briefly connected the two ships, long enough for an angry red gash to appear over the engines, causing all acceleration to cease. Inwardly debating for a second, Orlova fired a single missile after it, setting it to chase towards its target.
Two more explosions to the rear; the missiles targeted at the fighters had found their target, and those vessels would be on their way down to the core of the gas giant in pieces, slowly compressing to nothing; she hoped that the pilot’s hadn’t ejected. That would be a terrible way to die.
“Call them again, Ivanov,” Marshall said. “They might be in more of a mood to talk now.”
“You’re on, sir.”
“Unidentified vessel, there is a missile on track that will destroy what is left of your engines in less than a minute. At that point I will be launching an espatier force, and the only question at the moment is whether they will be coming to provide emergency relief or to board and storm. I repeat – those boarding shuttles are on the way. Surrender.”
A faint crackle replied, “We have many wounded, serious damage. We protest your attack upon our vessel and demand reparations.”
“Demand and be damned, sir. Surrender.”
There was a long pause, and Bryant called out, “They just launched an escape pod, sir, but…”
“But?”
“It’s just falling into the gas giant.”
Cunningham finally spoke, “I presume they are disposing of their sensitive material before giving in. Clever.”
“I’ll try to track them,” Bryant said, but immediately shook her head, “No chance, sir. They just fired off about a dozen decoys. I’m already having trouble tracking them, and as soon as they hit atmosphere I’m going to lose them.”
“Do what you can, Spaceman,” Marshall said.
The intercom crackled again, “We yield, Alamo.” The voice was different, and this one was dejected, defeated.
Marshall pushed himself up from his chair, a grin on his face, “Good work everyone. We can get the spin back on now, and let’s get the Espatier shuttles into the air. Mr. Cunningham, you have the conn.”
“Where are you going?”
“Over to the enemy ship,” he replied. “I want to see it for myself.”
“I protest, sir,” Zebrova said, “That ship has not been secured.”
“Let him go, Lieutenant,” Cunningham said, “We’re not going to win this one.”
“I’ll have a platoon of espatiers for company,” Marshall replied, and glancing at Orlova, “and I think the security department should be in on this as well. Orlova, you’re with me.”
With a smile, Orlova called Caine up to the bridge to take her station, and yielded it to Cunningham to hold it for a moment while she pushed off, racing after Marshall; he was already on his way, presumably before anyone else could object.
Chapter 10
A loud rattle shook the shuttle as it locked onto the hopper. Harper was ready at her console in case the pilot of the other ship was planning to try anything silly at this point, but with a series of bangs, the airlock slowly opened, a grinding noise from the mechanism that made Logan smile; this ship was maintained about as well as the ones he usually rode.
Peering from above, a tall, portly man looked down out of the gloom of the hopper into the shuttle. A pistol was jammed into a holster at his belt, but his hand was well clear of it. Food wrappers and bits of debris were drifting down, pulled around by the air ventilators, and the smell was beginning to come with them. Harper wrinkled her nose as she brushed a piece of wet tissue away, shaking her head.
“Who the hell are you bastards?” the pilot said in a thick accent.
“Call me Logan. This is Harper. Who are you?”
“Boris Petrov. This is my ship you have boarded. What gives you the right?”
“Well, technically you were conducting an unauthorized salvage operation, but
Two more explosions to the rear; the missiles targeted at the fighters had found their target, and those vessels would be on their way down to the core of the gas giant in pieces, slowly compressing to nothing; she hoped that the pilot’s hadn’t ejected. That would be a terrible way to die.
“Call them again, Ivanov,” Marshall said. “They might be in more of a mood to talk now.”
“You’re on, sir.”
“Unidentified vessel, there is a missile on track that will destroy what is left of your engines in less than a minute. At that point I will be launching an espatier force, and the only question at the moment is whether they will be coming to provide emergency relief or to board and storm. I repeat – those boarding shuttles are on the way. Surrender.”
A faint crackle replied, “We have many wounded, serious damage. We protest your attack upon our vessel and demand reparations.”
“Demand and be damned, sir. Surrender.”
There was a long pause, and Bryant called out, “They just launched an escape pod, sir, but…”
“But?”
“It’s just falling into the gas giant.”
Cunningham finally spoke, “I presume they are disposing of their sensitive material before giving in. Clever.”
“I’ll try to track them,” Bryant said, but immediately shook her head, “No chance, sir. They just fired off about a dozen decoys. I’m already having trouble tracking them, and as soon as they hit atmosphere I’m going to lose them.”
“Do what you can, Spaceman,” Marshall said.
The intercom crackled again, “We yield, Alamo.” The voice was different, and this one was dejected, defeated.
Marshall pushed himself up from his chair, a grin on his face, “Good work everyone. We can get the spin back on now, and let’s get the Espatier shuttles into the air. Mr. Cunningham, you have the conn.”
“Where are you going?”
“Over to the enemy ship,” he replied. “I want to see it for myself.”
“I protest, sir,” Zebrova said, “That ship has not been secured.”
“Let him go, Lieutenant,” Cunningham said, “We’re not going to win this one.”
“I’ll have a platoon of espatiers for company,” Marshall replied, and glancing at Orlova, “and I think the security department should be in on this as well. Orlova, you’re with me.”
With a smile, Orlova called Caine up to the bridge to take her station, and yielded it to Cunningham to hold it for a moment while she pushed off, racing after Marshall; he was already on his way, presumably before anyone else could object.
Chapter 10
A loud rattle shook the shuttle as it locked onto the hopper. Harper was ready at her console in case the pilot of the other ship was planning to try anything silly at this point, but with a series of bangs, the airlock slowly opened, a grinding noise from the mechanism that made Logan smile; this ship was maintained about as well as the ones he usually rode.
Peering from above, a tall, portly man looked down out of the gloom of the hopper into the shuttle. A pistol was jammed into a holster at his belt, but his hand was well clear of it. Food wrappers and bits of debris were drifting down, pulled around by the air ventilators, and the smell was beginning to come with them. Harper wrinkled her nose as she brushed a piece of wet tissue away, shaking her head.
“Who the hell are you bastards?” the pilot said in a thick accent.
“Call me Logan. This is Harper. Who are you?”
“Boris Petrov. This is my ship you have boarded. What gives you the right?”
“Well, technically you were conducting an unauthorized salvage operation, but
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