Easy Prey Read online

  "Do you think we'll really be sent to a spaceport and let free?" the Lyran said.

  "I know it," Bryder said, "since I'm the pilot she mentioned. And even if Rand was planning to ignore her recommendation and come gunning for you, they'd have a hell of a time singling you out in Wysely without taking out the whole place. I honestly don't think you're important enough to them to go to the trouble."

  "Damn it, Bryder, why did you tell them? Now they don't need the rest of us!" Ralf hissed.

  Bryder tipped his head at the second Simaxian. "Does it make a difference? You could have killed off the cadets at any time. Do you feel you need to now?"

  The first Simaxian sighed. "No. And only two others were killed, only because they insisted on fighting when they had no chance. Should I release them?" he asked.

  "Not yet," said Nayna, walking back into their midst. "They may still be upset with the situation. Better to move yourselves out of reach first and then I and my cadets will release them."

  "I presume you were successful."

  A small smile touched Nayna's lips. "Sometimes, couching things in just the right way encourages people to do what you want and think it their own idea."

  "I'm rubbing off on you already," Bryder said, springing back to his feet. "You folks should gather your families and what things you have, including this deck of cards, and let's clear out before someone changes his mind."

  "Giving orders now, Cadet Bryder?" Nayna asked.

  "In this instant, I'm Pilot Bryder, so yes."

  "You will have to use your thumb and retinal scan to get through the checkpoint and take the rest with you. I had to persuade the guards there to stand down."

  "Persuade?"

  Nayna pulled a roll of purple duct tape from her pouch. "Duct tape has so many uses."

  There were several hundred former test subjects to shuttle to Wysely, so it took Bryder nearly twelve hours and several trips. Since Bryder happened to know someone from the rebellion in the spaceport, he quietly sent him a word at a public comm station at his first landing—and gave his friend's direction to the Simalaxians he dropped off—and, after the second trip, there were people to help the former test subjects off the shuttle and into temporary habitation. Chances are, mercy for these particular people would backfire on Rand, but that suited Bryder just fine.

  While he was shuttling them back and forth, Nayna went among the Randian captives and released them, explaining the situation and the differences they were going to make in this exercise in the future. Bryder missed how she persuaded them—though some sported purple duct tape when he returned so she wasn't entirely successful. Still, many recruits appeared to be convinced, including Ralf and Elan to Bryder's surprise. Shel was still too upset to be helpful, but he did nothing to hamper the efforts. By local midnight, Bryder dropped his last load in Wysely, this time, the Woden.

  Kriter stopped before he left. "I thought she lied just like the rest of them."

  "So did I," Bryder said, frankly. "Guess many of us are too quick to judge."

  "Does this mean we were wrong about Rand?"

  "Do your own research and decide for yourself," Bryder said, not quite up to telling the huge man that his planet had been destroyed, that he was one of the last of his kind. "But it does mean that everyone in Rand doesn't have to be a monster."

  He pressed his lips together. "I'm sorry we killed your comrade"

  Bryder nodded. "So am I. But you can learn from it, just like we will."

  Kriter raised the skin over his eye where there'd be a brow on a human. The Woden were entirely hairless. The effect was unsettling. "Will you?"

  "I will. I can't speak for us all."

  Bryder felt dead tired when he docked at last at the training facility.

  He stumbled out the door and met Nayna who, he would swear, looked fresh as a daisy. "You're exhausted," she told him. "Get some rest. This was the most successful field trip in our class' history. I gave you and our team full marks and you plus fifty merits for your role in it."

  "Thank you," Bryder said, unsure how to feel about anything.

  "And I'm also taking fifteen merits off your score."

  "What? Why?"

  "You said diplomacy was off the table. Your prediction was wrong."

  For a moment, Bryder just stared at her. She was perfectly beautiful in the brutal landing lights, face impassive, voice not showing even a hint of humor. And then he laughed, long and loud.

  He laughed so hard and so long, tears streamed down his face and his sides ached.

  The joke was on him. At that moment, he knew he loved Nayna in all her insanity.

  This was going to be interesting.

  Easy Prey

  Circling Grig 25889, a yellow sun of less than impressive size, were several planets, none of which were paid much attention. There were a few rocky planets, but they'd never supported life and had nothing by way of useful resources. There were half a dozen gas giants with even less of interest to the spacefarer.

  Around the third one, though, was a spectacular ring and a multitude of small moons. Upon approach, its vast indigo expanses glowed like a pearl, so bright the space around it seemed starless. Beneath the cover it of its top layers of ammonium ice, there were fierce winds and storms the size of many of its moons combined, but the placid smoothness of its surface belied such violence. Of course, on the far side of this lovely planet there was shadow and, hidden in that shadow, far from the glimmer of the intricate ring, was another shadow, as ephemeral as the surface of the planet below it, visible only because of its rings of green around each exhaust typical with fusion hybrid engines. Unlike the standard clunky ship, with sensors and extra pods attached at will to a surface marked by handholds and sensors, it was a remarkably smooth ship for one that was strictly a spacefarer, a fluid design with even the pods and bays of weapons seemingly part of an unblemished form. Senseless, really, probably all for effect, Damon had always thought, but somehow more fearsome accordingly. That's why Damon had had to take it and make it his flagship. The Orca.

  Not that it was aggressive at the moment. Now, it was waiting.

  On every bridge screen—and they were all impractically large—ceiling, front and sides, the beauty of the planet, from the slim line of brilliant horizon to the left to the dark smooth surface on the ceiling to the glistening glory of the rings to the front and the side, everything was beautiful and peaceful.

  After three weeks, even stunning beauty gets old.

  Many say that the key to being a successful space pirate is ruthlessness, or even brute force. But the real key, Damon thought to himself, was patience. Ruthlessness makes your own people scared and scared people make mistakes and plan coups; they can't be trusted. As for brute force, well, no space pirate ever had a fleet that could outgun the whole Randian armada.

  But patience, patience meant you used your cunning to pick the right moment, be in the right place, so you wouldn't be out-gunned and you could be as ruthless to your prey as you needed to be. Even if the prey was something as coveted as a Randian scout ship, a gem of a craft that Damon had lusted for a good five years. He'd wanted one ever since he'd built up his pirate fleet to five captured ships and caught sight of a scout ship in passing. That's when he'd realized he could win against the Randian armada if he was smart.

  When he and sixty or so other survivors crawled out from their underground shelter and walked the charred remains of their streets, their homes, even their parents and siblings, he'd sworn he'd take them down.

  Damon and the survivors were captured, of course. This wasn't the first blackened world the Randians had created, so they knew enough to let private slavers in to pick up any stragglers. Keep it tidy. The captain that had picked up Damon had chosen the wrong damn slave. That ship became Damon's first, and his fellow survivors, his first crew.

  Now he had fifty-nine ships tucked into hidden spots all over the galaxy. His sixtieth would be his crown jewel, and he was certain it would be coming th
rough this out-of-the way system, likely unaccompanied, perfect for the plundering. Easy prey.

  So, when he heard the ping that meant one of the sensors he'd sprinkled around this system had sensed a ship, he let himself smile.

  It was about damn time.

  "Where is it?" he asked the helmsman.

  "Looks like he jumped in just on the other side of this gas giant, just like you thought he would."

  Damon laughed. "I knew it. That's the best trajectory from Clevelhand. I knew one of them would come through here instead of the normal trade route."

  "What are we going to do?" the helmsman asked, though his hands were already programming an intercept course. He wouldn't lay it in without orders.

  "Let's go get 'im."

  The helmsman—grade A pilot and Damon's own teacher—grinned back and set her going. Helmsman Zhrrg West's grin meant he was on the hunt in earnest, which was a good thing, but Damon still got little weirded out to see those pointed teeth in the noseless green face. West hadn't eaten any other crewman, or a prisoner to date, so Damon reminded himself to get over it.

  Damon's larger ship had the advantage, both in engine power and fire power. And, with the gas giant between them and a fairly good guess at the scout's flight plan, the Orca could readily sneak up behind the smaller ship with very little time left for the scout to react when the Orca became visible around the edge of the gas giant's atmosphere. If he flew close to the surface. Damon glanced at the readings and saw that was indeed West's plan. All he had to do now was wait. "Time to contact?"

  "He should spot us in 20 and be within hailing range three minutes later."

  "Think he'll get spooked and make a run for it when he sees us?"

  "No, sir. Not many ships'll target a Randian scout ship. But, if he does make a break for it, he won't get far. He can't outrun us."

  "Don't fail me, West," Damon said, which wasn't so much a threat as a reminder Damon was counting on him. West hadn't failed Damon yet.

  West was true to his skill as they skimmed along just above the atmosphere of the gas giant, easy to miss unless someone was looking for them, despite their immense size.

  A light flashed and the little scout showed up on his screen. Barely forty meters from stem to stern, she was capable of orbit to surface, orbital intra-system flight and, of course, jumping, all in a ship that looked like any rich magnate son's pleasure cruiser with no one the wiser unless they were paying attention. Damon had been paying attention. Even with all his connections and bribes, he'd had but the vaguest estimates on its range, speed and weaponry, and a tantalizing hint that its inertial dampening system and gravity was an order of magnitude more effective than those of any other ship, a warning that it could be maneuverable. Damon wanted to snatch it and snatch it fast before anyone inside got any cockeyed ideas.

  "What'll it take to match orbits?"

  "We'll accelerate as soon as you get his attention and then throttle back to match 'em eight minutes later. Odds are, he won't have time to get his AI working on routes out of there unless he lays 'em in now."

  Damon keyed on his mic and waited until another light lit that they were within hailing. This was his favorite part. "What ho, me hearties! Prepare to be boarded."

  There was a slight pause as if the pilot was absorbing that before, "Bwahahahahaha!" blared over the com. "Seriously, that's what a big scary pirate like you goes with? 'Prepared to be boarded?' Bwahahahaha!"

  'Told you,' mouthed West.

  "I am not joking," Damon said through clenched teeth, finding the pilot's laughter unbearably galling. No one faced with a Menellian war cruiser had laughed before. Was this guy drunk?

  "And still hilarious," the pilot gasped out between guffaws. "Maybe you should get a hail from one of the past five centuries?"

  "Perhaps you'd prefer to wait and laugh your ass off when I have you in chains?"

  The scout managed to stifle his laughter. Mostly. "You know mine's an official scout ship of the Randian government. They're mighty touchy about those that steal their personal stuff."

  "Nothing makes me happier than pissing off the Randian government. Those are my favorite targets. Now, prepare your airlock. We will be boarding in four minutes. The only question is, will you be alive to greet us or should I hole your vessel first?"

  "Yeah, no, I don't think you will."

  Damon frowned. "You don't think I will what?"

  "Board me or hole me."

  "Do you know what this vessel is?"

  "Yeah, looks like a modified Menellian War Cruiser, from, I'd say, three years before Rand kicked their asses, modified with Grebble 9000 engines, and it looks like you managed to wedge two more into with the normal six. Bet that's got a hell of a kick. You've also upgraded the weapons. I see Nibnom blasters and Xynon missiles, a Mansa ray and what I'm betting are Limnal pulse generators."

  "You think you're pretty smart," Damon began.

  "Don't I?" the pilot replied perkily. "By the way, your energy weapons, Mansan and Limnal will have no effect on my ship. A friendly word of advice."

  Damon had been shaken by the precise—and accurate—description of his highly unusual ship, but that last was totally unexpected. Maybe the pilot was bluffing. "So you say."

  "Oh, please, try," the pilot pleaded, stifling chuckles. "Laughter is my favorite thing to do except needling Nayna."

  Damon's eye caught the chronometer and his body felt the slight adjustment, through the dampers, of their burn for rendezvous. The little bastard was right under him and clear as day on camera. "Time's up, funny man. Shall we board you or punch you full of holes? Prepare the blasters," he snapped to the gunner, who took his thumb of the Mansa and moved his hand to the blaster arrays.

  "Hmm," the pilot said. "I'll take neither."

  On Damon's camera, the ship yawed 180 degrees and blasted her main engines, so the Orca flew right past her. The tail cameras caught the scout ship sinking into the opaque atmosphere.

  "Shit," Damon said with feeling.

  "Still have them on sensor, Cap'n. Should I fire?" the gunner, Sil, said.

  "Don't fire!" West and Damon said at the same time.

  Sil, ex-space navy, didn't argue but definitely looked disgruntled. Damon explained. "He's going to sink into the atmosphere until he changes course. If we disable him, we'll have no way for us to fish him out except to go down after him, and this ship isn't rated for atmospherics, especially pressures like those. Even his ship can only go so far, but we'll have to wait for him to come back."

  "I've lost 'im," the gunner said with a grimace. "Stupid clouds."

  "Can't see him," Damon said. "Any sensors that might be able to track that bastard?"

  Comm and Track, a tidy redhead named Tela, shook her head. "No transponder signal and, this close to the atmosphere, we're getting static interference. This gas giant has a pretty powerful magnetosphere. Even our cameras are a little touchy."

  "The good news," Damon said, "is he can't stay there long. In that much atmosphere he can't hold orbit and flying will be turbulent even a few clicks in. Plus, the pressure on that bastard's got to be too much for that ship if he goes very deep. So, he will come back out and probably soon. But I don't have any idea where. What do you think, West?"

  West thought, then shrugged his shoulders in defeat. "He could do anything. If it were me, I'd come back just under cover and swing around the world beneath us so we wouldn't know, high tail it when I got to the far side while we were still twiddling our thumbs."

  "That'd be smart. I could see that, but I don't think this little smart ass is going to flit off without taunting us. That was a showy move. I think he's going to come back to play with us. We better be ready."

  Eyes turned back to sensors. The gunner stroked his controls lovingly. West shook his head. "What do you want me to do?"

  "Keep to this trajectory for now. If he wants to play with us, no sense not being where he can find us. But, go ahead and pre-program a few different routes, calculated bu
rns and direction. I'll bet you a cask of Gremilian brandy he was flying by the seat of his pants. We can't do that with this ship, so we'd best have lots of options ready."

  "Not sure there are enough for this guy," West muttered.

  "What was that, Helm?"

  "Nothing, sir."

  Damon, despite himself, felt a smile tug his lips. West was old school pilot, through and through. Everything by the books, looking over the AI's shoulder. He was quick because he was prepared, and most of their quarry behaved in predictable ways. This scout bastard was already getting to him. West's chair was spritzing his slimy skin more frequently.

  Minutes ticked by with no sign. The silence, other than the clicking of keyboards and the shifting in chairs, was palpable. Had he done what West suggested? Had they missed the little bastard?

  Damon couldn't stand sitting and unwebbed from the Captain's chair. Stupid thing didn't have any interesting controls and he needed something. He wandered down and looked over West's shoulder, but West waved him away, distracted. So, Damon wandered to the adjacent rendezvous station where the fine work of mating to another ship was done. The controls weren't active, though they could be with a switch, so Damon gripped them, loving how they felt in his hands. Made him want to play with a smaller ship again, just fly it like his quarry did. With any luck, he could be flying that scout ship in the near future.

  "Incoming!" Comm said. "Fast."

  "Where?" Damon asked, his eyes on the sensor data above the controls. He saw it before they answered, powered up the manual controls and was rolling the ship to the right with all his strength the next instant as the scout ship, like a shot, came up in a highly elliptical trajectory as if to punch right through them.

  "Hold on!" West shouted as, even with dampeners, the ship shifted before the gravity generators could compensate, nearly taking Damon off his feet. Some of those who hadn't been webbed in went tumbling. There was some groaning as the ships systems, unused to such extreme maneuvers, complained.