The day after Pyre’s Wake, Grimoire’s Hangar
The mechanic was putting his tools away after maintaining one of Grimoire's school bus-sized shuttles. The shuttle was dwarfed by the untouched Protroma. The pilot had made it exceedingly clear that no one was to work on, set foot on, or plug anything into the ship. He said he would maintain it himself, and indeed, he came by frequently enough, but the ship still seemed neglected to the mechanic. The Prontroma was technically a bulk engine that had been unpopular before humans arrived in the galactic stage for its unorthodox design. 400 years of tradition, innovations, and progress saw the birth of the latest line of HDF Prontroma, built around the namesake engine. The ship looked sleek even without any curved edges, every surface angled flat sections that together gave an overall impression of a cylinder with a sharp wedge-looking front. The back showed the Prontroma engines' signature exhaust points sticking in 4 directions, one straight back as normal, but 3 equally powerful engine ports facing forward, slightly arranged in a triangle. It must be hell on the body to turn in that thing. A work of human engineering deserves respect. The parts of the sandblasted hull left the metal bare in spots and made the poor ship look like a wounded animal. Pilot be damned, the mechanic was going to harass Canine a third time to at least let him repaint the poor ship.
The day after Pyre’s Wake, Sara’s bedroom, Sara
Sara was barely awake, getting ready for her shift. Her the previous night sleeping in Nick's arms as he pitter-pattered around her room, still dominating her brain. His mentioning of having done something similar when he was taking care of children only made her feel more complicated. On one hand, it was a feasible excuse why he hadn't thought twice when she fell asleep drunk at her door. The fact that Sara and Nick had grown up together from infants and his subsequent family status helped. At the same time, Sara felt frustrated that he had blown it off as something he did for literal children, as if she were his kid sister. The thought of Selena and her other friends and coworkers still on Grimoire, asking her about Nick. She always mentioned he was basically family, but when people said things like a brother, or uncle, or what kinda family. She always responds with some kinda of family, rejecting the brother comparison. She knew Nick had a similar line of dialogue when he was younger.
“It's normal, I guess, since he's family.” Sara lied to herself.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft but high-pitched alarm accompanied by alert level 2, alert level 2, all hands to stations. Sara groaned, thinking at first it was another drill until the Captain came on for announcement.
“This is not a drill. Pirate activity detected 5 light minutes ahead. Civilian trade ship fired upon. We should be able to avoid them, but all hands report to assigned stations. This is not a drill report to duty stations.” The intercom clicked off. Sara looked at her communication device as she strapped it onto her forearm. It indicated she was wanted on the bridge rather than in maintenance for damage control.
She ran through the bustling halls towards the center of the ship. Under gravity, Grimoire was more like an old skyscraper with the decks layered opposite to old ships of far-gone Earth. Near the ship's center was a long spine that could rotate up to facilitate a better view for the bridge. It was retracted as they traveled. Last she checked, they were nearing .1c. Sara rode the elevator to the bridge and paused as she noticed Jacket Klem sitting in an observer seat behind Captain Abrams.
Sara took over for her sensor operator counterpart. They left the bridge to whatever they were assigned to. This was a weird way to get confirmation that she was going to be moved up to first watch. Sara tried to make sense of the sensors, but thankfully, Captain Abrams began briefing the completed first watch bridge crew.
“Unidentified ship fired upon merchant vessel. The merchant ship is registered as Long Walks. We should pass the conflict with plenty of space, but better safe than sorry.” Captain Abrams said. The tension in the air loosened at the announcement that they would pass far from the threat.
“Sir, CIC reports no known matches for the unidentified ship,” Selena at operations reported. Sara was busy studying the different sensor returns and familiarizing herself with the nearby area. Nearby relative to the vastness of space. The unknown ship was 10 light minutes away and slowly gaining on Long Walks, which was about 7 light minutes from Grimoire. It was a slow chase, but in a few hours, the pirate ship would overtake Long Walks. There weren't any system authority ships, Jacket patrols, or anyone that could be of any help to the poor freighter. It would take days for anyone to reach them. The few ships nearby were traveling the same space lane, some were close as 15 light minutes, and the farthest in the vicinity was 48 light minutes away. There really was no hope for Long Walks. Grimoire was going to get a front row seat, and nothing they could do. Even if Grimoire was armed, it was strictly illegal to have any kind of combat ship-to-ship, so much so that it was considered a war crime. That includes rendering aid. Long Walks could defend themselves if they had a means to. But most ships, even non-human ones, didn't have much in the way of weapons. It wasn't necessarily an over-reliance on system authority and law enforcement ships. More suffocating mountain of rules and legalese that made it difficult to do anything otherwise.
“Captain, the hangar doors are opening.” Selena gasped.
“What, why? Override it.” Captain Abram said.
“They're trying, but there's some kind of override,” Selena said.
“Captain, a ship has just launched. I think it is accelerating to go ahead of us.” Sara said. Her eyes stared at her displays. “It's a Prontroma. Maybe they're flying escort just to be safe?” Sara said.
“They shouldn't launch recklessly. Everyone else's Prontroma is docked to the hull of the ship. That must be Canines.” The captain said with a look of contempt on his face and a hint of anger breaking through his usually calm demeanor. Sara was still monitoring her station, running course estimates on Canines Prontroma.
“Captain, uh, I don't think he's staying with Grimoire,” Sara said. The captain pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
“Open a channel with that Prontroma.” Captain Abrams said. A video of Canine pressed into his seat by the 5 gravity acceleration.
“Is Jacket Klem there too?” Canine said before anyone could say anything.
“Flight officer, what are you doing forcing my ship open without authorization?”
“I'm exercising amendment 33.8, going to help those merchants.” Canine said. Jacket Klem squacked, like actually squacked with anger.
“You what? That hasn't even been presented to the Ring world governments! It's probably not even a quarter the way there.”
“No, but it's already been catching on. The merchant guild already said they would support it.” Canine said.
“Both of you, what the hell is going on?” The captain swore. The bridge was silent except for the ambient sounds of beeps and life support. Klem cleared his throat.
“Recently, in the past 6 months, there has been increased political maneuvering to add an amendment to section 33 regarding piracy response. It allows other ships to engage pirates to aid other ships under fire.” Klem tapped at his comm and swiped his hand. “This is the actual proposal. The transport we arrived on actually has the envoy to ring the world governments. Canine, this isn't sanctioned until it passes, you can't do this!” Klem said.
“I can if you sanction it,” Canine replied. The bridge went silent again, all eyes on Klem. He looked angrily contemplative. “It's why mavericks exist, to be scapegoats if things go wrong.”
“Not for me! You're asking me to stick my neck out with you! Although… both our necks are already way out there.” Klem said.
“I didn't authorize your launch. Mavericks aren’t exempt from obeying orders.” Captain Abrams said with a sigh. The situation was rapidly getting out of his hands.
“No disrespect, Captain, but in our first meeting and following ones, you made it clear you and Grimoire were not an HDF vessel. And I still have standing orders.” Canine said. Even if he knew he was stretching the letter of the orders.
“What are your intentions if I say no?” Klem asked.
“You know what pirate ship that is. I’m going to destroy them.” Canine said simply as if he were ordering a drink.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“No, we don't know what ship that is! There's no record of it in our systems. That's it, Jacket Klem in the ready room, transfer the link to Maverick Canine there as well. Jean, you have the bridge.” The Captain yelled. The older woman nodded and took the captain's chair as he stormed out.
Minutes passed in silence. Sara focused on her sensors, trying to pay attention to the big picture instead of hype focusing on the Prontroma, or the swirling revelations about Nick. They called him a maverick instead of a flight officer. There hadn't been a new maverick since before she was born, but she knew of it from her proximity to the academy because of Nick. The legend of how the Flight Defense branch started was when a mix of Marines, Navy, and civilian mariners strapped missiles and control interfaces to cheap engines. Breaking multiple laws and initial treaties when they rode their jury-rigged ships to intercept missiles and ordnance from pirates. Any flight officer would argue it wasn't a legend. Their 400 years of tradition started with a bunch of space cowboys riding externally on rockets with no interior or flight computers. Just modified space suits, a manual control interface, and war crimes. Willing to suffer imprisonment rather than see another ship die with a noticeable percentage of surviving human life
Mavericks nowadays were an open secret that HDF used to skirt legal issues when it was appropriate. Despite stereotypes that humans were still villainous war mongers and subjects of bedtime stories as the boogeyman of the galaxy, appropriate only ever applied to the defense of humanity. Mavericks weren't scapegoats to do crimes, they were the product of doing their job, and HDF having their backs. Still, it was equivalent to being disavowed and unaffiliated with not just HDF, but all the Fleets of Humanity. The last set of Mavericks disappeared into obscurity, presumably taken care of but out of sight.
Nick had just broken at least 2 fleet regulations, and if he did anything even close to that ship, he would be breaking galactic laws. If he fired on, let alone destroyed that ship, he would be committing multiple war crimes. For humans, it wasn't hard to commit war crimes. Galactic war crimes were comparable to far-gone Earth laws like stand your ground, or castle doctrine, in that those laws didn't exist except to prohibit such actions, and with higher punishment. And Nick was already Mavericked before he even arrived on Grimoire. What was Nick involved in?
His Prontroma was pushing 5 gravities of acceleration, and he was feeling that gravity every second, punishing his body, but for flight officers, their implants, and training, 5 gravity was child's play to them. Most could push themselves for hours over 15 gravities, some even over 20. A pang of memory when Nick had fallen asleep in her arms a few more times, like at the hospital. Crying his eyes out for weeks after he found out that his progress in recovering his skills was cut off at the knees by the realization that his ability to withstand G forces was hindered by the surgery. It didn't seem possible that he could do anything by himself against a large ship like the pirates. Her eyes widened at the sensors' highlighted readings.
“Prontroma just accelerated to 10 gravities. The updated course brings him still near the pirate vessel.” Sara said. Jean opened her mouth to respond, but was relieved by the captain, who was already back on the bridge.
“Navigation, give me some course estimates to take us farther away from that combat zone but within one and a half light minutes of Long Walks. Operations get cable to launch his wing for escort. Then increase our exclusion zone to 10,000 km. Sensors start hitting that pirate with active sensor pulses and feed data to Maverick Canine. Get a returned data feed set up. We're supposed to be receiving data packets from him soon. Jean, bring the ship up to alert 1 and coordinate for possible search and rescue and bringing refugees aboard.” Captain Abrams said with the cool business-as-usual attitude everyone was used to. The bridge felt electric with activity, and Sara felt her hair standing on end from her goosebumps. She was already receiving data packets and started sending them to the captain's chair, not sure what else to do with them. She had already started sending a wide active sensors towards the ships, but wouldn't see anything return for at least 10 minutes. That's if her sensor blanket didn't miss the estimated area the pirate would be in 5 minutes.
A claxon sounded before the automated voice warned of a course change and to have everything stored and halt activities. It repeated 30 seconds before the burn. The sensation of weightlessness as the ship turned off its thrusters while slowly turning, and then the thruster lit off, just felt like returning to normal, like it was when she walked on the bridge today. Grimoire's course was altered drastically, however, turning the short-term relatively straight course into a curve that would skirt around the pirate ship, but at certain points closer to Long Walks than originally.
“In conference, your captain and I have spoken and brought each other up to speed as much as possible for right now. I will have to ask for extreme discretion, and that anything that has happened on this bridge today and will transpire is kept quiet. If all are agreed, I can swear everyone present in and explain fully after this is over.” Jacket Klem said. Hesitant nods, others, including Sara, silently looked to the Captain.
“This includes fleet secrets, apparently some I've already read in on, but it does require absolute discretion. Say aye if you agree, or quietly exit the bridge.” Captain Abrams said. The room was still, the silence broken by Jean's aye, then Sara and everyone else rapidly agreed their consent with exclamations.
“My Gratitude to Grimoire. If it pleases the captain, I have a message I need recorded for both the Pirate and Long Walks.”
Canine had accelerated at 10 gravities for his initial approach. He was still breathing hard from the exertion. He was catching up and was going to need to start his braking maneuver soon. He had seen Grimoire's transmission but neglected to listen while he was too busy using his training to get through the intense gravity. His conversation with the captain and Klem with all he needed to know about the contents of the message. Whatever formal way Jacket Klem went about forcing an arrest and simultaneously covering Canine's ass from legal repercussions was necessary, and too confusing for Canine to follow, even if he did listen. At that moment, another message appeared on his heads-up-display.
“I'm cashing half my IOU for a large bottle of whisky, and a whole lunch with endless snacks afterwards. You'll pay the other half off when you tell me everything.” Signed Sara Michalson.
Canine sighed. It was an easy request. Although he still couldn't tell her anything without clearance, he fully planned to tell her after his court-martial at the rendezvous. Today's shenanigans were going to complicate things further for him. He had been going crazy for the past couple of months, not being able to talk to anybody, his nightmares getting worse, and the slow death of doing nothing while waiting for the next important thing to happen. His body was sore and aching from the 10 g, but from the moment he stepped onto his ship and was doing something, actually doing something, he felt better than he had in a long time. This was where he belonged. This was his element. And he was damn good at it.
“Attention, pirate vessel. It Was Like That When I Got Here. I don't care if I translated that right or you've changed the name from the last time, but all aboard, stand too, and prepare to be judged. Three minutes from receiving this, all engines and power should be off and a message of surrender sent.” Canine sent the message. A minute passed, and although the first message hadn't had enough time to be received yet, he contemplated sending a second one. The agreement he reached with Jacket Klem was very clear. No collateral, if anybody died on the pirate ship, Klem would personally take him in for murder. It was a steep ask, but considering the alternatives without Jackets' help, it was worth following. But the pirates didn't have to know that.
“Attention, It Was Like That When I Got Here. This is Canine Jerik of The Den, just want to make it very clear. You are better off taken in by the system authorities or the Jacket on Grimoire. It would be easy for the syndicate ghost queen to get an update on her stolen property. Or maybe the mercenary hunters might get around to cleaning up the leftover rebel shit stains you called yourselves. Whatever happens today, I'll make sure there's something left for them to find.” Canine said. He leaned back on his chair and began another 10g burn. Rapidly approaching combat range.
Sara felt dizzy. Grimoire received the second message Nick sent a few minutes before it would reach the pirate vessel. It Was Like That When I Got Here. She assumed it was a translation from a different language, but the name wasn't what was concerning her. The way Nick had worded his last message didn't sound like the boy she grew up with. She felt a chill run down her back when he indicated his home ship he affiliated with, was The Den, the ship that was catastrophically destroyed by rebels right before the Free Bird event. The wreckage of the ship they were going to help look for in 4D space. Was that his home? The angry gravel in his voice wasn’t new to Sara, but the venom and intent mixed in when he threatened the pirates sounded like a different person. Who was he anymore? They were going to do it, they were going to engage pirates! Her friend was the only one in danger, but that made it worse somehow. She felt like she was choking on dust, her head swam, and she couldn't think or focus.
“Ms. Michalson, are you able to perform your duties?” Jean said from beside Captain Abrams. Sara tried to respond, she needed to be here, to see this. But all that came out was air. Jean opened her mouth, but Captain Abrams beat her to it.
“I was almost in bed when we went to alert 2, so I have not slept. I will forgo my normal rule of no food and drinks on the bridge in light of the current situation. Ms. Michalson, would you please secure kaff for me and anyone else who needs it. Jean, please man her station until she gets back.” The captain said. Sara looked around the room and saw averted eyes and hands up, indicating who wanted caffeine. Sara met eyes with the captain and tried to acknowledge his request. Her extreme anxiety prevented her, and she simply nodded before trying not to run off the bridge.
Just down the hall was the ready room. Sara closed the hatch behind her with a satisfying thunk. In the thick walls of the room, she screamed. She wanted to shout more, but all she could do was sob, still feeling like she was hyperventilating. She grabbed a pop soda from the fridge and started guzzling it, trying to focus on the burning bubbles in her throat. Able to breathe steadily now, she started making a large pot of Kaff, a coffee substitute. She hadn't stopped sobbing. She was angry and confused about her feelings, trying to focus on one thing at a time. When the coffee machine started brewing, she sank to the floor, angrily trying to wipe the tears from her face and stop, angry for some reason. On top of the horror, the fear, the concern, most of all for Nick. But she felt angry at him. She didn't understand why, but now she was starting to feel equally angry with herself for her emotional outbursts. She needed to get back on the bridge, needed to compose herself. She needed to see what happened. A few minutes passed, and she was blowing her nose more composedly. She poured the kaff into the spill-safe bulbs, not needing to try very hard to remember how people she worked with for years liked their coffee. She grabbed another soda for herself, and it was about to leave when she saw the enlistment poster. For the fleet, for humanity, enlist today! A sense of loss and abandonment flittered through her before transforming into anger. When she left, the magnetic poster was dented and upside down near the bottom of the wall.
