That she’d been fine afterwards—no, better than fine—made him grateful the captain’s clan had denied him his first choice of a mate. It also left him chafing to be on duty for the extra hours that kept him from Tina.
If you could just imagine how it feels to be accepted. Wanted.
He didn’t have to imagine. He knew it for the wonder it was. He glanced at Tukui, a smile threatening to ruin his professional demeanor.
Tukui leaned close to his navigation computer, a frown forming. Osopa quickly scanned his own instruments and saw a problem.
A huge problem.
Tukui had already activated the ship’s cloak from his station. As First Officer Simdow turned from the helm questioningly, Osopa keyed the com for ship-wide broadcast, as well as a private frequency. He started speaking before Captain Tranis acknowledged the transmission. “Captain Tranis and Commander Lidon to the bridge. Tragoom ship detected entering sensor range. All hands to battle stations. I repeat, all hands to battle stations.”
Simdow raced to the captain’s station, where he quickly scanned the readings. He barked, “Navigator, ready headings for both escape and fight. Weapons Subcommander, they appear to be homing in on the captured Earther transport.”
Osopa armed the vessel’s weapons. “Confirmed. No sign they’ve detected our presence.”
Tranis and Lidon burst onto the bridge. The weapons commander assumed his place at his station, next to Osopa’s. His fingers blurred over the controls.
“Report.” The captain hurried straight to Simdow.
“The Tragoom vessel has changed course to intercept, but I don’t think they realize we’re here. We cloaked the instant we detected them. Their interest appears to be on the Earther transport.”
“Estimated time they’ll be in firing range?”
“Ten minutes.” Lidon tapped a rapid tattoo on his computer. Osopa’s fingers danced over his commands as well, bringing up schematics of the enemy vessel, scanning for details on their arsenal, computing battle scenarios.
His superior’s tone took on a growling quality. “Three-quarters of our medical personnel and one-third of security are on Europa with the Mataras. Another five Nobeks are guarding prisoners on the Earther transport.”
Osopa’s heart dropped to his gut. The spyship was short-manned, the crew scattered. Between time and available space, there was no way to bring everyone onto the vessel. The odds were more daunting when he brought up the data on the Tragooms’ craft and weapons. Captain Tranis didn’t try to hide his concern.
We can’t defend three different targets at once. Not against that.
Osopa stared at the enemy vessel drawing closer to their position. It was a squat, ridiculous-looking thing, a jumble of mismatched parts. The bell-shaped bow was from an Adraf battle frigate. Part of the midship hull had the unmistakable sleek form of a Bi’isil hunter-killer, which had been combined with that of an old Kalquorian raider. The engines, exposed at the stern rather than housed in protective casing, belonged to the massive battlecruisers of Earth. The rest was a muddle of other craft from numerous species. It looked like a flying junkheap, but Osopa knew better than to take the seeming collection of castoffs as a joke. As barbaric as the Tragoom race was, its members were astoundingly talented at piecing together daunting war machines. Too many Kalquorians dying from Tragoom attacks had proven that point.
“What about the transport’s weapons?”
The captain’s question brought a surge of excitement. Commander Lidon took pleasure in answering. “Enough firepower to give that Tragoom raider pause. Earthers love their weaponry.”
Lidon hurried off to take command of the captured transport. Left in charge of the spyship’s weapons, Osopa focus narrowed to that of a surgical laser. The faces of his clan, particularly Tina’s, goaded him to be sure he’d done all that was possible to keep the spyship safe.
“The transport’s weapons are arming, Captain. Commander Lidon is bringing it about to face the enemy.”
“Keep close. Stand by to de-cloak and fire on the Tragoom vessel.”
Commander Lidon’s voice rang out over the com speakers. Having boarded the captured Earther transport, he spoke in English. Osopa was impressed with how convincing his superior sounded as a territorial Earther, ready to fight. “Attention, Tragoom vessel. You have entered Earth-controlled space. This is a hostile act. State your intentions and prepare to surrender your vessel. This is your only warning before we open fire.”
Osopa reported, “The Tragooms haven’t altered course, Captain. They’re still coming. The transport is at full stop, waiting for them.”
“Bringing us to full stop too,” Simdow reported.
“Captain, if the Tragooms attack the transport, we’re close enough to catch a shock. Gravity control might go offline for a moment. I suggest everyone lock down using the physical restraints at their stations.”
Tranis nodded to Osopa. “Excellent suggestion, Subcommander. Send out the order.”
“In firing range in five seconds.” Osopa watched his readouts as he buckled himself to his podium, sparing a quick glance to make sure Tukui did as well. His Dramok secured himself while remaining intent on his controls.
Reassured as to his clanmate’s safety, Osopa returned his attention to his own computer. His fingers hovered over the weapon commands. He hoped Commander Lidon wouldn’t hog all the fighting.
“Transport and Tragooms arming weapons. Tragooms are firing!”
For the barest instant, as the brilliant light of a fusion torpedo being launched appeared at the bow of the enemy’s craft, Osopa’s being filled with a savage joy. The fight, which he’d been made for, was beginning.
Lights on his console flashed red. His elation disappeared. “They’re aiming for—”
He had no chance to say us. The bridge flashed white, blinding him. A deafening boom pierced his ears. Behind it, the sound of crunching and shrieking metal tore through the atmosphere. Alarms blared and men shouted, adding to the hellish cacophony.
The bridge’s lights flickered before going out, plunging Osopa into darkness, lit only by the strobing indicators from his and other podiums. A glow appeared to his right as an auxiliary station against the wall caught on fire. The lights came on again.
The Nobek braced himself against his restraints, refuting the instinct to hold onto his station for support. He fought to bring his flashing monitors online, hoping the weapons systems hadn’t been knocked out. He snarled in fury as debris rained down on his shoulders.
“Cloaking system offline!” Simdow’s yell filled the aftermath of the blast. The continued din of crashing struts and podiums surrounded them.
“Move us into attack position.” Tranis’ calm tone was shocking in the wake of destruction.
“Course laid in.” Hearing Tukui’s breathless but even tone was a relief.
“Helm’s not responding,” Simdow reported.
“We’ve lost port thrusters,” Osopa confirmed.
“Compensating.”
Tukui called, “Use plasma venting on the port, Commander, one-eighth release.”
“Got it. Keep correcting me as needed, Navigator. My readings are blinking in and out.”