A Matter of Principle
27 Jan 2018Damian "Devil" Blaide
25/1/3304 somewhere in the H Draconis system“Shields offline” the AI’s emotionless voice notified the pilot.
“Gods damnit!” cursed captain Frank Newton of the Peerless Destruction – a Federal Corvette repurposed as a pirate ship. Turning to his bridge crew he spoke with barely contained rage, “’S’okay. That damn thing took out our shields, but I’ll be a ‘Goid’s mother before it can do us any serious harm with those lasers!" Turning to a big man manning the Peerless' gun-control station, he barked an order, spittle flying from his mouth and staining his helmet's visor. "Gunny! Take that buzzing fly off my sky! Fire at will! Fire at will, damn you!”
“I’m trying, but that FDL is too fast, and it flies too close! I can’t get a good lock!” Newton’s gunnery officer called out frustrated.
“Take your time, our hull can shake off laser blasts well enough, we’ll be fine. And we only need a couple of good shots to…”
“Incoming missiles” The AI interjected.
“What?” Newton stammered.
“Two…no FOUR torpedoes incoming, Frank!” Blake, Peerless’ operations officer, confirmed. Newton went pale.
“That son of a…! Taking evasive manoeuvres!”
“Too late.” Blake said weakly. Newton glanced down at the radar and saw four white pips closing in fast.
“Brace for…!”
…
Newton came to his senses. He remembered the impact and then everything had gone black. Looking around he could see that the bridge canopy had shattered, and most instruments were dead or blinking in their death throes. He couldn’t see Blake, but Gunny’s corpse floated nearby, his helmet’s visor shattered. What he saw inside the helmet did not resemble a man’s face but something coming out of a blender. Blobs of blood and gore trickled through the shattered visor and created bright red balls around Gunny’s corpse. Both the balls of gore and the dead man were locked in a bizarre danse macabre in the zero-g environment of the bridge. Newton averted his eyes.
Touching an instrument panel, he scanned through the systems and saw that they were mostly destroyed. What the hell had those warheads been packing? Four torpedoes hitting an unshielded ship – even a corvette – was not something to be taken lightly, but this kind of destruction was off the scale. He needed to reboot the ship’s systems, or he was done for.
“Power plant condition critical.” The AI’s voice crackled through his helmet’s audio system. He cursed. This was bad. It could very well be his number was up.
Out of the corner of his eye, Newton saw movement. Glancing outside he could see his nemesis – the black and red Fer-de-Lance – slowly moving into position to land the coup de grâce. Chuckling bitterly Newton saluted his foe just as the FDL fired its lasers at the tortured and exposed power plant of his dying ship.
“Devil take you, you bastard.” He managed before the void claimed him.
…
As the corvette vanished in a bright orange flash followed by an expanding field of debris, commander DevilOnTheWall’s info panel briefly flashed a message – bounty of 250,000 credits earned. A respectable enough sum, but a pittance compared to what Devil was paid for this hit – the Arbuda Company had put a price of 3 million credits on the head of this particular pirate warlord. Apparently, they felt he was an asset the Arbuda Gold Brothers could do without. Devil had been only too happy to oblige.
As he moved his ship away from the slowly expanding field of debris, his AI chimed in through his flight helmet’s communication system. “Incoming long-distance communication from D. Thorne, DCC encryptions detected.
“Patch it through, apply decryption key Delta Omega Tango Whisky.”
“Standby. Opening audio channel.”
“Sir.” Thorne’s dry, matter of fact voice crackled through his helmet’s speakers.
“Thorne.” Devil greeted his aide and continued “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Just checking in. You are still in Arbuda?”
“Thereabouts. The contract we have with Mr. Barrett remains incomplete.”
“Yes. Of course.”
Thorne’s voice was indifferent, but Devil had known the man for a long time and could detect his displeasure.
“You don’t approve of this little detour?”
“No, I do not.”
“You worried over the bottom line again, old friend? The Feds are paying us well enough, I can assure you.”
“No, sir. The bottom line is fine. This is about the principle of the matter.”
“Clarify.”
“We are taking part on someone’s personal crusade of vengeance. In other words, sir, we are working for an individual.”
“And you don’t approve.”
“Of course not. And neither should you. Sir, might I point out that you are breaking your own rules. ‘Never work for individuals, their motives and goals are too varied and there are always too many unknown factors and unseen strings. Political factions are more predictable and thus, by default, better employers.’ Your words, sir, not mine.”
“You don’t need to quote me my own rules, Thorne. However, this Barrett fellow. I have a feeling about him.”
“A...feeling, sir?”
“Call it a hunch.”
“You don’t operate based on hunches, sir, you never have. In fact, you have on several occasions shown open contempt for people making decisions based on hunches or ‘winging it’ as I believe you put it. ‘Premeditation, facts, calm minds, care and practiced improvisation when needed. We are neither fools blundering in the dark nor hot-headed space cowboys with a chip on their shoulder and an ego the size of a Coriolis. We actually know which way to land our ship on the landing platform.’ Again, your words, not mine.”
“Yes, yes.” Devil was annoyed by his aide’s lecturing but swallowed his rising anger before continuing. “I have a strong feeling this Barrett will be useful to us down the line, someway, somewhere, someday…if he lives long enough, that is.” He grinned wolfishly behind his black opaque visor.
“And if he does not?” Thorne inquired.
“Then he does not.” Devil shrugged. “Perhaps in such a case something else comes out of it and in any case, we have the payments provided by the Arbuda Company, so we are going to end up in the green.”
“We have wast…lost…time on this endeavour, sir. Between your insistence on taking part in the Xeno War, and now the redeployment of our already too few operatives on this detour, things near our headquarters have…deteriorated. You are aware of this I’m sure. With all due respect, sir, DCC needs to refocus its attentions closer to home and the needs of the allies that are providing us with a safe port of call. Storm clouds are gathering here and soon it may be you do not have to go seeking war far from home.”
Devil felt his red-hot anger rising. He focused his mind and forced it to subside before answering Thorne.
“You do not need to remind me of the situation there. In fact, my willingness to take this detour in the core sector is related. I have a feeling that people like Mr. Barrett would be an asset in the coming struggle back home.” Devil grinned again behind his black visor and continued “Thus, Thorne, regard this little venture not as working for an individual on some personal vendetta, but rather as obtaining an asset for the war to come.”
Thorne sighed “Very well sir, since you've made up your mind to see this contract through, I’ll start compiling a dossier on this commander Barrett if we are to use him for something in the future.”
“Excellent old chap, you do that. Now, anything else?”
“No sir.”
“Good. I have a contract to get back to.”
…
Behind the wake of the Fer-de-Lance, the pitiful remains of the once-proud corvette had drifted far apart. Had someone observed the debris closely, they might have seen a shattered Remlok flight helmet among the twisted pieces of metal. A sole reminder of a victim claimed by the void.