“A lot of screaming on their bridge,” Meharry said. “I can’t understand their ugly language, but it’s loud.”
“Let me—” Koutsoudas switched back to that channel, and then grinned. “Svenik cussing out his scan tech for not seeing us first . . . someone’s left the main speaker open; the station should be getting all this too. Handy for court, if we ever want to pursue it.” If there was any court to pursue it in, Heris thought.
The Sweet Delight’s missiles carried guidance systems normally found only in military weaponry. Whatever ECM the pirate vessel had didn’t affect them; on Koutsoudas’s enhanced scans, the missiles closed inexorably. Heris wondered if Svenik’s ship had shields of any quality, or if he’d try to outrun them. She almost hoped he would; if he redlined his ship and blew it himself, it wouldn’t be her fault. That was thinking like a civilian, though.
“Got him.” Koutsoudas, who had seen the inevitable an instant before any of the rest. The pirate ship and the missiles merged, and exploded.
“Easiest kill I ever saw,” Oblo said, as if affronted.
“I don’t trust it,” Heris said. “What’s that other doing?”
“It’ll be a while before they get it on their scans,” Koutsoudas said. “They’re still dumping . . . ask me again in a couple of minutes.”
“Just tell me, ’Steban,” Heris said. She felt itchy all over; like Oblo, she was almost irritated that it had been that easy. It felt unreal, like a training exercise. Something picked at her memory. The raider had been there before—that same raider—destroying things but doing less damage than such raiders could. So they’d expected the raider, and they’d gotten the raider . . . and all this time the second ship hung out there and watched. “Weapons off,” she said abruptly. Meharry gave her a startled look, but shut her board down. “ ‘Steban, signal Grogon on tightbeam—shutdown, as dark as possible.”
“You want me to put us back in hiding?”
“Not until there’s a natural obstacle between us and that other ship. I think we just did something stupid.”
“Stupid?” Meharry stared at her.
“We expected an Aethar’s World raider, and that’s what we got. The same raider. Why?”
“Because the Bloodhorde are stupid,” Meharry said impatiently. “They do things like that.”
“For a profit, yes. For honor, if you can figure out what they mean by it. But here—look, we were told they’ve had raiders several times, but they didn’t actually blow the station—”
“They wanted to milk the cow, not kill it,” Oblo said. But he had a worried look on his scarred face.
“The Bloodhorde always figure there’s another cow down the road,” Heris said. “I thought maybe—this is so far from their usual range—they were just skimming on the way home from something else. But suppose they weren’t. And suppose they weren’t on their own business.”
“The Black Scratch,” Koutsoudas said, without looking away from his scans. “Hired ’em, maybe, or offered Svenik backing against Kjellak—that might do it. Send him in on feints at irregular intervals, see what happens. Likely Svenik didn’t know he had a trailer.”
“Right. And nothing much happens once, twice, and then we show up out of nowhere, and sparkle all over their scans with stuff no civilian vessel could have. Blow Svenik without a scratch on us—no contest—” Heris paused, wishing she had the faintest idea where the nearest Fleet communications node was.
“He’s boosting,” Koutsoudas said. “Must have just caught the fight, and he’s not wasting time. Wonder why he doesn’t just jump? He’s far enough from anything massive. . . .”
“Anything we know about,” Heris said. She felt little cold prickles down her back. “No, most likely he wants to see what we’ll do. If he can get us into a chase. Let’s pretend we don’t see him. Suck all you can, but don’t react.”
“And we’re not going back on the stealth gear because you hope they’ll think we popped out from behind a rock?” Meharry’s tone expressed her doubts.
“I think they’ll wonder. We’re small, and it’s a messy system—it wouldn’t take a big rock to hide us. If we went back in the sack now, they’d know for sure there was a ship with that capacity.”
The distant ship vanished into FTL six hours later; Heris trusted Koutsoudas’s scans enough to return to the orbital station then and confer with the Xavierans. They were, she thought, entirely too jubilant, and in no mood for warnings.
Chapter Nine
“We want to honor you,” Senior Captain Vassilos kept saying when she tried to get her point across.
“There’s nothing to honor, yet,” Heris said for the tenth time. “You may well have worse trouble coming.”
“You must understand, Captain Serrano, that this is the first time in years that we have been able to resist successfully. I shouldn’t say we, since you did it. But we must celebrate this victory—it will put heart in the troops.”
“They mean it,” muttered Cecelia from the corner of the office. “Remember that band? That’s how they are—you must let them celebrate.”
“Very well,” Heris said, with as much grace as she could muster. “But I’m still worried—I would very much like to have a serious discussion—”
“Of course! Of course, Captain Serrano. The General Secretary wants to meet you—the entire government wishes to thank you. After the parade—” Heris tried not to let her eyes roll up at this. Cecelia, out of pickup range, was grinning at her wickedly. “And just a few speeches, nothing really fancy—” She could imagine.
As it happened, she couldn’t have imagined.
“Aren’t you glad I taught you to ride?” Cecelia asked. She sat the stocky white horse with the flowing mane as if she’d grown out of its back. After the first block, Heris had had enough of the rhythmic bouncing trot of her matching white horse. So it was in time to the music—so her legs hurt. She knew she didn’t look as good as Cecelia. She was sure her uniform jacket over riding breeches looked particularly silly. Hard to believe that real soldiers had once ridden into battle.
“I’m glad this is a small city,” Heris said. “I bounce too much.”
“Open your joints and relax,” Cecelia said. “This is fun.”
Fun for someone who had been born with calloused thighs, maybe. Fun for someone who had ridden in front of crowds much of her adult life. Heris would rather have celebrated victory by floating for a few hours in some body of warm water. But duty was duty.
By the time they arrived at the site of the celebration, Heris wondered if she’d ever get off the horse without help. Cecelia wasn’t sympathetic.
“I told you to spend more hours on the simulator,” she said.
“I had other things to do,” Heris said. It wasn’t an excuse she’d have accepted from anyone else, but she still couldn’t see that riding horses was a necessary skill for a ship captain.
“Captain—?” That was a young man in the colorful uniform of the Civil Guard. Heris sighed, and managed to dismount without either groaning or kicking him in the head. She was going to be more than sore for a few days. Cecelia, already down, looked eager and happy. Heris moved over to stand beside her. She had no idea what this world would consider an appropriate celebration, certainly not what might come after a parade on horseback.
The same little band she had first seen on the wide plain of the spaceport (she recognized the conductor’s exuberant moustache) struck up another of those jaunty marches. Despite herself, she felt a prickle of excitement run up her spine.