Fic: I Fought the Claw (and the Claw Won)
The rest of this story will be posted on my royceday_beta page, but I'm putting up this teaser in case anyone new wants to friend and read it to the end.
You ever have one of those days where you're chained up in a bioplas bubble that's been dropped into a tank full of starving razorfins by a psychotic human pirate and your only hope rescue is from an underdressed vixen that you just mortally insulted?
No?
You lucky bastard.
* * *
I should start at the beginning I guess. Hey I've got, like, minutes before my oxygen runs out after all. Assuming some clever razorfin doesn't evolve manipulators and raise the tank's local tech level high enough to crack the bubble first. May as well keep us both amused until then.
Anyway, the name is Captain Marturari Greycoat, Marty to my friends, mercenary pilot extraordinaire. I'm the pilot/owner, well I was the pilot/owner, of the Sweet Blade, a heavy patrol fighter that I'd bought and restored five years back. I'd cashed out my pension and bought her for near scrap after my mandatory Service tour was up, to feed my wanderlust and to get as far from boring old Foxen Prime as I could manage.
Five years of merc work hadn't exactly left me swimming in credits, but I'd been able to feed myself and keep the Sweet Blade flying. When this whole mess started I was hired out to House Highglider's shipping division, flying escort for one of their produce freighters making a run to Foxen Prime (I don't like the old homeworld but I've got bills to pay.)
Now normally escorting a produce freighter on a regular run is safe, easy money. Pirates like to hit freighters carrying expensive, low mass, low volume cargo. I'm no economics major, but even I can see that stealing cob stalks isn't going to leave much leftover for drinking and wenching once you subtract fuel and repair expenses. You might make it off stripping the freighter itself for parts, but factor in even a light escort for the ship you're trying to hit and the numbers go into the red real fast.
Except this run my ears were pricked up and my tail curled tight. House Highglider had been hit twice in the last week by pirates, their freighters gutted and the cargo destroyed, though the crews were allowed to escape in the lifeboats. They'd scrambled to hire extra mercenaries for their remaining ships, which was why Sweet Blade and I were riding herd on a half-kilometer long slow boat with a hold full of melons.
Literally riding. Sweet Blade was attached like a thirsty blood bug to an external grapple on the freighter, while it piddled along in superluminal mode between systems. Trying to fly formation when you're going past lightspeed is pointless, even less so attacking. Almost every ship hit by pirates is struck when they had dropped down from superluminal to get a nav check. So Sweet Blade hung on, while I napped and played VR games in my rack, a box just a bit larger than a coffin set below the pilot's station, with just enough room for a narrow cot and the loo.
"Hey, Boss," Sweet Blade called to me, while I was trying to do some stretching exercises on the bunk. "Message from the Highglider Plentiful. We're going to be dropping out of superluminal in thirty minutes."
"Send back an acknowledgment and let 'em know we'll be ready for release." I pulled my spacesuit out of its under-bunk storage space and started my usual yoga contortions to try and slip it over my grey knit cooling garment which I was already wearing. Once I was suited up and my helmet sealed, I pulled myself up into the pilot seat and strapped in. On the dot the starfield returned to normal and I hit the clamp release control, the springs pushing Sweet Blade free of the freighter.
And damned near into the pirate ship that was hovering overhead.
Okay, I'm exaggerating slightly. It was five kilometers away, a good long walk on a planet. In astronomical terms the chances of it being right on top of us, even in the vicinity of a well-known navigation beacon, was pretty, er, astronomical. Which meant it had to have been tailing the freighter since it had first entered superluminal three days ago.
I said flying in formation with another ship at superluminal speeds is pointless. I didn't say it was impossible.
At the time I was worried about astrogation anyway. I pushed the throttle to max and Sweet Blade zipped away from the freighter. I cut acceleration just as quickly once I was sure we we're clear, spinning on my gyros until I faced the pirate and could vector towards her, popping off a missile towards her once I had a clean sensor lock. While I closed in on the pirate frigate, Sweet Blade's maneuvering thrusters jinked her back and forth like a Juno addict looking for his next spike.
"Calling pirate frigate," I said over the com, while my first missile was spiked by the pirate's light weapons array, "this freighter is under escort. Break off and accelerate to superluminal and you will not be pursued."
This is the Scarlet Claw to the freighter escort, came the returning call. We will take this freighter. Retreat to a safe distance and you will not be pursued. The voice was female, and the name of the ship damned familiar. The Scarlet Claw was the flagship of the Red Vixen, a foxen pirate that had been going after shipping for the past ten years or so. I'd heard of her, but had never expected to be combat with her, especially given there had been reports last month that her ship had been destroyed with all hands in conflict with another pirate.
"Hey, aren't you dead?" I asked, as I let off another missile. It was giving the Scarlet Claw's point defense guns something to do rather then target me, though I didn't want to launch another if I could help it. My cheapass contract with House Highglider didn't cover ammunition expenditures.
Rumors of my death are extremely exaggerated, to borrow a human quotation, she called back. You don't intend to back off I take it?
The Scarlet Claw was a pseudo-military vessel, an upgunned freighter with large thrusters, designed to intimidate her unarmed brethren into surrender, grab as much cargo as she could carry, then run. I'm just pointing that out so you know that attacking it all by my lonesome wasn't a completely suicidal idea. "No, ma'am," I answered. "House Highglider would cut my pay if I just ran." I slewed up and behind the Scarlet Claw, targeting what was the weakest section of any ship's shields, right over her engine bells. I pinpointed my fire on a single spot, trying to pierce a hole for a vital microsecond and slag her thrusters, so that her target could accelerate out of her reach.
Meanwhile of course, the pirate was trying to do the same thing to the Highglider freighter, so she couldn't get away. Almost every gun she had was aimed at the ship, with the exception of the aft ventral turret, which was doing its level best to lock onto Sweet Blade despite the full spectrum jamming she was putting out. My itty-bitty fighter shields could take maybe one hit from the pirate's guns, then we'd be grass chaser chow.
"Sweet Blade to Highglider Plentiful," I called out, still trying to find a weak spot in the Scarlet Claw's shields. "How soon until you've recharged for acceleration to superluminal?"
Plentiful to Sweet Blade, came the reply. We will be accelerating in twenty seconds. Thank you for your escort.
"Twenty seconds? You miserable, furless bastards!" I shouted. "I need to dock first!"
That's not possible, Sweet Blade. You may of course pick your remaining contract payment from the nearest House Highglider agent when you next reach port. Good luck.
Yah, sure. Assuming I could A) live through the next minute, and B) hitch a ride with the next ship that visited this nav beacon, which may or may not show up before my life support's recycling failed.
Have I mentioned what a cheap bastard House Highglider is?
I broke off the attack on the Scarlet Claw, rotating and accelerating as fast as I could back towards the Plentiful, shouting obscenities all the way. I didn't think I could get there and dock that fast, but at that point I was willing to try slamming Sweet Blade through the cargo hold doors, contract penalties be damned.
That was when the last shot from the pirate hit me in the engines, which caused a fatal detonation in her fusion reactor a half-second later. Fortunately for the hide of my mother's favorite cubling, a quarter second before that happened Sweet Blade's automatic safety systems hit the launch button for the ejection system before I ever realized what was happening. I got kicked hard in the ass by the ejection pod's old fashioned solid rocket motors as I was flung clear of the expanding debris cloud that had once been my pride and joy. By the time I finished blinking away the flash blindness from the explosion, the Plentiful had already jumped.
You ever have one of those days where you're chained up in a bioplas bubble that's been dropped into a tank full of starving razorfins by a psychotic human pirate and your only hope rescue is from an underdressed vixen that you just mortally insulted?
No?
You lucky bastard.
* * *
I should start at the beginning I guess. Hey I've got, like, minutes before my oxygen runs out after all. Assuming some clever razorfin doesn't evolve manipulators and raise the tank's local tech level high enough to crack the bubble first. May as well keep us both amused until then.
Anyway, the name is Captain Marturari Greycoat, Marty to my friends, mercenary pilot extraordinaire. I'm the pilot/owner, well I was the pilot/owner, of the Sweet Blade, a heavy patrol fighter that I'd bought and restored five years back. I'd cashed out my pension and bought her for near scrap after my mandatory Service tour was up, to feed my wanderlust and to get as far from boring old Foxen Prime as I could manage.
Five years of merc work hadn't exactly left me swimming in credits, but I'd been able to feed myself and keep the Sweet Blade flying. When this whole mess started I was hired out to House Highglider's shipping division, flying escort for one of their produce freighters making a run to Foxen Prime (I don't like the old homeworld but I've got bills to pay.)
Now normally escorting a produce freighter on a regular run is safe, easy money. Pirates like to hit freighters carrying expensive, low mass, low volume cargo. I'm no economics major, but even I can see that stealing cob stalks isn't going to leave much leftover for drinking and wenching once you subtract fuel and repair expenses. You might make it off stripping the freighter itself for parts, but factor in even a light escort for the ship you're trying to hit and the numbers go into the red real fast.
Except this run my ears were pricked up and my tail curled tight. House Highglider had been hit twice in the last week by pirates, their freighters gutted and the cargo destroyed, though the crews were allowed to escape in the lifeboats. They'd scrambled to hire extra mercenaries for their remaining ships, which was why Sweet Blade and I were riding herd on a half-kilometer long slow boat with a hold full of melons.
Literally riding. Sweet Blade was attached like a thirsty blood bug to an external grapple on the freighter, while it piddled along in superluminal mode between systems. Trying to fly formation when you're going past lightspeed is pointless, even less so attacking. Almost every ship hit by pirates is struck when they had dropped down from superluminal to get a nav check. So Sweet Blade hung on, while I napped and played VR games in my rack, a box just a bit larger than a coffin set below the pilot's station, with just enough room for a narrow cot and the loo.
"Hey, Boss," Sweet Blade called to me, while I was trying to do some stretching exercises on the bunk. "Message from the Highglider Plentiful. We're going to be dropping out of superluminal in thirty minutes."
"Send back an acknowledgment and let 'em know we'll be ready for release." I pulled my spacesuit out of its under-bunk storage space and started my usual yoga contortions to try and slip it over my grey knit cooling garment which I was already wearing. Once I was suited up and my helmet sealed, I pulled myself up into the pilot seat and strapped in. On the dot the starfield returned to normal and I hit the clamp release control, the springs pushing Sweet Blade free of the freighter.
And damned near into the pirate ship that was hovering overhead.
Okay, I'm exaggerating slightly. It was five kilometers away, a good long walk on a planet. In astronomical terms the chances of it being right on top of us, even in the vicinity of a well-known navigation beacon, was pretty, er, astronomical. Which meant it had to have been tailing the freighter since it had first entered superluminal three days ago.
I said flying in formation with another ship at superluminal speeds is pointless. I didn't say it was impossible.
At the time I was worried about astrogation anyway. I pushed the throttle to max and Sweet Blade zipped away from the freighter. I cut acceleration just as quickly once I was sure we we're clear, spinning on my gyros until I faced the pirate and could vector towards her, popping off a missile towards her once I had a clean sensor lock. While I closed in on the pirate frigate, Sweet Blade's maneuvering thrusters jinked her back and forth like a Juno addict looking for his next spike.
"Calling pirate frigate," I said over the com, while my first missile was spiked by the pirate's light weapons array, "this freighter is under escort. Break off and accelerate to superluminal and you will not be pursued."
This is the Scarlet Claw to the freighter escort, came the returning call. We will take this freighter. Retreat to a safe distance and you will not be pursued. The voice was female, and the name of the ship damned familiar. The Scarlet Claw was the flagship of the Red Vixen, a foxen pirate that had been going after shipping for the past ten years or so. I'd heard of her, but had never expected to be combat with her, especially given there had been reports last month that her ship had been destroyed with all hands in conflict with another pirate.
"Hey, aren't you dead?" I asked, as I let off another missile. It was giving the Scarlet Claw's point defense guns something to do rather then target me, though I didn't want to launch another if I could help it. My cheapass contract with House Highglider didn't cover ammunition expenditures.
Rumors of my death are extremely exaggerated, to borrow a human quotation, she called back. You don't intend to back off I take it?
The Scarlet Claw was a pseudo-military vessel, an upgunned freighter with large thrusters, designed to intimidate her unarmed brethren into surrender, grab as much cargo as she could carry, then run. I'm just pointing that out so you know that attacking it all by my lonesome wasn't a completely suicidal idea. "No, ma'am," I answered. "House Highglider would cut my pay if I just ran." I slewed up and behind the Scarlet Claw, targeting what was the weakest section of any ship's shields, right over her engine bells. I pinpointed my fire on a single spot, trying to pierce a hole for a vital microsecond and slag her thrusters, so that her target could accelerate out of her reach.
Meanwhile of course, the pirate was trying to do the same thing to the Highglider freighter, so she couldn't get away. Almost every gun she had was aimed at the ship, with the exception of the aft ventral turret, which was doing its level best to lock onto Sweet Blade despite the full spectrum jamming she was putting out. My itty-bitty fighter shields could take maybe one hit from the pirate's guns, then we'd be grass chaser chow.
"Sweet Blade to Highglider Plentiful," I called out, still trying to find a weak spot in the Scarlet Claw's shields. "How soon until you've recharged for acceleration to superluminal?"
Plentiful to Sweet Blade, came the reply. We will be accelerating in twenty seconds. Thank you for your escort.
"Twenty seconds? You miserable, furless bastards!" I shouted. "I need to dock first!"
That's not possible, Sweet Blade. You may of course pick your remaining contract payment from the nearest House Highglider agent when you next reach port. Good luck.
Yah, sure. Assuming I could A) live through the next minute, and B) hitch a ride with the next ship that visited this nav beacon, which may or may not show up before my life support's recycling failed.
Have I mentioned what a cheap bastard House Highglider is?
I broke off the attack on the Scarlet Claw, rotating and accelerating as fast as I could back towards the Plentiful, shouting obscenities all the way. I didn't think I could get there and dock that fast, but at that point I was willing to try slamming Sweet Blade through the cargo hold doors, contract penalties be damned.
That was when the last shot from the pirate hit me in the engines, which caused a fatal detonation in her fusion reactor a half-second later. Fortunately for the hide of my mother's favorite cubling, a quarter second before that happened Sweet Blade's automatic safety systems hit the launch button for the ejection system before I ever realized what was happening. I got kicked hard in the ass by the ejection pod's old fashioned solid rocket motors as I was flung clear of the expanding debris cloud that had once been my pride and joy. By the time I finished blinking away the flash blindness from the explosion, the Plentiful had already jumped.