Rebellion of Stars (Starship Blackbeard Book 4) Read online

  Vargus cursed. “What the hell are they playing about?”

  Tolvern remembered the torpedo boat surprise. “Careful. Whatever it is, it’s bound to be ugly.”

  “Better get yourself below. Won’t be long now.”

  Tolvern left the bridge, reluctant to depart before the mystery was resolved. She hurried to the lift, prepared to brace herself against the wall if they were hit. The lift dropped her right into the frigate’s hold. Long and deep enough to hold plenty of contraband or plundered loot, it was currently stuffed floor to ceiling with ordnance: crates of bullets for Gatling guns, stacked and secured shells for the cannon, and missiles and torpedoes of various origins. All it took was one shot penetrating Outlaw’s armor along the belly or spine, and boom! You’d need a microscope to detect the remains.

  The away pod was wedged into the back corner, between a pallet of powdered soup and six casks of rocket propellant. She had to turn sideways to get to the airlock button. The door zipped open, and she squeezed in.

  Her three companions were already inside, squeezed between the supplies of the away mission. Nyb Pim had folded himself like an insect to get his long legs in place. Brockett spread his legs to fit around crates of antidote, food, and other supplies. Carvalho, wearing a tank top that showed off his broad shoulders and muscular arms, carried a crate of goods on his lap.

  Carvalho’s eyes ranged up and down Tolvern’s body as if he were checking her out in a tight gown instead of the formless jumpsuit she was wearing. She didn’t have much of a figure to look at, anyway. Too slender and boy-like. She knew he was giving her that look to throw her off her guard.

  “About time,” he said with a grin. “What were you doing up there, having tea with Vargus?”

  “Tea and biscuits.” Tolvern sat in the empty seat, pulled the harness over her shoulders, and buckled down. “And those little cucumber sandwiches with the crust cut off. Now get that crate off your lap and strap it down. Soon as we’re off, it turns into a missile.”

  Carvalho did as she said, then leaned back in his seat with his hands behind his head and his elbows resting on more coolers. “Seems pretty quiet. Aren’t we in combat yet?”

  As if in response, the ship shimmied. It was a subtle feeling, quickly compensated for by the antigrav, but Tolvern caught it well enough. Something was happening up there.

  “Seems the answer is yes,” Tolvern said.

  Brockett closed his eyes. “When do we launch?”

  “Getting cold feet over there?” Carvalho said.

  “It’s the waiting that’s killing me.”

  “How you doing, Pilot?” Carvalho asked Nyb Pim. “You are made of braver stuff, I would think.”

  The Hroom answered in his high voice. “I am feeling a sensation that could best be described as a mixture of anticipation and absolute terror.”

  “Nerves, my purple friend. That’s what you’ve got. A bad case of the jitters. You’ll be fine. You, too, Brockett. It’s Tolvern here I’m worried about. Sending in a girl to do a man’s work—that’s risky business.”

  “Good thing Capp isn’t here,” Tolvern said. “She’d have your stones off for that one.”

  Carvalho laughed again. “Just a bit of fun, Commander. Won’t hurt you to laugh at a joke now and then.”

  “It’s Captain Tolvern, now,” she said in an icy tone. “Keep up the insubordination, and I’ll be taking your balls off myself.”

  He blinked. “What—?”

  Tolvern smiled sweetly. “That was me, laughing at a joke.”

  “Hah! There you have it!”

  Vargus’s voice came over the com. “Ready down there?”

  Tolvern had been subconsciously expecting Jane’s cool computer voice and was startled to hear an actual person. It wasn’t comforting. Vargus sounded tense and anxious. Again, Tolvern wondered what was happening. No time to ask, and she shouldn’t distract the woman from her duties anyway, not to satisfy idle curiosity.

  “Ready for launch,” Tolvern confirmed.

  “We’re looking at—let’s see—I’m going to say twenty seconds. Good luck.” She cut out.

  “Twenty?” Brockett squeaked. “What about a countdown? I’m not ready.”

  Carvalho checked his harness. “You said the waiting was the worst part.” His Ladino accent and slow delivery made him sound especially indifferent. “Well, you got what you—”

  Suddenly, they were thrown against their harnesses. Carvalho’s words choked off in a squeak. Then the world was spinning as the pod tossed about. Tolvern looked through the tiny port window opposite and saw the red-and-blue planet spinning crazily beneath them. Outlaw spun past them on the opposite side, receding quickly.

  The disorientation was so sudden and so complete that for a moment Tolvern thought she’d lose her breakfast, and then they’d have vomit spinning around with them. But the pod shortly settled into a single, straightforward motion. She fought down the nausea, but her stomach was still a nervous, writhing mass of snakes.

  “That wasn’t twenty seconds,” Brockett protested.

  “It was apparently a rough estimate,” she said.

  “How long until we’re down?” he asked.

  “Never done this before. Not long, I would think.”

  Nyb Pim spoke up. “Three or four minutes to hit the atmosphere, then a plummet to 25,000 feet, at which point the parachutes begin to deploy. Another seven or eight minutes until we hit the surface.”

  “That long?” Tolvern asked.

  They were vulnerable every moment they were above ground. From the assault on Malthorne’s estate last year—the one that had seized the sugar antidote and brought Brockett onto the crew—she remembered that the orbital fortresses were poorly positioned to shoot down into the atmosphere. But there could be ground fighter craft and anti-air weapons to target them.

  “Um, guys?” Brockett said. “I don’t mean to alarm anyone, but is that one of ours?”

  Brockett pointed at the port window. Tolvern had looked away when the spinning view made her sick. Now, she returned her gaze to the window. A ship came directly at them. It had the long, lean shape of a torpedo boat.

  No, it was not one of theirs.

  A torpedo boat had two tubes, plus a light belly gun for destroying small craft and causing general mayhem. This gun was pointed in their direction, and now it flared to life.

  Chapter Eight

  Drake had his hands full holding off Captain Lindsell’s fleet of cruisers and support craft when Isabel Vargus tried to hail him on the screen. He didn’t have time to deal with her. Rutherford hadn’t yet arrived to relieve him, and Lindsell pressed the attack the moment Vargus’s pirates left him for their run at the planet. Drake kept his distance from the forts. His only goal was to shield Vargus while she sent the away pod to the surface.

  The forts were still holding their fire. They’d absorbed Pussycat’s barrage, seemingly unconcerned about whatever minimal damage their dug-in armaments were taking. Neither did they attack Blackbeard and her fellow ships from the rear.

  Vargus hailed him again, this time more urgently. He put her on.

  “Torpedo boats,” she said. “They’ve spotted the pod and are going after it.”

  “Get in there. You need to protect Tolvern as she goes down.”

  “I won’t last five minutes against those forts.”

  “They’re not even shooting,” he said.

  “That’s what worries me. What are they hiding?”

  “Vargus, get down there and cover her.”

  “Look at your screen, you dolt! That’s what I’m doing. Now I need you to cover me.”

  Ah, now he understood. He’d been so worried about Lindsell, who was now splitting off two destroyers to gnaw at Blackbeard’s flank—driving off the missile frigate that was protecting that side of Drake’s formation—that he hadn’t taken close enough note of Vargus’s own skirmishes. She was chasing three torpedo boats that were skimming a few hundred miles above the atmosphe
re.

  Vargus and her fleet had both speed and power enough to deal with three torpedo boats. But the action was taking place to the northwest of one of Hot Barsa’s orbital forts, and a second fort came swinging around the planet over the north polar region. Vargus would shortly be caught in a devastating crossfire.

  Drake cut his connection with Vargus and turned to his tech officer. “Smythe, get me Rutherford.”

  Lindsell was coming at him again, having weakened Drake’s center by forcing him to address the attack on his missile frigate.

  “Rutherford is still five minutes out,” Smythe said. “Vigilant’s batteries are at the ready. Rutherford is hot for battle and awaiting orders.”

  That explained Lindsell’s fresh attack. He was trying to get his licks in before Vigilant and her support craft arrived. Yet there was no attempt to force the rebels closer to the orbital fortresses. That’s what Drake would have done; smash his enemy against the planetary defenses. Unfortunately, Drake couldn’t take advantage of this lapse. He had to relieve Vargus.

  “Capp, take us down.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Commander—” Drake turned to the commander’s chair, but of course, Captain Tolvern wasn’t there. Instead, it was Lieutenant Oglethorpe.

  Oglethorpe had been filling the role of first mate since Tolvern’s promotion. An able man, but without her ability to juggle multiple tasks. Oglethorpe was coordinating with the gunnery at the moment and couldn’t be torn away. So Drake sent orders to his beleaguered frigate and the single destroyer he’d sent to relieve her.

  Pull back toward Vigilant, he told them. Captain Rutherford was to take command of the frigate and her support craft, then hit the enemy hard enough to get Lindsell’s attention.

  By the time Drake turned back to his console, Capp had taken Blackbeard away from her protective screen and was charging after Vargus near the planet’s surface. Moments later, they were in range. Drake hit the closer, more powerful fort first, pounding the surface with missiles, while holding his cannon in reserve, ready to blast any exposed armaments.

  At last, the fort responded. It launched two torpedoes and let loose with its cannon. Blackbeard rolled to present a broadside. The hull vibrated with outgoing fire.

  “Class three detonation expected in eight seconds,” Jane warned coolly.

  One of the enemy missiles had locked on and snaked its way past countermeasures. Drake braced himself. It crunched into the fore shield, just above the bridge. The explosion knocked Capp from her seat. Alarm bells clanged.

  “Bloody hell!” Capp said, picking herself up.

  “Fore shield at eighty-two percent,” Jane said.

  More sound and fury than actual damage. Drake relaxed his grip as the ship stabilized. A brief, pungent smell of burning plastic entered the bridge, but the filtration system whisked it away. The alarms shut down, and lights went from flashing red, to orange, to green.

  Eighty-two percent. That wasn’t bad. Not good, either, and he didn’t want to take any more blows if he could help it.

  “Get us beneath it,” he told Capp. Then, to Oglethorpe, “Tell the gunnery to ready the lower battery.”

  Capp rolled the ship as they approached the fort from beneath. Now belly up, they let loose with the smaller lower battery. Lights flashed along the length of the orbital fortress. Dust and debris spouted into space like ash from miniature volcanoes. The fort fired back, but the response was subdued.

  “They’re still holding back,” Drake said. “What is going on?”

  Perhaps if Tolvern had been there, she might have had a response, but nobody on the bridge seemed to have any suggestions. Never mind—he’d take the weak response and hope it lasted.

  With Blackbeard guarding the pirate fleet’s rear, Pussycat and two schooners got into a scrape with the polar fortress. That left Vargus’s own Outlaw free to hunt the torpedo boats. The torpedo boats had been shooting their guns at something now entering the upper atmosphere, but had to abandon the chase. They bobbed and weaved, trying to come back toward the protection of the fortresses.

  Outlaw caught one of them, disabling her engines. Drake drove off the other two with missiles.

  “Where’s that pod?” Drake asked. “Is it in the atmosphere yet?”

  “Must be,” Smythe said. “I can’t detect it, anyway. Not giving off any sort of signal, either.”

  Was it supposed to? He couldn’t remember what Outlaw had been carrying. Navy tech, he thought, the pod modified to double for both away missions and escape. Those torpedo boats had been tearing off shot from their Gatling guns. A small pod plummeting through the atmosphere hardly made an easy target, but they’d thrown a lot of metal out there. One on-target burst would tear through that pod like it was a tin can.

  He couldn’t worry about that now. Tolvern was either safely descending, or not. Nothing he did here would change that. It was time to pull free of the planet. Rutherford’s forces were now fully engaged with Lindsell’s larger fleet and barely holding on.

  Blackbeard swung toward Outlaw, now pulling up with her schooner escort. Still exchanging fire with the nearest fortress, the combined force now fought their way to Pussycat. Once Blackbeard and the entire mercenary fleet had formed a single unit, they broke clear.

  He braced himself for a final surprise from the orbital fortresses. A nasty departing gift that would explain why they’d held back during the battle. But no, the forts seemed content to let them depart. How strange.

  A thought occurred to him. What if—? No, there would be time to worry about that later.

  For now, he had to worry about Captain Lindsell. The man was proving an able commander. His own ship, Churchill, was the equal of Vigilant and Blackbeard, and he used his armaments to full effect, while sending in his destroyers and corvettes to drive off Vigilant’s support craft. The smaller ships Drake had left behind were helpless to intervene. In fact, Lindsell’s advantage was growing with every passing moment. He’d already wounded several craft, while suffering minimal injury himself.

  And then Drake came roaring into the fight. He brought Blackbeard straight at Lindsell, while Outlaw and Pussycat targeted his vulnerable left flank. That left the enemy cruisers pincered between Blackbeard and Vigilant. The two sides exchanged blows for several moments before Lindsell ordered a retreat. He first tried to get past Blackbeard to reach the protection of the fortress guns. Drake landed two torpedoes against the lead enemy destroyer. Explosions rippled along her surface.

  Lindsell now ducked down on the vertical axis. Destroyers formed a protective screen to guard his rear. Drake and Rutherford weren’t able to prevent the enemy’s escape, but they pounded Lindsell’s destroyers as they fled. All of them suffered damage, some serious. One lost its entire rear shield, and if the rebels could have landed one more blow, they’d have either destroyed it or forced its surrender.

  Unfortunately, Drake’s forces were all out of position, and he was unable to give chase. By the time he regrouped, Lindsell was gone.

  But it was a victory. Only four crew members had died across the entire fleet, these lost when a shell penetrated a schooner’s bridge and killed her officers. The schooner itself would be easily repaired, but that was one captain who wouldn’t be enjoying his mercenary bonus.

  A subspace had been waiting for Drake when the battle ended. It came from a source in the fleet, one who had already passed Drake valuable information on two other occasions. Dreadnought had jumped into the Gryphon Shoals. That was not the course for Saxony. It would, however, bring Dreadnought toward Hot Barsa.

  Rutherford came on the viewscreen as the fleet reorganized several hundred thousand miles out from Hot Barsa. His face was flushed.

  “Lindsell, hah! Cocky shopkeeper’s son. Did you see him tuck his tail and run? That was a beautiful thing.”

  Drake would have smiled to see his old friend abandon his decorum. And he was feeling some of the same. They’d fought an able opponent and thrashed him. But the truth wa
s that Lindsell had escaped with his forces intact. Those two destroyers were still maneuverable and keeping up with the enemy fleet as it made for Cold Barsa, some fifty million miles farther out from the sun. Wait until Lindsell joined Admiral Malthorne.

  “Your pirates did well enough,” Rutherford added. His tone was grudging. “I expected them to cut and run, but they went right up against those orbital fortresses. Of course, it helps matters that the forts offered such a feeble defense. The fools were confused, I dare say. Didn’t know if they should defend themselves or defend the planet.”

  Yes, that. Drake had now had a chance to think, and he doubted Rutherford’s explanation held. This was the second attempt at Hot Barsa. Admiral Malthorne was the largest landowner and slaver on the planet by far. He knew they had the antidote. Surely, he knew by now why the rebels were so keen to get a team planetside, and had ordered the most vigorous possible defense to prevent it from happening.

  “Does this mean you trust Isabel Vargus at last?” Drake asked.

  “I trust her far enough not to abscond with our plans and join the enemy. I will concede that much.”

  “How about our silver? Would she abscond with that?”

  Rutherford narrowed his eyes. “How do you mean?”

  “Because I mean to send the mercenary fleet back to San Pablo with our remaining coin.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “If the mercenaries leave now, they have time for a quick trip to San Pablo and back. Buy as many arms as we can afford. Hire on a couple of merchant galleons if we can.”

  “We’ll need more than our remaining coin to pay for all of that,” Rutherford said. “Might have to see if your friends at the yards will offer the goods on credit.”

  “Credit is probably necessary,” Drake agreed.

  HMS Melbourne may or may not be finished with her repairs by the time Vargus arrived. If not, Drake could offer the cruiser as collateral. If she were ready, he’d face the small matter of fitting her with a crew. Might not be possible in such a short time.

  “I am not sure it is necessary,” Rutherford said. “We are well set for arms already. And why wouldn’t we accompany the mercenaries if there’s time for a round trip?”