“They’ve landed safely,” Patti reported. “The ship’s an airless wreck.”
“Tell them to be careful,” William said stiffly. Airless didn’t mean harmless. Besides, any modern-day starship was designed to close airlocks and hatches at the merest hint of a hull breach. There might be pockets of air deeper into the hull. “And watch where they go.”
Nearly an hour passed before the boarding party confirmed that there were no enemy survivors. William frowned—a survivor might have known something useful—and then ordered the away team to try to access the ship’s computer. Normally, the datacores would self-destruct if the ship lost power, but it was just possible that one of them might have survived. The enemy ship had been hit hard enough to dislodge a great many things.
“The datacores appear to be badly damaged,” Patti said. “The engineers aren’t sure if they can be powered up safely.”
“Then we’ll just have to be very careful,” William said. He studied the remains of the enemy ship for a long moment. “Do they believe the ship can be repaired?”
“The engineers will have to take a proper look at her,” Patti said. “But sir . . . I doubt it. We’d probably find it cheaper to buy a new ship.”
“Probably,” William agreed. A fifth destroyer would have been very helpful. The wreck might still be helpful. If nothing else, she was an excellent demonstration of the importance of keeping one’s shipsuit on at all times. He hoped his future trainees would take careful note. “Have them prep the datacores for transfer to Orbit Station. We can decide what to do with them then.”
“Aye, sir.”
“And send a signal to all ships,” William added. He allowed himself a smile. “Today, we fought our first engagement and won. Well done.”
He sobered as he sat back in his chair. Yes, they’d won the first engagement . . . against an enemy they’d caught by surprise and outnumbered four-to-one. The next engagement would be harder. When, if, the Theocracy came looking to find out what had happened to their missing ship . . .
Let them have their moment, he told himself. We can resume our preparations to meet a greater threat later.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
FALLADINE
“Got a freighter just coming out of hyperspace,” Lieutenant Randy Elkin reported. “She’s the Testing Time, a free trader out of Jorlem.”
Commander Elizabeth Robinson lifted her eyebrows. “She’s a long way from home,” she said. There were nearly a hundred light-years between Jorlem and Falladine; it was actually a great deal farther, as a starship either had to pass through the Gap or go the long way around. “Does her ID check out?”
“It appears to be genuine, Commander,” Randy said. “She’s registered with the Free Traders Association. And she’s also requesting permission to dock.”
Elizabeth shrugged. It wasn’t as if anyone would thank her for turning a freighter away, particularly not when the provisional government on the planet below was doing everything in its power to turn Falladine into a shipping hub for the new era. The Theocracy had failed to destroy most of the orbital infrastructure before the surrender, giving Falladine an excellent chance of prospering . . . if it managed to interest enough freighters in passing through the system. The situation was unstable enough that very few independents wanted to take the risk unless they had armed escorts and guaranteed profits, neither of which were likely to materialize.
And yet . . . Jorlem was a long way away.
They could be testing the waters, so to speak, she thought. The Commonwealth wasn’t always friendly to independent shippers, not when the big corporations formed semilegal cartels to drive the little ones into less lucrative sectors. There might be a great deal of profit here for someone who managed to get in on the ground floor.
“Invite them to dock,” she said reluctantly. “And ask them for a copy of their manifest.”
There was no choice, even though something was nagging at the back of her mind. She had no grounds to refuse, or to order the freighter searched. Independent shippers tended to find forced searches objectionable, and the FTA would register protests with both the local government and the Commonwealth. She suspected she’d wind up being turned into the scapegoat if things got out of hand. They could blame everything on her and send her right back to the navy.
“They’ve uploaded the manifest,” Randy said. “It’s nothing more than trade goods.”
Elizabeth scanned it, rapidly. Someone clearly hadn’t known what to bring, so he’d brought some of everything. Farming tools rubbed shoulders with asteroid mining gear and even small power cores. It was a neat collection, she thought; Falladine would be able to use some of the supplies, while others could be passed on to stage-one and stage-two colony worlds. And it was cheap enough for people to actually buy. Who knew? This freighter might merely be the first of many.
She turned to the giant portholes and looked out over her domain. The orbiting station was surrounded by industrial nodes in various states of disrepair, as well as chunks of debris and the remains of an enemy battle fleet. The locals had been slowly taking them apart for spare parts, cannibalizing the ruined ships to rebuild their infrastructure. Elizabeth had to admire their determination, even though she feared the worst. Falladine was big enough to make a tempting target, but too small to justify a larger naval presence. The handful of ships on guard duty were nowhere near enough to stand off a squadron of superdreadnoughts.
And we might be losing some of them, she thought as she turned back to the display. If rumors from home are true, half the fleet is going to be recalled.
“The freighter is approaching the
