No Honor in Death (38 page)

"Cap'n, the Gorgon's emerged." Chief Penzara's warning cut off all conversation.  "And he's damned close."

"We're as silent as we can be, sir." Pushkin forestalled Dunmoore's question.

"Okay, everybody, make like you're a bunch of mushrooms."  Siobhan's quip drew the expected chuckles, releasing some of the sudden tension.

"Just as long as the bastard ain't out to pick mushrooms for his Admiral's salad."  Chief Penzara growled in a low voice, as if his words could carry across the void.

"His scanner just passed over us."

"Any bounce-back?"

"Probably some.  Hopefully he'll think it's a sensor ghost or a cloud of ionized gas."

The
Tol Vakash
's Gun Master grunted at the scanner read-out, stroking his short chin beard.  He could have sworn...  Just to be on the safe side, he swept the area again, but this time nothing.

Lieutenant Urag was a good gunner, but lacked the imagination of a superlative weapons officer.  In the time between sweeps, the human frigate had moved, hurtling through space at constant speed, like any natural object, for nothing in the universe was ever at rest.  The movement changed the angle she presented to the
Tol Vakash
and this time the bounce-back was scattered enough to escape the less capable Shrehari scanners.

"Something, Urag?" Jhar asked, alert as ever to the mood of the crew.  It was one of the qualities that had attracted Brakal's attention and subsequently, his patronage.

"A faint reflection, Sub-Commander.  I swept again and nothing."

"Sensor ghost," Jhar growled, "or a cloud of gas."

Brakal, sitting back in his chair looking as relaxed as a Lord on his estate, smiled.  "Maybe not.  If the human is running silent, we would get such a ghost.  Plot the 'sensor ghost' on screen."

A green icon winked to life on the tactical display.  Jhar frowned, doubtful.  "Much closer than expected.  If that ship is a Type 203, he has good engines."

"Or a shrewd and reckless commander," Brakal replied, a calculating look transforming his face.  "The speed is possible.  And with good discipline, a human ship can vanish against the background radiation."

"Then why no ghost on the second sweep?"

"Because he is no longer in the same spot, and does not present the same aspect.  Then again," Brakal continued, toying with his Gun Master and First Officer, "it could simply be a cloud of gas.  Navigator, we will shorten our course to run on the convoy's flank as it changes direction.  Let us see what we can scare up by opening the window a crack."

"A trap, Commander?"

"No.  This one seems too canny for a trap.  Bait perhaps."

"He's on a new course, cutting across our front."

"Avoiding the convoy's dog leg."  Siobhan nodded knowingly.

"In a hurry, sir?"  Pushkin looked at the tactical display, frowning.

"No."  Dunmoore grinned devilishly, enjoying this contest of wits.  "He's giving us a go at the convoy."

"A trap?"  Pushkin looked alarmed.

She shook her head.  "Not exactly.  He knows we won't make it easy for him, so he's hoping we'll use this unexpected window of opportunity to strike, revealing ourselves at the same time.  Then, he'll swoop in."

"Do we take it?"

"Oh yes we do.  But on our own terms.  He's probably planning on the basis of our known speed, so we'll simply make him eat his assumptions."

"Red-lining the engines."

"Yup.  Give him a real shock when he finds us buggering his precious convoy behind his back."  The crude simile drew barely suppressed chortles.  Siobhan's manic mood was beginning to infect the others.  "Course ready and laid in, Mister Shara?"

"Aye, sir."

"Up systems, Mister Pushkin.  Cox'n, engage."

The jump, though short, proved to be uncomfortable, most of all for Gregor Pushkin.  The
Stingray
clearly didn't enjoy Dunmoore's breach of engineering regulations and proved it by groaning and shuddering under the pressure.   Tiner called up to protest but the First Officer, to his credit, quietly told her to shut up and carry on.  Dunmoore had earned at least that much loyalty from him.  To be honest, the element of risk, the gamble, stirred something within him and he discovered he wanted to see this through.  So, by the looks of the others, did they.

Siobhan glanced at the computer-generated estimate on the tactical schematic, excitement pounding through her veins.  If she pulled this off...  With a bit of luck and a good knowledge of the Shreharis' ways.  She couldn't ask for a better intercept solution than this.  All those hours of manoeuvring, of creeping closer would pay off soon.

One minute to go and the icons on the display began merging, overlapping under the tense stares of the crew.  Pushkin realized he was gripping his chair's arms with bone-breaking force and willed himself to relax.  His heart felt like it was about to burst under the adrenaline rush.   He briefly wondered if he would have been able to withstand the even greater pressure of the
Don Quixote
's reckless charge. Siobhan's breathing had become heavy, deep, her pale face flushed.  Perspiration gathered on her upper lip.  She glanced at Pushkin, who read in her eyes an almost unbearable tension.

"Everything's ready," he said in reply to her unspoken question.

"Good."  Her voice had reacquired that smoky, hoarse quality which sounded so eerie to the normally staid First Officer.  "Primary target is the trailing Gecko-class, Mister Devall.  No screwing around this time.  Pound him hard."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Here we go," Guthren rumbled, hand closing down on the cut-off switch.

Through the haze of emergence nausea, Lieutenant Trevane Devall saw a sight he would never have dared dream of, a once-in-a-lifetime event.  The
Stingray
emerged in an unremarkable area of space, a short distance from the outer rim of the Cimmeria system.  It was, however, the same area the convoy commander had chosen for his final tacking manoeuvre, as Captain Siobhan Dunmoore had predicted with uncanny accuracy.

Within seconds of the frigate's return to this universe, the Imperial ships materialized across her bows, almost within touching distance.  Ripples of the trans-universe movement struck the
Stingray
, so close was she.  And athwart the convoy's line of travel too, able to engage the entire line with nearly all her guns.

"My God," Pushkin whispered in the incredulous silence.  "Guthren was right.  You have the devil's luck, Captain."  The awe on his face was almost comical.

Siobhan smiled beatifically, looking at the culmination of her professional expertise.  "Oh, I don't know about the devil, Mister Pushkin.  Though that's where those bastards are going.  What d'you say to a target-rich environment, Mister Devall?"

"Good morning an' how are you?"  The Lieutenant turned towards her, a face-splitting grin transforming his aloof, arrogant features into those of a child in a candy store.  He felt giddy with exhilaration.

"Indeed."  Then, her voice lost its dreamy edge.  "Engage the trailing transport with a full spread of missiles, then the same on the escort.  Give him too many targets and watch him go.  Cox'n, head straight for the Gecko at half speed.  Mister Pushkin, full energy to the forward shield."

"First salvo of birds away."  Then, "Second salvo away.  We have one salvo left, sir."

Siobhan stared hungrily at her two victims, ignoring Devall's warning about the depleted missile stocks. 
How the hell do the girls in Fleet Intel come up with those ridiculous class names anyways? 
Loon
-class troopship?

On the cramped bridge of the
Ptar Vanak
, Sub-Commander Reyvtal could not absorb the evidence provided by his own eyes.  That thrice-damned human frigate had appeared, as if by magic, on his port side just as he and his charges were at their most vulnerable.  And now, the bastard had fired a full spread of the blasted nuclear ship-killing missiles, an amazing profligacy, one which would overwhelm his gunners.

His crew still struggled to sort themselves out amidst the nerve-scraping screech of the battle siren.

Reyvtal gave orders to wear ship and meet the raider head-on.  Then, the two flights of missiles split, half kept on course towards him, a number he could handle, but the other four headed straight for the troopship
Mentara
, which carried the twelve-hundred strong 
Ashari
Regiment to Cimmeria.  His gut clenched with horror when he realized he could not both beat off the missiles headed for him and protect the troopship at the same time.  Either his ship, or the troopship was doomed, for the
Mentara
could not defend itself adequately.

Reyvtal swallowed with difficulty.   The legendary Brakal and his
Tol Vakash
still rode the currents of other space, unaware of this disaster, and the
Ptar Brokat
, in its lead position, would never make it back in time.

"Gun Master!"

"
Kha
?"

"Make your priority target the four human missiles heading for the
Mentara
.  And put every bit of energy you can on the port and bow shields."

The Gun Master nodded, knowing Reyvtal had probably signed their death warrant.  But an escort was supposed to protect its charges, at the risk of its own survival if need be.  The Commander of the
Ptar Vanak
was acting with honor, which was the only way.

"Open fire.  Frekat, send out a general distress signal."

Not that far away, by interstellar standards, the
Tol Vakash
dropped out of hyper space to see if the human had taken the bait and broken cover.  What they saw surpassed Brakal's wildest expectations.  His massive fist hammered down on the arm of the commander's chair as rage mixed with admiration.

"By all the demons, he has out-manoeuvred
me
, Brakal of Clan Makkar!"

"But how is that possible?  The frigate does not have the speed."  Jhar sounded beside himself with anger.  Behind Brakal, Khrada smirked with barely suppressed glee at the great Commander's mistake, one which would cost many Shrehari lives, and Jhar reached for his blaster instinctively to wipe the
Tai Kan
spy's face off the universe.

"Peace, Jhar."  Brakal raised his hand, checking the First Officer's instinctive draw.  "It can, if the human commander wishes it so.  But the cost is great and he has damaged his engines with that dash of speed.  We have him now.  Helm?"

"Course laid-in and ready,
kha
."

"Go, then.  It is time we spoil the raider's amusement with some serious fighting.  Oh, but what daring, eh, Jhar?  Few humans can claim to outwit me.  In fact, I remember only one, the fire-haired female -"

"Dunmoore."  Jhar replied flatly, mangling the unfamiliar name.  He and his Commander looked at each other.  The latter's eyebrows went up in amusement.

"Could it be, Jhar?  A fitting foe then, if it is her.  I look forward to meeting the human gun to gun."

"Make sure you win, Commander,"  Khrada hissed, annoyed now by his open admiration of the humans, something which offended his racial sense of superiority. "Else you will be looking forward to meeting the Council in disgrace.  Your arrogant over-confidence is costing the Empire dearly.  You should have remained nearer the convoy."

"Hah," Brakal laughed humourlessly, turning his chair to face Khrada.  He made an obscenely dismissive gesture with his right hand, a clear signal that the word games had finally ended.  "You cannot have it both ways,
Tai Kan
cretin.  First you do not want me to shadow this convoy, now you blame me for its peril at the hands of a rogue human raider.  Were I not here now, the human would have already snapped up the transports one-by-one.  If you and your moronic ilk have not found understanding yet, you never will.  The humans know the art of war intimately and have the courage to try new and dangerous tactics, while we wallow in doctrine under the non-existent leadership of congenital idiots.  At least I am learning from them, which is more honorable than ignoring the evidence of one's own eyes.  Jhar, place Lieutenant Khrada under close arrest.  I tire of his peasant manners and abysmal stupidity.  You may report what you wish to your superiors, Khrada.  It will not change the course of this war, except perhaps making it even less favourable to the Empire."

A pair of brawny security ratings appeared at Jhar's silent summons and escorted Khrada to his quarters.  The
Tai Kan
officer did not protest his treatment, lest he lose face in front of Brakal's crew of uncouth low-caste scum.  But his eyes promised revenge, something which Jhar noted.  The First Officer resolved to take care of Khrada once the human ship had been blown to atoms.

On the troopship
Mentara
, the commanding officer of the
Ashari
Regiment watched the fast-approaching missiles with sick fascination.  The escort's cannons tried valiantly to hit them, as did the transport's little pop-guns but the gunners simply lacked the skill and the computer back-up to have much success.  One exploded in an ephemeral flower of energy.  A lucky hit.  The others simply kept coming.  Leader-of-a-Thousand Oragit knew the troopship's shields could not survive a hit by even one of the nuclear warheads.  Two hits would spell their doom.