The Deliverance swept through space, escorted by six other ships. The two Caravan-class cruisers, Foundry and Healing, comprised the fleet’s repair and medical ships respectively. If anything drastic occurred, the expeditionary force would be capable of tending to itself for the foreseeable future. To further augment the firepower available, Susan had included the escort ships Anvil, Hammer, Medic, and Gilead. The four Samar-class escorts were not much, but any amount of support would be helpful.
A part of her had been tempted to bring even more ships, if only to guarantee their victory. The problem was that any ships she brought would lessen the number protecting New Sonora. As Susan had already seen, the enemy was more than capable of launching an all-out strike against the fleet. She didn’t want to expose New Sonora to any more danger than necessary; a victory against the Outrider base would mean nothing if the city turned into a crater while they were gone. The fact that Colonel Mccalister had been left in command did little to encourage her.
She knew she was not the only one to worry about little details of balance. Every crew member in the fleet seemed to be anxiously marking the time since they had left their home. Of course, some were much more obnoxious about it than others, as the scene in her conference room testified.
“I still say we should have found them by now.” Gabriel’s muttered words gave a clear reason for his frustrated pacing. In the close quarters of the conference room, it was like watching a tiger try to navigate its way out of an obstacle course. “We have no idea where this base of theirs is actually located.”
She sighed. “We do have a reasonable guess.”
Gabriel stopped and turned towards her. “A guess? You’re risking our homes on a guess?”
Susan met his eyes without hesitation. “If there’s a better way to find them, I would appreciate your input. Otherwise, I have simulations to get done.”
The rig pilot stared at her for a few moments. “Well, of course, Admiral. I would not wish to intrude on your planning. I know how much you enjoy taking care of that on your own.”
She felt her fingers curl into fists. “Perhaps if you were willing to contribute actual advice or strategic support, I would include you. As it is, we are better off if I take care of our plans.”
He grunted and resumed his pacing. “Sure. Because you’re the genius strategist, right? The one who almost shot up her own rig forces a few days ago?”
Susan glared at him. “You were never in any danger. The movement was coordinated to give us a better shot at the enemy formation.”
“A formation right behind our own rigs!” Gabriel threw his hands up and looked at the ceiling, as if imploring a higher authority. “If you had fired early, or if we had waited even just a half second more, we would have been just as dead as those MSSRs.”
“As dead as if I had let you charge right into them, like you doing? As dead as the people of New Sonora would have been if that asteroid got through?” She folded her arms. “Besides, none of that actually happened. The maneuver worked perfectly, and as a result we have their location. We tracked them back to their base, and because of that, we can finally take care of this problem once and for all.”
Frustration filled Gabriel’s face. “Fine. Just remember, Admiral, that when push came to shove, I decided to trust you. I followed your orders blindly, even though I didn’t know what you were doing. Maybe if you could trust us the same way, I wouldn’t have to make that decision every time you open your mouth, because maybe we would be working together, instead of apart.”
Delacourt put as much frost as she could into her voice. “So noted, Captain.” With an effort, she drew herself together and turned back to the simulated maneuvers she was programming into the virtual models of the fleet. She could see several possibilities in the various ship types, and she wanted to be confident that her plans could work before she had the fleet practice them en route to the target. When she glanced up, he was annoyingly still present. “Is there something else I can help you with, Captain Gabriel?”
The hint to leave could not have been more obvious. Gabriel could not have been more frustrating as he ignored it. “Yeah, there is, actually.” He straightened his shoulders. “Do we have permission to conduct live exercise practice runs as we travel, Admiral?”
She looked up to see if he was serious. “Of course, Captain. Whenever you believe you are ready to do them. You are the rig command officer, after all.” Susan saw the muscles along Gabriel’s jaw tighten, and felt reassured that she could still give as good as she got in this game of frustration and mutual annoyance. “Are you that close to having them calibrated now?”
Gabriel nodded stiffly. “Yes, ma’am. The Lord willing, we will have all eight ready by the time we finally run across your pirate base. Then we can finish this whole little war and get back to normal.” He turned on his heel and walked out of the room. Susan could almost hear him wish the battle was over now, simply so she would no longer be a part of his daily routine. She started to doubt her decision to promote the man, and her confidence that they would work well together had faded since that first meeting. Though she knew him to be a good man, she wondered at moments like these if Gabriel would turn out to be a more serious problem than even Colonel Mccalister in the end.
Unfortunately, he was a problem she had no way to avoid. The Deliverance had a large part of her arsenal tied up in her rig compliment. Given that the Deliverance also had the greatest amount of firepower in her small detachment, Gabriel and his rigs were likely going to be the main barrier between her ships and destruction if everything did not go exactly right. The realization brought her attention back to the simulation plots. If she planned things well enough, she wouldn’t need to worry about some rig pilot throwing things into confusion. She needed to work harder, and then the overconfident fool wouldn’t have any more ammunition to use against her.
Yet even as she struggled to find a plan that would succeed with or without the rigs, some treacherous little portion of her mind wondered how much easier it could be if she could trust the man who seemed to want so badly to help her. Anger flared up, and she mentally shoved that doubt aside. There were plans to be made, and she didn’t have any time for distractions. Particularly not distractions named Gabriel.
Gabe launched from the Deliverance at high speed, just the same as he had during the Battle of New Sonora. He hated that name—it implied that the skirmishes before that hadn’t been as important somehow. The Lord knew the sacrifices of all His children, but it still bothered Gabe that the pilots who had died before that battle seemed to have been swept under the rug. The followers of the Way apparently would much rather focus on the relatively less bloody victory than the smaller, costly actions prior.
Still, he could hardly blame them for reaching for some amount of hope in a bleak situation. They had only recently become aware of a constant attempt to annihilate them; the ability of the fleet to defend them was the only hope they had of survival. It was natural to emphasize their abilities.
His only hope was that the new rigs lived up to everyone’s expectations. He drew in a deep breath as the distance from the cruiser expanded. He cleared his throat and hoped the BCI had engaged his communications unit. It took a moment to remember his new, temporary callsign. “Knight-One, engaging tetherdrive.”
As he had in the calibration room, he imagined a simple pushing feeling. A heartbeat’s hesitation later, he felt the rig respond. His velocity slowed as the gravitic tethers accelerated his rig opposite the direction he was flying. The delay unnerved him; it was always a little disconcerting to have the rig—which his unconscious mind insisted was his body—not respond instantly to his thoughts. Over time, the reactions would grow smoother until once again, he would feel almost more at home in his machine than he would in uniform. If only he could convince himself that he had that much time.
He keyed the communications again. “Knight-One. Tetherdrive responsive, now commencing other tests.” Gabe carefully raised and lowered his arms, then his legs. He adjusted the tetherdrive to accelerate in one direction, then another. As he worked through the standard maneuvers, Gabe found himself grinning. So far, the Civilian Tactical rigs had been living up to their advertising. The CTR had been marketed as a superior to the CSRs, and he was more than impressed.
Its tetherdrive was far more powerful than the CSR, to the point where he believed he could reach about half again the acceleration he had achieved before. The sensors were much stronger, localized in two narrow spots that approximated eyes. The armor was much, much thicker without reducing the maneuverability, and the plasma rifle was twice as powerful. There was even a pair of all-purpose missiles attached to the shoulders, just in case he encountered an extra-special challenge. If he could manage to train enough, the CTR would definitely help him take on the Outrider rigs, and the Deliverance held three more just like it in its launch bays.
His head turned as it should, and when he tightened up on his trigger finger, the Grade .5 Simo Hayha plasma rifle sent a spray of shots into space. “Deliverance, Knight-One reports that the rig is functional. Go ahead and send the rest out.”
“Confirmed, Knight-One. Signal is clear. Now launching.”
He had decided to go out first since he had logged the most hours in a rig. Now that they knew at least one of the rigs was operational, Gabe could easily be asked to run out and catch other rigs if they malfunctioned. Hopefully it would not be necessary; the other pilots had been registering fine in the simulated tests. Gabe still held his breath when the other CTRs launched.
One by one, the other rigs slowed and began to perform the same tests he had done. There were a few mishaps—Knight-Three, a pilot named Chris, nearly clipped Knight-Four, a veteran named Earline, with an errant plasma shot—but most of them were harmless glitches that the BCI would filter out as time went on. The rampant swearing over Earline’s communications signal was still harsh to Gabe’s ears, though. He cleared his throat. “Knight-One to Flight, maintain signal discipline. Form up for flight exercises.”
The other pilots acknowledged the order, with Earline’s voice still a little rough and Chris’ a little sheepish. Gabe restrained a sigh; he had no desire to find out how the still-fresh interface would interpret it. When the other rigs had come into position, he began to lead them through some basic maneuvers that took them back toward the Deliverance.
Two more rigs spat from the forward hangers. Called Reconnaissance and Stealth rigs, the RSRs shot away at a far greater speed. Their lighter frames were not weighed down with as much armor, and far fewer weapons graced their frames, so when their tetherdrives lit up, the little rigs danced like insects across the void. As their name made obvious, the RSRs were scout rigs rather than main combat models. If there were other enemy combatants near the battle, their advanced sensor systems would search them out. They could also slip behind enemy formations and backlight them with flares, giving the gunners on the cruisers perfect target silhouettes. Gabe was looking forward to seeing what the things could do.
A few moments later, he heard launches announced for the four Advanced Weapons and Ordinance rigs that had remained in the Deliverance’s launch bays. The heavy rigs fell slowly, their bricklike forms lumbering through space even slower than an MSSR, but the weapon discharges were far, far more dangerous. After all, an errant .5 plasma burst could burn a rig a bit, but the AWORs carried far heavier ordinance, meant to destroy cruisers or even space stations. If the heavy rigs accidentally blew a hole in Deliverance, it was going to be a long walk home.
The AWORs formed up on their flight leader, a reliable pilot named Scott, before performing simulated bombing runs against the Foundry. Gabe smirked a bit when he imagined the crew’s reaction to the attacks, and wondered if Scott had made enemies on the frigate. The RSRs had started training of their own; the buglike rigs spun around in a sort of duel, dodging and trailing each other as if they were in some sort of dogfight, while the CTRs continued their formation practice. He smiled. Maybe things weren’t going to be the disaster he had been worrying about.
Such thoughts were wiped away a moment later by a panicked cry over the communications net. “This is Eyes-One. Eyes-One to all rigs. I’ve lost my partner; I believe she’s outside and deaf. Repeat, Eyes-Two is deaf to signals and outbound.”
Gabe felt his gut fill with ice at the words. Of all the rigs to lose, an RSR was the worst. If the pilot had accelerated too fast, it would be nearly impossible for a CTR to catch up. Even worse, the rig was designed to baffle any attempt to find it against the backdrop of outer space. All too soon, the rig would be lost in the vastness of space, and the pilot long dead before they could be found.
“Knight-One to Eyes-One. Do you have a vector on Eyes-Two?” He started toward the spot where his scanners tentatively identified the RSR. Though the others followed, he accelerated much faster than they did and left the flight behind.
“Negative, Knight-One. She was trailing me, and my sensors did not have a good read. Then she was just gone.” The distress in Eyes-One’s voice was clear, but Gabe refused to focus on it. Eyes-Two had only so much time, and it would not be long before it ran out.
“Control, do you have a last known heading for RSR Eyes-Two?”
“We do, Knight-One. Transmitting last known course and contact information. Projecting course based on data.” A line appeared. It was bright against the void as it stretched from a distant spot across the Deliverance’s course and from there out to space. Gabe shook his head as he scanned along it; there was no trace of Eyes-Two.
“Control, start laser scans of the area. Eyes-One, show me where you lost her.” The remaining RSR immediately circled back toward a particular location near the start of the bright line, while lines marking the path of Deliverance’s targeting lasers swept through the void. Up-scaled versions of the targeting lasers on rigs, they could give an exact distance to target and position for an enemy at the cost of giving the cruiser’s position away. There was a small chance that one would be able to catch Eyes-Two, but it was better than nothing.
Gabe changed direction to cut across the course Deliverance had shown him. He looked back toward the spot where Eyes-One hovered. The scout rig was hard to see, even active and transmitting. With a grunt, he signaled the other pilot. “Eyes-One, are your laser alerts active? Have you tested them yet?”
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“Affirmative, Knight-One. We were using targeting lasers to tag each other just a few minutes ago.”
“Good. I’m going to hit you with one. Stay at the location where Eyes-Two lost contact. I’m going to move quite a bit, so stay still.”
“Knight-One, please repeat?” The confusion in the other pilot’s voice made Gabe smile.
“Just make sure you stay put, Eyes-One. Knight-One out.” He closed one eye, a signal to trigger the targeting laser. A moment later, Gabe heard a smooth tone echo through his hearing as his targeting beam lit up Eyes-One. He grunted, and started to juke back and forth across the course, then twisted into a spiraling sweep. The beam followed him and he widened his circles, forcing him to concentrate to keep the laser on Eyes-One.
“Knight-One, this is Command. What are you doing? We have a pilot lost. This is no time for acrobatics tricks.” The sound of the admiral’s voice put Gabe’s teeth on edge, but he did his best to shove those feelings aside and concentrate. It was far from easy to maintain the spiral. Even so, the question demanded a response. He cleared his throat.
“Glad to hear you’re so concerned about rig pilots, Command. Continuing maneuvers.” The spiral had widened considerably. Eyes-One remained stationary, the small rig still fully lit up on his sensors.
“Knight-One, explain your current maneuver immediately. I’m not in the mood for games.” The frost in her voice was so obvious that it nearly made him chuckle.
“So we’re sharing plans now? I thought we didn’t have time for that in an emergency situation.”
“Knight-One, if you don’t—” The rest of Delacourt’s response cut off as Gabe’s laser lost contact with Eyes-One for a moment. In one brief instant, the targeting laser swept across a second, much closer shape, one that was hurtling toward him at a constant speed. Then the shape was gone and Eyes-One was back on his screen.
“Contact! Coming in at vector one-one-zero, relative my rig. Repositioning.” Gabe stalled his spin, reversing his acceleration as he swept his targeting laser back across the spot. He reacquired Eyes-Two, lost her, and then picked her up for good as he managed to get a fix on her rig. The distance separating his rig from Eyes-Two fell rapidly; the pilot had obviously accelerated hard just before she locked up.
Gabe set himself up for the catch, hovering just off to the side of Eyes-Two’s course. The RSR came barreling toward him at terrible speed, a dark figure tumbling across the void. He focused on that form, pushing at it with his mind. Had he been outside of his rig, the effort would have accomplished nothing but a headache. Inside it, a tether extended and began to slow the other rig, decelerating it as it came.
Even that effort was insufficient. She was too far outside for Deliverance to catch her; he had to do it manually. Tucking his rifle across the magnetic strip on his back, he braced himself and got ready to grab her. The RSR, dead to the world, hurtled toward him. It came quick, quick, quick, and then he snatched at her, trying to fit his clumsy, gauntleted hands around the RSR’s spindly arm.
For a heartbeat, his grip slipped on the metal limb, his fingers scratching at the stealth plating and the thin armor beneath it. Gabe sent a short, desperate prayer to that Being he hoped was listening and grabbed again, and the RSR was caught. His arm joints ached and strained as his rig was tugged along in Eyes-Two’s wake, but then he was slowing, his tetherdrive helping to decelerate the two rigs to a slow drift.
When they ground to a virtual halt, Gabe let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He bowed his head for a moment in thanks, and then cleared his throat. “Knight-One. I have her. I repeat, Eyes-Two has been recovered.”
Cheering broke out over the communications net, and Gabe let himself relax. He had started to move back toward the cruisers when Delacourt’s voice came back again, sounding tight. “Confirmed, Knight-One. We have response teams in the hanger prepping for your arrival. Bring her in and then report to Command for debriefing.”
It did not take a whole lot of imagination to see that the ‘debriefing’ he was in for would be less than pleasant, but Gabe couldn’t help smiling as he flew toward Deliverance. The CTR had performed well, his pilots were learning, and the worst had happened, but the Lord had helped them get past it all. It was shaping up to be a very good expedition.
“Has the task been completed?”
The question came in a voice scrambled by some sort of device the client had implanted into his mask. Bennett had never actually inquired as to why the man felt it was so important to butcher his voice with such a thing. He seemed almost obsessive about his privacy, this man clothed head to toe in an armored suit and plain, hooded robe. It might have been amusing to discern his true identity, but there was no profit in that course, and the client would likely not have tolerated such meddling.
It hardly mattered in any case; the agent before him was merely a tool of higher powers. Whatever his identity, the man paid well, and he had clearly decided check up on Bennett’s efforts on his behalf. Given that his contributions dwarfed that of the chancellor, the commodore, and Admiral Nevlin combined, Bennett was not about to disappoint him. “Yes, Mr. Black. We have already taken possession of the convoy. All of the expected pieces are now in play, with an added bonus.”
The masked man tilted his head to one side. “A bonus? I am not paying you for surprises, Mr. Bennett. You will find that I do not enjoy them in the least.”
Bennett smiled. “You will enjoy this one, I believe. But I will allow you to view the details of the capture itself and decide on your own.” He keyed a rapid combination of commands into his console and brought up the images he had received only a short while before his client’s visit.
The message was a simple one. It began without preamble, explanation, or even a date stamp.
The first images were of a small group of Bennett Securities warships. It would have been considered a sizable task force anywhere outside of the war front. Three cruisers and ten escorts clustered tightly together in a capture formation. Two pocket carriers accompanied them, with their whole compliment of MSSRs deployed in advance. The small flotilla had already known their target’s schedule and path, even better than the crew aboard had. A couple of bribes in the right places had put a half dozen Securities personnel aboard the bridge of each incoming ship, enough to guarantee that the transit into the system would land right where Bennett had intended.
A few moments later, four ships descended from cascade directly in the center of the Securities formation. Two of those ships were Directorate light cruisers, meant mostly to ward off any opportunistic pirates. One of the remaining two was much, much larger, close to the size of a modern battleship. It was an older craft, one that dated back to the first struggles between the Known Worlds and the Wild Colonies. Or more correctly, to the ancestors of those modern states—when such a conflict spanned hundreds of years, it was natural that the newer, improved orders on each side had organized and developed considerably.
This ship had seen the rise and fall of powerful men and had brooded over empires and republics, revolutions and foundations. Scars from countless battles would have marred its venerable hull, had the Directorate not taken the time and care necessary to refurbish it. Its sister ships had long since been left as broken wrecks above forgotten battlegrounds, the first in the initial conflict with the Colonies and the second soon afterward. The recent refitting showed to the ship’s benefit; the gun mounts were obviously top of the line, their silhouettes sharp and lethal, while the launch bays seemed to have been expanded and modernized as well. It remained alone a testament to the wars and ages past, a silent monument to the determination and greatness of their distant forefathers. They had named it Concord.
That ship had been the true target of the Securities ships, though Mr. Black had not explained why. It had been important to the man, and with such rewards as he offered, Bennett had not hesitated to manipulate his other clients simply to get the opportunity to complete the contract. Then again, the Concord was an important symbol to the entire Known Worlds, not just the more shadowy parts of their society. Yet as the images of the Securities ships moved in toward the ship, Bennett heard his visitor sigh with satisfaction, and wondered again what type of client had hired him.
Then he heard the man’s breathing catch in surprise. Taking that sign as his cue, Bennett touched the controls lightly, bringing the fourth ship into focus. It was a small craft, much smaller than the Directorate cruisers and completely dwarfed by the massive Concord. Mr. Black leaned close as the details became clear, and Bennett smiled as the man murmured in pleasure.
The fourth ship was the Compass, a craft known the length and breadth of the Known Worlds. It was the ship of the Keeper of Heritage, the man entrusted with the sacred—as some would name them—records kept from the beginning of the Known Worlds, the man who had been given the responsibility and honor of protecting them through the various upheavals of war, uprisings, and intrigue. Of all the symbols of the Worlds, the Keeper and his ship were held with the utmost regard and respect. More than once, the Keeper’s word had turned the tide in a political struggle or dispute, and the wealth of knowledge aboard that ship was hailed as the greatest repository known to mankind. The chance to take her captive was something that no pirate could have ever dreamed, and certainly never achieved. To see her in his clutches was glory and miracle both together.
Mr. Black straightened and turned toward Bennett. “You were correct, Mr. Bennett. Well done.”
Bennett bowed low. “I am glad you are pleased, Mr. Black. I assume that you want the Compass delivered to some location convenient to you?” He smiled a bit to himself, thinking of the rewards his client was likely to offer.
“No.” The answer brought Bennett upright in shock. Mr. Black shook his head to emphasize it. “You will send the Compass and the Concord to the same fate, Mr. Bennett.”
The sheer waste of the order drove Bennett to protest before he could stop himself. “Mr. Black, the ransom on a vessel like that one—”
“Will pale beside what we will pay you if you follow my orders, Mr. Bennett.” Mr. Black waved the words away with one gloved hand. “The purpose of the operation was to create chaos here in Eris and eliminate the Wayfarers. The loss of the Concord to supposed Wayfarer intrigue will enrage the Known Worlds and easily turned the Directorate against the petulant fools. They would have been hunted, and their power broken. If the Keeper was involved as well…”
Slowly, Bennett nodded. It made sense, in a twisted kind of way. A sudden realization wormed its way through him, and he smiled. “I suspect a disaster of that magnitude would create quite a stir, Mr. Black. Perhaps even enough to disrupt the war effort, or distract the Directorate from the front lines?”
Silence followed his question, and the masked man regarded him with sudden wariness. Perhaps only now he was realizing how foolish it had been to agree to meet onboard Bennett’s own flagship, or was attempting to review how many guards were between him and his shuttle. Before the moment could grow too tense, Bennett gave an elaborate shrug. “Mr. Black, allow me to explain something, if you will.”
He turned to look up at the projection, where the Securities forces had started their boarding maneuvers. “My company prides itself on efficiency and effectiveness. It is something I have pursued all my life, and something I value in my allies.” When Bennett looked back down, he met the other man’s eyes. “Loyalties to outmoded regimes and foolish creeds of nationalism corrode our effectiveness. Bennett Securities works for the people who have hired us—no more, no less. If someone associated with the Wild Colonies—hypothetically, of course—were to employ my services, they could rely on me to serve them without fear of betrayal. As long as appropriate compensation was provided, you understand. Perhaps an additional thirty percent of the original amount?”
Then Bennett smiled and shook his head. “Of course, all those details are merely speculation. Am I correct, Mr. Black?”
His masked visitor merely returned Bennett’s gaze, his expression unreadable under his armored visage. Then he nodded. “I believe we have clarified enough, Mr. Bennett. I will return with your payment once the operation is complete.” With no further words, the man strode for the exit, his robe flowing around his legs with each long stride. Bennett made no move to stop him. Instead, he turned and looked back up at the recording of the operation.
He had to move carefully. The opportunities here were too great to lose, and deception was the riskiest of games in war. Such tricks were like the handling of a venomous snake—one mistake could sink the fangs in your own flesh as easily as that of your target. Still, as he watched the MSSRs move in and the boarding shuttles launch, Bennett could not help but laugh. Whatever happened in the near future, there was at least one certainty. Soon there would be nothing the Wayaferers could do to escape, and his victory over them would be utterly complete.
“We have a signal from RSR Eyes-Two. She says she has contact from the enemy base.”
Susan blinked and turned to consider the communications officer who had made the announcement. “Excellent. Tell her to dump her sensor information immediately. I want it accessible from my console.”
“Yes, Admiral. Transmission started.” Susan looked down as the hologram sprang to life. She hovered over the console, attempting to increase the magnification and resolution of the sensor contacts. A little work managed to bring the readings into focus. Three small asteroids were grouped together around one larger rock. The largest asteroid had obvious alterations built into it. Glimmers of satisfaction threaded through her as she recognized the mass-driver at the center of those modifications; she had found them, right where she had expected. The launch site was now theirs for the taking.
Of course, the idea to send out the RSRs to scout for the flotilla had been Gabriel’s idea, but she decided to ignore that particular detail for the time being.
A location appeared in the top-right corner of the projection, and Susan compared it to the location of the fleet. It was barely twelve hours distant at the maximum speed the flotilla could travel. She turned to Captain Ndigwe. “Captain, inform the flotilla that we will begin our approach to the enemy base immediately. Change course to nine-three-three in forty seconds.”
Captain Ndigwe nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Changing course.” She gave Susan a rare smile. “It will be good to have this over, Admiral.”
“I agree, Captain.” Susan stood, tapping a few commands into her console to forward the information to her personal rooms. “I’m going to plan the assault. Notify me if there are any enemy contacts on our sensors.” She paused. He had given her the idea to send out the RSRs, and they had found the base. Perhaps she could indulge him this time, if only as a reward for having saved Eyes-Two in the first place. “Please tell Captain Gabriel that he can come to the conference room in an hour if he wishes to discuss our deployment.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The carefully neutral words nearly brought a sigh to her lips. Susan shook her head and left the bridge, ideas already forming in her head. She needed to have a plan prepared before he reached her—otherwise who knew what would happen.
Gabe looked over the information Susan had displayed and whistled. “Quite the little hideout they’ve built for themselves, isn’t it?”
Delacourt nodded. It was clear that the Outriders had not been expecting visitors, but they were prepared for them. Each of the three asteroids that orbited the facility showed signs of heavy weaponry and armored bunkers. In addition to those stationary defenses, the RSR’s sensors had managed to isolate eight different escort craft forming up around the station, with an indeterminate number of smaller ships and rig contacts.
The sensors had been unable to determine with what type of weaponry their opponents had been armed, but Gabe knew that if the MSSRs were any clue, the enemy would be using near top-of-the-line military equipment. Though the escort craft were much smaller than the Deliverance and the frigates, they would be faster, and if they were not careful, the firepower from the asteroid stations would more than make up for what the escort craft lacked.
He glanced up at Delacourt. “So, how are you planning on going in?”
The admiral didn’t answer immediately, and Gabe raised his eyebrows in surprise. It wasn’t normal for her to hesitate. “My initial plan was to approach the enemy at maximum range and destroy the stationary installations one at a time. If we can wipe out their firepower piecemeal, we should avoid taking excessive damage.”
Gabe bowed his head in thought. “If those MSSRs launch, we could get swarmed. Especially if the escorts come out to flank us.”
Delacourt tilted her head and crossed her arms. “I know that, Captain Miller. Unfortunately, we do not have a plethora of options open to us.” She looked back at the hologram. “So how would you solve the situation, Captain Gabriel? If we leave without making contact, it is possible that they will move the facility before we return.”
“I agree.” The words were surprisingly easy to say, though they seemed to put her a bit off balance. Gabe realized with some unease that he enjoyed that expression almost as much as her annoyed one. “Still, rushing in just seems way too direct. If we could decoy the escorts out and neutralize the hangers on the launch facility, we could avoid a lot of damage and still take them down.”
She stared at him, tapping one finger on her forearm. Finally, Delacourt shifted her feet and spoke. “You’re thinking of using the rigs, then? There’s no way your craft can take on the base by themselves.”
He nodded. “That’s true. But I was thinking more about what you did at the last battle.” She winced, though it was barely noticeable, and Gabe smiled. “I think I understand it a bit better. You needed decoys, and we were it. Maybe if we put our heads together, we can figure out a way to do that again here. Get them so frustrated that they come charging after us without thinking.”
Delacourt studied him for a moment. Then she laughed. Gabe was surprised by how much he had missed that sound. “If I would pick anyone for that particular job, it would be you, Captain.” He flushed red, but he chuckled along with her. She raised an eyebrow at him. “I would have thought you wouldn’t want to be put in danger like that. It will be risky.”
Gabe shrugged. “We just appreciate being told what’s going on first. That’s all.” He leaned over the projection. “Now let’s see how we can make this work, because I can guarantee you we’ll only have one shot. Let’s make it count.”