Battle of the Ring s-2 Read online

  Battle of the Ring

  ( Starwolves - 2 )

  Thorarinn Gunnarsson

  The Starwolves are back in another action-packed adventure. The superbeings confront a Company death machine of vast lethal scale, designed solely to destroy them. Now they must fight a living engine of hate.

  Thorarinn Gunnarsson. Battle Of The Ring

  Starwolves — 2

  1

  The prey was a freighter of the D Class, not nearly as massive as the immense bulk freighters but far too large to land itself. Just under two hundred and fifty meters in length, it was shiny white with new paint and its boxlike hull was unusually trim for a cargo ship, although obviously too wide and heavy for a warship. Remarkable as well was its speed, for its drives developed the power of a freighter half its size. And it was a lure for any pirate who could take her.

  The hunters were nine large freighters with down-swept wings, as black as space and as fast as death. These were wolf ships and their pilots were Kelvessan, the dread Starwolves. Exposed to stresses few other creatures — and certainly no human — could endure, they closed upon their prey with deadly purpose and accuracy. They could not see their target, but they sensed its every movement. They tracked their prey by the image they received in their minds from its tremendous power emissions, the low, echoing pulse of its stardrive marking it as a company ship and legitimate prey.

  As the pack moved into range, the fighters broke formation to move into attack position. The lead fighter, that of the pack leader, moved in close behind the freighter for the first run, but hesitated. Velmeran knew that this run was his to make, and yet he had the vague, unexplainable feeling that he should not — that he must not. Not because this freighter was a danger in itself; in his short career he had sprung three traps already. But something was wrong. He had always trusted these feelings in the past, and yet he could see no cause to terminate this run. His one concession was to move slightly out of line to the position where he normally watched attack runs.

  That move did not appear to surprise the others. They trusted him, perhaps more than Velmeran trusted himself. Baress moved up to take his place in line, maneuvering to align his cannons. The objective of the attack run was simple enough: the stardrive had to be wrecked to bring a ship out of starflight. A bolt had to strike and fracture the crystal of the drive itself, and that strike had to be on the very edge. A miss might do undesirable damage to the ship, while a strike too far inside would dissipate in the drive thrust. This ship was small and fast, and they would be lucky to get within ten kilometers of a target they could not see in the first place.

  The ship executed a series of evasive maneuvers that did nothing to shake loose its pursuit. Before the helm computer could be set up for another set of dodges and turns, Baress seized the moment and rushed in. He fired a quick volley as he passed, missing the star drive by a fraction but raking the hull of the ship. As he dropped back to return to the pack, Tregloran moved up to make his own run. Although he would never quite equal his teacher in skill, he was learning quickly. He was already as good a pilot as Baress, who had flown special tactics for years; if one missed the target, the other would not.

  “Scatter!”

  At Velmeran’s order, the fighters broke without hesitation and shot away as fast as they could. Velmeran had saved them from traps too often for them to question his judgment. Salran’s pack, flying watch a short distance back, turned quickly away as well. And the Methryn, pacing the hunt, charged her main cannons as she closed. Curiously, the only one who did not follow that order was Velmeran himself. He continued to pace the freighter closely.

  “Velmeran, what are you doing?” Valthyrra Methryn demanded over com. “Is that thing a trap, or not?”

  “No, this is no trap,” he answered. “That was the only way I knew to get Tregloran off her tail before he shot her.”

  “Then would you kindly explain yourself?”

  “I doubt that I can. I am putting my reputation on the line.”

  “You already have. So, tell!”

  “I want you to make contact with that ship.”

  On the Methryn’s bridge, Valthyrra brought her camera pod around to stare in astonishment at the commander. Mayelna only shrugged both sets of arms and sat back in her chair to watch.

  “You want me to talk to it?” she asked with obvious disdain. “It phases like a company ship… Well, it has happened before.”

  She opened a new signal on the commercial band, trusting that she was within range of the weak achronic transceivers of Union technology, linking it to the channel she kept to the fighters for Velmeran to hear.

  “Attention, unidentified ship!” she snapped in her best authoritative voice. “Identify yourself immediately.”

  There was a very long pause. Valthyrra was quick to grow impatient, mostly because she was afraid that he was right. “Well?”

  “Give them a moment,” Velmeran insisted. “They have been badly shaken. How would you feel if you found Starwolves on your tail?”

  “Annoyed.”

  “Hello? This is Captain Garkelley of the Velka.”

  “Name your company and home port,” Valthyrra demanded.

  “No company. We are independent freighters.”

  Valthyrra swore privately before she reopened her channels. “Velka, drop to one quarter light speed and stand by to be taken on board. You are not under attack, but you will be destroyed if you make any hostile moves. What is your status?”

  “Our hull is penetrated, near the engine compartment,” Garkelley replied. “We do not have the crew to handle this situation.”

  “Do what you can,” she told him, then muted that channel. “Velmeran, have you had a chance for a close look?”

  “Good enough,” he responded. “The good Captain told the truth. Baress clipped the cover of the engine housing and put some long tears in her hull where her engineering section should be. No real structural or mechanical damage, though. Their leakage is minimal, since my scanners detect only traces of escaping atmosphere.”

  “Keep an eye on that ship,” she told him before muting that channel as well. She turned to Mayelna, who was watching it all with calm detachment. “Well, you certainly seem to be taking it all in stride.”

  Mayelna shrugged, unconcerned. “What is there for me to worry about? He took care of the problem, and I have you to pick up the pieces.”

  “You are the Commander of this ship,” Valthyrra reminded her.

  “I have not forgotten. But we have worked out an agreement. I am the Commander of the Methryn as a ship. Velmeran is the Commander of the Methryn as a fighting force. You are the Methryn, and quite able to take care of yourself in the first place. That situation pleases me. He knows far more of what is going on out there.”

  “Yes, he does seem to know,” Valthyrra agreed, glancing down at the lower bridge where officers hurried about their duties. “How does he know?”

  Mayelna glanced up at her. “He is out there. He sees…”

  “Yes, I know. He sees things that no one else can see. He bases conclusions on things that no one else would notice. He can devise foolproof plans on the most careful, precise logic and then avert disaster on the wildest hunch. And he is always right.”

  Mayelna looked at her in surprise. “That is what you wanted, is it not? You should be happy.”

  “Oh, I am happy,” the ship was quick to agree. “There is nothing wrong, but something still bothers me. There is an alarm sounding in a dark corner of my memory cells, but I cannot remember. All I understand is that it is far more important than it seems.”

  By that time the Methryn had overtaken the damaged freighter and was closing to take it on board, opening her
left holding bay to receive it.

  “Captain Garkelley?”

  “Yes?”

  “I am going to take you into one of my holding bays for repairs,” she explained. “There is a regular ship’s atmosphere inside the bay, kept in by a restraining field even when the doors are open. It might be a little cold for your tastes, but you can live there. I want you to completely secure your ship as if you were already at dock at a station, all fields, drives, and major power systems shut down.”

  She did not wait for his response. She had already positioned herself so that the open bay was already over the small freighter, and began to descend on top of it. Two pairs of long handling arms reached down to lock securely to the hull of the Velka and draw it into the bay. The arms retracted into their holding position and locked into place, and the vast doors began to close. She had already ordered her fighters on board as well, with special emphasis for Velmeran to get himself to the holding bay as soon as he could.

  As soon as her ships were safely on board, the Methryn turned and began to gather speed gently, so slowly that most of her crewmembers were not even aware that she was moving. This was special consideration for her human passengers, who might not have survived her normal accelerations.

  Velmeran landed as quickly as he could and hurried to the holding bay, where Mayelna and Valthyrra waited as the docking tube swung into place. Mayelna was in the white armor of an officer, a short cape of matching white snapped into place at her collar to lend a look of authority. Valthyrra hovered nearby in the form of one of her probes, the most lethal of her automations. A pack of pilots in black armor served as an impromptu security force, while Dyenlerra and her medical remotes waited behind. This looked to Velmeran more like a boarding party than a group of rescuers.

  “Ah, Velmeran,” Valthyrra said, the retractable neck of her probe bent well around to stare at him. “Do you expect any trouble?”

  “No, not really.”

  “None at all?” she insisted, still staring at him.

  “I expect no violence, if that is what you mean,” he corrected himself. “Trouble is something you already have. All you could want is waiting at the end of this docking tube.”

  “I was aware of that,” Valthyrra said, drifting toward the door of the docking tube as it snapped open. “Shall we go have a look at it?”

  She drifted quickly down the length of the tube and opened the outer door of the lock, which revealed the closed docking hatch of the Velka. A moment later they could hear the locking mechanisms inside the hatch release with hollow clangs and thumps, and the door began to move slowly inward as if under stress. Outer hull doors always opened inward, so that internal pressure kept them sealed even when mechanical locks failed. That worked against it now, however, since the freighter kept a slightly higher pressure. The Kelvessan were hit by a rush of what seemed to them warm air, and the door opened easily.

  A small, thin man stepped forward in a very businesslike manner in the hatchway. The Traders were themselves a race apart, as adapted after many generations to life in space as nature would allow. They were nearly as small as the Kelvessan, thin and wiry and well-muscled against the stresses of acceleration. They were also shrewdly intelligent, especially so for humans in their declining age. There was something about the appearance and bearing of this man which suggested that a cold, almost hostile shrewdness was his major trait.

  He made a brief gesture of acknowledgment. “I am Captain Larn Garkelley of the Velka, independent freighter.”

  “I am Valthyrra Methryn,” the ship responded, and indicated right and left with her camera pod. “This is Commander Mayelna, and Commander-designate Velmeran.”

  Garkelley was shaken at the mention of that final name, turning visibly pale as he stared at the young pack leader.

  “I must inquire as to the condition of your crew,” Valthyrra distracted him subtly. “Does anyone require medical assistance?”

  “No… No, we are all quite well,” Garkelley answered hesitantly.

  “Then we will assist you in patching your hull and replacing the damaged plate, and deliver you to your destination,” Valthyrra continued briskly. “Also, we will ensure that your engines are recalibrated to phase at the proper levels.”

  “Oh, there is no need for that,” Garkelley was quick to assure her. “We would not want to trouble you.”

  “You have already caused us more trouble than you are worth, and your ship will not be released until the modifications are complete,” Valthyrra told him plainly. “You must be aware that your phase levels are how we are able to tell independents from company ships.”

  “Of course, but that is not important.” His righteous indignation flared. “It seems to me that it is your responsibility to be more certain of the ships you pillage.”

  “You seem to forget that the Traders owe their very existence to our protection of their trade rights,” Mayelna said in harsh warning. “The Union would not tolerate you if they could help it. We have always hunted them out of various freight lanes so that you can have the trade. The only responsibility you have in return is to properly identify yourselves.”

  “Of course, Commander,” Garkelley was quick to agree.

  “Why were your engines phasing out of sequence anyway?” Valthyrra asked.

  “That is what we would like to know!” A young woman stepped from the hatch to join them. Angry mutterings of agreement from Velka’s airlock indicated that she was the leader of a potential mutiny.

  “We had a bad star drive that barely got us into Tarvan Station,” the younger officer continued. “Garkelley was our freight and trade officer then. We had to leave Captain Wanesher to live out his last few days in the station hospital. Before we had a chance to refit, Garkelley arranged a deal with Dallord Trade for a new engine at a bargain price, free fitting and a five-year contract on a series of runs that their own ships would not dare to fight. It seemed a very good deal at the time, good enough for Garkelley to take the Captain’s chair.”

  “You knew at the time that we were taking a risk,” Garkelley countered. “We had to get under way immediately. There was no time to recalibrate.”

  “Yes, we did agree, but for just that first run. That engine was to be recalibrated at Laerdaycon Station. You told us that it was. But you put it off because you wanted to impress Dallord by making up the lost time on their schedule.”

  “You are out of line, Mersans!” Garkelley said hotly.

  “You are out of line,” Mersans retorted. “The crew is more than ready to call a meeting.”

  Garkelley regarded her coldly. “You will not find it so easy to depose a Captain.”

  “That is already decided, when a Captain nearly loses his ship to his own foolishness,” she declared, then turned abruptly to the Starwolves. “Speaking for the crew of the Velka, I ask you to no longer treat with this man as the Captain of this ship.”

  “Your affairs are your own, and we want no part of it,” Valthyrra answered. “We will deal with your new Captain when one is selected.”

  “That will not take half an hour.”

  “Half an hour, then,” Valthyrra agreed as she turned to leave, followed by the Starwolves. Garkelley hurried back into the Velka’s airlock, upset but seemingly unconcerned about the outcome of this meeting.

  But Mersans hesitated, then quickly laid a hand on Velmeran’s shoulder before he was gone. Then, remembering who she had touched, she withdrew the hand as if it had been burned. “Forgive me… “

  “Do not be afraid of me,” he assured her.

  “I am sorry that we are such trouble,” she began uncertainly. “I am Kella Mersans, helm and navigator of the Velka.”

  “And would-be Captain?”

  “No, I want nothing for myself,” she insisted sincerely. “Once we are rid of Garkelley, I intend to make my own nomination for Captain. But I must know, before this begins, if… when we were first aware of you, if we had tried to contact you instead of run, if you would have l
istened.”

  “Of course,” he told her. “We are cautious, for our own safety. If you had not run, we would have stayed away until we found out why. Ships that do not run are usually traps. But when you sound like a company freighter and run like one, we can only assume that you are one.”

  “Our mistake was in running, then?”

  “Certainly. We used to tell Traders from Company ships by whether or not they ran. Traders would drop out of starflight to give us a close look at themselves, while the company ships had no choice. Then the Traders began to use a distinctive phase level.”

  “Why do they not set their phase levels to fool you?” she asked.

  “They still do for passenger ships, since we will not touch those. But that would not work very long, for we would go back to asking Traders to stop and identify themselves. Garkelley chose to run?”

  Mersans nodded. “I was not on the bridge at the time, but I knew what was wrong when we began dodging. We must have been taking forty G’s into those turns, so I could only make progress toward the bridge between maneuvers. By the time I got there, it was over. He said that you contacted him?”

  “Valthyrra did.”

  “How did she know?”

  “I told her,” Velmeran said. “That was my pack on your tail.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Trade secret,” he answered simply. “I am a pack leader and Commander-designate, and that means something. Mostly it means that I am not allowed to make mistakes.”

  “That is something easier said than done,” Kella observed, then hesitated even as she turned to the airlock. “Commander, were you the one who shot us?”

  “No, that was Baress, my second,” he said. “I would not have missed.”

  Kella had no desire to dispute that, and hurried on into her own ship. Velmeran turned and followed the others down the docking tube, joining Mayelna and Valthyrra at the end.

  “Interesting group of people,” Velmeran remarked, turning to the lift doors on the other side of the corridor.