“And if we all happen to die too, then that’s just the way it goes.”
“Yes.”
“Well, then, shit, Pinton,” Kiva said. She looked back to Chat. “I guess we better give them what they want.”
Chapter
12
Marce’s tablet pinged with the command for him to report to Nubt Pinton, the Yes, Sir’s head of security. He briefly considered not responding to the order, but then did anyway, moving through the ship with a gradually increasing awareness of and comfort with his surroundings. Because the ship was under acceleration at the moment, the ship’s artificial gravity was more push fields than ring rotation, and Marce felt pressed down. But he noticed that it was bothering him less even a couple of days in. A body could get used to it, it seemed.
Nubt Pinton was in the Yes, Sir’s brig, a small and unhappy room with even smaller and more unhappy cells, inside one of which was Chat Ubdal. Marce looked in at Chat, who looked back, balefully.
“He’s a mess,” Marce said.
“Yes, well. Lady Kiva tossed him out an airlock,” Pinton answered.
“You threw him into space?”
“Yup.”
“And he didn’t die?”
“We only threw him out a little bit.”
Marce looked again at Chat, whose eyeballs looked spray-painted red. “I almost feel sorry for him.”
“Don’t get too broken up, Lord Marce. He’d still murder you if he had a chance.”
“You asked to see me, sir,” Marce said, turning away from Chat.
“I did. I needed to get a good look at you.”
“All right. Why?”
“We’re being tailed by pirates. Your would-be assassin here tells us that their plan is to take you off the ship. We suspect that if they can’t manage that they’d rather destroy the Yes, Sir than let you escape. We could fight them but if their goal is to blow us up rather than board us then our options are limited.”
“Are you planning to turn me over?”
“If I were planning that I wouldn’t be talking to you. I would have had you stunned when you weren’t looking and then prepped you for delivery.”
“Good to know.”
Pinton nodded. “What I need from you is your willingness to help us save ourselves, and save you, and in the process maybe cause a little pain to these pirates, and the people behind them.”
“You mean Ghreni Nohamapetan.”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“I’m in.”
“It won’t be entirely risk free for you.”
“I don’t care. I’m in.”
“Good.”
“How do we do this?”
Pinton pointed to Chat. “The first thing we do is make it look like this one was successful.”
“In killing me?”
“In planting a bomb that was meant to keep us from entering the Flow. Once we do that we’re pretty sure the pirates are going to hail us and discuss their terms.”
“What’s the second thing?” Marce asked.
“Well,” Pinton said. “Have you noticed that you and Chat here are roughly the same size and coloration?”
“Not really, no.”
“Well, I have.”
*
The fake bomb “went off” a half hour later, and the Yes, Sir sent a general unencrypted distress call toward Imperial Station to let it know of its predicament. The idea would be to make the station aware an event happened and that the station should prep rescue and retrieval efforts, to be deployed if and when the Yes, Sir followed up with an even more dire distress call. The drawback was that even the fastest imperial cutters would be more than a day out. The Yes, Sir was alone, save for the one small ship trailing it, now only a few hours out from intercept.
Which hailed the Yes, Sir, as expected, shortly after the distress call went out.
“Free freighter Red Rose, hailing Yes, Sir, That’s My Baby,” the hail said. Marce heard it on the bridge, where he and Kiva Lagos stood in a corner, staying out of the way but needing to hear what happened next.
“Lagos fiver Yes, Sir, That’s My Baby, responding,” said Drean Musann, Yes, Sir’s communications officer.
“We understand you’re experiencing an event. Permission to come aside and assist.”
“The captain thanks you for your willingness to assist but says no assistance is required at this time. Please maintain current distance.”
“We are concerned that should a further event occur we would not be able to properly assist. Moving to come alongside.”
“Red Rose, the captain once again thanks you but wishes to inform you that our concern for the well-being of your ship in the event of a further incident compels us to again request you maintain your current distance.”
“We thank your captain for the concern, but feel the risk is worth taking. Moving to assist.”
“That’s enough foreplay,” Blinnikka said to Musann.
“Yes, sir,” Musann said, then turned back to her console. “Red Rose, Captain Blinnikka formally requests we cut the shit and just get to it.”
There was a pause. “Copy that,” came the response, a moment later. “Please stand by.”
Blinnikka turned to Kiva Lagos. “How are we on preparations?”
“Busy as the proverbial fucking bee,” Kiva said.
Blinnikka nodded, glanced at Marce, and then turned his attention back to his command screen.
In spite of everything, Marce was thrilled. It was his first time on a command deck of any sort, and the calm professionalism of the Yes, Sir bridge crew in the face of what could reasonably be considered enemy action was inspiring. These were good people, Marce decided. Except possibly for Kiva Lagos. He hadn’t quite gotten a bead on her yet.
He looked over at Lady Kiva, whose current expression could be read as intent, or condescending smugness, depending on one’s own personal inclinations. Every experience Marce had of her was of someone one did not want to mess with. She reminded him of Vrenna that way, albeit with less of an actual conscience.
“What are you smirking about?” Kiva asked him. She’d caught him glancing at her.
“I was just thinking about you spacing Chat,” Marce replied, lying.
“What about it?”
“I was wondering if you would have spaced him for good if he hadn’t talked.”
“Hell, yes. Motherfucker was going to set off a bomb on my ship,” Kiva said. “You don’t fuck with my ship. You don’t fuck with my people.”
“I’m a crew member now,” Marce said. “That means I’m one of your people, too.”
“And we’re not going to give you up, now, are we?”
“Hopefully not.”
Kiva nodded. “So there you go. Don’t be a dick about it, Claremont.”
Marce grinned at this.
The communication channel between ships crackled open again. “This is Captain Wimson of the Red Rose, asking for direct parley with Captain Blinnikka of the Yes, Sir.”
Blinnikka slapped open his personal circuit. “Blinnikka here.”
“I understand you wish to cut the shit, Captain.”
“If that’s all right with you, Captain.”
“It certainly is. Why not be civilized about it. By now you’ve figured out what we are.”
“You’re pirates. You’ve been tracking us for most of a day.”
“Correct. And by now you realize that one of our associates has disabled your ability to enter the Flow.”
“Affirmative.”
“However, today is your lucky day, Captain. We are willing to leave you your cargo and stay out of your way while you either repair your ship or turn back to Imperial Station. All we need from you is to deliver two people to us.”
“Who are those people?”
“The first is our associate, the one who planted the bomb, who I’m sure you probably now have sitting in the brig. The second is a passenger. Lord Marce Claremont.”
“Captain, we can’t turn over your associate.”
“‘Can’t’ is a very strong word, Captain.”
“Let me amend. We can turn him over, just in very small pieces. He appears to have mistimed his bomb. He went up with it.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“If you want we can scrape the walls and hand him over in a bag.”
“Thank you, no. His retrieval was optional. Lord Marce’s, however, is not.”