CHAPTER 3 - CONFRONTATION

A short-range, focused scan of the approaching ship revealed it to be some kind of cargo barge, much larger than the Pheidippides. It appeared to be unarmed, but no civilian would approach a Navy vessel head-on while accelerating, so the bridge crew was very distrustful of this barge. Its speed was markedly lesser than the nimble scout, but since it had apparently just exited warp on an intersecting trajectory, escaping wouldn't have been easy. It bore some faded markings of the Merchant Marine. A transponder identified it as the TFCSV Feather of Gallium, but it certainly did not act like a humble freighter. Jamaad mumbled something to Patch through his datapad, and the ship turned slightly, causing everyone to lean to the side, then accelerated harder, initiating a minor evasive maneuver.

"I'm not sure if this is an actual hostile…" Rachel said.

"Yes, still better safe than sorry," Jamaad said. "They don't appear to have any guns so it might be a confused civvie. Kuw, find out what's up."

Before Kuw could navigate the interface to open comms, still not too used to the UI, the other vessel did so.

A man's gruff face, with angular features, a stubble, and a well-worn service cap, appeared on the monitor. The lights flickered sometimes, and some screens in the background flashed red.

"Greetings!" He said. "This is Captain David Antoneas speaking! It's a rare sight to see a Navy vessel here. Traveling alone, at that… Anyways, here's the issue. We have suffered a microasteroid impact to one of our prop tanks around Frontier's End, and before we could repair it, almost all of the propellant was spaced, alongside other kinds of damage. Would you be so kind as to allow us a refuel? We might not make it to the next outpost quickly enough to meet the deadline for this delivery otherwise."

Kuw gestured to Jamaad. The captain nodded, indicating that he trusts the relmai's judgment.

"This is Comms Officer Kuwkuobue Liukwelbea-bu. I apologize, but we are on an important mission," she said. "And we can't spare the prop."

"Acknowledged," Antoneas then shut off the feed. There seemed to be a noticeable lag in the conversation.

"Right," Jamaad said as he looked up at the ceiling, "Something feels a bit off about this guy. We're keeping up the evasion until he passes us."

The heated situation in the CIC seemed to cool off somewhat, and the officers were quiet. Everyone was drowsy, but they understood that staying awake for an extra hour or two was a worthy tradeoff for the safety of the mission. At least, the ship's powerful engines and specially-calibrated Ugolnikov drive meant that time spent skimming in most systems would be short, assuming no detours would have to be made.

Thirty minutes had passed. Suddenly, as the ships were about to approach and pass each other, a cover on one side of the Feather flipped open, revealing an entire battery of five particle guns.

The comms opened again. "Alright, let's play a different game then. You must be carrying something important if you're going so fast in the middle of nowhere. Hand over the cargo, or else!"

The 'barge' began aiming its many cannons at the Pheidippides.

Jamaad sighed and facepalmed. "I had a feeling this was gonna happen…"

"Make us if you can," Kuw said in a sing-song tone and giggled.

"Well then, maybe I'll get a hold of those shiny engines of yours."

Artur spun around in his heavy-duty seat, reinforced with a metal lattice, and hollered "Eat shit!"

The pirate silently closed comms. Jamaad just as silently turned on the ECM systems, thus making tracking the ship's exact trajectory difficult, alongside the micro-point-defense lasers. Just in case.

"Fly us closer, I wanna shoot him!" The Canid shouted.

Jamaad shook his head. "No. If we take them head-on we're likely to get destroyed or at least heavily damaged. We still have a bit of time to formulate a plan. Just running away will expose us to fire and might get us targeted again in the future so that's not a good option. Rachel, what are their guns like?"

The catgirl squinted, shrugged, and sent the data to Artur.

The Canid immediately started rattling off after the image appeared on his screen. "They're all different particle guns: there's a Zaptech SL-03, a Mars Weaponyards 23-S, a Yellowhound 'Reliable', a CDRRC 3-5 'Hi-Power', and a Muelausu 'Bukwoata'. That last one is of relmai make for some reason."

Elektra, who was silent before, replied "But how can it be on a human ship?"

"The Alliance standardized the power supplies and shit decades ago so they're interchangeable. Probably got it off the black market. Anyways, all of these guns have a higher effective range than our Neoblasts so we might need to be tricky, yeah."

Jamaad sat, in thought, for a few minutes. Nobody interrupted the captain.

"How are their engines?" He finally said.

"Engines? Just the one big engine," Rachel said. "And I actually know engine stuff a bit and this dinky one is made for a barge, not a makeshift warship armed to the teeth."

"So they'll turn slowly," the captain then mumbled another order into the datapad.

Patch, somewhere below, pulled a lever and pressed a few buttons while intoning "Engineers, prepare the vessel for a hard turn. Lieutenant Dansira, take over command of engineering deck. Our captain is ordering me to go to the command deck."

Patch clambered up the ladder, sprinted into the room, and placed itself onto the engineering console, which also had controls for the ship. The captain nodded.

A few seconds passed, and the Pheidippides turned like a truck on a thick coating of black ice, continuing to move 'sideways' in a hook-like trajectory. Those crewmembers outside of the command deck, who were not seated, were knocked to their feet, while those who were nearly fell out of their chairs. The Feather, meanwhile, rotated like a hand on a clock… precisely, but very slowly.

"Hard acceleration ahead! Brace! Now!" Jamaad yelled into the intercom.

A few seconds after, another order was made, and Patch pushed the scout's engines into combat mode with the help of the crew of engineers below. The all-pervading hum became a near-deafening roar as the acceleration became almost crushing.

Kuw clutched her head as she was pressed into the seat. Meanwhile, the sensor monitor to her side showed that the Pheidippides was approaching the pirate ship from the direction of the large blind spot.

Five more minutes had passed. Artur's paw-like hands gripped the levers of the weapons control systems, waiting for the "effective range" sphere to intersect the moving V on the white-on-red wireframe of the monitor. And then, a different but smaller and much faster-moving icon separated from that V. And another. And another. And another…

"They fired a missile!" Rachel said. "Four missiles! Five!" She then sent information about the missiles to every station in the CIC.

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Jamaad was rather unfazed, and simply announced "We are continuing evasion!"

He then turned to his side, rather than his datapad as before. "Patch, set the engines to full throttle. Following that, engage complex evasion!"

As he did so, he used the seat-interface to key in something.

…

The roar grew even louder as the acceleration became truly hard to bear. Unlike in an aircraft, it did not force people backwards. Instead, it pressed down on them like an avalanche. This same effect that made it possible to walk instead of floating now made it hard to even breathe. Everyone was careful to lean back, so as to not get bent forwards and knocked out of the seats by the extreme gravity.

The pressure did not ease up. Instead, to it were added sideways dashes and even twirls. These movements were interspersed by the screeching sound of point defense lasers going off. Most of these screeches did not have any result, the beams simply careening into the void, to diffract into nonexistence. But every once in a while, one of the icons representing a missile winked out of existence. Still, more were being launched, in batches of two or three.

It was almost impossible to avoid this cascade of missiles, but the ship still had to press on, for it was the only way to get in range. The Pheidippides swerved and strafed as it drew closer and closer towards the blind spot.

"Those are some shitty missiles," Artur said as he watched another V swing wide and disappear.

"That's why I'm not too worried," Jamaad replied, "According to Rachel's data these are both small and weak. Pirates can't hide or acquire actually good missiles, or, for that matter, the fucking launchers for 'em."

Kuw chimed in, having gotten used to the extreme acceleration. "Why don't we have any of our own?"

"Admiralty," Jamaad tersely responded. "Mass, they say. Not meant to get into combat, they say. Bunch of idiots. Or just out of touch, really."

Elektra, meanwhile, was just huddled into her seat, rather scared.

The missiles kept coming, making up for their poor quality with sheer numbers. They split into two swarms, flanking the scout ship as it approached the blind spot.

"Is this some kind of trap?" Elektra said.

"It likely is. Scrap active evasion! Straight ahead!" The captain shouted.

The swerving stopped as the vessel simply rushed forwards. The missiles seemed to have run out, and the only ones left were already in flight: two swarms that criss-crossed behind the scout, with some missiles simply being vaporized by its immensely strong exhaust.

It wasn't long before there was a loud ping from Artur's console, indicating that target locking was now possible. The Canid did not hesitate to focus the targeting reticle on the enemy. All the various buttons on the weapons console were then used to unleash an unrelenting barrage of invisible beams, composed of dense clumps of deadly particles.

At the same time, Patch slowed the ship down ever-so-slightly, thanks to the necessity of throttling the engines to avoid overheating the already red-hot radiators. The swarms of missiles combined into one and began chasing the scout.

None of the blasts from the first volley had connected. Instead, shortly after it ended, an explosion rocked the hull of the ship. The lights flickered.

"What the fuck happened?!" Rachel whimpered.

"Looks like the aft rad tip got nicked by a missile. Sucks but not fatal. Patch, decrease throttle! Lock down section 6 of the aft radiator! Turn thirty degrees port!" Jamaad responded, and the ship rotated, covering for an apparent point-defense blind spot.

Artur, once the guns had cooled off, continued to blast away as the ship blazed towards its attacker-turned-prey. Twin comet tails, one a trail of exhaust from the torch drive and the other a coolant leak from the pierced radiator, trailed behind it in a wide arc as it finished its rotation.

Alas, it appeared that the robot had miscalculated the maneuver a bit, drifting ever-so-slightly out of the blind spot. Another explosion followed, this time a more intense one, with an indescribably different 'texture'. Fortunately, the ship was knocked sideways, well into the safe zone.

"Fore rad has a huge hole in it!" Jamaad said. "We can't slow down anymore, so hold tight!"

And indeed they couldn't, or the swarm of missiles would have caught up to the ship, likely destroying it. Elektra frantically scrolled through the medical records to see if anyone was injured by the sudden shaking or the acceleration. Some bruises here and there on the softer crewmembers.

At least, everyone took solace in the fact that the radiators were some of the largest parts of the Pheidippides, and by far the most attractive to heat-seeking missiles. In this, they essentially served as decoys.

During all this, Rachel was constantly sending data updates and shouting her own assessment of the situation. It was all rather garbled, except for her last shout. "Looks like an ECM fuck-up on their part. Artur, go go go!"

A series of trigger clicks. A burst of energy on the short-range scanner. A maniacal howl.

The Feather had three pairs of gaping holes in its hull, ranging from the propellant tanks to the cargo bay to even one hole in the habitat. Its engine kept sputtering, the exhaust only partially clearing away a cloud of debris. What remained of the maneuver thrusters floated nearby, rendering the ship essentially un-turnable. Of course, this was all still out of direct visual range.

It was all over now. Mostly. The swarm of missiles did not give up its mad chase.

"Kuw! Call that motherfucker. I wanna talk to him."

Both the comms officer and, perhaps surprisingly, the captain nodded. Perhaps here someone less sweet than a relmai would be appropriate.

Artur only had slight issues walking under the acceleration, which, granted, was not at its peak. The Canid thus stood up, taking out from his holster a black, blocky handgun– or, considering its size, a handcannon– and outright sprinted towards the comms monitor, pushing Kuw out of the way.

Antoneas looked absolutely terrified as Artur leaned right into the screen. The captain's eyes darted around as explosions and screams resonated through the hull of the pirate ship, and the lights kept flickering. His breathing was extremely rapid and nervous.

"I–"

"Listen here pizdjuk. Your ship is fucked. I have one simple demand for you," Artur snarled and pointed the barrel of the handgun at the camera, "If you do not immediately blow up, or cut the engines, whatever the fuck, of these piddly missiles you launched… I will personally go eva, board your ship, find you and your dipshit buddies, break all of your arms and legs into mush, and tie you all into a screaming, pleading knot. Then, I will reach far down your throat with these claws of titanium, and rip out your–"

"Okay okay I will, please don't kill us!"

The blips on the sensor monitor disappeared.

Artur grinned. "I lied. I have one more demand. Hand over all of your umecs. All of your fucking umecs. We don't have the space for the cargo or I'd ask you for that too. Hand over your crew's money too."

Elektra just put her hands over her mouth as she listened, but did not voice any concerns. Jamaad also did not respond, instead simply looking away. Only the doctor would have seen that he was chuckling. The other three just watched in silence.

"But–" Antoneas began to protest.

"But? You're at our mercy, remember? What are you gonna do to stop us? Shoot us with your missiles that you have spent? Zap us with your beams that are now drier than Luna? Complain to the law, who won't believe you or help you? What are you gonna fucking do? What, ujebok? Hand over the umecs. Otherwise, I think my uniform could do with a few bone decorations. Maybe a skull. Anyways, here's the instant transfer code. If I don't see the money here within five minutes, you're fucked," Artur then rattled off some numbers and letters. "I hope you wrote that down fast," he smirked.

Tears of fear began to show on the pirate's face. "I will, just please let us live!"

Artur checked his datapad. "Alright, thanks, maybe I can retire now," he laughed. "Oh and how about one more, ever-so-special little favor? We're going to approach you and take juuust a few sections from your radiators to replace what you fucked up. This isn't an offer, we're going to do it no matter what you say."

He looked back towards Jamaad, seemingly questioning if he had gone too far. The captain gave a thumbs up. "I don't want to have to go back to Flamerider for repairs. Waste of time and prop, considering we will definitely run into red tape. They're just pirates anyways. Our mission matters more than their stolen money and stolen parts."

Antoneas clearly had nothing to say, but he was too terrified to close the comms himself. Instead, Artur showed the camera an obscene gesture markedly different from what the others were used to, then silently logged off. He turned to see Kuw staring at him wide-eyed. Aside from the ever-decreasing roar of the engines, there were no sounds in the CIC for what felt like half of an eternity.

Elektra sat cross-armed and thought to herself. "A barbarian. A bona-fide barbarian, straight from the Iron Age. 'I have bigger muscles and a sharper sword than you, thus I can do what I please'. And Jamaad enables him…"

It was only seven minutes into the rendezvous trip that a wave of realization washed over everyone. A battle was won, no matter the rather crude aftermath. Perhaps this mission would turn out well.