Christopher Nuttall - Barbarians at the Gates

Under normal circumstances, Roman knew, the ship’s hulk would have been towed to the nearest planet and the Federation Navy would begin a full investigation while notifying the relatives of the murdered crewmen. That was hardly a possibility at the moment, not with two warlords in the area who wouldn’t be inclined to cooperate with the Federation Navy. It was possible that they could use the liner as a source of spare parts, but that would mean transporting her to the Golden Hind and the Fleet Train when Admiral Mason arrived. But that would have to wait.

“Elf, deactivate the distress beacon and pull back your teams,” he ordered. Unpowered and silent, the hulk wouldn’t be detected unless a patrolling ship literally stumbled over it. The odds were vastly against discovery. “We’ll keep the records, perhaps relay them to the warlords if they are disposed to cooperate, or inform the shipping companies once we leave the sector.”

“Understood,” Elf said crisply. “We’re on our way.”

“The admiral won’t approve of sending any kind of notification to the warlords,” Janine’s voice whispered through his earpiece. “We are at war with them, you know.”

Roman nodded sourly. “I wasn’t going to send them a message with an ID header,” he told her. “We’ll have to leave it until we leave the sector, or unless our presence is discovered. The hulk can wait…”

“Captain,” the sensor officer said. “I’m picking up a single ship in the system, heading away from us!”

“Show me,” Roman ordered.

A red icon blinked into life on the display.

“Why didn’t you pick it up sooner?”

“They were lying doggo,” the sensor officer reported. “They only just lit up their drive.”

Roman did the math in his head. Elf had deactivated the distress beacon three minutes ago. The enemy craft had lit its drive just after it would have heard the distress signal terminate, tipping them off that someone had found the wreck. Distress beacons were designed to remain operational unless the hulk was completely vaporized.

“Helm, bring us about,” he ordered. “Take us in pursuit.”

FNS Midway , The Hive System, 4095

Roman gripped his command chair as Midway picked up speed, running the tactical position through his head, again and again. In many ways, this reminded him of what the Federation Navy had endured at the Battle of Jefferson, where their survival had depended upon crossing the mass limit and escaping into FTL before the enemy battered them into dust. The pirates, on the other hand, might not know that someone was chasing them; they might not even realize they had been detected.

For all the pirates knew, anyone could’ve stumbled across the dead luxury liner. And they shouldn’t know Midway was in the system…should they?

“The pirate is picking up speed,” the tactical officer reported. “I think I have an identification, sir; she’s a North Carolina -class light cruiser. Several hundred of them were sold into self-defense forces or commercial shipping interests after the Inheritance Wars, and quite a few of them became pirate ships.”

Roman nodded. The North Carolina ships had been withdrawn from service, according to his implant records, because they had major failings in their design that had become apparent when the Federation Navy tried to refit them. They operated fine with their original power cores, but more powerful fusion plants and drive fields had shaken several starships apart. The designers had rapidly produced a more suitable design, and the North Carolinas had been relegated to convoy escort before being decommissioned at the end of the war.

Unless the pirates had risked installing newer drive systems, she couldn’t hope to outrun Midway .

He felt his lips draw back into a snarl as the distance between the two ships narrowed sharply. Admiral Drake’s intelligence officers might want to encourage piracy in the hopes that it would set the two warlords at each other’s throats, yet there was no way he was going to allow scum like that to live. There hadn’t been any justice for his dead parents, not when pirates had killed them and vanished into the darkness of space, but there would be justice for the Harmonious Repose and her crew. The pirate ship would be obliterated.

“I think they know we’re following them now,” the sensor officer said as the main display flashed red. “They just swept us with high-powered, active sensors.”

“Drop the cloak,” Roman ordered. There was no point in attempting to hide now. Their pursuit had clearly created enough turbulence to allow their position to be located. “Bring up active sensors and lock onto them. Make sure they know that they can’t escape.”

He pushed his rage into the back of his mind and concentrated. How would the pirates play it? They might try to surrender and attempt to claim that they should be tried by a planetary court, or they might try to fight. It would be a very short battle, under normal circumstances, and yet…

Roman had standing orders to attempt to take pirate ships intact, if possible. The real problem with finding pirate bases was locating them. The intelligence officers wanted to brain-suck pirate crews to locate their bases and their support network within Federation space. Once they were found, a single battlecruiser would usually suffice to blow them to hell and gone.

“They’re locking weapons on us,” the sensor officer reported. There was a very brief pause. “Missile separation; I say again, missile separation! I count ten inbounds toward our location!”

“Bring up the point defense,” Roman ordered, as tracking data flowed up in front of him. Compared to the massive salvos thrown around during the Battle of Jefferson, it was hardly impressive. And, given that the missiles were at least ninety years out of date, they weren’t particularly threatening either. “Deploy ECM drones; take the missiles out only as a last resort.”

His lips twitched as Midway flew through the missile salvo. The pirates hadn’t invested in the latest counter-ECM technology, although few pirates wanted to tangle with a warship under any circumstances. Only one missile refused to be distracted and had to be picked off by a point defence pulse cannon; the remainder flew off into the endless void, completely harmless. Roman could have returned fire, fairly sure of a kill, but he chose not to do so. Besides, the closer they were when his ship opened fire, the greater the chance of scoring a quick kill.

“Open communications channels,” he ordered. The communications officer nodded and activated the ship-to-ship frequencies. “Pirate vessel; this is the Federation Navy.” Normally, he would have identified himself, but he had no idea who else might be listening in from cloak. “Cut your drives, lower your shields and prepare to be boarded. If you offer any resistance, we will destroy your vessel.”

He waited as the message flashed to the pirate ship. It was a bluff, of sorts; even if the Federation Navy hadn’t ordained the death of every pirate encountered while on patrol, he had no intention of letting them live. But if he could arrange for their interrogation first, it might allow him to salvage something from the disaster. Admiral Mason wouldn’t be too pleased to discover that Roman had been chasing pirates instead of scouting their area of operations. His operations, no matter how strongly they aligned with tradition, might well have revealed their presence to prying eyes.