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“All ships present and running silent, sir,” Chief Cox announced from the flag CIC’s combat systems console. “Salamanca is scanning Galadiman’s orbitals on passive.”
The minutes ticked by while Dunmoore caught her fingers dancing on the command chair’s arm several times.
“Yes!” Cox swiveled around. “We have her.”
He pointed at the starboard secondary display where an image of Athena as she looked fresh out of the slipways was displayed side-by-side with her twin, orbiting a planet.
“No doubt about it, Skipper,” Lieutenant Commander Zakaria said as the image of the orbiting Athena zoomed in on the name painted on her hyperdrive nacelle. “She’s the one, and the ships orbiting around her correspond to the images sent with the distress signal.”
“What the hell?” Pushkin pointed at the display. “There’s a shuttle undocking from Athena.”
“The presumed hijackers are lighting up, sir. Emissions consistent with sublight drives spooling.”
“You think they spotted us dropping out of FTL?” Pushkin turned toward Dunmoore. “If Vuko made it ahead of us, they might have been scanning this arc of space on the assumption we were following.”
“Could be. Any sign of Vuko?”
A few seconds passed, then Zakaria shook her head.
“Nothing that Salamanca can pick up. None of the ships in orbit currently visible correspond to Vuko’s emission signature.”
“Let’s give it one pass.”
Several minutes later, “That shuttle just entered the trailing sloop’s hangar bay, Skipper.” Then, “Sublight drives flaring. They’re breaking out of orbit, leaving Athena behind.”
“Meaning they definitely spotted us dropping out of hyperspace, which in turn proves Vuka got here first and whoever is in command heeded Drex,” Pushkin said.
“But how could they know we were in close pursuit?” Lieutenant Commander Zakaria asked. “Surely Vuko didn’t notice us at Kilia’s heliopause.”
“Someone on the other side is wise to the Skipper’s tactics, sir, the ones she used against Shrehari shipping during the war,” Guthren replied. “That’s the only explanation.”
Dunmoore hesitated for a fraction of a second.
“Chief Cazano, transmit the order up systems. Commander Khanjan, take us to Galadiman at maximum acceleration commensurate with a safe orbital insertion. Our objective is Athena.”
“What about the pirate sloops?” Pushkin asked.
“We won’t catch up no matter what, and our orders are to retrieve Athena and her passengers. Track them until they go FTL and note their vector. Not that it’ll do much good. If Chief Guthren is right, whoever commands that squadron will make a dogleg halfway to the heliopause just in case.”
Cazano raised her hand. “All ships confirm up systems and are ready to sync navigation with the flag.”
“Navigation orders are going out now, Skipper.”
“Gregor, warn Salamanca that they’ll provide the boarding party to secure Athena. I want every precaution taken in case the hijackers booby-trapped her.”
“Yes, sir. On it.”
“And let’s scan that liner. I want to know how many life signs are aboard, what her reactors are doing, if she’s giving off unusual emissions — everything.” Dunmoore stood. “I’ll be in my quarters.”
**
“Sensors can make out two hundred and twenty-nine distinct life signs,” Chief Cox reported.
“But there were two hundred and seventy aboard when she left her last port of call before the hijacking.” Pushkin glanced at Dunmoore over his shoulder. “One hundred and twenty passengers and a hundred and fifty crew. That means forty-one people are unaccounted for.”
“Either they’re dead or were taken off, sir. The sensors can’t find any dark spots where that many life signs might be hiding. Other than that, her emissions are normal, her reactors appear to be operating within acceptable parameters, and she’s not transmitting anything.”
“Thank you.”
Dunmoore stroked the control screen embedded in her command chair arm, and moments later, Captain Rydzewski answered.
“Sir?”
“Launch the boarding party.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Task Force Luckner had entered orbit less than half an hour earlier and surrounded Athena at a distance sufficient to avoid harm if the worst happened and her antimatter containment fields failed due to sabotage. But, so far, no one aboard acknowledged Salamanca’s hails or took notice of five Commonwealth Navy warships orbiting a Protectorate Zone star system where, under the Treaty, they shouldn’t be. The handful of other ships in orbit, while no doubt monitoring them with trepidation, were wisely remaining both silent and distant.
Ten minutes passed, then one of the cruiser’s shuttles appeared on both the flag CIC’s primary display and as a small blue icon in the holographic tactical projection. It approached Athena from behind with deliberation, its sensors examining every square centimeter of the liner’s hull, looking for hidden airlock release hatches — a boarding party’s best friend.
The shuttle finally leveled off abeam of the main starboard passenger airlock used when docking and by the pirate shuttle earlier. Within moments, the speaker came to life with the voice of Salamanca’s second officer, who led the boarding party.
“The main airlock is powered up and seems ready to extrude a connecting tube. When the hijackers ran off, they left it live and ready to receive. What are my instructions?”
“Can you sense anything that might indicate a booby trap?” Captain Rydzewski asked.
“No.”
Guthren glanced at Dunmoore. “Doesn’t mean there aren’t any, but if no one’s around to run the controls from inside, that’s what you’d get after shuttle docked there buggered off in great haste. The airlock is still primed.”
“What would you suggest?”
“Send a boarding droid through without docking.”
Rydzewski spoke again, quoting Guthren almost word for word, and they watched the droid, a cylinder just over half a meter tall and a quarter that in diameter come through the shuttle’s own airlock and, with a brief burst of its jets, head for Athena. Once there, it extruded magnetic clamps and a robotic arm that opened the emergency control panel and manipulated the mechanical release mechanism.
The airlock’s outer door opened after an interval just long enough to empty the intermediary compartment of air, then the droid entered, the door closed again, and the compartment repressurized. When the inner door opened, it relayed live video of an empty, though opulent guest lobby. Neither humans nor AI holographs stood behind the reception desk, and the wall displays were dark.
Now on wheels, the droid trundled toward the passenger section and found its entryway barred. The second officer ordered it around then through the open door leading to the crew compartments and the bridge. But it encountered no one.
“All right,” Rydzewski said. “You’re clear to dock. Take control of the ship, then find its crew. Don’t open the passenger section until Niner-Niner arrives.”
Dunmoore, whose radio call sign it was, stood.
“And that’s my signal to prepare.”
Guthren imitated her.
“You mean our signal, Skipper.”
“Enjoy dealing with over a hundred scared and probably pissed off scions of Earth’s elites.” Pushkin grinned at her. “We’ll be watching from the safety of your CIC and passing around a tub of popcorn.”
“Enjoy the show.”
**
In contrast to the boarding party’s armored pressure suits, Dunmoore, Guthren, and the two bosun’s mates assigned as security wore nothing more than dark blue Navy battledress, holstered sidearms, and the Fleet’s sky blue beret with its starburst and anchor insignia.
The ride over in Salamanca’s pinnace was brief and, with the boarding party’s shuttle undocked and shadowing Athena a hundred meters off her starboard beam, they docked at the main airlock. Salamanca’s second officer greeted her in the guest lobby with a quick salute which Dunmoore returned.
“Welcome aboard, sir. We are in control of the ship and can sail it home if necessary. As far as we can tell, they locked the crew up with the passengers where they can’t access critical systems.”
“Lead on, Commander.” She gestured at the guest corridor. “You found the coordinates for Sara Lauzier’s cabin, I presume?”
“Yes, sir.” An amused look crossed his usually serious features. “Not unexpectedly, it’s the Commonwealth Suite, also known as Cabin Number One. But based on the live video feed we’ve been watching, Madame Lauzier is in a nearby lounge, alone, reading. It appears our boarding has gone unnoticed by the inmates.”
“Good. That way, they will hopefully not mob us.”
Dunmoore had decided she would deal with the passengers via the one they would consider their leader by dint of her parentage and the power she wielded behind the scenes in Geneva.
No one waited on the other side of the armored, airtight door when it opened, but her escort entered first, wary expressions on their faces, hands hovering near their holstered blasters, the second officer on their heels. As they walked down opulent corridors and across luxurious common spaces, startled heads appeared through open doors and followed their progress with wide eyes, though no one called out. Dunmoore could only presume the eerily unexpected appearance of Commonwealth Navy personnel startled them, and they didn’t quite believe what they saw.
“In here.”
The second officer stopped by a door that opened at his touch. He stepped aside as Dunmoore’s escort entered, eyes scanning in the lounge and its sole occupant. They took position on either side of the door under the astonished gaze of Sara Lauzier, who stood when Dunmoore and Guthren appeared.
“Madame Lauzier? I’m Captain Siobhan Dunmoore, Commonwealth Navy. I command Task Force Luckner. We’ve come to bring you and everyone else aboard home.” Dunmoore, who’d been observing Lauzier from the moment the door opened, thought she picked up something more than surprise in her gaze. A tinge of annoyance, perhaps? What she didn’t notice was relief at being rescued. “The people who hijacked this ship fled shortly after spotting us at the planet’s hyperlimit a few hours ago.”
After a moment of silence, Lauzier said, “Then I — we — owe you our gratitude.”
Her flat tone sounded somehow wrong to Dunmoore’s ears.
“Our sensors detected fewer life signs than expected, forty-one less, to be precise. Do you know what happened?”
“The hijackers took them off this ship, obviously. Why I couldn’t say.”
This time, Dunmoore was sure she spotted a flash of annoyance in Lauzier’s eyes.
“Do you know if anyone requires medical care?”
Lauzier shook her head.
“No. Our captors treated us well. The ship’s hospitality personnel, who were not confined, took care of our needs. Other than on odd occasions, whoever hijacked Athena left us alone.”
“My boarding party will release the ship’s crew from confinement and, if we’re satisfied with their condition, return control of Athena back to Captain LeDain. In the meantime, would you be so kind as to reassure your fellow passengers and let them know they’re in the Navy’s hands now? We will be escorting you back to Starbase 30. From there, 3rd Fleet will make sure you reach Earth safely.”
A nod. “I’ll speak with them. Thank you, Captain.”
“One last question. Did you see any of your captors clearly enough to describe them so we can have an AI draw up their likenesses? From the intelligence I received, many, if not most, are ex-Fleet. Having images would allow us to track down their identities.”
Lauzier hesitated long enough to awaken Dunmoore’s curiosity.
“They summoned me to the captain’s day cabin shortly after we arrived here, where I met a woman who calls herself the Commodore. She claims to be a mercenary and commands the ships that hijacked Athena.”
“What did this Commodore want?”
“She told me her employers were using us to blackmail the Commonwealth government, and that if it didn’t accede to their demands, our lives would be on the line. When she suggested I plead with my father for cooperation via video recording, I refused. And that was it. I wasn’t aware she’d removed people from Athena, seeing as how we’ve mostly withdrawn into our own little bubbles. You’d have to ask the others if they noticed anything.”
“What can you tell me about this Commodore?”
Lauzier shrugged.
“Not that much. Claims she was a Navy captain, with starship commands and senior staff appointments, before taking forced retirement after the war. In appearance, she’s an icy blond — pale skin, shoulder-length platinum hair, cold blue eyes, narrow face. Her voice is clearly in the alto range and a little rough. I’d say she’s a few years older than you are, and I got the sense she’s bitter at being cast adrift by the peacetime Fleet.”
Many Navy officers could fit that description, but Dunmoore could only think of one who knew her tactics well enough to spot Task Force Luckner emerging at the hyperlimit after being warned by Drex.