Thorarinn Gunnarsson. Battle Of The Ring
Starwolves — 2
1
The prey was a freighter of the D Class, not nearly as massive as the immense bulk freighters but far too large to land itself. Just under two hundred and fifty meters in length, it was shiny white with new paint and its boxlike hull was unusually trim for a cargo ship, although obviously too wide and heavy for a warship. Remarkable as well was its speed, for its drives developed the power of a freighter half its size. And it was a lure for any pirate who could take her.
The hunters were nine large freighters with down-swept wings, as black as space and as fast as death. These were wolf ships and their pilots were Kelvessan, the dread Starwolves. Exposed to stresses few other creatures — and certainly no human — could endure, they closed upon their prey with deadly purpose and accuracy. They could not see their target, but they sensed its every movement. They tracked their prey by the image they received in their minds from its tremendous power emissions, the low, echoing pulse of its stardrive marking it as a company ship and legitimate prey.
As the pack moved into range, the fighters broke formation to move into attack position. The lead fighter, that of the pack leader, moved in close behind the freighter for the first run, but hesitated. Velmeran knew that this run was his to make, and yet he had the vague, unexplainable feeling that he should not — that he must not. Not because this freighter was a danger in itself; in his short career he had sprung three traps already. But something was wrong. He had always trusted these feelings in the past, and yet he could see no cause to terminate this run. His one concession was to move slightly out of line to the position where he normally watched attack runs.
That move did not appear to surprise the others. They trusted him, perhaps more than Velmeran trusted himself. Baress moved up to take his place in line, maneuvering to align his cannons. The objective of the attack run was simple enough: the stardrive had to be wrecked to bring a ship out of starflight. A bolt had to strike and fracture the crystal of the drive itself, and that strike had to be on the very edge. A miss might do undesirable damage to the ship, while a strike too far inside would dissipate in the drive thrust. This ship was small and fast, and they would be lucky to get within ten kilometers of a target they could not see in the first place.
The ship executed a series of evasive maneuvers that did nothing to shake loose its pursuit. Before the helm computer could be set up for another set of dodges and turns, Baress seized the moment and rushed in. He fired a quick volley as he passed, missing the star drive by a fraction but raking the hull of the ship. As he dropped back to return to the pack, Tregloran moved up to make his own run. Although he would never quite equal his teacher in skill, he was learning quickly. He was already as good a pilot as Baress, who had flown special tactics for years; if one missed the target, the other would not.
“Scatter!”
At Velmeran’s order, the fighters broke without hesitation and shot away as fast as they could. Velmeran had saved them from traps too often for them to question his judgment. Salran’s pack, flying watch a short distance back, turned quickly away as well. And the Methryn, pacing the hunt, charged her main cannons as she closed. Curiously, the only one who did not follow that order was Velmeran himself. He continued to pace the freighter closely.
“Velmeran, what are you doing?” Valthyrra Methryn demanded over com. “Is that thing a trap, or not?”
“No, this is no trap,” he answered. “That was the only way I knew to get Tregloran off her tail before he shot her.”
“Then would you kindly explain yourself?”
“I doubt that I can. I am putting my reputation on the line.”
“You already have. So, tell!”
“I want you to make contact with that ship.”
On the Methryn’s bridge, Valthyrra brought her camera pod around to stare in astonishment at the commander. Mayelna only shrugged both sets of arms and sat back in her chair to watch.
“You want me to talk to it?” she asked with obvious disdain. “It phases like a company ship… Well, it has happened before.”
She opened a new signal on the commercial band, trusting that she was within range of the weak achronic transceivers of Union technology, linking it to the channel she kept to the fighters for Velmeran to hear.
“Attention, unidentified ship!” she snapped in her best authoritative voice. “Identify yourself immediately.”
There was a very long pause. Valthyrra was quick to grow impatient, mostly because she was afraid that he was right. “Well?”
“Give them a moment,” Velmeran insisted. “They have been badly shaken. How would you feel if you found Starwolves on your tail?”
“Annoyed.”
“Hello? This is Captain Garkelley of the Velka.”
“Name your company and home port,” Valthyrra demanded.
“No company. We are independent freighters.”
Valthyrra swore privately before she reopened her channels. “Velka, drop to one quarter light speed and stand by to be taken on board. You are not under attack, but you will be destroyed if you make any hostile moves. What is your status?”
“Our hull is penetrated, near the engine compartment,” Garkelley replied. “We do not have the crew to handle this situation.”
“Do what you can,” she told him, then muted that channel. “Velmeran, have you had a chance for a close look?”
“Good enough,” he responded. “The good Captain told the truth. Baress clipped the cover of the engine housing and put some long tears in her hull where her engineering section should be. No real structural or mechanical damage, though. Their leakage is minimal, since my scanners detect only traces of escaping atmosphere.”
“Keep an eye on that ship,” she told him before muting that channel as well. She turned to Mayelna, who was watching it all with calm detachment. “Well, you certainly seem to be taking it all in stride.”
Mayelna shrugged, unconcerned. “What is there for me to worry about? He took care of the problem, and I have you to pick up the pieces.”
“You are the Commander of this ship,” Valthyrra reminded her.
“I have not forgotten. But we have worked out an agreement. I am the Commander of the Methryn as a ship. Velmeran is the Commander of the Methryn as a fighting force. You are the Methryn, and quite able to take care of yourself in the first place. That situation pleases me. He knows far more of what is going on out there.”
“Yes, he does seem to know,” Valthyrra agreed, glancing down at the lower bridge where officers hurried about their duties. “How does he know?”
Mayelna glanced up at her. “He is out there. He sees…”
“Yes, I know. He sees things that no one else can see. He bases conclusions on things that no one else would notice. He can devise foolproof plans on the most careful, precise logic and then avert disaster on the wildest hunch. And he is always right.”
Mayelna looked at her in surprise. “That is what you wanted, is it not? You should be happy.”
“Oh, I am happy,” the ship was quick to agree. “There is nothing wrong, but something still bothers me. There is an alarm sounding in a dark corner of my memory cells, but I cannot remember. All I understand is that it is far more important than it seems.”
By that time the Methryn had overtaken the damaged freighter and was closing to take it on board, opening her left holding bay to receive it.
