He’d calculated his last two navigation points and put them into operation one after another. One moment the Joan was shunting sideways, skidding through space as if to broadside the Vulture. In the next, he’d matched speed with his target as though neither vessel was moving at all. As if they’d come to a halt alongside the Vulture God’s open hatch.
‘Right then,’ Rollo said, squeezing his shoulder one more time. Then Idris had their own umbilical free and Olli took control of it – clamping its magnetic mouth over the Vulture’s hatch. Idris had his helmet on by then, and Kris too. They were about to match atmospheres with the Vulture which could be venting all its air into space in the next moment.
‘Going.’ Olli was first through, scrambling through the umbilical, using all of the Scorpion’s limbs. ‘Clear!’ came her voice over the comms, as she reached the far end. Solace was already following, cradling Mr Punch in her arms. Idris hoped she didn’t have to use the accelerator much, because its projectiles would go through every wall and hull plate in the Vulture. That meant a lot of repair work, even in a best-case scenario. Then it was Rollo and Kit’s turn to head through – and all Idris and Kris could do was wait for word of their triumphant victory.
Or that was the plan.
When the Hegemony interceptor erupted from unspace, spinning end-over-end and broadcasting on all channels, he almost felt his heart seize. They had stutter-jumped too – right after him. How was that even possible? The Hegemony had some few species that could navigate like an Int but he’d never expected to find any out here in service to the Broken Harvest. The Vulture must have signalled them the moment the Joan appeared, triggering a desperate lunge through unspace to intervene. It looked as though it had cost them dearly. They were here, though, and that put the steel-toed boot into all parts of Rollo’s plan.
‘Captain, company!’ And Idris was sending over the nav data, even as he watched the interceptor’s systems come back on line. Rollo was silent – still in-channel, but with absolutely nothing to say. Idris told him, ‘I’ll deal with it.’
‘You’ll what?’ Rollo demanded. ‘Idris—’
‘Going to have to leave you for a moment. Olli, let go of the Joan’s hatch controls.’
‘Fuck me, Idris.’ But she did so, and he pulled the umbilical the moment she had.
‘Hang on,’ he told Kris. If there’d been time, he would have decanted her onto the Vulture, which might have been marginally safer. He twisted to look at her . . . Kris was wide-eyed, but there was more than fear on her face. He remembered she was a duellist, an aficionado of the fight.
He located a navigation point that tugged them away from the Vulture into open space. This, even as the Harvest’s own pilot aimed the bigger vessel towards them. Its tumble had morphed into smooth acceleration towards their target as its weapons powered up.
Vu khi chaud, he thought and returned the favour, diverting power to his ship’s lasers and the accelerators’ magnetic rails. Then he was reaching out into space, to bring them swinging past the Oumaru’s twisted bulk and hurtling back towards the enemy.
The enemy. He had an enemy again. He didn’t like it. Loathed it, in fact. Yet an ugly little part of him was awake now, like a cold arrowhead buried deep inside his mind.
Solace
Solace had dialled her accelerator right down, to minimize possible hull and component damage to the Vulture. For what that was worth: given the standard of Partheni tech, even at its minimum settings the old ship likely didn’t have enough walls to stop any of her shots.
When the first of the hijackers stormed into view, all on his own, she could only guess the man hadn’t really understood the situation. He was suited up and carrying a bulky projectile gun. She drew Mr Punch’s muzzle across his torso and hit him with at least seven pellets – meaning she just about cut him in half. His gun went off like an afterthought as his body pitched one way whilst its erstwhile contents vomited out the other. The thunderous retort would serve as polite notice to anyone else aboard that trouble had come calling. Mr Punch, despite the name Rollo had given the weapon, made an eerie singing sound as it ramped up more of its metal projectiles.
The door ahead of them slammed closed, as the Vulture’s crew rushed down the short corridor from the hatch to the rest of the ship. Olli was already in the Vulture’s system, though, fighting to get control. ‘Kit,’ the remote specialist ground between her teeth, ‘get that airlock shut. I’m busy.’