Dark Space: Avilon (27 page)

“The
Baroness
isn’t on her own, Picara. I’ve been crunching some numbers in my head. Based on how long it took for the
Baroness
to drop out of SLS and how far she travelled in that time, she was deliberately traveling slower than she needed to. That’s how the Sythians caught up to her so fast. They haven’t improved their jump tech.”

Picara shook her head, still not getting it.

Bretton saw the timer reach ten seconds and decided to cut his explanation short. She’d have to connect the dots for herself. “The
Baroness
was flying out of Dark Space with an entire fleet of rebel Gors, Captain, and none of them had any reason to suspect that they’d been followed, so why should they outrun their allies?”

Bretton turned back to the bridge doors. He snapped his fingers to the pair of guards standing there. “You two, with me. We don’t know what we’re going to find on the
Baroness.
”

The timer reached zero and a bright flash of light suffused the deck. Bretton waved his wrist over the door scanner and the bridge doors
swished
open to reveal the glossy golden dome of the quantum junction.

“Incoming!”

“Brace!”

Bretton braced himself on the door jamb and turned back to see a swarm of purple stars come spinning out of the flashing gray clouds of the Stormcloud Nebula. They had just enough time to gasp before those missiles slammed into the bridge. The explosions were blinding, and a simulated roar rumbled through the sound in space simulator. The deck shuddered underfoot.

“Shields at 67%!” engineering reported.

Bretton winced. “Gunnery! I assume you’re in charge of the junction? Get me onto the bridge of the
Baroness. Now!
”

He didn’t wait for a confirmation of that order, instead he rushed into the dimly-lit concourse outside the bridge. A split second later the golden dome of the junction rose on four shimmering pillars of light, and he ran in. Once Bretton was standing in the center of the glowing green circle beneath the dome, he turned in a quick circle to see who was standing there with him. There was Farah, checking the charge on her sidearm, flicking off the safety; and the two guards he’d ordered to join them, both hefting old Imperial ripper rifles and looking nervous. Bretton unstrapped his own sidearm and then the quantum junction began to drop over their heads.

“Ruh-kah,” Bretton whispered in Imperial Versal.

The guards, both Avilonian-born gave him curious looks, but Farah sent him a tight grin, and replied in Versal, “Just like old times, Captain.”

“Hoi, that’s
Admiral
now, Commander.”

“With all due respect, frek you, sir.”

* * *

“Torv . . . What is this?” Destra gaped at the bodies strewn across the deck.

He spoke to her, but again, all she heard was alien hissing. Reaching up to her ear, she found it as naked as the rest of her, and she shivered, noticing how cold it was in the stasis room.

“Give me a second,” she said, and hurried over to the lockers. Her translator would be there with her clothes. She kept half an eye on the Gor as she went, half-expecting him to attack her at any moment. What had he done? She hoped it was some big misunderstanding.

Destra reached the locker with her stasis tube’s number on it, and opened it. She pulled out a neat stack of her clothes and personal items. The first thing she did was fit the combination translator and comm piece into her ear; then she began hurriedly getting dressed.

While she was still getting dressed, Torv stalked up to her. Destra’s heart pounded in her chest, even though she knew that the Gor would have eaten her already if that had been his intention.

“Torv, please explain this,” she tried again.

More hissing. This time it was accompanied by a translation. “I tell you already, my Matriarch. We are forced to take control of this vessel.”

“You killed them?!”

“They sleep.”

Destra shook her head. “You turned on us.”

“We have no choice, Matriarch. Your people refuse to honor you as they should. Their disrespect is a dishonor to their creche and all who belong to it.”

“What did you do to them?”

“We steal weapons and use the sleep setting. Now they sleep.”

“You stunned the entire crew?”

Torv heaved his mighty shoulders. “All who resist. Others choose not to. We watch them while we wait for you to take command.”

“What about the captain?”

“He kills several Gors who try to reason with him. I take his life myself. He can no longer disrespect you, creche mother.”

Destra swallowed hard and nodded. “What is our position in space?”

“We are no longer in the light stream. My creche mates arrive soon.”

Destra spared a glance for her daughter, still trapped in a stasis tube, the glass frosted so that she could only make out a hint of Atta’s face. All the other stasis tubes in the room were likewise occupied. The Gors had timed their coup well, waiting until the majority of the crew was already asleep.

“We need to get to the bridge, Torv,” Destra said. Waking Atta would have to wait for a more convenient moment.

“Lead us, my Matriarch. I make sure no harm comes to you.”

Destra took off at a run, dodging the fallen bodies of stunned corpsmen, medics, and sentinels on her way to the exit. She grimaced as she accidentally stepped on one man’s leg. He didn’t even stir. Passing her wrist over the door scanner, she ran out and down the corridor. Glancing over her shoulder, she was just in time to see Torv cloaking himself. She grimaced and looked away, feeling her skin prickle with unease.

The Gors had seen Captain Covani as a threat and taken matters into their own hands, effectively taking over the ship so that they could put her, a Gor-friendly leader, in command. She should have felt flattered, or maybe encouraged by that vote of confidence, but she couldn’t help thinking about the late captain and wondering . . .

Am I next?

Destra felt a stab of regret for Captain Covani. She hadn’t been responsible for his death, but she felt guilty anyway. She’d argued the Gors’ case, but as it turned out . . . He’d been right to fear them.

Destra reached the nearest bank of lift tubes and rode them all the way up to the bridge. As she left the lift tube and hurried down a short corridor to the bridge, she listened for Torv’s footsteps. The only ones she heard were her own. Maybe she’d lost the Gor along the way . . .

As she reached the doors to the bridge, the deck shuddered under foot, and something below decks groaned ominously. Destra’s eyes flew wide and her breath froze in her chest—

They were under attack.

She passed her wrist over the scanner, and the doors
swished
open. The scene that greeted her on the other side was shocking. A huddled group of officers stood at the Captain’s table surrounded by half a dozen armored Gors. A few glossy black helmets turned her way; the sunken eye sockets of their skull-shaped helmets glowed bright red in the dim emergency lighting.

Destra hesitated, arresting her momentum before she stumbled into them. Were they expecting her? Then the air shimmered ahead of her and Torv appeared. His unarmored gray torso blocked her view, and she heard him begin hissing at the others.

“The Matriarch arrives! Show her the respect she is due!”

The armored Gors bowed their heads to her as she approached.

Encouraged by that, Destra squared her shoulders. “Release them,” she demanded, pointing to the huddled group of officers. If she was supposed to be an authority figure for the Gors she would have to act the part.

The circle of Gors opened up and their human prisoners walked cautiously out, eying their captors.

Destra stopped one of them, grabbing him by the arm. “Where is the captain?” she whispered.

The man regarded her with wide, glassy eyes.

“Lieutenant!” she snapped.

He blinked and turned to point at a bloody corpse lying on the deck beside the captain’s table.

Destra eyed Covani’s body with horror. He looked like he’d been mauled by wild animals.

The deck shuddered again, and a damage alarm sounded, bringing Destra back to the moment. “Everyone to your stations!” she called out, clapping her hands together.

The crew scrambled down from the gangway. Destra turned to Torv and gestured blindly to the Captain’s corpse without looking at it. “Have your men clean up their mess, please Torv. It’s bad for morale.”

Torv turned to hiss something at the armored Gors, and they carried Covani away.

Destra turned in a quick circle, surveying the crew. Fortunately the captain was the only one dead, so she wasn’t missing anyone. There didn’t appear to be an XO on deck, however. She walked up to the Captain’s table, trying to ignore the sticky smears of blood around it.

“Report!” she called out. “What are we looking at?”

“Sythians, Ma’am . . . an entire fleet of them!” gravidar reported.

“Aren’t we cloaked? How are they shooting us?”

“I don’t know . . . we’re not radiating anything our sensors can detect, Ma’am.”

“Well they have to be able to see us to shoot at us, so we must be radiating something!” As if to emphasize her point, the deck shuddered once more. “Raise our shields and take evasive action!” Destra said.

“Yes, Ma’am!”

Destra studied the grid rising from the captain’s table, trying to make sense of the mess of red and green contact icons there. She had zero experience with command. Suddenly she understood Covani’s point about him being better equipped to lead them to safety. Despite her lack of experience, she did notice one thing that seemed odd. As she watched, a green friendly contact appeared out of nowhere, right beside the
Baroness.

“Contact!” gravidar reported. “She’s friendly, venture-class! Looks like she’s shielding us from the bulk of the enemy fire!”

“They’re trying to hail us,” Comms reported.

“Well hail them back!” Destra shook her head, feeling overwhelmed and bewildered. She leaned heavily on the captain’s table, studying the friendly warship. It lay in the enemy’s line of fire, sacrificing itself to shield them from harm. Destra wondered about that. The ship’s designation flagged it as the
Tempest
.

She didn’t recognize the name.

Suddenly one of the crew began yelling and shouting. Those exclamations were soon echoed by others on deck, and Destra spun around, trying to find the source of the fuss. Everyone was staring at the entrance of the bridge, where the air was shimmering as though something were de-cloaking there. A sound like rushing water roared through the air, and then came a strong gust of wind. Destra was staggered by it, but even more staggered by what she saw next.

A group of four officers appeared out of nowhere—three men and one woman, all of them wearing ISSF uniforms, and their eyes were
glowing.

Destra blinked a few times quickly. Recovering from her shock, she started toward them with a scowl. “Who are you and what are you doing on my ship?” As she drew near, she noticed that one of the men was wearing two gold stars on his uniform, marking him as an admiral.

Suddenly all four of them raised their weapons and took up a defensive stance, their backs to each other’s, their eyes and gun barrels warily tracking through the room.

The admiral spoke, “Tell those skull faces we can see them skulking around, and we
will
open fire if they don’t stand down and reveal themselves immediately!”

Destra called out. “Torv! They’re friends!”

The air began shimmering again, but there was no accompanying noise or blast of wind. Gors appeared all around the bridge. Torv was standing right beside her, thick arms crossed over his chest and slitted yellow eyes scanning the quartet of newcomers.

“Who are you and how did you get on board my ship?” Destra demanded as the newcomers relaxed their defensive stance.

The admiral breezed by her without a word of explanation, hurrying toward the captain’s table.

Destra caught up to him. “Hoi, I asked you a question!” she said.

“I’m taking command of this ship,” he said.

“Not without the Matriarch’s permission,”
Torv hissed.

The admiral turned to regard him. “What did he say?”

“He said you’d better ask nicely first,” Destra explained.

The deck shuddered again, and engineering reported, “Hull breach on deck twelve! We’re not going to take much more of this!”

“Seal it up!” the admiral ordered. Turning to her, he pointed out the forward viewport and said, “We don’t have time for pleasantries or explanations. I know what I’m doing. Let me save you first, and then I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

She hesitated just a split second longer before she nodded and gestured to the captain’s table. “Be my guest.”

The admiral turned and walked up to the captain’s table, frowning as he stepped over the bloody smears Covani had left to mark his passing. “What happened here?”

“We don’t have time for explanations, remember?”

“Very well. Helm, plot a blind jump out of here.”