Dreadnought (Starship Blackbeard Book 3) (17 page)

If there hadn’t been such a large naval force, the enemy might have made it through undetected. But Malthorne had so many ships looking in every direction for threats that was almost inevitable that one tech officer noted an anomaly in a long-range scan, and then the hunt was on. Soon, they had identified six sloops of war. It was the same size as the other known Hroom fleets. But given its location, this had to be a different force.

How many fleets were there? Several, apparently. Even combined, the Hroom ships wouldn’t be powerful enough to defeat the Royal Navy, but they didn’t have to be. Send enough, each sneaking into the Albion system via a different route, and it would be impossible to intercept them all. Get one fleet past, any fleet, and they could fly into the atmosphere on their one-way mission to vaporize Albion with atomic weapons.

Rutherford looked at the warship on the screen, which shimmered oddly, a composite image of long-range scans from numerous ships. Together, they gave a fairly accurate representation.

“Has anyone tried to hail the Hroom?” Rutherford asked.

“Not that I’m aware of, sir. But there doesn’t seem to be much ambiguity to their intentions. Norris, show him.”

The Hroom warship vanished, and the viewscreen showed a schematic of the system, with its rocky inner worlds and three vast asteroid belts—the so-called Shoals, being so difficult to navigate—stretching all the way to an outer ring of icy comets. A line curved from the Hroom fleet toward the same jump point the navy meant to take.

“They’re going straight to Albion, sir,” Pittsfield said.

“Will they beat us to the jump point?”

“Yes, and no.”

Pittsfield explained. At the Hroom’s current course and speed, the enemy would arrive at the jump midway between
Dreadnought
’s arrival and the destroyer-and-corvette-led second wave.

Thankfully, the admiral had sent the capital ships ahead.
Dreadnought
and the cruisers would arrive first, could prevent the Hroom from leaving the Shoals.

Rutherford called the flagship and suggested to the admiral that they hail the Hroom. Warn them they’d been detected. Force the Hroom to seek another route to Albion. That would buy time to get the whole fleet home before they were forced to fight.

Malthorne said no. They would intercept the Hroom at the earliest possible moment and destroy them. That mean fighting here, in the Gryphon Shoals. When the call ended, Rutherford could no longer contain his anger and cursed the lord admiral for his idiocy. Norris and Swasey—Malthorne loyalists—were watching Rutherford carefully, but he didn’t care.

“Sir,” Pittsfield warned, his tone nervous. “Have you eaten yet? Perhaps if you—” He stopped and said to the rest of the bridge, as if explaining, “The captain just woke up, and the situation caught him by surprise. Sir, perhaps if you had breakfast, drank some coffee, met with us in the war room—”

“Rubbish,” Rutherford cut in. “I don’t need coffee, and I am not hungry, either, by God. I’m furious. Malthorne’s plan is beyond asinine. We will be here, fighting over a bunch of asteroids, while half a dozen death fleets incinerate Albion.”

“Sir,” Pittsfield said quietly. “We have no choice in the matter.”

The other man’s voice was so calm and reasonable that it deflated Rutherford’s anger. He had stomped away from his chair during his rant, but now he stopped and looked at his commander for a long moment and realized that Pittsfield was right. Certainly, Rutherford could break from the fleet and make a run for it, mutiny like Drake had. Go through the jump point and join whatever defenses remained in the home system. But alone, what good would he do?

He may, however, assist
Dreadnought
and the other cruisers in crushing this particular enemy force as quickly as possible. The faster they ended the battle, the faster he’d be able to get them through to the other side.

Meanwhile, Norris and Swasey were staring, alarmed. Rutherford could only imagine the private communications they would send to the lord admiral. After what had happened on HMS
Ajax
, there was no question that Rutherford would be removed from command the moment it looked as though he might go rogue. For that matter, Caites looked aggravated, too, and he could see the conflicted loyalty in her face. Pittsfield’s, too. Neither of them wanted this fight.

Rutherford formed an apology, though the words tasted like ash in his mouth. “The commander is correct. I misspoke in my eagerness to defend Albion. We will follow the lord admiral and obliterate these enemies first.”

Pittsfield let out a long, relieved sigh. Caites, Norris, and Swasey turned back to their consoles.

My God,
Rutherford thought, as his emotions settled.
I almost did it. I almost mutinied against the fleet.
 

Chapter Fourteen

Drake called the pirate captains to meet with him on
Blackbeard
before the final jump into the Albion system. He brought over Catarina first, greeting her personally in the engineering bay when she stepped out of her away pod. She stretched, yawned, and glanced at the crew moving torpedoes with forklifts and hauling belts of ten-inch projectiles for the deck gun.

Other men and women stayed busy making minor repairs to equipment damaged in the fight with the pirate fortress, and the smell of ozone from arc welders and the hiss of blow torches filled the engineering bay. Anything that could be brought into the engineering bay instead of repaired in space could be found here. Carvalho walked past, his face streaked with grease, while Barker drove a forklift with a damaged belly gun. That wasn’t a good sign; that gun should be installed and ready to go, not dismounted so close to the jump. Several techs jumped into action as soon as Barker lowered the gun to the floor.

“So organized,” Catarina said, as she joined Drake in crossing the bay toward the lift. “Half of my people would be smoking, playing cards, or getting drunk behind a pallet of crates.”

“We will be facing professional soldiers,” Drake said. “I don’t want to go into battle leading a bunch of undisciplined amateurs.”

“Where are the other captains?”

“They’ll be here in an hour. I wanted to see you first.”

Catarina raised an eyebrow. “Looking to seduce me, or are you making a final attempt to coerce me into joining your fleet? Or maybe you’ll try the first thing to make the second thing happen.”

“Believe me, if I thought seducing you would help, I would do it.”

Her eyes flashed. “What about doing it for pleasure? Does there have to be an ulterior motive?”

Drake lifted his hands. “Please, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just—I am worried about my parents, about the Hroom, about facing
Dreadnought
. There is too much pressure to think of anything else.”

“I understand. You are a man of duty. That is why I want you for my own fleet.”

“Your colonization scheme? How is it coming?”

“You know the haul we took from the tyrillium barge?” Catarina said. “I’ve spent every guinea, plus some.”

“That was a lot of gold. I hope you got your money’s worth.”

“I hope so, too. I’m mostly stockpiling gear at this point—lorries, fuel, a couple of mini nuclear reactors, transport ships with stasis chambers. Plus there’s equipment for refining ore, manufacturing chemicals—everything from plastics to pharmaceuticals. It’s a one-way trip. I don’t want to get into the Omega Cluster, watch the jump point collapse behind me, and then realize I forgot my toothbrush.”

Drake laughed.

“I still need ships,” Catarina continued, “and I need good men and women to lead them. The colonists themselves can wait until the last moment. I don’t want Albion or anyone else to get wind of my plan until it’s too late to stop.”

They’d come onto the lift, and now they entered the bridge. Tolvern frowned after them as Drake and Catarina made their way across to the war room. Once inside, Catarina grabbed the chair at the head of the table, leaned back, and propped her boots up. An insouciant grin stretched across her face as she studied him.

“No boots on the table?” she said. “I don’t see a sign.”

Drake sighed and sat down opposite her. “What will it take to keep
Orient Tiger
in the fight?”

“If you want my ship and crew, you can have it. Twelve thousand now, twelve thousand when we finish. Twenty-four thousand pounds.”

“You know I don’t have it.”

“How much
do
you have?”

“About five.”

“That’s what I figured,” she said. “Not enough.”

“There’s treasure in York Tower. Bullion for the mint. Could be a haul for the ages.”

“Could be. Sure. And gold doubloons might start spewing out of your engines, too.”

“How about this? I will promise you the next sum of money that comes into my hands, whenever that happens.”

“An I.O.U.?” she said suspiciously. “Is that what you mean?”

“More or less. For now, I’ll give you the money I won’t have to pay Dunkley, since he got himself killed. A down payment. After that, you can have the next twenty-five thousand pounds that comes into my hands.”

A calculating look crossed Catarina’s face. “If I weigh the odds that you don’t survive this mission, that
I
don’t survive it, plus the likelihood that you wouldn’t be able to deliver because I am pressed for time or you are unable to keep your crew or ship—all the possible ways this scheme can fail—then I would say that twenty-five thousand, paid in the future, looks more like fifty thousand pounds.”

“Fifty?” he said, disbelieving. “You want fifty thousand pounds to rent the services of your pirate frigate? At those prices, what is
Blackbeard
worth, a hundred?” He laughed. “Maybe Malthorne would rent me
Dreadnought
for a million guineas. Is that a good price?”

Catarina sprang to her feet, glaring. “I’m giving you a bargain you don’t deserve. You already lost
one
ship, and I’d wager
Orient Tiger
at two-to-one odds that you’ll lose at least one more ship before you come out the other side. Hell, at five-to-one, I’d wager that you lose your whole blasted fleet. But instead, I’m offering you my services at fifty thousand pounds, backed only by your wishful thinking and my misguided sentiment.”

“Misguided sentiment? Oh, sure. You care so much that you will only charge fifty thousand pounds. How generous of you.”

“If you’re going to insult me, I won’t stay another moment.”

“Fine,” he spat. “You can have your fifty thousand. Once we’re done, I’ll go steal some money for you.”

“And what will you pledge in collateral to assure your debt?”

“So now you want collateral. Of course you do.” Drake couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I am so pleased that my parents’ lives depend on your mercenary whims.”

“Go to hell.”

Catarina stormed toward the door. Drake caught her wrist, and she spun on him, her other fist cocked, as if she would crush him one on the nose. He let go and stepped back, blinking.

For a moment, she stood staring at him, her nostrils flaring, fury on her face. He said nothing until she began to calm. It gave him a chance to reconsider.

“I am sorry,” he said, and meant it. “You are right. Please forgive me.”

“That is the second time you’ve apologized. I will accept the apology, but this is the last time. Do you understand that, James?”

“Yes.”

Catarina sat back down. “Very good. Now that you’re willing to be reasonable, you may go on.”

“I do not have the money to pay you what you’re worth. And you are right, future promises are worth little. What I want to know is if there is anything I can do, say, or promise that will keep
Orient Tiger
in the fleet.”

Catarina was quiet for a long moment, as if seriously considering this. “I have never met your parents, I have no loyalty to Albion. You understand, I’m not callous, or indifferent, but this is my starting point. You hired my services as a professional, and you have offered me nothing to make it personal. Since that hasn’t happened, the only thing we can do is treat this as a professional transaction.”

“You are right, of course. I shouldn’t have made it personal.”

Still, Drake found himself disappointed. He’d half expected her to ask that he commit to her colonization scheme as the price for her cooperation. Join her in piracy to raise the necessary funds to build her fleet of pioneer ships. Join her on a one-way voyage to the Omega Cluster. Lords of space—Catarina as the first sovereign of the world, with Drake as her prince consort. He didn’t know what he’d have said to that demand, but he knew, in his heart, that he’d wanted her to ask.

He returned slowly to his seat.

“I want your ship,” she said. “Not you, not your crew—they can do what they’d like—but
Starship Blackbeard
. I want it.”

Drake blinked. “Are you serious?”

“Quite. Once you have paid Paredes, Aguilar, and my sister, your ship will be your only remaining asset. I figure it is worth fifty thousand pounds.”

“A hundred, at least.”

“Sure, if you wanted to build it from scratch, but if you needed to sell it in the yards of San Pablo or Leopold, you could get about fifty.”

“And you want it for what?” he asked, unable to commit to this demand.

“For my flagship, of course. I’ll bribe my sister with
Orient Tiger
so she’ll help me raise the rest of the money I need, and then put one of my people at the helm of
Outlaw
in turn. Probably da Silva—he’s ready.” Catarina smiled. “Or, if you think you can raise fifty thousand pounds or find some equivalent ship to give me, then you may keep
Blackbeard
.”

Drake stared at her as the implications sank in. It was the same thing she’d asked a moment earlier, except now she’d clarified her demands.
Blackbeard
would be collateral. What Catarina had done, and cleverly, was walk back from their fight. It all sounded reasonable when she put it this way; he would pay her off and promise something as collateral if he couldn’t deliver. His earlier anger now felt self-righteous and hypocritical.