Christopher Nuttall: Patriotic Treason

This time, there was no point in standing down from Jump Alert. “All hands, this is the Captain,” the Captain said, as the wormhole closed behind us. It would be mere seconds before we reached my destination coordinates. I desperately hoped that they were close enough to the pirate ship to bring it to battle. If we were unlucky, they might not even be in the same star system. “All hands to battle stations, I repeat, all hands to battle stations.”

I found myself tensing again as the alarm sounded through the ship. “Wormhole opening now, sir,” I said, as the wormhole loomed open in front of us. I stared at the display, willing the numbers to match up. “Emerging…”

“Bring up the drive field and plot an intercept course,” the Captain said, as if he didn’t have the slightest doubt of my ability to do as he wanted. I watched the display and tried not to sigh too heavily in relief when I realised that the numbers matched up, if not quite perfectly. “All weapons crews to their stations; load missile and torpedo tubes.”

The pirate ship and its prey blinked into existence on my display and I angled the starship’s course towards them. The pirate had clearly been planning on subduing and boarding his prey before its distress call could reach Terra Nova and the starships orbiting the planet. They hadn’t expected us to arrive in the system — from what the Senior Chief had said, that might have been because most starships arrived overdue as a matter of routine — in time to intervene either. It had been sheer luck.

“Steady as you bear,” the Captain ordered, calmly. I half-expected him to order me to give up the helm to the Pilot, who had just arrived on the bridge, but the Captain seemed quite happy with the situation. I hoped his faith in me wasn’t misplaced. “Ensign Mohammad, open up a direct communications link, if you please.”

“Link open, standard intership communications frequency,” Muna said. She sounded briskly competent, at least. I felt as if I were a steaming puddle of sweat. “Sir?”

“This is Captain Harriman of the Jacques Delors ,” the Captain said. His voice was so firm and intimidating that I would have surrendered on the spot, had I been the pirate. “You are ordered to halt your assault on the Diamond’s Revenge and prepare to be boarded. If you refuse to follow orders, we will engage with deadly force.”

There was no reply. I opened another window on my display and followed the action carefully. The pirate was being careful not to damage his prey too much — it would have destroyed his target — but he didn’t seem to be retreating from the engagement. He could have opened a wormhole and escaped — he had to have a proper starship, or the UN starships in the system would have hunted him down by now — but instead he seemed to hesitate. I pulled open the starship’s database, searching for a match, but only found a handful of details. The starship’s origin was unknown.

Perhaps its an alien ship, I thought, before realising that I was being silly. The UN hadn’t encountered any form of intelligent alien life since mankind’s first steps into space. The Senior Chief had taken a gruesome delight in telling us some of the wilder spacer stories, but none of us believed them. Alien contact would have been the sensation of the millennium.

“No response, sir,” Muna said. She seemed to hesitate. “I’m sure they can hear us, sir; they’re just choosing not to reply.”

“Understood,” the Captain said. “Attempt to raise the freighter and assess their situation.” He looked over at the tactical console. “Lieutenant Hatchet, fire a warning shot.”

“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Hatchet said. It hadn’t surprised us to discover that she was the ranking tactical officer as well as the First Lieutenant. Mere Ensigns were not allowed to touch the tactical console except under strict supervision. “Missile away, sir.”

The starship shook slightly as the missile launched, racing towards the enemy ship at a speed no human could stand, even with the most advanced compensators in the galaxy. The missiles weren’t as bad a threat as the space operas made them out to be — anyone could see them coming and point defence lasers could take them out pretty quickly — but they drew a line in the sand. The pirate would have to know, now, that the Captain was serious. I found myself making a mental bet. Would they take out the missile with their point defence, assuming they had any point defence, or would they allow it to pass them and detonate harmlessly a few thousand kilometres from their position?

“Enemy ship has engaged the missile,” Lieutenant Hatchet said, a moment later. I watched as the missile icon vanished from the display. “They have destroyed the missile.”

“Helm, close to engagement range,” the Captain ordered. “Lieutenant Hatchet, you are authorised to engage with lasers at will.”

“Aye, sir,” I said. We had been moving directly towards the pirate ship, but now I ramped up the drive and pushed us forward on a collusion course. The pirate would have to be blind to miss our approach now and if they didn’t move, they would be rammed, unless we altered course ourselves. I hadn’t realised how slow and stately space combat actually was until I’d spent hours in the simulators. “Five minutes to prime engagement range.”

The pirate ship seemed to alter course slightly, spinning away from its prey. “They’ve seen us,” Roger exclaimed. “They’ve locked on.”

“Report,” the Captain said. There was a hint of reproof in his tone. “Calmly, if possible.”

Roger sounded embarrassed and I didn’t blame him. He’d probably earned a demerit at least for that unprofessional report. “They just swept us with targeting sensors, sir,” Roger said, carefully. “They’re locking on to us with their fire control.”

“Charge point defence lasers, prepare to engage,” the Captain said, calmly. “Lieutenant…”

“Opening fire, sir,” Lieutenant Hatchet said. The lights dimmed slightly as the starship’s power was diverted towards the laser cannons. The pirate drive field would interdict as much as possible, but a constant bombardment would eventually overload the drive field and send the starship out of control. “Enemy ship is engaging with missiles. Point defence systems online and engaging enemy forces at will.”

I watched as two missiles launched from the pirate ship. The sight puzzled me for a moment. Was it my imagination, or were the pirate missiles moving faster than the standard missiles we carried? They were still picked off by the point defence, but it was apparent that the missiles were heavily armoured against laser fire. One of them got far too close before it was burned to nothing. I saw the Captain exchange a long glance with Lieutenant Hatchet, their faces unreadable, before she redoubled her efforts and continued to burn away at the pirate ship.

“Stay with him,” the Captain ordered, as the pirate ship continued to move away. I kept us right on his tail, despite a growing number of missiles being fired at us. I wondered why the Captain wasn’t ordering us to engage with our own missiles, or torpedoes, but there was little point. The pirate point defence seemed as capable as our own. Its drive field seemed to be radiating energy as our lasers bit into it, but it wasn’t stopping. “Ah…”

I saw the wormhole blossom into existence around the pirate ship. A moment later, it was gone.

“Secure from battle stations,” the Captain said. If he were angry, he hid it well. “Master Sergeant, prepare a team to board the freighter and attempt to locate whatever the pirates were after. Everyone else, good work.”

I glowed. Praise from the Captain was rare. “Ensigns, you are dismissed,” the Captain said. “Report to the Senior Chief for further duties.”