THE AMBUSHERS
ABOARD THE GUNAKADA
“For clot’s sake, Princess,” Skink said, “How in hell can you expect a full share? Only thing you’re kickin’ in is a dinky fighter and a crew of twenty five.”
Anthofelia drew herself up to her haughtiest pose. “You forget, Captain,” she said in her most regal voice, “that I am also offering my position. When we have brought this operation to a successful conclusion there is nothing standing in my way to becoming queen of all the Himmenops. And then you will have a whole fleet of top level fighting ships and hundreds of warrior women that I can bring into play with a single word.”
Skink wrinkled his snout. “No matter what happens here,” he said, “you’ll still have Venatora to handle. I’ve been dealing with her for years and I can tell you from experience she isn’t gonna keel over and play dead.”
“You’re forgetting I have Lord Fehrle’s support,” Anthofelia said.
Skink snorted. “See how long that lasts once he gets what he’s after,” he said. “Only reason he backed your play is because he wanted Venatora out the way. After that fiasco with the mutineers he doesn’t trust her.”
Anthofelia sniffed. “That’s because she’s afraid of the Emperor,” she said. “She’d rather nibble at the edges and live off his scraps. Whereas I am ready, willing and more than able to hit him hard and then sit back and let him try to take on the Himmenops on their home ground. Just to take an inch of our territory would cost him more in blood and money than even he can afford.”
Skink rapped on the console with his claws. “See, that’s where me and you part company. You say you’re not scared of the Eternal Emperor? Well, if that’s not just big talk, you’re either crazy, or stupid.”
He thumped his scaly chest. “I’m not crazy, and I’m not stupid either. The Emp scares the clot out of me.”
“If you’re so scared, why are you doing this?” Anthofelia asked.
Skink shrugged. “Because Fehrle’s paying us through the nose,” he said. “Enough so me and the other captains can pick up and run like hell. There’s plenty of places to hide and live high on the hog if you’ve got enough of the old filthy lucre.
“But you and your girls are stuck in one place. You can’t run. If you did, the Himmenops would fall apart and you’d be queen of nothing but a race of freaks.”
Anthofelia was furious. Skink’s insults were almost more than she could bear. Making it worse, everything he said was true. Her right hand drifted to her left sleeve, where she kept a minigun. The rounds were small, but she was close enough to Skink that the bullets would penetrate even his scaly hide.
In the corner, Nalene coughed. Anthofelia caught her warning look. She raised her hand and brought it slowly down palm first. Cool it, Nalene was saying. Calm down.
Anthofelia forced a smile and leaned back. If she killed Skink the whole deal would collapse.
She sighed. “You drive a hard bargain, Captain Skink,” she said. “But I’m willing to negotiate. You and the others are offering me half a share. But really, that’s embarrassing, don’t you think? How can I hold up my head with that kind of an offer? How about if we make it eight tenths of a share?”
Skink thrust out a claw. “Make it three quarters of a share and you have yourself a deal,” he said.
Anthofelia shook his scaly claw, forcing herself not to shudder.
“Deal,” she said.
Later, she paced the cabin of the Gunakada, frantically trying to reach Father Huber.
Finally, his voice crackled in her ear. “You did well, daughter,” he said. “The timing was perfect. At the moment the High Council is evenly divided on who should wear the crown.”
“They are fools and cowards,” Anthofelia said. “Can’t they see that we represent the future of the Himmenops?”
“Patience, daughter. Patience,” Huber said. “A year ago—nay, only a few months ago—no one would have thought this division was possible. Venatora was clearly everyone’s favorite. Now, we have a fifty-fifty shot at the crown.
“The odds will tip completely to our side once we have Demeter. Then all the fathers will see things our way.”
“Even Father Raggio?” Anthofelia said.
Huber chuckled. “Highly unlikely,” he said. “But that won’t matter. Because after the Demeter, the knives will come out. And you will be queen.”
ABOARD THE SWAGMAN
Skink was feeling pleased with himself. “Fetch me some of the good stuff,” he told his steward. “I feel like celebrating.”
By “good stuff” he meant a bottle of expensive cognac that the pirates had got off a partyship they’d run across on the way to Punta Royal.
He could see the ship—the Jubilee—on his secondary monitor now and when the steward brought him the crusty bottle and poured a hefty measure he toasted the screen.
“To the Jubilee,” he said and downed his drink.
He held it up for the steward to refill. He didn’t make it easy, waving his drinking hand around as he spoke, the steward chasing the glass and trying not to spill. A day ago he was steward on the Jubilee. But he’d been shanghaied to perform his duties aboard the Swagman and he was visibly terrified.
“Talk about luck,” Skink said to his people. “Here we are in the middle of nowhere and we run across enough goodies to stock one of those holiday cruise liners that charge a thousand credits a minute.”
He paused long enough to drink deeply and held his glass out for more, the steward racing to keep up.
His first mate snickered. “Stupid captain was lost,” Raynor said. “How you can get lost because of a little old solar storm beats me. If he’d a joined a convoy he’d have been fine. But the cheap clot wanted to save a couple of credits and headed off on his own.”
“Boy, was that stupid piece of drakh glad to see us,” Skink chortled. “Thanking the gods that we ran across him. Said he’d reward us handsomely for saving his behind.”
More laughter. More drinking. More waving of hands. Expensive cognac spilling onto the deck as the steward raced to keep up.
“Must’a soiled his drawers when we fired that shot across his bows,” Raynor said. “Squealed like a little girl.”
“Why, you’re nothing but pirates,” Raynor squeaked in imitation of the captain.
“Pirates! Eek, eek!” Skink squealed. He downed his drink and held out his glass so the steward could pour another. “‘Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot. We’ll give you anything. Anything!’”
Skink drained his glass. “Damn right he’ll give us anything,” he growled.
The steward missed the glass entirely in his next attempt to keep it full. Skink frowned at him. Then looked at the mess on the deck.
He snorted. “Son,” he said, “if you can’t do better than that we’ll have to space you.”
The poor man turned white. “Space me,” he squeaked. “Please sir. I’m doing my best. Really I am.”
“Please sir, please sir,” mocked Raynor. Then: “Better clean that up before somebody slips and falls.”
“Yessir. Right away, sir. Just let me get a cloth-”
“You don’t need a cloth,” Skink said. “Get down on your knees and lick it up like the lapdog that you are.”
The steward looked horrified. “Lick it up, sir? I mean, really, that’s—”
“You heard the Captain,” Raynor roared, kicking the man’s feet out from under him. He fell on his behind, grunting in pain.
“Start licking,” Raynor said and the poor man bent down and tentatively licked the pool of booze on the floor.
“Do it like you mean it,” Raynor snarled, putting his boot into the steward’s butt. Sobbing, the man did as he was told. Licking and sucking the deck.
Skink leaned back, amused. He was feeling pretty good about himself. He grabbed the bottle where the steward had left it and poured himself another measure. Offered it Raynor, who accepted. Drank a little. Smacked his lips.
“Clottin’ A, that’s good,” Raynor said.
Skink became serious. Frowning, he said, “One thing, Raynor. We’ve gotta watch it with that partyship. Keep the visits to a minimum until after we’re done with the Demeter.
“Otherwise everybody’s gonna get so stinking drunk they won’t be able to do the job properly. We have to keep our wits about us.”
“Damn straight, boss,” Raynor said, downing his drink and pouring another. “Those Imperials won’t go easy. Even if we do catch them with their drawers down.”
Skink nodded agreement. “You’ve got that right,” he said, holding his glass out for Raynor to pour another.
There was a retching sound. He looked down to see the steward hunched over, spewing his guts.
“Oh, man,” he said. “You just made it worse, you stupid scrote.”
He kicked him in the ribs, knocking him onto his belly.
“Got get a mop, or something,” Skink said. “Do the job proper.”
Groaning, the steward climbed to his feet and scurried away.
When he was gone, Raynor said, “You know, for a minute there I though the Princess was gonna do something stupid and try to shoot you.”
Skink chuckled. “For a minute there, I thought the same thing,” he said.
He knuckle-rapped his chest. There was the hollow sound of armor.“That’s why I came prepared. I don’t want to kill her just yet. I mean, the whole thing could blow up in our faces.”
“But I figured that in the end, greed would win out. That’s one thing we all have in common with the trumped up princess bitch. Only difference is we just want money to burn. And she wants a crown.”
“Still, we better keep a close eye on her,” Raynor said.
“Sure,” said Skink. “Then, when the job is done, we’ll geek her. And we’ll make up with Venatora by sending her the princess’s pretty head on a platter.”
The comm line buzzed. It was the bridge.
“Yeah?” Skink said.
“Five minutes to the Punta Royal gate, skipper,” his navigator said.
“Very well,” Skink said, heaving his bulk from the chair. “I’ll come.”
Six hours later, after jumping his ship and the others and securing the Jubilee so she couldn’t run, he had his ambush set up. Captain Manzil and his ships were on his left flank. Barnid and his people on the right. Skink and the Swagman were in the middle, along with Anthofelia and her Himmenops followers.
Fehrle’s Rapier was stationed behind the Princess. Presumably, he’d have Gregor stashed close by. Lord Wichman had his insisted that his son accompany any boarding party.
They were arrayed in a loose pincer formation that would close on the Imperial ships the moment they appeared. Then Skink would cut the Demeter loose from the tugs binding her to the Imperial convoy and seize her.
Unfortunately they couldn’t just lash Demeter and her tugs to the Swagman and haul her away. The agworld was governed by a cutting edge AI system that someone would have to manually override. That could only be done on Demeter itself, so he’d have to go there, locate the entry port, then travel a hundred and fifty klicks or so to the Command Center.
Finding it should be no problem. Fehrle had assured him that Wichman had provided him with detailed maps of the agworld. The only problem, from Skink’s point of view, would be if Fehrle insisted that he and his people accompany the boarding party.
Skink didn’t like the idea of having Fehrle dogging him during the whole expedition, but he was paying a pretty price for the privilege, so if he insisted, there was nothing that could be done about it.
Raynor caught his attention. “Boss, what about the drones? Think we’ll need to deploy them?”
Skink thought a minute. He had twenty five of the little suckers. They could zip around and patrol the area, making sure nobody slipped up on them. On the other hand, when the shooting started, they’d be the first to go and they were clotting expensive.
As if guessing his thoughts, Raynor spoke up. “Better safe than sorry, boss,” he said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Skink said. “Go ahead and launch them.”
Soon, a silvery stream of torpedo shaped drones poured out of the Swagman and started patrolling the sector.