objects with any noticeable mass. A few labs had successfully Jumped subatomic particles deep in gravity wells, sometimes even all the way down on planetary surfaces. But these were mere scientific stunts. Practical interstellar navigation mandated the use of Jump points, and the use of such points created bottlenecks where battles often took place. Hummingbird and the enemy cruiser were now headed for precisely the same point in space at almost exactly the same time; our ship would eventually beat the crippled Imperial warship there by a margin of several hours. First, however, we had a gauntlet to run.
Captain Blaine cleared for action a good hour before we moved into range of the enemy’s guns. James, Pedro and I all three were ordered to remain in the lower stores hold, which was as deep within the hull of such a small, fragile ship as it was possible to get. Someone had set up crash couches for us there. Since we had so much time to get ready, I borrowed a portable console from the marines so that we could at least watch the action as it unfolded.
The cruiser began firing as predicted almost down the second; while her engines might’ve been badly damaged by whatever accident had befallen her, the vessel’s guns still worked just fine. She was equipped with eight medium-caliber naval blasters that vastly outranged our little popguns, and their crews belted out salvo after salvo in beautiful synchronization. The range was long and Hummingbird both small and agile— the odds were overwhelmingly against the enemy so much as scorching our paintwork. I’d just finished explaining this to Pedro for perhaps the seventh time when suddenly our ship staggered violently, then shook herself like a wet dog. The enemy had gotten lucky after all!
“I knew we’d be hit!” my nominal supervisor declared, his eyes wide with terror. “We’ll all be killed!”
“Everything’s fine,” James replied, his voice low and soothing. Pedro, we’d already learned, accepted reassurance far more willingly from a human than he did me. Especially a noble-born human. Meanwhile I fiddled with the console. It didn’t have anything like the level of access we’d enjoyed in the captain’s cabin, but I was still able to call up generalized damage reports. “They hit us in the engine room,” I reported once I was certain. “Did some damage, too.”
“Really?” James asked, keeping his voice level and calm for Pedro’s sake.
I nodded. “The number nine warp coil is down entirely now. So are three, four, and six. One and two are warming up fast.”
James raised his eyebrows eloquently, but said nothing.
“We’re slowing down,” I explained. “A lot. Because we have to. Now they’ll have a lot more time to shoot at an easier target.”
We rode on in silence after that for a while; once a slight shudder marked a grazing impact that didn’t do any further harm so far as I could see. “We’re almost to the Jump point,” I reported at long last, finally breathing a bit easier. “Translation in three, two, one-“
Then, just as everything began to gray out for the Jump, another blast struck home square in our center of mass and penetrated deep into Hummingbird’s guts.
15
I’d never been in a ship struck squarely by a naval-caliber blaster before, and I rather ferverently hoped I never would be again, either. Unlike the earlier hits, this one ripped through our weakened Field as it were tissue paper, and the result was rather akin to taking a hard right to the jaw even buried so far down in the ships’ innards. Plus the lights flickered and died, the gravity cut out for a moment, and huge electrical arcs flashed and flickered about like lightning as Hummingbird equalized all her potentials. And all of this was on top of the warp translation effect, which was more than a little stupefying in and of itself. Engineering held together just long enough to complete the Jump, then everything on my little monitor flatlined. The only systems left working seemed to be the backup lighting and the gravity, though the latter was only at about a quarter power.
“Damn!” James swore as he and I climbed out of our acceleration couches, though neither of us had the faintest idea of where to go or why. “We’re in for it now!”
I couldn’t help but agree as I toggled through the ships’ systems over and over again. Engineering must be little more than a scrapheap; all we had left was battery power. Even worse, we were floating powerless directly in front of the Jump point, helpless prey for the next enemy to come through. Which would be in less than two hours, according to the last estimate I’d made. We didn’t even have any pre-existing vector to work with—Field-based drives operated under an inertialess effect, so that once a ship’s drive ceased to function it’s pre-existing inertia reasserted itself. In our case, that meant we stopped dead right where we were.
Which rather effectively described our situation, actually. Dead, that is.
“Oh!” Pedro keened, as even his rather dim mind began to really understand. “Ohhhhh!”
“Hush!” James ordered him. Then my friend stepped over to where the still-strapped-in Rabbit sat gaping at him with wide, terrified eyes. “My family takes the very best of care of its servants. We pride ourselves in it.” He smiled and scratched Pedro’s ears. “Now, I want you to just sit here very quietly like a good bunny until someone tells you it’s okay to get up. Till then, just remember that I’ve given you my word of honor that you’re going to be all right. D’ye hear me?”
I looked at James and blinked as Pedro smiled and nodded and fawned over my friend. One the one hand, I was sort of ashamed of Pedro— as much as I liked him for the kind, gentle creature he was, well… I could never be so easily led. Or could I? another part of me wondered. Because there was indeed something about James’s voice, when he played the nobleman. Something that reached deep inside and touched me to the core. And, left me sort of wishing that he’d scratch my ears and call me a good bunny too.
Most of the ship was still holding pressure, though the bridge had been evacuated and engineering was Swiss cheese. The ship’s auxiliary command center was two compartments down from us, and when the senior officers came trooping past we just sort of naturally glommed onto the procession ourselves. Captain Blaine actually smiled at James for a moment, though the expression was clearly forced, and First Officer von Selkim patted me on the head with his good arm—the other was dangling in a bloody medkit sling.
“All right,” Sir Leslie reported once everyone was gathered in the crowded little room—James and I stood just outside, and no one complained. “Status report, please.”
“The drive is hopeless,” my friend Pieter replied. “I’ve been chatting with the Chief on my earpiece. The coils are all slagged—every last one of them. We’re totally helpless.”
The captain nodded. “And the other ships’ systems?”
Pieter’s eyebrows rose, then he shrugged. “Life support will be up and running again in twenty minutes—there’s no need to broach our bottled air. Our weapons will come back online about then, too. Such as they are, of course.” He shook his head. “And the battery was full-up when we switched over to it.”
Sir Leslie nodded gravely. “Your recommendation, Pieter?”
He shook his head, then winced as the motion joggled his wounded arm. “We’ll have to strike our colors, sir.” He looked away. “It’s said that the Imperials don’t take prisoners. But sometimes they make exceptions for VIP’s…”
Blaine’s face hardened. “Belay that talk! And, belay it right now!” For an instant I thought that Sir Leslie was about to strike Pieter, but then he turned away. “We still have functioning weapons,” he declared. “We still have air. Most of all, we still have a fighting crew.” He turned to Sergeant Wells. “How are your marines?”
“Still in good shape, sir. Private Michaels was in sick bay with a fever earlier, but now he’s suited up and standing ready with the rest.”
“Excellent,” the captain replied. Then he scowled again and strutted back and forth, tapping his thigh with his silly little stick. “We’ll carry her by boarding, then,” he declared.
Pieter’s mo
uth dropped open, then he remembered himself and said nothing. Captain Blaine saw it, however, and strutted over just as quickly as his bandy little legs would carry him. “You don’t think we can pull it off, do you?” he asked.
Pieter scowled, then spoke the truth. “No, sir.”
Blaine smiled and nodded. “In fact, you think I’ve gone mad with the stress.”
“Perhaps, sir,” the first officer admitted.
“Excellent!” Blaine roared in reply, grinning fiercely. “Because then just maybe the Imperial bastard about to ram a light cruiser up our arse won’t see it coming either.” Then Sir Leslie’s face sobered. “Pieter,” he said gently. “I’m not a total fool, you know. I’m fully aware of what you’ve done for me throughout this entire commission. In my way I’ve tried to be properly grateful. And now I need you more than ever. Because, you see, no Baronet of Equatorial Tamboria has in the entire history of our House ever surrendered to the enemy. Not in four long centuries, and I can assure that I’ll not be the first!” He reached out and touched the first officer’s good shoulder. “So… are you with me, Pieter? Because Hummingbird needs you more than ever.”
16
The Imperial cruiser was a good two hours behind us, so we had plenty of time to make our plan and ready ourselves to