orders from the Almighty years ago, just after the massacre at Nous Voila.
Ryan had obtained a military active/passive sensor suite from a Nibelungen tech rep on Aurore. It had cost the profits from the last couple of runs, but he had a feeling they would need it. He fervently agreed with Chin regarding the actives. No way were they going to light those off unless there was no choice. Might as well stand in the middle of a dark field with a searchlight and yell out “Shoot me!”
At the console next to Chin, Michelle lounged in her chair, popping a big wad of gum. She was a remote-object controller, recently hired on at Aurore. Her job was handling the drones, two stutterwarp-powered decoys, complete with an inflatable “hull” that was designed to mimic the Andiron.
“Michelle, get ready to pop your decoys. I think we got a couple of raiders out there, or maybe one with missiles running out.”
The woman nodded assent, stuffing her wad of gum on the console next to the controls for the drones.
“Ryan! I got a flash from Saxony!” The communications officer’s voice was just on the edge of panic. The German frigate was running out ahead of the convoy, using her own drones to probe yet further ahead.
“Saxony to all ships. Repeat. Saxony to all ships.” The speaker’s Teutonic accent wasn’t overly heavy, but still noticeable. “We have multiple inbounds. Looks like a Beta and four fighters.”
A Beta was bad. It carried enough missiles and guns to pound the escorts, and the merchants would be ripe for the taking. The fighters were likely there to head off any escapees.
“Saxony to all vessels. Break and run. Repeat. Break and ru…” Static erupted from the speakers, as outside a sudden burst of light washed over the convoy. Somewhere out ahead of Saxony, at least one nuclear weapon had just exploded, powering a spray of X-ray lasers that speared through the frigate’s thin hull. Without screens or armor to absorb the strike, the Saxony died, hull flashing into vapor under the intense outpouring of energy from what was undoubtedly a Kafer missile.
The four merchant vessels scattered in opposite directions, hoping that the raiders couldn’t get them all. Like the old joke: “I don’t have to run faster than the bear. I just have to run faster than you.”
Edmonton, however, did not break. She had no choice. Just duty. A shepherd must defend the flock. The frigate launched her sole decoy, and moved to intercept the Beta. Her sacrifice might give the merchies enough time to get away. A frigate was no match for a battlecruiser, and wouldn’t last long against the heavier missile load and guns of her opponent. The Halifax-class frigate at least had some armor and screens to protect her, unlike the German Jute-class.
On the Andiron, Ryan didn’t even bother to watch the battle. It would take an hour or two to run its course, and he had other things to do. The fighters weren’t staying behind to assist the Beta, but instead broke off on their own to pursue the merchant vessels.
“Chin? How long before that fighter overtakes us?” It was simple question. How long do we have to live? Despite its new weapons, the Andiron wasn’t a warship. Those guns were more of a last-ditch defense sort of thing. Like now, really.
“Um, hang on.” Chin had been a civilian air traffic controller before signing on, and even he was rattled. “I’d say about an hour, perhaps an hour and a half, tops.”
He turned to address the bridge crew, the eight men and women looking to him for leadership. “OK. Here’s the drill. Everyone into p-suits. Michelle, when that thing is 20 minutes out, pop both decoys. Chin, get me a firing solution. I’m going to warm up the guns.”
As everyone moved to obey his orders, he wondered about their chances. If the fighter caused them any delay at all, the Beta would be able to catch them. He held out little hope of a lucky shot by the Canadian frigate. A Beta was just too big, and too well-protected. Armor, screens and lots of mass to absorb incoming fire. All the Andiron had to answer the fighter was a single jack turret with a pair of old LL-88 lasers. An older UTES suite on the turret rounded out the weapons mix.
In his quarters in the gravity wheel of the ship, he pulled on his old p-suit. Getting into the thing was so much easier in gravity, even in the weak approximation the small wheel on Andiron could generate. The suit was a relic, like him, a veteran of the Kafer war. As he dogged the helmet on, he sent a subvocalized command to the radio implanted in his throat, and called up the ship’s engineer.
Back in engineering, the Andiron’s chief engineer was pulling on her own p-suit. Unlike Ryan’s battered and bulky military suit, Sandra’s was a skintight marvel. She always maintained that the suit was designed to give her maximum mobility in a zero-gee environment, but in that suit she could dance a ballet. She did genuinely prefer the added mobility of the skinsuit, even if it didn’t provide as much protection as a standard p-suit. She had started with the helmet, and was checking the connection on the collar rings when Ryan’s call came through.
The headset radio buzzed, and the HUD on the inside of the helmet gave her Ryan’s name. She didn’t have an implanted radio, but the one in her helmet was sophisticated enough to respond as well as Ryan’s implant.
“What’s up, Mister XO?” Sandra sealed the gloves on her suit and pushed off into the engine compartment. The massive MHD turbine was making its rumbling whine audible even through the sonic baffling and her insulated helmet.
“I need more power, Scotty.” Sandra Scottsdale had never liked that nickname, but as an engineer on a starship she accepted it as a given.
“What, XO not enough?” She grinned behind her faceplate and gave a thumbs-up to her mechanic as she sailed over his head. He wore a tight, flexible suit similar to hers, and for the same reason.
“Ha. No. I need power for the guns.” The Andiron was a merchant vessel, with little excess power for such frivolities as weapons.
