Hidden Empire (8 page)
Kori’nh clasped his hands in front of his chest again. “As you command, Liege.”
“You and the Solar Navy must rescue our splinter colony on Crenna. Bring them home to Ildira.”
Surprised, Kori’nh straightened again. “What has happened?” He could not keep the hopeful sound out of his voice. “Is this
to be a military operation?” He had read many stories in the
Saga
and wanted to have his own part, however small, in an epic conflict.
“Crenna was barely large enough to be a true splinter, and now they are suffering from a terrible plague, which has already
killed a substantial portion of the colonists, including my Crenna Designate. Through the
thism
, I have felt their suffering—the sickness first blinds its victims, then kills them.”
“K’llar bekh!”
Adar Kori’nh felt cold. “That is terrible, Liege.”
The braid twitched again. “Since the colony has dropped below the critical population density for
thism
to function, I have decided to abandon it. Rather than assigning more and more colonists to this hazardous place, we will
remove our people.”
“It shall be done, Liege,” Kori’nh said. “Rapidly and efficiently. I hope we can act quickly enough to prevent further loss
of life. Are we to recover our equipment and buildings?”
“No, they are tainted with the disease. Also, the Terran Hanseatic League has bargained hard and negotiated well, and they
have… acquired Crenna and all its resources from us. Their preliminary tests have made them confident they are not susceptible
to this plague. Humans will move into the empty settlement as soon as our people have been evacuated.”
Kori’nh was aghast, especially after having seen the outrageous experiment at Oncier that would provide them with four new
moons to inhabit. “What could the humans possibly need with a new planet? They have already spread like a disease across so
many worlds.”
“It is all part of my plan, Adar. Better to let them have our leavings than to let them grow too ambitious on their own.”
Adar Kori’nh nodded. “It is as I have warned for decades, Liege. We must never let down our guard. I suggest we maintain a
careful vigilance.”
“I always do, my Adar,” said the Mage-Imperator. “I always do.”
A
s a successful merchant with five ships, Rlinda Kett was not accustomed to biting her nails and waiting in meek silence. Especially
during an ambush. She stood next to General Kurt Lanyan on the bridge deck of the Juggernaut-class battleship, the most heavily
armed vessel in the Earth Defense Forces.
While lurking in the empty silence of space, Lanyan had ordered the Juggernaut to shut down all its running lights and dampen
their electromagnetic signature. The EDF battleship’s dark hull plates of stealth material would keep them invisible, just
a gravitational anomaly floating among the rocks at the outskirts of the Yreka system.
Waiting. They had already set their trap.
“How long have we been in position?” Rlinda said in a quiet voice.
“No need to whisper, madam,” the General answered. His cheeks and chin were so smooth and clean that the skin looked slippery.
When he focused his attention, his close-set icy-blue eyes seemed to drink in light and then reflect it back twofold. Lanyan
indicated the tracker screen that showed the blip of Rlinda’s cargo ship, the
Voracious Curiosity
, as it proceeded along the commercial flight path toward Yreka’s inhabited planets. “We can’t hurry this. That bastard Sorengaard
has to make the next move.”
“You’d best be certain to respond the moment he does, General.” Now that she no longer bothered to whisper, her booming voice
carried an intimidating quality. “That’s my personal ship out there, and it’s being piloted by my favorite exhusband.”
“Your favorite one, madam? How many of them do you have?”
“Ships or ex-husbands?”
“Ex-husbands,” the General growled as if she should have known his intent. “I am already aware of how many ships you run.”
“Five ex-husbands, and BeBob is the best of the bunch, the only one who still works for me.” She still got along with Captain
Branson “BeBob” Roberts, personally and sexually. Besides, he was a damned good captain.
Space corsairs led by the outlaw Rand Sorengaard had recently captured one of Rlinda’s merchant ships on the Yreka run, killing
the crew and taking all of her supplies. Settled by one of the original generation ships, the
Abel-Wexler
, Yreka was near the edge of territory claimed by the Ildiran Empire, far from the core of the Terran Hanseatic League, which
meant that neither race provided much surveillance or protection. But when Sorengaard’s corsairs had taken to running down
cargo ships, the Earth Defense Forces had vowed to root out and crush such flagrant lawlessness, even if it meant using Rlinda’s
ship and her favorite ex-husband as bait.
Rlinda was a black woman with an ample body, a big appetite, and a hearty laugh. She allowed people to draw their own stereotypes,
which often led them to underestimate her; Rlinda was not quite as soft and roly-poly as she appeared. A shrewd businesswoman,
she understood her markets and knew a thousand special niches. Other traders wasted their time looking for big strikes and
monopolies on rare alien goods, but she preferred to make herself rich one small step at a time. Many merchants failed to
pay off their vessels, but Rlinda had five ships—four, now that Sorengaard’s asshole pirates had captured the
Great Expectations
.
The Yreka run had been one of her company’s most lucrative routes, since the outlying colonists needed many essentials that
Rlinda could provide at low cost. Now, though, with Sorengaard preying upon helpless vessels, few traders would venture into
the area. Rlinda could have gouged even higher prices from the needy colonists; instead she preferred to take this risk, allowing
General Lanyan to use her
Voracious Curiosity
as a bit of provocation.
She wanted to make a profit, certainly, but she also wanted business to run smoothly. Most of all, she intended to see justice
done for her lost captain, Gabriel Mesta, and his crew.
Sitting in command aboard the giant Juggernaut, General Lanyan didn’t have such high-minded ideals or moral reasons. He just
wanted to kick some butt and teach these pirates a lesson.
Run by the Hansa, the EDF served as a combination police/security force, as well as a standing interstellar military. Unlike
the Ildiran Solar Navy, whose large and ornate ships were mainly for show, blustering about and doing humanitarian deeds,
Lanyan’s EDF was more realistic in its purpose. They knew there would always be plenty of trouble among the Hansa colonies.
Humans had never ceased to fight one another, finding religious or political reasons to squabble; when that justification
failed, they simply grabbed one another’s possessions or resources.
Stopping a rebel like Sorengaard, a man who had connections with the gypsylike Roamers—now
that
was a perfect mission for the EDF. Sorengaard’s pirates were also said to be Roamer exiles, all of which added to the Hansa’s
already prevalent suspicion against the gypsy people. Though the unruly nomads supplied most of the stardrive fuel used in
commerce, the Roamers obeyed no law but their own and generally avoided participating in the political or social activities
of other civilized humans.
“Picking up energy signatures, General,” said a tactical lieutenant at her station. “A dozen of them. Small ships, apparently
… but they seem to be carrying heavy weapons.”
“Battle stations,” Lanyan said. “And keep running silent until I give the order.”
Soldiers scrambled about and pilots raced to the launch decks to board their fast-attack Remoras. Rlinda clenched her fists
and drew deep breaths, thinking of BeBob. Her captain would be flying down toward Yreka, hoping to flush out the corsairs
so the EDF could stop the pirates’ depredations. Rlinda wanted to open a channel and shout a warning, but that would ruin
the ambush. She prayed BeBob would be safe.
She watched as the unsuspecting corsairs ignited their engines and moved in toward their prey. Smiling, Lanyan opened the
intercom channel to give orders to his soldiers. The General was too damned cocksure.
After the corsairs closed in on the
Voracious Curiosity
BeBob did his best to fly evasive maneuvers toward the safety net of Yreka stations, but the overloaded cargo ship was full
of material to make up for what had not been delivered during the last scheduled run. BeBob’s moves were sluggish.
Rlinda knew her captain must even now be panicked, sweating and swearing. Branson Roberts was not simply acting as bait; he
was genuinely trying to escape, but he had no chance against the corsairs. Her heart went out to him. “You’d better not blow
this, General, or I’ll have your balls.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence, madam,” he said, then shouted into the intercom, “All Remoras, launch! Manta cruisers,
proceed forward. Engage the enemy.”
Even as the greedy corsairs surrounded the single merchant ship, the EDF battlefleet pounced upon them. The squadron of fast-attack
Remoras lunged in, targeting the pirates’ unshielded engines. The corsairs were brave enough to face the minimal defensive
capabilities of merchant ships, but they had no way of resisting the battle-ready Terran military force.
One of the small corsair ships broke away and tried to flee, accelerating so hard its white-hot engine cowlings began to vaporize
into plasma, causing the pirate to veer off in an unstable flight path. With several jazer blasts, two Remoras destroyed the
fleeing corsair before he could slip out of detector range.
Lanyan shouted into the ship-to-ship comm, “I want some alive. Don’t fry them unless you have no choice.”
A chorus of acknowledgments came over the speakers, and then the midsized Manta cruisers joined the fray. Flying fast, the
Remoras opened fire with concentrated jazer pulses, and all hell broke loose.
Fed up with standing on the sidelines, Rlinda ran to the communications console and with one big shoulder knocked Lanyan out
of the way. She adjusted the frequency to the
Voracious Curiosity
’s private channel. “BeBob, get your ass out of there! If I don’t see you moving out of the firing zone in five seconds, I’m
going to come over there and do it myself.”
“Don’t need to tell me twice, Rlinda,” BeBob’s surprisingly firm voice answered, but she knew he was just putting on a brave
mask. Branson Roberts could be cool in a crisis, but he was not a boulder-headed hero-in-training.
The
Voracious Curiosity
changed course to head down the Z-axis below Yreka’s ecliptic and away from the battle zone. Not a scratch from a stray blast
or a ricochet. Rlinda breathed a sigh of relief, but told herself it was only because she wanted the
Curiosity
to be clean and undamaged for her upcoming trip to Theroc.
The Mantas crippled the pirate ships, and Remoras rounded up the vessels in short order. One EDF pilot scorched his hand when
a control panel sparked out due to a malfunction that had been missed during the recent inspection overhaul. That man became
Lanyan’s sole casualty.
The corsairs’ hodge-podge of ships hung corralled within the surrounding barricade of EDF vessels. The spacecraft looked old
and patched, strange designs assembled from mismatched components and mixed-up blueprints. Their hulls were scarred, their
engines damaged in the recent fight.
“I want all prisoners shuttled over to my Juggernaut,” Lanyan said. “Bring them to the cargo bay. Make sure you put neural
clamps on their wrists and strip them of all weapons.”
Next, EDF soldiers began the most dangerous part of the operation, boarding the nine remaining corsair vessels and taking
prisoners. While they removed the pirate crews, leaving the ragtag vessels guarded by designated troops, one corsair captain
initiated a critical overload, attempting to blow up his vessel and vaporize any EDF forces within range. But the botched
self-destruct routine succeeded only in melting down the engine core, burning through the hull, and shooting out a narrow
jet of fire. The unexpected venting made the corsair ship careen out of control like a whirligig, until it finally sputtered
out and drifted in space, dark and ruined, not even worth the salvage.
Rlinda accompanied General Lanyan to the Juggernaut’s cargo bay, where thirty-one prisoners were brought forward. The men
stood helpless with angry eyes and tattered shirts, hands bound, rich in dignity but poor in common sense.
“Which one is Rand Sorengaard?” Lanyan swept his ice-blue eyes across them, working his jaw to contain his indignation. “And
don’t play any stupid tricks. You’ll all face the same punishment anyway.”
The men glanced at each other, trying to look haughty, jaws clenched, eyes blazing. Several of the pirates appeared ready
to step forward in a foolish attempt at bravery, but a tall, lantern-jawed man volunteered first. He looked at the others
with the sure, confident gaze of a leader. “You men stand down. I’ll face my own crimes.” He turned to Lanyan. “I’m Rand Sorengaard.
I don’t recognize your authority to arrest me.”
