Thorarinn Gunnarsson. The Starwolves
Starwolves — 1
1
Valthyrra Methryn slipped smoothly out of starflight to cruise at a speed that was just sublight, paralleling the freighter lane, just far enough out to avoid being seen. She was as vast and black as space itself, three kilometers long and more than one across the short wings of her arrowhead shape. Flaring main drives were tucked protectively beneath her wings; her upper hull was a smooth, armored shell that she could turn toward enemy fire. She moved like a warship, with the smooth, graceftil control of a big ship with more than enough power for its size. She was beautiful and frightening to behold.
By design, the Methryn was a destroyer of immense size, all engines and weapons and very little crew. She could turn and accelerate like a ship a fraction her size, while the cannons in her shock bumper were more than a match for a fleet of heavy cruisers. On the underside of her tapered nose was a cannon that could turn an entire planet into dust.
By definition the Methryn was a carrier, existing to provide for her handful of fighters. Tucked up against her belly, insignificant against her total bulk, were a pair of bays which housed ninety fighters, a fifth of what she could allow. In truth, for all her speed and power, the Methryn had not seen actual battle in more than half a century. Her fighters ran down and captured her prey, and defended her against the occasional warship daring and foolish enough to take her to task for her discreet piracies. She carried a crew of barely two thousand, existing only to tend her fighters and their own needs. Valthyrra Methryn took care of herself, and she was more than capable of that. There were only twenty-two like her in known space.
For now, Valthyrra Methryn settled in to wait. Company freighters, still running in starflight toward the system only two light-days ahead, would never see her cruising barely five thousand kilometers to one side of their lane. In starflight, their scanners were confined to a narrow cone immediately ahead, and were effective only in avoiding collisions. The first indication that they had wandered into a trap came when nine swift fighters descended upon their tail. Valthyrra had learned patience during her long career and this laying in wait did not bother her. That was not the case with her young pilots.
For Velmeran, this was a time he dreaded as much as the run itself. He was the youngest pack leader on the ship; at twenty-five, a leader when most were still just students. Seven of the eight pilots in his pack were indeed the youngest on the ship, most having never flown with a pack when he had received them four months earlier. His last pilot was too old to fly a transport, let alone a fighter. His was a pack that should not have been, all students thrown together and expected to fight. It badly needed strong leadership, but that was something Velmeran not only lacked but feared.
At times like this, Velmeran was led to wonder if the Commander hated him. Of course, he had always been on the best of terms with the Commander, and he knew that she thought well of him. He had the ability, he had to admit, but neither the experience nor the inclination to make the most of those abilities. He also knew that the Commander would have never done this to him. This was all Valthyrra's idea, because she believed in him too much.
The lift lurched to an uncertain stop, and Velmeran smiled to himself in anticipation of revenge. Valthyrra would soon be in need of a complete overhaul, an involved process that took half a year in airdock and resulted in partial dismemberment of the unfortunate ship. Valthyrra disliked being dismantled almost as much as she disliked being confined in dock.
Velmeran entered the wide bridge from the left wing. Bridge crewmembers in white armored suits sat at their stations or hurried about their duties. Consherra glanced up at him from the helm console on that side of the raised middle bridge, and an instant later Valthyrra quickly rotated her camera pod around and focused both lenses on him before turning her attention back to the Commander's console on the upper bridge. Velmeran frowned. The three of them together, Commander, helm and ship herself, was entirely too much motherly attention, and it only seemed to him like an accusation of his inability to make a pack of students fly like veterans.
He hurried — as well as his armor would allow — up the steps to the upper bridge. Consherra was scrupulously bent to her screen, and his disposition was soured all the more to find the Commander in exactly the same position. Valthyrra was all but peering over her shoulder, her boom extended well back into the recess of the upper bridge. Velmeran wondered whose idea this was. Valthyrra and Mayelna were a pair; they were schemers, and seemed to take turns dreaming up ideas. The ship was audacious enough to be pleased with herself. The Commander simply had no conscience.
'This one is yours, Meran,' the Commander remarked without looking up.
'So I had heard,' Velmeran replied evenly.
'I am sorry to have to send you out again so soon,' Mayelna continued absently. 'Opportunities come rarely, and it is rarer still when we can afford to make our own opportunities.'
Velmeran shrugged both sets of arms, an exaggerated gesture. 'Did I complain?'
'We can catch a bulk freighter in this lane,' Valthyrra explained with bad timing. 'A big, slow ship, all holds heavy with cargo. Something your students should be able to take without trouble.'
Mayelna glanced up in annoyance. 'They are not students.'
'I cannot imagine what else they may be!' Velmeran exclaimed in disgust. 'In our last two runs, we wrecked one cargo and allowed the other to escape. Escape! A Starwolf pack never misses its prey, never!'
'You put your least experienced pilots on a ship that was too fast for them,' Mayelna pointed out. 'Let your pilots make a run or two, for the practice. Then you get on that ship's tail and bring her out of starflight for them to work over in their own good time. They only get frustrated if they run too long without success… you lost your last two ships to that.'
Valthyrra glanced from the Commander to Velmeran and back again so quickly that her lenses hardly had time to focus.
'Try to be patient,' Mayelna continued when he did not answer. 'That is a large part of your problem. You are — you always have been — too good of a pilot to understand the limitations of those who lack your talent, and too young to understand that. Be patient and work with them. If they think that you believe in them, then they will learn to trust in their own abilities.'
Velmeran began to say something, then paused and turned away. Valthyrra lifted her pod in alarm, and even Mayelna sat up straight.
'Velmeran, what about Keth?' the Commander asked quickly.
He stopped and turned slowly. 'I have no one to replace him. Not this late.'
'You will have to tell him,' Mayelna insisted. 'Before your pack goes out again. Or I will.'
'But Keth is the only experienced pilot I have,' Velmeran protested weakly. 'He is still better than most of the others.'
'But that is the point,' the Commander insisted. 'The others will continue to improve. Keth will only get worse.'
'Do you suppose that I do not know what happens out there?' Valthyrra asked. 'Keth hesitates in his runs, and he cuts his turns wide. He tries to show off, but he only gets in the way. Pilots who refuse to retire usually end up running into something, like their target, or one of their own. Or me.'
Velmeran did not reply at once, but stood looking down. At last he nodded reluctantly. 'Very well. But we cannot fly short. Let him fly this last time, and I will tell him when we come back. Just give me an experienced replacement.'
Mayelna looked up at him skeptically.
Velmeran shrugged and turned to walk away. 'Do what you want, then. You will anyway.'
She nodded. 'Granted. By the way, Baressa's pack will fly watch for you.'
Velmeran stopped short and stared in utter astonishment. This was the insult added to injury.
