Pursue the Past: Samair in Argos: Book 1 (83 page)

              She smiled.  “Damn, outwitted!  All right.  Looks like the defense pinnaces are coming in from the orbital station to try and intercept us.”

              “We haven’t done anything!” Igraine exclaimed.  “All we did was move toward the station!  And we haven’t communicated with anyone, or done anything wrong!  Why would they come after us?”

              “Well, we don’t actually know that they
are
coming after us,” Tamara pointed out.  She raised a hand to forestall the objections.  “But based on their courses and speed, it looks pretty likely.  I think we are In Trouble.”  She made sure to emphasize the capital letters in each word.

              The others were looking nervous.  “What can we do?” Rory asked, looking worried.

              Tamara shrugged.  “This big girl isn’t a warship,” she reminded them.  “There isn’t a whole lot that we
can
really do.”

              “We could have if you’d authorized the replicators to start pumping out weapons,” Igraine accused.  “Four laser cannons and four rail guns?  That’s not much at all.”

              “We’re not going down that road again,” Tamara said firmly.  “What we have is what the ship can handle.  If we get out of here, we might think about putting in a few more rail guns, but this isn’t a dedicated warship with all sorts of hard points for weapons.  She’s a bulk freighter, meant to carry huge amounts of cargo.  I don’t know what you all want from me.”  She sighed, ignoring the ever-increasing number of dark looks coming her way.  “And it’s too late for this time anyway.  There’s no time to start building anything in time to deal with the current crisis, we’re just going to have to ride it out.”

              “What about more warbirds?” Pip asked, pointing at the
Perdition
.  “Obviously not now,” he said hurriedly, seeing Tamara’s expression, “But what about when we’re out of here?  Can’t we make more fighters like this one?”

              The engineer touched her cheek, staring off at the bulkhead in thought.  The others seemed to think this was an excellent idea.  But then Igraine piped up.  “Do you know how to fly it?”

              The thin man shrugged.  “I can learn.  Mairi can fly a shuttle.”

              “And you think that’s the same thing?” Tamara asked, looking at him with an amused expression.  “It isn’t.”

              “But I could learn,” he pressed.

              “And what am I?” Mairi demanded.  “Scrap metal?”

              “After watching you fly, Mairi, I’m surprised you aren’t,” Rory rumbled.  They all chuckled, even the young woman.

              “So what about it?” Pip asked.  “Can we make more?”

              Tamara sighed.  “Yes, I suppose we could.  Not now, of course.  But yeah, we could.  Problem is, where are we going to put them?  I know I keep repeating myself but this isn’t a warship with a big hangar bay.  And good luck trying to convince the Captain and the purser to part with one of their cargo bays just to stack up fighters.”

              She could see the brightness of their expressions dimming a bit.  Pip sighed.  “Yeah, the Captain is never going to agree to that.  So much for that idea.”

              “Cheer up,” Tamara said, adjusting her position on her crate a bit to get more comfortable, smiling.  “We might be super busy patching this big girl up in a few hours.  You’ll be so busy you won’t have time to mope about our lack of fighter space.”

              “Says the woman who actually
has
her own starfighter,” Pip griped.

              Now her smile was smug.  “The
only
starfighter on this ship,” Tamara corrected, raising one finger.  Then she frowned.  “But there is something that’s been puzzling me.”

              “And what’s that?” Pip asked sourly.

              “We bought some things in Kazyanenko, industrial supplies and things meant for the shipyard here.”

              “So?” Victor asked, sitting up a little straighter.

              “So where’s the shipyard?  We’ve only seen the orbital station and the fueling station, right?  And the defense pinnace ships that are hustling to catch up with us.  But what about the rest of the system?  We haven’t really gotten a good look at what’s around here.  There are a few places, Lagrange points, maybe on the far side of the gas giant or on the other side of the system that they could be hiding it.  But the people on Kazyanenko knew it was here.  So it must be.  And come on, half a dozen pinnaces to defend all of this?  Even if there isn’t a shipyard, that’s just irresponsible.”

              “You’re saying there should be more defenses?” Igraine said. 

              “It did seem a little light, considering all the real estate in orbit,” Mairi mused.  “Even Hecate had a wing of starfighters.  We didn’t see anything like that on the orbital.”

              “The ships here are a little better armed than those fighters at Hecate,” Rory pointed out.  “But you’re right, it does seem a bit light.  Makes me wonder if pirates have been here before.  Because if there aren’t any other defenses, this place is just low hanging fruit.”

              “How goes it?” Plonall asked for the fifth time. 

              “The pumps are working, and we should be full up in about twenty minutes,” Ka’Xarian replied patiently, watching the feeds.  “Sadly, we need to leave the collector here.  Such a waste.”  The zheen’s antennae whirled in irritation.  “Oh well, guess I get to build another one.  Not like I haven’t done it before.  Probably need to do it again.”

              “You’re remarkably chipper,” Jesma said anxiously.  Her eyes flicked back and forth between the displays showing the pump feeds and the proximity sensors.  So far, none of the nearby ships were paying any attention to them, but she knew, they all knew, that that would quickly change.  She was quite a bit more vocal about her anxiety than the others, though no one was happy about hanging around gathering up fuel.  They all wanted to be back aboard the ship and making tracks for the hyper limit.

              “Trying to keep a level head,” the engineer replied.  “Because everyone else on this shuttle is acting as though we’re already caught and dead.  We’re not.”

              “We shouldn’t be here.  We should be back on the
Grania Estelle
and heading for Seylonique,” Jesma shot back.  She put a hand on her head and let out a fast breath.  “Xar, this isn’t going to work.  We’re wasting our time with this.”

              He made a buzzing sound, a sigh.  “We’re not going over this again, Jesma.  Twenty minutes, that’s all we need.  Then we’re free sailing.”

              She glanced at him quickly, doubt etched in every pore.  Then she looked away from him, back to her controls and displays, a shaking breath drawing into her lungs as she tried to remain calm.

              “Captain, those pinnaces are accelerating,” George reported.  “I don’t know if they’re carrying extra fuel or not, but it’s clear they’re hell bent on getting to that fuel station.  They’re vectors are more toward getting there, not intercepting us or cutting us off.”  He twisted his lips.  “Though it’s possible they could change vectors.”

              “What the hell is Ka’Xarian doing?” the captain asked.

              “He’s emptying the fuel collector, Captain,” Stella replied.  “And according to sensors, he shouldn’t be too much longer.  Perhaps fifteen minutes.  At current course and speed, the pinnaces will reach the station about eight minutes before we do.”

              “How long until we get there?” Eamonn asked, checking his own displays.

              “Forty-one minutes,” the helmsman replied, confirming what the captain saw on his own screens. 

              Eamonn chuckled.  “This is maddening.”  There were stares at him from around the bridge.  “This,” he said, gesturing to his displays.  “This whole mess we’re in.  We’ve been flying around this Cluster for years, hauling freight.  We’ve met up with other ships, tangled with pirates, even needed to shoot our way out of a system or two.  But this?”  He chuckled again.  “Never seen this before.”

              No one else seemed to find it as funny.  He sighed.  Clearly this decision wasn’t as popular as he’d hoped.  It didn’t matter that they were committed now.  They would all blame him now, and he couldn’t argue.  He was the Captain and ultimately all decisions were his responsibility anyway.  If he couldn’t take the heat, he shouldn’t be cooking, he mentally quoted Cookie.

              The
Grania Estelle
continued on course, lumbering along at a slightly brisk cruising speed.  The big bulk freighter would never be fast, but anyone with pair of eyeballs and a decent sensor array would be able to tell when the ship was pushing forward at max thrust.  As much as Eamonn wanted to go roaring over to that station and link up with Ka’Xarian and his team (and hopefully the other crew), he couldn’t risk drawing too much attention.  Of course, a ship the size of the
Grania Estelle
wasn’t exactly subtle and they couldn't hide.  But he had a perfectly good reason for going to the station, he was picking up the fuel that was rightfully his.  He could only hope that the commander of the defense ships would remember that.

              The pinnaces moved gracefully by the much larger ship, though in truth they were several hundred thousand kilometers away.  The light emitted from their propulsion units was visible from the windows of the ship, and a few of the crew went and watched them fly by.  A pass that close was an oddity in space, except in gathering points like a station or planetary orbit.  But out in the blackness like this, emergency proximity alarms would be sounding of objects or other ships came by that close.  The three pinnaces sped by, their own velocity and acceleration a good deal higher than that of the bulk freighter.  The lights moved by and continued past, and as the pinnaces altered their vectors slightly, the bluish-white glow of their engines looked like will’o’wisps swooping about before the larger ship.  It was as though it was leading them through the blackness to some destination they couldn’t see.

              Only a few remembered the stories about will’o’wisps, that they were trickster spirits who would lead lost travelers through the swamp to quicksand marshes where they would sink to their doom. 

              Corajen’s ears flattened to her head as she remembered.  Her sister looked to her, concerned.  “What is it?” Saiphirelle asked.

              But the lupusan only shook her head, continuing to watch the lights move further ahead, as the large ball of the gas giant loomed ever larger in the window.  Saiphirelle touched Corajen on the back, a gesture of comfort, but she didn’t even notice, too wrapped up in gloomy thoughts.  A moment later, the wolfwoman shook her head.

              “Get down to the armory,” she said.  “Make sure the gear is ready.  I’m getting the feeling we’re going to need in short order.”

              “What makes you think that?” Saiphirelle asked, concern over her sister’s reaction leeching over to her own mood.

              “Just a hunch,” she admitted.  “A lead ball in my gut that’s getting heavier.  Now go.”

              Saiphirelle nodded and hustled off, leaving Corajen to continue her viewing.  The dancing lights were little more than pinpricks of illumination, lost amidst the gas giant’s background radiance and the flickering lights of the fueling station.

              Ka’Xarian kept his eyes on the feeds, when finally he made a flat buzz, the zheen equivalent of a snort.  “All right that’s close enough.”  Flipping switches on the control panel, he cut power to the shuttle’s pumps.  Pressing another control, the collector was cut free. 

              “What are you doing?” Jesma asked, looking over at him.  “There’s still fuel in that thing!”

              “Yes, there is,” the zheen replied, activating the shuttle’s laser cannon.  “But I decided waiting another five minutes for the dregs of fuel in that thing wasn’t worth all of our lives.  Besides, the fuel in there will help me make a big boom when I blow the collector.”

              She smirked.  “Men.”

              “Watch your tone, little lady,” he growled.  He lined up the shot and pressed the control.  The cannon fired and the collector blew apart.

              “Good shot.”

              “Can we get out of here, now?” Ka’Xarian asked her, looking right at her.  It was hard for her to tell with his compound eyes, but the meaning was obvious. 

              Jesma gripped her controls.  With the one engine out and maneuvering thruster damage, flying the shuttle was going to be very tricky.  But she’d managed to steady it out during the trip from the station to the collector farm, and she was confident she could get them back to the ship.  She eased the throttle and controls and the shuttle responded.

              “Shuttle’s on its way,” George reported, relief clear in his voice.  “ETA, nine minutes present speed.”

              “Good,” the captain replied.  “Have the boat bay ready and have Turan standing by with a medical team.  They may have injured.”

              “Yes, Captain,” Serinda replied, making a call to sickbay.