way forward. In the cockpit, we dropped into the pilot and copilot seats and strapped in. The engines were out, but I knew we weren’t going anywhere anyway. I told the ship to bring up the scanner display and open hailing frequencies.
Our ship began listing slowly to port, nudged from its holding pattern by the near misses outside. The stars slid past slowly in front of us as two Reich zip ships screeched past, coming from behind us, the Swastikas on the rear tail fins clearly visible. The zip ships were two-man jobs about a third of the size of Meredith’s yacht, built for fast lethal strikes.
The yacht kept listing, and another vessel drifted into view.
Meredith gasped. “Is that the Coriandon ship?”
“What’s left of it,” I said.
The Coriandon light frigate spun a lazy circle to nowhere, blast points still glowing where the zip ships had shredded the hull with pulse fire. The glowing remains of what looked like escape pods drifted away from the ruined ship like fiery tears. The Reich wasn’t messing around.
I checked the scanner display. In addition to the zip ships, I counted six other Reich vessels. The carrier—from which the zip ships had obviously launched—three frigates, one heavy cruiser, and an enormous War Demon class battle hulk at least a half mile long, two detachable pocket gunships clinging to the sides like lampreys. Not a full fleet, but a potent little battle group, and they were arranging themselves into a holding perimeter, which meant they were expecting more trouble—or maybe just being careful.
The radio chimed, telling me someone in the battle group was responding to the automatic distress call. I told the computer to patch it through.
“Unknown ship, this is Reich frigate
Frankfurt
,” the voice crackled in the speakers. “Identify.”
“Private vessel registered to Meredith Capulet out of Luna. Thanks for arriving just in the nick of time,” I said.
“Do you have enough provisions for forty-eight hours?” he asked. “We are on high alert, and cannot take refugees, but a cleanup trawler will pick you up if you can hang on.”
I let time slow in the outside world, turned inward and let my brain work through all the permutations of the situation. Floating in deep space for two days with my thumb up my ass wasn’t an acceptable option. I decided a calculated risk was in order.
“Action code 616-A,” I told him. “Top priority.”
Meredith’s head snapped around to look at me.
“What’s
that
about?”
“It’s a long story.”
After a nervous pause, the guy came on the other end of the line and said, “Hold please. This has to work up the food chain. Don’t budge. There are about a thousand pulse cannons trained on you right now.”
“Check.”
The silence stretched.
Meredith pierced me with those deep green eyes. “Are you going to explain yourself, mysterious stranger?”
“No.”
“I don’t think I like you anymore.”
“I have that effect on people.”
* * *
At last, the radio operator came back on.
“A zip ship is coming out with a tow line,” he told us. “He’ll take you straight to the flagship.”
“Well, then.” Meredith sighed. “I guess I’d better change. Can’t meet the admiral covered in alien slime.”
* * *
“My men are already working on your ship,” Vice Admiral Ashcroft said. “It should be up and running within the hour.”
The admiral was a squat, balding little man who fit poorly into a slightly outdated dress uniform with way too much gold piping and a ceremonial saber which clanked and clattered in his wake as we walked down the corridor to the bridge of the battle hulk. He told us he’d been pulled out of retirement when the Coriandons had unexpectedly broken through in a dozen sectors. The Reich, it seemed, had been caught with its pants down, and it was scrambling to catch up.
“That light frigate managed to get off a signal before we pummeled it,” the admiral said, “so I don’t know what
Our ship began listing slowly to port, nudged from its holding pattern by the near misses outside. The stars slid past slowly in front of us as two Reich zip ships screeched past, coming from behind us, the Swastikas on the rear tail fins clearly visible. The zip ships were two-man jobs about a third of the size of Meredith’s yacht, built for fast lethal strikes.
The yacht kept listing, and another vessel drifted into view.
Meredith gasped. “Is that the Coriandon ship?”
“What’s left of it,” I said.
The Coriandon light frigate spun a lazy circle to nowhere, blast points still glowing where the zip ships had shredded the hull with pulse fire. The glowing remains of what looked like escape pods drifted away from the ruined ship like fiery tears. The Reich wasn’t messing around.
I checked the scanner display. In addition to the zip ships, I counted six other Reich vessels. The carrier—from which the zip ships had obviously launched—three frigates, one heavy cruiser, and an enormous War Demon class battle hulk at least a half mile long, two detachable pocket gunships clinging to the sides like lampreys. Not a full fleet, but a potent little battle group, and they were arranging themselves into a holding perimeter, which meant they were expecting more trouble—or maybe just being careful.
The radio chimed, telling me someone in the battle group was responding to the automatic distress call. I told the computer to patch it through.
“Unknown ship, this is Reich frigate
Frankfurt
,” the voice crackled in the speakers. “Identify.”
“Private vessel registered to Meredith Capulet out of Luna. Thanks for arriving just in the nick of time,” I said.
“Do you have enough provisions for forty-eight hours?” he asked. “We are on high alert, and cannot take refugees, but a cleanup trawler will pick you up if you can hang on.”
I let time slow in the outside world, turned inward and let my brain work through all the permutations of the situation. Floating in deep space for two days with my thumb up my ass wasn’t an acceptable option. I decided a calculated risk was in order.
“Action code 616-A,” I told him. “Top priority.”
Meredith’s head snapped around to look at me.
“What’s
that
about?”
“It’s a long story.”
After a nervous pause, the guy came on the other end of the line and said, “Hold please. This has to work up the food chain. Don’t budge. There are about a thousand pulse cannons trained on you right now.”
“Check.”
The silence stretched.
Meredith pierced me with those deep green eyes. “Are you going to explain yourself, mysterious stranger?”
“No.”
“I don’t think I like you anymore.”
“I have that effect on people.”
* * *
At last, the radio operator came back on.
“A zip ship is coming out with a tow line,” he told us. “He’ll take you straight to the flagship.”
“Well, then.” Meredith sighed. “I guess I’d better change. Can’t meet the admiral covered in alien slime.”
* * *
“My men are already working on your ship,” Vice Admiral Ashcroft said. “It should be up and running within the hour.”
The admiral was a squat, balding little man who fit poorly into a slightly outdated dress uniform with way too much gold piping and a ceremonial saber which clanked and clattered in his wake as we walked down the corridor to the bridge of the battle hulk. He told us he’d been pulled out of retirement when the Coriandons had unexpectedly broken through in a dozen sectors. The Reich, it seemed, had been caught with its pants down, and it was scrambling to catch up.
“That light frigate managed to get off a signal before we pummeled it,” the admiral said, “so I don’t know what
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