Rebellion of Stars (Starship Blackbeard Book 4) (21 page)

“Go on, get,” she said, pushing at him as he rolled over and climbed back to his side.

Her hands touched the bare flesh on his back and buttocks. “You’re naked!”

“It was hot. And it’s dark. Don’t you ever sleep in the nude, Tolvern?”

“But you came over to my side and you weren’t wearing any clothes at all. I can’t believe you did that. What gives you the right?”

“Again, my apologies. I will not do it again.”

Carvalho managed to say this without sounding sullen, and then fell silent. Tolvern regretted her harsh words. She’d been flirting with him more and more over the past several days and yes, she had been watching him when he stripped to wash off the sweat and grime. Sometimes, she’d even kept looking as he glanced at her and noted her gaze. No wonder he’d gotten the wrong idea.

Her fingers were practically tingling from where they’d touched his body. She imagined if she’d kept one hand on his butt and let the other touch his shoulders, his arm, his chest. If she pushed herself up against him . . .

“It’s all right,” she said a few minutes later. “I guess I see how it must have seemed.”

He didn’t answer. Asleep, then. That made her feel bold.

“Maybe I pushed you away too fast,” she added in a lower voice. “It alarmed me, is all.”

He stirred.
Not
asleep.

“I meant what I said,” he told her. “You understand my intentions. If you ever change your mind—and I’m not busy with Capp, of course. She is not jealous, but she must be fed first, if you understand my meaning. You know what to do should that happen.”

Did she? Could she possibly do what he was suggesting? Well, yes. What about the time she’d tried to climb in naked with Captain Drake in the shower? If not for Catarina Vargus getting there first, she’d have done it, too.

In a moment, on pure impulse, Tolvern grabbed for Carvalho’s side and swung herself over. She moved so quickly that she upset the two hammocks, and they nearly upended with a violent heave.

“Easy!” Carvalho said.

Tolvern flattened herself to stop it from swinging. “I’m sorry.”

“I thought you were trying to throw me to the ground!”

She laughed. “No, you invited me to come over, and I did. Not particularly skillfully, admittedly. I almost pitched us
both
to the ground.”

He said nothing, and now she really did feel herself up against his body. Her hands were up high, by his shoulders, and she buried her fingers in his hair. And then, he was kissing her. He smelled strong, masculine, and his thick stubble pricked her face. She didn’t care. Every bit of nervous energy and stress that had been building for these past weeks now sprang loose, and she wanted to devour him.

“I am naked, but you are still wearing this silly jumpsuit,” he said.

“Why don’t you take it off me, then?”

He did so, unzipping it to her navel, and then easing his strong hands in against her bare flesh. She shivered. When his thumbs brushed over her skin, she shivered harder, almost violently.

“I’m sorry,” she said. The words sounded foolish coming out. “It has been a long time for me. Your touch—”

“Do not apologize for feeling pleasure.” He kissed at her neck. “I swear I will give you a lot more before we are done.”

He eased the jumpsuit off her shoulders and down to her waist. His mouth followed it down at a leisurely pace, first kissing her neck, then the gentle swell of her breasts. Her breathing came faster and faster.

But Carvalho didn’t stop there. His mouth went down along her firm belly, and then he peeled off the jump suit and her panties in one motion. And still he kept kissing her body.

It had, in fact, been so long since Tolvern had been with a man that she’d have been embarrassed to admit it to Carvalho, Capp, or anyone else. She’d practically forgotten how to do it. But Carvalho, it was immediately clear, suffered no such lack of experience. He knew what he was doing, he did it well, and he didn’t tire quickly.

It was the night before a major military assault, and she should have been sleeping, but Tolvern didn’t get much rest. And she didn’t much care, either.

#

The rebels came up through the forest flanking the road the next morning. They traveled together in silence until they were roughly two miles from the enemy base, where they prepared to split into two groups. The first, let by Pez Rykan, contained the majority of the former slaves, several hundred in all, but few weapons.

The second was loaded with guns, ammo, and other equipment they’d lugged with them since dragging the pod from the mud at the bottom of the lake. This group boasted the most experienced fighters, the best shooters, and the coolest under pressure that Tolvern could identify. She and her three companions would lead this group of rebels in the main assault.

Tolvern pulled out her hand computer as Pez Rykan approached. “You have yours, right?”

“Yes. I will use it as you showed me.”

“It’s going to take us several hours to get in position,” Tolvern said, “but don’t wait that long. Maybe twenty minutes, then get to work. It will take the enemy some time to figure out what you’re doing, but then I expect them to come out of the base and attack.”

“You have left me six guns,” Pez Rykan said. “How are we to fight without weapons?”

As if to punctuate his words, a lorry engine sounded through the trees from the direction of the road. It had the low rumble of a heavy vehicle, the kind that carried either men or supplies across the muddy gash through the jungle connecting the estates and the security bases with the ports that shipped sugar offworld. Either way, it would be traveling armed, and Tolvern hadn’t given Pez Rykan enough weapons to stop even a single lorry if it were determined to break through.

“Your job isn’t to fight, it’s to make them
think
you’re going to fight,” she said. “That road may not look impressive, but it’s the artery to the lowland plantations. Cut it, and they have no way to put down the slave rebellion. That’s your job—shut it down. Force them to come out and open it again. Pin them down as long as you’re able, then get out of there.”

“Without arms, we will not be able to stop them from reopening the road.”

She sighed. Pez Rykan was even more literal-minded than most Hroom. She couldn’t remember Nyb Pim ever needing things spelled out like this. She’d sketched out the basics of the plan two days ago. From the way Pez Rykan listened solemnly, she thought he’d understood. The words, maybe. The logic behind them, no.

“It’s a feint,” she explained. “A trick. They’ll see you blocking the road and think you’re mounting a frontal assault, Hroom-style. You know, where you hide until the last minute, like your death fleet did, then come in for the attack in the most direct and obvious way possible. That’s Hroom thinking, and Malthorne’s goons understand it.

“Meanwhile,” she continued, “I’ll come up on their flank and attack from the opposite side of the base.”

“Do you have enough forces and equipment?” he asked.

“We’d better hope so. If the enemy commander is any good, if he’s prudent, he’ll fortify that approach at the first sign of danger. But your rebellion has trained them.”

“I do not understand. Trained them?”

“To expect a frontal attack. To know that what they see is what they get. Of course, they’ll be wary about stumbling into a firefight down here—the enemy doesn’t know the size of your army or how many weapons you possess. They’ll come down in a massive show of force. You wouldn’t be able to resist it no matter what. But that’s our opportunity.”

“What will you have me do? If not to defend our work closing the road, then what? How can we ‘pin them down,’ as you put it?”

“Stir up trouble and force them to commit. That’s all. They’ll rush out.” This was like explaining to a child, but she kept at it. “We’ll come in behind and take the base. I’ll get my people positioned at the guard towers and manning the heavy guns. Then they’ll be in trouble. They come back, we’ll attack them. They go forward, they enter the plantations, which are in disarray and embroiled in slave revolt. And if they do that, you’ll bring the rest of your army up the road, and we’ll load you up with weapons.”

“Yes, it is a good plan.”

“But you’ve got to do your part if we’re going to pull it off.”

“That will not be easy,” Pez Rykan said. “There will be a stretch of time when we will be facing them in open battle, with little in the way of arms.”

“That is our biggest risk,” she agreed. “Use the trees, use the cover. Disguise how many weapons you have. Some of your fighters will die, no matter what you do.”

Tolvern studied him, waiting for him to balk. The Hroom chief had forces now, hundreds of them. Freed slaves who had given him a real army for the first time. Her plan risked throwing that all away.

It also offered the opportunity to kick apart the whole rotten foundation of Lord Malthorne’s sugar and slave operation on Hot Barsa.

Chapter Twenty-two

“Vargus is going to get herself killed,” Drake muttered as he studied his console.

It showed the evolving situation in the Barsa system as scans, intercepted communications, and notes from his fleet began to appear following their jump.
Dreadnought
was already rumbling leviathan-like toward the inner system. Captain Lindsell had arrived, too, and his forces were augmented with two more cruisers, plus support craft. They were currently at the outermost gas giant of the system, but pushing swiftly toward the rocky inner worlds.

Mysteriously, the mercenary fleet was moving into position to intercept
Dreadnought
. Why? Vargus didn’t have a prayer of success.

“Rutherford must have given her orders,” Oglethorpe said. “Commanded the mercenary fleet to hold
Dreadnought
to give us time to join the fight.”

“Ain’t likely she’d agree though, is it?” Capp said. “That stuffed shirt Rutherford telling them pirates to fall on their swords—Vargus would give him the middle finger. She’d never do it, and those other blokes wouldn’t, either.”

Drake let them argue it out, listening, but not objecting, while he continued to study the data. They were too far from Hot Barsa to communicate directly, so he had Smythe send a subspace to Rutherford asking for an assessment of the current strategic situation.

As for Vargus, could she simply be protecting the goods? She’d sent the barges and tramp frigates ahead to Hot Barsa with their shipments of armaments and supplies. It was the reason Drake had ordered her to San Pablo in the first place, and if
Dreadnought
overtook them, the battleship would gobble them up like a tasty snack.

But no, those auxiliary ships had a good lead. Even though they flew at relatively slow speeds,
Dreadnought
was too far out to catch them before they reached Hot Barsa. Scans and computer estimates suggested that Rutherford and the forts would enjoy a full day to unload and organize the shipments before the battleship arrived. So what was Vargus up to?

She hesitated near a collection of asteroids that belted the system between Cold Barsa and the innermost of the gas planets. Led by Vargus’s own
Outlaw
and Aguilar’s stout, heavily armed frigate
Pussycat
, the motley collection of pirate and mercenary ships was powerful enough to give most attackers pause.
Dreadnought
was not most attackers.

Drake sent her a message.
Don’t be stupid,
he told her.
Get out of there.
 

Vargus answered:
I know what I’m doing. Go to Hot Barsa at all speed. That is an order.
 

“That cheeky wench!” Capp said, when the message came through. “King’s balls, what is she thinking?”

Oglethorpe looked confused. “Does this mean that Rutherford has taken control of the fleet, sir? It must have come from him. I can’t imagine that Vargus herself would presume to give orders.”

“It’s not an order,” Drake said. “She’s tweaking my ear. Probably finds it amusing.”

At one point, such insolence at a time of battle would have been highly irritating. Now, he’d come to expect it from the Vargus sisters. He imagined the smirk on Isabel’s face as she composed it.

“But there’s a serious part of this message,” he added. “She means to face
Dreadnought.
What can she be thinking?”

Capp grunted. “Trying to impress you, I should wager. Them sisters are rivals, know what I mean?”

“What shall we do, sir?” Oglethorpe asked.

“We make for Hot Barsa, of course. We couldn’t reach Vargus soon enough any way you look at it, so we may as well take whatever time she buys us.”

As they moved to obey, Drake kept his attention on Isabel Vargus and her looming confrontation with
Dreadnought
. Malthorne didn’t even bother to wait for Lindsell, but continued toward the mercenaries with nothing more than a pair of torpedo boats as escort. Confident yes, but no fool. He slowed to a prudent speed.

“I would imagine that he’s expecting an ambush, sir,” Oglethorpe said. “Something cloaked that is waiting nearby. Or perhaps a base in the asteroid belt.”

“Yes, that does seem reasonable,” Drake said. “I have my own hopes on that score.”

Although he couldn’t think who it might be. Drake had no secret fleet to draw on, let alone hidden forces capable of battling
Dreadnought
. And there were no fortresses among the asteroid belt that he knew of, unless there had been some deeply embedded pirate base that had been lurking there undiscovered for many years. Not likely. There was an old navy refueling station, but it was mothballed.

But there had to be something, right? Vargus wouldn’t be sitting there waiting for
Dreadnought
without an exit plan. A way to escape. This wasn’t like her fight with Lindsell; she had no hope of surviving even a short encounter with the battleship.

“Send her another message,” he told Smythe, then reconsidered. “Belay that order. We’ll keep on our current trajectory. Whatever she’s up to, she’s on her own.”