IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE FIRE-SHIP DETONATION IN THE MALABO’S DOCKING BAY ABOARD THE PATTANI

  Godspeed you magnificent bastard.

  “Now!” Che springs forward from his command chair. “Do not let his sacrifice be in vain!” His thunderous voice resonates throughout the station. In response the roar of dozens of ships causes a rumbling quake throughout the vast bay— some have taken the initiative and launched out of the docking bay at record speed.

  The Pattani joins the flock of ships taking flight, and the ensuing physics throws Che back into his chair as the Pattani accelerates out of the Malabo entrance.

  “Do not falter! Push through! They would not dare attack this close range!” There are no signs of hesitation in his manly voice—only resolve. But deep down, Che is scared shit-less. There hasn’t been a single point in life where he did not want to empty his bowels as much as he has now—except for the time that his father’s crew first found him when he was a child. But he needed to be strong—he needed to be strong for his men. That is what a commander does, after all.

  But rather or not Che will admit it, he is not a commander. He never had the martial skill that Li or Simon had. His expertise—if you want to call it that—was being a governor. This prowess was made up for with his adjuncts, of course, but they can only do so much. But who is it to blame for this disaster? The master or the subordinate?

  “Brace for impact! They’re trying to block our—”

  “Show your resolve!” Che nearly breaks one of his armchairs in retaliation, “Ram them if you have to!” The Pattani narrowly avoids contact with Federation ships that attempt to steer into their way, but the Pattani prevails. There is a sharp turn of the ship as it rips through the rest of the blockage to freedom.

  “We are not out of the woods yet! Maximize speed outputs to keep the distance!” Che barks—his throat is getting increasingly sore from playing pretend commander. The Federation ships still need to turn around to pursue them—but that thought is interrupted by the reflections of brightness originating from the Malabo.

  Turning around, Che is caught off guard; did one of his fire that? Nonetheless, the resulting chain reaction should be enough to delay them for a little while longer.

  “Contact Darcy if you can, I need reports of who broke through. Also…

  “Broadcast to any remaining informing them we will regroup at the Baltit.” He commands one of the young operators, who salutes and tends to the radio station. But before Che can relax and enjoy a bottle of rum, his fantasies are cut short when a nearby subordinate suddenly yanks him by the collar.

  “—To the Baltit?” The man gives him a look of bewilderment—his lips pursed in anger. “Are you out of your mind?!” Before Che can react, he points to the startled radio officer. “No, cancel that order. Transmit a signal that we are withdrawing from the Valspon system…”

  Abandoning Valspon?

  No.

  Father would not approve of such actions.

  “We’ll regroup at the Lübeck system and send a request for support to—”

  The anger at this insubordination makes Che brush off the adjunct and grab him by the collar—and yanks him to Che’s face. “You want ME to abandon the people of Valspon to the enemy? Are YOU out of your mind? Do you know what that will ENTAIL?! The wrath of the Don! Certain death! Not for just me…”

  Che shoves the subordinate away and extends an arm towards the bridge crew. “But for ALL of you.

  “Do I make myself CLEAR? If you wish to avoid an uneventful fate by being a tiger meal…” Che’s unfazed eyes turn to the terrified radio operator who seems like he is about to wet himself, ”you will cancel that last order and broadcast the previous one. We will reorganize at Baltit.”

  It seems the adjunct does not know when to back down, “and how exactly do you expect to send word to the Don in time, and hold out long enough for reinforcements to arrive, Che?”

  “It is simple, we will send a messenger to the Don.”

  “Not a transmission?” The inquiry is predictable, but it rouses murmurs in the room. This subordinate is trying hard to make Che look like a fool—but a fool Che is not.

  The radio operator quips in “Sir! If I may… the Federation jamming is still strong…” —At this distance? Che looks out the bridge window behind him. The Federation fleet was still scrambling to reorganize for pursuit. But Che is not the one to argue—he isn’t the specialist after all. “…Even just giving in contact with the scattered fleet is difficult. The signal will be too faint to reach the Don.”

  The subordinate rubs his temples. “And contacting Lübeck is out of the question too?” Che gives his beard a stroke. True… even just reaching Lübeck will be difficult given the situation the fleet is in.

  “On second thought, it will be more logical sending the messenger to the nearest Side in Lübeck, no?” Che paces around the room, all eyes following his every move, “if the messenger goes straight from here to the Don in the Velksland system it will possibly incapacitate him before he can deliver the message.”

  Rapid warping across a long distance has shown to have life-threatening strains on the human body. It can lead to exhaustion much quicker and even cause the warper to slip into a coma.

  But drastic times do call for drastic measures. The sacrifice of one can be beneficial for the many as they have witnessed firsthand not too long ago. Oh, how regrettable it is to waste life in such an awful manner. Ah, how badly Che wants to just relax and wash his sadness in booze.

  No, that can come later. After they get this headache done with. “…Then the messenger can either pass on the intel to authorities, who will then send a transmission to the Don, or send the next runner to relay the rest.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then…” Che stops.

   “Then how will the Don respond?”

  “…”  

  “Che?”

  “…”

  “How do you think the fleet will make it in time to relieve the siege?”

  Che looks him straight in the eyes with determination. “He will come… or she will.” He delivers those words with full reassurance. In truth, it is a white lie. Che doesn’t believe their father will allow Li control of a fleet—much less a seizable formation. It’s a dangerous variable in the grand scheme of things for the Don. The problematic discord between father and daughter is not something that is fully understood by most—many are not aware of Dong’s paranoia of Li overthrowing him in some way.

  But the matter is a white elephant in the room.

  From Che’s point of view, the Don will be left in a precarious situation. If he excuses himself from Velksland amid watchful Federation eyes, Li could collaborate with the Federation leaving the pirate republic to fall immediately. If he sends Li…

  Well, whatever Li may do while passing the capital can go in several ways. Rather or not the Oliver fellow resists or joins her cause is another matter entirely. Li certainly is an unpredictable element, isn’t she? Hell, Che will even go as far as to say she’s a bigger threat than even the Federation. Che scrunches his brow, well, perhaps that might be a little exaggerating, because who knows what the Federation will do with her despite her collaboration.

  Che now sees how Li makes the Don experience sleepless nights.

  Regardless, its a risk they—everyone—will need to take. Even if the relief fleet fails to arrive in time, Che can hope to deliver a big enough dent in Federation numbers so that either the Don or Li can drive them off.

  But that aside…

  “If that is all, let’s get things moving along. Find someone willing to volunteer for the mission and send them off on a shuttle.”

  “A shuttle, sir?”

  “If we do anything bigger than such, the Federation will send ships to intercept it. It’s risky, but nobody has ever achieved success by not taking such ventures. I wager the Federation will pass it in favor of securing the Cluster…” In theory, though, they would not need to go that far for all the Sides in the Cluster. If Baltit falls, then its only natural that the adjutant Sides will too.

  “The shuttle has the benefit of traversing faster given its size…” Che strokes his beard. Oh, how he yearns for some tobacco! “It might help to strip it to the bare minimum…

  “If the pilot can wear a suit, we can strip away some needless weight like a life support system to guarantee it can out-pace any potential pursers.”

  When Che finishes, the subordinate asks him with a stare that says what now? to which Che heaves a mountainous sigh, “haah… if that is all, then get moving!”

  These people are giving him bigger and nastier headaches—never mind the Federation juggernaut hot on their tail. Oh, how Che wishes he had it easy with drones that did what they are told! But sadly, Che received the short end of the stick.

  Che sees off the subordinate then slumps down into his chair, one arm holding up his head. The throbbing just does not want to stop. In fact, it has gotten even worse. Just what will it take to make it stop?!

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Che looks to the side of his chair—and low and behold there is a large bottle of rum! In an attempt to quench his thirst, Che reaches out for it and…

  “Captain!—”

  “What! What is it?!” Che barks without even knowing, the arm freezes in place. The operator flinches from the yelling but regains composure. “I’ve received a good enough transmission from Darcy, She made a head-count of ships that made it through…”

  “Good… good. How much of them can we count on for defense?”

  “The whole formation is still intact. There were only several ships lost.”

  Several ships lost… Che would prefer if the number equaled zero, but the number of sacrifices is necessary. That is, if it was any worse he could be left with tatters.

  “Good, have you informed her to reorganize at the Baltit?”

  “Darcy reports she is already on the way.”

  Che knew he could always count on Darcy. She knows when to be obedient and shut up, something that he wished the others would take a page out of. With that aside…

  Che turns his attention back to the bottle he has a longing for. He reaches for it and pops off the cap.

  The worst is over at least.

  The thought casually crosses Che’s mind as the inside of the rum bottle he consumes is drained of the bitter fluid. But to him, being able to finally dive in is enough to consider it sweet in of itself. Given the circumstances, it is a godsend that somebody managed to procure some beverages in a timely manner. But now that he has some spirits to lighten up him, the migraines seemingly dissipate. Che can tackle the issue at hand—or at least damn try.

  The space habitat Che’s Pattani journeys to draws near. Already some shuttles are rushing ahead of ships to enter its naval docks.

  “If the communication permits it, tell the Baltit military officials to activate the anti-ship batteries.” A rejuvenated Che orders one of the communication staff.

  “Sir?”

  “If we hope to buy time for a relief fleet, it is best we use them as the first line of defense.”

  The truth of the matter is, the anti-ship systems will be the first to be destroyed, there’s no question about it. It’s better to use them when they have the chance because Che’s options will dwindle to nothing when they are disabled.

  In the past, a pirate haven’s best form of defense was a Side’s anti-ship capabilities. If those were gone, a fate of mutiny or insurgency from the civilians was a pirate’s two choices against a Federation siege.

  From what Che remembered, there were even cases of pirate crews disappearing deeper into a Side, or blending in with refugees.

  But that is all in the past. What separates the pirates of old and Zhui’s mafia regime is consolidation: before Simon’s pirate code there was very little cooperation between pirate captains if at all. Che grumbles as he swigs down the remainder of the bottle. Back in those days, it was a real dog eat dog world; Zhui’s company was squabbling with other pirates and Federation-colonial might.

  Even so, back in those days, if push came to shove, the Dong fleet would always be mobile—there was always another system to fall back to. There would be cheering crowds of sailors celebrating their having escaped Federation grasp to fight another day.

  Che looks out the window as the Pattani aligns with the Baltit’s runaway lights. With a shake of his bottle indicating its emptiness, Che heaves a long exhale and asks for a box of cigars to be delivered to him.

  The delivery was a quick one. Despite his rowdy crew, they can certainly be quick on his orders as it should be.

  In those days… life was simple, all things considered. The Dong family was less frigid to one another. Li’s military prowess was still immature, and Zhuui could sleep like a baby.

  But like with all things in life, the times change. The Orion Arm is becoming less of a place for the likes of pirate life.

  Che takes a long drag from the cigar.

  …But once you grasp the forbidden fruit of piracy, is there such a thing as ever giving it up? Can a pirate ever truly forgo his nature and resettle as a hard-working citizen of the Federation?

  A dark thought brought about by the bitter rum enters his thoughts, could I surrender to the Federation, therefore saving the lives of my men and collaborating with the Federation lapdogs to save face?

  No…

  Che grimaces and perishes the thought. No! Che is in too deep now to even consider that. It would make the sacrifices of the brave few in vain, would it not? When Che’s time comes, could he look his subordinate in the eyes after all that?

  “Captain, I hate to bother you, but…” One of his adjutants’ steps into view.

  “Has someone volunteered for the shuttle mission?” Che asks.

  “Yes, sir—the maintenance crews has also completed stripping off most components of the shuttle as well. They calculate it should reach the capital in Lübeck within hours.”

  “Hours, huh?” Che takes another long drag from his tobacco. “I suppose it can’t be helped to cut down the travel time?” The officer shakes his head, “any more and we are putting the skeleton crew at greater risk than they already are.”

  “Fair enough, where is the volunteer at now?”

  “At the moment he is preparing to leave in the shuttle, but has to put on the astro suit first.”

  “I see…” Che casually blows a swathe of toxic fumes. “I will be down to see him off in a moment. I want to enjoy this cigar a little bit longer.”

  Is Che making the right call?

  Would it be in the fleet’s best interest to withdrawal to Lübeck, after all?

  No, regardless if they win or not. The outcome will only spell death for Che—regardless if the mafia etched out a victory or not…

  But Che has to wonder… what does victory even entail in this case?

  Unlike in the past, the 217 Mafia has nowhere left to hide. There will be no celebration even if by a miracle they managed to win through attrition and force Federation commanders to call off the expedition.

  What’s to stop them from coming back the next year, raring to go? What would the Mafia’s strength look like after this fight?

  There are so many questions swirling in Che’s head that he wonders if he should lay off the alcohol for a while. It certainly is not something to consume when you’re more or less down in the dumps.

  “Maybe I should stick to cigars, after all,” Che mumbles as he squashes the cigar butt into the tray next to him.

  It would be wise to save the thoughts for after the battle.

  “It’s something for Li to worry about, after all.”

SOME THIRTY MINUTES LATER ONE OF THE BALTIT’S NAVAL DOCKYARD

  The dock is rather busy, as it ought to be.  

  There were maintenance vehicles all around, and ships of all sizes at various docking stations. An innumerable amount of people were running around or speeding in utility vehicles to and from destinations.

  The slow escalator that Che rode on allowed him to observe the scene before him. But more importantly enjoy the lovely artificial oxygen, free of deadly fumes, that flowed into his lungs.

  At the foot of the escalator is Darcy along with a company of her men. “Darcy!” Che exclaims with open arms “I am relieved that you can join me in these wonderful times.”

  Darcy ignores his open invitation for a hug and gestures for the utility vehicle behind her. “I’ve heard say you’re sending a messenger to the capital? Mind telling me what that is about?”

  “You don’t have to be so cold, Darcy…”

  Frankly, Che does deserve it with all the barking he did when the Federation showed up uninvited. It’s only natural, is it not?

  With everyone seated or otherwise holding on the side, the cart cruises among the traffic of people.

  “A transmission won’t get through the Federation jamming, so we found it necessary to relay it through a messenger instead.”

  Darcy tilts her head, “relay?” Che nods in confirmation. “If we can at the very least get the information to Simon, he can pass the transmission safely onto the Don at Velksland.”

  “Che, this plan is outrageous. Is there any reason why we can’t just send a ship outside of the range of the Federation jammer systems?” Darcy’s retort is a surprising one, but Che is not deterred by her opposition to it.

  “If we pass off the courier in a shuttle it will not rouse Federation suspicions. Besides…”

  The cart comes to a stop in front of a modestly sized shuttlecraft. Most of it was indeed stripped down to the bare minimum needed for space travel—there were only the metal frames and the inner shell of the shuttle still left. That is if you can still call this a shuttle.

  “It so happens we don’t have long-range communication systems on most ships—and even if we did it will take time to install it on the shuttle, no? Time that we don’t have, mind you.”

  “So why not send satellites to relay it instead?”

  Che turns to face her—a look of genuine perplex across her face. Did Che jinx himself when he said Darcy is a good subordinate that knows when to shut up? In the annals of the Anno Domini, there was some medieval famous saying regarding a lady that dost protest too much.

  “Darcy… do you see a satellite laying around anywhere?”

  Che turns his head to face one direction.

  “Hmmm… I do not see one this way.”

  Che cranes his neck in the opposite direction.

  “I dare say I don’t see a satellite in tow anywhere, hm?”

  Darcy lets out a frustrated sigh, “I think I do get your point, captain, but…”

  Does she still have questions? Darcy…

  “How do you expect the relief to come—assuming the Don makes a good judgment call—in the first place? The Federation will just strike at him from behind, no?”

  Che wonders how many more times he will have to repeat this conversation and refrains the urge to facepalm. It’s almost beginning to feel like he’s experiencing groundhog day. “It’s too much in the realm of speculation…”

  “Captain, you’re going to gamble the lives of your men on whimsical speculation?” Darcy is struggling to maintain her composure, and some of her men look uneasy.

  “It gives the men hope.”

  “Huuh?”

  Che can’t help but crack a smile. “Hope—the basis for a false sense of security. If the fleet believes it will save them from certain doom, then just maybe it will become reality.”

  But Darcy is right, it is more or less a complete gamble. In the olden days, they called it Russan roulette; a foolish game of luck with a chance of death.

  Rather or not a fleet returns to oppose the Federation lies only in the feeble belief of optimism.

  “Do you have any other ideas, Darcy? I’ve been racking my brain all day thinking of a solution to get out of this one.”

  Che can tell Darcy wants to say something, but can’t bring herself to argue; she resigns to her superior’s plan.

  “Good!” Che exclaims with a clap of his hands “Then it is settled then.” He scans the crowd in front of the shuttle for his future savior. “Where is that brave volunteer?”

  The astronaut in question breaks away from some technicians that were finishing last-minute checks on him. He presents himself to Che with an energetic chest salute. “Captain! I am honored to be able to undertake this mission!”

  Che lets loose a sly grin. Amid all his cynical adjutants, it is a good sign that the common thugs are more than eager to leap at the low hanging fruit without hesitation. That’s good. Che is sometimes graceful his rowdy gang is composed of utter fools—but even fools have their usefulness.

  “My child…” Che grabs him by the shoulders and squeezes. “You are the bravest of us all. You will go down in history… as the savior of the pirate republic.” Che peers into longingly the industrious young man’s visor at his reflection. “When this is all over—I will make sure you are awarded riches beyond your wildest dreams.”

  The man, taken in by Che’s words, huffs for air. “J-just doing my part to secure my comrade’s futures is the only award I would die for, captain!”

  Perfect, Che thinks to himself. It is whispering sweet nothings into this lad’s ear. But Che doesn’t feel too guilty about it for it is merely a white lie of some sort. He turns the young man around and gives him a gentle push toward the shuttle escalator. “Then go! Go as fast as the heavens.”

  Che and the ground crew give the shuttle some room for takeoff. And with one last thunderous clap of boots clacking against each other the men and women of the Baltit send off their hopes and dreams with a salute.

  After the shuttle’s departure, the business of the dockyard resumed.

  “The easy part is done,” Che says after a long involuntary exhale. He turns to the critic subordinate from before. “Are the anti-ship batteries up and operational by now?”

  The subordinate nods his head. “Yes, and if you give the order, we can station a few ships as a defense line as well.”

  “I’ll permit it—but don’t over commit too many of our ships. It will only serve as target practice for the Federation and we won’t be able to withstand attrition. But that aside…” Che examines the long corridors leading out of the Baltit. “—We should look at barricading the dockyards, no? The Federation will inevitably launch a surface assault one way or another.” Che clears his throat with anxiety. The migraine from before feels as though it is ready to pounce on his head again.

  “I’ll relay the order. Is there anything else, captain—"

  “Cigars. Lots of cigars.”

  The subordinate scratches his head. “Okay… I take it you will want some rum as well?”

  Che gives a shake of his head. “I’m beginning to find I get too philosophical if I drink. Cigars are a better alternative for me.” Che waves as he moves away from the adjutant, who soon found himself drowned out by the ambiance of the dockyard. “Send the boxes to my quarters!” Che shouts back as he heaves himself on the utility vehicle. “Take me back to the Pattani.”

  Che and his chauffeur ride back in silence. After thanking him, Che begins boarding the Pattani’s escalator. “It’s going to be a long night,” Che mumbles as he looks back one last time at the ever-busy dockyard.

  Che, never being one for religion. Decided to pray.

  Pray that God may have mercy on their souls.