* * *
The captain and Darla stared at the upper screen. The bridge office commented, “We picked the bogies up just after swinging back past the Twin Suns. Right now we’re tracking them on an intercept course with ours that will bring them within range in about fifteen minutes.”
Bedan asked his navigation officer, “Can we pull out to the south, Q southwest, and put some distance on them?”
She replied it was not possible. “Sir, the fingers of the CrystallineNebulas stretch across our south, spreading northwest, Q west, far into the Outer Corridor. We cannot maintain any real speed through that maze of rock and ice. As it is, at our present speed, we are being forced to make a slow turn to our north, Q northwest, to avoid collision with its outer extremities.”
Bedan expressed dismay. “So they have us in a vice…” His voice trailed off as he pondered the situation.
Impatient, the bridge officer asked, “What do you suggest we do, Captain?”
Bedan said nothing, deep in thought, trying to sort out the rapidly developing events while his mind kept returning to his 1st officer and the intrigue of the moment. He was still stinging from Darla’s rather open accusation of his loyalty, and the untimely death of his officer had not proved his innocence. Everything was happening too fast. He needed some time to think – time he did not have.
Darla grabbed hold of Bedan’s arm. “Let’s have at ‘em! We’ll point the Shikkeron straight at their throats!”
“What? What good’ll that do!?” Bedan sputtered, flustered at Darla’s cowboy remedy, “We’re one ship, and need to get away.”
Darla drew so close her nose was nearly touching Bedan’s. In an excited whisper, she snarled, “We’re gonna have to fight! No way out of it. But we need to buy some time and gain some space.”
Bedan protested. “But we’re only one ship!”
Looking into Bedan’s face, Darla studied his eyes. She saw no deception, only bewilderment at the moment. No wonder the man had been overlooked for promotion all these years. Darla could also understand why the captain had usually been assigned to fleet duties or been given errand assignments like this one was supposed to have been. It didn’t tax his brain with troublesome details. She understood that simple argument would be uselessly served at this time.
Darla glanced at the screen. Already the advancing forces were maneuvering into attack formations. She leaned close, gently taking hold of Bedan’s arm. “My good Captain, we’re not on some sluggish old bilander. This is the Shikkeron, last of the Hava-class ships o’ war built. It’s the biggest damn brigantine ever came from the Contorie Navy Yard. And with its last refit, it’s damn near frigate class.”
“The last thing those Stasis will expect is for us to turn and go barreling straight in at ‘em. They won’t know what’s goin’ on, wondering what trick’s up our sleeve…or, even more terrifying…they’ll think we’ve gone completely mad! We’ll throw ‘em off track, slow ‘em down! That’ll give us some time, plus open up more maneuvering space for us.” She squeezed Bedan’s arm. “Look, the enemy knows we know that their sheer numbers will eventually overpower us. What’s more important, we know they know that before we’re taken out, we’ll take out a bunch of them. But what they don’t know is which ones we’ll make our targets. That’ll make ‘em nervous and throw them off game.”
Bedan agreed that what Darla said was correct, but argued that it would be sheer foolishness to expend the ship and crew on a plan guaranteed to bring death or capture. He suggested they attempt a retreat into the Crystalline Nebulas. “After all, like us, their ships will be forced to slow down.”
Darla disagreed. “No, Captain Bedan. The ploy will not succeed. I do not believe the approaching armada is made up solely of Stasis Pirates. Salak is in the area. He is undoubtedly responsible for the murder of Exothepobole. His Pseudes warships will carry high-speed interceptors. Those fighters will engage us in the asteroid field, knocking out our defenses. When they’re done, the big ships will be able to mosey in and finish us off.” Glancing again at the screen and back at Bedan, Darla whispered something in the captain’s ear. What she said shook Bedan from his confusion. Nodding his head, he said, “It might work. It might just work.”
Captain Bedan turned to his deck officers, “Make for intercept with the bogies, thirty degrees flat, engines full! Call to battle stations!”
The Shikkeron heeled hard to starboard as its massive bulk was twisted to the north. Amidst the audible groans of the ship’s hull as it absorbed the sudden stress created by the turn, the gravity machines were incapable of maintaining a level deck. Anything lying loose was flung across the decks. Crewmembers unfortunate enough to have not found a secure handhold were sprawled across the floor or thrown from their seats.
In seconds, the Empire’s imperial brigantine, Shikkeron, was up to attack speed, reaching out to engage the approaching enemy. The brig shuddered as if in excited anticipation of the coming battle. Blood and fire, and bone and steel became one heart and soul hurtling toward an unsure destiny, determined to set the universe ablaze with its fury.