The fierce beam pierced the orb like a hot needle shoved through a grape. Webs of glowing red cracks formed all across its surface and it combusted gloriously, raining us with bits of shrapnel.
“Would you like to tell us why you felt that little victory should cost us our shuttle bays?” Ranel asked tightly.
“The lasers on the Psi Diggers can't operate continuously,” I explained. “They drain too much power for that. After each sustained discharge, they need fifteen seconds to recharge before they can fire again. While you were moving the ship to avoid the bombs – which have a relatively low energy output – they'd have recharged, closed the distance, and been in a perfect position to slice off one of your engine nacelles. But I'm sure you already knew all that, right?”
He bristled, then turned to Dashel. “The third Digger is retreating. It appears to be damaged.”
We turned our attention to the screen. There was a gout of blinding flame bursting from its side, and it drifted off at just over half speed, spinning to one side and trailing smoke behind it.
“Excellent,” Dashel said briskly. “Set a pursuit course, and let's end this.”
“I wouldn't recommend that, captain,” I suggested.
Dashel turned to me, tilting his head. “Why not?”
“Because those Diggers were being piloted by Mosets, and that 'damage' is just them popping the plasma flares they're equipped with in case of a cave-in. Ever fought Mosets before?”
He shook his head, bemused.
“They're feral predators that travel in packs, like wolves,” I told him. “They may take orders from the Pax, but when left to their own devices, their tactics are very specific. The swiftest and fiercest ones go in for the kill first, while the slower and weaker ones hang back. If the leaders are dispatched, the weaker ones retreat. Usually limping, so they'll look like they're easy prey and tempt their enemies to pursue them...right into an ambush by the rest of the pack as they close in behind you, trapping you. That way, everyone gets a taste of blood. Follow that Digger, and we'll find ourselves face to face with about a dozen of their friends. Then, with us gone, they can pick off your drop-shuttles as your people on the ground deal with the loss of their central command structure and scramble to regroup.”
“That's fascinating,” Ranel said impatiently, “but what do you propose we do? Just let them get away, so they can attack us again with impunity?”
I thought it over. “Can we keep an eye on them from a safe distance? Chart their course, maybe try to predict where they'll touch down?”
The helmsman shrugged. “We can't exactly read their minds, but we could probably come up with a decent estimate...narrow it down based on the terrain in the area, and what could accommodate a bunch of orbs that size.”
I turned to Dashel. “Signal your other drop-shuttles. Give them the coordinates when we can figure them out, send them the specs detailing the orbs' offensive capabilities and weaknesses, and have them converge on that location. We can ambush their ambush.”
Dashel turned to Ranel. “Do as she says.”
Ranel's normally ruddy scales were turning a sickly shade of salmon pink. He punched in the commands and data for the other ships, then looked up at me, scowling. “Anything else I can do for you? Some comfy pillows, perhaps? A nice mug of tea and a Retelii scone?”
“No,” I retorted smartly, “but when my plan works, you can kiss my ass.”
He rolled his eyes. “Trust me, I don't need to know more about your disgusting human mating rituals than I already do.”
12
Dashel
Natalie and I had returned to my pod. She was in the hygiene chamber, and I was using a sonic stitcher to make some minor alterations to the space suit she'd been wearing. Thankfully, my mother had taught me how to use the tool when I was a hatchling. Never wait around for your wife to do your sewing for you, Dashel, she'd said with a smile, because I promise you, she'll have about a hundred more important things to do.
The rest of my crew certainly had plenty of more important tasks to see to than making a uniform suitable for a human woman. Repairing the shuttle bays, for instance, and the damage to the other areas and systems thanks to the Diggers' sneak attack.
I could almost feel my second in command pacing outside my door before the bell chimed. “Come in, Ranel.”
He burst in furiously, but before he could say anything, I asked, “What's the status of the other drop-shuttles? Did they engage the remaining Diggers?”
Ranel bristled. “Yes.”
“And were they successful?”
“The Diggers were confined to a narrow canyon on the planet's surface, and...dealt with, yes.”
“That's wonderful news.” I made a great show of thinking it over. “With all the ore in the planet's surface blocking our sensors, I wonder...would we even have been able to detect them down there, if we hadn't known what we were looking for?”
“Perhaps not. Sir.” Each word was torture for him.
“So we'd have found ourselves eaten alive by a pack of hungry Mosets if it weren't for Natalie. Interesting.”
“Still,” he pressed on, “we have to talk about what happened earlier on the command deck...”
“You mean your attempted mutiny? Don't worry, Ranel, I'm perfectly willing to forgive and forget.”
“Attempted mutiny?!” he sputtered indignantly.
“What else would you call it when a first officer tries to wrestle command from his captain during a moment of crisis?”
“I specifically prepared you for this eventuality at the space dock.” Ranel's voice was like claws digging into steel. He was trying so hard to keep his composure, despite clearly wanting to rip my head off and punt it out the nearest airlock. “I told you I'd been assigned in the event that you weren't ready for this command, so I could take
