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“All ships are accounted for, and their emissions are locked up tighter than downtown Marseilles during Fleet Week,” Chief Cox reported a few minutes after the 101st Battle Group dropped out of FTL at Abaddon’s hyperlimit. “Iolanthe is scanning the orbitals in passive mode.”
Chief Cazano raised her hand.
“Optical comlinks between Iolanthe and the rest of the formation are live, Admiral.”
“Thank you.”
Dunmoore settled back to study Abaddon’s image on the CIC main display. According to Forenza’s intelligence package, the planet, hidden away deep inside the Zone, boasted a breathable atmosphere. Yet it seemed dusty enough, where it wasn’t frozen over, to make the Commonwealth’s premier desert world, Nabhka, look like an oasis.
But if Abaddon were a paradise, colonists seeking a life beyond the reach of interstellar governments would overrun it, and the people who established outposts here wanted to stay as far as possible from honest sentient beings. So it didn’t surprise Dunmoore that the Confederacy of the Howling Stars and its non-human associates would make Abaddon one of their hubs and take up residence in a self-proclaimed free port on the surface called Rakka.
“Not the kind of place to raise your kids,” Pushkin commented. “Good old Mars seems more welcoming, and it’s still being terraformed.”
“We’re getting our first readings from the orbital scans, Admiral, and my, it’s a busy place for an old rock in the middle of nowhere.” Lieutenant Commander Zakaria pointed at the starboard secondary display. “First, we have what looks like a full satellite constellation. Considering how sparsely inhabited the place seems, I’ll bet many of them are looking outward for intruders like us. That likely means there’s a central authority governing Abaddon.”
Dunmoore nodded.
“Agreed. Even pirate havens need a governance structure with a boss at the very top, so they keep running profitably.”
A guffaw escaped Pushkin’s throat.
“Makes me wonder how we would differentiate them from the business-suited pirates running our own governments.”
“Cynic.”
“Guilty as charged, Admiral. You do recall the definition of a cynic, right?” He grinned at Dunmoore.
“An idealist who’s been mugged by reality.”
A nod.
“Right. I don’t know if everyone in this CIC started off as idealists, but we were definitely all whacked over the head by life.”
“Some harder than others,” Guthren said in an amused tone.
“If you mean me, Chief, then spot on.”
Zakaria cleared her throat softly as a new image appeared on the secondary display.
“That looks suspiciously like a simple defense platform, something with a few missile-filled containers, a reactor, and direct-fire weapons hidden behind armor plating. So far, we can see four of them.”
“Simple doesn’t always mean ineffective,” Lieutenant Commander Khanjan said. “Though against warships like ours, I daresay even two dozen of them opening up at once might be insufficient except at extremely close range. Still, I’m impressed by what we see so far. I didn’t expect this many orbitals. Piracy, smuggling, and whatever else they do in the Zone must be rather profitable. Makes you wonder who paid off the diplomats and politicians on both sides during the Treaty negotiations so that this part of space became out-of-bounds for naval vessels.”
“Look no further than our Senate, Attar,” Pushkin replied. “I’m sure the Empire has its own enterprising plutocrats who are more interested in profits than law, order, or morality.”
Guthren gave Dunmoore a knowing grin.
“Your flag captain was definitely whacked harder by reality than the rest of us, Admiral.”
“Now, here’s where it gets interesting,” Zakaria said. “Looks like at least eight Shrehari built hulls, including two that resemble the so-called science vessel passing for a corsair or vice versa we saw orbiting Kilia. Larger than a wartime P’tar, smaller than a Tol. And now, a whole swarm of merchant hulls coming around Abaddon.”
“Please put it on the primary display and zoom in.”
“Aye, aye, Admiral.”
Everyone in the CIC examined the images for several long minutes while the intelligence AI looked for matches in the ship’s database.
“Aha.” Zakaria pointed at four starships seemingly orbiting as a tight group. “Those look quite familiar.”
Dunmoore nodded.
“The Arkanna-built copies of human sloops sold off by the Navy after the war. Do we have the emission signatures of Drex’s ship as well as those of the three who fled from Galadiman when we showed up?”
“Yes, we do, Admiral. I made sure we took a copy with us, just in case.”
Pushkin winked at her. “What can I say? You’re surrounded by one of the best staff teams in the Fleet.”
“I am indeed, Gregor.”
A red circle appeared around one of the sloops.
“That ship’s emissions are an almost exact match for those of Drex’s Vuko.”
“No kidding,” Chief Cazano said. “I’m picking up the subspace tracking devices. They’re still in operation.”
Orange circles appeared around three more. “There was no time to take extensive readings before the ships orbiting Galadiman ran, but these are a close match. Closer than the others of a similar build.”
“Okay, thanks. Pass the identification to all ships. Then, Chief Cazano, I’d like to speak with the captains.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Zakaria and Cazano replied in unison.
Within moments, four faces appeared on her command chair’s virtual display.
“You’ve received target identification data just now. One, with a high degree of confidence, is the sloop Vuko we boarded at Kilia. If he’s still around, her captain is a former Navy lieutenant commander promoted from the ranks, Alan Drex. The other three, with a medium degree of confidence, are probably the sloops guarding Athena in Galadiman orbit and likely those who hijacked her. I suspect the individual in command of the squadron was also once a Navy officer, based on their reaction when we appeared at Galadiman’s hyperlimit.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed the amount of shipping around Abaddon, including at least eight Shrehari vessels, two of which are suspected Deep Space Fleet or Tai Zohl, based on their configuration. The rest might simply be corsairs or armed merchant ships, or they might also serve the Empire. One thing is certain. We cannot afford to clash with them, nor they with us.”
She paused while each of the four nodded solemnly.
“My intentions are as follows. We will approach Abaddon running silent and enter geosynchronous orbit above the city of Rakka. Commander Khanjan will prepare a navigation plot that sees the battle group coast toward Abaddon without attracting attention. Hopefully, no one will spot our thrusters firing out here at the hyperlimit. But if anyone does, it’ll be one or both of the two larger Shrehari ships. They may call themselves science vessels or whatever else, but if they’re not warships like ours, then I’ll eat my beret. That means we face naval-grade sensors and naval-grade situational awareness. If they detect us and open a link, I’ll do the talking. The one at Kilia even helped us track Alan Drex’s ship, and that tells me they probably won’t interfere with human-on-human anti-piracy action. After all, keeping the Zone quiet benefits both of our polities. If we make it into orbit undetected, I’ll decide on the next steps, based on what else we find circling Abaddon. Are there any questions or comments?”
Dunmoore knew each of her captains was comfortable with improvisation on the spot — it was how Q ships seized opportunities. Timid officers with rigid thinking patterns need not apply. When no one spoke, she smiled.
“In that case, stand by for navigation orders. Let’s pay Abaddon a discrete visit.”
**
“Please, Commodore. I don’t know what I could have done. Enoc Tarrant betrayed us. If you want to lay blame, let it be on him.”
After a long wait while he and his advisers debated the next steps, the Confederacy of the Howling Stars senior executive in the Abaddon system, Vice President Jamy Daver, had finally convened a court of inquiry into Vuko’s boarding by Commonwealth Navy personnel while docked at Kilia Station. Since she was the most experienced and most senior former Navy officer present, he’d appointed the Commodore as chief inquisitor, directing her to hold the proceedings aboard her flagship, Mahigan.
“Tarrant will get his in due course,” the Commodore growled, showing her irritation with Drex’s faintly plaintive tone. “We’re talking about how you led a Navy task force directly to Galadiman where we were conducting one of the most lucrative private military operations in the Confederacy’s brief history.”
“And from what I understand, you mostly achieved the stated aims, sir.”
“But not every one of them, and it cost us.”
With Dunmoore securing Athena before everyone targeted by Sara Lauzier was removed, and before the designated rescue force could carry out its mission, the Confederacy’s mystery employer reduced its payout by a not inconsiderable percentage. And since the contract was illegal, the Confederacy could hardly complain to the Commonwealth agency regulating private military corporations.
“Sir, I can only repeat that while they took a copy of the computer core, they didn’t find the secret database. That Dunmoore followed us to Galadiman is just more of her damned luck. She left Kilia several hours before I did. How she could know my heading once I crossed the heliopause is no more than conjecture. My navigation database can only tell her about my most frequent ports of call, and I’ll note Abaddon figures more prominently than Galadiman. So do Arkanna and a few others, for that matter.”
“But Galadiman is the most conveniently situated for cross-border operations, and Dunmoore knew that because she ran rampant in this part of the galaxy during the war. So I’m well acquainted with her tactics and her way of thinking.”
Drex scowled.
“But I’m not, sir. The only thing I know of her is that she murdered my brother in that accursed ship, Stingray. I did my duty by warning you of her presence in the Zone as fast as humanly possible. Surely no one can ask more of me. If clairvoyance is a requirement to be captain of a Confederacy of the Howling Stars sloop, then you’ll not find a soul who meets it.”
Jamy Daver shrugged. “He has a point, Commodore.”
Though not part of the court of inquiry, Daver gave himself leave to intervene at will by dint of his position within the organization under the principle of might makes right. And in the Abaddon system, he was might, something even the more established groups, including the one running what passed for a planetary government, acknowledged.
Career pirates were no match for hardened Fleet veterans who saw off the best the Shrehari Empire could muster and didn’t give a damn about the niceties of civilized society after said society tossed them aside like so much dirty laundry.
But before she could reply, her communicator — which was sitting on the table, recording the proceedings — gently chimed. She glanced down and frowned.
“What is it?” Daver asked.
“The bridge thinks it briefly caught four sensor ghosts at approximately thirty-five thousand kilometers altitude above the Rakka area.”