He turned his head to glower at the man beside him. Ferhat Ben Belkassem's dark face was pale from the carnage, but he'd been the first to note the hole in Procyon's fire where an entire quadrant's batteries had been blown away, and Monkoto had yielded to his appeal to hold the SLAMs.
He still didn't know why he had. They'd have to destroy it sooner or later-why risk his people on the O Branch inspector's whim? But he'd taken Audacious into the hole and worked his way along the dreadnought's hull, and there'd been something sensual in the slow, brutal destruction of Procyon's weapons, in the lingering murder of her crew's hope.
His eyes returned to the main plot, still bemused by what it showed. Thirty Imperial Fleet ships, eighteen of them battle-cruisers. They'd been a more than welcome help, but the mercenaries' losses had still been horrendous. Assassin, three of nine battle-cruisers, four of seven heavy cruisers… . The butcher's bill had been proportionately lighter among the destroyers and light cruisers, but the total was agonizing, especially for mercenaries who lacked the resources of planetary navies.
Yet none of the renegade fleet had escaped, and only two destroyers had surrendered. The mass murders on Ringbolt-yes, and Elysium-were avenged . . or would be, when Procyon finally died.
A com signal chimed, and he hid a flicker of surprise as he recognized his caller's craggy face.
"Admiral Monkoto," a voice rumbled, "I am Brigadier Sir Arthur Keita, Imperial Cadre. Please accept my thanks on behalf of His Majesty. I am certain His Majesty will wish to personally express his own gratitude to you and all your people in the very near future. The Empire is in your debt."
"Thank you, Sir Arthur." Monkoto's heart rose, despite the pain of his losses. Sir Arthur Keita was not known for meaningless praise. When he spoke, it was with Seamus II's voice, and the Terran Empire paid its debts.
"I also wish to thank you for not destroying that dreadnought." Keita's face hardened. "We want its crew, Admiral. We want them badly."
"I also want them, Sir Arthur." Monkoto's voice took on the steely edge of a file.
"I understand, and we intend to give you the justice you and your people deserve, but we need live prisoners for interrogation."
"That's what Inspector Ben Belkassem said," Monkoto acknowledged, and Keita's tight face eased just a bit.
"So he is with you. Good! And he's right, Admiral Monkoto."
"Fine, but how do you intend to collect them? We've pulled most of their teeth and disabled their shield generator, but they have to know what the courts have waiting for them. Do you really think they'll surrender?"
"Some of them will," Keita said with flat, grim finality. "I've got an entire battalion of Cadre drop commandos over here, Admiral. I believe we can pry them out of their shell."
"Drop com-" Monkoto closed his mouth with a snap. A battalion? For just a moment he felt a shiver of hungry sympathy for the bastards aboard that hulk. He shook himself and cleared his throat.
"I imagine you can, Sir Arthur, as long as they don't blow their power plants and take your people with them."
"They won't," Keita said. "Watch your plot, Admiral." Monkoto's eyes dropped to the display as four battle-cruisers moved towards Procyon. For a moment he thought they were about to launch assault shuttles, but they didn't. Keita had something no one else did-the complete blueprints for a Capella-class dreadnought- and the battle-cruisers' short-range batteries stabbed into Procyon's hull. It was over in less than two seconds; long before the renegades could have realized what was happening, every one of Procyon's fusion plants had become an incandescent ruin.
"As I say, Admiral," Keita said with cold satisfaction, "they wont be blowing those plants." He paused a moment, then nodded as if to himself. "Another thing, Admiral. I don't know if it'll be possible to salvage that ship. If it is, however, she's yours. My word on it."
Monkoto sucked in in astonishment. Badly wrecked as Procyon was, she was far from beyond repair if a replacement Fasset drive could be cobbled up, and the thought of adding that eight-million-tonne monster to his fleet …
"But now," Keita said more briskly, "my people have a job to do. Ill speak with you again later, Admiral."
Tannis Gateau closed her armor's visor. The soft "shusssssh" of a solid seal answered her, and she checked her battle-rifle's servos. Many drop commandos preferred plasma guns or lasers for vacuum. Energy weapons weren't very popular in atmosphere, where their range was drastically reduced, and even in vacuum a well-timed aerosol grenade did bad things to lasers, but the laser's lack of recoil made it popular in zero-G. Of course, lasers had horrific power requirements, and plasguns could hardly be called pinpoint weapons, especially in the confines of a starship's passages, yet most seemed to feel their advantages more than compensated. Not Tannis. The battle-rifle was a precision instrument, and using her armor's thrusters to offset the recoil had become instinct years ago.
She shook off her woolgathering thoughts with a wry smile. Her brain always insisted on wandering in the last moments before action was joined … unlike Alley, who only seemed to focus to an even greater intensity.
She pushed that memory away quickly and watched the troop bay repeater as the assault shuttles formed up. At least Alley had gotten away. She hadn't been killed by her own, and there was still hope-
The last shuttle slid into place, thrusters flared, and they swooped across the kilometers towards Procyon's savaged hulk.
Monkoto felt his stomach tighten as the silvery minnows darted towards the wounded leviathan. They were such tiny things-little larger than an old pre-space airliner-and if he'd missed even a single energy mount… .
But no weapons fired. The Bengals snarled down on their prey, belly-mounted tractors snugged them in tight, and hatches opened.
Tannis ducked instinctively and swore as a blast of penetrators spanged off her armor. One of her headquarters section reared up between her and the fire, staggering back a meter as the heavy-density projectiles slammed into him. They were from a standard combat rifle, and fiery ricochets bounced and leapt as his armor shrugged them aside. His weapon rose with the deadly economy of tick-enhanced reactions, and Tannis winced as a gout of plasma spewed up the passage, silent in the vacuum. The rifleman vanished-along with twelve meters of bulkhead. "Prisoners, Jake," she said mildly. "We want prisoners."
"Sorry, ma am." The hulking commando, a third again Tannis's height, sounded almost sheepish. "Got carried away."
"Yeah, well, thanks anyway." Her lip twitched as her team picked its way past the glowing wound. Jake Adams sometimes forgot how drastic the consequences could be when he got "carried away." Combat armor gave anyone the "muscle" to use truly heavy weapons; Adams also had the size, and his "plasma rifle" was the equal of a shuttle cannon.
Her amusement faded as she focused on her display. Boarding assaults were always ugly. Even though they knew every nook and cranny of their battlefield, there were still too many places for die-hards to hole up, and no pirate had any illusion about his or her ultimate fate. Her HQ section's circuitous route had been planned to reach their real objective while her other people distracted the enemy rank and file to clear her path. They were doing it … but they were taking losses despite their equipment.
She peered about her, checking corridor traffic markings against her display, and grunted in satisfaction.
"Beta Company, Ramrod has cleared route to Tango-Four-Niner-Lima down Zebra-Three. Form on my beacon." Captain Schultz's acknowledgment came back, and she tucked away her display and swung her rifle into fighting position.