The Star Pirate's Folly

Chapter 13: Gravity

"What will it feel like?" Buttercup was still strapped into her seat in the shuttle behind Bill Silver as they awaited their turn to launch.

"Nothing. You won't feel it," Bill said.

"But the ships I saw were going so fast. How does that work?"

An annoyed glance from Bill. "You really need me to explain right now?"

Buttercup sat back and rolled her eyes. "Fine. No."

In the copilot's chair, Governor Strump flicked between different news feeds on his phone. The faint chattering of different voices was indistinguishable, but Buttercup could hear excitement, fear, and anxiousness. Strump seemed pretty upset about the comet. Paranoid even. He finally settled on Cap City's favorite anchor, Chep Stanley.

Bill gave a relenting sigh and turned to look at Buttercup, beginning his layman's explanation with a one handed winding motion.

"Inside the ship we don't feel any gravitational force except whatever is generated by our artificial gravity. Since there are layers of nullsteel wrapped around the entire ship, any external gravitational forces can't reach the interior—they're nullified, hence the name."

"Oh. So why do we have to keep sitting in the shuttle then?"

"It's just—protocol," Bill said. "Just wait for two seconds."

She was about to ask how the launch tubes worked when Tower's voice came in deep, calm, and clear over the speakers. 

"Privateer frigate Wanderlust, you are cleared for launch. Departure in fifteen seconds."

Governor Strump turned up the volume on his video. Chep Stanley still. Buttercup leaned forward to see the screen as best she could. Chep was video interviewing a navy-suited Planetary Defense officer, whose stern visage appeared opposite the peppy anchor.

"So please tell us, Admiral Perry, exactly what it is you think we're dealing with here," said Chep. "We've all feared the pirates would come in force someday. Do you think that's what is happening right now?"

"Well, this 'Starhawk' could be telling the truth—or he could be bluffing. It could be some kind of hoax. For all we know those images could just be more debris from the comet. They could have easily been doctored to give the appearance of a fleet in formation."

"The evidence seems quite convincing to a lot of experts."

"Well, some experts are convinced more easily than others." The Admiral folded his arms across his chest. "Ours are unable to give confirmation either way while we're shielding our instruments from the comet. Even if he is telling the truth I don't trust a single word he says. Pirates are scum."

Chep smiled with the polite grace of a seasoned anchor. "Why don't we just show our viewers a short clip for context so there's no confusion. Let's play that clip."

"Ten seconds to launch," droned Tower, and began to count down. "Nine, eight...."

Her stomach started to feel like it wasn't sure which way was up again, and she leaned her head back against the cool metal wall. Blood pounded in her ears, drowning out the interview. This was it.

For as long as she could remember this was the plan—just get out there, doesn't matter how. But then everything happened so fast, just all of a sudden. What if she wasn't ready? What if she should have stayed longer? 

The fear that she had gone soft during her time at the hotel worried her, and she momentarily lamented all the days she had spent planted in front of a computer screen when she should have been working on her sparring or something. What if she was going all the way out there just to wind up getting herself killed?

She never did sign up for those marksmanship courses.

And she never said goodbye to Hargrove.

"Five seconds to launch," said Tower.

She heard a gruff voice from the video clip saying, "...fine citizens of the Core have nothing to fear..."

"Close your eyes if you think you're going to puke again," Bill said. "I'd prefer to avoid that."

Buttercup shut her eyes. Second thoughts wouldn't help her now. She was committed. So why did this little voice in the back of her head keep telling her—

Find him.

Her eyes snapped open at Mother's words. She'd been so quiet recently.

Find him find him find him Mother chanted.

"...just here to collect our man Jensen Lee, and then we'll leave," said the man in the clip.

The video. That voice. Buttercup strained against the straps holding her in place, trying to get a better view over Strump's shoulder. Someone was making some kind of speech on the bridge of a starship. 

The shot snapped in close and she saw it—Starhawk's face. The suntanned skin, the black hair, the piercing blue eyes. The corners of his lips tugged into a coyote's smile as he spoke. A predator's smile.

FIND HIM KILL HIM FIND HIM KILL HIM

It was the face she'd been chasing all her life.

"We're headed for Surface," Starhawk said. "I hope you're willing to listen to reason and give us Jensen Lee. He's just a lost wandering dog, and we want to take him home. Just let him on up through your nice gate and send him over in a shuttle so we can get on our way."

KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM

"...two, one, launch," finished Tower, and Buttercup screamed with horrified futility as she was hurled into space aboard Wanderlust.

#

Starhawk stood on the bridge of his flagship Deep Fog watching a magnified view of Orpheus as it tumbled toward Surface. They would make their approach in the wake of its passage to maximize their window of opportunity. The planet's defenses would only be in disarray for a brief time before the comet's chaotic debris field settled and everything was repositioned. 

As soon as the debris field hit his forces would descend upon the dark side of the planet, the defenseless side. Clusters of bright lights marked the sites of large cities. Everything in orbit worth worrying about was on the sunward side of the planet, protected from the debris field as much as possible. His fleet could never stand a full barrage from the planet's deadly orbital cannons, but if he was careful about clumping his forces he could take a few hits.

He'd already released his video imploring the good people of Surface to simply listen to reason and give up one man to save thousands. All he needed to do was wait for them to agree to his terms, pick up Jensen Lee, and escape with the map. When it came down to it, only his own ship was required to complete his objectives. 

Everything else was a necessary ruse—he was doubtful that an assault against the orbital station would succeed even with his fleet at full strength. Maybe if they'd been able to swing Orpheus in closer like the true wrecking ball it was supposed to be. Maybe.

But as the plan unfolded Starhawk felt the ground crumbling beneath his feet. He'd barely been able to convince the crew to even make the journey. Every other raid they'd made into the Core ended with blood and vacuum. But this time he had the element of surprise—and even better, the element of disruption. The whole planetary defense system was currently in complete shambles. 

It was a chance, that's all it was. One opportunity to land a blow square on the jaw of those sneering do-gooders in the Core. Orpheus was his opening to upset the order in their otherwise placid existence. It was something to strike fear into them, right where they thought they were safe. 

Starhawk imagined them trembling in their little box houses on Surface. It was he that threw the stone, he who brought the fear. It gave him pleasure to know this, satisfaction that even if he died during the attack his actions would have a lasting effect.

The comet barely missed Surface in astronomical terms, just under fifteen thousand miles. Orpheus passed ahead of the planet and sailed by on its new orbit. As the gases and vapor from its tail swept toward Surface they swirled into ethereal curtains that clouded the blue planet. Then the debris trail hit, and streaks of burning ice raked across the atmosphere. 

It was time to release the hounds.

"Two-Gut, move into position," Starhawk said on their private channel. 

"...Heard, boss," came the reluctant, grating reply from Captain Two-Gut Gruce. 

Captain Gruce was in command of Red Shade, one of the fleet's three total spacecraft carriers. He would take the carrier alone and move to intercept the orbital station head on. The second carrier, George Martin, and ten of the fleet's twenty warships were already circling around behind the station while Red Shade provided a distraction for their pincer attack. 
Gruce would make an easy target.

He was one of the holdouts who resented Starhawk's rise to power. He was old and fat and slow and didn't want to make an attack on the Core. It had been years since he last captained a ship, and after half a decade of sloth and swilling wine Gruce was unprepared in the most disastrous sense of the word. But Starhawk needed his men—and found him easily persuaded to take command of Red Shade, enticed by the scent of power and promised wealth.

Of course, that was before he filled in old Two-Gut on his role in the assault. But by then the greedy fool was committed, couldn't back down without being branded a coward. He put up some protest about being the tip of the spear, but Starhawk's word was law. Gruce would do it under orders—and if not Starhawk could have a couple of loyal grubs from Red Shade put him down. Half of them were looking to slide a blade between his ribs anyway.

Starhawk's warship Deep Fog, the final carrier Polyphemus, and the remaining ten warships would remain in the safety of the planet's dark side. Their presence would put half the planet's cities under threat of bombardment, giving them some bargaining power. All he wanted was Jensen Lee and the damn map. Surely they wouldn't hold out long given such terms. 

"Zeeda, some more wine," he said, and held out the empty mug for his number two.

#

"Send me back! I'll kill him! Send me back!"

"Just hold her down—"

"She kicked me in the ribs!"

"Then hold her legs! Just keep her still for a—" 

Silver howled with pain when Buttercup lunged forward in the seat's harness and chomped down on his right wrist while he was preparing a sedative. He grabbed the device with his prosthetic and with deft precision pressed it against the side of the berserk girl's neck. Her jaws went slack on his wrist as the drug took hold. She slumped into a deep sleep.

"What the hell just happened to her?" Governor Strump shook his head in disbelief. "She was fine a minute ago. What's the deal here, Bill?"

"Beats me."

"Who is she even?"

"She worked at the hotel where Slack Dog got killed," Silver said.

"And what's she doing here?"

"Just help me get her out of here."

Silver unstrapped her harness while the Governor kept her upright by pushing her against the wall. Silver noticed some exposed skin on her right shoulder was stained by the mottled red-purple of fresh bruising. That was where he'd grabbed the girl aboard the station.  He hadn't meant to hurt her, but with everything that was happening—well, she stole the damned map right out of his pocket, what did she expect?

At least they were finally on board. 

#

 Starhawk's captain's chair on the bridge of Deep Fog held a commanding view out the warship's main window. The chair was mounted on a platform which overlooked several other crew members below as they worked different stations. Several viewscreens were projected in front of the chair at eye level—a gravitational chart of Surface, a live feed from Red Shade, and a three-dimensional map of the planet and all near objects.

Red Shade was anchored in the path of the orbital station. George Martin approached from behind, gaining on the station but still well out of range. There was no official response to Starhawk's message. 

"Gruce, any word?" he said.

"None yet."

Starhawk growled with frustration as he swatted the screens away and stood. He had less than a week before the Core Fleet returned from the outer rim. If he couldn't get ahold of Lee before then they'd be too heavily outmatched to have any leverage. He had to push now, hard. 

"Fire off a warning salvo."

Red Shade was still out of range, but it would draw attention. Gruce grunted an affirmative, and Starhawk watched as several of the warship's cannons primed green and fired massive slugs of nullsteel toward the orbital station. They'd miss—barely. 

"Give me a channel they'll hear me on," he said to his underlings, and waited for a confirmation from one of them. "Okay, fine citizens. Time's up. What's it gonna be?"

Starhawk paced the small area on the platform around his chair. 

"I'm in a bit of a hurry here, so expedience is appreciated," he said.

A calm, steady male voice answered him. "Transport shuttle en route to fleet carrier Red Shade."

Starhawk sat back in his chair and the viewscreens returned, allowing him to confirm that a single shuttle had indeed been launched from the orbital station. "Well hey! Look at you, cooperating with us! That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

"Boss," said Gruce over the comms. "They sent out a shuttle. Just one, nothing else."

"Good, they're giving up Lee. Just get him on board." Starhawk turned to the impassive Zeeda behind him and grinned. "Just like I planned."

At that exact moment the defense cannons near the orbital station primed and fired their own barrage of deadly nullsteel at Red Shade. They'd waited just long enough, and were well in range of the carrier. 

Starhawk watched the feed from Red Shade's bridge as it was rocked from the impact. Crewmen shouted updates at Two-Gut, who was frozen in a state of silent fear. Then without warning he jumped out of the captain's chair and scrambled off screen. The coward was heading right for the escape pods.

"Well," said Starhawk. "Plan B is officially in effect then."

#

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