Shattered Sun (The Sentinel Trilogy Book 3) (2 page)

“Except we ain’t got any idea how it works, Cap’n. Maybe it don’t work like a normal engine. Maybe you need them all going or none of ’em can jump.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she said. “Still, I can’t help but think the buzzards are playing a game. Or they think
we’re
playing a game.”

That was more likely, Tolvern decided. It seemed that Apex was divided into flocks, which sometimes fought together, but often did not. The ones who’d assaulted Samborondón might have nothing to do with the massive fleet she’d faced at the sentinel battle station a few weeks ago. They might not realize
Blackbeard
was flying alone, and might suspect she was leading them toward a hidden fleet she’d stashed in the outer planets.

“If only that were true,” she said.

“What’s that?” Capp asked. She lifted a forearm to her mouth to cover another yawn.

“Nothing. Talking to myself. You’re off shift. Go get some sleep—I need you fresh.”

“If it’s all the same, Cap’n, I’d rather stick around. I don’t want to leave while all this is going on.”

“It
isn’t
all the same. You have your orders.”

Capp rose to her feet. “Aye, Cap’n. Smythe, you’re number two on the bridge. You better not be playing a game over there. If it’s that dumb Romans and Soviets thing again, I’ll wring your bloody neck.”

As Capp left, Smythe came over from the tech console, leaving Lomelí manning his spot, with a young midshipman—one of Li’s Singaporeans—at the defense grid computer.

“I wasn’t playing, you know,” Smythe said defensively. “Not on high alert. I’d never do that.”

With his square jaw and stiff bearing, Smythe looked like a captain or a marine colonel until he opened his mouth, and then he was a tech guy through and through. Nobody could geek out like Smythe, except for perhaps Brockett, the science officer.

“Capp is just riding you,” Tolvern said. “She’s not keen on you taking her seat whenever

she leaves the bridge.”

“I can fly this ship, you know. If you’re ever gone, Capp isn’t here, and something happens to Nyb Pim, then I’m more than capable of taking over.”

Tolvern glanced at Nyb Pim. “Did you hear that, Pilot? Take extra good care of yourself, please. We wouldn’t want to leave this fellow in charge.”

Nyb Pim looked solemn. “Yes, sir.”

“Hey!” Smythe said.

“I got your message,” Tolvern told him.

“I was wondering. You didn’t answer.”

“That’s because you sent it in the middle of my sleep cycle. High priority—I woke up and read it, nerves on edge, thinking the buzzards were attacking.”

Smythe looked sheepish. “Sorry, it seemed important at the time.”

“It
was
important. But it wasn’t critical or time sensitive. That’s what high priority means, Smythe.” She manipulated her private viewscreen and swiveled it for him to see. “This is the area you’re talking about? I don’t see anything odd.”

“That’s because we’re not hitting it with active sensors. If I’m right, I don’t want to give away the plan by shining a flashlight on it for the buzzards to see. But we picked up something right here between these two asteroids.”

“And you think it’s a derelict?” she asked.

“Yes, sir. Wreckage of some kind. Most likely a Hroom sloop of war based on the radiation that is bleeding off it.”

“But definitely dead?”

“The radiation we detected would be fatal for any living creature,” Smythe said. “Yes, it’s got to be a derelict ship with a ruptured containment field.”

Tolvern understood what had excited Smythe. Apex struggled to detect hidden or cloaked ships. Most likely, they didn’t know about the wrecked sloop yet. There were any number of ways she might use that knowledge to her advantage.

“Have you plotted a course?” she asked Nyb Pim.

“Yes, sir,” the pilot answered. “With only a slight course correction we can reach the Hroom vessel in ninety-eight minutes at current speed.”

Tolvern’s hopes rose. “If the buzzards don’t jump soon, they’ll never catch us in time.”

“That’s exactly my thinking, sir,” Smythe said. “We’ll need a scheme. It’s not a real ally, after all, just a ghost ship.”

“No, but we can make it look like one. As soon as we get close we’ll send a fake message, let the enemy think we’ve got a small fleet waiting for us. Better yet, send two or three messages, make it look like a conversation between the two sides. Can you do that?”

“Sure,” Smythe said. “A bit of trickery with the instruments—shouldn’t be hard.”

“Excuse me, Captain,” Nyb Pim said, “but won’t that only delay the enemy attack? When the derelict fails to change course or warm its weapon systems, the enemy will know we are bluffing. Or am I missing something, some additional layer of deception?”

“We can simulate all sorts of things, Pilot,” Tolvern said. “Configure the active sensors to send false signals back to our pursuers. Hit the backside of the derelict with pulse weapons to make it move, make it seem like it’s firing up its engines. We can even harpoon it and throw it behind us. Toss out a few mines, then use the asteroids as a shield.”

“There are eight enemy ships,” Nyb Pim said. “Will you be able to deceive them all?”

“It’s a long shot,” she admitted, “but we’re down to throwing the dice and hoping for the best. Unless you have a better idea.”

“You know I am not so good at scheming, Captain.”

“I don’t believe that at all. You once schemed yourself onto a slaver ship.”

“That was straightforward. I ate sugar and let it take me. This is deception.”

“Don’t think of it as deception. It’s more like hiding in the shadows. Like camouflage. The Hroom are good at that. They lurk and spring out when you least expect them.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

Tolvern gave orders to change course. Then she sent Smythe back to brainstorm with Lomelí about various schemes and stratagems. She called the gunnery and told Barker what she was thinking. She expected the chief to grumble, maybe urge her to turn around and fight it out, claim his boys could knock eight lances out of the sky. His reaction surprised her.

“Gotta admit that Smythe surprised me with this one,” he said. “More imagination than he usually shows.”

“He’s got plenty of imagination,” she said. “It’s attention he lacks. He’s either on some flight of fancy or he’s down in the weeds, messing around with tech. When he’s on it, he’s good.”

“If you say so.”

“Point is, there’s going to be fighting, and I need you ready. We’re going to make that wrecked-up sloop dance. You’ll need to let loose with everything you’ve got. Make it look like we’re shooting and the sloop is shooting at the same time. I need torpedoes, missiles, Youd mines—”

“I only got six Youds left, Captain.”

“You’ll fire every last one of them.”

“A waste of good ordnance.”

“If by waste you mean dumping a bunch of mines that will never kill anyone, while at the same time letting us slip away to freedom, then yes, I agree. And that’s exactly what a mine is used for, isn’t it? Make the enemy think twice before progressing?”

He grunted. She imagined his thick brows scrunching together and his walrus mustache turning down in a frown as he looked for a flaw in the plan.

“Soon as we’re back with the fleet, I’ll get you more Youds. For now, use them up.”

“All right, then,” he said. “If that’s the scheme, that’s the scheme. Wait, I got an idea. Let me ask Rodriguez something.”

“Make it quick. My tech people are already putting something together.”

“Hold on one second. He’s right here, trying to argue that the new deck plating isn’t a piece of substandard crap. The rest of his work is pretty sloppy, too. Claims he didn’t have time to do it right. But he gave me a couple of goodies I might be able to put to use.”

Tolvern waited impatiently on the com link as he and Rodriguez argued about something in the background.
Blackbeard
had picked up Rodriguez and about twenty of his workers while fleeing an Apex assault on the Samborondón yards, and it seemed like the Ladino was already coming into conflict with her engineering crew. Tolvern was about to hang up when Barker came back on.

“I guess it’s
not
all crap. The fellow gave us a couple of new probes, and I think we can put them to use. We toss them out at the right time, they fire up their sensors, and we might be able to make ’em look like warships. Good enough to fool the buzzards, anyway.”

“Perfect. Ten minutes and I’ll make the call for all hands to their stations.” Tolvern glanced at the clock. Capp was probably just drifting off to sleep. “Make it twenty. It’s only a life and death struggle—we may as well take our time.”

#

An hour later, they were getting ready to make their move. The two asteroids, labeled simply X-1 and X-2 on the screen, were straight ahead of them, wobbling as they circled each other in a loose orbit. The first one was about ninety miles long, roughly ovaloid. The second was longer, but only about a third of the mass, as it wasn’t as fat around the middle.

“Where is the dead sloop?” she asked. “Is it closer to the eggplant or the carrot?”

Smythe grinned at this. “The eggplant.”

His fingers moved, and the “X-1” and “X-2” disappeared from the big screen, replaced by “eggplant” and “carrot.”

“May as well make it official,” he said. “And we’re close enough for visual now.” He zoomed in. “See this little dot here?”

“That speck of dust?”

“That’s the sloop.”

The chunk of rock, which had been rather small itself moments earlier, now looked like a planetoid more than an asteroid, at least on the fat end that dominated the screen. The sloop sat off to one side.

“I’m surprised it doesn’t crash into the surface,” Tolvern said. “The eggplant is big enough to have its own gravity, right?”

“Sounds like the eggplants my mum used to serve,” Capp said. “They had their own gravity, too. All greasy and fried.” She made a face.

Smythe was frowning as worked the console. “Run the numbers,” he said to Lomelí. “The captain is right. Those asteroids are big enough to pull down the ship. Why haven’t they?”

“And you’re sure it’s a wreck?” Tolvern asked.

“Has to be. Too much radiation. It’s unsafe. Would kill its crew in a matter of weeks, if not days.”

There was something about the situation that felt wrong. Something that Tolvern didn’t yet understand, and it wasn’t just the strange way the ghost ship was lurking next to the larger asteroid.

They’d been racing toward the asteroids through all of this, and the little speck was growing on the viewscreen. A few million miles behind them, the lances veered at angles away from each other. Getting space so they could jump. Whatever they’d been waiting for, they were ready to fight now, and would soon be at
Blackbeard
’s throat.

“Here we go,” Tolvern said. “Time to play our games. Capp, warn the gunnery. Smythe, open a general navy channel and point it right at the derelict. We’re going to shout.”

Tolvern had thought about recording a short message, but it would be better to sound spontaneous. They were still a million miles out, which would delay any response and require a strong enough signal that Apex, experts in intercepting and deciphering enemy transmissions, could not help but hear. When the enemy took a look, they’d see the derelict and think it was a live ship.

That was the idea, anyway. She needed to send the message before the lances jumped.

“Channel open, sir,” Smythe said.

“This is Tolvern. We’re bringing friends, as you can see. Let’s give them a nice welcome. Give me
Jefferson
for fire support.
Halifax
in the van. Drop missiles on my mark. All
Blackbeard
weapons are hot. Going to bring her around.”

Halifax
and
Jefferson
were navy destroyers, roughly the size of a Hroom sloop of war, and the size of ship that regularly escorted a large cruiser like
Blackbeard
. It was enough of a feint to seem believable without sounding like Tolvern were trying to bluff up an entire task force. With any luck, the enemy would see the dead sloop, be unable to identify it, and think that Tolvern was telling the truth. They’d look around for the second destroyer, afraid of an ambush.

“The enemy is decelerating, sir!” Smythe said. “No, wait.”

Two
of them were decelerating, anyway. The other six continued on course. Any moment now, they’d jump. Six was more than enough to destroy
Blackbeard
.

And then the derelict sloop moved. Its engine ignited, and it nosed toward them. Two more sloops swung around the eggplant.

“My God, they’re alive,” Smythe said. “And hailing us.”

“So much for the excess of radiation,” Tolvern said. “Put them up, dammit.”

A year ago, the sight of three sloops of war would have filled Tolvern with fear. Positioned so perfectly for an ambush, the next step would be a charge. Typical Hroom tactics. With all her weapons ready for the lances jumping in from behind,
Blackbeard
was in terrible position to fight enemies ahead of her. But General Mose Dryz was on her side now, and these might be his sloops. By God, they’d better be.

A Hroom appeared on the viewscreen. It wasn’t the general, with the pink skin of an eater, but a long-faced Hroom with a deep purple tint. He didn’t wear an iron circlet around his head, like a typical Hroom commander, and his robe was yellow, not white or green. A heavy chain hung around his neck, from which dangled small iron balls decorated with spikes, like some ancient torture device.

Tolvern’s mouth felt dry. Hroom cultists.

“Captain Tolvern,” the Hroom said in Albionish. “You have angered Lyam Kar, and the god of death will have His sacrifice.”

Chapter Three

Mose Dryz’s sugar swoon lasted several minutes, and when it began to fade, he was turning in crazy corkscrews as the ship fell into the gravity well of the small planet. A worried humming, hooting, and whistling came through the com link, gradually resolving into Lenol Tyn’s voice.