millions of kilometers away – almost exactly one light year, in fact.
Right now, the mirror was open onto the co-ordinates Captain Seule had given her for Darkport as her borrowed flotilla prepared for its jump.
A small holograph tank was set up against the only empty wall, showing a three dimensional image of the region the mirror was pulling radiation from. A dedicated computer core collated the data from the sensor array to produce an accurate image of a region of space a full light year away.
Darkport had clearly had better days. Even her unpracticed eye picked out the scars of recent explosions on the asteroid’s surface, and new debris fields scattered around the rock.
“Lady Hand,” Admiral Medici’s voice interrupted from her wrist PC. “The flotilla is preparing to jump. Would you care to join me on the flag bridge?”
The Tides of Justice had been built as a squadron command ship by the Navy – the additional communication and administrative equipment was part of why Alaura had ‘borrowed’ it – and had a small Flag Bridge. Medici, in the interests of not aggravating Castello’s ex-Flag Captain, had decided to use the Tides as his flagship.
She regarded the hologram for a moment. The situation was very different from what they expected, but not in a way that qualified as a threat. Certainly not enough of a threat to justify revealing the existence of the Star Mirror.
“I will be up momentarily, Admiral,” she told him calmly.
#
When the Tides of Justice erupted into Darkport’s otherwise empty system, the Seventh Cruiser Squadron was already there. Medici had sent the Rising Sun of Gallantry and its sister ships ahead to sweep for threats. Their sensor data began to feed into the Tides tactical computers as soon as the ship had stabilized from the jump spell, and a complete image of the system took form in front of the Hand and the Admiral.
“It looks like we’re a little late,” Medici observed as the battered state of Darkport came into view. “Though the radiation makes finding them easier.”
“We’re reading no ships in the system,” Lieutenant Harmon reported. Alaura’s aide had taken over the console on the flag bridge set up for a squadron tactical officer. Medici’s squadron tactical officer had been shuffled to a backup console, but they’d somehow fit everyone into the tiny room.
“It looks like some of the surface weapons platforms are still operational,” Harmon continued. “It’s hard to say how many there were, they’ve taken one hell of a pasting. CIC is estimating at least sixteen separate detonations.”
“Order the flotilla to advance on the station,” Medici ordered. “We’ll keep the cruisers forward – even if someone decides to be damned stupid, it doesn’t look like Darkport has enough launchers left to threaten a full cruiser squadron.”
Alaura activated a communication channel of her own, to one of the three Marine Assault Transports following at the rear of their formation.
“Brigadier Raphael,” she greeted the man whose image appeared promptly on her screen. Brigadier Michael Raphael was a bronze-skinned man with a shaven head, his skin color a sharp contrast with the stark white default mode of his battle exo-suit’s camouflage plating. “Status of your brigade?”
“Marines clean up after slavers, ma’am,” Raphael said bluntly. “I have twenty-four hundred boys and girls just itching to clean up the scum more directly.”
“It looks like you’ll get the chance,” she told him. “Azure appears to have beaten us here, so we’ll need to secure the station and establish if they have any information on where he or the Blue Jay left to. We’ll need them alive, Brigadier,” she warned cautiously.
Raphael nodded sharply.
“We know the rules of engagement, Lady Hand,” he promised. “Once we’re in, this is a police operation. Getting in though…”
“Lady Stealey,” Harmon interrupted. “We’re being
Right now, the mirror was open onto the co-ordinates Captain Seule had given her for Darkport as her borrowed flotilla prepared for its jump.
A small holograph tank was set up against the only empty wall, showing a three dimensional image of the region the mirror was pulling radiation from. A dedicated computer core collated the data from the sensor array to produce an accurate image of a region of space a full light year away.
Darkport had clearly had better days. Even her unpracticed eye picked out the scars of recent explosions on the asteroid’s surface, and new debris fields scattered around the rock.
“Lady Hand,” Admiral Medici’s voice interrupted from her wrist PC. “The flotilla is preparing to jump. Would you care to join me on the flag bridge?”
The Tides of Justice had been built as a squadron command ship by the Navy – the additional communication and administrative equipment was part of why Alaura had ‘borrowed’ it – and had a small Flag Bridge. Medici, in the interests of not aggravating Castello’s ex-Flag Captain, had decided to use the Tides as his flagship.
She regarded the hologram for a moment. The situation was very different from what they expected, but not in a way that qualified as a threat. Certainly not enough of a threat to justify revealing the existence of the Star Mirror.
“I will be up momentarily, Admiral,” she told him calmly.
#
When the Tides of Justice erupted into Darkport’s otherwise empty system, the Seventh Cruiser Squadron was already there. Medici had sent the Rising Sun of Gallantry and its sister ships ahead to sweep for threats. Their sensor data began to feed into the Tides tactical computers as soon as the ship had stabilized from the jump spell, and a complete image of the system took form in front of the Hand and the Admiral.
“It looks like we’re a little late,” Medici observed as the battered state of Darkport came into view. “Though the radiation makes finding them easier.”
“We’re reading no ships in the system,” Lieutenant Harmon reported. Alaura’s aide had taken over the console on the flag bridge set up for a squadron tactical officer. Medici’s squadron tactical officer had been shuffled to a backup console, but they’d somehow fit everyone into the tiny room.
“It looks like some of the surface weapons platforms are still operational,” Harmon continued. “It’s hard to say how many there were, they’ve taken one hell of a pasting. CIC is estimating at least sixteen separate detonations.”
“Order the flotilla to advance on the station,” Medici ordered. “We’ll keep the cruisers forward – even if someone decides to be damned stupid, it doesn’t look like Darkport has enough launchers left to threaten a full cruiser squadron.”
Alaura activated a communication channel of her own, to one of the three Marine Assault Transports following at the rear of their formation.
“Brigadier Raphael,” she greeted the man whose image appeared promptly on her screen. Brigadier Michael Raphael was a bronze-skinned man with a shaven head, his skin color a sharp contrast with the stark white default mode of his battle exo-suit’s camouflage plating. “Status of your brigade?”
“Marines clean up after slavers, ma’am,” Raphael said bluntly. “I have twenty-four hundred boys and girls just itching to clean up the scum more directly.”
“It looks like you’ll get the chance,” she told him. “Azure appears to have beaten us here, so we’ll need to secure the station and establish if they have any information on where he or the Blue Jay left to. We’ll need them alive, Brigadier,” she warned cautiously.
Raphael nodded sharply.
“We know the rules of engagement, Lady Hand,” he promised. “Once we’re in, this is a police operation. Getting in though…”
“Lady Stealey,” Harmon interrupted. “We’re being
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