"Have they spotted us?" Toh whispered, reflexively, as if the other ship could hear him.
"Can't tell. They might be charging weapons, but through all this interference it's hard to tell. Got to play this by the book, anyway." Regulation dictated that as captain, she was required to establish communication with unidentified vessels before opening fire. It was only right, anyway. This could be a slaver ship that had been taken over by its own rebellious captives, charging weapons purely in reaction to the Kestrel's doing so, or some other such sob story. Nothing would be lost in a bit of chitchat while the lasers heated up.
Brant brushed the communications symbol next to her holograph of the pirate vessel. "Hailing them now. Stand by for banter."
The main display screen in front of Toh crackled to life, displaying a fragmented, staticky picture of an engi who had seen better days. At first, he looked like 78, but 78 would probably have said that about her and a bearded, muscular human male. He had the standard engi anatomy of gray flesh, black wire and metal, and blank facial screen. Then the image clarified a bit, and Brant drew a clear distinction between this pirate and her loyal commander. Where the commander kept his chassis polished and unadorned besides an imprint of the Federation starburst insignia, this engi had festooned himself with all manner of grisly baubles: garlands of razor wire, necklaces of human bones and inert rockman organs, acid-etched tattoos of void krakens and threats in various languages, and a headdress crafted from a preserved mantis cranium.
Brant sat back and cocked an eyebrow. "Come on, guy. Don't you think that's a bit much?"
The engi's screen flashed white and fired off a burst of squealing, furious static. "Human bitch will be silent and receive our demands. Depower weapons and prepare the following tribute. Alternative: I order gunner to begin blasting your ship apart."
An incoming message appeared on Brant's screen. Without looking at it, she flicked at the holograph controls to print the message out for her from her chair's printer – a backup tool, mostly for when extreme conditions really interfered with displays. She grabbed the printout.
"These demands?" she asked, still pointedly not looking at it. She proceeded to blow her nose with the printout, wad it up, and toss it at the engi on the main display screen.
The engi's face screen flared again, but then he too sat back in his chair, chirping and whirring with light laughter. He continued, his synthesized voice much less abrasive. "Apologies. Only now noticing Federation markings – recommend starting over." One of his claw-hands reached into a compartment on his side, rummaging around before coming out with a small, battered Federation insignia. "Greetings, comrades. I am HT-XKP-145. Served with current crew aboard Osprey-III not long ago – currently trying to survive." The engi jumped a little, suddenly remembering something, then knocked off the headdress quickly. "Erm. Had to commandeer Rebel vessel when Osprey too damaged, and life in Cloud difficult – have to cultivate suitably grotesque image to avoid falling prey. Apologies for shock – depowering weapons now." He made a gesture off-screen.
Brant narrowed her eyes. The nebula, as the engi surely knew, prevented any scans that might confirm they'd actually powered down. The Osprey series had put out some badass ships, but they'd still been perfecting its experimental systems when the Rebellion began; the Feds had never had many Ospreys, and they'd lost almost all of them early on. The Cormorant series had been a load of dog crap, on the other hand, and the Rebels had ditched almost all of them early on. How did an Osprey lose to a Cormorant? The insignia looked genuine, and she didn't think this was a total bluff, but something stank.
She made some gestures off to a wall as if ordering someone to power weapons down, then looked briefly back at the display showing their laser batteries heating up. "Captain Charlotte Brant. A pleasure. I take it by your appearance that you've been out here a while.
"Hard to say. Nebula interferes with everything. Clocks temperamental. But yes – separated from fleet for a long time. Unable to make contact."
And that could well be. God knew Brant had had trouble contacting the fleet, or what passed for the fleet these days. The Rebels owed their victory in no small part to a brutal, sustained attack on the Federation's communication system. That network had been constructed, maintained, and protected by the most experienced engi technicians, and it was held to be the most advanced and secure comm system in the galaxy. That the Rebels had been able to make any kind of dent in it, let alone shut it down entirely, had caught everyone with their pants down. To this day, no one knew how they'd pulled it off.
So he could be telling the truth. If it had been easy to contact the remains of the Federation, they could have just beamed the encrypted intel they'd captured back to High Command; instead, the splinter fleet had had to assign someone of Andrews' reputation to a quick, low-profile ship like the Kestrel to manually carry the intel back to High Command. She nodded.
"There isn't really a fleet left to be separated from anymore. The Rebels ate us for breakfast and had the leftovers for lunch – the Federation's all but done. Sorry to be the one to tell you," she said. It wasn't totally true yet, but she doubted the engi would know that. The power readouts showed that her first salvo would be ready in just a few seconds. She didn't have the authority to use it yet, though, so she kept working at her hunch. "Frankly, we'd be dead too if we'd stuck to our orders. Either High Command couldn't read the writing on the wall, or they really liked the idea of fighting to the last man."
145 whirred with laughter. "Indeed. Suspect the latter. Nothing but romantics in command. Dearly wish that I could have died at post like good little sailor. To die in service – very noble, much more so than current life of sin."
"Where is your captain, 145?"
The engi did not move. His face flickered with caution. "I am captain."
"You're missing a few pips, lieutenant. That is not a captain's insignia."
"Observant. Late captain Eluzakra died suddenly in engagement with this vessel. I am acting captain. Apologize for semantic confusion." He stared at Brant, and she returned the gaze.
"Very well, acting captain," Brant said slowly, deliberately, her fingers drumming over the command keys on her armrest to give the order to fire. She flicked a key just above it instead, and a bright red hologram appeared in front of her face with the seal of the Federation and an intricate coded bar. "I hate to be rude, but we're in a rush. I outrank you, and more importantly, this ship is on an official mission of level-10 priority, as decreed by Admiral Teramel-Ur-Curda and Captain Damion Andrews. I am given maximum discretion in carrying this mission out, and I'm afraid I must commission your ship, its systems, and its resources for my own means."
The engi's face flickered various colors in consternation. "You see? Nothing but romantics. Federation effectively dead by your own admission, and still you follow last orders to last breath. Very noble." He paused. His face took on a faint red glow. "Captain Eluzakra very noble, as well. Orders to defend Ignus-XI production world from Rebel advance. 8% chance of victory. 8%, and insisted on following orders." 145 shook his head. "Rebel victory tragic, but obvious, inevitable even from early days of Rebellion. Captain could not see." The engi leaned forward. Brant did not shift her gaze, noting only the flashing lights of her charged weapon systems in her peripherals. "Captain Eluzakra died suddenly in engagement with this vessel, yes. She died suddenly because I shot her in back of head with sidearm, and then shot her in head twice more when she was lying on floor." He keyed a few commands into his armrest, and without even looking to confirm that the Cormorant had fired, she had keyed in a channel to weapons.
"Ahab!" she growled. "Fire at will!"