The Black Sheep (A Learning Experience Book 3) Read online

  “Five ships,” she repeated. Every day, there were hundreds of starships passing through the system. She tried to keep her voice calm. “Why do you think this is important?”

  There was a pause. “Captain, two of them read out as Livingston-class freighters,” Howard said, finally. “The other three seem to be warships - and they’re in hot pursuit. They’re practically right on top of the freighters.”

  Hoshiko’s eyes narrowed. Livingston-class freighters were unique to humanity, as far as she knew; there were only a handful in the sector, all of which were registered with the Solar Union. Two of them flying in unison almost certainly meant a trade mission ... and, if that was the case, the pursuing warships were an ominous development. She sent a command through her implants into the cabin’s processors, getting them to display the live feed from the gravimetric sensors. Howard was right. Five ships would not be flying so close together if three of them weren't trying to run the other two down.

  “I’m on my way,” she said. Assuming the freighters were heading for the base she and her crews had painstakingly established, they’d drop out of FTL within two hours. “Sound yellow alert, then inform the squadron to prepare for combat manoeuvres.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Howard said.

  It was probably nothing more than pirates, Hoshiko told herself as she checked her uniform in the mirror before striding out of her office and down towards the bridge. But she couldn't help feeling a thrill of excitement anyway. The pirates wouldn't be expecting to run into nine heavy cruisers, not at Martina. There wasn't even a formalised out-system patrol force to fend off pirates who might come calling. Even the ground-based defences weren't as formidable as they could have been.

  She stepped through the hatch and walked to her command chair. No one saluted - yellow alert protocols insisted that crewmen had to watch their consoles at all times - but she saw a number of backs stiffen as Ensign Howard practically leapt out of the command chair and snapped to attention. Hoshiko gave him an approving smile, then nodded towards the tactical console.

  “I have the bridge,” she said, firmly.

  “You have the bridge, Captain,” Ensign Howard said. “Intruder ETA is now 97 minutes ...”

  “Assuming they drop out at your predicted endpoint,” Hoshiko said, cutting him off. She didn't blame the ensign for assuming the unknown ships were heading for the base, but there was no way to be sure. “Squadron status?”

  “Yellow alert,” Ensign Howard reported. “Combat datanet is standing by, ready to activate; tactical communications net is up and running. No signals from the planet as yet.”

  “Unsurprising,” Hoshiko said. She took her seat and studied the tactical display for a long moment. “Take your console, Ensign. Let’s see what’s coming our way.”

  She heard the hatch opening again behind her, but said nothing as her XO, Commander Griffin Wilde, stepped into view and took the seat next to her. Wilde wasn't a bad man, she had to admit, yet he was easily twice her age - he remembered living on Earth before his parents had emigrated to the Solar Union - and he had almost no imagination at all. Hoshiko had a feeling that Wilde had actually been assigned to the squadron to keep an eye on her, or at least try to dampen her more ambitious schemes. But if that were the case, it was hardly necessary. The opportunities she’d hoped would appear, when she’d led the squadron through the gravity point for the first time, had never materialised.

  “Captain,” Wilde said.

  Hoshiko turned and gave him a tight smile. He even looked old, with grey hair, although she’d seen his medical report and knew he was physically fit. Choosing not to make himself look like a young man was a statement, just as much as her refusal to alter her looks was a statement, although she didn't understand it. Some men, she’d been told, were just born old, without the mindset that would allow them to have fun. She didn't understand that either.

  “Commander,” she said. “We may be in for some excitement.”

  She leaned back in her command chair, watching the reports flowing in from the remainder of the squadron, as the unknown ships came close. Tracking did their best, but apart from estimates regarding the size and power of the warships they weren't able to add much else, certainly nothing solid. Hoshiko rehearsed the engagement in her mind, contemplating the different weapons mixes they might face and waited. At least, now there was a prospect of action, she could wait patiently.

  “Captain, they’re altering course slightly,” Ensign Howard said. “They’re now angling directly towards the station.”

  “Understood,” Hoshiko said. She contemplated, briefly, detaching two of her ships to take up a different position, but decided it would probably be futile. A few seconds in FTL would put the incoming ships millions of kilometres from the waiting ships. “Hold position and wait, but prepare to move us when they arrive.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Lieutenant Sandy Browne said. The helmsman had been running tactical simulations of his own. “Drives are ready and free; I say again, drives are ready and free.”

  Hoshiko nodded, then waited as the last minutes counted down to zero, knowing that there were too many uncertainties. There was no way to know the ships were heading for the base, for her squadron; they could easily be planning to skim around the planet’s gravity well and try to lose their pursuers. Or they could be planning to plunge into a gravity point at speed, hoping to escape through sheer nerve. They’d be vomiting on the decks, if they survived, but it might be their only hope. Did they even know there was a human squadron at Martina?

  “Contact,” Ensign Howard said. “They just dropped out of FTL. Two freighters, Livingston-class; I say again, two freighters, Livingston-class.”

  “Raise them,” Hoshiko ordered.

  She took a long breath, knowing they had bare seconds before the warships arrived and announced themselves. Thankfully, there shouldn't be any problems establishing communications with human ships ... unless, of course, something had wrecked their communications systems. The Tokomak had done their best to ensure that everyone spoke the same language, at least during interspecies communications, but even they had never succeeded in making the handful of artificial languages universal.

  And a good thing too, she thought, remembering her lessons at the Academy. Those languages were carefully designed to dampen individual thought.

  Three red icons popped into life on the display. “Contact,” Ensign Howard said, again. This time, he sounded almost panicky. “Three warships, unknown class. Database comparison suggests they’re light cruisers.”

  “Sound Red Alert,” Hoshiko ordered. “Raise shields. Charge weapons.”

  She frowned as more data flowed onto the display. Most alien races used starships based on Tokomak designs, knowing them to be reliable even though they were hard to modify or rebuild. They were, quite simply, the most prevalent ship designs in the galaxy. Even the Solar Union, which was ramping up its own design and building process as fast as it could, still used thousands of Tokomak-designed ships. But facing a whole new design ... there was no way to know what she might be about to encounter. If humanity could invent a weapons system that smashed battleships as if they were made of paper, who knew what another race could design and put into operation?

  “Unknown ships are scanning us,” Ensign Howard reported.

  “No word from the freighters,” Lieutenant Yeller added. The communications officer was working his console frantically. “The unknown ships are attempting to hail us.”

  “Put them through,” Hoshiko ordered.

  There was a long pause, then a dull atonal voice - the product of a translator - echoed through the bridge. “We are in pursuit of criminals,” it said. “Allow us to capture the criminals or you will be fired on.”

  Hoshiko blinked in surprise. The unknown ships had defied communications protocols that had been in existence long before humanity started building anything more complex than stone axes and rowing boats. Every spacer in the known universe used the protocols,
save - perhaps - for the race in front of her. Could they be completely new? Her heartbeat raced at the thought, although she knew it was unlikely. The Tokomak had held the sector in their grip for thousands of years. They’d know every power in the sector intimately.

  “Those ships are human ships,” she said. She had strict orders to defend human shipping, if nothing else. Besides, she had no idea just what was going on. “Allow us to take them into custody and investigate. If they are criminals, they will be dealt with.”

  “Enemy ships are charging weapons,” Lieutenant-Commander Rupert Biscoe snapped. “They’re locking targeting sensors on our hulls.”

  “Return the favour,” Hoshiko ordered. No one, unless they had almost no understanding of the ships they controlled, allowed anyone to see their weapons being charged unless it was a deliberate threat. Just what was going on? “Try and raise the freighters again ...”

  “Incoming message,” the communications officer said.

  “This matter is none of your concern,” the atonal voice said. “Stand down or be fired upon.”

  Hoshiko took a long breath. “We will take the ships into custody and investigate the crews,” she said, tartly. “Should they be confirmed as criminals, they will be returned to you. We ...”

  Jackie Fisher rocked, violently.

  “Enemy ships have opened fire,” Biscoe said. “Standard directed-energy weapons. Shields held. No damage”

  A warning shot, Hoshiko thought. She fought down the urge to simply return fire, even though she was sure she held a considerable advantage. Are they mad?

  “Picking up a message from the lead freighter,” Yeller reported. “It’s very weak.”

  “Put it through,” Hoshiko ordered.

  “This is Captain Ryman of SUS Speaker to Seafood,” a voice said. Hoshiko hastily launched a query into the datanet, trying to confirm Ryman’s identity. Moments later, a voiceprint match popped up in front of her. “We have a cargo of refugees from Amstar. We need help ...”

  “Enemy ships are locking weapons on the freighters,” Biscoe reported.

  “Move us forward to shield them,” Hoshiko ordered. Refugees from Amstar? Her implants told her it was a star system thirty light years from Martina, but there was little else current in the datafiles. Like Martina, Amstar was a shared world, peaceful and boring. Why would refugees be fleeing to Martina, on human ships? “Tactical ...”

  “Enemy ships are opening fire,” Biscoe reported. “Freighter Two is taking heavy damage.”

  “Open fire,” Hoshiko snapped. Human-designed freighters carried better shields than the average Tokomak-designed freighter, but they weren't strong enough to stand up to a full barrage from the light cruisers for long. “I say again, all ships open fire.”

  She expected the enemy vessels to turn and run, but instead they accelerated towards the human ships, one of them firing a final spread of missiles in passing at Freighter Two and blowing her into an expanding cloud of plasma. It didn’t look as though anyone had managed to get to the escape pods, Hoshiko noted; the ship had been lost with all hands. She swore under her breath as one of the alien ships exploded, followed rapidly by another; the third kept on towards Jackie Fisher, firing every weapon she had, until her shields were finally overloaded and a handful of missiles slammed into her hull, disabling her drives.

  “Prepare a marine boarding party,” Hoshiko ordered. If the third ship had lost power completely, they should be able to teleport an assault force over to the enemy ship rather than dispatch a shuttle. “Get them suited up and ...”

  The third icon vanished from the display. “Enemy ship destroyed,” Biscoe reported. “That wasn't our fire, Captain. They self-destructed.”

  “Belay that order,” Hoshiko said. Judging from the blast, it was unlikely there would be anything worth recovering. The enemy ship had been completely atomised. “Ready a marine party to examine the freighter instead.”

  She sucked in her breath, thinking hard. Who the hell were they facing? The Horde might have launched a suicide attack, but the Horde rarely dared face anyone who actually knew how to use their ships. God knew the Horde had been so criminally ignorant that a bunch of humans, from a low-tech world, had taken their ship out from under them. Anyone else ... surely, they would have assessed the balance of power and backed off. If the freighters had been carrying criminals, she would have had no choice but to hand them over.

  “Order the freighter to be ready to receive boarders,” she said, grimly. At least she wasn’t bored any longer. “All ships are to remain on yellow alert until we get some answers.”

  She glanced at Commander Wilde. “Accompany the marines,” she ordered. “I want to speak to Captain Ryman as soon as he’s cleared to board Fisher.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Wilde said. He rose. “Ensign Howard, with me.”

  Hoshiko felt a flicker of envy, which she rapidly suppressed. She was the Captain-Commodore of the squadron, as well as Jackie Fisher’s CO. There was no way she could leave the bridge, not when they might be at war. All she could do was wait and see what her crew found ...

  ... And pray, silently, that she wouldn’t wind up wishing she was bored again.

  Chapter Two

  Washington saw a second night of heavy fighting between soldiers of the Tenth Mountain Division and civilian militias as martial law, in place since the coup, was extended for a further sixth months. Morale in the military is believed to be poor and rumours of mass desertions cannot be ruled out.

  -Solar News Network, Year 54

  “Gently does it, Ensign,” Major Bjørn Hyldkrog said. “We don’t know what might be waiting for us.”

  Ensign Thomas Howard nodded, fighting to keep his hands from shaking. The marines had never said anything threatening to him, but he couldn't help finding them far more intimidating than anything else he’d encountered. Four years at the Academy hadn't prepared him for rough men and women who practically carried knives in their mouths or strode around the ship as though they owned the vessel. He was sure it was technically against regulations for the marines to pick on him - and they hadn't - but they still scared him more than he cared to admit.

  He watched through the shuttle’s hull-mounted sensors as he carefully guided the craft towards the freighter. The hulk had clearly taken a beating, he noted; carbon scoring criss-crossed the metal, burning off the paint and sensor blisters alike. Someone had done some intensive patching, probably while the vessel was in FTL. Humanity built good ships, he’d been told, but it was a minor miracle the freighter had survived long enough to reach Martina and find help. Judging by the emissions from the rear of the ship, she’d be unable to go FTL without a complete refit. It might be cheaper to scrap the hulk and buy a new ship.

  “There’s a standard hatch towards the prow of the vessel,” he said. That wasn't a surprise. The Tokomak had insisted on a degree of uniformity among interstellar shipping and what the Tokomak wanted, they got. Even humanity had seen the advantages in copying the Galactic model. “Do you want to dock there?”

  “Yes, please,” Hyldkrog said. He seemed to be in command of the mission, even though the XO himself was accompanying the marines. “Put us up against the hatch, then latch on.”

  “Maintain standard security procedures at all times,” the XO added. “We do not want someone slipping a piece of malware onto the shuttle.”

  “Yes, sir,” Thomas said. The XO was old enough to have served in the wet navy, long before the Solar Union had been anything more than a dream. “The shuttle computer cores are isolated from the hatch processors.”

  He sucked in a breath as the freighter came closer, wondering if the next second would be his last. If it was a trap, if the freighter was playing possum for some inexplicable reason of its own, they’d be fired on the moment they came within point-blank range. Or the vessel might be crewed by pirates, intent on swarming the shuttle and using her to force their way onboard Jackie Fisher. A shiver ran down his back as he looked at the marines, car
efully checking their weapons and suits of armour; for once, he was grateful to have them along. They’d know what to do if it really was a trap.

  “Docking in ten seconds,” he said. “Hatch cycling now ...”

  A dull thump ran through the shuttle as it made contact with the freighter. The gravity field flickered, just for a second, as it merged with the human-standard gravity field projected by the freighter, a subtle confirmation that the ship was probably still in human hands. Unless, of course, the Horde or another race of low-tech interstellar barbarians had somehow managed to gain control of the ship. They probably wouldn't dare to fiddle with the artificial gravity, even assuming they’d known how. One mistake at the worst possible time and they’d be smashed against the deck, if the compensators failed. They wouldn’t even have a chance to realise what had happened before it was far too late.

  “Contact,” he said. He heard the marines moving forward as the hatch began to open. “Sir ...”

  “Remain behind until the marines have secured the ship,” the XO ordered, calmly. “They know what they’re doing.”