Rebellion of Stars (Starship Blackbeard Book 4) (7 page)

But first, a terrific fight awaited them as they approached Hot Barsa. Two enemy cruisers, backed by three times that number of destroyers, corvettes, and frigates, took up position near Cold Barsa, readying a defense of the inner worlds. Captain Lindsell, formerly of HMS
Calypso
, had been given command of
Churchill
. She was the third of the Punisher-class cruisers, equal to
Vigilant
and
Blackbeard
. Lindsell was a hothead. Why was he holding back in a defensive posture? He must be expecting aid or planning a trick of some kind.

Well, then. Drake had a few moves of his own to play.

He sent
Vigilant
and a few support craft in a feint toward the enemy fleet, then charged the bulk of his forces toward Hot Barsa. Lindsell didn’t bite. Instead of waiting for the attack, his fleet abandoned Cold Barsa and moved to intercept Drake. Rutherford turned and followed in
Vigilant
.

Meanwhile, four more rebel ships had jumped into the system from a jump point deep on the Z-axis, opposite the sun. These were two captured and refurbished cruisers, HMS
Richmond
and HMS
Calypso
, plus two missile frigates. Caites was in command on
Richmond
, and she’d picked up a corvette and a destroyer from the forces called out from Saxony. Caites’s ships recovered quickly from the jump and raced toward Hot Barsa to join the battle that was brewing in the inner system.

There were now four separate forces converging on the sugar world. The most powerful of these was Lindsell’s fleet. It would arrive shortly after Drake and pin his forces against the forts. Then it would be up to Rutherford and Caites to relieve him while he dropped Tolvern to the surface.

Or, he could abandon the attack on Hot Barsa, gather his forces, and fight Lindsell away from the planetary defenses. If he meant to destroy them in open battle, that would be the prudent move.

But there was a ticking clock. He had to get Tolvern in and then withdraw. Find out if Lord Malthorne was on his way or moving on Saxony.

#

Drake woke from his next sleep cycle and arrived on the bridge only three hours out from Hot Barsa, with the ship already decelerating. Capp was in the pilot’s chair, with a young ensign assisting her. Nyb Pim was no longer on the ship; the fight would go on without the Hroom pilot’s masterful skills.

“Are we on course?” Drake asked Capp as he settled into his chair. “Good. Get me
Outlaw
.”

Isabel Vargus appeared on the screen moments later. She flashed that lean, wolfish smile that both Vargus sisters wore when anticipating battle. “Ready for bloodshed and plunder, Drake?”

“We’re not here to take prizes,” he said.

“As you wish.”

“Is the away pod ready to go?”

“Everything but the passengers. Tolvern is here with me. The others are relaxing in the mess. Should I send them down?”

“Still too early. Give me another hour—I’ll let you know.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t forget those torpedo boats when you go in. We’ve got to assume they’re still lurking in their hangars. Might be other nasty surprises, too. Those forts pack a punch.”

“You just keep those cruisers off my back, James Drake. I’ll worry about the forts.”

#

These pirates could be prickly when it came to their ships, but Isabel Vargus had allowed Tolvern to assist on the bridge. For that, she was grateful. It helped with the nerves. Nyb Pim, Brockett, and Carvalho sat in the mess, eating, playing cards. Waiting and helpless, the way she saw it.

It was awful being away from one’s station in battle. You felt the ship’s engines straining, the artificial gravity shifting you about as it kept the massive g-forces from turning your body to jelly. If something hit the ship, it shuddered through the hull and into your very bones, but you had no idea how serious it was until the sirens started and the air filled with smoke. No, it was better to be up here, watching the action play out.

As for the battle itself, she didn’t like how it started. Drake’s fleet was delayed by the slower mercenary vessels, and Lindsell caught him before they’d come within range of the orbital fortresses. He’d be forced to deal with this threat, and so Tolvern was not surprised when his strong, serious face appeared on the viewscreen.

“This is it, Vargus,” he said. “You’re on your own. Take care of my people.” And then he was gone.

“You ready?” Vargus asked.

“Just about.” Tolvern didn’t rise from her seat. “How long have I got?”

The other woman shrugged. “Ten more minutes and we’re under fire. I’m gonna bob and weave to get past that, then we’ll make one pass before I skip off the atmosphere. Second pass is when you launch. Let’s say twenty minutes until I need you strapped down.”

“In that case, I’ll stay. Better send those other guys down, though.”

A raised eyebrow from Vargus. “Oh, sure. Make
them
sweat it out.”

Tolvern returned a smile. “Command has its privileges.”

“Hah. In that case, make yourself useful. We’ve got an underpowered defense grid computer. Once the fur is flying, it can’t keep track of it all. Kipper has his hands full and could use your help. Forget my bloody shark teeth—we survive this encounter by avoiding direct fighting. You see anything coming in straight, launch chaff. I’ll turn and take it at an angle.”

Vargus turned away and gave orders to Tolvern’s companions, sending them to the away pod. Tolvern took her place at the defense grid station.

She found herself liking Vargus. It helped that Isabel hadn’t slept with the captain like her younger sister had. But there was a certain whimsy about her that Tolvern hadn’t noticed before. She’d bleached her hair since the Battle of Albion, except for a shock of pink. Her vest buckles were made of punched-out coins, and her vest sported a fringe of tiny silver bells that jingled when she walked. Unlike the businesslike bridge of a naval ship—which
Blackbeard
maintained even after going rogue—
Outlaw
’s reflected a lighthearted crew. Skulls, plastic sharks, and strings of beads hung from consoles. The captain used an Old Earth-style ship’s wheel to swivel her chair about to face various crew members.

Even the way Vargus spoke to her crew was different, more like they were peers. Not the Royal Navy way of stuffy formality. Of course, there was a reason why naval forces fought with discipline and deadly precision, while these mercenary types scattered when things got tough. Let’s see how they did when those forts let loose.

But curiously, the forts held their fire, at least initially. Vargus sent
Pussycat
out front. Aguilar’s squat, warthog-like pirate frigate suffered poor maneuverability, but boasted enough arms and armor to deliver and take a beating.
Pussycat
was to trade blows with the forts while the rest of the mercenary force swooped in for a closer pass.

But nothing happened. The nearest fort, the same ten-mile-long baked-potato rock whose torpedo boats had mauled Tolvern’s destroyer a few weeks ago, swung around the planet and out of range without firing a single shot. A second fort came around the planet. The instruments on board
Outlaw
lit up with enemy targeting systems, but the thing didn’t fire.
Pussycat
launched an exploratory missile. It thumped the hollowed-out asteroid, but did little damage. Still no return fire.

Vargus cursed. “What the hell are they playing about?”

Tolvern remembered the torpedo boat surprise. “Careful. Whatever it is, it’s bound to be ugly.”

“Better get yourself below. Won’t be long now.”

Tolvern left the bridge, reluctant to depart before the mystery was resolved. She hurried to the lift, prepared to brace herself against the wall if they were hit. The lift dropped her right into the frigate’s hold. Long and deep enough to hold plenty of contraband or plundered loot, it was currently stuffed floor to ceiling with ordnance: crates of bullets for Gatling guns, stacked and secured shells for the cannon, and missiles and torpedoes of various origins. All it took was one shot penetrating
Outlaw
’s armor along the belly or spine, and boom! You’d need a microscope to detect the remains.

The away pod was wedged into the back corner, between a pallet of powdered soup and six casks of rocket propellant. She had to turn sideways to get to the airlock button. The door zipped open, and she squeezed in.

Her three companions were already inside, squeezed between the supplies of the away mission. Nyb Pim had folded himself like an insect to get his long legs in place. Brockett spread his legs to fit around crates of antidote, food, and other supplies. Carvalho, wearing a tank top that showed off his broad shoulders and muscular arms, carried a crate of goods on his lap.

Carvalho’s eyes ranged up and down Tolvern’s body as if he were checking her out in a tight gown instead of the formless jumpsuit she was wearing. She didn’t have much of a figure to look at, anyway. Too slender and boy-like. She knew he was giving her that look to throw her off her guard.

“About time,” he said with a grin. “What were you doing up there, having tea with Vargus?”

“Tea
and
biscuits.” Tolvern sat in the empty seat, pulled the harness over her shoulders, and buckled down. “And those little cucumber sandwiches with the crust cut off. Now get that crate off your lap and strap it down. Soon as we’re off, it turns into a missile.”

Carvalho did as she said, then leaned back in his seat with his hands behind his head and his elbows resting on more coolers. “Seems pretty quiet. Aren’t we in combat yet?”

As if in response, the ship shimmied. It was a subtle feeling, quickly compensated for by the antigrav, but Tolvern caught it well enough. Something was happening up there.

“Seems the answer is yes,” Tolvern said.

Brockett closed his eyes. “When do we launch?”

“Getting cold feet over there?” Carvalho said.

“It’s the waiting that’s killing me.”

“How you doing, Pilot?” Carvalho asked Nyb Pim. “You are made of braver stuff, I would think.”

The Hroom answered in his high voice. “I am feeling a sensation that could best be described as a mixture of anticipation and absolute terror.”

“Nerves, my purple friend. That’s what you’ve got. A bad case of the jitters. You’ll be fine. You, too, Brockett. It’s Tolvern here I’m worried about. Sending in a girl to do a man’s work—that’s risky business.”

“Good thing Capp isn’t here,” Tolvern said. “She’d have your stones off for that one.”

Carvalho laughed again. “Just a bit of fun, Commander. Won’t hurt you to laugh at a joke now and then.”

“It’s
Captain
Tolvern, now,” she said in an icy tone. “Keep up the insubordination, and I’ll be taking your balls off myself.”

He blinked. “What—?”

Tolvern smiled sweetly. “That was me, laughing at a joke.”

“Hah! There you have it!”

Vargus’s voice came over the com. “Ready down there?”

Tolvern had been subconsciously expecting Jane’s cool computer voice and was startled to hear an actual person. It wasn’t comforting. Vargus sounded tense and anxious. Again, Tolvern wondered what was happening. No time to ask, and she shouldn’t distract the woman from her duties anyway, not to satisfy idle curiosity.

“Ready for launch,” Tolvern confirmed.

“We’re looking at—let’s see—I’m going to say twenty seconds. Good luck.” She cut out.

“Twenty?” Brockett squeaked. “What about a countdown? I’m not ready.”

Carvalho checked his harness. “You said the waiting was the worst part.” His Ladino accent and slow delivery made him sound especially indifferent. “Well, you got what you—”

Suddenly, they were thrown against their harnesses. Carvalho’s words choked off in a squeak. Then the world was spinning as the pod tossed about. Tolvern looked through the tiny port window opposite and saw the red-and-blue planet spinning crazily beneath them.
Outlaw
spun past them on the opposite side, receding quickly.

The disorientation was so sudden and so complete that for a moment Tolvern thought she’d lose her breakfast, and then they’d have vomit spinning around with them. But the pod shortly settled into a single, straightforward motion. She fought down the nausea, but her stomach was still a nervous, writhing mass of snakes.

“That wasn’t twenty seconds,” Brockett protested.

“It was apparently a rough estimate,” she said.

“How long until we’re down?” he asked.

“Never done this before. Not long, I would think.”

Nyb Pim spoke up. “Three or four minutes to hit the atmosphere, then a plummet to 25,000 feet, at which point the parachutes begin to deploy. Another seven or eight minutes until we hit the surface.”

“That long?” Tolvern asked.

They were vulnerable every moment they were above ground. From the assault on Malthorne’s estate last year—the one that had seized the sugar antidote and brought Brockett onto the crew—she remembered that the orbital fortresses were poorly positioned to shoot down into the atmosphere. But there could be ground fighter craft and anti-air weapons to target them.

“Um, guys?” Brockett said. “I don’t mean to alarm anyone, but is that one of ours?”

Brockett pointed at the port window. Tolvern had looked away when the spinning view made her sick. Now, she returned her gaze to the window. A ship came directly at them. It had the long, lean shape of a torpedo boat.

No, it was not one of theirs.

A torpedo boat had two tubes, plus a light belly gun for destroying small craft and causing general mayhem. This gun was pointed in their direction, and now it flared to life.

Chapter Eight

Drake had his hands full holding off Captain Lindsell’s fleet of cruisers and support craft when Isabel Vargus tried to hail him on the screen. He didn’t have time to deal with her. Rutherford hadn’t yet arrived to relieve him, and Lindsell pressed the attack the moment Vargus’s pirates left him for their run at the planet. Drake kept his distance from the forts. His only goal was to shield Vargus while she sent the away pod to the surface.