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Chapter Thirty-Four


Aegis corvette Hornet, approaching R’Bak


“That’s the last one,” the tech called from outside the ship as he released the towline to the missile pack. “I have good communications with it.”

“Very well,” Bowden said. “Come on back inside; we need to get out of sight as soon as possible.”

“Everyone else is complete with their loads,” the comms officer reported. “They are all moving to their positions.”

“Thanks,” Bowden replied with a smile. He turned to the RockHound actually flying the corvette. Even though Bowden knew he could technically fly the ship, it was in a lot better hands with someone else at the controls, and it was a lot more important for him to follow the “big picture” of what was going on, rather than getting involved with the stick and throttle stuff of actually flying the craft. And—if the truth was known—he still wasn’t a hundred percent. He consoled himself with the thought that, with his experience, his ninety percent was more important than anyone else at a hundred.

And, in spite of all that, the Hornet pilot in him wanted to be at the controls—to be the one firing the guns and missiles, destroying the enemy, rather than the one sitting back and directing the individual actions of the battle.

Bowden sighed and shook his head. I guess this is just what admirals do. They sit and make important decisions that decide the outcome of the battle. He watched the rest of the crew, who were busy with crucial hands-on tasks to make the mission happen, while he did nothing more than watch. Yeah, he thought to himself, this admiral shit is vastly overrated.

The craft raced forward as they sped back to their hiding place on the other side of the planet. There was no telling when the Harvesters were going to turn back around again, but he knew it would be soon, and they had to be well hidden by then.


Aegis corvette Hornet, off R’Bak


“We’re here,” the pilot, Kelebar said, sitting back in his seat. “Now what?”

“Now we wait.”

“I know that,” Kelebar said with incompletely suppressed irritation. “I was at the brief; I know it will be a while before the next phase begins, but I want to be doing something now. It is not in my nature to wait, but to act. You said you’ve done this before. How did you get through this part?”

The same way you are, Bowden thought. By wishing time would jump ahead. Bowden sighed. “The waiting part is always the hardest. Back home, the plane I flew didn’t carry as much fuel as we would have liked, so once we launched, we’d go hit the Texaco station while we waited.”

“What’s a Texaco station?”

“It’s a tanker aircraft. You would follow it, and they would extend a hose with a basket on the end. My aircraft had a plug that I would insert into the basket and then they’d transfer fuel to extend my flight time.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“It could be, but it was something that we practiced a lot and got good at.”

Kelebar nodded. “Then what would you do?”

“We’d go and orbit somewhere and wait for the attack to begin, sort of like we’re doing now.” And pray no one did something stupid that pushed back the target time and made us go to the tanker again.

“But what did you do to pass the time?”

“We’d review the plan, over and over, so that we were sure of our part in it—”

“I’ve got that,” Kelebar said. “Our job isn’t that hard.”

“—then we would review everyone else’s jobs, so we knew where our allies were, and when they’d be there, in case we needed assistance.”

“You weren’t the preeminent force?”

“We were,” Bowden said. “We had the strongest military on the planet.”

“Then why would you need assistance?”

“It’s one thing to have overall superiority and another to have local superiority. For example, we thought we knew where the enemy forces were. Where they’d stationed their fighters and missile systems. But what happened if they’d moved some without our seeing it? They might have more in a given place than we did. If that happened, you might need to call in some of your allies to join you.”

“Did that ever happen to you?”

“No. The people I fought didn’t have much of anything.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a challenge.”

Bowden sighed. “We weren’t outnumbered, but the conflict that I was in, some of our allies looked like the enemy forces. Hell, on any given day, some of our allies could be the enemy forces.”

“So what did you do?”

“The best we could.”

“Was that enough?”

“Not always,” Bowden said, blinking back a tear. He swallowed to clear something in his throat. “Even when you tried your hardest.” He smiled as he put the memory out of his mind. “Happily, we don’t have that problem here. We know who the enemy is: the Kulsians. All we have to do is kill them before they do the same to us.”


Aegis corvette Hornet, off R’Bak


Hornet, Outpost,” Fiezel’s voice called a few hours later. “The Harvester fleet has arrived and is in position. It’s time for the rabbit to run free.”

“Very well,” Bowden said. “We’re on our way.” He met Kelebar’s eyes. “Take us out, and let’s get this started.”

“Yes, sir, Admiral!” the pilot exclaimed. “Right away, Admiral!”

Bowden’s eyes narrowed. “Did Captain Fiezel put you up to that?”

The RockHound looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Maybe,” he said, then he turned back to his controls.

Bowden shook his head as Kelebar advanced the throttles, and the craft started forward.


Surveyor snoop satellite 17624, above Shex’s ecliptic plane


The satellite continued on its mission, listening for anything that shouldn’t be there. Although there’d been small hits of communications, they hadn’t lasted long enough—or the satellite hadn’t been in the main beam of the transmission—to lock in on where the transmission had originated or to gain any real intelligence from it.

The majority of the—admittedly random and stray—intercepts it had received, though, had seemed to originate in the spinward Trojans asteroids in the third planet’s orbit, and it had stationed itself nearby in order to assess whether there was anything of value to be picked up there.

Because of this, it was very well positioned when a signal arrived from the third planet, beamed on a lascom directly to the collection of asteroids, from a ship that was on the other side of the planet.

It captured the data, packaged it, and transmitted it in the direction of V’dyr.


Frigate Harvester One, approaching R’Bak orbit


“Harvester Fleet, Harvester One,” the comms officer said over the radio. “Cargo ships should begin preparations for insertion and landing at Downport. We have a contact on our sensors that we are investigating. It may be the corvette that we were told to watch for, the one suspected of having gone rogue.”

Ebis’qupoz Barogar nodded as his instructions were acknowledged, then he felt himself being pressed back into his command chair as the frigate’s engines began a burn to chase down the corvette they had found.

“We don’t have a lot of fuel remaining,” his navigator warned. “If the corvette maneuvers or leaves orbit . . . ”

“Then we will fire our missiles and destroy it,” Barogar replied. “This is the only target we’ve seen so far, and I am not going to give up the honor of catching it or, if need be, wiping it from space.”

“Lord, I am getting a signal from the second planet,” the comms officer announced. “Surveyor packet Kunsheft is calling.”

A ship of no consequence, but still . . . “And what does its master want?”

“I’m waiting to hear back, Lord. The communication delay is about a minute and forty seconds each way. His last communication mentioned something about a signal they had received—wait a minute, I am receiving him now.” The comms officer listened for a few moments then said, “Lord, the ship we are chasing made a lascom transmission to the spinward Trojan asteroids, which was picked up by a snoop satellite he had positioned there in case the rogue corvette made an appearance.”

“Interesting,” Barogar replied. “He’s not headed toward the asteroids, is he?”

“No,” the tactical officer replied. “He is heading toward the planet’s small moon.”

“So he’s going toward the moon, yet talking to someone on the asteroids . . . ”

“Yes, Lord.”

“He’s obviously trying to draw us away from the asteroids.”

“Shall I turn toward the asteroids?” the navigator asked. “We don’t have fuel to do both.”

Barogar considered. “No, I have no intention of letting the corvette get away, although I’m curious what is hiding from us in the asteroids. Did Kunsheft say what was intercepted?”

“It was in a foreign language or some kind of code; they were unable to determine the message. However, the fact that there was a lascom signal . . . ”

“Tells me that the ship we’re chasing isn’t something the aboriginals here strapped together on their own. The ship must be the reaver corvette that went rogue. Also, it appears there are more of the rogue force hiding in the asteroids.” He paused for a moment, thinking, then said, “Comms, call and detach two divisions of corvettes to take a look at the asteroids. Whatever they find there, tell them to destroy it.”

“They also won’t have a lot of fuel for maneuvering,” the navigator warned. “Perhaps even less than us as they had to burn more in transit.”

“I know that,” Barogar replied, “but they should have enough. It’s not like there’s a fleet of ships hiding out in the asteroids that they’ll have to fight a battle of maneuver against.”


Aegis corvette Hornet, off R’Bak


Hornet, Outpost. You’ve been seen!”

Bowden nodded as the comms officer acknowledged the call. They’d been watching the frigate at the front of the formation—of course they had! Where else would they have been looking?—and they’d seen the engines on it go to full throttle. It was definitely coming for them.

“Um . . . ” the pilot said. “Shouldn’t I . . . shouldn’t we be running from it now?” Conditioned to run and hide his entire life, Bowden could see the sweat beading on Kelebar’s forehead. To intentionally tweak the Kulsians’ collective noses was something that went against the grain of any Hound-Dog’s psyche. Reetan had recommended the pilot as being “stalwart,” but even that had its limits when you were being chased by a craft three times your size.

“Wait for it,” Bowden replied. “We’re fat, dumb, and happy—”

“Speak for yourself,” the SpinDog running the comms muttered, although Bowden didn’t know which part of the statement he was referring to. Probably all three.

“—just out for a ride . . . not suspecting a fleet to show up . . . ” Although Bowden tried to play it cool, this was just the first of many things that could possibly go wrong with the plan. If the frigate didn’t give chase—or if it broke off, once it was chasing—they were hosed. They had to keep it engaged, so they needed to get close enough to it to really pique the Kulsians’ interest. Of course, the only thing worse than having the frigate not pursue them was actually having the frigate catch them, because then they’d be dead and of no use. The line between too soon and too late was razor’s-edge thin.

“Sir . . . ” Kelebar said.

“Not yet.”

“They’re getting awfully close.”

“Not yet . . . ”

“We’re not going to be able to get away . . . ”

“Go!” Bowden ordered finally. “Run!”

Kelebar’s hands were already in motion as he jammed the throttles forward and skew-turned the craft away from the oncoming nightmare. Bowden was shoved to the side, then back into his seat by the gees as the comms officer made the call to Outpost that they were running away, which was the signal for the Hound-Dog force to begin their assault. For good or bad, his plan was now in motion. They were either going to win . . . or they were all going to die.

“We’re in missile range of the frigate,” the tactical officer advised, looking at the link signal that Outpost was sending them.

Bowden nodded brusquely. “Can you go any faster?” he asked the pilot. “I thought this craft was faster than the frigate.”

“It is,” the RockHound replied with a grunt, “but our momentum was headed toward the frigate while they were accelerating toward us. I’m out-accelerating them now, but their velocity is still greater than ours.” He then muttered, just loud enough to be heard, “You waited too long.” The pilot slapped the dashboard as if he were riding a horse and could urge it to go faster with a little physical encouragement.

“The Kulsian frigate is calling,” the comms officer reported. “They have identified themselves as Harvester One, and they say they are going to fire on us if we do not cease our acceleration and allow them to board us.”

“I don’t think I want them to do that today,” Bowden said, “as I doubt that meeting would go very well for us.”

Bowden stared at the plot, unable to pull his eyes away from it. He knew there were other things he was supposed to be doing, like coordinating the movements of the fleet, but the fact that he was in missile range for the first time in hundreds of years had captured his attention, and he was unable to break away. The distance between the ships continued to shrink, but he could see the rate at which it did was slowing as the corvette out-accelerated its larger kin. He breathed a sigh of relief as the distance began to increase.

Harvester One says that this is our final chance,” the comms officer said, his eyes wide. “We can either allow them to board, or they will fire on us.” Bowden nodded once in acknowledgment. “Should I reply to them?”

“No. Don’t say anything.”

“But—”

“We’re not stopping.”

“Missile launch!” Outpost called as he saw several blips separate from the frigate on the tactical plot. “Missile launch from the frigate.”

“Damn it,” Bowden said under his breath. I did wait too long.


FOB “Outpost,” spinward Trojans of R’Bak


“Go!” Dave Fiezel urged as he watched the link from the Dornaani microsat. No matter how hard he implored them, though, Bowden’s craft continued toward the Kulsian frigate.

“They’re going to have a hard time staying out of missile range if they wait any longer,” the RockHound standing next to Fiezel said. “Maybe you should call them again.”

“He knows what he’s doing,” Fiezel said with more confidence than he felt. A lifetime of flying in-atmo tactical jets hardly gave Bowden the experience he needed to fight a space battle . . . not that any of them had any more experience with space battles than Bowden. Please know what you’re doing. Please . . . Please . . . 

“They’re finally turning,” the RockHound noted. “He waited too long,” he added with the flat tone of, “and I know what I’m talking about.” Confirming his opinion, the ring around the frigate showing its likely missile range reached Bowden’s ship and marched past it, putting Hornet well within range.

Sweat trickled down Fiezel’s back, but there was nothing he could do. Bowden was committed. No, he realized, there is something I can do. “Call the fleet,” he said. “Tell them to hurry.”

“Tell them to hurry?” the comms officer asked. “What do you mean?”

“Tell them to go as fast as they can,” Fiezel clarified as missiles began firing from the frigate, “or there isn’t going to be anything left of the Admiral when they get there.”


Frigate Harvester One, off R’Bak


“They are in range, Lord. Should I fire?”

“No, let us give them a chance to surrender, first. The corvette will make a nice trophy, but only if it is not destroyed. Call them and let them know that we will fire on them if they do not stop and let us board.”

“What will we do with them if they do?”

“Hopefully we will gain some intel on their organization.”

“What if they won’t talk?”

“Then we will start throwing people out an airlock until they do. I would like to know where they have hidden their goods. It is not too late to call off the attack on the asteroids, if that is where they are. Ultimately, they will all go out the airlock, and I will take possession of the corvette that they stole from us.”

“They do not appear to be stopping, Lord.”

“No, they do not, and they are beginning to get away from us. Fire missiles one through four. If they will not stop, then we will bring them to heel, ourselves.”


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