the kinetic and radiant shields were up and full power sent to the defensive turrets, she would win any fight with such a small predator. The blockade runner could dance around the Rusalka for a few minutes, but the big freighter could shrug off the blockade runner’s guns, and it would only take a single hit from one of the defensive turrets to cripple or destroy the runner.
That troop ship, though, presented a more serious threat.
“What are they thinking?” muttered Murdock.
The troop ship wasn’t a big one. That class of ship could hold maybe forty well-armed soldiers, and didn’t have any weapons except a laser cutter mounted to the prow, permitting it to slice through both the inner and the outer hulls of a ship However, the
Rusalka
’s radiant shield would block the laser cutter, and the kinetic shield would keep the troop ship from ever making the contact with the hull required for boarding.
“Pirates?” I said.
“Mmm. Probably,” said Murdock. His scowl deepened. “Dumb ones. They don’t have nearly the firepower for something like us. So I wonder if they’ve got something else up their sleeves.”
“Could they have… you know, like cloaked ships or something?” I said.
Murdock didn’t come right out and say I was an idiot, but his expression said it for him. “I don’t know what kind of crap shows they have on Nowhereville IX or whatever podunk planet you’re from, but there’s no such thing as a cloaking device.” He waved a hand to encompass the entirety of the Rusalka. “This is a giant metal tube with reactors that could level a small continent if they go critical. Hard to make something like that invisible, isn’t it? No, if they’re going to go for an ambush, they’ll have ships hidden behind an asteroid or a comet near our jump point, or something fast sitting behind one of the gas giants where we can’t see it.”
He snapped his fingers and pointed. “Hit that switch, and then that one, and run the macro that comes up on the display. We can listen in.”
I reached over to the panel and followed his directions. A macro entitled “COMM/DUMP MAIN DRIVE” appeared, and I executed it. A sudden hiss filled the computer room, and for one alarmed moment I wondered if I had accidentally turned off the life support or something. Then I realized the speakers in the ceiling were back on, and a few moments later, Mr. Hawkins’s voice filled the room.
“Unidentified vessels,” said Hawkins, his voice cold and formal. “This is Starways Hauling Company freighter
Rusalka
, registry CIF-87334B. Request identification and statement of purpose. Repeat, request identification and statement of purpose.”
The blockade runner and the troop transport did not respond, although both ships continued their approach.
“Unidentified vessels,” said Hawkins, and lines of red text scrolled across one of the displays as the targeting computers went through their calculations. “This is Starways Hauling Company freighter
Rusalka
, registry CIF-87334B. Request identification and statement of purpose.” His neutral voice took on a hard edge “Be advised that our ship’s defenses are now tracking your movements and we will respond to any hostile actions.”
A spike appeared on one of the displays.
“Ah,” said Murdock. “That got their attention. They’re answering.” He tapped a key. “Let’s see what our bogeys have to say for themselves.” A new voice crackled over the speaker.
I shot to my feet, my heart pounding, and both hands clenched into fists.
That voice! I knew that voice, deep and confident with the exotic accent I was sure was feigned. I sometimes had nightmares in which I heard it, followed by blood and fire and explosions.
“No,” I shouted in alarm. “No! I know who that is.”
“Freighter
Rusalka
,” said Alesander Ducarti, Social Party operative, murderer, and interstellar terrorist, “this is the warship
Vanguard
, representing the legitimate government
That troop ship, though, presented a more serious threat.
“What are they thinking?” muttered Murdock.
The troop ship wasn’t a big one. That class of ship could hold maybe forty well-armed soldiers, and didn’t have any weapons except a laser cutter mounted to the prow, permitting it to slice through both the inner and the outer hulls of a ship However, the
Rusalka
’s radiant shield would block the laser cutter, and the kinetic shield would keep the troop ship from ever making the contact with the hull required for boarding.
“Pirates?” I said.
“Mmm. Probably,” said Murdock. His scowl deepened. “Dumb ones. They don’t have nearly the firepower for something like us. So I wonder if they’ve got something else up their sleeves.”
“Could they have… you know, like cloaked ships or something?” I said.
Murdock didn’t come right out and say I was an idiot, but his expression said it for him. “I don’t know what kind of crap shows they have on Nowhereville IX or whatever podunk planet you’re from, but there’s no such thing as a cloaking device.” He waved a hand to encompass the entirety of the Rusalka. “This is a giant metal tube with reactors that could level a small continent if they go critical. Hard to make something like that invisible, isn’t it? No, if they’re going to go for an ambush, they’ll have ships hidden behind an asteroid or a comet near our jump point, or something fast sitting behind one of the gas giants where we can’t see it.”
He snapped his fingers and pointed. “Hit that switch, and then that one, and run the macro that comes up on the display. We can listen in.”
I reached over to the panel and followed his directions. A macro entitled “COMM/DUMP MAIN DRIVE” appeared, and I executed it. A sudden hiss filled the computer room, and for one alarmed moment I wondered if I had accidentally turned off the life support or something. Then I realized the speakers in the ceiling were back on, and a few moments later, Mr. Hawkins’s voice filled the room.
“Unidentified vessels,” said Hawkins, his voice cold and formal. “This is Starways Hauling Company freighter
Rusalka
, registry CIF-87334B. Request identification and statement of purpose. Repeat, request identification and statement of purpose.”
The blockade runner and the troop transport did not respond, although both ships continued their approach.
“Unidentified vessels,” said Hawkins, and lines of red text scrolled across one of the displays as the targeting computers went through their calculations. “This is Starways Hauling Company freighter
Rusalka
, registry CIF-87334B. Request identification and statement of purpose.” His neutral voice took on a hard edge “Be advised that our ship’s defenses are now tracking your movements and we will respond to any hostile actions.”
A spike appeared on one of the displays.
“Ah,” said Murdock. “That got their attention. They’re answering.” He tapped a key. “Let’s see what our bogeys have to say for themselves.” A new voice crackled over the speaker.
I shot to my feet, my heart pounding, and both hands clenched into fists.
That voice! I knew that voice, deep and confident with the exotic accent I was sure was feigned. I sometimes had nightmares in which I heard it, followed by blood and fire and explosions.
“No,” I shouted in alarm. “No! I know who that is.”
“Freighter
Rusalka
,” said Alesander Ducarti, Social Party operative, murderer, and interstellar terrorist, “this is the warship
Vanguard
, representing the legitimate government
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