Honor Bound

“It is difficult to say,” Mironov answered after McKay quietly translated the question for him. “We did not have the ships to keep them in every system; only key hubs like Peresechenie-that is what we called the system where you fought us. But there are patrols, and sometimes cargo ships to take supplies in and minerals out.”

“So, they’re not likely to be waiting in ambush for us as we pass through the gate,” Patel surmised, nodding with satisfaction.

“That depends,” Mironov added quickly, as if he didn’t want to give the Admiral the wrong idea. “Normally, no… but if one of the ships in Peresechenie managed to send a message through the gate before the battle, then it is possible you may face opposition.”

“Even then,” McKay pointed out, “they wouldn’t know we can get through the wormholes, so they wouldn’t be looking for us here.”

“That is true,” Mironov conceded with a nod. “Your only danger would be if…”

“Sir!” Lieutenant Commander Pirelli, the Tactical officer exclaimed. “We’re getting a gravimetic energy surge about twenty thousand klicks out consistent with a wormhole gate opening!”

“Der’mo,” Mironov cursed.

“Battle stations!” Patel snapped. “All hands secure for emergency acceleration! Helm, four g acceleration toward that gravimetic signature. Tactical, I want to be on him before he knows we’re here… target him as soon as we’re in range.”

“Emergency acceleration engaged,” Lt. Sweeny, the helmsman announced and McKay felt himself pressed back into his couch by 310 kilos of his own weight.

“Sensors indicate one ship coming through,” Pirelli reported, grunting the words out through the strain of the acceleration. “About the size of one of their converted cargo ships. Date coming up onscreen.” The ship’s computer created an icon of the enemy vessel on the tactical projection on the main screen, along with a graphic representation of the gate.

“That…” Mironov struggled to breath, face contorted with pain. “That is not gate I knew about.” He wheezed with effort. “Do not know where it goes.”

“Roger that sir,” Sweeny confirmed. “It’s a lot farther out than the one we were heading for.”

“Konstantin,” McKay asked, trying to make his brain work despite the pressure, “what would he do if he sees us? Fight or run?”

“A lone ship will run,” Mironov told him. “Back to somewhere he can report it.”

“Admiral,” McKay said, “my advice is to slow down, let her see us… fire a shot that won’t kill her… then follow her.”

“I see where you’re going, McKay,” Patel interrupted him. “Helm, take us back down to one g acceleration.”

“One g, aye,” Sweeney confirmed and McKay enjoyed a deep breath as the crushing weight lifted off his chest.

“Tactical,” Patel went on, “Target the ship’s communications array with the lasers and fire immediately on maximum effective range.”

“Targeting communications antennae, aye,” Pirelli said. “They still haven’t spotted us… they’ve activated their fusion pulse drive, accelerating towards the area of our entrance wormhole at one g. We should be in maximum effective laser range in ten minutes, sir.”

“Good thinking, Admiral,” McKay complimented, nodding his appreciation. “If his long range comms are down, he’ll have to lead us right to their concentration of forces.”

“They didn’t give me these stars for my good looks, McKay,” Patel said mildly, eyes still fixed on the sensor readouts on the main viewscreen. The computer had put up an avatar of the enemy ship based on sensor scans: it was a boxy, utilitarian insystem freighter design, either stolen from a Republic colony system or copied from a stolen ship, but various protrusions and extensions told a story of jury-rigged armor and weapons pods.

“Obviously not, sir,” McKay commented drily, watching the ship advance toward them. “Since I’m not a General yet.” Patel glanced at him sidelong, then laughed quietly.

“I’d debate you on that,” the Admiral said, smiling, “but Major Stark is a very good argument for your case.”

“Shannon is way out of my league, sir,” McKay admitted, “which she reminds me every day.”

“Uh, oh,” Pirelli spoke up, “I think she’s seen us. Her drive just cut off… she’s doing a turnover, I think. Still two minutes to laser range, and if the drive is in the way, we’re not going to have a shot.”

“Sound alarm,” Patel ordered, “emergency acceleration five g’s immediately.”

“Oh wonderful,” McKay muttered and then he couldn’t breathe.

The seconds crawled by as elephants tap-danced on his chest, until from somewhere far away he heard Pirelli croak: “Ship in range…”

“Deactivate drive,” Patel said in a voice like a snarling dog. “Fire!”

The crushing weight of five gravities of acceleration analog lifted immediately, causing a collective gasp among the bridge crew, and he could see the computer simulation of the laser batteries streaking across the space between them and the Protectorate freighter even before Pirelli said, “Lasers firing now.”

Flares of heat blossomed on the port side of the Protectorate ship as the laser pulses sliced into it, and then they and the ship were blotted out by a flare of fusing hydrogen as the enemy ship’s fusion pulse drive fired.

“Drive field reactivated,” Sweeny announced as the lasers ceased firing.

“He’s heading back for the wormhole,” Pirelli said. “Pushing three g’s… can’t keep that up for long unless he can refuel on the other side.”

“He’ll be doing another turnover soon,” Patel predicted. “They need to kill some velocity to place the bomb to reopen the gate.”

“Sir,” McKay interjected, “he’s going to be suspicious if we let him get away too easy. Let me talk to him, Admiral.”

“Communications,” he addressed Lt. Junior Grade Mandel, “hail the enemy ship, wide signal and put Colonel McKay on.”

“Aye, sir,” Mandel nodded. “You’re on, Colonel,” he said after a moment.

“This is Colonel Jason McKay of the Republic Spacefleet Starship Sheridan,” McKay said in Russian. “Kill your velocity and prepare to be boarded or you will be destroyed.” He turned to Lt. Pirelli and quietly slipped into English. “How long before they can reach the gate?”

“No less than five more minutes, sir,” she replied.

“You have five minutes to comply,” McKay said in Russian again, then nodded to Lt JG Mandel, who killed the connection. McKay glanced at Patel. “Now they’ll think we stumbled across them and are trying to capture them, and we just don’t know where the jumpgate is.”

Patel nodded his understanding. “And they’ll be congratulating themselves on outsmarting us as they jump through.” He frowned thoughtfully. “The next part will be tricky. We can’t come through the gate too close behind him or he’ll realize what we’re up to. Helm,” he turned to Sweeny, “once he’s through the gate, take us into position to jump and take up station keeping. We’re going to hold there for a few minutes.”

“He’s flipped and decelerating towards the gate,” Pirelli announced.

“We’re getting a response,” Mandel told him. “It’s a bit weak… he’s only got short-range coms now.”

“On screen,” Patel told him.

The image on the screen flickered fitfully, fading into static every few seconds, but while it lasted McKay could see the image of a tall, broad-shouldered man with a weathered, lined face and shaggy grey hair, his uniform Protectorate grey.

“I am Captain Igor Medvedev,” the man said in Russian, his deep voice sounding oddly mechanical with the static breaking it at intervals, “of the Protectorate vessel Postavshchik.” McKay translated the man’s words to Admiral Patel. “We are decelerating and will be able to come to boarding velocity in six minutes. We surrender and will agree to be boarded. Do not fire on us, please.”

“He’s a cool customer for someone supposedly surrendering his ship,” Patel commented drily. McKay agreed… the Russian wasn’t so much as sweating. “He’s convinced he’s got us all figured out…”

“Put me on with him, Mr. Mandel,” McKay told the communications officer. At her nod, he replied to the transmission. “You have your six minutes, Captain, but do not deviate from your present course or try to run. We